#hope me mashing the two threads together is fine??

[poorlydrawnbuzzwole]

Bugs (combined this thread with this one)

POKEASKBLOG DRAWPILE: McDonalds Playplace Edition

Add your blorbos and I’ll post the result at the end of the week!

[wille-zarr]

The Mandalorian: “I’ll Tie You Up, Princess”

In Fields of White ~ Chapter Ten ~ “I’ll Tie You Up, Princess”

masterlist / previous chapter / next chapter

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x f!reader

warnings: rated M for language; canon-level violence; angst; brief discussion of hunger/starvation; themes of parent/child separation; discussion of pregnancy; flirty rough-housing; character death

word count: 15.3k

chapter summary: when a dreaded face from your past emerges, everything in your new life, including your relationship with the mandalorian, is put under threat.

story summary: fleeing from the life you wish more than anything to forget, you are left to navigate the galaxy alone as a wide-eyed wanderer. in the process of evading the dangers linked to your previous life, your destiny is forever altered when you cross paths with an intimidating mandalorian and his unusually gifted child.

a/n: I’m really, really nervous for this one. 🙃Please read using the Ao3 link below if the length causes your app to crash! Also, MAJOR THANKS TO @sana-katarn​ WHO WAS A HUGE HELP.

also found on: Ao3

In Fields of White

Chapter Ten: “I’ll Tie You Up, Princess”

If Grandpa was alive to see this mess, he’d roll over and die again.

No.

No-

He’d find Thall.

Kill him.

Then die again.

“Stars,” you groan, leaning both palms on either side of the sink. Lifting your head, you glare at the face staring back at you from the refresher mirror.

Your face… it feels like it’s all you recognize of yourself these days…

You grit your teeth as shame weighs your eyes low, down your bare body, down to the speckled floor beneath your toes. You wiggle them to ground yourself- to reign in the disgrace squeezing at your chest.

…Dank Ferrik.

You press your eyes against the voice pushing, pushing at your consciousness.

…

I told you so…

I know, Grandpa.

I told you Thall was sketchy.

I know! Maker! Do you have to rub it in, Gramps?

Just wanted to point it out. And don’t call me Gramps. Makes me feel ancient.

Kark off. You’re dead.

…

I love you, Grandpa.

….

Kriff.

No one warned you that the worst part of growing up would be the realization your family was blasted correct about a lot of blasted things.

Hissing through your teeth, you fling your hand through the current of water flowing from the faucet, the droplets glittering across the reflected crown of your head.

Oh, fine. Fine!

You twist away- hand snapping up your shirt from the floor.

You’re used to everything going wrong. What’s new?

Another day, another “you’ll maybe possibly probably die.” Only this time, everyone’s survival rests upon you.

Big karkin’ yay.

If you survive this, you’re writing a book.

“Thall, how about you just kiss my- erf!-” the collar of your shirt catches your nose- “kiss my butt!” You yank on the edge of the hem until your head pops free.

“Just kark off-” you mash on the control panel, and the door opens with a snap- “straight to- YIPES!”

You fling backwards.

“GET OUT!”

Face exploding with warmth, you press behind the door. “What the hell! Can’t you knock?! I’m in my underwear, for Maker’s sake!”

Your shrieks are met with silence… so you peer around the corner…

Your wide eyes are greeted by the back of your Mandalorian intruder, the ends of his cape still twirling around at his heels from his own startled spin.

“Din, get OUT!” you hiss, ducking back behind the frame. You pull on the ends of your shirt, fighting to cover the bare skin of your thighs.

A strained, modulated groan slips around the doorframe.

“….d…r -s unl-ked.”

“What!?” you squeak, head ducking around to gawk at him. “Stop garbling, Djarin! I can’t-”

“Your door was unlocked!”

His words are sharp, strained.

“Anyone c-could have come in while you were showering and- and-”

“-Go away!”

You pat around the refresher counter, fingers gripping the closest thing within reach, and you hurl it-

“Out!”

“I can’t- Ka’r’ika! Is-… fresher paper?”

You bend around the door, watching as his gloved hands pick at the ribbon of white paper trailing across his shoulder.

You can’t help but grin.

“You look like shit, Mando.”

“Damn it, girl,” he grumbles, so low you’re sure you weren’t meant to hear it. “Can- can I… Dank Ferrik. Can I turn around now?”

“Blast it- no! Go away! I’m in my underwear!”

“What are you wearing underwear for-”

“Why am I wearing underwear? Did you really just-”

“I- I didn’t mean-”

“Some of us sleep in our underwear, Din! Gosh! What- do you sleep in your armor or something?”

...

“Oh my Maker. You sleep in your armor.”

...

“…No.”

...

A smirk quirks at the corner of your mouth, and you’re grateful he cannot relax at its sight. Stars, you take too much pleasure in making him squirm…

“Y-you’re not staying in here alone-” his voice strains- “not with hunters-”

“I’m safe-”

“-get in the bed.”

…

You blink.

…

His hands rise to his waist.

“Get in the bed.”

“Hmf.” You purse your lips. “Yes, karkin’ sir.”

Sticking your tongue out for good measure, you spin on your heel to sweep your pants up from the floor.

“Gosh,” you grumble, sticking a leg in as you hop one-legged towards the bed. You glance down at the print on your underwear. “I hope you didn’t get a good look- urg!” You lose your balance, slumping across the mattress.

 “Wouldn’t want this to be the way you find out I’m a horse girl…”

“What?”

“What?”

…

…

“…nothing.”

You hook the last button of your pants. “I guess you’re free to spin around now.”

He hesitates- then turns at your words.

“Look at you,��� you snort. “Creeping in that dark corner.” You slide both legs beneath the comforter, pulling it up to just beneath your chin. “I’ll never get any sleep if you lurk over there. I’ll wreck my bike tomorrow, and it’ll be all your fault.”

…

Heavy sigh.

The Mandalorian emerges from the shadow-shrouded corner, and he flicks his fingers out at his side.

“Better?”

“Hmf, fine.”

You crinkle your nose.

“You can stay, but don’t stare at me all night like some dang rakghoul-” you scooch forward, pulling the comforter up over your head like a scarf, only your face visible- “trying to scare me.”

-a puff of modulated air.

“You’re not afraid of anything.”

The Mandalorian lumbers forward, fingers hooked on his belt.

“And that’s what concerns me.”

He pauses right beside your head, visor angled down to stare into your eyes.

“Come now, Mando. You scared the shit out of me on Taek.” You dramatically flop out flat across the bed, letting the comforter crumble around your body. “Thought for sure you’d kill me for being annoying.”

…

“You were afraid of me?”

You let your weak smile speak for itself.

“Hmf.”

He re-hooks his fingers on his belt.

“Could have fooled me-” his voice is light, teasing- “you were a mouthy little thing.”

Mouthy.

Mouthy??

Oh, you can show him mouthy-

You part your lips to snot off at Din, but his hand extends, pats the crumpled comforter, ripping your response straight from your mouth. You watch, brow quirked, as he pulls, smooths out the comforter around you. His visor lifts-

Oh.

Oh Maker just cast you in the Pit of Carkoon-

He can be so kriffing thoughtful and it’s really hot and you want to die-

Lowering your eyes, you grunt, picking at a loose thread to distract from that familiar squeeze, that ache in your chest.

Stop-

Stop.

You can’t get mixed up with this man-

You’re… you’re not able to-

…Someone’s going to get hurt.

…

“I… I- uh- talk a lot when I’m nervous.”

…

He tilts his head at that.

“Fine!” You throw a hand up, swallowing quickly. “... And- and when I’m not.”

“Hmm.”

“Still-” you jab a finger towards him, eager to just talk, distract yourself from that familiar warmth blooming in your chest- “I’d rather have been killed by you in the desert than spend another day on Taek.”

With a groan reminiscent of a wounded Kath Hound, you roll over onto your stomach- away from the Mandalorian.

“Kriff, so many sand stingers!”

A second roll, this time pulling the comforter along with you.

“And you can’t even eat them!”

A third roll.

“And I would know.”

A fourth roll- you stop, satisfied with the level of burrito-wrapping you’ve achieved.

“I tried.”

The Mandalorian has the audacity to chuckle.

“My lips were swollen for two days-” you wiggle, freeing your arms from their burrito prison- “and you laugh?”

“Ah.”

A small, strangled cough slips through the modulator.

“Sorry.”

You try your best to look angry- but you can’t resist the cheeky grin.

“Well, anyhow,” you sigh, re-crumpling the comforter around your body like a nesting mother bird. “Thank the Maker you flashed that Beskar of yours around like a baited hook, reeling me in like a fish.”

“Hmf.”

The Mandalorian leans forward, hands on his hips- his body casting a light shadow across your cheek.

“You would have found a way off without me.”

Rolling your eyes, you can only huff, “Yeah, blasted, right.”

You plunge your face, your grimace deep within your pillow.

“Blast it- I was so damn hungry; I was this close-” you lift up two fingers held closely together- “to resorting to cannibalism.” Your hand drops with a plop.

…

Truth be told… you have always wondered if Toydarian tastes like Nuna…

Heh.

…

-The bed jolts.

Your head shoots up.

You blink.

…

The Mandalorian-

-sitting beside you.

Close.

Very… close.

“Din?” Your hands fumble with the tangled comforter. “Wh-”

“I’m sorry.”

His tone is…

Angry.

He turns away from you, striking his fingers against his thigh armor in rapid succession.

Your eyelashes flutter, taken completely off-guard by his harsh admission.

“Uh…”

You sit up straight, eyes glued to the gleam of his helm.

“What exactly for?”

Oh, kark, what did he do?

Did you forget you should be mad about something?

“I should have taken you back to the Crest-” his shoulders shrug forward- “…the night we made our deal on Taek.”

The Mandalorian stops tapping- balls the comforter into his fist.

…

You blink.

…

“Maker, Din!”

Flopping back, you slap your hands across both eyes.

That’s it? Damn man is fretting over that?

With a dismissive flick of your hand, you can’t help but snicker. “Oh, come on, even if you had asked me to, I would have just written my obituary first- left it behind for the sand stingers.”

Grinning ear to ear, you, again, gather the comforter up over your head like a protective cocoon-

-just like the child does with his blanket, now that you think about it…

“I must say though, Mandalorian, you could have at least lugged off those two dead dudes you killed.” Crinkling your nose, you narrow your eyes at Din as he shifts, eases back against the wall, observing your movements with careful attention.

“Leaving me all alone with dead people-” you cluck your tongue- “very improper of you, Mr. Djarin.”

The Mandalorian tucks his head aside.

“You weren’t alone.”

“Yeah, no kidding!” The comforter slips forward, consuming your head entirely and entombing you in darkness. Pushing against the quilt, attempting to free yourself, you continue, “I- erf- had two decomposing-”

“-I stayed.”

Your hands drop.

…

“The entire night... on the roof.”

…

“Oh.”

Oh.

…

You sit in darkness.

…

The bed shifts, tilting you towards the movement-

The comforter is flung off your head, and your squint is met by your own face reflected in the Mandalorian’s visor.

“Are you still afraid of me?”

His words are tentative, but you hear their teasing edge.

Fine.

He wants to play.

You can handle “play.”

It’s easier than the truth.

…

“No, Mando.”

~Yes, Mando~

“I’m not.”

~I am~

“My terror for you was eradicated from my head the moment I was assaulted by the sight of your revolting bedroom quarters.”

~My terror is you’ll learn the truth about what I am~

“Your hair might be exceptionally soft and astoundingly fragrant, as your hair conditioner collection would imply-” you tap a finger atop his helmet- “but you’re messy, Din.”

~Seven Corellian hells, my life is messy oh my stars~

…

Silence.

…

“Hmm.”

His head jerks to the side.

“You’re welcome to clean it-” he shifts forward- “if it offends you.”

A smirk tickles at the corner of your mouth.

“I’d probably find something sentient growing in a dirty sock pile.”

The Mandalorian chuckles- a rumble… deep, low.

He leans forward-

-and you scuffle to the other side of the bed.

“S-Stars! Uh, well, enough about my fears. Um, tell me-” you let your feet dangle off the side of the bed opposite from him- “what scares a Mandalorian?”

Uhg.

You tried to force a light-hearted tone; pull on one of your phony masks- but…it seems the longer time goes on-

-the more it’s impossible to pretend with Din.

This… is bad.

Especially when you have as many damn secrets to keep as you do.

You can’t help but cringe.

Kriffin’ dune worm on a stick!

Cautiously, you sneak a quick glance over your shoulder, finding Din’s position on the bed unchanged. He stares down at his hands as if lost, buried within his own thoughts.

“I’m-”

He pauses.

…

“I’m afraid of making the wrong choices...”

…

“Not being strong enough to protect... who I care about.”

…

…

Your lips part.

Well.

…

A light-hearted question.

A serious answer.

You take a deep breath, letting it steady, refocus your spiraling, spinning mind.

“Din,” you mumble, throwing his name over your shoulder. “If… if this is about the baby...”

Stars, the baby.

…

Hell… you- you can’t have this conversation right now.

How do you-

Do you just-?

“The- the responsibility of a child-” you reach up; rub your browline with trembling fingers- “it’s the single most…”

You pause.

“Th-the single most-”

…

terrifying-

exhilarating-

rewarding-

punishing-

fulfilling-

painful-

you- you can’t breathe-

“Ka’r’ika?”

You jolt forward at your name.

“Ka’r’ika, are you-”

“Being a parent-” put on your mask put on your mask- “you feel so… big and so… small.”

Dank Ferrik…

“You’re too small to forge the galaxy you want for them, no matter how much you fight for it.”

Your hand slips beneath your shirt, clenching the pendent you wear close to your heart. “But you’re big, so big- you’re everything to them- their whole galaxy.”

Your eyes slide shut.

Her- her voice will come back to you if you just stay quiet and- and-

…

“Mama, what this for?”

Even your excruciating exhaustion can’t suppress your grin. “Your belly button?” With a grunt, you lift Valera up from the cot, placing her down atop your legs.

“Well, you little womp rat… uh…”

Stars, how do you explain this to a kid?

“It’s… uh… how you ate food when you were growing in my tummy.”

She shoots you an incredulous little eyebrow lift.

Oh great-

She’s already picking up your sass.

Serves you kriffin’ right.

Your fingers wrap around the pendant hanging from Valera’s neck.

“Watch the attitude, kid.”

You give the necklace a few short tugs, sending her into a fit of giggles.

“Mama!”

“Ka’r’ika?”

Oh!

You jerk around-

-Din.

“Is something… wrong?”

 “Yeah- uh, yeah.” You cough- clear your throat. “I just, dang it-” you slap your thigh- “get emotional thinking about little kids, ya know? So darned cute, the little monsters.”

He’s… not convinced.

But he doesn’t push it.

That’s… all you need from him right now.

“Look, Din. I- I know you’ll make the decision you think is right for the kid…” You lower your voice- make it easier to hide the waver. “It’s- it’s all we can do.”

...

“But you don’t… approve of my choice.”

No.

You don’t.

“I stand by everything I said before... mostly.” Your eyes lower, glaring down at the comforter. “Just make sure you aren’t making the choice to send him to a Jedi out of fear... fear of not being good enough for him.”

…

You glance back up.

“Because you are.”

...

“Ka’r’ika…”

So soft.

He always says it so soft-

“Your opinion…”

His visor dips away, almost bashfully.

“It means a lot to me.”

You blink.

“Really? Mine?”

It certainly didn’t feel that way during your argument on the Crest…

Sliding his fingers across the leather of his belt, he makes a slight choking sound.

“I… regret the things I said to you before.”

…

“I- you were saying things I didn’t want to hear...”

He turns, stares over at you.

“You’re not selfish.... far from it.”

You hold his gaze.

That damn daze.

…

“Well...” you mumble. “I shouldn’t have blown up on you either. I- I let my personal bias cloud my head and heat my tongue...”

You break the gaze.

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

…

Silence.

…

Oh stars.

You shouldn’t do it.

…

You’re gunna do it.

“Well, Mando-” energy floods your voice- “I’m flattered you hunted me down and killed a Rancor just to apologize to me.” Crawling beneath the comforter, you don’t fight the smirk cracking across your face

“Truly, Din, it means the galaxy to me.”

You scooch over further, further until-

“W-what are you-”

“Shut up.” You shove a hand into his side. “I’m trying to sleep.”

You lean against his arm, your head drooping down…

…

…

“Din.”

…

…

“Din.”

…

“Oh my gosh, kriffin’ relax, Din!”

You pull away from him. “Stop tensing! It’s like trying to sleep next to a blasted boulder!”

“It is not.”

“Loosen up!”

“I am loose.”

Oh.

You know how to loosen him up.

You jump up to your knees, staring him down.

“Hand. Now.”

…

The Mandalorian gawks at you. Or, at least, you imagine he’d be gawking if it weren’t for the, ya know, helmet.

“Din Djarin.”

You shove your open palm at him.

“Let me hold your damn hand.”

One breath-

…

Two breaths-

…

Three breaths-

His hand, warm and- kark!- so damn large, slips into your own.

“If I die tomorrow-” you give his hand a tight squeeze- “I want you to remember me like this.”

He grunts.

“Domineering and demanding?”

“You know I can hear you.” Rolling your eyes, you sigh dramatically, “As I was saying, remember me like this.” You squeeze his hand a second time-

He returns the squeeze-

“Maybe I’d rather remember the time you fell into that mud-hole on Arvala-” his free hand reaches out- tugs on your ear lobe- “and I had to pull you out while the kids laughed at us.”

You whack away his hand. “Oh, come on, Din-”

“Or maybe I’d rather remember the time you sang to the Blurgs.”

“I was bullied into tha-”

“Or the time you fell asleep in my shirt- drooled all over it.”

“Kriff off! I did not.” You yank on his hand, drawing him forward. “How would you even know?” You lean into him, squishing your nose to his visor.

“You never-

do-

your-

karking-

laundry.”

…

Din just chuckles.

Oh oh Maker his chuckle is so sexy and damn it damn it-

…

You’ve… you’ve got it bad.

Crinkling your nose, you pull away, sinking down- down- down into the comforter. “Well, you’re being mean to me. I’m going to bed.”

A… thought occurs.

…

Oh, Banthabreath.

Life is short. Do it.

“Din?”

Your eyes twist, staring up into his visor from where you lay on the bed. He watches; does not break the gaze as you reach out- grab his hand again. With a sharp tug, his glove slips right off, revealing- stars- that hand, those fingers that have haunted your daydreams since they first brushed across your lips.

Warm.

Callused.

Scarred.

Oh Maker.

If you’re losing it over a blasted hand and voice- a kneecap reveal would have you deceased.

You sigh.

“Din, tell me- uh…”

Naked skin dusts across your jaw- “Uh… Din?” -traces your earlobe- “Do- do you really plan to, uh…” -trails down your neck- “…s-stay all night?”

-his fingers pause at your collarbone.

…

“Yes.”

He resumes stroking his fingers slowly, languidly across your collarbone.

“Humor an old man, Ka’r’ika.”

You blink at him.

Old?

Huh.

Now that he mentions it…

“How old are you?” you blurt.

He freezes.

…

Oh, you just killed the mood, didn’t you?

…

Dank Ferrik.

“I’m just curious.” You lift a brow, a slight smile upon your lips. “You do grunt and groan a lot.”

The Mandalorian makes a sharp noise- tears his hand away.

“Young enough to pull you out of mud holes.”

…

You narrow your eyes at him.

…

“…Late thirties.”

Ah.

“Sorry,” you chuckle, shoving against his shoulder. “Just trying to construct a mental image of how I think you might look.”

Din huffs- crosses his arms across his chest like a sullen child.

“I’d prefer you didn’t.”

“Come on, it’s not like I’ll ever see it!” You jump up to your knees. “I should at least be allowed to imagine.”

“I could never live up to your fanatical imagination, Ka’r’ika.”

“What, are ya ugly or something?”

“…No.”

“Are ya hot?”

“Hardly.”

“Oh my gosh don’t say that about yourself.”

“You’ve never seen my face,” he grumbles. “You don’t know what I’m working with here.”

“Shut up.”

“The helmet is an improvement.”

“It is pretty sexy,” you laugh.

…

Silence.

Oh kriffing hells-

Did you just say-

Oh stars-

…

You hope you die tomorrow.

Shaking your head, you snort. “Fine. Whatever.”

-just change the topic change the topic-

“Uh, so, uh, tell me-” you lean in closer to him- “what does Ka’r’ika really mean? You can’t lie to me anymore- I know it doesn’t mean brat.”

“You’re right.”

He, too, leans forward-

“It means pain in the ass.”

“DIN DJARIN!”

The comforter launches over your head, plunging you into darkness. You kick and roll and yell- the comforter and sheets tangling up around you- but you can’t get free-

-because the kriffing metal idiot is holding it down.

“Let me OUT!” you shriek, kicking upwards with your feet. “I’m going to KILL YOU!”

Weight lifts from the comforter.

You fling it off, and your flaming eyes immediately turn towards-

“So, you’re going to kill me?”

Damn that smug voice!

Your hand shoots out, a sharp smack landing against his unarmored thigh.

“Ouch!”

“Eat. Banthashi- OOF!”

You’re catapulted backwards- heaved across the bed. You roll, landing up on all fours.

“Why YOU-”

“Go to sleep.”

-smack-

“DJARIN!”

You grip your ass.

“Did- did you just spank…?”

…

Oh.

Oh, it’s on now-

You fling up, firing yourself at his chest, bursting into shrieks as he easily knocks you aside.

“HEY!”

But the Mandalorian goes for you this time.

His hands grasp your hips, shoves you back behind him. You pounce again- wrap your limbs around his back- you’re yanked forward with an oof. You retaliate, jabbing your hand towards his exposed side- he grabs, stops you- but then-

His arms have you pinned- trapping you against the bed with his weight.

“G-give u-up now, bounty hunter!” You wriggle; his grip only tightens. “I-I’ve- erf- got you, Mando!”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak…. just… stares down at you.

“Yeah.”

He dips his helmet to the side.

"You’ve got me.”

…

You both burst into giggles.

“Hell, M-Mando!” you say, gasping for air between your giggles. “I’m- stars!- crying!”

"Hm.”

A light -pat- smacks against your thigh.

“Go to sleep.”

Your grin stretches ear-to-ear. “Yes, sir.”

…

Oh Maker, you’re really done for.

You quiet your laughter, shimmying back beneath the comforter, keenly aware that you might regret every bit of this impulsive behavior in the morning…

But for now?

You roll up against the Mandalorian, curling up against his side. You tuck your face-

Safe.

Safe.

Safe.

His hand drops to your shoulder- moves up- stops… a tickle against the back of your neck, his fingers tracing tiny circles…

“Ka’r’ika.”

"Mhm? What? Leave me alone.”

….

“It means… ‘Dear Star’.”

…

Oh-

Oh.

...

Oh shit.

“Sweet dreams… Ka’r’ika.”

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

“See you later, Babycakes.”

“Bye, Cara!”

“The hell-” you shoot Pablo an incredulous look- “Babycakes?”

“What?”

“Please don’t answer to that in public.”

“It’s too late,” Pablo sighs, turning your racing helmet over in his hands. “I’ve answered to it twice today.”

A small smirk tickles your lips.

“Then can I call you Sweetcheeks?”

“Oh, I think the hell not-”

“Fine,” you chuckle, taking a pinch of his cheek. “Sweetcheeks it is.”

“I hate you.”

A grin cracks your face. Hey now, if he can call you Sweetheart, you can call him Sweetcheeks.

It’s only fair.

With a heavy sigh, Pablo shoves the helmet back into your hands. “Well, guess it’s back up to Thall’s skybox for me. I- uh-” his hand shoots out, pats your shoulder- “…Don’t die.”

“Pablo, that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.” You press a hand to his chest. “I knew you cared.”

“Yeah, well,” Pablo sighs, knocking your hand off his chest. “I’ll admit, my motivations are sullied… I might have credits down on you.”

“Oh karkin’ dunes.”

“Karkin’ dunes, what?” He throws out his hands. “That’s good! It means I believe in you!”

“Kark you.”

But your smile betrays your words.

Pablo laughs- flashes you a quick wink before turning away. “Now go- win me some credits, Sweetheart,” he yells over his shoulder. “I’ll take you to a casino and let you spend them!”

“Love you, too, Sweetcheeks!”

“Love you more!”

“You answered to it!”

“… Damn it!”

…

Heh.

Pablo really is just-

-“LINE UP WARNING.”

Oh stars-

-“REPEAT. LINE UP WARNING.”

Oh stars oh stars oh stars-

Groaning like a dying Bantha, you press a gloved hand to your browline.

Hell, that cocky, confident little shit you were as a teen?

…

Yeah, you’re not so confident right now.

“I know you’ll win-”

You spin around.

“-you always did.”

“Tesen,” you say, reaching out to accept his hug. “Dank Ferrik, man! I looked over my old speederbike this morning and- wow- you really did a fantastic job on her!”

Maker- the trouble you got into on that old bike… How are you even still alive? 

Tesen chuckles- a rumble beneath your cheek. “After you disappeared, others tried taking her out on runs. But only you could get her to do the things she’s capable of.”

He pulls back.

“I kept her for the memories.” 

A cheeky grin bursts across your face. “You know I’d trust no one else but you with her.”

His eyes brighten, and he opens his mouth to-

-“LINE. UP. WARNING.”

Groaning, you stare up into Tesen’s eyes.

“I’d wish you luck-” he winks- “-but I know you don’t need it.”

“Maybe not....” A coy smile turns up your lips. “But I could still do with my traditional good luck kiss. As my friend, would you mind… since Gavon isn’t here anymore to do me the honor?”

Tesen laughs- deep, hearty-

“Well, I am a good friend.”

He bends down- hesitates- hovering just above your face-

“Tesen, yo-”

Warm lips press to yours.

Oh hell yeah-

You wrap your arms around his waist.

Gosh, you’re pathetic. One friendly little kiss, and those cocky, confident teenage vibes are pulsing through your bloodstream.

Pretty sure you could wrestle a dewback…

“Aww! How sweet!”

Pulling away, you grit your teeth at Thall’s voice booming over the loudspeaker. Your eyes shoot up to the sky.

Stars, you could kill that man…

“Hello, hello everyone!”

Tesen tears away from you- meeting your eyes one final time before sweeping away-

-leaving you all alone.

Just you and your bike.

To win this dang race.

Or die.

At this point, if your friends didn’t need you to actually- you know- win, you’d accept either outcome.

“As we all know, one half of our kissing duo down there-”

“We’re just friends!”

“-is none other than our long-lost Blazing Womprat-”

The nickname snaps you into gear.

Oh yeah.

Time to play the part.

-“former champion of the Boska Springs Classic!”

Climbing up on your speederbike, you stand on the seat, throwing both hands in the air. You stare up into the cameras defiantly, as if you’d already won the kriffing race.

You wave your hands again, the crowd exploding into jests and cheers and shouts.

Dank Ferrik-

You swallow back the goofy grin itching to bloom across your face.

-don’t ruin your image.

You know you must play the part they expect to see on the circuit.

Blazing Womprat-

Brash.

Arrogant.

And batshit crazy.

Maker, how you missed this- this rush. Whether it be racing, singing, or otherwise, you love playing to the crowd…

And they’re eating it up.

“E CHU TA!”

Well…. almost everyone…

You sneer down at your fellow racers, observing their rather rude gestures.

“EAT MY BIKE EXHAUST-”

Your middle fingers jab at the sky.

“-YOU ABSOLUTE ROAD WORMS.”

The racers start towards you-

“How exciting! Back to your bikes… yes, thank you, yes, please don’t kill her… thank you!”

Snickering to yourself, you fall down into the seat, hooking your boots in position on the pedals.

“The race is simple enough- first out to the Castle Rock to run up their flag and back, wins!”

You slip your helmet on-

“I don’t care what path you take-”

You tug at your gloves, ensuring they’re snug between each finger-

“Nor do I care what you do during the race!”

You flip down the visor of your helmet, your entire head and face protected-

“It’s all part of the fun!”

You lean forward- gripping the steering-

“Now, various organic beings… start your engines!”

-and your speederbike roars to life, pulsating beneath your body like a caged racehorse ready to run.

…

Wait-

…

It… just hit you…

Din- he-

-he never showed up.

…

Why would he avoid you, especially before an event this serious? Sure, he was… strange, aloof this morning just before he left you. But to be honest, so were you.

Waking up tangled in each other’s arms tends to do that.

…

Hells… if- if your behavior last night… ruined your friendship with him…

Oh stars, you’ll never forgive yourself.

He… but he promised that he’d speak to you before the race…

…

He never showed.

He never-

“Ka’r’ika-”

You scream-

“Hey, it’s me.”

“What the kark, Mando!” You lean back, twisting your helmet around to stare up at the crowd. “Get out of my helmet! You’re ruining my focus.”

You grin.

The Mandalorian kept his word… sort of.

“Sorry… just…”

You stare up at Thall’s skybox, the teasing gleam of Beskar vaguely visible through the glass.

“…stay safe.”

The static of the connection cuts.

…

You’re alone.

…

…

“READY…”

Your engine revs-

RED LIGHT-

Your bike pulsates-

YELLOW LIGHT-

Your grip tightens-

…

…

…

 Wait a minute…

…

GREEN LIGHT-

The speederbikes burst into the distance- gone, out of sight within a blink of an eye.

…

You stay still.

Unmoving.

Staring out at the distance.

“Uhhhh…. Go?”

You stare.

You feel it…

You… feel it…

You-

The wind lashes, nearly knocking you from your bike with a yelp. You hold on for dear life as the crowd screams, ducking down into their own seats to avoid the brutal pounding.

But more importantly-

The sky darkens in the distance-

A monstrous dust cloud swoops across the sand-

-straight for the scattered bikers blasting across the dunes.

And-

you grin.

High-pitched screams and crashing metal reverberate across the dunes.

…

…time to go.

You push forward-

-and blast off.

…

Avoiding the starving, all-consuming dust cloud, you swing to the right.

It’s a risky route.

But you’ve studied it.

You know what you’re doing…

…hopefully.

Movement catches your eye-

A miniature speederbike zooms up to your right- a creature no bigger than the baby just- screeches at you.

“What the fuck!”

A second bike smashes into your left.

“What the fuck!” you shriek, swinging to avoid another swipe.

You accelerate- push forward on the controls.

Get away get away-

Ah!

There- looming in the distance.

The cliffs.

Turning knobs with a snap, you hold your speed steady- maintaining your direction-

“OOF!”

The end of your speederbike slides to the right- the attacking biker heaves back- preparing to try again-

You blast forward-

-straight for the cliff walls.

You release a bark of laughter- the sound swallowed by the wind whooshing past.

Try following me now.

The cliff wall looms closer- closer- closer-

You drop to the right, hanging off the side of your bike as far as you can without falling off-

-shooting beneath the cliff walls and straight into a small cave that’s barely tall enough for even your bike to fit.

The handles of your bike scrape the rock formation looming mere inches above your head- you yelp at the sparks showering your body.

Well, thank the Maker this jumpsuit is fireproof…

Movement-

 Your head twists to the right-

That karkin’ little creature on his karkin’ little speederbike… grins at you- waves his hand as if to say “See? I fit, dumbass.”

You growl.

Oh, hell no.

…Approaching light.

You bust out of the cave, shooting straight up in your seat. You swing to the right- kick your foot out-

-the little creature flings into oblivion.

…

You’re alone again.

You push forward, gritting your teeth, and accelerate to full throttle.

You’re coming to an intersection in the path- this is where other racers might start to- ah! There!

Three bikes, crowding into one another, swerve around a column of boulders-

The lead speederbike trails straight for you.

Oh, Dank Ferrik.

Not again-

You scream as your speederbike lurches- rolls into tight, spinning loops. The bike that smashed into you barrels past-

You grit your teeth.

Get back here, you little-

You ram the back of his bike, grinning as he flings forward over his handlebars- run over by his own bike.

And yours.

Oopsie.

Castle Rock is approaching- it should be directly to the left- on the opposite side of the cliff wall blocking your line of sight.

You cut the corner- the roar of the remaining speederbikes still howling in your ear.

You punch the booster controls on your bike- but…

You’re painfully aware of a new shake, a new tremor of the bike that wasn’t there before.

Oh dear…

Hope this doesn’t backfire- literally.

With a groan, you blast into the canyon between the cliffs- giving your bike all it’s got.

Your mind blanks-

Instinct.

…

You’re running on instinct.

You swerve to the left- right- sharp right-

The roar of the speederbikes fade into the distance, left completely in your dust.

Heh.

The Blazing Womprat lives up to her name.

Oh, heck, here we go-

-You need to take a sharp left up ahead or you’ll completely miss Castle Rock-

You lift your left boot from the pedal- slide it across your seat- throwing every bit of your weight into the turn.

Your grip starts to slip- gloves desperately hold on for dear life. With a pathetic groan, you straighten, lift-

-There, Castle Rock!

And not another bike in sight.

You hit the brakes, sputtering to a stop. The thunder of engines storm in the distance behind you- you leap from your seat-

And you run for dear life.

The flags- the flags! Up ahead! At the top!

With a grunt, you scurry, fumble your way up the boulders-

“Get out of my way!”

Your head shoots back- other bikers have arrived, parked at the base of Castle Rock.

Oh, you don’t think so…

“Oops!” You grunt, shoving hard at a loose rock with your boot. “Sorry!” you yelp as they leap out of the tumbling rock’s path, screaming at the top of their lungs.

Giggling beneath your breath, you scamper to the top, the flagpoles just within r-

-PING-

-PING-

You scream- a bullet ricochets off your helmet.

“Seven Corellian hells!” you screech, stumbling to the ground.

Tuskans!

Damn it!

You clamber to your feet, pushing forward with all your might.

Bullets shower the ground, the pings mixing with the yelps of your fellow racers. “Kark off!” you scream at a Weequay as he barrels past you-

then drops dead.

Well, he karked off, all right.

Nice shot, Tuskans.

Not slowing in the least bit, you snatch up your flag color, hooking it to the-

“OOPS… heehee!”

You gasp- a Rodian- he… he cut your flagline.

You snarl at his fleeing back.

…

Fine.

Sticking the flag between your teeth, you grip the pole with your hands and begin to climb. Dank Ferrik- what the hell even is this race?

Ignoring the pings flying around you and praying they miss, you reach the top and tie off your flag.

A bell rings.

Done.

You’re first.

You’re cleared to go.

With a pained sigh, you take advantage of your height to observe the sight down below.

Grinning at the scuffle, the fight breaking out between the racers all fumbling to avoid both bullets and one another’s sabotage…

…an idea occurs.

You reposition your weight, careful to not lose your grip and slip down the pole into the chaos below… One deep breath… and you leap the gap, clasping onto the second flagpole for dear life.

“Hey!”

You stare down at a furious Twi’lek.

“Get down!”

You grin.

“Okay!”

Biting your lip, you wrap the flagline one… two… three times around your glove, tugging to ensure a good grip.

Oh, this is the dumbest idea ever-

With a grunt, you release the pole and-

You swing forward- and back- forward- and back-

…screaming like a wild Lothcat in heat.

With each swing, you feel the pole shift beneath you, loosening from its shallow base.

“WHAT ARE YOU-”

“Yipe!”

With an audible snap, the pole breaks from its foundation- cascading to the ground…

…and taking every single flagpole to the right down with it.

With an oof, you hit the ground, hard. Peeling your head up with a groan, you turn-

…

“Get her!”

Time to go.

You jump- jump- jump- down the boulders, not bothering to check the height. You just gotta to get the kriff out of there.

You’re so close.

Flinging yourself across the seat, you blast into the horizon, straight in the direction of the starting line.

You’re so close-

Engines rev in the distance.

…

You’re so close.

Thumb hovering over your thrusters- a speederbike emerges in the distance-

…it’s time for a shortcut.

A cliff to your right, it’s a steep drop, but you think you can…

Gritting your teeth, you accelerate, pushing what power is left within your bike into- you scream, sailing straight over the edge of the cliff.

Your thumb punches the reverse boosters, keeping your bike from smashing into a thousand pieces on the ground below. Speederbike clattering and clanking from the stress, you hit level ground and-

You made it.

“Holy Hutt!” you groan, the words shaky in the air from the brutal reverberations of your engine.

You’re… you’re going to win.

You keep your path straight, flying over the sand dunes.

You’re going to win.

You’re going to-

You scream-

A force-

A burst of light-

You soar through the air-

You scream-

…

…

…

Darkness.

…

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

…

…

Ignoring the abrupt shock of the harsh Sularian winter air, you race from your home, running straight down the mountain path.

"Starlight?”

You don’t stop at your father’s voice. You run faster- swiping at the tears dripping down your cheeks.

“Starlight!”

A hand grabs at your shoulder.

“Let m-me go!” you yell between your sobs, shoving at his hand. “I-I’m going to l-live wi-with G-Grandpa!”

“Hey, little one-” he spins you around; pulls you into his chest- “deep breaths, hm?”

“I’m- I’m not… little!” You sniff, pushing away from him. “I’m ten and r-running away!”

"Can I come?”

…

You stare at him, the sobs easing from your body.

“Huh?” -sniff- sniff- “What?”

He plops down on the snow beside you- staring up at the stars dusting the sky.

“Running away doesn’t solve anything, Starlight-” he looks at you, flashes you a lop-sided smile- “you know that, right?”

You pout your lips.

“But Mama is so… so… unfair!” You stomp your foot and flop down beside him. “She’s so mean with me! She likes Kalara more!”

He doesn’t chastise your outburst.

He just… grunts- rests his rifle across his lap.

"Starlight.”

You keep your eyes turned to the ground, shame burning your cheeks.

"What happened?”

…

“I… I hit Kalara- but she said I was mean first! And Mama took her side!”

…

A heavy sigh.

He reaches down, grasps your pendant in his hand.

"Do you know why you wear this?”

You scrunch your nose at him. “Because I’m the ‘oldest’,” you mock.

He lets it drop back against your chest. “Watch the attitude, kid. You wear it because, as the oldest-” his tone, while gentle as always, eases into something more serious- “you set an example to your little brothers and sisters. They look up to you and want to be like you.”

“They do not!”

“Do too.” He pokes your stomach, and you can’t help but giggle. “This necklace is a reminder of your responsibility…” His mouth quirks into a smirk. “Of your influence.”

"I don’t want it!”

“Well, Starlight,” he chuckles. “I can’t help you being born first, but I promise, one day, you’ll appreciate your little brothers and sisters.” He hooks a finger on his belt. “And one day, you’ll give that same pendant to your first born, if you wish, just as generations of our family before you have.”

“Eww!”

“Eww!” he mocks back.

You blink down at the pendant, curiosity blooming in your chest…

"If this was yours before I was born and you gave it to me-” you look up at him- “does that mean you were the oldest?”

He stares into the distance, quiets…

…

“Yes.”

…

“Oh.”

…

"Did… did you apr-chi-ate them?”

"‘Appreciate’. And yes.” He looks down at you, that lop-sided smile slowly returning. “I did very much.”

"…Do you miss them?”

He glances away, stares up into the starry sky.

“Very much.”

You blink- a wash of fear- fear for your brothers and sisters hitting you like a blizzard breeze and- and-

“Don’t be sad, Starlight.” He taps your pendant; points to the sky. “They are with the stars… I’ll see them again.”

He stands, heaves his rifle against his shoulder, and motions you to follow.

“Come, let’s go inside. I think someone has a few apologizes to make?”

“But Mama is mad at me…” you groan.

“I promise,” he chuckles, taking your hand in his own. “No matter what you do…”

…

“…your mother and I will hold you in our hearts…”

…

“…for eternity…”

…

…

…

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

The Mandalorian’s licking your face what the HELL-

Your eyes blast open-

“W-what?”

Something wet swipes your eyes. “Yipes!” You squint, throwing your arm across your face. “What the blasted- oh.”

…

A… dog.

Massiff dog.

…

Not… Din.

…

Oh.

The dog tilts his head at you, his tongue drooping out the side of its mouth.

“In my defense, you kinda look like Din though,” you giggle, patting the dog’s hard exterior. “You goofy little thing…”

Sighing, you reach up to rub your face…

Wait.

Where- where’s your helmet’s visor…? Why’s it… busted out…?

…

…

“OH BLASTED STARS.”

You scramble to your feet- a mistake. You cry at the pain that shoots, throbs from head to toe. “Damn it, damn it!” you groan, hobbling forward as your memory floods you all at once.

The dog mistakes your agony for playtime, hopping up and down, up and down, dancing little wiggle-butt circles around you.

“Back, dog! Back!” Your eyes scan the sky-

…Oh no.

It’s… the sun’s setting.

It’s evening.

No, no!

“Kriffin’ hells!” you moan, fingers digging into your palms. “My bike! My bike? I got to- where?”

…

There.

In the distance.

You grit your teeth.

…

…Sandcrawler.

“Stupid JAWAS!”

You burst forward, growling through every last ache. “Get BACK here!” you shriek, launching your helmet at the still-very-much-far-away sandcrawler. “Little thieves! I ought to- OOF!”

The dog cuts in front of you, dashing alongside your right.

“Dang it!” you yelp. “If you’re coming too, then help, not hinder!”

The dog just howls- gleeful and blissfully unaware of everything but “run. fast run.”

“Oh, Maker help me,” you moan.

You’re close enough now that the Jawas have noticed you. Hanging out of their little windows and doors, they begin screeching at you.

“Kark off!” you scream back, nearly tripping over your own feet. “And give me my blasted bike, or I’ll- OUCH!”

Whatever they threw- it damn well hurt.

…You shoulda left your helmet on.

The dog picks up the object in its mouth and brings it straight to you.

“O-oh… st-stars!” you puff, increasing your speed. You throw the object at a Jawa hanging from an open window. “H-hey, dog, maybe you are useful, hmm?”

Your praise must have confused the dog. He yelps once, turns around, begins running butt-first.

“Oh hell.”

Close enough now, you reach up, grip a pipe on the side of the crawler.

“Open, now!” you demand, banging on the metal.

A slot opens- you slap at the Jawa- it screams- slams the slot shut.

A higher window opens- something’s launched- you scream- it screams- the window shuts.

You wish you could say playing whack-a-mole with Jawas was the strangest thing you’ve done today…

“Dank Ferrik,” you groan, eyeing the Massiff dog running circles below your feet.

You’re getting into this thing if it kills you, so help you-

“Dank FERRIK!”

The jolt of the sandcrawler sends you hurling towards the ground.

“Force…”

You slowly, gingerly lift your head…

Stopped.

The sandcrawler… stopped.

…

Why…

You look up- the Jawas have the slots and windows peaked open, glancing around towards the front of the crawler…

…

They slam them shut.

…

Uh oh…

“Dog, I… I think we might be in trouble- wait!”

But it’s too late- the Massiff dog is darting towards the front of the crawler.

…

Silence.

…

Oh, what the hell.

You’re not leaving without your dog.

Pressing against the sandcrawler, you ease, creep your way forward. Closer… closer… closer-

-until you’re just one head peek away from seeing what’s caught the Jawa’s attention…

…

 Do… do you peek?

Or run?

…

Oh Huttsludge.

Maybe the Jawas-

“I’ve been watching you, little one.”

OH STARS OH STARS STARS STARS.

…

WHAT DO YOU DO?

…

You squeeze your eyes closed.

Oh, what the Corellian crap use is there in hiding?

He’s knows you’re here!

So-

You peek around-

…

A man.

…

A terrifying man.

…

You duck your head back.

…

…

You’re dead.

…

“Hey!” you hiss up at a Jawa. “Whatever beef we had before, we’re on the same side now. Let me in!”

The door slams shut.

“Why you-”

“Hello there, Princess-”

You shriek.

“Stay away!” you yelp, pressing your back up against the sandcrawler. “Or I’ll- I’ll stick my Massiff on you!”

Right on cue, the Massiff bolts past your legs, flying straight for the strange man-

-and drops- wiggling around on his back, begging the scary man for attention.

…

Great.

The man huffs, bends down to pat the Massiff’s exposed belly.

“I see you’ve trained it well.”

…

“Thanks…?”

Wait, was that an insult?

…

“I mean you no harm, Princess.”

Amused.

He’s… amused.

The man glances up at you, throws his hood back.

My stars, you observe his gnarled appearance. What… what terrible thing happened to him?

You almost blurt the question… almost.

“Who are you? What’s your name?” you ask instead, rather empowered by the fact he hasn’t yet- you know- killed you.

“I’m just a simple man making my way through the galaxy-” his gaze intensifies- “like my father before me.”

…

“Got an easier to remember name?”

“I’d rather learn yours.”

…

Is he… flirting?

…

Oh my gosh he’s flirting. Okay, you know what? The grizzled look is actually really hot. Like hot, hot. And, wow, he’s a big guy and you like big guys oh my gosh he’s flirting-

With a lop-sided smirk, you call out your first name. “But you can keep calling me Princess.”

The man chuckles, pats the Massiff one last time, and stands.

“I was speaking to the dog.”

…

“Oh.”

Damn it.

…

You glance at the Massiff.

“…Noodles?”

“A solid name.”

“Thanks.”

…

Okay, what the actual hell is this conversation-

You shake your head, knowing you should be afraid, terrified... but in your defense, it’s rather hard to feel that way while bonding with your potential killer over a dog.

“So… uh, what the hell do you want?”

The man lumbers forward, hands folded behind his back, as if… contemplating something.

“Your Mandalorian friend-”

He pauses, his imposing frame casting a cool shadow across your face.

“-he has something that belongs to me.” The man turns his eyes, so kriffing intense, to stare you down.

“And you can take me to it.”

“Uhhh….” You blink, words escaping your brain. “What… is it?”

“My armor.”

…

“All I request… is my armor returned.”

Gulping, you shake your head, afraid to give him your honest answer. “I-I’ve not seen any armor, but-”

“You might want to consider my words carefully, little one.”

His words slice the air.

“You and the Mandalorian have a rather large bounty on your head.” The man bends down, crouches upon the sand. “According to this chip-” he lifts his hand; a small data chip gleams in the setting sun- “that I took off the corpse of the man… that blew you in the air.”

Your mouth plummets to the ground.

“W-what?!”

He just stares up at you, waiting patiently for you to process his words.

“Damn it,” you growl, sinking down to the ground in front of him.

“If- and that’s if- I knew where this armor might be located-” you look up at him, brows furrowing- “why should I trust that you won’t still try and claim that bounty on us?”

He doesn’t speak- just holds your gaze.

…

His fist holding the datachip rises in the air-

-and crushes the chip into a thousand microscopic shards.

“You and your friends need to leave before more return.”

You gape down at the shimmering shards.

Stars, note to self, do not piss this guy off…

“News of this race, and your presence, will spread to the wrong ears.”

“Uhh…” You turn to stare at the retreating figure of the man in black. “Hey! Wait!” You leap to your feet, rushing right after him. “See that’s the problem- my friends are kind of…. uh, trapped by Thall.”

The man makes a noise.

“I will assist you if-”

“-you regain your armor,” you finish, rolling your eyes.

The first hint of a smile dusts his lips.

“What is your answer, then, Princess?”

…It’s not like you have a choice.

Your friends… Din… are still under Thall’s snare. For all you know, now that you’re out of the way, Thall- kark!- might make Din fight again!

…

You can’t let that happen.

You throw both hands on your hips- purse your lips.

“We have a deal.”

The man nods sharply, accepting your answer before turning, prowling down the length of the sandcrawler.

“I have an insider feeding me information from within Thall’s complex.” His strides are heavy, yet quick. You struggle to keep pace. “She will contact me with the necessary information, but for right now-”

-a screech splits the air.

You gasp- twist-

The Massiff stumbles around from the back of the crawler-

-dragging a behind it a writhing Jawa.

…

The man in black grunts.

“We need your bike.”

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

You need to scream.

Of all ways for this day to go, you never dreamed it would be riding back to the Razor Crest sitting in a strange man’s lap.

Well, not in his lap… but might as well be.

You wanted to drive. After all, it is your bike, which was thankfully undamaged enough to still ride at lower speeds, but he didn’t exactly give you a choice… You press back against his chest, sneaking a sharp glance to the left and right, gulping at how blasted thick and strong his arms that have you caged in are…

Boba Fett.

At least you now have his name.

It’s the very least you should know, considering your current intimate positioning.

Boba’s hand releases the bike’s handle- grips your shoulder to steady your body as you turn-

Stars-

Stars this is so awkward and you want to fling yourself to the ground you don’t care how fast you’re going-

But if you did that, Noodles would have to go too, since he’s squatted on the seat in front of you, your arms wrapped tightly around his body to keep him from jumping off at high speeds. And no matter how much you’re willing to potentially threaten your own life, you draw the karkin’ line at endangering animals.

Noodles glances back at you, tongue flapping in the wind, as if to say thank you kind ma’am for the hug.

…

…

The sky is pitch black, the air cool, biting, by the time you arrive at Peli’s hanger. Almighty stars, it feels like centuries since you last saw… there!

The Razor Crest!

You can’t believe you’re actually home!

You pause.

Home?...

…huh.

Stars, you can almost imagine… Din. Standing at the base of the ramp. Head angled at you as you run forward, holding the baby-

…the baby. Din. Cara. Pablo. Kark.

You… you need to hurry.

“Let me find someone before you go inside-” you yank off your gloves, toss them aside- “and your armor should be inside the ship… somewhere- I guess-”

A shrill squeak rips the rest of the words from your lips.

“Baby!” you gasp. You rush forward, crumpling to your knees. “Hey, little fella!” Your voice shoots ten octaves high as you squeeze, squish the little guy to your chest.

“Hey, hey-” you whisper, rubbing his head as his little squeaks intensify.

Crying.

He’s… crying-

“I know, I know.”

Kriffing hells.

“You’ve been alone too long.”

Damn it, damn it.

You’re going to cry. Don’t cry don’t cry don’t cry.

“But you’re not alone now, hmm?” You pull back, force a cheesy grin to stretch across your face. “See? I’m back. Did Peli take good care of you?”

“AHHHH!”

You press the baby close- spin-

“4PO!” Peli screeches, racing around the side of the Crest. “MASSIFF DOG! PROTECT US!”

The droid hobbles around- stops-

<sensing potential threat>

…

<commencing deactivation protocol>

…

“Oh, kriffing hells…”

You glance over at the hanger door, locating the deadly Noodles…

…all four legs in the air as Boba pats his belly.

He gives you a bare hint of a smile.

“Excellent.”

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

 “Handsome little mister,” you sing, grinning ear-to-ear. “Gotta look snazzy to go rescue Daddy, hmm?”

The baby just stares at you, clearly unimpressed with his new threads.

“Come now. I’m the fun parent,” you laugh, straightening his little suspenders. “Tell you what, if you don’t like it by tomorrow-” you sit down beside him- “I promise I won’t make you wear it again. We’ll try something else I bought you in town.”

The baby grabs a sock off the table- throws it to the ground with a scream.

“Okay.” You quirk a brow. “We hate socks today, that’s fine.” You lean forward, pressing a quick kiss against his head.

The baby’s grabby hands reach up, begging to be held. Without hesitation, you lift him up and place him down in your lap.

“That nice man should be finished dressing soon,” you absentmindedly mumble, twisting your eyes to watch Peli buzz around the back of the hanger. “And then we’re going to- oh.”

A little tug around your neck pulls your attention back down-

The baby- he’s tugging on the twine of your necklace.

“Ah,” you chuckle, pulling the pendant out from beneath your shirt.

“You want to look?”

He stares up at you, into your eyes.

…

…

-pressure-

…

you feel…warm pressure-

…

it dusts against…

…

It’s… it’s like…. something’s pressing against a- a membrane…

….

-pressure-

…

-a thick membrane in your mind and-

…

w-what- is-?

Body trembling, you press back-

the membrane slips and- and-

…

“Mother?”

You gasp, clapping a hand over your mouth.

Who..? Wh-what just-?

Something dusts your hand, and you jolt in your seat- eyes shifting down…

…

“Was… was that you?” you whisper, eyes blasting wide open.

The baby only giggles.

…

…

Oh kriff.

…

You flop back in the chair, stare up at the sky.

“Is this a… force thing?”

You’re speaking to yourself more than anything…

“Holy kark,” you groan, slapping your hands across your eyes. “…These kinds of powers are beyond my pay grade….”

Dank Ferrik, you knew you should have paid closer attention to your mother’s lessons… She was as close to an expert on the force as any Jedi, you suppose... Was it your fault you would rather be with your dad, learning how to effectively hit your siblings with stick spears? Mama damn near bored you to death with her long lectures of “light side energy.”

…Whatever that means.

See? You should have paid attention, Dank Ferrik!

The baby tugs on your necklace again.

You blink.

-pressure-

This time, you let the membrane slip right away.

“You are Mother?”

You just… stare.

“Feel force.”

…

“I, uh…”

“Feel her.”

…

His… his question-

Are you a Mother?

…

Emotion scalds the back of your throat.

…

“Yes…”

He… he feels her.

“This… this belonged to my little girl.”

The necklace-

…He feels her.

“A-and mine. And my father’s.” Your voice softens, affection dusting each and every word. “Going back generations.”

Swallowing down the lump, the ache squeezing in your chest, you force a tight smile.

-the warmth brushes against your mind-

-you open up- let him back in-

…

“Grogu.”

…

You blink-

“Grogu?”

He bursts into little squeals.

“Is that your name, Bean Dip? Grogu?”

The little toothy grin he flashes you is the only confirmation you need. Matching his grin with one of your own, you laugh- pull him close.

“Can I still call you Bean Dip sometimes?” you ask.

He doesn’t answer- instead grabs at your necklace again, studying it intently.

You can only… smile at his interest…

You… remember Valera doing the very same thing… grabbing at it- sticking it in her mouth- drooling all over it-

…

Hell.

…

…

“Hey, hey, Grogu-” your voice wavers- you clear your throat- “You know… I’m- I’m always losing things.”

Deep breath.

“Would you mind… keeping this for me?”

You slip the necklace over his head, letting it fall loose. You reach out, pat it against his belly.

…yes.

For the time being…

…this is where it belongs.

Ignoring your welling ache, you force another tight smile.

“I think-” you give the necklace a few short tugs- “it completes your ‘let’s rescue daddy’ outfit perfectly.”

…He agrees.

“Holy Mudslug!” Peli’s yelp tears at your attention. “Look at ‘em!”

You glance up-

-and your stomach squeezes.

…

Oh.

Oh no.

…

Mandalorian.

…

“Fett!” you bark, setting the baby down. You leap to your feet, stomp to the bottom of the ramp.

“You mean to tell me that you’re a Mandalorian?” You stare up at Boba defiantly, feet set apart and hands thrown on your hips. “And you just… forgot to mention that?”

Dank Ferrik! When Boba said “armor,” you assumed it was, like, biking armor or something.

…

But Beskar?

…Well…now you understand why he wanted it back so badly…

Boba doesn’t react to your little outburst- just… crosses his wrists in front of him, staring down at you with that damn unreadable visor.

“Oh! Great! Another Mandalorian,” Peli grumbles, sweeping past you, a broom gripped in her hand. “You know, my hanger was the safest place on Tatooine-” she shakes her broom at Boba- “until you Mandalorians started showing up!”

“Peli! Come now-” you grasp her broom, forcing her to lower it- “how many have you even serviced? Mandalorians are practically extinct.”

“Counting yours and this green guy?”

You nod.

Peli glances up at the sky, counting on her fingers.

“Two.”

…

“But I want him out of here!” she squawks- shoving a hand in the air at him.

“You’ll have your wish soon, ma’am.”

Amusement laces Boba’s deep tone- thank the Maker.

“And I am beholding to your…kind hospitality.”

“Weeellll,” Peli blushes, eyes darting around at the ground. “I- I guess it’s fine if you stay- but not much longer!”

Peli shoots you a glare and snatches her broom back from your hands. She jabs her thumb at the ship. “Watch him; he’s a big -un.”

…

Sigh.

…

Twisting back around, you frown at Boba's darkened visor.

“I thought Mandalorians didn’t show their faces?”

-a sharp huff.

“Never said I was one.”

You blink.

“Then… the armor…?”

“Mandalorians are complicated, Princess.”

…What the hecking Hutt does that mean? Is he or isn’t he one?

…oh.

…forget it.

Crossing your arms, you shift your weight to one leg.

“Well, what now?”

“My contact has informed me that your friends are to be taken to a location out in the desert- unsure why.” Boba hulks down the ramp, patting your shoulder as he passes by.

“Stars!” you groan, pulling your hat down low.

This… can’t be good.

Din…

Just… hold on, Din.

“I have the coordinates.” Loading his belt with charges, Boba steals a quick glance at you- noting your expression. “Don’t worry, little one,” he chuckles. “We’ll have your babysitter back in one piece shortly.”

“I can assure you,” you huff, a small smile teasing at the corner of your mouth. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Undoubtably.”

You release a pained sigh, flick your hat back out of your face.

“Well then, I guess it’s time to-” movement draws your attention; you turn just in time to watch Grogu slide the remaining pile of socks to the ground- “…go.”

“Hey, if you’re leaving-” Peli stalks forward, cleaning her hands with a rag. “I guess that means I won’t see the rest of you again, huh?”

You give Peli a wry smile.

Peli sighs, slaps the side of your arm.

“Do me a favor then.”

She scurries away, muttering under her breath.

…

“Uhhh… Peli?”

She turns back around the corner, arm motioning at something hidden behind a stack of crates.

“Come on- don’t be shy.”

…

Oh, hell no-

“I’ve decided to make the ultimate sacrifice-” Peli pushes 4PO forward- “and gift 4PO here as a parting gift-”

“No.”

-“to Pablo.”

“Oh.”

…

Peli leans into you- covers her mouth with a hand.

“I think the two of them really bonded.”

…

“Peli-” you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from bursting into laughter- “I would be more than happy to present to Pablo 4PO on your behalf.”

“Oh ho! Fantastic!” Peli cackles, clapping her hands together. “Droid, get on up that ramp!”

4PO shakes- falls prostrate on the ground.

…

…

You’re beginning to relate a little too much to this droid.

…

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

“I’ll tie you up, Princess.”

“No!” You rush after Boba, pulling your blaster from its holster. “I’m going too! You can’t-”

“You want to help?” snaps Fett’s contact, a helmeted woman named Fennec. “Then stay out of our way.”

You sneer. “How about I-”

“Princess-”

Boba turns on his heel, grips your shoulder.

“Stay with the ship.” His tone is hard, biting. “And stay in this cave.”

…

“Do I make myself clear?”

…

Your mouth opens… closes.

Please…

Please just let me come.

But Boba is not the kind of man to relent to a pair of pleading eyes- he reaches out, nudges your chin with his knuckles.

“Keep your commlink on-” his voice is… softer, but nowhere near sympathetic- “and keep it close.”

And then just like that-

They’re gone, blasting away across the sand dunes.

Leaving you all alone in eerie…

Silence.

…

Corellian hells.

You crumple to the ground, your face buried in your hands. You inhale sharply, squeezing your eyes tightly closed in a poor attempt to keep from absolutely losing it.

…

A fight to the death.

A fight to the death-

What if-

What if they don’t get there in time? What if someone’s already dead? Stars! Pablo is all bark and no bite- he’ll be the first to croak! And- and Cara- and Din, kark… damn it, damn it, damn. IT-

“ARG!” You leap to your feet, snarling up at the rising twin suns, as if they were somehow to blame for your mess.

Stay behind?

…

You blink.

Stay behind, your ass.

With one final glare, you spin around- marching back inside the mouth of the cave. You rush past Boba’s own starship- making a direct path towards the Razor Crest.

“Grogu!” you yelp, racing inside the belly of the Crest. “I’ve got to go, baby. Stay in this ship-” you fling open the Mandalorian’s storage unit packed with weapons- “and do absolutely nothing.”

Chewing on your lower lip, you let your eyes graze across Din’s pride and joys-

What the hell do some of these even do?

Which should you-

…

Oh.

You… you’ve seen that one before.

…

Your hand hesitates, then snatches the rifle from the rack.

“4PO-” you bark, loading your pockets with ammo. “Keep the ship on lockdown. You can manage that, hm?”

<lockdown protocol prevents killers from boarding.>

“That’s kind of the point of a lockdown,” you grumble, slamming the storage doors shut.

<excellent. your request is acceptable.>

You spin around on your heel, looking for-

“Grogu.”

There he is- sound asleep, little face buried against the Massiff’s belly-

-and your pendant clenched tightly in his hand.

…

Stay.

You should… stay for him.

If- if something happens to Din, he will need you.

…

He needs… he needs-

-hold on.

…

…Rumbling?

The ground outside the ramp is… rumbling- pebbles and loosened dirt sprinkling down from the cave’s ceiling.

Something’s flying overhead.

This… can’t be good-

With a miserable groan, you start forward, pausing just before the exit.

You glance back-

“We’ll all be back soon, Grogu, I promise.” You stare at the sleeping child’s form. He doesn’t so much as even stir at your words.

“And I mean all of us.”

…

“I promise.”

…

And with one final breath, you run down the ramp- the baby left behind, cocooned within the belly of his home.

Dashing forward, you emerge from the mouth of the cave just in time to catch fleeting sight… of…

…

-a hitch, a catch in your breath.

…

…

Damn it.

…

…

Th-the symbol on that ship-

You… you only caught a brief glimpse, but…

…

Shit.

…

Nok.

Kriffing Nok is here?

You- you have to leave Tatooine.

-kriffing now.

…

If- if you take your speederbike, leave immediately, y-you could take a shuttle and…

…

…

Leave?

…But-

But if you leave again…

Heart squeezing- shredded into a thousand fraying strands, you glance back at the mouth of the cave.

…

…

Running away doesn’t solve anything, Starlight.

…

…

Kark it.

…

You’re done running.

This time, you fight.

…

You’re not leaving Tatooine without your boys.

…

…

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

-BOOM-

You slam on your speederbike’s breaks, the bike groaning against the force. You waste no time in shutting it off, launching from the seat before it’s even fully stopped.

-BLAST-

Dank ferrik dank ferrik dank ferrik-

-BLAST-

-BLAST-

Growling through your teeth, you push forward, rifle held in a death grip against your side.

“Gunna try and kill my Mandalorian?” you snarl. “And my friends? Oh, I think the hell not, Thall. Eat blaster dust!”

You skid to a stop- boots sliding within inches of an…. uh, extraordinarily high descent.

Dropping to your knees, you peer over the edge of the cliff, peer at the canyon floor far, far down below.

What’s going on?

Where-?

You gasp, pressing a hand to your mouth.

Holy Kowakian monkey lizard!

Your eyes widen, watching as flamethrowers and blaster bolts and bodies fly and fling and throw-

Those who aren’t sprawled out on the ground karkin’ dead are certainly about to be karkin’ dead. The crowds- the pleasure barges- Thall- are long gone, no doubt fled when extra firepower arrived in the form of a pissed-off Boba Fett and co.

In fact, to you, it looks like they’ve just about wiped the canyon clean.

Holy Huttslug! You purse your lips. They didn’t leave anyone for you, darn it.

Ah well.

Grumbling beneath your breath, you lay out flat on your stomach. You knock your hat back, positioning the scope of the rifle against your eye.

“Din!” you laugh, watching as he stabs a Weequay in the chest. “Get ‘em, baby! Oh my gosh GET HIM! Hell YEAH!”

Reaching down into your pockets, you retrieve the extra ammo- loading the rifle with-

“Ayyeeaaaaa!”

You gasp, and you peer back through the scopes, zooming in to watch as your friends… whoop and cheer.

Oh, they did it! They actually blasted did it!

A grin cracks across your face, your anxiety pushed to the back of your mind for the time being. Because for now?  

THEY BLASTED DID IT!

Giggling, you pull up your knees, prepared to leap up and-

…Wait a minute- who is that? He’s not-

-you freeze.

…

Oh.

…

Oh no.

Hissing through your teeth, you drop to your belly, press the scopes against your eye. There- Nok- approaching the group. He stops- stands several yards away from your friends.

…

Nok… what the hell is he doing here? That slimy Huttscum! Shavit! Just… shavit! What does that- that spiteful man want?

…

“Crink it!” You smash your fist against the ground. “Blast!”

This is bad. Really, really bad.

…

They’re- they’re all talking together. His hands are up now- What- what are they saying?

Kark

Kark!

What- what do you- oh kriff oh kriff-

You pull your twitching eye away from the scope- glance down at your belt.

…an idea.

“Fett,” you mumble into the communicator. “No questions- turn on your comm.”

You watch Boba through the scopes- he does not scan his surroundings, does not try and look around for you. He just… reaches up, taps his helmet.

-static- “-not here ..r you.”

Nok’s voice is faint, hard to make out. You curse, turning up the comm’s volume as loudly as it will allow.

“What do you want?”

You jump at Din’s voice, cutting in loud and clear through your comm channel. Biting your lip, you are frozen with panic and fear and oh blast what should you do Nok will ruin everything what do you do-?

…

Kriff!

You press, squeeze your eyes closed-

You… you can’t go back.

Your lower lip trembles.

…You can’t go back!

…

“Don’t shoot the messenger. I don’t particularly want to be here either, but I wasn’t exactly given a choice,” Nok answers Din. “I’m here to present to you an offer.”

No- no you trust nothing coming from Nok- nothing!

“ …What kind of offer?”

Oh stars. With a sharp inhale of air, you raise, hover your scopes just above their heads, watching, listening-

“There’s a woman you’ve been traveling with. If you hand her over into my care-” Nok sighs, leans to one side as if bored- “you will be compensated generously in return for your cooperation.”

Oh-

Oh stars- NO!

You’re not going back to Nar Shaddaa. You can’t-

Nok- he needs to shut up-

Shut up before he ruins everything!

“Request- denied.”  The Mandalorian’s tone is… hell- he might kill this man himself. “How much-” he steps forward- “how much to call off the hunters you have on her?”

Nok just chuckles.

“You mean my patron? My patron is not the one who called the hunters on her … Believe me, I’d enjoy nothing more than watch her hunted down, personally. But my patron is… concerned for her. Wishes to shield her. And, alas, I am at his beck and call.”

“Your patron?” you snarl, tightening the grip on your rifle. You hover it just above Nok’s head. “Your patron can eat Banthashit, Nok, and you along with him. I’m not. going. back. Especially not with you.”

“What makes you think that I’d agree to this?” The Mandalorian’s tone is… dangerously calm.

“You can keep running, but she will be tracked down eventually,” Nok chuckles, clearly amused by all this- this mess you’re in- the kriffing creep. “This isn’t going away, Mandalorian.”

Hell-

You’re so… tempted to shoot him before he talks, blabs and ruins everything! Din- kark!- your past, it would ruin everything. He’d… he’d be disgusted and… and-

“This isn’t your problem, Mandalorian,” Nok sighs.

“…Her problems-” the Mandalorian’s hand inches towards his blaster- “are my problems.”

You blink.

…Stars.

“You really don’t have any idea what this involves, do you?” Nok laughs- brighter than you ever thought him capable of. How comforting to know your predicament brings him so much blasted joy. Maker knows the man is miserable otherwise.

Nok takes a step forward.

“You may know who she is, but it’s clear you don’t know what she is.”

Shut up shut up shut up.

Nok’s going to ruin everything. Din will- he will… damn it. You’re going to burst-

“My patron had hoped we could do this the clean, easy way. Avoid future bloodshed.”

…

The Mandalorian takes a slow, deliberate step forward.

“That’s where you were mistaken.”

He draws his blaster-

“Because not only would I die for her-” he points the weapon at Nok- “I’d kill.”

You pull away from your scope, mouth gaping open.

You- you never realized…

…

But… of course that’s how he feels.

“So, you go back to your patron-” the Mandalorian reholsters his weapon, his tone cool, even- “and you tell him that.”

Nok shakes his head, sighs. “Well, only if you promise to tell her I look forward to seeing her again very soon… in the latest fashion of prison restraints.”

The Mandalorian storms forward- drawing his weapon- Nok draws his-

They freeze- stare at each other.

“Oh great, she really has you under her thumb, doesn’t she?” Nok snorts, waving his weapon to the side. “You should reconsider. She’s selfish, you know. She’ll throw you aside as soon as she no longer needs you. Never cared about anything or anyone except herself and that little brat of hers.”

He chuckles- leans forward-

“Let’s just say it was hilarious irony …

…what happened to the little girl.”

…

…

Hilarious irony…

…

Hilarious irony-

…

Hilarious-

Red flashes- flashes in your eyes-

…

…

You- you’re-

…

…Hilarious irony.

…

…

The dam holding back your terror and grief and fury…

Erupts-

…

See you in hell, bastard.

…

You pull the trigger.

…

And you don’t miss.

Shouting- shouting from down below-

Damn it- they… they can’t find you here! You need to go!

With a sharp inhale of breath, you aim your rifle sights at a safe, yet convincing, distance from your friends, and-

-BLAST-

-BLAST-

-BLAST-

“Take cover!”

And at Cara’s muffled cry, you stumble up to your feet… and run.

Oh Maker, how are you- yipes! Jetpack- you hear a jetpack! Go-

GO!

Pressing a hand to your mouth, you choke back the sob, the howl threatening to tear from your lips. Flinging yourself across the speederbike, you ignore the warning tremors of the damaged bike, blasting across the dunes and away from the scene of your crime.

…

But you’re not finished yet.

You have to find Nok’s ship.

Wipe the computers.

Dump it out in the desert to rot.

…

But… but before it’s wiped… there’s something you must take from the starship’s computers…

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

<tier 1 security clearance code request>

-security code: 345-453

<security clearance code APPROVED>

<drellik computer archives accessed>

<how may i assist you?>

-begin download on all encrypted data filed under: valera dayne

<tier 3 security clearance code request>

-security code: starlight-2171

<security clearance code APPROVED>

<file download estimated between 1 and 3 standard hours to completion. commence with download?>

-yes

<command accepted. please enjoy our selection of jazz instrumentals while we select your files>

-have i not suffered enough today?

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

“WHERE have you BEEN?”

You lift your dry, burning eyes, spying Pablo- baby on his hip and Massiff at his heels- rushing down the ramp of the Crest.

“We’ve been searching hours for you!” He pulls you into a one-armed hug. The Massiff- Noodles, you suppose- not one to be left out of the fun, wiggle-butt dances around you for 3.5 seconds until he’s distracted by a moth.

“Stars,” you groan, every achy muscle and bruise throbbing at Pablo’s touch. You open your mouth to say something, but a sharp squeak steals those words from your lips.

You glance down.

“Little fella.” Flashing a tired smile, you reach out, taking the babbling child from Pablo’s hip. “See? I told you we’d be back!” 

He stares up at you- giggles, and your tired smiles warms. The kid didn’t need the force to communicate with you this time. You know- can feel- what he’s feeling…

He’s… he’s really, really glad you’re back.

“Well, looks like you’re all in one piece, Bean Dip.” You quirk a brow, reaching out to stroke Grogu’s ear. “A miracle, if you’ve been in Pablo’s care all day…”

“The hell, Sweetheart?” Pablo throws his hands on his hips. “Is that the thanks I get? I’ve done nothing today but wipe up drool, chase after the kid, clean up after him- oh, and that thing?”

He glares at Noodles- busy running laps around Fett’s starship and howling at dust particles.

“It shit on the floor.”

Heh.

Good dog.

“Look Pablo, we can fuss about that later,” you sigh, legs trembling with exhaustion. You pull the baby closer, his presence a… comfort… A comfort you need right now as things are about to get…uh, complicated.

“You said… everyone’s out searching for me?”

“All day practically.” Pablo crosses his arms. “Mando was hell-bent on finding you before sundown… which is just about now, coincidentally.”

You swallow back the lump in your throat.

“I… I see.”

…

“What- what happened-” you bite your lip- “after my bike… kaboomed?”

Pablo huffs, flashes you a look. “The cameras following your bike cut immediately. And Thall refused to let us go rescue you and said he’d send his own men instead… which, uh, the Mandalorian did not take well… to put it mildly.”

You grit your teeth.

Thall- you scumbag.

“Mando annihilated half his security team, and-” Pablo shrugs- “according to that Fett guy, you know the rest of the story. With their help, we demolished Thall’s men- we didn’t die- and now you’re back! Overall, a successful trip to Tatooine, I suppose…”

…

Dank Ferrik…

That… look he just gave you. He’s… holding back about Nok, about the- the things he said. Maker! You- keep it together.

Keep it together for the-

“Ka’r’ika?”

You whirl-

“Din, I-”

-you’re swept up.

His arms clutch, grab at your body like you might disappear, float away, if he dared let go.

“Ner Ka’r’ika.”

His voice is hoarse… strained.

You bury your grimace against his chest.

Stars stars stars! What- does he suspect? What does he think of you after- after Nok’s… rantings?

You-

You can’t do this-

You can’t do this!

You lift your free hand, and shove at his chest. Din jolts, tears back, and the comfort of his hold slips away, leaving your body abandoned and starving for warmth.

You’ve startled him. He’s giving you that little head-tilt, the one he uses when he can’t quite figure you the kriff out.

“Din.” You force a light-hearted tone, adjusting the baby against your hip. “Uh, hi.”

…

He pauses, then dips his helmet forward- scanning your grungy appearance up and down. Keeping his left hand stiff against his side- he reaches up with the other, presses the gloved hand against your cheek.

“Look at me.”

You swallow- staring at anything but his visor.

He tentatively, carefully turns your face- inspecting the flowering bruises.

“Are you okay?”

…

“Nothing’s broken.” You swallow again. “I’ll live.”

“Kid’s built of tough stuff.”

Your eyes widen, shoot to the right-

Boba.

Kark- he knows- he knows you were at the canyon. He… he answered your comm. Of course he knows! Did he tell?

“She launched a hundred feet into the air and was up and fighting Jawas within the hour.”

You flash him a faint smile. “I landed on my hard head.” You grip Din’s hand still pressed to your cheek, drawing it away.

“Good to see you in one piece, Blazing Womprat,” Cara chuckles, unstrapping a rifle from her side. “Which is truly astounding after some of those insane stunts you pulled.” She steps forward, stops beside Pablo. “Pablo almost passed out from cheering too hard.”

“That was nothing.” You can’t resist the self-satisfied smirk that flicks up at the corner of your mouth. “You should see me-”

“-on a swoopbike.”

You stare at Din.

“Where have you been?”

Kriff, you knew the question would come eventually. You… hope your story checks out- that Boba doesn’t ruin things.

You place the baby down, letting him toddle across the ground towards Pablo.

“I decided to go a bit outside the cave, check around, you know?” Shaky breath. “One of Thall’s transports spotted me- recognized me… So, I, uh, took the bike out, far, far away from the Crest, as fast as I could in its damaged state, hoping to keep it… hidden.” Trembling hands in pockets. “Worked great until I got turned around. Took me a while to find my way back.”

…do they believe you?

Your eyes sweep across their faces- their shoulders relaxing...

They believe you.

…

But… then there’s Boba, and possibly Fennec. You- you need to talk to them.

“Well,” Pablo sighs. “What a way to spend the day… So, what now?”

“We’ve talked it over-”

You turn to Din.

“For tonight, we stay in this cave. Lay low. Analyze the situation tomorrow.”

Heavy sigh.

You… can’t argue with that. Laying low- resting… For one night, you need it. You need it desperately.

“Sounds like bedtime,” Pablo sighs, already blazing a path for the Crest. You watch, blinking, as the rest follow suit, each leaving for their respective ships.

“Pablo,” you call out, voice traced with exhaustion. “Take Noodles inside.”

“The hell?”

“My dog.”

“…No way! That thing is not sleeping in-”

“Noodles!” Cara calls, laughing as the dog highspeed races up the ramp.

“Your dog?”

You turn at Din’s rasp-

Stars… you want to cry at the stiffness, the rigidity in his body… You know you caused it, but…

“It’s going to eat bad people for me on Keolith.”

…

He just grunts at that.

Stars…

Pulling your hat low across your brows, you sigh, “Go on to bed, Mando. I- I think I’m going to spend some time on… Fett’s ship…”

You need space.

…

You need space to think.

…

“And maybe… maybe stay the night.”

The Mandalorian’s arms drop.

…

…

…

“……Okay.”

…

And just like that, he’s scooped the child up into his arms- trudging away towards the Razor Crest, cape fluttering at his heels.

…

Damn it.

You stare at the Crest.

…

That… came out wrong.

…

…

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

“Princess,” Boba smirks, lifting a glass as you walk through the door.

You discovered Boba and Fennec where you expected- sitting in the cockpit of his ship… as if they knew you were coming.

“No thanks.” You throw your hands on your hips. “We need to talk.”

Something flies at your head- you catch it.

Opening the palm of your hand, you gawk down at-

“Next time,” Boba chuckles, “don’t leave your commlink at the scene of a hit job.”

…

“Oh.”

You swallow.

“Oops?”

“Nice shot.” Fennec smirks. “And here I thought you were inexperienced.”

…

You are inexperienced…

“Lucky first-time assassination, is all.” A pang knocks against your chest cavity. “Beginner’s luck?”

Oh stars, stop trying to be cute. Now’s not the time- you’re having a mental crisis for Maker’s sake-

“Thank you for not saying anything,” you mumble, eyes flicking between Boba and Fennec. “It… would have put me in an awkward position.”

…

You bite your lower lip…

Just blurt it out.

“Boba,” you sigh, “why are you helping me?”

…

Arms pressed against his thighs, Boba leans forward.

“Just fulfilling my end of the deal.”

Something… flicks in his eyes- the first time you’ve seen his mask… falter.

…oh.

…

He’s lying.

“Go, Princess-” a dust of a smile shadows his face- “you’re with the wrong Mandalorian tonight.”

…He’s right.

And with a deep grimace, you head for the door-

“I would have shot him too-”

You glance back at Boba.

“-if that helps you.”

You flash him a small smile.

…

It does…

…

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

“Where’s… uh, Mando?” you ask, head popping up into the Crest’s cockpit from the ladder below.

Pablo shrugs, focused intently on his card game with Cara.

“In his room.” Cara smashes a card on the dash- Pablo erupts into groans.

"Pay up, Babycakes…”

With a roll of your eyes, you begin descending the ladder. When your feet touch the floor, you freeze- overwhelmed, paralyzed with… anxiety?

Damn it… it’s… just Mando…

Just… do it!

Pursing your lips, you march past a prostrate 4PO with a snoring Noodles- all four feet in the air- resting beside him. And with one final march forward, you find yourself right at the Mandalorian’s door…

…

“…Mando?”

knock- knock-

“Uh, can I… come in?”

…

…

“It’s unlocked.”

Chewing on your lower lip, the door snaps open beneath your touch.

…

“Din?” you call out hesitantly, sticking your head inside.

“Thought you were with Fett.”

Your eyes turn in the direction of the refresher.

…

“His… ship smelled weird.”

The refresher door snaps open, and Din steps out-

“BLAST!” you yelp, stumbling backwards. “What the hell! Where’s your armor!?”

Dank Ferrik! It’s- it’s like looking at the man naked! Should you, you don’t know, spin away!?

Din just… tilts his helmet at you- rests his hands at the waist of his flight suit.

“I don’t sleep in my armor.”

…oh.

You lean back against the closed door, listening as Din shuffles around the room.

Kriff! What do you say? … Why isn’t he saying anything? Oh gosh oh gosh-

“Where’s the baby?” you blurt, beginning to turn towards him. “Is he- OH-”

ARM REVEAL.

…

OH SHIT.

SHIT.

KRIFFING GUNS-FOR-DAYS.

“I put him down in the bunk.”

“Huh?” you puff, snapping your eyes away from his… his big-ass GUNS- oh kriff.

“The child-” Din steps over a pile of junk to open a drawer- “he was... fussy.” He pauses… hooks his thumbs on his suspenders. “I thought… maybe he’d sleep better near your scent.”

Oh-

Oh stop just throw you into the pits of Carkoon will you.

Shoulders slumping forward, you groan inwardly- using every bit of your determination to not bolt right out the door.

Oh kriff, you hate this- this awkwardness. Just… ask him something! And for the love of all things good and holy- DON’T STARE AT HIS ARMS.

“What are you, uh, doing?”

“Going to bed.”

“Oh.”

…

You blink.

…

“Okay, goodnight-”

Flinging around, you reach for the door, but a hand, a grip on your wrist pulls you back.

“What are you doing?” you snap, stumbling at the motion.

“You need a real bed.”

“So do you.”

“I know.”

Oh.

Oh.

…

Well then.

…

Hell yeah.

…

You let him lead you, guide you around a pile of clothing- like a shepherd leading his flock through a minefield… only instead of a minefield it’s Din’s rancid room.

…But that’s an argument for another day.

Pausing at the foot of his bed- his visor trails down your legs…

"Sit.”

Damn it if you won’t obey. Stars, you’re pathetic.

“Din, what are you-”

He drops to his knees- bare fingers fumbling with the laces of your dust-caked boots. You watch- fighting to keep your expression neutral as the ridiculous man begins to remove your shoes for you.

…You also have to fight to not stare at his exposed arms and blasted-broad shoulders, but you’re much less successful at that part…

“Best be careful, Din Djarin.” A small smirk begins to grow. “I could get really used to this kind of treatment.”

“Who was he?”

You blink.

“…Huh?”

“That-” Din’s fingers pause- “that man.”

 Your mouth pops open at his… vehemency.

“Boba?” You quirk a brow down at him.

Blast- what does Din… what does Din think?

He remains… silent, removing your second boot without a word.

“That man you kissed,” he puffs.

You blink… oooooohhh….

Leaning to your side, you pick at a loose thread on the bed. “He’s a… friend.”

“Looked like more than a friend,” the grumble slips beneath his helm. He stands, flicks a hand at you.

“Get out of those clothes.”

Thank the Maker- a topic change!

With a heavy sigh, you march yourself over to his drawers. You didn’t have to ask- you’re well beyond the asking stage.

“Mando?” you toss over your shoulder. “Um…What’s your favorite color?”

…

“Red.”

…

You can do red.

Snatching a scarlet flannel from the drawer, you slam it shut- sweeping into the refresher to change. As you remove your grimy clothes, you stare in the mirror at the scars- the marks on your forearm.

“You know, Mando,” you shout through the closed door, forcing your eyes away from the baggage of your past. “Do you ever wonder what your life would be like if the world hadn’t imploded under your feet as a kid? I know I do.”

Talking comes easier when you can’t see him….

…

Footsteps… shuffling… drawers opening and closing-

“Working my father’s trade…” Silence. “He was… a carpenter.”

Your fingers pause mid-buttoning. “Sounds… peaceful.” Unlike bounty hunting, goes unsaid.

“I think-” you reach for a towel- “that I’d have left Sularia, for sure. As much as I loved it…”

As much as you miss it…

“…There wasn’t much to do in the mountains except get married, have kids, chase kids, heard animals, shovel snow, fucking yodel… you get the picture.”

The door snaps open, and you press the side of your face against the doorframe. “I’ve always craved excitement, much to my parent’s displeasure…”

There he is- Din- sitting on the side of the bed… watching you.

He tilts his head forward- leans against his thighs. “I’d say you found yourself that excitement,” he snorts.

Understatement of the year.

Aches mixing with your exhaustion, you release a pained groan as you ease next to him on the bed. Body sinking in on itself, you brush, lean against his side.

Safe.

Safe.

Safe.

“Will you leave us again?”

His voice is but a whisper.

 “If I left-” you lift your chin, flashing him a small smile- “I’d have to buy my own flannels.”

Silence.

…

He reaches out, tugs on your flannel sleeve.

“Can’t have that.”

…

“Go to sleep.”

A weary smile dusts your lips.

Yes, sir.

…

Scrambling up to the head of the bed, you shove your legs beneath the blankets and flop over to face the wall. Burying deep beneath them, you squeeze your eyes shut.

Blankets lift-

Weight on the mattress-

Heavy sigh-

Blankets pull and drop.

…

Oh kriff, he’s right behind you… Guess that’s how sharing a bed works…

…

Oh kark it.

You blink at the wall.

…

Time to make things weird.

“Roll over!” you shout, flinging up out of the bed. Din jolts back- startled by your outburst.

“W-what-?” He pulls the blankets up to his neck.

“MOVE!”

You yank on his arm- forcing him to roll over.

You can’t help but giggle as he obliges.

See? You don’t have to spend all night worrying about accidently touching him if you’re already touching him.

Life hack.

Now that Din’s properly flopped over and facing you in the bed, you crawl back under the blankets. You tug on his exposed arm- snaking it across your middle. You wiggle backwards until your back is pressed, squashed against his chest.

…

…

“Din?”

…

…

“Yeah?”

…

…

…

“This okay?”

…

…

…

His hand creeps up your hip, splays across your stomach.

…

“Yeah.”

…

…

…

“Then loosen up.”

…

…

“I am loose.”

…

…

“Goodnight, Din.”

…

…

“Goodnight, Ka’r’ika.”

…………

………

……

…

…

Guns-for-days holy shit-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

masterlist / previous chapter / next chapter

taglist: (in the reblog)

a/n: Oooooh boy. With a chapter this long, there’s a LOT I could say! I am reaaaaallly nervous for this one hsjdhdhd. Feel free to ask me anything in the comments so I can address specific topics! For now, I’ll just say things such as Din’s reaction to Boba taking his helmet off, Fennec still be alive, etc. will be addressed next chapter. 

Chapter ten really came so easily yet so hard at the same time. I put a LOT of time and love into this fic... So, if you, too, find any sort of enjoyment from it, I’d love to hear about it! I have made so many kind friends through this story. I love hearing from you!

And heh, things be heating up in this chapter, hm??? 👀 Any thoughts/theories??

Anyway... I’m sure I’ll think of things later I’ll wish I’d said... but for now... I hope you enjoyed!!!

[passivenovember]

Walking Home (v)., the  Tourniquet

For you @thursday-knight. Lysm

They’re going to let Billy out of that horrible, gray padded room on Tuesday, which Steve snorts at over the phone. 

“What, you think that’s fuckin’ funny or something?”

“No, It’s just.” It’s kind of funny. Steve wraps the phone chord around his hand. Nice and tight, like a tourniquet. “Tuesday’s weird.”

“Tuesday’s...weird?”

“Yeah.”

Steve can hear something, like. The clack of a pen. It’s a common nervous tick, a way to cope, but. Steve’s never seen any one hold a bic the way Billy does. 

Barrel in his palm. Clicking the register with his pointer finger, like. He’s pressing Reagan’s Big Red Button. The one to blow up the world.

“What’s so weird about a Tuesday release, man?”

“Ruining the start of a week by spending it in the hospital and then having to use the rest of it adjusting to life outside?”  Steve shrugs, remembering that Billy can’t see him. “They could at least give you a Friday. Then you’d have the weekend, right?”

Billy’s grin is somehow manifested in the honey drip of his voice. “Been locked up for six months, Harrington, what’s two more days?”

And that could be true.

Steve doesn’t feel like so much time has passed. The rise and fall of the moon, the turn of the seasons, the way Billy has to wear fuzzy socks with those little grips on them to stay warm in beige corridors, have been lost on Steve. 

Tainted. Wrapped in paper the exact shade of survival. Surgeries and afternoons carpooling the kids to Hawkins general, paying Barry Mildred to do Billy’s algebra homework for him, and. 

Convincing everyone.

Himself, too.

That Billy would be alright. Steve had to do everything he could to get Billy ready for the world, or.

The world ready for him.

“Has it really been that long?” Steve wonders.

And Billy laughs. “Maybe not for you, King Steve. Some of us had to spend the whole of it in one room.” It doesn’t sound as painful as it usually does.

Steve just nods again. To himself.

He remembers the leaves changing around the time Billy learned to walk again. Halloween. Bringing left-over contraband to spoil Billy’s strict diet of organic bullshit while his body healed itself. Amber leaves complimenting blue eyes as they made unsteady laps around the courtyard together. 

Steve holding his arm out time and time again, and. Billy taking it. 

Christmas. Snowball fights with the kids, crystals on long blonde eyelashes while that stubborn mouth fought to return every smile Max threw his way. Those very same lashes, wet with tears, when Billy opened a vintage copy of Cider House Rules, on Christmas Eve. 

All, you really shouldn’t be spending the holiday in a psych ward, Harrington.

But they held hands for the first time that night. Steve said, where else would I want to be?

And Billy, just. Took what he could get--nothing more.

Steve remembers a lot of things. Happiness. Rocky, at first, unearned, a slide into friendship which turned into peachy cheeks that rivaled the setting sun.

Summer, Fall, Winter, and.

February.

Steve must have missed it. All of it, while he was busy being grateful that Billy was alive. 

He checks the calendar.

“You’ll be out in time for Valentines,” He says. Because that’s important, somehow. “Got any big plans?”

“Oh, for sure.” Billy clicks his pen. One-two-three. “Got a girl waiting for me on the outside, thought we could catch a movie.”

Steve knows. 

He knows it isn’t true, that Billy’s just yanking his ridiculously short chain, but. Steve’s heart beats in time with the click of a pen. Advancing and overtaking the tempo to orchestrate a symphony of worry.

Of fear.

It used to taste like copper. Black slime and dirty snow, but now it tastes like mashed potatoes served on a hospital lunch tray. Contraband sweets. Change and forced endings and--

Steve chokes on something. A laugh that falls wrong halfway through, like a sob colored to fit summer days. “What are you doing after?”

The clacking stops. “Just fucking with you, Harrington.”

“I know.”

“Was a joke, I’m not.” Billy clears his throat. “Everyone who matters came to see me while I was here.” 

Steve just nods. Frantically, because he hears words that aren’t there. Meaning that couldn’t possibly color his life in broad strokes. He thinks about what Billy’s saying, what he really means. 

Everyone who matters.

“Where are you staying? Like, when you get out,.” Steve mutters. The chord is wrapped around his hand again. He leans against the wall, wincing as the pins from his bulletin board pinch his shoulder blades. “You got a place to crash?”

Billy doesn’t say anything. 

Steve clears his throat. “You aren’t going back, right? You’re not going. Home?”

“To Neil’s?” 

And Steve gets the distinction. Feels it settle like an axe between his first three ribs. “Yeah.”

Billy sighs. “No, fuck that. Figured I’d ask around. See if there are any beds open at RCA.” Recovery Centers of America, that’s. 

“That’s in Indianapolis.”

“Yeah,” Billy says flatly. Steve thinks, distantly, that he sounds almost. Annoyed. “Owens says there’s a car. It’ll take me wherever I want, long as I stay in State.”

“You want to go away?”

“Sure,” Billy says bluntly. “Wouldn’t hurt to leave this place behind, you know. Maybe go somewhere new--”

“Stay with me.”

Steve’s heart is beating in his eyeballs.

The world falls silent. Only for a moment, for as long as it takes for Billy to drop something on the ground and then swear under his breath. His voice shakes, like strands in the wind. “What?”

“At my apartment,” Steve clarifies. He untangles the phone chord which has somehow worked its way to his elbow. “It’s small and shitty, and the couch only has three legs, but.”

Steve closes his eyes and hopes against hope, praying to every god who has ever existed since the beginning of time and everyone who will come after, that Billy can hear every meaning, every hidden word.

“You could.” Steve says softly. “If you wanted to.”

The clacking starts up again, slow and measured. Steve can hear Billy’s breath. The ragged intake of air that sounds painful, like a boy clinging to life in smoke filled memories. Holding on to his hand, saying, I don’t want to die, Steve, please.

It plants Steve’s feet in an ambulance. It tips the string of a tourniquet, bloody and wet with slime in his hands. It makes him remember. 

Pull it tighter, kid, come on.

And.

He’s losing a lot of blood.

And.

Steve, we’re losing him. 

And.

Kid, step away from the body.

Billy clears his throat. “You mean it?” He asks, and.

Steve lets go of a breath. “Of course I do.”

“You’ll get tired of me.” Billy’s voice, it sounds like shattering windows. Steve doesn’t say anything. Can’t respond, because. Nothing in life is more impossible. 

The world falls silent.

Only for a moment, as long as it takes for Steve to close his eyes. “I can’t watch you get in that car and walk away, Billy.”

It’s nothing. Only a part of how he feels. Only a drop of what he wants, but. It sets things in motion again. 

Billy clears his throat. “Alright,” He says. “Give me the address.”

--

Steve wants it to be something other than what it is.

He buys new sheets. Fern green satin, five-hundred thread count and worth a third of what he has in savings. 

They aren’t what he’d usually go for, color or texture, but. The lady at the department store says muted colors are good for preventing overstimulation after trauma and satin is gentle on the skin. Warm, too, which is always a good thing.

Billy says it feels like winter, now. All, I’m a goddamn human snow globe.

Buying sheets on Valentines, it.

Makes Steve hope that this is something else. 

That Billy will insist on putting his new sheets on Steve’s bed instead of the couch in the living room. That they’ll sleep together here, just how they always did in Billy’s hospital bed. 

Chest to chest. 

Billy’s head tucked under Steve’s chin, but.

Mostly Steve being eaten alive by the guilt.

For feeling like this is the start of their lives. That everything before now--living with his parents, fighting monsters, feeling useless in every sense of the word...

All of it was a dream. 

Preparation for the day he would open the front door and find Billy there, waiting.

Steve takes the sheets back to his apartment. He makes up the living room, rearranging the furniture so Billy can have his own space. The couch as a bed and the coffee table as a book shelf.

Billy has a lot of books.

More than anyone Steve’s ever met, more than Robin and Nancy Wheeler combined and Steve doesn’t own any books himself, or. A place to put them. His apartment is the size of a shoebox.

He’ll get rid of the stuff he doesn’t use anymore. 

He’ll make room. 

In his apartment, in his miniscule life, so that Billy has something of his own. 

And maybe after they’re settled in and the bills are paid for the month, Steve will pick up extra shifts at the video store until he can afford buy one. 

A nice, big oak bookshelf for Billy to house his favorites. 

--

He locks himself in the bathroom an hour after moving in.

Which, you know. Throws the evening for a loop. 

He seems happy when Steve opens the front door, dropping his box of books by the shoe rack and toeing his boots off with a grin. 

His body is loose, and. Open, Like he’s comfortable. Billy pokes around the apartment, making fun of the weird shit hanging up on the walls while Steve cooks dinner.

“You gotta get some real art in here, man.” Billy says. It sounds like he’s by the record player, digging through the stack of vinyl's Steve keeps in a shoe box by the T.V. “And some real music, holy shit. How have you been living like this?”

“I’ve been living just fine, fuck you very much.” 

“You have three copies of Waterloo,” Billy snorts. As if that proves something.

He’s crouched by the mosaic of finger paintings left by Holly Wheeler, studying a particularly abstract piece when Steve hands him a glass of sparkling cider.

“Everyone’s gotta have their backup copies of Waterloo, you know, extra in case you gotta dole them out to strangers.” Steve clinks their glasses together. “Cheers.”

Billy swishes the drink around with a lift of his eyebrow. “You trying to get in my pants, Harrington?”

“It’s not alcohol.”

“Why is it bubbly?” Billy accuses, lifting the glass to sniff at it suspiciously. His nose wrinkles, like a bunny rabbit. 

Steve laughs. “It’s sparkling cider. Cherry flavored.”

“Cherry?” Billy snorts, his cheeks glowing pink like little love hearts. “That’s definitely a sex flavor.” 

“It’s a celebration flavor, you dick.” Steve chuckles again. He files through the records he does have, selecting one he thinks Billy can tolerate. “What do you think of Rumours?”

Billy’s wandered to the kitchen. “Hate the activity, dig the album.” He calls.

The sound of cabinets opening and slamming shut echo through the space while Steve figures out the settings for this vinyl, fiddling with the tiny knobs until Songbird filters through at a pace that seems right.

“Ice is in the freezer,” Steve announces, and.

Billy rounds the corner with a bag of chips, happy little smirk on his face. Steve frowns.

“I’m fixing dinner--”

“I haven’t had Doritos in almost a year, Harrington.” Billy says roughly. He rips open the bag, collapsing next to Steve on the floor by the music stand. Billy takes one and licks the cheese dust off the chip, holding the bag out, like. “Want one?”

Steve face hurts from smiling so much. “Nah, I’m good.”

Billy leans back against the wall, rolling his eyes. “What, don’t eat carbs after four p.m. or something?”

And Steve filters through a million answers, all of which make it sound like he’s trying to get laid, so. He settles in next to Billy, letting his eyes fall closed with the sway of the music.

“No, just. Don’t wanna ruin my dinner.”

Billy snorts, bag crinkling loudly as he dives in for another handful. “I could eat twelve bags of this shit and still go ape on whatever rich boy thing you whipped up.” Billy asses him, head cocked to the side. “Bet the cheese makes you fart.” He concludes.

Steve blinks at him. “You’re disgusting--”

“Processed cheese makes everyone shit their pants, man, that’s like.” Billy wipes his hands on Steve’s leg. “Common knowledge.”

Steve makes a noise like a runover chicken, wiping frantically at the trousers he bought at the Goodwill, just for tonight. 

He wets his fingers with spit, wincing and scrubbing at the bright line of orange nacho cheese that stains his corduroy flares. 

The shape of Billy’s fingers is unmistakable. “I’m starting to regret asking you to move in.”

“Thought I was just crashing here until--”

“Now that you’re here I’m no letting you leave,” Steve smiles at him, the weight of it softening when Billy’s cheeks glow pink again. He knocks their shoulders together. “You’re stuck with me.”

Billy falls silent after that.

Shoveling in handful after handful of Doritos and crunching so loudly that Steve can’t get wrapped up in the bass line on the Chain. 

“Dude, you gotta chew so loud?” Steve asks, shoving Billy’s hand away when he reaches to smear nacho dust down the length of Steve’s neck. “My god, you’re a menace.”

“You love it,” Billy giggles, and.

They stare at each other for a moment. Sort of watching the brush of eyelashes against cheekbones while the music plays. 

A backdrop to the start of something Steve doesn’t have a name for.

--

Night falls and Billy doesn’t come out of the bathroom.

The food has been stored, the dishes put away, but the light which escapes like neon strips of gold to kiss the mouth of the hall carpet never flicks off. Never giving way to rest.

Steve thinks about waiting for him. 

He thinks about going to bed, jiggling the handle to make sure Billy’s okay, breaking the door down when two hours turns to three but that seems intrusive. 

If Billy wanted company he would ask. And if he wanted to come out he would, right?

Steve feels like an idiot. 

Pacing back and forth between the living room and the hallway, trying not to make it obvious that he’s right in the thick of gut-wrenching worry. Violent, intrusive images of brain splattered tile fill his mind. 

Billy could be hurt, or. Asleep in the bathtub. Maybe he slipped out the bathroom window while Steve was turning down the couch for him, making the space comfortable.

Maybe he was never here to begin with. Maybe Steve dreamt him up.

Steve paces back and forth, back and forth, wrestling with the urge to call Dr. Owens and ask what he should do, until the clock above the stove reads 11:34 pm and he has no choice but to call it a night.

His knuckles sound like a machine gun when he taps on the door. 

From behind the oak barrier, Billy makes a noise like he was startled out of sleep. Steve can hear him moving around, when he asks, “You okay? Been in there for a few hours.”

Billy opens the door.

His eyes are red and puffy, cheeks a little flushed, like.

“Have you been crying?” Steve doesn’t want him to cry. Tears and hallow feelings, they have no place in the stretch of nightfall that Steve has built for them. 

He feels himself reaching for Billy on impulse, trying to pull their bodies together, but Billy steps back. 

Away. 

To make room for Steve in the bathroom or to make a run for it, Steve isn’t sure. He knots his fingers together for safe keeping. 

“Of course not, don’t be fucking.” Billy’s voice cracks right down the middle, like. A loaf of bread that has been in the oven for far too long. His eyes are glassy when he looks up, and.

Distant.

Steve feels like an asshole. He leans against the door jam. “I can call Dr. Owens, if you want.” 

Billy stares at him. “Why would I want that?”

“You just seem--”

“I seem like what, Steve?” Billy spits. “You gonna psychoanalyze me too, huh?”

Steve grits his teeth against the urge to. Fight back. “It’s just when I started getting the couch ready, you seemed.” Steve runs a hand through his hair, choosing his next words carefully. “Nervous? Afraid, maybe, just a little. Which is alright. It can be scary sleeping alone in a new place, and--”

“I’m not five years old, Harrington, I can handle a sleepover at my friends house.” Billy snarls. He pushes against Steve’s chest until there are rivers between them. Mountains and oceans.

It’s the first time since Starcourt that Billy seems.

Like himself.

The old self, the one that used his fists to keep wandering eyes from getting too close. Figuring him out. If Steve were a younger man he’d fall for it, hook and line, but. 

He knows better.

Six months and a lifetime with Billy Hargrove have taught him a thing or two. He nods, stepping back down the hallway. 

Billy’s eyes track him. Wide and nervous and so, so blue. 

“‘M going to sleep, dude.”  Steve waves a thumb over his shoulder, taking a deep, needed breath. He calls over his shoulder to give Billy some space. “Come to bed when you’re ready. I’ll leave the light on.”

Billy’s footsteps don’t pass his bedroom door until Steve is settled under the covers.

--

He’s starting to think Billy won’t show.

The t.v. is on in the living room, tinny sounds of Yogi Bear filtering through the wall and Steve wonders if he made a mistake in assuming, that.

Look.

Just because they slept together, like, actually slept together  while Billy was in the hospital doesn’t mean anything. 

Maybe Billy is just scraping the bottom of his energy reserves. Maybe he’s getting to the end of the rope when it comes to his friendship with Steve, and didn’t want to move in but had to.

For lack of better options, and like. 

Income and shit--

“Scoot over.” Billy says.

Steve jumps, poking his head out from under the covers to glare wildly at him. “When did you--”

“Move over.” Billy insists, eyes burning like flame in the darkness.

Steve does, all, “Jesus Christ, you’re just a little ray of sunshine, aren’t ya?” But there are butterflies in his tummy. Gently flapping wings that turn into stinging wasps when Billy manhandles his way into the bed, yanking one of the extra pillows out from under Steve’s legs to punch into shape on his side of the bed.

Steve squawks. “I was using that.”

“It was under your knee caps, dork.” Billy mutters, bullying his way into Steve’s space like he did so many times on warm summer nights at Hawkins General, stiff as a board on his government issued mattress.

Steve’s bed isn’t anything like that, it’s like. A marshmallow. Swallowing the two of them whole when Billy presses his face into the length of Steve’s neck, legs coming up to pin him in place.

“I got weak ankles.” Steve pouts. 

Billy doesn’t say anything as he goes limp and heavy on top of his human pillow. Steve instantly feels like he’s over heating; the guy’s a fucking furnace, but.

Billy’s eyelashes are tickling his collar bones.

His breath fans out over Steve’s skin, like cool breezes on summer nights, and. When he starts crying Steve is there.

Like always, Steve sings him to sleep.

[henryobsessed]

The Borrower and Her Bean - Part 19

Summary: Melina is now a bean

Word Count: 1453

A/N this story is coming to a close, Thank you for those who have take this fun journey with me. One more to follow 

Part 18 - Epilogue 

Melina studied Henry, the stubbled lines of his Jaw, the dimpled chin and the fine smile lines around his eyes. She would never get tired of this face. As much as she liked watching him sleep her excitement had her wriggling. A rough voice broke into the silence "Morning my little sprite" a smile broke on her face as he opened his eyes. He chuckled as she wriggled some more as he pulled her into his embrace. Kissing her forehead he whispered, "so what is causing your bubbly demeanor this morning?" groaning at his question she buried her head into this neck mumbling "you know" his strong arms wrapping around her as he whispered "Happy Christmas"

The two beans and their furry companion carefully made their way downstairs to the living room. It had been 4 weeks since Melina had become a bean, each day both she and Henry had made a conscious effort to step lightly, and move cautiously. It had not been an easy transition, she recalled the first time she had accompanied Henry to a supermarket. She had been in awe of all the different food and products. When walking past the ice cream she had seen her favourite flavour and pulled out a small tub putting it in her pocket. When they got to the check out Henry had to ask her for the ice cream. Wondering why he wanted it she had said "Why don't you get your own?" he had laughed at her and then said quietly "we have to pay for it, Lina, this lady scans the item and then tells me how much money I owe her. Then I pay for it. We don't borrow in Bean's world." She had handed it to him and watched as the lady did exactly as Henry had said. Once she had scanned the lot she gave Henry a figure and he handed her some paper and metal things that looked like buttons.

It had taken her a while to adjust to not being able to just take what she needed. Thankfully Henry had been there to help her not get into trouble. The fun part of being a bean though was having access to so many amazing things. Especially around Christmas! her family celebrated Christmas they would get a small branch off a tree and put tinsel on it. This year she had gone with Henry to pick a tree, it was amazing seeing all the different sizes and colours. Last night the night before Christmas the whole family Mum and Dad, Carson and Greg along with Pam and Elisha and their parents had gathered downstairs and helped to decorate the tree.

Dad had insisted that they climb the branches of the tree so they could thread the lights through to the perfect spots. She had to admit it had looked great once the lights were turned on, it was perfect. She and Henry had hung the ornaments, and the boys with the help of their girlfriends had threaded the tinsel through the boughs of the tree. It had looked magical as the tree was finished. Henry had smiled at Lina as he picked up the last piece, an Angel that was small with a sparkling gold dress and real feathers for wings. He had placed it in her hands, then lifted her by the waist allowing her to place the final piece on the top of the tree. Nothing could replace that feeling of warmth as he had wrapped his arms around her as they both gazed up at the tree.

Standing in the kitchen She and Henry had been cooking most of the morning, well Henry had been cooking she had been fetching mixing and sneaking bites. Right now she was preparing the meals, the little plates were full of pork, apple sauce, mash potato, stuffing, and salad. In little mugs, they had mulled wine. She smiled as she felt a pair of arms wrap around her his hot breath tickling her ear as he said "You ready" together they carried the food out to the coffee table there on top of the table was her family sitting around a small table they had bought that seated 8 borrowers. With delicate fingers, she placed the meals before each one along with their drinks as Henry placed their food at the end of the table. Both beans sat on the floor, Kal laying next to his master hoping for some Christmas treats.

Melina smiles a broad smile at her family, she was still getting used to no longer being able to hug her mum or dad, or having Greg being her protector. The tables were turned now, she along with Henry were their protectors. Henry cleared his throat holding his glass of mulled wine out "A Toast, to Family, and to true friends who become family." the group held out there cups a collective small cheer rising from the middle of the table. Melina's Dad stood up holing his cup out " I would like to Toast to new and old friends, to Love and second chances" this bought another cheer and chuckles from the table. Chatter followed as the friends and family ate, drank and celebrated together the festive season.

Stomachs full and minds fogged by mulled wine, the group made their way to the Christmas tree. Henry put a Santa hat on and went to the bottom of the tree pickup and handing out the gifts. Each borrower received new sets of clothing including a fancy dress for the girls and suits for the men. They also received a new rope and three-pronged fish hook rig each.  Melina received a new journal from her parents who had help from Henry in purchasing it and the young adults had chosen three new dresses for Melina also with his help. There were two boxes left under the tree, one was big and one was small.  Melina went to the big box and laid it before Henry, grinning he removed the paper the non-descript brown box gave nothing away as he began to open it. Inside was a glassless frame bordering a sketch of Kal stretched out sunning himself in the garden.

As Henry studied the intricate scene he looking past the large dog, there he began to see hidden amongst the garden images of the borrowers peeing out at him all in different poses. He smiled up at Lina and spoke in a hushed tone "Lina, this is amazing, you have a real talent." the praise lit a warm spark inside her. She had secretly been working on it and did not know if it was something he would love or not. Henry stood and walked to the tree picking up the small package, he walked back to Lina and knelt before her. Looking up into her eyes, he watched as a softness filled the sweet pools that he wanted to get lost in.

Taking a deep breath and stilling his erratic heartbeat he grabbed her hand as he spoke  "Lina, For a long time I have been searching for something that would bring me a sense of completeness, I thought it would come once I reached a level in my fame and work. There was a sense of satisfaction but it still felt hollow once the high faded. It wasn't till I met you that I began to feel peace, contentment, In your arms I am home. I asked your father for his blessing and now I am asking you in front of your family. Would you have me, whether I am big or small, would you consent to be my wife?"  As he said the last few words he opened the small box to reveal a small ring nestles into a velvet pillow, delicate with three small pink diamonds winking up at her.        

Waiting but a breath Melina's eyes swam with tears and she whispered, Yes, as he placed the ring on her hand. Both lost in each other, they missed the collective gasp from the borrowers as two delicate voices chuckled behind them.  Standing tall and willowy the Star fairies smiled at the Borrower and her Bean as they turned their faces showing fear and curiosity. The Bell-like voice of Nightsong spoke "My little starling do not be afraid, we have been with you your whole life. Your voice has drawn us to you time and time again. We come to celebrate with you, you have both experienced life big and small. We would like to give you a gift, you can choose how you would like to live. Which will it be? A Borrower or a Bean?    

A/N oooooo what would you choose?

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[sagehqs]

With their nose scrunching up with amusement, they bumped their shoulder against his. “It’s the only way we’ll make decisions from now on, then. I think it would make life a little more interesting if that were how we chose everything.” Living life on the edge of spontaneity sounded a bit interesting to them, in all honesty – even if it were just letting their basic choices with him be left up to fate; they didn’t mind the odds of all that. In all honesty, they didn’t mind the idea of anything as long as they were doing it with Owen. In fact, they could probably do just about anything with him and have a good time; and that was something Sage was absolutely looking forward to. When he said he wanted to learn all their favorites too, they couldn’t stop the flush that dusted over their face. They would, without hesitation, share whatever he wanted to know. “As long as you’re not a movie snob, we’ll get along just fine. I love everything from b-rolls to zombie flicks to stupid romantic comedies.” She would watch just about anything, they grew up on cheap pawn shop DVDs, which meant the choices were varied and vast.

Sage giggled and nodded, “Exactly. It’s like this added pressure – and you don’t make me feel pressured. I pressure myself when it comes down to you.” The admittance came easy, knowing she didn’t care if he knew how much she wanted to learn it for him. From day one, she knew if she wanted to be his friend, she’d have to make sure they could really communicate – it just happened to pay off in a different way in the long run. At his saying he hoped there wouldn’t be a next person, there was no way they could stop the grin that upturned their lips, cheeks heating up roughly. They hadn’t meant it quite like that, just that if anyone at all ever made it seem like signing was too hard, they’d get a little feisty. However, it was entirely amazing to know what he was feeling, that he, too, was hoping they would be an item that lasted. As he followed up his thoughts, she shook her head and replied, “I like it when your hands move, I wouldn’t stop them.” Shyly she added, “I hope there’s not a next person for you either.” With a little shrug, she moved on, not wanting to dote on this conversation too early in their relationship – even if both of them were thinking about it.

“Your apron, just kept here – got it.” They smiled brightly and watched over him, not being able to help how helplessly infatuated they were. It was just something about the way he existed that made them feel downright giddy; like a schoolgirl with a crush. They truly didn’t think they could catch feelings like this at twenty-nine, but here they were. At his comment on knife skills, she let her eyes narrow and her mouth purse. “I don’t know…” rolling her eyes she moved to grab her knife block and put it near her cutting board. “I think I’ve got needle and thread somewhere, should I just go ahead and grab that, so you can prep for your stitches?” Copying the sign he just gave, they made a mental note for their own learning. However, as he noted their frustration, a little pout crept up on their lips, even if it was short-lived, they couldn’t help but feel a little bad. With the kiss on her forehead, she was back to grinning. “Fine, that sounds like a good deal. Teamwork for the win.” It was cute, the two of them working together to build each other’s knowledge. They could get used to that, helpful building-up sounded like an incredibly healthy aspect of their relationship already.

Laughing loudly she made her way around the counter and grabbed a knife of her own for garlic and rosemary, looking back to him after a second. “I’ll do the pork chops, you got potatoes and scallions for now. I’d start with the potatoes so we can get them in the pot first; since they got to get soft before we can mash them.” With that, they moved to start cutting up their ingredients carefully, but with a decent amount of skill. Cooking, because it had to be done daily, had become one of Sage’s interests, but passively. Sometimes they’d get caught up in watching cooking shows and learning their techniques, and other times it was ramen and convenience food because they can’t be bothered. After a few moments, she moved to grab her phone, connecting music through the Bluetooth speaker in the kitchen, keeping it at a level that kept her from hearing all the scraping sounds of cooking.

Music and cooking, for her, was a bit of a spiritual experience – so having that in the same place as Owen, really felt nice. At first, Sage was fully focused on cooking, but as she made her way through the garlic, then the rosemary, and finally slicing the meat, the music got to her, hips moving just slightly to the beat. By the time she was moving to wash her hands again, she was in a full wiggle, enjoying their environment completely. After the oven alerted them of being finished preheating, they hurriedly danced their way to the oven to remove the cast iron skillet, carefully setting it on the stovetop. With a burner on to keep the pan heated, not that it really needed the extra help, they grabbed their ingredients and began making the base for the pork chops. Under her breath she sang along to the music, occasionally stealing glances over at Owen.

"Incredibly fucked." Owen responded back with a loud laugh, knowing that they were in for quite a time if neither of them were very good at making decisions. "Looks like rock paper scissors it is, all life's important decisions should really be made that way." Pretty sure that he never stopped ginning around Sage. There was never a dull moment, each second tat passed filled him with such joy, with so much happiness that it was hard to wrap his head around. And sure, he had been in relationships before but never had he felt like this with them. It had never been this easy, had never felt as right as it did with Sage. Knowing full well that he was going to hold to Sage to that promise, because curling up with them at the end of their night, after they were done cooking, seemed like the best possible thing in the world. He followed along, nodding at their suggestion. "That's a really good idea. Funny thing, I want to learn all your favorites too of everything." Wanted to learn all that there still was about Sage- even if it was mundane things, Owen wanted to know all there was to about her. And in return, he wanted to open himself up and let her know all about him as well. "Just be warned, my taste in movies is all over the place." Letting out a huff of laughter, if his Netflix queue was anything to go by. Anything from sci fi to horror to fantasy and even some romance movies in there.

"I mean, I do have thirty three years of experience signing under my belt." Owen laughed, his eyes bright. "But that totally makes sense. You're the one teaching the class, the one who knows the most in that room, and they're looking at you to learn. So I totally get it." Still so damn proud of them for having even started the sign language class at the library. For taking that initiative to do something like that, to teach people each ASL as well. It was a huge thing to take on but Sage had done so and Owen was so damn proud of her for that. The kiss to his cheek caused Owen to blush even darker, his eyes back on their hands once more. And of course he knew that they were right, that it probably was hard and complicated at first for people to learn. But thee was such a huge aspect that Sage had mentioned that Owen had never thought about- the respect side of it. Learning a language to show respect for someone to be able to hold these conversations. It was like talking with Sage always opened his mind to something else. Always showed him something in a new light or he learned something from them. And those conversations, those were the ones that he loved having with people. Especially with Sage.

"Well, hopefully there won't be a next person to tell me it's too hard for them to learn." His hands moving before he could even sign them, a small grimace working its way onto his lips at such a bold statement. It had only been a few days since they started dating but Owen knew that he was in this for the long haul, that he wanted to be with Sage for as long as they would have them. And if he never dated another person besides them, Owen would be more than content. The last few days of being with Sage had shown Owen that this is where he was meant to be, that Sage was who he wanted more than anyone else in this world. But to actually sign it? Well, he hadn't meant to do that at all. "And this is where I don't let my hands move anymore." He did his best to joke, to hope that maybe Sage didn't read into his previous statement too much. Flashing her a grin instead.

His face lighting up once more at the offer of the apron. "I honestly don't cook or else I would. But this can just be my apron for when I'm over and cooking with you." Because even though they hadn't started yet, Owen knew that this is something he would want to do again with Sage. He gave a mock salute. "The only thing I'm prepared for- my food handling card. Figured cleanliness comes first." Scrunching his nose in amusement as his hands moved, always making sure to keep them a pace he knew Sage would be able to follow along with. "My knife skills? Lets just say it's a good thing that I know how to do stitches." Unable to stop himself, another tumble of laughter falling from his lips. "I should be able to handle chopping things up." Because if he couldn't, well, his cooking skills were worse than he thought. As Sage switched to a mix of signing and talking, Owen could see the small bit of frustration that seemed to be there at not knowing certain words. So once her hands stopped, Owen reached out and took them into his, giving them a small squeeze before he pulled his own back. "Hey- it's okay. How about this, you show me how to cook and I'll go over the signs you don't know when it comes to kitchen stuff. I don't mind one bit." Both getting the chance to teach the other, something that he couldn't help but smile at. Owen leaned down and pressed a kiss to their forehead before watching as they put the pan into the oven. Waiting until he had Sage's attention once more. "What should I start with? The potatoes or the scallions? Don't know if I trust myself with the porkchops. I'm telling you, I'm basically clueless with cooking so feel free to boss me around all you want." Another teasing grin aimed their way.

[gxymlky]

Amiya in Bedivere’s interlude

I recently played his interlude again and again because it’s so sweet, this boy deserves the world. Also, in his interlude, he self-depreciate himself so I wanna insert myself that he isn’t like this.

(yeah, i tried but you get the idea) and the B-team is mentioned but not really the spotlight

Interlude began when Amiya was in her room busy with some paper works and was watching videos on her laptop when Bedivere entered greeting her, “Good morning, Amiya. What do you have planned today?” Amiya looked at him, kinda perplexed, “I was busy, but I might need a break” she replied, “then I shall accompany you, no matter your destination”

“Hmm. Maybe some place where I can breath a fresh air”

“Rayshifting? Perhaps training in the simulator?”

“I have done that with Rhion and Chiyo the other day, thank you Bedivere” Amiya acknowledged, her eyes still on the computer, listening to a video commentary of some memes, which she does while doing her paperwork whilst knowing she will add words from the video if she wasn’t paying extreme attention.

“Well, I am here on behalf of Miss Mash today---”

“Oh, it’s fine, I appreciate her looking after not only me but also everyone else.” she understood as she shifted a bit and faced him, “so..”

“I will try my very best to aid you then” Amiya smiled and muttered a thank you before shifting her position to stand up and stretch herself after hours of sitting down and crouching, facing the screen and the notes.

“Now that you mention it---” she forgot her medical check, Amiya remembered how her welfare is tied with her thaumaturgy, the more she draws from it, the more she feels sluggish or even collapse from a single blast from her staff she delivered, even Rhion mentioned she has to be careful or equip herself with a Mystic Code to not fall back.

Bedivere explains she was having her medical check and has to remain in the exam room all day.

“Medical checks are important, Amiya, you’re aware that Chaldea is isolated from the rest of the world,” he continued, “and is located in an extreme environment”

“I know, I know...” her words trailed as she let out a long sigh, arching her neck up.

“Our bodies and minds are under incredible pressure, we must always be aware of this, understand, Amiya”

“Yeah... you sound like my mother” she chuckled but he continued on despite her comment.

“and because you have exceptional talent, I don’t want you to crack under pressure especially if you have a frail body”.

“So please take care of yourself as the flames we are facing and the cold, uncaring environment surrounding Chaldea are quite different in nature and said to be exceptionally difficult.”

“That’s the challenge we are facing right now, Me, you, the staff here” she shrugged, “as someone who intended to be an intern now is tangled with these threads, I have slight mixed feelings” Amiya stated.

“And as such, frequent checkups are of critical importance here Amiya”

“I-is this the reason why you’re here to pick me up? I am going later. But okay, thanks”

She was thankful it was Bedivere who came to check up on her, she doesn’t have anything against when Mashu or Chiyo does, as long as it wasn’t Wilhelmina since she drags her out of her room when she doesn’t respond the third time, that happens so bad, even Bedivere saw it.

“Permit me to remind you once more: I am a substitute for Miss Mash today, as such, please ask me for anything, I am your attendant, your butler, I am your servant in every possible sense of the word”

“Ah, um, okay, by the way, where’s Chiyo?” Amiya interrupted as he shortly finishes.

“I believe she was with Lady Marie and D’Eon, they must be having a tea, would you like to join them?”

“Hmmm, maybe some other time, she might be replenishing herself today and deserves to take a breather.”

“I see, since you trained in the simulator the day before, maybe observing and monitoring the remnants from the Singularities would be appropriate as well.”

“Maybe, but I am off duty with that, besides, Wilhelmina and Rene are doing that as of right now”

“Hmm...”

“Battling to gain something is what will lead to further growth for you, Master”

“Huh...I don’t know much about that”

“Battles for the sake of the Grand Order”

“...”

“Or rather...” he continued on, eventually these battles will wear her, or anyone in the team down. Psyche, Soul, in modern times, Nerves.

“Heh, modern, it’s medical but whatever” she retorted

Bedivere paused for a bit

“There is something that crossed my mind, Amiya”

“What is it?”

“Normally, I wouldn’t dare mention something like this to other, but in your particular case...”

“I’m sure HE would be happy about it, without a doubt since he is that kind of knight.”

“Hmmm. He...” 

“I think you must be referring to Bird boy.. Tristan?”

“Yes, my comrade, the man who is the epitome of freedom. And also the comment, Bird boy...?”

“What of it?”

“When you say he is the epitome of freedom, the first thing that comes to my mind is birds, they fly freely...”

“You have good analogy, I’m impressed by that. Anyways, I occasionally would accompany him and believe it is a wonderful place to relax. But please, keep that to yourself.”

Relax huh, never heard that word in a million years but I am overreacting Amiya thought as she spaces a bit.

“The Rec room is what you’re referring to”

He laughs and asked her if it is where she think it is, Amiya nodded and shrugged, “Chiyo, Rhion and I hang out there, usually we pick meadow alps like the swiss alps where we sing and copy scenes from the Sound of Music”

“Ah I see, so you seem to know it as well, let’s head over there right away, I will leave a note for Sir Tristan and perhaps, Sir Rhion?”

“Rhion is likely asleep right now, so it’s just us”

“Alright, let’s go”

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

The two arrived in the simulator, instead of a the Swiss alps she was so familiar with. It was completely different.

“The sea...”

“You’re less enthused than I expected, my apologies. I must reflect on my presentation”

Amiya shook her head, “n-no, no it’s fine. It’s alright. It’s good to take a breather somewhere else” her tone has a small bit of upset as if she was expecting something the long time only it didn’t leave up to her expectations.

“Ah, I’m glad you like it, but still it doesn’t make it any less better on my part. I will further reflect on my actions regardless.”

A simulator, a virtual creation of an environment of the outside world. They aren’t outside Chaldea and it would be a bit troubling if they went out since the endless winter is absolutely unforgiving Heroic Spirits or humans alike.

“The sea gives me a sense of peace. I hope it goes the same way for you, Master”

“Mm”

“Actually, I was initially skeptical about whether or not this would work. I accompanied Sir Tristan to watch him go fishing and listening to him ranting that was nothing but difficult to understand..”

“Haha, I see you take yourself as Tristan’s punching bag with his rants huh” Amiya mused.

“There was sincerely nothing to do except spending time just watching the sky and the sea. But surprisingly, doing so felt peaceful, or rather, calming to me”

“Ah, I see. So we are complete opposites but not really”

“Complete opposites?”

“Mhm, when you say the watching the sky and the sea is calming for you. I’d felt the same way except, I would watch the sky while lying down in the flowery meadow. Both is relaxing to us”

Bedivere chuckled and Amiya leaned closer to him, “maybe sometime, I’d bring you there someday where we’ll experience it together”.

The two looked to the sea until he breaks the silence.

“Amiya”

“Hm?”

“...Have I..overstepped my boundaries?” his tone. It was as if someone was confessing their crimes but at the same time, there was a tone of remorse and genuine solemnity.  “No, it’s fine. It’s nice to relax sometime and take a break away from all these..thank you, Bedivere”

“I should be the one thanking you, Master.”

“Please call me Amiya, I think I find the term Master a bit... uncomfortable”

“Alright, Amiya”

Amiya smiled and just stretched herself once again, trying to feel herself and the environment and slightly sides to his shoulder. 

“Would you like to try night fishing?”

“Night fishing?”

“Yes, did you know Amiya, Sir Tristan uses his Failnaught so skillfully to catch a many great fish..”

“Oh, but how do we get fishing gear then? Shouldn’t we entered the data before entering? I didn’t expect this to happen, I’m so sorry..”

“Ah, don’t apologize, Amiya. I requested Miss Da Vinci’s help on that front.” He then entered a few buttons on the multipurpose window whilst she waited.

“...Now I equip the extra item and we’re all set” he said. “Well, I’m sure there are other ways to do so but I don’t have much experience with the simulator”

“I think it’s enough, there are two of them and just teach me how to fish, if it’s alright with you, it’s been a while since I’ve fished and I completely forgot the basics”

After a few exchange with eachother, Bedivere guided the milk-haired girl, “the bait is already on the hook, so please cast it to the sea with all your strength, Amiya.”

“Eeyyy!” Amiya stood up, arching her back to further cast it away and hearing a small sound on the water surface. “Ah, I think it landed”

“Such bold and brazen movement, amazing!”

“Ahaha, it’s not that special Bedi” she appealed and looked at the sea again to detect any movement from the bait.

“But it’s really wonderful, did you any by chance tried fishing before?”

“As a child yeah, but it ended up so badly that I accidentally threw my teddy bear instead of the fishing line.” Recalling that said memory really takes her back where she was in a small lake with a family gathering, at such a young age of seven, she accidentally threw her bear and her having a total meltdown, thankfully it was recovered but the dress the bear was wearing was ruined. Looking back at it, it was so embarrassing. 

“Ah, is that why you take all your energy in casting the fishing line since you’re not holding anything besides that right?”

“You read me like a book, Bedivere” she then looked back at the sea, smelling the salty, calming atmosphere whilst holding the fishing pole. Bedivere said he will look out at the front so there’ll be nothing to worry about.

Amiya laid back again and let out a sigh before putting her hand on her nape, rubbing it to release the tension.

“...This is something that I’ve never said before...”

“..?”

“Nor did Tristan say this...but at times, I find myself thinking this: 

Tristan was torn between the two Iseults. And his fate led him to lose his life by the water. Or rather, his soul”

“Ah..” she remembered, she knew the story, it was how Tristan was poisoned and his last request was to see the Iseult he loved, but the other Iseult who was his wife lied to him about the sails being black instead of white.

Poor thing.. 

“Perhaps that is why he cannot be apart from the water. Even now, he could be waiting for that ship with the shining, pale white sail...” Amiya didn’t say anything but was about to open her mouth to say something when she suddenly jolted

“ha!”

“Something’s biting! It’s splashing. It must be a very big one..! It;s like Sir Kay swimming amongst the fishes!” the last part almost made Amiya chuckle but she is reeling back with her might, almost panicking.

“Almost there! The tug tho!”

“It could be a red snapper, mackerel, or even a tuna!”

“It could be all three!” 

“Alright, let’s reel it in, Amiya! And just like humans take pictures of the fish to record their greatest catches, we both can capture its data and show it to Miss Mash and Sir Tristan!”

“Add Chiyo and Rhion to the list!” she beamed

“It;s sure to make them smile!”

“Now reeeeeeel!” Amiya reeled with all her might with the help of Bedivere, her back was against his chest, close too close! She isn’t into those, yet and it’s making her cheeks burn

“Haa, it’s so big! The fish just leaped out of the sea” never in her life had she seen a fish so heavy and big.

Amiya walked closer to examine it until Bedivere held her back

“Wait..” the creature landed with a heavy crash, apparently it is a weird looking....fish?

“The fish we caught is...actually, not a fish.....”

The creature roared an eerily screech as it further lunged into the two. “Ahhh! T-that’s an enemy!”

“Oh, I’m so embarrassed...I must have made some kind of mistake when I am setting the system up, Doing something one is accustomed to can cause such trouble.. I pulled an all-nighter studying the manual...but I am no good at learning new things...”

“Stop the lamentation first Bedivere, for now, we need to get rid of this thing!” Amiya wasn’t able to bring her staff with her but she could put up small barriers to keep the enemy in place.

“Yes, Amiya, your commands! I am prepared to make amends for my misconduct, Or, I am prepared to accept whatever punishment you deemed fitting, but first we have an enemy to fight!”

His demeanor changed as he prepares to fight the enemy lunging forward

“I swear by my Airgetlam that I will dispose of this monster immediately!”

“Let’s go, Bedivere!”

SWITCH ON - AIRGETLAM

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DEAD END - AIRGETLAM

Bedivere slashed off the enemy to two before dying. Returning to normal, Amiya let out a deep breath, that was hell of a fight but it’s done. 

“...Please allow me to apologize once more. Even though it was only in the simulator, my most important job is to keep you safe, you being in danger clearly meant I failed my duty as a Knight. My efforts were fruitless once again, I apologize Amiya”

“It is alright, Bedivere, as long as you’re fine, it doesn’t matter. I am not mad to begin with” she earnestly acknowledge and patted his head.

He blushed as she patted his head, “Ah, Thank you so much, I am  undeserving of such kindness.

Amiya and Bedivere looked at the now dead creature before them. 

“Now...it would be a waste to leave this, so let’s eat it”

“?!” did she process this correctly? Eldritch things are not her cup of tea so she was clearly caught off guard but then she lacks self-awareness, any point he would coerce her to eat this and it scared her.

“I have memories from my previous life. For instance, from Round Table analects, King Arthur, number eight: Food is all the same. Nutrition is nutrition, even monster meat!”

“Haa.....”

“Now, Amiya...repeat!”

“Ahhh” Amiya walked back, clearly freaked out. If anything, she’d rather starve than eat those kinds of things, she had seen people on videos eating live octopus, geoducks, raw meat, hell even a roasted alligator. Roasted. Alligator, one girl from China even had her face scarred by an octopus in her attempt to eat it alive. But luckily, this one is dead so the chance of it scarring their faces is zero.

Amiya backed away even more

“T-those videos, haaa” flashbacks of people grossly eating really stood out as she backs out further.

“What are you talking about, Amiya? Why are you backing away? Amiya? Amiya?”

(just imagine her face during the whole event after the battle)

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- After running for quite sometime (not even long, just 10 minutes) and him after her.

“...Once again, my apologies. But now I’ve learned more about your food preferences”

“..sea grapes are something I actually like” she revealed. They aren’t as bad, but at least she could live with it than those Eldritch-type things, he is into.

“Ah, I’ll keep that in mind, in order for you to enjoy my dishes more in the future, I will continue to hone my skills” Amiya just nodded, tears and sweat are so visible and her expression seems like she’s simultaneously crying and laughing

“By the way...” she looked back as she wiped out her sweat with her handkerchief, “where are we?”

“The seaside we visited is Sir Tristan’s place of relaxation. Now we are at mine..” His expression softened as he walked past her. “It’s quite similar to a certain place in Britain”

“....A place of peace...well, admittedly this tranquil place is where I allow my mind to race. It is a place that helps me renew my resolve and reinvigorate my soul. So it may be a stretch to call this place a place of peace.”

“Oh. So like mine but in a different environment huh”

“Yes, as you mentioned, your place of relaxation along with miss Chiyo and Sir Rhion is the swiss alps.”

Huh, so he remembered, the smallest detail, something that you genuinely appreciated so much, everytime someone knew the teeny bit, their heart leaps with joy.

“Bedivere?”

“...” Amiya looked at him with concern, perhaps, her actions upset him earlier, “I’ll make it up to you what happened earlier. I’m sorry, I wasn’t educated in those types. I’ll promise to learn about them for sure.”

“No. It’s not about that, I was thinking of the past.”

“Huh?”

“Our Britain was a nation under constant threat of attack, never peaceful or stable...” He then explained that many fell victim to the chaos and he wasn’t able to save them. Then he told her about the Giant of Mont Saint-Michel. “A fearsome giant was wreaking havoc on the Mont Saint-Michel of Brittany”

Amiya carefully listened to him, her expression filled with soft curiosity like a child who wanted to see what her grandmother was knitting.  “...and kidnapped Princess Helena, the niece of the King of Brittany”. Helena. First thing that popped in her head when she heard the name was Caster Helena Blavatsky, though she didn’t want to sound disrespectful and just swallowed the thought. The atmosphere isn’t even a time for cracking jokes or a quip.

“Our King Arthur took Sir Kay and myself to hunt the giant down and rescue her..” His eyes lowered a bit but soon looked at her, “and on that quest...to be frank...I was of no help to the two of them. King Arthur and Sir Kay defeated the giant in a gruesome battle and brought some peace to Brittany.” Amiya’s expression slightly lit up, “and bam! It’s a finally happy ending right! At least you and your comrades brought peace” she chattered. But even her cheer isn’t helping.

“On the other hand, I...I could not save the princess.”

“Ah, so she...”

“Yes, by the time we arrived she has already been gone. I was too late, powerless as I am. All too little, too late. Princess Helena, known for her grace had her young and promising life plucked away, and we found only her pitiful corpse”

“Oh,” Amiya couldn’t believe what happened, she couldn’t imagine what guilt and pain he must’ve felt when he saw the once and beautiful, lovely princess, once filled with life and possibly cheeriness now snuffed out of her. It is something that reopened a painful memory in her past.

“I couldn’t save the people dear to me. First, Princess Helena. Then, the Battle of Camlann, my king...Arthur. I failed not once, but twice”

“...Bedivere”

“...This place..it reminds me of where Princess Helena drew her last breath. Every time I stand here, it reminds me...that I am a powerless knight...I am but a man who lost the two people he swore to protect”. Amiya grabbed both of his cheeks slapping it together causing him to snap out.

“That’s wrong Bedivere!” she asserted. 

“Amiya?”

“Just because you can’t save people dear to you doesn’t make you a complete failure! Do you think Helena would be happy if you continue to depreciate yourself further? Do you think your King or your comrades would like it if you degrade yourself further?! Not only I find it absolutely repetitive and annoying but I couldn’t stand seeing you this way as your Master.” Amiya then lets go, “I’m sorry, I kinda went off”

She looked away, “you see when you mentioned Princess Helena and about her, there’s also a memory that I repressed for so long, I don’t even share it with close people like Mashu and Chiyo”.

Amiya then placed her index finger on her lips. “Please keep this a secret between us, Sir Bedivere”

“You have my word, Master..”

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

It started back in Junior year of high school, when a girl her age was introduced in her class, her name is Rika, but she was bound to a wheelchair and the desk beside her was empty, since she was beside it, the teacher assigned Amiya to aid the new student to the assigned desk. She didn’t think anything of it until she saw her one day on the garden alone, drawing. Without a doubt, Amiya approached Rika and asked what she was doing, drawing flowers, Rika stated that the flower’s beauty lasts temporarily and if she were to pluck it, then it will hasten its beauty and dies much faster, the least she can do is draw and keep an original image even if it is not as accurate. Amiya was interested and seeing how talented Rika was, she was curious what technique she used and even taught her how to mix colors, soon their friendship blossomed, Amiya who was a recluse became more open and willing to help, she never had any real friends even if she has, she does not consider them close. The two shared same interest with one another when it comes to history and their love for retro things. Their bond grew stronger as time passes, it came to a point where Rika needed to be hospitalized due to an illness slowly eating her life away, she was due in operation and wanted to spend her time with Amiya before her operation. In reality, Rika had no friends and her grandparents homeschooled her before going out to a real one, Rika’s first and only friend. Touched by this, Amiya encourages her that she will make it regardless and gave her a charm to remember her by once she enters the operating room. Amiya went home in hopes the surgery would be a success. Only for her to learn from her mother days later that Rika had died during the operation, but prior to that, she left a small gift and a letter to Amiya indicating how much she appreciated her and the fact she was very patient whenever Rika would ask her questions and never get mad or irritated nor does she feel pity just because she was bound and with that, she is also able to make friends through her while Amiya opens up to people at the same time.

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

If it wasn’t for Rika, I would’ve not made friends along the way...

“I just had to share that, after your telling about Princess Helena, I learned that we both share the same parallels,” Amiya said as she clasped both her hands on her chest. “It’s because I don’t want you to feel the burden alone...her last wish to me was I hope I’ll be able to live my without fear, and every time I recoil or hesitate, I think of her resiliency and how she is able to withstand any obstacles in her way...”

I was scared, I didn’t know where I was going nor what I am going to do until I met her... and when she was cruelly taken away from her grandparents, from me, from my newly-made friends.

I know she will not always be around to help me...

The least I can learn from her was to move forward despite everything...

“Bedivere, you are not powerless, you stayed loyal to your King until the very end. Even undergoing those trials just to return Excalibur to your King and you call yourself powerless? Those were the most daring and valiant task you did!”

He blushed, but she still continue

“In the end, we will face adversaries together, that is a way to keep moving forward. So please, for your King’s sake...don’t belittle yourself anymore..”

This warmth, her hands touched his cheeks, cupping them together. “Thank you Bedi...”

“Master, no, Amiya...those words...” So assuring, so gentle yet firm, it was as if she was sharing her pain with him which was the case. He wonders why she would give those words to someone like him, someone who doesn’t even deserved to be numbered among the Knights of the Round Table but now...

Bedivere knelt down in front of Amiya, “w-wait----”

“Master, even if I am a powerless man who does not deserve to be included among the Knights of the Round Table and the words you have expressed to me, and yet, because of that----nay, I shall offer you this vow, knowing that my manifestation here with you was truly a miracle...

I shall protect you, Amiya, who fights these brutal battles to defend humanity’s future.

No matter how powerful the enemies coming to our way, no, no matter how cruel the fate we face may be....

Your life...your soul...your heart...every single part of you.

I shall protect you till the very end..”

Amiya dove down in his kneeling height and wrapped her arms around him, her eyes are swelling now, tears are falling, tears of warmth, assurance, happiness or whatever it is, someone willing to protect her and, the feeling is mutual too, she also wanted to protect her brother, Chiyo, Mashu or anyone dear to her

“Thank you, sir Bedivere” she sobbed through gross crying. She had never cried this far aside from her friend’s death who turned her to be a caring, open individual she is today.

“....Yes, Amiya

I swear I will live up to your expectations..”

and with that, Amiya kissed him on the cheek causing him to blush deeply.

[forallyourikemensengokuneeds]

The Reality of Love ch 3

Chapter three

Over the next week, he watched from behind the scenes as she took over the castles responsibilities. He watched her as she talked with the maids and housekeepers and she explained and sometimes even showed them how she wanted things done. Everyone was amazed with her as she did not demand things but instead talked to everyone as a person regardless of their station. She had been accepted as a princess, but she didn't act like one. She could be found on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor along with the maids while talking to the cooks about what was for dinner for the week. The other Mitsuhide could not taste food. She wasn't sure if this one could, but he did not mash his meals together, so she wished for things to taste good to be served to him.

She was becoming well liked. In her free time, she was found talking to the seamstresses of the castle. She was talking with them of their tasks and watched them as they went. On the day she took for herself he walked with her to the marketplace in the next town over, though it wasn't too far he felt the need to go with her himself. If only to have her company. When they got there, she went straight for the fabric stall and began to look.

"Do you see anything you wish to have?" he asked.

"I see too much I wish to have." She replied, and he laughed. "Mitsuhide these are all so beautiful."

"Pick a few and get what you want, my dear." He said as he propped up on the edge of the tent and watched as she talked with the fabric dealer. She did know her stuff as she could easily hold her own while talking about the fabric. He glanced over and looked at one fabric and had no idea that there was so much to talk about. it all seemed so simple to him.

"My dear, would you pick out another piece of fabric. I find myself wishing to see your talent and would like another kimono made for myself." He said.

"Are you sure?" she asked.

"Sure that I would like you to make me something, yes." He said with smile.

"Alright." She said as she looked at him and then at the fabric. Then she looked back and forth a few more times. She then smiled as she went to a slightly patterned one and told the dealer how much she wanted of it and the matching thread and other notions. She was smiling as everything was wrapped up in a bundle for them to carry back to the castle. He told the dealer that she was able to charge to the castles accounts.

"You should be careful with that Mitsuhide." She said. "I could bankrupt you that way."

"Then, I shall endeavor to have the castle make more money for you to spend my dear." He said as he took her hand. "Princess I do have to ask you something."

"What?" she asked.

"Are you happy here?" he asked softly. "Is there anything I can do to make things better for you?"

"Mitsuhide, thank you for thinking about me. I am trying to do what I can to make it happy here. I know I want to go home and have told you that a few times but the simple fact is I think you may be stuck with me. I should have waited for my friend and the actual wormhole to appear. Now I believe I am stuck. If I go through another crack, I may just shift to another dimension, not actually go home." She said with a sigh. "I don't think that would be all that good and to be honest here is very nice."

"You will stay with me?" he asked, slightly surprised.

"I don't think I have a choice. I understand if you want me to leave at some point. I know you have to marry sooner rather than later and one more woman may be too much for the castle. I will gladly hand over the reins to your wife." She said, trying to smile.

"Do you think I could make you happy?" he asked as he stopped in the middle of the dirt road.

"What?" she asked as she looked up at him.

"I know you loved him, do you think you could ever love me?" he asked.

"Mitsuhide." She said on a whisper.

"No, princess, could you?" he pushed further.

"I could, yes. You are not like him. I could not be his concubine, and I won't be yours either." She said.

"I wasn't asking if you would be that. One woman is all a man really needs. The right woman." He said softly.

"Mitsuhide." She said.

"Princess, will you let me court you?" he asked. That was it in her mind. The straw that broke the camels back. She had been watching him to see the differences between the two men who shared a face. This was the major difference. This Mitsuhide was openly kind, and though he was still known as the torturer of the Oda forces, he was gentle and loving with his people. She saw them as different people. She knew she could love this man. She was already beginning to feel the pull between them. She was grateful to see this man, and she knew what he said was the truth in his eyes.

"Yes." She replied as she looked him in the eye. "I think that would be fine."

"Good." He replied. "I will be good to you, princess."

"You already are, Mitsuhide." She said with a smile.

"Come then. We will go home and enjoy the rest of the day." He said as he retook her hand. Something happened between them then as they both looked at their interlaced hands and then each other. They smiled at each other and continued on their way back to the castle. "Do you know how to use a gun?"

"Yes." She said with a giggle.

"I assume he showed you?" he said with a certain disgust that was present in his voice.

"No. I knew from my time. Our guns are different, though. They can fire rapidly, and you don't have to reload every time." She replied.

"You are joking." He said.

"No. I am not. It holds between ten and fifteen bullets, and it works without adding the gunpowder. You just have to pull the trigger." She said.

"I wish I could see one of these guns you speak of." He said.

"I wish I could show one to you." She replied with a laugh.

"Is the future so different from here?" he asked.

"It is. Not better or worse though just different. We still have wars. We still have plague and famine. We have ended many diseases that are here as well, but for all the good, there is bad as well. The people who rule are not like the rulers today. They all have their own issues, and our weapons are ones that could destroy the entire planet. Things are different for sure here. It is simpler here, but you have to work hard for everything. It is just too difficult to explain the differences." She replied as the castle can into view.

"What would you like to do for the rest of the day, my dear?" he asked as he tucked a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. His long fingers trailed down the side of her neck softly with feather light touches.

"I don't know." She said with a laugh. "I don't know how one courts here."

"What did you do before?" he asked.

"We went on dates. Dinner out, movie, amusement park, something fun." She said. "You don't have any of those things here. What do you do here?"

"Honestly I have no idea. You are the first woman I wanted to court like this." He said with a smile.

"Wonderful then we are already stuck in a rut." She said with an airy laugh.

"I am sure we can amuse ourselves. How about reading of a book?" he asked.

"With you reading?" she said as she nodded. "I still am having trouble with the writing of your time."

"That is fine. I will teach you." He replied. "Come, let's go to the library workspace and pick a book. I will read to you on the veranda until dinner is served. We will also share a meal there. Maybe a moon viewing if the weather holds?"

"That sounds like a wonderful rest of the day, Mitsuhide." She said.

"I hope you enjoy it, Kit, you deserve a break." He said softly. "My people are impressed with you. I am as well. You will make a good mistress of the castle."

"Aren't you jumping the gun there a bit?" she asked.

"No, I don't believe I am Princess." He said with a smile as he tilted her chin up to him to look into her sky blue eyes. "I don't believe I am." He whispered again as he leaned forward and touched his lips to hers softly.

[wickedsingularity]

Emergency Landing [one-shot]

Fandom: Star Trek Pairings/characters: Jim Kirk x reader (but not really), Hikaru Sulu, Spock, Leonard McCoy, Nyota Uhura, Montgomery Scott, M'Benga Words: 3987 Warnings: Hypothermia, bumps and bruises, blood

Prompt/summary: On the way home from a conference, and just a few hours before Jim's birthday, their shuttlepod hits an ion storm.

Note: This was supposed to be one of the xmas stories, but I felt it didn't quite fit, so I changed it to fit AOS Jim's birthday instead. The story is probably not what people are looking for on here, but it's the kind of story I like to write, more substance. And it came easy to me (the hardest part was finding out what dishes to use for rations) and I'm proud of it. So, sorry (not sorry) it's not a fluffy lovey dovey smutty sugary cliché-fic.

"I'm looking forward to a nice, long sonic shower and a night in my own bed," I said as I altered our course a fraction, hoping it would shave a few minutes off our estimated travel time.

"Me too," Jim agreed. "The temperature in that hall was awful."

Jim and I had been to a conference on Tellar Prime about advancement in warp drives and the impact it has on the Prime Directive. Scotty decided it was better to send his assistant chief engineer instead of going himself, and when Jim told me Starfleet made him go too because of his tendency to disregard the Prime Directive and to act as a buffer between the Tellarites and Andorians if necessary, I didn't hesitate to agree to go in Scotty's place. It hadn't been a vacation by any means. Jim off in diplomatic meetings with other species' captains and representatives and me attending one lecture after another, speaking to the best engineers and professors currently available in the Federation. But we attended a few lectures together, and it was nice to travel somewhere with him and relax in a giant bed in a luxurious hotel rather than the smaller and harder Starfleet beds.

The Tellarites liked temperatures a lot warmer than what us humans were used to on a regular basis. It made me sticky and sweaty and I felt like a magnet for all the dust and dirt in the environment there. Though I had taken a water shower every day, nothing really felt as cleansing as a sonic one.

"How long until we reach our rendezvous point?" Jim asked, swivelling his chair around.

I swiped the panel in front of me. "Three hours twenty-six minutes."

"Too long to wait to eat."  Jim got up and I heard him rummage around in a compartment for rations. "Do you want meatloaf with peas and mashed potatoes or deconstructed fish tacos?"

I frowned, checking the sensors, I thought I saw something. "That's all the options?"

"Sadly, yes. We need to restock."

"Let's have the meatloaf then." I couldn't see anything on the sensors, deciding it had been Tellarite dust in my eyes. "Warm it up for me?"

"If you activate the autopilot and come back here and eat with me, sweetheart." He already had one ration warmed up.

I took one last glance at the long-range sensors, still finding nothing, and then activated the autopilot. The second ration was done, and Jim set them up on the seat next to him along with two bottles of water. "One last dinner date before duty calls?" I asked.

He looked up and threw me that blinding smile of his. "Something like that."

I sat down on the other side of the two lightly steaming bowls of meatloaf and mashed potatoes. "Real romantic. In a dull shuttlepod. Dirty and sweaty. With rations and stale water."

"Computer, play some slow jazz." There was a beep, and then the sound of a slow and soothing saxophone filled the shuttlepod. "Better?"

I leaned over to give him a quick kiss. "It was already perfect because I'm with you."

"Trying to get in my pants, Lieutenant?"

"I don't have to try to get in your pants, Captain." Raising one eyebrow, I reached for my bowl and fork and took a bite, swallowing with a scowl. "Need to install replicators in our shuttlepods. The new shuttlepod classes are getting them, so why not."

"The captain approves of this idea." Jim too picked sceptically at his meatloaf.

Even if the food wasn't all that good, it was still full of nutrients and we dug in, talking about the conference, the jazz in the background. It was as romantic as it could get in a small shuttlepod. Until suddenly the entire craft tilted, the emergency lights started blinking red, and a klaxon replaced the music. What little was left of my food covered the back of the seat I banged into and Jim's bowl clattered to the floor.

We both scrambled to our feet, the craft tilting to the other side, and we grabbed onto whatever we could to make it to the controls. I plopped down in the seat and there was definitely something on sensors now.

"Ion storm," I said, raising my voice over the sound of the red alert. "A big one."

"Shields at 70 percent," Jim said. "Warp engine is offline. Impulse engine is online. Life support on auxiliary power." The shuttlepod began shaking violently. "Shields at 57 percent. 40 percent. We need to land!"

"There's a planet about four and a half million kilometres away. Uninhabited. Class P."

"Rerouting power to the shields, laying in course."

The twenty-minute flight was long. We cleared the ion storm after seven minutes and was able to drop the shields and save what little power was left, but the warp engines would not come back online, and impulse engines were hanging on by a thread. Life support would not last us until we reached the rendezvous point. I had already sent out a general distress call and was trying to hail the Enterprise while Jim tried his best to keep the engines online long enough to reach the planet. If we could at least get into the atmosphere, gravity would pull us down and we could use thrusters to hopefully bring us to a not too disastrous landing.

"Reaching atmosphere in two minutes," Jim announced.

"Shields are up."

"Brace yourself."

The shuttlepod rattled and shook, it's nose tilting more and more forward until we were hurtling through the atmosphere like a flaming arrow.

"Hull temperature rising," I warned. "Nearing critical. Rerouting life support to shields."

"Almost there!"

Sweat was dripping down my nose from the heat inside the pod. I kept my eyes locked on the shields and temperature levels, not even knowing what more power I could give to the shields to keep us from burning up. But just as I thought I would faint from the heat, we cleared the atmosphere and saw the icy and snowy surface coming closer and closer. The shuttlepod stopped rattling, and I began scanning for a good place to land. Not that we had much to say in the way of navigating, impulse engines were completely dead now.

"Try to land here," I said, entering a set of coordinates for Jim to navigate after.

He activated the thrusters, but it felt like they did nothing. "I'll just try and slow us down as much as I can wherever this piece of metal decides to go."

The surface was coming closer and closer. I knew it was a matter of seconds, but it felt like an eternity before Jim managed to get the pod a bit more horizontal just before it crashed into the snow and hurtled forwards. It sounded like the hull was being pulled apart and I was thrown back and forth and side to side and then –

Silence.

It was cold. So cold. A shiver ran through me. Everything hurt. I opened my eyes and blinked a few times. Then I carefully pushed myself up from the console with a pained groan. I took a moment to take stock of my body, moving my limbs a little bit. Nothing seemed broken, but I would definitely be colourful with various bruises in a bit. Something on my forehead was stinging though, and I touched my fingers to it. They came away red with almost dry blood.

"Jim?" My voice was croaky. I looked around and saw him hanging sideways over the arm of the chair, unconscious. Ignoring the pain everywhere and shivering from the cold and my heart beating hard at seeing Jim like that, I got up and stepped over, checking his pulse. A breath of relief left me. His pulse was strong if a bit slow. Carefully, I moved him into a sitting position and laid my hands on his cold cheeks. No blood on his face, thankfully, or anywhere else that I could see. "Jim?" No response. "Jim! Wake up!"

He inhaled sharply and his eyes blinked. I immediately planted a kiss on his forehead and laughed a bit hysterically.

"You okay?" he asked, closing his eyes again.

I sat down on the console in front of him. "Apart from a few bumps and bruises, yeah. What about you? Anything broken?"

"Doesn't feel like it." He looked at me and sat straighter, alarm in his blue eyes. "You're bleeding!"

I touched my hand to my forehead again and noticed that whatever was there had started bleeding again. I hadn't even felt the fresh blood run down my face as I was waking Jim. "I guess I am."

"Don't move." Jim stood up, winced a bit and then went straight to the compartment with the medkits. I looked around as he did. The front windows were cracked, the bulkhead was dented on the entire right side of the pod as if we had scraped a pointy piece of rock. Many compartments had opened and rations and equipment laid scattered.

Jim came back again, holding his side, and put the medkit down on the console next to me. He pulled out a piece of gauze, cleaning up some of the blood, before picking up a dermal regenerator for the wound. With every move he made, there was a pained frown on his face and he did most of the work with his left arm, but I didn't say anything as I felt the wound closing up, stinging less and less. He then pulled out a medical tricorder, but I pushed his hands away.

"No need for that, I'm fine now. But you're in pain." I moved to lift his shirt, but he pushed my hands away now.

"Just a bruise, from bumping around in the chair probably. It'll be fine. We need to get our bearings and warm up before we freeze to death."

My teeth had indeed started to chatter. "Right. And set up an automated distress call. Enterprise will have realised we're not going to show up by now and start looking."

Both of us moved a bit hesitantly at first, the cold slowed us down. I tried to find some power to send out a distress call, but everything was completely dead. Jim was pulling out emergency kits, tossing a thermal jacket my way before donning one himself.

"I think we should move out and try to find a cave. There's got to be one. Can't start a fire in here," he said, putting the rest of the rations in a backpack.

"Okay. I'm going to detach the distress beacon and take it with us. See if I can get it working."

Soon, we had packed everything we needed, holstered our phasers and donned the headlamps, wrestled the door open and faced the icy, windy and dark night. We both pulled out tricorders and Jim decided on a course. "This way, I think."

The trek was long and it was made slow by having to move through ten inches of snow. Our boots and pants were not suited for this environment and I felt my toes grow colder and colder with each step. The cold wind made my cheeks and eyes sting, tears falling and almost freezing on my skin. While the cold also made me feel less pain from all my bumps and bruises, I noticed Jim sometimes stiffened up and favoured his right side, his hands rubbing at the side of his stomach. I knew better than to ask about it right now, it would have to wait until we found shelter. And about an hour of walking later, a cave finally appeared in front of us.

"No life forms inside," he shouted over the wind and looked at me, cocking his head toward the mouth of the cave as if inviting me into his house.

I nodded, and we walked inside. The sting of the wind disappeared and the further in we got, the fainter the sound became. Only a faint howling in the distance. I looked around for something to use as kindling as we ventured deeper, but there was nothing but icicles and rocks, the cave just as barren as the landscape.

"I think this is deep enough," I said, coming to a stop, looking down at my tricorder. "Any further and the beacon will be out of range."

Jim agreed and we began setting our things down and wiping snow off ourselves. Then I ordered him to sit down.

"I've seen you wince in pain too many times now, let me look at you." I glared at him in that way I knew he understood it was pointless to argue. I knelt in front of him and lifted his shirt. His entire right side was a flower field of bruises. I gently touched him right below the chest and he shied away with a gasp. "Right. If that's not a broken rib, I don't know what is. You get started on this instead, and I'll get us warm." I dumped the beacon in front of him.

"Bossy," Jim mumbled as I rummaged around in his bag for a pain reliever. When I approached him with the hypospray, his playful grin fell. "No."

"Yes." And before he could get away from behind the beacon and move, I pressed the hypospray to his neck.

"Thanks," he then said a few seconds later, as I'm sure some of the pain went away.

I nodded and started to gather some rocks to warm up with my phaser. And then I took the beacon from Jim and continued trying to fix the damage. Jim moved over to the so-called fire and silence filled the cave.

When my hands were so cold I couldn't feel the textural difference between a metal screw and a piece of fabric, I finally got the beacon to power up. I set it to transmit the same distress call we had sent out earlier and wandered over to Jim who held out a water bottle for me.

"Warm up a bit, sweetheart. All we can do now is try to keep warm and wait."

I took a large swig from the bottle and then sat down next to him with my boots as close to the rocks as possible. Jim laid his arm around me and pulled me closer to his uninjured side. Even though he was probably almost as cold as I was, he made me feel warmer, and I leaned my head on his shoulder, rubbing my hands together.

"How's the rib?"

"Still there. But not as painful. Thank you." He kissed the top of my head.

"I can't believe our stupid shuttlepod broke down just a few damn hours before your birthday," I muttered. "On a class P planet."

"That's my birthday for you, it's jinxed." Jim chuckled and winced in pain.

I blew him a raspberry. "It's not jinxed, dumbass. But I had the chef prepare a birthday dinner for when we got back. I bet Bones and Spock are enjoying it instead right now. And gloating."

"You had him prepare for the entire crew? Were you going to throw me a surprise party? You know how I feel about those."

"No. Just you and me. You said we were going to be off duty when we got back and I wanted to pretend to have a normal birthday for you. Shit just seemed to happen every year before this, something always came up. I was so sure this year would be quiet and uneventful."

"Told you it was jinxed. It could have been worse, though. There could have been drakoulias here."

I blew him a raspberry again before silence fell over us. The day was catching up to me, and I felt drowsy. My head dropped down and I started, making Jim chuckle and wince in pain again. But he got up and pulled out the two thermal blankets we had in the backpack and held one out to me.

"Get some rest. I'll keep watch, just in case."

"It's uninhabited. No life forms. It would be safe for you to rest too. And it looks like you need another hypospray," I protested, but I was already settling down on the cold ground and pulling the blanket over me.

Jim moved the distress beacon closer, wrapped the second blanket around himself like a cape, sat down next to the beacon and laid his communicator on the ground. Then he spread his legs, waving me over. I crawled over and settled between his them, using his thigh as a pillow and draped the blanket over myself and his legs. "Just in case. And in case Enterprise hails us. And it feels like I'm better off sitting. Sleep, love. I'll wake you if I need to rest too."

Feeling the heat from Jim creep into me and his fingers gently combing through my hair, I fell asleep quickly. But it was a restless sleep and I woke up what felt like every other minute, feeling colder and colder every time. At one point, I felt Jim shivering slightly. I looked up and saw his head had fallen back to the cave wall, eyes closed and mouth open.

I sat up carefully, trying not to wake him and reached for my phaser to stun the rocks again. Jim blue eyes were open a fraction when I turned back to him. "You're shivering and your lips are turning blue. Please take another hypospray and lie down with me," I ordered.

He didn't even hesitate. He bent his head back and let me press the pain reliever to his neck and then we laid on top of my blanket and wrapped our limbs around each other, and I pulled his blanket tight around us.

"You sleep now, and I'll stay awake."

Again, he didn't even hesitate. He pressed a pair of ice-cold lips to mine, then nuzzled into my neck.

I don't how long I managed to stay awake for, or how long I had been asleep when a sound invaded my consciousness and pulled me back to the cave. Footsteps were coming closer. I was distracted for a fraction of a second of Jim shivering and breathing raggedly next to me, but the echoing sound of a tumbling rock made me grab the phaser lying near my head and hold it towards the mouth of the cave, desperately whispering for Jim to wake up.

Whoever or whatever was coming, came with bright lights that blinded me. "Who's there?" I called out.

"No need to point your phaser at us, Lieutenant."

"Sulu?"

"To the rescue!"

The light was close enough now that I could see Spock, Sulu and Bones. The latter took in the scene in front of him for a second, then strode over with the medical tricorder already out. "Figures that the two of you managed to crash-land on a deserted planet and almost freeze to death while just flying home from a damn conference."

I untangled myself from Jim's trembling arms, and that finally made him open his eyes. "Check him first," I said to the doctor. "Please."

Sulu and Spock came over and helped Jim sit up. Though he was awake, he didn't seem very conscious of what was happening around him and he looked like he was too cold to notice the broken rib. Bones ran the tricorder up and down his body, a frown on his face. I knelt next to them, too worried about how much he was shivering and how blue his lips were.

"His temperature is at 30 Celsius. And he's got a number of bruises and a broken rib and frostbites. We need to get him to sickbay immediately."

Spock whipped out his communicator. "Spock to Enterprise."

"Did you find them?" Uhura's voice came at the other end.

"Yes. Are Commander Scott able to get a transporter lock yet?"

"Negative," Scotty said. "Ye have to get them outta that cave."

"You're not hypothermic yet," Bones suddenly said. I hadn't even noticed that he had scanned me, being too worried about Jim. "That cut on your forehead needs tending too, you didn't do a good job sealing it up, and there's a number of bruises and frostbites on you too. But nothing urgent."

"Can Captain Kirk be moved?" Spock asked.

"Carefully, yes," Bones replied. The two of them got on either side of the captain and pulled him to his feet, and laid his arms over their shoulders. I helped Sulu pack up our stuff and quickly caught up with the trio slowly making their way towards the howling wind. Jim's head was lolling, he had clearly lost consciousness again. Fear gripped at my heart and the walk out of the cave seemed to take fifty times as long as when Jim and I walked inside.

Finally, Spock and Bones stopped. "Spock to Enterprise. Five to beam up directly to sickbay."

As soon as the howling, bitingly cold wind was replaced by warmth and a sterile smell, several things happened at once. Bones began barking out orders while getting Jim onto a biobed. Sulu took the distress beacon from me and he and Spock hurried out of the room. Nurses ran around with blankets and trays of vials and equipment. One of them herded me onto a biobed too far from Jim, and Bones drew the curtains around his bed so I couldn't even see what was going on. I moved to walk over there, but the nurse pushed on my shoulder and forced me down and put a blanket over me.

"Jim," I tried.

"The captain is being treated," the nurse said. "And you need to get your temperature up."

I glared up at him, but he ignored it. I knew he was right. So, I stopped fighting and tried to relax onto the bed while Doctor M'Benga came over and began scanning me with various devices. He and the nurse exchanged a few words I didn't catch, and then M'Benga began retreating the cut on my forehead and the nurse gave me a hypospray, and that was the last thing I remembered.

A few days later, I came out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel and feeling clean for the first time since before Jim and I left for the conference, it had taken several sonic showers. I had been discharged from Doctor M'Benga's care after just a couple of hours, the cut on my forehead healed properly, frostbites treated and most bruises gone. But Bones kept Jim for two whole days. But then he was finally let out, given a clean bill of health, and under strict orders to take a couple of days off. Which, I figured, is how he had time to set this up.

There, on the table, was the birthday dinner I had asked the chef to make for us.

"Jim? What is this?"

He stood next to the table, looking proud of himself. "I guess my birthday is kind of over, but you seemed disappointed it didn't go the way you had planned. And it sounded really good to have a quiet birthday dinner with just the two of us. So... I did this." His blue eyes were bright and his smile even brighter.

I strode over and wrapped my arms around his neck, looking up into his happy face. "You really are something, James Tiberius. I love you."

"I love you too." He leaned down and gave me a quick kiss, lips so warm and soft.

"And happy belated, handsome. Let me go change and we can eat."

"Do you have to? It'll just take me longer to unwrap you later."

I slipped out of his grasp and hurried away to the bedroom area. "You gotta work for it, Captain," I looked back over my shoulder and winked at him.

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[loquaciousquark]

6th Guardian. Chilly, but with a bite just sharp enough to make it unpleasant as well as uncomfortable

There’s a twitchy new elf in town. Showed up last night to ambush an ambush, as Varric’s friend we were supposed to meet is apparently become an ex-friend, or an ex-anything, really. That was unkind of me, but I do find myself intolerably snippy when someone I don’t know a) saves my life so that I owe them a favor, and b) looks better than me doing it.

They were Crows, too, which I rather thought had been dealt with ever since Isabela’s friend Zevran came through and charmed the pants off all of us. Well, off Isabela, certainly. Well, except she doesn’t wear--never mind. I suppose when one is famous enough to have made enemies of both effective heads of state in one’s town one ought not to be surprised when someone else comes a-killing down the lane.

You know, I said I wanted to vacation in Orlais, but this isn’t quite the way I’d meant it. The Heart of the Many is what she’s after, this Tallis, some fantastic jewel (pah!), and the villainous Duke Prosper (really!) keeps it clutched in his Orlesian...clutches. Leave me be, journal, I’m tired and Fenris slept at his own place tonight, so I’m woeful lonely even with the dog curled on the side of the bed where he belongs.

Now Toby looks betrayed. He can’t even read! How should he know what I’m writing, aside from the fact he’s the oldest friend I’ve got & he knows everything I’m thinking in one glance? Hardly fair, is it?

Anyway, Tallis thinks we ought to come a-crashing to this gala he’s hosting at Chateau Haine in Orlais. A hunt, I think. I used to hunt in Lothering, but if I had to wager I’d suspect they’ll be using slightly different methods than my rope snares and broken traps. And different game than my hare & pheasant. Or perhaps they won’t! Who knows?

I wasn’t going to do it except that Anders is planning a particular midnight event that same week and he wants me publicly away of the city for an alibi. He thinks I don’t know what he’s planning, but I’m the one who got Aveline to turn a blind eye to any ships fleeing the harbor in dead of night with too many passengers than should be aboard. He’d realize it, too, if he weren’t so determined to only see what Justice lets him. Sebastian & Varric have said they’ll keep an eye on him, though, if I do end up going on this fool’s errand, which I suppose is as much as I could hope for. They won’t help him with the escape, but they’ll keep him alive. As alive as he’ll ever be, lately.

Tallis says I should pack something fancy for the evening assemblies at the chateau. Something that’ll make me fit in like the nobility I am. I told her I had a set of old leathers that only had a few pints of blood still caked in the creases, but I don’t think she thought it was funny. Her loss!

11th Guardian. On the road! Still chilly, with the fields tipped with frost this morning and a cold mist floating over all the hedgerows before the sun burned it away

I should never have thought it, journal, but Fenris and Aveline both have agreed to come along with me! I was certain he’d be as thrilled at the idea as Aveline when Isabela pulls out the sixth Angel of Death in a hand, but he only lifted an eyebrow and said, “I enjoy following you,” as if he didn’t know how wibbly he makes me every time he suggests the thought. He brought the beautiful black leather set he wore the evening I became Champion. I packed a sleeveless lavender overtunic and a simple white blouse I can wear over trou & boots, because if experience has taught me nothing else I know I should anticipate running for my life at least once during this venture. Aveline won’t show me, but I’d bet ten sovs on the copper it’s that blue gown she wore the night of the Satinalia feast Mother hosted a few years back.

You must forgive me, journal, if the hand is shakier than usual. The road to Chateau Haine is paved not with gold but with boulders as uneven as Carver’s temper when he’s tired.

Also, Fenris is dozing on my shoulder (an accident, I know, because if he could see the knowing looks Tallis keeps throwing our way he’d ghost straight out of the carriage), and I’d rather cut the hand off than disturb his nap.

We’re due to arrive tomorrow, which is the first night of the duke’s week-long hunting party. I expect to be thrown out by dawn.

Later, just after dinner - grouse, capers, mashed potatoes, mediocre white wine. Pretty pattern on the flatware, though

Evening at the Auberge de Tuyé, an old inn unremarkable in every way save its magnificent brick chimney and the fact that it marks our first evening within Orlais’s borders.

The only interesting events so far are that I nearly fell into the pig trough from stiff knees getting out of the carriage (a fine testament to the skills for which I’ve been hired), the elf waitress was almost uncomfortably deferent at dinner over our travel finery, and when the innkeeper gave Fenris the key to our room without a second glance, I got the most peculiar feeling in my chest that still hasn’t abated.

Got stronger, even, as I watched him read the numbers plated on the doors and find ours easily, without hesitation; stronger again as I watched him direct the inn’s boys with our valises as they brought them to the rooms with every comfortable ease. By the time he sat on the side of the bed and tugged off his boots, then ran his fingers through his hair to shake out the travel dust, my heart might have burst from how dear he’s become to me.

He saw me looking and his face changed, and it wasn’t until he asked (with no small alarm) if I meant to cry that I realized how much must have shown on my own. 

How easy it was to cross the room we share and kiss him directly on his mouth. How simple a thing, after every agony of Kirkwall & Tevinter put together, to cup his cheeks in my hands and feel his breath hitch as he smiled up at me.

Flames and pyre, but may I never take another moment for granted with him. Ever, ever, ever.

Very late or very early, not sure which

He’s exhausted & therefore snoring. I am rereading the last lines I wrote over and over again in this remarkably feeble moonlight to remind me why I don’t smother him with a pillow this very instant.

If he doesn’t stop soon I’m going to go kip on Av’s floor and not give two shits if Tallis thinks the less of me for it.

12th Guardian, near midnight. Cold

It was the blue gown, ha! We made it to Prosper’s estate just before dinner. More extravagant than anything in Kirkwall, even the Viscount’s festivals; fire dances and swans made of ice and servants proffering canapes at every turn. Fifi de Launcet & her entire hideous family are here. Dulci’s already sneered at me twice. I thought about asking after Emile, but I’ve fond-enough memories of his foolishness I didn’t want to poison them with his relations.

One of the guards thought Fenris was my manservant and tried to hustle him away from the glitterati, which lasted all of three seconds before the guard a) realized Fenris’s jacket cost more than his entire set of armor, and b) looked at Fenris’s face and read the death there if he didn’t release his arm that instant. More dangerous than that pet wyvern Prosper keeps to alarm his guests. Maker, I need to learn that trick.

Aveline mostly kept hawk’s eyes on Tallis all night. For the second day of a week-long hunt the festivities seemed over-grand to me, but Tallis hardly batted an eye as she danced in and out of the crowds, listening for any mention of the jewel and what I suppose are Prosper’s dubious motives for pilfering it. Nothing tonight, she said, though there’s plenty of time yet.

Haven’t met Prosper himself, as it happens. Apparently he’s still negotiating certain hunt-related errata or somesuch. I can’t bring myself to care at the moment, as I’m in a bed with white satin sheets, covers embroidered in gilt thread, and a shirtless elf insistently nibbling his way across my shoulder, please the Maker I’ll put down the pen, fine!

14th Guardian. Warmer today but not by much, clear skies to see doom from miles away

Short entry, as we’re to be guests of honor at the feast tonight--got the wyvern today! & an alpha, for that matter, and my left arm’s burned to the Void to prove it. Got wrist-deep in wyvern dung & Fenris laughed at me (prior to the burning), watched Tallis make a fool of herself (roughly contemporary to the burning), and nearly killed but didn’t an Orlesian baron who attempted to poach our rightly-earned victory from under our noses (post-burning, and some of his details are frankly lost by me attempting to beat my own arm off to get away from the spitting poison). Asked Aveline after if she missed being part of these fancy companies and she said as yet she hadn’t seen anything worth missing. Ha!

Regardless, Tallis wants to use the party Prosper’s throwing for us as cover to sneak inside the chateau & find the Heart. I feel as though the guests of honor vanishing mid-feast might be noticeable, but then again, I’ve snuck out more than once at these things and haven’t been caught yet. Perhaps tonight will be more of the same.

Tallis told us we ought to be prepared to do whatever it takes to get hold of the key we’ll need to reach the innards of the chateau. I told her I drew the line at my clothes coming off at any hands not tattooed in lyrium and Fenris coughed into his wine. Tallis only rolled her eyes and said she’d be happy to do the seducing if it came to that, and Aveline sighed and said she wished Isabela had come along as well. She’d have enjoyed every minute of this, the wench.

(Sidebar, before I forget--Bann Teagan is here as well. That’s who Aveline’s been spending most of her time with when absolutely forced to make small talk, & I must remember to ask him how Lothering is doing before we go. His outlook was not so sunny last time we spoke, but I have hopes.)

Agh, I’ve more to say and no time! Later, later!

Who knows what time it is

Tallis is a Qunari spy, Prosper knew we were coming, and it was all a trap. This prison cell is so old the stone has graffiti from over an age ago.

And yet, funnily enough, I’ve been to worse parties.

I’m annoyed with Tallis & writing here to ignore her. The guard outside the cell keeps rattling the bars with his pommel and asking if we’re hungry yet. I can’t say I care for his leer, though it’s better than the way Cyril de Montfort eyed me like a hock of (despairing) ham earlier. His hands are larger than Fenris’s and much colder, and when they came ‘round my waist I could feel him searching for a hem to slide under. Thank the Bride I can be fucking glib when I wish to be, & that Cyril’s fool enough to think midnight being more romantic was a good enough reason to let me go.

I think I could burn these bars to slag but I don’t know how many guards are down the hall, and I don’t know where my father’s staff is. I also don’t know where Aveline & Fenris are, which worries me more than anything.

Tallis looks miserable I’m so angry with her. Damn it. Damn me. If she’d been straightforward from the start I’d have been so much more inclined to help her with this piffle.

It must have been at least two hours by now. My left arm is killing me since Aveline has my salve. I’ve forgiven Tallis solely out of boredom

She says if we don’t stop Salit hundreds of innocent people will die. The guard suggests that if we don’t stop chit-chatting like a pair of magpies he’ll shut our mouths himself. I don’t care for this one’s attitude, honestly

Later, briefly

We’ve only stopped a moment to rest, so this must be extremely short. Fenris & Aveline found us in the prison--Tallis had made them stay behind as we crept through the chateau to avoid attention. Fenris tore out the guard’s heart as Tallis picked our lock & then he took hold of me so tight I could barely breathe, and it was the first time since the inn I felt quite myself again.

Prosper has these creatures fighting for him. Harlequins, he calls them. They fight like demons & wear masks to boot, and there’s something very skittish in the way they move. I don’t like it, though I will admit they die like anything else.

We’re deep in the caverns under the chateau. We did manage to loot the high holy fire out of Prosper’s vaults before we left, which has made me feel loads better, but we’re not out of the woods yet. Or caves, as it happens. Aveline’s shield broke in the last fight & she twisted her elbow badly; we’re giving her a moment to bind it before we continue on. I’ll heal what I can when she’s finished, but Fenris thinks I should save my strength for battle. Tallis agrees with him, which is even more irksome.

Aveline’s done with the splint. More later.

(I hope)

17th Guardian. Warmer still today, or is that just the wyvern spit

There is, it seems, a later, though it was a close thing. Prosper and his wyvern are both dead, as are Salit & the plans to steal the Qunari agents’ identities. Tallis has mucked off to who-knows-where, though not without hocking a great fat ruby at my head in thanks and exchanging a few flirts that had Fenris rolling his eyes so far back in his head he probably saw the Maker Himself. We’re in the carriage now, on the way back to the Auberge for our last stop before returning home to Kirkwall tomorrow. I’ve had to borrow clothes from Aveline’s bags, as the green slime Prosper used to guide his wyvern’s little nosie right to me has stunk my leathers to high heaven. They’re wrapped three layers deep in a trunk lashed to the roof of the carriage and I can still smell them.

Maker, I don’t even remember where I left off. We made it out of the caves eventually, though not before I found Fenris a necklace that used to belong to some Fog Warriors & he kissed me hard in one of the little rocky nooks right before the exit into daylight. Aveline was already outside, and Tallis didn’t seem to care much -- not that it would have mattered if she had, as there was enough lingering fear in his voice I shouldn’t have stopped if Andraste had come down herself to ask.

The next hours are a blur. We fought our way up the hills and down them again, mostly against Tal-Vashoth & these horrid little nesty creatures called ghasts, and then Baron Arlange must have been very determined to die as he came out at us, again, and this time there wasn’t a duke to intervene on his behalf.

Flames, I’m starving, and the dried jerky Aveline so thoughtfully brought for us on this last journey is not taking away the edge. We’ve still over an hour before we reach the inn; thank goodness this is distracting enough. I’d rather be napping, honestly, but Fenris has taken the seat across to lounge its full width, and since he was nearly gutted by the wyvern in the last fight I suppose I can’t begrudge it overmuch. Aveline’s solid enough, but her shoulder’s hard as a rock. A good thing--strong! Rock-strong. Mountain-strong. Don’t give me that look.

Anyway, we eventually fought our way back to the chateau, whereupon we discovered our intrepid Salit dispensing his little scroll directly into the duke’s grasping ...grasp. Tallis got the scroll back via a bit of trickery--good enough--but then Prosper saw the rest of us and it was all “you’ve seen too much” and “now you must die” and blah, blah, blah, here’s my raging seasick wyvern to spit up on you while I rain fiery exploding arrows from the sky, worst Tuesday ever.

In the end, though, both the wyvern and his rider went off the cliff backing the chateau’s courtyard, Tallis got her secrets returned, and Fenris got the munificent honor of lying flat on his back on the pavingstones for another quarter-hour until I could get his side closed up again. Aveline was marvelous this whole time--held all the remaining, goggling guests at bay while Tallis invented an excellent cover story (I assume, as I wasn’t there to hear it, but we also remained un-mauled by Prosper’s guards further, so it must have had some success). Leliana came out from the house too, that Nightingale from that evening at the Chantry a few months back, and as much as she obviously knew we were lying she backed up everything Tallis said and more. Tallis clearly didn’t thrill at her presence (is she truly a spy? She shows her emotions far too easily--said the tar-black pot to the kettle, I know, I know), but thanked her for the help, later, and didn’t make a single acerbic comment when Leliana and I began talking about the Lothering chantry over dinner.

(I’d forgotten she used to run the handbell choir there for a while. I was only a ringer for half a season, since there weren’t enough bells & Bethany wanted it more than I did, but I have so many fond memories of watching her on the little dais before the altar, dressed in Chantry rose & gold, her hair ruthlessly pinned back as she watched Leliana for their cues.

Leliana says she remembers her, is sorry for the loss of a sweet girl. She’s a far better liar than I’ll ever be, but I’d like to believe her.)

As it is, by the time Lord Cyril arrived to find his father dead & his house in utter disarray, most of the carcasses had been ceremonially tossed to the rocks below. Leliana and I managed to persuade him Leopold had eaten something poor and lost his mind, and in the fracas took the duke over the edge with him--true enough, given the circumstances, but as Cyril seemed both wholly unaware of his father’s attempt to ally with the Tal-Vashoth and wholly unsuspicious of our motives (aided, perhaps, by the fact that I still had blood up to my ears), he accepted our truth readily enough and turned all his attention to legal matters and the rest of his guests instead. I nearly got away without any more of his attentions, too, but at the last moment he caught me by the hand, kissed my cheek with very cold lips, and gravely told me as alluring as I might be, he thought it would be unseemly to pursue a summer romance given the circumstances. Of course, said I ad nauseum, until at last he let me go and I was able to get Fenris inside to our room where he might rest. Fenris, who is infinitely warmer even when complaining about the Kirkwall cold.

Hm. In retrospect, that may have been the fever. Ah, well.

We’ve pulled up to the picket gate before the Auberge, so I will end this here.

18th Guardian. Very cold dawn, clear pink skies

Writing this at breakfast. Fenris is still asleep and Aveline strongly discourages dialogue before she has had her second cup of coffee, so I speak to an ever-willing audience in you instead.

Fenris’s fever has broken and his side looks much better, thank goodness, though he’s disgustingly tired and prone to snippy complaints at the least discomfort. I’m of the opinion a few good nights’ sleeps & a few really good sleepless nights will get him back to his old self, but I doubt he’ll feel truly well until we’re in Kirkwall again. He’s also annoyed my arm is taking so long to heal, though I haven’t told him it’s because I’ve been using all my strength to get him whole, first. He wouldn’t thank me for the knowing, and I don’t need his high dudgeon prolonging his healing even more.

Damn all of this mess. Despite everything I do like Tallis, and despite everything I feel badly for Cyril. The only person I don’t regret killing there is Prosper, and that’s half because I got to be very clever as he died. Maker, bring me quickly back to Kirkwall, where at least I know I don’t know who’s right and who’s evil.

Ah, Fenris is up at last. His eyes are clearer than they’ve been since the weekend, so he must be feeling better. And here comes the starry-eyed waitress to bring him his breakfast, right on cue. I ought to marry him as soon as possible to ensure I’m forever included in this excellent service too.

Late evening, in the estate at last, home sweet home (or as much as it can be, anyway, though Toby’s done a wonderful job at trying to crawl through my whole self in welcome)

Asked Fenris tonight if he would have minded a summer romance with Lord Cyril. Said immediately Cyril wasn’t his taste--not nearly alluring enough, even covered in wyvern spit, and went right back to his quail. Cheeky, said I, though I know I was smiling.

Orana keeps walking out of the laundry room with scented kerchiefs pressed to her nose. The leathers may be a lost cause. Damn!

25th Guardian. Warm winds from the north today, though the morning broke cool

Varric is already drafting a series on the Chateau Haine escapades. Jewel Heart, he’s titling it (tentatively), in spite of my numerous and vociferous objections. I say it ought to be an adventure, not a romance; he says it can be both. Hmph.

Varric, when you read this (and don’t flatter your chest hair, we both know where you get your source material, and we both know Isabela’s helping), for Andraste’s sake, come up with a better title. Heart of the Many, maybe. Mark of the Assassin. Something!

14th Drakonis. Warm but very wet -- the puddles are steaming

He uses the word “alluring” forty-seven times in the rough copy. I’m going to burn his press to cinders.

16th Drakonis. Still raining

Fenris likes it.

I may never win again, but at least he makes me enjoy the losing. And Varric -- oh, who cares, you’ll do what you like regardless. Just make sure he’s in his black leathers at least once, and I’ll be satisfied.

And for the record, I demand the first print copy to be autographed for me. Consider it payment for services rendered, for my arm’s gone and scarred and if I haven’t you to tell me how wonderful I was in the scarring, how else will I know it was worth it?

(You know I love you. Don’t ever stop.)

[dorkyungsoowrites]

Fatal Ties Ch. 7

Pairings: Baekhyun x You

Genre: Angst/Smut/Fluff | Mafia AU

Warnings: Mild Violence

Word Count: 2k

Description: The temptation to give away secrets has never been so sweet.

| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | The Ending |

The bandage was falling off his head again. You saw the fresh stitches underneath. Skin forcibly pulled back together with special thread to heal faster. Slightly inflamed from irritation. He could apply things to it to fade the scar after, but there would always be a remnant. Because of you. You and your stupid fucking temper the first day you met. Baekhyun was under your protection now. Nothing could happen to him. He was your asset. Your responsibility. These motherfuckers who decided to shoot at you were attacking him as well whether intentional or not. You'd make sure their scars would be far more permanent.

Jacket in hand, you shoved Baekhyun down. Forcing his torso to bend, and he whimpered as his face stopped millimeters from the seat by your knee. You steadied yourself with a hand between his shoulder blades as Chanyeol swerved a bit. You'd need a clear shot at their tires to stop them for good. It was a much easier target than their heads. Calling out over your shoulder.

"Steady out the car. I need to aim."

"You're crazy!" he argued. "They'll shoot you as soon as you put your head out the window!"

"Then do a 180."

"That's the opposite direction we need to go!"

"They won't expect it. I'll shoot at their tires while we pass them. Do it, Park!"

"Fuck!" Chanyeol pressed his lips together in a firm line, readjusting his grip on the steering wheel with one hand while the other hovered over the gear shift. Closing his fingers into a fist once then taking hold of it. Glancing in the rear view to see the positioning of the car following. You took a steadying breath and rolled your window down that had already been shot once. Bracing on the door. Two more gunshots burst in the air. You couldn't think of the possibility that you'd be killed the moment they had you in sights. This was the best chance you had at hitting a tire and escaping. Your brain barely registered the music Chanyeol had been playing before still running on the stereo. Tuning out all else to focus on surviving. You only had seven rounds in the gun to get it right. You had to get it right.

Then his voice boomed,

"Now!" The car jerked hard to the left. Rubber screeching on asphalt. Your momentum all but dead as it channeled into the front of the vehicle. Pivoting almost directly on the spot. As the rear end swung into the correct direction you heard Chanyeol jerk on the gear shift. Engine humming louder as he stepped on the gas quickly. You followed the position of the other car. The assailants slowing suddenly as they came up on your front. It worked. They were shocked. Them stopping as you gained speed. You pointed your pistol out the window, second hand steadying your first. Forearm rested on the windowsill for the greatest stability. Looking down your sights to the wheels of the other car. Pulling the trigger. Each concussive bang far too familiar to your ears. One, two, three, four, five, six.

It struck. The air pressure exploded out as the lead tore through. It was your turn to be surprised. The chassis falling limp on the rear side. Scraping and shrieking on the road. Scraps of tread trailing after them. Red lights and a bit of smoke signaling their frantic and unexpected stop. Chanyeol shifted into the next gear. Accelerating away. They sat there. Crooked on the side of the road. No one got out. Typically your little pistol wouldn't have enough power to do anything beyond puncture so the tire goes flat after a few minutes. It gives you time to create distance. Maybe they would have been fine if they hadn't stolen a lemon with tires decades old, but they didn't. It was compromised from point one. So you profited.

Heaving a loud sigh, you mashed a finger on the button to roll the window up again. The wind soon closed off to the confines of your car. You shut your eyes and took a moment to breathe. It didn't last past the inhale. Hearing loud panting behind you. Turning to see Baekhyun scramble to pull his pants leg up. The fabric bunched and got tight at the knee. Revealing split skin on his calf. A nice clean line of a grazed bullet. Crimson clotting slowly. Your eyes darted to his door. A dent. Lead smushed inside. You followed the line back to your side door to where you could see the entry point. Sunlight coming in the small hole.

Shit.

You quickly took out the clip on your gun and counted two remaining bullets. Shit. The clip clicked back in to place. You mis-counted one of their gunshots as your own. A stupid mistake. You also hadn't forced Baekhyun's legs up on the seat like you had your own knowing this was a possibility. Another even more idiotic mistake. By all rights you shouldn't have even gotten ambushed.

"I know what you're thinking," you sighed. Baekhyun's breathing remained shallow. Eyes wide in fear.

"I don't know. Were you thinking, 'holy shit holy shit, I just almost got shot'?" At least he seems alright, you think. No. You were thinking about suspects. Motive. Timing. It was all too convenient with the plan of the alliance. Someone who knew your schedule had whispered poison to the wind of deceit and clutching for power. Someone with friends willing to go about the foolhardy mission of taking your place. Someone who knew killing you would keep chaos and senseless precedents on the street. Thinking the wedding was distraction enough to catch you vulnerable. There was a mark on your head, and a spy among your inner circle.

First was to identify the problem. That was done easily enough. Human greed never surprised you anymore. The ambush lighting their intentions brighter than a flare. Second, think up solutions, and lastly, proceed with the most viable one. Working toward a concrete goal is the best coping mechanism in your mind; it solves the problem. Leaving no room for grief or worry. The second step was holding you back. Procedure broken.

"This is all dissolving into one miserable fucking headache," you lamented. Agitated and unnerved. Your lack of knowledge dented the neat little compartments you had your anxieties stored in. Wrapped in a steely will. Without a clear explanation you could formulate no plan. You could not rationalize the steps. You were left confused and wandering listlessly for answers. You were left anticipating another strike at your heart with no counter measure.

Now was not the time to demonstrate how frightful you could be to keep the lower ranks at heel. Too many bodies had been piling up lately. Crushing small prey under your boots in hopes of rooting out dissension wasn't an option. Now was the time for tact. But comprehension breeds control, and as Chanyeol drives a long path to double back to your manor you steadily realize you are lacking in fuel for this trait at the moment. You dare never show it. You coveted composure. It empowers you. Pragmatism your blade in an industry where emotions get you killed, or worse. You don't have a plan.

But they don't know that. Your gaze flitting between the back of Chanyeol's head and the window that was shot first. He was the most likely mole. He knew where you were and where you would be at almost any hour of the day. Setting up the ambush would have been as simple as sending a text when he picked you up at the tailor shop. The thought roiled uncomfortably in your belly. Sweet, dorky Chanyeol. So bright and naive to your world outside this car. It would have been all too easy for someone to slither ideas into his head. Or perhaps he had always despised you under his polite mask. Would you have to kill him outright? No. There was someone bigger pulling the strings. You needed intel. You needed to manipulate and keep keen eyes for clues.

"Are you...alright?" you hear quietly from the seat over. You've been silent too long it appears. Brooding, even. Baekhyun has already pushed his torn pants back over the minor injury and settled his frantic demeanor. Adrenaline spike sloping downward now that danger was no longer immediate. Returning to his regular gossamer state.

You can't give anything away. Chanyeol would be watching for weakness too. And if not Chanyeol, it could be anyone. You must endure alone. Your chest anguishing with betrayal yet blotting out any outward variation in expression.

You chase knowledge with the intent of preserving the empire around you despite others' thoughts that your methods are cruel. Making the wrong choice will mean more lives lost. It's only natural for you to fear failure. The more you succeed, however, the more it seems people pour their lives into your hands. Dependent on your guardianship. The weight turns heavier. The dread around uncertainty grows.

The more you endure, the more you're affirmed trust is intrinsically illogical. Everyone is an enemy. Every action not calculated leads to chaos. You slipped, distracted by Baekhyun, and danger came all too swiftly. Strength is both safe and exhausting. You envy Baekhyun's freedom to be soft as he is. Agonizing internally, aching to give in but still unable to. Nonetheless, you have to tell Baekhyun something.

"I'm fine. We should tighten security until the wedding is over."

"Do you have any idea who that was? Do you think they work for my dad?"

"Hush," you ordered. "It doesn't concern you."

"It doesn't concern me?" Baekhyun repeated bitterly. Voice raising. "I was nearly shot! I think that entitles me to some kind of explanation!"

"Nearly," you replied monotonously. Refusing to look at him. Instead staring out the front window past the empty passenger seat. "Clear difference from actually being shot."

"I can't believe you're so...like this!"

"Then I guess you're just as light-headed as I suspected." You only need him to shut up. Out of your peripheral you see him face you directly. One hand sinking nails into the front seat to steady himself and channel his aggravation. Knuckles white. His glare does nothing more than itch. No weight behind it. He would never lash out physically. So it did nothing to deter you.

"It's another secret isn't it?" Baekhyun guessed. Tone more pained than anything else. It was unexpected. You glanced. He hadn't been glaring after all. His brows were pinched in worry, eyes swimming with sympathy. "Please, this is my life too. You can trust me. You can depend on me." He would break, you think. All too soon. Shaking your head in disapproval, you turned away.

"I wish that were true." His nails retreated from the leather. The backs of his fingers ghosting from your upper arm to your shoulder, and then your jaw. You shut your eyes briefly and tensed against the shuddering breath your body attempted to betray you with. Baekhyun's fingers glided over the shell of your ear as if brushing away hair.

"If I take over wedding plans," he said in a muted voice. "Will that help you?"

"Yes."

"Then you can rely on me." He continued to pet your cheek and trace under your chin. Then taking it in his grip and turning your face to him. Repeating it like a promise. "You can rely on me." Your eyes flitted back to him. The temptation was there in his sincerity. For a split second, you considered it. Your lips parted and your eyes pleaded for his help. Baekhyun waited, holding his breath. Then,

"No.” The most honeyed voice is often the most dangerous. You hardened your heart and tore his hand from you. Sitting straighter. You couldn't give up any control. "And the events that just happened don't leave this vehicle. Chanyeol, dump the car once you drop us off."

"Yes boss." You needed to set an established course of action in your mind before you returned to the manor. You needed information for yourself, and you couldn't agitate whoever was after you. It would only provoke them to strike harder. Your vulnerabilities needed more than a shadow. There could be no cracks in the facade.

[sassycassie-s-writing]

The Prince’s Birthday Ball

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): Final Fantasy XV/Prompto Argentum

Rating: PG/K+

Original Idea: Classic Trope!

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) This one is 3,300 words... that’s longer than I intended... XD

^^^^^

“Rory, emergency!” Prompto exclaimed the moment I picked up the phone.

“What’s up, Prom?”

“Do you still have that pretty silver dress you wore to high school formal?”

“Yeah…”

“How fast can you be fancied up for a formal event?”

“Well, depending on how fancy, anywhere between a half-hour to two hours. Why? What’s going on Prompto?”

“I was supposed to be on guard duty for the prince’s twentieth-birthday gala—‘cause I joined the Crownsguard, remember?—but Noct just called and said I’d been removed from guard duty so I could go as a guest instead because I'm his friend from school. But I have to bring a date.”

I blinked. Prompto and I had been friends since we were in elementary school. Sometimes I’d joined him on his runs. I went from being able to lap him to being lapped by him in a very short span of time. When he became friends with Noctis, I did too by proxy. Sometimes the three of us hung out at Prompto’s place together because his parents were never home.

“Prom, Noct already invited me to the gala. Like three months ago. You were there. I said I didn’t want to go because it’s not my crowd.”

“I knooow but pleeease, Rory? You don’t have to stay too long. As a special favor to me. And to make it up to you I will get you ice cream or something tomorrow. Please, Aurora? Please, please, please?”

I sighed, pushing the left side of my sliding closet door to the right to find my formal gown. “Fine. But you owe me big time.”

“Yes I do! I’ll come get you in like an hour!”

“Okay.”

“Bye!”

“Bye Prompto.” I hung up and stripped my casual clothes off. “MOM! I'm going to Noct’s birthday ball after all! Prompto basically just begged me to go!” I shouted, changing from my comfy weekend bra to my nice fancy bra.

My mom appeared at my bedroom door as I shimmied into my gown. “Sweetheart if you’re going to the prince’s ball, you can’t wear a high school formal dress.”

“Uh… why?”

“It’s a bit hokey and juvenile. But I have just the thing. Brush out your hair and get started on your makeup. I’ll be right back.” Mom left—heading for the attic.

“Uh… okay,” I said, getting out of my silver gown and into my bathrobe. I brushed out my hair and dug my makeup bag out of my dresser, heading into the bathroom for the better lighting and the magnifier mirror.

Mom reappeared, holding something out. “Your sister wore this to her friend’s wedding when she was studying in Altissia.”

“My heck. It’s gorgeous.”

“I know. Put it on. She won’t mind if you wear it for a night. I don’t think she even fits in it anymore. I think she got too tall in the torso.”

I shed my bathrobe and slid into the gown. It fit me perfectly. The satin was smooth against my skin. “Wow. Thanks Mom. I’ll be sure to thank Cilla later too.”

“Are you wearing your silver heels?”

“I was planning on my black ones when I was wearing the silver dress but now I'm planning on the silver ones.”

“Good. Let’s get out the curlers.”

“Mom, we don’t have time for curlers. Prompto is coming to get me in an hour!”

“Well then, let’s bust out the curling iron. Your ends need to at least be curled under.”

“Okay,” I said.

Getting ready was a whirlwind. Hair, makeup, jewelry, heels. I was buckling my left shoe when the doorbell rang. I couldn’t get up to get it, but I heard Mom open the door.

“Aurora! Prompto’s here!” Mom shouted from downstairs.

“Coming! Just putting on my other shoe!” I called. I slowly got back to my feet so I wouldn’t tear the dress and headed for the stairs.

^^^^^

Prompto stared. Aurora had been beautiful at high school formal their last year. He remembered seeing her in the silver gown, shimmering like the ocean in moonlight and beaming behind dark-painted lips.

That was nothing compared to this.

The gown she wore was holographic satin, shifting between blue and green and purple. It flowed around her legs and had cap sleeves and a high but somewhat wide collar. The bodice was lightly embroidered with silver threads and star-shaped rhinestones. Her lips were a dark purplish pink and her eyelashes were long, thick, and painted black. The ends of her hair were curled underneath, with sections above her ears twisted back to hold her hair away from her face, clipped in place by a beautiful, ornate silver barrette with blue, green, and purple stones set in it.

A blue star rhinestone was glued to the corner of her right eye. She wore a silver star on her necklace—the same necklace she always wore—and tiny diamond stud earrings. He caught a glimpse of elegant silver heels under her gown as she came down the stairs. There was a smile on her face—but it quickly dropped as he stared.

“Prompto please say something,” she said.

“You look stunning,” he said.

Well, not said so much as barely managed to whisper because he was speechless.

Under her rouge, she blushed. The light pink spread to her ears. “Thanks. Not too bad for an hour of warning, eh?” she joked.

“No. Not too bad at all. Really good. Incredible, actually,” he rambled.

Mrs. Aubade—Mama Aubade, as Prompto had called her since he was ten—ushered the two of them together for a picture. “Mom,” Aurora complained. “This isn’t a high school dance!”

“No, it’s even more important and you both look so beautiful and handsome!” Mama Aubade said. “Now smile, Rory.”

Aurora’s smile had always been breathtaking to Prompto. Even when they were kids and she had a mish-mash of baby teeth and “grownup” teeth all crowding together. After she got her braces off in high school Prompto couldn’t help but be floored every time she beamed. She smiled with little reserve. Sometimes, when she was particularly elated, or just laughing, her lower lip would curl down and she’d smile with her bottom teeth exposed too.

When she smiled for the picture, Prompto wished he could have looked. But instead he focused on the camera. “You’ll have to send that to me, Mama Aubade,” he said.

“Of course, sweetie,” Aurora’s mom said. “Now get goin’. You don’t want to be late!”

“We will. Love you Mom!” Aurora said, already fumbling for the front doorknob.

“Baby, don’t forget this!” Her mother handed her a small turquoise clutch bag with a thin strap on it to wear as a purse. “Phone. Lipstick. Compact mirror. Tissues. Call if anything goes wrong. Or if you get lost.”

“Mom. I'm twenty and it’s a royal gala. This isn’t an awkward first date!” Aurora took the clutch from her mom—and Prompto’s hand. “Love you. Don’t wait up. We shouldn’t be too late!” She pulled Prompto out of the house. He yelped in surprise and waved to her mom as Aurora shut the door. “Sorry about that. You know Mom.”

“I thought it was fine,” he said. Awkwardly, he offered her his elbow. She took it, holding the bend so he could help her down the front porch stairs in her heels. She’d been wearing heels to special occasions since she was seventeen—he knew by now she had a hard time going down stairs in heels. She could sprint upstairs in them no problem but down was too difficult. “You really do look amazing,” he added. And I’ve had a crush on you since we were twelve. Six help me.

She beamed at him, and Prompto felt like the evening was suddenly noon for all her brightness.

He’d seen her darker than a storm cloud before, but she had starlight in her eyes and smiled like the moon.

^^^^^

“You look really handsome too, by the way. That bowtie really brings out your eyes,” I said as Prompto got the door to the car for me. He smiled, circled the car, and climbed in. Usually I was nervous about how he drove, but tonight I was confident he’d do just fine.

“Don’t you remember? You gave me the tie,” he said, adjusting it as he started the car. It was a deep indigo silk bowtie that really made the violet tint to his blue eyes pop out. He pulled away from my house and headed for the Citadel. “When we were in high school.”

“No, yeah, I remember,” I said with a smile. “But I haven’t seen you wear it in forever.”

“Well… not a lotta reasons to wear bowties in my life,” he remarked. His hands were clenching and unclenching on the steering wheel.

“Nervous, Prom?”

“Uh… to be honest, yeah. Never been to a gala as a guest before. I’ve played guard duty at a few, but I’ve never been as a guest.”

I reached over and patted his shoulder. “It’s gonna be fine. Promise. You’ve got me! Mom has me properly trained in etiquette and all that outdated junk.”

Prompto laughed—a single loud “HA!”—and then shrunk against the driver’s seat. “Sorry. That was just really funny,” he apologized, shooting me a quick glance as we passed under a streetlight. “Man. You look like the northern lights tonight.”

My ears and neck grew warm. “Thanks,” I said.

Underneath his suit jacket and shirt, I caught sight of a plain black satin ribbon wrapped around his right wrist. I knew he was hiding something under it. He never left his right wrist exposed. Not even to go swimming. Even when he wore long sleeves he had something wrapped over it. I’d asked him about it a couple times, but he always shot the conversation right down so I’d given up.

“I hope you’re a better dancer than me, by the way,” he said, distracting me from my thoughts.

I laughed. “Prompto Argentum, I’ve been in ballroom classes since I was twelve, remember?”

He chuckled, but the sound was breathy and embarrassed. “I do remember. I remember you trying to teach me and me bruising your foot from how many times I stepped on you.”

“Well, tonight will go better. I'm not barefoot so it won’t do as much damage,” I teased. “’Sides, you’re more coordinated now. Right, big bad Crownsguard boy?” I couldn’t help but giggle. Mutual teasing had always been part of our friendship.

He snorted. “Right,” he agreed, traces of sarcasm flavoring his tone.

The drive to the Citadel felt pretty short when we filled it with talking. We laughed a lot too. Once we arrived, I checked my lipstick in the car’s mirror. I’d meant it to take just a second, but I’d smeared the corner a little and had to slightly fix it with a tissue. In that moment, Prompto came around and got my door for me. “Prom you don’t have to get the door when I'm getting out,” I sighed.

“Uh, sure I do. Don’t I?”

“Well technically yeah, but waiting in the car is so weird.”

“My lady,” Prompto said as I took his offered hand and let him help me climb out.

“You’re a dork,” I replied with a smile. He smiled back and looped my hand through his arm

where he was still holding it. He escorted me inside.

“Guys! So glad you made it!” Noctis exclaimed, weaving through the crowd to reach us when we entered the ballroom. “Seriously. Some duke’s been talking politics to me for like five minutes and he’s so boring he’s putting himself to sleep.”

I snorted, hiding behind my hand. “Sorry,” I said.

Noctis took a moment to take everything in about us. “Wow you guys look good together!”

Prompto turned red under his freckles. “Thanks,” he squeaked.

“Rory, you gotta show Ignis how spectacular you look. He’ll be über impressed.” Noctis gave me a sarcastic look. I snickered and let him lead us through the people to where Ignis was. I’d met Noctis’ retainer a couple times—usually when he was picking up Noctis from Prompto’s place when we’d hang out—and got the feeling that he was a piece of cardboard taped to a broom who occasionally made facial expressions.

Tonight seemed like a night when Ignis’s cardboard face didn’t want to move much.

“Hey Iggy! You remember Rory right?” Noctis asked.

“Miss Aubade and I have met on several occasions, yes,” Ignis said.

“Look at her dress! Look how awesome it is!” Noctis exclaimed—in his rather subdued way.

“Indeed. Altissian craftsmanship, I presume?”

“Uh… I think,” I said. “It was my sister’s. She wore it to a wedding in Altissia.”

Ignis definitely wasn’t as impressed as Noctis seemed to think he’d be. I wasn’t upset about it though because Ignis was Noctis’ friend, not mine. “I see. It’s lovely,” Ignis said, slightly deadpan.

Noctis glanced at me and Prompto and rolled his eyes.

Prompto tugged on my hand. “Hey Rory, may I have this dance?”

We both looked at Noctis. “Do you mind if we slip away for a minute?” I asked.

He waved us off. “Not at all. Have fun,” he said.

Prompto and I both giggled and rushed to the dancefloor.

^^^^^

“Look at ‘em, Iggy. They’ve been basically dating since we were sixteen and they’re literally the only two people on the planet who don’t realize it,” Noctis said.

Ignis grunted in agreement and took a sip of whatever was in the fancy flutes being passed around that no one would let Noctis touch until his next birthday. Ignis wasn’t terribly invested in Noctis’ school friends when there was work he could be catching up on.

Still, his interest was piqued when he saw the girl in the northern lights gown teaching Prompto to dance—where to put his hands and how to do the steps. “You didn’t mention she actually knows how to dance,” Ignis remarked.

“Oh yeah she’s been in ballroom classes since before I really met her,” Noctis said. “That important for any reason?”

“No. Just curiosity.”

Noctis blinked. “Did you think they were going to embarrass me because they’re from commoner households?”

“I didn’t have any preconceived notions about their behavior tonight. Prompto is part of the Crownsguard now. He’s attended these before and knows the protocols—or should. And I was unaware that Miss Aubade was coming.”

“Yeah, well, I told Prompto he needed to bring a date and I knew that his first call would be to Rory. He always goes to her in a crisis.” Noctis snickered.

^^^^^

“There you go. You got it. Waltz isn’t too hard, see?” I asked.

Prompto chuckled, breathy and awkward. “Uh-huh. Uh, yeah,” he said. “If you just ignore the fact that I’ve already stepped on your feet three times.”

His breathing was getting a little heavy and we hadn’t danced that hard. I knew what that meant. The anxiety was kicking in.

I let go of his shoulder, and dropped our hands, but kept mine in his. “You look like you need some air. Come on,” I said, tugging him away from the ballroom and out onto the balcony. He leaned against the railing. I copied his position and nudged him in the arm with my shoulder. “You did great, Prom. I'm proud of you.”

He snorted derisively. “How could you be? I'm a screw-up in a place like this.”

“No you’re not. I guarantee if I went into that ballroom right now and asked Noctis for a dance, he’d be even worse. And he’s the prince. Your ability to dance doesn’t determine whether or not you’re a screw-up.”

“She’s right by the way,” Noctis’ voice remarked from the entrance to the balcony. “I suck at dancing.” He gave us a wink with some finger guns and retreated back into the party.

Noctis’ birthday was in August, but that didn’t stop a chill breeze from blowing since it was after dark. I shivered, wishing I’d brought the shawl that went with my silver gown—a black thing that looked classy and elegant and kept me warm.

“Here,” Prompto said, noticing my shiver. He slid out of his jacket and draped it over my shoulders, tugging it at the front to secure it around me. I could smell his cologne clinging to the fabric and feel his heat lingering with it.

“Thanks,” I said with a grin. My ears grew warm. I wondered why. Why was I getting a little blushy over something he’d done five hundred times?

It wasn’t rare for him to lend me his jacket. I was always colder than he was and he didn’t like sleeves anyway.

He nodded. “Y-yeah.” Quickly he turned to look out over the balcony. The moon was rising, casting its pale light on Prompto, making his freckles almost sparkle and shine against his pale skin. “Beautiful night,” he said, shooting me a quick look. He rested his hands on the balcony. I glanced at the black ribbon around his right wrist. Shaking my head, I concentrated on the sky above us.

“Yeah. Thank you for inviting me, Prompto. I know I didn’t want to come but… any excuse to hang out with you is a good one.”

“You… you think so?”

“Of course! You’re my best friend. One of my only friends, really. There’s you and Noct and that’s kinda it.” I shrugged and pulled his jacket more securely around me, absorbing his leftover body heat.

“Oh. Well. Thanks. And thanks for coming.”

I smiled. “My pleasure.”

Impulsively, I set my hand on top of his on the railing. My pinky pushed his white sleeve up a little to expose the black ribbon better.

“Prom… when are you going to trust me with what’s under this?”

“I’m not… hiding it from you. I'm hiding it from… from me,” he admitted.

“Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad,” I reasoned.

He scoffed. “What makes you say that?”

I curled my fingers around his and smiled up at him. “Because it’s you. And you’re the nicest, sweetest, funniest person I know. So anything you’re hiding can’t be that bad because it’s part of you.” I turned so that I was facing him. “Even if it is something bad, that doesn’t change who you are. You’re still Prompto.” My Prompto, I added silently.

The thought pulled me up short. Since when did I think of him as my Prompto? I mean, sure he was my best friend but that didn’t make him mine.

He gave me a smile. The lighting made his eyes more purple than they’d ever been before.

“Thanks. That means a lot to me.”

Were we standing this close before? Or was I only just realizing that he was so close I could almost brush his torso? I swallowed. I was pretty sure we hadn’t been standing quite this near a few seconds ago. I could see the glitter of the New Wall and the stars beyond it reflected in Prompto’s eyes.

“Prompto…”

“Aurora… I—”

We cut each other off in the same moment, closing the distance between us. My arms wrapped around his neck and his arms snared my waist, pulling me flush against his torso. I took a deep breath. His jacket slid off my shoulders when I lifted my arms and landed at my feet.

After a moment, we broke apart. “I—did we just…?” I stammered, trying to figure out what was running through my mind. My thoughts were spinning too fast for me to make sense of.

“We did,” he confirmed.

“Oh good.” I pushed slightly closer into his arms. He bent down and met me with enthusiasm.

^^^^^

“Finally,” Noctis hissed to Gladio and Ignis. Gladio was snickering and Ignis looked bored. “I’ve been waiting for this for years!”

[thetourguidebarbie]

hi! for the fanfiction trope MASH-UP, 48. fake dating, 97. time travel + klaroline

Again, some artistic license was taken. Also fulfills 21 (Dystopian AU) and 98 (curses). I AM VERY UPSET THIS GOT SO LONG. I’m *trying* to keep them mini. Prompt from this list.

Caroline hummed contentedly as she shifted on her bed, inhaling a familiar delicious scent that she couldn’t quite place. She’d almost drifted off again when the mattress moved. 

Her eyes flew open and she scrambled out of bed, looking at her surroundings and growing more confused by the second. Cream walls with framed paintings. A half-open closet door showing racks of clothes. A mahogany dresser with jewelry box and a framed photo settled on the surface. She approached the photo, reaching to pick it up, her mouth dropping open when she saw herself and Klaus.

“All right, sweetheart?”

She froze, barely managing to keep hold of the photo frame before turning around slowly. Klaus’s voice was low, thick from sleep, and she watched as he ran a hand through his hair in such a human gesture that she might have laughed if she weren’t so freaked out.

“Did you kidnap me?” she squeaked, and Klaus frowned.

“What?”

“You totally did,” she accused, trying her best to keep her eyes on his face rather than his tattoo, which she vividly remembered tracing with her tongue three months before. “You promised you’d stay away from me, and now you like, abducted me in my sleep and took me to your bedroom?”

He looked so confused that she briefly wondered whether it was possible that he wasn’t acting before firmly dismissing the idea. Klaus was basically a TV villain. Of course ‘kidnapping someone and then pretending to be innocent’ was on his shortlist of skills.

“Sweetheart—“ he began slowly, but she interrupted when she realized that the pajamas she was wearing consisted of Klaus’s shirt. And nothing else.

“What the hell is going on, Klaus?”

“I’m not sure, as last time we spoke you were perfectly content to be in our bedroom,” he said, the emphasis making her eyebrows fly up her forehead.

“What do you mean our bedroom?”

He stared at her for a moment, and she could practically see the gears turning in his head before he spoke. “How old are you, sweetheart?”

“What kind of question is that? You literally met me on my birthday, remember? Are you so old you forgot how to tell time?”

“Seventeen, then,” he murmured, leaning back against the headboard, rubbing his eyes with his palms. “Fuck.”

“What?” she demanded, and Klaus pushed the covers off and walked to the closet, ignoring her squeak as she realized how little he was wearing. He shot her an amused smile and grabbed a pair of flannel shorts from the shelf, handing them to her. She pulled them on, wondering whether it was creepy or cute that he knew her size and style and had clearly been stockpiling clothes for her.

“Time travel,” he said quietly, before pausing, his head tipped slightly to the side. “Well, not exactly. Close enough, I suppose.”

“Time travel?”

“It’s the year 2153. We’ve been together for the past 79. Eighty years in September.”

He said it with a small smile, threading his belt through the loops of his jeans and glancing at her. She was used to heated looks from him, a scorching drag up and down her body that made her heart pound in her chest, an ache throbbing between her thighs. This was different. It was softer, somehow. Warmer.

“Okay,” she said softly, dragging the word out as she glanced out the window, studying the lush green hills. “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“I suppose that in your current state it’s reasonable not to trust me,” he said softly, though he looked slightly pained. “However, I can assure you that I’d never lie to you, Caroline.”

“Right,” she muttered, shifting uncomfortably. “So. Assuming you’re telling the truth, what exactly do you think happened? You said ‘time travel’ was close enough, but if that’s not it, what is?”

“Considering you didn’t pop up as another Caroline but instead inhabited your own body, I’m going to assume that you’ve been put under some sort of spell to remove or suppress your memory.”

Caroline swallowed, suddenly feeling a bit sick. “You didn’t...you didn’t compel me, right?

“No,” he said immediately, his tone firm. “I would never do that to you.”

She had no proof that he was being truthful, but something about his tone reassured her that he wasn’t lying.

“I suspect it was a spell of some sort,” he continued, pulling on a shirt. “I’ll make a few calls while you get ready.”

He leaned in as though about to kiss her but stopped himself when she twitched, pulling back and wincing. “Sorry, sweetheart. Habit,” he murmured. “Shower’s through that door. The robe on the right is yours.”

She’d always liked to pick out her clothes post-shower wrapped in something fluffy, and it was weirdly comforting to know that she’d retained her habits, and that Klaus knew them.

“Thanks.”

She was met with a cup of coffee when she emerged, the rich burgundy color indicating that it had been brewed with some blood.

“I’m not sure exactly when you stopped taking it with sugar, but we have some downstairs if—“

“This is fine. Thanks.”

He nodded, the motion jerky, and she took a sip, avoiding his eyes.

“I contacted a trustworthy witch, but she’ll take some time to fly over. Most likely a few days.”

“Days?” Caroline asked, eyebrows raised. “How much stuff does she have to pack?”

“She’s coming from Earth Four. With our private ship it’s a two day travel time both ways. We’d meet her halfway, but the party’s tonight.”

She had a lot of questions about that one. Were they in space? Earth Four? What Earth were they on now? However, another part seemed more pressing.

“Party?”

“Rebekah’s thousandth birthday,” he said, smirking slightly. “Well, not counting the daggered years.”

Caroline snorted.

“We’ve been planning it for half a decade. It would be the scandal of the century should you choose not to attend, I’m afraid.”

“And even more of a scandal for me to go and not be all over you, I’m guessing?”

“Indeed.”

They were quiet for a few seconds as Caroline processed. “We’re like...dating, right?” It seemed like such a juvenile word, but she didn’t know how else to put it. Klaus looked amused at her question, his lips tipping up at the corners.

“I suppose so, yes.”

“You suppose? I mean, what do you call me when you introduce me to people? Your girlfriend? Your partner?”

“I introduce you as Caroline,” he said, and she was a hundred percent sure he was making fun of her. “I’d forgotten how obsessed the youth were with labels.”

She glared at him over her coffee mug. “You’re still not funny and it’s been like....eighty bajillion years.”

“You’re Caroline,” he repeated quietly. “I don’t need to contextualize you for them to know you belong to me, love.”

“I belong to you? Gross.”

“And I to you,” he said easily, slipping his hands in his pockets. “As you point out to me often, not that I need the reminder.”

“Right,” Caroline muttered, fiddling the belt of her robe and staring into her now-empty mug. “Got it. I’m going to get dressed.”

“Klaus! Caroline!” a woman screeched, pulling her into an enthusiastic hug. “It’s so wonderful to see you again, dear. Such a treat.”

“And you as well, Melinda. I do hope everything’s going well with your real estate endeavors?” Klaus asked, smoothly giving Caroline her name and some sort of context.

“Oh, yes! Roger and I have just found the most perfect planet for summer homes. It’s lovely, really. The oxygen level is too low for humans, of course, so synthetic blood is the only option, but it has such a picturesque view—“

Caroline listened to Melinda go on about ‘summer location planets’ and a startup producing a line of luxury jets she and ‘dearest Roger’ were planning on investing in and it was....a lot.

“All right, sweetheart?” Klaus asked when he glanced at her face, his arm tightening around her waist. It still unnerved her that he knew her so well when she’d barely spent any time with him, that he could glance at her face and know exactly how she was feeling (and she’d thought her neutral face was pretty unreadable).

“Yeah. I’m fine,” she said. “Please, Melinda. Tell me more about the townhouses? Klaus and I have been looking for another summer place.”

Melinda’s eyes widened, and Caroline was pretty sure that the other woman was trying to calculate how much money she could get them to throw. “Well, the townhouses on Dionysus have been constructed by a large stretch of private magically-maintained vineyards--”

Caroline smiled and nodded, tuning Melinda out, highly aware of Klaus standing next to her with an expression of polite interest that she’d never seen him wear. Melinda must be some sort of ally, then. She seemed like she had a lot of money, and if Klaus wasn’t ready to throw her off the balcony she must be useful in some other way.

She waited for a natural lull in conversation before turning to Klaus. “I think I need some air.”

“Of course, sweetheart.”

Wary of the other partygoers watchful eyes, Caroline pressed a light kiss to his stubbled cheek, her lips lingering against his skin for a moment too long to be truly pretend before she pulled back, biting her lip at Klaus’s knowing smile. She knew there was a blush creeping up her cheeks, that her heart was pounding loud enough that the guests could hear it.

It wasn’t weird to kiss Klaus, right? They’d apparently been together for almost eighty years. Even if she wanted to think it was weird, and she totally did, she felt like she had to admit to herself that it was useless to ignore it anymore. She just couldn’t shake him. Their (amazing!) forest sex was supposed to get him out of her system, but it hadn’t. Had she ever really wanted it to? Or had she been too afraid of what would happen if she gave in?

And what was the point of holding off anymore, really? Her friends weren’t around to judge and it was a gajillion years in the future. She’d clearly already jumped this hurdle before she lost her memory. But still...

She tried to walk as fast as she could to the gardens without looking awkward.

She wasn’t sure she succeeded.

She’d taken Klaus up on the offer of the guest room down the hall from his (their?) bedroom, but when she woke she reached to the other side of the bed automatically, like it was muscle memory, looking for his body, craving his touch.

When she finally got up the nerve to poke her head in to see him, he was already up, a glass tablet in his lap with glowing letters scrolling across it. Neither of them spoke as she hopped into bed next to him, but she broke the silence after a few minutes.

“What’s that?”

“Tablet. Modern iPad, sort of,” he said. “I’ve taken the liberty of procuring every season of your current favorite television show. I figured it would be entertaining enough while we wait for the witch.”

“Thanks,” she said awkwardly, taking the remote from him and pressing the power button, her eyes widening when the painting on the wall melted away to show a television.

Once she’d gotten used to that, the next few hours were weirdly relaxing, and it took Caroline much too long to realize that it was because she felt safe. There weren’t any doppelgangers after her or witchy rituals she might get swept up in, and sitting next to Klaus as he scrolled through his tablet while she bingewatched her show was...nice.

Now that they were so close, sitting next to each other naturally as though they’d been doing it for years—well, Klaus had been, to be fair—everything felt right. He didn’t react oddly at all when she impulsively moved closer, slotting herself against him comfortably, simply looping an arm around her shoulders. He probably did it often, she thought. Older Caroline most likely hadn’t outgrown her love of cuddling.

“You and old me,” she began, breaking their hours of lazy comfortable silence.

“Yes, love?” Klaus asked, immediately setting the tablet on the side table and turning to look at her.

“You love each other.”

“Yes.”

“And how exactly did that happen?”

He didn’t look at all surprised by the question, and she wondered if he’d been expecting it. He seemed to know her well enough to have seen it coming.

“There was a war. Millions of people died. I kept tabs on you, of course, and when the city you’d been living in was completely destroyed I took a witch and set out to find you,” he said quietly, his finger absently tracing circles on her bare shoulder. “I was lucky. We managed to locate you before you’d been fully desiccated. Though you’ve never said so, I’d imagine you’d been hoping for a different rescue party.”

“Bonnie?” Caroline asked, her voice shaking.

“That was also your first question back then,” he said, smiling slightly. “Got to her in the nick of time as well. She wasn’t thrilled when she woke up a member of the undead, of course, but I think it’s grown on her over the years.”

“Right, so that’s how we met back up,” Caroline said slowly. “I meant the how did we get together bit.”

“It only took a few months, actually,” Klaus said, shooting her a smirk. “You packed to leave the compound at least once a week, but you always changed your mind at the last minute. Never because of me, of course. It was always something like wanting to help Bekah pick out another dress or the worry of missing the new episode of whatever you were watching.” His grin showed her that not only had she probably done it, but she’s been very transparent about it.

“Wow. I was not subtle.”

“You were not,” he agreed. “I let you think it through. Didn’t want to push you too much lest you change your mind. Coincidentally, the planet became nearly uninhabitable by then and you had to decide whether to leave with me or go off on your own.”

“And I chose you,” Caroline finished.

“You did.”

They were quiet for a few seconds before Caroline spoke again. “You’re going to give me so much shit for calling you gross when I’m me again, aren’t you?”

“Yes, though I have a feeling you’ll manage to distract me.”

“It’s one of my many talents, apparently.”

“Indeed. You have over a hundred and forty years of experience, after all.”

She grinned, looking down at her palms, which were face up on her lap, Klaus’s leg pressed against hers.

“I’m glad that we end up together,” Caroline said quietly, looking up to meet his eyes. “I think I always hoped we would. Deep down.”

“As am I, Caroline.”

[inmyblindspot]

thankful (jane/kurt fanfic)

A/N: @blindspotlove asked for a Jeller & team Thanksgiving fic and, well...this is what I came up with! Hope you like it!

thankful

Kurt was grumpy.

Jane often teased him about being grumpy and he always insisted that he wasn’t. But in this moment, he knew she was right.

He was really fucking grumpy.

His foul mood came mostly from the fact than an hour earlier, he and Jane had been in their bed, naked, with nowhere they needed to be for an entire day, for the first time in 26 days. But somehow, he found himself standing in Patterson’s kitchen, showing her how to properly stuff and cook a turkey, and he had no idea where Jane was.

They’d had no plans for Thanksgiving. He had purposefully made them no plans. They had been working nonstop for the past month and all he wanted for this holiday – their first together since they had gotten married – was to spend it with his wife. Especially after Allie had been called into work at the last minute and had to cancel hers and Bethany’s trip to New York.

Everything had been going according to plan. She had woken him up that morning with fresh coffee, crawling back into bed with him, where he had quickly unbuttoned the shirt of his she had pulled on. He’d occupied himself with kissing a trail down her body, her body sinking further and further into their mattress as his lips traveled across her hipbone, until her phone had started buzzing on the nightstand.

He had implored her to ignore it, swirling his tongue in her belly button as his hands traveled up her sides, but she’d squirmed away from him, gently kicking him in the ribs as she reached for her phone.

He’d flopped back in bed as he half-listened to her side of the conversation, but before he knew it, she was getting out of bed and getting dressed, tossing his jeans towards him, as she explained that Patterson had “a turkey emergency.”

“So she called a vegan?” he mused as he tossed his jeans back at her and reached for her wrist. Jane rolled her eyes and threaded her fingers through his, pressing a kiss to the back of his hand before she pushed his jeans against his chest.

“Come on, she asked for our help, what was I supposed to say? Sorry, we’re too busy having sex?” she asked as she made her way into the bathroom.

“Yes!” he called out as he grudgingly stood up, pulling his jeans on. “That is exactly what you were supposed to say.”

She shot him a look from the bathroom as she brushed her teeth and he grinned as he walked towards her, purposefully leaving his jeans unbuttoned and slung low on his hips, hoping she would soon be pulling them off again.

“Come on,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her waist as he dropped his lips to the nape of her neck. “Patterson can figure out her turkey, she doesn’t need us,” he whispered as his fingers moved to the button on her jeans.

But she shook her head, leaning forward to rinse out her mouth, before she turned around and looped her arms around his neck.

“One hour,” she promised him, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to his lips. “Then the day is ours. I’ll make it up to you when we get back, I promise.”

She picked up his toothbrush and handed it to him, patting his chest as she walked out into the hallway.

“You better,” he grumbled to himself as he reached for the toothpaste, shaking his head.

Now, it was an hour later, and not only was he still dealing with Patterson’s “turkey emergency,” which was only an emergency in that she had no idea how to cook one, but Jane had disappeared with Tasha the moment they’d walked in the door, whisked away to deal with a “pie emergency.”

He’d never seen so many Thanksgiving “emergencies” in his life.

He pulled out his phone and typed in a message to Jane.

Where are you?

As Patterson mused to herself about whether she should use sage or thyme for her stuffing, Kurt stared at his phone, waiting for Jane’s response.

Getting the pies.

Kurt sighed and was about to put away his phone when it buzzed with another message.

In the Hamptons.

His eyes nearly bugged out of his head as he quickly punched at the button to call Jane, holding his phone up to his ear.

“The Hamptons?!” he cried as he heard her pick up, not waiting for her to even say “hello.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” she said and he could picture her biting her lip. “I had no idea that’s where they were. But apparently this bakery makes the pies that are Tasha’s grandfather’s favorite and she promised her grandmother she would bring them.”

“Why the hell does she need you for that?” Kurt asked, pacing back and forth in Patterson’s living room. “Jane, that’s a two-hour drive each way.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” she said again and he could hear her getting upset.

He sighed, taking a deep breath. The only thing that would make this day worse was if they ended up in a fight and really, he had nothing to be mad at her about. It was Patterson and Tasha who were promptly ruining their day and all Jane had done was try to be a good friend.

“It’s OK,” he said softly. “It’s not your fault.”

“I love you,” she said quietly and he smiled, holding his phone a little closer against his cheek.

“I love you,” he told her and they were both quiet for a moment.

He sighed again, glancing over at Patterson, who was currently holding her raw turkey by the legs over her sink as she peered down into the cavity.

“OK, you get the pies, I’ll work on the turkey with Patterson,” he said.

“Sounds good,” she said and he could hear the smile in her voice. “I’ll let you know when we’re on the way back,” she offered and he nodded, holding back a laugh as Patterson dropped her turkey in the sink.

“Drive safe,” he said before hanging up the phone and tucking it into his pocket.

“Alright Patterson, step aside. Watch and learn,” he said as he walked towards the kitchen.

The next couple of hours went by quickly and, before long, the smell of their turkey was wafting through Patterson’s apartment. Kurt was just whisking up an orange and bourbon glaze, figuring he might as well go all out, when his phone buzzed with a text from Jane.

On the way back.

He smiled and returned his attention to the stove, stirring as his glaze started bubbling.

“Hey Weller, thanks again for doing this,” Patterson said from her seat at the counter, where she was snapping the ends off a pile of green beans. “I guess I bit off a little more than I could chew,” she said sheepishly and Kurt chuckled, moving the glaze to the counter so it could cool.

“It’s fine,” he said, reaching over and taking a handful of green beans for him to trim. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t gotten at least a little bit of satisfaction from being able to school Patterson in something. “Who are you cooking this all for, anyways?”

“Just some friends from my Wizardville days,” she said with a shrug. “A few of them came out east for the holiday.”

He nodded as he walked over to the oven and pulled out the turkey, brushing his glaze over the top, before returning it to the oven.

“Do this every half hour or so,” he explained, placing the pot with the glaze back on the counter, and Patterson nodded, glancing at her watch for the time.

After trimming the green beans, they moved on to peeling potatoes, with Kurt taking the lead on making mashed potatoes. As they stood side by side at the stove, Kurt glanced over at Patterson, clearing his throat.

“So...tell me about this Wizardville thing,” he mumbled and she laughed, nudging him in the ribs.

“I knew you’d cave eventually!” she exclaimed and he raised an eyebrow at her before returning his attention to the pot of potatoes. “I mean...these potatoes look delicious,” she stammered and he chuckled, giving her a small nod.

“That’s better,” he mumbled.

Once they had finished the potatoes, they sat together at the counter, where Patterson walked Kurt through the basics of Wizardville, installing it on his phone and taking him through the first few quests.

Before long, he was playing on his own, biting his lip in concentration as he moved through the game.

“This thing is addictive,” he muttered and she laughed, nodding her head as she got up to glaze the turkey.

“Thank you,” she said with a grin and he shook his head, returning his attention to the game.

He’d just finished the sixth quest when the door swung open and Tasha walked in with three pie boxes in her arms. Kurt glanced behind her but saw no one following.

“Where’s Jane?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.

“I dropped her off at your place,” she said before setting the pie boxes down on the counter. “One pumpkin pie for you,” she said to Patterson, handing her the top box. “And a pumpkin and a cranberry for my Abuelo.”

Kurt shook his head as he stood up and collected his coat from the back of the couch.

“Those pies better be lined with liquid gold to be worth driving to the Hamptons for them,” he said with a scowl. Tasha shrugged innocently as she wandered into the kitchen, inhaling the smells that Kurt and Patterson had cooked up.

“Anything for my Abuelo,” she said before peeking into the oven. “Guys, this all looks and smells amazing.”

Patterson nodded, looking gratefully over at Kurt as he walked to the door, not bothering to stick around for the praise.

“Thank you!” she yelled after him and he waved over his shoulder as he made his way out.

He didn’t hear their giggles as he closed the door behind him.

It was a short drive to their apartment and within fifteen minutes, he was stepping off the elevator on their floor. He opened the door and was about to call out to Jane when all of a sudden, he felt something crash into his torso.

“Happy Thanksgiving!”

He looked up and saw Sarah standing in his living room, and looked down to see the top of Sawyer’s head pressed against his middle as he hugged him tight.

“Surprise, Uncle Kurt!” he called, squeezing him tight in another hug.

Kurt gaped at them as he reached down and hugged Sawyer back, his jaw dropping as he looked up at Sarah.

“I don’t...how did...when...I thought you guys were staying out west?” he finally spat out, giving Sawyer’s shoulders a squeeze before he stepped forward and wrapped Sarah up in a hug.

“We were,” she said, hugging him back before looking up at him. “But then your lovely wife sent us two tickets,” she said with a grin and Kurt’s jaw dropped further.

“But...when?” he asked, looking around the apartment for Jane. “And where is she?”

Before Sarah could answer, he heard his name called out from behind him and he whipped around, knowing that voice anywhere.

“Dada! Dada dada dada!”

He looked to the doorway, where his daughter was taking wobbly steps as quick as her little legs would take her, running towards him.

He dropped down to his knees, opening his arms as she ran into them, holding her close to his chest. He looked up, barely able to see Jane walking through the doorway as his eyes filled with tears.

“Dada!” Bethany squealed as Kurt gently pulled her back from his chest. She reached out and placed her palms against his cheeks, giggling as his beard tickled her fingers.

“Hi baby girl,” he whispered, leaning in and pressing kisses to her cheeks. “How did you get here?” he asked, laughing as he stood up and swung her onto his hip. “I thought mama had to work?” he said, glancing up at Jane. “I don’t understand?” he said quietly, shaking his head in disbelief.

Jane smiled and walked towards them, wrapping her arm around Sawyer’s shoulder as the five of them met in the middle of the room.

“Well,” she started, taking a deep breath as Sarah reached out and gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Today is about giving thanks for what we have. And what I am most thankful for is you and our family,” she said as she reached up and gently tickled Bethany’s tummy, all of them laughing as she squirmed in Kurt’s arms. “And I wanted to have our family together on this day.”

Kurt took a deep breath and hugged Bethany close, reaching across with his other hand to brush his fingers against Jane’s cheek.

“I still don’t understand how she got here,” he said with a laugh and Jane chuckled, shrugging her shoulders.

“I called Connor yesterday and asked if he would fly her to Chicago this morning. I flew there to meet them and brought her the rest of the way,” she said, a sheepish smile forming on her lips as Kurt’s jaw dropped.

“Wait...you flew to Chicago and back...today?!” he exclaimed and she laughed as she nodded, tickling Bethany’s tummy again. “But...the pies,” he stammered. “I saw the pies.”

Jane and Sarah laughed and Sawyer ran over to the kitchen, picking up a pie box.

“Tasha gave us one too!” he exclaimed. “Apple, my favorite!”

Kurt nodded dumbly as he handed Bethany to Sarah and ran his hands over his face, his mind going a mile a minute. Sarah carried Bethany over towards the window, the two of them looking out at the city view together.

Jane reached over and took Kurt’s hands, holding them against her chest as she leaned up and pressed a kiss to his lips.

“Tasha bought the pies this morning in Brooklyn,” she explained, giving his hands a squeeze. “And then she picked Sarah and Sawyer up at the airport and brought them back here.”

Kurt nodded again, looking around at all of them, still not quite believing his eyes.

“And Patterson’s turkey dinner?” he asked, raising his eyebrows and Jane laughed, nodding as she bit her lip.

“That’s for us,” she said, her smile growing. “They’re going to bring it over in a couple of hours and then Patterson’s going with Tasha to her family’s dinner. It was the only way I could think of to keep you occupied and for us to end up with a proper meal,” she added with a laugh.

Kurt grinned and then was silent for a few moments, looking over to the window where Bethany was giggling in Sarah’s arms, and then over at Sawyer who was poking around in the kitchen, and then back at his wife who was beaming up at him.

“I can’t believe you did all this,” he said quietly, shaking his head in disbelief as he cupped her face in his hands. “You are the most incredible thing to ever happen to me, you know that?” he murmured, leaning down as he brushed his lips against hers.

Jane wrapped her arms around his waist, leaning into him as she kissed him back before tilting her head back to smile up at him.

“Happy thanksgiving, my love.”

[angryhausfrau-writes]

You Can’t Cross the Same River Twice - Chapter 9

Their little corner of Boston has become something of a way station for various East Coast members of the 4077. And perhaps it makes sense - Hawkeye Pierce, degenerate though he is, has always been the heart and soul of the MASH. Even as changed as he'd been at the end of the war, he'd spent every breath taking care of the people there. Charles had been so wrapped up in his own petty little problems - his appointment at Boston Mercy, his squabbles with Margaret - that he hadn't really appreciated it at the time. But now, with the clarity of distance - and the help of, ugh, a psychiatrist - he can admit to himself - if no one else - that Pierce is a large part of why he came out of the war as well adjusted as he had.

Pierce is also why he's able to return to civilian life so easily. For all that Charles has been raised - been bred with the very fortitude and inclination required - to head a prestigious department at the preeminent hospital in the United States - if not the world - it has been a.. transition.. to return to his old life. Honoria is just as sweet and wonderful and mischievous as ever - and Charles makes a note that she and Pierce must never meet, lest society as he knows it crumble - but mother and father are perhaps more aloof and distant than he remembers. Concerned more with how he goes on to represent the family - as he is now several years behind schedule in running thoracic at Boston Mercy and, more importantly, at finding a suitable Mrs. Charles Emerson Winchester III and providing the requisite Charles Emerson Winchester IV - than with how he, Charles, is faring. He finds himself missing the camaraderie of the MASH unit - as stifling as it had been at the time. But now that much of his social obligation requires talking politics with the interminable stuffed shirts at his club or dancing with icy, calculating debutantes - stiffly formal beneath a veneer of feminine charm, sizing Charles, and more importantly, the Winchester fortune, up against their ambitions - Charles finds himself living for the evenings of raucous, lower-class fun with the other remnants of the Korean war.

Even that lout McIntyre.

Because, despite all his deficiencies,  he's a good surgeon - and an Ivy Leaguer, even if he schooled in the wilds of New Hampshire rather than the beacon of civilization that is Boston. He, Charles has found, also has a surprisingly sly sense of humor hidden behind that bluff, working-man exterior. He helps balance out Pierce's more.. fanciful nature. And living with McIntyre seems to be doing Pierce a world of good. He's back to telling jokes and stories at a mile a minute, but he also listens to other people's stories for more than just material with which to make a snappy retort. Pierce is also missing the desperate, manic edge he'd acquired towards the end of the war. He's more stable, more settled in his skin with McIntyre's hand clapped on his shoulder.

All of this makes Charles wish he had someone in his life who could understand him so well as Pierce and McIntyre seem to understand each other - bound as they are by a brotherhood forged in war. Charles wishes for someone who could stand as his equal - know him and be known. He feels so distant from the class of people he left behind. In the face of war, why worry about petty posturing - particularly when he is so obviously superior to the rest of the muck and mud surrounding him. But here, presentation is all that matters. The facade becomes the foundation for one's entire existence. And there are tens of others with the same - or at least similar - breeding and wealth and status. How is he to find someone who is both suitable to his family and satisfactory to himself? It makes Charles long for the hours he spends at that quaint little pub with the other flotsam and jetsam of Korea. And it makes him a bit.. jealous - there he admits it - when Margaret comes to visit and she deigns to stay with those degenerates Pierce and McIntyre rather than in the well-appointed guest wing of his home in Back Bay.

--

Margaret "Hot Lips" Houlihan is coming to visit and Trapper is worried. Both for the state of his jaw - Margaret has a right hook like a freight train and an inclination to use it - and for his opinion of himself. Cuz, see, he's done and said a lot of shitty things to Margaret Houlihan. Largely as a consequence of doing and saying them to Frank Burns. But he can admit now that a lot of what he and Hawkeye ragged on her for had more to do with her being an attractive woman who wouldn't sleep with them than her actual despicable beliefs and actions. Which have apparently got a lot less despicable in the years without Frank's influence. But Hawkeye's had those years to stumble into a genuine friendship with Margaret and all Trapper has is over a year's worth of enmity with Hot Lips. So he gets ready to grovel.

And it's a good thing, too. Cuz he comes home to Hawkeye and Margaret crying with laughter over something and as soon as he closes the front door, they just stop dead. Silent. Margaret's gaze pierces him to his very soul. But this means a lot, to him and Hawkeye both. So Trapper holds out a hand.

"John McIntyre, pleased to meet you."

Margaret's face is stone and Trapper prepares to hightail it outta there. But then she smiles and shakes his hand.

"Margaret Houlihan. And likewise."

"I know this don't erase the past," Trapper says once they've all sat down in the living room. "But I figure I've changed a fair bit over the years and I'm sorry for how I used to treat you. I hope we can get to know each other how we are now."

Margaret considers this. And Trapper ain't ashamed to admit he squirms a little under her assessing gaze. After what feels like an eternity, she must figure he's genuinely repentant cuz she says, "Apology accepted." And that's the end of that.

Later, they're all crammed together on the sofa after dinner, Hawkeye knitting and Trapper and Margaret drinking some of the good Scotch she brought along as a hostess gift. Margaret's telling all about the work she's doing at Fort Dix - it sounds like she's pretty much running the nursing staff already and like it won't be too long before she's got the whole hospital marching to her orders. It's fun. He wouldn't say they're friends yet, but Trapper thinks they could be.

Then Hawkeye asks, "So has any dashing Lieutenant Colonel or better caught your eye?" And Trapper is reminded of Margaret's own failed marriage to some dick who ran off to San Francisco rather than end things face to face. He's glad he was able to patch things up so well cuz Margaret's angry retribution is still clearly at the front of all their minds.

Margaret's smile is sharp. "No new Donald Penobscotts, no. Not that I haven't had a few flings here or there."

"Does a body good," is Hawkeye's two cents. "Not that I've had a lot of those lately." He glances meaningfully at Trapper.

And Trapper's a little confused at how overt he's being around Margaret Houlihan, of all people.

But then she says, "I've actually gotten back in touch with an old nursing school friend - she was nice enough to offer to be roommates so I wouldn't have to live on base."

And oh. Oh. He looks at Hawkeye to make sure he's reading this right.

"It's sure nice to settle down someplace after so long in an army camp," Trapper says. There. That can be taken all kindsa ways.

"I never thought it would happen to me. But I'm actually thinking of buying a house, if you can believe it. I have all that money I'd saved up for Penobscott," Margaret sneers his name. "And with two working women to pay the mortgage..."

"A Boston marriage," Trapper blurts, struck by the aptness. So much for subtlety.

Hawkeye laughs. "A Boston marriage transplanted right in Jersey. Is that why you came up to visit? To get some tips?" He's teasing but the idea that it's out in the open now. That they don't have to pussy foot around it anymore. That they share this thread of commonality. It's nice.

"I just came for the poker game, same as everyone else. But it's nice to catch up in person. Letters just can't say as much." Margaret smiles warmly. And it's not an expression Trapper's ever seen her wear, but it's a nice one.

And he's got all day Thursday to see it again. To get to know this new Margaret Houlihan.

--

Charles is.. miffed. It's poker night and he has two unwanted hangers-on in the form of old school chums - he sneers the word, even internally - who demanded his presence that evening. And when Charles had begged previous social obligations, they'd simply invited themselves along. Despite their breeding, some people simply have no class.

So now the two gentlemen are staring around the pub with twin looks of undisguised contempt. Completely unwarranted as, while the place is small and humble and full of working-class folk, it's clean and comfortable and homey. And after one has spent years in a flea-infested pit, one learns to appreciate that sort of thing.

Things get even worse when Charles chivvies them into the back room and they are confronted with Pierce, McIntyre, Houlihan, and Nurse Freeman. While none of them are the sort a Winchester usually associates with, they're all fine individuals and competent medical professionals, deserving of recognition and respect. Certainly not targets for the insipid sneering of Hampton and Smythe, who are asking if this is really how Charles spends his evenings.

McIntyre gets a look on his face that spells trouble. It's the look he wears when he goes toe to toe with Charles - and occasionally, Westham. The look he wears right before turning the natural order right on its head. And Pierce will follow him to the ends of the earth, especially in righteous vengeance. And Margaret has never been one to be condescended to. So Charles directs his two social albatross to the table in the vain hope that any carnage will be relegated to the cards.

"Now, we usually play a friendly sorta game," McIntyre starts the opening volley.

"But with two such distinguished gentlemen in our midst," Pierce continues, "surely we can't just play for peanuts."

Nurse Freeman starts shuffling the deck and Charles has never seen her look so regal. "I stand as the house tonight. Five card stud. One hundred dollar buy in." Her smile is like a knife. "All non-cash collateral must be verifiable and accepted by all players."

His fate is sealed. Charles wants to weep. They are absolutely going to run him and these socially inept simpletons into the ground. He looks to Margaret for compassion, but finds none. She always was the vengeful type. Charles only hopes that his friendship with those about to ruin his life stays their hands enough that he can still leave with the shirt on his back.

The game is absolutely brutal. Margaret, Pierce, and McIntyre aren't exactly winning pocket change, but the house - the house is what will drive him to financial ruin. And the entire nature of the game has changed. No one of the four is playing to win. They're playing to make Charles and his two idiot companions lose. The two idiots who are too stupid to realize what is happening and bow out.

Although, the amount they're drinking may have something to do with it. Before the game had properly started, McIntyre brought out a bottle. And while he, Margaret, and Nurse Freeman all have a glass - they're untouched. The three of them, plus Pierce, are sober as judges while Hampton and Smythe are acting like it's their last chance at revelry before entering the priesthood. The game is an unmitigated bloodbath.

By nine o'clock, Charles and the other two victims have moved from cash to physical collateral.

By ten o'clock, the pot has grown so large that they've moved to paper IOU's.

And, in what - mercifully - turns out to be the final hand, the house actually forms a board of trustees - consisting of herself and Pierce - to accept the endowment promised by Charles, Hampton, and Smythe in a legally binding document - written on a napkin, but still properly signed by all parties and witnessed by a gleeful McIntyre - made out to the South End clinic. At this point, thank God, Hampton and Smythe seem to realize they've made a terrible mistake and agree to end the game, sneaking off with their tails between their legs. Nurse Freeman watches them go with an expression of utmost satisfaction.

Still, it could have been worse. The Winchesters do only occasionally engage in philanthropy - usually as a.. creative tax write off - but it's for a good cause. And Pierce looks overjoyed as he kisses his compatriots on the cheeks - McIntyre slightly awkwardly, as if they're not quite sure where to aim, but then McIntyre isn't exactly a cosmopolitan - he's probably never even been to Europe. Then Pierce rounds on Charles. But he just shakes his hand exuberantly - like he's pumping water from a well - and thanks him for his contributions to medicine and the public good. It almost feels sincere.

"Don't look so glum, Winchester," McIntyre admonishes. "You can tell your folks you did it to keep the riff-raff outta Boston Mercy."

Charles laughs despite himself. "You know, that may very well work. And at least I know those two bumbling buffoons will never impose themselves on me again."

"I'll drink to that," Pierce says, raising his Shirley Temple.

And then it becomes just like their normal poker nights - with the welcome addition of Margaret, of course, who seems in exceptionally good spirits despite having resided with Pierce and McIntyre for an entire day. It's a night of silliness and witty - or not so witty - banter and camaraderie.

Charles really feels quite fortunate, despite everything.

[tubbotums]

Mommy Knows Best

So the winner of the poll was Blake Belladonna! Honestly, I was pretty excited to see the results of it like they were since I do have a special place in my heart for RWBY fats, especially Blake and Yang in general. I did wanna write for some of the other characters up there in the poll (maybe you’ll see another drabble for them? ;3), but Blake won, so she’s who’s gonna be written first! I ran through a couple scenarios in my head, but I thought this one would be the best for a drabble/fic like this. Anyways, I hope you enjoy Mommy Knows Best~

Since arriving back on Menagerie, Blake had a lot of time to think and consider what she had done. She had abandoned her only friends when they needed her most and once again run away from her problems. Sure, Sun was around to keep her in check and try to cheer her up, but he wasn’t exactly the best at putting words together. Dorky and lovable, but not the sharpest tool in the shed. However, despite this doom and gloom that had hung over her head for so long, there was a small bright spot in it all.

That bright spot was Kali Belladonna’s cooking.

For those who were unaware, Kali Belladonna was an expert chef/baker. She might not have the look of one due to her soft, calming demeanor and presence, but in the kitchen she could bake up a storm. Fish, steak, cakes and more. You named it, Kali would most likely be able to make it. When Blake still lived on Menagerie when she was younger, she had somewhat of an obsession with her mother’s cooking. This resulted in her being a rather chubby child, but once she had entered the White Fang, had a growth spurt and was constantly on the move, she shed the baby weight quickly and grew into her slender yet rather thick body.

However, now that she was back home and doing nothing with her idle time, the weight had been packing on once again. As much as Sun tried to tell her to lay off the food, Blake refused to listen, often giving him a glare when he made a comment about the doughy stomach that was now hanging over her waistline, or how her pants looked two sizes too small. Blake didn’t need commentary on her appearance. She looked perfectly fine the way she was, and her mother would agree! The straps on her shirt may look like they would pop open any second when her stomach hugged the threads, or her pants might seem like they would burst at the seams if she downed an extra plate of tuna, but she couldn’t have felt better about herself. While she was completely unaware of this thanks to the “missing” scale in the house, Blake’s frivolous behavior had led to a clam and steady gain of about 70 or so pounds during the four or five months she’s been home. She had become slothish in her tendencies, tired and lazy seemingly around the clock. She’d spend her time at home reading or sleeping, rarely breaking away from those activities unless it meant using the bathroom or grabbing her next meal. Sometimes she didn’t even need to worry about that, since her mom would just give her the meal in bed. It was a repeating cycle, but a great one nonetheless. Blake was enjoying herself, and Kali was having a blast having her daughter back home.

It was night time now in Menagerie, and for the most part the house was empty. Finally, Sun had convinced Blake to leave the house so they could at least explore the island together, and that lasted about a few hours before Blake decided she was too tired to continue. The monkey faunus wanted to continue on with his exploration, so the two split ways and she headed back home for the day. When she arrived back, Blake opened the door to a mixture of wonderful smells, all emitting from the kitchen and dining room. When the scent of the house hit her nose, she was practically drooling from the mouth. Subconsciously wiping her mouth, she made her way from the front door and through the hallways, before arriving at a sight she couldn’t believe she was seeing.

“M-Mom...? A-Are we having guests?”

The scene that was in front of her was a table filled with all sorts of different meals. Full plates of tuna, a large turkey, slab of steaks, a cake, a whole fruit bowl and then some. It was a culinary feast fit for many people, and there Kali Belladonna was setting up a plate and chair for just one.

Hearing her daughter walk in and comment on the set up, Kali looked up from the table with a warm, motherly smile. “Oh Blake! I didn’t expect you to get home so quickly! Is Sun around, or is it just you?” she questioned, making her way over and grabbing her daughter’s hands gently as she looked her in the eyes. “N-No, he’s still out. It’s just me...” Blake commented, looking past her mother once more and at the set up, still in shock over how much was there. If she had to make a guess, everything there looked like it could feed a dozen or so people! Why had her mother made so much food on any other normal night? “Mom, are we having guests? Y-You made so much food, and right now we’re the only one’s here... I-Is dad joining us? Or are we waiting for him and Sun?” she asked curiously, looking down at her mother who was smiling brightly at her. ‘Oh were not having guests! It’s just you and me, and I made this set up all for you dear~!”

“W-What...?”

“Didn’t you hear me dear? I made it all for you!” Kali said with excitement, giggling with happiness as she stepped out of the way and led Blake over to her seat at the front of the table. “I figured that since you were home and all, I should make you a nice, large meal at least once! I haven’t really gotten the chance to do that yet, so when I found out that you two were going out and with Ghira taking care of White Fang business tonight, I just knew this was going to be the perfect night to do so!” she stated with glee, helping her daughter take her white trench coat off before sitting her down with gentle force by the shoulder. Blake, who at this point was a flustered mess and unsure of how to respond to this, simply smiled at her mother. After seating her, Kali walked over and grabbed the plate with tuna and brought it over to her daughter, resting herself on the arm rest of the chair while she held the plate with one hand. Then, in an unprecedented move, Kali’s hand found itself on the doughy stomach belonging to her daughter, giving it a nice, gentle squeeze before she giggled.

“Blake dear... I know how much you love my cooking. I won’t lie, it was hard to not have you around for all those years since I really missed making food for you. You must have missed my cooking quite a bit too, right~?” Kali questioned, gently waving the plate of steamed tuna right by her daughter’s nostrils, causing her pupils to flare up and her mouth to water a bit. “I made you this meal because I wanted you to have as much of my cooking as possible before you had to run off again on your next adventure... So tonight, I want you to eat all of this. No leftovers honey. Every last bite, I want in your tummy. If you get full, don’t worry... mommy will take care of you~” she giggled, plucking up the first forkful of tuna and shoving it between her daughter’s lips. Cheeks red as her leader’s cloak, Blake’s lips wrapped around the fork and soon the fish was sliding down her throat. She knew there was no way in hell she should be able to finish this all... but was it bad that she really wanted to? It was embarrassing to think about how much food would be entering her body over the course of the night, but with the help her mother said she’d provide she felt obligated and encouraged to stuff herself to her absolute breaking point.

The first plate of tuna went rather fast. After all, Blake had spent the entire day walking about with Sun and had worked up quite the appetite. The next plate was finished, but at a much slower pace. Blake was starting to feel a tinge of fullness, and it was showing in her stomach. The straps that held together the front part of her black and purple tank were beginning to strain, and when Kali noticed this she smirked. With the fish gone, next up was a large bowl of mashed potatoes doused in gravy. Scoop after scoop was raised from the massive bowl, shoved between the younger cat faunus’ lips and then swallowed to join in the fish in her tummy. Some of the mashed potato had smeared on her lips and cheeks, and by the time the bowl was done Blake was panting. Her stomach was now a round, bloated orb, massive and constricted against her clothing. Blake’s cheeks were flushed as she felt her mother gently rub her tummy in soothing small circles. “Dear, that shirt is rather restricting, don’t you think~?” Kali questioned, looking at her daughter with a smile. Blake could only nod her head in agreement with the statement, feeling stuffed after so many carbs had entered her stomach at once. Her mother smiled and reached over the table, grabbing a large pitcher of what seemed to be iced tea. “Well then let’s fix that, shall we~?” she giggled.

Giving her a small break, Kali first had Blake drink quite a bit of the iced tea from the pitcher to allow the mashed potatoes inside of her to break apart and not make her too full. Once done, she placed the pitcher down and grabbed the giant turkey from the center, taking a drumstick and holding it out for her daughter to start eating. “Come on dear~! Open wide for mommy~” she cooed, watching Blake slowly open her mouth and begin eating it. After just a few bites, the straps against her stomach snapped, breaking free and allowing more of her stomach to break loose. Blake gasped once this happened, panting once she felt the sweet release of her clothes no longer holding her stuffed tummy back. Once she saw this, Kali smiled brightly and shoved the drumstick back in her face so she could continue. “That’s right honey... Keep going~. You’re doing so wonderful~” she cheered on, encouraging her daughter to keep pushing past her limits. Blake took this encouragement to heart, and even though she was eating rather slow and at her pace, she was getting the job done. It took her some time, but eventually she was done with the turkey. The grease from it was now covering her lips and cheeks, slowly trickling down and dripping onto her breasts which were still covered by the black tank top.

Next up were the meat slabs, which were covered in a nice steak sauce that would really bring out the flavor. Fortunately, they were already cut up, so all Kali had to do was hold the chopped up parts out for her daughter to eat. Blake complied and began eating what was given to her after taking another small breather. While eating this, a button from her pants popped off and whizzed right by Kali’s face, causing her to smile once more once she saw this development. Seeing as though she hadn’t made as much meat as she did fish or turkey, Blake finished this dish rather quickly. Once more, her mother held up the pitcher for her to drink from to settle out the food and allow for her to take another breather. When done with that, she gasped once more and panted, looking down at her stuffed belly which was almost touching the side of the table at this point. Kali bent down and began to rub her daughter’s tummy again, gently kneading into the bloated flesh she had in hand to force a burp out. She then grabbed Blake by the cheeks and pointed her tired gaze up at the table, pointing out all the empty plates and bowls. “See that honey? You ate all of that~! You should feel so proud of yourself~!” she cheered, planting a kiss on her cheek before getting up and going back over to the table. “Now, all you have left is dessert~”

Blake watched helplessly as her mother brought over a large chocolate cake, cut up into eight large slices that she was going to be consuming. At her limit, she felt like anything more inside of her would cause her to burst open like a ballon, but seeing her mother’s kind, gentle face holding out the plate made it irresistible. The cat faunus lazily opened her mouth as her mom shoved the first slice in, letting her slowly chew on it and swallow before reinserting it. The chocolate frosting coating it and inside of it would smear on her face as well due to how slow she was going, as some of it would even drip down onto her clothes along with the crumbs. Kali made sure to go slow and steady, allowing Blake to eat at her own pace and not force more into her already stuffed tummy. The cake was soon gone, all inside of her now, and that only left the wonderful fruit bowl which was about the size of the bowl of mashed potatoes.

Inside of it was all sorts of different tropical fruits, those that were indigenous to the island and those that were not. Kali felt like this would be the perfect thing to end this magnificent feast off, and boy was she right. Blake seemed to be able to handle this last dish relatively well, eating it quicker than the cake but still slower that she had for the rest of the meals. With her natural love of fruit, she polished off the last of it with ease. Seeing everything was done, Kali brought back the pitcher for her daughter to finish up, tipping it gently downward and letting the cold liquid trickle down her throat and soothe her tummy. When it was done, she placed the pitcher down and cheered with joy, bending down and hugging her daughter cheek by cheek.

“Look at you Blake! You finished all of mommy’s cooking~!” Kali stated gleefully, placing a hand atop the bloated stomach of her daughter, which was easily squished up against the table at this point. She kissed her cheek once more before rubbing her tummy once again in small circles. “Did you enjoy yourself dear~? Did you love every bit of it~?”

“Y-Yeah...” Blake wheezed out, her stomach churning loudly as she spoke. She was stuffed, pushing way past her limit a long time ago. Talking and breathing were a pain, but Oum did she feel wonderful... Blake had never felt such a rush of wonder, joy and pleasure, and she had gotten that just from eating all of her mother’s cooking! Kali smiled and pulled out her chair, grabbing a napkin and wiping away at her daughter’s face to clean up her messy eating. “Come now, let’s get you to bed honey. You did quite a lot today, and you have a bigger day tomorrow too~” Kali cooed, finishing up her cleaning before helping her daughter up on her feet.

Almost immediately as she rose, loud rips could be heard coming from Blake’s pants. On the sides, the seams ripped wide open, causing her somewhat meaty thighs to be exposed. Behind her, a large rip where her butt crack would be was now apparent, showing off her dark purple panties. Kali gasped, but then offered her daughter a smile of reassurance. “Don’t worry about that! Mommy will sew it right up for you~” she said, although quite honestly it was looking like it was going to be more of a resize than anything....

Blake was unable to walk on her own, so Kali stood behind her and held her arms out just in case her daughter lost her balance. The younger cat faunus was fortunately able to waddle her way into her room, holding her stomach up and rubbing it all the way there. Once inside, Kali gently shut the door behind her and lowered the lights while her daughter climbed into bed. A smile was still across her face as she watched her daughter make herself comfy in bed, still holding her bloated tummy as she slowly began to drift off into her food coma. She made her way over to the bed and bent down,gently stroking her daughter’s head while she drifted off. “Mommy is so proud of you dear~. Get some sleep, and remember how much she loves you~” Kali whispered, kissing her daughter on the head before tip toeing out of the room as quitely as possible. Blake was down and out for the count, but she didn’t want to disturb such a peaceful scene after all.

Once she was out of the room and the door was shut, Kali let out a sigh of relief before heading back to the dining room. There, she smiled as she began to clean up all of the dishes that were left over and brought them into the kitchen. As she scrubbed away at the stains left on them, she smiled as she thought about her daughter. Blake was always a huge fan of her cooking, and today only proved that to her. She was so good at eating everything she had made! So good that she was bursting out of her clothes! The best part was, this cycle could repeat itself all over again tomorrow! Kali could hardly wait to make her daughter breakfast tomorrow morning. She was going to make pancakes, waffles, french toast, all the breakfast essentials! She knew of course that she could count on Blake to finish it all too. After all, that fat cat was a natural glutton after all, and she had been that way since she was just a little kitten~.

[eirabach]

Heathens [5/14]

Summary: After the events of Renegades, Emma finds herself the reluctant monarch of a struggling Kingdom, her only advisors a mish mash of those who’ve betrayed her in the past, and her only comfort one very uncomfortable pirate.

Believing her long lost parents could still be alive, Emma and Killian set out to find them and reunite them with both their daughter and their throne.

Easy.

Right?

Thank you so much to everyone who’s commented so far, I hope you continue to enjoy! All my thanks and love as ever to @phiralovesloki and @katie-dub for their beta work and general amazingness, and to @seastarved for her incredible artwork!

Rated: E. Warnings for violence and corporal/capital punishment later on too.

This chapter 2.6k (a baby one!)

Other Pairings: Snowing

Catch up on tumblr: Prologue One Two Three or here on AO3

Chapter Four: Unforgiven

She wonders if all deaths feel like drowning; the way the darkness swallows you whole, crushing you beneath it until your vision bursts white and your lungs catch fire, your limbs like stones dragging you deeper even as you strain for the light. She sees creatures through her salt-burned eyes, things with wide mouths and long fingers that reach out for her, lights that make no sense, bright and burning as her lungs as she strives for the up turned down. Larger, and brighter, until they swallow her whole, her screaming body suddenly at peace.

She wonders if the afterlife is supposed to be this irritating.

“Hey,” trills a bell-like voice laced with worry. “Hey. Come on, I know you’re awake! Drink some of this, come on now. Open wide.”

She feels something cool pressed against her lips, and tries to toss her head to the side to avoid it, but then there are hands either side of her head, lifting her slightly and just firm enough for her to be unable to resist, and another at her chin forcing her mouth just open enough for a dribble of liquid to pass onto her parched tongue.

“That’s the way,” says a second voice. This one a little deeper, older perhaps. A man, well-spoken and seemingly concerned. “You’ve had a terrible shock.”

Emma attempts to open her eyes, grimacing at the pounding headache the action brings on. “You can say that again.”

“Maybe she’s lost her hearing?” the woman says, concerned, before putting her lips close to Emma’s ear and half-bellowing: “He said, you’ve had quite a shock!”

“I’m not deaf,” Emma grumbles, ignoring the pain long enough to prop herself up on her elbows, squinting through salt-laced eyes as she tries to make out her rescuers. “I’m just…” she winces again as the hands holding her head slip away. “Where’s my ship?”

As her vision clears she sees the woman kneeling in front of her - older but beautiful, with long flowing red hair cut through with grey, and a kind expression - bite at her lip, her eyes shining.

“You’re the only survivor we’ve found,” she says. “I’m so sorry.”

“What? No.” Emma shakes her head, forcing the bile that the action brings back down her throat. “I fell - I went over. We didn’t sink - we didn’t - ”

Her heart begins to pound, her lungs protesting as her breathing picks up speed. Killian. Where’s Killian?

“Where’s Killian?”

“Who’s Killian?” asks the woman gently, her thumb on her cheek. It comes away bloody, and Emma wonders wildly whose it could be, any physical pain subsumed by the sheer all-encompassing terror that makes her heart hammer and her voice crack.

“My - d” Everything, she thinks. He’s everything. “Captain. He’s my captain.”

“I’m so sorry,” says the woman, her eyes filling with tears, and Emma almost sneers at her because she’s wrong, there’s nothing to be sorry for. Killian’s fine. Killian’s coming. Killian’s -

Her vision finally clears, and beyond the sweet and tearful face of the woman, she sees the long stretch of beach and the terrible, splintered remains of what was once a beautiful ship. The Jolly Roger has been snapped clean in two and dragged to her grave by the tides, and amongst her ragged and sea-soaked bones lie the grey, lumpen masses of what once were men.

“I am truly so sorry,” says the woman again. “The storm was cruel. Poseidon must have been furious.”

“Or maybe it was just a storm,” the man says as he rejoins them, a grey blanket in his arms that he holds out to Emma. She lets it drop to the shingle, her eyes still fixed on the nearest lump.

(He’s missing a boot, his face buried in the dust and pebbles, and he’s not Killian. None of them are. They can’t be. They can’t be.)

“Not every storm is raised along with his blood pressure, Ariel.”

“Typical human,” mutters the woman - Ariel. “Always sure you know better than the ocean, and where does it get you?”

“Lost,” Emma says, eyes still wide and fixed. “All lost.”

“Come now,” the man says, placing his arm around her shoulders. “Let’s get you warm and dry.”

Ariel takes her by the elbow, and it takes a couple of moments before Emma’s even cognizant of the way they’re leading her up the pebble bank and away from the Jolly Roger and her spilled cargo of corpses. She tries to shake herself free, but their grips are strong and her muscles are protesting sorely after the battering of the waves.

“Where are you taking me?” she bites out. “I don’t want to - I can’t leave without him.”

Ariel hums gently, and her grip on her elbow relaxes fractionally. “Don’t worry, we’re going somewhere safe.”

“Don’t believe you,” Emma grunts petulantly, almost succeeding in her escape before the man catches hold of her yet more tightly, his face drawn tight in concern.

“You’d rather be left for the wreckers?” The man shakes his head. “You’re a strange one.”

“Yeah,” she says, her feet dragging through the shingle, her heart torn amongst the Jolly Roger’s splintered remains. “That’s what they all say.”

–

The man’s name is Eric, and somewhere safe is his castle. Our castle, says Ariel, smiling as she swings from Eric’s arm and directs a dozen scurrying servants to see to Emma’s bodily comforts. Ours, Eric agrees, with soft lips and hearts in his eyes, and Emma tries very hard not to be sick on the white marble floors.

She supposes she could blame it on the drowning. It would only be half a lie, after all.

Ariel chivvies her up the wide golden staircase to where the servants have drawn a hot bath, her hands constantly fluttering around Emma’s elbows as though she expects her to collapse at any moment, a gaudy sort of charm bracelet jingling constantly and setting Emma’s teeth on edge.

“Make yourself at home,” she says, thrusting soft towels and large brightly coloured bottles into Emma’s stiff arms. “You’ve had such a terrible shock.”

Emma nods - doesn’t know what else to do, can’t think of other words to say - but part of her, bitter, dark, and clawing its way up her throat wants to spit that of course it’s not a shock. None of it is. It’s fate, or destiny, or some other crappy shit that Blue used to speak of with such sure certainty. It’s just what happens to Emma Swan.

“Yeah,” she manages as the other woman drapes a robe over the side of the roll top bath and turns to her, her hands twisting together beneath that godforsaken bracelet. “It sucks.”

“The thing is,” Ariel spills out, before biting her lip as if trying to hold the words back. “The thing is - I know who you are.”

That makes one of us, Emma thinks, but manages to keep her face neutral as the Ariel shuffles on the spot.  “Do you?” she says instead.

“Yes!” Ariel nods eagerly, leaning forward and then swaying back as though she thought of going in for  hug and swiftly changed her mind. “You’re Emma - Princess of Misthaven! The Saviour.” Her voice drops as Emma cringes. “They say you defeated the Evil Queen.”

“Fat lot of good it’s done me,” Emma mutters, and drops her pile of bathing accoutrements to the ground. “Is that why the welcome?”

“You’re lucky,” Ariel says. “If Eric had realised what flag you sailed under - ”

“Mine,” Emma bites out, assaulted by the sudden vision of her standard on the Jolly Roger’s mast, and Killian’s shining eyes. “We sailed under mine.”

“And he fell for it, of course,” Ariel says, rolling her eyes. “Men are funny creatures. But I know, and you know, that that ship was no vessel of Misthaven’s navy. Misthaven doesn’t even have a navy.”

“Misthaven’s castle doesn’t have a roof,” Emma snips back. “We can’t all have the golden taps and crazy high thread count.”

“You know that’s not what I mean, you know who you really sail with,” Ariel insists, leaning in again with unnaturally wide eyes.

“Do I?”

“Yes!”

Emma lifts her chin. “Enlighten me.”

Ariel grins, her face lighting up with giddy glee.

“Pirates.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Emma snaps, turning to face the steaming water of the bath. Her heart hammering uncomfortably as the reality of being accused of piracy in a seafaring kingdom dawns on her, her breath catching short in her throat.

“Oh don’t be like that,” Ariel pleads. “I won’t tell him, I swear it.”

“You won’t have to. There’s nothing to tell.”

“I’m not like them, you know,” Ariel says, and Emma risks a glance over her shoulder to see the other woman pouting mulishly. “I wasn’t always one of them - most of them still don’t believe I can be.”

“Well,” Emma says. “I know how that feels, at least.”

“I’ll leave you to bathe,” says Ariel. “But - perhaps later? I’d so very love to hear about it.”

She smiles, and looks so keen that Emma can barely help the little nod she offers in return.

“Maybe later,” she agrees, and Ariel’s smile blooms into something beautiful and thrilling and somehow otherworldly.

“I look forward to it.”

Ariel leaves, the servants scurrying after her with downturned faces, and Emma is left alone, bedraggled and shivering slightly in the large marble-lined room.

She breathes - in, out - concentrates on curling her toes to make sure they’re still there, her fingernails biting into her palms just enough for her to be certain it hurts.

“All right,” she tells herself. “All right, we can do this - we can - ”

She takes another deep, shuddering breath, and starts to pick at the stiff laces of her breeches with numb fingers.

(Killian had laughed, delighted, the first time she’d pulled them on, his eyebrows dancing as she’d spun and posed at the end of their bed, his tongue slipping out to play at the corner of his mouth.

“I always knew there was a little pirate in you, Swan.”

“Little?” she’d said, grinning wickedly as she’d crawled up his body. “You sure?”

“Minx.”)

“Enough,” she snaps, loud enough for the word to echo back to her over and over. Enough, enough. Then softer, the word cracking in her throat. “Enough.”

She pulls roughly at the laces, then tugs her shirt over her head without thinking about it any more than she absolutely needs to, clambering over the high side of the bath and letting the still slightly too hot water envelop her until even her face is underwater, her hair rising around her in a golden cloud as she lets out a silent, waterlogged, scream.

When she rises her cheeks are flushed pink, long tendrils of hair lying slicked to her forehead as she pants for breath, but her eyes are dry.

They have to be.

Pirates don’t cry, after all.

–

Ariel’s eyes glitter in the firelight as she sits across from Emma, the high backed chair she’d chosen having been dragged further and further across the ornate rug until the two women are almost nose to nose.

“So tell me,” she breathes. “What was it like?”

“Piracy?” Emma pauses in the act of rubbing a towel through the ends of her hair and wrinkles her nose. “I don’t suppose I had time to find out. From what I saw when Kil - before, it involved a lot of drink and very little personal hygiene.”

“Well, that’s just men,” snorts Ariel. “All the same. But it must have been so romantic!”

“That doesn’t seem a very sensible princess-like opinion.”

“That’s very sweet of you,” giggles Ariel, “but I haven’t been a princess for years, and one of the joys of getting older is that most of your subjects start to see you as simply eccentric rather than dangerous. Not,” she adds, “that I was ever anybody’s idea of sensible.”

“Still, pirates. Aren’t they,” Emma pauses, chewing at her lip, “frowned upon?”

“Hung, drawn and quartered as a rule, yes. But still,” Ariel sighs. “I remember swimming in the wake of their galleons and just wishing that even for a moment I could feel that free.”

“Sorry, swimming?”

Ariel rests her hand against her bracelet and smiles down at the way the charms twinkle in the firelight. “I’m a creature of the ocean at heart, and so are they, so are you.”

“Not me.” Emma shakes her head. “I’m not made for all that pitching and weaving and wobbling about. But Kil - ” she stops, her head full of visions of him, wide-eyed and wind-blown and oh-so-happy at the helm of his ship, swallows hard against the ache, and goes back to drying her hair. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh Emma,” Ariel reaches out and stills her hand with her own. “Your captain?”

Emma shrugs, the towel dropping to the floor, and is horrified to feel the tell tale dampness of a tear tracking its way down her cheek.

“You must have loved him very much.”

“Do you know,” Emma says, scrubbing at her face with the back of her fist, “I was never really sure? It seemed - it seemed too good to be true.”

“And now?”

Emma smiles, the stiff, uncomfortable thing thing that she’d practiced in the mirror to keep Blue happy, and Ariel takes the hint, sitting back in her seat, her hands folded in her lap.

“And it was. But now it doesn’t matter, does it?” Emma stands and curtseys. “I should get some rest.”

“Of course,” agrees Ariel, standing too, “but Emma, if there’s one thing I’ve learned from life, it’s that love always matters.”

“Maybe in your life,” counters Emma. “But never in mine.”

“Not yet, perhaps.”

Emma turns to face the door closing her eyes against a second traitorous tear.

“Not ever.”

–

She makes it down for breakfast after a sleepless night, her brief dreams all full of grasping wet hands and the screams of the dying, to find Eric and Ariel both sat at the table waiting for her, a large yellowed map spread between them.

“Princess Emma,” says Eric, rising from the table and bowing his head. “I trust you slept well?”

She smiles weakly, returning his bow with a nod as she draws out a chair.

“I can’t thank you enough for your hospitality,” she manages in way of answer, and he smiles, satisfied, before sliding back into his chair.

“You are very welcome here,” he says sincerely. “Although since I am certain you must be longing for the comforts of your own kingdom I’ve been so bold as to procure a ship -”

“Wait, what?” Emma freezes, a sweet roll halfway to her mouth. “You’re sending me home?”

“Why I - ” Eric looks at Ariel, flustered. “I assumed you’d want to go.”

“No!” she snaps, then bites her tongue, forces a calmness she doesn’t feel, and continues. “I came to find someone - two someones - if I go back without them - ”

Killian will have died for nothing. Killian will have died for nothing and I’ll be alone.

“If I go back without them, my kingdom won’t be safe.”

“Why didn’t you say so?” Eric asks, rolling the map up and leaning forward on his elbows, his face lighting up almost gleefully. “These people, who are they? My kingdom has some of the finest soldiers in the realm, they can track man or beast.”

A frisson of something like excitement travels through her chest and into her fingers as she presses her palms flat against the map.

“Tell me,” she says, “have you ever heard of a woman called Snow White?”