#i think it took me longer to try to format this post in any acceptable way whatsoever than it did for me to do this reply

[benayoung]

* ❁┆i’m no bad witch

@behyejin:​

{  `❁  } “this looks great to me honestly. i’m pretty content with the lines i got.” it’s the lines she asked for but talking about it amongst each other is best since they are a team for this round. she wonders what eunkyung thinks about it all.

@eunkyungxbe

center material.

it had taken everything in eunkyung to keep her face calm and level, so as not to offend the judges’ evaluation of her performance with her own display of shock and disbelief. in just a handful of days, she’d gone from submitting to a television on a whim, odds narrowed against her, who had never even considered being a performer herself, to being placed in the top five on an idol survival show out of countless auditioning hopefuls.

she has her own tags now, on all the socials she’d perused to get to know her fellow contestants. thank goodness she got that root touch up before the first episode.

of course, scrolling through her own mentions on social media, a notably risky hobby for anyone known to the public, she can’t avoid the instances that her name appears alongside nayoung’s. how quickly eunkyung’s feeds had gone from old nayoung-centered clips to trivial debates about which female contestant was in the wrong, which was prettier, which was more talented. initially, eunkyung had brushed it all off as petty internet drama, faceless strangers hiding behind pixels just to pit women against each other. nayoung had a point, one that had been reiterated by one of the show’s top professionals. perhaps, the way she’d gone about it had been a bit tactless and proud, but it wasn’t anything eunkyung had taken personally. not at the time.

but then eunkyung had watched the episode, felt something inside of her spasm at the sight nayoung, rattling off the flaws of faceless contestants in a harsh, unforgiving tone, one after the other. and if there had been enough content for that small montage of degradation, how much more was there on the cutting room floor? she didn’t care about her own critiques–she’d faced far worse than nayoung in her lifetime–but the way nayoung spoke to others, as if they were all beneath her, as if she had any authority to hurt people for the sake of, what, throwing her weight around? it was far too reminiscent of the girls from school, the ones who made a regular pastime of making their classmates feel small.

eunkyung tries to remain civil and polite when they first meet up as a team, for hyejin’s sake, and for the sake of their performance. but there is a lingering disdain there, just behind her eyes, whenever she glances at nayoung, and a glint of daring, as if challenging her to step out of line again.

then there’s the line distribution, which is a blatant indication of just how little nayoung thinks of her. normally, it wouldn’t bother eunkyung, who has yet to become too emotionally invested in this process or its outcome; yes, the stakes are a little higher for her, now that she’s been told she might have a shot at this, but it’s not enough for her to let a bully off scot-free. sorry hyejin.

she can’t help the drawn out, disappointed scoff that passes through her soft palette as she scans the page again, tilting her head to the side and squinting her eyes.

“this is…” she begins, trying to formulate her impassioned thoughts into words suitable for network television. another scoff, this one through an ironic, sardonic smile.

“nayoung-ssi…” she finally addresses the elephant in the room head on, looking up to look their self-designated leader in the eye, “do you really think so low of me?”

she’s smiling even more now, as if she finds the whole thing bitterly amusing, holding up her copy of the distribution in one hand, “most of my part would be censored like this. do you want me to disappear that badly?”

nayoung flashes hyejin a smile. “okay, great!” she replies, perhaps a little more chipper than typical of her true nature. sure, she’s playing up the enthusiasm, but she is genuinely excited to get a chance to rap properly for the show. granted, it was a rap performance that sent her out on her first survival show, but back then she was incredibly inexperienced. in her time training after that point, she made sure she was able to rap competently too, just in case the company called on her to do so. next gen isn’t her company, but she’s being called on to do it regardless, and she’s thankful she put the work in that she did.

that excitement ebbs a bit when eunkyung speaks up. nayoung honestly doesn’t expect eunkyung to fight her on this. the eunkyung she last encountered was lighthearted and, as she pinned her herself, not taking the competition seriously enough for nayoung’s liking.

to eunkyung’s credit, that seems to be different now. either that or she’s just being difficult to give nayoung a hard time. at first, it’s incredibly irritating. nayoung can’t help the brief moment her face betrays that feeling, before she evens it out, because honestly, this is good for her. eunkyung is testing her. she doesn’t know if that’s the other girl’s entire intention, or she’s genuinely more ambitious than nayoung gave her credit for, but this is a test she intends to pass, and really, she can use this moment in her favor. she had a feeling any test of teamwork wouldn’t go swimmingly for her, but what a perfect opportunity to make eunkyung look like the most unreasonable of the group.

surely, if eunkyung did look up her history on past survival shows, she should know of nayoung’s ability to save face. she hasn’t been trying it this time, opting to show her true colors in favor of spending that energy focusing on her skills instead of being someone she’s not, but she has faith in her ability to turn on politeness and a good nature, however fake it may be. it’s for the sake of the team, after all, and the judges asked her to play nice. she’s just implementing their feedback.

“i do think you have less experience than hyejin and i,” she admits honestly, albeit as level-headedly as she can. that much is true. the rest of the truth is that she doesn’t think eunkyung is very talented outside of her dancing. she doesn’t know what the judges see in her at all, but fine, if eunkyung isn’t satisfied, nayoung will cooperate. maybe how much the judges love eunkyung will help them if she has more lines, or maybe she’ll do a piss poor job, they’ll end up in the bottom group, and then eunkyung will get eliminated for her lack of talent and lack of cooperation. of course, nayoung never wants to lose, but that’s not a terrible outcome.

“but i don’t want you to disappear.” she sort of does, but in the case of their performance, that would be incredibly unprofessional, and that wasn’t even her intention in creating the distribution. “i thought the line distribution was fair, but if you have any suggestions,” nayoung looks down at the sheet of their lines again. she takes her pen and circles two parts–– one of hyejin’s parts, near the middle, including the line i don’t wanna be caught on fire. the other is near the end, with the lines even if it’s hard i’m always the unnie. then, she slides her own lyric sheet toward eunkyung. “the only parts that need to stay the same are these two. hyejin specifically wanted the part that’s circled, and i’m the oldest in the group, so i think it makes sense for me to have this part.” she points to her own part with her pen. “i’m open to changing any other parts. you too, hyejin?” she turns to the other member of the group, because it’s important they have her approval as well, if only for the cameras.

[mercurysgem0]

Tanjiro Headcanons! (General, Platonic, Romantic)

my first writing in a while, might be terrible. also the formatting MAYYYY be off i rarely use tumblr let alone post on here.. gulps. ENJOY THO!!! shoutout to @thecardiganzlovrx3 for some ideas and support love u a lot buddy! <3

General:

-despite what everyone thinks, he is KINDA ASS at cooking 

-he doesn’t burn things (often) and knows how to sorta use spices and seasonings, but he is no 5 star chef 

-(probably isnt even 3 star)

-sometimes neglects his own hygiene, just isn’t that important to him with all of the things he has to do

-definitely reminds others to take care of themselves, though

-not disgusting by any means but perchance a little smelly here and there

-gets really embarrassed when he realizes how long its been since he’s gotten clean

-if this were the modern era he would for sure use 3-n-1 (sorry guys… its more efficient hes a busy man..)

-pine or a woodsy scent :)

-ROUUGGHHH hands i dont even think this is a hc this is CANON

-could sand wood with them thangs 

-cried when he got his ears pierced, he doesnt know why it just gave him the urge to cry :(

-loves animals, he listens very closely whenever Mitsuri is gushing about her cats

MORE MODERN ERA HCS:

-cleanest desktop ever. so organized

-dont even get me started on his files

-he might not know a lot about technology but he knows how to keep it clean

-doesn’t download anything, just pictures of his family and friends

-lock screen would be a landscape, maybe a river or mountains

-main screen is for sure a picture of at least him and nezuko if not the whole squad

-doesn’t know how to download things on mobile 😭just took a screenshot of something he liked and set his wallpaper to it (credit to my wife kell for this one love u bby)

-definitely an android user, probably a samsung galaxy

-none of his contacts have pictures, he doesn’t know how to set them

-dry texter do i even need to say this

-isnt much of a music guy

-he wouldnt even know where to look to find music

-not that he doesnt like it, he just rarely listens on his own

Platonic: (like best friends)

-finds little things on his outings that reminds him of you

-sometimes he loses them and doesn’t realize until he’s back, and gets really sad

-always gives them to you when he doesn’t! it makes him really happy to see how much you like whatever it is he gave you

-he loves you like family and will treat you as such

-sometimes overbearing with his care but he means well

-crazy protective like how he is with all of his family (and friends for that matter)

-wouldn’t be the same if you died, for any reason

-there would definitely be a mental scar forever if he lost you

-always surprises him when you reciprocate any kind of love or care towards him, he just isnt used to it

-appreciates it a LOT though

-if you have longer hair he would definitely try and style it for you (disguises it as practice for nezuko’s hair but really he just thinks your current style is atrocious)

-if you have shorter hair, hes clueless. completely clueless

-no idea what to do so just brushes it and maybe puts in a cute little hair clip (GIGGLING TO MYSELF RN ANYWAYSSS)

-someone give me more ideas for this im OPEN TO ANYTHING i will do a part two if needed

ROMANTICALL:

-an old fashioned man (its literally the 1920s cmon)

-in addition to the things he finds to give you, he also buys you a lot of things

-doesnt care if you protest, he loves you so you have to accept it!

-very shy with affection at first, almost uncharacteristically 

-slow progression, doesn’t even kiss you until around 4 months in

-sometimes this makes you feel unloved, if you bring it up he’ll immediately apologize and try to reassure you, and explains hes not used to loving someone physically

-after this talk he does start doing little touches

-grabbing your shoulder, your hand, brushing your hair behind your ear, cute stuff like that!

-simple pet names nothing over the top

-honey, dear, baby, and maybe a cute personalized one :) (like something about your personality or an inside joke)

-uses your crow to find out what kind of dates you would like the best, and what to wear to said dates

-picture a cheesy 2000s movie getting ready scene like with the changing room and the peoples reactions but its tanjiro and your crow (ALSO CREDIT TO KELL FOR THIS MY LITTLE HELPER)

-goes over the top on holidays, especially because he probably doesnt get to actually enjoy very many holidays

-valentines day god. 

-gets really giddy when he sees you interacting with nezuko, something inside of him warms up (he definitely gets more cuddly after this)

-once he’s fully used to loving you, BE PREPARED.

-every love language ever

-mainly gift giving, words of affection, and physical touch

-not too big on pda but hes not completely against it

-he prefers to have private moments, your love is between him and you <3

-hand holding, hugging, kissing, he’ll do that stuff almost anywhere, but in small amounts

-behind closed doors.. hes a beast. 

-cuddling EVERY NIGHT HE CAN. loves being close to you and knowing you’re safe with him to protect you (he knows you’re strong and can fight anything off, it just gives him peace of mind)

[smidgen-of-hotboy]

Our Angel of Brahma, pt. x

This is my second time trying to post this, and I think- I think this may the point where I draw the line with the weird fucked formatting Travelers. Hellsite does not like it when I reach the character limit (and I'm tired of fighting it, curses...) CW for: mentioned animal abuse, mentioned assault towards a disabled character, genocide, homelessness. if there is something else you would like warned for, please reach out to me.

@ceaseless-watchers-special-girl @ananxiousgenz @demonic-panini @the-private-eye @gwenlena

SOUND: COMMS BEEPS. RECORDING BEGINS.

BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY):

I apologized to Iris for my outburst a few days ago. They accepted it without any questions. I still feel guilty, but they aren't willing to drag this out any longer. 

The twins are off probation but they still need supervision. Talia goes out with them most days as part of her physical therapy. It's good for her. But she always comes back so tired and wiped out from just walking that she takes days to recover. We don't get days though. We don't know when New Kinshasa is going to change its mind on us again. Today they can give us an early curfew, and the next they can turn the Guardian Angel System on to target everyone old enough to remember the Angel. We don't have a damn clue what they're planning or going to do next...

Uh- this week on Brahma: the Rats gang in the north and the Rats gang in the south are at odds with each other. If the situation escalates any further there's going to a be a damn turf war. Ten years of relative peace and now they're at a tipping point? 

(BAIRD SIGHS)

I remember when a mischief of Rats scurried on to our block a few years ago. Charlie, Talia, and I had run a couple of them off years and years prior. And most knew better than to come looking for trouble down our block. Most everyone that was taken care of by Mrs. Darius or taught under Mr. Eber at some point or another knew not to come poking their nose around looking for trouble. But this mischief was new. They didn't know who's grounds they were stepping on or what apartments they were looking to squat in. 

When those new kids started making a mess of the streets and tried running circles around the market, I went and took care of them myself. Josie and Hank were so worried for me, but when I got back I just told them that it was no big deal. Just a bunch of homeless kids that needed a place to stay. I wrangled them into place and got them all sorted and now they’re running chores for old-timers like Hank and slipping messages to the other Revolutionaries across Brahma. 

Yesterday’s Rats weren’t those same kids though. The twins complained about a group of teenagers mucking around the old daycare. Josie and Iris couldn’t parse much of what they said so they’ve asked me to try talking to them and Talia one on one. And from what I understand, the girls were upset because the Rats kept calling them “Goodies”, and Talia was mostly ignoring them pretty well until one of them chucked a rock at her and Mischa. So now I gotta get involved in another rat problem and either rough ‘em up and shoo ‘em out, or knock enough sense into them they start behaving better. 

(BAIRD GROANS)

And honestly, I wanna do neither. I told Hank and Josie back then that I wasn’t scared but really. I was scared shitless. Those kids were easy to talk to though once they realized I’m like them. I’m not a fighter. I don’t go in fists-a-swinging right off the bat. That was always more Talia and Charlie then me… but, Talia can hardly walk most days, and Charlie’s gone. Josie is too busy distributing aid at the rec center, Hank is retired, the twins are afraid of them, and Iris is coordinating with the Old-Timers. Everyone’s either too old, too busy, or too young to deal with problems like these. 

(BAIRD TAKES A DEEP BREATH AND LETS IT OUT SLOWLY. HE STRUGGLES TO CLEAR THEIR THROAT)

In other news on Brahma: Ester is now taller than I was at ten. Meaning that I really was just short for being a ten-year-old. Hallie is as tall are Charlie was, but they’ll both probably need another year before they’re as tall as Talia was at their age. I don’t know much about Hank and his life before the Galatic Civil War, but I’m almost certain he came from one of the Solar Planets. Why in any Goddess good name he chose to stay in the Outer Rim and chose to stay on Brahma of all places, I don’t think I’ll ever understand. 

(BAIRD COUGHS, BEATS THEIR CHEST, AND COUGHS SOME MORE)

Good grief… I need to ask Iris about something to soothe my throat. Debris keeps falling from New Kinshasa. It burns up before it hits the Dome and can do any real damage, but when I was last in the market, I was talking with one of the vendors and she said her neighborhood was afraid of another Cleansing. The last one was… six years ago? That sounds about right. And the one before that was when New Kinshasa leveled a quarter of Brahma in one day. It still gives me chills just thinking about it. 

SOUND: COMMS BEEPS. RECORDING ENDS.

SOUND: COMMS BEEPS AGAIN. NEW RECORDING BEGINS.

BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY):

Well, that went better than expected. 

I paid a visit to the squatters at the old daycare. The youngest looked to be about nine, the oldest gave me a black eye–

IRIS:

They did a lot more than that, now hold still while I stitch your face back together.

BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY):

Oh c’mon Iris– can’t a guy catch a break? Do you think it’s gonna scar at least?

IRIS:

If it does, no one will notice unless they look for it. 

(IRIS GETS LOUDER, AS IF THEY PULLED THE COMMS CLOSER)

For the record: Baird’s brow split open because the Brat was wearing a ring. Baird does have a black eye, but that’s nothing a bit of pain meds can’t help him cope with. 

(BAIRD GAGS)

BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY):

No thanks, I’ll pass. I can cope with the pain. 

(IRIS SNORTS)

IRIS: 

And… There. All done.

(MOMENTS PAUSE)

BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY):

You can let go of my face now. 

IRIS:

Right, sorry. You look so much like your parents and I just– I miss them. 

BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY):

Well it would kind of be a weird if I didn’t look a little bit like them…

IRIS:

Har-har– think you’re so fucking clever… you were saying though? About how it went better than you expected?

BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY):

Oh yeah. It did. I got punched in the face and the others got freaked out when I fell backwards because they didn’t know how to get rid of a dead body. One of them came over to check on me and I was mostly fine after they helped me sit up. 

The one who punched me didn’t apologize and I don’t need ‘em to. I asked them why they were squatting in the daycare and they said that they didn’t feel safe anymore at their old spot. Apparently the Rats North and South from here drove them out and they each found one another looking for some place to go. I talked to them and they agreed to pack their shit up and get out of the daycare, but they want my help finding someplace they can stay. 

(IRIS HUMS)

IRIS:

It sounds like to me, that we’re past a plausible turf war, and are stuck smack dab in the middle of it. I’ll have to bring this up at the next Meeting you know… How do you feel about going to your first Meeting with the others?

BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY):

Really! You mean that?

IRIS:

Yes. You’re an adult, I trust your decisions, and you have some experience from back when you helped run Talia’s little book club. Plus those meetings are so boring without someone there to keep you company. It’d be nice to have you around to take notes while I nap.

BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY):

You’re such an ass, you know that?

(IRIS LAUGHS)

SOUND: COMMS BEEPS. RECORDING ENDS.

SOUND: COMMS BEEPS AGAIN. NEW RECORDING BEGINS.

BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY):

What the fuck!

(IRIS LAUGHS)

No I’m serious! What the fuck was that for the last hour and a half! What the fuck!

IRIS:

Welcome to my world, Baird. I’ve been fighting those ding-bats for the last decade all on my own. They refuse to give me supplies to restock the only functioning Hanataba Clinic left because you live across town now, how are you supposed to take care everyone when you're all the way over in the Est Quarter? I would move back someplace closer if only you would fucking give me what I need! But no! Instead we run circles around and around, have the same passing contests between North and South, East and West, downtown and uptown, and no body fucking wins! 

(IRIS PANTS)

BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY):

Oh. I… had no idea. Really? It's been like this this whole time?

IRIS:

Yes! Baird what’s wrong? 

BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY):

Nothing it’s just… you would move back if they put effort into stocking the Hanataba clinic? You really would?

(A LASPE OF SILENCE. IRIS GASPS)

IRIS:

Oh no no no– no. Baird. Look at me. I would not leave you just like that. You’re my family. I gave up my dream to keep the clinic stocked because I wanted to be there for you and Cyrus. When Hanataba built the clinics, they left each one with a massive handbook covering all sorts of procedures. If the clinic was ever back to half functioning, I’d go back only to show someone else how to keep the lights on. 

(IRIS SIGHS)

But there isn’t anyone else, there aren’t more supplies, and the clinic’s generator was probably been siphoned for fuel years ago. 

(BAIRD MUMBLES SOMETHING INAUDIBLE)

BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY):

What if… you weren’t the only Hanataba Clinician the Revolution had to rely on though? What if there was at least one other one? 

IRIS:

Come again? 

BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY):

Quid pro quo. You help me get the Rats off the street, out of the daycare, and I help you find someone else to train to run the clinic and justify getting it operating again. 

IRIS:

You want to use the Brats?

BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY):

Just the mischief that got ran off by the bigger gangs. I bet I could even talk them into running messages across the planet. Helping us organize a bit better. Make getting the word out easier… what’s wrong?

IRIS:

Nothing, it’s a great idea Baird…

BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY):

But?

IRIS:

…but I think the Old-Timers won’t like it. They don’t like the Pests to begin with. 

BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY):

Oh yeah no, they’ll hate this idea. But… I have to try. Right?

(FOOTSTEPS THROUGH AN EMPTY STREET. A FULL MINUTE PASSES)

IRIS:

Yeah. You have to try. I trust your decisions, and I trust you. 

BAIRD (REVOLUTIONARY):

So, lets try together. 

IRIS:

Yeah… we’ll try together. 

SOUND: COMMS BEEPS. RECORDING ENDS.

- This recording takes place a few days after “Decade”. - Baird has mentioned Talia a lot and based off their descriptions it’s likely the neglect and abuse she took from the Constables 10 years prior left her disabled. If not that, in lasting chronic pain. - Baird’s cough does sound very concerning. They sounded awful in the first one (“Belief”). Dust that settles in the lungs can cause scarring. It must have progressively worsened over the years. If they’re alive today I would be shocked. - “Talia’s Book Club” whatever happened to it after Charlie was executed? - Baird’s reaction after attending his first Meeting with other Revolutionary organizers is so much like Eevees’. - Est Quarter: the East Quarter of Brahma. - Baird and Iris’ relationship has changed and improved so much since they were a kid. They’ve clearly grown a lot closer and have a lot of a love for one another. Did Baird’s plan ever get off the ground? Was there another Cleansing? -Frannie’s friend (Ms. Rita) messaged me back with an update on her search for Eevee Bell and Baird Bell. She recommended that I look back through her list for Baird since she said it would take her a week at most to gather everything she could on Eevee Bell. Doing a preliminary search on my own turns up nothing. I don’t know how or where Ms. Rita is getting her information from, and I don’t think I want to know either. The less I know the better (I think). - Though now that I’ve had time to think about it, I could ask her to look into the name Peter Nureyev. I’ve tried searching myself and I haven’t really found anything. Even with the information I’ve gleamed from Camilla and Eevee’s recordings, I haven’t found dick anything. Whoever he is (was?), he very effectively disappeared.

[solipsistful]

director’s cut on automatisms? 👀👀

this took a while to figure out what to even say, but i think i'll go chapter by chapter and say something interesting about each of them

but i'll first say that the very first unfinished draft of Automatisms was actually a NaNo project by Serpent, which i (ace) then took over and rewrote into its current form. so i'll be making this post and seeing if he wants to chime in (not that anyone except me has been particularly talkative lately rip)

XX01: Re-entry

i love that the fic starts (after the pretentious epigraph, im sorry) with a canon line. not only does it temporally set Automatisms as essentially an alternate Acceptance, but i think highlights how it really does follow from Control's canon experiences. like, i could absolutely see an argument that Control canonically just has a dissociative disorder (Authority begins with a dissociative episode, his guides…).

funnily, it wasn't actually any of our idea to go "what if him plural". that was a friend lol.

XX02: Breaching

Finally, a conclusion. Denouement. Control let out the breath he hadn’t intended to hold.

my desire to copy canon's style means hooray narrative (and ghost) metaphors.

XX03: Returning

this chapter has the big freaking problem of being extremely important in canon but not at all changed by Control getting some Lowry commentary. i know one answer would be to just… not follow canon so closely, but shh.

what this means is that it's basically best to read this fic with a very good memory for what happens in Acceptance, which probably isn't great. (i fall into the exact same problem with Doubled)

XX04: Waking

ive mentioned this before, but isn't it fun that Lowry's first time fronting alone occurs off-screen and is never really discussed explicitly? something with Narrative there. (it's also fun how canonically that's just Control having a freeze reaction to the biologist anyway, "playing dead to keep his head")

XX05: The lighthouse

god we had the HARDEST TIME deciding what person and tense Lowry's sections should be in. there's several version of this chapter trying to figure out first vs second vs maybe just third? and present vs past. first person present eventually won out as Special enough, even if i struggle to write it (even more than second person). it also leaves second person for the voice of Area X-as-narrator later, which is probably better.

and then Absolution is just gonna be plain old third person past, boo.

XX06: Somewhere else

just some Control reckoning with wtf is Lowry even doing in his head. i mean, it's an important question, like the most important thing in the world for Control right now, but it's sorta hard coming up with scenes where he can both think/talk about that without just going in circles about how unanswerable it is.

XX07: The tower

i hope this chapter feels as Significant as i intend it to be. this is, after all, the real moment of divergence from canon: Control never goes down the tower!

there are, like chapter 5, versions of this chapter where the "beckoning" is in the first person vs second person, italicized or different fonts or right-aligned or not set apart from the rest of the text at all, etccc. i Care about this formatting stuff okay. (had to go digging into how AO3 work skins work at all in order to get the chapter numbers right, for instance, lol)

XX08: The border

it really strikes me, given what we've seen of Absolution, that Lowry should be way more over-the-top in his reactions here lol. he's not a quiet shut down type like Control; he's over the top and angry and should have, i dunno, punched a tree or something. oh well. maybe he's just relying on not being in the body to give him some distance from basically the worst thing imaginable that could happen to him in this moment.

XX09: The teeth

ok i told myself i wouldn't say this about all the chapters, but i think this chapter in particular should've been longer lol. i mean, it's a Good Chapter, but that's why it should've been longer! there's a lot of implications of things that probably should've been explored more. i'm thinking in particular of Lowry wanting to go retrieve the videos. this is the guy who retrieved the videos from the first expedition, as awful as that must have been. he's abandoning all that and the first expedition overall by leaving the SR building.

ah well.

XX10: The throat

i think im so clever for the "are you real" repeat

XX11: Humanity

after all that kerfuffle over whether Lowry would be in the first/second/third person, we actually hadn't considered what that would look like when Lowry and Control were blurring, whoops. so, good thing that we decided on the first person, because that makes blurring into "we" instead of like. "yall" lmao.

XX12: Exorcism

how do you write hypnosis (especially from the point of view of the hypnotized)

i mean the real point of this chapter is just "look at my theory/interpretation that Lowry's hypnosis is linked to Area X's narrative control and isn't that fun"

XX13: Memory

i don't know what to say about this one. character discussions!

XX14: Disposition

this is simultaneously a filler chapter and also i should've spent longer dealing with things like Lowry having food issues (which is something i had sorta drawn from Acceptance but here is influenced by all the Absolution tidbits in which he's obsessing over eating animals in Area X lol).

but mostly it's a filler chapter because by this point, i knew that the second half of the fic would use all the same chapter titles in reverse, and i have Disposition2 already written so Disposition1 has to exist.

Bonus Sneak Preview: XX15: Escape

obviously a lot of my fic-writing efforts have been spent towards WOE.BEGONE lately, but i think another reason why Automatisms has been going slowly is that this next chapter includes a large change in time and context. so, i'm sorta wanting to think through whether there's anything in the old context that I still want to do before i decide on A Change. but really i should probably just go ahead and do the Change. as hinted above, i have a lot of post-Change stuff written. :>

- ace and no Serpent as it turns out whoops

[green-crow]

I'm no longer gonna bring up the fact that I'm late to these things because I'm starting to realize there's no way I can catch up sweats

BUT! Day 7 is here! Almost 7 days late to make it more poetic

I think the reason this one took me so long, besides getting a god-awful assignment, was that I had no clue what to do with this prompt. But alas, here it is (also I'm trying out different ways to post my writing in here so if you see me messing around with the posts formats, yeah Idk what I'm doing but I'm trying my best)

Day 7: Chestnuts

Fandom: How To Train Your Dragon

Summary: Hilda and Boreas go out into the forest to pick up chestnuts for Gothi, and the dragon worries about her rider's bottled up feelings.

Rating: Teens and Up Audiences

TW: Implied self-harm

Words: 2,100

Characters: Hilda Hávarðr (OC), Boreas (OC)

Boreas growled as he found another one, and her rider crouched next to him to examine the find. The burr was mostly brown yet had a soft green hue that hadn’t quite gone away yet. That and the fact that the nut itself peeked from underneath the spiky coat meant it was good enough to pick up. She carefully grabbed it and placed it into her basket along with the other chestnuts they had gathered.

“Good job, big boy. I’m sure Gothi will appreciate your help.” Hilda praised him as she petted her dragon’s neck, making the beast purr softly.

Raising to her feet, she brushed off the bits of dirt that had gotten on her pants and readjusted her coat. This year’s autumn was proving colder than usual, the wind taking advantage of any little entryway left in her oversized clothes to make her shiver. At least it wasn’t so bad as pure winter, when the cold made her suffer from a constantly stuffy and runny nose, and she couldn’t smell anything at all. Now, she felt some sort of relief as she caught the gentle, earthy tones of humid dirt that carried the air and reminded her of autumn.

Despite the persistent pain in her knee — always present right before and after heavy rains — she continued walking through the uneven terrain, her eyes peeled in search of more chestnuts to harvest. Gothi had sent her apprentice in a search for them; something about how they were helpful in remedies against inflammation or even digestive problems, though Hilda had the feeling the old lady just wanted an excuse to enjoy the sweetness they offered when toasted. Regardless of the reason, she had accepted the task, as usual. And as usual, she was stuck now with a dull and time-consuming chore, yet she couldn’t complain.

The young healer sighed as she grabbed another handful of chestnuts, always making sure they were ripe and not the toxic horse chestnuts —if she picked those up by accident, Gothi and her would be more than busy for the next days, given their poisonous properties. 

Boreas didn’t seem enthusiastic about the job either; then again, the woolly howl had a tendency to find many activities boring if they forced him to do something rather than nap and be lazy all day. But he was still there with her, something she appreciated greatly.

The wind picked up unexpectedly, a sharp swoosh breaking the stillness of the forest and making many trees shake and some more chestnuts and leaves fall, Hilda’s scarf swinging along in the direction of the sudden gust. She looked up, only to spot the black and red tailfins of a familiar night fury and another four dragons following closely. The distant laughter of the gang of teenagers carried on the breeze, fading as they soared past the forest'. Her gaze lingered up in the sky for a bit too long, snapping back from her thoughts only as her dragon gently headbutted her side. She smiled gently, giving Boreas a few pats on his head. 

“Let’s keep going, okay?” Her dragon huffed, letting out some mist out of his nostrils. She knew he didn’t approve of her dismissal. Hilda sighed. 

“Come on, we have barely filled this one basket, and we still have two more to go.” 

In protest, Boreas shot some cold air to his rider’s face, freezing the tips of her hair. She flicked it off and rolled her eyes at the beast. She knew where he was going with this, and she knew he was more stubborn than her. 

“Really, now? Can we not?” The dragon’s stare said more than words could. As usual, Hilda was the one to give in. “Fine, you win, you big ball of fur. But we are picking up more of these, too.” She insisted, grabbing another chestnut and tossing it into the basket.

The woolly howl followed, seemingly content with the deal, and looked at her rider expectantly. 

“I don’t even know what you want me to say.” she knelt down, examining the coat of a chestnut that had fallen into a pile of leaves. It looked rounder than the others, and as she tried to peel it she felt it was more complicated, too. Hilda left it on the ground, knowing it was a horse chestnut. “That I kind of wish I could be up there with them and fly around and have fun little adventures?” she huffed. “Sure, yeah, I guess I do. So what? Look at them. They are heroes. They are brave, strong, smart, capable, and they have done so much good for Berk. I almost died the one time I tried to do something by myself. They’ve earned it. I haven’t.”

Hilda’s voice didn’t hold resentment or judgment. Perhaps a twinge of jealousy, but deep down, she knew that would always be there, just as someone envies the friend with a prettier face or the neighbour with bigger muscles. Her tone did show frustration, however. Maybe at them, maybe at herself, but it was there. Boreas snarled, showing disagreement, and his rider let out a dry chuckle as she turned to face him. 

“What? You know it’s true. I mean, come on, do you seriously think I’d fit in there with them? I’m not strong; I’m not a warrior. I’m not brave either. The only thing I got is brains, and even then I’m probably dumber than Snotlout when push comes to shove. All I’ve done, all I’ve achieved, it was dumb luck or just a happy little accident. Fishlegs would have made for a better healer and Astrid would have made for a better Hávarðr and you would be better off with Ebba than with the mess that her big sister is. The hunters were right. I’m nothing if not a little mouse who sticks her nose where she shouldn’t. I could barely heal my little sister, and Hiccup is more capable with one missing leg than I am with an annoying but functional one. I’m not fit to be a Viking or a healer; I’m not made to be a Hávarðr, let alone a rider!”

The forest fell into a deep silence; the only sound to be heard was the wind gently brushing the ochre-coloured leaves now that both the girl and the dragon had stopped walking. The beast’s once challenging look had now softened into an almost pitiful glance. Hilda returned the look to her dragon, refusing to let any tears fall. He didn’t move, still not used to her outbursts, and neither did she. It hadn’t been the first one, far from it. She tended to bottle up everything she felt like it until she was too far gone and finally exploded. Sometimes, it manifested as anger that took out on herself, physically or verbally. Others, she sobbed herself to sleep. 

But there was something that had changed. 

Boreas took a step closer and nudged her stomach with his head. He purred and looked up at her, and despite not being able to communicate with her with words, Hilda felt a tender, soft feeling in her chest. It wasn’t the words that mattered to her. It was the fact that he was still there despite it all. 

He had met her at her lowest point, tricked by dragon hunters because of her childish naivety and unable to fend for herself, yet somehow determined to keep living and make it back to Berk, if only to heal her sister. And now, almost a year later, he was still there. He had seen her ups and lows —her laughter and tears, her relentless determination that made her work harder than she would ever admit, her glances at others with a hint of jealousy for fitting in so nicely while she fought to keep her place in the tribe, and the constant shadow of dread that loomed over her as if she was a fraud about to get caught at any moment. She had tried so hard for years but barely got anywhere. Even Hiccup, who she once considered her equal, was now seen in a new light and a true Viking. Because he was a hero and had earned his place in the village. 

Boreas, the beast that had spared her life, whether out of pity or compassion, had been there for her more than any of the Vikings she had known and helped all her life. He didn’t need her. He had no reason to stay. Yet he did. She was enough for him. 

Overwhelmed by her bottled-up emotions, Hilda crumbled into tears and fell to her knees to hug her dragon, clinging to his fur as if she was scared he’d fly away any moment now. The beast remained quiet, nuzzling his head against her cheek, tenderly brushing away the tears that fell down her face. The basket of chestnuts lay abandoned on the ground, quickly forgotten as the young healer found solace in her dragon’s company. She wasn’t a Viking, or a rider, or fit in in her own village, and her dragon didn’t care. She was Hilda, and that was enough. 

Boreas slept soundly next to her bed, the hut filled with a serene quietness no one dared disturb at those hours of the night. Hilda was the only one still awake by then, at least in her home, where everyone else had fallen asleep long ago. Her eyelids grew heavier with every passing minute, yet she remained seated on her chair, her eyes unmoving from the piece of paper in front of her. 

It had been months now since she last saw the dragon hunters, their territory far too remote from Berk to cross paths once more, yet her mind still toyed with the old offer. “Your tribe must hold you in high regard”, he had said, his hand shifting the hunter piece to face one of her own, “you seem like one skilled healer”. He had won the maces and talons game with a move she could have never seen coming, and had later let her walk into his brother’s trap, not bothering to stop her. Yet Viggo had warned her. In his own subtle way, the businessman had seen something in her and had given her a chance to free herself from that situation, an act of mercy or perhaps still part of his sick mind games. “Imagine the heights you could reach if only your people trusted you more. There is a world of wonders and knowledge for you to explore out there, little mouse. And I can provide it, if you so wish.” She knew he was deceiving, a cunning man with a silver tongue, someone who could sell sand in a desert. But she was curious. And she wanted to do more. She wanted to show everyone just how capable she was. She wanted everyone to notice that same side of her that her dragon and that dragon hunter had seen. 

Her eyes wandered towards her window, meeting the sight of the glorious meade hall, the pride and joy of Berk, the heart of the village. It was a place of unity and celebration, where everyone met and celebrated significant events and festivities, where the chief listened to his people and did his best to aid them. It was also where Hilda’s plan to heal Ebba had been turned down by her own and she had been forced to rely on no one but herself to save her sister from death’s grasp. Despite it all, the healer wanted to help them. She wanted to show she was worthy of their praise and attention, yes, but above all she just wanted everyone to be happy. She wanted to help Berk grow into something better. 

Stoick would have never agreed to her proposal of working with dragon hunters, potentially perilous enemies that went against Berk’s new values and morals. So she didn’t ask for permission. Hilda finished the letter she had been writing, the charcoal moving swiftly on the scroll, before she paused to consider her choice. Maybe the offer didn’t stand any longer after she had not only managed to escape the trap, but also get away with the very same dragon the hunters meant to keep. Maybe it had been too long already and the deal Viggo had once proposed to her was no longer available. Yet she secured the scroll close and prepared it to be sent to the northern markets the following day.

She would help Berk and earn their respect, no matter the cost.

[edenfenixblogs]

This is what I’m talking about.

You are painfully oblivious. You are behaving monstrously. And I will bet dollars to donuts that you will respond to this trying to justify yourself instead of apologizing. If you respond at all. The only acceptable response to this post I am making right now is an apology and a shift in your worldview. I desperately hope you are open minded enough to do this. And in the likely vain hope that you will take this as a learning opportunity, I will explain why your thinking is flawed and you are doing harm to the Jewish community worldwide.

1. You have taken a post about Jewish pain, said you understood, and then IMMEDIATELY co-opted it to further your own political views. In any circumstances, that’s unacceptable. Shame on you.

2. I don’t know why you think Israel is a settler colonial state. Not only are Jews indigenous to the levant, but Jews have literally no other place they could be indigenous to.

3. Many Jews have lived in the levant and surrounding regions since before the formation of Syria palestina. You can’t tell people who have lived in a location since it has existed they’re settlers.

4. Of the people who did settle there after the Holocaust a) ITS WHERE THE UN TOLD THEM TO FUCKING GO. Nazis kicked us out of our home and killed us. And the rest of the onlookers let them. And when we were gone, they took our homes and moved into them. And even those who could return to Europe maybe didn’t want to go live amongst people made them March in the snow until they got gangrene and broke off their own toes, or turned their skin into leather and their fat into soap. Maybe they didn’t feel like returning to the lands where they watched every other member of their family suffer and die. Maybe the opportunity to start fresh sounded nice. B) sorry, but “oops! Backsies” is a shitty reason to exile 7 million Jews from their ancestral home—AGAIN!

5. I look forward to your extremely strong stances against England, Italy, Bulgaria, Iran, Cambodia, Thailand, El Salvador, Greece, Bulgaria, Finland, the Dominican Republic, Hungary, Portugal, Bangladesh, Egypt, Morocco, and several other countries which all have official state religions and many of which extend privileges to those religions that are not extended to others. All of those places have populations made up primarily by those religions. The ethno—isn’t the part of the state you have a problem with. It’s the specific identity of Jewish ethnicity that you have a problem with.

6. How long have you been aware of and an activist against Israel? How long have you spent learning dog whistles and the history of Israel and Palestine? How much have you studied of the ongoing ceasefires that have been broken, the discrimination from the UN, the suicide bombings that lasted through the early 2000s? Did you demonstrate on behalf of 10/7 victims? Did you study Jewish history in the levant? Have you looked to Israeli activists who have been fighting for Palestine longer than you have? Have you checked with any of your Jewish friends, unprompted, to check and see how they’re doing? Maybe you have done these things. And if so, good for you. But you’re behaving like someone who has not done these things. You are behaving like someone who became aware of an issue with 2000+ years of history in two cultures you are not a part of and who feels like they are entitled to be a leading voice on the subject. You are behaving like someone who wants to feel effective without doing the work it takes to be effective.

7. I don’t care that you feel hurt for being called out, because you are using your hurt to deny hurting me. You are hurting me. Actively. Right now. With this post. With your approach to the subject matter. This was a post about Jewish pain. And you made it into an excuse to demonize the world’s only Jewish state. You can criticize Israel all you want. I criticize Israel and its policies all the time. But if you want Israel to stop existing, the. you want the 7 million Jews there to either pack up and leave again without anywhere to go. AGAIN. Or you want the Jews there to live without constitutional protection from discrimination and genocide. Because THAT is what Israel is. It is a place where Jews are protected by their government. It is the ONLY place Jews have been protected by their government EVER. And that maybe wouldn’t be a big deal if EVERY OTHER COUNTRY WE LIVE IN didn’t try to kill us every few years for the last 2000 years. I’m not saying Palestinians don’t ALSO deserve those same protections or that what Israel is doing in Gaza is ok. You are actively right now being antisemitic in several ways.

Sincerely, from the very very bottom of my heart, I desperately want you to understand that your reply to my post was wrong. You are wrong. You are being harmful. You are contributing to antisemitic hatred by sharing things like this and bu replying to posts like mine with “yeah but end Israel tho.”

Because? Actually? This post was not about Israel. It was about you. It was about how people like you aren’t here for us. How you only care about us when it’s convenient or when we fit into boxes you’re comfortable with. Palestinians aren’t going anywhere. Jews aren’t going anywhere. The only way forward is together. And your rhetoric of one group having to be eliminated in order for the other group to thrive is harmful.

And if you truly are just against nation states and are an anarchist, maybe talking to two extremely brutalized ethnic groups who are just looking for a home is not the best place to spread that message. Maybe a formal government that protects the lives and safety of Jews and Palestinians is actually a solution in this case. Maybe your worldview doesn’t take their situation into account.

Genuinely, you should be ashamed of your reply. And I don’t mean that in a mean-hearted way. I mean you actually should reflect and feel a little shame. It’s ok to feel shame. It doesn’t make you a bad person. You can undo harm by growing as a person and listening to all people who this affects. I eagerly await your reply and desperately hope I have gotten through to you just a little bit.

I don’t think most non-Jews understand how disappointed we are in the left right now. How completely abandoned we’ve become. How our contributions to progress for other groups have been erased or disavowed or hidden. How the actual tangible things that Jews have contributed to black rights and civil rights are being ignored. How we’re being told we contribute and have contributed nothing.

How we are being told that the world has been kind to us when it never has. As if my mom didn’t grow up getting called a Kike and getting beat up for being Jewish. How I thought I had friends until I caught them saying “xyz was beautiful until Jews showed up.” How people told me I was pretty “for a Jew.” How I grew up hearing stories about bombs being set off in Israel in buses and markets. How I couldn’t even go two weeks without hearing that and how nobody cared and somehow, every time that happened, the whole world became more hostile to me for some reason.

I just don’t understand. I don’t understand what leftists are doing. Or why. I hate that I have to say—of course, I support a free and self determined Palestine (which I truly do)—in order for you to decide I’m worthy of care and support.

We showed up for you. All of you. And the entire movement is abandoning us at best or targeting us at worst. Celebrating our deaths. Saying we deserved it. How are we supposed to trust you ever again? How are we supposed to feel safe ever again?

A very few select people who are in my life have taken the chance to actually learn about and dismantle their own unconscious antisemitism during this time. And I’m eternally grateful for them. But most people haven’t reached out at all. Most people are still sharing hateful things that could get me hurt and they don’t care. Most people Reblogging my posts are still Jews. Because we are alone. And it sucks. You need to be as loud about antisemitism as you are about Palestine or you’re an antisemite (unless you’re Arab/Muslim/Palestinian—I totally get that these groups are also doing damage control in their own communities just like Jews are).

But we are all in tremendous pain right now.

This moment will pass. And when it does, I will remember how many people let me down. I will remember that when I needed support more than I’ve ever needed it in my life, people fucking vanished. They pretended violence against my people wasn’t happening. They ignored and rewrote the history of Israel to suit their own narratives.

You don’t know what it feels like to be hated this much for opposite things. PoC hate us for being too white. White supremacists hate us for not being white enough. Europeans hate us for being middle eastern. Middle easterners hate us for being western/European. Everyone hates us for being settlers but continually kicks us out of their countries so that we have to settle somewhere else.

I saw a post going around from a Black person who said that the reason he and his fellow black activists go protest for Palestinians instead of fighting antisemitism (as if it’s a binary, which it’s not) is that Jews don’t show up. Muslims and Palestinians do. And honestly? Fuck that guy. Heather Heyer died standing shoulder to shoulder against racism in 2017. I have devoted substantial time and effort and money that I don’t even get paid a lot of because I don’t get paid a living wage. I have continually reached out to PoC people in my life of all religions to ask how they are doing and what I could be doing to help more—both for them personally and how they would best like me to help their community. I have elevated their voices at every opportunity. And not one person I checked in with has done the same for me or for my community.

And it’s bone chilling. It’s awful. And it’s even worse knowing that when it’s over, people will want to go back to normal. They won’t apologize. They won’t self reflect. They’ll just live their lives, maybe a little more aware of how much they hate us and completely indifferent to the harm they’ve caused us. How disposable they made us feel. And the thing is…it’s not hard for you to know. You just have to ask.

Too many people are cowards. Too many people care about looking good than actually learning something or making the world better. And to those people: you should be ashamed of yourself.

I don’t have any hate in my heart. Truly. Not a drop for any group of people. But I have a tremendous lack of trust that anyone would actually lift a finger to keep me safe.

[no-droids]

Home

gif credit: @javier-pena

Part Eighteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 19.5K

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

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

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

Day 5–11:13am:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Extravagant, magnificent are both words.  Floral is another.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 5—5:04pm:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 5–5:17pm:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s here… isn’t he?

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

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

This… this is a taunt.  

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

“You okay, Nerida?”

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

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

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

***

Day 5–5:32pm:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s when you see him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unless…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 5–5:24pm:

Din is fucking furious.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 5–6:59pm:

This water is quiet here, but it sparkles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Din.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Day 5–7:37pm:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Naydee smiles and nods.  “Sounds perfect.”

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

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

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

***

Day 5–11:32pm:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something catches your eye.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Behind you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rigid steel that bends only for your touch.

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

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

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

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

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

—Bong—

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

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

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

One o’clock.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“—ve you—I l-love y—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It takes you a second.

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

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

“Ma—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

Commotion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The crib—he forgot the crib—

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

You raise your voice.  “Din?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Okay, well.  You could just about fucking cry.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Home.

***

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

[featherymalignancy]

How About a Hug, Hm? REMIX

So a few days ago I got this ask about my Elriel one-shot “How About A Hug?” because I messed up the formatting and I you basically have to to read it as a reblog. I also was really unsatisfied with the end result.

So, I did the most Feathery™️ thing every and REWROTE THE WHOLE GODDAMN THING.

Please enjoy, and know that I will go back and tag people/clean up formatting tomorrow. Right now I just need to post and 😴

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Elain Archeron was running late.

Granted, it was only by seven minutes, which—in many social circles—was still considered well within the accepted boundaries of punctuality.

The problem was that a) being late made Elain anxious, and b) there was absolutely nothing polite about Nesta Archeron when she was made to wait, even by her own kin.

Yet another reason it had been critical that Elain arrive on time: Nesta was already likely to be somewhat hacked off when she saw what Elain was wearing tonight, and Elain had hoped to avoid any further dramatics on her elder sister’s part.

She spent half the cab ride downtown trying to convince herself that it was fine that she’d borrowed something out of Nesta’s closet (even if it had been without permission) and that she hadn’t had a choice; she simply didn’t own anything appropriate for dinner at a four-star restaurant. However, by the time the cab slithered under Trump Tower’s unsavory shadow and into Hell’s Kitchen, she’d given up pretending.

The truth was she had half a dozen cocktail dresses that would have been perfectly suitable for dinner in the West Village, even if the place they were going was one of the nicest sushi restaurants in the city. No, Elain had raided Nesta’s closet for a far more embarrassing reason: she’d been in search of a dress she hoped might finally win her Azriel’s attention.

She wasn’t proud of the absurd crush she had on the guy, but it really couldn’t be helped. He was gorgeous, and smart, and darkly funny when he wanted to be, and she’d been secretly mooning over him since they’d met through Feyre’s fiancée three years ago. God, what she wouldn’t give to have him return even a fraction of her feelings.

Apparently not her dignity, Elain thought with a glance down at her neckline.

The worst part was that Azriel seemed oblivious to her interest in him. He was always polite to her, always made a point to talk to her when he caught her hiding out on the balcony during one of Feyre and Rhys’s crazy parties or sit next to her at their big family dinners, but he’d never once given her any indication that he was in any way that he reciprocated her feelings, which should have been reason enough for Elain to pack it in and stop harassing him.

And that was to say nothing of Mor.

Mor was the friend who’d first introduced Feyre and Rhys, and from what Elain could gather, she and Azriel had a long and complicated history. It didn’t seem to matter that Mor had been dating the same girl for over a year now. When she was in the room, Az’s eyes were always on her. Not that Elain blamed him—Mor was gorgeous in a way girls like her could only dream of being. Still, there was no denying the sting of watching the guy you were interested in pine over someone else.

Given all this, Elain wasn’t really sure why she’d gone to such lengths to dress up for this dinner. Mor would surely be there wearing something incredible and couture, thereby rendering everyone else invisible to Azriel. Still, Elain was a hopeless optimist, and she’d stubbornly sold herself on the idea that if she found the perfect dress, she could finally convince Azriel that she was a woman worthy of affection, rather than Nesta’s bookish, boring little sister.

She had to admit, there was nothing bookish about her tonight. The dress was tighter on her that it was her waifish sister, and dear god it deserved a Medal of Honor for the way it managed to keep her boobs looking so perky even without a bra. She didn’t suppose Nesta would be too happy about that bit, either, so she could only hope her sister was in a good mood by the time Elain arrived.

Just then Elain’s phone buzzed, and she looked down at it and groaned. It was from Nesta.

Where the 🤬 are you?

Running late, Elain quickly typed back. Is everyone waiting?

She watched the gray ellipsis pulse at Nesta responded.

Feyre and Rhys aren’t even fucking here yet. But hurry up, Cash is already driving me insane.

Elain rolled her eyes. She wasn’t sure who Nesta thought she was fooling when she and Elain shared a bedroom wall. Nesta and Cassian, Rhys’s other best friend, ended up banging almost every time they saw each other, which—since Rhys and Feyre had gotten engaged four months ago—was fairly frequently. In fact, Cash was at their apartment making Nesta scream so often that Elain had been forced to invest in earplugs and a sound machine. From Elain’s perspective, it seemed rather pointless of Nesta to pretend she wasn’t completely hot of a guy she called “Daddy” in bed.

Elain shuddered at the thought, hoping that Nesta would end up going to Cash and Az’s loft in Williamsburg tonight instead. Though, she realized glumly, they only ever seemed to go there when Azriel was out, and the only person who seemed able to keep Azriel out later than Cash was Mor. That meant Elain’s options were either to pop an Ambien and hope for the best, or stay out and watch Az make moon eyes at Mor all night. Neither one was particularly appearing.

Elain ignored Nesta’s text as the car pulled up outside the restaurant and she wiggled out, smoothing the back of her tight dress before giving her curls what she hoped was an artful tousle before slipping inside.

Elain’s heart felt into her stomach as she took in the elegant but understated interior of the famed Sushi Nakazawa. Given the prices, she’d assumed the place would be all black granite and swanky chandeliers—the kind of place cleavage like hers wouldn’t seem out of place. Instead the place was elegantly spare and distressingly well-lit. God, she was such a prize idiot.

Unfortunately, she was also out of time, because a quick survey of the interior found that her group was already gathered at the bar, Mor, Feyre, and Rhys having showed up in the interim between Nesta’s text and Elain’s arrival.

Elain’s eyes went to Mor first, who stunned in a cardinal red lace and net sheath. It clung to her frame like it had been made for her, and despite a latent jealous she couldn’t quite contain, she was relieved to find that she at least wouldn’t look overdressed.

Elain’s stomach only wended in a tighter knot when Mor’s eyes fell on her and lit up, a reminder that not only was Mor prettier, she was also an infinitely better person than Elain.

“There she is!” Mor beamed, coming forward and hugging Elain. “I love that dress, Ellie!”

Elain braced herself for Nesta’s inevitably remark, but it was actually Cash who reacted first.

He’d opened his mouth to comment seemingly before he’d actually looked at Elain, because the second he realized what exactly she was wearing, his eyes they snapped the ceiling, as if looking at her chest directly might turn him to stone.

“Whoa, El, all dressed up tonight!”

Nesta, wholly unmoved by his attempted chivalry, elbowed him in the ribs.

“Don’t be vulgar Cassian!” She snarled before narrowing her eyes. “And that’s mine!”

Cash smirked, seeming more at ease now that Nesta was his target.

“I knew I’d seen that bef—ow! Goddamnit woman, what was that for?”

He scowled down at the dangerous stiletto Nesta had just jammed into his toe box.

“Sorry,” she cast over her shoulder, not deigning to look at him. “Did I accidentally step on your foot?”

“I’m an adult,” Elain interjected, cheeks burning as she faced her sister down. “Stop acting like I’ve fourteen and stuffing my bra.”

“They’re just boobs, Nes,” Rhys added, arm slung over Feyre’s shoulder. “Relax.”

“Watch it,” Nesta warned him, but Feyre only laughed.

“I agree!” She said, turning to smile at Elain. “And I think they look amazing.”

“If I’d have known they were going to be such a topic of conversation,” Elain mumbled, grateful Azriel wasn’t here to witness this circus. “I would have worn something else.”

“No, I’m with Feyre,” Mor said, wicked grin forming. “Breasts that nice deserve to be shown off.”

Elain wasn’t so humble that she didn’t feel herself preening a bit at that comment, even if she was still flustered by the prolonged attention. Either way, she was grateful when Cash interrupted with a somewhat sheepish laugh.

“Teenage me would be furious if he heard me say this, but can we please stop talking about boobs?”

“Elain’s boobs or just any boobs?” Feyre said with a smirk.

However, before Elain could admonish her for it, Feyre was crushing her into a hug.

“Hey you,” she said, wrapping her arms and Elain’s neck and whispering in her ear, “let me and Rhys know if you wanna stay at our place tonight; Cash already grabbed Nesta’s ass twice when she thought we weren’t looking.”

Feyre indicated the mirror behind the bar with her eyes as they pulled away, and sure enough, Elain watched Cash’s hand as it drew lazy, dangerous circles just above the swell of Nesta’s well-formed behind.

Elain groaned, hugging Rhys now as well. God , her sister was such a hypocrite sometimes.

Ignoring a lingering twinge of annoyance, Elain forced herself to glance in false realization before casually asking, “So where’s the Birthday Boy?”

“He was on his phone out back,” Rhys said, before raising a hand in greeting to someone over Elain’s shoulder. “There he is.”

Elain tried not to look to eager as she turned and drank in all six feet four inches of perfection that was Azriel Macar. He was dressed all in black, from his prada boots to the soft, expensive t-shirt fitted enough to show off his toned physique. Elain honestly had to fight not to swoon as he ran an effortless hand through his glossy sable hair, the longer pomaded pieces on top stand up for a second before falling into an artful tousle.

“Hey Ellie,” he said, gaze on her and gone so quickly that he never even had time to notice her much-discussed cleavage. Instead, his eyes flicked to Mor and held for a long, meaningful beat before he turned back to Elain and added politely, “Thanks for coming.”

“Sure,” she chirped, trying to ignore the fact that he was coming closer, and that in another second she’d be able to smell that divine Givenchy cologne he always wore. “Of course!“

She bent her head, pretending to be fixing the clasp on her bracelet as his scent hit her and she had to bite back a groan. Sweet Jesus, he smelled good. When she looked up again, everyone else was shuffling to their table and Azriel was lingering, a soft smile threatening to the reveal the absolutely devastating dimples in both his cheeks.

“Do I get a hug?” He asked. “It is my birthday after all.”

He extended his arms, and she gave a nervous laugh, accepting the gesture by stringing her arms around his neck.

“Of course,” she repeated stupidly, trying to ignore the way the muscles in his arms flexed as he embraced her. “Happy Birthday.”

At this he squeezed her a little tighter and she fought off genuine giddiness.

It was a friendly gesture, she warned herself, and it ended the minute Mor called, “Az, come sit by me.”

Elain cleared her throat as he pulled away, turning to where Mor was still beckoning. However, before Elain could get too flustered, he turned back to her.

“Shall we?” he said, indicating Elain go ahead of him. To her delight, they reached the table to find that the only two seats left were next to each other. She tried not to give her eagerness too much leash as he pulled out her chair for her before sinking into the one between she and Mor. Mor leaned over to give him a soft peck on the cheek, and he flushed.

“Where’s Emmy tonight?” Feyre asked as Mor tried to wipe the lipstick from Az’s copper skin and he battered her away, like child trying to fend off an over-bearing mother.

“She’s sick, poor little thing,” Mor said, giving a tiny pout. “She hasn’t been able to get out of bed in days.”

Elain didn’t bother to her disappointment. Emerie had been one of Nesta’s best since they’d met in college almost ten years ago, and she not only was she like family to the Archerons, she also happened to be the only person in the group who knew about Elain’s crush. Elain had sworn her to secrecy at the time, and though it would have been reasonable to assume that once Emmy knew, Mor would know, Elain appreciated that she could trust Emerie to keep her secret.

Elain felt Emerie’s absence keenly and Nesta and Cash began bantering back and forth at lightning speed. Emerie was a master at slowing the tempo of Nesta’s quick wit, making it easier for Elain in particular to feel she could keep up.

More selfishly, Elain also missed Emerie’s ability to keep Mor distracted. When Emmy was around, she was all Mor could focus on. However, in her absence Mor’s attention had reverted almost completely to Az, a fact he didn’t seemed to mind a single bit, if his growing smiles were any indication.

Still, he seemed to be going out of his way to make sure Elain didn’t get lost in the chaos of conversation surging around them, even if he never looked at her for more than a moment or two before his eyes flicked back to Mor, studying her dark brown eyes and crimson lips.

After they placed their drink orders and the waiter came over to begin explaining the omakase menu, Elain wondered if she had time to dodge under the table to throw on some lipstick of her own. Assuring herself everyone was suitably distracted she bent down, hastily uncapping the tube before looking up just in time to see Nesta brush a very deliberate hand between Cassian’s splayed quads.

Elain jerked back, banging her head on the table.

“Fuck!” she swore quietly, straightening and rubbing her head.

Nesta shot her an alarmed look across the table and Elain flushed.

“All you alright?” Azriel asked, and she tried not to bleat in excited panic as his fingers brushed the back of her head. “What happened?”

“I—dropped something,” she fumbled, cursing her sister for being such a salacious wench.

Wasn’t it enough that she and Cash were already going to keep her up all night? Did she really have to make Elain look silly in front of Azriel, too?

“Does it hurt?” Azriel said, still studying her head before letting his eyes go to the server. “Do you need ice?”

“No, no,” Elain said hurriedly, trying to regain her composure. “I’m fine.”

“Did you at least find whatever you were looking for?” Mor asked, and Elain’s flush deepened.

“And then some,” she grumbled to herself, and Cassian gave a quiet but unmistakable laugh before letting out a surprised exhale. Elain had a fairly good idea what Nesta was squeezing to shut him up.

“Should we order, then?” Mor asked, hand falling onto Azriel’s arm. “Any particular requests, Birthday Boy?”

“He’s thirty now,” Rhys pointed out. “I think that makes him a Birthday Man .”

“Birthday Old Man,” Cassian amended. “Don’t worry champ, I’ve already put some viagra in your bathroom.”

“You’re not supposed to share your prescriptions, Cash,” Azriel said with mirth, eyes sparkling even as his face remained neutral. “And besides, I would feel dead back if you needed one tonight and couldn’t find them.”

“Checkmate,” Mor purred as Cash flipped her off.

Beside Azriel, Elain was fighting not to blush again. Cash’s comment, however sophomoric and lewd, had her imagining what Azriel was like in bed. She wondered for a moment if Mor knew before dismissing the thought and the twinge it induced.

“Let’s put this poor souls out of his misery and order,” Feyre said, smiling at the server where he still waited patiently. “Maybe if Cash’s mouth is full, he’ll stop talking.”

Cassian grinned, and, after placing their requests for the chef’s tasting menu, they all settled into an easy conversation. Cash and Rhys regaled them with stories of Azriel at various ages, from the gawky child he’d been when they’d first met him to the shy teenager who’d been terrified of girls.

“Let him be,” Mor said, touching her friend’s shoulder. “He was sweet in high school!”

Rhys laughed.

“It took him a year to pluck up the courage to say three words to you,” he pointed out.

“And they were ‘here’s a pen’ in response to you asking him the time. Nice work, Shakespeare,” Cash said, attempting to muss Azriel’s perfectly styled hair before being batted away.

“I can’t imagine Az ever being awkward,” Elain blurted. “I bet girls thought he was mysterious and cool.“

“See?” Azriel said, gesturing to Elain. “This is why I sat over here.”

“Oh please ,” Rhys said, bubbling his lips. “Ellie’s just being polite. If you two had known each other in high school, we all know how to would’ve gone: you’d have had an obscene crush on her and your dreams of true love would have been dashed after she politely signed your yearbook ‘have a good summer, Adrian’, leaving you heartbroken and alone.”

Azriel gave Elain a soft smile, and her heart burst open as thousands of butterflies flitted out of it.

“I hate to say it, but he’s probably right,” he told her. “I assume high school Elain was very popular.”

“She was,” Feyre said. “Eight different guys asked her to prom.”

“I’m not surprised,” Az said, and Elain made a great show out of drinking out of her masu to avoid having to answer.

She was relieved when the food began arriving to distract everyone, if only to save her the temptation of telling Azriel that there was no universe in which she wouldn’t have been into him, high schoolers or no.

Instead discussion turned to the Feyre and Rhys’s wedding as they ate, and as final plates were being cleared, Cash took the opportunity to once again mocked Azriel for the fact the latter had lost the rock-paper-scissors competition to be Rhys’s best man.

“I lost on purpose,” he told Elain quietly, taking a sip of the Yamasaki Single Malt he’d ordered after dinner.

“Why?” she laughed, following his gaze across the table to where Cash and Nesta were now bickering about whether Rhys’s stag night in Vegas would be better than Feyre’s hen do in Napa.

“Because Rhys told me that you’d convinced Feyre to pick Nesta as her maid of honor, and no offense, but your sister terrifies me. I’d much rather be with you.”

She laughed, biting her lip. It felt so terribly like they were flirting, but she couldn’t decide if it was her imagination or not.

“She terrifies everyone,” Elain said. “And I have a feeling this won’t our last trip down the aisle together.”

Azriel only quirked a bemused brow at this, which had Elain flushing scarlet.

“Not like that! She laughed, fumbling to pretend the idea of them being together was absurd rather than her heart’s desire. "I meant for Cash and Nesta’s wedding. Don’t tell me those two aren’t going to end up together.”

“We’ll have to work out a custody agreement when they finally get over themselves and start dating properly,” he agreed. “I’m spending a fortune on earplugs.”

She laughed, and he seemed warmed by the gesture, because he flashed a modest—albeit dimpled—smile being turning back to the larger conversation.

After dinner they’d gone a cocktail bar, then an Irish pub, and finally—much to Azriel’s chagrin—a karaoke bar. Rhys and Cash spend the majority of the evening trying to wrestle Azriel on stage while Mor and Feyre sang duets to Beyoncé and Spice Girls.

Elain was content enough to sit back and simply observe the scene as it unfolded around her. It was hard to contain her giddy, dreadful anticipation when Mor left around one to check on Emerie and Azriel—besides bidding her farewell with a soft kiss on the cheek—didn’t move a muscle.

Less than an hour later, Cash and Nesta both disappeared about an hour after without so much as a goodbye. Elain groaned, hoping they’d be asleep by the time she got home.

She’d have to rally if she wanted to manage it; they would be at it for hours yet.

By three the place was clearing out, and besides them, only a few tables of marathon drinkers and a girl on stage performing a beautiful rendition of Fleetwood Mac’s “Landslide” remained.

“We’re gonna go,” Rhys said, arm slung around a rather drunk, giggling Feyre. “Ellie, do you want to come with us?”

Elain glanced at Azriel, who’s glass still had two fingers of whiskey in it. If she wanted a chance to be alone with him, this was it.

“I think I’ve got one more in me,” she said, smiling.

“If you mean drink, I’m in,” Azriel said.

“Oh c’mon, brother,” Rhys goaded. “Just one song. I wouldn’t even film it….much.”

“Do Beyoncé!” Feyre chimed in, and Azriel shook his head.

“You know I’d play in traffic before I ever sang karaoke,” Azriel said mildly, making Feyre laugh. "Thanks for coming.”

He rose, embracing Rhys and pressing a kiss on Feyre’s head.

“C’mon, my little drunkard,” Rhys told her. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Let’s have sex when we get home,” Feyre said, her attempted whisper fully audible. Rhys pretended smack his forehead with his palm and a mimed, “ Oh brother ”, to Azriel and Elain before coax a still-singing Feyre outside.

Azriel chuckled before draining the last of his drink and rising. Elain pretended not to notice the way his well-tailored jeans fit his lean legs and…other parts of his anatomy as he adjusted his belt buckle and glanced down at her.

“Bud Light?” he asked, and she nodded, bobbing to her feet as well.

If she wanted a way to get closer to him that was more elegant than her increasing urge to crawl across the table and into his lap, this was certainly it.

“I’ll come with you.”

He flashed her a modest smile before indicating she lead the way. He ordered and waved off Elain’s attempt to pay before leaning on the bar to avoid towering over her. The gesture brought them nearly eye-to-eye, and Elain had to actively fight not to let hers roll back in pleasure at the bergamot and amyris wood notes in his sinful cologne. Up close Elain could see how much green he had in his hazel irises, and she wanted to tip into them and swim until she drowned.

“Did you have fun?” she said, desperate to get the conversation flowing again, and he smiled, making her stomach flop.

“I did, yeah,” he said, glancing around the bar in bemusement, as if still wondering how he’d ended up there. “Thank you for coming.”

Elain shrugged, grinning.

“You say that like you didn’t think I’d show,” she said, resting a cheek in her hand. She knew by now her expression was not her less than a swoon, though she couldn’t bring herself to care.

Hadn’t been this been her plan all along? Finally get Az’s attention long enough to tell him how she felt? Now was the best chance she’d probably ever get.

“No, I figured would,” Az said, interrupting her reverie. “Or hoped you would, whatever.”

Was that—

Did that mean what she thought it did?

Normally she would have chalked it up to wishful thinking, but the way he rubbed the back of his neck, dimples appearing as he huffed what almost sound like a sheepish laugh, had hope igniting in her chest.

“What does that mean?” she pressed, forcing herself to meet his gaze.

For the first time all night, he didn’t look away. Instead, his eyes skated back and forth across her face, as if she were a riddle he only had seconds to memorize. She watched, transfixed, as he wet his plush lower lip with his tongue before biting it almost self-consciously.

“It means I’m glad you came,” he admitted. “And that you didn’t go home with your sister and Rhys.”

It wasn’t the confirmation she’d been hoping for, and the ambiguity of the statement had her conviction waning. That could just as easily have been mean platonically, and if she pushed him and ruined things between them by making it awkward—

“Of course I’d be here for your birthday,” she said, giving his shoulder a playful shove. “That’s what friends are for.”

She couldn’t help the way her voice got stuck on the word, not when her throat suddenly began to clog with tears.

She had to get out of here, right now. Before she started crying and made things worse. She made to retract her hand but Azriel grabbed it, grip gentle but intent.

“El, don’t go,” he said, and she was surprised at the frank discontent in his normally-impassive expression.

She waited for him to explain himself before instead he let out another strained laugh, grip on her wrist easing. However, he didn’t let go entirely, choosing to intertwine their fingers instead.

Holding hands.

She and Az were holding hands.

And he—

She glanced back up to find he was studying her again, his face a mixture of terror and delight. When she gave his hand a soft squeeze, he let out the breath he’d been holding.

“Jesus, I am bad at this,” he said, reaching up to tuck a curl behind her ear. She wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it, but she thought his gaze flicked down to her lips as he continued to study her with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Bad at what?” She asked, though she’d begun to suspect she knew exactly what, even if it seemed too good to be true.

“At least my timeline is improving,” he breathed instead. “And I haven’t offered you a pen you didn’t ask for yet.”

Hoping she wasn’t misreading the situation, she let her finger trail down to trace the circular buckle of his Gucci before glancing back up at him and purring, “Do you have a pen?”

He smirked before raising his right wrist and glancing at his watch face over her shoulder.

“It’s….3:17 am,” he said, smile spreading as she gave a low sound of approval and flicked her gaze to his lips.

“Smooth,” she said, and tried not to lose her mind as he let his raised hand fall to the back of her neck and bent to kiss her.

He had almost girlishly full lips, and they opened for her as they settled into the kiss. Immediately his hand tangled in her hair so he could alter her head position slightly and get a proper taste of her. She groaned into his mouth he pulled at her lower lip with his teeth. He tasted like oranges and the expensive Japanese whiskey he’d been drinking all night, and pleasure tightened in her low belly as his tongue brushed hers. Her brought his free hand up to cradle her face, and in response she pushed closer to run her hands underneath of his shirt and down the silken skin of his back.

“Fuck,” he breathed with a heated half-laugh, nose brushing her cheek as he bowed into her touch. “You’re killing me, woman.”

She only smirked, feeling more confident now that she had before. She could hardly believe this was happening, but she was too excited about it to fully care.

“Let’s get out of here,” she said, and he bit his lip, as if restraining himself from kissing her again.

“Like to another bar?” he asked, dazed as he continued to stare at her lips.

“Like to my bed,” she said boldly. “Or yours, depending on where Cassian and Nesta ended up.”

He didn’t speak immediately, just studied her, and she panicked.

“I mean, only if you—I’m sorry, should I not have—?“

He only kissed her again in response, more gently this time.

“Please stop apologizing,” he said, kissing her jaw now before seeming to realize something and pulling back, brows synced.

“I—Jesus, do you seriously not know?”

She felt a bit sheepish at his incredulous tone and fought not to stiffen.

“Know what?”

He laughed softly, though their was a edge of self-deprecation in it that kept the gesture from seeming conscending.

“I really am the worst at this.”

“At what?”

“El, I’ll crazy about you. I have been crazy about you since we met.”

“You have?” she blurted, horror fading into genuine—if elated—confusion.

He laughed.

“Did you think it was coincidence that you and I are always sitting next to each other at dinner? That I always find you at Rhys’s dumb parties?”

“I—“ she began, still trying to decide if this was a dream or not. “What about Mor, though?”

“Mor?” he repeated, confused now, too. “What about her?”

“I thought you and she—“

He leaned in to brush his nose against hers, and she blushed at the innocent affection in the gesture.

“Not at all,” he assured her. “I did have a thing for her in high school, but I got over it after she and Cash slept together at prom. We’re just friends, I swear.”

“But she’s always touching you, and every time I see you together you can’t stop looking at her.”

At this he laughed, his smile so genuine and open she almost didn’t recognize him.

“She’s always been touchy-feely,” he said. “She grew up in Madrid, and people are just more affectionate there, I guess. And I only watch her when you’re around because she called me out for having an absurd crush on you, and I was afraid she was going to get drunk and blow my cover by telling you.”

Elain shook her head, still not quite believing what she was hearing. Reading her expression, he bent to kiss her softly.

“What guy wouldn’t be crazy about you?” he breathed. “You’re incredible.”

This seemed to break the spell, and she twined her fingers in his hair and pulled him down for another steamy kiss.

“Text Cash,” she said a little breathlessly when they broke away. “I don’t want an audience.”

She couldn’t felt but feeling smug when he almost dropped his phone at those words. It felt good to know that she wasn’t the only one affected by all this.

“Cash and Nesta are at the lof—“ Az began after a minute, but Elain cut him off with a kiss.

H rose, pulling her against him as his tongue brushed the roof of her mouth.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he said as she kissed his neck and tugged on his earlobe with her teeth, earning a low groan. “You’ve been drinking.”

She grabbed his chin so he would look at her.

“Not that much,” she said, and it was true. “And besides, I wanted this way before tonight.“

“Good,” he breathed, pressing a hand to her low back to bring her close to him. “Because so have I.”

Though they spent the majority of the ride up town and the elevator up to her apartment making out, something seemed to shift as Elain’s door clicked shut behind him, as if the gravity of what they were about to do had finally caught up to them.

Reluctantly Az peeled his lips from where they’d been glued to her neck as he took a small step back, as if to give her space.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, feeling embarrassed for how much she still wanted him even now that he seemed to have come to his senses.

“Maybe we should—” he broke off, looking somewhat guilty. “Hold off.”

She nodded, trying to keep the tears at bay again.

“Are you worried this could mess things up in the group? Because I understand—“

“No,” he said hurriedly, coming forward again, as if he could no longer stand to be away. “Not at all. I just—you’re special, El. You deserve to be taken out and spoiled.”

“Az, you just took us to a $1,800 dinner! Or did you think I didn’t see you pulling our server aside?”

Azriel opened his mouth, and she covered it with a finger.

“You don’t need to earn my affection. It’s yours already, free of charge.”

“I’ve just been—I waited so long to make my move and I’m terrified of fucking it up,” he said with a soft laugh.

“Why, are you bad at sex?”

Azriel laughed, seemed to relax at her teasing.

“I’ve never had any complaints,” he breathed again her lips, kissing her deeply again.

She gently bit his lower lip in response.

“Then I’d say you’ve gotten nothing to worry about,” she said, kissing him a third time.

She moaned softly when drove his fingers into her hair, hips canting towards her as he pressed her more fully into the door.

She could feel his body’s reaction to her pressing between her thighs, and she moaned again.

“Fuck,” he breathed onto her skin. “You are so gorgeous.”

“So are you,” she said, running her hands up the back of his t-shirt and feeling the mosaic of muscles flexing underneath. “Take this off.”

He laughed and pulled the offending garment over his head, making her groan in delight.

“God, this body ,” she breathed, running a hand down his chest and enjoying his shiver at her delicate touch.

He responded by spinning her away from him and gently dragging down the zipper of her dress until he could slip a hand inside of it.

“I knew you couldn’t have a bra on underneath this thing,” he said, voice a touch smug as he cupped both bare breasts and her breath caught in her throat..

“I’m surprised you even noticed,” she said, voice somewhat. “I wore this dress for you, and you didn’t even look at it once the entire evening.”

She laughed, the sound into a soft moan as he twisted one nipple in experimentation. When she sighed and let her head fall back onto his shoulder.

“Of course I noticed the dress,” he corrected. “You have the most perfect tits I’ve ever seen. I just knew that if I let myself look, I might not be able to stop looking.”

“You shouldn’t say that until you’ve seen them without the sorcery of underwire,” she said.

With that he spun her to face him, catching her gaze to ensure he had her permission before tugging down the top of the dress so her breasts fell free.

“Gorgeous,” he said, easing to his knees so he could replace his fingers with his mouth. “Absolutely gorgeous.”

“If I known this was going to be your reaction, I would have worn a bodycon dress in front of you ages ago,” she said, threading her hands through his hair as he dragged his teeth and tongue along her nipple.

“You don’t need some tight dress to be sexy,” he said, resting his chin her her sternum so he could gaze up at her. “I’d take you in your overalls and pigtail braids any day.”

“Is this some Pippy Longstocking fetish we should all know about?”

He grinned, rising to his feet and giving one of her curls a playful tug.

“Because as devastating as you are playing dress up in your sister’s clothes, I prefer you as you.”

“You can’t say that when I’m naked,” she said with a smile, touching his cheek.

“Why not?”

“Because I may start crying and ruin the mood.”

He cocked his head to the side, tracing her lips with a finger.

“I wouldn’t mind a few tears from you in bed. But only if it’s from you sobbing in pleasure.”

His words sent blood pooling south, the intensity cause a dull throbbing.

“Why do I feel like you could do it, too?” She asked, reaching down to free his belt as he heeled out of his boots.

“Don’t tempt me,” he said, taking her hand and guiding it between his legs. “Forget this,” he said, squeezing gently so she could feel how hard he was. “I could go down on your all night and be the happiest guy on Earth.”

Emerie had said as much once, at a drunken girls’ night.

Azriel strikes me as the type of guy who loves eating girls out. It’s why gay women find him so easy to befriend; we recognize kindred spirit.

Elain vowed to never tell the others she’d been right.

“Will you let me?” He asked, gently nudging her dressing off her hips until it came free and pooled at her feet.

“Is this a trick question?” She said, voice going hoarse as he slipping a hand into her underwear.

“Some people don’t like it.”

“I’m not one of them,” she said, he smiled, coaxing her legs around his waist so he could carry her.

“Thank God,” he replayed. “That would break my heart. Which way?”

She pointed him in the right direction before giving into temptation and kissing him again, looking to way she could feel like body reacting to hers as he held her close. Only when they reached her room—which was decidedly messier than she’d have liked considering Azriel Macar was now in it—did he set her down.

He wasted no time into coaxing her onto the bed, taking only a moment to admire the silky black thong she wore before dragging into down her thighs and discarding it.

“Spread your legs for me, El,” he said, brushing kisses to her knee as she slowly did as he commanded.

The light from the nearby street lamp made the room a lot less dark than Elain was used to during sex, and for a moment she though to be embarrassed or postpone. Then she glanced down to admire the contrast of Azriel’s inky black hair framed against the pale skin of her thighs, and she forgot what it even meant to be self-conscious as he finally put him mouth on her.

She swore at the first brush of his tongue, which was both deliberate and extremely delicate. She threaded a hand through his hair at his second stroke, the touch more intentional this time.

“Azriel,” she breathed.

She watched the muscles in his beautiful back shift at this, as if hearing her moan his name had untethered something in him. When he put his mouth back on her, it was clear he was no longer attempted to tease her. Instead he felt right to where she needed him most, refusing to relent until she tipped over the edge.

Even then he didn’t seem satisfied, it and it was only after he made her come a second time did he pull back, licking his lips before bending to kiss her.

“Take your pants off,” she demanded. "Right now.”

She felt him grinning against her neck as he peeled off of her, slowly working the buttons of his pants before sliding them down his trim hips. He wore black boxer briefs underneath, and he honestly looked like an Armani model. She bit her lip, eying the sizable swell of him through the cotton.

“Those too,” she breathed, greedily drinking in his well-defined adonis belt and the bare trace of hair above the band.

He did as she commanded, and she nearly melted. Naked he was a God, all rippling muscles and smooth unblemished skin, save for the chest piece tattoo that extended onto his shoulders and halfway down his arms. She let her eyes sink lower. Even half-hard he was big, and her belly clenched.

Wasting no time, she urged him to take her place on the bed before kneeling at his feet and putting her mouth on it.

“Shit,” he hissed, driving a hand into his hand then down his face. “Ellie, you’re kiling me.”

She looked up at him through her lashes, and he growled in approval, seeming to decide something before breaking her grip on him and hauling her to her feet. He kissed her again, and she could feel his cock as it practically pulsed between them.

She still wasn’t sure she could believe it was for her, that somehow he wanted her as much as she did him, and had for almost as long.

“Condoms,” he breathed against her mouth. “I need to be inside of you.”

She froze.

“I don’t have any,” she said, dismayed.

How could she be so stupid? Why didn’t they stop on the way home? The closest bodega was six blocks, and she knew everyone who worked there. The last thing she needed was all of them knowing—

Azriel pressed a swift kiss to her lips before tangling from her.

“Where are you going?”

“To grab a condom.”

“Naked?

He flashed her a slight grimace, “Let’s agree you won’t ask where I get it from.”

“Oh Moses,” Elain said, face flushing scarlet as she listened to Nesta’s door creaking open.

Azriel was back in less than a minute, tossing an entire box onto the nightstand as he pulled open one of the foils with his teeth, using his free hand to push his damp hair, long enough to brush his cheekbones now that it wasn’t styled, out of his eyes.

“You found those distressingly fast,” Elain said, unsure if she was amused or mortified at the situation.

“Cash is predictable with his hiding spots,” Az said, eyes hooded as he stroked himself several times before rolling the condom onto his length.

“And why did you take the whole box?”

Azriel laughed softly.

“Because I have a feeling we’re going to need them.”

Without another word Az sank to his knees again, one hand lazily stroking himself to maintain his erection as he went down on her again.

This time it only last three seconds or so before he pulled back, resting one knee beside her hip to steady himself before pulling her onto his shaft in a single wet stroke. Using her left bent leg as leverage, he adjusted his angle, smirking at her low, guttural moan of pleasure.

“Good to know your g-spot is as sensitive as the rest of you,” he breathed, and she laughed and tugged him into an ambitious rhythm.

Soon the only sound was their shared breathing, and the sliding on their bodies against one another. She came first, and he followed even before the dizzying waves of pleasure ceased. He pumped lazily in and out of her for another half dozen stroke before gently extracting from her and peeling off the condom.

She curled against him, cheek pressed to chest as her hands continued to explore. Her fingers caressed his swelling pectorals and each of his abdominal muscles before lazily venturing back between his legs. He gave a hiss of pleasure as she began to work his silken shaft in earnest, and in minutes he was fully ready again.

He groaned when she snatched one of the condoms and rolled it onto him before swinging a leg over and sinking astride him.

Her third orgasm hit her only a short time later, and she sighed when he bucked up into her before going languid under her ministrations.

She leaned down to kiss him as he ran a soothing hand down her back.

“Jesus,” he breathed, pressing his forehead to hers and swirling his hips, still inside her despite his orgasm. “That was incredible.”

She purred her contentment, feeling something even more alluring than desire swell in her chest as he discarded the second condom and tugged her into his arms, tangling their legs. He still smelled like cologne, but it had mixed with her perfume, and sweat, and the scent was intoxicating. She wanted to bath in it—in him—until she died from bliss. She listened to his breathing even out, and as she was drifting off to bed, he felt his breath ruffle her hair.

“Do you like pancakes?” he murmured. “I want to make you breakfast in the morning.”

“Really?” she said, looking at him over a shoulder and melting at the warmth in his smile, less guarded now than it had been even hours before.

“I want to make breakfast for you every morning,” he breathed. “I have since I met you.”

She smiled, nestling closer to him.

“I’d love that, but I should probably be the one making you breakfast. It is your birthday, after all. You have to let me give you something other than a bj and a few orgasms for your birthday, even if it is your dirty 30.”

Az choked on a laugh.

“Say you‘ll dinner with me, then. No family or nosy friends around, just us.”

“I think the word you’re looking for it ‘date’,” she said, laughing as his cheeks flushed before realizing something. “Or is the idea just too formal for the situation? I know we did things a bit backwards...”

“We did,” he agreed, stroking her cheek. “But that doesn’t mean I want to spoil you any less. So yes a date, if you’ll still have me.”

“I will,” she said, meeting his hazel eyes before gently kissing him. “With pleasure.”

He smiled against her mouth.

“Then that’s the only birthday gift I want or need from you.”

She smiled, feeling happy to the point of bursting when he kissed her ear and closed his eyes again.

"Happy Birthday, Az.”

His hum of contentment vibrated through her back.

“The happiest,” he breathed.

[ressyfaerie]

Tyka request: I love bit beast merging so the idea that Tyson has been forced to merge with Black Dranzer has always floated in my head. Kai arrives too late. Boris and his Grandfather found a way to break Tyson's will to accept Black Dranzer, probably to save Kai's life and Kai can only watch!

I LOVE THIS. I am the god of angst writing, so when you ask for angst, I’m bringing A N G S T. Anything in * are Tyson’s thoughts! 

I’ve now written it all and- I just had so much fun with it. This was the kind of ask I was born for. Thank you for sending this to me- I hope you know I’ve been working on this all day lmao. It turned out way longer than I wanted it to be. But damn, it’s good. I’m going to keep the start in regular format, and put the rest in a read more, I don’t know if tumblr will even let me post this much LOL, but let’s try it: 

“Hello, Tyson Granger. Welcome to BIC” 

“Call it what it is Boris, BEGA- round two.” 

“You know better Tyson, The Beyblade International Congress is so much more.” 

Tyson scoffed, he scrunched up his face in Voltaire’s direction. 

He had one hand in his pocket, where dragoon would normally be. Instead, his hand held emptiness, there was nothing, and no one, to comfort him now. 

The room security had led him into was windowless. It could have been the basement or the hundredth floor of the building. 

Tyson had lost all sense of direction since Dragoon was stolen from him, the feeling was nothing out of the ordinary. 

The world champion wore an expression no one had ever seen before. Determined, enraged, vulnerable, confused, he felt everything all at once, there was only one thing he was absolutely certain of: 

He had to get Dragoon, and his friend’s bit-beasts back, at any cost. 

“You two know why I’m here.” 

Boris grew a porcelain smile from ear to ear. 

“To finally join our team of course.” 

Tyson laughed in response, “I never had any intention of joining BEGA, which means its shitty counterpart is out of the question.” 

“This child has grown up since we last saw him.” Voltaire leaned more on his cane, inspecting every bit of Tyson’s body. 

Tyson felt like some kid’s science project in their backyard. He shuddered, terrified to think the abbey boys lived like this every day. 

“I hoped he would have grown-up, Voltaire. It’s been almost three years after all.” 

Boris waved his hand. The security guards that escorted Tyson turned on their heels and marched out the door. Tyson was left alone with two old men, but he still felt danger. 

The silence that ensued was deafening, the glares they locked on Tyson made the hair raise on his spine. 

He now understood Tala and Kai’s fear of these men. The pure power they confidently exhibited by just standing there, was compared to nothing he had ever experienced. 

Two men, three times his age- two men who should be in jail, serving life sentences- one man who raised and abused his best friend, one man who was his best friend’s flesh and blood. 

Tyson took a deep breath. He stabilized his voice before stating his demand. 

“Give me back my bit-beasts.” 

The men let out deep laughs, starting out as low grumbles, and ascending into loud chortles. 

Boris spoke first. 

“You think you can just waltz into my high-tech facility- and I’ll just give you back what I stole? And stole so easily mind you-” 

“So, you did steal them.” Tyson’s firsts were curled, his fingertips formed indents in his palms, he wanted to lash out in anger, but he knew better. 

“Of course, wasn’t it obvious?” 

“I have proof- I’ll get the police-” 

The men laughed again, this time louder. 

“I own the police.” A shadow fell over Voltaire’s face. 

For the first time, Tyson felt true fear. 

No bit beast- no battle- nothing could compare to this. 

Tyson’s heart sunk, as he became painfully aware his overconfidence, could be his downfall. 

Now, he was trapped. 

“Would joining my team sound better if I told you you could have Dragoon back?” Boris’ voice was coated with honey, but Tyson knew better. 

Tyson’s eyes shot in Boris’ direction. He squinted his eyes. 

“Without making a deal with me, you and your friends will never see their pets again.” 

“I’ll never make a deal with you.” Tyson spat. 

“Pretty soon you’ll have no choice-” Voltaire cut Boris off.

“How old are you now Tyson?” His voice had changed, he leaned more into his cane. 

“Almost nineteen.” Tyson grinned, “I’m an adult now. You can’t hurt me.” 

The two men gave each other a look Tyson didn’t miss. Voltaire spoke first.

“What if we told you we needed your help.” 

Tyson put up his shields immediately, he raised an eyebrow. “Help? What could I possibly help two billionaires with?” 

“Something that only a blader as strong as you can.” 

“No.” Tyson refused. 

“Hear us out.” Boris took a step towards him, Tysons swore he heard a door lock behind him. 

“We have a theory- if that theory is correct, we can change the future of the sport- no, the future of everything.” 

Tyson’s interest was piqued, but that wouldn’t change his decision. 

“The answer is still no.” 

Boris took a step towards him, “what if we gave you your bit-beasts back in exchange?”

Tyson saw through Boris’ trap, it was a deal he couldn't ignore.

 Tyson just stared back at him.

Voltaire interrupted, “we have found a way to merge bit-beasts with humans.”

Tyson felt his heart stop. 

Boris grinned, presenting his hands in front of him, “the possibilities are endless Tyson, imagine- superhumans. Beyblading would ascend to a whole new level. The history of warfare changed, just like that.” He snapped his fingers. 

It was terrifying how a man could keep a smile while talking about changing the history of warfare. 

“I’m not helping you experiment by changing people into weapons.” Tyson’s face wrinkled into a disgusted scowl, “what do you need me for anyway?” 

“See, Tyson…” Boris continued, “the science has been researched for decades- but I’m fairly confident this process requires someone of a certain caliber…” 

“Someone who already has a strong connection to bit-beasts.” Voltaire stated. 

“Don’t you have tons of kids lined up in your arsenal? Why me?” Tyson’s voice grew louder. 

“Ha! None of my boys are as strong as you and your team Tyson.” Boris chuckled before continuing, “you’re special, your connection to dragoon and other spirits is stronger than anyone on the planet. You are my missing puzzle piece, I’m certain you’ll be the right fit.” 

“The other members of your team might work, but no one is like you.” Voltaire nodded, 

“No. I refuse.” Tyson took a deep breath, “I’m not your pawn, I won’t help you.” 

Silence.

Voltaire clicked his cane on the tile floor.

“I hope you are aware; if you don’t do this, we will make sure Kai will.” 

Tyson swung his head in his direction, ready to scream if necessary. 

“Ah, watch it Tyson.” Boris threatened the boy, Tyson’s chest heaved erratically. 

“What do you mean?” Tyson said through gritted teeth. “He would never agree to this-” 

“No, he wouldn’t.” Voltaire shook his head, then became totally still as his glare set on Tyson, “but I don’t need his permission.” 

“You’re sick.” Tyson spat. 

“It would be so easy.” Boris reached into his pocket grabbing a remote, he pressed a button, a screen rolled down in the large room. 

The screen turned on, on it was a picture of Kai, and a ton of numbers Tyson didn’t understand, but what caught his attention, was a simple map, with a blinking red dot. 

“We know where Kai is at all times,” Voltaire said in a low voice. 

“If you refuse to help us, we will take him as needed.” 

“That’s kidnapping.” Tyson pointed out the obvious fact, he should have known better, that stealing a person was one of the minor crimes Boris has committed. 

“Not like I haven’t done it before.” Boris shrugged, as if he was talking about taking a candy bar. 

Tyson swallowed, “he- he wouldn’t let this happen without a fight.” 

“As expected. If he fights it, the process could easily mess up… Ideally we want someone who will work with us, but it’s not necessary.” 

“I’ll find him. We will run away-” 

“When I say we know everything about Kai I mean we know everything, Tyson.” 

Voltaire looked to the ceiling, “We know when he goes for jogs.”

“Sunday mornings and Wednesday evenings.” Boris raised a finger in the air. 

“We know when he eats, when he sleeps, where he sleeps.” Voltaire emphasized ‘where’ maliciously. 

Tyson growled. Voltaire hummed.

“That’s right Tyson, he’s been staying at your place frequently.”

Boris tried to suppress a laugh, “we even know what happened last Saturday-”

“Boris!” Voltaire hissed. 

Tyson’s eyes widened, “How would you know that!? We were alone, in my room, in my home!?” 

“We know everything, Tyson.” 

Tyson met Voltaire’s eyes with disgust. 

“It seems like a win-win situation, Tyson. I’m giving you a good deal, when you know I don’t have to.” Boris folded his arms. “You go through with this procedure, we give you- and your friends their bit-beasts back, and we leave Kai alone.”  

Tyson’s body felt ice cold. 

“I want you to know Tyson, Boris is too afraid to admit it-” Voltaire’s voice was draped in darkness, “we aren’t letting you leave here today without doing something.” 

Tyson stopped breathing. 

Boris confidently waltzed to Tyson’s side, Tyson didn’t move, he was paralyzed with fear. 

The purple-haired man’s face was inches away from Tyson’s now.

“You either take the deal, or have it happen anyways- but if you take the deal, world champion, you must work with us willingly.”

Tyson was his height now, but he still felt small. 

Boris placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t- touch me.” Tyson shrugged him off aggressively.

“Last chance world champ.” Voltaire clicked his tongue, “what will it be?” 

Tyson met both their eyes, looking back and forth, his breathing showed anger, his fists clenched in frustration. 

He was stuck. Trapped. Nowhere to go. He took a deep breath, held it, and let it out. He let his body accept defeat. 

“Fine. I’ll take your deal.” 

“Where did Tyson go anyways?” Max hummed to Ray while sliding his feet on the smooth wooden floors of the dojo. 

“Is he with Kai again? They’ve been hanging out a lot…” Ray pointed out. 

Kenny was sitting on the floor with his laptop open. “Tyson left just before lunchtime.” 

“No lunch!?” Hilary snapped, “that’s not like him.” 

“It’s not like him to miss practice…” Ray tried to hide the subtle worry on his face. 

“I’ll try phoning him,” Max suggested, pulling out his rose gold iPhone. 

“I’m sure he’s fine guys.” Hilary rolled her eyes, knowing the bluenette was always late. 

“We can’t be too careful…” Kenny hesitated before saying his next words, “With Boris being back…” 

The room fell quiet, the only sound was the ringing of Max’s phone. 

“He’s not picking up.” Max hung up the call.

“Try Kai’s phone,” Ray smirked. “They’re always together now.” 

Max flipped through his phone and put it on speaker. The phone rang a few times, they heard the click of it being answered. 

“Hello?” They heard Kai’s familiar gruff voice. 

“Hey Kai, sorry, are you driving?” Max spoke a little louder than usual. 

“Yeah, but I have you on speaker, it’s fine.” They heard the sounds of the highway around him.

“Hey, is Tyson with you?” Ray asked, his voice shaking a bit. 

“No, why?” They heard the sound of Kai’s blinker in the background. 

“He disappeared before lunch, he's not here for practice yet.” Max eagerly awaited Kai’s response. 

“That’s odd,” Kai remarked. 

“Are you going to be here soon?” Ray asked. 

“Yeah, I’m just coming down the road now. Have you tried phoning him?” 

“I tried…” Max fidgeted with his open hand, “he didn’t pick up.” 

“He always answers his phone.” The team detected a hint of worry in Kai’s voice. “I’m outside now.” 

They heard Kai hang up the phone, without as much as a goodbye, but that was very typical Kai. 

They sat in the same positions, wordless. They heard the front door open, the sound of Kai taking off his shoes. They heard the floorboards creak as he made his way down the hall to the dojo. The door slid open. 

“Hey Kai!” Hilary tried to be cheerful, but she just sounded worried.

 “Hey,” Kai responded. Without missing a beat, “where is Tyson?” 

“No one knows.” Kenny stopped typing at his laptop to look up at the master blader. He readjusted his glasses. 

“He left before lunch, he’s been gone a few hours.” Kenny had a hard time keeping eye contact with Kai, when Kai got serious- he got scary. 

“It’s weird of him to miss practice…” Max fiddled with his thumbs.

Ray looked up at the ceiling, “not like we can do much practicing anyway.”

The room went quiet. They were all still in mourning over the unexpected loss of their blades. The day they woke up to discover all of their blades had been stolen, was the moment they realized Boris coming back now, in their late teens, was serious. 

 “I’m worried.” Kai admitted, he pulled out his phone, and began to phone Tyson.” 

“That was fast, do you have him on speed dial?” Ray grinned trying to lighten the mood. 

Kai responded seriously, “yes.” 

They heard the phone ring a few times, before going to voicemail. Kai hesitated, before deciding to leave one. 

“Hey, Tyson- It’s Kai. Get back to me soon, I’m getting worried.” He hung up the phone and held it loosely in his hands. 

“Aw, Kai’s worried.” Hilary cooed. 

“With Boris back, and our blades gone, we can’t be too careful.” Ray crossed his arms. 

“What’s goin’ on here fellas?” Grandpa poked his head through the doors from the garden. 

“Tyson’s been gone for a long time, he’s not answering his phone.” Kenny went back to his laptop, most likely trying to find out any information he could. 

“When did he leave?” Kai asked Ryu. 

“I told Kenny when he got here, right before lunchtime- Wait K-man didn’t you stay the night last night?”

The whole room went quiet. 

“Yeah, but I was gone early in the morning,”  Kai responded. 

“You stayed the night?-” Max got cut off by Ray.

“Was he in an alright mood?” 

“He was fine.” Kai knitted his eyebrows in thought, “now that I think about it, he was in his head a bit.” 

The ground collectively became agitated, everyone knew a moody Tyson could be anywhere. 

“Did you do anything to piss him off?” Ray squinted his eyes in Kai’s direction. 

“No.” Kai knew for certain he didn’t hurt Tyson. After all, they had a great night. 

Kai tried to suppress a smile, remembering how they fell asleep beside each other watching movies in Tyson’s room. 

“You stayed the night?-” Max got cut off again by Ray-

“Are you sure Kai? You know you have a habit of annoying him.” 

“I’m absolutely certain. Tyson was fine when I left this morning.” 

“Was he up? How did you know?” Ray interrogated him more than questioning. 

Kai hesitated, he didn’t know if it was okay to tell them they slept in the same bed. 

“You *stayed* the night!?” This time Max yelled it, so he couldn’t be ignored. 

Everyone stared at Max, “Why did you stay the night? Where did you sleep?” 

“Um-” Kai tried to retort back, but suddenly realized he didn’t know what excuse to make. 

They caught his awkwardness, it was unlike the silver-tongued boy to not have a sassy remark. 

“Family troubles. I stayed in the spare room across from Tyson’s. He got up to eat breakfast with me- He was fine.”

All lies. 

“I’m going to check his room.” Kai turned around to go upstairs. 

When Kai was out of earshot, Max coyly asked Tyson’s Grandpa, “Did he really stay in the spare room?”

“Ha! No, that boy has been staying here often, and those sheets have never been changed- or used.” 

The group followed Kai upstairs like a lost herd. 

In Tyson’s room, Kai was scanning it, looking for anything off. 

The whole team looked around, but only Kai knew what was out of place. 

“Hey Kai.” Ray giggled. 

On Tyson’s vanity, yes- Tyson had a vanity, because of course he did. He had a thumb-sized picture of kai stuck to the edge of the mirror. 

“There are no pictures of us, just you- what’s up with that?” Ray pretended to act jealous. 

Kai ignored him. He gave Tyson that photo when Tyson asked for a photo of him. It wasn’t his favourite thing to look at. When he looked at it he would laugh, because it was, simply, so Tyson. 

Kai’s eyes landed on his pillow, it was poofier than usual. He ripped up the pillow and tossed it to the side. Under it was a book. Kai knew it was out of place, he had never seen Tyson pick up a book in his life. 

He opened the book and flipped through it, everyone watched him, knowing something was up. 

In the middle of the book was a note, Kai pulled it out, and threw the book to the side. 

‘I guess if you’ve found this, you’re looking for me huh?’

‘That means I’ve been gone a while, sorry.’

‘I guess you should know, if I’ve been gone a long time, something has probably happened to me.’ 

‘I’m going to see Boris. I’m leaving at 11am.’

‘He invited me. I know it’s a bad idea. I don’t want to bring anyone else into this.’

‘Especially you Kai. You’ve dealt this enough shit from that guy.’

‘I know he stole our blades, even if we don’t have proof, I know.’

‘I’m going to get them back, no matter the cost, and I don’t want anyone else’s help.’

‘I love you guys! I love you Kai.’ 

Ray snatched the note from Kai and began to read it. 

Kai put a hand to his face in shock. His eyes started to water. He was terrified, his body didn’t know how to begin to process this, but he knew he needed to go. 

“Where is he?” Kai had a voice of white anger. 

“We don’t know Kai.” Kenny recoiled. 

“Boris, where is he.” 

Kai picked up the book and flipped through it.

“We don’t know where his base is Kai-” Kenny blubbered. 

Kai threw the book against the wall at full force. 

“WHERE IS HE!?” 

Ray flipped the note over, “there’s an address on the back.”

Kai ripped it out of his hands. 

“I’m going-” 

“No, you are NOT Kai!” Ray scolded him. “We’re going to go to the BBA, tell Mr. Dickenson, and call the police-”

“We don’t have the time for that!” Kai yelled at Ray. 

The team was stunned, Kai had never been this angry. 

He placed his hands over his face and pulled them down to cover his mouth. “I need to save him.” 

“We don’t know he’s in danger-” 

“I KNOW he is.” Kai was shaking. 

Suddenly, Kai bolted out of the room with the address in hand-

“Kai!” Max called after him. 

Kai frantically began to put his shoes on, the team barrelled down the stairs behind him.

“You can’t go in there without a plan, you moron!” Hilary screeched at him. 

“Try me!” Kai yelled back. 

“What’s going on?” Grandpa had come from the kitchen, Kai used the distraction to bolt out the door to his car. 

He started the car as fast as possible and pulled out of the driveway. The team ran out to the street behind him, they watched him leave, worried they could lose both of them. 

“Take it off.” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Your jacket, off- now.” 

Boris pulled at the zipper on the front of Tyson’s jacket. Tyson sighed and pulled it down. 

Boris helped him out of the jacket, he took it and wrapped it in his arms, it was oddly paternal. Boris looked him up and down, judging him, like he was looking for the best cut of meat in a shop. 

He only wore a thin black muscle shirt now, and his dark ripped jeans, with the shoes he made Kai help him pick out. He was fully clothed, but he felt naked. 

“Boris, what did I say about being creepy?” Voltaire scolded him, like a child. 

Boris rolled his shoulder, still keeping his gaze on Tyson, “Sorry, can’t help myself.” 

“Come into the lab.” Voltaire turned, heading for another door. 

Boris gently pushed Tyson by his shoulder. Tyson followed willingly, worried what would happen if he resisted. 

Inside the steel double doors was a dark room. The light turned on upon entry, to reveal computers, servers, chemistry equipment, and large water-filled tubes, big enough for a person, or a monster. 

Boris threw Tyson’s jacket to a swivel chair, he turned on a computer, Voltaire stood beside what Tyson recognized as a large bey dish. 

“I want to see my friend’s beyblades.” 

“Of course.” Voltaire disappeared behind some servers, out of sight. 

Boris clicked a mouse a few times, “huh, looks like Kai was in your bedroom. His heart rate has skyrocketed, do you have any idea why that could be?”

Tyson tried to hide his surprise. 

*Could he have found my note? No- I don’t want him to come here.*

“I don’t know.” Tyson kept his eyes on the wall. 

“Maybe he’s just doing something freaky.” Boris grinned. 

“You’re disgusting.” 

Voltaire reappeared with a black briefcase. He placed it on a table close to Tyson, but not too close. He opened it, to reveal Dragoon, and the rest of the blades delicately blacked in foam inserts. 

“I want to see them.” Tyson reached his hand forward.

Voltaire slammed the case shut. “Not until you finish our task.” 

Tyson scowled, all he wanted was to feel Dragoon in his hands again.

“Voltaire, come here.” Boris gestured to bring him over to the computer. 

Tyson tried to follow, but Voltaire stopped him with an aggressive hand signal. 

Voltaire leaned over the chair and inspected the computer screen. 

“It looks like he’s heading in this direction.” Boris was deeply concentrated on the computer screen, clicking around fast. 

“And he’s approaching fast.” Voltaire hummed, he rubbed his chin. “Stop the car.” 

“Really?” Boris had a surprised expression. 

“We can’t have him coming here can we?” 

“Alright.” Boris began to type at the keyboard frantically. 

Voltaire placed a chair in the middle of the room, he patted it, silently telling Tyson to sit down.

Tyson shook his head, Voltaire gave him an intense glare- Tyson approached the chair and sat down, making sure the men were still in his vision. 

“Boris, are you done?” Voltaire demanded. 

“Yes.” He reached towards a cupboard with glass drawers. He unlocked it and pulled out some medical supplies. 

“What’s that?” Tyson asked, worried it was for him. 

Boris swiveled over in his chair towards him. Voltaire grabbed a metal table with wheels and moved it towards Tyson. 

Boris unwrapped a cloth to reveal four syringes. 

“What are those? They better not be for me.” Tyson flinched as Boris picked one up. 

“There’s magic,” Boris got a syringe ready, and grabbed a small damp wipe, “and then there’s science, today we will be utilizing both.” 

He wiped the small cloth on Tyson’s bicep. He recoiled. 

“Don’t be scared Tyson, it won’t hurt.” 

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” Tyson was concerned, Boris got the supplies ready expertly. 

“I used to be a doctor.” 

Tyson’s focus lingered on ‘used to’. 

“Don’t look if it bothers you,” Boris grumbled. 

Tyson turned to look at the wall in the opposite direction as he felt the numb jab in his arm. 

Kai had never driven faster. He swerved in and out of traffic to get to the building downtown. Flying down the highway with intense speed. He slammed his hand on the wheel. 

“Fuck!” 

He looked at the speedometer, it was going down, even though he knew he was accelerating. 

“What the fuck?” 

Kai felt his car lose power. 

“No! No no no no no-”

The lights in his car dimmed, and suddenly the whole car lost life. 

He pulled over to the side of the road. Slamming his hand on the radio as if it would help. He opened his door and got out kicking the wheels of the car in frustration. 

He swore and cursed. He didn’t know enough about cars to know what went wrong, and he didn’t have time to fix it. He stared into the mass of buildings. He could make it.

He just had to run. 

Tyon had four needles shoved into his arm in total. Boris refused to tell him exactly what they were, he only answered with ‘you wouldn’t understand even if I told you’. 

Now, Voltaire watched the computer and Boris hooked up a few devices to Tyson. He wrapped a bracelet around his wrist, and something around his bicep. 

“Take off your shirt.” 

“Do I have to?” Tyson tried to give him a sassy retort, he might have been completely vulnerable, but he still wanted to keep his dignity intact. 

“Yes.” Boris grinned, flicking the end of his shirt. 

“No, you don’t have to,” Voltaire stated without pause. 

Tyson narrowed his eyes at Boris. 

“I have to attach something to your back.” 

Tyson still wore a suspicious expression, but he did it anyway, he didn’t think he could feel any more naked than he already did. 

Shirtless, he felt the cold of the lab prick at his skin. Boris attached a few small stickers to his back. 

“There.” Boris smiled, looking Tyson up and down, “I’m done.” 

“You didn’t have to take off my shirt for that.” 

Boris nodded. 

“How did I get stuck with a creep like you.” Voltaire squeezed the brim of his nose. 

“I’m merging with Dragoon now?” Tyson’s skin prickled in anticipation of getting his bit-beast back, then he realized, his skin was prickling with a different sort of heat. 

“Oh no- you won’t be merging with Dragoon.” Voltaire turned to look at Tyson. 

“Dragoon is far too unpredictable, we haven't studied him enough yet, but there is one bit-beast who we know everything about.” 

Boris turned to open a locked metal box on a table. 

Tyson rose from his seat, staring at his forearm, his body felt- weird. 

“What did you do to me?” 

“Science.” Voltaire said just under his breath, “here.” 

Boris held his hand upside down, Tyson held out his palm. He felt the familiar touch of a blade. Boris pulled his hand away, Tyson felt instant panic when he stared into his open hand. 

Black Dranzer. 

Tyson felt his whole world sway. His eyes felt heavy, but strangely, he felt strong. 

“What did you give me? Am I allergic to it?” Tyson stared at Boris.

“No,” he laughed, “You’re fine.” 

Voltaire gestured to the dish, “Tyson, launch it.” 

Tyson felt the nerve endings in his hand, anything touching black Dranzer felt numb, completely void of power. He could see the veins on his forearm, sticking out more than ever before. He felt cold air enter his lungs, and exhale. Everything was enhanced. His world was spinning, but he felt invincible. 

He could feel pulses from black Dranzer, the raw power emanating from it was toxic. Tyson could feel it begging to be used.

‘Use me, use me, use me.’

It pleaded with him. It felt addicting. Tyson now understood why Kai was so attracted to the blade, and he understood how hard it was to give it up. 

He noticed Boris had been handing him a launcher for who knows how long. 

Tyson took it, a blade and a launcher in his hands was his default state, but now felt foreign. 

“Launch it,” Boris demanded. 

Tyson turned to the dish near them. He stood in front of it. His pupils invaded his iris. 

*The pure power of black Dranzer…*

He loaded it. He stood there, breathing erratically. He got into position. 

Silence. Total silence. No sound existed, he forgot what it felt like to hear. He heard the screech of a bird in the back of his skull, and he let go. 

A shockwave erupted as black Dranzer was released, finally, after years of being locked up. The equipment in the lab slid backwards, Boris and Voltaire almost lost their footing. 

Tyson wobbled as he let the blade center in the dish, perfectly still, spinning so fast it looked stationary. 

In front of him, he saw it, the dreaded bit-beast. It felt unnatural. Dragoon felt different, Dragoon felt right, black Dranzer felt… Sad. 

*She’s not supposed to exist.* 

“I can feel her.” Tyon felt tears roll down his face. 

He held open his arms. 

“I can save you!” 

Black Dranzer screeched, with a powerful gust from her wings she soared into him. He felt a dark sludge seep into his veins, stopping his heart. 

“AhK!” Tyson held his chest, suppressing screams. 

Then, everything went black. 

“Tyson!” Kai screamed in an alleyway behind the building he suspected Boris was holed up in. 

He tried a back door, wiggling it frantically. His back was covered in sweat from running. It was locked, with no chance of it opening. 

He tried another door, the same issue. 

He could run in the front doors, but he would be noticed instantly. 

“What’s that?!” 

It looked to be an old laundry shoot, a lot of these old buildings had them. Before he could use his brain, he was scaling the shoot, it looked to be only a story and a half until it turned into the building. 

He started climbing. 

*Tyson, I’m coming. Just hold on.*

Tyson opened his eyes. Boris was beside him holding his shoulder shouting unintelligible phrases at him. Words meant nothing to him. 

His head was pounding. He used his arms to hug himself, rocking back and forth. 

“Don’t fight it Tyson. Accept it.” Boris whispered in his ear. 

“N- No.” Tyson whimpered. His head felt like it had been split open. 

His tongue felt different when he talked. His vision felt different, things felt… Wrong. He fell over to his side, letting the feeling overtake him. 

Kai was running through the empty corridors. He had run past a training facility and dorms. He had viewed a map and determined where he thought Boris would have put a lab. He threw open a door to a stair corridor and flew down them, almost tripping. He just hoped he was right about the location of Boris’ lab.

He was right. 

He found himself in a huge room, He stopped, placing his hands on his knees and gasping for air. 

In front of him were two steel doors. He knew Tyson was inside. 

With every last bit of his strength, he ran towards the doors, when he tried to rattle the doorknob it was locked, he kicked it, once, twice, three times. He took a few steps back and thrusted his whole body against them. The doors ripped open, shattering the lock in between them. 

Boris wasn’t a surprise, but his own Grandfather- 

In the middle of the room, Tyson’s body was splayed on the ground. 

“What did you do to him!?” Kai screamed. 

He ran over to Tyson, Boris tried to stop him-

“Fuck off!” Kai hollered landed a fist into Boris’ stomach. 

Boris keeled over in pain. 

Kai stopped before kneeling down. 

The most important person to him- he didn’t look like himself. 

His blue hair, now black. His nails, ebony talons. On his back, were black wings. Kai felt nauseous. 

“Tyson…” Kai collapsed beside him. 

He reached under his lower back and pulled him into a sitting position. Kai brushed back his long hair. He didn’t know what he expected coming here, but not this. 

“What happened- what did-” 

“He merged with black Dranzer, and he- is beautiful.” 

“You don’t get to speak Boris!” Kai screamed but wouldn’t dare take his eyes off Tyson. 

Tyson’s eyes flickered open, they stayed half-open, Kai shook him. 

“Tyson? Tyson, answer me, please.” 

Tyson didn’t move. 

“We just got started- You can’t- Don’t you die on me.” Kai’s throat was dry, he could barely make out words. 

“Change him back!” The blader who was most well known for being emotionless now threw everything he had at the world. Tears streaming down his face, screaming at the people who held him back his whole life. 

“We can, but we won’t right now.” 

To hear his Grandfather say it, somehow hurt more. 

“Change him back, right now.” Kai shook, holding Tyson close to his chest. 

Boris managed to stand upright after taking the powerful blow.

“We will change him back when it suits us.” 

“Mm- Kai?” 

Kai stared into Tyson’s eyes, “You’re awake!” Kai kissed his forehead, thanking the god he didn’t believe in. 

Tyson’s wings seemed to shudder when it happened. 

“I’m fine Kai, don’t worry about me.” Tyson held up his hand to stroke Kai’s face, his eyes grew wide when he saw his own fingertips.

“It’s okay- don’t look at them look at me- hey- me, look at me” Kai covered his hand with his own and made sure Tyson was focused on him. 

Tyson choked back tears, “I love you-” 

Kai closed his eyes and squeezed his hand. 

Voltaire took a confident step forward.

“We don’t want to hurt you-”

“Look at what you’ve done to him!” Kai screeched. 

“We just want you to join the new BEGA.” Boris wore a cheeky grin, he knew he won. 

Kai’s chest heaved, “I’ll never join you, never again-”

“You’ll find you have no choice Kiai.” His grandfather tilted his head. 

Boris laughed, his evil sinister laugh, the laugh Kai remembered from the abbey. 

“BEGA owns you.”

[adraughtofamortentia]

hello, so i’ve written my very first fan fic!! an idea came to live in my head rent free while watching this scene in a cdrama and i just had to write it. its also posted to ao3 here! shoutout to my bestie & beta @thatweirdgirljess, your enthusiasm for my hyperfixations keeps me going~~~

fandom: ancient detective, pairing: jian buzhi x zhao wohuan (m/m), lengh: 2,883

title: you’re my warm heart in a cold world

As evening grew into proper night, Zhao and Jian had retired to their room in the Yiyuan Inn. After the chaotic events of the day the quiet and comfort of each other's company was most welcome. Zhao had stripped down to his black underclothes and settled into a light practice of some of Second Master Li’s sword techniques. As he swung his sword arm, without the actual sword in hand, through the various arcs the book depicted he could feel his freshly stitched wounds on his arms and thigh sting in protest. It was easily ignored though, and Zhao found he appreciated the reminder of why he needed to keep up with his training schedule. 

Being reminded of his wounds prompted Zhao to recall how he came to sustain them, the reason why he had fought so valiantly. The person he fought to protect.

Without stopping the motions of his empty handed sword arm, Zhao looked out of the corner of his eye across the room at Jian. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, also dressed down to his own white undershirt, and seemed to be engrossed with some reading. Gently clutching the book, Jian had his head bowed over the scripture. For all appearances he seemed to be reading deeply, however Zhao also saw that he was continuously fiddling with the corner of one of the pages between his fingers and had not appeared to turn the page in some time. Recognizing the posture as one of Jian’s thinking poses, Zhao leaves him to his thoughts and returns his focus back to his practice.

Pausing his swings and glancing back down at his own book, Zhao takes note of the formation he’s practicing one more time and adjusts himself back into the first pose of the sequence.

As he practiced he continued to think about his battle earlier that day. He could still remember the fear gripping him as the assailant dressed in black relentlessly took shots at Jian. After pulling several quick moves to keep Jian mostly out of harm’s way, Zhao could put the rest of his focus on attacking the masked assailant. At the time he hadn’t actually even felt the wounds being inflicted on him. It wasn’t until after the fight was over that he even registered the cuts and their pain, too focused on thoughts of “protect Jian-ge” and trying to recall his newly acquired sword skills.

Even though he was empty handed now, Zhao felt like he could still hear the clash of metal against metal as his short broadsword met the dual swords in the hands of their attacker. It took several quick maneuvers to both block the attacks and keep Jian out of the way. Every time one of those swords came close to Jian, Zhao felt something in his chest tighten. Too close, he remembers thinking more than once.

After dealing his opponent a well aimed blow, and the attacker finally fleeing with the assistance of his female partner, Zhao’s pain was still merely a second thought as Jian came out from his hiding place. He thinks back to those few moments of pride where he felt success at fending off the villain and protecting his damsel- companion! He means his companion, and sworn brother. 

……………………………………………………………………………………………

“Zhao, when did you become so good?” Jian had exclaimed, rushing over from his hiding place behind the screen to the warrior who was still holding his final battle stance.

However, when this didn’t get any reaction out of Zhao, Jian called him again “Zhao?”

Thinking the silence was Zhao pulling his typical tricks into getting complimented on his increasing skills and finesse as a hero, Jian teases his companion. 

“Although you are great, you don’t need to pose for so long.” This finally prompts the swordsman to stand out of his pose, laughing as he replies “I’m enjoying being a hero!”

Smiling at his heroic, albeit silly, companion, Jian points out “You’re quite humble, Zhao.”

“I’m an expert, of course I have to be humble!” comes Zhao’s quick reply, striking a pose with his sword on display atop his shoulder to emphasize his point. His joy is short lived though as Jian suddenly says “Zhao, you’re bleeding!”

Disbelief fills Zhao, “An expert won’t bleed, Jian-ge!” But he looks down to the areas that Jian is pointing out across his body, and why yes there are indeed several spots where blood has seeped through his clothing. 

Zhao notes the rising panic in Jian’s voice just as his body finally registers the wounds and their pain. To cover up both the way his heart warms at the care apparent in Jian’s voice and the rising feeling of pain overcoming his body, Zhao begins laughing a little too loudly for the situation. The last thing he remembers is the feeling of Jian’s arms coming around his body as he falls forward into him and the awaiting darkness.

……………………………………………………………………………………….........

Zhao lingers in these thoughts, and the treatment he received after by the Wicked Woman, for a while longer letting the soothing atmosphere of the room and the repetitive motions of his sword practice try to settle his storming mind.

It’s some time later when Jain interrupts the quiet of the room. “Zhao, you’re still awake at this hour?”

“You’re not sleeping either” the young hero pointed out. “And besides” he continues “I want to stay with Second Master Li a while longer” holding his sword training book up towards Jian. While that was true, what he didn’t say was that he was still hesitant to go to sleep. He had a feeling that once he closed his eyes his mind would continue to replay the events of the day, but would most likely add sinister twists to the scenario. Where Zhao wasn’t strong enough, fast enough, skilled enough to protect Jian. And instead of Zhao receiving a handful of small wounds, Jian could have been… it could have been much worse.

“You haven’t recovered from your injury” Jian refutes, not looking up from his reading material. “I don’t want you to become crippled.”

Zhao pauses in the middle of his next stroke. He looks over at Jian again, takes in his tense shoulders and the ways his hands have begun gripping the book more tightly than necessary. He hears and sees the worry for what it is; despite accepting Zhao’s protection and the man as a sworn brother (and well, Zhao was still unpacking all of that and the way it made his stomach flutter to think about) Jian had trouble seeing Zhao hurt on his behalf. It wasn’t something they spoke about, but Zhao had seen the guilt in Jian’s intense eyes more than he wanted to. 

“The Wicked Woman has done her job well, Jian-ge, I am feeling well!” Zhao responds enthusiastically. “Besides,” Zhao continues as he puffs out his chest, filling his voice with bravado, “today’s victory shows that with my practicing I am becoming quite the hero!”

This elicited the reaction Zhao wanted out of his companion as Jian let out a soft huff of laughter. He continued, “The sooner I finish Second Master Li’s teaching the sooner I can be an even stronger hero!”

Letting out an obviously forced sigh, Jian replies “I advise you to learn slowly. I don’t have other sword manuals to give you. Take your time.”

Hearing Jian say this, Zhao begins swinging his sword arm more aggressively than necessary for the gentle practice he was doing. But what he heard upset him. “Take my time?” he growled. “Take my time?! For what?” He let out a few more aggressive swings. “For you to actually get hurt next time? No, thank you.” Slash, stab. “I won’t be letting that happen if I can help it,” he finishes as he lets out one last wide swipe of his arm, imagining his sword in hand, taking down his enemies. Jian-ge’s enemies, he thinks. 

Zhao didn’t realize how harshly he had let out his response until he turned and saw Jian looking at him from across the room, wide eyed, his hands having lowered the book into his lap. The two stare at each other from across the room, Zhao sword arm lowered to his side. Jian doesn’t hold the eye contact for long before turning his nose back into the pages of his book. 

Zhao continues to stare at his sworn brother. He thinks he sees a red flush rising on Jian’s neck and ears but he assumes it must be a trick of the light, the alternative too crazy to consider. Jian wouldn’t be blushing because of what Zhao had said, could he? Zhao shook his head lightly to try and clear the foggy feeling of his thoughts.

Sitting down on his own bed, he tries to focus on his training book once again but finds himself imagining what Jian would look like blushing while he could see his whole face. How his cheeks and ears would turn a cute and bright pink. How the colour might travel down his neck, to his chest, and lower still…

Abruptly Zhao brings his book up to cover the front of his face, blushing himself as he realizes where exactly his thoughts about Jian had started going. It wasn’t the first time he had thoughts like this but normally he was better at stopping himself, especially in the other man’s presence. He wasn’t trying to think of him in this way, Zhao just found himself curious about his companion and wanted to know everything about him. In order to protect him, of course. Not because Zhao was selfish and wanted to be someone Jian confided in most intimately. 

Realizing this was a particular spiral he did not feel like traveling down tonight, Zhao decided it was time to get ready for bed. He began to put his things away, stashing the book on his night table and leaning the sword against the headboard, and laid out his bedding. Jian had followed his lead and put his own book away and fluffed up his blanket.

Zhao blows out the last of the candles that light the room, leaving one lit on the centre table to allow some light to permeate the shadows should either need to get up in the middle of the night.

Both had been in bed for only a few moments before Zhao thought he could hear noises coming from Jian’s side of the room. Despite the large space, Zhao could hear a faint clicking noise. It was too dark to see Jian’s form huddled under the blanket, but Zhao imagined if he could he would see his companion’s shoulders shaking. The clicking noise was Jian’s teeth chattering as he shivered from the cold poison circulating through his body. Unfortunately, it was a sound Zhao was becoming more and more familiar with.

Shuffling quietly in bed, Zhao sits up. “Jian-ge?” he quietly asks the room, leaving room for Jian to pretend he did not hear him.

The chattering stops and after a beat he hears a faint “Mm?” coming from Jian’s bed.

“Are you cold, Jian-ge?”

“I’m fine.” 

“You don’t sound fine” Zaho refuted.

A pause. Then, “Just go to sleep, Zhao.”

“What’s wrong, Jian-ge? What can I do?” If Zhao didn’t know better, he’d say he was almost begging, the pleading in his voice clear even to him.

Jian sighs before saying, “It’s nothing, Zhao-shidi. I’m just a little chilly is all. It’ll pass. Just go to sleep. I’m sure we’ll have a busy day tomorrow.”

The resigned note in Jian’s voice has Zhao rising from his own bed and crossing the room. It has nothing to do with how soft Jian had called Zhao his shidi. Nothing at all with how that made Zhao’s stomach flutter and made the desire to protect and care for the man increase even more.

It took only a few strides before Zhao was at Jian’s bedside. “Please, Jian-ge.” Zhao said. He wasn’t even sure what he was asking for, he just wanted to be able to help. “Are you just cold?”

At first it didn’t seem like Jian would respond, but finally he rolled over slightly to look at Zhao looming over him. He nods into the semi-darkness, the candle on the table giving enough light to show his pale complexion and even paler lips. 

“Alright then. Move over.” Zhao begins lifting the outer corner of the blanket, intent on joining Jian in his bed. As a child Zhao had learned the best way to get and stay warm was to share body heat with another person. Growing up around the mountain of his hometown he had seen many wanderers injured from the colder temperatures higher up.

However, Jian didn’t budge, and instead gripped his side of the blanket tighter around himself. “What?” he all but hiccupped.

“Move over. If we share a bed I can help keep you warm. Surely Jian-ge must know that is a good way to warm up.” Zhao kept his face as neutral as possible, not revealing how nervous he actually was about sharing a bed with the older man. As much as this was his idea, and he was doing it to help Jian after all!, he couldn’t completely deny the part of him that wanted to hold the man close. He blamed it on his need to know his companion was safe.

Jian just keeps looking at Zhao, mouth opening and closing a few times as he seems to struggle to find words to reply. Eventually Jian seems to find what he wants to say, sitting up to reply, letting the blanket fall into his lap. “But it’ll be cold, Zhao, you won’t have a good night’s sleep if you sleep beside me.”

Zhao didn’t care about that, and he knew Jian knew this was a weak defence to present, but it seemed it was all the detective could come up with. Shaking his head and clenching his fists in order to keep his voice calm, Zhao decides for a moment of vulnerability, his patience for Jian’s rebuttals for help wearing thin as it gets later into the night. “Please, Jian-ge? It would help me sleep knowing you are safe.”

Jian stares up at him, eyes trailing over his face, the set of his shoulders, and finally down to his clenched fists. He pauses here for a moment before replying, “Okay”. A deep breath. Zhao pretends not to hear how Jian’s voice shakes just the littlest bit. He doesn't know if it's from his chills or something else. 

“Okay, you can join me.” He slides over in the bed to make room for the younger man.

Not wanting to waste anymore time, Zhao quickly jumps under the covers, tucking himself and Jian in under the blanket. At first they both lay on their backs, staring up at the ceiling. This way the bed is rather cramped, as it wasn’t really made to accommodate two fully grown men, let alone when one of them was as large as Zhao. 

At the first slight shiver Jian let’s out, he rolls over onto his side, his back facing Zhao. He curls in on himself slightly, clearly trying to keep warm and trying to stifle the shivers racking his body.

Without letting himself pause to think it through, Zhao rolls onto his side too and reaches an arm around Jian’s waist, pulling the smaller man into the front of Zhao’s chest. 

“Zhao! What-” Jian all but squeaks, however Zhao cuts him off. 

“I told you to let me help you. I’ll keep you warm, Jian-ge.” At this he adjusts his grip on his sleeping companion, ensuring Jian is tucked into the cage of his arms. To ensure he gets as much of my body heat as possible, Zhao reasons. Not because holding Jian in his arms made something deep within Zhao settle.

Zhao begins to worry he’s overstepped when Jian holds himself stiff inside the circle of his arms. Just when he thinks he should pull back and maybe even go back to his own bed, that he overstepped, Jian finally releases a breath and let’s his body relax into the younger man’s hold. 

It’s several moments later, and Zhao wonders if Jian has really started to drift off, when he hears a soft “Thank you, shidi” from the man in his arms.

Trying and failing to stop the smile that spreads across his face, Zhao decides to hide it by snuggling into the back of Jian’s neck, letting his nose come to rest in Jain’s hair, smelling the lightly scented soap that his companion favoured. So lost in his own dreamland, he almost, almost, misses the way Jian snuggles back into his embrace. Maybe he didn’t over step nearly as much as he thought he did.

As the two drift off to sleep, Zhao finds himself feeling a deep kind of peace. His last conscious thought before falling into darkness is that he thinks he could fall asleep every night like this. Holding his Jian-ge in his arms, allowed to protect and care for the man. He secretly hopes he’ll be able to do this again. Unbeknownst to him, Jian is having similar thoughts within the confines of his shidi’s arms.

end notes: i'm pretty sure i've gotten the relationship terms incorrect. i went with the closest terms i could think of (ge for older brother and shidi for younger sect brother) to try and highlight their new relationship after becoming sworn brothers in a previous episode. let me know what might be more correct!

[maehara-san]

whiskey on the rocks // katsuki bakugo x reader

Part 27 

Pairing: AU!Katsuki Bakugo x F!Reader

Summary: After looking for months for a job position you finally get an opportunity at a big company. Being the assistant of the angriest person was going to be a lot harder than you thought it would be.

A/n: It was a long waited update and instead of the other format I decided this one would be best. Enjoy! Feedback is appreciated always and taglist is always open <3 <3 

👑 series masterlist👑

After the talk with Bakugo, you needed to vent to someone. This was something HUGE and if you didn't start talking you'd go insane.

Quickly scrolling pass your contacts you clicked on your best friends. After a few seconds, their faces popped up on the screen.

"Hey what's up?" Denki asked as he munched on his sandwich. "You usually don't call us unless something happened."

"Is everything alright?" Shoto asked looking at you with concerned eyes.

"Yeah...well..." you sighed feeling frustrated. You didn't know how to even feel, to begin with. Everything was all over the place.

"What is it y/n?" Your other best friend Tenya asked. "Did they catch the one who framed you?"

You shook your head and bit your lip. "No... it's something else. I don't know what to feel...he did seem sincere."

"Wait! Did Midoriya confess to you?!" Denki yelled at the screen causing his co-workers to look at him.

"What?! No!" you quickly said, "He never will do anything of that!"

"You don't know!"

"Anyway...no that's not it. Bakugo...actually asked me if we could talk." you said dropping the bomb right away "And well he said a lot than I had expected him to."

"Good or bad?" Shoto asked.

"It was good...surprisingly. He was quite respectful and didn't yell at me for once...a bit awkward I gotta say." you explained, "He did apologize to me though."

"Wait what? Since when is he not an asshole?" Denki asked.

"I don't know either!" you responded. Taking a deep breath you tried calming down. "But when he spoke. I could even tell...he meant what he said there was nothing behind it. It was just a person apologizing for his behavior."

"What did he tell you exactly?" Tenya asked.

"He started by saying that he was an asshole and shouldn't have acted that way. He judged too quickly without thinking about it since it's never happened before. I understand...then explained that he will make sure the person who ruined the project will be punished immediately. He never meant to yell and hoped that I will accept his apology and if I didn't he would understand." you explained.

"Did you accept his apology?" Shoto asked closing the door to his office.

Your eyes met with each one of your friends. They looked at you silently waiting to hear what your answer would be. After a long pause, you finally spoke.

"I did."

Tenya nodded along with Shoto. Denki however didn't say anything almost as if he had been bothered by your response. You were too kind, to begin with even if the silent treatment did last there was no way you wouldn't say no.

"I'm glad he finally apologized for his mistakes. He did say some bad things though...are you sure you can forgive him for that?" Tenya asked.

You decided to move to a more private part of the building. Luckily mostly everyone was having lunch on the top floor so the garden was empty.

"I realize that it's too early for me to forgive so easily-"

"-yeah it is after all the bullshit he has said to you. Not to mention what happened at the festival." Denki butted in "I saw you two arguing before you even ask and don't try to deny it."

"I'm not trying to deny anything. Yes, we did argue there and the things he said hurt a lot-"

"Then why did you accept his apology?!" he exclaimed.

"Because! This is my workplace and I shouldn't be acting like a high schooler. He is still my boss and not to mention I work with him. Bakugo did say a lot of crap but I'm not going to act immature. That's not right when he's owning up to his mistakes."

"Just because he is owning up to his mistakes doesn't mean he feels sorry." Denki retorted.

"Guys calm down there's no need to fight-" Shoto spoke trying to ease the tension.

"What are you trying to say?" you spoke ignoring Shoto at the moment.

"Maybe he apologized because Abigail is gone and he needs a right hand. He's going to use you!"

"Don't say that! He wouldn't do that to me. Plus I'm working with Midoriya-"

"Why can't you see it? Your little crush on him is making you blind to see shit." he retorted.

"I don't have a crush on him," you said not sure if you were trying to convince yourself of them. There was no way they would believe you.

"You do though. We've been seeing how you're acting. His relationship or whatever he has going on with Abigail is bothering you. It's not good to deny something you know it to be true." Tenya said.

"Shoto tell them I don't have a crush on him." however your friend shook his head and didn't speak.

"See we can all tell. If you're only doing this to be near him then you'll only end up getting hurt again." Denki added. "It's best to be professional and not engage outside of work for the sake of your insanity."

"I gotta go. Midoriya is waiting for me. See you later." you ended the call before anyone else could talk.

After work was finally over you and Midoriya started making your way to the bar. He had been invited by Denki and decided to go there together.

'It's been such a long day...all I want is a drink.' you thought taking off your blazer and setting it down on your lap.

"By the way...you don't have to tell me if you don't want to...but did everything go okay with Bakugo?" he asked keeping his gaze on the road.

"Uh...yeah yeah...he apologized and said he was going to investigate as well about what happened. Bakugo wants there to be no tension especially since we're still working together," you answered looking out the window.

There wasn't traffic surprisingly, only a few cars here and there. It was chilly but you didn't care. Your mind had been cooped up all day with the conversation you had. Part of you was ready to put it behind you while the other side of you knew nothing would change. Bakugo was with Abigail that much was true.

"I'm glad to hear that." he took a turn and kept driving. The music was only background noise, there wasn't anything specific. "I hope after this...things will ease around the group."

"I hope so too," you mumbled.

After a few minutes, you had finally arrived. The bright sign welcomed you making your eyes wince at how the lights shined. Midoriya opened the door allowing you to enter first.

"Thank you," you said making his cheeks turn a slight pink in return. Midoriya walked in after you and kept himself close in case any drunk men tried to talk to you.

He looked at your figure, not in a sexual way but observing you. There was a clear notice about how stressed you were. After you had talked to Bakugo your mood had changed. He asked if there was something wrong however you shook your head and tried changing the subject. At times he wished he were able to find out what happened to you, find a way to make you smile again. It was obvious to his friends how much he had changed after meeting you.

His personality had developed and you made him feel confident and comfortable again. Still, there was no telling how much longer he would be able to go without letting you know how he felt.

“Y/n!” a familiar voice yelled out. Your eyes scanned the place to see your pink-haired friend.

“Mina?” you said as she walked over to you. “Hey.” still confused about her being here.

Mina pulled you into a quick hug and smiled softly. “I hope you don’t mind. Denki invited us as well.”

“Us?” you questioned “I didn’t know more people were coming. I know he only invited Midoriya-”

“Oh...I thought he told you,” she said and you shook your head. Looking straight ahead you see three different bodies sitting at the bar next to Tenya and Shoto. Midoriya had left to go talk to Denki.

“Who else came?”

She was about to answer when a rough voice spoke instead. “I did too.”

“I’ll go get you a drink.” you smiled small and gave her a nod. Mina looked at the two of you and left.

“I...um didn’t expect you to come. Giving the fight you had with your friends...” you said.

“Mina told you?” he asked, “I told her not to say anything.”

“Well...it was unavoidable since you commented on my post wishing them both a happy life. Kinda hard not to talk about...she was practically happy the next day.” you chuckled lightly.

Bakugo smiled small, “I needed to fix it. There’s no reason to dislike...she’s happy and...I need...to try.”

“She’ll appreciate it.” you added, “Little by little, I’m sure it’ll be okay.”

“Yeah.” he rubbed the back of his neck. There was an awkward feeling between you two. Up to now you never have had a true conversation that wasn’t about work. Besides the one in the park, you were drunk so there were some things you didn’t quite remember.

“Can I ask you something?” you asked.

“What is it?”

“D-Did you mean it when you apologized?” you quickly shook your head “I-I’m not doubting you! I-It’s just...t-that I want to make sure...because I want things to be okay between us. I want to keep supporting you in anything you need...you’re still technically my boss after all.”

‘I hope I didn’t mess it up!’ you thought.

“I did.” he softly spoke “I-I meant it...and I hope you can sincerely accept my apology. I...also want to...work well...again.”

You broke into a soft smile “I will continue to do my best.” He gave you a soft nod and was about to speak but got interrupted.

“Come over to the bar!” Hanta exclaimed looking at the two of you.

“I guess we should head over,” Bakugo said. You nodded and made your way over to the bar, taking a seat next to Midoriya.

“Here’s your drink,” he said placing it next to you on the wooden table.

“Thank you.” you softly smiled and drank some of the mixed drink. There was a slight burn in your throat that felt good.

“Alright! Today there should be no talk about work or anything okay?!” Denki yelled over the background music. “Let’s enjoy tonight!” a small smile formed on your face and raised your cup clinking it against the other ones. He already had a little too many drinks that you could tell.

The music blared louder grabbing their attention. “Let’s go dance!” Mina exclaimed dragging him to the dance floor. He placed his drink down and wrapped his arms around her body making her laugh.

“Do you wanna dance?” Midoriya asked nervously. There was no telling what would happen and if you wanted something to happen. Taking his hand you accepted his offer and followed him. Bakugo sat back watching the scene unfold.

“I…have never danced so I apologize in advance if I step on you,” you admitted making him chuckle.

“Don’t worry about it.” he smiled “I’ll help guide you. I’m not an expert but i will try my best to help you learn.”

You nodded softly smiling and followed his lead. The song wasn’t fast pace it was more on the calm side. He had his hands resting on your waist and your arms were wrapped around his neck. It was small talk you tried enjoying yourself and focusing on the music. After a long battle with your self, letting loose was the thing you needed the most.

Midoriya’s heart began to beat loudly. He tried his best to stay calm and enjoy this moment with you, it took all his strength to not kiss you right here and now. It was true he was liking you more than friends and coworkers, this man was falling head over heels for you. Despite knowing what the risk was he wasn’t going to let you go.

The song then changed into a louder tone people danced differently. He spun you making you giggle. The lights shined brightly on the two of you, his hand in yours holding it tightly. Your smile grew feeling relaxed and comfortable, the way he made you forget about those uneasy thoughts was incredible.

“I don’t know what to tell you, bro…” Kirishima spoke, “It seems like Midoriya isn’t backing down either.”

Bakugo looked down at his beer he was already kicking himself for not fixing it earlier. Looking at you made his chest clench again. Abigail was there but he wasn’t sure if there was something more or if it was an old feeling being brought up with no meaning.

“I think you should tell her,” he said.

“…You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Bakugo mumbled, “You’re already drunk.”

His friend shook his head “If you don’t accept your feelings now there’s no telling what will happen. I know nothing is going on with Abigail… as much as you want to ignore what you feel, it’s not going away.”

‘Is there even a chance you feel the same way?’ Bakugo thought running his fingers through his hair creating a messy look. ‘Why would she?…I don’t  blame her if she didn’t…’

All this self-pity was making him upset, since when did he start doing this to himself? It was getting ridiculous if he didn't feel afraid with Abigail why was he nervous around you?

He rubbed the side of his temple, it was too much. Bakugo felt like a teenager all over again he thought this crap would be over but then Abigail happened and things changed.

"What do you have to lose?"

Kirishima was right.

Your mind was filled with happiness. The small drink began to loosen you up and the tension in your body was gone. Midoriya enjoyed himself whenever he was with you, he could tell you were tipsy already but not enough to make any wrong decisions.

The more he kept his eyes on you the easier his heart was falling for you.

His emotions were getting difficult to control all he wanted to do was confess and show you how much better he could be. That's all he wanted and hoped for.

"I love this song," you shouted making him break out into a chuckle. His hands held tightly onto yours making sure not to let go. Your smile was bright and the lights made your (e/c) eyes glow.

As the song was starting to end he spun you around and brought you close to him. With the final melody, he dipped you gently and looked into your eyes.

"I don't know how long I've been able to last," he said. "Now that I have you here...I don't want to hold back y/n."

"Izuku..." you softly spoke.

He looked at your beautiful face and then at your soft lips. His eyes closed, within a second his pair of lips were placed on you.

The kiss was slow yet soft at the same time. It held a lot of emotion and everything he felt you now knew. Your eyes slowly closed as well, then they moved on their own. The noises were being drowned out as your mind eased and focused on only him. There was no reassurance that you felt the same way however you were feeling protected and cared for something that you had long lost a long time ago.

Midoriya then pulled away and lifted you back up slowly without breaking eye contact.

"I know...I-I probably crossed the line." he explained "But I can't keep it a secret any longer." holding you close, his hands held your own. "I like being around you, your smile is the highlight of my day. I don't mind working late or being stuck at the office all day. When I'm with you it feels like a different place. There isn't a guarantee that you like me back that much...but I don't want to keep pretending like I don’t have feelings for when it’s true. I like you y/n."

Your heart then dropped. “Y/n?” Midoriya asked until he decided to turn around to see his old frenemy standing there.

"Bakugo..."

---

Taglist: 

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[arknights-imagines]

I would kindly request for a Broca imagine.🥺

Hiya anons! 💕 Ty for sending in requests 🥺 I actually know the first anon well, so from now on they're gonna be called bird anon 🤣 anywho, I was a little unsure on how to capture Broca but I actually really enjoyed writing this! 😭🎉 I hope I did him justice 🌸 please enjoy 🍡

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Growing Closer with Broca overtime

Headcanon format; From the perspective of the reader/Doctor for the most part

Contains: Broca, reader as Doctor, relationship development overtime, a few time skips and lots of fluff 🥺

Word count: about 2.4k!

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･ Rhodes Island was quite the expansive company, but you had always made an effort to get to know every Operator you commanded to at least some extent. Some you only knew the names of, while others you considered very close to you beyond business and Operations. You felt it was only right that you made an effort to understand those who were ready to give their lives for the cause Rhodes Island stood for; it was the least you could do, in your eyes.

･ Though there was one particular Operator among one of the groups of newer recruits who captured your curiosity; he had attended post and pre-operation meetings, but he always wore the same callous scowl and stood in a far corner of the room, not saying a word.

･ When you had asked Amiya, she replied with a slight tilt of her head, “Ah, the Guard Operator off to the side? His name is Broca, I don't think you’ve met him personally yet, Doctor. He's not very talkative, but he's a talented Operator.” Broca - the name wasn't too familiar, but that only brought more curiosity upon you.

･ You had read his file, but documents never properly represented how a person actually felt or behaved. So, you took it upon yourself to talk to Broca; maybe even help the Feline feel a little more comfortable around you and others at Rhodes Island.

･ Whilst taking attendance for an upcoming Operation, you took your time when the next name on your list was his; “Codename Broca?” He raised a hand for a moment, muttering out a small, “Here.” You could tell that he was expecting you to move on, but you stopped to face him with a small smile, “Welcome, I’m sorry I didn't introduce myself sooner.”

･ Just when you mentioned your name, Broca stepped back, looking off to the side as a small ‘tch’ left his lips, “I don’t have any reason to start a conversation with you. Your name doesn't matter to me.”

･ With that, he headed off in a different direction; you stood there for a few moments, blinking and face written with surprise, before a small sigh left you.

･ It looked like getting closer to Broca was going to be anything but easy.

･ You had heard what the other Operators would say about Broca; they always mentioned how unpleasant he was to be around. In fact, some even told you trying to get closer to him was a battle you would lose very sorely. While you understood where they were coming from, you were sure that his bitterness came from somewhere amd had an explanation, and you wanted to understand him better.

･ However, understanding Broca better was a lot easier said than done.

･ From his file, you gathered that he was previously involved with the Siracusan mafia and that he only seemed to be open around the two Operators he had been with when he arrived at Rhodes Island, though you didn't know either of them personally. You knew he was Infected, but you weren't his medical doctor, nor was that any of your business.

･ So, unfortunately, the list of things you could’ve potentially talked to Broca about thinned very quickly.

･ Even so, you didn't want to give up on trying to get closer to him just yet.

･ A few days later, you had approached Amiya while walking around the Rhodes Island Arc, once again asking about Broca; “Amiya, have you seen Broca anywhere today?”

･ The young woman looked down for a second, eyes thoughtful before she lifted her head with a small nod, “Yes, I saw him heading toward the kitchen down the hall a little while ago.” The Chimera explained, “Will you try talking to him again?” When you replied in affirmation, Amiya smiled a little, “I see. He doesn't show it, but I’m certain he appreciates your effort.” Her words paired with her kind grin imbued you with motivation, and you couldn't help but smile a little back.

･ As you thanked her for her help, the Chimera waved you goodbye, “I hope it goes well for you, Doctor.” And with that, you were off to go find Broca.

･ In all honesty, you weren't expecting the Feline to still be where Amiya had seen him, but sure enough, he was in the small kitchens adjacent to one of the meeting rooms nearby; it seemed like he had just finished attending a briefing.

･ “Broca, hello again.” You figured there was no better approach than a forthcoming one, so you headed further into the room to stand a little closer to him. He didn't seem very happy to see you; in fact, he hadn't really spared you as much as a glance, and continued to rummage around in the cabinets as if you weren't there. The only real indication that he had even really noticed you was that his Feline ears flattened just slightly in displeasure, and that wasn't exactly the greatest sign either.

･ You weren’t that easy to get rid of, however.

･ “Are you looking for something to eat?” You asked, looking around the kitchen for a second before opening one of the nearby fridges and peering in.

･ A little hesitantly, Broca stared at you from the corner of his eye, watching as you pulled out a tray of various wrapped sandwiches. “You can take one of these. Matterhorn made them this morning.” You took two sandwiches off the tray then returned it to its original spot as the Feline nearby finally turned to face you.

“...Who’re all of those for?” He asked, and you smiled a little, happy that he was speaking to you - even if it was only a few words.

･ “They’re for everyone. You can take what you like.” Heart hopeful, you extended your arm and offered one of the sandwiches to him, “If you’re not going to eat it now, just take it for later.”

･ Broca stared at you for a few moments; eyes shifted between your kind expression and the wrapped sandwich you held in your outstretched hand. Conflict flicked in his eyes for but a second, then, with a small “tch”, he moved his hand, accepting the food.

･ His fingertips brushed yours as he did, and to your surprise, he lingered for a few seconds longer. But when you blinked, he was already leaving the room, unwrapping the sandwich on the way.

･ Before the door closed behind him, the Feline glanced over his shoulder; his expression was softer than usual, and he spared you a small thankful nod before taking his leave.

･ As the door closed, you smiled to yourself. Maybe there was a chance that Broca would let you in after all.

･ These small interactions continued, and each time you two spoke, Broca became just a little warmer.

･ You would greet him in the hallways, wish him good luck as he left for Operations and praise him for his good work after an Operation would finish. As the days passed, he began acknowledging you more and more; the Feline spared you a simple “Morning.” or “Afternoon.” whenever he passed you by happenstance, he would give you verbal reports about missions upon returning and whenever you applauded him for his good work on the battlefield, he’d stop to give you a curt word of thanks.

･ You didn't move too fast; you let him come to you at his own pace. Everytime you two spoke, you felt like you began to understand him better; the Feline was tough, but behind his walls, he wasn't the heartless person everything thought him to be.

･ Broca became very important to you, and so was every moment you two shared. It was hard to tell what he was thinking, but you didn't have to be able to read minds in order to understand that he was trying his best to allow you in.

･ However, the real point of progress between you two was one weekend afternoon a long time later, just before dawn.

･ Work had kept you up late, so you didn't see the point in sleeping. To keep yourself occupied, you figured you’d prepare for the Operation briefing you were supposed to present later that day to save yourself some time.

･ However, when you had walked into the meeting room reserved for the briefing, you were surprised to see someone already there, looking over the battle formation diagrams you had drawn earlier that day during the small meeting you had held in preparation for the upcoming Operation. “Broca?”

･ The Feline looked up, looking a little surprised to see you. “Morning.” He looked off to the side as you stepped into the room, “It's early for you to be here.”

･ You briefly explained why you were there at such an early hour, before sitting on the meeting desk, facing him, “What are you doing here?” He nodded his head at the meeting board and battle formation diagrams on the table, “Preparing.”

･ You nodded, making a small noise of affirmation. Broca stared at you for a moment more, before returning to his previous task of reviewing the battle plans for the Operation.

･ The silence wasn’t awkward, but you still felt the need to fill it; “Broca, do you hate working here with me at Rhodes Island?” He clearly wasn't expecting that; the question was direct, and the Feline grew a bit tense at hearing it. He was quiet for a few moments, but then he huffed. “You’re rather rude.” He gave you a glance, before crossing his arms and then choosing to shake his head slowly, “I don’t hate you, I just…..find it difficult to completely trust you.” A little hesitantly, he looked you in the eye, seeming to struggle to keep his gaze sharp, “But….you’ve shown me that….you’re not half bad.”

･ His tone was softer than it typically was and his words brought you serenity. Broca wasn't partially eloquent in the slightest, but whenever he spoke with you, a warm and safe feeling washed over you.

･ You opened your mouth to reply effusively, but when your eyes returned to his face, colour had risen to his face, cheeks dusted with blush. His eyes seemed to look anywhere but you, and his arms were crossed. Broca didn't seem to regret what he had said, but he looked uncomfortable, maybe a little embarrassed. His Feline ears twitched subtly and his tail seemed to fidget; it was the first time he truly let his walls fall since joining Rhodes Island, and you were the only one there to see it.

･ You were thankful that he was giving you a chance, but you decided to express that outwardly some other time; a day where he would be more ready to be vulnerable around you.

･ “Broca, I....” So instead, you yawned, propping your elbow on your knee in order to rest your chin in your palm, “I’ll stay a little while, if that's okay with you.” The Feline kept his eyes on you for a moment, then, he huffed a bit again while glaring at you just a little, “Good grief, there isn't any getting rid of you.” He looked off to the side, “But if you want to stay….tch, fine.”

･ Amiya would definitely scold you for getting little to no sleep, but you wanted to stay in the moment just a little while longer; you wanted to stay with Broca for just a little while longer.

･ And so, it was back to silence. Soon, hues of orange and violet split into the room, blanketing you two with warm from the just risen sun. Broca didn't speak to you, but you didn't mind; for you, him simply allowing you to stay in the same room as him was enough.

･ It was obvious something must've happened to cause him to be so distrusting of others - but you were more than fine with letting him come to you at his own pace; you didn't need him to completely open up to you all at once. You weren't going anywhere, and you hoped that neither was he.

･ The sound of the announcement system going off followed by a voice from the speakers overhead cut into the silence in the room, starling both of you a little, “Doctor, please report to the Rhodes Island main deck as soon as possible.”

･ You frowned a little; duty called, unfortunately. As you pushed yourself off the desk, Broca hummed a little, turning back to you, “Well then, you should get going.” A nod came from you, followed by a small look of apology, “I’ll see you this afternoon for the Operation briefing.” The Feline replied in affirmation, before turning to return to the meeting board.

･ However, before you took your leave, you looked toward him, looking at his back that was turned to you, "Broca?" He tilted his head to look over his shoulder, his eyes meeting your form from the corner of his eye, “Do you need something-”

･ A little suddenly, you stepped forward, catching his wrist gently and prompting him to turn to you in surprise; you practically felt a frisson of shock go through him. The Feline tensed, sputtering while his face flushed with colour, “O-Oy…?!” Even so, you didn't pull away and neither did he. Taking your chance, you took his hand in both your own and squeezed gently, touch tender.

･ Bringing his hand close to your heart and holding it tightly, you smiled at him, eyes filled with an unbelievable gratefulness; “Thank you for accepting me.”

･ At first, Broca gaped at you like you had three heads, but then, ever so slowly, he let his tense shoulders relax, speaking in a quiet tone, “Tch...good grief.” His eyes met yours, a little embarrassed but soft and honest.

･ Thoughts were chasing each other around in his head, but when he looked at how warm your gaze looked, his mind calmed; he still wasn't sure about Rhodes Island, but you? You two weren't quite there yet, but his heart told him that you were someone he would be able to place his complete trust in someday. And so, a little shyly, he squeezed your hand back, expression relaxed - “....You're welcome.”

･ Yes; your effort to get to know Broca better hadn’t gone to waste at all.

[justallamaimaginingthings]

Protective {TUA Preference // Luther}

A/n: I know the request said preference, but this came out a little longer than expected so I'll post each one of them separately as blurbs. Thanks for requesting and I hope you enjoy it❤💞 Btw this is posted from my phone so the format may be a little fucked up.

Request: "I would love to request another preference if you feel inspired (for everyone except five!) possibly fem!reader who is super protective of their s/o and will defend them physically and/or verbally but also has a soft side?" By @eagleandthebutterfly

Words: 954  II  TUA Masterlist

To say that Luther was sensitive when it came to what the serum had done to his body would an understatement. The supposed leader of the Umbrella Academy found himself spending hours in front of the mirror, taking in what he perceived to be the most disgusting sight he had ever witnessed. The skin of his chest, arms and back had turned a dark almost blue shade and it had roughened to an unbelievable extend. This was not normal. This was not even human. The same two phrases kept repeating themselves in his head until he had come to believed them wholeheartedly.

No matter how hard he tried to hide it behind large coats and leather gloves, there was no way he could prevent people from giving him weird stares even as he was walking down the road and deep down he couldn't blame them. He knew that not long ago he could have reacted the same way. Slowly, as time went by, Luther had come to accept the fact that he was going to be stuck in that repulsive ape-like for the rest of his life, and had given up trying to avoid, instead plunging into a rabbit hole of self depreciation and denial.

When he met you there was no way he thought you would ever spare him a glance, not to mention fall in love with him and him with you. It was the first and only good thing that had happened to him after returning from the Moon and getting dragged into the end of the world. He had never felt more thankful in his life than when you had landed next to him in the 60s, his large hand still gripping yours. It took a lot of time but he finally opened up to you about the secret hatred he harboured for his body and since that day you had vowed to show him how much you loved each part of him, even the ones that had suffered the consequences of the serum. And that was how the two of you had ended up here.

“So, darling tell me, what's a pretty thing like you doing with that monkey?” The man's voice was cruel, causing multiple laughs to be heard from the other side of the boxing gym. You glared daggers at the company of three that were taking their break, cauaing their laughter to be cut short. After all that time, people had come to know that you weren't one to be toyed with. You had your boundaries set and your wrath reserved for anyone who dared disrespect them.

“Not that it is any of your business but I love that man more than you could possibly fathom so you'd better watch your mouth” You replied, doing your best to maintain your composure. After Luther confessing how much he worried about you, especially during a time when you had to keep your powers hidden to avoid the unwanted attention, you had promised to stay out of trouble, or at least try.

“Love? Honey I've seen this man fighting and there's nothing a woman could love there. I bet I could show you a real good time, why don't you try being with a normal man for a change?” The man carried on as if your warning hadn't even been said. There was something about the arrogant look on his face that made you realise he actually meant those things and that was the moment your self control gave out.

Moving in a matter of seconds, you grabbed the man by his collar, bringing him down to your eye level.

“I don't know who you think you are, but you don't get to talk like this. Not to me, not to my husband, not to anyone. So get out of my sight before I make you regret it” With each word your eyes shone a brighter shade of blue until they were glowing, matching perfectly the flashing blue aura that started to seep through your fingers. The man gave you a petrified look and tried to get away from you, but your grip kept him in place. “Do you understand?”

You had been so preoccupied in trying to control your anger that you hadn't even noticed when Luther had returned from the dressing room and rushed to your side the moment he realized what was happening. Placing a gentle hand on your shoulder, he helped you calm down enough for the blue glimmer to subside, much unlike your anger.

“What my wife is saying is that you should leave” Luther explained steadily, but before the sentence was over the man had already rushed outside, still terrified after witnessing your powers.

“What did he say that got you so riled up?” Luther asked you, after checking that you were unharmed and well. He knew that you could handle yourself in a fight, but still he found himself worrying sick that maybe one day you would end up getting hurt and he wouldn't be there for you. What he didn't expect was for you to instantly switch from full attack mode to shy and fidgeting, seemingly too interested in the floor as your eyes focused there, refusing to meet his inquiring gaze.

“Nothing” You tried -and failed- to brush off the situation, but his questioning look was enough for you to understand that he knew you good enough to know when you were lying “He insulted you and I know you're still insecure about the way you look. I'm sorry”

Instead of replying, he pulled you in one of the giant hugs you so loved and gently rubbed circles on your back. “Just please don't get hurt”

[bongugourokishima33]

Look So Good | Bakugou Katsuki

A/N: I hope you liked my first post! I promise I’ll be more descriptive and tag better, new format so I’m still trying to figure out how to properly use Tumblr :p  

Warning: Sensual dancing, bakugou’s a dancer?! 

Summary: You were always someone Bakuogu wanted but could never get, after messing around a few times, he finally understood how to speak your language, and soon you will be his~

Word Count: 1,917

“Ooh, you be lookin' so good, I've been keepin' my cool, I be actin' brand new wit' ya-” 

Your hands slid up your legs sensually as you were bent over, slowly lifting up to the beat. Rolling your upper part matching the rhythm, watching yourself in the mirror of the dance studio. 

“Ooh, you be lookin' so good, I be actin' brand new, I've been keepin' my cool wit' ya, hey.”

Pausing the music for better concentration, you thought of your next move that would flow perfectly with this chorus. considering you had a competition coming up next month you wanted to win, so this dance had to be perfect 

“Why don’t we take a break.” Kirishima said sitting on the floor covered in sweat as he held the water bottle in his right, and a hand towel in his left. 

“Shima this is important to me, it needs to be perfect.” You groaned trying to catch your breath as you placed your hands on your hips. Kirishima wasn’t just your voluntary dance partner but also one of your best friends. He knows how important this is to you, but considering how you guys have been at this since 8 o’clock this morning, he’s pooped. 

“Y/N, It’s already noon, I’m starving.” He whined chugging the water until the bottle was half empty. 

“Just help me fix this and then we can go eat, I don’t like these moves but I don’t know what to do.” You huffed thoroughly frustrated at how you didn’t like this one part of the dance. 

“I’m not good at dance stuff, I’m only this good because you taught me.” He laughed getting up after placing the stuff on the ground beside him and walked up to your side taking in a deep breath. 

“Okay, well it’s a duet... it’s supposed to be powerful and sexual right?” You nodded staring at him through the mirror as you watched him stand behind you. 

“Well I saw this in a video on youtube, but we can slow it down and make it more sensual.” He placed his hand on your back. 

“When you bend down, and move your hand up your leg-.” You did what he said, as his hand stayed on your back. 

“Come up slowly, I’ll move m hand here- and then you move this way-.” After another painful hour of trying out a different move for this chorus you both agreed that you liked the new idea better and called it a day and grabbed your stuff leaving the studio. 

Dancing was a passion of yours that was something you wanted to be more than a hero, even though your quirk was something to be classified hero material. To obey your parents wishes you went to UA for them, but still try your best to continue your passionate love for dance. 

“Don’t worry Y/N, were gonna win!” Kirishima cheered as we walked into the dorms, seeing some of your classmates hanging out in the lounge are. Your eyes landed on crimson eyes that stared daggers back at yours. 

“You’re late, damn it I’m starving!” Bakugou roared walking up to him with his hands in his pockets. 

“Sorry man, Y/N made me stay longer.” He laughed scratching the back of his head. 

“I should have just ate with out you.” He grumbled glancing at you one more time, scanning you from head to toe. He made your skin tingle and your heart skip a beat. Besides his nasty attitude Bakugou was someone you considered your type, he’s sexy, incredibly strong and smart. 

“Don’t tell me you were struggling with dancing?!” He scoffed, his tone seeping into a condescending one. You glared at him, walking away before he opened up his mouth to say stuff that could piss you off about dancing. He always teased you, acting like he could do anything close to the stuff you do. 

“Ha, did I piss the little princess off?” A smirk formed against Bakugou’s lips making you stop dead in your tracks, turning on your heels to meet the ash blondes grin. 

“You think dancing is easy?” You rose a brow trying to hold back your scoff. 

“I don’t think it’s easy, I know it is.” Nibbling on your bottom lip to hold back the words you wanna say to him you glanced at Kirishima who sighed shaking his head, staying out of it. 

“Alright if you think it’s so easy then why don’t you try dancing Kirishima’s part in my dance routine.” The boost of confidence you got from within spilled out as you got closer but the closer you got the more you realized how much taller he was from you as he glared at your bravery. 

“Bring it you damn extra.” His malicious expression. 

You weren’t an amateur you were considered a performer, a top dancer form the studio you go to. Trying not to let his snarky remarks reheat the fire in your belly you headed to your room to clean up and change. 

~ 

“Wow that was amazing guy! Kirishima I didn’t know you could dance!” Mina cheered, along with Ochaco and Toru. 

“Ah. thanks guys haha.” Smiling bashfully at their comment, Kirishima looked at you with a smirk of confidence, knowing that they were going to wow the judges at the competition. 

“Why did you guys come!” Annoyed Bakugou glared at the group as they shrugged. 

“I wanted to see Y/N’s dance, they have been working for weeks on it I mean that was just incredible.” Toru said gushing over how hot it was resting on Jiro who was controlling the music. 

“Awh, are you scared of a little crowd? Or scared that there will be an audience watching to see that what I just did wasn’t luck but skill.” You used the back of your hand to wipe the sweat off your forehead. Knowing that you should be careful how far you push his buttons, you ignored your subconscious and continued to pick and poke at him. 

Bakugou was too prideful to back down from a challenge regardless of the situation, and considering he started it he definitely wasn’t backing down, he was going to make you eat those words, and then some. 

The way you moved your body made it impossible to peel his eyes away, how toned and smooth your legs looked as you touched them, and lifted them showing off your flexibility. The way he saw your chest heaving up and down when you were catching your breath, a thin layer of sweat coating your chest as your tank top hugged your body tightly.

How your can pop your back out and make your ass, your voluptuous back side poke out and jiggle. It drove him crazy, but it wasn’t the first time he’s seen you move like that, remembering back to days the two of you slipped away somewhere quiet and had a little fun. You were fucking beautiful, a goddess with moves so tranquil and alluring he could watch you on repeat all day. 

Getting up without any hesitation he walked up to you shoving Kirishima over, everyone shocked that he accepted the challenge. Walking over to everyone he took the phone from Jiro smiling letting her know she got it.  

Pulling you closer to himself, Bakugou placed his hands on your side, your back facing everyone. ‘Zshhoom’ the sound of your heart racing never being this close to him but a few times in your dreams when you stayed up all night thinking about him. 

“Alright Bakugou let’s see if you were watching carefully.” Yelled Kirishima as he got the music ready. 

“There’s no way you memorized all of that.” You said baffled at how confident he was. 

“Wanna bet.” He mumbled in your ear pulling you closer initiating for you to wrap your arms around his neck, getting into the starting pose you had earlier. You stared up at him, feeling nervous that there was an slight chance he would win, but there was no way, it was impossible, I mean you knew he was incredible, he had talent for cooking, he could fight, and he knew how to play the drums but dancing wasn’t like any of those. 

“You’re on.” Licking your lips in regret as the words slipped out your mouth like the wind does through trees. He smirked scanning your body one last time, before licking his lips. He didn’t have to say what the conditions were, you already knew them, it was the same like long before, part of you out of excitement hoped he would win, but your competitive side pushed those lewd thoughts away once the music started played. 

“Ooh, you be lookin' so good, I've been keepin' my cool, I be actin' brand new wit' ya”

Slowly moving your hips to the beat, you felt his hands quide you as you went down slightly then came back up, hr spun you around placing his hand on your back. 

“Ooh, you be lookin' so good, I be actin' brand new, I've been keepin' my cool wit' ya, hey”

Bending forward, as you stuck your leg out to the side, you ran your hand up your leg slowly coming back up, swaying your back side gently against him. After bringing you back up he ran his hands up your side, raising your arms in the process. 

“Top down, let me look in your eyes, (Get you somebody to roll the dice with), I know every second of yours is all mine, Get you somebody you don't think twice with)”

Dropping down into the slips once Bakugou held your hands in his, he helped lowered you with ease. Before everyone was watching excited, but now everyone’s eyes were watching your every movement with Bakugou. The tension and passion that came from you both like you two were the only ones in the room made everyone’s jaw drop to the performance. 

Pulling you back up, he move in sync with you as you both were in rhythm hitting each move perfectly in time with the beat. The song was coming to the last chorus, only being almost two minutes long. 

“I know what to do with my love if it's right, (Get you somebody to roll the dice with)”

Gripping your perfectly sculpted body into his hands, he lifted you up as you wrapped your legs around his waist, his palms laying flat against your back lowering you as you bent backwards, both of you dipping low to the beat. slipping off him to finish with one leg in the air as he held it up the song cut. 

“Omg that was even better than the first time!” Mina gasped. 

“Yeah talk about passion!” Toru giggled looking at Kirishima. 

“You need to be more passionate like that, and you will totally win for sure!” Kirishima sighed but listened to the feedback anyways. 

“Hold on are we just going to ignore the fact that Bakugou can dance!?” Jiro exclaimed taken back by what she just saw. 

Letting your leg down slowly he whispered into your ear swiftly before moving away from you, and even though he spoke quietly you heard him loud and clear. 

“Looks like I won kitten, you better be in my fucking room before I do.” Melting away at his tone you nodded smiling softly to yourself as he headed over to Kirishima, he was giving you a few minutes to get a head starts. 

[elizabethplaid]

Dr. Pierce’s Book of Fortune, 1937   --- Libra horoscope

@vintage-tech asked for my analysis of this Libra horoscope thing. My insights are based on opinion and balancing out what I’ve read from different quacks and my own experiences. Your mileage may vary, don’t void your bladder where prohibited, etc.

Lots of blather and a transcription of the images’ text at the end. Forgive me on the formatting, both in transcript and this whole mess of a post. I have too many thoughts and not enough organization

This sounds somewhat typical of different Libra interpretations I’ve seen.

“medium size, well-muscled, and graceful”

good health “but not very robust”

“kidney ailments”

(3/5) Medium height (not width), have been called graceful in the far-past. Partial credit there. Decent health, sure. Kidney ailments, yesssss. And that’s a thing I’ve heard before.

See, there’s an “alignment” of different body parts to different signs. “Sexual Astrology” by Joanna Martine Woolfolk (1979) notes these regions as erogenous zones. From what I’ve discussed with folks, the template fits. I’ve also seen it applied as “health troubles”, though I’m less certain about that correlation. (Don’t harp on me about a source on that image. I don’t have the patience to track it down right now, and it’d probably take foreeeever.)

In my experience, the kidney and/or bladder problems has been a thing. But I’ll also posit that I’ve had a lot of lower back muscle pain, as well, in the past.

“work carefully”, “conserve energy”

plan ahead

like to lead, and others will join

(3/5) Yes and no to all of that. Experience and mental health has shaken some habits and cemented others. I don’t make strict plans, but going without a plan is scary. Sometimes planning and such is a way to avoid a situation, too.

I don’t mind “leading” a small group of friends, but I know the perils of group projects. I might’ve been more inclined to these things when I was younger, before dealing with high school etc. It’s the “people pleaser” side of me, because I don’t want to be rejected.

logical mind

foresight, intuition

“persuasion, rather than by force”

“broad-minded and tolerant” in social situations

(4/5) Anxiety has ruined my logic, but I do go through many steps of (sometimes irrational) thought as I think my thunks. Foresight and intuition can also mean being observant and figuring out that step-A leads to step-B. That said, the few really strong gut feelings I’ve gotten haven’t been wrong. Especially when I’ve ignored them. *eye roll at self*

Definitely have been “broad-minded and tolerant”, even before being exposed to bullies. Still trying to do better, and I know I’ve improved over the years. Again, it can stem from wanting acceptance from others.

“good writer or speaker”

“warm-hearted and kind”

“sensitive to what others think of you”

“will make and keep many friends”

(3/4) All of these are very accurate, except for the keeping friends part. It could be my own mental health (eg social anxiety), moving around over the years, and/or realizing some people aren’t as appealing as they used to be - even if the relationship was good.

When I see the other person is no longer putting in the same amount of effort, I withdraw. But, in the past, I’ve put in more effort than I should have. So that was kinda doomed. Again, “people pleaser”.

“get on well in married life”

easily see multiple sides to a situation

“like and understand children”

(2/3) I’ve had a relatively easy time in relationships, but they’ve also been few and far between. Communication and understanding what I/we want have been my/our hurdles. There’s an autism-spectrum element that sometimes makes understanding other people tough, but I have been able to see different sides to things. The less a situation personally impacts me, the more sides I can see.

The children thing is less a nurturing side and more “these people are friendly”. Some of it’s autism-related, some is empathy regarding how helpless kids can feel/be. I never related well to my same-age peers, and adults loved my “old soul”. But I also know I would not feel comfortable having a young child rely on me.

“born diplomat”, ass-kissing while at least partly sincere

“fond of society”

“popular with the opposite sex”

“good wives and mothers”

bad at business

(4/6) I like to socialize, though it can be very draining, and shallow relationships are not fulfilling. Libras “are known to flirt” and be sensual or romantic, according to other sources. I think it’s a desire to feel wanted - especially as tied with the stereotype of libras liking “luxury” or “fine arts” etc. “I don’t need this person in my life to survive, but they are a delight to be around.” (Broken record: “people pleaser” again.) I do love to flirt, even pretend-flirting, where we both know nothing more will happen. It’s a safe-ish form of adrenaline rush.

The “good wives and mothers” thing feels double-edged. (This counts as 2 points.) Like, I can’t function as a wife or mother in ways that keep the day running, that keep life flowing. I have the emotional capacity, though. I’ve fondly imagined myself as being the “confidant aunt” to people, regardless of actual family connection. (I am not close to my nieces/nephews, but that’s not also a literal physical distance thing.)

Bad at business? I would cite that they mean the “more likely to buy impractical luxuries that spark joy, rather than buy a sturdy and practical necessity” stereotype. I’m bad at business for DIFFERENT reasons, sir.

-----------

Overall: 19/28 - Decent analysis, not as “accurate” as more recent publications. “First and last paragraphs” are only partial “bunk”.

I’ve got my own baggage that hinders this analysis. Can’t quite separate symptoms from traits, especially as my demeanor changes over the decades. Some of this also took “reading between the lines” to gather what they meant, to connect to stereotypes said in later analyses. 

This vintage libra analysis seems mostly like other examples I’ve read. The notes of being a good mother (not father?) feel out-of-place. Just that I haven’t seen them in other analyses. Plaid-dad is also a libra, and he has always been doting and supportive. He also gets along with kids so well, and I’ve observed that all my life.

One of my libra friends, Jodee, used to work with kids. She’s was like a big sis to me right from the start of our friendship, and she’s like that with her other friends. I’ve seen libras have big hearts, sometimes not knowing how to channel all the love they want to give to others. (Different forms of love, I mean, too.)

Logical and business-related notes are also unfamiliar. The stereotype is often that libra is more dreamy and romantic, at the expense of practicality and reality. “Champagne and caviar dreams”, as the saying goes. Indecisiveness is another big stereotype. Seeing the different sides and options can be a drawback.

The article is 80+ years old, so it makes sense that some of the stereotypes have changed. Perhaps later economic booms brought some of them to the front? Societal priorities also changed, along with expectations and roles that we might acknowledge, even if we don’t embrace them.

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

[Transcription start]

Libra - September 24 to October 23

The compensated sign of Libra, the Balance, controls your fate. If you are typical of the Libra people, you will be of medium size, well-muscled and graceful. Your health is good but not robust. You are likely to suffer from kidney ailments, if care is not exercised.

You work carefully, conserving your energy. You must plan each step before you take it. You like to lead in any enterprise, and can make others join you.

Your mind works logically and accurately. You have foresight and some intuition. You get what you want by persuasion, rather than by force. You are broad-minded and tolerant of social and religious matters.

You are a good writer or speaker. You are warm-hearted and kind. You are sensitive to what others think of you. You will make and keep many friends.

You will get on well in married life, because you can see the other side to every question. You like and understand children perhaps better than the people of any other sign.

The men of Libra are born diplomats. Many of them become statesmen, politicians, salesmen, and managers of big enterprises. The women are fond of society and usually popular with the opposite sex. They are good wives and mothers, but rarely succeed in the business world.

[Transcription end]

[morsquiesa]

𝐁𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐀 𝐃𝐈 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐎: 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐄, 𝐃𝐘𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐒, 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘.

Since it is mentioned that Bianca has children, I thought it would be the time to elaborate on Bianca’s family since I realized my blog lacks the content. So up until to the point where Bianca resigns from the hunters and starts working for Hades as an ambassador, there are three alternate paths for her that I adore. 

The first possibility is the most independent and ready to explore verse for Bianca, which is the one where after her resign, Bianca never properly returns to the surface again to live there, and over time becomes a permanent member of the underworld. I am looking forward to developing this path, because I find it quite interesting to study how Bianca makes herself a place in the underworld, what kind of a dynamic she has with Hades and Persephone, what kind of dynamics she has with the other residents and deities, what kind of a part she plays in the order of things and formation. In this option, the only family Bianca has left is her brother, Nico di Angelo, but since her joining to the hunters of Artemis their relationship is strained and they don’t talk to each other, so him making an appearance is going to be rare in the threads and mentions of him won’t be joyful ones. ( I will write another meta post about this, so it’s a more detailed conversation for later.) Her relationship with her mother, Maria di Angelo, is also another long topic that I will talk about in a different post. But to sum it up, she has no family members she is actively talking to or has good relationship with.  

  The second alternate is the same as the first one, but Bianca keeps living on the surface instead of moving in to the underworld for good. She is still not talking to Nico, she is refusing to live in the camp. ( Another meta post.) She has an apartment in New Manhattan that Hades blessed with protection for her, so when she is not on duty she is hanging out in New York. I don’t use this verse a lot, to be honest, because it is an incredibly lonely one for her. This is mostly for my mutuals with demigod or mortal muses to make it easier to interact with her. This is the most under-developed alternate. This version of Bianca is going to be hardest to talk to, because she has burned a lot of bridges and she deals with a severe sense of loneliness and feels lost as she tries to figure out where she belongs in the world she doesn’t recognize, existential and identity crisis hitting hard and heavy. In the means of family, she leans into Hades the most in this verse, because she doesn’t have anyone else left. 

 The third, also known as the most developed and softest alternate, affiliated with @mvndrvke​​ and @nosestealer​. This acts like the continuation of the second alternate, because Bianca spends three years living that lonely life in Manhattan before Hades calls Bianca and Nico for a mission in the underworld. Doors of death are missing once again, and they enter the labyrinth together to find it, and it is no easy feat going into one of the most dangerous places in the world with a sibling by your side you haven’t talked to in years unless you didn’t have to, when you’ve gone no contact after a terrible separation. Ghosts were seen, old books were opened, harsh things were said, some terrible truths unrevealed, but after two weeks ( which equaled to a few months in the world ) in the labyrinth, they come out of it with amends to make, and Nico asks Bianca to move in with him into the camp,. Bianca hesitates because he already has a stable life he tried so hard to built with a loving relationship and caring friends, but she eventually accepts because they both know they will have to get through the awkwardness and heal the wounds they’ve been avoiding for so long if they want to make actual progress. In my opinion, if it wasn’t for Nico they could never get anywhere because Bianca wouldn’t take the first step with the fear of rejection especially when Nico didn’t need her anymore with his ‘ picture perfect life ’ so shout out to Luna for Nico’s maturity. In 22th of March, 2014, at the age of eighteen, Bianca move into the camp with her brother to open a new page, and it’s when things start get better for her. ( Nico is now nineteen, a year older than her, and he never lets her live it down.)

It does get better, but also, things are painful for a long while because that’s what happens when you try to reconnect with a sibling when you are both dysfunctional with a lot of layers of miscommunication to fix: you fight. A lot. But despite these fights, Bianca meets Will Solace, who is Nico’s boyfriend at the time, then Cecil Markowitz ( mvndrvke ) and Lou Ellen Blackstone ( nosestealer ) , who are his best friends. Her expectations of them are low at first, because obviously they are Nico’s friends and she imagines the mentions of her wasn’t the brightest so she expects a judgmental approach. But oh boy, is she wrong. With Lou Ellen’s kindness, Cecil’s compassion and Will’s deep sympathy, Bianca finds herself the first family she’s ever had since the hunters.

Now, let’s talk about other good things that happened during this year. Cecil Markowitz is a good friend, he is the shoulder she seeks to cry on, he is the biggest reason of her bright smile, but a good friend is not the only thing he is to her. With his unapologetic kindness towards the world, his sense of security in who he is and who he wants to be, his relentless compassion and with the promise of safety he gives to Bianca by being by her side even when she makes it hard to be, Bianca falls in love for the first time in her life. It is both an endearing and funny process to watch her try to figure out what to do with this new feeling, because she’s never been in love before and she’s took an oath for eternal maidenhood when she joined the hunters of Artemis, and pushed aside the thought. So this is completely new territory, especially she knows for a fact that even Cecil feels the same way she does ( which she is pretty sure that he doesn’t ) she doesn’t think she can provide a kind of relationship he would expect, whatever that it would be- she doesn’t know how to date, and she definitely doesn’t know the 21th century. Also, Cecil is one of Nico’s best friends and the panic of ruining the dynamics she’s tried so hard to built is really there. So this feeling goes unspoken of for a year and a half, until it starts to seep from the cracks and eventually the truth is forced out there- and she is not the only one to blame, because Cecil has his own confessions to make. After an intense argument filled with panic and fear, the day ends with a kiss and mumbled “ I love you’s. 21st August 2015 marks the date as their anniversary, and they still celebrate it. Lou Ellen finds out first, then Will, and they are both ecstatic about it, which makes Bianca feel better. They hide it from Nico for a few months, giving themselves a while to see if they can make it work or not until Nico learns in a traumatizing way and never lets them live it down. But eventually he is happy with the outcome too, and is supportive of their relationship when he is not bullying them for it.

 From that point on, it’s tooth rotting sweet Biancecil romance. After Bianca makes sure her bond with Nico is solid enough to remain steady and strong even when she moves out, she asks Cecil to move in with her to Manhattan. They both have their own reasons for not wanting to be a part of the camp any longer ( Bianca doesn’t feel accepted because in her opinion she’s never earned the justification to exist there with heroic actions like Nico did, and the stigma with hunters of Artemis is strong, even when they are former. Cecil struggles with belonging because he’s fought in the Kronos’ Army in the First Titan War. ) so after a year spent in Long Island, they move into her apartment in Manhattan. This is the first home they share together, and Bianca still holds those memories dear to her heart. They spend another year there, with Bianca keeping up the ambassador work, and they are traveling the world together, going on dates anywhere in the map they wish. A while later city of New Athens is completed, and they move there, buying a nice house and finally setting roots. After Cecil’s 22th birthday celebration in Lisbon, Bianca decides he is the person she wants to spend the rest of her life with. With a very romantic proposal in 16th December 2017, they get engaged. At the age of 23 and 24, they say their vows with their dream wedding in 19th May 2018. 

This continuation upsets me, because just after a year of their marriage, Cecil dies in the entrance of New Athens with the attack of Lamia. His date of death marks as 3rd May 2019, and Bianca is devastated. Nico goes out to hunt Lamia where Bianca does the funeral rites of her husband according to his wishes, then she goes to the underworld. She’s lost so much in her life, she refuses to mourn him too. I want my husband back, she tells Hades. And I am going to get him back. While Hades doesn’t approve at first, with the pressure from Nico and Bianca he reveals a way. There is a ritual she can make to bring his soul and his body intact. She needs a red carnation from Persephone, Cecil’s thread of life from the fates, Orpheus’ lyre, blessing of Hades, their wedding rings, and with the possession she cares the most about. Bianca disappears from the face of earth with only Nico knowing what she is doing, and she starts her quest to search for these items. She sometimes visits her mother-in-law and checks on her, but she is the only person she sees except for Will and Lou in a few rare occasion. She completes this quest in eighteen months, a year and a half, and she brings Cecil back from the underworld 8th December, 2020.

 Their life is not the same as they’ve left it, and while they are going through difficult times, they hold onto each other. While Luna and I haven’t decided on the exact dates, after a while spent in New Athens Cecil takes Bianca to a vacation in Cape Cod, and that’s where he proposes to her again to renew their vows, and gives her a list of houses he would live to buy for them from the area. At the age of twenty-five, they sell their house in New Athens and move into Cape Cod to build themselves a life there, a life they quite enjoy. Bianca is retired from ambassadorship, leaving her place to Achilles ( mvndrvke ) and taking interest in living off her retirement plan with caring for her garden at home. Cecil turns one of the rooms into his art studio and work there, and also work as the art teacher in the neighborhood elementary school. After many struggles and many discussions, they decide to carry on with their original plan of having children before he died. Their firstborn, tiny daughter Ludovica Ranieri Markowitz is born when Bianca is twenty-seven. She is named Ludovica because of Bianca’s fondness of the name, and Ranieri after her uncle, Nico ( it’s his middle name ). At the age of thirty, their son Alexander Steven Markowitz joins the family. He is named Alexander after his father, Cecil ( it’s his middle name ) and Steven after cap america on Cecil’s request. ( Don’t worry, Bianca made fun of him for it already.) Now they are enjoying their life being old, disgustingly in love, caring for their children and hosting great events at their house. Lou, Will and Nico are still a big part of their lives.