#it essentially gives them time to work on learning this new language every night

[pastafossa]

Hey Pasta! I was rereading some of the new chapters and wanted to ask when Jane and Matt went from just impressions via thread, to full blown words and conversations?

I was trying to remember if there was a distinct shift, and I'd love to go back and read it if there was!

So while there's definitely a sloooow, gradual build to full conversations, the first time an actual word gets through is in chapter 31! This also happens right before the Away chapters, and as we know, they get a toooooon of practice trying to communicate with words, then, and are up to short sentences by the time she comes back.

BUT LET ME TALK ABOUT THIS WORDBUILDING A LITTLE THO CAUSE IT'S RELEVANT. I intentionally wanted it to feel slow and gradual, the way they go from emotional sensations -> full conversations. Even when they're talking to each other via thread now, they're not actually talking the way we think of it, which is why when you read their conversations, you'll still sometimes see something like this (Ch 134):

Bloodstained lips shifted, shaping a word on his tongue. Even before he spoke it, the air around him seemed to shiver as his intent manifested, his current aligning with yours where it lay quiet. "Mine," he whispered, the word raw smoke and rough city streets, letters a caress on your skin. "Understand?"

This isn't any of the languages we use every day. It's a language built on the bones of emotion, sensation its sound, with intent giving the words form. That's why it's taken them both so long to work up to where they're at now - they've essentially been learning a new language, one in which each word is also a sensation, a memory, and a physical change in the thread world as intent manifests (with stronger intent enacting stronger effects, as Matt almost discovered). It's a language only they can speak (that they know of), although I will confirm they learned it far faster, far more intimately, and far more fluently than anyone In The Know would have expected. Whether that's because they're soulmates, because their thread is just REALLY open now, or because Matt's super senses align perfectly with her abilities is something I'm leaving open for guessing at present.

[jacensolodjo]

A lot of people point to Birobidzhan as proof of the Soviet Union not being antisemitic after all. But the fact of the matter is, while Birobidzhan was partially the brain child of a hopeful Jewish population, it was in fact a place they were allowed simply because it meant fewer Jews in the more populated areas of the Soviet Union.

Also don't get me wrong, Birobidzhan is not a ghost town. A bunch of Jews still live there (though honestly only 1% of the population now is actually Jewish). But it is a dying town. As Israel became a much more viable option for 'Soviet' Jews, the more Jews left for it. Or to the United States or Canada or wherever else. Birobidzhan's highest population numbers hit 80k in 1989, just before the Wall fell. It now hosts approximately 75k people, 1% of them Jewish. But there are also Gentile Koreans, Chinese, Ukrainians, Cossacks, Mongolians, etc.,

Birobidzhan was considered to some a compromise over going to Israel. The problem of course is that Birobidzhan was still in the USSR. However, you would not get blacklisted just by whispering its name like you would when talking of Israel. Because if Jews weren't dying in pogroms or giving up their 'Jewishness', having them leave the Soviet Union to instead be citizens of Israel was unacceptable. How DARE these Jews claim to not be Soviets? How DARE they leave behind the glorious Soviet Union? Even if we treat them like crap how DARE they leave!!

The area they were given for this new 'Jewish Autonomous Zone' was pretty much a desert. Jews were essentially being sent to wander the fucking desert again. Nothing really grew in Birobidzhan that could sustain such a population increase in the 1930s and anything that started to manage it often died off. Through a lot of hard work, they have greenery going on but not necessarily food. To say nothing of the infrastructure already there and just how isolated it really was. At least half of the Jews who arrived at Birobidzhan returned to whence they came because of just how difficult it was to live there.

By the way, did I mention that Birobidzhan was a place already occupied and the original population were told to pack up and get out if they didn't want to be around *gasp horror* jews?

While many Jews left for Birobidzhan of their own free will, many more fled there after being the target of pogroms and other antisemitic attacks in the rest of the USSR. It became a place that the powers that be (in a system that was supposed to give power to the people but didn't) knew they could find Jews to either exploit or kill anytime they fucking felt like it. Think Kristallnacht but many nights and many whims. You know, pogroms against people who had just fucking fled pogroms.

In this once upon a time in so called Jew Utopia, it was illegal to not only study the Torah (and the Talmud and everything else) it was also illegal to learn Hebrew or Yiddish (frequent visitors to my blog or just ppl who know will be aware this was true of basically every language that wasn't Russian which says a lot but i digress. But that does not mean everyone ONLY knew Russian because of course people will take the risk to learn a new language if they feel they must). Birobidzhan became a place eventually where they had a newspaper written in Yiddish (Birobidzhaner Shtern, meaning Birobidzhan Star in Yiddish appropriately enough) for a population that probably didn't even have it as a third language much less 2nd or 1st. It did however get the distinction of being the largest Yiddish language newspaper in the entire Soviet Union but as mentioned earlier that doesn't say much when the people of Biro barely got away with having Birobidzhaner Shtern in the first place.

It continues to publish to the present day so it can be considered one of the longest running Yiddish newspapers in the Eastern world (though not uninterrupted. There were many interruptions). It was also written in Russian, for all those Jews who never learned Yiddish (Not just because it was illegal. It sometimes wasn't viewed as necessary to know. Hebrew was used for worship and Yiddish for a long time was considered a lesser language when you already had German, Polish, Russian, etc., but many did still use it for everyday discussion. I have seen some people even now make fun of Yiddish which is... not cool. There is a difference between making jokes and making fun.)

Essentially, having any kind of proud Jewish soul was next to impossible in the Soviet Union. Worship was illegal, the language of our ancestors was illegal, our books were illegal. Yes, many still did all that stuff anyway but that doesn't erase it being illegal. If you were caught you could be executed for it same as many were executed for speaking or learning Ukrainian in the same time frame. Again, doing all this in Birobidzhan was basically living on borrowed time. At any moment the powers that be could decide they also could not stand having Jews in the ass end of nowhere being Jews.

Those living in Birobidzhan from the 1930s onward (remember, it was already settled when the Jews got there after a very trying journey) were all too aware that they weren't hidden. The powers that be knew exactly where Birobidzhan was, many Jews had actually been sent there from places like Ukraine and Belarus for being annoying about Russian settlement in their lands but not enough to send them to gulag. So they still lived in fear of the pogroms following them. They were also on the border with China and thus served as a low key deterrent for Chinese expansion. The Soviet Union even called the mass settlement operation the Birobidzhan Experiment.

In 1948, Stalin enacted a 'campaign against rootless cosmopolitans'. Cosmopolitan was almost always an antisemitic dogwhistle. 1948 is also when Birobidzhan was nearly bulldozed entirely. It had outlived its usefulness but managed to survive just barely.

Following this, 4 years later, in August 1952 came the Night (isn't it always for tragedies affecting Jews?) of the Murdered Poets. ALL 13 victims were poets who were Jewish and wrote predominantly in Yiddish. Some had a connection to Birobidzhan. Including a man who had the strongest connection to Birobidzhan, David Bergelson who came from a Ukrainian stetl before settling in Birobidzhan. Mere months later that same year, in November, St*lin erased all doubt about whether Jews were welcome anymore (and had never really been anyway): they weren't. He used the term Jewish Nationalist (basically any Jew that didn't consider themselves only Soviet) as well as a recorded use of the phrase "eat the rich" (again an antisemitic dogwhistle in that time frame; not saying it is now. it was also used against Ukrainian 'kulaks/kurkuls' to justify the Holodomor) in a speech to the Politburo.

It also continued his campaign for the Doctors' Plot, as that same speech had him railing about his belief that many doctors were 'Jewish nationalists'. From 1951 to 1953, any doctor was suspect even if they weren't at all Jewish (this was a belief shared by many nazis as well). With all of this going on, everything Jewish culture was closed down in Birobidzhan, just as in the rest of the Soviet Union. The mask had finally fully fallen approximately 30 years before the Iron Curtain fell and only 20 years after Birobidzhan was founded as a Jewish Autonomous Zone. Birobidzhan was never a true safe haven, nor had been the Soviet Union as a whole. The Soviet Union had always had the power to shut it down, it barely tolerated such a concentration of Jews simply because it was in fact so far away from 'civilization'.

Things only got marginally better for Jews in the Soviet Union when the Purim Miracle of 1953 happened: the death of St*lin. He had been ready to give the green light on a far reaching campaign that could have seen more than 75% of the remaining 'Soviet' Jewish population eradicated but, as the mention of Perum implies, this was stopped in its tracks with the death of St*lin. Even without St*lin, however, any Jew that so much as whispered about going to Israel was, again, blacklisted (which meant losing their jobs and homes) and given the title of the very thing Soviets hated: leeches aka people who relied on welfare (because remember they didn't practice what they preached about everyone deserving to have a life worth living no matter their ability or who they were).

Birobidzhan, while still populated, stands as a cautionary tale and proof positive that the Soviet Union lied for its entire existence about Jewish treatment and that russia has inherited this tendency. If it sounds too good to be true (especially for Jews), then it probably is.

TL; DR: there has never been a fucking Jewish utopia in the Soviet Union and anyone saying as such is a liar who has gaslit themselves into believing otherwise. With often the 'but there were SO MANY Soviet Jews' line being proof while forgetting (conveniently) that the USSR was a HUGE place to begin with that swallowed many countries that already had a well established Jewish population (Ukraine, for instance). And no points are given for pointing out 'marx was a Jew'. He was self-hating (and his entire family had converted away anyway) and led the charge in insisting Jews give up their Jewishness for the sake of communism. And Marxist Jews are deluding themselves.

[solkatts-svenska]

Hej! Hur mår du? I'm trying to learn swedish for my partner, would you happen to have any tips? Babbel is very useful, but I loved your blog so much I scrolled all the way to the bottom last night so I wanted to ask you. Tack (so? Sa?) Tack sa mycke!

Hej, tack så jättemycket för dina snälla ord! :) I’m really glad if you liked my blog.

I’m not sure I can give much useful advice, but I’ll do my best to describe what worked for me. So, here’s how I’ve been teaching myself Swedish:

I used several grammar reference books at the same time, to get a fuller overview of the language + get to do as many exercises as possible haha. The ones I used were the Routledge essential grammar and comprehensive grammar (as well as one in my own native language but well, that probably won’t be useful to you…). They’re all available as pdfs online. I would pick a grammar topic, scan all my books and do an additional internet search if necessary to compile and condense the information in my notes, then do some exercises. Initially I tried to do one or more topics every day but then found it more productive to alternate “grammar days” with “vocabulary days”

Speaking of which, I approached vocab in a similar way in the beginning: pick a topic, like colours or numerals or body parts, make a list and cram it. For adjectives, I found it an efficient strategy to learn them in pairs of antonyms

I kept a diary in Swedish for some time, which was helpful because that way I learnt and used specific vocabulary relevant to me and my life

I started reading, watching and listening stuff in Swedish quite early on, which I highly recommend to get comfortable with the language. To translate new words, I tried to refer to a monolingual Swedish dictionary as much as possible. Note: I could post a list of particular podcasts/YouTube channels/news resources etc that I liked if you guys want me too! But obviously it largely boils down to what you’re interested in.

Related to the previous point, I follow both teachers of Swedish and Swedish natives on social media to increase immersion

Good old Duolingo was rather nice, especially early on, to get the basic vocab and some grammar down

Quizlet and thematic Tumblr vocab lists proved rather useful too, especially when I wasn’t too lazy to review them

+ Some cool resources I use for Swedish as well as other languages:

Omniglot (a great place to start with any language: basic info + resources)

Glosbe (Reverso context but make it better)

obviously, Wiktionary (useful to look up declensions)

Last but not least, I encourage my followers to add their tips too!

Jag hoppas att det hjälper dig :)

[txemrn]

Déjà Vu

Chapter 2

New? Check out the first chapter HERE! (Go ahead; you're not late. Sure, we can wait.)

Series Summary: After an unforgettable night with a stranger, Princess Eleanor finds herself caught in a secret love triangle between a noble and a commoner.

Chapter Summary: Drake attends dinner at the palace, and even though some things will never change, he discovers quickly everyone has moved on without him.

Pairing(s): Liam x Riley; Bertrand x Savannah; Maxwell x m!OC; Olivia x Amalas

Word Count: ~4885

Warning: 🔞 Mature Audiences Only 🔞 language (like, a lot); references to infidelity, pregnancy; teasing/bullying

A/N: Welcome to my Crack Fic! If you are new, hi! Thank you for joining us! This story takes place approximately 2 decades after TRR/TRH. I have made some canonical changes (they will be mentioned). Characters and some plots belong to our friends at Pixelberry! This was not Beta'd; please excuse my errors.

~🖤~

Drake

The gentle purr of the engine beneath my grip of the steering wheel shoots pleasurable waves of pure octane ecstasy. My nerves ignite with palpable electricity, coursing through my every cell. The cream leather interior is like butter against my skin, and the scent of luxury leaves me completely intoxicated.

Lucky little shit.  

I still can't believe my nephew–my fucking nephew–owns this beauty. How many twenty-four-year-olds own an Aston Martin Vantage convertible? I wish I could give him more shit about it, coming from such privilege as being the oldest son of a duke, but Bartie has more than earned it. 

He may not have exactly been planned, but he was the answer, and essentially the savior, of Ramsford. Back when I lived in this God-forsaken country, some twenty-odd years ago, Ramsford was in financial ruin. My brother-in-law, Bertrand, Bartie's father, scraped, scrapped and pinched every monetary morsel to keep them afloat for years.

Then along came Bartie: finished the top of his class at some preppy private institute at Stormholt with a degree in finance, and in just three fucking years of working with his dad… well, that little shit has an Aston. 

I'm actually very proud of him. Surely he knows that. We weren't much for talking over the years, but I'd send cards telling him I loved him, and I'd ask about him during video calls with my sister.

Judging that I am sitting in his custom-painted cherry-red luxury car right now? Yeah, Bartie knows I care the world about him. The fact that he's going to allow me to drive it? Fuck, I don't think I even trust myself, especially on these European roadways. Sure, I learned how to drive in Cordonia, but that was over two decades ago. And it wasn't a stickshift.

Can't be that hard, right?

I study the mechanism of the gear shift, comparing it to a quick Google search on my phone as I wait for my nephew to return to the car with a necktie–my suggestion.  Afterall, we're heading to dinner with the royal family… A.K.A. my childhood best friend, his daughter. And his wife.

The love of my life.

Eh, don't feel sorry for me. I'm over it. Seriously. And besides, technically, Liam had first dibs on her; but then again, he had first dibs on several other women at the exact same time, social season and all for his highness, the fucking crown prince of Cordonia. Whoop-de-do.

He's the one that asked me to look after his hot American suitor during his own personal season of The Bachelor. Are you really surprised I fell for the chick? The guy was never around. And Riley and me? She... she was fun, smart. She was fucking hilarious, gave those noble bitches a real run for their money. And yet, she was still kind and caring. She was easy to talk to; I found myself opening up to her in ways that… well, no one else could. 

Riley Brooks. I guess you could say she's the reason I never settled down with anyone. No one–and I mean no one–ever measured up. 

Oh well. That was a long time ago. And she made her decision. Him. And even though he was like the brother I never had, I… I couldn't. I just couldn't sit back and watch them play house and build a life together. Well, for Liam, it was real. 

I had fallen for her. But so had Liam. I knew that if I stayed–if I had stayed, the secret of Riley and me wouldn't end. Shit, if it didn’t end after they said, "I do," when would it?

Time heals all wounds, right?

Bartie opens the door, and slides into the passenger seat with two neckties in hand, both black as he holds them up to his crisp white oxford. "What do you think?"

"Think about what? The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost? You look like a fucking mormon," I jest as I point to the one with a subtle matte paisley design. "Why are you fussing about this anyway?"

"Just cause," he passively offers as he stares in the visor mirror, knotting his tie. "I'm speaking with King Liam privately after dinner, and… well, I just want to look alright."

Sensing his raw nerves, I pause for a moment, watching him fidget anxiously with the garment. Jesus, when did my baby nephew become a fucking man?  I smile, placing my calloused fingers on his shoulder. "You do, kid." I fasten my seat belt as I turn my attention to the dash. "So, how do I put this thing into drive?"

------

It’s surreal walking into the palace after so many years away. White marble floors. Crimson curtains with gold accents.  Childhood memories flood my mind of our sword battles on the grand staircase, pretending to be blood-thirsty pirates. Or when we would gallop through the secret labyrinth of corridors deep within the estate, charging on our make-believe stallions like mighty Spanish conquistadors. 

We would always sneak to the kitchen between meals to taste the desserts being made for dinner–unless Ms. Marta was working. That fucking old hag. Most of my ass whoopings were from her tattling on us. 

Liam was a fucking weirdo on our kitchen raids.  We would slip through the window of the bakehouse, and when we would confirm that the coast was clear, he would always head straight for the pantry to a bag of pistachios. We're talking about a place that had every sweet, every chocolate, every cookie imaginable, readily available in sealed containers. And he chose nuts. 

I always had my eyes on a nightly staple in the palace: warm apple pie. They were made daily, and I could always find at least one cooling on the window sill. 

Fuck, now I'm salivating over a fucking pie.  

To this day, I humbly have to admit that Cordonia apple pies are the best–don't let the taste of a raw ruby fool you. Something about the bitter compounds reaching a certain temperature causes… something-something to do something… ah, hell. Tell you what. If you're that curious, ask Liam. I mean, I'm assuming he's still a nerd–

"Drake!" 

I startle at the greeting, instantly recognizing the tall, broad-shouldered blond striding closer to me, wearing… an apron? The fuck? The apron has the phrase, 'I love you a bushel and a peck'.

Oh, yeah. He's still a fucking dweeb. 

His outstretched hand takes mine as he shakes it before pulling me into an embrace. "It's so good to see you, old friend," he pats my back before standing back to take me in.

He looks so different, but undoubtedly, he still looks like Liam Rys. Stray pieces of silver litter his perfectly styled, perfectly placed waves. His strong jawline and high cheekbones were cut more razor-sharp by his more mature, thinned face. His strong chest and the swell of his biceps made him look like a fucking Greek god. Lucky bastard. It's like turning forty didn't wreak havoc on his appearance or metabolism, save for a few fine lines around his eyes and smile.

"Bartie," Liam smiles endearingly, "always a pleasure." He extends his arm to my nephew before the scared kid had a chance to bow. I could see the flood of panic in Bartie’s eyes, but I gave him a reassuring nod as he hesitantly took his majesty's hand.

Don't worry, kid. I won't tell your daddy about your ‘poor manners’.

"Please," Liam rests his hand on my shoulder while turning to guide us to the queen's hall, the largest dining area in the palace for private parties. The room boasted an impressive, custom eight-meter-long table that could easily fit twenty-five guests comfortably. "Come, come. Everyone is just being seated." We follow him down the east corridor when suddenly, the savory aroma of roast and… something garlicky teases my senses. Liam obviously caught the delicious waft too, turning back with a devious grin. "I hope you brought some hearty appetites. Riley and I have something special for you tonight."

Riley. Why does the mere mention of her name make me–shit. Get it together, Walker. You're over it.

As expected, my closest friends during my time in Cordonia are all present along with their families. Well, 'friends' might be too strong of a word to use on this crowd. They were nobles and friends of Liam. I was friends with Liam. Ergo, we were friends. Sorta. 

My sister Savannah and her husband Bertrand were sitting at the end towards my right, speaking in hushed tones to one another. They came separately from Bartie and myself from their estate since, well, there wasn't enough room for them and the triplets. Yes. You read right. Triplets. As in three babies at once. They had tried for years to have more children with sadly no avail, and it took a terrible toll on their marriage. I still remember Sav's tearful call five years ago, revealing to me that they were separating. I was preparing to hop on a plane to execute my brother-in-law's accidental demise for breaking my little sister's heart when I got a second call a few weeks later. They were pregnant. I got a call a week after that. I had three nieces on the way.  Sydnie, Stella and Simone: the cutest little shits you've ever seen… and not just because they have their uncle's dashing good looks. 

I'm talking about me, their uncle. Not their other uncle.

Maxwell Beaumont–said other uncle– was sitting next to his brother Bertrand. He officially married Baron Friedrich von Lehndorff twelve years ago when Cordonia overturned their marriage clause of traditional unions. One hundred forty-eight same-gender couples came forward that day to be legally married; Max and Rich led the way to the Capitol. They became a beacon of light and love, not just for Cordonia, but to the world. I remember reading about their march for equality and their victory in my local paper. Maxwell and I weren't necessarily best friends, but a sense of pride bloomed in my chest, seeing him do something so incredible and bold with his life.  

He and Rich have a 9-year-old daughter Gia and 4-year-old son Ollie, both adopted from South Korea. Don't tell them I told you, but I follow their TikTok. Those two are fucking adorable.

Across from the Beaumont-von Lehndorffs is the Scarlet Duchess herself. Olivia Nevrakis. And… I almost can't believe the sight myself–

"Hey, Walker!" She waves, a smile growing on her face.

What. The. Fuck. Was she… happy to see me?

She stands up and makes her way around the table of guests to greet me. 

With a hug.

Shock number two: she’s touching me in a friendly manner. But that's when I was hit with shock number three.

Is she? No, no… she can't be. Is that a–?

She must've seen the curiosity etching across my face as I stared down at a rounded abdomen that just pressed up against me during our embrace. She instinctively cradles her belly and giggles.

Giggles. 

Was I in the Twilight Zone?

She married Amalas a few years after I moved away. I wasn't surprised; the few times Livvy and I hooked up felt odd, like something was missing. I mean, not that I didn't satisfy her. That was never a problem for me with women. Turns out, ol' red was looking for a queen. 

Together they serve as queen and queen consort of Monterisso, and apparently are known for creating quite a riot at international events. I'm not surprised. They have four children: Macaela–Amalas’s daughter with her late husband–Josefine, Joaquin, and Joseph.  And then baby Timothy will be joining them soon. Because that name makes sense.

I'm starting to feel a little self-conscious. It's been over twenty years, and everyone seems to have grown up. Had families. Changed the world. And what did I have to show? Nothing. I mean, I did have quite a successful construction company that I developed with almost seventy employees under my leadership, but… well, that went under thanks to my business partner fucking me over. Fucking twat-waffle. 

But is this really what my life comes down to? Is this how you would sum up my life? Compared to childhood friends, I was still nothing. And here I was again on the coattails of Liam.

An abrupt delicate tink to a wine glass echoes over the various conversations and children squealing, silencing everyone as we turn our attention to the head of the table. 

And there she was. Just as breathtaking as the last day that I saw her.

"Drake," she gasps as I pull her into the dark shadows behind the barn. "We can't. Not anymore." 

I shake my head, her eyes refusing to meet mine. I took a step towards her, but she instinctively shifts, her back pressing against the wall.

"Brooks–"

"Rys," she interjects, the correction like a serrated blade piercing my skin. A sob escapes her as rivers course down the planes of her velvet skin.

Placing my arm against the splintered wood next to her head, I lean closer to her, capturing her intoxicating scent. My hand slips up her neck, my fingers tenderly lifting her chin to look at me, to captivate me with those ocean eyes.

My thumb caresses her rosy lips, feeling her breath hitch. I flutter my mouth across her wet cheeks, my feather touch kissing away her tears.

But we suddenly freeze.

"Riley?"

Liam's smooth voice carries over the moonlit pasture, drowning out our abilities to hear the bustle of the reception.

"Riley…Don't–"

But it's too late. Before I could stop her, she was gone.

I blink. Casually shifting in my seat, I glance nonchalantly around me. Whew, everyone is still staring at the head of the table. No one seems to notice that I got lost in my thoughts for a moment.  I nervously scratch through my stubble before grabbing the water glass in front of me. I take a longass sip of water, but when I pull the glass from my mouth, two crystal-blue orbs with long, flirty lashes are locked on me.

Fuck, I choke on the water on my attempt to swallow it down. I start coughing violently as Maxwell starts patting my back.

"You okay there, Drakey?"

I finally take a gulp of air, and glare at him. "Yes… and it's Drake, Maxi pad." Okay. I admit it. It was childish to retaliate by calling him the name me and some of the other guys called Maxwell growing up. But to my surprise, he laughs before finger-gunning me.

"Good one, Drake. I haven't heard that in years."

I turn back to our royal hosts just in time for Liam to give me a friendly nod, as if to ensure that I'm okay without creating more of a scene. But when I glance over at Riley, she quickly averts her eyes, slipping her hand into Liam's. 

Jesus Christ. If that was a sign of how things were going to be, her cowering and treating me like I'm some kind of criminal for something she did willingly… something she pursued… fuck that. Send me back to Texas.

"We brought wine!" Rich singsongs, pulling out two large bottles from a nearby refrigerated wine rack. "Who'd like–?"

I refused to let the poor bastard finish.

"Me."

------

I can't remember a single time in my life where I have been so positively and exuberantly grateful for Maxwell fucking Beaumont. He fended off the anticipated awkwardness and helped the dinner conversation progress, making the casual assist to include me in this special meal that was supposedly in my honor. 

I'm not saying the others were rude to me, Liam especially. He was treating me like a long lost brother, like the prodigal son that has finally returned home. And I'm not going to lie: it felt good to be reunited with him.

But Riley couldn't even look me in the eye, and judging by the flashes of guilt and her over-eagerness to leave the room every chance she got, I know she never told her husband the truth about our relationship.  He had his suspicions. And I owned up to falling for her, thus the ending of our friendship and me moving to Texas. I mean, I thought it was the end…

But, I didn't just fall for her; it wasn't pining for her from afar, hoping she would give me the time of day.

We were in love.

"This was absolutely divine," Savannah sings praises, taking a sip of her tea. Everyone begins chiming in with their sentiments, thanking the royal couple for the delicious meal. Yes, they prepared it. I know; I was impressed myself.

Individual conversations continue through dessert and coffee when suddenly, the ring of a phone interrupts us into silence.

"Excuse me," Amalas whispers with the phone against her ear, "I need to take this. It's Josie."

Liam and Riley flash looks of concern at one another. "I hope everything is okay," Riley says softly as she twirls her necklace between her fingers, turning to her husband with a more hushed tone. "Did Ellie text you?"

Liam is already looking at his phone, but he's casually shaking his head, appearing more relaxed than his wife. His gaze catches my curious look as I try to put the pieces together of what's going on this evening.

"Josie–err, Josefine–is out with our Eleanor and Madeleine's daughter Bethany this evening." 

Ah, that's right… Josefine must go by Josie, Amalas’s second daughter, her first daughter with Olivia. Shit, I can’t keep these spawn straight….

"Crisis averted!" Amalas sweeps back into the room, placing her cell into her pocket. "The girls said the restaurant was too crowded, so they're going over to the Vancoeur's for a–" she imitates an American valley girl, "girls' night."

"Vancoeur?" I mutter, turning to Maxwell. "Did he… reproduce, too?" The idea sounded ridiculous. What woman lowered her standards that low to sleep with that bastard?

"Yep," Maxwell responds, "he has a beautiful daughter." He takes an obnoxious sip of his espresso. "You know, Bethany, the girl that's out with Eleanor and Josie."

No. Fucking. Way.

"I thought Beth was Madeleine's kid?"

"It is." Maxwell chuckles as mischief glows in his eyes. "Oh Drakey, you missed it. Maddie and Neville were actually married for about ten years." Pulling a napkin up to his mouth, he lowers his voice. "Rumor has it she was about to lose what was left of her inheritance, slept with that weasel, then faked a pregnancy to get him to propose." He snickers. "I wish I could've been a fly on the wall when her fake pregnancy turned out to be a real pregnancy."

"What the–?"

"Mhrmm," Maxwell bounces his eyebrows, "she claims she had no idea." He stares at me intently before rolling his eyes and gesturing with his hand a dramatically large curve over his stomach. “Agnes, my seamstress–can you believe she’s still working for us? Well, anyway, that woman can work absolute miracles…” He takes another sip of his drink.  He quiets his voice while he averts his eyes, slowly crossing his legs. “There was no hiding that bump.”

I shake my head in disbelief, chuckling under my breath when suddenly, I feel a large hand on my shoulder. I whip around quickly, pulling my body away, when I see–

"Shit, Li–"

"I didn't mean to interrupt," he offers a friendly smile.

I blow away the air I had quickly sucked in, willing my heartbeat to slow down. I guess I'm still a little on edge being here, but fuck, that scared me.

"I thought before you left tonight, we could discuss, um… arrangements. For you."

"Yeah… yeah, of course." Following his lead, we start to make our way to the exit for privacy.

When Liam invited me to Cordonia, he was very specific that he wanted to help me get back on my feet. And I believe him. I know his generosity is genuine; he doesn't have any ulterior motives or some secret vendetta against me from the past. At least I hope he doesn't. But this isn't a vacation for me; part of the deal was I needed to work. I'm not sure if that meant finding temp jobs or something more long-term. 

“Do I smell imported cheap whiskey?”

I stop short of the door.

Fuck me. Leo Rys. Liam’s older brother and notorious international womanizer. The man just turned fifty last year, and it’s like he unlocked a new group of admirers, especially now that he’s sportin’ a little silver around the edges these days. 

He and Liam are complete polar opposites. Apples and oranges. Night and day. If Liam was thoughtful and selfless… well, you get the gist. And clearly by his entrance, I’m discovering that some things never change.

As if his deep bellow wasn’t warning enough, his black leather boots announce his presence as he struts across the polished tile, his arm hooked around his helmet. He slaps his free hand on my shoulder, squeezing it firmly as he obnoxiously sniffs me.

"Cheap whiskey… and… is that a hint of beef jerky and cow patties I'm detecting?"

"Good to see you, too." Jackass. I slap his chest before pushing him off of me. I may have used a little more force than I should've. My bad. 

"Am I late for dinner?" He slaps Liam on the back before walking towards the kitchen.

Liam sighs. "Just… a little–"

"Ahh, don't worry," he stops to kiss Riley on the cheek. "I'll serve myself."

As Leo disappears, Liam and I give each other a knowing look before leaving the room as well.

------

"Trust me, you're going to love what Riley has done with the guest quarters."

Liam and I had a good talk. A really good talk. We didn't have to say it, but it was clear: we missed each other. We missed our camaraderie, the confidence we had in one another. He was the first person I called when Dad died; I was the first person he called when Leo abdicated. We grew up and became men together.

But then Riley Brooks happened… but, I'm guessing you know that by now.

Liam has already a number of jobs for me to sift through, several carefully picked out that would play to my strengths with architecture and construction. But since these jobs were either on the grounds or here locally in the Capitol, he insisted I move into one of the private guest quarters with its own private entrance and balcony.

'You don't need to be making that drive from Ramsford everyday.' He's right. It's quite the journey, not to mention I don't exactly have a vehicle of my own here. So, I'm back in the palace. Ain't life a bitch?

"Now I hope you don't mind all-electric. The gas lines and how they were designed don’t–"

"Beggars can't be choosers, love."

Her words are like ice, the sharp chill making even her husband shudder. 

"Riley–"

"What?" She giggles under her breath. "I was joking." She turns a venomous stare towards me. "Drake knows I'm kidding. Don't you, Drake?"

I clear my throat. "Yeah," I play along, "good one."

"Love?" She slips her hand around Liam's arm, lowering her voice into a whisper. "Bartie Beaumont has requested to speak with you privately."

"Oh!" Liam brightens. "Sure. Of course." He gives me a pleasant nod. "Excuse me, Drake. And, please. Feel free to look around."  He begins to make his way towards the dining area, Riley following in step behind with no acknowledgement to me.

I breathe a sigh of relief. I needed a moment to myself anyway.

"Actually," Liam turns on his heel, waving a finger in the air. "On second thought, Love?" He smiles lovingly towards Riley, placing his hands affectionately on her shoulders. "How about you go show Drake the renovations you made?"

Shit.

------

Riley barely spoke two words to me besides pointing to the obvious fixtures and control buttons in the guest suite.

Light... Refrigerator… Bathroom… 

"This, uh, looks really nice," I try to converse, combing my fingers through my hair. "I never thought I'd see the day this room would have a–"

"We don't have to do this." She walks out of the room and into another part of the suite.

Why was she being such a frigid bitch? 

Fuck, I need a smoke.

I take a deep breath, shoving my hands in my pockets as I stroll back out into the hallway of the apartment.

"Is there anything else you needed to see?" She swallows thickly. She tries to remain stoic with a stiff bottom lip. Her jaw ticks… but her glare betrays her as something else brews that I … can’t quite discern.

But then, without warning, Riley's eyes roam down my body, catching on the crotch of my khakis before returning to my face.

Eyes up here, your majesty.

She clears her throat, pretending I didn't just catch her checking me out. "Um, anything else you wanted to see… of the suite, that is? Because, uh, we should probably –" she shuffles backwards, pointing aimlessly behind her, towards the door.

"You go on ahead," I tell her. "I'm gonna check out the balcony if you don't mind."

A heated swirl of rouge ignites on Riley’s cheeks. She nods, turning on her heel quickly without saying a word, and exits the apartment in record time. 

Thank God. I don't know what just happened, but… this is a very interesting turn of events. Does she still have feelings for me?

No. Stop.

Shit. Maybe moving in is a mistake.

I make my way outside, and damn. The view from this balcony is stunning. It actually overlooks the Cordonia countryside, which means less lights from the city and plenty of stars to be seen at night. It's... actually a nice reminder of home.

Taking a seat on the balustrade, I pull out a cigarette and nestle it between my teeth as I search for my lighter. I pat my pockets, both in the back and front of my pants before checking my shirt.

Shit. Can the universe just pass me a fucking bone?

I slump over, resting my elbows on my knees. Holding my hands in front of me, I begin to pick at my calluses as the events of the evening replay like a movie reel in my head.

But suddenly, there's a snick, then a spark; then a single flame is held in front of me. Fishing my cigarette out from behind my ear, I fix it between my lips and lean into the fire. I pull heavily, deeply until the familiar burn touches my anxious nerves, and I blow away my initial puff.

"You know smoking can kill you."

I raise an eyebrow at the deep voice, taking another inhale before blowing it in Leo's face.

"Malaka."

I chuckle at his insult, watching that smug grin pull out his own cigarette to light. He leans against the side of the balcony before hoisting himself up onto the balustrade.

"So," he licks his lips, looking at me inquisitively. "How does it feel to be back in lovely Cordonia?"

I look at him, scrunching my face. Really? That's the best you can do? I look back down, flicking some ash on the ground.

"How does it feel–" he blows smoke over his shoulder, "--being back close to Riley?"

My head shot up.

"Ohhh," he snickers, "that got Walker's attention really fast."

How the fuck does Leo know? How the fuck does Leo know anything? I can feel my heart begin to pound, my eyebrows furrowing in anger.

"Now hold up, Walker," he holds up his hands in defense. "I come in peace. I don't care that you fucked my sister-in-law once upon a time… okay, fine. Maybe just a little–"

"What do you want, Leo?"  I interrupt, irritation baited in my voice.

He looks down fidgeting with his fingers.  When he turns back to me, he has an indiscernible expression on his face, as if a wave of vulnerability is crashing over him.

"I know it can be… challenging, you know? Moving back to Cordonia after a hiatus, and I figured tonight was probably a lot for you."

And now Leo is trying to have a heart-to-heart with me… What the fuck happened to these people while I was gone?

"I thought maybe… you could use a friend."

"Well," I stand up, taking a step away. "Thanks. I appreciate it–"

"I mean it," he holds a hand to his chest. "Say–" he jumps to his feet, sandwiching himself between me and the door. "What are you doing tonight?"

Besides leading the exciting life of letting my nephew drive me back to his parent's house, eating a bag of Doritos in my boxers and getting shit-faced?

"There's a new club opening in town tonight. Tons of people. Who's who. VIP–" 

"Thanks, but–"  I try to shove past him, but he stops me, putting his hands against my chest.

"Six full bars, and–" he wiggles his eyebrows. "Lots… and lots… of fresh Cordonian-grade pussy. How do you like them apples?"

Like I said, some things never change.

"C’mon, Walker… you in?"

~🖤~

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------

Thank you so much for your support! Every like, comment and reblog means the world to me! 🖤

[caffeinated-mistake]

there's something inherent in the act of caring for someone;

and in my endless old guard brain rot this takes the form of:

- nile helping booker with therapy/ alcoholism. essentially being the go-between for him and the others during his "banishment" (I don't think it would last the full 100, and I've seen some gorgeous fics on the subject).

-it is customary to cleanse with water or sand before praying salat (I'm basing this off of research and a fic that had extremely good research with footnotes and all); and in Christianity- assume the priest Nicolo canon- washing of feet and in general is a very devotional act. it's something the disciples do, Mary Magdalene washes JC's feet with her tears and dries them with her hair, so it's all in all a very Big Thing.

in my mind, Nicolo would wash Yusef's feet as like.... his little way of saying "you are everything to me, you are holy and divine and a gift and I would do anything for you if you only asked it of me".

because, in my mind at least, joe is the wordsmith. Joe gives the speeches and writes poetry, and Nicky uses acts of service to show his devotion. Nicky cooks food, and finds baklava with varied recipes, and cuts the guards hair (it started as him fixing Andy's horrible chop in the 1670s, and ended as a way for him to show his family he loved them. he spends weeks holed up with the shitty tablet nile insisted on, learning how to do braids and care for her hair, the same way he'd watched Yusef's mother care for his sister's until he knew how to comb out the snarls and sand his beloved got caught up in). I just think Nicky seems the type to show affection in being there for someone, and that with as much religious guilt as this fandom loves to give the man, it would be sweet to see it as a tie in to his love and devotion to Joe. because Nicky absolutely believes it was God or fate that brought them together, and that loving Joe is the ultimate good he will ever do.

.... idk I thought it was cute but I'm drunk

- Andy pushes people. she's brash and ruthless, and loves so fiercely. there's a reason Joe jokes (never to her face) that Andy is the momma bear of the group.

she has Nile train until her muscles are screaming and numbing and screaming again, several times over.

she takes guard duty at night, a vigil she has in the kitchen, around the entire safehouse, and ends outside each bedroom or in the common sleeping area, listening for quiet breaths.

she trusts her team to take care of themselves, of each other.

but they are all so young to her, ageless and once a god.

Andy pushes them because they rise to it, Nile better with the sword every day, her languages coming along well with nightly dinners where conversation only takes place in that week's dialect.

- Booker I feel like will have quite the complex after he's un-banished.

he goes out of his way to make sure their safe houses are Safe. he takes over learning everything he can from medical courses, emt training, textbooks; to learn how to take care of Andy in her new mortal state.

he spends three weeks researching proper nutrition and gets his hand chopped off the one time he tries to insist on a healthy alternative to sweets.

Booker spends months teaching Nile new languages, how to blend into a crowd, how to work in the underbelly of cities and make friends in unlikely places.

deep down, he knows he's trying to train her to take his place. And as much as she lacks the eye for detail and intuition of what changes to make to forged papers, she's learning. (Joe's the one to corner him about it, grappling and fighting and screaming until Booker quiets, in a close headlock, his back to Yusef's chest, and stills. Joe shushes him, and then says, animosity gone for the first time in a while, "you're my brother. I love you, and I'm so sorry we failed you. but we are a family, Book, we are a family.")

it's slow moving, but eventually booker admits his forgeries are better than Nile's. that maybe he should stick around a bit longer, until she has some practise.

[blissfullybloomed]

Beauty in the Stars

It's Sunday! 

Yeah, it's been a few weeks. Been busy, living this beautiful life I've curated for myself. 

Speaking of beautiful…my boyfriend and I went to the John Glenn Astronomy Park last night- we saw Starlink(Elon Musk’s satellites),  a shooting star with a full moon, in the back of his truck, and lots of blankets! Then we fell asleep….Im swooooooning!  I'm in love y’all! I have always been in love with love. I love this part. The honeymoon phase…the ooey gooey, the fluff, la la land…etc. Whatever you want to call it…I love it! The cute thoughtful gifts(wildflowers and legos), the romantic sweet things(our bubble),how he still gets nervous sometimes, and how I hope to god nothing is in my teeth when I smile, the safety to be weird, the comfortable silences where you get lost in each other, and the moments that legit take your breath away. All the firsts you get to experience with one another. Yeah, good things come to those who wait- and baby I've waited patiently for you. 

Speaking of good things, and waiting…professional life is going great too! The work at the chiropractors office is teaching me more and more why I stepped into the field of Massage Therapy when I did. Doctors are SOOOO fast to prescribe medications to someone when it only affects the superficial layer of things rather than the root issue. Chiropractic care is essential, and it's holistic(no meds required- use your body to heal your body), Massage Therapy is holistic self care. Massage and Chiro go hand in hand…and it's pretty cool I can use my education I have received with professionals in the healthcare industry. Very cool. 

Hand & Stone is cool too…I've made a lot of cool friends(them young ones), and they speak in a completely different language sometimes. It just solidifies the fact that I am OLD. Its okay, my life is incredible. I'm good with it. Per!

So , yeah life is just grande. 

One part that is new and not so grande is the fact that I am still learning things about my past, and learning how to accept and move on from certain things. I'm almost to the point of just not asking questions anymore…and just living in ignorance. I think ignorance is bliss sometimes. Bliss in the sense of ... .What does learning a certain new thing do for me in MY future? Do I need to know? I feel like I need to know how to process, and move on…but now…I'm not even sure what's left to process. I was told horrific lies about someone very important in my life my entire childhood, by someone who I knew was toxic. I chose to believe the toxicity anyways…I had to latch to some truth…and the only truth I was being told was lies. How would I know that in the moment…that it was lies? I wouldn't..we wouldn't. We didn't know. We just didn't know man. We were kids. No one told us otherwise. We lived our life believing a lie, and hating the man who told us the lie. Brainwashing is a powerful thing. Especially on the young mind. 

Anyway, conversations are still looming about…and I think…I think I'm over it. I'm over the noise, the chaos, the unsettling information, the blame, and the hurt. I have been over it for a long time actually…I just wanted closure, and I sure as shit got it. After 20 plus years , I got the facts I wanted. The information wasn't what I wanted - but I got it. Thank you for giving me closure. You were the last one I needed it from. The last one. No one is left for me to heal through. Holy crap does that feel good to type. 

So now what?! We live. We live in the beauty that is our life. I didn't get here by myself at all…so thank you to those involved.

“Every once in a while, things will get you down…just don't forget to look up. There is beauty in the stars”- Victoria Bloom 

[lothrilzul]

🖊 and Thenasto (TELL ME ABOUT YOUR GODWOKEN TELL ME EVERYTHING MWHAHAHAHA)

So, Thenasto, or Tendon as the shipmates came to knew him aboard the Merryweather, was free elf by the time the Magisters caught him. He was leading a one-elf healing clinic where he sometimes worked for free if people were unable to pay. He accepted trade, food, whatever. That’s where he met the other custom Godwoken of his story, Lady Arne, who was my Husband’s custom character.

As a young elf, he lived in the edge of the Homeland, near a human village where his father was helping the humans with the burials. He literally grew up in a cemetery but it never bothered him. He learned a lot about death, customs, rituals, respect, loss and the Hall of the Echoes was a very interesting thing for him. He also was curious about Source, but he didn’t connect the two yet.

When he was a little older, he had a crush/girlfriend, I don’t how serious it was, but they had a pet squirrel. Only, the squirrel died and he was grieving the poor innocent creature so much, that he somehow brought it back. It was not the same, and eventually not more than a walking (albeit happy) skeleton and the girl was terrified. Of both of them. She screamed and yelled and sent him away. With his broken heart, he ran from home, never to return.

He wandered the forests, silent at first, and then he came to peace with his talents. He vowed never to use these skills as offense, only in self defense, and only if there was nothing else he could do. He was also talented in Hydrosophist spells, so he focused mostly on those. He learned some ice magic, but it was healing that interested him most.

And scholarly stuff. He is a reader and a talented singer. Every night, he would walk the forest and sing to the creatures or the Moon. I know it’s cliche but he really was a pure dumb idiot like that. 

So one day, during the New Moon, lizard slavers captured him and it was his voice that saved him. He never stopped singing and didn’t resist. He liked living, even if he wasn’t free. He was immediately put to a different wagon, into a more expensive cage essentially and was sold to the highest bidder. The slavers were paid well for the find.

His first owner was a pleasure garden. He had pretty good life there, the ‘birds’ were respected by the owner, were allowed to refuse clients and most often didn’t even need to perform sexual acts. It was mostly mild things, think courtesan or geisha. They were expensive escorts, not cheap things. It was a prestige to hire a bird and if a client was not behaving they found themselves banned from the garden.

One day, a wealthy human woman came to the garden to buy a new book reader, because her eye sight was failing and her previous one just died. (You know, like you would buy a new e-book reader, I guess?) She quickly chose Thenasto because he spoke more than one language and could sing beautifully.

He continued to have a relatively happy life. He had everything but his freedom. They had fine clothes, free time, were free to leave the mansion and they loved the Lady. The Old Lady was nice, well, as nice as a slave-owner gets, but  everyone someone enough owned slaved there.

Thenasto fell in love with a man named Sandor, the cook. The Old Lady allowed them, she said it brought happiness into the ‘big old house’.

But the Old Lady was, well, old and only had relatives that lived in countries where slavery was abolished, and urged her to free her lot, give them wages, but she said she was too old to change now and they’ll be free once she died. All of the relatives squarely refused owning slaves, all but one. So, when she died, everything she had, including all the ‘servants’ in the house, were inherited by her niece, who was the only one not refusing. 

Now, the niece was everything but like the Old Lady. She was cruel and selfish. The last year of Thenasto’s slave-life was plain misery. The new lady was keen on showing them what slaves ‘deserved’, whippings were common as verbal abuse and so on. Sandor and Thenasto laid low, but they Lady found out. It led to Thenasto escaping via a literal bloodshed where he killed her, but also lost Sandor.

Since that event he could raise a bloated corpse, one of his starting spells. (Other is decaying touch, also used that night.) He used it only in self defense and was always horrified of it.

He had 3 owners in total, but I’m not sure how long his slave time was actually. He was free by the time the Fog devastated the Homeland and his last hope of seeing his family vanquished. 

At that time, he never would’ve thought he will end up with the man he cursed so many times and he would be grateful for meeting him.

(Spelling these all out, I’m now embarrassingly aware how similar some of these elements are to the stories of Fenris and Anders from Dragon Age 2 and Zevran from Origins, but when I conjured it all up, it haven’t played these games yet. Yeah I’m a latecomer.)

So, where did this idea came from? I wanted to play an elf because I was tired of equipping the shapeshifting mask everytime. I chose male, because female elves terrified me personally. I still respect Sebille but hoo boy. She’s a presense, isn’t she? Thenasto sure agrees. Now, I always had a sweet spot for Necromancy since Heroes of Might and Magic III’s Necropolis and my D:OS Source Hunter was a Geomancer/Witchcraft girl, so I was kind of familiar with the playstyle. 

Ah, and Thenasto is a well-read one and he craves old stories about Source users. Source Hunters, Arhu, Zandalor, Jahan, Cassandra and Braccus? He knows everything that was written down somewhere. Meeting Jahan, Arhu and Braccus in person was like a dream come true. Or a nightmare, in the latter case. (He personally almost worships my Source Hunter Busdra, even tho official texts claimed it was ‘Roderick and Scarlett’ or whatever, he always believed the ‘Busdra and Blossom’ version was true. That was what the elves taught to him. That was in the memories that he tasted.)

As for the romance? I didn’t even know this game had romance until I accidentally triggered Ifan with the ‘you know, lonely’ dialogue. I was done then and there. In a week I was shipping this boy so hard with Ifan my heart clenched. Because just imagine the possibilities! The back story was born soon and I’m currently 18k into their ‘idiots in love’ fic and half of it wasn’t even written. Or badly. It devolved from a violent climax to a totally tender one and I’m still polishing it to be good enough to share. It’s a quickly escalating thing, really, much like my real falling in love was. ^^

Ifan, as we know, can be in love with the player since the moment they meet on the ship, and I am on board with that. He saw this graceful parrot with his mohawk, soft words and kind soul and went: that’s the one. Thenasto didn’t need much more than a boop on the nose either.

Neither of them was comfortable prodding the other much tho, both thought the other deserved better. Thenasto was not proud of his past as a slave, especially as that kind of slave and well, we know Ifan’s story. It is extra angsty with an elf.)

Lady Arne and the Red Prince (the rest of the party, Hubbo’s characters) were doing their best to make these two idiots realize what they felt before they left Reaper’s coast. They succeeded, bless them.

We finished our game by sharing the source with everyone, but their canon is that Lady Arne became the New Divine in Lucian’s place. This was more or less satisfactory for everyone. Neither Thenasto nor Ifan really ever wanted it, and none of them wanted to outlive or outstrong the other, so they trusted Arne. Turns out, she is much better than Lucian. The only downside was losing Afrit for Ifan.

Thenasto and Ifan went on about the forest rehabilitation project and lived happily ever after. (Or not, but that’s a different story, and I’m still working on that.)

[cooganbegs-blog]

Of Ups and Downs.

It was a rollercoaster day today. I’m tired and emotional.

Down - every time I look at SBO and see how frail and skinny he is, how he only eats what I offer him by hand, no chicken anymore just the best raw steak I can find (I’ve never eaten steak like he is being served up on a daily basis! I’ve finally found something to burn my useless salary on!), the constant sobs initiated by his usual head pushed against me waiting for stokes.

Up - I finally feel I added some value to my team! God, I now have three people in my team and my fellow gal pal (marketing manager) gave some some tips and a spreadsheet to help setup my teams individual priorities for next quarter. I emailed it round this morning with direction on how I want us to priorities our work:

- a learning priority: they can chose something they want to learn (a compulsory 10% of their bonus) to encourage curiosity and a growth mindset (an essential trait of a product person)

- a product priority set by me: there is some shit that just needs to get done, that pushes the team forward, advances the product or our processes. Willing to negotiate on the success metrics

- a personal priority - each person can chose a priority they want to work towards, it cants be BAU, it must be something that is a stretch. I will need to approve or negotiate and key results are also negotiable.

All my peeps were happy and I had a light build moment that the single most valuable thing I can do for them is provide what begged all my useless CPO’s for in my previous roles. Give them direction and the why, and they will solve the how! I finally came away after several hours relieved instead of berating myself for being useless! I did have to get tough and negotiate with my PO (new to this role but an excellent BA), she just won’t prioritise learning how to think like a product person. She’s in danger of losing some of her bonus because she just didn’t make time. Will see if she delivers on the compromise I suggested! My new PO/PM is so delightful (if confident!), he talks my language and I don’t have to change his nappy or tell him how to do his job!! So refreshing!

Down - I kind of lost my shit in a meeting! Not hugely but I did let my frustrations show. Explaining that the meeting we were in (and several others I had to sit through) were quite frankly a fucking waste of time until the exec team makes a call on how we segment a customer base. I am not prepared to (its well above my pay grade!) and have provided the necessary data for them to battle it out. The project manager agreed, the meeting was cut short. I immediately regretted my outburst and sent a message to her apologising for letting my frustrations get the better of me. I also owned I probably should have escalated a week or so ago but have been snowed under with a thousand other priorities (roadmaps, product relates plans and annual planning). Gulp. Note to Self: bite my tongue next time and go to her direct not in front of 7 other people.

Up - my work trip to the US was cancelled so I can stay home with Loki!

Down - I haven’t been for a run or been to the gym since I got back. I forgot how fucking brutal the dark, icy morning are here and what a disincentive it is to running. I hate it.

Up - finally got booked in to have my shoulder injected, although I’m absolutely shitting myself.

Down - did I mention just how dark and cold it is.

Up - winter solstice is imminent. Which means the long slow downhill slide into summer….and by summer I mean January next year!!

Down - hearing Loki licking incessantly all night and not knowing what he was doing. Waking this morning and discovering his bed was absolutely saturated with pee and him so distraught and mortified. So much cortisone equals so much extra water drinking equals so much peeing. Only he didn’t get up at all. Im setting my alarm for 3 hour intervals tonight to get him up. He’s definitely an old, old dog now and it breaks my fucking heart. A matter of weeks ago he was shiny, lithe, well muscled and a bundle of cheek. Now he’s gaunt, slow and smells of old dog and urine. Fuck it’s so unfair. I don’t want anything to change, I want to go backwards in time and freeze when he’s young and active and full of beans. The end is closing in faster and faster and there’s no way to stop it. And foolishly I just keep wishing and wishing I could turn back time.

Up - I found a packet on M&M’s in my luggage which I completely forgot about and discovered just when I needed them around 3pm this afternoon!

[discountathena]

how should i str4ucture my dayChatGPT

Structuring your day can help you increase productivity, prioritize tasks, and achieve your goals. Here are some general tips to help you structure your day:

Start with a morning routine: Begin your day with a routine that prepares you mentally and physically for the day ahead. This could include meditation, exercise, breakfast, or anything else that helps you start the day off on the right foot.

Prioritize tasks: Make a list of the tasks you need to accomplish during the day and prioritize them based on importance and urgency. This can help you focus on the most critical tasks and avoid wasting time on less important ones.

Allocate time for specific tasks: Set aside specific time blocks for each task on your to-do list. This will help you stay focused and avoid getting sidetracked by distractions.

Take breaks: It's essential to take breaks throughout the day to give your mind and body a rest. Use your break time to recharge your batteries, get some fresh air, or stretch your muscles.

Plan for distractions: Unexpected interruptions and distractions are inevitable, so plan for them in your schedule. Allocate some buffer time in your day to deal with unexpected issues that may arise.

End the day with reflection: At the end of the day, take some time to reflect on your accomplishments and identify areas where you can improve. This can help you make adjustments to your schedule and approach the next day with a fresh perspective.

Remember that everyone's daily routine is different, and you need to find the structure that works best for you. By following these general tips, you can create a framework that helps you stay focused and productive throughout the day.

what are things i do every dayChatGPT

As an AI language model, I don't have personal information about you and your daily routine, but here are some common things that people do every day:

Sleep: Most people need between 7-9 hours of sleep each night to function optimally.

Eat: Consuming food and water is essential to nourish the body and maintain good health.

Hygiene: Brushing teeth, showering, and grooming are essential daily hygiene practices.

Work/School: Many people have daily obligations such as work, school, or other responsibilities.

Exercise: Regular physical activity is important for maintaining good health and wellbeing.

Socialize: Interacting with family, friends, or coworkers can be an important part of daily life.

Learn: Whether through formal education, reading, or other activities, many people strive to learn something new every day.

Relax: Taking time to unwind, destress, or engage in leisure activities is crucial for mental health and wellbeing.

Of course, your daily routine may look different depending on your lifestyle, occupation, and personal preferences. The key is to find a routine that works for you and helps you meet your goals and obligations while prioritizing your health and wellbeing.

[swathikumari]

So what does an escape room bangalore really do?

If you’re  having a drink with a group of friends one night and a stranger asks you about your job, you probably won’t be surprised to see the blank expression on your face when you hear the words “Escape Room Original. ” Well, most people have heard of a Jedi Master, but  many people, especially above a certain age,  will have no idea  what kind of work you are doing. Of course, if you mention that they hide in small dark rooms and watching them fight, some will question their sanity and take two steps back and look for the next door.After coffee and a quick overview of which groups appear and when, the Escape Room Bangalore‘s first task  is to make sure that everything is set up correctly in the rooms.

You will spend time checking all  the locks and making sure the electronics are working properly and everything is in perfect condition and Bristol style. Note that your experience has already begun as soon as the first team enters the Escape Room Bangalore lobby. It is important that all employees understand that first impressions really do count. where they are and  what  level of interaction they are looking for. Next comes the explanation of the rules and in particular the focus on safety.

With so many basement escape rooms, safety should always be another concern and the escape room bangalore’s reports should cover this  in detail. Nevertheless, it is  important to convey these rules in such a way that  an atmosphere of lightness and airiness is maintained. Now we come to one of the most important aspects of the game, which is the explanation of the gameplay. Virtual escape room games  follow a story that sets the mood, making the game  fully immersive. Many of these stories will follow a fixed script.

How the game director conveys the story is very important as it makes a huge difference in whether players believe the  game is worth playing seriously or not. So the game director needs to weave a story that is interesting enough to keep  players listening and engaged, while not being too tiring as it would quickly become boring. Easy access to every single escape room.

When the player team  enters the best escape room in bangalore,  the GM comes and sits in his sanctuary. From here you can monitor the progress of the team and keep an eye on their performance. puzzles and solve them. While the game is being played, it’s not like the game master has time to play Sudoku on his phone or read a book. You must fully focus on each member of the player team.

A key part of your job is making sure that all  players participate fully. Occasionally, teams are  stumped by a particular puzzle, and without quick action, they could quickly lose interest in the game as a whole. For this purpose, the game master must be an expert at reading body language. You will often find that players are reluctant to express frustration or fear of failure. The GM needs to know when to step in and give a hint or encouragement.

You should also be vigilant to make sure the team doesn’t get too excited or they’ll likely break things unintentionally. There are a million things to do while the game is in progress. the game master must keep his eyes open. In a way, it provides the oil that lubricates the entire gaming experience and keeps it playing smooth and seamless. So you could say that he is not only a games master but also a psychologist.

If you ask a lot of GMs what they enjoy most  about their job, it’s that something different and new happens every day and  every hour of that day. It’s certainly not a job that you learn and then do the same action over and over again. Each device needs to be managed differently. Only experience and common sense will teach you that no two pieces of equipment are alike. You’ll find that some teams are quite content with lots of game director interaction.

Other teams prefer the quiet of working  almost alone. They prefer to have time to  think carefully about each puzzle. Therefore, an essential part  of the Game Director’s job is to understand exactly what the players need and then deliver it as quickly and efficiently as possible. You won’t get very far as a game master if you don’t know every little detail of the game you’re playing.

Not only do you need to know how the puzzles work on an individual level, but you also  need to know all the quirks of the room, as well as all the alternate solutions and how to fix things. You can see escape room games as  live theater performance. The players who pay are the actors who take part in its production. So when something fails or goes wrong,  the GamesMaster, much like the theater manager, has to bounce back quickly and push

to the extreme.

You want to make sure everything runs smoothly without disturbing the actors themselves. Likewise, the last thing you want to do when escape room players are fully immersed in the game is to take them out of their fantasy world. Whether the team  completes the game successfully or time runs out, everyone attends a debriefing at the end. You will find that all teams will end their game  with an adrenaline rush. So it’s just as important that the Game Director

doesn’t spoil that feeling.

After  an hour of pure fun and excitement, and then  a serious Game Master report reaching out to you, you’ll soak up all the good from the last 60 minutes. The report has several purposes. For one, it allows the player group  to relax. They will ask the game master many questions  about puzzles they couldn’t solve or things they may have missed.

However, keep in mind that even under these circumstances, the game master should not gift the games. The second reason for the report is that it works as an upsell of sorts for the company. By helping players who participated in the game celebrate  the completion of their 60 minutes, you  subtly ensure the possibility of better ratings, whether through social media or word of mouth. In essence, the business is a service business.

And the day is only over when the happy and satisfied customer  finally leaves the house. Now that a team of players have left, it’s time to run into the room and reset all the puzzles and clues once more. There may be a time when there are no reserved game sessions, in which case the game master has to take care of all sorts of other work that he or she has to do. In other words, the gaming space isn’t just specific to gaming and supporting client teams. There are blogs to write,

props to paint, jigsaw puzzles to design and probably a whole lot of tidying up

to do. It should be noted that the pay as a GM is surprisingly high. But we suspect it’s because after several years of successfully running the genre, the standard and quality and experience of Games Masters has increased significantly. Today, many of the best Games Masters are in high demand across the industry. A knowledgeable and professional  Games Master can take any escape room business to the next level and increase profits.

And they really are masters of their craft. If you asked 100 Games Masters what their favorite aspect of the job was, they wouldn’t be pointing to themselves. They wouldn’t talk about how much they can help others. Or how much they enjoyed puzzles.

Almost unanimously, everyone answers that it’s just about seeing that the team of players is doing well. And the real excitement comes when you watch a team fight over a puzzle and then suddenly find the solution. That special eureka moment that erupts in laughter. , relief and pure joy. And that’s why it pays to be a game master. Check out the best escape room in bangalore and enjoy your weekends with your friends and family.

[thaiteaprincess]

The Woman I’m Becoming 👑

She is an elegant fashionista who takes care of her appearance. Everywhere she goes heads turn and people strike up conversation. She doesn’t shy away from this attention but is humble at the same time. Her style is classic and has a lot of neutral tones. But she always wears one statement piece when she goes out. She owns a designer watch and beautiful jewelry. Her makeup is natural and glowy and her hair is always done.

She practices compassion as an art and listens to dharma talks when she can to get inspired. Her role model is Thich Nat Hanh and she own all of his books. Reading is essential to her and she reads self improvement in the morning and fiction at night to relax. Her library is extensive. She is always learning something new. Like a new skill or a language, preferably Russian.

She has a morning and night routine to get her ready and wind her down. She wakes up early and goes to bed early. She keeps her space clean to keep herself calm and organized. And her space looks luxurious. With rich fabrics and candles lit.

She takes care of her mental and physical health and knows that health is wealth. She meditates daily and does yoga at the end of the day. She goes to the gym three times a week and works with a personal trainer. She eats mostly Whole Foods allowing for a few indulgent treats here and there but stays in her calorie range.

She has hobbies like sewing, embroidery, fashion history, modern fashion, gardening, cooking, violin, ballroom dance, wine tasting, skiing, and baking. She is always trying new recipes to give to others.

She practices etiquette and takes classes when she can find them. She goes to the theater regularly and has a season pass at the local ballet. She studies the dances and can hold an educated conversation about it. She meets high caliber wealthy men and women and forms a sophisticated circle that inspires her and motivates her.

She only dates people who put in as much effort as she is and knows what she deserves. Never lowering herself for a man. Making sure she dates the best of the best.

She saves and invests her money wisely and educates herself on finance. Listening to podcasts and reading books. She gets a financial advisor when she has a certain amount of money. She can afford to treat herself to the finer things in life and has a side business to help her do so.

She is charitable and donates and volunteers at local charities mostly for women. Taking time out of her day for others on a regular basis. She is always striving to improve herself and others.

Steps to achieve

Take care of my appearance and invest in quality not quantity.

Wake up early to plan, get ready, and relax

Read for 15 minutes in the morning and at night minimum

Listen to dharma talks

Get my eyebrows done every 2 weeks and my nails done every month.

Go to the gym 3 times a week

Do yoga at night

Eat my nutritionists plan

Volunteer at a battered women shelter near me

Take etiquette courses

Go to the theater and ballet and study both

Practice Russian everyday and gets a tutor or pen pal

practice driving in places unfamiliar

Listen to financial podcasts and learn from my dad about finances.

Strike up conversations with strangers and complements others

Clean daily and have a schedule

Meditate for ten minutes daily

Go to the library once a week

Swear less

Rent or buy a violin then take classes

Take ballroom classes

Learn about wine with classes or books

Find a skiing partner

[notchesandbullets]

Pure Affections Wrapped Up in a Dark Green Bow (Husband!Pro-Hero!Bakugou x Wife!Reader)

Art credit: @/gaysony on Instagram

Warnings: suggestive themes (there’s one steamy kiss and innuendoes sprinkled throughout), nudity (not sexual), fluff, cursing, injuries, hurt/comfort, soft!domestic!Bakugou and heartwarming present. 

Synopsis: You had been married to Bakugou for a couple years now and you had a special present for him. But when he gets home, it’s clear that he hasn’t had the best day. You’re there, steady and strong for him to lean on for support and he does until he’s capable of standing on his own again. This is what love looks like.

Words: 6k

The door to your flat slammed closed, signaling that your husband was home, and you wiped your grimy hands on your dirt-streaked cargo pants. You grabbed something and jumped on the counter, shoving it in a cabinet before closing it. Double checking to make sure you couldn’t see it, you leaped down, quelling your excitement as you sped out of the kitchen.

But your rapid footsteps faltered when Bakugou came into sight, looking absolutely drained. 

He dropped his duffle bag on the floor without a care and kicked off his shoes, never looking up once. 

“Katsuki?” 

Your soft voice brought him back down to reality and he sighed heavily, gripping the roots of his ash-blond hair in frustration. When he finally glanced up, his garnet eyes were laced with exhaustion. 

But everything melted away the instant he saw you.

Engine oil smudged on your cheeks, Bakugou refrained from snorting at the sight of your muddied cargo pants and stained, white tank top. You sure were a sight for sore eyes even when tinkering with your support items commissioned for big-time heroes like him.

“Hi.” You giggled as he dumped the rest of his stuff to the ground, closing the distance in between you two in three large strides.

You frowned as you noticed a slight limp in his gait but you didn’t get a chance to question it. Bakugou didn’t waste any time, trapping you in his arms and crushing your form to his chest.

He grunted his hello, but his eyes were soft and his smile was fond as he drew back slightly. He might’ve grown since his hot-headed days in high school as you helped him express his emotions but that didn’t mean all his ticks went away.

You just held him as his head plopped on your shoulder, sensing where his distress and aggravation was stemming from.

“Bad day?” You asked sympathetically, looping your arms around his neck so that you could card your fingers through his spiky hair.

He snorted but his fingers tightened from where they were gripping your waist. “Like you wouldn’t fucking believe.”

It was awful. He had gotten called away on a mission only to find out that his people mixed up who he was going up against and had given him skewed intelligence. He would’ve fucked them up for a mistake like that if it wasn’t for that column that landed on his leg and trapped it. He was fortunate that Recovery Girl had made a special trip to see him or else he would still be in the hospital. 

You smiled sympathetically at the bite in his tone and pressed a kiss to his temple in an effort to calm him. “You want to talk about it?”

Bakugou shook his head no. All that could come later, right now, he just wanted to to hold you in his arms. Because when he did, it was like all was right with the world.

You didn’t press the issue. Instead, after coaxing him to stand on his own two feet so that you weren’t dragging his weight around the complex, you led him to your shared bedroom.

“C’mon, bathtime.” You encouraged softly.

Bakugou didn’t fight you as you guided him into the simplistic yet modern bathroom and he lifted his arms up as you tapped his wrists to indicate what you wanted him to do so that you could take his shirt off. 

You turned around so he could strip the rest of the way and started to run the bath. You left the lights off on purpose so that the harshness of it wouldn’t hurt his eyes. Instead, the window provided natural light. 

Adding a couple bath salts and essential oils (even though he claimed he hated the way it smelled) to aid in his relaxation, you adjusted the temperature of the water to chanced a glance back at the man draped over you. Your brow furrowed and a frown pinched the edge of your mouth as he leaned against you more than usual. He was more hurt than he was letting on.

Slinging his heavy arm around your shoulder, you supported him and helped him into the tub. He had already undressed the rest of the way but your brow furrowed as he struggled to lift his left leg. Eventually, you were able to lower him without a problem and you grinned triumphantly at the feat accomplished but it went unnoticed by your husband.

Bakugou frowned tiredly when you didn’t follow him in. 

“Come here.” He rasped, his voice heavy and laced with a burden he didn’t want to voice.

Your expression softened but you shook your head. You were so dirty from working in your workshop. If anything, you needed a shower. He could soak by himself and then come eat dinner when he was ready and up for it.

But Bakugou tugged on your hand, insisting. 

“I don’t give a shit.” He growled lowly. “Get in here, dumbass.”

Shaking your head at his crude language, you squeaked when he yanked you towards him. Your breath caught in your throat as he was now an inch away from your face, his hot exhales mingling with your gasp of surprise. 

“You’re not asking, are you?” You sighed dramatically but smiled to let him know that you were just kidding. “Alright, give me a second.”

As soon as you took your clothes off, you clambered in the bath with him, facing him because you didn’t trust him not to try anything in this state where you were both nude. 

He wrinkled his nose, giving away his displeasure as you stayed an arm’s length away from him but you didn’t care and urged him to scoot forward so that you could start to clean him. 

Bakugou hissed as your nails dragged against his scalp. “Taking a damn bath is fucking dirty.”

“The water gets so fucking disgusting.” He scowled, huffing scornfully when he saw how brown the water was turning already.

You shrugged, focusing on a patch of particularly rough sediment clinging to his chest. 

Bakugou took this moment of peace in time to observe the way your brow furrowed in concentration, how your nose flared and your lips pursed. 

You hardly ever let him watch you at work in the shop, giving him a shitty excuse that he distracted you or some shit.

Fucking lame. 

You were a vision when you were working on things that you were passionate on. He could watch you for hours and never get tired. He actually had, on several occasions, had gotten in trouble with his PR team more than once because he skipped or forgotten about a press conference meant to boost his publicity.

Not that he really needed more. If anything, as a top ten hero, he needed less.

All he wanted was to lay in bed and fall asleep with you in his arms. Was it too much to ask for that of the world? To give him an uneventful night of peace where he wasn’t called away to work, to be able to wake up with you in the morning when the sun rose above the skyline and greet you with breakfast in bed instead of a scrawled note that told you how much he loved and missed you since he couldn’t stick around. 

You never minded. You never complained about the hardships once.

You knew that when you agreed to marry him you knew exactly what you were signing up for. And you never regretted it.

Sure, the days were hard. You had work and friends to keep you more than occupied but at the end of the day, it boiled down to commitment and how much you loved him. That wasn’t to say that waiting was easy, not at all.

Because everyday you had to worry about whether or not he would make it home that night. Whether he was eating properly and getting enough rest. How every time you turned on the news you held your breath as you flicked through the channels, hoping and praying that your husband wouldn’t be on the front of those stories that broadcasted the death of a hero for the whole nation to see. 

But he was worth it. He was worth your unconditional love for him and every single moment of waiting. You would always wait for him because there was no one else you’d rather be with.

Bakugou almost fell asleep in the tub as you bathed him without being prompted. Normally, he's have some kind of irritation flashing through him as he was forced to endure your loving touch that he absolutely did not need. Or treasure.

Or was the only thing he was able to think of when you tended to him with the utmost care.

Fuck.

He had learned fairly early on in your marriage that being vulnerable didn't not constitute the same as being weak in his definition. But it got easier as time passed and he saw that you would be the last person on earth to judge him or think less of him because of his limitations. 

It had taken a while but eventually you broke down those high walls of his, embracing him in the midst of the maze he had built up around his heart to protect himself and kissed the top of his head as he leaned down. 

You got him. All of him. 

There was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be than by your side. 

Bakugou’s head lolled back against the backsplash as your nails scratched against his scalp.

He exhaled deeply. “Fuck, that feels good.” 

You fought back a cheeky smile. You knew him well and all of his weak spots.

Bakugou’s eyes fluttered closed as you continued to clean him. Usually, he would insist you turn around and relax so that he could take care of you but all the energy was sapped out of him. He was lucky he had someone like you to sit here with him after a shitty day, not ask any questions, but just simply be with him. 

You squeaked in surprise when he suddenly brought you in for a hug and you blushed a rosy red when he nuzzled unabashedly into the valley of your breasts.

“Katsuki!!” You exclaimed in shock, your fingers winding in his hair when he didn’t let you go. Your eyes shot open when he tugged you into his lap. He was never this forward and he usually waited a good couple hours to initiate any kind of physical contact after a rough day at work.

Today must have been particularly bad. 

“Thank you.” Bakugou grunted, the voiced appreciation coming out muffled from where he was attached to your chest.

Gaze softening, understanding filled your eyes and you gently kissed the top of his head. “You’re welcome.”

Discreetly, you grabbed the soap to finish his bath, sudsing yourself in the process. Bakugou didn’t complain once as the water turned dark with dirt, even though he was barking about it earlier, simply basking in your presence and breathing you in while you took care of him.

He toweled off first, per your insistence since you still needed to wash your hair.

As soon as you dried off, you gestured for him to hand you the antibiotic so that you could get to work on those cuts of his. He protested the entire time.

“This doesn’t even hurt, why do you have to put a fucking—”

Bakugou broke off with a hiss of pain as you pressed down slightly harder than you needed to in order to emphsize your point.

“Katsuki…” You warned, your eyes blatantly telling him not to fight you on this or else he’d regret it. He got it rather quickly.

“Yeah, yeah,” He mumbled, averting his eyes. “Fine. Do your fucking shit or whatever.”

You weren't thrown off by the indifferent tone in his voice. He needed to know that you weren’t going anywhere. 

He always got agitated anytime he got hurt. It was only natural for someone who grew up thinking they had to be strong all the time.

Gently pressing down on his thigh, you paid special attention to when he winced.

“It’s just bruised.” You threw him a pointed glance, knowing what he was going to deny. “Recovery Girl came by?”

“Yeah.” Bakugou hissed under his breath. “Shitty nerd called her before I could say a damn word.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Well thank goodness for that because everybody knows you would screw that up.”

“Oi.” He growled at your snark. “Not fucking funny.”

You grinned. “Wayyyy funny.”

Your smile faded as you continued to patch him up, inspecting him thoroughly to make sure you hadn’t missed anything. He had a tendency to hide how bad his injuries were and although you could understand why, you didn’t appreciate the times he was literally knocking on death’s door and would die if he didn’t receive medical attention.

Those times, you weren’t all that forgiving.

Gesturing to his leg that he had been favoring since he came home, you arched an eyebrow in silent questioning. 

Bakugou rolled his eyes. “It’s fine.”

You crossed your arms over your chest but didn’t push it. He could still walk on it so it was probably fine. His pride was probably what was hurt more. Either that or the mission had gone bad and he had been too late.

Swallowing harshly, you knew not to cross that line. 

As the two of you exited the bathroom, you left behind the tense atmosphere and relaxed as you stepped back into the living area, making your way to the kitchen with great difficulty as Bakugou peppered kisses to your neck in a wordless thanks for helping him.

And the instant you arrived in the kitchen, you sprang away from him.

“Surprise!!” You shouted excitedly, waving your hands at the simple meal set up at the table. 

There was a single cinnamon and spice candle that sat in the center of the white tablecloth. He never was one for extravagance but you put in a little extra effort today.

At his silence, your arms dropped and you played with your fingers nervously, thinking that he didn’t like it. Or maybe that he found it annoying and just wanted to be left alone and now he would have to eat dinner with you.

You started to ramble as you began to panic. “I-I thought we could do something nice, since it’s your birthday, and I know since the pandemic, things have been really hard on you guys so I thought it would be nice to relax and—”

You cut off with a squeak as he swept you up into his arms and off your feet, burying his face into the crook of your neck. Cheeks flushing bright red, your stammering came to a halt as he let out a shaky exhale against your heated skin.

“Thanks.” 

It came out quieter than his usual volume, taking you by surprise, but you still heard it nonetheless.

You didn’t tease him. Maybe later when he could handle it, but not now. 

Stroking his hair comfortingly, you grounded him in reality before guiding him to sit at the table. He had tried to hide how happy he was from you but he couldn’t. Not one bit.

You knew him too well.

Letting him rest his feet, knowing he must’ve been standing and running around all day to correct mistakes, defeat villains and save people.

You moved to go sit down on the opposite side of the table like you normally everyday at dinnertime but the arm locked around your waist stopped you.

Glancing back quizzically, you yelped as Bakugou pulled you down into his lap, pressing your back flush against his broad chest.

He didn’t say anything, and if you had to guess, you figured that his brow was probably furrowed in annoyance and his mouth was pressed in a thin line at indulging in something as simple as your company and affection, but you could let him have this.

He deserved it after all. 

Twisting around, you planted a gentle kiss to his jaw, raising a hand up to tilt his face down towards you.

“Happy birthday, Katsuki.” You breathed, eyes shining with emotion. 

Two years. It had been two years since he demanded that you marry him. You couldn’t believe it when he asked you. 

Unlike most couples, you two hadn’t dated much at all. Your first date was a home-cooked meal at his apartment that he shared with Kirishima at the time, a day before the wedding. 

Your friends were shocked, to say the least. 

But you two were close. You might not have dated like how many people would classify it, but the two of you knew each other better inside out for most of your lives and was often the first one called whenever there was a villain incident that the other had gotten hurt in. 

Bakugou hadn’t cared that the public knew about you. He had originally wanted to keep it a secret so that you were better off in terms of safety-wise, but you had nothing to hide, telling him to let them try. 

They wouldn’t break you.

Your relationship might’ve seemed rushed to some, frantic and panicked, but it couldn’t be more off from the truth. 

The thing was, you just knew. You knew that if it was going to be anyone, if you could see yourself with one person for the rest of your life, it would be with him. 

No one else even came close. 

But you were still surprised when Bakugou admitted the same, just in fewer words. 

After going through everything, the USJ incident where you had gotten hurt taking a hit from the Nomu for him, the kidnapping where he was ripped away right in front of your eyes, to where he was the one to finally be able to rescue you during a break-in at Heights Alliance, he just knew.

Like you, after risking your lives for each other countless times and finding solace in each other after it was all said and done meant a lot. Meant more than he could put into words. 

You squeaked as the arms around you tightened out of the blue, concern filling your gaze as you leaned back into his chest. 

“Are you okay?” You asked softly, your small hands covering his on your waist as you sank into his embrace, tilting your head up so that you could see him clearly.

Bakugou’s vermilion eyes snapped towards you as he was broken out of his reminiscing. He grunted in your direction, internally wincing at how short he was being with you even if you didn’t even seem to mind. 

His wistful smile transformed into a full-blown smirk as you grabbed a piece of korean barbeque off of his plate and popped it in your mouth. 

Bakugou’s breath tickled your ear as he leaned forward and his low voice, though rough with exhaustion, held a touch of amusement. “I saw that, dumbass.” 

You blinked up innocently at him, kicking your feet childishly and he shook his head, pinching your side in retaliation. You jumped and smacked his chest, blushing deeply as a chuckle reverbated against your back. 

“Katsuki!!”

“Fucking dumbass.” He muttered into your hair, unconsciously catching a whiff of the coconut and pineapple shampoo you used. You smelled even sweeter than usual, it was dulling his senses. But he was not complaining. 

You smiled to yourself, snuggling into his warmth. It was quiet moments like this when there was nothing else but the company of him surrounding you and the ambiance of a safe place that you loved the most.

Heart at ease, you were surprised to hear that his heartbeat matched yours. 

Your teeth worried into your bottom lip cheekily and before he could tease you any further, you redirected his attention to his mostly untouched plate, insisting that he eat.

Bakugou was generally pretty good about staying on top of meals and eating healthy to balance out all the exercise he got working as a hero, but lately things had hit him hard and he had been slacking off more than usual.

You were quick to catch it before it got too bad though. 

Bakugou’s eyes shimmered with a hint of unspoken emotion. He was so lucky to have you.

Moving to get up so that you could get your food from across the table, you gasped as his arms squeezed around your midsection, preventing you from leaving.

“Don’t leave.” Bakugou muttered, his brow furrowed as a hint of a pout appeared on his face. 

You giggled softly at his childish antics. “I’ll be right back.”

He could be so clingy sometimes, not that you were complaining. You were just as bad. There was something about being in his embrace and letting him hold you that made you feel safe, made you feel like you were at home.

Although it was rare and far in between, he did occasionally let you cuddle him. It had taken a while into your marriage for his walls to come crumbling down, but once they did, you never once made fun of him for what he needed or asked for. 

Pouting when your beloved husband didn’t let you free, you blinked up at him with doe eyes.

You wiggled in his lap when he still didn’t release you. “Katsuki—”

“No.” He growled stubbornly. 

You sighed, trying to appear as disheartened as possible. “But I’m hungry.”

“You can eat my fucking food, dumbass.” Bakugou huffed.

Folding your arms over your chest stubbornly, you frowned. He wasn’t going to eat the food you made? Even after going all day without eating his meals?

Oh hell no. 

You squirmed in his lap, now trying to pry his unyielding grip off so that you could reach your own plate that was probably cold by now on the other side of the table. 

“Katsuki, please?” You pleaded and his frown faltered.

Why did you have to be so damn cute? It wasn’t fair.

While he was distracted, you swiped your plate from across the table and settled back into his lap cheekily, sighing contentedly as he was left in a stunned silence.

“Oi, what the fuck?”

You giggled, waving your chopsticks at him. “What the matter, Katsuki? Cat got your tongue?”

He glared at you but it faded as you laughed harder and he found a small smile lifting up the edges of his mouth.

Dinner consisted of light banter back and forth as he stuffed the food you had made in his mouth, begrudgingly admitting that it tasted good when you eagerly asked.

He tapped your hip to get you to stop squirming once you finished eating but you retorted that he was taking too long. 

He needed to finish, you had something to give him. 

Bakugou arched an eyebrow and purposefully went slower until you smacked his arm with an indignant cry at his audacity. He barked out a laugh, his chest shaking as you pushed out your bottom lip at him childishly.

“Fucking brat.” He muttered fondly and you beamed at the soft tone he took on.

“You love me~” You sang, pecking his cheek.

“Go die.” He hissed, attitude back faster than you could blink.

You insisted that he finish his meal before you revealed what you were holding back from him. 

Bakugou wasn’t going to admit that the curiosity was eating away at him as you dangled the unknown of his head like something to be played with and he was almost ashamed at how he quickened his pace.

Almost.

He didn’t react when you clambered off of his lap but his eyes widened when you climbed on top of the counter.

Chair scraping back and crashing to the tiled floor with how abruptly he stood up, he was by your side in a split second.

“Fuck— You’re going to fucking fall!!!” He cursed violently, chest heaving as he panted hard.

You giggled lightly, leafing through the spices you kept on the top shelf in order to find what you were looking for. “Relax, Katsuki, I’m fine.”

You started keeping them all on the very top after he dumped an entire bottle of chili pepper into your dinner one night. You were not amused at the shit-eating grin on his face that came from getting his fix of spicy food.

After that, it was only salt and pepper from then on, much to his dismay.

Bakugou didn’t look at all reassured by your words and he was strongly thinking about climbing up there with you just so he could catch you if you lost your balance when you squealed joyfully and hopped back down.

Thank fuck. You were going to give him a heart attack one day. 

After you ushered him to sit back down, you presented the culprit as to what your dodgy behavior was all about.

Bakugou’s vermilion eyes widened when you proudly handed him a carefully wrapped gift box. The pattern on the paper was simple and you didn’t go overboard with decorating it, settling for a small bow on top. 

He appreciated it. 

Even though to the untrained eye it looked like you hadn’t spent much effort, he knew that it was in fact the very opposite. He could see where you had meticulously folded the paper so that it laid flat and didn’t crease or wrinkle. The dark green bow vaguely reminded him of Deku, but more of the time when you said you loved the green in his hero costume because of how much it contrasted against his eyes. 

Your words, not his.

He couldn’t fucking care less about the color except for the fact that you said you liked it. That stuck with him more than he would’ve liked to admit. 

Bakugou’s hand shook slightly as he accepted the gift. “You weren’t supposed to get me anything, brat.”

You only rolled your eyes humorously, planting your hands on your hips. “Oh please, like I’m not going to get you something for your birthday.”

You may have had a habit of going all out for things like his birthday and holidays and he hated it because he never knew what to do with those warm, fuzzy feelings you left him with, giving him those wide smiles of yours that lit up the room as though he had created the universe and blinked up at him with your bright, loving doe eyes that melted his heart.

So instead, his competitive spirit spurred on to compensate for the lack of emotional capacity he had to deal with all of these unwanted feelings. 

It frustrated and flattered you to no end.

“You better fucking remember this when yours comes around then, dumbass.” Bakugou smirked, shooting you a sharp look when your jaw dropped. He would return the favor and go overboard when yours came around.

You blinked. The nerve he had. He knew you two were trying to save up funds so that you would have a stable foundation when you were ready to have kids. “W-Wait, Katsu—”

“Too late.” He rejected flatly, his eyes twinkling with a touch of amusement as he dodged your attempts to take back the present. 

His present. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Bakugou snapped as you lost your balance and crashed face-first into his chest while trying to get it back.

You floundered for a second, trying to get your bearings but your husband was too fast and beat you to it. He set the box down in flash in order to catch you.

Hooking your legs around his waist so that you didn’t fall again, his palm splayed against your lower back, teasing with the hem of your shirt before it dipped underneath. 

You jolted as his warm hand came in contact with your chilly skin and you shivered. 

Bakugou’s eyes narrowed accusingly at you. “You’re cold.”

Blushing, you tried to hide only for him to be one step ahead of you and yank your wrists away from your face. 

“Fucking idiot.” He muttered to himself and you giggled, bouncing excitedly in his lap now that your life was no longer in danger from falling ungracefully off of a chair. 

“Open it, open it, open it!!” You chanted over and over again, tugging at his arm enthusiastically. 

Bakugou grimaced at your volume. “Stop fucking yelling in my ear, you shitty woman.”

But he froze and his whole body tensed the second he opened the lid. 

You blinked at him nervously, brushing back your hair anxiously as you waited for him to say something. Unable to wait as the silence stretched on, you pointed out each one of the items sitting in the container to explain what they were so he didn’t just think you gave him a pile of junk as a gag gift. 

“They’re specialized compression arm bands for when you’re out in the field to help reduce the muscle strain but they won’t be affected by your quirk, you’d have to try really hard to destroy them and even then—”

“Thank you.”

You stopped your nervous rambling and blinked up at him in shock. Was that genuine gratitude you detected in his voice without the usual mask of nonchalance?

You giggled, almost not believing your ears. He didn’t even bother disguising it. “Wow, the world must really be ending.”

“Shut the fuck up and die.” Bakugou hissed.

Ah, there it was. 

You grinned widely. “You really like it?”

“Course, you shitty woman.” He glowered, slipping them on to try it out. 

Bakugou remembered telling you about the strain overusing his quirk caused on his arms but when push came to shove, he didn’t care if he destroyed his body when it came to saving the day. But that was years ago. 

Back when you had first met and he had blown you up during a training session. Literally. The burns landed you in Recovery Girl’s office and after that, he had walked in to begrudgingly apologize but you just looked up at him with that same kind face that greeted him everyday and asked him if it always hurt to use his quirk for such huge blasts.

You weren’t even offended by the fact that he had hurt you. It was true that he didn’t ever hold back against opponents, even when training, but even he admitted that he might’ve gone too hard.

Maybe.

But to think you not only remembered it but also worked through that pretty brain of yours to come up with a solution like this. 

All the support tech in the world didn’t have a material that could withstand his nitroglycerin when he ignited it. 

You were incredible.

Bounding up to your feet eagerly, you didn’t give him any time to throw a tantrum that you had detached yourself from him as you begged for him to try them out. 

“Hah?” He glowered. “You want me to use my quirk indoors?”

But he raised his hands anyway. You were always the one to enforce the rule of him not using his explosion inside, since it was destructive even with his fine control over it. You must’ve been really excited to see him try it out.

His palms popped with sparks at first and he raised an eyebrow as a cooling sensation kicked in automatically. Slowly, he built up his power until he fired a controlled AP cannon that shattered the vase from across the room. 

You cheered and clapped your hands gleefully at how well it worked. It had changed blue when it activated, signaling that the cooling agent was doing its job.

Flexing his hands, Bakugou noticed how his arms weren't as sore as they normally were. 

He took them off and turned it over in his hands, examining it closely. “How did you do it?”

You went on a rant, enthusiasm taking over every inch of your being as you eagerly explained how you created the material, a hybrid of some sort of elastic that could withstand high heats woven in with a cooling agent to soothe his muscles when they were overworked. The threads that made up the compression bands were fireproofed down to their molecular level, an expensive process but possible with the right amount of funds, along with a ton of time and patience.

All of which you had as you spent a huge chunk on the money you had saved up for this.

Your husband’s expression softened into something that vaguely resembled fondness as your eyes shone with excitement over your newest piece of tech. Specially made just for him. 

Fuck, he was whipped.

Bakugou buried his face into your chest and you yelped in surprise, tugging his hair to pry him off of your body but he just groaned and stubbornly refused to move.

“Katuski!!” You protested, your hands shooting to the arms that were wrapped around your torso and pressing you close to him. “I’m dirty!!”

A blatant lie since you had bathed with him but you were desperate. This would inevitably end up in the bed if you didn’t push him off you right now. 

You had been working in the shop all day to finish these up, just able to wrap the specialized compression sleeves in time before he came home. And because all of your clothes were currently being washed since there was an accident in your workshop a few days ago, you had to throw on your dirty tank top and cargo pants after scrubbing it as best as you could; and it was not the most appealing or flattering on your body. 

It was clear your husband thought otherwise though.

“Don’t care.” Bakugou grumbled into your chest, his meaty hands going down to cup your butt.

You smacked his chest, telling him off, squeaking when he retaliated by squeezing your ass firmly. Rolling your eyes at the cheeky smirk on his face, you kissed his nose softly and his expression crumbled away to the softness that you knew had always lurked behind his guard.

“Happy birthday, Katsuki…” You whispered, a millimeter away from his lips. “I love you.”

You hadn’t even finished your declaration before his hand was snaking around the back of your neck, closing the distance in one go and crushing your mouth to his. 

You whined as he dominated your mouth, his tongue demanding entrance. You decided to play with him a bit and kept your lips pursed. He growled at your disobedience and you shifted giddily in his lap, yelping when he nipped your bottom lip. 

He groaned against your mouth as you ground your pelvis into his.

Bakugou thought this was going to go somewhere with how much you were teasing him but to his frustration, you climbed off of him, panting hard to catch your breath.

You winked. He knew that glint in your eyes. 

“Catch me if you can!!” You shouted over your shoulder as you sprinted towards the living room and took refuge behind the couch. 

“What the fuck….” He muttered under his breath, shaking his head at your childish antics as you raced out of view. 

He stomped into the living room. 

“Oi, get out from behind there, dumbass.” He growled.

When you didn’t reply, he rolled his eyes and tapped his foot impatiently. 

“I know you’re there, shitty woman.” “He drawled. “I can see your fucking foot.”

Your indignant squeak made the corner of his mouth twitch in amusement but the look was quickly wiped off of his face as a foam bullet whizzed past his ear. You had just declared war.

A wide smirk spread across Bakugou’s face at the invitation of a challenge and forgoing his shirt, he sank low to the ground. He didn’t even bother to take one of the other guns where they were stored. He was going to beat you in hand to hand so easily it was going to be embarrassing.

“Just remember when you fucking lose,” He started, cracking his knuckles loudly. “Don’t come crying, dumbass.”

“I don’t cry— Hey!! That’s cheating!!”

Your confident reply broke out into a whine halfway through your sentence as Bakugou leaped over the couch and tackled you to the floor, pushing the gun away so you couldn’t shoot at him anymore.

“You’re such a fucking child.” He snorted, stealing a kiss from you before you could say anything.

“But you love me anyways~” You sang, repeating your declaration from earlier as you booped his nose softly.

Bakugou huffed indifferently, a proud smirk stretching across his face as his true feelings won over. 

“Damn right I do.”

[soranihimawari]

Borderline

I essentially woke up and cracked it this bad boy and now I’m thinking about sous chef!miya x reader

Estranged classmates>>acquaintances>>lovers

Mentions of arranged marriage by (toxic!) family members

MDNI🔞: MA for language, allusions to sex, marking/bite marks (non-explicitly specified how or when)// toxic family one or two mementos of verbal and/or implied violence against reader (strong grip leaving bruised shoulders) •• adult psychological themes••

Tora (nickname for reader’s charm and tiger like personality) : literally a tiger

For all intents and purposes, you thought your godmother was joking when she says your grandfather has arranged a suitor for you. You were the last in your family (aka, the youngest) to be married with at least a child or two on the way. Nowadays, in your city by the cliffs facing the entrance of the forests where your lineage stems from the pearl divers and falcon husbandry, the elders still abide by the rarity of arranged marriages. Your family is one of them, so when you’re woken up at five-thirty with a phone call warning you of said arrangement mentioned, you scream into the pillow nearest your head.

“God damn it!” you let out another banshee of a shriek.

The woman who birthed you frowns hours later as the food in front of you is untouched. No one likes a starved bride, but you use it as a sign of petty rebellion. Your future in-laws were arriving in less than hour and you remain uncouth in terms of appearance. The sister to your left is heavy with her third child and while she was able to chose her own path, she reminds you of your place. She blames hormones you call her a whore because she drunkenly fucks the neighbor every time his wife is on vacation.

“Uncalled for,” your father is red in the face.

“Considering one-san isn’t making an effort in covering up the truth, I suggest you talk about infidelity when her husband comes back from buying the ice in town,” you said. “Take that as a warning otosan dearest.”

You don’t make an excuse for yourself to leave the table, but you do regardless of your parents’ threats of disowning you at the ripe old age of twenty-four. Your phone in your pants pocket burns against the morning rays, yet when a familiar contact is the first voice to greet you, you breathe a sigh of (mental) relief.

“Hello?…can I get a table for one?”

Hours later, after a three train and one rideshare later, on the quiet corner of the small plaza in International Rd & Pacifica Way, your delivery bike is chained to a light post. The only acquaintance you’ve known by merit and popularity is the first one to greet you with his back to the door.

“Have a seat ‘newhere ya like,” cold, yet oddly satifying, gray-blue eyes peer over the sous chef’s broad shoulders.

You wonder if he has changed as much as his menu to accommodate the influx of orders since he was given the top third spot for locale favorites. Although your social circles were as different as night and day, you make an effort on at least befriending him now. When the line lead essentially catches up, your order was jotted down by a new hire who was learning the computer point of sale system today. Even if you’re stressed out with your imminent impending marriage, you show (what you can presume is a work-study student) her you are patient and aren’t too nit-picky when your gyoza arrives after your entree onigiri.

“I’m sorry, I can get my manager to—”

“It happens sweetheart, no worries,” you plop the order in your mouth two at a time. You wave your chopsticks around in a circle as of to bat away any lingering negative thoughts. “Tell the chef his gyoza is still as delicious as ever.”

You give her a thumbs up and she smiles broadly. Later on, as you camp out and move around to create space for the obaa-san from the textile fabric store, you sit at table eleven, your tab still unpaid for until the line chef is left in charge. The sous chef with kind eyes from earlier walks over post hustle. Hours kitchen staff was able to be caught up relatively quick by the time he joins you. Taking in your exhausted expression masked behind a neutral face, he knows it would be in your best interest too bent to him.

“What happened?”

Two word questions between you two had always been the key to have you open up a bit more. He seemed honestly concerned because he only takes his hat off when he’s on his break. Well-kept locks of which remind you of squid-ink noodles frame his face. You understand why he asks, not like much can be done when you fill him in on the family tea. His eyes roam you face for any warning signs of being trapped; he lends you the space to vent because who knew what would happen if you were to bottle that emotions away?

Ten minutes. You’re divulging information about several instances which leads to where you are at now. Your eyes glaze over in frustration because who would have thought leaving that hellish place would lead to you find some semblance of peace in an onigiri restaurant in the middle of a packed shopping district today?

“…and that’s putting everything delicately,” you lean back into the chair.

Your eyes filled with rage festers as you watch families and couples alike walk down the plaza together. Manifesting in glossy tired eyes, said chef gives you a once over: you’re of average height and build, he knew that much, but something about being in the same science and advanced maths classes for the years both of you attended in high school showed just how ‘passive’ you were… until you were subsequently stood up at the personal lockers and on a random day, you dial the phone number the head of the baseball club gives you. He wonders how things would dance changed if you chose to be by his side since that day. The memory of yesteryear begins again when those same curious gray-blue eyes warm up to the way the sun seems to highlight your features: going back to the day when you were stood up by a potential study date comes to mind (again). You put it on speaker as you were zipping up a hoodie and the traffic radio’s prank line plays the “rejected” jingle.

“Woah, that’s harsh,” a member of the volleyball says, shaking his head; green eyes watching how his friend’s brother would react if at all. “Would not wanna be her right about now.”

You grind your teeth, tie your hair back and square your shoulders, muttering how all you wanted was the notes from one class as you brush past other students who noticed you hold your books in a death grip. A term paper handed out from their English teacher that year was picked up by one of the twins next to the water fountain. In bold letters next to your family name, a bold green 100/100 ヽ(〃＾▽＾〃)ﾉ for the grammar pop quiz from this morning makes said friend’s brother catch up to you. You were wiping your cheeks as you tried to unlock your bike lock from the rack. You’re almost breaking the damn thing apart with the way your shoulders tense from the seething breathing you use to try to calm down. Does it work? No, but you’re not about lose this pride or your self worth. Not today.

“Sato is not worth it,” he says extending his hand with the quiz.

You pull yourself together quietly as you take it from him uttering a small “thanks”. The boy notices a dark bruise forming on your shoulder when you shuffle to put the quiz in your beaten up (‘hand me down’) canvas bag. He points to his shoulder as though he was your mirror and you brush him off saying you forgot to hang the laundry last night so mother likes to discipline you with her hands.

“What?” you ask, an incredulous look on your face. “Never been in trouble with your mom before?”

A scar behind your right ear happens to resemble a cigar burn because your sister, the sun lover, decided to pretend you were an ant and she the human with the magnifying glass. You were thirteen.

“Not like that, no.”

The boy tilts his head to one side while you explain this scar was from where, who, and when. Bumps and scrapes he had received were normal, but you, you stand tall inconspicuous to your classmate. You spoke in statements of neutrality, which drew him to you in the first place.

“Umm… here,” he fishes his phone out his burgundy pocket. “Give me yer number. We can make up a lie and if things get real bad ya can stay over for the night. I’m sure ma won’t mind.”

Was this guy for real? You hand him back his phone, closing his fingers around it with the intentions of giving it to him tomorrow.

“We’ve been in the same homeroom for three years…” your lock is stored in your backpack finally. “Does every girl in your phone exist because they were stood up for a study date? Or am I the first?”

“Excuse me…?”

He knows you’re not trusting of him, not one bit, but the least you could do is not bite the potential hand that frees you, hence his confusion.

“That’s what I thought,” you mount your bike, thank him for finding the quiz before warning him if he’s serious about what he said, you sit in the middle row, back seat next to the light switch for the room.

The memories of yesterday freezes when you stare out the current window panes. You sense jovial life and the like from strangers strolling down the street. Apparently after almost ten years of being out side of acquaintances, the sous chef trained his phone from his apron; the screen is unlocked and he draws your attention by the backlight. It’s the phone book contact lists and his finger hovers over your email. Your phone number and address remain blank; you really are a stubborn and skeptical person.

“What are you doing?” Your voice is constricted as you watch him hover his phone over your unlocked one. A QR-code is on your screen with an envelope with wings.

“Saving a friend from going through something insane even by my standards. And I have a monster twin.”

He chuckles right before he brings a hand to give you a silent sign to stay quiet for a little bit.

Beep-bop.

There’s an impish grin he wears when he stands abruptly to snap a photo of his lips barely grazing your cheek. His hair hides the apex of the lighting effect you would use to edit and send him a copy a couple hours later.

“That I thought I needed to give girl from my youth a way out of a loveless marriage at ripe age of twenty-four.”

You don’t push him away because you expertly let you guard down long enough to show him you can do more than scowl or show disgust; the proof is in how your eyes regained a flicker of hope when you tilt your flushed face to him.

“Better, so much better,” he teases. He wants to hold your hand, since that day, but he carefully declines. His nose on the other hand, whether intentional or not, nuzzles against your temple to see if he can test your patience.

“Oi! Miya-san!” shift change was about to start and he needed to return to reality of learning his craft.

“What? Can’t you see I’m—” he jolts upright.

“She ain’t going no where, right Ms Tora?” another chef pipes up holding a new bonito flake shaker. This one is a partly fellow, hollering about you and his boss going through young bursts of love.

“Did chef-kun ask you out yet?” the first cook asks, holding up three meal tickets for the Togo packing station. They are a rambunctious people, but they find poking fun at the holes in their sous chef’s love life… and the berating is quite the opposite from your family: yours is out of disappointment, theirs here in the restaurant is out of camaraderie for their leader.

Then it clicks like an epiphany of the last couple years forces you to never be too far from wherever he is. The fundamentals of the universe is to blame because you pick up that his coworkers call you by the nickname he gave you when he points to ripped tiger plush backpack charm. Your acquaintance seemed to have picked small things about he always noticed.

You had an inkling it was him or other people from the team that were his carrier ‘kitsune’ since the gifts became more tailored the later half of third year seemed to drag. The first being a replacement charm with a stainless steel D-clip. His handwriting is really neat and precise, how pretentious you thought when you stick the charm inside your desk.

At lunch, you weren’t feeling well, but when you rest your head on your desk the classmate with the bleached out platinum blonde dye job wears an amused smile obscured by his hand. You’re holding the charm, subconsciously squeezing it (and the strings around his heart force it stay in place instead of jumping to his throat). Over the course of the rest of that term, your team seems to be doing well both on the court for him and yours in the Olympic swimming pools: all came to a head when the school paper covered the results of the swim team: your name is credited as the anchor for your relay smashing the all-youth meet’s previous record.

“You like her,” his brother says one night.

“That’s not what this is,” he hears himself lie. “She’s a friend.”

“Deny it all you want, but you strike me as the type who likes the stoic ice-queen types…”

“You’ve been reading too much shojou/romance manga again demon.”

“And I just love to tease my little bro who’s clearly in love.”

“Shut up and go to sleep bruv. Did you forget captain’s got us morning practice at seven?”

There is delightful one finger waving from the side of the bunk bed near his face: “fuck off.” Lights turn off and they go to sleep.

Curious to see if he can witness that expression in person, your friend decides to do something a bit more drastic. Has he always been this beautiful up close? You keep that comment to yourself, since he did just give you his contact info via scanning that line contact QR code… and so just before he leaves you this time wishing to emanate the brashness of his teenage self again with an actual secret pressed against your brow this time and his lips murmuring a gentle, “Don’t you think we’re destined to be so much more?”

You stifle a laugh. It’s as infectious as the flu, but lighter than the glass of the high end carbonated rose in the back cellar. He leans back at you with a disappointing pout, blinking confused.

“Do that again.”

“Huh?”

“Your laugh,” his hand curls under your chin. “I like it.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t be shy now…”

“Miya!” the line leads at the time for shift change called him again. “Quit flirting with your girlfriend and get back to the line!”

Oh! Just how many people does he talk to?

“We’re not—”

“Samu, you should go back,” you don’t correct the presumption. “They seem serious, pretty boy.”

Are you trying to kill him? Or are you trying to motivate him? Whatever it is, it’s working. If this is how you flirt back with his taunts and baffoonery, Miya Osamu, sous chef in training, truly has his work cut out for him. He blinks at you. You stick your tongue out and it takes everything in his will power to not duck you in the freezer. Has he thought about it? Absolutely. Not like he’s going to tell you right this second…

“Sorry boys,” you peer over his shoulder to sell the pouting does work to your advantage and they all do get back to work one by one. You bat your eyelashes at the line and your partner across from you arches his eyebrows because how the hell is he to focus now? The playful guilt in your speech made his heart race, and he was about to wish you stay, but his fellow cooks were watching over his shoulder.

“I’m comin’ hold yer horses!”

You tap your lips in a thinking pose and you roll you shoulders back, saying you ought to be on your way too. Before he officially goes back to work, he says to wait for him by the register. You owe him dessert he decrees and you don’t hide your amusement until an idea pops into your head.

You rest your cheek on the fist with your elbow bent at the table with your phone in the freehand you have waving back at him as he enters the kitchen swing door.

“Looks like I’ll be staying over tonight!” your voice shouts and the cooks share a knowing look. You cup your mouth on one side, winking at Osamu who freezes up from his shoulders down. “Again!”

Yep. Miya Osamu’s instincts were right: you’re gonna kill him as the line yells their thanks to you for embarrassment well warranted, apt would can play this game, right? Right.

“Sous chef, you sly dog,” the senior chefs snicker while the younger ones nod in approval. He shakes his head, clearly embarrassed as the blush he tired to control peeks out of his collar, saying to pay you no mind while he grabs a clipboard of 86’d items and walks into the cooler.

There is a file of locked privately edited photos from your time as a model for the photography classes in university. You send your top three images to his contact info noted by the onigiri next to his name to get one last rise out of him and when he glances at the preview of the text attached, his shoulders stiffen when the phone recognizes his thumbprint. He narrows his eyes at you who whistles along with the ambient music. You really are a devil, huh? he thought.

Their sous chef clears his throat of his heart, being sure it moves back to his chest before he starts the night crew meeting after his little floating dance he performs for the fresh produce in said cooler. For a chef, soon to work his way into buying the restaurant in his name, Miya Osamu has fancy footwork. It’s clearly evident when he pauses for a moment to lookout the view finder facing the western point of the restaurant, the table where you sat still, he witnesses you bite your lower lip, when your phone vibrates in your hands. He is a good lip reader, thanks to Sunarin’s need to record everything and clown his brother on their group chat…yet you seemed distraught. That meant whomever was blowing up your phone was family.

You don’t even hear the kitchen cooler open nor see out of the corner of your eye your self-declared ‘boyfriend’ toss his phone on the counter by the register before it takes him three steps to cross the floor. He calls your family name, and you flinch as an automatic response; he wants to help, he still does.

“Hey chief?”

Osamu ties his apron a bit more snug around his waist. He was about to begin chopping the garnishes for the salmon roe special for the weekend on the expo-line.

“What now Katsu-kun?”

“Your girl,” the line cook who called his attention this time points at the table he just left. You look like you were struggling to get a word in and the more the person on the other line was beating you up with nonsense, the sous chef takes charge.

So he does the only thing he can think of on the spot: your mother is yelling at you about calling your sister a “slut around the block everyone knows” and Osamu, being a bit more calm, pries your phone away from your ears. He clears his throat as he rudely yet efficiently says the following:

“If mah wifey says ‘er sister’s a two timin’ slut, then I believe ‘er,” he winks at you.

You’re about to scream but your voice is stuck. He holds the phone away from his ear for a few seconds as you hear your own mother yell insults at him.

“Oi, quit complainin’ and for the last time woman: stop. trying. to. marry. ‘er. off.when.she.has.me.”

He blocks her number the moment he hangs up on your insanely toxic ma the second you stand up from the chair. You are at full height even if he’s taller than you, and your hands pull him down to your level by the his white and burgundy trimmed chef coat lapels. You stand on your toes and sear a kiss on top of his lips. You’re about to stand flat in your feet again, but he pulls you back into a welcomed hug.

“That was so hot,” his breath fans your ears. He kisses you promptly again. “We’ll discuss this when we get home, ok princess?”

“Get to work Miya,” your smirk, fingertips tracing over his lips.

He chews his cheeks pursing his lips together forcing a cute, “don’t wanna,” out. He laughs when you turn him around and as politely as you can you tell him you’re watching him from the sidelines like he requested during the game which secured his high school’s invitation to the inter high.

Later, on the third floor of a rented duplex owned by a kinder couple, you find yourself in the arms of a love that you had no control over. Falling in love was supposed to be this arduous journey, yet for the story of him and you, it was a gradual progression. The radio plays Unchained Melody on the counter by the kitchenette as you wear the chefs coat from earlier and the boy who wears his sweatpants after a hard days night, is enchanted with the temptress who makes desserts seem like a walk in the park.

“Hi baby,” you hear his voice tease your earlobes with a warning bite. Only to have him stand behind you, resting your chin on your shoulder, wrapping you in a warm hug.

“Mm?” you tilt your head to one side. “You awake already? Thought I tired you out?”

“Never,” he chuckles. “Tiramisu?”

You boop his nose with the chocolate in the spatula. He looks like a cat about to sneeze before you wipe it off for him.

He smiles against your skin now,admiring the way his lips stained the flesh he sees as you shrug your shoulders, the chef coat slips off your shoulder slightly. The love bites are now shallow, yet the bruises elsewhere are well earned. You learn how rough hands are made strong to hold you safely hours ago; and he learns your venom is a product of the life you left behind. Essentially, when the kisses linger more, he tells you that you left the rhetorical question unanswered back at the restaurant.

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think so,” you answer.

“Right answer,” it’s almost eerie how hoss voice does that. His hands which were once on your hips and natural waist turn you around but to be small off your back. You’re wearing his old clothes, the ones he first met you in, the faded fox on the upper left pocket matches the track pants hanging loosely by the will of good faith.

“Eager to go at it again?” You tease. You squeal this time when he scoops you up in one go complaining that he thought you’d never ask pacifying your worry with a nod. Your hands steady yourself in his hold and he pushes you by the small of your back with one exceedingly warm hand and the other balances you underneath your plush thighs.

“You good cherabim?” He asks. His breaths are shallow, yet his voice showcases his lucid mindsets.

“O’course,” you lock eyes with him. You peck at his nose with your lips. He nuzzles against your neck, an audible confession of being screwed by the enigma (affectionate)that was and forever will be you. “I have you… even if I was too naive to think otherwise.”

“You chose me,” he hums. “I would pick me too—haha.”

You toss your head back and laughed reminding him where you are supposed to be headed unless he wants the floor to taste like sex.

“Fuckin’ hot,” he snickers slapping your thigh. You grin through gritted teeth.

“Did you just hit me brat?” Your voice is sultry and it seems you might have to correct his attitude.

“I stand by what I said Madame,” he walks out of the kitchenette on his level; down the corridor on the right, his door is ajar. “Care to hear you break me again?”

“Absolutely,” you snarl, nipping at the corner of his ear when you press against his shoulders. He groans and it’s delightful sample of where this will lead.

In light of your answer, Miya Osamu realizes this is the love you clearly deserved at the moment is laced with embers of wonton power struggle and strife at first glance, yet he will yield his hold because behind closed rooms, you lead with a steady hand.

“For you the world,” he whispers the saying across your exposed collarbone. His lips follow suit and everywhere you are scared to show him, for ever bump or scrape against your skin, he soothes it beneath his hands; the sheets are tangled in the throes of a love most well earned to those who live in the borderline between life and love.

[restthecase1234]

HOW TO ACE AN INTERVIEW?

“You get an interview through connections or maybe your resume. You get a job through body language and a few compelling stories.” – Nick Morgan

Interviews are all about how you present yourself along with the knowledge that you possess. It’s about proper alignment of the goals of a company/organization with your personal goals. Hence, it’s important to be self-aware and to know the details of the job description, as well as the company.

Following are some factors that one should be kept in mind before going for an interview:

Know the difference between Resume, Biodata, and CV

A resume is a summary of one's education, skills, and employment when applying for a new job. Suited when experienced people apply for specific positions where certain specific skills are more important than education.

A C.V. lists out every skill, all the jobs and positions held, degrees, professional affiliations the applicant has acquired, and in chronological order. Suited for fresh graduates or people looking for a career change.

In biodata, the focus is on personal particulars like date of birth, gender, religion, race, nationality, residence, and marital status. Suited for government jobs, or research grants.

Do your homework

Company Research is essential before an interview. It shows the company that you care and are interested in the opportunity. It comprises of basic industry knowledge, company history and competitors, vision and mission statement, important products and services offered, company culture, and social websites.

Know yourself

It’s important to be self-aware as you should know your strengths, weaknesses, and potential. You’d always be required to introduce yourself in an interview so make sure that you know exactly what to say and always be ready for explanations on your hobbies and interests.

Dress to impress

First impressions are the last impressions. Make sure you’re smartly dressed. Don’t put on a lot of make-up and don’t wear tacky clothes. Be your confident self, always. Authenticity stands out.

Body Language and posture

Always sit straight and never use the backrest. Make sure that you are leaning forward as that’s an indicator of being interested. Never keep your hands and legs crossed. Do not fidget and always maintain space.

Below are some frequently asked questions along with answers:

What are your strengths and weaknesses?

Purpose:

- To assess your core competencies, integrity, authenticity

How to answer:

Strength:

-have a bank of 10 relevant strengths

- Real-life example and application of the strength

Weakness:

- Cannot contradict the strength

- Low impact but honest

- A weakness inconsequential to work

Why should we hire you?

Purpose:

- To check competencies and whether or not you’ve read the job description

How to answer:

- Precise point format

- Do not talk about how good the company is in this question.

-Tell them how you can contribute to the company

Why do you want to join the company?

Purpose:

- To showcase that you have read about the company

- Also, how your values match the company expectations

How to answer:

- Recent Achievements

- Exciting work proposition

- How you are a fit for the company culture: focus on your values

How did you face a challenge/ failure/ rejection? Or share an experience where you dealt with rejection?

Purpose:

- Analysing your problem-solving skills

- Checking your approach to tough situations

How to answer:

S: Situation (in a line)

T: Task (what was expected out of you)

A: Action (what steps did you take in that direction)

R: Result (What was the outcome)

Where do you see yourself in the next 5 years? / What are your long term and short term goals? Purpose:

- Check your level of planning

- Check whether you will stick to the company for a long period

- Check your holistic thinking

How to answer:

- Personally, my goals are: (mention 2)

- Professionally my goals are ( 3 points or 2 points you plan to achieve in the organization)

What is your salary expectation?

Purpose:

- A trick question

- To take commitments

How to answer:

- As per the market standards. (Never disclose the amount in the first go, let the interviewer disclose it)

- If the interviewer pursues then give your expectations in a range (20000-25000)

Tell us about your project?

Purpose:

- To understand the project and check your knowledge about the project

How to answer:

You give a two-line description of the work you did in the internship. This part has to be specific

Then you highlight what you learned in the internship followed by how you contributed to the company during the period.

Tell me about your work experience

Purpose:

- To see you as an employee

- To assess your efficiency

- To assess your strengths

How to answer:

- Name of the organization

- Job Role

- Achievements/ Contributions/ Recognitions

Why not a job/ PG course after graduation?

Purpose:

- Clarity for choosing the option

- Your thinking logic

How to answer:

- be honest about how the course or job will help you.

- What skillset you possess to make you an ideal candidate

Do you have any questions for us?

Purpose:

-This is a winning question. It is the last question asked and that is when you can make an impact on the interviewer for one last time. The answer depicts your presence of mind and also your confidence. Do not waste it in asking about company policies, timing, salary, joining date, etc.

How to answer:

You can ask the following questions:

It was a good interview. I would like to know who interviewed me. So can I know your names, please?

Can you share your journey in the company?

How has your experience been with the company?

Can you share the best aspect of working in this company according to you?

You always ask something to the panelist about themselves to create a positive rapport.

What are the traits of a good leader/ team player/ good work culture?

Purpose:

- Checking your presence of mind

- Articulation of thoughts

How to answer:

- Answer in point format (3 points or 2 main points are)

- Point-Reason- Example

- State examples for impact

Why do you want to join the company?

Purpose:

- To check whether you have researched about the company

How to answer:

-         This is where you showcase the fact that you have read about the company.

-         You talk about one good recent achievement of the company and then you speak of 2 values the company has and how it matches your strength.

What do you like to do outside of work?

Purpose:

- Assessing social life and different spectrum of your personality

- Helps determine if a match culturally for the organization

How to answer:

-          Do keep it semi-professional, though, saying you like to have a few beers at the local hot spot on Saturday night is fine. Telling them that Monday is usually a rough day for you because you’re always hungover is not.

-         Focus on social life

-         Focus on hobbies

If you were an animal, which one would you want to be?

Purpose:

- See how you think on your feet

- No right or wrong answer

- Check- the presence of mind

How to answer:

- The animal

-Why the animal

- How strength similar

- Repeat the point

So these were a few ways that can help ace an interview. All the best!

Found this interesting? Find more such informational content in our Knowledge Bank and keep your legal knowledge at par.

[dazaisbiitch]

Mistress Of Evil

This is a My hero academia Oc story but it can also be read as an X Reader

All credits for the plot, storyline and characters go to Kohei Horikoshi, except the parts of the story that are my own and my own original character.

WARNINGS: May include adult themes, adult activity, hard language, intense or persistent violence, sexually-oriented nudity, drug abuse or other elements

Description:

"This is where my fun begins"

That's all she said that she took one step forward and off the tallest building in the area.

Only to land perfectly on her feet at the bottom, without okay in the world.

No one will be able to stop what's coming" 

Those were the final words of the night as she slipped away into the alleyways, as the sun began to rise signaling the start of a new day in the first day that she'd finally be her true self! 

Prologue

"You have to focus Rairaku, you have one of the most powerful quirks anyone has ever seen. You need to learn how to control and harvest the full and complete power of your quirk, then no villain will ever be able to get away from you. Once you're a hero, you will quickly rise in the ranks as a pro. Your quirk will make you a great hero someday, you will be respected by your colleagues and feared by every villain, you'll be able to open an agency to teach and guide others, just like I have with you… None of that will happen though if you don't focus on your training right now!"

"Yeah whatever, you really did a number on me, what would I have done without you to turn into a freak show. Do you think people are intimidated by other people's quirks? How insecure do you have to be in your own power to believe someone is better than you just because they have a better, stronger, flashier quirk than someone else? That's not how this shit works. No one gives a fuck if you have a strong quirk, they judge you before they know you… All this society cares about is if you have a quirk or not, if you do, well you have a chance to be a hero or a villain… Quirkless people are cast aside and left forgotten… You should take yourself as an example here, you had an amazing fire quirk, a villain came along, you lost a battle and lost your quirk, how quickly did the hero commission cast you aside as less than worthless? No one even remembers you as a hero, you only still have a hero license because you know a few tricks here and there that come in handy from time to time… The reality is that they don't care, no one does… You have this crazy idea that if you push me and push my quirk to its limits until my body collapses my quirk will be this superweapon you can offer to the commission on a silver platter, so much that at this point, I don't even know what my quirk can't do… nothing surprises me anymore!"

"That's the beauty of it, there's nothing it can't do. You have no limitations, except the ones you place on your own body essentially making it weak! You keep that strong quirk of yours trapped inside that weak and feeble body of yours, but fear, not I will fix that. You'll be training five more hours a day starting now, so back to training young lady!"

It's no use… My body can't take anymore, it needs a break, but this bitch is never going to give me one… This person should have never been a mother, thank god I'm adopted! I'm so fed up with this training. I don't remember a time I was not training my stupid quirk. I don't even want to be a hero and be just another puppet for the hero commission to control, I want to be free…

This whole shit show will soon end, if it's the last thing I do I'll make it end! I have exactly one month to come up with a plan, a month before I start attending U.A high school, the best hero school in the whole country. I got in through recommendations thanks to my dear old mother.

Making the executive decision to sneak out and try to find some way or idea to execute any sort of plan, but also have fun doing stuff that I probably shouldn't be doing, but who cares? I certainly don't.

Sneaking out has become very easy, living in a fancy neighbourhood isn't all that, live here long enough though and you learn to move in the shadows, allowing myself to become one with the darkness of the night and all that just so nosy neighbours don't see me and start commenting on my "behaviour"...

It's not the first time I've snuck out, certainly won't be the last, but this is the first time that I've gone into the city. Yokohama is truly a beautiful city, especially at night. I love to watch the nightlife, it's the time when villains shine the most, but at the same time, I cannot live among pigs that think they can drunkenly take advantage of an innocent woman just walking home.

Luckily I haven't encountered anything like that tonight, instead, I'm casually relaxing on a rooftop in the middle of the city, looking down at the world like God looking down at his subjects.

"What's someone so young doing up here?" an intimidating voice calls behind me. I already knew someone was approaching me minutes ago…

"Well, if I'm being honest I would say I'm thinking about the murder of a certain ex-pro hero… But better to be here and as far away from them as possible or who knows what I'd do to that bitch… I'm so tired of her living in glory as the world pities her for losing her quirk, while behind closed doors she's an abusive piece of shit!"

"Then jump. It will end all your tiredness, once and for all"

"As much as I'd love to, especially from up here, with this view, I can't, as soon as I start falling my quirk will just levitate back up here. Also even if I could, I'd just be proving her right, proving to her that I'm just as weak and pathetic as she thinks I am, so much that I took the cowards way out. No thank you. I'd suffer a while longer and have the satisfaction of watching her take her last breath. I will not die, not until I shove all her fake heroic ideologies down her stupid throat."

"Hmph… Perhaps then you shouldn't jump… I can however help you deal with her. This world must be cleansed of fake hero pretences and false ideologies. Back to the time where people knew the true meaning of what being a hero truly is!"

"So what? You'll kill her? If so then just go ahead and do it! No one will care about her death. To her, I am just another job the hero commission gave her, one she wasn't even qualified to do. If you do it, don't do it for me and my sad sob story. Do it because you truly believe in cleansing hypocritic heroes from this world. If that is indeed what your goal is I will give you all the information you need on her and all the other corrupt heroes in this society."

"What's your name kid?"

"Rairaku Ishii, you can call me Rai though. And I'd rather for you to not say your name out loud, you never know who could be listening, but I know exactly who you are, I'm telepathic, and it's a pleasure to meet you, I must say I'm a fan!"

"Good. Now about that information, you said you'd give me…"

"First ex-pro hero Pyro, she used to be very popular as Endeavour's sidekick, but now she's lost her quirk. She's basically useless, but people still praise her for some reason. Make it slow, she deserves a slow painful death, "heroes" should never abuse their power or others!"

"Are you sure? There's no turning back after this"

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life. She has to be punished for what she has done. Starting today, I'll be the person I want to be."

"And who might that be?"

"Don't know yet! I could be your accomplice, after all, it seems we'll be seeing a lot more of each other."

"Fine, just know it might take a while, I have pressing matters I need taking care of first"

"The longer you take will just make me kill her myself"

End of the day it really should be me. I should be the one to kill her, I should be the one to do it. After everything, she's put me through? After everything, she's done to me? Killing her… Would that make me a villain? What better than that, a villain goes against every hero ideal she's ever tried to engrave into my brain…

Yes, that's it. I'll be the worst type of villain this world has ever seen.

This is where my fun begins!

[spvce-cowboy]

gentle things

ch. 2 of i’ll be here in the morning (the mandalorian x fem!reader)

previous- ch.1: “a strange beauty”

next- ch.3: “reunion”

rating: mature

8.5k words

warnings: mutual pining, masturbation (f), alcohol, descriptions of gore

summary: after a few months on the Crest, you find yourself growing closer to your new companions.

a/n: the gay agenda is finding a way to slip a dolly parton song into a star wars fanfic, i rest my case.

**

Most mornings you wake to the child’s soft cooing. Occasionally, the sound is met with a low, modulated voice, that murmurs incoherent phrases in response. It somehow puts your heart to rest before you even remember where you are. 

It’s strange, you’ve been a resident of the Crest for a handful of months now and it sometimes still takes you a few moments each morning to reorient yourself. You blame it on the strange limbo of hyperspace—it always throws you off for at least a day or two, and you swear your dreams are more vivid after. Sometimes you wake up panting for no reason at all.

You’re adjusting pretty well. A bit strange having a roommate/boss who doesn’t acknowledge your presence beyond the occasional but respectful nod. But it’s way better than you could have possibly imagined when you first started turning the idea over in your head. Granted, that was when you were about elbow-deep in his chest cavity, trying to fish out pieces of the shoddily constructed weapon that broke off inside him. You needed the first way out that presented itself to you, something you and Am’ile both agreed with, and well, when opportunity strikes or whatever.

Your first evening on the Crest, you asked the Mandalorian where you should sleep and he just shrugged, handing you a single, scratchy blanket with a “this is all I have.” Later, when you pass his bunk as he’s taking a nap, he’s curled in on himself on a bare cot and you realize that threadbare piece of fabric was literally all he had. You don’t bring it up, but something in your chest softens towards him after that. There’s a new quilt folded neatly on his bunk by the time he returns from his first mission.

Your second day onboard, you found a metal table in a junk heap and pushed it against one of the walls in the engineering bay. You spent the better part of an afternoon figuring out how to weld it to the floor. The medical supplies went on top, then you pushed your pillow and your rolled-up mattress underneath. Sure, there was technically a second cot in the Crew’s quarters, but you wanted to give the Mandalorian his privacy whenever possible. Besides, as long as there wasn’t too much turbulence, your set-up was pretty great.

After a few missions, you’ve visited enough markets to buy an ample supply of blankets, sweaters, and pillows to keep you comfortable on the floor of the ship. It’s freezing most nights, especially in hyperspace, and cocooning yourself in as many warm things as you could manage helps stave off both the chill as well as the occasional home sickness. The collection you’ve amassed thus far is in a various mis-match of pale jewel tones that remind you of Am’ile’s house. You didn’t realize that until you’d piled them all together on your bed and you couldn’t help but laugh at yourself a bit.

The child loves your soft things, happily snuggling up with you for naps while waiting for the Mandalorian’s return—though you suspect he’s just grateful for the new company. A consistent presence while dad’s away. You’re happy to give that to him.

The new routine is comfortable, the company is nice, the work is relatively easy. And, stars, the things you get to see. It’s honestly more than you could have ever asked for.

When your eyes blink open it’s already around eight in the morning. You’ve landed on Nevarro where the Mandalorian has already been gone for a day, attending some kind of “extended business meeting,” as he put it. Yawning, you eventually roll out of bed and stumble into the fresher, blearily rubbing the sleep out of your eyes with the spray’s cold water. Stepping out, you wrap your towel around yourself. In the tiny metal mirror suspended over the sink you pat on some lotion onto your face, eyes still heavy.

Reaching for your toothbrush, your knuckle grazes one of the Mandalorian’s facial razors. You wince, flicking your hand before examining it. A tiny nick. Sucking on it for a second to stop the blood flow, you glance at the Mandalorian’s side of the cabinet.

It’s strange to see the most banal traces evidence of what he is, who he is, behind the all that beskar. Like the facial razors—to think he’s in here, maskless, shaving his face, while you’re playing with his kid or whatever just a few steps away. To think he takes a shower every day—er, well, you’re not sure about that one, but at least when he’s on the Crest—stepping out and wrapping a towel around his waist in order goes about his little tasks.

You swallow, removing your hand from your mouth and grabbing your toothbrush before your mind can wander anywhere else. You brush your teeth particularly well that morning.

The day is pretty typical from there. After feeding both yourself and the child breakfast, you settle on the floor of the hull with the small metal ball he’s obsessed with. You place him a few feet in front of you, he sways slightly on both feet before plopping down to mirror you, hands stretched forward in an demand to be put in your lap.

“Let’s do some of the exercises, yeah?” You know you’re essentially just talking to yourself as you hold the ball in the air, but you might as well make the effort anyway. Am’ile was no stranger to kids like him, or at least that’s how she put it—something about her people and some other group, the specifics completely slipped your mind. She didn’t really elaborate and you knew not to press.

Even though you don’t know much, you do try to mimic Am’ile’s drills-disguised-as-play at least a few times a day. He only seemed to do what you asked during those sessions when you weren’t looking, distracted by cleaning or studying whatever book you’d picked up hours later. You would always find the little ball in strange places, definitely not where you’d last placed it, and certainly out of the child’s reach.

At least it was good to know he was partially pretending to not listen to you. You could work with partially.

The kid has been fussy since waking, refusing to focus on any of the things you were trying to prompt him to do. Yesterday, you spent a bit too much time at the markets with him—growing sick of protein bars, you initially set out trying to find something closer to tasting like home. Really, you just liked getting out of the Crest so you could see all those people.

You’ve amassed a collection of language dictionaries, trying to do some fast learning and even faster practicing to get your way around. Sometimes the vendors are kind and help you stutter your way through disjointed sentences in their native tongue, others just huff and immediately switch to Basic as soon as you start talking. You don’t mind either way.

The marketplace as a whole is new and exciting, the clatter and clamor of movement, laughing and snarling, voices raised in argument and lowered in the smallest exchange of intimacy. So far removed from the quiet slopes of Am’ile’s home and—

You don’t let the rest of that thought happen, quickly scooping the kid up and wrapping him to your chest with a long swath of fabric.

“I’m goin’ a little crazy in here too, little guy,” you mumble, pulling your satchel over your shoulder. “Your dad should be back in a while—let’s try to find a contact for supplies until then, yeah? Shouldn’t be too hard.” A total lie, it was way more difficult to find what you are looking for than you initially thought. You were particularly looking for a cauterizing instrument that was a bit more sturdy than the glorified cigar lighter the Mandalorian was currently using. Besides basic med-kit stock, it was nearly impossible to find anything more advance under the radar.

Yesterday was half-heartedly spent searching the markets in search of someone who might be tapped into Republic supply runs, which rendered you, predictably, empty-handed. Now you were on to your second best option, asking around the closest cantina where you could find the instruments you were looking for for without raising too much attention.

Okay, so maybe the Mandalorian specifically told you to keep out of the bars when you’re traveling without him. But you managed just fine on your own yesterday in an arguably more crowded environment. You’ve also dealt with… far worse than that hunk of metal could ever possibly imagine. You’re more than capable on your own. Still, you make sure to strap a dagger and a blaster to your belt before heading out.

You make quick work hurrying to the cantina, making sure to cover your head with the hood of your tunic and conceal the little one as much as possible. Basic survival instincts usually warrant drawing as little attention to yourself as possible, being a young human woman traveling alongside a small green wizard creature is pretty much the opposite of that.

He, predictably, doesn’t take very well to the concealed swaddle you’ve confined him to, and the two of you are in a constant back-and-forth of you attempting to wrap him up and him making quick work of wriggling out of any cover tactic you try. If it weren’t for those damn ears your life would be so much easier.

The bar has the quiet hum of activity, occasionally interspersed with a loud chatter of conversations rising to some kind of boiling point. You maneuver yourself to the counter and try to get the attention of the bartender, holding the kid to your chest until he squirms his way upwards and settles with his chin on your shoulder, one of his ears slipping out of the head covering you’d fashioned and thwapping you in the neck. You’ll deal with that in a second.

You’ve only just caught the bartender’s attention when the doors slam open. The clamor of the cantina quiets momentarily, and you see everyone shift slightly to eye whoever just entered. The two new patrons seem to be in the middle of an argument, voices low in secrecy but tense with frustration.

“I’d know that green mug anywhere.” With that you finally turn, heart dropping with anxiety. It’s the Mandalorian and a companion, a human man. The man’s voice, a deep bellow, is warm and inviting in a way that shouldn’t make you freeze completely as he addresses the kid. He then looks you up and down, pausing as the Mandalorian continues stomping forwards. You freeze anyway. “Ah—this is that girl you mentioned? Your caretaker?”

“She’s a medic,” the Mandalorian sharply corrects the man without moving to look at you. He quickly returns back to whatever conversation was initially at hand as the man continues his brisk stride towards a table at the back. There are three people already seated there, but by the time the Mandalorian arrives they have all left in a scuffling hurry. Neither of the men acknowledge it, just immediately slide into opposing sides of the booth. “Karga, this is ridiculous--I’m not a Republic spy, why would there be this many hoops on a bounty you’re just handing out?”

“I’m not just ‘handing it out,’ Mando, I’m giving it to you because I know you’re the most capable,” the man, Karga, addresses the Mandalorian then directs his attention towards you. “Come here, girl. Let me get a good look at you, I’m curious.” Turning to the bartender, he barks out an order for spotchka. You walk towards the table. There’s too much attention on the three of you to resist, you wouldn’t want to make things more complicated for the Mandalorian anyway. The bounty hunter’s voice almost immediately overrides his, low but gritty with anger as you slide into the booth beside him.

“I can’t—Karga you know I’ve never done something like this. This high-profile. Going deep-cover for a job isn’t something I can do.”

You feel Karga’s eyes on you, it’s brief but piercing. You busy yourself by looking up at the woman who serves you a small glass of the bright blue liquid, quietly thanking her.

“It’s all the fobs or nothing. The signal will be broadcast in a few hours’ time—they won’t expect something like this to be conducted semi-publicly. Keep monitoring the broadcast, but save that fob for last,” Karga places three fobs in the center of the table, then slides a forth a few inches removed from the rest. He can tell the Mandalorian isn’t convinced—stars, even you can tell he isn’t convinced. Karga heaves a sigh and makes a stab at reassurance. “You can figure it out. You’re the only one I can trust to get this done. The most capable.”

The Mandalorian’s hand slams down on the table, you jump, quickly looking between the intense but even staring contest going on between Karga and the infuriated bounty hunter. Slowly, and with more than a bit of melodrama, the Mandalorian drags the fobs under his hand towards him, slipping it into his pocket without breaking eyes from Karga’s.

He turns heel so quickly his cape whips behind him. You scurry after him as fast as you can manage.

You can still feel the frustration steaming off of the Mandalorian the whole walk back to the Crest. You keep quiet, trailing behind him by a few steps—you desperately want to ask what was wrong. Your mouth stays firmly shut.

Boarding the Crest, the Mandalorian immediately scales the ladder into the cockpit. After a few minutes you feel the Crest shutter into the air, quickly shooting into the empty sky and then hyperspace. You sigh and grab a book, turning the kettle on to make some caf and settling in your bed to an eye on the kid as he toddles around the expanse of the hull.

Hours later, when the child has exhausted all possible forms of entertainment, usually consisting of live wires and exposed paneling that you tug him away from, he begins to get fussy in a way that means he’s tired but refuses to sleep. It starts with the occasional whimper that quickly crescendos into a full-blown fit. You know all the warning signs at this point.

The little terror had a bit of a habit of doing this—once the Mandalorian and you are in the ship he refuses to fall asleep unless you two are in the same room. A part of you knows this is a symptom of separation anxiety—which you in no way can blame him for, given the circumstances of their bond—but the cockpit is just about the last place you want to be.

It’s not that you’re scared of the Mandalorian, or anything. It would just be… incredibly awkward with the mood he’s in right now to attempt to lull his kid to sleep in his presence.

“Listen, buddy, your dad is super grumpy right now so—" The child just starts crying even louder, little fists balled up to pound futilely against your chest, trying to push you away. “Okay okay okay! I get it. I get it.” You sigh, biting your lip and looking down at the kid, then up at the ladder. The kid starts screaming. “Yeah, yeah. Alright.” You begin the climb up.

“Hey, sorry he’s being a little sensitive again,” you say as your head pops up onto the pilot’s deck, miraculously managing to pull yourself into the room with one arm holding the squirming kid against you. The floor seals shut behind you once you haul yourself over the edge.

The Mandalorian just grunts in response and continues flipping through radio channels, seemingly growing more frustrated with himself the longer it takes for him to find the frequency Karga directed him to. He’s in the pilot’s chair, back turned to you, shoulders hunched in concentration.

You settle into the copilot’s seat, resting the kid on his back on top of your legs. He settles almost instantly, big eyes no longer filled with tears.

Rolling your eyes with a small smile, you tickle him lightly until he starts giggling, then scoop him back up into your arms, allowing yourself to slide back in the chair a bit. You stare out into the bright darkness of space, blinking back at the stars as the child coos gently in your lap.

“A coded civilian station, is he fucking crazy?” The Mandalorian mumbles to himself in his continued litany of abuses he’s slung Karga and the greater universe’s way since returning to the Crest.

The longer you’ve been here the more he’s started to do things like that, just talking into the air without the expectation of a response. You begin to think that that’s just the way he acts when it was just him and the kid. Though you’ve noticed that he has been cursing way more than he did when you first met. That might be a little bit your fault. Oops.

You look down at the child and rub one of his ears, leaning down to press a kiss at the crown of his head. His little three-fingered hand catches your hair and pulls. Wincing, you resist the urge to jerk your head back. Instead, you extend the pad of your index finger and lightly wiggle it against his button nose. He sneezes and lets go almost immediately.  

You let out a triumphant “ha!” then shake your head slightly and twist your face in a playful scowl. The kid resumes his giggling, batting at your hands when you try to tickle his tummy.

Glancing over at the angry hunk of beskar seated beside you, you notice he’s paused with his hand hovering over the radio’s controls, his head turned slightly towards his right shoulder to silently regard you and the child.

You quickly divert your gaze back down to the kid, resuming rubbing his ears as his eyes slowly, devastatingly slowly, ease shut. Only to snap open again with a playful babble, hands reaching up again for the free entertainment of the hair still attached to your head. Shit. You sigh. The Mandalorian goes back to flipping through the channels.

More static and garbled languages you’ve never encountered before. You try to ignore the pounding of your heart—that was probably the longest you’d ever seen him grant you any kind of attention—and keep trying to lull the child to sleep. As quietly as possible you try to stand, scooting around the copilot’s seat to gently bounce the kid in the limited space to the back of the cockpit. He’s quieted significantly, just enough that you could probably get him to sleep on your own, as long as you don’t jostle him too much on the descent back into the hull. You’re about to head down the ladder when—

The Mandalorian pauses momentarily on a channel that’s playing music. The opening swell of the first verse is unmistakable. Your chest fills with a certain warm feeling, pounding with memories you had long since tucked away.

“Wait,” you say it without thinking. Without even processing that the words left your mouth. “Wait, could you go back? That… that song…”

Wordlessly, he clicks back to the previous station. The cabin is filled with the music, a warm and bright voiced female vocalist smoothly intertwined with her male partner. The melody is plucky, something you could dance to—and have, more than once—and it’s overly saccharine in its pure, absolute joy in itself. But you suppose the cheesiness is part of the charm. You relish in it regardless.

You do something to me that I can’t explain. There is a memory that surfaces just as quickly as it disappears. You couldn’t have been more than four. Your father, spinning you around by your pudgy forearm. It’s his laugh you remember most of all, something boisterous and full-bodied. You are dancing around the kitchen of a home you can’t remember, the floor dappled with light from the pieces of stained glass your mother had dangling from the windows. Hold me closer and I feel no pain. You smile to yourself, bowing your head down at the little one, quietly murmuring what lyrics you remember, rocking your hips in a gentle little dance. It works, the kid is fast asleep by the last chord.

The song ends, the disc jockey begins speaking in yet another language you don’t recognize. The Mandalorian quickly turns the volume down, lest it wake the child. He has reflexes fast enough to startle you, luckily your jolt does nothing to bother the baby in your arms. You gently place him in the pram, hovering beside the pilot’s seat. You slide the shield doors shut to keep out the noise and step back.

“Thank you, Mandalorian,” you say it softly, but you can see his helm bob slightly in a nod of acknowledgement. You take a deep breath and begin to head towards the ladder as he resumes flicking through the stations.

“Hey,” the Mandalorian says your name. You pause for a moment, then turn. He clears his throat—the sound comes out as a rough crackle over the modulator. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he sounds a bit nervous. “You can uh… you can just call me Mando, you know. The full thing is a bit of a mouthful.”

You blink once, then nod. Turning heel you, mercifully, scale back down the ladder with as much grace as could be mustered, despite your shaking hands.

That night, when you touch yourself, you shove the blanket he gave you against your nose and mouth. To keep quiet, you tell yourself. It smells like his soap.

**

Days after the radio incident, you can’t help but occasionally find that you’re singing the song to yourself as you go about your chores. It just seems to pop in your head as soon as you open your eyes, and it’s just stuck there, but you’re not very mad about that.

Mando has landed on some bitterly cold planet that was made up of little more than ash and a thick red fog. He had left late last night/early this morning to start his hunt, telling you in a little scribbled note to expect him back in two days’ time. He has really bad handwriting, it’s strangely amusing.

You decide to deep clean the hull: washing the floors, doing laundry, organizing what meager new supplies you were able to gather from Nevarro. As you did, you sang to yourself. Out loud. Just for the pleasure of it.

Your mother taught you kulning, as was tradition for the young girls on your home planet. Your father taught you the low-bellied croon of the casino singers. When things were still good, you would sing for your parents friends at the parties they would throw and your father would play the piano. You wish you had more memories like that. It’s hard to recall anything through the foggy barriers of the past fifteen years, it makes something in your chest ache to even try.

Am’ile’s radio was for emergencies only, not wanting to draw unwanted attention with the signal. It has been ages since you’ve had access to one, ages since you’ve heard music that didn’t come from your own mouth. That was why you’d started the nightly calls at Am’ile’s because before that grassy little planet… well, speaking was barely an option. You’d seen too many girls hurt for things far less than murmuring a tune.

To sing in the way your mother taught you, with the whole of your body. To make yourself so boldly known. It was all you had ever wanted.

You start putting together dinner for you and the kid as the day winds down. Mando had a barely functioning hotplate that you were able to make the best of, having bought some fresh produce at the far more hospitable planet the three of you were stationed at the previous day.

The stew cooks while you finish up the rest of your work, slicing bread and setting up a little dining area for your and the kid because, frankly, why not go all-out? It’s good to treat yourself to the small, gentle things. Even when on an unforgiving rock hurtling through space. Especially then.

You hop in the fresher while you wait for the meat to get to the proper temperature, twisting your body to keep your hair out of the water’s blast. In the enclosed space, you feel a less self-conscious and allow yourself sing a little louder than the under-the-breath, partial-hum you’d managed throughout the rest of the day.

You don’t hear the hull opening between that and the fresher’s spray.

When you turn the water off, you recognize the sound of the last few mechanisms of the hull door stealing itself back in place. Anxiety settles in quickly as you dry off. God, please let it just be Mando please. There’s the sound of something heavy being thrown against a wall. You wince.

A low voice. “Pretty little bird you’ve got singing in here, just for me?” Then a wet crack. “Mother fuck—"

Your heart lurches in your chest as you quickly pull your clothes on, cracking open the fresher door to peer out into the hull. Mando is standing over the body of a target, now crumpled to the ground, holding a bleeding headwound with two long, thin hands. He nudges the bounty with the butt of the weapon he had presumably just used against the man’s skull. The man gives a choked moan, completely incapacitated.

“Do you…” your voice sounds far too small. You blink, inhaling and starting over. “Do you need to bring him in alive or do you need my—"

“The carbonite will stop the bleeding,” Mando’s voice is gruff. You nod, even though his back is turned to you, watching from the safety of the doorway as he leans down and lugs the whining body into the chamber. Once the bounty is sealed away, you step back out into the open.

Mando pushes past you almost without recognition, limping heavily.

“Hey—hey!” You trail behind him, reaching out to touch his arm. He flinches. “Could you at least let me do my job?”

He regards you for an extended beat, then readily sits. It’s more of a controlled collapse.

“Is it your leg?” You ask, kneeling beside him and helping him peel off what armor you can. He shakes his head.

“It’s just more of a bruise I—my side, my hip. Onto the top of my leg.”

You nod slowly. “Okay, can you get to the fresher yourself or do you think you’ll need help? You have to rinse off before I treat you.” There’s an almost clay-like layer of red dust on his clothes and armor. It would be impossible to treat him properly without getting most of it off.

He wordlessly extends a gloved hand for you to help him up, you oblige—albeit struggling a bit with his weight. Once standing, you hover beside him on his limping walk to the fresher until he gives you a short: “I’ve got it.” You back off, returning to tend to your dinner while you wait.

When he emerges again he’s only wearing a sleep shirt, his mask, and a towel, the fabric held at the hip by his clenched fist to expose an already bruising thigh. He sits on a crate with an audible wince, easing himself back to lean against the wall slightly.

Your throat constricts as you move to his exposed side, but you try to breathe evenly enough to maintain an air of professionalism. Which gets increasingly difficult when he, with another sound of sharp pain, pulls up his shirt to reveal a series of small, shallow punctures traveling up his flank and over his hip that slightly weep with a mixture of blood and the cold water on his skin. He holds the shirt, just below his pectorals with his opposing hand, allowing the towel to drape over his lap while still revealing the side you need to work on. You can see the faint cut of his abdominal muscles, tracing south alongside a thin trail of dark hair leading--

“Shotgun pellets,” his voice stops your thoughts before they can get any worse. You’re partially thankful. Glancing up, you furrow your brow in confusion. He clarifies, “they’re a uh… a projectile type weapon. He was fighting dirty and desperate.” You nod, looking back down. The worst of the spray was able to score the skin right above his hip, but most of it had just bounced off his quad, leaving a series of raised, purpling welts. It was superficial at worst, but still not the best to look at. He seemed to read your mind. “Beskar was able to deflect them for the most part. I’ll be fine, just cauterize the worst of it.”

“The more you use the cauterizer the more of a chance you have of the scar tissue getting infected, you know. That’s some business you want no part of,” you say, digging through your kit for a pain ointment and the bacta you were able to refill on Nevarro. The more you looked at it, the more foolish of a blow for him to have taken it becomes. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re doing this on purpose,” you’re muttering it to yourself before you can fulling think through the implications. When he doesn’t say anything, you glance up at him. “That was a joke.”

“You need to work on your material, then.”

You laugh, shaking your head to yourself as you get to work. It’s easier to feel more confident around him the longer you’ve acclimated on the Crest. You have a bad habit of using snark as a defense mechanism. The more you work with Mando, the less you’re able to keep that up. It feels nice, you can relax slightly when you’re given the reassurance of him reciprocating the conversation.

You finish pressing the last of the bandages against his side. “The pain stuff I used should start sinking in soon, it might burn for a bit beforehand but it’ll get better after a few minutes.” He nods, pulling the towel tightly around his waist before standing and limping back into his quarters. He returns, fully dressed, putting a little more pressure on his leg than he did before he left. You quickly, desperately, find a way to conceal your staring.

“Hey—I have a surprise for you,” you turn to the kitchenette, busying yourself by testing the stock with a messy sip. It’s not… the best thing you’ve ever made in your whole life, but it’s the closest thing to the meals you made with Am’ile that you’ve had since you left your old home. It smells lovely, enough to have filled the hull with the smell of the herbs you used. “I thought it was just gonna be me and the womp rat so I made dinner, if you wanna eat with us that is.” You pull out the bottle of wine you bought from one of the storage drawers, a slight heat rising to your cheeks. You hold it up triumphantly anyway. “I really just needed an excuse to buy this for myself. But I totally understand if you’d rather eat upstairs by yourself.”

“Thank you,” he says hesitantly. “I’ll… I’ll stay while you eat. I can take mine to the cockpit once you’ve finished.”

“Would you want to have a glass with me, at least?” You hold the wine bottle by the neck at your side. He’s grumpy. Part of you wants to find some way to fix that, knowing it would be hard for you to let yourself enjoy the rest of the night with him fuming over something just upstairs. “I’ll cover my eyes. It’ll be like when I brought you your meals, while you were fixing the ship. No peaking. I promise.”

He takes a moment, before nodding slowly, for some reason you’re kind of surprised he agrees. Maybe that’s why your smile is so big. Maybe it was the fact you’d already cracked the bottle open for a few sips before taking your shower, the warmth of it at the bottom of your stomach making it much easier to playfully prod at the bounty hunter. Probably a mix of both.

You kneel beside your bed to gather another pillow, placing it across the makeshift table you’ve fashioned out of two crate and one of your blankets. You turn to bring the rest of the food to the table, three wooden bowls and a plate for the kid. You’re in the middle of separating the meat from the broth for him when you glance up at Mando, who is still standing exactly where you last saw him. He points to the tuft of fabric you had placed on the floor for him.

“What’s that for?”

You’re not sure if he’s serious or not. “Um, comfort?”

He doesn’t say anything, just cocks his helmet slightly to the left.

“Alright, old man,” you roll your eyes, refilling your cup . “Suit yourself.”

Mando pauses for a second longer before easing himself onto the pillow. He says your name softly, almost to himself. “This looks… really great. Thank you.”

“Well I wouldn’t take it to heart too much, chrome bucket. I was planning on hoarding all this for me and the kid. You just came back at quite the opportune moment,” you grin cheekily up at him before tearing your piece of bread and dipping it into the broth.

He reaches across the makeshift table and picks up his cup. You’ve repurposed the tops of two of his thermoses to make them. He examines it in his hand for a moment before speaking.

“Were you singing that song that was on the radio, yesterday? When I came in?”

“Yeah,” you laugh, shaking your head to yourself as you reach over the table and grab the cup in his hand to fill it with the wine. “I haven’t heard it in ages, you know? Any music at all, honestly, but especially that song. It was one of my dad’s favorites,” you detract before either of you could linger on that last statement. “It’s been in my head all day. I was meaning to ask you, when it comes to the radio—it probably wouldn’t be a good idea for me to listen while you’re on the job, yeah? Tracing signals and all that?”

Mando mulls it over for a second, accepting his cup from you and staring down at it. “I’m not sure. Better safe than sorry, but I could ask around about getting a uh… one of those new portable ones.” You don’t want to tell him that those newfangled portable radios have been a thing since you were in the cradle—something about his technological obliviousness was oddly endearing. “I’ll ask around and see if there’s some kind of blocking signal we could install. If you’d like one, that is. I’d like to take a sip, now, if that’s okay?”

You nod, immediately putting your hands over your face. You know you could just squeeze your eyes shut like oh, maybe a normal person might? But to be honest, it was a little funny to do. To act this silly in front of one of the most effective killing machines in the galaxy, who you have somehow convinced to attend a quaint family dinner. Might as well mess around a bit with it, yeah?

You hear the hiss of the mask resealing but you don’t remove your hands from your eyes. “It’s good wine,” he remarks. “You can look now.”

Removing your palms from your face, you blink your vision back to clarity, reaching for your cup again. Your mouth is already growing warm in the way that let you know that when Mando meant good he also meant strong. You have to agree.

“The people on Am’ile’s planet would make this crazy strong liquor out of these peaches that only grew in the valley where we lived. The village that was closest to us got super wealthy off of the stuff--honestly I can’t stomach anything too sweet anymore after it, spent an equal amount of time coming up as it did going down, if you get what I’m saying.” You screw up your face at even the thought of the syrup-like drink. “The orchards were super beautiful, though. The tallest foliage in the valley and they were maybe only a few heads taller than you. All types of critters living in the roots—that little one loved it.” You gesture to the child, who was grabbing as much of the dish’s meat as he could in his stubby three-fingered hands. The rest of his plate remained untouched. “Am’ile and I used to take walks through it all the time, especially when I first got there. It was too dangerous to go into the forests by yourself so I would spend ages in the orchards if she wasn’t putting me to work, just for a change of scenery.” Your mouth kind of just keeps running. It just feels so… nice, to talk to someone without having to try and stutter your way through a new language. That and the liquid courage in your cup made you unapologetically chatty. “She had so many little trinkets and things from her travels as a Republic medic, but only like ten books tops, all on medicine. I literally have the things memorized at this point, they were the only things to read.”

“You could go back at some point, if you want. When there’s a lull in jobs I could probably drop you and the kid off, spend a few weeks with her while I keep hunting,” Mando casually picks up his glass again, and you automatically cover your eyes with your hands. You’re still smiling, just with a little weight behind it.

“No, no that’s okay. Am’ile would get in too much trouble with the locals, for good reason. It isn’t safe for them and—to be honest, Mando, I don’t think the kid could take being separated from you for that long,” you pause for a moment. “But that’s incredibly kind of you to offer, thank you. I mean that.”

His mask hisses back in place. You ease the index and middle finger of your right hand to peer at him playfully before lowering your hands again. It’s a gentle spar between the two of you, an easy rhythm to settle into.

“Your med-station,” he nods towards your table/bed set up, looking particularly messy in comparison to the hull you’d spent the day cleaning. “It’s…”

Your heart drops, ready for the scolding. “Ah—uh, I’m sorry.” You look down at your plate—even if he couldn’t see the heat rising to your face, you try to hide your embarrassment by stabbing at another bite of food. You glance up at him sheepishly. “It’s the only place on the Crest that’s tucked away enough, I didn’t want to get underfoot.”

“No, no.” He shakes his head. You swallow. “I like it. A good idea. It’s like a reminder whenever I leave, not to do anything too stupid.”

“Oh, well,” you’re not sure why that catches you off guard so much. You honestly had no idea he even processed your presence since you’d first moved in besides the occasional medical assistance you provided. “I’ll make sure to put the more intimidating syringes front-and-center the next time I organize it.”

And he laughs.

Well—so, okay. It’s not a full laugh, more like a few low releases of air, but there’s a clear smile behind it that you can definitely hear. It’s enough to have you slightly grinning to yourself the rest of the meal.

By the time you’re finished, you’re a bit hazy off the wine and incredibly sleepy. You lean back slightly and yawn, looking at where Mando has settled the kid on his lap. “Sometimes I wish I could just snap my fingers and he’d just go to sleep. There’s too much energy in that little guy.”

“I can take him for the night,” Mando is currently engaged in a gentle dance of keeping the little one’s hands away from the food you’ve portioned for the bounty hunter. It’s more amusing than it should be. “If you could just help me take this upstairs I’d be more than happy to.”

You nod, clamoring to your feet and grabbing his bowl as he climbs up into the cockpit with the kid. You follow and place his dinner on a clear spot on the console.

“Where are we going next?” You ask, glancing over the control panel as if you had any idea what all those flashing lights and strange looking scanners meant. You should really pick up a flight manual at some point, just for the basics.

“The last fob,” Mando sighs. “Canto Bight. This—this is going to take a while, just warning you now. I still have no idea how I’m going to pull this off.”

You nod, yawning. You’re still a bit tipsy. “Okay, well, I think I’m gonna go to bed. Good luck brainstorming.” The food sits warm and heavy in your stomach. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt this full. It’s nice.

He gives a small nod acknowledging what you said, then goes back to grumbling down at the control panel, pushing buttons and examining scanners. You lean down to kiss the kid goodnight from where he’s babbling in the co-pilot’s seat, then climb down the ladder and change into your night clothes, setting the lights in the hull to night-mode as the Crest rumbles into the sky. Climbing into bed, you wrap your biggest blanket around yourself, the chill of hyperspace already settling in the air.

**

You have a dream. A bad one. One you’ve never had before and don’t know if you’d survive again if you did. It starts with you already crying. It’s one of those full-body, hiccuping sobs that usually rouses you from your sleep before things gets too bad.

Mando is gone, so far gone not even the comlink your finger is hovering over would be an option. You know this because the dream starts with him calling you. When you answer, there is only the sound of a hard, driving rain.

You’re holding the child against your chest and he’s screaming into your ear but you know if you actually lift him away to look at him he’ll disappear into the rain, too, so you drop the communicator and turn and there’s blood all over the floor and you have to clean it, you do. You have to so maybe he’ll come back and so you’re here, mopping up the blood on the hull’s floor as the child wails the loudest you’ve ever heard him cry and you try to choke out reassurances through your own crying because.

Because the gore is on your hands and your elbows and on you and on the floor once its gone it’ll be okay it’s so dark but it’ll be okay and streaking across the front of you and your face where you’ve tried to wipe it away please go away because it looks just like when.

Looks just like when.

You wake up in the middle of screaming, gasping for breath, one hand pressed against the top of the table above you and the other curled into the mattress. It’s the first time that’s happened, waking up like that at least. The dreams are different each time and occur at different frequencies, but they always crescendo at the same point. Usually you just wake up, eyes slowly sliding open and fixing to whatever is directly in front of you as your vision slightly blurs. How banal it usually is, how banal it feels, adds to the cruelty. You’re mostly still able to go to sleep after, at least there was that.

Not this, though. This is that hand-scratching-at-your-own-throat kind of terror, the kind you’ve usually only seen in the holo-dramas. You haven’t had a nightmare like that for so long, so maybe the surprise of it is what made it so much worse—that it wasn’t just you. Maker, you can still hear the child’s squalling in your ears. That sound of raw, primal terror that—

You feel your stomach lurch. You scramble to the fresher, emptying the contents of your stomach into the toilet.

Half anxiety, half afraid to close your own eyes, the dull thrum of raw energy does little to calm itself once you manage to shove the door of the fresher close. You let the metal rim of the toilet cool your face as you sniff, scooting back to lean your back against the wall, pulling the sleeve of the sleepshirt you’re wearing up your palm to wipe your eyes.

A low voice says your name urgently. You look up, dazed for a moment, before the door is cracked open by four broad-knuckled fingers. Your hand flies out, catching the handle before Mando is able to pull it the rest of the way open. He barely has time to get his hand out of the way before you slam it shut again.

“I--sorry,” you croak. “Please um… please don’t come in here.”

“Are you okay?” His voice is rough with sleep. You cup your hands over your knees and lean your forehead down to rest against them. When you don’t answer, he speaks again. “Was it, was it about before? Before Am’ile?”

“I—I haven’t, for so—I haven’t… Before… It was…”

“I know. She told me, it’s alright, I wouldn’t have asked I just… I thought it was something you didn’t want to talk about but I--”

“I’m not a charity case,” it sounds snappier than you intended it to and has absolutely nothing to do with anything he’d just said. At this point you’re just talking to yourself, it seems like he knows that. “That’s not why Am’ile pawned me off on you. I’m okay, I didn’t need her supervision anymore. I’m, I’m okay. It’s taken a long time but I am now so I don’t know why--”

“No,” and he says your name forcefully, cutting you off before you can continue. He repeats himself, this time softly, before: “It’s alright.” Does his voice sound… warmer? Even through a layer of reinforced steel? “I want you to feel safe, here. Comfortable. I don’t care, it’s okay. I just thought you were hurt.” He clears his throat. “I have them too, the dreams. So you, you don’t have to worry about hiding it. Them.” You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing at all. Closing your eyes, you lean the side of your face into the door separating the two of you. It’s so silent on the other side you think he’s left, so when he speaks again it’s all the more surprising. “And she didn’t pawn you off. I need you. Here.”

Something in your chest does a complete backflip. Your stomach is fluttering so ferociously you have to clear your throat before continuing. “Okay. Yeah, um. Thank you,” you wince. “I’m gonna freshen up and then get the little one out of your hair—er, beskar.” Idiot idiot idiot.

“It���s alright, you didn’t wake him. If you want I can… I can sit with you, until you fall asleep.”

“Okay.” You say it softly. “That would be really nice, actually. Thank you.”

You quickly brush your teeth, then open the door the door slowly. Stepping into the hull and closing it behind you, you pad back to your mattress. He follows a few feet behind you quietly—it’s moments like these you’re grateful for his reserved nature. You don’t have the energy to try and brush things off by filling the silence with mindless chatter.

Kneeling beside your mattress, you wordlessly offering him an armful of your pillows. In the low light of the Crest’s night mode, the beskar helmet looks nearly featureless, save for the gleam of light that arcs up its surface as he looks down at what you’ve offered him.

“Could you—” your voice breaks. Heat rises to your face as you clear your throat again. “Is it okay if the kid um… slept with me? It was… some of it was about—”

“Yeah, of course,” Mando takes one of the pillows from the top of what you’ve offered him, tossing it at the ground of the opposing wall and then slipping out of sight as he goes into his bunk. He returns with a the child, standing above you as you crawl into bed, wrapping you blanket around yourself, setting up the pillows as you normally do for the naps you take together, preventing any accidental rolling-over. Mando crouches to place the kid beside you, then stands and settles where he’d dropped the pillow previously. You take a moment to look down at the child, running a thumb over the edge of his ear, before kissing his soft forehead where you normally do. He wrinkles his nose in his sleep, making a soft sound and twitching his ears before wiggling slightly to resettle. You rest your head back on your pillow. The specifics of the dream are already starting to drift away. It’s a small mercy, but it’s enough.

“Hey, Mando?” You lift your head, the low light reducing the man to a dark, featureless outline.

“Hm?”

“Would you mind if… um… would you mind if I just touched your hand? Just so uh… if I wake up I can know you’re there?” As the words spill out of your mouth, an unbearable heat rises to your face.

There’s the sound of him shifting, getting to his feet with a grunt. Then he’s right there, sitting with his back to the wall, just a few inches from the top of your head. Tentatively, you reach out your hand, resting your index and middle fingers against his palm. And it’s his palm, His palm, warm but rough with callouses, resting on the floor beside his extended leg just for you to be able to close your eyes, even for a little bit.

It takes a while but it works. Right as you drift back to sleep you think you feel his hand gently wrap around the fingers you’ve offered him. You really think you do.

**

a/n: thank you all for the engagement thus far !! it really means so much to me. 

that said i am .,..... beyond excited about the next chapter for two reasons of equal importance: fancy parties and Very Jealous Mando. my favorite things 😌