#finally made a leverage edit

[sheppardsmckay]

@lgbtqcreators creators bingo: Comedy| Strangers to friends| Colour| Team colors

[thenewblackcanvas]

I think there’d be a lot of sweetness in chan’s return home from tour. Like don’t get me wrong there with be ALOT of nsfw moments but I think the love would really show.

Like the minute he stepped into your apartment- typing the code even felt like forever- he walked into to foyer, letting the door close behind him. You came over seeing the duffel slide off him like it weighed a thousand pounds. He looked so tired. Your heart felt so full and so fond. You took long strides over to him, engulfing each other

Your arms tightly around his neck while his arms held you limply at first almost as if expecting it to be only dream you- again- and wake up. But it wasn’t. His arms slowly tightened around you. It was really you. He buried his face in your neck.

You would pick up his duffel and hold his hand to lead him to the room. He finally let the big ol backpack he was still carrying come off before holding you again. This time he softly let his lips indulge in yours. It had been months.

It stayed stagnant for a while before he felt good enough to venture further. But almost as if you sensed him about to do so you pulled away to bring him to the shower. You’d bought a few of the products he frequently used especially one he had mentioned loving on tour. He only grabbed a mini size but there was the full size sitting in your bathroom. You hadn’t even mentioned it specifically just that you got him some stuff for your house. He smiled wider knowing you listened to him rambling in his tired state between performances and sleep

You encouraged a shower. He wanted you to join him but you saw how tired he was. You assured him you would be waiting in bed for him to climb in next to you. He would be too tired to even beg you to join him plus the thought of you AND warm covers on a comfy bed made him want to skip the shower but he needed to get the travel off him.

Basically the moment he got in bed threw and arm over you he was practically already out.

It was only at around 5 in the morning he stirred for nsfw reasons.

You woke up to feel his erection across your clothed heat as his hips moved almost on their own

One of your legs was bent out as your sleeping form was sprawled on your side on the bed. He was seated right there, almost having unhindered access to your heat. In this position, he was almost pushing you to your stomach with the force of his thrusts. Your hand that was out on the bed was starting to grip the sheets for leverage as you started whining. He stuttered for a moment when you cursed realizing you were awake now

“S-sorry. Woke up like this. Need it-“

“Keep going”

You were both disoriented from sleep and quick onset carnal desire.

When he finally pulls his boxers down enough and you pulled your panties to the side he started to slide in bringing the arm to tighten around your torso and pull you back, closer to him as he rolled into you.

As it got faster, he pushed you fully on your stomach, propped your hips up, and hovered over you. On his palms, he chases a desperate and long overdue high

Your hand came under you and between your legs to aid you to your own high

Thankfully you finished about the same time, leaving you both panting and more tired.

He pulled you back to the position from before, arm tight around you, without pulling out. “This is how I wanted to sleep every night”

I barely edited this thought from its state in my notes so if it's bad, then i guess its just bad ♡ Bang Chan masterpost ♡

[sgiandubh]

My curious and random thought: Why ask about Shat and why now? It’s ancient fandom history. Is it only because Star Trek has been an iconic IP at the comic cons, or could there be some clean up planned to close out the last 11 years. And if so what other interesting nuggets might be next.

Dear Ancient Fandom History,

What a #silly, #silly way to minimize/discount something so tragically wrong and so embarrassing to many luminaries across the street! What this sad, cheap troll did to many people is borderline mystifying, if you ignore (I said that before, I will probably say it again) that his leverage was based on the fact this was an almost exclusively feminine fandom and an ageing one, at that. It is my understanding, after reading what happened then, that nobody managed or even wanted to properly put him in his place. His empty threats (and, as a legal specialist, I know what I am saying) terrified and even traumatized many, but also served other trolls, who wanted to either portray themselves as victims, or invincible.

People who were embroiled and/or affected by this had no idea things could go that far in a fandom, an environment that seems absolutely benign (and a bit #silly, too, to be honest) to a perfect outsider. That made the shockwave even more violent .***, Shatner and the gossip press are all guilty and/or tainted by this. They tacitly tolerated, even condoned this troll's abuse of an entire fandom. Why? Because it was convenient, at the time and, on the long run, because OL's PR repeatedly proved itself to be tone-deaf and blatantly incompetent when it comes to crisis management.

Sock puppetry is a fraud (see US courts' jurisprudence, such as United States v. Drew, People v. Golb, etc). Doxing people is a crime, still insufficiently sanctioned by the US legislation (the Interstate Communications Statute and the Interstate Stalking Statute), unlike South Korea or (soon to be) Australia, just to take two random examples. The reasons why they still happen probably are public complacency and lack of proper information, spare the sketchy legislation, allowing many loops.

There were consequences to this. People were hurt, dishonored, despised and shunned. And for what? A not so uncommon love story? This is so wrong, in so many ways, I could be only glad, Anon that some light has been finally shed on this heavy, toxic garbage. Kudos to S for being brave enough to open up Pandora's box. I have to say I was surprised: makes his honesty even more valued.

Why now? Because we are slowly reaching the end, when nothing else matters, as Metallica once famously sang (still one of my favorite ballads, mind you). Will there be more interesting nuggets? Logically yes, but at this point in time, my guess is as good as anyone else's.

Not even sorry for this very long answer. I tend to get very invested in this, reminds me of a former professional life of mine. Happy days.

[Later edit]: forgot to answer your first question. If you think these discussion topics are not discussed before recording and vetted, you are naive, Anon. Very interesting, huh? There was nothing organic in that episode. Nothing.

[walks-the-ages]

Nanowrimo made a half-assed, desperate ""apology"" post

Full text, for when they inevitably try to edit it; as of right now it's August 6th, 2024, around 5:30pm est.

A Note to Our Community About our Comments on AI – September 2024 To the NaNoWriMo Community: In early August, debates about AI on our social media channels became vitriolic. It was clear that the intimidation and harassment we witnessed were causing harm within our community of writers. The FAQs we crafted last week were written to curtail those behaviors. We wanted to send a clear signal that NaNoWriMo spaces would not be used to bully or delegitimize other writers. This was consistent with our May 2024 statement, which named a lack of civility in NaNoWriMo spaces as a longstanding concern. Taking a position of neutrality was not an abandonment of writers’ legitimate concerns about AI. It was an acknowledgment that NaNoWriMo can’t maintain a civil, inclusive community if we allow selective intolerance. We absolutely believe that AI must be discussed and that its ethical use must be advocated-for. What we don’t believe is that NaNoWriMo belongs at the forefront of that conversation. That debate should continue to thrive within the greater writing community as technologies continue to evolve. We apologize that our original message was unclear and seemingly random. Our note on ableism and classism was rooted in the desire to point out that, for people in certain circumstances, some forms of AI can be life-changing. We certainly don’t believe those with concerns about AI to be classist or ableist. Not being more careful about our wording was a bad decision on our part. Our Mission is about providing encouragement to writers and cheering them on as they progress toward their goals. That remains our primary focus. In the future, we will be more transparent about the issues that we are trying to address with any messaging we provide. Finally, we recognize that some members of our community have other questions and concerns that go beyond general context for our comments. We don’t think we can address all of these in a single communication. Additional context here is that we are a very small team (including our Interim Executive Director, who is a volunteer). We want to take the time to read through your letters with the care, attention, and concern they deserve. Please expect more in the coming weeks.  In partnership, The NaNoWriMo Team

I sincerely hope their other sponsors bail ship and leave them to flounder at this point lmao. There is no going back from "if you criticize generative AI you're just ableist classist and racist".

They've also once again edited their "What Is Nanowrimo's Stance on AI?" post:

New text, in full; looks like it was updated sometime late yesterday or early today (August 6th 2024):

What is NaNoWriMo's position on Artificial Intelligence (AI)? 13 hours ago -Updated Not yet followed by anyone

NaNoWriMo neither explicitly supports nor condemns any approach to writing, including the use of tools that  leverage AI. We recognize that harm has been done to the writing and creative communities at the hands of bad actors in the generative AI space, and that the ethical questions and risks posed by some aspects of this technology are real. The fact that AI is a large, complex technology category (which encompasses both non-generative and generative AI, applied in a range of ways to a range of uses) contributes to our belief that AI is simply too big and too varied to categorically support or condemn. NaNoWriMo's mission is to "provide the structure, community, and encouragement to help people use their voices, achieve creative goals, and build new worlds—on and off the page." We fulfill our mission by supporting the humans doing the writing. Please see this related post that speaks to our overall position on nondiscrimination with respect to approaches to creativity, writer's resources, and personal choice.  We made mistakes in our initial expression of this position. We speak to those mistakes in this letter to our community, and we've simplified the language on this page to reflect our core position. 

If you're wondering why Nano's posting all these non-apologies, its because they started this debacle with seven huge sponsors.

Over the course of the last three days, they've gone down to four.

They have literally lost about half their sponsors because of their support of generative ai.

And, as you can see in the "apologies" above, they're still defending their AI stance, by now claiming that their stance is because they were defending poor, hapless AI users from a horde of harassment and bullying from all sides, and they're not a platform that condones bullying! totally! (sarcasm).

[amuseoffyre]

A Purely Selfish Action

I've had the show running in the background while I've been working and this line tripped across my ear and made me realise this is how/why Aziraphale is going to save the world.

He knows the Second Coming is on its way and this time he's front and centre for the ride. The last time it was Armageddon (Antichrist Edition), Crowley appealed to Aziraphale's love of human things to get him on side: food, music, shows, nice wine.

Yes, Aziraphale has other reasons for standing his ground as well, but when it comes down to it, he is selfish. He wants to keep his things and his people safe and comfortable. He likes to be around his people and his things and being promoted to manage the Second Coming has cut him off from all of it. From his bookshop. From his books. From his little part of Soho. From his coffee shops and restaurants and the Ritz. And, most importantly, from Crowley.

There's a lot of mess surrounding their final interaction, both of them speaking at cross-purposes and actively not understanding why the other is doing what they are doing, but there can be no mistake that there is the love there. And I have absolutely zero doubts that the Metatron used Crowley as leverage against Aziraphale in ways we didn't see - there's a reason we were only shown parts of that conversation.

In Aziraphale's mind, if they're on the same side, then Crowley is safe. He's thought that since S1. "Heaven will win, of course". "You were an angel once". When Crowley rejects that, it is precisely a rejection of that - Heaven and angeldom and stepping back into that rut. Crowley makes it crystal clear that he would be happy with just Aziraphale. The love is there, from both sides. Instead of one saying "come away with me" we got the double-whammy "come away with me".

I'm absolutely certain that being stuck back in Heaven is Aziraphale's worst nightmare, especially without his emotional support demon. And the bigger the threat of Armageddon 2.0 grows, the more he realises what he will lose.

I don't doubt that any threat to Crowley will activate every Guardian instinct in that fluffy angel's head. Aziraphale has spent many a happy time letting Crowley rescue him from dangerous situations, but if anyone - anyone - threatens harm to his demon, Aziraphale Will Not Care For It.

I am so here for the territorial fierce Guardian of the Eastern Gate who puts his foot down and says "No, actually, this is my world, that is my city, that is my demon, and you are not destroying them, thank you very much. If you want to get to them you have to go through me and thank you very much for giving me all the powers of the highest of Archangels :)"

[sunshineneedsaplacetokeephernsfw]

Day 9 | Boot humping - Elbert

Kinktober masterlist

Gender-neutral reader (genitals not specified)

Word count: 500

18+, PWP, established relationship, boot humping, clothed sex, minimal editing

You positioned yourself on the toe of his boot. Lowered yourself onto the toe carefully. Stifling a wonton gasp at how it immediately pressed into you just right. You were already throbbing where his boot made contact with you. 

Elbert's eyes were wide. His pupils small as they drank in your form below him. Like he never expected to see you like this. His cheeks flushed pink.

You stared down in focus where his boot met you. Devising the best way to move as you made an experimental thrust. You slid across the material. Dragging against you through your clothes. You gasped and did it again. And again. Your hands grasped onto his leg for leverage.

His eyes were still locked onto you, watching your every movement. His look of surprise slowly replacing with something else. He couldn’t believe you could get off on his boot of all things. Or that you’d want to hump his boot. But the thought sent heat through him. That you needed him that badly. That you were so desperate even this would do. He wanted so badly to hold onto you, but you looked so perfect like this.

Fingers slid under your chin and lifted it up. Forced to look up and meet his gaze. How he stared down at you. His blue eyes darkened with greed.

“Look at me.”

The command was simple, but it made you shiver and down between your legs. You nodded. Fighting the heat in your face to look up at him. Your face was so close to his crotch. You couldn’t tell if you could feel warmth coming off of it, or if that was all you.

You whimper and hump harder. Your grip tightens around his leg and you cling to it. They were so thin, you were almost worried you’d snap them. Pleasure clouded your mind too much to care.

Almost experimentally, he tapped his foot up with you on it. A moan spilled out of your mouth. You hugged onto him tighter and pushed down.  It made him twitch beneath his clothes. He wanted more.

He lifted his foot again, and again. Just enough to rub up against you just right. Enough to keep you moaning over and over. Your hands clung to the fabric of his pants. Your nails dug in. Hugging his leg close as you just let him bounce you. 

“Please. Please, Elbie,” you panted.

Desperately trying, wanting to get off. Begging him. Pleads falling from your lips. Your sex weeped against your underwear.

One final push up and you were cumming. Quivering on top of his boot and cutting off the circulation in his leg. He pet your hair as you came down. Your cheek pressed into his thigh. You nuzzled your forehead into it.

Your eye couldn’t help but catch on his bulge and how it was straining. You smiled.

“Do you want to take care of that?”

“Yes, please,” he answered without missing a beat.

You laughed, and tried to test out your still weakened legs. “One moment.”

[wardenparker]

Down the Rabbit Hole - ch 8

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst​

When Jack accidentally shoots a civilian on a mission he takes on not only the guilt of the man’s death, but inherits his soulmate as well. To you, it’s a dream job with more perks than you can imagine - but for Jack it’s a nightmarish complication. Even more so when he starts to develop feelings.    

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 17.5k Warnings: *Blanket warnings - mentions of deceased spouse, a lot of food and alcohol consumption, family recipes, age gap, cursing.* Angst, revelations, confessions, emotional vulnerability! Oh, and fingering. Summary: Physical and emotional healing is in the cards the day after Jack rescues you from the Rollins boys. Notes: Guys, I’m not going to lie. I just keep crying. Writing, editing, proofing, crying. All day every day.

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15 ~ Epilogue

Exhaustion and an adrenaline crash combine with Ginger’s injection to keep you knocked out all the way back to the campus in Louisville. Six hours is all Ginger said you would need to heal completely and she was right - almost down to the minute. It’s past sunrise outside when you wake up, not that you can see the sun in Ginger’s lab, but when you groan slightly in your sleep and turn your head, the world doesn’t spin the way it had just hours before.

Jack grunts, leaning forward in the seat Ginger had finally relented and put next to the capsule where you were healing. Watchful for any tiny movement, he reaches out to the glass between the two of you with the need to touch you, to reassure you. “Come on sugar, open those pretty eyes for me.”

It isn’t easy to do. The lights are blindingly bright, and you’ve forgotten where you are, causing you to panic immediately before seeing Jack’s face staring back at you outside the pod that you don’t really remember Astrid explaining to you. It only calms you slightly though, seeing him, before guilt and a different kind of fear set in. If Jack is here, and you’re in one of Ginger’s isometric pods, then it wasn’t all just a terrible dream.

“Shhhhh shhhh it’s okay.” The chair scrapes back as he stands. “Ginger, open this fucking thing!” He doesn’t want you to panic and he can see the whites of your eyes already. At least they aren’t filled with blood anymore where vessels had burst. He punches in buttons and yanks on the handle for the door, opening it up. “It’s okay, sugar. You’re safe.”

“You’re here.” Though it’s obvious that you’re questioning why, with your voice so quiet it comes out almost awestruck.

“I’m here, sugar, I’m here.” Jack promises, reaching in and smoothing back your hair gently and cupping your cheek. He hadn’t been able to touch you for six hours, not even hold your hand and it’s burning through him to just reassure himself that you are here and okay. “You did so good, sugar. Hangin’ on. You’re so—” He swallows harshly, remembering how swollen your cheek was. “You did good. I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner.”

“I didn’t tell them anything.” Not even understanding who they were or what they wanted, all you could really go on was that not telling them anything was the only appropriate course of action. Apparently all those spy movies were good for something after all. “I—I promise I didn’t.”

“Doesn’t matter, sugar.” Jack murmurs, kneeling down and looking up at you seriously. “They’re never gonna hurt you again. You don’t hafta worry about that.”

“They wanted you.” That much was abundantly clear. Knowing what you do about Jack, you know they never would have managed to corner him without leverage. And apparently you made excellent leverage. “I’m…” You shudder with tears that won’t come. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Jack frowns, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. It’s me they wanted. They used you to get to me. You were innocent, sugar. I’m sorry you got caught up in something that you shouldn’t have.” He means the feud with the Rollins, not because you’re his soulmate. He’s so fucking guilty because they targeted you. Still unsure of why they decided to try to get into Statesman after all these years. Maybe they had been all along, and the restaurant was the opportunity. Doesn’t matter, they’re dead now.

“I wasn’t wearing the bracelet.” The one he gave you. The one you had faithfully put on your wrist beside the bangle from your little sister. “I was…I was mad…so I took it off…”

“Just means I need to track your earrings.” He jokes, the halfhearted smile that he had attempted sliding off his face when you are staring down at your hands and he sighs softly. “It’s okay, sugar. I— I found your bracelet. The one you dropped. Did you do it on purpose?” He pulls the charm out of his pocket and offers it to you.

“Yeah…” Tired despite feeling better, picking up your hands feels like weightlifting. “I thought…if you realized…you might recognize it.” It was a longshot, but it’s good to know it worked.

“You did perfect, sugar.” Jack’s hands are incredibly gentle, and he takes your wrist and puts the bracelet around it again. Making sure the clasp is secure and then brushing his thumb over it. “There it is, back where it belongs.” Just like you are back near him where you belong.

“Did Ginger…” Here, in her lab, she is Ginger. Her code name seems irreversibly attached to this place. “Did she…I asked her to get rid of everything.” Your hands are free of the nicks and cuts, arms bearing no trace of burns you had gotten all through your career. You’re unmarked. Unattached. So he should be, too.

Jack sighs softly, nodding. “Why did you do it?” He wants to hear you say it. He’ll hear you say that you want nothing to do with him and then he’ll leave you alone. Go work in the New York office or go back out to the field. Just as long as you are safe.

If you were feeling stronger you might have laughed. Or at least snorted. Some derisive sound of disbelief would have been much more intelligent than the way you stare at him in the blinding light of the lab. If he really doesn’t know then he’s an idiot, and if he’s just making you say it for his own satisfaction, then he’s cruel. Either way, you swallow thickly when you look away from him and shut your eyes. “For you.” You tell him honestly, because you don’t have the emotional energy to be mean spirited. “So you can be free.”

So he could be free. Jack swallows slightly and shakes his head. It doesn’t seem like you hate him now although maybe you’re just shellshocked. Shock does weird things to people. “Honey, it doesn’t work like that.” He murmurs softly. “We’re still soulmates.”

“She was your soulmate.” If you could, you’d be sobbing by now. Wracked with them. In agony. You’d be a sniveling, pathetic mess instead of the broken version of yourself you’ve become. “I’m…I don’t fuckin’ know. But at least you can pretend I don’t exist. I know that’s what you want.”

“Sugar, I was— fuck, I was so wrong.” Jack grabs your hands and holds onto them. “I was— I thought I was bein’ disloyal to her memory. Betrayin’ her by having another soulmate. You never did anything wrong. I just— I was scared of how easy it was bein’ around you and how quickly I could—” He cuts himself off, knowing you don’t want to hear about him falling in love with you. You’d never believe it, not after what he’s done to you. “I know I traded my life for yours in a heartbeat and I’d do it again.”

“Why?” In the moment it had made no sense to you, and no clear, shining light has shone on your confusion since then. Hearing Jack agree to take your place without hesitation had flared so much hope, despair, and confusion in your heart that it was like having a chorus of screaming fury in your mind. “I still don’t understand. You could’ve—” He could have let the men kill you. He could have been free of you that way instead and it might have hurt less than believing your soulmate hates you. “Is it just…company policy?”

Jack chokes, hating that you think it’s company policy to not let anything happen to his soulmate. “No sugar…it’s not.” He murmurs softly, knowing this is all his fault. He’s done nothing to make you believe he likes you. “I couldn’t let him hurt you anymore. I would have never let him hurt you if I—” he shakes his head. “If I hadn’t been a goddamn fool.”

He’s clinging to your hands almost desperately, and you could swear you heard his voice crack but it’s just wishful thinking. Even after what you just went through - what you survived - you still find yourself grasping at the impossible fantasy of him someday caring about you. You won’t even go all the way to love anymore. Just as long as he doesn’t hate you, that’s all you’re really asking for. “It’s okay.” The words feel almost alien, but you look over at him and offer him a pinched smile. “You’re a good agent, Jack. And you can go back in the field now. I’m sorry I was stubborn.”

“The field…sugar, someone from my past nearly killed you and you’re talking about me goin’ back to work?” He’s totally bewildered, wondering if you are in shock or denial about the entire damn thing. He knows that Ginger will set you up with the Statesman therapist. “I went to therapy for you.” He blurts out.

“I’m talking about you getting your life back after I—” You started in so quickly that when he blurts out the word ‘therapy’ you turn back to look at him with bewilderment. “What? Why?” Sure you’re both stubborn, but that’s not exactly therapy-worthy.

“After I—” Jack flushes with shame. “After I exploded on you, I – I knew I needed to fix it. Fix me.” He squeezes your hands gently. “You deserve more than a fucked-up soulmate who had his head so far up his ass he couldn’t see if the sun was shinin’.”

“Plenty of people have platonic soulmates.” It’s been a mantra for you for weeks now. Reassuring yourself that the world won’t end if he doesn’t feel the same way about you that you do about him. It’s not going to end your life. It will be okay. That’s what you told yourself, as you tried desperately to shake the blazing sensation in the memory of kissing him months ago. “I just don’t want you to be unhappy anymore, and…and I know you’ve been unhappy.”

“I’ve been unhappy because I want you.” Jack confesses softly. “And I didn’t think I deserved another soulmate because I couldn’t protect Abigail and I felt guilty because I thought it would be like forgettin’ her.”

“You could never forget her. You love her.” But the mere wisp of the idea that he doesn’t hate you? It seems to light you up from the inside out like a lawn ornament. Hope, as powerful and resilient as any other force in the universe, encouraging your heart to try beating again. “Honestly? I’m jealous. I never got to know anything about my first soulmate. But…I never would have asked you to forget her.”

“I can— I can show you his file.” Jack offers quietly. “Everything Statesman has on him. They had to, you know, investigate.”

“Thank you.” It isn’t quite the same, but you squeeze his hands in gratitude and try to remember to breathe. This is a much heavier conversation than you ever thought you would wake up to. “I don’t know what things would have been like with him, but he deserves to be remembered.”

“He seems like he was a good man.” Which made Jack killing him even harder to accept.

“I don’t blame you for protecting yourself.” Since you can’t ever say what you would have done in his position, and since it won’t bring the man back in the first place, there was no point in hanging on to that anger. It did nothing but make you upset and keep you from moving forward. “Not anymore. I know you didn’t do it on purpose.”

“I’m sorry sugar, I know I’m the worst possible kind of soulmate you could ask for.” Jack lifts a hand to his mouth and kisses the back of it gently. “I’m sorry for denying you the possibility of gettin’ to know him. He worked at the hotel. Where the weddin’ was.”

"That's why you backed out?" That little act of affection, as simple as it is, has you squeezing your mouth shut quickly so you don't sigh wistfully or something equally ridiculous. "If you had told me, I would have understood."

“I—” He shakes his head and sighs. “I’m— it’s been a long time since I’ve had to explain myself, sugar. And I was feelin’ fucking guilty because of - well, that kiss. Because if Diana hadn’t interrupted us, I would have had you spread out on your counter.”

"I think my exact words were that I would have worn a dress if I'd known you'd come by horny." It stings, still, but you have to laugh at yourself. If you don't you'll just...shrivel up somehow. "I would have let you. Happily."

“I know. I know you would have. And it scared me.” Jack presses another kiss to the back of your hand. “Because I know how easy it would be to love you, sugar. So I ran like a damned coward.”

"I stayed away." It's almost like you're begging somehow, pleading to be told that you did the right thing, even though you're fairly certain that there is no right or even better thing to do in this circumstance. You would genuinely be shocked if anyone in the world had ever been in this situation ever before. "I stayed away and I never asked you for anything except friendship. I tried to do what was going to make you happy, I swear."

“Honey, you were never the problem.” Jack assures you, looking up and begging you to believe him. “I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me. Never. You are kind and good and sweet and sexy, I— I fucked up.”

"Hate you?" You huff, shaking your head. Your reaction is instant, disbelieving, and out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. "I love you, you idiot. I've done everything you ever asked no matter how much it hurts because I love you."

Jack closes his eyes and inhales shakily. “Sugar, I don’t deserve your love.” He whispers softly. “I pushed you away, I didn’t protect you, I hurt you.” He opens his eyes and there’s a definite wobble to his chin as he tries to compose himself. “But all I could think about was getting to you. Making sure that the other portions of my soul was safe.” He swallows. “I love you too, sugar. I do.”

There's nothing in his face that tells you he's lying, or that he's forcing himself. If anything, he looks...relieved. Your eyes roam every minute expression you can see, trying to digest the situation and realizing that you might both have come around to this in the most monumentally dramatic and fucked up way possible - but that you still both came around to it. Whether that's the soulmate connection or the threat of almost losing each other making you be honest with yourselves, you can't ever know. "Really?"

“Really.” Jack bends down and kisses your hand again, one and then the other. Inching closer to you from his position on the floor in front of you. It’s not something he would do for anyone but he had meant it when he said he would grovel. “It’s why I ran, why I fought it so hard. Because I knew. I fucking knew that I was going to love you. And I do but I don’t want to fight it anymore.”

"What do you want, then?" Whatever it is, if there's any way for you to give it to him, the way your heart has jumped up into your chest tells you with absolute certainty that you'll give it to him.

“I wanna take you out on a date.” Jack decides, knowing that things need to be taken slow. “I want- would you go to therapy with me?” It surprises him that it comes out of his own mouth, but he’s not going to take it back.

"That's the weirdest damn proposal in history." He's down on his knees asking so formally that the whole thing would just read like a comedy routine if it weren't so serious. "Get up, Jack. And...help me sit up? I feel like an astronaut in this thing and this is an important conversation."

Jack pushes to his knees and helps you sit up. “Slowly— you can feel a little dizzy when you’re first gettin’ out of one of these.” He knows that firsthand.

He's completely right, annoyingly so, and you cling to his hand for a second while you adjust to sitting up again and the dizziness subsides. It reminds you of the time you got vertigo at that theater in Boston years and years ago. "Okay." Once you're feeling a little more like yourself, you breathe out slowly and tilt your head at him. "So...you want to take me on a date...to couples therapy? Do I have that right?"

“No.” Jack chuckles, shaking his head and rolling his shoulders down. “I’d like you to go out on a date with me. But then I’d also like to attend a couple’s therapy session with you. To work out the problems between us. To let you get out your issues and better explain mine.” He shrugs. “I don’t want to hurt you again.”

"Our issues aren't a little..." You cringe slightly. "Classified? Unless...Statesman probably has a therapist on staff, doesn't it?"

“They do.” Jack nods. “It’s the one that I saw before I – when I was such an ass to you. Got my tail handed to me for that.” He confesses, embarrassed at his behavior.

"Jack..." His hand is still in yours from helping you sit up, and you hold onto it a little harder out of nerves. "I don't want you to do this just because of what happened. But if you actually want to give us a chance?" You might just be able to muster some tears if he actually wants to be with you. Joy instead of sadness or fear. "Then my answer is going to be yes every time."

“I was watchin’ your cabin.” Jack murmurs softly. “Waitin’ for you to come out so I could talk to you. Apologize and ask if you would have dinner with me. To let me try to make it up to you.”

"Yes." It's as simple as that, as far as the request goes, and you rub your thumb gently over the back of his hand. "Anytime, anywhere."

Even though he’s relieved that you would be willing to entertain the idea of stepping out with him, Jack chuckles. “I don’t deserve you, sugar. At all.” He promises, staring into your eyes and wondering how you can be willing to do that after being beaten because of him. “Is there anything you want to know? Right now? About— what happened?”

“I don’t understand most of it,” you admit, wishing you could live in the glow of Jack’s willingness to give you a try but knowing that questions and answers will be less traumatic now than they would be down the line. Letting worries or wonderings fester won’t help either of you in the long run. “He liked to hear himself talk, so there was a lot that he said that I didn’t understand. But…who was he? Just someone from your past?”

Jack sighs, lifting a hand and smoothing your hair back again. “Do you want me to tell you here, or do you want to go home? Curl up with a hot toddy?” He offers softly. He knows your throat doesn’t hurt anymore, but it might be more comfortable than in Ginger’s lab.

“Will you ask Ginger if it’s okay for me to leave?” Going home and curling up with Jack sounds monumental, but you’ve never been one to go against a doctor’s advice. If she says you need to stay put, you’ll keep sitting here. Although the things you’d do for a shower and some clean clothes are pretty extensive.

"Ging?" Jack knows that Ginger is going to respond immediately when he presses the button on his watch.

"Yes Jack?" The answer comes through the speaker and allows you to hear her as well.

"Can I take her home?" He asks, keeping a hold on your hand and giving you a small smile.

"All the injuries are healed; she is okay to go home but I do want to follow up tomorrow after she's rested and get her scheduled with Dr. Masters." She tells Jack before he addresses you. "I want you to rest. Don't go into the restaurant today. Or tomorrow. Your sous chef is taking care of everything and your family has all been assured that you are okay. We are sending the jet for them to come see for themselves tomorrow. I managed to hold them off until then."

“What did you tell them?” Knowing your family, they would have demanded details. A journalist mother and a nosy father are not the kind of people that take ‘no’ for an answer or accept vague assurances.

“That you had been involved in a corporate espionage ordeal and the ATF was in charge for now.” The slight misuse of government names had proved ideal to get them to back off.

“My father is going to be making rum runner jokes for a year once he sees I’m okay.” You laugh, shaking your head and relishing the warmth of Jack’s hand still firmly in yours. As much as you want to resume your normal life and just put your head down at work, you know they’re right. You need rest and distance. At least the rest of your staff is excellent - Tripp Rollins notwithstanding. “Okay. Home, then. Home to rest.” Your eyes move to Jack and find him watching you intently. “And to talk a little bit more.”

Jack nods, helping you stand up and if he didn’t think you would yell at him, he would just pick you up and carry you. The clothes you had been in were ruined and cut off of you, so you are now in just a clean set of scrubs that were used when the lab gets messy. “We’ll get you home and I promise we will talk about whatever you want for as long as you want.”

“And maybe eat something?” The smile you shoot him is sheepish, but you’re just starting to realize how hungry you are. “I think the last time I ate anything was days ago.”

“Shit, yeah. I’ll— I’ll make you something.” Jack promises, hating how you’ve been treated. They could have fucking fed you.

“We’ll manage.” You’re not about to let go of him, but you do feel okay other than being tired. Jack walks you through the building, holding every door and helping you down every step, and you have a feeling that if he could he’d have just carried you all the way to the Bronco to make sure not so much as a pebble even got in your way. Once he has you settled in the truck it takes no time at all to get back to your neighborhood, and you sigh in quiet relief to see your little house again.

“Sorry I went inside.” Jack moves the lever into park and looks over at you once he’s parked beside your cabin, his Bronco tucked in next to the little car that was yours. “But I didn’t really go through anything.”

“It’s okay.” Being home again - and you really do think of it as home - is more peaceful and reassuring than you had expected, and you lean on his shoulder for a second. “If you hadn’t, who knows what would have happened to me.”

“I don’t even want to think about that, sugar.” Jack’s voice breaks and he opens the door to the Bronco to step out and help you out of the truck.

“You’re getting soft on me, Jack.” You tease, nudging him a little on the porch. The biometric scanner that opens your door isn’t satisfying like a physical key is, but you appreciate the security of it now more than ever.

“I don’t think you understand how badly I wanted to— how I hated myself for not getting to you sooner. For every second you spent in their gasp.” Jack murmurs, guiding you inside and closing the door behind you. He guides you to the couch and helps you down even though you can walk. “I’ll make you something to eat.” He promises, knowing that you would have plenty in your fridge, even if it was just the makings for some kind of sandwich or omelet.

“I really don’t understand.” The care with which he’s tucked you in on the couch makes you not want to get up again, convinced he’ll just come back to retuck if you fuss. But you twist around a little to be able to watch him in your kitchen, surprised when your chest clenches watching him in your space. Your sanctuary. “I thought you hated me. And even if I understand now why you were acting the way you were, it still…” You bite your lip momentarily and look down at your hands, remembering the scars you had removed for him. “It’s going to take a while for me to process, that’s all.”

“I’m not asking for anything, sugar.” Jack promises you. “Take all the time you need.” He opens the fridge and hums when he sees all the options and looks over at you. “What are you feeling like eatin’? You want some tea? Or that hot toddy I promised you?”

“A hot toddy sounds good.” Deciding that you don’t care what time of day it is, you nod. Surely being a victim of kidnapping disqualifies you from petty things like waiting until the afternoon to drink. “I’m pretty sure there’s leftovers in there from the night before I left. Probably enough for two, if you’re into reheated chicken pot pie for breakfast.”

“How about some chicken pot pie and some garlic bread?” He asks, finding half a loaf of French bread on the counter. “Unless you want me to make you an omelet? I’m not as good as you are, but I won’t kill ya with my cookin’.”

“Good garlic bread is worth its weight in gold.” Even the sound of it has you salivating and your stomach rumbling. “Let’s use the leftovers. I’d hate for them to waste.” You’re tempted to suggest omelets for dinner - one of your favorite comfort meals - but don’t want to presume that he’ll be spending the entire day with you.

"Okay. I'm going to use this garlic you've got in the fridge." The pot of garlic confit is only recognizable because Abigail craved it while she was in her second trimester. She would slather it on everything, making Jack joke that at least they knew she wasn't carrying a vampire. He chuckles to himself as he pulls it out along with a hunk of cheese to grate over the top.

“I have a feeling that if I offer to help I’m going to get a dirty look, otherwise I’d be in there with you.” It’s equal parts soothing and wrenching to watch him, and if you were feeling a little saucier you’d probably be focused on his ass as he moves around your kitchen.

"You're gonna sit your pretty little ass right there and let me take care of you." Jack warns, raising a brow at you before he flips the kettle on to boil water for your tea. "I was helpless when you were unconscious. All I could fuckin' do was hold you and pet your damn hair. Now I can make sure you're okay."

“You stayed with me?” After everything he’s said today, you’re not really sure why that surprises you. But reconciling Jack’s apparent true feelings for you to how he’s acted around you for the last few weeks isn’t exactly easy.

"Haven't left your side since gettin' out of that fuckin' warehouse." Jack admits, not looking over at you and instead focusing on mixing the garlic confit with butter to spread onto the soft interior of the bread so he can toast it.

“Shit…” The curse is soft under your breath, but it comes with a shake of your head and a fond smile that he can’t see. “We really have a lot to talk about, don’t we?”

"We do and I guess that we should start at the beginnin'." Jack sighs, knowing that telling the story of his background would be easier while he's concentrating on something other than talking. It's not something he enjoys rehashing. "The Rollins boys and I have a history that is long convoluted. My family and his, settled into the same valley in the 1800s and started ranches."

“Hatfield and McCoy style shit?” It’s the first set of names that comes to mind with the whole ‘blood feud’ thing, which is certainly what all of the crazy shouting had sounded like.

"Kinda....'cept my family didn't engage in the crazy. It started as a land dispute. Which I'm sure was violent back then. But..." He shakes his head. "It seems like they've always had a few screws loose. And when our ranch was surviving when theirs was goin' under, it seems to make the grudge even worse."

“I don’t even know where you’re from.” It seems to occur to you out of nowhere, even as you watch him studiously avoid looking at you while he cooks. “I mean I would have guessed Southern, but I’m not exactly an ace with accents. You could be from Alaska for all I know.”

"I'm from Montana, but I've picked up more of a twang since I've been here." He tells you with a small grin. "Settlin' into my surroundings it seems."

“So you’re telling me I’ll be saying y’all in no time?” Small smiles are still warm ones, and you can feel your cheeks burn a little. He’s handsome no matter what, but when he smiles it’s a whole different level. “Go on. I’m sorry I interrupted.”

“Don’t be sorry.” He starts grating the cheese on top of the breath and butter mixture. “Abigail was— I knew she was mine from the playground. We were—hell we were swingin’ and I saw the scar I got from bein’ thrown from my horse and breakin’ my arm when I was nine. But Hank—” Jack shakes his head. “He always wanted what I had. Claiming that he was her soulmate. So we kept things quiet until high school.”

“I heard him claim it.” It was nothing you could have seen, obviously, but you heard every word that passed between the two men in that room. “He faked her scars, didn’t he? To try to pretend?”

“Yeah. Crazy bastard.” He growls, Hank’s confession of being behind Abigail’s death rocketing through him again. “I— we got married after high school. I was gonna run the ranch, take over for my daddy and let him enjoy his golden years. Although the man would have still poked his nose in and gotten up before the sun.” Jack chuckles. “She got pregnant right away. Everyone swearing she was expectin’ on our wedding day, but we actually waited.”

“Oh god…” You barely muffle a gasp. “You were just kids…”

“I’m not that old, sugar.” Jack huffs, turning around and placing the bread into the oven so he can work on heating up the chicken pot pie. “After - after she and the baby died, I took off. Joined the military and tried not to go back. Only went home when they buried my daddy.”

“Military?” That part surprises you a little, but the line from active service to private sector spy probably isn’t that difficult to traverse.

“Had a death wish.” He admits with a shrug. “Didn’t give a damn about anything, especially that fuckin’ valley, so it seemed like a good idea. Champ recruited me from there.”

“For what it’s worth?” You’re sitting up, hands in your lap as you play with the blanket that he spread out over you. “I’m glad that wish never came true.”

“I don’t know about that, sugar.” Jack hums, feeling guilty about all of it. “If it had, you woulda met your original soulmate and wouldn’t have been tortured at the hands of a fuckin’ psycho.”

“And who knows what that might have been like?” You’ve thought it over and thought it over so many times that you feel like you’ve tried to imagine every possibility even if that’s not possible. “Having my little tearoom has been my dream for my whole life and I know for a fact that I got it because of you. What would I have gotten in Boston? Definitely not a big enough paycheck to open my own place, that’s for sure.”

Jack wondered when you were going to bring up why you got your restaurant. “Champ is still thrilled at the idea.” He murmurs. “The word is spreading and Diana is tellin’ everyone comin’ in for tours.”

“Diana’s the one who ‘fessed up,” you admit. “We have lunch together at least twice a week…it’s kind of a ritual now.”

“You deserve it.” Jack insists, his reaction to your food hadn’t been an act. He loved everything you let him try. “Though they do try to make soulmates happy. It’s not easy bein’ with an agent.”

“I do…want to, you know.” Now that you’ve come to it – to the topic. The possibility. It makes you nervous. Something else could happen. Someone else could consider you a target. But…for Jack? You would have died zip tied to that chair for Jack. You had accepted that inevitability. “Be with you, I mean.”

Jack looks up from his task, spooning the chicken pot pies into bowls to heat up and he stares at you for a moment. “I— I want that too.” He confesses softly.

“I know it won’t be perfect.” Slipping out from under the blanket, you stand from the couch to cross the small divide, and you end up smiling at him like a dopey schoolgirl with her first crush from the other side of the kitchen counter. “But I would rather have something imperfect than have to spend another day pretending I’m not in love with you.”

“It’s another reason why I want to do therapy with you.” Jack admits, looking up and smiling at the expression on your face. “I come with a lot of baggage and I’ve hit you with a lot of it, but I don’t want you carryin’ it for me.”

“Don’t worry.” The soft look of love turns to one of teasing so easily. “I think we’ve proven that we’re a lot more likely to fight than to not speak up.”

“I’m tired of fighting.” Jack huffs, shaking his head. “And it’s not worth it when I know for a fact that I’m sunk.”

It’s like your own private miracle to hear him say it, and you inch closer at the counter while he works. “You don’t have to decide any time soon, because I feel like we should probably be slow and steady and all that…all things considered. But if you don’t want to get married again, I’ll understand completely. I’m not trying to take Abigail’s place and we don’t have to say another word about it ever again if you don’t want to. I only want to do what will make both of us happy.”

Jack turns around and shoves the first bowl into the microwave and covers it with a paper towel. “Sugar, I don’t want to count that out.” He tells you as he turns back towards you. “And I don’t think that you are tryin’ to take her place.”

“I just want you to know that I’m not gonna be sitting around here counting days for you to propose, that’s all.” Most soulmates would have been married already, at least from what you’ve seen and heard. The fact that you and Jack have known each other for months and only kissed once is extremely rare. “If we get there, we get there. And if we decide not to, that’s okay, too.”

“We’re kinda in uncharted territory here, aren’t we sugar?” He murmurs, stepping closer to you and sighing. “Second soulmates and tip-toeing around each other.”

“Seems like...” The forgotten tea kettle on the stove hisses angrily, shrieking to life with a shrill whistle that makes both of you cringe and laugh, spoiling the thick tension for now but easing some of the mood in the room.

“Why are you willin’ to forgive and forget?” Jack asks curiously, his turn to learn more about you. “You should hate me.”

“Maybe I should. I don’t know.” Since he hasn’t shooed you back to the couch, you move to pour hot water into the mug he has waiting for you - tea bag and whiskey already at the ready. “But the second you walked into the kitchen that first day Champ was pretending to interview me, you— you just took my breath away. And maybe all the bullshit would make some people pause. Maybe it should make me pause, I don’t know. But it just seems like a test to me now. That first week, getting to know you and spend time with you was everything I wanted. But the universe had to make sure I knew that things wouldn’t be easy, and maybe we’ll have plenty more bumps in the road in the years to come. But at least we know now that we can get past it, ya know?”

“I agree.” Jack murmurs, turning back to check on the garlic bread so he doesn’t burn it.

"I think we got dealt a difficult hand." You shrug, stirring your tea. "It's how we play it that counts."

“Yes it is.” He pulls the garlic bread out and right after that the microwave dings, making him hurry to put it down so he can pull out the bowl and put in the next one.

"I hated dating after I found out you're my soulmate." Studiously avoiding his eyes, you pull forks out of the drawer and plates for garlic bread out of the cupboard. The tray you keep on the counter can easily transport everything into the living room all at once. "Trying to force myself to not think about you was its own special kind of hell."

“Well, it seems like we are more alike than we thought.” Jack admits. “Because I hated you dating. Do you know how many nights I sat on my porch wishing those bastards would leave?”

It pains you to realize that you hurt him even accidentally, but you had been doing what you thought he wanted: moving on, trying to let him live his life, not force a new soulmate on him. If you had known what he was feeling, you never would have done any of it. You would have sat tight and let him work through things until he was ready to talk to you. "Never again." You can promise him that easily. "From now on the only person spending the night is you. Ya know...when we get to that point."

“You were doing what you wanted to, sugar.” Jack brings the bowl over to the countertop and searches for a knife to cut the bread. “I’d rejected you. Didn’t expect you to live like a monk. It just— I couldn’t— I hated that I wasn’t there instead of them and I hated myself for wantin’ that.”

"I was doing what I thought I was supposed to." The bread knife from your block is within arm's reach and you place it gently in front of Jack. "I'm glad to put it behind me."

“Me too.” Jack won’t tell you how many sleepless nights he had because of you, because of the entire situation. It wouldn’t be fair, but you know he wrestled with this ordeal a lot. “Thanks.”

With everything ready, Jack loads up the tray but only lets you carry your mug into the living room. You settle in again, letting the large throw blanket cover both of your laps, and eagerly reach for the garlic bread he made when he seems satisfied that you have everything you need. "Oh, holy shit." The hum turns into a throaty giggle, a pleased sound that comes with an expression so blissful that your eyes have closed on their journey to rolling back in your head. "It's so fucking good."

“I have made a lot of garlic bread in my day.” Jack chuckles, watching you enjoy yourself as you eat something he has made for a change.

“I’ll be calling you up every time I want to make Italian for dinner.” It’s a nice little thought - domestic - and you feel like you ought to be pinching yourself over this reality. One where Jack actually returns your affection.

He hums and nods. “Let me know. Like I said, I became an expert.” He takes a bite of your pot pie and moans at the flavor.

"So." His reaction makes you grin, always pleased when he likes your food. Which is every time, granted, but some things he obviously likes more than others. Your pot pie, apparently, is a big thumbs up. "Do you want to have our first real date tonight, or do you want to wait until after my family visits?"

“That is up to you.” Jack decides. “But you need to rest. You—it was a lot for you to go through. I know agents that could crack in that situation. You deserve a night off.”

"I can't decide if it will be more wildly uncomfortable for them all to be able to interrogate you about your intentions before or after the fact." Knowing that the only thing that could stop your family from being well-meaning but overbearing, you take a sip of your tea and shrug. "We can just not tell them yet. About...what we are to each other."

“You’re my soulmate.” He’s come to accept that, tired of fighting it even though there isn’t a mark on your bodies to distinguish that fact anymore. “I’m not going to hide that from your family.”

"Well, then prepare yourself for childhood stories, endless teasing, and extremely unsubtle hints about how my sister didn't fit into my mother's wedding dress so it's my moral obligation to wear and fulfill her life dream of passing it on." It warms you right from the inside to hear him actually say the words out loud, tingling through you like sparks crackling under your skin.

Jack snorts and shakes his head. “We just have the Daniels family veil.” He tells you. “It’s considered a requirement for any wedding in our family.”

"Then I hope they match." Your head shake matches his, and you both end up smiling a little more sheepishly than before. "My family is great. Don't let me give you the wrong impression or anything. They just get really excited."

It’s strange to think about weddings, but he’s not panicking, so it’s an improvement. “You can tell them whatever you want. I’m actually easy going.” He manages this lie with a straight face.

"Bullshit." You snort, reaching for your garlic bread with a smirk. "I'll tell them the truth, and you just be yourself. Your not-at-all easy going self."

“I’m complicated, but I’m also a professional spy sugar.” He reminds you with a smirk. “It’s a part of the package.”

"I don't mind that you're particular. It's a hell of a lot better than guys who have no opinion about anything and half the time you feel like you're just playing a guessing game trying to figure out if they even care about anything at all." Just being able to sit and talk is more relaxed than you've felt in weeks, even if sometimes it does make you a little jittery. It's the good kind of jittery. Excited.

“What do you want to do?” Jack asks, sitting back and watching you closely. The swelling is gone, the contusions healed, bones mended, but he can see that every time he glances back at you. Never wanting to see it again.

"When we go out?" Go out. With him. On a date. You hope you're hiding your beaming smile well enough behind your drink. "I'm the easy going one, Jack. We could go sit in the backyard and watch the stars and I'd still love it." All you need is for him to be there, but you're afraid that saying it will be too overbearing.

He huffs at you and shakes his head. “That’s not a very good date.” He grumbles at you. “Although it’s a romantic one.”

You tilt your head at him, wondering how many dozens or hundreds of dates he's been on over the years with women he never wanted to spend serious time with. How many times it might have been boring, or he might have wished he had chosen something else altogether. How many times he actually had fun and didn't want to admit it to himself. "What's something you've never done before?" You ask him, wondering if there even is such a thing.

Jack thinks about it for a moment and grins. “Never took a girl up in the Pony Express.” He answers finally. “Always wanted to.”

"You're on." You agree immediately, knowing that he loves that plane and genuinely finding yourself surprised that he's never used it to impress anyone before. That would have been a go-to move if you were him.

He raises his brow and grins at you. “Really? You want to take a ride on the Pony Express?” He asks, shuffling closer.

“Well now you’re making it sound dirty.” The grin on your face as you set down your bowl is pronounced, but you’re not going to pretend you don’t like how excited he is at the prospect. Like a kid getting to show off his favorite toy.

“I mean, it could be dirty.” He grins at you and sends you a small wink. Flirting with you has never been hard and now it seems as natural as breathing.

“And here I was thinking you would want to go slow.” It seems an almost silly thought, since you had been on the receiving end of the mild form of his flirting right when you had first known him.

There is a serious look to his eyes even though the wicked curve of his lips is there. “Sugar, we can go as slow as you want.” He promises.

“I want us to do what feels right for us.” Maybe it’s a cop out, you don’t know. But since you would have happily taken him home with you after that trip to Shootouts the very first day you met, you have an inclination that maybe ‘slow’ isn’t in the cards. “I just don’t want you to feel pressured.” That’s the key.

Jack chuckles and shakes his head. “Sugar, I would have taken you to bed the first night. Especially if I didn’t know who you were to me.” He puts his own bowl down and picks up your hand. “I just don’t wanna make you feel like I’m tryin’ to make up. I want you to feel like I’m here. In this.”

“Then let’s just see what happens naturally.” It’s good to know you’re both on the same page. To know that what you had felt right from the start was mutual and natural. “It might not be slow,” you admit sheepishly. “But it will be what’s right for us.”

“Right now, you need to eat.” Jack squeezes your hand before he lets you go. “Then I want you to take a nap. The hyperbaric chamber wasn’t sleep, it was you healing.”

“You don’t have to babysit me while I’m sleeping.” The offer is made gently, trying to be courteous and not be possessive of his time even though you want to be. “If you sat up with me while I was in that thing, then you need sleep too.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere.” Jack insists, knowing he wouldn’t be able to stand having you out of his sight. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just stretch out on your couch and shut my eyes while you nap.” What he doesn’t say is that he will be checking on you every two minutes for his own peace of mind. The kidnapping had rattled him to the bone and it’s gonna take a while for him to settle down.

“This couch will wreak havoc on your back.” It’s stylish and attractive, and comfortable for sitting, but definitely not a good sleeping space. You found that out in your second week here. “If napping together is too forward of me to mention, you can at least use the guest room.” It doesn’t matter that you desperately want to find out what waking up with him is like. If he’s not comfortable with it, it’s a nonissue.

“No!” Jack jumps at the opportunity to curl around you and protect you while you sleep. “I—I mean, it’s okay if you want to nap together.” He tries to play it off subtly but is probably failing miserably. “I don’t…mind.”

The urge to tease him about it is so strong on the tip of your tongue, but it’s fully overruled by that blossoming, pleased feeling of warmth that unravels through all your limbs. “We’re both adults,” you reason, as though you’re not doing a happy dance and giggling on the inside. “We can survive a nap together, I’m all but certain of it.”

“We’re adults.” Jack nods, pointing at your food. “So finish your food, missy.” He teases. “This old man is tired, and you look like you need some sleep too.”

You roll your eyes at him dramatically but comply, picking up your bowl again to finish off your leftovers quickly. The warmth and calming effect of the hot toddy isn’t lost on you either, and by the time you’re done eating you’re smothering unsubtle yawns behind your hand. He doesn’t even let you load the dishwasher, shooing you upstairs to change into your pjs and get into bed. It seems like Ginger had gotten you cleaned up when they cut away your ruined clothes and got you into the scrubs, but you’ll probably shower after you wake up anyway. Just to feel clean again.

Jack takes his time, going through your home and securing it. Ridiculous, but it makes him feel better. Finally, he’s walking up the stairs, leaving his sports coat tossed over the back of a chair and hovers just outside the door. “Ready, sugar?”

“You’re not getting under these covers with your boots on,” you tell him, aiming for an amused tone and ending up grinning as you pat the empty space beside you with butterflies launching themselves around in your belly. “C’mon Jack. I don’t bite unless given permission.”

Huffing at you, Jack moves closer, toeing off his boots and placing them beside the bed before he looks at you again with his fingers on his belt buckle. “You sure? You want me to get comfortable?”

There’s a part of you that wants to tear that belt buckle open with your damn teeth, but it’s not the loudest part of your brain right now. It’s deeper than anything physical, and that’s the part that makes you hesitate. Honesty, you decide, nodding slowly. “I would feel safer.”

He’ll accept that. Slowly starting to undress as you slip under the covers and settle into your bed. He would feel more comfortable out of the tight jeans and button down, but he leaves his boxers on as he joins you. “Now we can get some sleep.”

It’s about safety, you tell yourself sternly. It doesn’t matter that he’s stripped down and your mouth is practically fucking watering. It doesn’t matter that your threadbare t-shirt and shorts are all that’s between you. It’s about safety. “Yup.” You gulp. “Sleep.”

“Do you mind if I hold you?” Jack asks as he turns towards you. You are tired but still so damn beautiful. “Maybe— I mean, you might feel safer.” He offers. “Knowing that I’m right here?” He will feel better, touching you but it’s your decision.

Mind?! You would have begged for it if necessary. But it’s also just…how you sleep if there’s someone else in the bed with you. “I would have ended up cuddling against you,” you admit, shutting off the light so he doesn’t see the embarrassment on your face. “I’m a cuddly sleeper. Sorry…I should have warned you.”

“That’s good, sugar.” Jack coos, drawing you into his arms with a happy rumble in his chest. Feeling relaxed for the first time since he discovered you were missing. You are safe, healthy (again) and in the protection of his arms. “You just curl into me and sleep as long as you like.”

******

It’s a good four or five hours that you sleep, held fast against his chest and so deeply that when you do toss or turn - the product of nightmares that you’re sure you should think about talking to that therapist about - you end up settling down with his shoulder as your pillow again before too long. The midafternoon sun is shining brightly through your windows when you start to move one last time, shifting lazily as though you’re trying to burrow even deeper into his side.

Jack actually sleeps, cradling you in his arms and feeling your gentle breathing against his hand. Reassuring him that you are safe and secure. Your warmth combines with his and creates a little cocoon under the sheets. Your leg wraps over his hip and he kisses you hair, settling back down and falling back under the sweet waves of sleep.

Even with the nightmares it might qualify as the best nap you’ve ever taken, and you try not to move too much when you finally open your eyes to the sight of Jack looking so peaceful in his sleep. Lips barely parted, skin flush with warmth, and immaculate hair mussed from the pillow, this might be your favorite sight in the whole world. The way it makes your heart swell and clench all at once is a beautiful new sensation. One you want to hang on to for as long as possible.

For his part, Jack is blessed with dreamless sleep. Or maybe it's more that his brain is still fucked up from being shot, he can't be sure but he doesn't dream about seeing you bound to a chair and head covered with a gun to your head, thankfully. He grunts, feeling a slight movement and he starts to stir before tightening his arms around you. "'s okay." He mumbles. "'m here."

“I know.” Taking a chance that the gesture won’t be too forward, you place a kiss on the back of his hand where it holds yours on his chest and revel silently in how good it feels. “Go back to sleep, Jack. Everything’s okay.”

He grunts again and hums, twitching slightly and stretching in the bed with you. "''ou awake?"

“More than you.” You laugh softly, almost more of a single breathy chuckle.

Finally managing to peel one eyeball open to tilt his head down and try to focus on you. "Makin' fun of me?" He huffs when he finally manages to clear the haze of sleep.

“Maybe a little.” The grin that splits your face is beaming, and you don’t care to hide it. “You’re cute when you’re all sleepy.”

It's natural, the way his lips pout, shooting you a narrowed eyed playful glare. "I didn't get any sleep."

“Close your eyes, then.” It’ll keep you from kissing the pout right off of his face if he does, and that might be the only thing that can stop you. “I know you stayed up to keep an eye on me. We can spend today drifting in and out of sleep.”

"Is that what you want to do?" The rasp of his voice is deep, laced with sleep and the need to clear his throat. "Or do you want to get up?"

“Nah.” Shaking your head and nuzzling closer feels like an absolute dream. “I wanna stay right here with you. We’ll order pizza for dinner and I’ll text my mom to see what time they’re flying in tomorrow, but let’s stay in bed.”

Jack grunts and rolls you over to where you are on your side, facing away from him so he can wrap his body around yours. "Then go back to sleep, sugar." He murmurs in your ear.

It’s easy to do just that, letting yourself be absorbed by the comfort and safety of Jack’s broad frame at your back and his steady breathing in your ear. There are no more nightmares, mercifully, just good dreams. Specifically dancing, hips swaying in your sleep like you’re having a premonition of some wonderful date that has yet to happen.

Jack Daniels had always had a healthy sexual appetite and since you’ve been in Kentucky - hell, since he killed your soulmate, he’s been abstaining. So it should surprise no one that he ends up hard as a Texas rock in a heat wave, pressed up against your ass like he is melted into you. Still sound asleep.

It might have been what woke you up. Or it might have been the way your dreams turned to other things with Jack - not just dancing. Either way, the evidence of what brought those thoughts on is pressed snuggly against your ass when you start to stir again hours later. You practically groan at the feeling, realizing that it’s not because he’s moving beside you but because his thick hard on is twitching eagerly against your ass. If you were any kind of decent you would ignore it. You would just take the subtle, unconscious compliment and not say a word later on. Besides, you shouldn’t even be thinking about anything sexual after what you went through over the last two days. But maybe that’s exactly why your body reacts the way it does. The need to feel alive and more like yourself overwhelming you, melding with your attraction to your soulmate and making your hot cunt flood with arousal as you studiously try not to guess how long Jack’s cock is. He’s sound asleep, you tell yourself when you shift a little and he just keeps on dozing. He’s sound asleep and he’ll never know. This is just your secret. That’s what you tell yourself when you crush your eyes shut and slip your hand into your pajama shorts to coat your fingers in slick that will make them glide over your clit so gorgeously.

Jack’s breath huffs against your neck, deep and slow as he sleeps. Groaning quietly as his arm around you tightens. Lost in the best damn sleep he’s gotten in weeks; he sighs softly as his cock throbs.

Being as careful as you can not to move his arm, the tight circles that you rub around your aching clit barely scratch the surface of the deep need that has built up so quickly. If you can manage to get yourself off without jarring him awake it will be a miracle, if he wakes up you'll have to pretend to be waking up and pray he doesn't smell your arousal in the air.

It takes another two seconds before Jack wakes up. A great thing about his training is that he doesn't change anything. His breathing stays the same and there is no movement this time. Allowing him to wake up more alert this time, listening to the sounds you are making.

It takes biting down on your lip to keep from whimpering out loud. To hold in the sighs and whining as tightly as you can. As much as instinct makes you want to drag this out and enjoy it, you have no idea how easily Jack might wake up and you do not want to have to explain that you just couldn't fucking control yourself imagining his thick cock sliding inside of you to throb and pulse in your pussy instead of against the curve of your ass.

You move subtly, softly grinding back as you work your clit. Jack's cock throbs even more and he doesn't want to interrupt you, he wants to take over. The beautiful pants that you are letting out are steadily gaining. Instead of speaking, Jack moves quickly, plunging his hand into your sleep shorts and pushing your fingers away in favor of his.

"Oh my— oh my GOD." The original exclamation of surprise is swept away by a deep moan and breathless pant, the sound finally breaking free of your lips as Jack's calloused fingers replace yours faster than you can blink. Your heart leaps into your throat but doesn't manage to stifle the gasp when he doesn't miss a beat, keeping the pace and pressure of how you touch yourself expertly.

"Imagine my surprise waking up to find you playin' your pretty pussy like it was a fiddle." He coos in your ear, wrapping your arm around your waist and pulling you back against him even more. "Apparently you're a dirty girl, sugar."

"How could I n—not?" You shudder in his arms, grinding back against his hard on shamelessly now that you have such obvious encouragement. "Waking up with you hard as fucking stone."

“’Course I was hard.” Jack rasps in your ear. “Always hard around you, sugar. You should have known that.” He knows that you didn’t know, because he’s been an ass, but with every swipe of his fingers, his cock pulses against your ass. “Drive me fucking crazy.”

"Don't know how you h-hide it," you pant heavily, moaning again when his fingers slip for just a bare second and nearly push inside you. "You wear the tiniest fucking jeans in the world."

Jack chuckles, the sounds vibrating through his chest. “Tucked under the belt, sugar.” He teases, wanting to push his fingers inside you but he doesn’t. He keeps the pressure on your clit.

"Fuck Jack." That thought is going to live rent free in your mind for an extremely long time, and you cling to his arm a little tighter with every firm rotation of his fingers. "Of course you're a fuckin' tease."

“How am I teasin’?” His tone is syrupy sweet and full of mischief, teasing. “I’m givin’ you what you want, aren’t I?” He hums, lips pressed against the shell of your ear and his thumb swooping in to press against that little button while he plunges two thick fingers into you like he had been wanting.

"Fuuuck." The gasp you let out is sharp, keening as you grind your hips down on his fingers shamelessly. Every time you rock back you end up feeling the heat of his cock against you and when you push forward his thumb is pressing against your clit with that perfect amount of extra pressure that makes you want to cry his name so loudly the neighbors will hear. "Your hands are so fucking big."

He chuckles again. “Use ‘em then, sugar.” He croons softly. “Want you to pour that sweet honey of your cunt into my hand.”

With his arm pinning your hands down there's no way you can do anything to help him except continuing to rock your hips, doing your best to ride his fingers like he so gorgeously requested while still giving him some kind of friction to enjoy for himself. What you really want is to strip away the thin fabric between you and find out exactly how thick that cock would feel inside you, but this is already crossing the line into definitely not moving slowly, so you're going to thoroughly enjoy this moment for all it's worth.

This is so wrong right now. Not because of who you are to him or anything. No, Jack’s accepted that. He accepted that the moment he knew that he was going to tear your kidnappers limb from limb for touching a hair on your head. This is because you are freshly healed. He shouldn’t take advantage of you like this when your emotional state is so off kilter. Still, he continues to grunt into your ear, pouring praises in it for you. “Good girl, sugar. I know you can do it. Ride my fingers.”

Good girl, sugar. You shudder, whimpering at how good he feels touching you and how he managed to goddamn guess at your praise kink. Or else it’s a perfect accident, making you cling to him that much tighter as you move. The coil of fire in your belly says you’re so near to your peak that you can practically taste it but the getting there is so sweet.

He can feel your body tensing, priming to explode under his hands. “Come on baby.” He urges you, letting go of your side to snake his hand under your thin shirt to squeeze your breast as he pushes his fingers deep and curls them up in a beckoning motion. Drawing you to your prize. “Cum for me.”

It feels like someone gave him a map of your pussy, letting him find all of your most sensitive points perfectly. When his fingers curl it’s like your whole body locks down. Your back arches against his chest and your cunt clenches down on his fingers, squeezing them tight as your orgasm slams into you with a strangled cry of his name dripping from your lips.

Jack loves it. Loves how you cry out his name. It's hoarse, but not because of your throat being bruised from screaming, but because you are overwhelmed. His cock pulses against your ass and he swears that he would cum if he slipped inside you right now. Instead he concentrates on your pleasure, making you ride out the sensations until you are limp against him.

"Fuck." The deep, throaty giggle that blossoms in the middle of your chest bubbles out of you as you catch your breath, and you bury your face in the pillow momentarily. "I know I was trying not to get caught but I'm really okay with you waking up."

He chuckles in your ear, squeezing your tit one more time before he reluctantly lets go and starts to unwind himself from your body. Easing his hips back so he can calm down. "Happy to help, sugar." He promises.

When he moves away you turn around, a frown painted on your otherwise relaxed face. "You don't want me to take care of you?" It's okay if he doesn't, obviously. Not pushing him into anything clearly includes not pressuring him into any kind of intimacy. But he should never doubt that you want him.

“Sugar— you’re still recovering.” He huffs towards you. “I don’t want to push that on you. I’m okay.”

"I'm okay, honey." You promise him, letting the little pet name warm through you. "When you're ready, I'm ready."

Jack knows that physically, you are probably better than you’ve ever been, but he knows what it’s like to not take a moment after a big ordeal. “Believe me, I want you sugar. That’s not the problem.”

"Then what is?" There's a box of tissues on your bedside table, and reaching for one or two to help him clean up seems kinder than sucking his fingers into your mouth like you want to. If something is bothering him then offering him the chance to open up is the best thing you can do. If he isn't ready to take it, that's up to him.

Jack wonders why you are grabbing tissues, but maybe it's because you don't like the way cum feels between your thighs. His fingers slip into his mouth and he groans at the tangy taste of your juices, imagining drinking them from the source and tasting you in his mustache. "I— I got shot about six months ago. In the head." He tells you quietly.

You barely manage to stifle a groan of your own, watching your slick disappear past his lips before you register what he's saying. "You—in the head?"

"Pointblank." Jack still doesn't remember anything beyond demanding the antidote from Eggsy and then waking up in Ginger's lab a completely different man. The man he had been after Abigail had died and he had gone through his whoring ways – ignoring the hole in his heart. "We have something called 'Alpha gel'. It's what saved my life."

"I'll be sending Ginger an incredibly large 'thank you' basket for that invention." It had seemed almost cartoonish when it was described to you during your tour of the lab after learning the truth about Statesman. "What the hell happened? Was it a mission?"

"It was." Jack sighs softly. "I – we were dealing with that Poppy Adams incident." He tells you, nodding when your eyes widen. "For obvious reasons, I held a very long, very personal grudge against drug dealers, drug users, drug pimpers, all of them." He frowns when he remembers that it hadn't been druggies. It had been Hank Rollins and his personal brand of crazy.

"I'm so sorry, honey." Whatever he's thinking, you'll let him get there in his own time. The fact that he's opening up to you is a very good thing. You just wish there was something more you could say to comfort him.

"That's not the point." Jack shakes his head and frowns more. Knowing that what he might say could possibly change your opinion of him. "After I was healed – in the hyperbaric chamber – I was different." He explains. "I would have never – ever – let my personal feelings get in the way of a mission, but I did. I wasn't thinking fully like myself." He takes a breath and meets your eyes finally. "I almost let everyone in the world who was affected die because of it."

Letting it sink in takes a moment. Working out his meaning until you shift your head on the pillow to find worry in his deep, brown eyes. "You're worried that I'm not myself?"

"You have to admit that you don't exactly know how you were affected in that chamber." Jack murmurs softly. "I wouldn't want you to wake up and realize that you wouldn't touch me. Or feel like I took advantage of you."

"Jack, I promise you didn't take advantage of me." If anything, you were the one pushing the envelope first, but you'll just leave that aside for now. "But if it will reassure you to wait a little while so you can see that I'm still the same me, then I completely respect that." Leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek, you offer him a smile and squeeze his hand for good measure. "But the least myself I've ever felt is these last two months trying to pretend that I didn't want to spend every spare minute with you. This finally feels right."

"Let an old man worry." He gets it, he really does, but he needs to be sure. The feelings that are budding in his chest aren't ones that will be pushed away easily. Losing another soulmate for real might actually kill him this time.

"Alright." You'll concede it for the sake of this brand new whatever you are-ship, but you don't make any moves to get out of bed or even out of his arms. "Let's make sure we go over it with the therapist, then?"

"As soon as we can." Jack promises, knowing that he wants nothing more than to slide into you right now and make both of you happy, but he needs to do the right thing by you, for once.

"It might be better if we distract ourselves?" You offer, knowing that the proximity of him and knowing what he can do with those overly large hands of his is going to make you focus on him alone unless you bring something else into the equation. "I can turn on the tv? Or order dinner if you're hungry? We've slept most of the day away."

"Whatever you want to do, sugar." Jack sends you a wry smile. "I can restrain myself from attacking you and making you scream my name." He teases with a small wink.

"I'm not so sure I have your restraint." A rueful shrug of your shoulders is the best you can do while you try to wipe the sheepish grin off your face, but you grab the television remote for the flat screen in your bedroom and turn on a movie channel on low for background noise.

"Are you saying you would have your wicked way with me?" Jack sounds scandalized but the grin on his face is undeniable. Mischievous and spread from ear to ear.

"Not without your eager consent." When you settle back down there's a smirk on your face that you try twisting into a dramatic frown, but it just doesn't work at all and you end up huffing a laugh. "Wanted you since the second I laid eyes on you. But I can wait."

"Believe me, sugar. I think you have more than enough proof that I want you." He glances meaningfully down between you and chuckles himself. "I just want to do right by you, for once."

"Which is why I turned on the tv." It would be completely awful of you to push, but you settle down again against his shoulder and pick up your phone from the bedside table. "And find out what time my family is getting here tomorrow. Distractions, so I don't take a peek under the blanket."

Jack snorts and shakes his head at you. "You can look all you want." It's fun to tease you, and he knows that things are going to progress faster than he would probably want, but that's okay.

"Not if you want me to keep my tongue to myself." You throw him the same kind of wink he used to aim at you when you first met and pull up the family text thread on your phone. There's been plenty of activity in these texts over the last few days but you ignore the worried and panicked messages for now. You don't have the stomach to read them right now.

"They are going to fuss over you." He reminds you. "Just like I'm fussing over you now."

"They'll see that I'm okay." There is no reason to involve your family in anything that happened in that warehouse in Brooklyn, and you're certainly not going to describe any of it to your siblings, so you'll probably keep the nightmares and any future possible PTSD bullshit under your hat as well. "I don't want them to worry about things they can't have helped or changed," you explain, when his brow furrows slightly. "I think...I might see the Statesman therapist on my own, too. For a little while at least. Just...to make sure I work through everything that happened properly. Pretending it wasn't a big deal isn't healthy."

"That's a good idea." Jack can firmly get behind it, knowing it will be good for you to talk it out with someone who had no part in what happened. You can talk to him, but he will always have a biased slant on you, so it is best you work with someone professionally.

"Turns out my soulmate has a few of those." Smiling when you put down your phone, you slip your hand into his easily.

"I'm glad you think so." Jack huffs playfully, squeezing your hand and giving you a soft smile.

"Well it was a damn good way to wake up from a nap, and you picked out the most beautiful dress I've ever worn in my life. So that's at least three excellent ideas you've had, counting therapy." Lifting his hand to your lips lets you leave a soft kiss there, and you revel in the ease of just being with him like this.

It's almost laughingly easy how this thing seems to flow between you when he's not fighting it. Making him shake his head at the irony of it all. "Sounds like I need to suggest orderin' pizza now, to make it four." He teases, remembering how you had mentioned wanting a pie later on.

You grin, letting the playful tone of his words warm you through until you giggle quietly and pick your phone back up again. "Do you have a favorite place to order from?"

"There's a secret place. Hole in the wall. It's called Tony's pizza shop. Best fuckin' New York pizza outside of the five boroughs." Jack groans. "Guy moved down from the city and I swear it's the only reason I don't have pizza flown in on the Statesman jet."

"Tony's it is." Handing your phone over so he can make the call feels as natural and low-key domestic as just lying in bed together could possibly be. "Whatever your favorite thing is from there, that's what we'll have for dinner."

"Porcini and truffle pizza coming up." Jack hums as he dials the number he knows by heart and waits for it to connect.

“Thanks for calling Tony’s.” The underwhelmed sounding teenager on the other end of the call smacks his gum into the receiver. “Pickup or delivery?”

"Delivery." Jack declares, rattling off the address of your cabin on the Statesman property and he looks over at you. "Can I get a medium porcini and truffle...and, uh, you got any special pies?" He asks, knowing that Tony was always creating something in that pizza oven of his. Feeling like you would enjoy the man, what with your own culinary creativity.

“Special of the day is the shakshuka pie with lamb sausage and a fried egg and fresh herbs on top.” The teenager reports, trying not to sound like he’s drooling over the phone. “It’s absolutely killer.”

It sounds like it would be right up your alley and Jack nods. “Lemme get one of those too.” He decides.

“Sure thing, Mr. Daniels.” It’s not like Jack isn’t a regular customer. Every employee there knows his voice after just a couple of words. “That’ll be thirty minutes. You want it on your tab?”

"Sure thing kid." Jack grins. "Tell the driver that if they get it here in twenty, it's a double tip." He promises, disconnecting the call after the boy agrees and waggles his brows at you. "Pizza'll be here in seventeen minutes."

Instead of sinking into him for a kiss like you want to – despite the fact that his fingers were inside you twenty minutes ago – you just smile and take your phone back to see if your mother has texted about their flight. “What kind of specialty did they have?” You ask, genuinely curious as to what passes for specialty or experimental flavors around here. If you were home you’d be fighting with your dad not to order clams or something equally bizarre.

“Shakshuka?” He asks, not quite sure what that means. “Lamb sausage with fried eggs and herbs?” He shrugs. “I just know if Tony sells it, it’s worth eating.”

“Ohhhhh I love shakshuka, that sounds amazing.” You’re instantly in a state of near-drooling that can normally only be achieved by sweets or a very attractive and usually naked man. “It’s basically a spicy Middle Eastern tomato sauce that sometimes has meat in it but can be a really killer vegetarian meal. You crack eggs into it and bake them like that to dip bread in.” A small, proud smile graces your lips but it’s just the warmth in your chest filling again. “If you like it, I’ll make you my version some morning for breakfast.”

“Sounds delicious.” Jack has always loved spicy meals anyway, though he might have to have an antacid now after dinner. Getting older changes things. “I think you’ll love Tony’s.”

“I hope so.” He has good taste, generally speaking, so you aren’t worried. Instead you lay back against your pillows and tap out a quick reply to your mother before putting your phone away. “My family are landing at noon tomorrow. Mom says Champ offered to send the jet for them, so they’re coming straight here. No airport trip.”

“I figured he would send the jet.” Jack hums. “Plus they have to get the Pony Express back.”

"And it looks like my brother-in-law is staying behind with the kids, so you'll be spared diaper changes while they're here." Who knows if he minds or not. If being around little kids still reminds him of his son. You wouldn't blame him if it did. "I say it like that, but I love them. My siblings are my best friends in the world."

“Why are the littles staying behind?” Jack asks, frowning slightly. “Between my cabin and yours, there should be enough room for everyone.”

"If you want to meet everybody at once, I can tell them to come." Anybody else might have considered it a blessing to be able to only meet a portion of your loud, enthusiastic family the first time, but Jack looks positively offended that they aren't all descending on Louisville en masse. "They know I only have one guest room here, so they probably figured there wasn't enough room. I don't...you don't have to give up your space to my family, Jack. I can't ask you to do that."

"I don't mind." Jack shakes his head and twists to look at you fully. "You deserve to have all of your family here. I'm sure they all want to be here." He sends you a half smile. "Family comes first, sugar. If I need to bunk somewhere else, I can - but you tell all of them to come."

"There aren't so many of them that we'd run you out of your own home." That would be unforgivable in your opinion, and you're fairly certain your grandma Jane's spirit would rise up and smack you upside the head for it, as well. "Champ's sent an email that I'm not supposed to go back to work at all this week. Only doctor's appointments and spending time with my family. So I promise I'll keep them busy. You'll only have to spend time with us when you choose to."

Jack snorts and gives you a shrug. "I can make myself scarce sugar, you don't have to make it seem like it would be a blessin'." He promises, sure that once you explain how he had treated you, he wouldn't be well liked by your family anyway.

"That's not when I meant." Embarrassment flushes hot in your cheeks and you sink under the covers. "I would love for you to spend time with us. Time to get to know my family and time that you and I can spend getting to know each other better. I'm just apparently more paranoid about you feeling forced into anything than I thought I was."

"How 'bout this?" He poses seriously, sliding down to where he was once again eye level with you. "You tell me where to be and when to be there and I'll be on time." He offers, sending you a small wink. "Plus, I have a bigger kitchen and three spare bedrooms."

"If you let me use your kitchen I might never leave." It's a joke, of course it is, but it still makes you smile and you shift forward on your pillow until you're almost nose to nose. "Thank you, Jack. You have no idea how much it means to me."

"It's not a problem, sugar." Jack loves the way you light up at the prospect of having your entire family around you and he wants to encourage it. "You can always bunk with me to make another bed available if needed." He teases, winking at you playfully.

"Sure," you huff playfully, adding a dramatic eye roll to make him laugh. "If you wanna see how really little self restraint I really have, I will absolutely share a bed with you."

Chuckling, Jack reaches out and cups your cheek. "You mean you couldn't restrain yourself with me walkin' around my room naked as a jaybird?"

"No. Absolutely not. No way in hell." The answer is immediate and sure, and you shake your head emphatically. "I can barely restrain myself now and you've already gotten me off once today."

Jack's grin blooms on his face and he leans in, raising a brow at you. "Sounds like you're needin' to get to the therapist then, sugar." He's not above a little blackmail to make sure you get the help you need to process everything. So that you don't end up as fucked up as he is.

"Ugggggh." Groaning even more dramatically this time, you practically wail in hysterics that you can barely get through without giggling at yourself. Throwing one arm over your eyes, you toss yourself onto your back and sigh as loudly as you can. "Why did I have to get the only man in the world who wants a healthy, lasting relationship and won't just tear my clothes off?"

That makes Jack stare at you for a moment, realizing what you are saying is true. Normally he would be that man, but he’s not. Just like with Abigail, he is taking it slow. He hums. “Sorry sugar, clothes ripping will happen later.”

"Just as long as it happens eventually." You tease, peeking out from behind your hand and grinning at him. "Physical strength is a turn-on and I will never deny it."

“Is it?” He contemplates that seriously and smirks. “So sweeping you off your feet literally will get me into your panties?” He asks, arching an eyebrow at you as he asks, as if there would be any answer other than ‘yes’.”

"Since you've already technically been in my panties, I don't see the harm in being honest." It's easy. So easy with him. Even as much as you've enjoyed other men's company, no one has ever made you feel quite the way that Jack does on a basic level. It's almost its own kind of therapy right here in bed. "The night we went to the bar together?" You raise an eyebrow right back at him. "I touched myself thinking about that barfight for days."

“I might have been showin’ off just a bit.” Jack admits, smirking slightly. “Believe me, I wanted to show off, fuck– I probably could have bent you over the hood of the Bronco in the parking lot, couldn’t I?”

The groan that elicits from you is pitiful, as much a whimper as anything else as you squeeze your thighs together and consider yourself lucky that he can't see you doing it. "Yeah," you admit, not even upset about it for a second. "In a heartbeat."

“Hmmm.” Jack grunts, the conversation not helping his throbbing cock, but he is learning about his soulmate. “Exhibitionist.” He intones solemnly.

"Only a couple of times." It's barely a defense, and you bite your lip for a second while you contemplate how much to tell him. "Three times grand total." He stares at you for a moment in shock before he throws his head back and laughs. A deep belly jiggling laugh that echoes through the room. "What?" Your cheeks burn all over again and his contagious laughter takes you right along with it. "I'm just being honest!"

“Nothing.” He shakes his head, not wanting you to think that he’s making fun of you. “It’s a good thing, I promise.”

"Have we got matching kinks or something?" It's one of those things that people with soulmates - like your sister - talk about all the time. That sexual compatibility is supposed to be part of the package.

“I have no problem with anywhere, anytime.” He assures you with a wink.

Saved from whatever dramatic groan your mind is about to make, your ringtone cuts through the boisterous tone of the room and you glance at the unsaved number before realizing you shouldn’t send it to voicemail. “That must be dinner. You want me to throw on my robe and go down while you answer, or the other way around?”

“I’ll go get the food.” Jack shuffles out of the bed and grabs his pants so he can slide them on and take his wallet out to pay.

Meeting him downstairs means throwing a sweatshirt over your thin t-shirt, and you're just walking down the stairs when he shuts the door with two pizza boxes in his hand. "I'll grab drinks and plates if you want to bring those into the living room."

“So you aren’t an eat in bed type of girl?” He asks, smirking slightly at the very messy look that you have going for you. It’s cute and he can imagine you cooking just like this.

"Snacks or a drink, maybe. But not so much for meals." You do crack a grin, though, reaching the floor and wiggling your toes on the cool wood floor. "And washing tomato sauce or oil out of my bedsheets doesn't sound like fun."

“No, it doesn’t.” Jack has to admit that and the special pie sounds like it could potentially be messy. He brings the pizzas into the living room and decides that the floor seems like a good spot to eat, pushing the coffee table back to make more room and layering throw pillows to cushion your backs.

A moment later, you reappear with beer bottles, plates, and napkins, and grin at the little sitting area he’s set up. “Do you want to watch a movie while we eat?” It’s the sort of low key, comfortable, domestic little thing that you honestly just love and the fact that you didn’t suggest it at all makes it even sweeter.

Jack watches as your grin gets wider and you nod. Feeling like he’s making the right choices and he frowns for just a second. “Is–” He sighs and tries again. “Would you be offended if I talked about her?” He asks quietly.

“Honey, of course not.” You drop down amongst the pillows he’s set up and reach for his hand immediately. “She’s important to you. If you ever want to talk about her or share a memory or something, then I want to hear it.” It’s such a peculiar situation and - as far as you know you’re the only two who have ever been in it. There is no blueprint for behavior here. The best you can do is go with your instincts and your instincts are always for honesty.

“I just– I don’t want to upset you if I mention something about her, or things we used to do together.” He explains. “I was going to tell you how when we were younger, these were our ‘dates’. Curled up on the floor watching movies and eatin’ junk. When I wasn’t workin’, of course.”

“I’m not going to be upset if you want to share with me.” Holding his hand in both of yours, you press a kiss to his palm, somehow still afraid that kissing his lips could lead to losing that careful thread of control. “If it gets to be too much, or overwhelming somehow, I promise I’ll tell you.”

“Please.” Jack begs softly. “I don’t–I don’t want her to be a taboo subject, but I also don’t want you to feel like I’m hanging on to a ghost.” It might be the first time he’s ever said those words out loud before and they are profound for him.

“Jack…” One of your hands leaves his to cup his cheek, finding so much sadness in his eyes when you meet them. “I think you loved her very much, and she was taken from you unfairly. You deserve to be able to remember and talk about her. Hell, I’ll probably talk about my exes sometimes and they didn’t mean anywhere near as much to me. We’re just going to have to check in with each other sometimes; that’s all. Just to make sure we’re balanced and equal and all that.”

He nods after a moment, feeling emotional and instead of pushing it down or letting it fester inside him, he faces it. “He was gonna take you too, sugar.” Jack’s face turns deadly at the thought. “I couldn’t let that happen. Not twice.”

“I didn’t think you would come.” There’s shame in it, you can admit that, and you drop your hand back into your lap as your eyes fall away from his face. “I still thought you hated me…and I didn’t know how you ever could have found me anyway…”

“Never.” Jack promises you. “I’ve never hated you and I will always come for you. No matter what.” It’s easy to promise that to you now, but he wants you to know that no matter what ever happens, he will protect you with his life.

“It’s done now.” It was literally just yesterday, but the part of you that’s trying to cope with how it made you feel is analyzing it like it was a decade ago or more. “It’s done and you’re here and that’s what matters.”

He stares at you for a moment and then snorts. “Hell, sugar. I think you’re better than some of our agents. Myself included.”

“I definitely prefer my kitchen.” His laughter is contagious, though, and you end up cracking a half-smile. “Gives me a hell of a lot of respect for what you do though. Shit.”

“Never been scared on a mission before.” Jack admits. “This time, my heart was in my throat the whole fuckin’ time.”

"We're both okay." You promise him softly. "We apparently just needed some extremely dramatic bullshit to happen for us to get our heads out of our stubborn asses and talk to each other."

“I don’t like you thinkin’ that I wouldn’t have come for you.” He murmurs, reaching out and taking your chin in his hand. “I’d die for you, sugar. I promise.”

"I know that now." Then, just a day ago, you hadn't had any reason to think that things would ever take a turn for the positive between you. "But I'm hoping we never have to put that to the test."

“Me too.” Today doesn’t need to be weighed down by the maybes or what ifs. Jack smirks and nods towards the pizzas. “You ready to have the best pie you’ve ever put in your mouth?” It’s a bold claim, but he knows this pizza backs it up.

"You talk a big game Daniels." Plates, drinks, napkins, and slices are distributed and you settle on just leaving the television on whatever channel it's on and heckling the movie that's playing if you decide you don't like it. Your first bite of the mushroom and truffle pizza is accompanied by such a groan that anybody else would have thought that Jack had his hand in your shorts again. "Holy shit you weren't kidding."

He chuckles, not even denying how sexy that noise you make is. “Told you.” He hums. “Best fuckin’ pizza. And it’s fresh, every day that man is makin’ his mozzarella. Or at least that’s what he told me.”

“I’m a convert,” you declare about four bites later when you can finally force yourself to come up for air. Everything is perfectly balanced and gorgeously fresh and if this isn’t the best pizza you’ve had in years you’ll eat your hat instead.

“Knew you would be.” Jack grins, his own slice already halfway devoured. “Tony is why I knew you would do well here. The artistic food setting is starting to grow.”

"I can't believe there's only a couple of weeks left before the restaurant opens." It feels like every possible second has been spent in that kitchen since you got here, but only in the best possible way. Sometimes it's hard to remember that you haven't actually been serving customers this whole time. But that is mostly because there is such a handful of fellow Statesman employees who have been steadily dropping by to act as your taste testers on their lunch breaks.

“Do you need anything?” Jack asks you seriously. “I know that Champ has given you carte blanche to design and set it up like you’ve wanted, but is there anything we are missing?” He’s already talked to Champ about flying your family down again for the opening. It’s only fair they witness the celebration of your achievements.

"A new line cook for the savory side." You blow out a regretful sigh. "I'll have to go back through the resumes I kept on file and bring in some more interviews, but other than that?" A slight shrug of your shoulders is one thing, but you offer Jack a small smile. "I just really want my favorite people to be there. The opening night party is all reservations and almost every seat is sold already. So...I wasn't going to ask, obviously, but...do you want to be there? I mean I want you to be, but you don't have to."

“I will be there.” Jack rolls his eyes and grins. “Of course I’m going to be there. You think I’m missing out on your cookin’?” He tuts and shakes his head in disappointment. “Besides…I’ve already got the jet reserved for your family to come in again for the openin’.”

"You do not?" The squeal that accompanies the question is shattering, and you throw your arms around his neck so carefully so the residue from pizza on your fingertips won't stain his shirt. "Honey, that's so fucking sweet of you, oh my god..." No one had come down to visit yet specifically because of the cost of airfare, because you had talked it through with your mother a month ago and decided to split the cost of the five round-trip fares plus hotel rooms that would be needed for them to come to the opening. Even with everyone doing well, the cost of existing in the world today is high. With your face buried in the crook of Jack's neck, you sniffle quietly. "You're incredible, you know that?"

Jack chuckles, basking in your adoration and kisses the side of your head. “I have a lot to make up for, sugar.” He murmurs softly. “But this was something I had done before I came to my senses. Your family should be here. It’s not every day you open your own restaurant.”

"If I do this right, this will be the last opening night of my career, and the only one I've ever been chef for." You squeeze him tightly before sitting back, knowing that your face reads nothing but awe and excitement. The opening night party is set to be an incredibly special event and you've been looking forward to it with equal parts anxiety and excitement.

“You will do amazing.” Jack promises. “We decided that we are cracking open a barrel of the whiskey to go along with it. If you want, of course.”

"It will be perfect." To a certain degree, it has to be. Your career rides on the success of The Rabbit-Hole, even if you came by it in a sort of round-about way. You have no problem acknowledging the fact that Champ wouldn't keep a failing restaurant open just to appease Jack. "We'll open a barrel as a surprise sneak peak. We're going to have both the afternoon tea menu and the full dinner menu available that night so there will be no shortage of good things to pair it with."

“It’s going to be amazing.” Jack promises you. He looks at the other flavor of pizza. “Ready to try his newest creation?”

"Absolutely." You press a kiss to his cheek before you move away again, and pick up the slice of tomatoey, spicy smelling pizza. The first bite has you moaning again, doing a happy little dance in your seat on the floor beside him. "'S so fuckin good," you mumble happily, grinning while you eat.

Jack grins, watching you eagerly as you eat. “Good to know what I can order on nights where you’re too exhausted to do anything but lay on the couch and let me take care of things.”

"That's some real domestic talk there, Jack." The grin on your face spreads, cheeks warming through, and you put down your half-eaten slice to wipe your hands. "I like it."

“What can I say?” He teases with an exaggerated drawl. “I’m just a simple, traditional man.” He sends you a small wink. “Besides, I like the way you look when you’re flustered and still looking like the cat who got the canary.”

"That's pretty much how I feel." You can admit that fairly easily, and being able to open up to him even a little is such a relief. "I guess I would technically consider myself traditional, too. At least I wanted to be. But life throws you curveballs, ya know?"

Jack nods, frowning slightly since he was the one who hurled the curveballs your way. “I can see that.” He murmurs, wondering if you regret removing your tattoos. Now there is no proof you are soulmates.

"Now, why does that upset you?" As you both sit and eat, the noise of the television fades into the background and you shift your position to face him fully. "I already said that we don't have to push any of that."

“It’s stupid.” Jack shakes his head and gives a small shrug.

"Your feelings aren't stupid." You promise him, frowning slightly yourself.

“I was just thinking about the marks you got removed.” He admits, rolling his eyes at himself. “There’s zero proof we are soulmates now. Beyond us knowing.”

"I know I should have talked to you about it." There's more than a little guilt attached to that decision, especially now that you've talked and decided to explore whatever it is that's between you. "But now you can go back to work. And isn't that a good thing?"

He can’t deny it was what he wanted, but now that he has it, he’s not happy with it. Maybe it’s because it had been meant to cut ties with him visually. He’s a selfish asshole and can confuse himself sometimes. “Yes and no.” Jack huffs, reaching for your hand and taking it. “I’m just– you loved that tattoo and I don’t want you to, hell, regret it.” He tells you. “I’m not making any sense, am I?”

“The situation isn’t exactly cut and dry,” you remind him. “It’s okay to feel conflicted about something complicated.” God knows you do, and you have nothing like his reasons for having such conflicting wants. “Which part upsets you more? That I gave up a piece of art that I loved, or that there’s no proof we’re soulmates anymore?”

Jack sighs, rolling his eyes at himself again. “That there’s no proof.” He admits quietly. “Everyone always wants to see proof.”

“But is there any way to have proof that’s safe?” Given what you’ve just gone through, safety is officially at the top of your list of concerns.

“Not until I come out of the field.” Jack shakes his head sadly. He looks down at his hand. “Used to have a bullseye tattoo right there.” He muses. “Hated having it removed.”

“I’m not asking you to give up your job.” Nothing could be further from your mind, especially with how much he’s been itching to get back to things and how he begged you to remove the tattoo before this. “You love your work, and the fact that I’m sitting here right now is first hand proof that you’re good at it.”

“I…could give it up.” Jack murmurs slowly. He’s made being an agent his entire life because he had nothing beyond that. It wasn’t exactly the case anymore. “I do love it, but…”

“Jack.” You shake your head fiercely, squeezing his hand in yours. “You’re miserable with nothing to do. I’ve only known you for a few months and I know that. Please don’t make any rash decisions?” The fear in your eyes is obvious, and you sigh quietly. Honesty. Honesty. “I don’t want you to give up your work so there can be proof of us and end up resenting or regretting the decision down the line.”

“How about a compromise?” He offers quietly. “The second I’m ready to come out of the field, you put that tattoo back and however many others you want?”

“We’ll talk about it again when you start to think about it.” That is an easy enough promise, and one that you can make sincerely. “You can get your bullseye back, too. But not before you’re ready.”

There’s a moment where the two of you just stare at each other, gazing into each other's eyes and seemingly coming to an agreement. Jack tilts his head once and flashes you a grin. “Yes ma’am.”

______ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @hardc0rehaylz @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101​

DtRH: @haileymorelikestupid @spishsstuff @missmarmaladeth @axshadows @a-gay-cryptid @sgt-morgan @1a-ma1a-su3rt3 @flowers4copper @ghost-timelord @the0racl30fd3lphidos @all-the-way-down-here @bobafvcker @ficsbynight @dinoflower @supernaturalgirl20 @xdaddysprincessxx @bobawh0re @amiee-mitch18 @darkhairedmenrule @heyyimlaynna @strawberry-f4iry @3zm33atzbuss33 @whataghost @cyber666slut @nobody-000 @eddiemunsonsgirlfriendirl @lucciolaraven @powergirlsupremacy @secondsistershelby @dreadmars @androgynoushellscape @soytomatecherry @cheesecake-massacre @mylifeisbasedonashow @idiotickiddo @tomfeltonisbae @maratheidiot22 @im-nada @everybirdfellsilent @deepdarkdelights @brokenwhitegirl384 @ur-honey-child @caseket @copperrose15 @we-could-have-been @valkyries-ride @scarletmunson @strawberriricemilk @ghost-timelord @galactigoos @floridawaters @cutiepie6473 @pinball-vance @theslytherinwriter @scorpioswonder @stankyleg05 @fxdsketches @sad-innit @coffeyorky @1a-ma1a-su3rt3 @starlordsonlywife @aura626 @mistresskei @marv3lwhor3 @sadimusprimee @yourwonderbelle @sgt-morgan @spot116 @milybaby018 @loserk1nks @artfulthoughtswp @aavw @babyrunsforfanfic @faceache111 @midnight-huntress @asimpleraccoonqueen @marki-moo0 @pages89 @rawr-bitches @rebel-fanfare @soooosha @luna-is-out-there @im-sylien @timpletance @certifiedhunter @ellenmunn @littlethief78 @tinalbion @eddy-y @tikibabi @whyidkok @bearcoon1666 @littlebirdsbookshelf @a-gay-cryptid @disaster-ahaha @viridiesa @axshadows @purplerain04 @karmarouge @holycyclehomo @sainteredhood @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @the-wishmonger @theliferuiner @raptorclaw24 @asp1r1ngm1lf @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @st4rl1ght444 @litholithium @tusk89 @youjustneedatherapist @nekodemon73 @iceclaw101 @lightningsface @shakespeareanwannabe @jasminemunson @spideysimpossiblegirl @wannabedaphne @sammus-white @jazzieomega @88dragon06 @ishabull @raquel-rial @tuquoquebrute @hotleaf-juice @dantaku @youokhoney @thisiswhyibleedsstuff @maximumkryptonitegladiator @jediknight122 @gadsgikklesen @movievillainess721 @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @the-strawberrythief @spishsstuff @choppedmugjudgeplaid @haileymorelikestupid @gooddaykate @missredherring @abyssal-zone-stares-back @supernaturalgirl @winterandstars @severewobblerlightdragon @missmarmaladeth @noisynaia @saintbedelia @algressman16 @eaks0710 @mina2000alex @emdraws02 @universallyclodlawyerpainter @rayrayvan @akaleelanie @mishasminion360 @amneris21 @roxypeanut @lunarcatbun 118 @frasmotic @emdraws02 @universallyclodlawyerpainter @rayrayvan @lovelychaos420 @1432690 @no1pornstachefan @thegrimreaperbitch @esmeensheep @izz-ayes-world @kittycatcait219 @loveyou3000tonystark @tintinn16 @igenerallytrynottogiveagoshdarn @motheroftorches @phoenixhalliwell @the-dazzling-urbanite @coffeyorky @trickstersp8 @victorian-cherub @julissadunn @clarysthing @the-girl-that-loves-many-fandoms @mastersurf @theghostofutopia @ncsls0515 @seraphinaivy @hiyorinatsuki @ghostofaboy @yn-hamato @elfwriter1088 @sunnygrey99 @lexinicolenix @lazyemisfandomtrash @curiouskeyboard @qualityearthquakes @spider-284748 @unnecesarysstuff @sgt-morgan @love-affair-with-fandoms @lunarcatbun @kstar770 @kykymarty @supergingerlocks @hell0kittybimb0222 @a-birds-fin @loidforgerishotashell @mythical-writer @ghostshalo @avengersimaginesfan @sccialcasualty @lordecult @petalo-dropsart @i-quite-like-eating-carrots @svudetective @hasta-la-pasta-bb @manicpixiedreamgirly @destinydog @skeppycarnation @anaisweird @critters-beware @fruityforcocoapuffs @linnnniie @spideyromantic @paupeach2024 @faithxyu @fxramir @legomyeggo @jjggdfvvy @hi-my-name-is-riley @kasaikawa @lost-ghost-thats-sleepy @callmegkiddo @2dead2function @generallysleepdeprived   @failingclassesinmygucciglasses @thebeesknees42 @moonmoon007 @wi0na @cilliansangel @lostinsideourminds @angstismydrug @elvenmother @bilibiche @kettlekatie @preschoolispunk @djarinsstuff @generallysleepdeprived @love-affair-with-fandoms @jay-ghostly @wowieitbeme @fanofverymanythings @josephquinnswhore @this-harl0t-shant-be-unalive @djarinsstuff @justherebecausesafarisucks @cedricbitch @rebel-soldat @madisonred88

My Masterlist!

[goldenheart-supremacy]

Nimona AU - How to train your Dragon

@kestrel-wylde I kinda went nuts here...

During a dragon raid, the chief of Berk, Valerin's husband died.

They were both alternating battling dragons and helping their people.

When Valerin found her dead husband's body, she saw that he'd been burned badly.

Then she found that the reason his arms were tucked into himself was because he had been doing his best to protect a small bundle in his arms.

It was a baby. Since his parents seemed to have died in the raid as well, Valerin had decided to take the child under her care and adopted him since she and her husband haven't the chance to conceive yet.

Time skip to the future.

Ballister was an only child to his biological parents but if he ever did have siblings, he would've been considered the 'runt of the litter', as he didn't seem as well built for a Viking child his age.

At least, compared to the other Viking children his age.

Maybe Valerin and Ballister has a better relationship than Stoick and Hiccup did in the start of this AU story.

The conflict for Ballister is getting the village to accept his as the chiefess's scion and future chief.

Maybe when Ballister finds out and starts training Nimona, his reason for wanting to keep the secret is as to not make his reputation worse. [I don't know yet how he ends up injuring her like Hiccup did Toothless in the movie]

I just added my OCs for more character dynamics, like the original team had in the movie but feel free to use them or not or make your own OPs for the AU hahaha 😆

Some dialogue ideas...

Ballister, voiceover as a narrator: [Tomorrow, when training begins, I'm going to prove myself and show that I can stand at par with the others. Aerin Shieldstone, Connor Silverlock, Todd Sureblade, Abigail Swiftfeet, Atticus Valorarm and...]

Ambrosius was running away from some dragons, and he jumped over some barrels as a Zippleback launched a fireball at him.

Ballister, in a dreamily way: [... Ambrosius...]

Avoiding the impact of the blast, Ambrosius used the remaining leverage from jumping over the barrels to backflip away and ended up landing unto Ballister's arms...

Ambrosius, grinning: Good looking out, Bal.

Ambrosius pinches Ballister's cheek affectionately before leaping out of his arms, grabbing his axe and a bucket to see if there's anywhere else he needs to be...

Ambrosius: Look alive, Bal! Let's get rid of these beasts! Ballister, grabbing a sword: Right behind you, Ambs!

Trainer: Behind these doors are just a few of the many species you will learn to fight! The Deadly Nadder! Atticus, mumbling: Speed: eight; Armor: sixteen. Trainer: The Hideous Zippleback! Atticus: Plus eleven stealth times two. Trainer: ...The Monstrous Nightmare! Atticus: Firepower: fifteen. Trainer: The Terrible Terror! Atticus: Attack: eight; Venom: twelve! Trainer: CAN YOU STOP THAT?! Trainer, sighing: And the Gronkle. Atticus, more quietly: Jaw strength: eight. Connor, smirking: Someone's done some advanced reading... Ambrosius, chuckling: Only about a lot, too Atticus, smiling sheepishly: I read the book seven times. Ambrosius and Connor: Wow.

During training with the Gronkle to avoid getting hit...

Aerin, keeping his eyes on the Gronkle's location: Todd, keeping his eyes on Aerin: So, I moved to my parent's basement. Todd: Got some weights in there, you should come over some time to work out. Aerin, barrel rolls away: Todd, calling out to him: You look like you work out!

Then, the Gronkle hits a shot on the spot Todd was standing at...

Aerin and Connor - my OCs, besties Atticus and Abigail - OCs I remembered reading from your fic 'Love At First Fight', I just gave Atticus a temporary last name. Unless, you know, @kestrel-wylde wants to make it final haha I didn't write Abigal yet since I don't know much how to write the character. Atticus is based off the otter knight from the movie, so I kinda headcanon him as someone nerdy with animal facts, so I made him like Fishlegs here.

Edit: Please check out Kestrel's Httyd Nimona AU art!

[elllisaaa]

hello there!! 🫶🏼 first i wanna thank you so much for reading and rb my gunil fic, i appreciate the support truly 🥹

as i saw your hard thoughts are open i’ll let myself rant about yeonjun, he’s my bias from txt and ughhhhh this man, i go crazy every time i see his pretty face

one thing i LOVE about him is his confidence and how he carries himself it’s so attractive !!! i just need him to fuck me SO rough and deep in doggy style i feel his cock in my throat 😣 and i really really need him to talk cocky behind me the entire time, about how good he’s giving it to me and how no one ever has fucked me this good before, and no one else will 🤤 he’s the only one that can make me cum multiple times till i can’t think straight, and he always makes sure that i don’t forget that

oof, sorry if it’s too much, but it’s what he does to me 😭

hiii sweetie !!

thank you so much for supporting me too, and really i'm so happy to have finally found a blog about xh, and you're also feeding my gunil delulu thoughts so it's a win win 🤭 and it's definitely not too much, because i think this man have such an effect on everyone. even if he's not my bias (i'm a soobin girly), i'm still drooling over him, especially those edits with the weeknd starboy... they have me going feral fr ! thanks for the ask !

and you're definitely right, this man is overly confident and it's hella attractrive. but he has every right to be : one look at him is enough to understand why he's so cocky all the time. this man is talented, successful and so, so attractive. everywhere he goes, he has all eyes on him, including yours, and that's the only thing that really matters to him in the end.

his cockiness translates in the bedroom too, because how could he not when he knows that one word from him gets you on your knees in a matter of seconds ?

yeonjun loves to take you from behind, loves to stare at your ass and loves the way your back arch even more to let him reach deeper into you. with every thrust of his hips, the noise of skin colliding was echoing through the room. every time he got home after a show, he had spare energy to lose, and he was also so cocky, spurred by the way you were crying out his name as he pounded your tight cunt.

"that's it pretty girl, scream my name, let everyone hear how much you love it."

another moan escaped you, and yeonjun answered by a low grunt as he sped up his rhythm, fucking you more and more roughly as you let out more whimpers.

"dumb little slut, cannot think of everything beside my cock, huh ?"

he was so full of himself, borderline degrading you but it made you throb around his dick. if it was every other man, you would've been offended, but when it came out of yeonjun mouth, it was almost a compliment.

"fuck, i'm fucking you too well yeah ? that's why you can't talk anymore ?" and you sobbed at his words, tears streaming down your cheeks as you tried to hold on to something. "shh baby, i know it's so good, i know… so greedy, you already cum two times and you still want more ?"

you knew better than not answer him without his permission, so you nobbed your head as best you could in your current position and headspace. you mewled when his fingers digged into the flesh of your sides, using your body as leverage to fuck you even harder.

"that's alright, i know no one has ever fucked you like that before. i know no one could ever fuck you like that, i'm the only one that can make you feel like that."

and he's right, he's always right. he fucks you as if he exactly knew the right timing, the right pressure, the right rhythm to make you fold.

"say it. say that i'm the only one. let everyone hear how good i'm fucking you." your lack of answer earned you a harsh slap on your ass, making you moan even louder. "say it, or you're not cumming." "yes junnie ! only you make me feel like that." "good girl, now you can cum."

your orgasm washed over you as soon as you heard his order, pleasure so intense your vision blurred. your body became limp, and if it wasn't for yeonjun holding your hips up, you would've collapsed on the mattress.

"gonna give my cum to you baby, i know you want it."

you could only whine in response, unable to even shake your head yes or no. overstimulation was stinging, but it hurt so good. and yeonjun knew that, he always knew what to do. when he painted your walls white, and you were reaching your climax again, you definitely knew that yeonjun had ruined you for any other men.

[anguishedlurker]

Sorry, our hands are tied about this!

Prompt "Nocturne fucked up BIG TIME and now needs help from the ghost kid." from kadziduo on ao3/ @duchi-nesten on tumblr! Get phic phought :) Edit: Functioning Ao3 link now that I have a working brain tonight

~

“Fix it. Before I do” Was all Clockwork said before vanishing.

Fix what? Nocturne didn’t know, but nonetheless knew that Clockwork was presently threatening its non-life into vanishment.

Many types of accidents could be arranged.

Fix it before Clockwork does, and left to do its own research to boot. How droll.

Creeping, trawling through random dreams for a hint. Its purpose, if not its goal in its non-life. Delightful nonsense and soft desires clashing against horrid possibilities and terrible unrealities.

Fix it, before Clockwork does. How unhelpful.

Fix it, fix it, fix it… What a dreadful chant to have been produced by the English language.

Finally, Nocturne conceded that it would have to either be very lucky, or open its eyes to the waking realm to find anything out.

If pressed for honesty, it would not call this a dreadful task. The waking realm is, afterall, the source of the realm of sleep. It pays to understand what one is reflecting.

But ah, so many dull details to mull over...

Fix it. Fix what? It wasn’t obvious until it was all that could be seen.

Magical items with magical properties are objects largely outside of Nocturne's purview.

Unless it has to do with sleep.

And unless it’s the one that made the cursed things, which were now its problem to solve.

In more ways than one, even.

Clockwork has simply sped the timeline up on this being its problem.

The objects were older than English, but could be generously translated to ‘Ribbons of Night’. Each of the six operated slightly differently from the other five when active.

Which makes it sound as if one ribbon could be depended on to be the same ribbon when activated.

Absolutely not. Even with a ribbon permanently attached to oneself between activations, there was no predicting which one you had at any given moment. They were the unholy fusion of dream logic and schrodingers box principals.

It was more complicated than that, granted. There were in fact signs that could point you towards which you had at any given moment, and thus could be leveraged to accomplish whatever ones goal was reliably if you were willing to wait.

No matter what, they were usually weak enough to not be a bother to much more than the fool who thought they could control the mind, and whatever half dozen idiots they saw fit to terrorize.

Usually.

It greatly depended on the energy willfully put into them, see...

More energy, more chaos and for even longer. What’s not to love?

Adorable little things, so long as a weird cult of both ghosts and humans don’t get all six and strategically place them around both realms and dump a small nations worth of power into each of them.

You know, because who would ever do that? Truly, such a thing would take a ridiculous series of logical leaps (to think it was a good idea) and logistical nightmares (to make real) that it would be immediately branded a fever dream and disregarded.

Nocturne would typically be inclined to not be involved with the whole debacle, its not as if it could reabsorbed the partitioned fragments itself, but there’s a small problem with the ribbons and how they operate.

The issue is slightly two-fold, and also just the same problem twice over. What can Nocturne say, its things like to be complicated like that.

The ribbons are small fragments of Nocturne, modified for usage by the average ghost. Living need not apply, but if they can work around it then power too them. Nocturne's power is a scary thing to have loose in any realm, particularly at small-nation’s-electrical-grid scale.

And also, the dreams are fragments of Nocturne, that turning off requires either patience for their power to run dry or for a test of power and will to succeed.

Backlash from such a test is usually not of Nocturne's concern- if a fool decided to power a ribbon beyond their control and had to pay to turn it off, Nocturne's side would sting for ten seconds and then stop. Whether the fool was dead or not didn’t matter to Nocturne.

But if the ribbons were powered to the point they’d take years to stop, and also all six of them were going strong at once, meaning that everyone would be forced to contest them, win or lose, in the name of everyone’s continued existence…

Nocturne has finite durability, and that’s a lot of damage.

Even if the inflictors will die with Nocturne, it will be done because nothing has a choice right now..

The whole mess did clarify to Nocturne why Clockwork would care to harass it, though. It gave two reasons, even.

World balance… not Nocturne's domain, though certainly one of Clockworks. Accidents could be arranged, but these ribbons were older than most living nations.

Accidents could be arranged, but Clockworks chain was rather short. A plan like this would’ve been decades in the making, if not centuries, and the observants would be none too pleased if Clockwork were to do real work outside their supervision. Meaning for real work and not silly lessons with effects quickly undone, Clockwork’s self initiative had chain of about six weeks in either direction, with one arranged accident per inconvenience before they were pressed about activity.

An accident could be arranged, but unless that accident extended across two dimensions and obliterated somewhere around four hundred to two thousand beings in one go Clockwork was stuck explaining themself to the council. And to papercut a decades long plan to death? That work would be noticed too.

Accidents plural could be arranged, but no accidents Clockwork could justify to a council of the most belligerent asshats Nocturne had ever had the displeasure of meeting would also arrange a solution without sending everyone years back, something the council would not do.

The decorative bow atop the rest of Clockworks restraints was that accidents could be arranged, but even if Nocturne's spot were to be taken the successor would simply have the same problem because the process would make them into the ‘same’ being and they would inherit the ribbons, and killing Nocturne (or otherwise) in such a violent manner would have massive world shaking blowout. Potentially worse than the ribbons were doing and would do over the years.

The final answer was to destroy decades worth of timeline to fix this, and no ghost in the world would agree on how or why to do that. Could the council stop debating themselves to obliteration before their time to solve this was up?

Clockwork didn’t seem to think so.

Getting to Long Now was such a nuisance on average, but Nocturne (correctly) presumed that one it’d gotten to the bottom of its new task then Clockwork would humor it with a more thorough conversation.

This time, it didn’t even have to break the front doors. How unusual!

Clockwork refused to turn from the mirrors before them, and Nocturne had to force down the indignation as it took its place high above.

Dreams are much weaker than the irrevocable force of Time, and killing Nocturne here would be messy and bad, but make the new problems straight forward.

“I will elect not to lecture if you turn to speak on equal terms. I will call this fair, given you’ve decided you’re in a corner. Enough to reach out.”

Ahhh to not lose touch with scathing statements, drenched in politics. Nocturne never misses them much, but such words have use.

Passively, Clockwork flickered and reappeared facing Nocturne.

“Better.” Nocturne hummed, electing to drip onto the floor from the ceiling. “Now-”

“Do not pretend you’ve power over this mess any more than I.”

“Never claimed anything of the sort! But you could do to acknowledge your partner in crime before you bark commands down the chain.”

Clockwork’s hand twitched, tightening around their staff, and Nocturne was sure they were mentally calculating if it was worth trying the conversation again.

“Now, I know the goal is peace, but pray tell if you’ve got a spare thought for how that is going to happen?”

Nocturne would genuinely like to know; Its continued existence was on the line the moment an idiot got martyr-y about it.

“Handling the ribbons is a monumental task at this scale, with few qualified to stop the ribbons and fewer still capable of surviving the job.”

“Yes, very much so. But if you’ll kindly direct some concern to the rest of the issue…”

Clockwork sighed, and turned to mirrors.

With a grand gesture designed to piss it off, the ribbon of… translation pending, appeared before them on the mirrors.

In the realm of volcanoes and fire was a crack, and in this crack was madness, and in this madness was a shard of Nocturne's body.

It was difficult to articulate the appearance of ‘void, but with sharp edges and hatred’, but thankfully Nocturne didn’t need to speak aloud about such a thing. Just stare at it as Clockwork warmed up to their point.

And then they didn’t progress the conversation in an action likely designed to piss Nocturne off even more.

Good thing Nocturne did not have teeth to grind.

“Yes, yes, the ribbon of… pleasure?”

“Close enough.”

Nocturne was sure Clockwork was smiling underneath that hood over its noise of disgust.

“The ribbon of pleasure, in the infinite zone of volcanoes and fire, and at the center my fragment ripe for the challenge. I am waiting to die from these miserable little mistakes, and await your suggestion to the contrary.”

“Now, who said anything about challenges?”

“Me.” Nocturne huffed, shuffling forward to examine the fragment.

“Why?”

Oh Nocturne could just...

“Because the fools who started this will have no further options. Because anyone fit to rise to solve this will not get further options.”

“Wrong.”

Nocturne refused to squirm in the following silence, immediately deciding it would out wait Clockwork of it was the last thing it ever did.

Clockwork seemed to catch on immediately at least, though it was difficult to tell if such a catch on was in fact after two hours of Nocturne commuting to suicide by any other name.

“Petulance will not serve you well in this instance. Regardless, if an appropriately powered being can approach with an appropriately malleable skillset, most fragments of this nature can be absorbed as opposed to destroyed.”

Ah. They’d gone mad, it sees this now.

“A fascinating theory. But see, there’s a lot of ifs you’re not articulating.” Nocturne hissed, jerking back from the mirrors to refocus on Clockwork.

“You first.” Clockwork hummed.

Of modest annoyances, this one failed to land. The predictability was more annoying, really.

“If we can find an appropriate candidate then they’d have to have the theoretical potential of at least me, and if we can find that someone they would have to be a child- still moldable in all ways including accepting my power-, and if we could find that child then even beyond its capacity to change it must have the separate capacity to walk two worlds, and if we find that child then we must hide it for long enough to get to keep it from the observants’ machinations and purify it of my influence. Provided we even can purify it.”

The final two were the truest sticking points of all; Nocturne, just as Clockwork, would never be permitted to keep a child. Nocturne wouldn’t even be allowed to keep a willing adult, but that was beyond the point.

“Not easy enough to hide, but I have my ways in keeping the observants eyes off me to get real work done.” Clockwork allowed.

Nocturne didn’t get chills easily, but it finally clicked to it that maybe, just maybe...

Nocturne was already in some deeply illegal shit just by being here, this time.

“You didn’t. Not already.”

“Oh, but I have. Did you think you’d get to say no to me? The moment the observants understand they have a blank spot in time, you will be found and interrogated as the missing piece.”

Nocturne was forced to pause.

It really, truly had to physically wrench itself back. The wild temperament of Dreams would lead to disaster.

“Fascinating. Would you like to know your odds of sense, in this instance?”

“No. I’d like to know who you have in mind, since you’re so smart as to kill us both.”

Clockwork hummed, pleased with themself as they waved at the mirrors again.

No chills, but…

“You’re joking, right?”

The young boy that had foiled its romp in Amity, desperately trying not to wilt into the wallpaper as his parents ranted and raved.

“Why would I?”

“To lure me into false hope. Your pet child is non negotiable to you, and you’ve missed the part where we’ll need to strip it of everything it gains. You wouldn’t.”

Clockworks hand tightened again, and Nocturne could hear the staff creak ever so slightly as the pressure became far greater than any mortal material could dream of handling.

“My child… I am pleased to know you regard it as such, but no. Young Danny is not mine to keep.”

“In formalities alone, no. But he’s yours, and you’re rather fond of the boy. Unless I’ve been seeing some other ghostling visit you every Sunday.”

Clockwork wasn’t looking directly at Nocturne, which was not technically a good sign.

“Not to keep.” Clockwork growled. Cracks spread along a mirror or possibly three, Nocturne was suddenly much too fixated on every errant twitch to care about the mirrors.

Nocturne did its best to not flinch away- despite the obviously in-equal status, Nocturne was a GOD in its own right. It couldn’t afford to flinch.

“That doesn’t matter, Clockwork. And if you would deign to clarify how we’re going to purify it...”

Clockwork didn’t relax as they shook their head no.

“The fuck you mean no, I’m helping dig your ass out this mess too. You wouldn’t be knocking on my door if you had other choices.”

“Two fold issue, a long story hardly of relevance.” Clockwork huffed, turning back towards their mirrors. With a wave and a suspiciously loud tick noise, the mirrors in question returned to an undamaged state. Phantom’s family resumed arguing on them, the boy left to awkwardly shuffle towards the stairs.

“Kroonoooooossss.” Nocturne elected to drawl after a pause.

Don’t get it wrong, it knew its risks. But it had a very bad hand before it, and would like to know if the pot cards made a difference.

The noise of total contempt Clockwork gave in response made it all worth it.

“There’s no world where you don’t know my problems with this. It’s lunacy at its finest. You’re sending me in blind to lead the meek and blind, the observants would rather I die and they play cleanup than let us do this anyhow, and somehow I think I and the observants have the fewest issues with these events. Forgive the acquisition of slang, there’s too many plot holes with this plan!”

“No, there isn’t. But you don’t have room for negotiation, do you?”

No, but that’s not stopping it.

“You have me verbally hostage, if not physically. I think me demanding a real answer as to why you care is the least amount of detail you can give me.”

“Wrong. Conversation over, go home and decide if you’d like to live.”

Nocturne wouldn’t have been able to take the belligerence anymore, lurching itself forward to assault Clockwork.

But it was already awake in one of its caves, three days before Nocturne figured out its task, one day before Clockwork had even informed it that it had a task, and a full sixteen hours after the cultists had completed the rituals.

Nocturne had fucked up in many ways, big and small.

For one, it had risen to Clockworks bait at all. Talk about taking one step forward and having your shins shattered for the effort…

Impossible to say if the mess could’ve gone differently, though. Clockwork clearly had a plan that Nocturne was but a vehicle for.

For two, Nocturne had no doubt Clockwork had already spent their one cosmic accident budget to make Nocturne look even worse out of this- all the better to force it to their whims. It had an educated guess about where that accident went, but what did it matter? Clockwork didn’t do anything by halves, Nocturne was fucked. Which went back to point one.

There were more fuck ups of course, some of them older than the swears it was muttering. A specific six of them, in fact.

One in the land of Volcanoes, one in the land of Atlanta Georgia, one in the land of The jungle, one in the land of Dallas Texas, one in the largest functioning cyber-network in the zone (now if Nocturne could get a clear answer about what that was, this would be nice), and one in the land of Shenghai China.

And apparently at the center of it all, a not-dead child to save them all! Joy!

Lunacy, lunacy, lunacy… What would the point be, in the end? Making the boy suffer like that for the world, once again?

Provided Clockworks pet could live, anyhow…

Maybe that was the point. A dramatic exit for what the observants already had their laser sights on, anyhow. A heroes death at it’s finest.

Whatever. It had its path and task, and despite everything Clockwork wasn’t self destructive. The situation would be solved if Nocturne obeyed.

Nocturne refused to trust any other detail of the situation, not that it changed its new goal.

It had to move fast. Find the portal, enter the house, spot the boy. Shuffling to the stairs as his parents bellowed away over something stupid.

Punctuated by everyone but him collapsing to the ground like all pathetic mortals in The Final Rest’s presence.

Form of stars, voice of satin, dripping like slime from cracks at the edge of the child’s vision.

Nocturne was sure it had made its entrance clear.

The white rings traveled up the child's body, revealing his powered form even as he dropped into an aggressive stance.

“Halt. Despite my entrance, this is more an offer of peace. Nice and quiet now, wouldn’t you agree?”

The boy couldn’t hide the shaky breath he took.

“Knocking people out isn’t peaceful.” He hissed, turning to glare at one of Nocturne’s larger blobs.

“I thought I kicked you out already. Back for another round?” He attempted to taunt, false confidence rising by the second.

“Please, child. Booting me out of one of my more vicious play fights is not a point of pride.”

The boy flushed a deeper green in barely concealed rage, backing away from the bulk of Nocturne’s form as it pooled in the center of the room.

“You have to have seen the news already. Three human locations under mysterious effects. It hasn’t been long, but it’s been profound, no?” It asked bluntly, rising as an owl this time. Rams were so last week, afterall.

The boys eyes flicked to the middle distance, contemplating.

“Maybe. Or maybe I don’t follow politics. Who knows, really?” He huffed.

“Stupidity gets you nowhere. Cultists have stolen artifacts of mine and used them for terrorism in its truest definition, in both the human realm and the infinite realm. It will spread if unmanaged.” Nocturne sighed, glooping its way towards the boy and stretching to far taller.

That certainly elicited a reaction, but who could say what was going on in the boy’s skull?

“And you’re sooo altruistic you wanna solve this yourself, I take it?” He prodded, backing away to the wall. If it occurred to him that he could phase through the wall and simply leave, it didn’t show.

Perhaps the child could’ve been a politician with that tonal bite. Alas...

“I have plenty to lose of they’re dealt with by traditional means. And you have much to lose if this spreads too far. The amount of people who die regardless if traditionally dealt with is uncountable. You, and the world with it, are in just as dire of straits as I with this mess.”

The boy paused, looking Nocturne up and down.

“And why should I take your word for it?”

Hmm… maybe if..

Nocturne made a sound like a shuddering breath and sank its form to only slightly taller than the boy.

“Because it’s not my word, it’s Clockworks.”

Another strong reaction. Nocturne was getting somewhere.

“And if you’re lying?”

Nocturne bowed forward slightly to imply consideration.

The child wasn’t wrong to distrust it, dreams were tricky things afterall. And personal experience gave a firm indication as to Nocturne’s temperament, be that true or false.

But the awake were always so predictable…

“We can visit them to ask, if you like. But permanence will take within days. It needs to be you, and we need to go. Now.”

The boy closed his eyes, considering.

“Clockwork, first. No confirmation, no help.” He ordered, eyes snapping open ans he crossed his arms.

“Of course.” Nocturne muttered, carefully eyeing how the child prepped to fly along with it.

He didn’t get the chance to fly on his own, already plucked away by Nocturne as it swooped down to the portal.

No time to waste, its non-life was on the line. And if the screaming was funny, then that was a bonus.

[kissami]

sum. You never thought you’d find the one at your best friend’s coffee shop.

genre: fluff..super super fluffy

fem reader with she/ her pronouns

WARNING: I’m uploading this while at work so I’ll edit it once I’m home ! So it’s not cute and aesthetic rn 🙄🙄

"I just don't get why she keeps thinking this nonsense, Kyo! I mean, I help with taking care of bills, buying groceries, what else does she want from me?!"

Kyo rose an eyebrow towards you, watching you slam your head on the counter gently and placing your cup on the table, begging for the next round.

"I need another one."

You ordered, but he only rolled his eyes in return.

"You had four cups of coffee in just two hours, you had more than enough for at least a week."

Groaning, you squished your cheeks between your arms as you hid your head.

Your roommate had been annoying lately. Always being so stern with you even when you did almost everything so you two could have a comfy environment to live in, but no matter what you did, she just seemed to hate you more and more.

It was tough moving out of your parent’s place, but this girl truly was testing your limits it seemed.

It wasn’t always like this. When you first met her, she was very sweet and understanding with you which made you think that maybe you finally made a friend who wasn’t your childhood friend.

All you wanted was a friend, but ever since you introduced her to Kyo, she seemed to do a 180 and completely shut you out.

Only for you to find out the two were put together for a date…one he never showed up for without notice.

But speak of blinding dates…

"Oh my gosh! This is the third time you left me alone, you asshole! That's it, I'm done!"

A loud slam quickly brought you out of your mini crisis as your eyes averted over to the couple near the entrance.

Raising your eyebrows in amusement, you saw a girl with black hair grabbing her bag and leaving with a pissed off expression on her face. The blond she was sitting with that you assumed was her date, rubbed his face in annoyance.

He's gorgeous.

You turned to your friend and smiled as a bright idea had quickly made its way into your head which made him tense up a bit, shaking his head quickly as he knew exactly what you were trying to do.

"Nope, I'm done trying to set you up with my customers. You're on your own."

You pouted, watching as Kyo walked to the back room to speak to Tifa about the upcoming schedules.

You could see how close Tifa and him were getting, how flustered he’d get or rush at any moment to be with her. That was enough leverage for you to use against him.

Smirking, you turned back around to see the boy talking on his phone, his face showing not much concern it seemed, but by the looks of it, it seemed like he was being scolded like a cat from the other line of the call which had you intrigued.

Your eyes widened when he slammed his phone down on the table and sighing, digging inside of his pocket to grab his credit card from his black leather wallet.

He's gonna pay, no he can't leave yet!

That's when you thought of a great, amazing, and most definitely the best idea ever.

Walking over the counter as stealthy and quickly as possible, you hid behind it as you waited for him to ring the bell to pay.

DING!

Rising up, you smiled gently and leaned your hands on the counter.

"Hey, what can I do for ya,cutie?"

You could almost feel your eyes sparkle in amusement when he scoffed and rubbed his neck, looking at you with those bright blue eyes you could stare at forever.

"I'm just paying. And who are you? I've never seen you work here before and I come here everyday."

He spoke lowly and looking anywhere besides your face, his eyes fixated on a dancing chunky cat on the tv screen above your head.

"I just started…today? Right I just started working today!" You smiled nervously, rubbing your ring on your right hand.

"Oh, that's good to know I guess."

"Yeah, it is good to know, huh?"

Shit.

You thought as you turned around to your best friend, seeing him rise an eyebrow and clearly questioning your 'amazing' idea to get to know the cute boy that was looking at the both of you now even more confused than before.

"Yup! Aw Kyo don't act like I'm not the best employee you have!" You slapped his arm, glaring at him for him to play along.

"Yeah okay, anyways Cloud it's on the house today."

Cloud. What a cool name.

Cloud nodded, saying a small thank you as he began to walk away.

Your eyes shot over to your best friend, giving him a pleading look to have him stay a bit longer which made Kyo scoff.

If this guy had you pretend you worked at his coffee shop, the one place you said you would despise working at and rather lick the carpet, then you clearly were way more interested in him than he thought.

And boy were you going to be in debt for this.

"Only if you tell us what happened on your 5th blind date."

Kyo smirked, watching as Cloud stopped almost instantly.

Cloud stood there quietly. Usually he’d pretend he didn’t hear anything like this but he truly did need someone to listen to his frustrations and what better yet than the guy his best friend, Tifa, had a crush on?

"It's like no matter how many dates I'm set on, no one wants to continue dating me. I don't mind though, I don't need a partner to be happy I guess."

Hearing a bell ring, Kyo looked over to you and smirked even more, watching your sparkling like eyes looking even more interested in the blond and what he needed to say next.

"Well my favorite employee, it's time for you to get back to work, right?"

You opened and closed your mouth repeatedly like a fish out of water but it only resulted in him pushing you away to take the new order.

"Get along now stupid and do your job! I'm not paying you for nothing!"

"But you're not pa-"

"What was that employee of the month, I didn't quite hear you?!"

"Yeah yeah whatever."

Slumping your shoulders, you made your way to the cash register, and instantly losing braincells on how the hell to work it.

Kyo looked back, seeing the blond still looking over to you as you groaned like a little kid trying to figure out how the monstrosity worked.

A small smile slowly took the blond’s old sour frown which Kyo was quick to catch.

"She's single you know. Plus, she thinks you're really cute. The idiot doesn't even work for me but she did that to talk with you."

Cloud looked over to his friend and shrugged.

"I think she’s cute too, but she needs to work harder to get me. I'm not that easy you know."

"Yeah that's what all your old dates said too,huh?"

"Kyo…" Cloud sighed again, but kept his mako eyes on your cute figure who now was scrambling around like a lost puppy, following Tifa around as she laughed at how silly you looked trying to learn how to charge orders.

Kyo chuckled, shaking his head at how adorable you looked. "Besides, the idiot owes me. She'll be working here for a while."

To say Cloud wasn't looking forward to waking up everyday and heading to the café, was an understatement.

He was less grumpy now and would spend hours texting you all night, but he tried his best to show no interest in you at all, which to Tifa and Kyo, was obvious he had a thing for you.

You had no clue if he felt the same or not, which Cloud was a bit thankful of you being so oblivious.

That was until you finally had enough and needed to know exactly what was going on between the two of you.

Clearly there was something there, so what better way to figure it out than what you do best?

A hot americano with whipped cream topped with cinnamon and caramel was what he would get all the time, but you added something more for him.

Are you a loan bank? Because you got my interest.

Ah yes, your cheesy pick up lines. No matter how hard Cloud tried to keep a straight face, he still managed to let out a small smile that made your heart burst.

You've been doing this for three months straight now, but he finally had the guts to do something.

Can I borrow a kiss? I promise I'll give it back!

That was all it took for Cloud to lean over the counter and place his lips on yours.

[circuslemon]

FIC COLLAB WITH @jalapenobee

I really enjoyed this sm. I normally don't write fanfiction because I'm too scared of getting the characters inaccurate - so doing this collab made me really happy.

Bee did the initial writing, and I did the first pass of editing while Bee did the second and final pass of editing !

This was initially a request I made of Bee, but I loved the unedited version sm I wanted to edit it 💔

It's also super short and bite sized!

“And you! Ra…Ranpo-kun! I will defeat you! Someday! HAHAHA—whOAA!” Upon hearing that declaration of war, Poe wrapped his arms around his long-time rival (the great detective Ranpo Edogawa!!! See that? Poe gets to date the world’s greatest detective while the rest of you are off with criminals. Suckers), falling backward and dragging the shorter man with him. Said detective yelped in surprise, reaching his arm out in a pathetic attempt to grasp hold of thin air for leverage. If Poe finds that endearing and sorta cute, it was nobody's business to know. Landing on the couch with a muffled POOMF, Poe lets out one last laugh.

“That’s what you get for being out in the rain. And then stealing my dryer and ‘pretending’ to be me.” Poe slightly lifts the collar of his coat off the nape of Ranpo’s neck, gesturing to the fact he had caught his partner wearing it. Ranpo huffed, squinting his eyes and letting a pout form on his face as he dramatically tossed his head back—an action that made him feel a lot like Dazai.

“I didn’t actually steal your dryer Poe-kun! My cloak was wet and I had to put it in there.” Ranpo tangled his finger in a curl of Poe’s dark hair, complaining. “You’re just being mean.” Even so, Ranpo lifted his legs, shifting into a more comfortable position and resting his head against Poe’s chest. Poe’s hand drifts to the side of Ranpo’s head, his fingers running between his hair as he strokes the back of Ranpo’s ear, Ranpo’s hand clutching onto Poe’s shirt. Some sort of drama was quietly playing on the TV—though neither Poe or Ranpo seemed to care all too much about what was happening on the screen. Outside, the heavy rain that had previously drenched the detective hadn’t let up any, providing a calming soundtrack to the scene of the two cuddling.

Detective Ranpo found this to be the perfect opportunity to trap his ‘rival’ to the couch as a cat would its servant. He pulls the author’s coat tighter around himself, burying his face into Poe’s collarbone (Poe protests, but it’s clear that he doesn’t mean anything with it and quickly resigns to his fate). Neither of the two said anything, sitting in comforting silence for at least a little while, Ranpo’s breath shimmying through Poe’s shirt, leaving a warm sensation against his skin. Soon, Ranpo’s grip on his lover loosened, his body relaxing against him. He shifted in his sleep as if he was a pea plant slowly curling around a pole. Poe turned his attention down to the younger man against his chest, to find that he had fallen asleep, his mouth very slightly agape.

There were two different manuscripts sitting atop the table to his right that Poe had wanted to finish by morning. The sun had already begun setting, making it far too late to continue his work if he did not want to disturb Ranpo. Poe vaguely remembered he had coffee in its pot he had wanted to enjoy before it got cold, and hears the dryer finish tossing Ranpo’s cloak around like a chew toy.

…Maybe all that didn’t matter at that moment.

Poe didn’t seem to worry all too much, his eyes slowly fluttering shut as his fingers mindlessly drift over Ranpo’s black hair. Poe’s rival detective begins stirring very lightly, his arm shifting itself to wrap around Poe’s body.

“Mhngg…you’re so sweet…Poe-kun…“ Ranpo mumbles, still asleep. Dimly, Poe registers his own arm shifting to lay across the middle of Ranpo’s back as he himself begins drifting off.

[waitmyturtles]

Turtles Catches Up With Old GMMTV: Until We Meet Again Edition

[What’s going on here? After joining Tumblr and discovering Thai BLs through KinnPorsche in 2022, I began watching GMMTV’s new offerings -- and realized that I had a lot of history to catch up on, to appreciate the more recent works that I was delving into. From tropes to BL frameworks, what we’re watching now hails from somewhere, and I’m learning about Thai BL's history through what I’m calling the Old GMMTV Challenge (OGMMTVC). Starting with recommendations from @absolutebl on their post regarding how GMMTV is correcting for its mistakes with its shows today, I’ve made an expansive list to get me through a condensed history of essential/classic/significant Thai BLs produced by GMMTV and many other BL studios. My watchlist, pasted below, lists what I’ve watched and what’s upcoming, along with the reviews I’ve written so far. In a LONG POST, I’m writing today about New Siwaj’s incomparable drama, Until We Meet Again.]

TW: suicide, suicidal ideation, psychological trauma

Gah. I am so psyched to be finally sitting down to write my thoughts on Until We Meet Again, but I’m actually at a bit of a loss on where to start. There is SO MUCH TO TALK ABOUT.

I think, where I can start, is to first say that this was, in my opinion, AN ABSOLUTELY SPECTACULAR SHOW. I did NOT expect this, at all. I’ve been around the way with New Siwaj, the UWMA screenwriter and director, a few times now for the OGMMTVC -- his writing on Love Sick, his work with Cheewin on Make It Right, and his work on MAME’s novel in Love By Chance have all been on the OGMMTVC list. I know that Between Us, the UMWA WinTeam continuation, was considered mostly a let-down for weak writing, and that New’s more recent shows, including A Boss and a Babe and Double Savage, were viewed quite critically (although I am a Double Savage apologist, for which I’ll explain my viewpoints later in this post). 

So. What I did not expect from 2019′s UWMA was to experience so many layers in a drama à la the work of Aof Noppharnach. Yes, I cannot believe I’m going here, to compare a New Siwaj drama to Aof’s oeuvre, but damn if I will, because good lord, New took his magic hat of tricks, pulled out THE GOOD STUFF, and made it all work. 

This is a list of themes that I saw in UWMA, that will help me structure this long write-up, but by no means should it be considered complete, as I’m sure I’m missing themes that you all likely caught in your watches and re-watches:

1) A new narrative structure for New -- balancing the impact of side couples by leveraging focus, equally, on two MAIN couples 2) The continuation and end of the 2019 trend of reincarnation and spiritual connections to love 3) Intergenerational queer trauma (micro-level) 4) Generational acceptance of queerness (macro-level) 5) Food and its Proustian effect on memory 6) Reflections on filial piety and the devastating effects of expectations -- and how children and parents seek redemption, particularly in New’s work

And before I even dive into THIS list, can I just say: MY GOD, FLUKE AND OHM. And Earth and Kao! But FLUKE AND OHM. Jesus, does New have an eye for talent -- from the Make It Right guys, to Perth and Saint, and then to Fluke and Ohm. I was seriously TAKEN with their chemistry. I did hear from a number of folks during my UWMA live-blogging that they can’t rewatch UWMA because of Fluke/Pharm’s rendition of the blushing maiden trope, but for my tastes -- I think the way he rendered the trope was really necessary to communicating Intouch’s story, history, and emotions, and just -- Fluke just ATE this role, my gawd. And Ohm/Dean responding in kind vis à vis Korn’s regret. YOW. It’s been a few days since I finished the show, in a total RUSH of drama hunger, and I’m still shaking my head and MARVELING at their performance.

Okay, back to the themes list. So, early in my Thai BL journey in the fall of 2022, after I had watched KinnPorsche and The Eclipse as my first two Thai BLs, I watched A Tale of Thousand Stars (way before the OGMMTVC was born), and noted that I appreciated the lack of side couples in the ATOTS storyline. I now realize, through the OGMMTVC, that side couples are both a BL trope and a byproduct of the drama styles from which BLs were born, the ensemble-based dramas like Love Sick, Senior Secret Love, and Kiss/Kiss Me Again.

New’s Make It Right -- while beloved in my heart, for the chaotic duos of TeeFuse and FrameBook -- WAS messy, with all the other couple stuff happening around it. That, along with Love By Chance, made me wonder -- why do BLs that center fabulous dyads with sizzling chemistry take away from that energy with all the side couple action? Even Together With Me, a non-New Siwaj and non-GMMTV drama, got sidelined in part with a VERY questionable side couple plot in BrightFarm.

Reflecting back on KP and The Eclipse, I had that question in mind as I started UWMA, and wondered where the Alex and WinTeam storylines were going to go. But, frankly, I ended up appreciating what NEEDED to happen with DeanPharm and KornIntouch, because -- the original novel storyline clearly demanded that these two couples, who were NOT side couples, but MAIN couples, needed a MAIN spotlight for their collective story to be told. @clairificusrex mentioned in a liveblog comment (THANK YOU, LOVELY HUMAN!) that New Siwaj benefitted in the screenplay from having a wonderful original novel to work with, and while I don’t read Y Series canon, I can only imagine that this was indeed the case.

So, New, in order to hew to the novel, had to perhaps hold back his usual instincts to muss up the main couple vibe, by centering DeanPharm and KornIntouch. With that control necessary to the story -- I think the narrative STRUCTURE of the drama just blew open. It was FASCINATING, it drew me in, and the structure allowed for another New predilection to be leveraged WELL, in his love for flashbacks. @lurkingshan, you mentioned that your taste wasn’t necessarily aligned with New’s fancy for flashbacks, which I totally understand -- I think flashbacks hurt the overall narrative structure of Double Savage earlier this year. But I think, here for UMWA, they were necessary, and I might very well be apologetic to that considering what I DID see in Double Savage by way of the story that New ended up screenwriting over there in regards to intergenerational family trauma (again, more on this later in the post).

This narrative structure lent itself handily to the next four themes on this list, all of which deal in memory, in spiritual roots, and/or in the generational passage and inheritance of trauma and emotion. 2019, as we know now, was a big year for shows themed around Thai spiritual culture and/or reincarnation. We have He’s Coming To Me, we have Dew the Movie -- we have art here, queer-centered art, that does not lend itself to happy endings, that depicts, through reincarnation or, in the case of HCTM, a ghostly purgatory, how DIFFICULT it had been to be comfortably queer and/or openly out in past and present Thailand.

And then UWMA comes along, telling TWO generational stories, intertwined by the red thread, but also, in the words of the WONDERFUL @bengiyo, connected by Korn and Intouch’s intergenerational queer trauma, the most PERFECT coinage of a theme for this show. In 1988, when Korn and Intouch die, they cannot be out. They cannot even be SECRETLY in love. Their bad dads use the foulest of language to describe their love (much like Phop’s dad in Dew). And Korn kills himself, and Intouch follows.

And what we learn, through Dean and Pharm, are the emotions, the regrets, the LEARNED BEHAVIOR that Korn and Intouch have picked up on in the afterlife, embedded in Dean and Pharm, that keeps Korn and Intouch’s love alive, with CORRECTIONS and ADJUSTMENTS made by Dean and Pharm that reflect on how not only Korn and Intouch’s love has changed and improved, but also how Dean and Pharm are learning how to love EACH OTHER, themselves, as they adjust to their OWN belonging to each other, in Pharm’s own words. GAH -- my aching heart. (Thank you to @lurkingshan for talking this through with me early on in my UWMA watch.)

I mean. THE DEPTH OF THIS. Intouch is a terrible cook, and Pharm is like, a restaurant-level chef?! Pharm is so resistant, and Dean is so FORWARD? (OHM THITIWAT, GAH!!!) (Listen. Pharm. P’Deeeean can grab MY butt, okay?) (See what I did there, @lurkingshan and @bengiyo? THANK YOOOOUU.)

And Pharm’s blushing maiden approach. Yes, I will also admit, that sometimes, it was a little cringey. But I think the blushing maiden trope was really necessary to the story -- ESPECIALLY IN THE CONTEXT of Intouch’s anger, ciphered through Pharm in the last episode. And I think that Fluke Natouch ultimately rendered the trope beautifully -- again, especially against the gorgeous ending of the show. Oh, THAT CONDO SCENE, PEOPLE. I LOST IT. 

Of course, Intouch would want to hold back through Pharm in the present day. If Intouch DIDN’T hold back vis à vis Pharm -- he might lose Korn again, if Pharm missteps with Dean. Intouch may have felt that HIS forwardness lent to their troubles -- so Intouch holds back, through Pharm. And Intouch ultimately communicates his love for Korn differently in the afterlife, more hesitantly -- through a resistance to intimacy, and through food and cooking in Pharm, which itself was another amazing move in this show.

Listen. Even my pinned post says what I value in dramas, not just in BLs. You give me food in BL, and I give you my heart. But also, let’s talk about the meaning of food in Asian dramas for a second. It’s no coincidence that MANY Asian dramas and doramas center food, including my favorite BL of all time, Kinou Nani Tabeta/What Did You Eat Yesterday?. If you don’t know Asians, of any ilk -- let me make a BROAD continental and sub-continental judgement. ALL WE THINK ABOUT IS FOOD, lol. While I’m with my family, while I’m working, while I’m writing meta -- I’m thinking about food, I’m thinking about what I want to cook, what I want to order, how I can mix the cuisines I love (Thai-Indian curries, anyone? YUM). Malaysians literally boast about having multiple meals, way past three meals, a day. We Asians are proud of our cuisines, and we want y’all to be EATING, A LOT, and to try all our dishes. (ITSAY, your Hokkien mee is calling me...) 

But, also: FOOD MEANS FAMILY. Let me say it again: FOOD MEANS FAMILY. You FEED the people you LOVE, with delicious food. Shiro and Kenji. Kurosawa and Adachi. The guys in Jack o’Frost. The guys in The Eighth Sense. Omg, even Kinn and Porsche. We’re seeing it in Tokyo In April Is... And Pharm, to Dean, Intouch to Korn.

And BESIDES Intouch/Pharm becoming a great cook, GOD, the story ALSO INCLUDED the Proustian reference of the madeleine and involuntary memory -- but in SUCH a stunning way, as to RECALL DEAN’S FAMILIAL MEMORY of eating his grandmother’s Thai desserts -- his grandmother, Intouch’s sister, and how Dean could get an indirect spotlight into Intouch and a depth of an understanding of Intouch’s happiness besides his love for Korn. And how Pharm EMBODIED that love for Thai desserts through Intouch’s family lineage. Oh, just get me MESSY, PEOPLE. FUCKING GENIUS SHIT. 

Memory on memory on memory. Dream on dream, nightmare on nightmare, tears and red threads, inherited trauma, intergenerational trauma. The micro-level of what Dean and Pharm had to live with on a daily basis in their recollections of Korn and Intouch. The macro-level of what Pharm and Dean experienced when all of their parents accepted them for who they were as queer individuals, and their partners, as well. How Dean’s dad could ACTUALLY RELATE to Dean himself, because Dean’s dad had been rejected by Dean’s mother’s family. And how that ALLOWED Dean’s dad to accept Dean and his choice to be with Pharm. How that trauma was relieved, how Dean and Pharm DID NOT HAVE TO PHYSICALLY RELIVE what Korn and Intouch had gone through, and how those involuntary memories that Dean and Pharm carried vis à vis Korn and Intouch traumatized them until Dean and Pharm could RECEIVE their OWN familial acceptance.

The LAYERS OF THIS SHOW. Before I get to the last theme on my list, I really just need to metaphorically slam my palms on an allegorical table and give New Siwaj a huge hug, because THIS SHIT IS NOT EASY TO PROCESS ALL AT ONCE, and I can’t wait to do a UWMA rewatch to try to catch more (and I’ll likely need to write another meta, ha, when I do that). I mean, again, just to use food as an example of a kind of storytelling TOOL to INDICATE memory, especially in the context of lost and found love, of intergenerational trauma and relieving regret -- BRILLIANT. BRILLIANT.

And. The last theme on the list, the theme of filial piety, of Asian family systems and devotion and loyalty and expectations, and the devastating effects on the micro-individual level (and even the macro-social level as well) that those expectations can have. 

So, I watched Double Savage, screenwritten by New Siwaj, out of order from UWMA. Very quickly, since many of you have likely NOT watched Double Savage because it’s not a BL (but it DID have Ohm Pawat and Perth Tanapon in a hose-off scene -- you can’t take the New Siwaj out of New Siwaj, amirite): Double Savage is about Korn (Ohm P.), a middle son who is branded a jinx by a HORRENDOUS Thai-Chinese father, and how the abuse leveled on Korn by his dad has intergenerational ripple effects across their family and community. 

Let’s break this down. I now know that New Siwaj does bad dads from Thai-Chinese lineage very well. UWMA’s Korn is expected to take over a mafia business. His dad is disapproving that Korn doesn’t want to take over the business -- which is an UNQUESTIONABLE and EMBEDDED expectation in most Asian family lineages (hello, Jeng and Step By Step) -- AND Korn’s dad is ALSO disapproving in Korn’s love for Intouch and vice versa. Separately, Intouch’s dad is disapproving that Intouch is in love with Korn, a mafia scion. 

Modern times are modern for a reason. 1988 was 31 years from 2019. I want to emphasize here the understanding that Korn and Intouch likely had -- that besides running away, there was no other existence for them to be together than to kill themselves and be together in the afterlife. And running away, and still living and existing, would have been a guilt-ridden and dangerous existence, for what Asian children are expected to do and live for vis à vis their parents. Korn likely HAD NO OTHER IMAGINATION for a life that he could live OTHER THAN to take over his father’s business and to be a heteronormative adult in the late 1980s. And, to top that all off, both of their dads were fucking assholes. 

I really liked how this was juxtaposed to the relationship between Dean and his father. Dean was clearly set up to be as stubborn as his dad. Meaning, at least to me -- that Dean was FAR less likely to be told what to do by his dad, that Dean would and maybe COULD, stand up to his dad. We didn’t see it happen, but I could have imagined Dean not accepting “no” for an answer from his dad to accept Pharm. (Makes you think about Pat, Pran, and Ming, no?) Dean had Korn in him. Dean/Korn was NOT GOING TO TAKE THAT SHIT AGAIN, and that was CLEAR. I want to emphasize: THAT’S BIG. That was BIG on New Siwaj and the UWMA novel writer to include that in the story. That’s parental defiance. That needed to happen in order for Dean and Pharm to survive. As an Asian, that gives me a kick of welcome energy.

But I also really want to note what New Siwaj did at the end of the show, something so deft, it might have left non-Asian viewers wondering what was going on. In the condo scene, Dean and Pharm are ciphering Korn and Intouch -- and when Korn’s father shows up in the wheelchair, Korn’s father knows what’s happening.

And Korn apologizes to his dad. Korn had already apologized to Intouch, but Korn also apologizes to his dad, and to his brother, and to his nephew in Sin. This really gets me, y’all, I understand this as an Asian. Korn is APOLOGIZING for the PAIN he caused in his family AND in Intouch, because -- filial piety. He knows what he did to himself was devastating to the Asian family system he was born into, to the Asian society he was born into, and he apologized for the suicide he committed unto himself that caused that extra-social pain. 

Like. As crazy as that sounds, it’s also an INCREDIBLY SOPHISTICATED way to ACKNOWLEDGE that Korn had broached a social boundary, and Intouch had followed him. THAT IS A HELL OF A LAYER TO ADD TO THIS STORY, ONE THAT I DID NOT EXPECT, and that SHOOK ME at the end of this series.

A similar situation happened in Double Savage. Despite the horrendous psychological abuse that Double Savage’s Korn received from his father -- an adult Korn ends up apologizing to his father for the trouble that HE may have caused. Now, what I appreciated about Double Savage was that THAT dad was like -- no, no, *I* should be the one apologizing. BUT, I want to indicate and emphasize here, that BOTH storylines acknowledge that Asian children NEED to know, SHOULD know, ARE BORN TO KNOW, that their actions have collective effects on a wider family system. We are born to understand and think like that. We are not dealing with an individualist Western perspective here. (I literally FLIPPED when I realized that New Siwaj has had MULTIPLE CHARACTERS NAMED KORN APOLOGIZING TO BAD DADS, and I’m an Asian over here UNDERSTANDING WHY, and I’m just like, pfffftt GGGAAAHHHH.)

Why am I harping on this? BECAUSE: vis à vis EVERYTHING ELSE that is lineage-based in this story -- from children being born, to intergenerational trauma, to reincarnation -- UWMA is structured around an über-macro theme of worlds being linked, by threads, by genes, by history, by spirit, by trauma. We are collectively linked. Babies are born -- we saw many babies in this show. Children belong to families. Lovers belong to lovers. Dean PHYSICALLY belongs to Intouch’s family, and Pharm to Korn’s family. A happy existence will be when a family accepts a child’s partner. Happiness is in a family growing, not a family shrinking. Warmth and growth and love happens when a happy family sits at a table and eats together. 

As Pharm says at the end of the show -- oh, my HEART -- “I belong to Dean.” Yes, you do -- because you have become Dean’s family, and Dean has become Pharm’s family. Korn’s family BELONGS to Intouch’s family, and vice versa. They are destined, MEANT to be linked together, AND TO BE FAMILY, ALL TOGETHER.

Kurosawa and Adachi become family in the Cherry Magic movie. WDYEY’s Shiro and Kenji become family by way of living and eating together. Even if BBS’s Ming doesn’t acknowledge Pran -- Pran is Ming’s family. LOVE. MAKES. FAMILY.

What Korn apologized for was the impact his decision had on his family — WHILE HE WAS IN LOVE WITH INTOUCH, WHO KORN’S FAMILY WAS NOT ALLOWING KORN TO MAKE AS KORN’S NEW FAMILY in the 1980s. Korn was able to apologize in the afterlife — BECAUSE Dean and Pharm DID WHAT HE AND INTOUCH COULD NOT DO, by way of generations, by way of family acceptance, by way of inherited trauma and STOPPING that inherited trauma in its tracks -- very much like Pat and Pran banding together and doing the same for themselves. Dean and Pharm did the hard work of making the relationship a real one, in every aspect of their intimate, micro-level family lives, to a public, external existence in the world. Korn could FINALLY experience the release of GUILT he had towards Intouch and towards Korn’s family, now that Korn’s love for Intouch could FINALLY flourish outside the constraints of filial piety through Dean. THIS IS HUGE. I have no words to tell you what the BRILLIANCE of this means to me as an Asian. LOVE MAKES FAMILY, and LOVE THAT IS ALLOWED TO FLOURISH GIVES YOU THE RELEASE TO BE YOUR TRUE SELF. 

Dean had learned from the inherited trauma that he got from Korn that he needed to stop the trauma train in his tracks, and he did, and he confronted his father, and his father blessed the union of Dean and Pharm. When Dean took the gun away from Pharm, and embraced Pharm, Korn and Intouch KNEW that they could finally be safe in the afterlife. Dean and Pharm were the ciphers that finally ALLOWED Korn and Intouch to exist happily together in spirit. Korn, especially, could exist freely, now that he was relieved of his guilt. Dean and Pharm were, LITERALLY, Korn and Intouch’s FAMILY -- the FAMILY that ALLOWED the FINAL RELEASE for Korn and Intouch to be together as their true selves and spirits. 

And Dean and Pharm confirmed that in FRONT of the family member, in Korn’s father, that had originally caused all this pain. The intricate layers, communicated to a primarily Asian audience, of Korn apologizing to his father, and then of Dean embracing Pharm and confirming their love AND Korn and Intouch’s love, in front of that former barrier -- that is GROWTH and FLOURISHING in the face of generational defiance, and about as sophisticated and eloquent a communication of familial transcendence as I could possibly imagine seeing in Asian drama art. WHOA. I’m a little out of breath with this.

Wow. And speaking of being one’s true self: I deeply loved that Dean and Pharm took a three-month break. I loved that Pharm was smart and strong enough to demand a break to understand if DEAN and PHARM -- INDEPENDENT of ANYTHING they had INHERITED from ANYONE -- actually loved each other and belonged together. Fuck. Pharm was like, no -- this one’s on me. I need to see, outside of ANY INFLUENCES, FROM ANYONE, ANYWHERE -- if I love Dean, if Dean loves me, and if we belong together. Brave. Badass.

AND, I truly loved how Korn and Intouch -- DEAN AND PHARM’S FAMILY -- came BACK to Dean and Pharm’s dreams to offer thanks. I loved how, in the end, the past and his family came back to give Pharm that little contextual nudge to say to Pharm, it’s okay to love Dean for Dean, AND to love how you two came together, through Korn and Intouch. And Pharm could acknowledge, finally, that he belonged to Dean. God damn.

This story was so multilayered, SO complex, SO filled with a respect for love at its highest and most complicated levels. This story was filled with CRITICAL SCRUTINY towards Asian family systems and the trauma that those systems can render. This story was filled with an acknowledgement for the power of LOVE that those same family systems can offer unto children who NEED pillars of love and support (Pharm’s mom and brother, badasses!). 

Y’ALL. I just, I DID NOT KNOW that New Siwaj could DO THIS! I know that UWMA is considered his best show, but like, this is his best show BY A LOT, A LOT. Double Savage, in contrast, had a lot of narrative and structural issues that detracted from the core stories of filial piety that were ultimately very important to tell. 

UWMA did not fall into that trap. It was SMART, it MOVED (FOR SEVENTEEN EPISODES! I SLAMMED THIS SERIES! I could have watched MORE, I cannot believe I’m SAYING THAT!), it was. It was just BRILLIANT. It was an ode to romantic love, to family love, to the power of memory. In 2019, it joined He’s Coming To Me in a burgeoning echelon of cinema-influenced BLs in storytelling, soon to be joined by I Told Sunset About You, ATOTS, and others. It took the sad endings of He’s Coming To Me and Dew the Movie and said -- not today. Today, we will let love LIVE, let QUEER LOVE live, in REAL LIFE, in REAL TIME, and we will not let our lovers live in regret. We will take queer love, we will give queer love FAMILY, and we will give it the HONOR IT DESERVES.

Until We Meet Again is a must-watch of the highest order, and goes on the shortlist of shows that I will refer to as one that makes me proud to be an Asian. It was easily one of the most important shows I’ve watched in this project. All credit to New, Fluke, Ohm, Earth, and Kao for a PHENOMENAL experience -- my heart and mind have been bettered because of this show. 

[FLUKE. AND. OHM. Fluke and Singto coming thru in Shadow the Series? Sign me the FUCK up. Actors on actors. WOW. Did UWMA ever introduce me to another crop of dudes who can fucking tear up a screen. I had SO much fun watching UWMA, whew!

And, yep. I had to follow this up with 2gether, ha. I’m going to spare myself a little pain, if y’all don’t mind, and combine my write-up of 2gether with Still 2gether. I know there’s a lot to be said about the lack of intimacy in 2G, which I can’t wait to dive into, but I can’t help but to also run into another wall of analysis with dear P’Aof’s work in S2G. I’ll make it all work!

After I get myself together with 2gether (HA) -- it’s ITSAY time. I will be planning on watching ITSAY TWICE before writing, as I’m preparing myself to catch EVERYTHING I can before I pen words. Stay tuned.

Status of the list below. As always -- if you have feedback, send it my way!

1) Love Sick and Love Sick 2 (2014 and 2015) (review here) 2) Make It Right (2016) (review here) 3) SOTUS (2016-2017) (review here) 4) Make It Right 2 (2017) (review here) 5) Together With Me (2017) (review here) 6) SOTUS S/Our Skyy x SOTUS (2017-2018) (review here) 7) Love By Chance (2018) (review here) 8) Kiss Me Again: PeteKao cuts (2018) (no review) 9) He’s Coming To Me (2019) (review here) 10) Dark Blue Kiss (2019) and Our Skyy x Kiss Me Again (2018) (review here) 11) TharnType (2019-2020) (review here) 12) Senior Secret Love: Puppy Honey (BL cuts) (2016 and 2017) (I’m watching this out of order just to get familiar with OffGun before Theory of Love -- will likely not review) 13) Theory of Love (2019) (review here) 14) 3 Will Be Free (2019) (not a BL or an official part of the OGMMTVC watchlist, but an important harbinger of things to come in 2019 and beyond re: Jojo Tichakorn pushing queer content in non-BLs) (review here) 15) Dew the Movie (2019) (review here) 16) Until We Meet Again (2019-2020)  17) 2gether (2020) and Still 2gether (2020) (watching) 18) I Told Sunset About You (2020) 19) YYY (2020, out of chronological order) 20) Manner of Death (2020-2021) (not a true BL, but a MaxTul queer/gay romance set within a genre-based show that likely influenced Not Me and KinnPorsche) 21) A Tale of Thousand Stars (2021) (review here) 22) A Tale of Thousand Stars (2021) OGMMTVC Fastest Rewatch Known To Humankind For The Sake Of Rewatching Our Skyy 2 x BBS x ATOTS 23) Lovely Writer (2021) 24) Last Twilight in Phuket (2021) (the mini-special before IPYTM) 25) I Promised You the Moon (2021) 26) Not Me (2021-2022) 27) Bad Buddy (2021-2022) (thesis here) 28) Bad Buddy (2021-2022) and Our Skyy 2 x BBS x ATOTS (2023) OGMMTVC Rewatch 29) Secret Crush On You (2022) [watching for Cheewin’s trajectory of studying queer joy from Make It Right (high school), to SCOY (college), to Bed Friend (working adults)] 30) KinnPorsche (2022) (tag here) 31) KinnPorsche (2022) OGMMTVC Fastest Rewatch Known To Humankind For The Sake of Re-Analyzing the KP Cultural Zeitgeist 32) The Eclipse (2022) (tag here) 33) GAP (2022-2023) (Thailand’s first GL) 34) My School President (2022-2023) and Our Skyy 2 x My School President (2023) 35) Moonlight Chicken (2023) (tag here) 36) Bed Friend (2023) (tag here) (Cheewin’s latest show, depicting a queer joy journey among working adults)]

[tis0bug]

corcovado || LMK Bad Things Happen Bingo

Chapter 1/3

Word Count: ~1.7k

Rating: Teen

Content Warnings: Canon-Typical violence

wawawa it is here!!

im working on editing/posting the remaining chapters and also posting my second fic, but with my quarter ending next week and being knee-deep in finals (art school RIP) it might be a little slow.

read it here on ao3 if you're not a fan of tumblr formatting!

~~~

Mei can hear her father’s voice in her head almost every second of every day. His tone is sharp, pointing, and disappointed. 

“Conceal yourself,” He would say, when her emotions got the best of her. “This is not how a Dragon behaves.” 

She could often shove his voice aside. Xiaotan was as impulsive and loud as she was, his energy was always something she could bounce off of instead of shove down. He was her best friend, her rock, and something she could depend on. He made her life better, made her father’s voice a little quieter. 

She loved her father, truly, but he made her chest ache. She couldn’t relax, or be herself around him like she could around Xiaotan. It exhausted her. 

Maybe that’s why she needs to prove herself to her friend.

Xiaotan is a true warrior– everything Mei wants to be. He’s strong and courageous and the picture perfect example of a successor. He’s everything Mei should be. He handles his powers with ease and controls his wild, crazed abilities. Even when his yokai form tempts and pulls at his mind, he can root himself in reality and carry on swinging. He is protective, empathetic, and perfect. He’s everything Mei needs to be. 

She watches Xiaotan and his mentor, his almost father. She watches as they play and spar and exist together. She hears her father’s voice and begins to feel something else towards Xiaotan. Something sick and twisted, like a slime crawling its way across her skin. 

Jealousy. 

Mei reaches a hand underneath her tee shirt, thumbing under the center gore of her bra wire and to the ridged scar that lies on her sternum. A constant marr on her body from the Samadhi Fire. It seems to heat under her touch as she watches Xiaotan shove the heel of his palm through the Monkey King’s defense, cackling at their intricate dance. She presses her hand over the old, healed wound as it thrums in time with the lilts in Wukong’s laughter. Her lips turn down, a familiar anger setting into her body. White hot and almost comfortable. 

She stands, suddenly and with a little too much power. Her chest aches, but for some reason the harsh movements quell the constant pain. Xiaotan looks to her as she moves, stalling in his sparring, and she plasters on her signature grin. Her canines poke out over her bottom lip now, catching the skin and scratching ever so slightly. She relishes in the momentary prick. 

Conceal yourself. 

“I’m headin’ out, MK!” She yawns, stretching her arms above her head and rising to the balls of her feet. “Red Boy wanted me over at his dojo hours ago. Don’t wanna make him any more flame-ey then he already is.” She wiggles her fingers by her hair, making a poof sound as she crosses her eyes. Xiaotan chuckles as he bounds over, a hand on her forearm. 

He’s warm. A radiating sun. 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re using him as an excuse to ditch.” He sticks his tongue out at her, playful, and she dramatically pinches her fingers at his tongue, to which he yelps and swats at her hand. 

“No, but I’m sorry if we kept you,” Xiaotan looks towards the horizon at the darkening sky. “It is late, and we didn’t even movie binge!” 

Mei doesn’t miss the genuine whine in his voice. The constant care and empathy. The kindness pouring out from him in every form. She leverages her height against him and shoves her hands through his hair, pushing his bandana away from his forehead as her fingers tug at the root of his curls. Xiaotan protests very, very vocally, and they stay there for a moment. Tangled together. 

“We can go all in on Monkey Cop this weekend!” Mei releases Xiaotan as she smiles, sure that he’s content with her words. She looks over her shoulder for a moment and meets Wukong’s gaze, and feels rage. 

The yokai looks at her with something indiscernible, something cold and distant. His friendly demeanor he has with his descendant is completely dropped with the boy’s back turned, his arms crossed over his open tunic. His tail lashes behind him, disturbing the dust that lays across the cobble and mess that is the training grounds beyond the waterfall. She hasn’t seen him look so untrusting with anyone, rather than Macaque. 

A shiver makes its way up Mei’s spine, remembering the shadow’s death grip on her throat. She break’s Wukong’s gaze, taking out her headphones to pop one in her ear. 

“I’ll see you later, MK.” Mei says, a little softer, keeping her voice away from the demon lurking behind him. “Be careful.” 

-

“I think you’re finally wising up, dragon girl.” Red Son swipes at her again, grinning through panting breaths. 

They’ve been sparring for hours at this point, with sporadic water breaks in between. Mei’s body burns, and she chases it. She hooks her foot around the back of Red Son’s knee and pulls him forward, knocking his balance loose for a second. His arms windmill, and his fingertips sparkle. 

“No fire!” Mei laughs, letting green electricity explode around them as a warning. After the Bone Demon had been driven back underground, Mei and Red Son kept up with their training. The Samadhi Fire, as much as Red Son would hate to admit it, had brought the two closer. Mei feels at ease with Red Son, they’re in a sort of tandem that she hasn’t felt in a long time. 

She remembers the warm sun, Xiaotan, and falters in her attack. Red Son catches her arm by the elbow and yanks her forward, his left hand coming to her shoulder to slam her back onto the mat. 

“I mean–” Red Son continues, his thought process from before resurfacing. “--The Monkey King has always been a shifty figure, I’m just glad to see a day where I’m not the only one to believe it!” 

“What–?” Mei rolls over, jamming her knee into Red Son’s ribs and watching smoke pour from his mouth. “He’s not shifty, he’s just–” 

“A liar?” Red Son hisses, wiggling away from the iron trap that is Mei’s thigh. He throws her back with a kick from underneath so they’re both lying down again, heads facing opposite directions. He traps one of her legs with his own, the arc of his foot pinning her forearm to the mat as he pulls himself to look her in the eye. “A thief? A killer?” 

“You’re all of those things too, y’know!” Mei groans, barring her free arm against his chest. She presses against him, and feels the twin burning from behind his sternum and her own. She pauses, then sighs, letting her head thump against the mat. She taps it twice, and Red Son pulls off of her. 

With her eyes closed, she can’t see him lay next to her, but she can feel heat radiating from her right side. She shifts and dramatically groans until she can lay her head on his chest, which he accepts begrudgingly. Mei loves the contact, borderline needs it, but there’s a different reason. 

Through all of her hair, which is sweaty and mostly plastered to her face, and Red Son’s tank top, she can feel his scar. A trio of flames in a circle going over his chest and puckering as it gets deeper in the center of his ribcage. She breathes in time with him, feeling her own scar tighten over her skin. 

Red Son’s hand comes over her chest, flattening his palm over her sternum. Mei stills, and sighs as he withdraws all the fire from his hand. It feels almost cold against her. 

“Is it still there?” He asks after a pregnant moment, to which she shrugs. 

“I don’t see it going away.” Mei admits. She’s startled when Red Son bolts up from underneath her, letting her slap against the ground. She grasps the back of her head with both hands and kicks up a leg because fuck that hurt, and is about to give him a piece of her mind before–

“Damn him.” Red Son curses, looking at the opposite wall. He flips over his palm and flickers a flame into view, folding his fingers over and letting the fire shoot out from between his digits. 

“Fucking– damn him!” 

“Woah, Red Boy, loosin’ your poise there?” Mei blinks through the growing headache, leaning over his shoulder. “What’s got you hot and bothered?” 

“Don’t–!” His hair licks up at the base, eyes narrowed and furious, before he softens. He folds his legs under him, his hands in the center of his lap. Red Son looks small like this, nothing like the ferocious foe she was once familiar with. 

“...Sun Wukong has been a tyrant in my family since it’s formation.” Red Son doesn’t move his eye from the mats below him, so Mei sits beside him and copies his position. 

“From when my mother and father met, to the pilgrimage, to the Samadhi Fire, to his sealing– the demon has always been there, and I’m frankly sick of it. I’m sick of watching this idiot ruin the lives of the people I lo–” 

Red Son looks up sharply, scanning Mei’s face, before letting his gaze fall to the mat once more. “--the people I care about.” 

Mei lets herself lean back on her palms, stretching her legs out. She looks at the scars and bruises covering her feet and shins, stretching up to her thighs and hiding under her athletic shorts. She can see the barest hint of the Samadhi Fire scar from under her sports bra, raised against her stomach. She thinks of the pain she sees Xiaotan in, all the time, how the rage consumed her when she learned of Wukong’s ploy on the top of that mountain. How he had been playing her best friend like a damned pawn, and she feels heat at her palms. 

“You know what,” she says after a moment of silence, her voice as flat as it’s ever been. “I’m getting sick of it too.”

[mekandawn]

Thankfully, They're All Right :D

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

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

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

Sub-optimal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[dailycharacteroption]

Mauler (Pathfinder Second Edition Archetype)

(art by AnatoFinnstark on DeviantArt)

Sometimes an archetype is an expression of a thematic idea, and sometimes it’s simply a specialization in a particular field. Today’s subject is the latter.

There is just something to love about really big weapons. Perhaps it’s the might required to wield them, or the potential for destruction that they have. Leverage and momentum demonstrate that you don’t have to swing repeatedly or precisely to deal a lot of damage.

And so, if you’re playing a martial character with an interest in wielding big two-handed weapons, be they mighty maul, greatsword, or any variety of polearm, the mauler archetype may scratch your itch, offering a few mainstays from the fighter plus a handful other feats specialized in bringing out the most in your large, imposing weapons.

This archetype is useful as it offers a way to specialize in bigger weapons with some of the fighter-specific mechanics like flourishes and presses without having to cross-class into fighter, plus having tricks unique to the archetype. This means that any sufficiently martial class or character can make use of it as long as they meet the strength prerequisite, be they barbarians, champions, fighters, rangers, or even odd picks like an inexorable iron magus. If you plan to wield a weapon that can only really be effectively used with two hands, this archetype can certainly provide.

The base dedication of this archetype grants greater skill with two-handed weapon if the warrior didn’t already have it.

With a mighty blow, many learn to knock their foes off their feet with an upending strike. A later feat makes it more certain that foes take a bad fall from the strike, and improve the damage caused.

For the cost of accuracy, many also learn the fighter trick of dealing devastating blows at the cost of unbalancing themselves.

Even when not using the deadly edge, the weight of their weapons allows them to shove aside foes and move forward.

That pushing also can knock foes off course if they try to move through the mauler’s reach.

Not even the protection of armor can fully save foes from these mighty warriors, and with the final blow of a combo, they can deal massive damage, or a reduced amount if the armor holds, crumpling it under the weight of the blow.

With a mighty blow directed to the ground, these warriors can shake the earth and potentially knock multiple foes off their feet.

They can also learn to shove or knock over foes with a mighty, inexorable sweep as well.

Finally, they can instead unleash powerful sweeping blows or a hammering faster ones to pound every foe within reach under a hail of strikes.

If you want to focus on tripping and dealing heavy damage with a two-handed weapon, this archetype might be for you. It is a bit trickier to use with the magus due to their spellcasting taking up a sizable, conflicting chunk of their action economy, but with the right buffing magic beforehand you can potentially make this relentless destroyer even mightier. So yeah, do some digging and see what sort of martial classes will work best with this archetype, even if you only take a handful of tricks from it.

There really is no lore associated with this archetype, so you can come up with any reason why such characters might specialize in such heavy weapons. Perhaps their strength made them suited for training as line-breakers, or maybe they took polearm training very seriously, or maybe they aren’t military at all and just really, really like big weapons.

In the land of Be’Sha, humans and wood giants live alongside each other in harmony, tending herds of hadrosaurs in a pastoral existence. That isn’t to say that it is entirely peaceful, for even these shepherds must tend to their flocks, and they tend to protect their charges with massive weapons, polearms for humans, stouter, heavier weapons for the giants.

Many legends speak of masterful tengu swordsmasters possessing unparalleled skill with a blade, and such is the case with Kurumo, champion of the mountain god and master of using an odachi katana without assistance. He travels the mountain roads, driving off bandits and tending to the needs of mortal and kami alike.

While plying the ruins of an ancient city, the party comes across a mural of a past champion of an arena that once stood in the reason, a figure wielding a mighty maul. All of this would be impressive and interesting already, but said figure also is depicted with the same strange sigil marked on their wrist as one of the party members.