#finished the post right by the time everyone has already moved on. typical

[torpublishinggroup]

"Warning Signs Your Machines Are Trying to Kill You!" by TJ Klune

(Legally, I’m required to tell you that when smart phones first became popular, I bought one and then asked for the address of the app store because I thought it was a physical location I had to go to in order to download apps and not something already on your phone. Also, I was recently told I speak like an old person so as a warning, there will not be any slang you youths typically hear, especially on Tumblr. Any slang I’ve learned in the last five years has been against my will. I still don’t know what FOMO means, and I don’t care.)

1. Oh no! You and your family are trying to enjoy a movie night, but Overlord Prime (With Free Shipping) wants a sacrifice at the altar of their god, BeeZos. Should this happen, do not attempt to give Overlord Prime (With Free Shipping) a cantaloupe with googly-eyes on it and say that it is your baby. Overlord Prime (With Free Shipping) knows the difference between fruit and children. Instead, ask the machine to order dog food, and it will forget about eating humans for a little while.

2. If you own a very fancy vehicle that can drive itself, always make sure to carry a brick. That way, when the car locks you inside and attempts to drive you off a cliff into a gas station, you can break the window using the brick. You will then have to jump out, but make sure you do so in time so you can watch the wicked-ass explosion when the car hits the gas station, and you can revel in your victory over your car.

3. This one will hurt. I’m sorry, but it’s true. Chances are, you’re reading this on your phone right this second. To be safe, after you’ve finished reading this post and have clicked on the affiliated links to purchase my books, you should throw your phone into a volcano and then move to South Dakota where there are no machines, only wind and cows. That way, when everyone else gets the 5GZombieVirus that people on Twitter (I’m not calling it the other thing, shut up) seem to think is real, you’ll be safe with your cows on a windy day.

4. Get rid of your air fryer. Don’t ask me why, just do it. Red flags all around. Danger, danger.

5. Do you know of the Clapper? That thing first launched in the late 20th century (I wrote it that way to make me feel old) where the commercials showed cranky old people unable to reach their light switches, so they got a thing called a Clapper that turns your lights on and off when you clap? Guess what? Those will be the first things to try and kill you. If you love your gram-gram, save her from the Clapper. When she asks why you are destroying it with an ax, tell gram-gram it’s because you love her.

6. Do you live in a smart home? The kind where everything is connected to the internet, including your refrigerator? The refrigerator that holds your perishable foods? And oh, would you look at that: how many ice cubes have you kicked under it rather than picking them up when they fall to the floor? A dozen? A million? The refrigerator remembers. And it will spoil your food in seconds. What then? What are you going to eat? Canned food? Not if the refrigerator falls on top of you!

Unfortunately for you, this is where it must end. I hope this has given you enough information to help you survive the inevitable. If you do not heed my warnings, well. Who cares. I’m not in charge of you. Do whatever you want. Just don’t come complaining to me when gram-gram gets the clap.

[screamingatanemptyroom]

Screaming at an Empty Room -

Reintroduction/Update

Hello everyone! Probably too late to do an intro, given that I've been writing on this blog since 2017, but since I've returned after a few years away from writing, I wanted the opportunity to talk about my blog and projects completed and my upcoming plans!

I go by Avaleon everywhere else on the internet, but respond to pretty much anything, including Screaming, hey you, etc! Started this blog in my mid 20s, and aged normally into the early 30s from there. I love writing, have always loved it, but between work and life, it's definitely something that I mostly do late at night and on weekends. I love hearing from people, but I usually answer asks in bunches, and typically right before I post writing. Love hearing about other people's projects as well!

I write short stories, novellas, and occasional full length novels. I am not published, but actively working on self-publishing some of my full length works. Everything I write is posted online, I enjoy sharing my work. The main reason to self publish for me is to have physical copies for myself or anyone who might want one!

My short stories can be found under the #writing tag on my blog. As for the long completed stories, I'll post them below the cut!

Love you Tumblr, happy to be back!

A. Full Length Novels (100,000+ words)

Please Fix the Story!

Description:

I don’t know who I am. I don’t know why I’m trapped in this never ending cycle of rebirth. All I know is that I wake up inside the worlds of unfinished stories, with a mission to accomplish the author’s wishes and stabilize the worlds now headed for destruction. I do my best, hoping, praying that maybe if I complete enough missions, I’ll be able to remember my past and return to my home.

It’s just fixing stories, it should be simple enough.

So can someone explain who this random villain is who keeps following me to each world?

Masterpost linked here

2. I Can’t Eat Love

Description:

Lenora did not have a wonderful life. After her engagement to Prince Ronan is broken, she loses everything… her reputation, her home and her family. Starving on the streets, she dies angry and bitter at how her life unfolded… only to wake up in her old bed, fifteen again, five years before her death. 

Now she must struggle to change her fate, and the fate of the around her. This time she won’t trust in something as flimsy or changeable as love. No, this time she’ll have the power and the money she needs to protect herself. 

Lenora has already lost everything once. She’s not going to lose again. 

No matter the cost. 

Masterpost Linked Here

B. Novellas

I Refuse to be a Named Character

Description:

I woke up inside the world of one of the best selling fantasy book series “Deadly Crown.” Intrigue, handsome heroes, adventure… sounds great, right? Just one problem: all the named characters except the main hero and villain die, are replaced and their replacements die. Being important in this story is a death sentence, so I plan to move to the middle of nowhere, and avoid the plot! 

It should be a fool proof plan, so why do the main characters keep dragging me into the story?

Masterpost Linked Here

2. Living in a Rewrite of my Own Book World

Description:

This is the story about an author who gets hit by a car right before she can finish her bestselling book series. Trapped in the role of a terrible side character antagonist, she must find a way to change the story’s ending. Not just for her own survival, but for the characters that seem just a little too real to be fiction. (30K words)

Masterpost Linked Here

3.Baby’s First Revenge!

Description:

When Charlotte is betrayed and killed by the friend she sacrificed everything for, she thought it was the end. Instead, she found herself reborn as a baby, with her killer still enjoying the fame of stealing her work. Now, she's coming after him, and plans to make him pay... But first, nap time.

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7

4. The Supervillain’s Daughter

The story of Erica, a girl who finds out that her brother is the kidnapped child of superheroes, and that her parents are villains. Years later she is the best agent in the Villain Suppression Unit, and hates everything to do with superheroes. So of course she isn’t pleased when she is paired with the strongest man alive, especially because she knows him. But with even darker parts of her past surfacing again, she will have no choice but to join forces and save the world. 

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

Other smaller works and the incomplete ones can be found on this page

Thanks everyone!

[loveroftoomanyfandoms]

That Summer, Chapter 2

Pairing: Frank Castle x F!Reader

Rating: M

Story Summary: Frank Castle has been on the move ever since he "retired" as The Punisher after finding out the truth about his family's murder and handing his former best friend, Billy Russo, off to the Feds.

With his new identity as Pete Castiglione, Frank decides to settle down in a small town in Iowa, where he finds employment as a farmhand/handyman for you, a widow who's struggling to keep your farm running by yourself after the untimely death of your husband a year prior.

As Frank grows closer to you, his past -- and true identity -- begin to catch up with him, putting his chance of finding peace -- and both of your lives -- at risk.

Warnings/Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, smut in future chapters

Word Count: ~2400

A/N: Thank you to everyone who read, liked, reblogged, and/or commented on chapter 1! If you'd like to be tagged in this, please let me know!

Taglist: @danzer8705 @carolinaxvz @thepunisherfrankcastle @eddieslooneymoonie @kezibear

“Thank you for lunch,” Frank said half an hour later as he finished his sandwich and chips. “I certainly appreciate it.”

You nodded then stood and picked up your and Frank's plates. “It's nothing fancy but it's really all I ever have time for during the day.”

Frank shook his head. “No, it was great, really.”

He stood as well. “If you show me where the boards are for the fence I'll go ahead and get started on that.”

You walked over to the sink. “Sure, just give me a second to wash these plates.”

Frank nodded. “Mind if I use your bathroom then?”

You shook your head. “Go right ahead. Guest bathroom is in the front entryway on your right.”

“Thank you, ma'am.” Frank went to the bathroom and relieved himself before moving to the sink to wash his hands.

He looked up at himself in the mirror. He had grown his hair and beard out while he had been on the road, but it would be time for a cut and shave soon.

He returned to the kitchen, where you were once again looking wistfully out of the window. 

You hadn't seemed to notice Frank's presence, so he took a moment to study you. The sunlight filtering in through the window gave you an ethereal glow despite the sadness on your face. She's beautiful.

He couldn't deny that he found you attractive -- even though he had only known you for a few hours he could tell that you were a kind and caring yet determined and hard-working woman. 

He cleared his throat. “All set.”

You turned from the window and looked over at him, a small smile crossing your lips. “Okay, great. Here, I'll show you where I keep the extra lumber.”

The two of you put your boots back on and headed back outside, Canine Frank following behind you. “Tom had just put that fence up about a year and a half ago,” you said as the two of you walked towards a storage shed next to the barn. “So I don't understand how it can be in such bad shape already.”

Frank was pretty sure he knew the reason, but didn't want to say it until he had confirmed it. “The boards have been rotting really fast, huh?”

You nodded as you opened the shed door.  “Yeah.”

Frank walked in and picked up a board. Just as I thought. Pine. “That’s because you're not using a strong enough wood.” 

He turned to you. “These are pine boards, which is a cheaper option for fencing, but also really soft  – moisture’ll get in pine and rot it very quickly, especially during the winter. And on top of that, these boards haven't been pressure-treated, which is just making them rot even faster.”

Your shoulders slumped. “So basically what you're saying is that I should go ahead and replace the entire fence.”

Frank nodded. “I can replace the currently broken posts and rails if you want, but you're just going to keep having the same problem and will eventually have to replace the whole thing sooner rather than later anyway.”

“So what wood do you suggest?”

“Oak, which'll probably cost you more in lumber now but will last you years longer and need way less maintenance since it's a much harder wood.”

You sighed. “Okay. Let me check with my lumber supplier and see how much it would cost me to replace the entire thing.”

Frank nodded. “In the meantime I'll start on getting that tractor fixed for you. What's been going on with it?”

“About two months ago I was hauling a bale of hay in for the horses and the damn thing just sputtered and quit on me right where it sits.” You shook your head. “Couldn't get it started back up and I haven't had time to take it to get looked at. Just too much to do around here.”

You pulled a key out of your pocket and handed it to him. “If you need me I'll be over at the chicken coop.”

Frank walked over to the tractor and raised the hood. I should check the oil and gas first before I try to start it since it's been sitting.

Both looked free of water and debris, so he began to inspect the other parts. Spark plugs look good, but the carburetor could use a cleaning.

Frank walked over to the barn and grabbed a couple of tools, then went back over to clean the carburetor. Nope, that wasn't it.

Next he tried testing the battery. That’s fine too.

He was beginning to suspect that it was something with the fuel system based on the way the tractor had been trying but failing to start, so he checked the fuel line and filter next. No, not those either.

“Any luck?”

Frank turned as you appeared behind him carrying a large wicker basket of eggs, Canine Frank trailing behind you. “Not yet, but I’ve narrowed it down to something to do with the fuel system. Can you come try to start it for me so I can check something?”

You nodded and set the basket down. “Sure.”

Frank went back to the front of the tractor while you climbed onto the seat. “Okay, go ahead,” he said.

Frank looked over the engine as you attempted to start the tractor up. Aha. “Okay , I think I know what the problem is. It looks like the lever that controls the fuel level is jammed.”

He looked over at you. “Got any WD-40 or something like that?”

“Yeah, just a second.”

You climbed down from the tractor and walked back to the shed where you kept the fence lumber, then came back with a can of WD-40. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Frank sprayed a bit on the stuck lever, then carefully worked a flathead screwdriver into it to help loosen it up. 

He lowered the hood of the tractor and peered over it at you. “Try starting it again.”

You got on the tractor once again and turned the key, a wide grin spreading across your face when it started right up. “It worked!”

Frank closed the hood. “I also cleaned the carburetor and tested the battery, and the oil and gas looked fine so it should be good as new.”

You nodded, a look of relief on your face. “You’re amazing. Thank you so much.”

Frank shrugged and wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his arm. “Ah, not a problem.”

You cut the tractor off and climbed down as a loud mooing sounded from the barn. “The cows are starting to get restless, so how about I get these eggs put away then show you how to do the milking?”

Frank nodded. “Sounds good.”

“Alright then. Give me just a minute.”

As you picked up the basket of eggs and headed back over to the main house, Frank walked over to the spigot connected to the barn to wash the dirt and grime off of his hands.

You came back a minute later with two large metal buckets. “Okay, I'm ready.”

Frank opened the now-easily sliding barn door for you. “After you.”

He followed you to where the cows were kept.

You set one of the buckets down and grabbed a nearby stool. “I usually start with Clarabelle. She gets fussy if she has to wait too long.”

Frank chuckled. “I bet it's not easy milking a fussy cow.”

You shook your head, a small smile on your lips as you opened Clarabelle's stall and headed inside. “It’s not too difficult. Clarabelle is just a bit of a diva.”

You set the stool and bucket down and gave Clarabelle a gentle pat on her nose. “Aren’t ya, Miss Clara, my sweet girl?”

Clarabelle blinked her soulful brown eyes and nuzzled your hand, as if to say, who, me?

Frank smiled. “Diva or not, she clearly loves you.”

“I love her too.” You glanced at Frank. “This farm is all I have, so it's important that all of my animals are happy and well taken care of.”

Frank nodded. Message received. “I'll take care of them as if they were my own, I promise.”

“Good.” You adjusted the stool and sat. “Now, let me show you how to milk the cows.”

You took a damp washcloth out of the bucket. “I sell milk, butter, honey, and eggs at the farmer's market on Saturdays, so it's extremely important to follow state safety regulations for the production and sale of raw milk.”

You carefully wiped Clarabelle's udder then set the washcloth on your lap. “The first step is to clean the cow's udder so that nothing that isn't milk gets in the bucket then to use an udder balm to make sure you're not hurting her.”

Frank nodded. “Got it.”

You rubbed some cream from a small jar onto Clarabelle's udder then took her teats in your hands. “Then we pre-milk her a couple of times just to make sure that there's no dirt or debris in her milk ducts.”

Frank watched as you gently squeezed and pulled down on Clarabelle's teats, releasing a stream of milk from each group.

You set the bucket under Clarabelle. “Then we just set the bucket down and get to milking.”

You squeezed a few streams of milk into the bucket. “Want to try?”

Frank nodded. “Sure.”

He switched places with you and took hold of Clarabelle's teats. “Like this?”

You shook your head and knelt down beside him. “Little higher up.”

Frank took a deep breath as you took his hands in your smaller ones. You smelled of clean sweat and soap and something else Frank couldn't quite identify, but liked.

Your grip slightly tightened on Frank's hands. “Then you just pull and squeeze, like this.”

You guided Frank in milking Clarabelle for a few moments, then let go to let him try to milk her on his own. “Good job. You're a natural.”

You reached up and patted Clarabelle on her rump. “And you are being such a good girl today, sweetheart. You definitely deserve a treat for being so patient.” 

“How do I know when she's done?” Frank asked. “She'll just stop producing milk?”

“Her udder will be a lot flatter and she'll seem more comfortable,” you replied. “Once you're done with her, give her a carrot from the bag on the front of her stall, then if you don't mind, could you move on to Daisy and milk her then give her a carrot as well? I'll get the other three.”

Frank nodded again, keeping his attention on milking instead of looking at you. “No problem.”

You stood. “Thanks. If you need any help I'll be right over here.”

You took the other bucket and moved down a few stalls, talking softly to Lulu before opening the stall door and heading inside. 

Frank finished milking Clarabelle then gave her a carrot before moving on to Daisy’s stall. 

Daisy looked over at Frank as he entered  and moved over to the wall, turning sideways so he could get to her udder easily.

Frank chuckled. “You know the drill, huh girl?”

He set the stool down and gave Daisy a gentle pat on her side. “Good girl. You're gonna make this easy for me, aren't ya?”

Daisy ‘moo’ed in response.

Frank cleaned Daisy's udder and applied a bit of cream before making sure her milk ducts were clear. “Okay, let's get you milked.”

He milked Daisy and gave her a post-milking carrot, then headed over to the other stalls to find you. “I'm all done.”

You peered around Millie at him. “Great!”

You looked at your watch. “Since you got that tractor back up and running for me I'm gonna bottle up this milk then get the grass cut. Why don't you go ahead and knock off for the evening, take a shower and relax a bit before supper?”

Frank rubbed the back of his neck. “In that case, I might go ahead and head into town, pick up a few groceries.”

“Okay.” You patted Millie’s side and stood. “Just so you know, you’re welcome to any of the goods we produce or harvest. No point in having to buy them from the store when they're readily available here.”

Frank nodded, mentally taking milk, butter, eggs, and honey off of his grocery list. “I appreciate that.”

“I'll get some stuff packed up for you to bring back to the cabin tonight after supper.”

“Sounds good.” Frank gestured towards your now-full bucket of milk. “Need me to grab that for ya?”

“If you don't mind.”

Frank shook his head. “Not at all. Where we heading?”

“Back to the house.”

Frank picked up the other bucket of milk and waited as you gave Millie a carrot, then he followed you back to the big house.

He smiled to himself when Canine Frank, who had been napping on the porch, got up and wagged his tail at the two of you.

You scratched Canine Frank behind his ears then unlocked the door. “Here, you can just set those on the counter for me.”

Frank followed you in and set the buckets down in the kitchen. “Need help with anything else?”

You shook your head. “No thanks, I can take it from here.”

Frank nodded. “I'll see you at dinner tonight, then.”

He gave Canine Frank a friendly pat on his head then headed back to the cabin, where he moved his laundry from the washer to the dryer before heading to the bathroom to shower. 

As he stood under the hot spray of water, his mind turned back to you and the way your hands had felt on his earlier.

Frank had honestly found it difficult to concentrate as you had guided his hands to milk Clarabelle. The way you had gently squeezed and pulled had made Frank think about having your hands in a place he hadn't been privy to having a woman touch in a long time. Shit.

He sighed. He was here to work, not get distracted by the thought of your hands (and mouth, if he was honest) on his cock. It's just been entirely too long since I've been with a woman, he thought. It hadn't had anything to do with her in particular.

Even as he thought it, deep down he knew he was lying to himself. It's going to be a long summer.

[devildom-moss]

Request for a year anniversary: congrats on the milestone! I always enjoy your content. I would love a barbatos, Simeon, Solomon, and diavolo domestic fluff fic or HCs. Dealer choice if they’re broken up into separate fics or all HCs or a series. Ty for all that you do!

Technically, the requests are only for one pair, ship, or trio. I have already posted some domestic fluff headcanons for Solomon, so I used a random number generator to select one of the other characters, since I assume you meant individually with MC. I got #2 (Simeon), which worked out since I don't currently have any Simeon requests (I think). Sorry about that, but I hope that's fine.

1 year anniversary flash request event - SFW

(Simeon x gn!MC)

Prompt 12 - Your choice: Domestic Fluff

Domestic!Simeon, who runs baths with sweet-smelling salts for you and only occasionally gets in the bath with you, usually with his bare chest pressed against your back as you sit between his legs. Sometimes he’ll even invite himself into your shower just to wash your hair for you and take in the sight of water running down your skin. He loves to place kisses on your freshly cleansed skin, as if he can’t stand the idea that you might have washed his love down the drain.

Domestic!Simeon, who prepares meals for you whenever you let him. He loves to feed you, and he’s especially fond of sending you out with homemade lunches, knowing that not only will you have a quality meal, but that everyone will know you have someone who loves you enough to prepare food for you. Simeon also adores when you do lunch exchanges, preparing each other’s meals.

Domestic!Simeon, who insists on spending time with you in the kitchen at least once a week regardless of your culinary experience. If you’re bad at cooking, he takes it as an opportunity to slowly teach you. Simeon cherishes the time spent preparing food or drinks as a couple. He also uses these moments as an excuse for some physical intimacy: gentle kisses between steps in a recipe, sweetly cleaning each other’s skin when messes occur, one of you holding the other from behind as they work.

Domestic!Simeon, who typically wakes up before you. The kitchen always smells like coffee when you get up – usually with undertones of whatever bread or pastry Simeon has warmed up that morning. Don’t worry, as soon as Simeon heard you start to move around in the bedroom, he started to warm up a pastry/bread for you and put on a fresh pot of coffee (if you drink it. If not, he might prepare a cup of tea or something instead) “Everything will be ready in a minute, sweetheart.” For now, just give him a good morning kiss – and, no, he doesn’t care if your breath stinks right now.

Domestic!Simeon, who only stays in bed late when he knows neither of you have anywhere to be that morning. He’ll snuggle into your arms or hold you to his chest. He would pepper you in kisses and whisper words of love against your skin. (Suggestive: And if you’re in the mood, he’ll take his time making love to you until you’re utterly satisfied.)

Domestic!Simeon, who watches movies with you on the couch, bundled in blankets, some nights. He’ll prep food and/or buy snacks ahead of time. Sometimes, you’ll both fall asleep on the couch that night, cuddling each other close. You might wake up a little sore, but it feels worth it.

Domestic!Simeon, who crawls onto your lap while you’re working or reading when he’s had a bad day. You don’t have to talk. You don’t even have to try to comfort him. Just being in your arms for a while, with his head resting against your body, is enough. He takes comfort in listening to your heartbeat.

Domestic!Simeon, who hides love notes around the house for you whenever he feels his love bubbling up and can’t figure out how else to let it out. They’ll be in random places, too: inside that box of cereal you opened the other day and haven’t finished; inside the egg carton; taped to the side of an unopened tissue box, waiting for you to need a replacement; in that book you picked up last month and forgot to finish – right where you left off; in the pocket of your favorite jacket or pair of pants. He doesn’t even remember where they’re all at, and he isn’t particularly bothered if you don’t find it or accidentally ruin the note before you have a chance to read it; he just had too much love to contain in his body.

[owlzz]

Medic Whump Scenario

Sooo I really wanted to continue what I wrote in my previous post and so here’s my written idea. This is over 1.5K words and my first time ever really writing something out like this, so be prepared to read really cringey writing. Be warned.

A small splash of bacon fat managed to make its way out of the pan, causing Leader to step back as they let out a small curse. Looking down at their clothing, a small stain could just barely be noticed on their dark blue shirt, luckily nothing hitting their skin and causing any burn. Thankfully, given the team’s day off, Leader had opted for more casual wear instead of the typical mission outfits or suits. Sighing about another piece of laundry to do, Leader went back to the pan, cracking in a few eggs and carefully removing the bacon onto a small tray. 

A few footsteps and audible whispers about the wonderful smell of breakfast could be heard making its way to the kitchen causing Leader to smirk. Without taking their eyes off the pan, Leader called out to the familiar duo. 

“Morning guys,” Leader said. “Sleep well?”

Youngest’s face immediately lit up as they left their place next to Lieutenant’s side and ran into the kitchen, jumping up and down in excitement. “You bet I did! I dreamt of going to the water park again and going down this massive water slide!”

Lieutenant chuckled at the remark as they entered the kitchen, plating the toast that popped out of the toaster and taking the spoons and forks to the table. Leader even let out a soft smile as they stirred the eggs in the pan.

By the time Leader had finished scrambling the eggs, Lieutenant was already done setting up the table with plates and cutlery, and Youngest was already seated, mouth watering at the smell of freshly cooked bacon and buttered toast. Placing all the food on the table, Leader and Lieutenant took their seats and almost immediately, everyone started piling on food to their plates, digging into their hearty breakfast. 

Well, almost everyone. 

“Has anyone seen Medic?” Leader asked, grabbing a toast and spreading strawberry jam on it. 

Lieutenant frowned a bit, taking a bite of their bacon. “No, I haven’t. Maybe they are working in the infirmary right now. I’m pretty sure a shipment just came in.”

“I can get them!” Youngest exclaimed, already getting out of the chair. “Should I bring them food?”

“Sit down, Youngest. Finish your food and I’ll go get them,” Leader said, moving from the table. Looking at Lieutenant, Leader gave them a pointed yet playful look. “Don’t choke while I’m gone. We don’t want a repeat of last time.”

Lieutenant could only respond back with a sheepish look while Youngest tried hiding a giggle. Content, Leader left the kitchen, walking a few rooms down to the infirmary. Opening the door, Leader could immediately see a startled Medic with two pills of Ibuprofen in hand and a glass of water in the other. Leader only frowned, staring at Medic and the pills, and Medic, now calmed down from the sudden intrusion, stared back with slightly narrowed eyes.

“Do you need something, Leader?” Medic asked flatly. Leader took the time to look around the infirmary, placed with three beds and shelved filled with a variety of medicines and supplies. A few unopened boxes, seemingly the medical supply shipment, were placed on the floor and a few of the supplies were out of place and spread out. 

Leader returned their gaze to their cool companion, smiling to alleviate the tension. “No, but is everything okay?” they calmly replied back, eyeing the pills.

Medic relaxed a bit, mimicking the lax posture of Leader. “Just a headache,” Medic paused, breaking eye contact and looking around the infirmary.  “I need to organize the new supply shipment. I’d prefer if you’d leave so I can get that started.”

“You can do that later. C’mon, the food’s getting cold!”

Leader glanced behind them, seeing Lieutenant leaning against the infirmary entrance and Youngest standing next to them, nibbling on toast. 

“Yeah I’m still hungry! Medic, let’s go eat!” Youngest gestured.  Reaching forward, Youngest grabbed Medic’s wrist, attempting to drag them to the kitchen to eat. Leader sighed internally as they watched this play out, expecting Medic to kick them out of the infirmary for all of the noise and intrusion, in this typically quiet and solitary area. 

But instead, Medic immediately jumped at the contact, their face morphing from its stoic, but somewhat annoyed, expression to one of panic. 

“Sorry! Did I scare you?” Youngest asked worriedly, withdrawing their hand from Medic’s wrist. 

Medic’s expression softened slightly at the concern. “No, was just startled is all,” they replied coolly. At this, Leader and Lieutenant glanced at each other and Leader couldn’t help but feel anxious. Getting startled once was already a rarity for the alert doctor, but twice was unheard of. 

However, the Youngest’s expression shifted back to being bright and happy, now dragging Medic into the kitchen, brightly talking about their dreams and activities while Medic glared at the two still in the infirmary. The pills were still left, untaken. 

——————————————————————————————————

Lieutenant and Leader had the decency to look sheepish as they sat together on the table. Medic continued to stare at them with that calm and quiet expression, which very much meant they were getting the most bitter and disgusting medicine in the future. But what Leader couldn’t figure out was why. Medic wasn’t one to get irritated easily, or at least visibly irritated, and definitely wasn’t one to get caught off guard. The last few years on missions as a team made everyone alert, but this sudden change in Medic’s behavior made Leader frustrated and extremely worried.

Clearly, Lieutenant felt the same as they silently gestured to Leader about the half eaten food on Medic’s plate. The plain toasted bread on their plate was barely touched and the eggs were being moved around the plate with their spoon. Medic didn’t even pick up any bacon. 

It also seemed that Youngest was also realizing what was wrong, still chattering to keep Medic’s attention off everyone’s watchful eyes, yet quieting down sometimes out of what seemed to be worry. 

Lieutenant was the first of the two to finally speak up. “The food was really tasty, Leader. Medic, aren’t you gonna finish? You barely ate!”

Medic turned to stare at the second in command. “I’m not hungry at the moment. I’ll eat later.” 

Promptly, Medic got up and put their plate in the fridge walking away before stopping at thre kitchen entrance. “I’m going to be in the infirmary for a short while and I’ll be at the training room soon after.”

Medic paused once more, clearing their throat this time. “I apologize about the food, Leader. I’ll eat it later when I feel more hungry.”

Leader only gave a curt smile in response. “No problem Medic! Take your time in the infirmary. We’ll start in 30 minutes.” Medic only nodded  and walked back off to the infirmary,   

“But we don’t have training today, Leader! It’s our day off!” Youngest complained.

Lieutenant chuckled in response, reaching over and ruffling their hair. “You’re right, squirt, we don’t. But Leader was clearly testing him.”

Leader looked at the two of them and signed for what seemed to be the umpteenth time that hour. “I wanted to see if Medic was being serious about the training comment,” Leader started. “But, now I’m starting to see they forgot. I assume everyone else agrees that something is wrong, correct?”

The two others glanced at each other, silently, seeing who would speak first. Youngest broke the silence. “Their wrist was really warm, and I think it was like jittery?” Youngest paused, thinking of their response before shooting up and speaking again. “And not being hungry? I thought that was super weird. Medic always tells me to finish my food!” they exclaimed. 

This time, neither of them chuckled at the Youngest’s antics, instead only nodding. “Their eyes looked glassy and the whole thing about being startled is rather strange for a person like them,” Lieutenant stated. “I don’t think I've ever seen Medic express so much.”

“No you’re right,” Leader said. “Before you guys came, Medic was startled by me coming in. If that isn’t strange, they were also taking Ibuprofen this morning for a headache.” 

“I mean that could be true,” Lieutenant started. “Medic’s a complete workaholic most of the time, so they do add up. But everything else? No way.”

There was an awkward silence as everyone stared at each other, looking for answers no one else had. Leader and Lieutenant only continued to stare at the empty plates on their tables while Youngest scrolled through their phones, frowning slightly.

“Didn’t we all get sick like three weeks ago?” Youngest said. “Maybe it has to do with that.” 

“But that was three weeks ago. Medic would have shown symptoms earlier,” Lieutenant sighed out. “But everything else about being sick does align. What are the chances that our favorite workaholic worked through being sick,” they snorted. 

“Very high,” Leader said. “But it’s still been too long. What el-”

Suddenly, Leader shot up, and the other two could only stare shocked. “Medic went to HQ a few days ago to treat people with the same sickness. That’s where they got exposed, maybe.” 

Lieutenant face palmed. “Why didn’t I think of that! That makes so much sense!”

“But didn’t we all have coughs with that sickness? Medic doesn’t have that,” Youngest pondered. On cue, a loud barking cough could be heard from the infirmary.

“Bingo,” said Leader. 

——————————————————————————————————

“I’m not sick,” Medic muttered as Lieutenant steered them to the couch. 

“Medic, we just heard you cough so painfully it probably made Leader wince!” Youngest exclaimed. 

Leader only rolled their eyes at the comment. “We also just walked in on you taking your own temperature. You know just as well as we do that you are sick,” Leader continued. 

Finally reaching the couch, Lieutenant lightly pushed Medic on to its soft cushions, forcing them to lay down. Medic glared at the group, however, its effect diminishing as a rough cough escaped from their lips. The team winced at the clearly painful cough, and Lieutenant passed the sick doctor a cup of chilled water. Medic just stared at them after the fit, eyes glazed over and unfocused. 

“What can we do to help you, Medic?” Lieutenant asked softly, taking back the water when Medic made no attempts to hold it. Medic only continued to look blankly, eyes seemingly looking past them instead of at them.

Well, Leader thought, this was gonna be a tough few days. Walking to their phone, they called HQ, anxiousness setting into their stomach as Medic only continued to silently stare.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

I’m not much of a writer so this was kinda left field for me (also I didn't really proofread halp), but I wanted to try this. Part 2?

[sincerely-sofie]

The finishing of this fanfic has left me with some pretty mixed emotions. On the one hand, I dont want it to end. It's such an incredible piece of work and even though I finally committed to reading it a few weeks ago, it already feels like such a significant part of my life. On the other hand, I'm a little glad that it's over. FAR from the sense it was bad (I'll steal your liver if thats how you interpret it) but moreso in the sense that it was like a good crying session. It's something that a lot of us (or I assume a lot of us) typically want to avoid even though we know its good for us, and satisfying after the fact. It's like catharsis in a way. Endings aren't always a great feeling in the moment, but it's something that we can look back on with a fondness.

I'm so glad I found this work. I'm being completely serious when I say that this fanfic, and the other content you make, has changed my life for the better. Its helped me reconnect with that love I have for creativity after nearly a decade of not making anything even though I wanted to. It's helped pulled me out of a few ruts of depression. It's helped me realize that I'm not actually emotionally stunted (per my own conclusions) and be more willing to cry instead of burying those feelings. In the past I would just, kill these kinda thoughts before they got far because of how much I wanted to avoid crying. Much less actually writing them down, or express them to someone else. But now, I've been crying the whole time I write this, and for the first time in, I think ever, I'm okay with that. I know we don't actually know each other, but you've genuinely helped me become a better person with the things you make. Thank you so much for everything you've done Sofie. hey look! I got your name right!

But enough about me. I feel like it's getting indulgent at this point. (I've gotten dehydrated with how much ive cried writing this and from what I can tell, you cry a lot more than I do. So go drink some water first, and then) I wanna hear your thoughts. What are your thoughts and feelings about your work being finished? Do you have plans to take a break from creative endevors for a while, or are you gonna keep going? Are you going to be expanding more on this and other au's, different fanworks or move into something completely your own? Whatever the case may be, I'm excited to see what more you are going to come up with!

From the bottom of my heart, and on behalf of everyone else, Thank you for everything.

It's so surreal to have posted that final chapter. I finished the first draft almost 100 days ago exactly, and I spent a number of days after completing it kind of adrift. I'd go to my computer every morning like I had during the month prior and sit down, ready to write, only to remember that I was actually supposed to be taking a break before I made the final edits.  It didn't click in my head that I had actually done it… until a couple weeks later when it hit me like a truck that I had an entire completed manuscript sitting in my Google Docs. I think I was making myself lunch at that moment, and I had to bolt to lie down on the floor and put my legs up against the wall because I was ready to pass out at the realization. 

This feels pretty similar. For me, The Present is a Gift— the main fanfic, at least— was finished in mid-January. But the process of uploading it and agonizing over what people thought of every passing update wouldn't be formally done until about 3 months later. It still hasn't clicked in my head that I won't be posting a new update once Tuesday rolls around. 

On the subject of taking a break— I've actually been taking a break, at least partway! I've barely written anything after I finished TPiaG's first draft, and I haven't drawn much “serious” art, for lack of a better word, since I started my blog. I've still been making things, yes, but scattered oneshots and sketchy pieces without solid lineart are not my typical fare. I'm usually a lot more “exact” with what I make— words fail me here— I hope I'm not being too vague! I might take a brief break as I finish up the winter semester, but that would be less a break from creating and more of an “OH MY WORD I NEED TO FOCUS ON NOTHING BUT PASSING THESE COURSES” kinda thing. 

TPiaG (along with its derivative AUs) is still very much a living project to me— there's a lot more stories the characters have in them, even if I struggle to envision a full-on sequel. I'm absolutely going to answer the asks relating to it that I've received over the months along with any I continue to receive, and if I get any ideas for comics or oneshots here and there, I'll make them. As for what's officially next up on the Sincerely Sofie menu, I'm planning to make a visual novel that's a lot more meaty than the last one I made. I'm not sure if it will be original or based on TPiaG— but a visual novel is the medium I'm planning on! 

I'm so overwhelmed by your kindness. I truly don't have any words. This project started off as something private to help distract me from a depressive episode and to process trauma, and it's become so much more. I'm so glad it was able to help you. Catharsis was the keyword for TPiaG— I wanted it to uproot difficult emotions and help people start to heal from them, but I never dreamed it would really help anyone but myself. So to hear it was able to provide you with that is unbelievably meaningful to me. 

I gave myself the goal somewhat recently to let myself cry whenever the urge strikes me. I used to go months without crying, and whenever I did shed tears, it was alone in my room while muffling the few sounds I accidentally let slip. I'm a natural crybaby, but I had schooled myself into thinking for a number of reasons that it was bad to cry— that it was selfish, or attention-seeking, or weak— so I've been trying to reclaim my teary-eyed identity. It's been difficult, but it's so freeing to let myself feel things fully. All of this is to say: let the tears fall. I've helped more people by crying than my stoicism ever did. 

Thanks again. I can't properly word my gratitude, but know that it's overwhelming :,>

[bri-cheeses]

So I know that I’ve already posted about Evan loving Christmas an extreme amount, but I’m going to take it one step further and say that he loves all holidays an extreme amount. Valentines, Saint Patrick’s, Easter, you name it. But he especially loves Christmas and Halloween. And since I’ve already posted something about Evan loving Christmas, this post is going to be dedicated to his—and also the Skittle’s—relationship with Halloween.

Evan’s a murder mystery guy, right? He loves them, they are his favorite kind of books. He also loves true crime and horror movies, which makes Halloween one of his absolute favorite times of the year. Because of this, Evan insists that the Skittles carve pumpkins every year, then watch some kind of horror movie. (Regulus hates watching horror movies with a passion, but everyone else enjoys them well enough).

However, before they watch the movie, Pandora always—without fail—supplies plenty of pumpkins for the Skittles, and anyone else who wants to join. But she never says where she gets them from. And don’t even bother trying to ask her. Her answer will just leave you confused and probably lead to you having an existential crisis. Most people assume that she gets them from the groundskeeper, who she occasionally has tea with, but no one knows for sure. However, they eventually stop asking and just accept it, choosing to go along with it and simply just carve the pumpkins that she supplies.

So here are my takes on what type of pumpkin carver each Skittle is:

— Regulus is that person who cuts their’s extremely meticulously, and it takes him hours to finish. When he finally does, it’s not the best or most artistic pumpkin out there, but it’s definitely very neat and the lines are very clean

— Dorcas doesn’t really love carving pumpkins, so she usually just makes a simple face and is the first one to be done (she does enjoy throwing the goop from the inside at Barty, though)

— Barty’s is actually always really good and artistic, it’s just that he always chooses to carve something really odd (one memorable year, it was an incredibly life-like eye that he enchanted to move around so it always appeared to be looking at you)

— Evan has been carving pumpkins every year since the time he could hold a knife (which maybe was a worryingly young age, but it’s fine) so he’s really good and efficient at it. He usually ends up carving two pumpkins in the time that it takes others to carve one, and it’s always something spooky and Halloween themed (a ghost, a witch flying on a broom, the silhouette of a cat against a full moon, you get the idea)

— Pandora’s are much like Barty’s in the fact that they’re typically really good (she, like Evan, has been carving pumpkins from a very young age as well) but also really odd. Not strange, necessarily, but just random. For example, one year she carved a rose but made it so that when the light came through, it was a yellow rose. And when asked why she did it, she said that it was because she was, and I quote, “just really diggin’ the Texas vibe”

[aamirastories]

This is my first time writing, and I will probably go back and rewrite this once I have posted it all. I already have every Chapter lined up, so there will be regular content on this for anyone who is interested. Although this chapter does contain sexual content, it has intent that will be clear later. This is not erotica - it has adult themes throughout the story but few will be sexual in nature.

This will make a lot more sense as you read more into this!

Part 1

Ammy

May 3rd, 2033

A car hurtles past me, driving straight through the large pool of water that had gathered by the kerb. I stepped back but it was too late.

“Asshole!” I shouted after them. My feet were soaked. I sighed.

I went back to staring into the puddle, showing me a shimmering and swirling view of the Dubai skyline. The city was beautiful, there was no doubting it. Architecture of all shapes, lights of all colours, mesmerising to look at and I never got tired of it. One of the few beautiful things left in the world.

“Hi.” I hear a male voice say. I snap out of my trance and look at him, showing a polite smile.

“Are you Aamira?”, he adds.

“Yes”, I reply, nodding in response.

Aamira was the name my parents used. Everyone else called me Ammy, and I preferred it.

“My house isn’t far from here.”, he says, pointing down the street.

As we leave the cover of the bridge, rain pours down onto us both.

“So, is $200 okay?”, he asks me. I had no such thing as a ‘going-rate’, but I needed to pay rent and no-one was hiring me. Not even for the most mundane of tasks. It used to bother me doing this kind of work, but I had to lock that thought deep in my mind in hopes of never retrieving it.

“Sure, that’s fine” I reply, as we walk briskly towards his house, I hope he is right and it isn’t too far – I already feel a bead of cold water slowly moving down my back, causing my breath to quicken.

Around 300 metres later, I guessed, we arrived at his house. A terraced, 2-floor house, typical of the area and not in any ways extravagant but a ways more than functional. He opens the door and I follow him inside.

He shuts the door as I finish stepping through, and I am grateful for the shelter, and the warmth. He hangs his coat up and leaves me, and I hang mine up in an empty hook near to it, before taking off my shoes and stepping through. My socks squelched slightly, full of water from the idiot who decided to soak me, but I shrugged this off quickly.

As I step into the room, he is seated on a large couch next to another woman. In this light, I catch a better look at them both. Him, dark haired, slim build with an abundance of facial hair, I had guessed around 6’ from our walk to his apartment. The woman sitting next to him was a pretty brunette girl, shorter, and they were both dressed simply – him in a shirt and trousers, her in a skirt and simple blouse.

“Take a seat” he said, directing me to a chair near them both. “Would you like a glass of water?”

“I’m good, thank you” I replied. I’d had enough water for the night. And he was clearly stalling.

He turned to look at the woman next to him.

“This is my wife, she’s pretty isn’t she?”, he said, looking her up and down, and I nodded in agreement.

“She is” I replied, hoping he would cut to the chase real soon. This small talk always made things more awkward.

“Strip for her, honey” he said to her, and she leaned over and whispered something in his ear, looking somewhat nervous.

“It’s okay” he replied softly to her. “We need this, we know this is the only way.”

After another look at him, she looked at me and unbuttoned her blouse. She had a black bra on, a simple number, matching the rest of her outfit, nothing too extravagant. She sat up slightly and pulled down her skirt, before she was sat on the couch next to him, looking more nervous than she had done before.

I had seen this, seemingly a hundred times. It always went a similar way.

“I told you she was pretty, I bet you really want her don’t you?” he asked me.

“She is pretty, indeed. Does she want this though?” I replied.

“She does, yes. Now, can we see more of you?” he replied.

I was dressed in a turtle neck sweater, it being colder this winter than I had typically remembered. I pulled it off of me to reveal a white bra, nothing fancy. I briefly took a comparison of my breasts to hers and had figured mine were bigger. Although my body felt more of a tool than something I could enjoy these past years, I was proud of it, as much as I could be.

“Look honey, she’s really attractive.” The man said, looking me up and down. He liked the look of this tool it seems. It didn’t matter.

Accompanying my sweater was a set of simple blue jeans – I’d had these a few years and honestly they needed replacing, but they more than did the job and were comfortable after all the time I had them. I pulled them down, until I was dressed as much as his partner.

“And she looks big too, right?” he said, looking at my crotch. Now I felt shamed. An object. I had transitioned 10 years ago and had come to regret it as the years had gone on. Wishing I could go back and tell my past self of what would happen.

He stood up, and gestured for me to sit beside her. I took the cue and joined her. She did smell good. Her perfume caught my nose softly and I enjoyed the scent, and it actually brought a genuine soft smile to my face as I looked at her. She looked at me back and for a moment I felt we had a connection, albeit a small one. It was crushed when he said,

“Okay, might as well begin?”

I looked at her with a soft expression.

“Do you want this?”

He snapped at me, “Of course she wants this! Now begin!”

I closed my eyes and sighed internally. When I opened them, she had locked lips with mine, and I sunk into her kiss. Her tongue teased my lips and I grabbed her shoulders softly, her resting her hands on my hips. Her touch was ever so gentle. My hands on her were gentle too, I’d have hoped, and my thumb brushed her skin, which felt warm to the touch and her soft skin only served to make her feel more gentle.

I opened my mouth, and our tongues danced as my chest began to heave, my breath deepening, becoming lost in her. She moved her hands down to my thighs and I felt a tingle run from my abdomen down to my crotch, it beginning to stir as a result of it. I could smell her perfume more strongly now, only adding to the arousal and encouraging my hands to move down her shoulders and onto her waist. She moaned softly, her hands squeezing my thighs and the stirring only hastened. She had me in this moment.

I felt her shift slightly and opened my eyes, to see him behind her, unclasping her bra and letting it loose. I leant back from the kiss to take her in, for a moment. Her breasts were small but perky, her nipples clearly showing how aroused she was and I only guessed mine were the same. He moved behind me.

“No, she can do it.” I almost snapped at him. I moved back into kiss her.

As we resumed our dance, I felt her hands softly move behind my back, deftly removing it in one swift moment as I felt it move to my thighs. I discarded it and shuffled in closer to her. I felt a cold but gentle hand on my breast, and moaned softly.

“Ooh,” and giggled softly. It was like I had forgotten what I was here for, and I did not mind that in the slightest.

As she tweaked my nipple softly in her fingers, and kneading my breast slowly, I moved my hand up in response. Our movements were almost symmetrical, our hands wandering as we explored each other, before I felt my arousal almost disappear entirely.

“Yea, baby, feel her up good.” He said, and I didn’t even bother to look. I mentally shut him out and continued my exploration of her.

“Okay, underwear off girls” he added, and I almost told him to leave right there and then, then I remembered what happened the last time I did that. The bruises and black eyes meant I almost didn’t pay my rent for 2 straight months. It was only the kindness of strangers that even got me through, so I held myself short.

I pulled my underwear off and I was already fully erect. She followed me and we both looked down and back up at each other. She bit her lip and we resumed our kissing. I could hear him saying things but my mind had now become fully able to shut him out and focus entirely on her. She grasped my member softly and it twitched in response. I paused kissing her as I felt so sensitive to her touch that I could almost feel her fingerprint on it. We resumed our oral exploration and she began to stroke me every so slowly. I squirmed

slightly then sunk entirely into it. Her breath quickened as her arousal built quickly, I could almost feel her heart pounding through her entire body.

She sat on my lap.

“Now. I want you now” she said. I was right, she had me. I was completely lost in her. I grabbed her hips and slid her towards me and she, in one motion, sat up and then sat on me. I felt her warm, wet and tight around me. I had been blessed by being larger than average, and although I was not proud of what I had to do, I was proud, once again, with what I had. Blessed with a tool that I did not want to use this way.

She began to bounce on me, and I was unable to shut him out any more. He was sat behind me, and I did not even want to look at him. I looked into her eyes, her face squinted, mouth agape, clearly and genuinely enjoying the experience, as I was too. She was clenching around me, her breasts hypnotically bouncing. She grabbed mine and kissed me deeply. She kissed my cheek, my neck and then bit my earlobe lightly before softly whispering into my ear, away from him,

“You’re so fucking hot.”, leaning back again and locking eyes with me as she continued.

She kissed me again, her tongue dancing with mine, her squeezing my breast with one hand, my arm with the other and I felt my climax build. Way more rapidly than I had expected.

“I’m close” I said to her.

“Yes yes YES!” The male voice said next to me, and I held her hips now, quickening my movements as it built more and more rapidly before my vision darkened, leaning back and feeling the release inside her. Once. Twice. Three times.

My heart was racing, I couldn’t focus. I opened my eyes to look at her, her expression was not one of ecstasy, but one of worry.

All of a sudden, my head lurched to one side and I felt a shooting pain across my scalp. This man, this asshole was dragging me by my hair and threw me into the street. I would have fought back but weighing only 45kg, I was easy to shift around.

I landed into the street with a shooting pain in my hip, instantly feeling the cold water on my body as my clothes were thrown at me. I looked at the door. His partner was there, trying to run out to me but he pulled her back, yelled something incomprehensible at her, and then shut the door.

I gathered my clothes, looked around and saw the street was dead, thankfully. I could tell it was late and I was grateful for it, putting my clothes back on, soaked from the street and sitting on a neighbouring step as I composed myself. Tears came quickly. Anger came even quicker. I looked back at his door and wondered what I could do. What I wanted to do. I stood up, and then realised what could happen. He had probably expected me to come in anyways, and was ready for me. I turned, looked down the street to get my bearings and began walking.

If it had not been for the rain, my face would be soaked in tears. My scalp hurt, he had probably pulled hairs right out of it with the aggression he used. My hip was sore but I could tell the cold rain was numbing it somewhat – I knew later that wouldn’t be the case.

About a kilometre later, I arrived at my apartment. I opened the door, threw my jacket onto the couch, fell onto my bed and cried. I don’t think I stopped crying even as I slept.

[anxiousgaypanicking]

Merry Christmas

!this is also very old and was never posted, so.... merry christmas i guess?!

Intrulogical (Remus x Logan) Warnings: bondage, degradation, orgasm denial, hair pulling, choking

Logan opens his door, lacing a hand through his greasy hair. He'd spent the past three days cooped up in his room, working, only leaving when he had to grab some water or a snack.

The only reason he did so was because he couldn't work efficiently if he was malnourished. Their bodies are imaginary; logically, one would think they wouldn't have to indulge in typical human things, but sadly, Logan was forced to eat and drink in order to keep awake and (somewhat) healthy.

He heads downstairs, noticing the darkness outside. How late was it?

He passed a clock on the wall... around midnight. Huh. He heads into the kitchen, filling a cup up with water. He catches sight of a calendar on the wall, the red markings on it drawing his eye. He moves towards it, eyes squinting as he looks over it.

Red "X"'s were marked over the squares, leading up to the 25th, which was circled. "X-MAS" was written in the middle of it.

Oh shit... was it Christmas already?

Logan glanced at the clock again. It was past midnight, so technically it was.

He knew it was close to Christmas; it's hard to miss Patton screaming over Christmas cookies, Roman's persistence on decorating everything just right, Virgil worrying over everyone not getting a gift, and then worrying about him not getting a gift himself (and then worrying about whether or not that sounded selfish), and Janus trying to keep a destructive Remus in line by twisting Christmas tales that rivaled horror stories.

But he didn't expect it to be this close already.

Guess he missed a bunch of time by staying cooped up in his room for long amounts of time.

He finishes off his water, before heading upstairs. He heads into the bathroom and glances at himself in the mirror. He has eyebags that would rival Virgil's own eyeshadow and messy hair that looked wet from how greasy it was. He was also wearing the same clothes he'd been in for the past few days.

He sighs, before starting a shower. He takes a fast one, wanting to get back to work (or, at the very least, head to bed, considering Patton will probably wake him up early to come celebrate Christmas with them), so he only does the bare necessities.

He washes his hair and his body, before turning the water off and drying himself using a towel. He carries his glasses back to his room, opening the door and flicking on the light, before he's greeted with a blurry blob of colour in the middle of his floor. Logan quietly mutters "what the hell" under his breath, before he slips his glasses on. Oh. It's a box.

More specifically, it's a large gift. Wrapped in a pretty, navy blue that shined due to the reflection of the light, and a glossy black ribbon tied in a pretty bow at the top.

Logan rolls his eyes at it.

He ignores it for the time being, dropping his towel and quickly pulling some clothes on. Black pajama pants and a long sleeved, dark blue shirt. His room often got cold during the night, so he wore more clothes to keep himself warm.

He then turns back to the present. It's definitely bigger than most of the others under the tree...

Logan spots a tag attached to the bow, and he grabs it and reads it.

To: Logie Bear From: Big Dicked Duke

Logan sighs. Great; a gift from Remus. That just provided more reason Logan definitely shouldn't open it. But, alas, curiosity got the better of him. So, he took hold of the black ribbon and carefully untied the box, before lifting the lid off.

He sighed when he saw what was inside.

Remus was, in fact, inside, and was looking up at him with a dumb smile. "Hiya Logie!" Remus greets him, sounding cheery as ever.

Logan doesn't respond, too busy scanning over Remus's nude body. Or, more accurately, semi-nude body. While he wasn't clothed, he had more of the silky black ribbon wrapped around his thin figure. It seemed to begin at his ankles, wrapped prettily around them before it went up to his thighs and knees. It was wrapped around both areas, securing his thighs to his knees and forcing his ankles to stay pressed to his butt. The ribbon moved up his body, tight around his waist before crossing over his chest in an "X" like manner, showing off his nipples. It came to an end around his neck, where the ribbon was tied neatly into a bow.

Upon looking further, Logan also saw that Remus's wrists were tired behind him by more length of the black ribbon, also secured tightly with a bow.

Remus was also hard and already leaking precum.

Logan sighs. "What's the point of this?" he questions, clearly unamused with what Remus has done. Remus just seems to smile wider at Logan's question, though.

"It's Christmas!" Remus exclaims. "I'm your gift!"

"Gifts are typically inanimate objects, with the exception of the cliche pet given to eager children sometimes," Logan counters. "You are neither an inanimate object or a pet, therefore this doesn't appear to be a customary gift."

"Jokes on you, I can be both your personal fucktoy and your sexual pet!" Remus argues.

Logan sighs again, grabbing the lid of the box and putting it back on. Remus whines, thrusting his chest forward against the side of the box and knocking it over, the lid flopping back off.

"Logan!" Remus whines, looking up at him best he can, with half of his face pressed against the floor. He's pouting, clearly upset that Logan indirectly denied his offer. "Come on! It'd be like a double Christmas gift, because I really want this too." Logan still looked unimpressed. Remus frowns, but continues "I even got Virgil to help tie me up, because I know how much you value control!"

Logan stares at him, not displaying anything for a solid minute, before he leans down and sets the box back the right way, thus setting Remus back onto his knees.

He doesn't stay that way for long though, as Logan leans down and picks him up by his waist, seemingly effortlessly carrying him back to the bed. He sits down on the edge of it, setting Remus on his lap, Remus's legs straddling either side of Logan's.

"Ooo, is this a yes?" Remus asks, clearly delighted by Logan's hands softly rubbing over his waist.

"Yeah," Logan answers, sounding defeated as he says it. Seems like even the nerd couldn't resist sexual temptations. And, boy, Remus was one determined temptress.

Logan's hands run up Remus's sides slightly, before running back and over Remus's ass. He squeezes Remus's cheeks, Remus grinning at the contact, before Logan's hands move back over his chest. They travel up his chest, teasingly brushing over his nipples, before he can't resist the temptation anymore and he leans in, connecting his and Remus's lips. Remus happily kisses back, leaning into the kiss as much as he could with his restraints.

How he wanted nothing more than to tangle his hands in Logan's neat hair, both to pull him closer and to mess him up a bit more.

But, alas, he could not. He wanted to fully tie himself up as to allow Logan complete and sole control over his body. Which was also a super fucking hot idea to him, as Logan could technically do anything.

Logan breaks the kiss, before his lips travel down and press kisses to the side of Remus's neck. He's hesitant in the kisses he's leaving, but his hands seem anything but, running over him and feeling him up endlessly. Squeezing his thighs and his ass, or messing with his nipples - providing him with constant stimulation to make up for what he was slower to do.

His kisses come to an abrupt end, however, as Logan suddenly bites down, puncturing Remus's skin with his teeth. Remus moans at the action, shifting on Logan's lap, attempting to grind his ass down on Logan's crotch. Logan's breath stutters, before his hands are back on Remus's waist and he moves their positions entirely.

He pins Remus beneath him, now leaning over him, and Remus looks momentarily uncomfortable (as his hands were now stuck behind him), but ends up just looking back at Remus, trusting Logan and waiting eagerly for whatever he wanted to do.

Although, he doesn't have to wait long, as Logan's quick to lean back down and place more bites along Remus's neck.

Remus seems to enjoy that, tilting his head to the side in order to allow Logan better access, which Logan immediately takes advantage of, biting and sucking at the skin that was shown.

Remus continues to moan and whine at each mark, before he laughs suddenly, following it up with "for someone who didn't initially want their gift, you seem to be enjoying it." His words are surprisingly light and teasing, and when Logan pulls back he can clearly see the dorky grin on Remus's face.

Logan looks unamused with his words, so he just presses a quick kiss, muttering "shut up, toys don't talk," afterwards. A shiver courses through Remus's body, as he bites tongue, eager to make sure Logan loves his gift.

And, well, he thinks that listening will get Logan to please him more, and Remus adores being pleasured.

That slight interruption does seem to cause Logan to shift focus, however, as his hands trail down Remus's body. They dip into his thighs momentarily, before Logan flips Remus over. Remus's knees and thighs spread immediately, and his ass is raised in the air while his chest is hovering just above Logan's all too clean sheets.

Half of his face is pressed into the bed as well, while the other half displays an eager smile.

Logan's hands slide down his back, before reaching his ass, where Remus hears Logan snort.

"A butt plug?" Logan muses, finally showing a hint of something other than boredom. "Really?" It was silver, and there was a sapphire jewel in the shape of a heart at the end.

"Were you expecting to be able to open all of me up?" Remus teases, before whining as Logan pulls it out.

He hums, scrunching his nose up at the sight of the plug before setting it to the side. "Well, to be fair, being able to open and unwrap everything is often customary with Christmas gifts, and gifts in general." He reaches around Remus and into the nightstand. "So you can't fault me for being at least a bit disappointed."

"I wanted to speed up the process."

"You always were impatient." Remus laughs lightly at Logan's all too true words. He had always been impatient; waiting was just so boring.

Seemed like he didn't have to wait much longer, though, as he heard Logan uncap the lube.

He smiled, shivering in anticipation. God, he couldn't wait for Logan to use him. Hopefully, he'd enjoy his gift as much as Remus would enjoy being said gift. He could only fantasize the things Logan could do to him while he was all tied up and vulnerable...

He was snapped out of these thoughts as he felt Logan penetrate him. He groans, back arching almost painfully. Anyone else in that position would be extremely uncomfortable, but that only seemed to add to Remus's pleasure.

"Oh... fuck, you don't waste time," Remus says, as Logan's cock quickly thrusts into him. He doesn't move quite yet, but Remus is already trying to roll his hips against it.

"Of course I don't," Logan says, with a scoff. "Why would I dawdle?"

"You're dawdling now," Remus counters, before snickering at the word 'dawdle.' It was weird, and very... Logan-like. "I don't need to adjust. Please, sir?" Remus says that in an innocently shrill sounding voice, that Logan both hates and adores. He does definitely dislike the fact Remus is using his sir kink against him.

Fucking bitch.

Logan rolls his eyes, before pulling out and sharply thrusting back into Remus.

Remus moans quietly, before whining out "faster!"

Logan scoffs, before his hands tangle in Remus's hair and he tugs Remus's head back. "Quit being so impatient. You're my toy; you don't get to tell me what to do." Just for that, Logan doesn't move. Instead, he leans over Remus and places light kisses over his neck and shoulder blades.

Remus whines again, upset that Logan was being so torturous, but he did want to be good.

This was about giving Logan a good Christmas gift, even if that meant he had to wait to be pleasured. Ah, the things he did for some nerd cock.

Logan takes the opportunity to leave a few marks down Remus's back, whether they be scratches or bites, before he pulls out and thrusts back in. Remus whimpers at the action, hoping that Logan won't stop again.

He's been painfully hard this whole time! He could at least hope Logan would hurry and get to pleasing him.

It seems like his wish is granted, though, as Logan starts thrusting into him. He's still going slower than Remus would have liked, but he's thankful Logan's moving, at least.

He's also thankful for Logan's hands feeling him up. He figures Logan just wants to explore the new territory, but his cold hands running over Remus's warm chest feels nice. Especially when they reach Remus's nipples and start teasingly pinching at them. Remus whines at the contact, trying to arch his chest further into Logan's hand without smashing them between Remus's chest and the mattress.

Logan's thrusts slowly start to speed up, and Remus moans as he rolls his hips back on Logan's cock.

"Fuck," he moans out, eyes fluttering closed as he bites his lip. "Your cock is so big, sir. Fuck, so big and so thick inside of me."

"My cock literally has not changed size since entering you."

"Shut up; it's huge." Drool is dripping from the corner of Remus's mouth, a happy smile on his face as Logan continues to thrust into him. "I love your cock, sir! I love it so much- fuck you feel so good."

Logan groans above him, and that just makes Remus smile wider. He likes hearing that Logan is enjoying himself as much as Remus is. Also, Logan is just very fucking hot.

"Remus," Logan moans out, rather quietly, as he buries his face in Remus's neck.

Remus wonders to himself how someone can be both so hot and so cute at the same time, and how he got lucky enough to have the cutest hot man fucking into him.

"Fuck, sir oh!" Remus suddenly lets out a high pitched moan, his eyes squeezed shut in pleasure as Logan suddenly nails his prostate. "Oh fuck! Sir- sir right there! Please- oh hell, please!" His back arches and his chest presses into the bed, Logan's hands stuck beneath his chest now. Logan doesn't seem to care much, though, as he grits his teeth and focuses on pounding Remus's prostate, drawing louder and louder moans from him.

"Sir, sir please I need to come-" Remus eventually babbles out. When met with no response, he whines. "Please, sir! I need to come so bad."

"Toys don't get to come," Logan finally growls out, one of his hands wiggling out from under Remus's chest. He wraps it around the base of Remus's cock, squeezing it tightly. "You're here for my pleasure only."

Remus whimpers, "Sir, please- I need-"

Logan tangles his other hand in Remus's hair, yanking his head back. "Did you not here what I said, slut?" Logan hisses into his ear, sounding rather unlike him. "Now shut up. Toys don't talk, either."

His hand in Remus's hair slid down to his neck, before he squeezed it tightly, Remus choking out a moan at his actions, his eyes rolling back into his head. Drool continued to drip out of his mouth, strangled moans and whines escaping his mouth, only spurring Logan to squeeze tighter around his throat.

Logan is breathing hard, and he mutters something incoherent before he comes into Remus with a gritted moan. Remus moans as he feels Logan's come spilling inside of him, before he stops moving. Logan's hand falls from Remus's throat, and Remus sucks in a large breath of much needed air, before he lets out a cry as the hand around his cock starts stroking him at a fast pace. Remus comes quickly over Logan's hands and the sheets, before he lets his face fall onto the pillows.

He's panting heavily, before he feels the ribbons come loose around him. Logan undoes the ribbon around his wrists first, before untying the ribbon over his body. Now fully unrestrained, Remus collapses onto the bed, before rolling himself onto his back.

He's grinning wide as he stares up at Logan. "Wow," he pants out, between fits of giggles. "That was fun. Did you enjoy your gift?"

"Very much so," Logan answers, leaning down to carefully pick Remus up. "But we need to shower. Come on."

Remus whines at the notion of showering, but let's Logan pick him up anyway, thinking of ot as Logan giving him better access to kiss other places, such as Logan's neck. Logan just hums as Remus presses kisses all over his neck, starting the shower. They'd shower and Remus would probably demand cuddles (and claim it was a must after sex, solely just so he could lay next to a (hopefully) naked Logan), before falling asleep and celebrating Christmas Day with the others.

Hopefully, they wouldn't question why Remus didn't get Logan a gift.

[mothervvoid]

For the writing ask, 10, 22, 43, and 99! 🧡

for this meme

thanks for the sneak peak at the new bit you wrote for abandon, btw, i loved it! i've said this already so many times before but the way you write obito's dialogue... :chef's kiss: it's just amazing dude.

at what point in the process do you come up with titles, and how easy or hard is that for you?

because of just the sheer amount of failed projects i've had in the past (mostly bcos i started writing fic when i was in middle school and thus very bad at planning) i still associate naming things before they're finished to be bad luck. because of this, most of my fics are named right as i'm about to post! notable exceptions to this include Dogteeth, call me what you like and do it again; and do it again is actually a title i stole from a project i ended up abandoning!! (the concepts are similar tho).

it's kinda hard for me to come up with titles for fics im writing at present bcos i REFUSE to name most of them until they're finished. so then i'll just sit at the post box and glare at it bcos now i have a finished fic and no name. i've got a list in my notes app full of potential titles i think up for this very reason but sometimes none of them fit. and then there's times where i come up with the perfect title! once in a blue moon occurrence though.

describe your writing process from scratch to finish.

okay so, the process:

step one: come up with scenario. typically smth i want to see that i haven't seen yet. or it is something i've already seen i just want to do it myself.

step two: daydream about it. come up with a few vague scenes. i often imagine my fics as movie trailers funnily enough.

step three: keep daydreaming. there's a lot of daydreaming involved in my process unfortunately, about 70% of it is daydreaming and then translating that daydream onto paper. i think in both pictures and words so this is, thankfully, usually easy for me. during step three we've moved past vague scenes and have started fleshing out the meat of the really important scenes and have started on the connective tissue between, like motivations and how everyone got there to begin with.

step four: actually writing. typically this happens after a period of procrastination where i start writing it in my head, and then i write and rewrite it over and over again until i like it. (< this is the part of the process where my unfinished projects will usually die because i will start writing and then become daunted by the enormity of the story i've dreamt up. longfics scare me! there's a reason why even my chaptered fics are short. this is something i'm slowly outgrowing.)

and that's it!

how did writing change you?

it's given me a lot of questionable knowledge on subjects i am not majoring in.

but if i'm being honest? i think writing has helped me through some pretty dark times in my life. the pandemic ruined my mental health, and there's a fic i wrote from 2019 (it's batman & rhato related) where that really shows. i figured out i could express myself through writing and i just kinda ran with it lmao.

i also think it's made me better at expressing myself period tbh.

was being a writer a dream of yours when you were little? or did it spring up when your older? or is it just a hobby? 

i didn't really think about being a writer when i was a kid, i was very much your stereotypical child, i wanted to be a movie star or a singer. then i got older and it sort of sprung up on me--i see this as more of a hobby than a career though. i've toyed with the idea of writing something and trying to get it published, but i'm a little soured on the idea because so many members of my family keep pushing me to monetize something that's been a beloved hobby of mine for years, something i really don't want to turn into work, yk?

[ninasbookshelf]

my 2023 dnf list

these are the books i started last year and decided not to finish. if i'm bored with a book or i feel that it's driving me into a slump, i'm pretty harsh about moving on. sometimes a book just isn't for me!

warning: there may be spoilers ahead, so read at your own risk.

malibu rising by taylor jenkins reid

"Malibu catches fire." from the first few pages of Malibu Rising, the reader knows that the party to which the whole book builds up is going to reach a fiery end. the reader also knows that the fire was started by one person. having read all of TJR's previous books set in this universe, i had a pretty good guess who that person would be. (i have since googled it and confirmed i was right, lol). so basically i went into this book knowing what was going to happen... and then just had to read through the anxious buildup to that final event. and i found i just didn't care about the things that happened in the hours leading up to the party. some of the riva family's backstory was interesting, but most of the present-day story points were predictable. the only character with whom i felt a connection was nina riva (justice for nina riva! that woman has dealt with too much). also i admit i was particularly struggling with anxiety at the time that i read Malibu Rising—so maybe that timing worked to the book's detriment—but i found the length of the buildup far too long and anxious to get through, especially when i already knew the ending. i know that anxiety was intentional, but it dragged on, and the story failed to keep me interested during that time. eventually i said to myself, "why am i putting myself through this?" it didn't feel worth continuing, so i stopped reading and googled to confirm my guess about the person who started the fire.

i want to die but i want to eat tteokbokki by baek sehee

i talked about this book already in my 2023 mid-year book freakout post, but basically i felt this book was oversimplified mental health advice, none of which was new to me. the writing was oversimplified too, in my opinion. it didn't pull me in at all. i was bored by it! I Want to Die But I Want to Eat Tteokbokki had been on so many lists that i really thought i would love it, but i hardly made it through 20 pages before giving up.

all about love: new visions by bell hooks

i've heard such great things about bell hooks' work. i picked up All About Love at the library on a whim back in september, and it... wasn't what i expected. i wasn't prepared for the religious/spiritual references, among other topics. i didn't quite have the energy that month to dive into the details so i ended up returning the book without getting very far into it. i guess i wasn't in the mood for it. as i mentioned briefly in my september wrap-up, i think eventually i'll return to All About Love and give it a fair shot when i actually feel i can dive into this type of writing.

a dream life by claire messud

i actually did finish this book, but i'm including it here because if it wasn't so short i would not have bothered to read the whole thing. i was unfamiliar with this novella and author prior to reading A Dream Life; i happened to come across the book at the library. the story fell flat for me. it's a sort of cautionary tale about acquiring what's supposed to be the dream lifestyle. but of course, the life to which everyone supposedly aspires has its own string of complications that are more of a headache than a blessing, etc. it's your typical story of money creating new problems, so the characters finally decide to go back to a life they're more comfortable with. i thought this story was boring! the writing wasn't bad, but the message is nothing new. the storyline was predictable and slow. it did nothing for me.

that's it for my 2023 DNF (did not finish) list. i like this short review format! i could do a whole separate review list for books that i did finish (especially those fairyloot reads). maybe i'll post these more often.

if you've read any of these books, i would love to hear your opinions!

[sleepymarmot]

I think Martin’s stance in the argument in MAG 194 was consistent with the opinions he’d voiced before. 

Long post with a lot of quotes under the cut.

Martin’s Mindset

1) Killing avatars is good even if they seem nice (the line Martin draws is at killing a child):

172: [Jon: I don’t think he’s evil.] Oh, yeah, sure; he’s probably a really kind, benevolent ruler of a hellish fear prison.

173: Wh, What about the Avatar? I know you said it didn’t change anything, th-the domain would still exist, but at this point I don’t care, alright? Anyone who’s chosen to spend their apocalypse tormenting children – God, you need to end them. Now.

174: Why not [kill Simon]? Because he was nice to you? Because he was charming, because he was fun? 

174: You’re removing evil from the world.

2) Making new avatars is not good:

184: [Jordan: What is this?] [Thin-lipped] Yeah, I’m curious about that myself.

184: [Jordan: Why?] Good question. Jon? Care to enlighten us?

184: [Jon: Didn’t want to just watch you suffer.] It’s what you’ve been doing for everyone else. It’s what you’re expecting him to do.

3) Being at peace with one’s existence as an avatar is bad:

185: Would he enjoy it? (...) Leave him.

186: But I can’t keep existing like this at their expense. It’s not… it’s not right. Whatever happens with Elias, W-with the rest of the world… I can’t live on the misery of others.

186: I get it, okay? I can’t decide what happens to them. But… I just might be able to decide what happens to me. And… And if it comes down to it…I’ll get John to destroy me like the others.

4) Being the one to decide who benefits and who suffers is a terrible responsibility:

185: [Jon: I’m sorry I put you in that position.] No, you were right to. That’s… that’s a lot of power to have to deal with. Lot of responsibility.

“And what? Replace them with new avatars from the people who don’t want to?”

Martin was very enthusiastic about killing avatars, yes. But the reverse? Not really. Both times the idea of turning the Watched into Watchers came up, it was Jon’s initiative. 184 is self-evident, but even in 185, where Martin is the one to make the decision, it’s Jon who asks him:

Inspector: You’ve got to help me! Jon: Martin? What do you think? Martin: What? Jon: I decided about Jordan. This place is from your past.

“I saw the kick you got out of making them scream for once”

I think this part of the argument caught many of us off guard. We all remember how much Martin pushed Jon towards killing avatars despite Jon’s discomfort, ethical dubiousness and practical pointlessness of that endeavour. But Martin isn’t simply projecting his own feelings onto Jon -- he did enjoy that too, this did not come out of nowhere this week:

166:

Helen: Oh, hello! In a better mood, are we? Feeling more secure now you’ve learned how to kill? Jon: Something like that.

Martin: I don’t see why you were being so coy about it – Jon: Because I’m ashamed, Martin. Martin: Ashamed?! Jon: Yes! Ashamed of the fact that I just – destroyed the world and have been rewarded for it, the fact that – I can walk safe through all this horror I’ve created like a… fucking tourist, destroying whoever I please. The fact that I… enjoyed it, and… the fact that there are so many others that I want to revenge myself on!

169:

Martin: John, is there another way? Jon: I mean – sort of? Maybe? Martin: That turn. You – You took a hard turn after the roots back there; I knew that was a thing! Why are we here? Jon: It’s just – when you said – Martin: Jon, why have you taken us here? Jon: Jude Perry. This is where Jude Perry rules. Martin: That’s the one who burned your hand, isn’t it? Jon: Yes.

Jon: I want revenge on Jude Perry. I want to… smite her. Make her feel what – What all her victims felt.  

Jon: I’m here for you, Jude. To end you. Jude: (...) You’re bluffing. Jon: You know I’m not. You’re already afraid. Jude: Oh, I see. I get it. You finally get a sniff of power, and the first thing you do is try to settle some old scores. Play the big man; get off on good old-fashioned petty revenge. Jon: I’d have thought that was a mindset you would appreciate. Now, feel it. All the terror and pain you’ve inflicted. Jude: Oh, piss off –  Look, look. Wait. Right? I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have burned your hand. Jon: No. You shouldn’t have.

171:

Martin: Why didn’t we go after the landlord guy? In the tenement. (...) Jon: It didn’t seem worth it. I didn’t – hate him like I hated her. He never hurt me.

174:

Jon: I just – This whole… avenging angel thing, I, I’m not – It doesn’t feel right. Martin: It seemed to feel right when we were avenging all the wrongs done against you. Jon: I know. I, I, I know, alright? But well – That’s kind of the problem; I, I have all this – power, and, and I want to use it to try to help, but I – I don’t know – I mean, I do. I-I’ve done so much damage, and – and anything that might help to balance that is – But killing other Avatars is, is not – I, I don’t think it makes anything better. I think it just makes me worse.

“You weren’t meant to enjoy [Kill Bill] this much!”

Initially, Martin enthusiastically suggested killing avatars because he thought it would improve the world:

166: 

Martin: Th, This isn’t like it was before! We’re not talking about innocent bystanders in cafes here, Jon; these things are – th-they’re just evil, plain and simple, and right now they’re torturing and tormenting everyone! If you want to stop them and have the power to, then – then, then yeah, let’s do it, let’s go full Kill Bill!

169:

Martin: It’s not just your revenge though, is it? Destroying her… it would help all those people in there, wouldn’t it? Jon: Maybe? It’s… Like I said, I can’t see the future. It wouldn’t free them, if that’s what you’re asking. ‘Free’ doesn’t really exist in this place.

Jon: She’s gone. Martin: The fires are still here. Doesn’t look like much has changed. Jon: No. I suppose not. Martin: Let’s just get out of here.

171:

Martin: Why didn’t we go after the landlord guy? In the tenement. Jon: Arthur Nolan? Martin: Yeah. He’s still there, right? Jon: After Jude, th,the fires – I,I didn’t want to put you through anymore. Martin: Don’t do that. Jon: What? Martin: Don’t use me as an excuse. Jon: I-I’m not. I just – It didn’t seem worth it. I didn’t – hate him like I hated her. He never hurt me. Martin: But all the people inside. Jon: Killing Nolan wouldn’t have made it stop. It would just leave it – unsupervised. Martin: John – we are doing good, right? Making things better? Jon: I don’t know if that was ever an option.

173:

Martin: We’ve got to help them. Jon: How? Martin: I – I don’t know! I’m not the one who’s supposed to know everything, alright? There has to be something we can do!

Martin: Wh, What about the Avatar? I know you said it didn’t change anything, th-the domain would still exist, but at this point I don’t care, alright? Anyone who’s chosen to spend their apocalypse tormenting children – God, you need to end them. Now.

Jon: You see? Martin: See what, John; what am I supposed to see? That you don’t want to kill a – thirteen year old kid? Big revelation. Jon: I don’t know what you want me to do. Martin: I want you to use your power. I want you to help them; I want you to make things better! Jon: There is no better anymore. Martin: You keep – saying that, and I hate it! Jon: I keep saying it because it keeps being true; you know that! Martin: What I know, is that leaving children here is – (struggles for words) i-it’s inexcusable; it’s monstrous! Jon: Martin. Tell me what you want me to do, and I will do it!

Martin: Let’s get out of here. Jon: If you’re sure. Martin: The sooner we get back to the Archives, the sooner we can put a stop to this. All of this. They just – They’ll just need to hang on a little longer.

174:

Martin: You’re removing evil from the world. Jon: I, I’m not though, am I? The tenement fire is still burning. The mortal garden is growing wild. The carousel –

Hypocrisy?

As we see in the quotes above, both Jon and Martin were swept up by the feeling of newfound power and the idea of revenge. For Jon, pessimistic about the state of the world and personally hurt by some of the avatars they encountered on the road, it was mostly about personal vengeance. Martin, on the other hand, doesn’t have such a painful history with the avatars whose domains they pass, and the lack of Beholding-sourced knowledge and despair allows him to hold onto a false hope, making this an ideologically driven crusade.

With this in mind, let’s go back to 194:

Martin: I know what it’s like to be powerless. A-And I know you do too. And I also know what it’s like when you get a taste of– wh-when you’re finally able to– 

Jon: What happened to “Kill Bill”? Martin: You weren’t meant to enjoy it this much!

These lines sound a lot like regret. Maybe I’m overestimating Martin’s level of self-awareness here, but it seems he has realized they both got drunk on power, and he pushed Jon in a direction he shouldn’t have. Unfortunately, in the heat of the moment he puts all blame on Jon instead of taking responsibility for his own actions. Let’s hope that he apologizes later!

To be entirely clear, I think that the way Martin consistently treats Jon like a gun instead of a person in this subplot is in itself a problem. When Jon is ashamed of enjoying vengeance too much, Martin doesn’t like it; when he lets himself enjoy it, Martin disapproves too as we now know. Let’s look at three crucial points in the storyline side by side:

166:

Martin: Sure. Okay, that’s – I mean, that’s really not that complicated, John; I don’t see why you were being so coy about it – Jon: Because I’m ashamed, Martin. Martin: Ashamed?! Jon: Yes! Ashamed of the fact that I just – destroyed the world and have been rewarded for it, the fact that – I can walk safe through all this horror I’ve created like a… fucking tourist, destroying whoever I please. The fact that I… enjoyed it, and… the fact that there are so many others that I want to revenge myself on! Martin: …No; No, I actually think you’re good on that front. Jon: What? Martin: Yeah, I, I, I think we should go for it, get our murder on! Jon: Sorry, what? Helen: Yes, Martin! Martin: Th, This isn’t like it was before! We’re not talking about innocent bystanders in cafes here, Jon; these things are – th-they’re just evil, plain and simple, and right now they’re torturing and tormenting everyone! If you want to stop them and have the power to, then – then, then yeah, let’s do it, let’s go full Kill Bill!

174 (I left in some of the unofficial transcript’s stage directions to keep the picture clear):

Martin:That’s enough. John? Jon: Uh… yes? Martin: Do it. Simon: Uhh… Do what? Martin: Kill him. Jon: Uh – Simon: Hang on. Can he do that? Martin: (forceful) He can, and he’s going to! Simon: Oh! Right! Seems a bit rude, to be honest. Jon: Oh, oh… okay, um. Martin: Jon? Jon: J-Just give me a moment! I, uh, I – Simon: I-In fact, yes! You know what? I’ll, I’ll probably just be going, then – I, I – I’d prefer to keep existing, if it’s all the same to you, uhm – Martin: J-Jon! Jon: I – Simon: (fast) Been lovely chatting to you! Good to see you guys. Feel free to pop by again when you’re feeling less, um, murdery. Martin: (yelling) Jon! Simon: Byeee! Martin: You let him go. Jon: (weary) Yeah. Martin: Why? Jon: Because, uh… uh – Martin: (cutting him off) Why did you let him go, John?

194: 

Martin: I know what it’s like to be powerless. A-And I know you do too. And I also know what it’s like when you get a taste of– wh-when you’re finally able to– Jon: That’s not what this is! Martin: I’ve been out there with you. I saw the kick you got out of making them scream for once. Jon: What happened to “Kill Bill”? Martin: You weren’t meant to enjoy it this much!

Looks like Martin assumed Jon’s desire for vengeance to be righteous anger. And didn’t like the realization that Jon’s murderous urges -- or his own, in Oliver and Simon’s cases -- are something darker, more personal and irrational.

Conclusion

When Martin had pressured Jon to act, it was done out of hope and idealism (misguided or not, we’ll see). He didn’t simply want Jon to do something -- he wanted him to make the world better. Call it naive, wilfully blind, unfair to Jon -- I’ve had my own share of frustration with Martin this season -- but he has had a very specific and consistent agenda. Sometimes both Jon and Martin are motivated by a personal grudge -- Jon against Not!Them and Jude and Jared, Martin against Oliver and Simon -- but overall, Martin thinks that this quest removes evil from the world.

What Jon proposes in 194 goes against all of Martin’s beliefs and wishes:

The total amount of evil is not reduced

New avatars are created

Jon appoints himself the one and only ultimate judge

By giving in to the Eye:

Jon lets it have what it had wanted all along, lets it win

Jon abandons morality for power

Jon abandons humanity and Martin for the inhuman evil happiness he can’t help but crave

Accepting this is at least as bad as doing nothing at all -- and perhaps even worse.

So I don’t think Martin’s being particularly irrational during the argument. Some of the things he says may be unfair, harsh, even cruel. You can say it was hypocritical of him to accuse Jon of enjoying the killing spree too much, since he was the one who proposed it and kept pushing Jon towards it with great enthusiasm. His “I forbid it” may be naive and childishly petulant, and this mindset might lead him to making bad choices in the future. But I don’t think he was projecting his own feelings onto Jon, or pulling arguments out of nowhere.

[no-droids]

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gif credit: @javier-pena

Part Eighteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 19.5K

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

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

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

Day 5–11:13am:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Extravagant, magnificent are both words.  Floral is another.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 5—5:04pm:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 5–5:17pm:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s here… isn’t he?

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

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

This… this is a taunt.  

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

“You okay, Nerida?”

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

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

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

***

Day 5–5:32pm:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s when you see him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unless…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 5–5:24pm:

Din is fucking furious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 5–6:59pm:

This water is quiet here, but it sparkles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Din.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 5–7:37pm:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Naydee smiles and nods.  “Sounds perfect.”

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

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

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

***

Day 5–11:32pm:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something catches your eye.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Behind you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rigid steel that bends only for your touch.

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

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

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

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

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

—Bong—

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

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

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

One o’clock.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“—ve you—I l-love y—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It takes you a second.

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

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

“Ma—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Commotion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The crib—he forgot the crib—

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

You raise your voice.  “Din?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay, well.  You could just about fucking cry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Home.

***

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

[erodasfishtacos]

HSLOT SAINT LOUIS

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A post shared by harry styles updates ♡ (@harryflorals)

warnings: smut, 18+

-

Harry was doing his same script, he’s been starting every show but addressing the circular stage.

“Sometimes you’ll get m’face and sometimes you’ll get m’ass. Please, let me know if y’have a preference,” He gives the crowd a cocky grin, it widens when the audience goes insane with whistles and screams.

YN is standing off to the side, where she always stands with Harry’s friends and family who come and go - visiting them.

Harry’s eyes dart to his wife, when he sees her rolls her eyes at him, he points at her, speaking right into the microphone, “And you’ll be gettin’ the ass baby!”

The arena is near deafening with the fans who are fawning and cooing at the couples interactions, they all look back to YN.

She blows him a kiss and he dramatically snatches, smacking it right on his backside with a cheeky wink and purse of his lips.

He goes on with the show in his stunning red outfit that fit for Saint Louis perfectly - YN was matching him in a dark satin orange slinky dress that was undeniably sexy. It had Harry feeling her up backstage before he went on. ***

The fans loved that the couple matched at every concert.

YN loved watching her husband perform and after that comment about her getting his ass…well, it gave her some ideas for later.

The way the shirt he was wearing wasn’t buttoned enough so she could see the glisten on his chest, how the trousers hugged his perky backside like a sin.

It may be wrong, but everybody in this arena wanted him.

They want to hug him, kiss him, blow him, fuck him - but the only one who got that was her and she basked in it.

As Harry finishes with Kiwi, losing his absolute shit, YN and everyone else starts to head backstage. YN waves to a few fans and stops for a selfie or two before disappearing.

When Harry runs back to join, after dashing from center stage, he automatically finds his wife and wraps her up into a tight hug.

“Ew, bun. You’re extra sweaty, you definitely need to go shower,” YN crinkles her nose, pushing him off as he does stink a bit and is just sticky from sweat.

Usually, Harry would coerce his wife into joining him but they had quite a few friends who came to see the concert and YN was expected to entertain them.

“I’ll be thinkin’ about you, flower,” He teases, nipping her ear before chatting with their friends for a moment before he’s trailing off to shower and change.

-

YN waits a few minutes, enough time to guarantee he was already in the shower - soaping up.

She punches in the code to his locked dressing room, a soft smirk on her face as she steps over where he’s strewn the orange ensemble to purposefully piss off Harry Lambert - like always.

When she opens the bathroom door, she makes sure to be as quiet as possible - same as when she shuts and locks it behind her.

It a modern, standard shower stall and Harry is standing facing away from his wife - scrubbing his hair roughly to get the styling gel and grime out.

Harry’s shoulders are so broad.

His back is just…beautiful.

It’s so muscular, defined, and strong as he flexes his arms forward. Then her eyes trail down to his backside.

His bum was small, she loved to tease him and pinch it but it was muscular as well from those squats and wall sits he does in the gym.

After she quickly undresses, she steps in behind him into shower - pressing her chest up against his wet back and wrapping her arms around his waist.

Harry startles, nearly jumping out of his own skin before huffing out a laugh and leaning back into his wife, relaxing - well more like melting as he puts his weight on her.

“Thought y’were some crazy fan,” He jokes, hand coming down to cup the hers on his waist but frowning when she pulls back.

“Against the wall,” YN murmurs firmly, pushing him gently until his chest is against the tile and the shower head is pounding on his back and shoulders.

Harry shuffles forward, willingly albeit confused about what was going on and his wife’s demeanor as the cold of the wall hardens his nipples.

“Baby? Y’alright-“

“Did you wash yourself up already?” YN asks directly, hands rubbing softly at his sides, squeezing where his mini love handles are.

“M’body? Yeah, why-“

She cuts him off again, lips on his shoulder blade, “You told the crowd and me that I was getting your ass. I’m just holding you to your word.”

And when Harry realizes what’s about to go down, he lets out a low, explicit moan that echos throughout the bathroom.

“Yeah, baby, yeah,” He babbles excitedly, it wasn’t like this was something rare for them. They normally incorporated ass play into their sex life.

It was something about catching him off guard, when he’s vulnerable, and the post-show adrenaline has already worn off - making him malleable and pliant for his wife.

“You want to be all cocky, arrogant on stage, right? But look at you now, whining for your wife to touch you,” YN teases sharply, hand drifting down to squeeze his cheek hard enough to make him squeak.

“Baby. I’m yours, I’m yours,” He gasps, voice turning into a raspy yet high begging tone.

It was a tone of his voice that nobody in that crowd had or would ever hear. No, it was saved for her when she had him like this, like nobody else ever will.

“You don’t think I know that, Harry?” His wife laughs, fingers moving to sneak between his cheeks, pressing tightly against where he’s aching for her.

She continues, “God, I think everyone knows your mine. You can’t keep your eyes off me during the concert, parade around your wedding band, make sure my tattoo is always visible.”

“It’s ‘cause you- oh fuck, s’cause y’my soulmate,” Harry moans, pushing back on her fingers - wanting more but she wasn’t willing, “Need more, darlin’, m’close.”

She really wasn’t even doing much beside pressing at him, pushing in just the tiniest amount but he was grinding his hips against the wall a bit and her tits felt so good on his back.

Sometimes when he came off stage, he had absolutely no stamina.

Normally he could last but when he was adrenaline high and had basically edge himself in front of tens of thousands of people, it wasn’t going to be a long event.

“That’s really sad, H. Reminding me of when we were teenagers and you couldn’t last,” YN ends her rude statement with a bite to his shoulder before dragging her teeth down a bit.

It was just fun to get Harry worked up, he still acted the same from when they were younger - he’d get bratty and demanding, whiney, his chest and neck bloom into a soft pink color, and his eyes are a bit wet.

“Still just as much of a fool f’you, tha’s why,” Harry puffs out, hands continuously clenching and releasing over and over against the wall - like he wants to just make Harry wife touch him, tortured by her teasing.

“Fine, fine,” YN simpers, as if he was being a pain but she slips down onto her knees - hands dragging down his back and then his lean, solid thighs.

But in typical Harry behavior, he turns back and looks over his shoulder, “Sunflower, y’knees? We can move out of the shower.”

“Shush up,” She accentuates her words with a heavy handed smack to his right cheek and she chuckles when he gasps out a quiet, “Fuck.”

YN cups his cheeks, spreading them and leaning forward.

As soon as her tongue hits where he’s hot and tight, his legs twitch, and he puts his hands on the wall to brace himself.

“Darling, baby, baby,” Harry mewls, pushing back for more and hissing when she licks into him - his ring-bare hand leaning back to thread into her hair.

YN was planning to draw this out but she only gets a few directed laps before he’s moaning obsencenly, loud enough to hear through the god damn arena.

And then he’s gripping his cock, giving one firm tug, and he’s coming with pants and unfiltered, inconsiderate shouts of pleasure.

“S’good, m’good wife. S’no one better than you. Y’the only one who makes me feel like this. Crave y’like a drug, flower,” He praises endlessly, he turns around and helps her up - kissing her harshly.

When his hand comes to sneak between her thighs, she shakes her head and murmurs, “We don’t have time, H. Everyone is waiting on us.”

He pouts with his swollen pink lips, “I’ll take care of y’are the hotel, promise.”

“Mm,” She agrees, scrubbing the leftover shampoo bubbles from his hair as he tucks his face into her neck and tries make himself smaller.

Harry always gets a little sheepish after she does anything that makes him feel vulnerable, needs reassurance from her.

“Only with you, m’yours. Y’own my heart, ‘ave since we were fifteen,” Harry murmurs into her neck.

-

When they get themselves together, dressed, and exit the bathroom into the dressing room.

Harry Lambert is irritated as he is picking Harry’s clothing off the floor and putting it back on the hanger.

The stylist gives them a look, a knowing look, as he hangs the trousers on the rack.

“Fuck off,” The singer huffs, tugging his wife by the hand out of the room and to the car waiting for them.

[from-a-reckless-writer]

RE: the tags about being tempted to post a half finished fic and guess the ending, well you are a reckless writer for a reason

this is long overdue, so here have a fic.

It has come to the point that nothing fazes her anymore.

A kidnapping? Been there, done that. It means calling Sam Arias to intimidate the board of members into temporary submission.

An explosion at the office? Just a typical Tuesday. It means relocating to the 23rd floor and sharing the desk with two other interns for 2 months tops.

An assassination attempt? It means bracing herself for at least 3 deliveries of donuts and coffee for the two following weeks that Kara Danvers would be protectively hovering over L-Corp, until her boss snaps and shoos her away back to CatCo.

She’s seen it all, endured it all and she sure as hell is prepared for it all. She’s got three different ironclad statements ready to publish for whatever PR disaster will most likely turn up that week. She’s got contacts from the FBI, DEO, CatCo, Daily Planet, Gotham Gazette-- hell she even has Lillian’s personal cell (just in case the Luthor matriarch ever tries anything y’know? ) and yes, even the number of that 'Mexican place at 5th and Spring, you know the one Kara likes, Jess?'

She’s got two pairs of heels, a raincoat and four sets of outfits neatly folded in a duffel bag, at the back of the office, reserved for any emergency that requires a change of clothes.

The point is, she is an independent Asian-American woman who has worked her ass off for the better part of the decade and has long learned to take no shit from anybody.

Not even stupid superpowered Kryptonians.

See, it takes a lot to be her. It takes unlimited patience to put up with a woman like Lena Luthor, not because she’s a terrible person. Oh no, no, the complete opposite, actually. She is so overwhelmingly kind to a fault, and she doesn’t want nor let anybody see it. It’s infuriating to see sometimes. Okay, fine, she sides with the Krytonian on that one matter. But oh, ho, ho, not today. Today, she’s mad.

She’s livid, actually and it’s all Supergirl’s fault. (and Lena Luthor's too.)

Jess has had her fair share of ‘I-Should-Not-Have-Been-Here’ moments, like that one time she forgot to knock and stumbled unto Lex mid-yell with Lena whose eyes were shimmering but was still keeping a rigid posture.

Or that one time when she thought her boss had long left the office, only to be greeted with quiet sobs and an empty bottle of scotch rolling on the floor. Or that time she happened upon Lena, skirt and sleeves on fire with fumes rising from a green solution.

Apparently, her staff from the lab refused to let her in after three days of their CEO holding herself in isolation with the experiment. Lena had gotten the great idea of smuggling the chemicals to her office instead. Luthors are nothing but determined. Jess still remembers the adrenaline rush of holding a fire extinguisher—as if she were the chosen 5th grader for a school fire drill—and shoving her boss out of the way.

Like she said, nothing fazes her anymore she’s seen it all, except maybe, this one. Yep, definitely this one. This one just made a hot ball of fury unfurl at her very core. This one might just take the cake.

Jess was just going about her day, returned from a hearty lunch and feeling reinvigorated from that dose of sunlight and fresh air. It was a quiet day today, she noticed, which should’ve been a foretelling.

Nothing really is ever quiet. Well, when it comes to L-Corp, at least.

She’s been sitting on her desk for about a good fifteen minutes and finished with screening a few papers from their new contractors, when it occurs to her that the latest blueprints from R&D are still on her desk instead of already being reviewed by her boss.

She grabs the drawing tube and quickly makes for her boss’s private office. They’ve spent enough time with each other that Jess could just come and go as she pleases, instead of having to knock each time. Saves both of their time, that way.

Although, usually, she buzzes through the intercom first to double check, but it was 1:20 P.M and she knows Lena doesn’t have anything scheduled after lunch. So, she pushes the door, confidently strolls in and promptly stops in her tracks.

Jess stops breathing for a moment, blinks once, twice, stares at the scene before her.

Lena Luthor sat atop her work desk; blouse open, eyes closed, cheeks flushed, neck currently being ravaged by Supergirl with legs wrapped around the waist.

She probably should’ve just turned and left while they haven’t seen her yet. That would’ve been the smart decision, right? Yes. Yes, it was so very clearly The Right Decision.

Of course, she doubts she could look Lena in the eye for the next few weeks after that, but at least she wouldn’t know that Jess walked in on them during an er- make-out session? Office tryst? Oh God, she shudders internally. It sounds even worse.

Incident? Yep. Yeah. She’s sticking with incident. Indecent incident sounds more apt really.

She should’ve left. Would have left, if her eyes didn’t just land on the desk—well, more like Miss Luthor’s as- backside—and felt the stirrings of rage make itself known. Because there, underneath Lena’s ass (Backside!! Jess, that’s your boss!) is the squished—probably crumpled—pages of a contract.

A contract they’ve spent 5 months securing!!

Jess decides to do what everyone else would have done in a situation such as this; she clears her throat. Loudly.

Classic move.

Supergirl’s head immediately shoots up and Lena’s eyes snap open.

“Jess!” Supergirl squeaks and she sees the exact moment the realization hits Lena. Her eyes widening at her girlfriend’s exclamation, whips her head to the side, spots Jess, hands scrambling to a panic to close all the buttons of her blouse.

She hears Lena hiss, “Fuck, shit. Oh my God. Shit. How did she even- You have superhearing!!!” as she pushes Supergirl—who lets herself be pushed, stunned by the intrusion, face redder than a tomato.

Lena gets off the desk, fixes herself all the while to futile results. Her hair is tugged down from her usual ponytail, her neck and chest is marked, her lips swollen.

Supergirl's hands twitch at the sides and Jess sees her gulp as blue eyes frantically dart to Lena and her, and then Lena, and then back to her.

Lena finally turns around after those few awkward beats.

"Jess," she begins, clearly trying hard to put on her business bitch persona, but come on, there's a hickey under her jaw for fuck's sake.

"It's not what you-"

Jess doesn’t let her finish, she stomps her way across the office and forcefully puts the drawing tube on the desk. It makes a hollow thump.

“Jess I-”

“Supergirl, do you know how long it takes to finalize a business proposal, pitch it to the board, persuade the board and finally have a contract drawn?”

Supergirl gulps again. Lena’s eyes are wild next to her, she doesn’t like not knowing what the next best move is, Jess knows this all too well.

“Uhhh- no?”

Jesus Christ, you’d think after years of shadowing Cat Grant, she'd had at least learned a thing or two. Then again, if somebody is full on glaring at her after getting caught red-handed, Jess doubts she could answer coherently too.

“That’s right,” Jess says, “You don’t.”

“Jess,” Lena repeats pointedly. She knows that tone. It’s a warning.

“Ms. Luthor.”

A period not a question mark. It’s a challenge.

"I've spent all my evenings working late on that, do you know how many dates I've had to cancel? Just so I can secure a meeting with Qatar and simultaneously sync it with Beijing's time? My boyfriend hasn't seen me in two weeks!” Jess bursts out.

“Two weeks, Supergirl!” She gets close enough to jab a finger to the Girl of Steel’s chest. A feat she will gladly tell all her coworkers later when she’s calmed down enough.

“Not to mention, the 10 other people who worked their ass off trying to make sure that Miss Luthor's presentation is airtight, bulletproof and waterproof!” Lena has the decency to look a little guilty at this point, nothing big though, just a slight tug at her lips, but it was enough for Jess.

“IT TOOK ME 3 FUCKING MINUTES TO PRINT THAT GODDAMN CONTRACT WHICH MIGHT NOT SOUND LONG—” Jess raises a finger in emphasis, “BUT BELIEVE ME WORKING IN L-CORP? A 3 MINUTE DIFFERENCE CAN MEAN AN ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT OR PSYCHOPATH PRESS!”

Supegirl of all people should already know this! For fuck’s sake!

Jess’s chest is heaving. She takes a deep breath, kneads her knuckles to her eyelids, “So, please if you're gonna have sex in the office, please, pleaseeeee clear the desk first. And at least, lock the door.”

She stares them both down, till Lena gives her a solemn nod; cheeks and ears still red. Supergirl squeaks out an, “U-understood, Ma’am.”

“Good. Glad we’ve come to an agreement.” Jess gives them one final nod before finally fulfilling what she came in here to do, “Miss Luthor,” She turns to Lena, “here are the R&D blueprints. Good day, to you Supergirl. I'll be going now. "

When she finally goes home, tells her boyfriend, and wonders aloud if she’ll still have a job the next morning, he tells her she’s such a badass.

And well, Jess can’t disagree with that.

*****

"Did I just- Did I just get yelled at by your secretary?? D-did she just chew us out?"

"She did, and she deserves a raise."

[legendaryoikawa]

haikyuu boys in your typical romance cliche 

warnings: mention of alcohol and language

note: female reader insert

oikawa tooru — as the typical popular frat boy that you happen to stumble into because you were so damn wasted of alcohol or vodka. you happen to be invited in the biggest frat party ever and you didn’t know whether you should be thankful or ashamed that you gained freedom and liveliness for a short period of time or squashing your face on the chest of the gorgeous oikawa tooru? perhaps the latter. oikawa know you because you were one of those university girl that never gave a damn about him and in instant he grew fond and interested with you. he actually finds it cute to see you all puffy and red because of alcohol but other than that he isn’t gonna let you go this time, never, especially in this state of yours. he’s that typical cliche where he’ll pull your hair up while you throw out in the bathroom while caressing your back gently and wiping off your temples with his handkerchief. 

akaashi keiji — is the classmate that is really intimidating yet hot at the same time? you think you were quite lucky that you were assigned to seat beside him but the moment you gathered your things to move beside him, you can almost feel the weight of the piercing gaze of your classmates. anyways, you got assigned in a school project with him and he offers you his place since the school is bound to close at six and your place is not that appealing much either. so you both walked to his house and you can see the little things he does for you like pressing his body closer to your side when a creepy guy walks across or the ghost of his touch from your back when you both crossed the pedestrian or the way his hands slightly raises your bag cause he knows it’s heavy judging by your slouching. and when the young night passes away, he starts talking about his life and you too, until one moment he confesses that he really admires you, so much.

yamaguchi tadashi — you know yamaguchi and you’re good friends with him since you both live in the quiet neighborhood of sendai. you really love his freckles and usually compare them to constellations that makes him go flustered with his flyaway hair sticking up. he likes you but he’s just so meek and decides to never voice out his feelings. so yamaguchi is part of the photography club and is assigned to take a picture of a subject that is dear to them. and when he walked in the corridors all he could think off was just you. and so he did. you asked him while laughing, as to why he keeps on taking your pictures when you’re not a celebrity yourself, jokingly. but his answer left you off guard especially when he said, “my adviser told me to capture something so beautiful and i think it’s you.”

kageyama tobio  — he’s that boy that no matter how much he wanted to go home and rest, he’ll always wait for you patiently at your lockers despite you asking him to head first because you still have committee work after school. then one moment after the adviser has finished the meeting, you’re shocked to see him leaning against your locker while drinking in from his milk. the moonlight is already shining through the window panels; making his skin glimmer marvelously. you’ll just stare at him dubiously; not knowing what to say. and you feel yourself falling down crazily for him; heart’s erratic. because he waited for two hours at the lockers just to walk you home, even though you told him not to. and you know he’s impatient as fuck but there he is, waiting and snatching you bag away from you. he’ll give you a stare and flickers your forehead while saying, ‘idiot, you think I’ll let you walk home, alone?’ and you’ll just pull his blazer down to capture his lips and he’ll blush so hard lmaoo

kuroo tetsurou  — that transferee student everyone is talking about. with his dark hair, tall frame, and noted muscles— every girl is crazy about him. he is assigned to seat behind you; at the back by the window. and everything just spiralled down to complete euphoria, even you didn’t see it coming. he doesn’t talk much to your classmates. often dismissing a budding interaction from some girls. and it took you by surprise when he asked you for a pen because he left his pencil case in his friend (you heard him tell you his friend’s name, kenma it is?) and it just happen so quickly. everyday he’ll leave you sticky notes in your table with his messy handwriting saying how beautiful you are than the sun, or go out with me? with a little smile on the side. sometimes, you can feel him playing with your hair or reaching out to hold your hand underneath the table while the teacher is writing on the blackboard. 

hinata shoyo  — hinata will be that cliche where he will buy a cupcake because he could remember that it is one of your favorites. often running to your place because he missed the bus and will arrive at your place; his hair all messy and fluffy, panting, with his skin slightly flushed and glimmering with perspiration. or will let you cry on his shirt and won’t mind you soiling it despite the shirt being all new and crispy. he couldn’t bring himself to care to be honest, because his only concern is to make you feel better despite having his shirt all wrinkled and damp from your tears. 

bokuto kotaru  — is that typical boyfriend that would literally walk you down to your room despite his room being two buildings away from yours. he’s that dedicated. that every vacant period, he’ll fetch you off and lead you down to his department’s botanical garden. or will eat lunch with you in your room. or spending together in the library. he’s as fresh as lilies. young as the night. no matter how hard you cajole that you can walk yourself and he shouldn’t bother, he wouldn’t allow you. and will always carry your bag for you even though you can manage to carry it for yourself. he is also that kind of cliche where he’ll ask his professor is he needs something from your building and volunteers to get it for them just to visit you in you room. excusing you from your class and won’t say anything but just steal a peck from you a make a dash towards the faculty room with a proud smirk painting his face cause he rendered you speechless and flustered, again.

tsukishima kei  — is that typical cold guy in campus that everyone is lowkey scared of. you were asked by your biology teacher to borrow the books for the class’s current lesson from the library on the spot you took a beeline for the shelves as fast as you could. but for fuck’s sake all the books were placed at the topmost part of the science shelves. you stood there for a good minute while glaring at the books overhead. you know you were damned for good since there are no chairs nearby that are available and the librarian is nowhere to be seen. you stomped you feet in annoyance until you felt a looming presence behind you. a tall one. and the person smells of fresh vanillas as well. when you turned around, you saw tsukishima grabbing the books at ease and handing it to you and stalked away. you thanked him quietly but it was enough for kei to hear and he wasn’t wrong when he thinks you we’re cute while struggling to get those books on top of you. 

iwaizumi hajime  — that boy you hated to the core. you didn’t know why but he just goes right after your nerve. pressing of your buttons. iwaizumi is the bugbear of your life. yet for him, you’re the fucking cutest person he ever met in his life. and he doesn’t know why you’re so annoyed with his whole existence. but one time, he decided to play it off and decided to push your buttons more. there’s a debate in your class and he stood up to contradict your claims. and basically everyone could feel the sexual tension arising in the air, yet they didn’t utter a word. iwaizumi thinks you’re so hot when your mad and whenever you put an emphasis to him name. or the cliche where he yanked your arm when you’re about to leave the room just to playfully lean in your face, while whispering, ‘you’re so difficult, yet you’re making me want you more’ e2l, pls.

kozume kenma  — kenma is that typical boy that doesn’t allow people to play his console or his psp because it is something dear and precious to him. not even kuroo. no matter how his teammates beg to ask him for just one game, he’ll never allow except for you ;) to the point you don’t have to ask him, sometimes he’ll be the one to offer and let you play the recent game he just purchased lol

— part two will be posted soon! hope you guys like this,, i just started this yesterday with my love, @fratboyjae while we were casually throwing out cute blurbs to each other LOL HAHA. requests are currently open, send them in! love lots!