#it's a crime that I actually draw her so rarely let alone Soul-

[chalkanthit]

The main girl!!

[joel-millerr]

Righting The Wrongs

Chapter Eight of We Are One When Together

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 17k (yes, I know, I’m sorry)

Summary: Reader must face her past, and also deal with something they weren’t prepared to do... be without Mando.

Warnings: SMUT! rough sex (like... almost causing bruising so read with caution), oral sex (both female and male receiving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, shower sex, hair pulling, aftercare, a little bit of violence, angst (as per usual), 

A/N: I make shit up about using the force lol. also, my knowledge of coruscant is based off tcw and the prequels so if there’s something in here that doesn’t fit with the books or whatever, be nice :) 

--

“Who are we meeting here?”

“Someone I used to work with.”

As you make your way through the streets of Level 1313, you’re almost trembling with nerves. It’s a little over a year since you’ve been on this planet and you had been avoiding coming back ever since.

Firstly, Coruscant is way too populated for your liking. The streets are always filled with people, no matter the time of day. Crime lords, spice lords, rookies trying to make a living—legally or illegally, families seeking refuge; nearly every single person from all walks of life eventually made their way to Coruscant, overcrowding the streets and making it almost impossible to breathe.

Secondly, the lower levels of Coruscant basically have their own crime empire. Every illegal thing you could possibly think of existed here. The black market thrived, and the smuggling business was always booming. Despite your old profession being one of the very empires that fueled this economy, you didn’t like the idea of living and breathing that life. There was always a need to get away, forget about the job for a couple weeks and then, when you were itching for the thrill, you’d eventually return. Unlike you, your crew would live out their days here, getting high and drinking more than their own body weight in alcohol.

Thirdly, the last time you were here… didn’t really end well. In your defense, it wasn’t your fault that a shootout ensued—you were just trying to get the right amount of payment for the right amount of work. It’s not your fault they disagreed and resorted to shooting their way out of the deal, and it’s definitely not your fault a few of them died…

Needless to say, Coruscant was just another planet that you ended up leaving on rough terms.

Mando stays by your side as you walk together, so close in fact that your arms keep brushing against each other as you trek through the lower levels of the city. Even during the day, there’s very little light down here. You’ve ever only known what it’s like to live so deep underground and sometimes you’d daydream about what a life in the upper levels looked like. Do they live as extravagant as you imagine they do? You were told by a few drunk strangers in cantinas that the people who lived in the upper levels lived in huge apartments, way bigger than they ever needed to. Was that true? The idea of someone living in a home that actually overlooks the Coruscant skyline is something you can’t even wrap your head around. You’re convinced anyone who lives up there sold their soul for it. There can’t be another reason for it.

Upon arriving, Mando thought it was best to leave the kid on the ship. You—on the other hand, noted that the safest place for him is with you two. Besides, trusting that Grogu wouldn’t get himself into trouble while you’re both gone is a risk neither of you should be willing to take. Reluctantly, he gave in and now the kid is sitting in the makeshift pouch Mando made for him.

“Mando, I don’t like this,” you mumble under your breath.

“Neither do I, but we don’t really have a choice,” he replies, keeping his visor fixated on what’s in front of him. “You can go back to the ship with the kid, if you want.”

“And leave you here alone? Yeah, I don’t think so.”

Realistically, you’re both aware Mando can handle his own in whatever could happen, but over your time together, you two have become somewhat of a unit. One doesn’t leave without the other. It’s an unspoken thing—no one bothered to mention it but also, neither of you have denied the company.

Ever since Mando’s confession, there’s definitely been a shift in your relationship.

The biggest change is that he’s become much more vocal. He shares his opinions more openly, he engages in conversation a lot more, and he’s not shy about showing you small displays of affection whenever he wants. When he moves passed you on the Crest, his hand always touches the small of your back or your hand if it’s within reach.

He’s also been a lot more engaging with Grogu. You can’t help but notice that whenever he holds him, Mando flexes his finger so that the kid can wrap his little claws around it. He speaks to Grogu a lot more and in turn, the kid mumbles incoherently back at him, as if Mando can understand him.  

It’s probably only been two days since Mando’s opened up to you about his favorite color—although you can’t be sure because time in hyperspace tends to blend together, but there’s been a lifetime amount of change that’s happened since and seeing him become more open and giving around both you and Grogu just reminds you of that softer side to Mando that he doesn’t share with many people.

As you look around and take in your surroundings, the streets begin to look extremely familiar. On your left, you see the diner you used to frequent with your old crew. They had some of the best sliders you’ve ever had. Even thinking about it now makes your stomach rumble.

Maybe you could pop in for a quick meal. You’re about to tell Mando about it but catch yourself just before you do.

He doesn’t take the helmet off. Kriff, how could you forget something so blatantly obvious. You haven’t even seen his face yet and for just a split second you thought he’d take his helmet off in a room full of people just to eat with you?

Stupid.

Shaking the thought of your mind, you try to ignore the sudden ache you feel in your chest.

“We’re close,” you hear Mando say and your previous thought is wiped from your mind. It’s now that you realize which cantina you’ve been walking towards, and when you turn the corner and see it, your heart drops.

The cantina you’re meeting this person Mando used to work with is unfortunately the very same cantina you used to celebrate with your squad after a successful spice run. A night full of drinking that usually ended with some random typical bar fight. Words spoken, blasters drawn, and the very rare shootout. Regardless of the night outcome, you were always back in the cantina the next night like nothing happened.

As you near the door, your feet suddenly feel like durasteel, gravity pulling you into the ground, stopping you from taking another step forward. Your heart is already in your stomach, heating your body up with haste. Stars, you haven’t been here in so kriffing long, and the possibility of getting smacked in the face with your past is something you didn’t plan.

Mando seems to sense your tentativeness because he turns his body to face you, his hand catching your forearm. “Are you okay?”

Trying to reassure him, the corners of your mouth curl into what could be considered a smile, although your eyes are screaming to leave.

Wherever he goes, you go, you remind yourself.

“I’m fine,” you whisper, passing him and squaring your shoulders just as the cantina door slides up. It’s in the early evening hours, so it isn’t too populated inside—just some of the regulars you’ve noticed that are always there, no matter what time of the day it is. Trying your best not to draw any attention to yourself, you drop your head down slightly, eyes shifting around the room, hoping you won’t catch sight of anyone who might know who you are.

Your attempts to be subtle are gone with the wind once Mando enters. The energy changes straightaway. All the chatter goes deafeningly quiet as a dozen heads turn towards you and having so many eyes on you causes your cheeks to heat up. For a moment, you had forgotten that travelling with a Mandalorian causes heads to turn and voices to hush. Of course, you can’t help but feel a sense of pride whenever you see strangers make the connection that you and Mando are together, but it’s quickly followed by major anxiety. Being stealthy and trying to keep to the shadows is damn near impossible when there’s a man standing next to you covered in what is arguably the most reflective durasteel in the galaxy.

“No fucking way,” you hear someone exclaim. Letting out a sigh of defeat, you turn your head in direction of the voice and see a female Twi’lek coming right for you. “Is that really you?”

“Dank farrik,” you mumble before they’re within listening range. Mando’s helmet cranes towards you.

“I thought you were dead!” Their arms wrap around your torso before you can even process what’s happening.

“Hey, Sula.”

“Stars, is that really you?” Another voice beckons, a hand clamping down on your shoulder, “You here for a job?” The male Rodian asks.

“Nah, not this time Odas,” you answer, angling your neck in the direction of the Mandalorian standing just a few inches away from you.

“Holy shit. A Mandalorian?”

“I’ll leave you to it,” The modulator informs you, and then he’s sauntering over to the bar. It’s not lost on you that for the first time in days, he’s left without reaching out to touch you in some way. Fortunately, you don’t have time to dwell on it before someone’s talking to you again.

“Come have a drink,” Odas begins to say, “It’s been too long since we’ve seen you.”

Your eyes drift off to look at Mando who’s in the middle of speaking to the droid behind the bar.

“Uh—” Before you can kindly decline the offer, Sula grabs onto your wrist and nearly drags you over to the table they were all previously sitting at. Already seated is Venka, a nasty piece of work. You haven’t worked with many Trandoshans, but the ones you have worked with were ruthless and dangerous. Each of them wanted blood, no matter what the situation was.

Odas pulls a chair from a nearby table and gestures for you to sit. Unenthusiastically, you slide into the seat.

“Everyone said the New Republic got your ass. Glad to see we were wrong,” Odas says with a smile, grabbing your shoulder and giving it a gentle shake.

“Travelling with a Mandalorian? How the hell did that happen?” Sula asks.

“I didn’t even know there were any Mandalorians left,” Venka mutters, clearly peeved about something.

“How much are you paying him to protect you?”

“What?” Eyebrows pulling closely together, you look over to Odas quizzically.

“She’s probably paying him in other ways, if you know what I mean,” Sula laughs, bumping her elbow against your arm.

“Oh, shut up, Sula. It’s not like that.”

Odas props his elbows on the table and leans in closer towards you. “Then do tell us how you managed to slip through the New Republic’s grip and then somehow get a Mandalorian by your side, because they’re like the—”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ve all heard the stories. ‘Best warriors in the galaxy’. So, they say anyway,” Venka hisses through his snout.

“Still hate them, huh?” Sula jests.

“I just don’t see it. Apparently, they’re the best warriors in the galaxy yet the Empire wiped them all out.”

“If that were true, there wouldn’t be one standing just over there,” your finger points to Mando still standing at the bar.

“Oh, okay,” Sula throws her hands up in defense. “We get it, you’re with him now.”

All of a sudden, you hear Mando’s voice coming from the commlink in your ear. “Stay here. I’m going to meet them in the back.”

Your body stills, wanting to get up and join in but knowing you can’t very well just get up and leave your old friends without so much as another word. As ridiculous as it seems, you feel like you owe it to them to stick around for a bit.

“Are you all waiting for the next job?” You ask, trying to distract yourself from the fact that Mando’s just gone off on his own. He can handle himself; you repeat in your head.

“Yeah, supposed to take off at first light,” Odas answers before throwing back a glass of red liquor.

“Still room on the ship, if you want to join.”

“Thanks, Sula, but I’m pretty much done with smuggling.”

Venka all but chokes on his beverage. “Kriffing hell, you’re kidding.”

Shaking your head slowly and lips pressing into a thin line, “It’s just not for me, anymore,” you say, glaring at him.

“Not for you?” He grits out.  

“Isn’t that what I just said?” You snap, feeling the annoyance itching inside you.

“Okay, let’s just take it down a notch, all right? We’re just a couple of old friends catching up. That’s all,” Sula interjects, in hopes to deescalate the situation.

Venka rolls his eyes before finishing his drink, swallowing it with a snarl. Why are Trandoshans so aggressive with everything that they do?

Sula clears her throat to ask, “So, what are you doing back here? Last time you were here, I believe you said, ‘I refuse to return to this shithole of a planet’.”

“I’m sure we’ve all said that about this kriffing planet at least once or twice, but we always find our way back, don’t we?” Odas says to you, shrugging his shoulders.

“I’m not really sure why we’re here—” You start to say but are cut off by Venka.

“So, your partner doesn’t bother keeping you informed? How nice.”

“Oh, shut up, Venka. You’re so negative,” Sula scolds.

Turning your attention to him with poison in your eyes, you ask him, “What’s your problem?”

He slams his cup on the table, red liquid spilling all over the surface. It’s not uncommon for him to try and pick a fight, so you’re not entirely surprised by his behavior right now. You’ve only ever lost your temper on him once and Tye was able to pull you away before something really bad happened.

“You’re seriously going to come back here as if you did nothing wrong? Everyone—and I mean everyone here, was worried about you, and not a single fucking one of us received a hologram from you saying you weren’t in prison.

“And when Tye told us that a kriffing Mandalorian snatched you up, we thought ‘she’s a goner’. But here you are, parading him around here like a fucking trophy.”

Caught up in the moment, you almost miss what Venka’s just told you. “Wait, Tye’s alive?”

“Yeah, he’s alive,” Sula confirms.

“He managed to escape just before your ship exploded. He was pretty fucked up for a while, but he’s a lot stronger than we give him credit for,” Odas admits.

“I… didn’t know,” your voice is low, filled with guilt.

Venka laughs, answering you with derision in his voice. “No fucking shit.”

“I didn’t come here to parade him around. I didn’t even know we’d be coming here,” you explain, then angling your head to Odas, you ask, “Is Tye here?”

Before Odas can answer, Venka speaks up. “Why? So, you can finish the job?”

“Fuck you, Venka.”

Reptilian eyes glower at you, your own are all but seething in anger as you scowl back. Trandoshans—at least the one’s you’ve had the unpleasure of meeting, are always on the prowl for a fight. They purposely get under everyone’s skin in hopes to rile them up. Usually, you’ve been able to keep your anger under control but that was mostly because you had Tye to keep you in check, to bring you back down from a blind rage. Now that he’s not here, you’re sure everyone at this table doesn’t really want a fight but that they’ll happily watch if it comes down to one.  

“Excuse yourself. We’re leaving. I’ll meet you outside,” Mando’s voice suddenly cuts into your ear. Thank the Maker.

“Let’s just all calm down, okay?” Odas finally interjects.

“Actually,” you start to say, taking the drink in your cup that you haven’t touched and chugging it all in one gulp, “I have to go. It was nice catching up with you guys, though.”

Once on your feet, you turn on your heel and make for the door. Just as you’re about to head out through the doorway, you hear Venka hiss at you, “Does he at least take helmet off when he fucks you?”  

You should ignore him; you should just take the last two steps through the cantina door and disappear. You reallyshouldn’t turn around and punch him square in the face.

But, sometimes, they deserve it. So without another thought, you’re already stomping back over to the table, pushing chairs out of your way as you walk straight up to Venka, and punch him in the nose with so much force, he loses his footing and falls flat on his back. The cantina goes dead silent—everyone staring at you in complete shock.

“Is Tye here?” You ask, chest heaving.

“Uh… yeah, he’s at your old apartment. He’s coming with us on the job,” Sula responds, stunned that you actually just punched Venka in the nose.

“Thanks for the drink,” you say to her before whipping your body around and making your way to the door. It’s not clear, but you think you hear Venka shout something at you, something with the word ‘bitch’ in it, but you’ve already made your point. It’s not worth going back to hear what he has to say.

Looking down at the hand you used to strike him, you notice three of your knuckles are split open, little drops of blood running down your hand. In an effort to conceal this from Mando, you wipe it haphazardly along your thigh, just as you exit the doors.

Mando’s leaning against the door, his hands resting on his belt and once he sees you, he kicks himself off the duracrete wall to stand.

“What happened?” He asks, taking note of how erratic your breathing is. When the visor looks down at your hands, he grabs hold of your wrist, pulling your hand to him and inspecting the small gashes on your knuckles.

“It’s nothing,” you attempt to assume him, trying to jerk your arm out of his grip, but Mando’s much stronger than you, so he pulls your hand closer to his cuirass.

“Tell me what happened.”

“I really don’t want to get into it.”

His sigh breaks up in his helmet and you know he wants to press you again, but he ultimately doesn’t. “You took care of it?”

“I did.”

“Good,” he answers tentatively, giving your wrist a gentle squeeze and then letting go, starting to head for the hangar. You linger for a moment, staring down at your busted up hand and watching the tiny droplets of blood bead down your skin.

Fucking Trandoshans, you think to yourself.

As you stroll through the crowded streets, mulling over the conversation you had with your old friends, you quickly realize that if Tye really is here, you need to see him. You need to explain why you did what you did or didn’t do, as well as show him that you’re okay. Actually, that you’re more than okay. You’re the best you’ve ever felt which makes you feel incredibly guilty.

“Mando,” you call out because he’s a few feet ahead of you. He stops in his tracks and waits for you to catch up to him.

“There’s something I need to do before I go back.”

Grogu coos worriedly, his ears drooping.

“I’ll be okay, little guy,” you assure him, simultaneously trying to convince Mando the same.

Mando shakes his head. “No. It’s too dangerous.”

“I’ll leave the commlink open,” you say in an effort to ease his apprehension.

“No,” he says more sternly, the modulator dangerously low.

“Two hours. That’s all I’m asking for. If in two hours I don’t check in, feel free to tear this city apart looking for me, but I need to do this and I need to do this alone.”

Mando sighs begrudgingly, the sound breaking apart through the helmet. “Fine. Two hours.”

You mouth ‘thank you’ before disappearing through a crowd of people, and then darting down a dark alley.

With your hand hovering over your blaster, you slip through various streets and alleys on your way to the apartment you and Tye shared in between jobs. Every step you take makes your heart race faster, the reality of the situation sinking in. You hadn’t even taken the time to consider that Tye might not even want to see you. The last time you spoke, you hadn’t parted on good terms and now that he probably knows you’re still alive… it’s not going to be an easy conversation.

When you turn the corner onto the street of the apartment, you’re practically quivering. Your heart is thumping against your ribcage, palms are sweating, and you think about turning around. No one would know you were here if you left. The chances of you coming back to Coruscant after this are slim to none—you could do it.

No.

You have to stop running away from things that need to be faced. You’ve been running your entire life, trying to keep yourself busy in an attempt to forget about your responsibilities. Truthfully, you’re tired of running away. It’s time to right your wrongs.

Once you reach the building, your eyes slam shut and take a deep breath, exhaling slowly through your lips and head inside. Climbing up the stairs slowly, you hold onto the railing to steady yourself. The anxiety is really getting to you, now.

Was this a bad idea?

Fuck.

To your surprise, the door is open. Either it’s been abandoned, or you think he’s expecting you. Feet hovering in the doorframe, the pounding in your ears is damn near deafening but you press on, taking a step forward and then another and then another until you’re standing in the hallway of the apartment. The door hisses shut behind you, causing you to jump at the sudden sound.

The place is almost unrecognizable. The furniture in the sitting room is flipped upside down, shards of broken transparisteel littered around the room, and the room’s so dark, you can barely see a thing. The only light source illuminated the room is coming from the outside lamp posts, highlighting the disaster that’s displayed in front of your eyes. You begin chewing on the inside of your cheek, becoming more aware of the possible danger you’ve just walked into.

“So, you’re alive,” you hear in the darkness.

“Tye?” You ask aloud, eyes shifting around the room, trying to locate where the voice came from.

A silhouette appears from the kitchen, illuminated by the outside light fixtures. The shadow look like him, but it also doesn’t. The voice sounds like Tye, but its’ darker, rougher.

“Kriff, you’re actually here.”

You take a couple steps forward, stopping just shy of the counter that separates the kitchen from the seating area. Tye stands in the kitchen, hands pressing into the marble surface, taking you in. As his features become clearer, your breath catches in your throat.

Your best friend since you were a child. The one person that’s saved your life more times than you can count. The single person in this galaxy that has been with you through the darkest moments in your life. The person you thought you had seen die right before your eyes, standing just a few feet away from you.

There’s a darkness in his eyes that you don’t recognize. His eyes were a gentle, warm shade of green that made others gravitate towards him. They used to bring you comfort; you could be at your lowest and then when you’d look up at him, you’d feel at ease.

Now when you look at them, all you see are broken fragments of tainted memories. Like all the pain and suffering he’s endured in the last few months has been bundled up and are now locked in his eyes for everyone to see.

You want to reach out, but something’s stopping you. There’s not a single thing you recognize about him. Hair that was once blonde is gone, shaved off. His shoulders are more sunken too. He used to hold himself with such confidence, not unlike the kind of strut that Mando carries himself with. Tye’s cheekbones are more pronounced as well, and it worries you that he’s begun using spice more than he used to.

Unsurprisingly, it was somewhat normal for smugglings get high on the supply they were trafficking, and you’ve seen Tye do it from time to time. You—on the other hand, never did. You had seen what it could do to its abusers, and you knew better than to do something that foolish. It was kind of a twisted morality code. Willing to smuggle it and let others abuse it, and yet you thought you were above using it yourself.

“What happened to you?” You ask him, completely in disbelief that this is what Tye has become.

“They said you were back, but I didn’t believe them,” he murmurs, his voice so low that you barely catch what he says, his gaze fixated towards the ground.

Maker, even the way he talks is different. Tye had the bubbliest of characters. He was larger than life, his voice echoed in every room he was in, boisterous and kind. The type of intonation that was infectious. Now, his voice is rough, it’s terse—like all the joy has been sucked out of him and now there’s just a hollow sound left.

This isn’t the man you grew up with.

The thought makes you nauseous.

Did you do this to him?

Are you the reason he’s so… different?

“Why didn’t you tell me or anyone that you were okay?” He nearly croaks.

Guilt overwhelms you. “I… thought you were dead.”

Tye lets out a noise that’s similar to a laugh, but you know damn well he means anything but that. He takes a step back, rubbing the back of his head and takes a sharp breath.

“You could have sent someone a hologram. You could have come back to Kijimi. Stars, you could have come here but you didn’t.”

Your jaw hangs, trying to find the words that might justify why exactly you didn’t tell anyone that you were never arrested, but whatever reason you come up with hangs on your tongue, unable to actually speak. It all just happened so fast.

“I had to hear from fucking Sula that you were—not only alive, but that you’re actually fucking traveling with the same Mandalorian that hunt you down. The one that shot me out of the kriffing sky,” his anger grows with every word.

“All these months, I blamed myself for what happened. I thought ‘she’s probably dead by now and that’s on me. I was supposed to protect her, and I failed’.” He rambles, voice cracking.

“I fucked up, Tye and I’m sorry, but you have to believe me when I tell you that I didn’t intend for any of this happen. Everything happened so fast, I couldn’t…” Your voice trails off, too many thoughts racing to your mind, unable to sift through them and think of a coherent explanation.

“Why are you with him?”

“He… saved my life, Tye.”

Tye crosses his arms against his chest, scoffing. “What?”

And so, you tell what happened. You tell him about Nevarro, about the Empire, about what Ahsoka told you. As you explain everything, Tye’s expression changes from resentment to almost disbelief.

“A Jedi?”

“If I wanted to train… yeah.”

“Well fuck, look at you,” he mocks.

“Don’t patronize me, I’m trying to explain myself.”

Tye holds his hands out in defense. “Whatever you say, boss.”

Wringing your hands, you wait for him to say something else… but he doesn’t. He stares at you, like he’s waiting for you to say something else.

“So… what does this mean for us, now?” Your voice is soft, hoping there’s some possibility of reconciliation.

“There is no ‘us’ anymore,” he says lowly.

“Okay, I half expected that…” you admit, rubbing the back of your neck absentmindedly.

Not surprising.

“Did you really think that you could come back here and give me some bullshit excuse and expect us to be friends again? After the shit you put me through?”

“I guess not.”

Tye says nothing else, keeping the same expression on his face. Betrayal, pain, anger. It’s all staring you right in the face.

“Time’s up,” Mando’s gruff voice whispers in your ear.

Cursing to the Maker, you want more time. There has to be something else you can say to him that’ll better explain why you didn’t ask anybody if he was still alive but then you realize, you just didn’t do enough. Quite frankly, you did nothing. You should have done something, you could have done something but ultimately, you didn’t and that’s something you’ll just have to life with.

“I should head back,” you tell Tye, who just shrugs at you. Turning on your heel, you look over your shoulder to see him still standing in the kitchen. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re still alive.”

Please say something, you say to yourself as you make for the doorway.

He doesn’t.

--

“Everything all right?” Mando asks you as soon as you’re walking up the ramp.

“Yeah,” is all you answer.

He doesn’t press you, taking note of the way you’re clearly not in the mood for chatter.

You prop your elbows atop one of the crates, leaning on it and staring down at the ground. Feeling guilty about bringing down the energy inside the Crest, you find yourself trying to make conversation, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“What happened with your friend at the cantina?”

“They need me to do a job, and then we’ll have enough credits to pay for the fuel we’ll need in order to get to Tython.”

Raising an eyebrow, you ask, “What kind of job?”

“Doesn’t matter. You’ll be staying here with the kid.” He answers dryly.

Stunned, you push off the crate and turn your body to him, facing Mando head on and crossing your arms across your chest.

“Is there a problem?” He asks, taking in your body language.

“What if you need help?”

“It’s a four-person job. They had three before I agreed.”

“Which means you’ll be outnumbered if something goes wrong,” you retort, eyebrow cocked.

“I need you to stay with the kid.”

You clamp down on your jaw, tapping your foot on the ground while you consider his last words. “I don’t like this, at all.”

“You don’t have to, but it isn’t up for discussion.”

“But—”

“No.”

Exhaling sharply through your nose, you know he’s right. It is safer for someone to be with the kid and it’s not exactly like you can do the job instead. Once again, you’re stuck following Mando’s orders.

“So then, when do you head out?”

“Soon. I should be back before morning,” he answers, rummaging through his armory.

“Where’s Grogu?”

“Sleeping in the cockpit.”

“Mmm,” you hum in the back of your throat. Noticing Mando’s back stiffen, he takes one of the blasters off the wall, and inspects it.

As you watch him examine his weapons and take in the way he twitched hearing you purr, a cunning thought crosses your mind.

Since he refuses to let you come along, you want to give him a reason to be counting down the minutes until he’s back with you on the Crest. It’s not that you want him distracted, but the possessive side of you wants him to be constantly reminded that you’ll be waiting here—for him.

Without trying to be discrete, you saunter over to the armory, making sure to graze his arm against yours as you pass by him to pick up one of the multiple blasters hanging on the wall. Holding it your hand, you twist the gun around, in an unbashful attempt to get his attention, puffing your chest out as you stare down at the weapon in your hand. You can feel the visor on you, but you don’t look up. Instead, your gaze stays glued to what’s in your palm, knowing Mando’s studying you carefully, like he’s trying to understand what you’re trying to do.

Putting the gun back on its placeholder, you saunter passed him, the tips of your fingers hooking onto his cape, stroking the fabric between your fingers, then dropping it as you head over to the small closet where the ration packs are kept.

“What are you doing?” He asks.

Turning around to look at him, you cross your arms along your chest and with the most innocent tone you can, your tongue darts across your bottom lip and then whisper, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Mando tilts his head and lets out a deep breath that scratches through the modulator, but he makes no move on you. Rather, he goes back to inspecting the weapon that’s sitting on one of the higher crates.

Okay… so you’ll have to be more unsubtle. Craning your neck to either side, you let out a small groan as you hear your bones crack, but once again, Mando’s visor stays peeled to the gun. Starting to get annoyed at the lack of attention he’s giving you, you start to wonder if you should pull back, give up and wait until he comes back in the morning, but honestly? You don’t want to give up. You know you can seduce him; you just need to find the right trigger. Feeling some courage and boldness suddenly overcome you, your feet bring you over to where Mando is standing, and come up right next to him, leaning back on the crate and propping your elbows on the crate behind you, puffing your chest out even more to showcase your breasts. He glances over at you for just a moment and clears his throat. “What?”

“Nothing,” you answer with a devilish smile. You’re almost close enough for your arms to brush against each other, but you stop yourself from closing the gap.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” he tells you, voice strained and tight.

“Enlighten me, then.”

“No.”

Inching yourself closer to him, your hand grazes the vambrace on his right arm. He makes no sound, but by the way his chest puffs in and out, you know you’re getting under his skin, and that makes you even bolder. With your right hand, you grab onto his vambrace and slide between him and the wooden crate, essentially pinning yourself between the two. Mando groans deeply, his head craning to the left, exposing just the smallest amount of skin as he does. Stars, even just the sight of his neck causes you to squirm, rubbing your thighs together.

“Not enough time,” he pleads, nearly fucking panting.

“Mmm,” you whine back, bringing both your hands to grab at his waist, digging your fingernails into the fabric just above his utility belt. When Mando doesn’t pull away, you slide one of your legs between his, feeling his growing erection against your knee. His visor looks down at you and you can’t help but bite your lip in an attempt to hide the smug smile from forming. His hands are on either side of your body, pressing into the wood so hard you can hear it crackling under his firm grip.

Leaning into his body, your neck cranes upwards and you’re forced to go on the tips of your toes to whisper into the side of his helmet where his ear would be, “If you want me to stop, just say the word.”

“Fuck…” is all he manages to say, and then you’re slowly dropping to your knees, your face aligning with the bulge in his pants.

Your hands fumble down to the utility belt, but through hooded lids, you continue to look into Mando’s visor. Unhooking the belt, you push his flak vest out of your way and find the waistband to his trousers. Mouth practically watering, you swallow hard, and finally tear your eyes away to look at the bulge between his legs. Your pussy gushes as one of your hands push against the waistband to cup him inside his pants. Mando jerks forward at the touch, a guttural groan etching through the vocoder.

“Stars…”

You pull his pants down just enough for his cock and balls to spring free, and your jaw fucking drops at the sight. This is the first time you’re seeing him, truly seeing him. In that alley on Tatooine, it was too dark for you to be able to observe him, but now? Fuck, he’s a goddamn sight.

It’ll never seize to amaze you just how fucking big he is, it’s a shock he’s able to fit all of himself inside you. Steadying him by wrapping your hand around him at the base, you take a moment to appreciate him. Mando’s uncut with just tip of his head poking through. There’s a bead of precome forming from the tip, and you dart your tongue passed your lips to lap it up, the taste of him on your tongue makes you hum.

Your free hand settles on his thigh, while the other begins to slowly stroke up and down his length, licking up every bit of precome that oozes from the tip.

“Ah, shit… Feels so go—” He begins to say but is cut off by you engulfing his entire length in your mouth.

Mando grazes the back of your throat, and your body tenses, fighting the urge to gag. You pull away from him slowly, hallowing your cheeks as you feel every vein of his cock until he slips through your lips with a loud, wet pop. Your tongue darts along your bottom lip, coating it with saliva before taking him once again. Repeating the process a few more times, and feeling Mando writhe from your slow taunt, he unexpectedly becomes impatient. His hips grind against you, practically begging for more. He’s entirely at your mercy, being the one in control right now is making you dizzy. To see someone as strong and commanding as Mando practically mewling because of you is sending you on a power-trip.

When you take him in your mouth again, instead of pulling away, you begin bobbing your head up and down his cock, the wet sounds echoing through the Crest walls. Already, you’re getting better at taking him into your mouth without gagging as much. Because of his size, you do end up gagging a couple times, your body tensing as he grazes the back of your throat, but you press on, because hearing Mando praise you over and over is intoxicating.

“Kriff, your mouth feels so fucking good… fuck… makes me want to bend you over his crate and fuck you until you’re begging to come.”

Hearing him only spurs you on, guiding him as far as he can go, and letting him just sit in your mouth, swirling your tongue around his girth, precome dripping down your throat. It’s salty, but it’s also the sweetest thing you’ve ever tasted in your life. A mixture of saliva and precome dribbles down your chin, but you continue to swallow as much of him as you possibly can, nothing’s going to stop you from making him come like this.

Your panties are fucking soaking now, pussy throbbing and damn near hurting from the lack of touch. All your concentration is being focused on making Mando feel good, and he knows it. He knows this is for him, and he’s reveling in it.

“I bet you’re so fucking wet right now, pretty girl,” he pants, placing one of his hands behind your head and cradling it gently as he begins to fuck your mouth. Just as you start to feel him twitch inside you, a faint alarm begins to ring, and you feel him still.

He has to leave.

“I-I ha-ave to go,” he whimpers, your lips still firmly wrapped around his cock.

But you don’t stop. When you feel him try to pull away, your hands grab onto his hips, digging your fingers into him and trying your hardest to keep him right where he is, and begin sucking him even faster, bobbing your head up and down his length at a quicker pace.

“Oh fuck… that feels so fucking good.”

The alarm is still ringing, but you don’t care. You’ll make damn sure he’ll come, you just need a few more minutes…

He holds your shoulders, keeping you in place and then he’s backing away from you. His cock slips through your lips, leaving a trail of spit behind that falls down your chin. Before you can begin to feel disappointed, Mando hooks his arms under yours and lifts you to your feet, only to spin you around and push you against the crate, bending you over, the gun falling to the ground.

“Do you see what you do to me?” He growls at you, grabbing the waistband of your pants and pulling them down to your knees. “I have to leave.”

Your chest is heaving, arousal making your head spin as you wait impatiently for what he’ll do next. “So, go,” you mutter breathlessly.

“You want me to leave?” He taunts. You hear something light hit the ground, and then he’s pushing your underwear to the side and cupping your sex with calloused fingers.

“Fuck!” You cry out, the touch already relieving some of the building pressure.

“Maker, you’re fucking soaked,” he admires, and then he’s sticking two thick fingers deep inside your pussy, curling them and hitting that spot inside you that nearly blinds you. Jerking forwards, your stomach digs into the blunt edge of the crate, but feeling Mando’s fingers fuck you overpowers the discomfort. It’s desperate, it’s rough, and hurried but that makes it all so much more exhilarating.

“I’m gonna c-come,” you pant into surface, almost surprised at how close your orgasm is.

Mando suddenly stops, pulling his fingers out of you and smearing your slick all over your entrance and clit.

The tip of his cock pokes your entrance, but he doesn’t move. He strokes himself between your folds, teasing you. “I have to go,” he groans.

You grind your hips against him, and push your ass out, arching your back in the hope that he’ll slide inside you, and to your surprise, he does. He aligns his hips with yours and slams right into you, pushing you further up the crate, fully sheathing himself between your walls.

He wastes no time fucking you, holding both your shoulders and jackhammering into you so hard, there’s no fucking air in your lungs. Your feeble whimpers are breathless and empty, jaw fully slack as he continues to wreck your cunt.

“Mando? Where the hell are you?” A voice comes from the commlink on his vambrace.

“Fuck,” he growls, somehow quickening his pace and driving you fucking insane. You don’t even know how close you are to coming until it’s ripping through you, almost making you convulse underneath him, sobbing brokenly into the air. Your fingernails are digging into the wood so violently, you hear it splinter. Knees buckling, you’re already completely spent, riding out the aftershocks of your orgasm.

“You’re supposed to be here by now. Mando, where the fuck are you?”

Grinding his hips even more into your ass, he bends over so his cuirass is pressed against your back, his cock hitting a part inside you that only he knows how to touch. You’re so fucking full, a second orgasm is moments away if he continues to fuck you from this angle.

“Do you see what you do to me? Ah—shit, I’m supposed to be with them, but—fuck, instead I’m here,” He snarls in your ear, the side of his helmet grazing your cheek.

Tears are forming in the corners of your eyes, feeling his body weight press you into the hard surface, and his cock driving you fucking wild. Your mind is blank, your throat is bone dry—unable say a fucking word. You’re helpless underneath him.

“Pretty girl, you’re going to be the death of me.”

His weight leaves you, and then he’s grabbing both your hands, crossing your arms behind your back and holding them in place with one hand. He starts a pace so mind-blowing hard, pounding his cock inside you and hitting your cervix with every thrust. It’s the most delicious pain you’ve ever experienced. If it were anyone else, you’d tell them to stop, but this is Mando. He knows what you can and can’t handle better than you do, so you let him slam into you at a grueling speed. You can hear his balls slap against your skin, and another orgasm begins to form deep in your belly.

He grinds into you a few more times and then he’s somehow burying himself even more inside you, and you snap. A second orgasm splits you apart, whatever pathetic noise comes out of you is drowned out by Mando’s guttural groan as he reaches his own climax, his cock pulsing as his seed is pumped deep inside you.

“Mando!” The male voice shouts once again through the commlink.

Even though you’re entirely spent, a laugh escapes you. He’s just completely ignored someone calling him just so he could finish fucking you.

“Coming,” he responds curtly, pulling out of you quickly and tucking himself back in his pants.

You don’t expect Mando to linger any longer than he absolutely needs to, so with the very little strength you have left and using your palms, you push yourself upright, knees shaking profusely, and to your surprise, he grabs the waistband of your pants and begins tugging them back up your legs.

“Mmm, it’s okay. I’ve got it,” you try to assure him, but he doesn’t listen. He shimmies them back up until they’re around your waist, and then he’s turning you to face him.

“I have to go,” he tells you, and you sense some regret in his voice. He doesn’t want to leave, either.

“I know,” you smile at him, sheepishly.

Mando reaches out, both of his hands cupping the sides of your face and presses the helmet against your forehead. The coolness of the beskar feels amazing against your hot skin. He lets out a deep breath, baritone dangerously low as it comes up tight through the helmet. You press back into him, closing your eyes and taking in this sweet, tender moment. Letting out a deep breath through your nostrils, the smell of beskar and Mando’s own scent—a mix of soap that you’ve grown used to smelling on yourself, as well as hints of sweetness and musk, almost drowns you but in the best fucking way possible.

“Come back in one piece, okay?”

He doesn’t respond, only continues to hold your face in his hands. Time seems to still, and for a fraction of a second, it’s just you and him. It’s somehow the most intimate moment you’ve shared. Without saying a word, you say your good-bye’s and watch him head down the ramp, waiting until he’s no longer in sight before heading the fresher.

--

It’s been a couple hours since Mando left, and you hate to admit it, but you miss him… like a lot. Definitely more than you should. Come to think of it, this is the first time since Kijimi that you’ve been away from each other for this long. Ever since then, you’ve been beside each other, or at the very least knew where the other was, but right now? You have no idea where he is, who he’s with or how long he’ll be gone, and you’re driving yourself crazy.

You keep commlink open—just in case anything goes wrong, he’ll be able to contact you and while you pray to the Maker that nothing does go wrong, you can’t help but wish to hear his voice through the little speaker.

A simple check-in would instantly calm your nerves, but you know better than to call him yourself. He could be hiding; he could be in the middle of a gunfight. The last thing he needs is hearing your voice asking him if everything is okay and distracting him. Needless to say, the negatives outweigh the positives, so you continue to pace anxiously up and down the galley of the ship, waiting to hear that intoxicating voice of his.

The kid’s been up for the last half an hour, babbling to himself with that kriffing ball in his grip. You feel bad for him, being stuck in this hunk of metal all the time but risking both of your safeties just for a little walk around is simply not worth it. The quicker Mando gets the job done, the sooner you’ll be off Coruscant and on your way to Tython.

You could try to get some sleep, but you know damn well you’ll be tossing and turning in the cot, anxiously waiting to hear his voice on the commlink.

There has to be something you can do that’ll keep your mind occupied…

Grogu looks up at you in your lap, cocking his head to the side as his ears peak up at you, and then you get an idea.

Ahsoka had told you Grogu was trained at the Jedi Temple for years before being forced into hiding, and since you’re both bored, this could be the perfect time to practice. Albeit, you have no idea what you’re doing, but anything is better than sitting around waiting for Mando’s return.

At first, you consider staying within the Crest, but there isn’t nearly enough room, and quite frankly, you know the two of you could benefit from not being locked up in the ship. Picking Grogu up into your arms, and grabbing your blaster, you make for the ramp and descend it. The hangar is empty, now. The owner’s retreated for the night, so you don’t have to worry about being watched.

The hangar itself is much larger than Peli’s. Easily twice the size, and it’s located on a large platform that overlooks the underworld portal. It’s the perfect place for a quick getaway and doubles as a scenic view.

Sometimes between jobs, you’d come to one of these various hangars and spend hours just looking at the steady flow of traffic coming in and out of the lower levels. You’d sit on the edge of the hangar; feet dangling in the air and stare up in amazement that something this vast could exist in the galaxy. Thousands of different beings travelling through this canal, beings you’ll never know or see again, but being aware that each of them had their own life, their own struggles and triumphs, all travelling in the same place at the same time is almost hard to wrap your head around.

You settle Grogu on a nearby table and place your blaster just to his right, making sure to turn the safety on.

“Grogu,” you say softly, holding your hand out face up at him. “Give me the ball.”

He hesitates at first, pulling the ball closer to his chest, but you continue to coax him, speaking gently until he finally places it in your hand.

“Thanks, little guy,” smiling and wiggling your finger in front of him, you then take a couple steps back.

You could try to push the stone to him, but you haven’t the slightest idea how to do that, so instead you opt to get Grogu to take the ball from your hand. Holding the ball between your thumb and index, you begin to sweet-talk him into taking the ball from you.

“Okay, let’s do this, kid. Can you take the ball out of my hand?”

His head moves from side to side and his arms reach out as far as they can, cooing happily.

“Come on, you did it with Mando. I know you can do it.”

Squinting his eyes momentarily, his hands start to twist and all of a sudden, the stone flies from your hand into his. The baby squeals with excitement, showing you the sphere in his grip with pride, and then resumes sucking on the durasteel, no longer interested in what you had planned to keep you two busy.

You smile to yourself, amazed that this little creature can do things that you would have never anticipated. The thought of reuniting him with a Jedi and the possibility of having to say good-bye breaks your heart. You’ve grown such an attachment to him. Seeing him every day, feeding him, playing with him, watching his little face light up whenever you give him the ball, and even seeing the gentleness in Mando that Grogu exudes from him, it’s all things you’ll miss dearly.

Looking down at your palm, you wonder if you’ll also be able to wield the Force and carry something over into your hand. Eyes meeting the blaster that’s resting to Grogu’s left, you begin trying to clear your mind and focus only on the gun and bringing it into your grip. Extending your arm as far as it can, you take a deep breath and exhale through slightly parted lips, furrowing your eyebrows as your concentration on the blaster grows. All the white noise suddenly drowns out, hearing only the steady thumping of the blood in your ears. Your fingers are shaking but the gun doesn’t budge. It stays completely still on the table.

Letting out a sigh of defeat, your arm drops to your side. Maker, you know it’s possible, you’ve done it before during a fight, but of course the one time you actually try to do it without having the threat of death, you’re unable to get that kriffing blaster in your hand.

Squaring your shoulders, you close your eyes and once again try to clear your mind, focusing only on the Force—feeling it flow through your body, harnessing its power, and bending it to your will. In an attempt to steady your heartbeat, you take, deep, long burning inhales, feeling your lungs expand as much as they can, holding the breath for a few seconds, and ever so slowly letting exhaling through your nose, all the while keeping your eyes closed and maintaining your focus on the Force.

You crane your neck from side to side and roll your shoulders a couple times and then your arm slowly raises once again, lining up with the blaster, and transfer all the power you feel inside you to the palm of your hand, and then to the tips of your fingers. You can picture the blaster in your head. The soft curve of the handle that connects to its clip, the narrow barrel pointed in your direction. As you continue to piece the weapon together in your mind, you start to feel a strong current flow through your veins to the palm of your hand. It’s more powerful than anything you’ve felt before, and yet it doesn’t scare you in the slightest. Instead, it feels empowering and familiar. When you finally open your eyes, they shift to your hand and your jaw damn near drops.  

The blaster is in your hand, fingers wrapped around the handle tightly. Bringing it closer to your chest, you examine the gun as if it’s the first time you’ve ever seen it. Your eyes move between it and the table a couple feet away, completely stunned that you were actually able to do that yourself.

“Did you see that?” You call out to Grogu who’s squealing with joy. You’re not sure if he actually understands why you’re so giddy, but you’d like to think he does anyway.

Making your way over to him, you wiggle your finger in front of him and gently bop him on the nose. Not too far away, you see a piece of scrap durasteel on the floor. Peering down at Grogu, you shrug your shoulders. “Should I try it?”

He coos curiously and you take that as him saying ‘yes’. Repeating what you did previously, you raise your arm in front of you and focus on the small item and inhale through your lips, exhaling through your nostrils. Clearing your mind and only thinking of durasteel, you watch it begin to shake on the ground. Excitement sets in as it slowly lifts off the ground, hovering in the air for just a moment and then, it flies into your hand, causing you to lose your balance from the power of it.

“Oh, fuck yeah!” You exclaim.

“Holy Maker, you weren’t bullshitting me,” you hear behind you. Moving quickly, you drop the durasteel to pick Grogu up in your arms, grabbing your blaster and whipping your body around to point it at the person behind you. Tye lifts his arms, showing he’s empty handed.

“Whoa! Take it easy, I’m unarmed.”

Letting out a sigh of relief, you slip the blaster back in its holster on your thigh and take a deep breath to calm your nerves.

“You can’t just sneak up on people like that, and how the hell did you know where I was?”

“I have my ways,” he says, eyebrows darting up and down in jest. “What is that?” He asks when he sees the green baby in your arms.

“I’m not sure, really,” you answer honestly, looking down at Grogu.

“Didn’t think you had any motherly instincts.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Neither did I.”

Tye passes by you, heading for the edge of the hangar. You eye him cautiously, trying to gauge what he’s up to. When you see him sit down, feet dangling off the edge like you used to do, you walk over to him, still holding Grogu in your arms. You catch yourself just before you’re within earshot and put the kid down.

“Can I trust that you won’t tear this place apart?”

The kid mumbles something at you and begins waddling away.

“I’m keeping an eye on you, you little womp rat!” You shout at him, before strolling back over to where Tye is and sit to his right.

You’re looking at him, trying to find something recognizable about him, something that could show you he’s still the same person you knew when you were kids, but everything about him is different. He looks like an entirely new person.

“Do you remember the first time we got here?” He asks, staring at the portal’s traffic.

Your eyes leave him to look at the various ships coming in and out of the ports. “I remember thinking ‘I hate it here’.”

The corners of his lips curl into a smile. “Yeah, you always hated busy places.”

“They’re just too noisy. You can barely hear yourself think down here.”

“Yeah…”

Neither of you speak for several minutes. You know he’s here for a reason. Whether it’s to forgive you or kill you, that’s probably up to what you say next.

“Tye, I’m really sorry for what I did,” you whisper, tearing your eyes away from the portal to stare at his side profile. “I was being selfish, and I didn’t take anyone’s feelings—especially yours, into consideration.”

“You know, when I got the hologram from Sula and saw Venka’s bloody nose in the background, I just knew it was you.”

Rolling your eyes, you jab him with your elbow. “You did not.”

“You’re the only person with enough nerve to punch him.”

“That’s true… It felt pretty damn good too.”

Tye chuckles, shaking his head. The sound instantly reminds you of all the moments you’d tell him a stupid pun and watch him cackle like it’s the funniest joke he’d ever heard in his life.

“Do you ever think about getting out?” You ask him.

“Getting out?”

“Yeah, putting all this smuggling shit behind you and finding a nice, quiet planet to live out the rest of your days. Meet a local girl and settle down. Maybe even have a couple kids.”

For the first time since you sat down, Tye looks over at you, and the kindness in his eyes that had seemed to disappear is looking back at you, bringing you to your younger years on Tatooine. That outgoing, carefree kid that always got you in trouble. The guy who laughed at everything, who found the silver lining in any given situation; he’s looking right at you.

“Nah, I’m not built for that kind of life.”

“Life has a way of throwing you some curveballs.”

“I see that…” he says with that smile that always brought you joy.

It suddenly dawns on you that this is Tye’s way of saying good-bye. That—after this conversation, you’ll probably never see each other again. You’ll no longer be involved in each other’s lives. There won’t be any more meetups on Kijimi or Coruscant or any other planet, and while the thought makes your chest tighten, you understand why. Honestly, you don’t know how you’d be able to forgive a friend for doing what you did, let alone have it be your oldest friend. Without even knowing it, you’ve chosen who you wanted your family to be, and to your surprise, it isn’t Tye.

Against your better judgement, you lean your head on his shoulder. At first, he stiffens, and you worry you’ve gone too far, but then he relaxes, even craning his neck to lean his head against yours, breathing you in.

“I hate to admit it, but you seem happier.” He tells you, feeling defeated.

“Hey, are you there?”

Mando’s voice in your ear makes you jump. Putting a finger up to Tye, you excuse yourself and walk back towards the Crest, just far enough so he’s no longer without earshot, all the while making the kid hasn’t gotten into any trouble. You catch him waddling around the hangar, chasing what looks to be some kind of flying insect. Womp rat.

“Is everything okay?” You ask, pressing your finger into your ear.

“The job’s taking longer than I thought. It’ll take another day or two,” he speaks low, like he’s trying to hide the fact that he’s talking to you.

Your heart drops. Another day? You hadn’t even considered the idea that he might be gone longer than he expected. Does he need help? Has something gone wrong? Should you ask to meet him?

“Are you still there?”

“Shit, yeah, sorry I’m here,” you answer, trying to hide the disappointment in your voice.

“Don’t let the kid out of your sight. Stay inside the Crest.”

“Okay…”

“I’ll try to check in again, but I might not be able to.” There are voices in the background, calling for him. “I have to go. I’ll see you soon.”

The other end goes silent. He’s gone.

Refusing to let yourself get too upset, you exhale through your lips and roll your shoulders, turning back over to Tye who’s still sitting on the ledge.

“What was that about?” He asks as you get closer, using his arms to push him back to his feet.

“Nothing, it’s fine.”

“So secretive,” he teases.

A sudden crash grabs your attention. Twisting your body in a panic, you see Grogu standing alongside a pile of miscellaneous scraps that have fallen over.

“Dank farrik. Kid!” You call out as you jog over to him. Once he sees you coming for him, he runs over to you, squealing in fear.

“Don’t worry, little guy. I got you,” you assure him, picking him up and holding him close to your chest. “You’re a little troublemaker, you know that?”

Grogu looks up at you and pouts, ears hanging low.

“I should get going. Gotta head out soon,” you hear Tye say to you.

“Okay.”

You stand a few feet away from each other, shifting awkwardly because neither of you know how to say good-bye.

“Well, um…” Tye says before clearing his throat, and then rubbing the nape of his neck with one hand.

“Good luck on your run.”

He looks down at the ground, kicking it absentmindedly with his foot. “Good luck with… everything.”

“Thanks,” you answer, voice barely audible.

You watch as Tye heads for the hangar door, waiting for him to look back, but he never does. You think about chasing after him, wrapping your arms around him one last time but your feet never leave the ground. They keep you firmly in place. With your chest tight, you expect tears to form in your eyes, but they never do. Not even seeing your best friend leave can bring you to tears. Does that make you a horrible person? Maybe.

The door hisses shut, leaving you and Grogu all alone in the hangar. You feel empty, like a part of you has walked away with Tye, and maybe there was.

He was your childhood, your adolescence… he was everything, and now he’s just gone, existing only in your memory.

“Hey,” you say, trying to distract youtself. “Let’s get some sleep, yeah?”

Grogu fusses in your arms and you head into the Crest, shutting the ramp behind you and going straight for the sleeping bunk. You crawl into the cot, placing him in the makeshift hammock and closing your eyes.

It’s gonna be a long couple days without Mando.

--

It’s been a day since you’ve last heard from Mando, which means you’ve been stuck in the Crest for a whole kriffing day, and you’re getting serious cabin fever. There aren’t any more ration packs—you and Grogu have finished the last of them a few hours ago and you’re still hungry. You both need some real food.

Remembering that diner you and Mando passed yesterday, it makes your stomach growl. It’s almost too tempting. You’ll both get some sustenance, and you’ll get time to stretch your legs. Really, it doesn’t take you much time to make up your mind. One little venture out can’t hurt, right?

Before heading out, you make sure to take your blaster and a two vibroblades from Mando’s armory. It may seem like overkill but it’s better to be safe than sorry. With Grogu tucked in the sash across your chest, you head out of the hangar.

Walking around without Mando is more dangerous, for obvious reasons. Only an idiot would pick a fight with a Mandalorian, so wherever you walked with him, you knew you’d be safe. It’s completely different walking by yourself. You know the area, you know the safer spots to walk and the areas to avoid, but you’re sure to keep your eyes open and walk with caution. Coruscant—no matter the time of day, can be dodgy. Should you have checked in with Mando that you were going out? Probably but it’s only for an hour or two and the odds of him coming back while you’re out are slim, so you take your chances. If he’s somehow able to find out that you left the hangar after he specifically told you to stay inside the Crest, you’ll just have to deal with the consequences, but until then, you’ll enjoy the little freedom you have right now.

Trekking the same route as you did with Mando, you keep your head down and navigate through various crowds of people, all the while keeping your hand just above the blaster strapped to your thigh. Even though you hate this planet, you can still appreciate its culture, and diversity.

Here, you can see every single possible being known in the galaxy. From Jawas and Wookies, to Gungans and Vodrans. Everyone eventually came to Coruscant, no matter who they were. If it wasn’t such a shithole, you’d probably enjoy living here. The best way to learn about other planets and other beings is to come to Coruscant where they had the knowledge about such things, and knowledge in abundance. It’s the metropolitan of the galaxy and if you were able to forget about all the crime and injustices that occurred here, you could probably stay just to learn.

The diner is almost full as it’s now midday. You’re lucky enough to find an empty booth near the kitchen when an older looking woman comes to greet you at your table with a datapad in hand.

“Hi there, can I get you anything?” She asks kindly.

“Can I have some broth and a plate of sliders, please?”

Looking down at the pad in her hands, she puts in your order and looks back at up at you with a wide, toothy grin, “Coming right up, sweetheart.”

As you wait for your meal, you look out the transparisteel and watch as waves of people pass you by on the street, exchanging smiles with those you make eye contact with. You wonder what kind of trouble Mando’s getting up to out there.

Is he nearby?

Is he on the other end of the planet?

More importantly, is he safe?

You wish he were with you. The idea sounds almost too domestic, sitting in a diner with you and Grogu, sharing a meal like normal people. It’s probably something you’ll never actually get to experience together but it doesn’t stop you from daydreaming about it. Never would you have guessed that you’d be longing for domesticity, for normalcy. Mando’s brought that out in you which is pretty ironic considering neither of you have experienced something close to normalcy in years but then again, it’s pretty fitting.  After living such a nomadic life, moving from planet to planet, risking your life every time you stepped out on a run, it’s all led you to this, to Mando and Grogu.

“Here you go, sugar,” the waitress says suddenly, two plates of food in her hands. She gently places them in front of you and Grogu. “Let me know if there’s anything else you need.”

“Perfect, thank you,” you say, all smiles.

Grogu starts to eat immediately, grabbing the spoon with his firm grip and sipping the broth. Looking down at the food in your plate, you’re practically ravenous. This is the first proper meal you’ve had in months. While living off of ration packs have satisfied you up until this point, there’s nothing quite like munching down on real food, something that didn’t come out of a pack. You make a mental note to take some food to go before heading out, for Mando. You assume it’s been even longer since he’s had a decent meal and you’re sure he’d appreciate it.

You eat quickly, just because it’s so kriffing good. The attempts to really savor it are lost on you. The juices from the patty nearly drip down your arm, you’re sure you look a hot mess right now, but you pay no mind.

The best thing about eating something other than a ration pack is that this actually tastes like nutrition. Ration packs are just enough to keep up your strength, but they’re not made to satisfy you. It’s just to keep your body up and moving.

Before you know it, you’ve cleaned your plate. The kid has also finished his broth by now and is giving you sleepy eyes, blinking up at you slowly. A proper meal is enough to make anyone tired, including you, but there’s still a few errands you want to run before heading back to the Crest. Before leaving, you had made a list of all the things you’ll need to buy on your day out.

1.    New clothes

2.    Ration packs

3.    Soap

4.    Food for Mando

It’s a short list but having only a few hundred credits, you’ll have to budget everything very carefully, even try to bargain with merchants if it comes down to it. Luckily, you think of yourself as a pretty good dealer, so you’re prepared to do it if it comes down to that.

The waitress comes back to pick up the empty saucers and you ask her to for another platter of sliders to go. She obliges, again with a smile.

While you wait, you take the opportunity to pick a sheepish Grogu and place him back in the pouch across your chest and walk over to the counter to wait. Within a few minutes, the kind woman reappears from the kitchen with a paper bag in her hands.

“Here you go, sweetheart.”

“Thank you,” you answer, taking the bag from her hands, and placing a few credits in her hand.

“Safe travels, my dear.”

Offering her a smile, you turn on your heel and head out the door, back into the mayhem that is Level 1313.

Based on memory, you walk in direction of where ration packs are sold, remembering all the times you used to come to this very spot just before leaving for a job. Every building, every street sign, it’s all familiar. It’s like you’re taking a stroll through the past, almost seeing your old self in strangers you pass by, realizing how much has changed since you were last here. It’s funny to think that on a planet as vast and modern as Coruscant, you seem to be the only thing that’s actuallychanged. You’re no longer just looking out for yourself. Now, you worry about Grogu’s safety, you worry about Mando’s safety. It’s a change you couldn’t have anticipated but are so thankful for.

The merchant selling the ration packs cause you a bit of trouble, claiming the broth packs and bread packs are different prices—which you know is bullshit because you’ve been buying them for years. You’ve seen him do this before, to other women who try to buy packs. Why he thinks he could increase prices for women and not men are not unusual. Men tend to think women don’t know the actual price of packs and can therefore get away with selling them at a different price. It happens so often that most of the time now, women have their male counterparts buy the packs for them, since the exchanges usual end with them not receiving any packs at all, but you know his game. He’s been trying to hustle you for years and has never been able to get the best of you.

“This is enough for five packs, that’s all,” he says when you place some credits on the table.

“No, that’s enough for two weeks’ worth of packs,” you snarl back.

The man laughs at you. “Maybe on a smaller planet, but you’re on Coruscant, girl. It’s more expensive, here.”

“That’s such bullshit and you know it. Give me two weeks’ worth of packs and I’ll be out of your way.”

He scowls at you, his eyes glaring you down. “Have you gone deaf? I said five.”

Taking a deep breath, and craning your neck to either side, you press your palms into the table, leaning forward and stopping just inches from his face. “I’ll say it just one more time. Give me the fucking packs.”

“Hey, we’re all waiting over here!” You hear someone in line shout at you.

“Hurry the fuck up!”

“I can stay here all day, and you’ll lose out on way more than just a handful of packs,” you tell him, taking a step back and crossing your arms against your chest. “Your call.”

His mouth presses into a thin line. You can tell he’s considering it by the way he continues to glare at you. It’s not worth losing out on a whole day’s worth of business just for a handful more packs.

“Fine,” he reluctantly agrees, grabbing two handfuls of ration packs and throwing them on the table.

“Thank you,” you sneer, grabbing them all and stuffing them into your backpack.

1.    New clothes

2.    Ration packs

3.    Soap

4.    Food for Mando

The rest of the afternoon goes by smoothly. You manage to get everything you needed without overspending, and you’re pretty proud of yourself. By the time you’re back on the Crest, the kid’s fallen asleep. You bring him up to the cockpit and put him down on one of the chairs and let him sleep. Since you’ll be rummaging through the galley to put everything away, this is probably the quietest place for him to sleep. After putting him down, you descend the ladder and begin unpacking everything you bought today. Placing the ration packs where they belong, the soap in the fresher, and checking out the new clothes you got. Nothing too extravagant, just another dark colored tunic and some cargo pants but it’s perfect for you.

You look down at the commlink on your wrist, checking the time. It’s early evening, making it almost a day and a half since you’ve heard from Mando, almost two days since you’ve last seen him, not that you’re counting the days.

Okay, you are but that’s not the point.

The point is you miss him terribly. Each hour that passes is an hour closer until you see him again, but it’s also another hour that you haven’t seen him, and your body aches. Is that possible? To miss someone so much that it actually hurts your body? The only logical explanation is that he’s taken a part of you with him, leaving you with a gaping hole inside your body, waiting for his return and waiting for him to refill it. It can’t be that it’s just because you miss him so fucking much, it can’t be.

It can’t be…

--

You’re half-asleep in Mando’s seat in the cockpit when you hear the hangar door slide open. Eyes opening immediately, the familiar sight of shimmering beskar instantly releases all the tautness in your body that you held onto while he was gone. The relief and joy you feel seeing him after basically two days apart reminds you of something like teenage love. The inability to be away from one another even if just for a couple of days is almost embarrassing, given that you’ve tried so hard to distance yourself from the very love you have for Mando, but quite frankly, it feels fucking amazing to have someone to care for this much. The kid is still asleep in one of the passenger chairs, so you get up ever so quietly from your seat and tiptoe your way to the ladder.

Once you hit the ladder, you shut the cockpit door and then you’re racing down the ladder, jumping off of it before you reach the bottom. You heart is racing, the smile on your face is impossible to hide—not that you’re really trying to, anyway. Standing just at the end of the ladder, you watch as Mando heads up the ramp without a word, pressing a button the vambrace that shuts the ramp behind him. Once closed, the air surrounding you changes drastically. The smile disappears from your face, and all of a sudden you feel heat prick at your cheeks.

He damn near stalks towards you, only stopping momentarily to detach the jetpack from his back and then placing it on the ground lazily. It topples over, the noise making you jump but he doesn’t bother to bend over and pick it up. Mando’s got the visor planted on you, and you’re frozen in place, a pool of arousal begins to build in your lower stomach causing your jaw to slack open. Half of you wants to cower, to hide at the sight of him. A Mandalorian pursuing anyone is enough to trigger the fight or flight response but there’s something animalistic in the way he’s coming for you, and you’d be lying if your panties weren’t drenched right now.

“Close your eyes,” he says breathlessly as he draws in closer.

You obey immediately, and suddenly hear a hissing noise, followed by something heavy hitting the ground—his helmet? Before you can ask him, his hot lips crash into yours, pushing you up against the small wall that separates the refresher from his bunk. Large, gloved hands wrap themselves around the crooks of your neck, his thumbs resting on your cheeks. The yelp you let out in surprise is caught in his mouth, his tongue darting out to trail along your bottom lip before meeting yours.

The kiss is sloppy and rushed. His hands grab at your body, your waist, the small of your back, and then settle on your hips. Your own hands fly up to grab fistfuls of his hair. His locks are damp, probably due to sweat, and you pull tighter. Mando groans lowly in the back of his throat, feeling the vibrations in yours as your cunt throbs in response. He smells of gunpower residue and musk. It fills your nostrils, almost making you lightheaded from the sensation, it’s somehow the sweetest scent you’ve ever smelled.

Both of your chests are heaving, the need to pull away to catch your breaths continuously increasing. You continue to grab at each other hastily, one of his hands wrapping around your neck and craning your jaw to expose naked skin. His lips finally leave yours, although not without you trying to keep him still, and then he starts sucking at your neck. The stubble along his jaw scratching against your skin feels so fucking good.

“Thought about you… the whole… time… couldn’t… focus…” He growls into the crook of your neck between chaste kisses, already feeling the skin starting to bruise.

Maker, is it even possible to be this turned on, right now? Mando’s desperation throws you for a loop. You knew how much you missed him, but knowing he felt the same way is so comforting. He needed you just as much as you needed him.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “Need… need… to have you—"

“Stars… please…” You mewl back, hands dropping to his hips and pulling him closer to your body, his breastplate flush against your chest.

“Have to clean up first,” he whispers lowly in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. His voice is velvet smooth, like dripping honey. How can he be so gentle and commanding?

“Shhhh,” you tell him, before blindly grabbing at his arms in hopes to find his pauldrons and when you do find them, you start to detach them. Throwing them aimlessly on the ground and return grabbing at whatever piece of armor you can, you try to pry it off his body as he continues to lick and suck at either side of your neck.

It’s a little awkward trying to undress him while being so close to each other. You can’t even see what you’re doing so you’re sure it’s not the most elegant way of stripping him, and he seems to pick up on it because he finally pulls away, leaning his forehead against yours. You feel his hot breath on your even hotter skin and the urge to open your eyes almost takes you over, wanting so desperately to look into his eyes and see him.

“Let me do it,” he coaxes, barely above a whisper.

“But—”

He presses his lips onto yours once more, and just when you try to deepen the kiss by moving closer towards his body, he breaks it off. Immediately, you begin to hear various pieces of his armor hit the floor, heart banging against your ribcage in anticipation. Stars, you want him so fucking badly. You become impatient, grabbing the hem of your tunic and beginning to lift it up your chest.

“No,” Mando orders.  

Feeling his body close to yours again, his hands grab onto your wrists, placing them on his waist. Rubbing the fabric between your fingertips, you assume he’s wearing only a long-sleeved tunic now. It’s soft to the touch, just like his skin. As your fingers trail down his sides to the hem of his shirt, you hike it up just enough for your thumb to circle the v-lines of his stomach, feeling small bumps form on his skin.

Mando grunts through gritted teeth and then he’s dropping to his knees. Your hands are back in his hair, running your fingers through his wavy locks. He grabs the waistband of your pants, unbuttoning them and sliding them all the way down your thighs, lifting each of your legs and helping you slip out of them. Discarding them to the side, Mando’s calloused fingertips trail up your legs, kissing the very tops of your thighs as he makes his way to your underwear.

Placing a chaste kiss on the thin piece of fabric, you can’t help but tremble. Mando’s ability to be rough one minute and then gentle the next is quite literally mind-blowing. It keeps you on your toes, never knowing exactly what’s going on in his brain.

He hooks his fingers around the hem of your underwear and slowly pulls them down. You’re naked from the waist down and beginning to feel shy, being exposed and the fact that you’re unable to open your eyes and see his face or gauge his body language—it’s eating you up.

His fingers slide between your legs, tracing all the way up the apex of your thighs, forming goosebumps on your skin. Once he reaches your cunt, two fingers slip between your folds, coating them with your slick.

“So wet, pretty girl,” he admires.

All you can do is mewl when he touches you. Mando continues to massage his fingers between your folds, gathering as much of your slick as he can and then he’s pushing two digits inside you, causing you to lull your head back and accidentally hitting it against the back wall a lot harder than you expected.

“Fuck, that hurt,” you giggle, hands rubbing the back of your head.

“Are you okay? He asks, stilling his fingers inside you.

“I’m fine—ah shit,” you answer just he begins to curl them inside you, hitting that angle that only he knows how to reach.

Rubbing tight circles on your clit with his thumb, you arch your back, pushing your hips right into Mando’s face. Using his free hand, he holds the small of your back in place and darts his tongue out to lick at your bud. Your whimper echoes through the Crest’s walls, his tongue flicking your clit as he continues to finger fuck your cunt. All you can do is pull on his hair tighter, unable to move or squirm as he holds you in place.

Knees beginning to buckle, you can feel the stirring in your stomach gradually building, your orgasm bubbling up to the surface. Mando seems to catch this because he starts to thrust his fingers in and out of you at a quicker pace, now sucking on your clit and making you fucking squirm.

“Ma-Mando, I’m g-gon-nna come soon,” you tell him, voice breaking.

He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he flings one of your legs over his shoulder, spreading your legs apart and lapping you up with even more fervor. You’re basically quivering now, climax getting closer and closer, and Mando knows it. He knows your body better than anyone else, better than you know yourself.

“Shit, ah-fuck, Mando…”

Right as you feel yourself about to release, Mando pulls his fingers out of you and his tongue leaves your clit, placing a chaste kiss on your inner thigh and then rising to his feet. It’s damn near impossible to hide your disappointment. It’s infuriating—being so fucking close to release, only to be denied at the very last second.

“Why—” You begin to ask but the rest of your question is silenced by his lips crushing onto yours. His tongue finds yours and you can taste yourself.

“Shhhh,” he whispers onto your lips, and then he’s pressing his body on yours once again, arms wrapped around your back as he carries you into the fresher.

The space is just big enough to fit you both, your bodies practically stuck together. Your eyes are still closed and that only adds to the intimacy. His hands grab onto the hem of your tunic and he instructs you to lift your arms. You do as your told and he lifts the shirt above your head, discarding it at your feet. You stand there, naked and fully at his mercy.

“You can open your eyes,” he says just after hearing the door slide shut. At first, you hesitate, unsure if the room really is pitch black or if he’s trusting you enough to look at his face. When you finally do open your eyes, you can’t see a damn thing. The light inside the fresher is off and you feel a sudden rush of relief and disappointment wash over you because of course he’d make sure the room was dark enough so you couldn’t see his features. Why would you think he’d be comfortable enough to show you his face?

You don’t have time to dwell on it because he’s already pushing you up against the wall, hands resting on the wall to either side of your face and sucking at your neck once again. The skin is tender, little bruises protruding along the sides of your neck, but Mando is mindful enough to be gentle. Then his mouth trails down your neck, giving chaste kisses along your clavicle, travelling down just above your breasts, cupping the flesh with his hands. With his thumb and index, he rolls your nipple, pinching the skin and then giving it a gentle nip with his teeth.

“Maker…” you whisper in awe. No one has ever been so tender with you. With all your previous sexual encounters, you’ve made it clear that it was purely about sex—nothing more. With Mando, everything is different. Neither of you are in a rush. You take time to understand each other’s bodies; what makes you writhe, what makes you scream, what makes you come. It’s about what will bring out the most pleasure in each other. You could both spend the rest of your lives learning everything about each other, from the curves in your skin, to each birth mark, to each scar.

He pulls away momentarily and using what little time you have; you grab only his hips and spin you both around, so he’s flush against the wall. Your fingers grab onto the bottom of his shirt once more.

“Can I?” You ask him tenderly.

Mando says nothing and you take that as him consenting. You hike up his shirt just a little bit, waiting for him to either stop you or allow you, and when he lifts his arms up so you can remove it, you throw it on the ground, somewhere close to where your own shirt is. You stand just inches apart from each other, neither of you are able to see the other. Wrapping your arms around his biceps, feeling the curve of his muscles as your fingers trace down his arms, across his chest.

His chest is covered in marks, scars from previous battles he’s fought in. Your fingers brush over his pecks, down the centre of his stomach, all the way to the small trail of hair that meets his shaft. When your hands settle on the waistband of his trousers, you unbuckle them and begin to push them down. He helps you a bit, stepping out of his pants.

In the fresher, you’re both fully exposed, completely vulnerable in a way you’ve never been before. The last time you were in here together, it was after the first time you had sex. That was different. You were both still dazed in the aftermath of what happened, neither of you fully aware of each other’s own nakedness, but now it’s so different. You’re not only aware of each other’s vulnerability but you’re relishing in it.

Mando turns the water on. A warm, steady stream cascades over your bodies. Steam from the warm water quickly fills the air, blending with each other’s body heat. Within seconds, you’re both soaked and for the first time, you’re the one who leans in for a kiss. For the first time, you’re the one with the courage to plant your lips on his, to catch him off guard. Mando groans in his throat, catching the sound in your own and swallowing it. With your hands placed on either cheek, you think this might be the first time anyone’s actually held his face and Maker, how fucking lucky you are to be the one to do this. He’s opened himself up to you; something he’s never done with another soul. You might not know what his face looks like, but you’re able to make out enough of his features by touching them. The sharp cut of his jawline where you feel his stubble, his moustache has tickles and pricks at your skin whenever he kisses you. The curve and bump of his nose as it clashes against yours, it’s enough for you to paint a picture of what you think he looks like, and if he looks anything like what you’ve made up in your mind, it’s a damn shame that the helmet covers up something so breathtaking.

You lean down to plant a kiss on one of his pecks, feeling the goosebumps form right where your lips meet his skin. There are a million things you want to tell him: how much you care for him and Grogu, how much he’s changed your life, how thankful you are to have him by your side. All these things you’ll probably never be able to tell him because expressing how you feel about someone has always been something you struggled with.

Although, you get the feeling Mando is in the same boat. Like he too is carrying the very same confessions as you that he too is unable to express. Maybe you’ll never know how he truly feels about you, just like he might never know exactly how you feel about him, but sometimes, words aren’t necessary. It’s more about the way you lean on one another, the way you touch one another. It’s your own way of communicating. Expressing yourselves through each other’s actions—that’s what draws you together.

He deepens the kiss, wrapping his large arms around your waist and pulling you to him as close as he can. Sloshing your mouths together, darting each other’s tongues, lips saturated in each other’s spit, it’s the most chaotic, desperate kiss you’ve ever had. When you finally pull away, chests are heaving, you’re both practically panting into each other’s mouths.

Mando takes a small step forward, hooking his hands under your arms and lifting you off the ground. You lock your legs around his waist, feeling his rock-hard cock grind against your stomach and then, your back’s on the wall again. His large hands cup your ass, digging half-moons into your skin as he nips at your shoulder.

“Fuck me … please,” you pant in his ear. His cock twitches, feeling drops of precome paint your stomach.

He wastes no time obliging as one of his hands lets go of you to align himself with your entrance. You wait impatiently for him to fill you up.

His head pokes at your entrance and immediately you feel your pussy gush. Bucking your hips forward, you push his head inside you, a pathetic mewl escaping your lips.

“Impatient,” he scolds and thrusts himself inside you all the way to the hilt. “Fu-u-uck,” he grits, biting back a moan.

Your head drops down to rest on his shoulder, arms crossed around his neck. Mando doesn’t move at first, letting your walls acclimate to his size. When he feels you relax around him, he begins to slowly grind his hips against yours, making sure you feel every fucking inch of him inside you. Trying to stifle your moans, you bite down on his shoulder and he whimpers at the sensation, driving himself even deeper, hitting your cervix.

“Fuck!” You cry out, head lulling back to hit the wall behind you.

Mando begins properly moving, slamming into you at a fast pace. The sound of skin slapping skin is only exacerbated by the water still pouring down over your bodies.

“Ah s-shit… fuck, your pussy feels so fucking good,” Mando says through gritted teeth. You clench your legs around his waist and feel him grind his hips in response. “Kriff…”

He stills inside you for a moment, and you start to wonder if he came prematurely. When you open your mouth to say something, he answers the question before you can ask it.

“I didn’t come, don’t worry,” he mumbles breathlessly, and then he’s pulling out of you.

It’s stupid but you feel empty. You already miss the feeling of his cock stretching your walls, the way he fills you up so perfectly, like you were made to take him.

Your feet touch the ground, and you only have a moment to catch your breath before his lips are on yours. Tongues darting out to catch each other’s; it’s a wet, sloppy kiss, but with his hands cupping your face, hands that almost cover your face entirely, it nearly throws you for a loop.

He pulls away just far enough so you can still feel his breath on your lips, “I’m nowhere near done with you.”

Maker, you could feel your orgasm creeping up on you just from his words. Turning you around so that you’re facing the wall, you hear him spit and then his cock is teasing your entrance again. Rubbing his length between your folds a couple times, slathering it with your slick, he lines himself up and slams into you with as much force as he can, knocking the air right out of your lungs as your cheek clashes with the durasteel wall.

His hands find their way to your hair, and he grabs as much of it as he can and pulls, forcing you to arch your back and steady yourself by holding onto the wall in front of you. The rhythm he sets is so brutal and rough, the only thing you can hear are his balls slapping against your clit. Your throat is raw, unable to make a single sound. Wrenching your eyes shut, the way his cock hits that spot inside you is making you see stars. There’s something desperate in the way he’s fucking you. The day and a half without you seemed to have really taken its toll on him, and now he’s taking it out on you. You’d let him leave without a fight if it meant you’d get fucked like this whenever he came back. Feeling your slick drip down your thighs, you know you’re so close to coming.

“Ma-ando, I’m go-o-onna c-c-come.”

“Good girl,” he praises.

When you finally come, the cries burn your throat, raw and broken. Mando fucks you all the way through it, never once relenting his rhythm, pushing as many whimpers and screams out of you as he can. Your body nearly convulses from the sheer power of your climax, exploding pleasure from every nerve-ending inside of you. Maker, you’re fucking spent. Knees barely able to keep you standing, almost going limp as you come down from your orgasm.

“Come again for me, pretty girl,” he says gently, dropping one of his hands to spread your legs and cup your sex.

“I-I can’t,” you answer with a trembling voice, making a feeble attempt to close your legs.

“Yes, you can,” he hums, forcing your legs open and using two fingers to rub your clit.

You squirm underneath him, the overstimulation really hitting you as the rhythm on your bud gets faster and faster. Your cunt is fucking worn out, you’re barely able to take any more pleasure but you refuse to let Mando down. You want to make him proud. Taking a shaky breath, you attempt to relax your trembling thighs and within seconds you’re coming again, biting down on your bottom lip so hard, you’re sure you’ll end up breaking skin.

Mando makes a guttural noise, a purely animalistic groan as he feels you come around his cock. “Fuck, yes… good girl,” he growls with praise.

Grabbing your upper arms, he pulls you upright and flush against his chest, peppering wet, messy kisses along the nape of your neck. Your arm wraps around the back of his neck, pulling at his wet hair. His cock drives into you at a ruthless pace, and then he finally stills inside of you. Pulsing between your walls, he pumps his seed deep in your pussy, moaning your name into your ear.

When his hold on you slackens, you nearly double over and fall to the ground. He pulls out of you quickly and lifts you back up to your feet. Turning you around gingerly to face him, he leans you up against the wall.

“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” He says with his hands on your face, a hint of guilt lingering on his lips.

You’re pretty sure your eyes are closed but you can’t be sure. Everything is so dark, your mind fuzzy. “No, ‘m okay,” you answer sheepishly.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m okay, Mando.”

Feeling his forehead press yours, he plants a chaste kiss on your lips. If you had any energy left, you’d kiss him back but you’re teetering the line between consciousness and unconsciousness, too fucking exhausted to move any of your muscles.

After that, your mind goes… fuzzy.

It hits you in flashes.

You vaguely remember Mando cleaning you both up.

The water turning off.

Being guided out of the fresher.

Something being wrapped around your body—soft and warm, his cape probably.

Him slowly putting you down on the floor…

Someone warm close to you.

And then you fall asleep, the last thing you remember is feeling calloused fingertips grazing up and down your back.

[papabirdurskeks]

I ask this both for Baron Dark, Ariandel and SkekSo !

Give me a character and I will answer: @ben-the-hyena

Oh boy a triple feature! :D Here we go, folks!

Under a read more cause its going to get long but each listed character will be split apart evenly!

First up is Baron Dark!

Why I like them: He is just bombastic in personality! He lives loud in his actions and words, participating in most of the action himself while also showing he is a threat and menacing altogether! I also like that he is one of the few villains that shows he cares for his crew as a “family” (at least for most part of the series before being overtaken with obsession to have power more on his own). Given the dynamic we are given from the show, its obvious he cares and treats them all on a level of respect as well, something so rare to see nowadays! And I also enjoyed that his reasons to take over and do the shit he did in the series, “Because I can!” is just as refreshing and fun to see in a villain too!  And again, his design is a top tier design I love overall! Its menacing, powerful, and outright amazing! Definitely adds to the character and how well he works in effect to keeping my attention! Like just look at that design! And his VA did a wonderful job of adding to that charm that is just delightful to see in his personality! Overall, he is totally a villain I would love to see more of in the future!

Why I don’t: I say my dislikes often fall on the usual tropes of a kid’s show of the 90s. He talks too much when he could be doing things himself and falls victim to the typical “I am too powerful” but doesn’t think of the obvious steps ahead that will be his downfall. But honestly, its so small I don’t find it jarring or that bad to be in the way! It was the 90s and aimed at kids at the time, so we can’t expect TOO much out of that xD

Favorite episode (scene if movie): Oh man, that’s a tough one cause every scene/episode Baron is in he totally slays it! Its either a tie from the first episode to the very last one cause the stakes of start and finish are so well done, I love it all! 

Favorite season/movie: Obviously, the TV series is the best version of him! The comics sucked and turned him too OOC from what was initially given! Like how does one go from point A to be Z so freaking fast? xD

Favorite line: “Because I can.” Yeah, not gonna lie this was indeed my favorite line of his xD

Favorite outfit: Honestly, the outfit he gains near the end of the series is by far my favorite! Its like a mix of the Bejeweled Catacomb Saints and Mictlantechutli put in one and its befitting of the Baron given his gain in power! 

OTP: Baron and Cyborn are my OTP and are married, fight me. 

Brotp: Definitely Brotps with the rest of his henchmen though I see them more being like his adoptive children! 

Head Canon: Baron is of indigenous background! I also like to headcanon that the white tuft/strands in his hair are truly his and have been there since birth!  (I have so many more HCs for him but I will keep it short cause it can go all day x’) )

Unpopular opinion: Don’t think I have one, at the moment at least. 

A wish: To have gotten more information/lore on him and the entire cast, honestly! I would have loved to see more of his character explored and what more he could have had to offer as a series main villain! Hell, the whole damn series had so much to offer! And just the relationships he has with the others and what more he could have done post season and before! So much potential there to be explored! I honestly would not be objecting to a reboot/revival or continuation of the series! 

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen: Though with that said, if a reboot does come around, don’t turn it into the mess of current cartoons we have. Not that they are all bad but most of them have been very disappointing in keeping my attention and liking. Keep the same type of messages it had before! It worked beautifully as it did then and still does work now! I’d love to see the same formulas used while also updating it to be more gritty and mature like they did for Castlevania! Just... Don’t turn it into a cringe worthy mess that will ruin Baron and all the characters in the series! Don’t do what the comics did! 

5 words to best describe them: Charmingly evil, badass, fun, conniving bastard, and menacing. 

My nickname for them: Mega dork (affectionately speaking)

Next is Ariandel!

Why I like them: Oh boy, there is a lot to say in terms of why I like him but I will try to keep it short and simple for time purposes!  His design is top tier for me! Like a rotting skull like face? Check! A monstrous body much like a bird’s? Check! And to add he is a giant Corvian, which are one of my favorite enemies in Dark Souls III!  His personality also differs from the usual loud, bombastic, and proud characters I tend to gravitate for. Instead, he’s withdrawn and rather sad to look at and hear. You know he’s going through a lot but don’t know exactly what it is. In game, one can sort of get hints as to what has gone on behind the scenes but at the same time, its still vague and hard to really pinpoint what really did happen. So he has that air of mystery to him that I honestly adore in many characters as it leaves room to explore deeper into their lore! But I also find his personality relatable as well as sympathetic.  But that’s just me, I can gush about him all day but I will cut it short here x’)

Why I don’t: To be honest I don't have any reason not to like Ariandel other then the small fact that he followed Friede and let the Painted World rot in such a terrible state. But that is so minor of an issue to me to really make a difference, lol. I adore this giant bird man!

Favorite episode (scene if movie): I have to say the scene where he ultimately snaps and breaks out of binds after seeing Friede's lifeless body before him is my favorite scene of his. The amount of pain and anguish heard in his scream and the way he moves prior and after; I can very much relate to that feeling. Sometimes, actions truly convey the emotions better in the most powerful means necessary. And this scene alone truly nailed it.

Favorite season/movie: He's only ever seen in the Dark Souls III DLC, so obvious answer points to the DLC!

Favorite line: "When the Ashes are two, a flame alighteth. Thou'rt Ash, and fire befits thee, of course..."

Favorite outfit: Uhh, he doesn't really wear any clothes save for his cape? So I guess the cape does him well as he is, though I always draw him without it xD

OTP: To be honest, I don't ship him with any canon characters within Dark Souls. Friede does not deserve him..

Brotp: Ariandel being best friends with the Ashen One is my ultimate Brotp! Just think of how much of a valuable ally he could have been!

Head Canon: I know his origins are debatable, as either theory I have for him can be plausible but I often lean more towards the idea of him being half Giant and half Corvian! IDK why but I just like it a lot more x’)

Unpopular opinion: While Ariandel is partly responsible for what happened to the Painted World, I still feel he was manipulated overall and probably at one point did have a change of heart before being forced into complete isolation. He plays more the role of the willing/unwilling accomplice then the actual perpetrator of the crime.  

A wish: He could have had a happier ending without having to die for Friede. I know, its Dark Souls. Such a thing is expected to happen in the Soulsborne series but its a wish, right? 

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen: That anything beyond the infatuation he had for Friede took place. Just.. No. He loved her but never could ever have her in that sense and never did. Just no, she is horrible to him. 

5 words to best describe them: Sad, lonely, birdman, withdrawn, and tragic

My nickname for them: Papa bird

And lastly for skekSo!

Why I like them: I think its as obvious as the case for Baron Dark. I like evil, smug bastards that shine through their wickedness and don't usually hold back. In the case of skekSo, I actually didn't care for him at first but then after my second viewing of the show, I started to like him more and enjoy his villainy! He's selfish, arrogant, vain, and conniving and I love it! Added that his design is really appealing to the eye and how he carries himself out, I gotta say he's one of the few villain characters from a show that makes the turn around for me to like them instead of hate them more. Also, his voice. Can NOT go wrong with that voice cause DAMN, its good and shows just how powerful a villain can be with a voice like his. And those eyes. Oh man, those eyes!

Why I don’t: Despite his villainy being the main point that caught my attention, its also a part of his downfall too. His constant greed and arrogance pushed him too far into doing what he did and ultimately cost him everything in the end; including loyal allies that end up dying for him in the long run. I hate how easily and quickly he changes his mind when actual logic is put into perspective of his plans and how quick he is to dismiss someone else when they don't please him anymore or things don't go his way for the smallest things. And yes, that is part of his character, I know that. That is what makes him as scummy as he is and why I love how trashy he is. But I also can't ignore just how easily he pushed skekVar away and believed skekSil despite knowing just what a lying bastard he is. IDK, it just feels too obvious but at the same time, it is what it is and I am not upset about it in the least x)

Favorite episode (scene if movie): Honestly, I enjoyed all the scenes with him in the show but mostly in particular with his interactions with skekVar, especially towards the end of the series. It showed a peak part of his vulnerability in his character that honestly I doubt he ever shows to anyone else. He spends most of his time pushing others around and making them fear him but with skekVar there is a sort of mutual respect going that really speaks out in a different way. Maybe I am just reading too much into it, but I always did enjoy how they interacted with one another!

Favorite season/movie: Well, skekSo didn't get much screen time in the movie other then him dying and turning to dust so.... Definitely enjoyed him more in the show then the film xD

Favorite line: "NOOOOO!" (Yes, this scene is still very infamous to me for personal reasons but the way he carried out his "no's" cracked me up each time xD)

Favorite outfit: Honestly, the main outfit he wore throughout the show. It's just so regal and goth, I love it! And as a goth and fashion enthusiast myself, I am all up for the style he has! The battle armor he wore near the end made it a tad more laughable to be honest.

OTP: I started shipping him with skekVar but ended up with an OT3 of skekVar and skekZok. So now all three of them live in a happy relationship with each other in my noodle~

Brotp: I see him being on neutral terms with skekMal! 

Head Canon: I feel that even in the show it wasn’t seen or given, but he did feel a lot of remorse and regret after the loss of skekVar. He seemed very close with him and spoke with skekVar with more trust then he did the others. Perhaps in secret he did mourn the General’s loss. 

Unpopular opinion: Does this count as an unpopular opinion? I know most people see him with just a few strands of hair but I tend to see him with a head full of long flowing white locks he keeps hidden beneath his clothes. It adds to the extra layer of vanity for a proud Emperor such as he! He looses it over time the darkening consumes him and withers down his health. 

A wish: To see what he was like as an urSkek prior to being split up into a Skeksis and urRu. Yeah, I know people don't care or like the urSkeks all that much but honestly, I would LOVE to see more urSkek lore and see what it was that made SoSu so special among his peers. It was said, after all, he had a voice that could move the stars but was conflicted and consumed with darkness. Honestly, I want to know why and who he was prior to all of this mess! SkekSo even says in the show he still has nightmares of the life before so I wonder, what they were and how it was! So much potential here, man!

An oh-god-please-dont-ever-happen: I don’t think I have any of these to be honest? At least with skekSo. Not that I can think of on top of my head now. 

5 words to best describe them: Proud, absolute piece of shit, pretty, conniving, and menacing. 

My nickname for them: Stupid idiot

[c-c-cherry]

Jojos Doing Jojo Things (with each other)✨😌

*sweating as the part 5 hc asks start piling up in my inbox*

 *looks at the one that mentions Jonathan*

Hello~~ I’m sorry for being criminally inactive here, I forgot during that long 6 month lockdown that I actually had a real life outside of the internet and now I have to go do real life things?? Instead of doing nothing but writing?? Crimes, I tell you.

I love the idea of Jonathan interacting with all the other jojos so I thought I’d take a little break from part 5 whump headcanons to fulfill this one :D SO HERE’S SOME SELF-INDULGENT HEADCANONS ABOUT JONATHAN DOING FUN LITTLE ACTIVITIES WITH THE OTHER JOJOS BECAUSE I KNOW WE ALL NEED IT RIGHT NOW😭😭😭

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Joseph (lets say Youngseph in this case because shhh)

-Hear me out but KNITTING

-Let this man do some nice calm things please

-Joseph has absolutely no way to connect with Jonathan. Like. Nothing.

-He doesn’t see the two of them as anything alike even though they both have the star, and when it comes to connecting with such a righteous, nice dude he’s a bit :/ about it

-He also doesn’t want to do anything stupid (In his words.) He hates baking, he’s never been into reading and school, and the two can never really click with sports

-Our man Jonathan has searched his heart and soul for something to bring the two of them together but Joseph is always just not into it >:(

-He’s almost given up on connecting at all BUT—

-One thing they do have in common? Erina.

-BOOM. Johnny-boy suddenly has ideas >:)

-Joseph is really put off when Jonathan shows up with a ball of yarn and needles and in the most innocent way possible he’s like “I have something to show you ^-^”

-the first thing Joseph thinks is NO FUCKING WAY. If Caesar or his mother or anyone caught him fucking knitting he’d never be able to live it down

-So instead he just watches as Jonathan sits by the fire, and it looks really boring at first but he just starts going at it

-And of course the gears start turning and all his brain sees is “fast task?? task I can be good at? something quick my hands can do??”

-And Jonathan looks up to take a break to see Joseph perched on the edge of the chair in complete awe, but the moment he asks if he wants to know how to do it, Joseph gets really withdrawn :/

The rest of their conversation goes a little like this:

“Isn’t that meant for girls?”

“Why would hats and scarves be only for girls?”

“But its—”

“You know...I’m making Erina a matching hat and scarf for her birthday. I could use a little help with the scarf…”

“...”

“We can make it a race.”

And with a fire lighting in his eyes, Joseph accepts the contest even though he has no idea what he’s doing. But isn’t that what he does best?

-Needless to say, he becomes obsessed.

-When his greatest fear comes true and Caesar finds out, he’s too obsessed to care about the teasing

-Joseph is good at something that Caesar isn’t. Caesar is jealous. Caesar picks up knitting.

-Are knitting contests even a thing?? I don’t care because Joseph and Caesar could probably open a fucking etsy shop with all the stuff they make (and absolutely shamelessly at that)

-Anytime they meet someone new it's immediately “which hat is better?” “Joseph’s is worse, right?” “Can you start the stopwatch for us?”

-Even in his older years, he never actually stopped making things for Holy, Suzi, and even sometimes Jotaro (thought Joot wouldn’t be caught dead wearing any of it in public)

-He actually progresses past knitting and making clothes in general becomes a secret passion of his

-The hat he’s wearing in part 4? He definitely made that. And don’t even think he doesn’t send Josuke the tackiest shit in the mail

Jonathan is very proud :)

Jotaro

-Animals. Is that even a question?

-Jonathan was always more of a dog or cat person, but the moment he finds out that Jotaro’s interested in marine life? MAN GOES ALL OUT

-He not only researches the shit out of marine biology just so he can hold up a conversation with him, but he also buys A SHIT TON OF BOOKS for his favourite angst man

-We all know that Jotaro isn’t exactly a man of words, but his heart is touched when they exchange a few sentences and Jonathan shows up the next day with a book all about what they were talking about🥺

-Like—Jonathan was always scolded for never listening to his father, but when it comes to stuff like this, Jotaro swears he’s able to read his mind

-Most people can barely get him to utter a sentence, but when these two are alone they’ll talk for hours about the ocean

-Holy was actually pretty worried for a while that Jotaro rarely ever opened up to anyone, but after seeing the two of them talk it was like a weight lifted off her shoulders :)

-They go on trips all the time to study water life. First, it's just to the river a few minutes away. Then they start going out to the lake nearby, and then they’re suddenly borrowing Joseph’s private boat and going on all these “research trips” together

-Which just consist of Jotaro taking hundreds of pictures and surprisingly never shutting up about what he sees (which is definitely a first)

-They pass by snooty, rich fishermen all the time who make fun of them for only looking at the animals, and Jonathan secretly uses Hamon to attract the fish to anywhere but where the fishers are lol

-I can blame snipster on instagram for introducing me to Smiletaro but the pure happiness and smiles of happy Joot on this boat with Jonathan is like a DRUG

-Star Platinum is absolutely thrilled, and when Jonathan realizes that Star is an amazing artist, he actually buys the stand a cute little purple notebook to draw all the ocean life they come across :3

-The moment they get back to shore Jotaro’s all -_- again around people, but you can still see the excitement in his eyes if you look hard enough

-When he gets into school for marine biology, Jonathan is so fucking proud

-This is an au which means anything can happen so I formally declare that Jonathan definitely got Jotaro those golden dolphin-shaped coat pins when the man first goes off to Uni

-He wears them as a good luck charm :3

Josuke

-Josuke is soooo easy to get along with, especially since both of them are such warm people :)

-Jonathan figures that it wouldn’t be hard to find something fun to do together, but when he actually thinks about it...he really knows nothing about what Josuke likes to do

-He ends up just asking the kid next time they see each other, and they end up just agreeing to teach each other one thing the other doesn’t know

-Because the power of KNOWLEDGE BABYYY

-Josuke shows up the next day with an entire fucking Nintendo 64 and is absolutely set on teaching him how to play something

-Erina just kinda watches like 👁👄👁 as Josuke plugs it in and Jonathan is confused but also SUPER EXCITED because he barely even knows what a video is but there are also video games??

-After much internal debate, Josuke decides on Ocarina of Time because he’s worried Jonathan will have a fucking heart attack if they play something like Mario Kart

-Also he thinks Jojo would enjoy the whole “righteous hero coming of age” archetype thing because,,,you know,,,

-They start it up and immediately Jonathan is like WHAT and has no idea how to play and dies in ways that Josuke didn’t even know were possible, but they somehow make it to the first temple with a lot of help from Josuke

-Right before the boss fight, his mom pulls up like “bitch we gotta go come on” so Josuke sees no harm in leaving the system at Jonathan’s and coming back next week

-Oho,,,ohohooo,,,

-He comes back a week later to a dark house,,,Erina’s off on some trip, and he can hear the faintest “HYAH!” coming from the living room

-He walks in to find Jonathan in the exact same spot he left him, ALL OTHER SAVE FILES ARE COMPLETE, and he’s in some obscure location doing a side quest Josuke didn’t even know existed

-Turns out he’s really good at quest games

-After Josuke realizes that Jonathan’s managed to beat the game more than once, he asks if he wants to try out another game

-To which Jonathan replies: “There’s MORE?”

.

-Aside from giving Jonathan a crippling video game addiction, Josuke also learns a vital thing about Jonathan Joestar

-Hamon ^-^

-Josuke’s a little surprised that Jonathan can even see his stand, and Jonathan has no other way to explain it than that it must be connected to his Hamon somehow

-To which Josuke is like “what” and Jonathan realizes that his stupid fucking grandson decided not to tell ANY OTHER Joestar about Hamon

-He’s no Zeppeli, but he could try and teach him...even if it didn’t work, it would still be a nice bonding activity

-When Jonathan finds out that Josuke’s stand ability is revolved around healing, he’s overjoyed because he might have a better chance

-They start small with breathing exercises and meditation, which eventually lead to Jonathan trying to teach Josuke how to make things like flowers

-Since it doesn’t exactly come naturally to Josuke, things don’t exactly work out,,,but both are unsurprisingly happy when Josuke manages to make a single flower bloom :3

-It’s not much, but it’s there and it honestly makes Josuke feel much better knowing that he could eventually learn how to heal himself, too :)

Giorno

-Jonathan considered teaching Giorno Hamon a while ago, but he realized that his stand already has the properties of Hamon, if not just in a more humanoid form

-And when Jojo puts two and two together that he and his son can both grow a lot of plant life, he has the perfect idea

-Garden buddies!!!! :D

-They grow everything you could possibly think of, and to top it all off, Giorno fills the garden with all this animal life :)

-When it comes to biology, Giorno never shuts up about it. He’s the quietest kid when it comes to virtually anything else but prepare for MAJOR info dumps about frogs and his vast knowledge of flowers

-Speaking of flowers, them just sitting and growing them together and talking about all of their favourites? Yes please

-Although they love to accelerate plant growth, there’s one patch in the middle of the garden that they’re determined to grow naturally

-Also them growing and eating carambola (star fruit) together because it’s my pocket dimension that makes no sense and I get to decide what fun fruits the Joestars get to eat together

-the garden becomes a great place for picnics and outings and the best place to go when things get too chaotic

-Giorno starts a plant journal where he records everything that ends up growing there, and Jonathan starts impulse buying all these flower guide books so they can look at pictures of them and put their favourites in the garden :3

-They end up creating a little pond in the middle of everything, and Giorno puts a whole bunch of frogs and fish in it and it's all very tranquil and calm and nice :))

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I was gonna do part 6 (maybe part 7 too?) but mental energy? I don’t know her, sorry y’all :(

Feel free to add on though!! I wanna see what y’all would think Jonathan would wanna do with Jolyne or anyone else I missed :D My first thought for Jolyne was Rugby because Jonathan was a rugby KING and I feel like she’d be really good at it lmao

[alwaysthinkingoutloud]

Hannibal Episode-by-Episode Meta/Analysis: Episode 3, Season 1 (Potage)

The first scene of the episode takes us back to Abigail’s memories of hunting with her dad. That whole memory provides us with a brand-new aspect to who Abigail is what Hannibal might see in her.  Suddenly, it makes us question if Hannibal saw her as something more than a tool to draw Will in. Afterall, Hannibal’s philosophy would not sound too strange or bizarre to Abigail than what she already is accustomed to. She grew up being taught to normalize killing and eating what she kills with maybe different reasons than Hannibal, but obviously she still is the most fitting instrument to whatever he is planning.

Alana comes to Will’s house to talk about Abigail’s waking up from the coma and when Will expresses his concerns for Abigail’s being left alone, she says “Dogs keep a promise a person can’t”. And Will replies it with “I am not collecting another stray”. While she is trying to warn Will before he makes a huge commitment he probably cannot keep, because of guilt; she compares Will to a dog and Will compares Abigail to one. In the previous episode’s article I had already expressed my thoughts about Will’s relationship with dogs and how I think it represents his animalistic, urge-full side. So I find this set of metaphors to be a touch-on to Abigail’s yet-hidden killer side and Will’s subconscious recognition and acceptance of that, along with his own.

The conversation of Alana and Abigail is pretty informing about who Abigail is. When Alana walks into room and says that she is a psychiatrist, Abigail’s curious, if not tactical, question of what kind? and Alana’s saying family trauma (and not, for example, criminal something), ends up Abigail’s facial expressions to suddenly change into one that looks victimized. I do not believe it was an emotional transaction, I think it was one on purpose. As Alana later will say, Abigail shows enough-to-be-considered-healthy emotion about her parents’ deaths but also enough detachment from what happened to falsely suggest a lack of connection on her behalf. Her jumping from the topic of her parents’ being dead and her dad being a serial killer to making plans about college is not a mere denial caused by being traumatized but also a strategical move that someone of guilt would do. Her lying to nurses and trying to analyze Dr. Bloom is not a very victim-like behavior, she manipulates and tries to establish a position of dominance. I am this close to almost suggesting that this is something Hannibal would do. Hannibal made a fantastic move, bringing Abigail into the equation. (Abigail’s yet-to-come talk with Freddie is another example to what this paragraph is telling too.)

When Jack, Alana and Hannibal come into the same room together; everybody’s priority is different. Jack wants the case to resolve at all costs (at the cost of Will’s or Abigail’s stability), Alana wants the best for Abigail and Will, protecting their mental health and Hannibal wants neither. He wants the case to stay unresolved or resolved in a way he is pleased, and he wants both Will and Abigail in a position that is furthest from being stable. Actually in his thinking, he does want the best for them. Afterall, that is how Hannibal operates. He wants people pushed to their darkest potential, to unleash their beast, in whatever form it may come. He does that by increasing chaos around him and he feeds on that chaos. He sets things into motion to ends that even he sometimes does not know what of. So of course, he will agree with anything that stirs up the pot, which is right now Will and Abigail coming together.

Hannibal and Jack walks into classroom when Will is giving a lecture about the Copycat Killer. While doing so, he describes the killer in detail and to our knowledge, quite accurately so too. Hannibal seems to be listening to him intrigued and almost fascinated at Will’s deductions about the killer since they are so right and his smile reaches its max (well… max at Hannibal standards) when Will points out that the unidentified caller is in fact, the Copycat Killer. He is not just enjoying the thrill to be discussed as a killer in the same classroom he is standing in, without a soul knowing; what he enjoys the most is Will’s closing in. His spot-on deductions on what kind of person the killer is. Maybe this is the first time Hannibal hears someone speaking about the real version of him who is not wearing a person suit and doing that quite accurately too. Will is getting to know him, real him, and Hannibal enjoys it.

Will and Hannibal take Abigail for a walk in the greenhouse, Will supporting Abigail’s arm with his own. There is a one-second scene where Hannibal also touches Abigail’s arm (but that is all it is, a very no purpose-serving touch) to try and help her sit just like Will does and looks at Will, almost hoping to find appreciation or approval, which makes me smile.

During the conversation of Will and Abigail, the camera focuses on Hannibal only right after Abigail says, “That’s not all I brought out in him”. Up until then, Hannibal seems almost bored with their conversation about her mom. But that sentence makes something in him move, suggesting that he may be hoping Abigail to bring out something in Will too. Maybe that something being protective feelings against her which can be manipulated to familiarize Will with normalization of crime. Abigail continues to express her concerns about being messed up and having nightmares. But Hannibal only says “We will help with the nightmares.”, so they will not with her being messed up part? Well, why on earth would he? That is exactly how Hannibal wants her, messed up as others would say, or perfect as Hannibal would. Then, Abigail finally asks a question to Will that intrigues Hannibal the most, “Does killing somebody…feel that bad?”. Hannibal almost holds his breath waiting for Will’s reply. In return, Will gives a very interesting answer. He does not say yes it does, he does not confirm. He says, instead, that it is the ugliest thing in the world. He maybe right, but ugliness is not equal to badness, is it?  Ugliness is a measure of visual taste, not a measure of morality. He almost suggests, killing may be an ugly act, but does not necessarily feel bad.

“It is not very smart to piss off a guy who thinks of killing people for a living.”

says Will to Freddie, in response to her threats about badmouthing him to Abigail. Obviously, Abigail already became family for Will. He protects her and shows a very different face of his when his relationship with Abigail is threatened to get compromised. A face that Hannibal loves seeing Will with. So when Jack asks Hannibal why he let Will say those words, Hannibal gives some Hannibalistic answer while smirking in a very non-subtle way. Of course, he would not stop Will in one of those rare times that he reveals his inner demons, Hannibal counts on it, even.

The second time Alana and Hannibal have different opinions (the first time was about Will going to see Abigail) is about if it is right for Abigail to visit her home where all the crime happened. While Alana disagrees with the idea on an attempt of saving Abigail from possible trauma, Jack chooses to go with Hannibal’s idea which is that confronting everything that happened in her home could be healing for Abigail. Jack is so blinded by his professional ambition to figure out everything hastily that he does not even realize how much damage he is causing unknowingly by each time not taking Alana’s professional opinion over Hannibal’s, whose motive actually is the opposite of Jack’s.

I think right about here is a good place to express my thoughts about Hannibal’s effect vs Jack’s effect on Will/Abigail. Although Hannibal is supposed to be the so-called ‘villian’ in this show, the serial killer, the cannibal, the person who drives people’s minds off the edge, the person standing opposite of law enforcement; he has a moral code. A code that is very different from the consensus but nevertheless, a code. And all the mind games he plays with Will and Abigail are meant to serve a purpose of helping them achieving their highest selves. Not forcefully making them into someone they are not, not harming them of out nowhere, but watering the seed of whatever it is inside them. To his thinking, he is elevating them. Helping them. On the contrary, Jack being one of the good guys in the show, the FBI director, the voice of justice; he manipulates and uses Will and Abigail never having their best interest in his mind. The only thing he cares about is the crimes and criminals; and everyone else’s stability and sanity, if lost on the way, is considered collateral damage. Unlike Hannibal, he does what he does to Will and Abigail knowing that it might end up harming them. So it is open to discussion, if Jack’s morality is any better than Hannibal’s. Or if his even is half consistent as Hannibal’s. I will come back to that in the coming episodes.

While still in the office and the four are talking, we learn that Jack’s motivation to take Abigail home is about gaining information about the Copycat. That is probably when the wheels started turning in Hannibal’s head about diverting FBI. Hannibal’s acts are never well-planned or calculated until the moment of actually killing someone. Although he is spotless on his murders, he rolls the dice and works with the material he is given on the events that lead up to those murders. Yes, he has one great big plan that consists of bloodshed, severed limps and a few people on specific positions; but he does not have one definite way to reach that. He goes with the flow placing the pieces into their places, which is what makes him that exciting: His unpredictability. 

The short conversation happening between Will and Abigail about Will’s empathizing and his putting himself in her father’s shoes are seemingly pleasing for Hannibal. Afterall, more bonded they become, greater the chance of Will protecting her on all costs and consequently that cost being slipping away from the light side into Hannibal’s lap (sigh). When the topic of why they came there (to find out about the man who called the house that morning) comes up and Will asks her about the caller, she throws a very quick glance at Hannibal while saying that she did not recognize the caller’s voice, which suggests that it is a lie. Hannibal looks a little surprised, either for the fact that she remembered his voice, or that she did and did not blurt it out. Considering Hannibal’s thick accent, it is unlikely that someone would not recognize it after hearing it. So the second option weighs more heavily, just as her suggesting Hannibal being the man on the phone on a reenactment proves it so.

“One cannot be delusional if the belief in question is accepted as ordinary by others in that person’s culture or subculture. Or family.” 

says Hannibal and it says a lot. Is not this the very thing Hannibal is trying to do? Putting together a family where his beliefs will be accepted as ordinary? Providing the same freedom to other members of his family as well? Making a family to set them all free, along with himself?

When Marissa shows up and somewhere in between the events calls her mom a bitch, considering the look Hannibal gave her (a very similar look he had given to Franklyn after he blew his nose and placed the dirty napkin on the table), her death was expected. The combination of that and finding the stone stained with Nicholas Boyle’s blood would be an obvious one-stone-two-bird solution to Hannibal’s diverting FBI from the Copycat Killer plan.

The second time Will dreams about the stag is at least as illuminating as the first one. He dreams about the stag right after the Copycat Killer kills someone. The first time, he saw it after Hannibal killed Cassie Boyle. And this time, we will learn that he sees it after Marissa was killed. I do not think that is a coincidence. This time though, as a difference, Will sees himself as the stag getting into a defensive position against Abigail’s throat being cut, again by himself. So he has no way out, either he is the guy killing Abigail or he is the stag who we already know is a killer, although is in defense right now. This almost suggests that deep down he knows regardless of the path chosen, there is no escape from blood. There is only a lesser evil, maybe, and that is killing to save. And the stag is the representative of this lesser evil in the dream, which is interesting because well, we know the stag will turn into Hannibal. Almost to suggest that, Hannibal’s true evil self without the person suit and Will’s maybe acceptable lesser evil sides will be one, to complete one another. (I may be reaching with that one…)

When Alana, Abigail, Will and Hannibal reach to cabin; the look on Hannibal’s face when Will asks Abigail if there is anyone else beside her and her dad who has been to the cabin and she says no, suggests that it is not true, although she is not aware of it and it also suggests that the plan of Hannibal is put into motion. In a little while, he also loudly accuses of Nicholas to kill his sister and Marissa, suggesting he is the Copycat Killer. 

While Hannibal is making remarks about this killer not being Garret Jacob Hobbs because of leaving a body behind and not eating all of it, Will gives him a little disturbed look. Either because Hannibal looks too certain speaking, or because deep down, Will is smelling something suspicious. He actually gave a very similar look to Hannibal when he came into his classroom in between his lecture about the Copycat Killer. I do not think it is a coincidence, but it is very arguable to what degree Will’s awareness was at that point, even on a subconscious level. (There is another possibility that Will’s looks at Hannibal are just/also because he finds Hannibal glamorous with the way he thinks and everything ;)) )

Hannibal, hearing Freddie talk about someone else lurking around the house, asks her if she saw Nicholas. So we conclude that by putting the blame on Nicholas, what Hannibal hopes to achieve is to draw him out to the house to talk to Abigail to clear his name and… Well, there is no “and”. That is probably as far as his plan went and Hannibal did not know that Abigail would kill Nicholas but we can say he hoped she would. Creating a bond (preferably) and/or leverage (that can be used if Abigail did not turn out to be compliant) between them perfectly.

After Abigail escapes from the hospital and comes to Hannibal’s office, in between the conversation Hannibal says, you climbed over the wall, which means, apart from its literal meaning, that after she killed Nicholas, she is now free. By killing him, she broke her restraints and now in new territory. Then, he tells her to come down from there, suggesting after climbing over the wall, what you do is to come down, where Hannibal is also standing. Meaning, Hannibal also had climbed over the wall and now they are at the same side, so she can relax. This is the family where the belief is accepted as ordinary.

While Hannibal convinced her that if she did not hide the body, nobody would believe her innocence right after she killed Nicholas, insinuating she had no choice but to ask for Hannibal’s help; now that it is all over, he tells her that most people actually would believe that she was innocent. Abigail who understands that she has been manipulated, puts the pieces together and reveals that she did know Hannibal was the one who called the house. Not trusting her enough yet, Hannibal does not deny what she is saying so that she would feel let in, but not so much to let her in all the way either, creating a balanced relationship dynamic (of course, in the eyes of Abigail) between them. Then, by saying “No more climbing walls, Abigail, he makes sure she understands they are in the same side now, as equals (he lets she thinks) and there is no going back.

[hey-hamlet]

BNHA AU Ideas : The Original Sin

Also on AO3! 

TL;DR: 

Midoriya Izuku is born incomplete, part of him lacking in a way that makes him abnormal - inhuman. When he turns nine, this changes.

( shamelessly based of the young loki storyline in marvel comics a while ago with the title stolen from there as well. Look - "I am the crime that can not be forgiven." is a baller line ok.)

Midoriya Izuku is born blue and silent. There is no gentle rise and fall of his chest, no pulse, no movement. The Doctors whisk him away in a blur of activity – they tell Inko they will do everything they can. They do not expect a happy ending.

20 Minutes later, Izuku begins to breath on his own. With no previous reaction to treatment this spontaneous respiration is shocking. They expect major brain damage, only to see the infant open his eyes and squint in the bright light of the room. He yawns. They cheer.

They return him to his near hysterical mother’s room. He’s hooked up to countless monitors, but they assure her its just a precaution. She is warned he may have some form of brain damage that will become apparent as he grows, but he is alive and healthy and that in itself they can promise.

Inko cries – her son is alive and he is smiling and that’s all she could ever ask for.

Izuku grows up strange. As a baby he rarely cries – so rarely in fact that Inko can’t stand to have him sleep in a different room, so scared her near silent son will drift away without her knowing. He never does. He seems to understand her from day one as she tells him stories about heroes and dragons. His little hands wipe her tears as she cries. She doesn’t know how, but her son is special.

He doesn’t speak a word until he goes to daycare and meets a firecracker blonde, upon which he shows he can speak far better than most of his peers.

Despite this he seems somehow – lacking – to the other children. Like he’s missing something he needs to be one of them, to be human. They hurt him and push him and take his things. He does not cry.

The only child mostly unaffected by this is Katsuki. He still admits Izuku is a “weirdo”, but he’s smart and fast, sure on his feet with dexterous hands. He seems somehow older and younger than all of the other children in a way that makes adults baby him, but children fear him. Katsuki will not be scared.

Katsuki gets his quirk first. It’s bright and colourful and everything they expected from him.

He asks Izuku about his quirk. His looks into the middle distance for a moment before smiling. It’s small but bright as ever. “Mine will be late.” He then frowns, looking down at his own two hands. They seem ever so small at the moment. “Not sure why.”

Inko asks if he wants to go to the doctor, to see if he has a quirk. Izuku shakes his head gently. “I have one – I know I do. It’ll be late though.” Inko asks him if hes sure, but she trusts her son. He’s much smarter than they remember to give him credit for.

Still, the others don’t believe him. He grows up labelled quirkless with all it brings. Katsuki stays by his side, the quiet and kind boy is something different from the extras - he knows this as well as he knows the sun will rise. They make an interesting pair. One quiet, calm, too knowing, the other brash and loud. They are both whip smart.

Izuku has an eye for quirks better than anyone, always teasing out their mechanisms and probably limitations faster than someone with decades of experience. Katsuki is convinced this will prove to be an aspect of the elusive quirk that refuses to show itself.

Izuku dreams of horrors he has never seen – blood on his hands and quirks at his fingertips. He feels powerful but oh so alone. In the dark on night when he retches silently into his bin, the feeling of hot blood still so real under his shaking hands, he vows to be nothing like the man in this dreams.

Never again.

Izuku is nine when it happens. Katsuki is dragging him through the forest excitedly, hands warm and gently crackling in his own. His head begins to ache.

What started as a nagging irritation quickly shifts into a blinding pain worse than anything Izuku has ever felt in his life. He stumbles to the ground, clutching as his head and he screams and sobs, tears hot down his face.

Katsuki has seen Izuku cry plenty – but never from pain. Not when they got their shots, not when the bully from two grades about them slammed his fingers in the heavy oak door, not when he felt from the tree Katsuki had begged him to climb; bone sharp and pink through his skin. Katsuki wraps his arms around his friend and screams for help.

The screaming stops. Izuku slumps. Katsuki panics. He can feel his friend’s breath on his shoulder but he will not wake. Katsuki can only hold his friend and hope.

All for One had known this day would come. He had known All Might would kill him – it was only a matter of time. That’s why he had a plan B.

A quirk he’d stolen nine odd years ago, creating a shell his mind and quirk would snap to upon his original body’s death. It would kill the original holder of the body, ideally leaving nothing more than an empty shell of a person he would become should he die. He felt some what bad knowing he had killed an infant before it got to draw it’s first breath, but the feeling was fleeting. He had work to do.

He watches Izuku grow. He always had a link to the boy – something about him being an extension of himself making it ever so easy to find him. The boy’s soul – because what else could it be – is stubborn. Parts of it linger in the body, only growing stronger as he ages. He can’t help be grow fond of him. The boy is almost like a son to him, in some strange and twisted way. A creature that should have died but refused to at every turn. All for One could empathise.

That’s why, them All Might’s final blow falls, he feels a flicker of sorrow. Izuku would be no more soon, simply a body he would wear as a puppet. There was no choice though. His work was not yet done.

All for One / Izuku finds themselves in a world of pain, two souls waring for life in a body that can only hold one. What astounds them the most is that Izuku is winning.

All for One plunges them into darkness – away from the pain, so they can talk. They have a time limit though, they are tearing the small body to pieces from the inside out.

Izuku doesn’t want to force All for One out – that will kill him. All for One doesn’t want him dead either. They strike a deal : Izuku will keep his own body until he dies, All for One’s quirk his to use (though the man will keep every quirk he’s personally acquired close to his chest). When Izuku dies – as he will, All for One insists, because the boy wants to be a hero – All for One will take control. They agree.

Izuku opens his eyes and smiles. What once was dull green is now bright and electric, flickers of crystalline white running through them. Izuku feels whole – normal. That makes Katsuki worried most of all.

He explains everything to his only friend – everything he knows. Its not a lot admittedly, only that there is someone else in his head now – their quirk his to use, and that when he dies he will no longer be himself. They do not tell Inko. They train – they will become heroes.

All Might meets Izuku under the bridge, a scraggly man trying to wring his neck as he screams incoherently. All Might knocks out the man before asking is Izuku has seen the villain he was looking for. Understanding blooms in the child’s eyes and suddenly the man on the floor is liquid once again. All Might feels deathly cold.

Izuku gets his autograph, the strange man sharing his mind griping idly about the “blond buffoon” as he insits on calling All Might. Izuku doesn’t mind, ecstatic to meet his hero. He doesn’t miss the flinch on All Might’s face when he lets the man’s quirk flow back into him, but he brushes it away. Everyone is scared of his quirk, its nothing new.

As All Might is distracted by memories long after the boy leaves, the slime villain slinks away

Izuku saves Katsuki, clutching the boy’s own quirk in his gentle grasp, pulling it into his own fold ever so gently, never truly severing it from the blonde. The villain recoils from the blasts as Izuku pulls his friend. All Might swoops in.

Later he asks to train the boy – revealing his smaller side. He says nothing of One for All. He is considering it but he is so scared of any possible connections to All for One he dares not mention it. Izuku takes this with a smile and open arms.

Other stuff:

Izuku is told about One for All a few months in to training because All Might sees his boy is good and kind and nothing like the monster the thought he could be. Izuku immediately goes on about all of the good someone with All Might’s quirk could do, never once assuming it would be his to use. That makes up All Might’s mind – he will pass it to him.

Izuku calls All for One Zero. For All for One it’s kind of a pun about he is One for All wielder number 0. He starts calling Izuku Ninth, or Niner just before he get’s One for All – Izuku thinks it’s a pun on his name.

Izuku can both take quirks and borrow them. Taking them severs their connection from the wielder, borrowing them is just like holding them for a second – they snap back when he stops paying attention. Borrowing is faster and easier and can be reversed without contact. Taking means he will keep the quirk even if he is knocked out or stops concentrating – he tries to avoid doing that because it hurts to give them back and he doesn’t trust himself to do it no matter how guilty stealing something would make him feel.

All for One is actually big soft on Izuku and really doesn’t want the boy dead. He chats to him a lot, offers to help him cheat on tests – which Izuku never takes – and subtly heals their shared body while Izuku sleeps. He wants to kill the children who hurt him. Izuku can’t bare the thought.

All for One and Katsuki get along like a house on fire, even if their interactions are all mediated through Izuku serving as a mouth piece, and its scary. Katsuki and Inko were the only people he told about Zero until All Might. Others in 1A find out at various points in time.

Izuku eventually finds out about the weird quirk hes a part of and has a crisis knowing he is not the Izuku that should have been born into the world. He tells his mother, expecting her to hate him, but she only smiles. "You're still my son - I couldn't ask for anyone better."

[itefi-n-ferlet]

how would you envision a kid or kids that freed and laxus adopted? I just need fraxus daddies in my life 💞

Hi! Sorry that it took me time to answer this, Fraxus is not one of my usual ships, so I did not know whether to answer or not. And well, I didn't come up with a design for him, I'm not good at drawing, but I said to myself, my strong point is writing, 🤔 after all, I'm a fanficker, so I decided to respond in this way. I hope I do not offend any Fraxus shipper with this headcanon, 🤞 even if it is not one of my ships I think it is a nice ship and I treated it with all the respect it deserves. 🙌 I apologize for any typing errors as English is not my first language. 😅

💛 FRAXUS ADOPTIVE SON HEADCANON 💚

》The first time they meet the boy was in a town were they were on a mission, the boy saved them from drinking a poisonous beverage.

》The second time they found the boy, he was lying on the street unconscious.

》They took him to a doctor and learnt from the village people that the boy is homeless and a orphan. A Dark guild killed his family when he was three (right now he is seven), that Dark Guild used people as experiments to practice forbidden spells and curses, the dark guild was taking down by a group of braves and unknow mages, Laxus realizes it was Crime Sorciere who defeated them.

》The doctor says to them that the boy has an strange disease and he doesn't know what to do.

》They decide to take the boy to the best healer they know: Porlyusica.

》Even sick, the boy talked a lot with them during the trip. The only way to stop his chattering was when illness caused him to pass out, or when Freed taught him to write letters using his magic, or when Laxus loaned him his headphones.

》The boy decides that he wants to have long hair like Freed, but he gets sad thinking how many years that is going to take and that maybe he doesn't have that many time. Freed and Laxus feel their heart ache a lot.

》Porlyusica receives the request in her usual bad mood, but agrees to treat the boy. Obviously, she throws Laxus and Freed out of her house, but first, the weak boy, between sobs, asks Laxus to lend him his headphones, Laxus agrees immediately.

》Freed decides to camp outside Porlyusica 's house still defying the healer's bad mood.

》Laxus is the one who brings his meals every day.

》Evergreen and Bickslow offer to fetch whatever rare medicine or herb Porlyusika needs.

》One day the boy gets really sick, Porlyusica asks them to prepare for the worst in the next days.

》Freed cuts his hair as an offering to the gods for the boy to get better.

》Seeing the sadness of his friends, along with Freed's hair, Bickslow offers one of his "babies/dolls" as a sacrifice on the altar of Kardia's cathedral and Evergreen her most favorite fan.

》Laxus asks his grandfather for help. Makarov sees how desperate he is and advises to find Wendy and bring her back immediately.

》Like a miracle, Team Natsu arrives a few hours later to town, Wendy goes to help the boy but she can only help alleviate the symptoms a bit, but when Porlyusica leaves her alone for a moment, Wendy asks Irene's soul piece inside her if she can help the boy, Irene feels sorry for the boy and analyzes him and realizes that the boy is actually linked to a curse, if they could find out what curse it is, she could remove it.

》Wendy says this to Laxus and he remembers that Crime Sorciere took care of that dark guild, so he looks for Erza to communicate with Jellal, again, luck is on his side (or rather Freed's offering continues to take effect ) because Jellal is with Erza in the guild and informs him of what happened years ago in that town and that he knows pretty well wich was the curse that those dark magicians were perfecting using the citizens.

》Upon receiving the information, Wendy and Irene can remove the curse, Porlyusica takes care of the last symptoms with her herbs.

》Laxus can't help but feel a lump in his throat when he arrives at Porlyusica's house and is given the good news, Freed breaks down in outrageous tears and Porlyusica throws them all out of her house again.

》The first thing the boy asks Laxus after he fully recovers is if, now that he is no longer ill, he can no longer use his headphones, Laxus smiles gently and tells him that those headphones are already his, that he gave them to him as a gift.

》Makarov seeing his grandson so happy and relieved asks Laxus if he is going to follow in his grandfather's footsteps and take children without families into his care, to Makarov's surprise, Laxus smiles warmly.

》When Laxus tells Freed about the idea his grandfather gave him, Freed tells him that he had already sent Evergreen and Bickslow to get the adoption papers in the boy's hometown and he just had to sign. Laxus is surprised, but then he just lets out a long sigh and signs the papers.

》The guild throws a big welcome party for the boy.

》Aside from the great news that he already had amazing parents, a loving grandfather, and a large family by his side, the boy's favorite gifts were the huge cake Erza bought for the party, and his parents' request to Lucy to use the Cancer's key to growing his hair long and beautiful like his father Freed had before offering it for his salvation.

》His favorite way of wearing his hair from then on was in a high ponytail with his father Laxus' headphones decorating it.

... FIN...

Hope you like it!! Btw, I didn't give the boy a name cause I am really bad at choosing names. 😅

[geirskogull]

Moments of Calm - Part 2

+ Notes: 5.5 Spoilers Present in This Fic, Warrior of Light Danica Voss takes a moment to herself to perfect that strong silent type look by letting her brain get the better of her.

Archive Link

Warnings: This is DIRECTLY The Mega Horny Part so uh NSFW But Beyond that, warning for praise kink i guess? I need to relearn how to tag things

Word Count: 6.5k

 He had almost forgotten about how fast she walked. Like wind almost. Moving with a grace and speed she lacked while dancing but made her one of the most formidable combatants he had ever had the luck to spare with. Maybe that was where his softness originated. The times she kicked his ass. The thought made him chuckle and painted confusion on her own face.

 “Something Funny ‘Stinien?” She asked her voice low now not out of sadness, but concern for those already sleeping. Though she had to guess the workaholics that were Riol and Thancred were already up.

 “No, no, just reflecting.” The look she gave him in turn was one filled with doubt. But she didn’t raise the question again. He was a bit thankful for that. Instead focusing on opening the heavy wooden door of her large room with only moderate creaking.

 Her room was some kind of strangely organized mess. Like A dragon’s horde in a way, really, if he was to go about and make poetic comparisons. Though he imagined a Dragon’s Horde was less plush stuffed animals scattered about and more golden coins and rare magical arms and armor, but if there was such a thing as a Danica Dragon well this would be a wonderful horde to suit them just fine.

 Danica wove her way through the hazardous maze of assorted fluffy friends towards her bed. Her Movements he could only describe as sluggish and exhausted. He followed behind, though unsure of any particular reason why. Perhaps to make sure she actually lay in her bed and rest? Perhaps because her hands still held one of his captive? Either way, he found himself uniquely aware of when she stopped and turned towards the large window that overlooked the now stirring streets of the town.

 "Hells, and here I was hoping to get a reasonable amount of sleep for once." She whispered, probably more to herself than to him. A weak chuckle shaking her form all the while. He felt some sort of relief knowing that it was a real one and she did actually seem to be doing better.

 "You're turning into me, Voss." He added in his own whisper, causing her to look from the window to him in surprise. She hadn't forgotten he was there, no, but perhaps she let herself get too lost among thoughts again. This time she was swiftly dragged back to consciousness though, the fragile little smile that sat upon his face proved thus.

 "Oh what a crime, I'll be too handsome" She joked in turn, scrunching up her nose in mock disgust. Yes she would be ok. Even if more of these bouts of melancholy and deep fear hit her, she would still be ok. Good. He would raise blades against the star itself if otherwise, for what else caused her such pains. He reached out for the hand he didn't yet hold, which she gladly gave to his grasp.

 "Oh stop it you." He huffed, a look of total exasperation taking his face. None of it true of course. He pulled at their joined hands, pulling her closer towards him, his smile losing any hint of exhaustion as her form ran into his chest.

 "Fine, fine." She laughed in turn, looking up at him with sleepy eyes filled with such gentle fondness it caused him to pause. Perhaps someday he’d get use to that look. A potential someday where they would get their rest and perhaps in that someday he’d get to wake up to such it in her eyes every morning.

 "I can tell them to leave you be if you want, let you sleep in." He offered, his voice a gentle whisper as he let go of her hands only to wrap his newly freed ones around her tight. She shook her head no vigorously.  

 "You need your rest too. I've kept you up all night." Ah, there was her normal gentle chastising he knew her for. The amount of times even early into their travels together that she sent such worried mother henning towards Alphinaud, himself, and others was countless. It was a static familiar thing and it felt like home.

 "Believe me, Dee, I don't mind." The nickname so omnipresent upon lips that felt uniquely intimate between them. Something he never called her in front of others. It was always Voss. Or Danica if he was feeling particularly testy. But never Dee, never in front of others. He couldn’t tell you why.

 "Then would you mind...staying?" Her request was simple and honestly should have been expected. He’d been gone for some time and he couldn’t imagine how much longer it felt when she was worlds away. Sure she wasn’t there for years like the others but - He shook his head and the look in her eyes told him she took that as a no and that was far from his answer.  

 “I don’t see why not.” He whispered, holding her tight so she wouldn’t step back in some sort of miscommunicated hurt. “Get comfortable, I’ll join you soon. It’s not like they’ve got a room ready for me yet anyway.” The smile on her face was one filled with relief and she nodded. Slipping from his arms with that same ferocious grace she was known for and dipping behind a screen to finally relieve herself of the days grime, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

 “I love you...” He whispered to empty air, like he had back in Azys Lla what felt like years ago now. And like all those years ago, his hands closed around empty air and he felt...lonely. Even if she was only a washroom away.

 But he couldn’t sit there wallowing in strange loneliness. Not while she was off doing whatever she needed to do to sleep and he was still there in thankfully cleaner than they had been traveling clothes. He couldn’t say the same for his armor. The ancient artifact he’d yet to have a chance to service since Ul’dah. He had doffed it and went to find her almost immediately, given she had disappeared so readily after the scions split ways in the main hall and it had concerned him. Not that he’d say that to any of the others. The looks some of them, especially her cousin, gave him told him they probably well enough knew why.

 He pulled at his top, yanking it roughly above his head and throwing it in some distance corner. Knocking over a strange cat-like plushie that once toppled over seemed to judge him with large beady eyes, its tiny golden crown slightly off kilter.

 “What something to say?” He hissed at the inanimate object, like somehow its plastic eyes were judging him. It, of course, did not respond. And could not be judging him. He sighed loudly, kicking off boot after boot towards the same corner, knocking over the doll and covering the judgemental plastic.

 “Oh gods, I’m losing my damn mind.” He shook his head meandering towards the mountain of blankets and pillows Voss called a bed and almost throwing himself upon it. Good, she still had a love for very soft things. He’d fall asleep in no time.

 “And still dressed. Here I was thinking I was taking too long.” Her voice from a distant doorway drew his eye, and to her form in but a large shirt that he was about 90% sure was his own. Seemingly lost long ago but actually just owned by a new soul. Not that he minded. It look good on her, slipping gently off her left shoulder as she navigated the wasteland of stuffed animals. He chuckled.

 “Got distracted by all the prying eyes.” He motioned wide with one of his hands while untying the offending garment with the other. She scoffed, taking a seat next to him upon the bed and drawing her legs up to her chest. Almost like she was nesting among the fabric.

 “Oh please.” She chimed, throwing her legs over his lap as soon as he was undressed and bed ready. “They’re just stuffed animals after all.” Laughter lit her voice and he found himself once more enchanted by his fellow Dragoon, much the same as he was when they first met. When she looked at him, staff in hand, with mostly confusion and probably a bit offense on her face, given that his first words to her were something akin to threats.

  Gingerly he reached out for her waist, to shift their position and pull her upon his lap.She did not resist, nor pull him down upon the bed to actually rest like was the goal but smiled at him. Wrapping her arms around him in a tight embrace that brought a smile to his dour face once more. She had this unique skill really, to get him to smile so easily.

 “Well, perhaps they are to you. But to me they are terribly judgy little eyes that I want no part of.” In a burst of confidence, he continued. “ At the moment the only eyes I want on me are yours.” He hummed, watching and enjoying the gentle flush that took to her cheeks moments after. She yawned, a loud over dramatic thing that had her removing her arms from him in some cruel bit of acting. She was relatively good at acting, all things considered.

 “And they are, though they want to be closed.” Recovering from the yawn, she tapped his nose gently, all the while scrunching up her own and before hiding another yawn he wasn’t sure was true or not. Either way she was beautiful, present and most importantly in his arms.  

 “Hm... I find myself not too sleepy anymore.” He whispered, his voice lowering to that place between a growl and a purr that he knew would draw her attention and wake her right up. The smirk that took her face told him it was successful. Her hands dropped from his face to cradle first the sides of his face, and then down to rest upon his open chest.

 “Oh really?” She asked, raising a brow. It was her turn to be exasperated.  “I thought after how long I’ve kept you up and how busy a day we’ve had you’d be dead exhausted.” Though her words said otherwise, the gentle swirling patterns she now drew upon her chest said she didn’t mind staying up a bit longer if it meant this closeness.  

 “Aye, tis’ not every day one can say they’ve a Warrior of Light in their lap.” Almost on queue she adjusted herself there, so she was looking directly at him without having to turn her head. So she was straddling his lap with a growing cheshire grin upon her face. He smiled, his own hands taken to cradling her rear, pulling her closer. Their chests sat plastered against each other now, and this was a closeness he had missed.

 “Yes but you can say you’ve got a Danica Voss in yours whenever you want.” she chimed in, her smile losing its edge only to have it replaced with warmth she showed very few others. In response he brought up a single hand to her face and brushed some of the errant strands of her hair behind the slight point of her ear.

 “Well then, I would very much like her to stay there a while at least.” He leaned forward, making the already small gap between the two infinitesimally smaller, their lips but breaths away from one anothers.

 “She’ll -” A laugh shook her form, here she was talking like she was some other person recalling vague information about herself. “I’ll be sure to try,” It was her turn to brush unruly strands of white from his face, fingers lingering longer than they need be upon his cheek.

 “You say that like you’ve a choice,      my lady.”    And gone was the purr, leaving but the growl. His hands dug in hard to where he held her, and he couldn’t help himself but enjoy the faint near imperceivable gasp that escaped her lips. It morphed quickly into a chuckle that tickled his cheeks.

 “Oh, are you going to try to stop me, Wyrmblood?” She whispered in turn, ever so slightly tilting her head, and stopping those idle little circles upon his exposed chest. Punctuating really, her words with but one final poke square where his heart was.

 “Not unless you want me to.” He warned, and asked, in equal measure, as scarred hands moved up her back and lost themselves among her hair to keep her eyes locked on his.

 “I’d love to see you try.” Affirmation that opened a thousand flood gates, bursting at the seams with months of distance, closed finally with those words and a lean to both their heads. Lips interlocking with a ferocity behind them, and not a gentleness. A desperation that spoke of their time on the road.

 Her lips were chapped, and coarse, bit by the sandy winds they had experienced that day. His own were not much better, but yet neither seemed to truly mind. His mouth opened faintly against hers as air grew thin, though he felt no need to part yet. His tongue ran across the rough flesh, and when she would not grant him entrance he brought his teeth to bear.

 Teeth biting down hard enough to draw blood to the surface, but not spill it. Swelling her lips under affectionate abuse and causing her to gasp just enough through gritted teeth that his tongue could slip in. A grumbling laugh echoed in his chest, it was like the Churning Mists all over again. At least this time they had walls about them.

       Before air forced them apart, and allowed her to make any little snips about his manhandling, he pulled her close and flipped upon the bed. Dropping her with an unceremonious Ooph upon the mound of blankets. A giggle shook her form, as she looked up at him with wide mismatched eyes and smiled very much like a cat that had gotten into some cream.

       She opened her mouth to tease. He did not give her such a chance, slamming his lips roughly against hers again to silence her fiery tongue. Her spine curved up at the touch, hungering for yet more of his rough manhandling, she was notoriously impatient. He wasn’t surprised once more, given their months apart that must have felt so much longer for her. But he would have his fun, and her impatience wouldn’t stop his teasing.

       Payback for many a time before.

       His hands wandered up her form, catching on the stolen oversized shirt with ease and slipping beneath its ragged body. His scarred palms chartered familiar terrain, divots where blades fell, rivers of ink, the rise and fall of her hips and chest like a sailor looking over a beloved map.

       She whined against his lips, twisted beneath his touch, like a storm raging on open seas, and he once more the sailor gripping hard to his beloved ship with rough bruising hands. Her legs wrapped tight around his hips in turn, trying to drag him under. But he wouldn’t give up so easily. No matter how part of him wished to drown.

       Air once more drove them apart, but not very far as his lips crashed like lazy waves against her face, drawing back further and further till he dropped down to her neck. Eyes warry in watching the impetuous storm of a woman he called a lover as she twisted under his touch. When it looked like she might open her mouth to complain that he was taking too long, he’d allow his kisses to grow less gentle upon their slow trek down her form. Teeth once more would join the equation, first dragging down the flesh and then biting hard when she grew bold. Hard enough to leave marks. Hard enough to draw blood, metallic in his mouth.

       Her gasps were music to his ears. As were the growing sharp pains in his back, as her nails dug into his bare flesh. Digging deep pathways into his flesh that would rise red in her absence. Marks he’d gladly bear, of course. They urged him on, really, like her heels digging into his ass in turn and though he was sure she’d love if he gave heed to the growing inferno around his heart that demanded he rip and tear and take her as his own, he wanted to savor this.

       And he did so by dragging his lips further down her chest, slowly undoing the string upon his former shirt and pulling it over her head to make that beloved swath of skin he had mapped so well visible in the residual darkness of the waning hours of night. Something akin to a purr echoed out of his chest, but was cut short the moment he felt her hands bunch around his undergarments.

       “Oh no you don’t.” He growled, hands snapping from her hips and grabbing her wrists roughly. Her desire to move things along he had to admit was understandable. They’d been apart for quite some time, but this was to be savored and he was going to take his time. She’d challenge him there, but for once he would not bow to her precious whims. If he could maintain the strength. She squirmed, trying to wring her hands free but to no avail. He held them fast.

       She pouted, the kind of wide overdramatic pout that she did when she’d didn’t get her way that would pluck at his heart strings and had won her many a stuffed animal or other little gift she so desired. Though he held the command here...she held command over his heart. Either way, they wouldn’t win her a victory here today.

 Slowly he forced her arms up above her head, before collecting both wrists in one hand and holding them there. Restraining her, and painting a proud smirk on his face. “Patience, Dee, Patience.” He chastised, using his free hand to gently touch her face, enjoying the draw of her eyes when she could not match it with a caress of her own.

 “I don’t want to be patient, ‘Stinien.” She whined, once more trying to free herself from his grasp. He could do naught but chuckle at the act, truely. If he was a cruel man he’d sit there and just watch her try time and again to take what she so well wanted, only to steal it away from her with this simple little grasp upon her wrists. But he wasn’t, and she would get her reward in time but first -

 “You don’t have to be patient long,” He purred, leaning down right near the slight point of her left ear. “Just keep your arms right there, allow me to taste what I missed and then you’ll be rewarded, Dee.” He leaned back a bit, tilting his head and raising a brow. “Can you do that for me?”

 He smiled when  her eyes zeroed in on him and his words with laser like precision as she felt her heart pound in her chest. A war seemed be raging behind her eyes, knowing what words waited on the tip of his tongue but were not said. Words she wanted to hear just so badly. Her pride lost, and he waited till she gave the faintest nod of her head before releasing her hands which remained held above her towards the head of the bed of her own volition.

 “      Good Girl.”  

 She froze, stock still, barely breathing now as he returned to his languid teasing pace. Dragging his lips back down his minefield of marks upon her gently, reminding them with faint little nips that they were there to stay a while. In case they were apart again for any extended period of time.

 When his lips dragged over her breasts, and his languid tongue traced circles over her raised nipple she made her first sound since he released her arms. A sharp intake of breath as the cold bitter night air was replaced by the warmth of his mouth. His eyes flicked up, and a smile grew upon his face when he saw the palm of one of her hands digging into the others. A self inflicted point of pain to keep her focused on where they must remain.

 He’d have to test her resolve.

 When he removed his lips from one raised mound, she exhaled a breath she hadn’t known she had been holding. He was being cruel, she had decided, cruel and mean and making her wait as he was torturing her by taking his sweet time, and not just bending her over upon the bed and having her preferred way. Her shoulders relaxed, and she stopped digging her nails into the palm of her hand as he stalled, oh so tyrannous, only to regret it immediately as he took the other in his mouth and grabbed the first between two strong fingers and pinched.

 “Ah- AAH” A gasp into the air that was much louder than intended. Poor Thancred next door, she prayed he was a really REALLY early riser and not currently in his room. Though... perhaps this would be pay back for all the times in the Waking Sands.

 Yet, she did not move. Nails once more digging hard into her palm, leaving deep gashes upon the flesh that would bruise on the morrow. She held her breath now, as he bit down and pinched in equal measure, just enough to hurt and just enough for her nerves to feel on edge and alive.

 When he raised his head, eyes lidded with some amount of pride, and released his hold upon her chest he let out a low chuckle. “Hm, seems you’ve passed the first test.” He gave the raised nubs one final flick before dropping his head below them, slowly continuing his brutally languid and sharp toothed descent.

 “I didn’t sign up for Exams Estinien.” She whined, twisting under his touch as if trying to actively avoid it but still not moving her hands. He leaned down towards her head once more, and left a lingering kiss on her swollen lips and smiled when he looked into her eyes once again and saw them red and cloudy.

 “Are you afraid to lose Voss?” He purred into her ear, before once more descending, tongue now tracing lazy circles down her toned stomach, enjoying the faint twitch of her every movement.

 “We both know I can out last you.” False bravado rang through her tone as each word was a struggle against her desires and her pride and he knew this well. It’s like he knew exactly where to poke holes to make her deflate into something manageable. The purr in his next words confirmed it.

 “So sure, so proud.” His free hand wandered and walked spider like up her torso and across her chest towards her chin, gripping it tight and forcing it up. “Very good. Now don’t distract me Dee, I’ve work to do. So look away.” He didn’t need to apply much force to get her to look at the ceiling and away from him. Damn him to all the hells.

 She took to biting at her lip to maintain some focus, to draw the nervous feeling away from the slow angel light touch of his lips upon her hips. He was being gentle. It was a heartless cold gentleness that had her parched for more violent and vibrant touch. It was calculated, as was his slow descent from the outside of her tattooed form towards the core of pulsing need that sat soaking the top most layer of her mound of blankets she called a bed.

 And she hoped to save laundry for another day.

 And he planned on making sure it had to be done tomorrow. Or whenever the two of them roused from bed, the world could deal without it’s heroes for a bit.

 As his lips danced around the edge of her old and frayed undergarments he stopped, fingers hooking around its hemline and pulling hard, but not off. His grey eyes lingered and examined the growing wet stain upon its dull fabric and found pride once more welling in his chest. She hungered and it was his fault. Good.

 "Gorgeous...” He whispered, and her resolve faltered at the sound of his words,drawing her eyes just barely to him without moving her head. “Look at you, so ready and I’ve only just begun.”  She whined, drawing his ire and attention in equal measure as her small movement no longer went unnoticed.

 “Hm, what did I say?” She stuck her tongue out in one vain hopeful act of defiance that she immediately regretted as the touch upon her jaw grew harsh, dragging her face back to look into his cool grey eyes.

 “Look.” He growled his voice dropping at least an octave.   “Away.” She could not stop her eyes from widened, nor how instantaneously she looked out the window, noting the sky growing light and the sound of souls milling the streets setting up their stalls. She hoped they couldn’t hear either of them.

 “F-Fine.” She would not beg. She would NOT beg. She was too proud to ever beg but she could hunger like a primal summoned off the lifesblood of it’s followers and he the sickly sweet aether that would keep her material.

 “Patience, patience.” A virtue neither had, as illustrated when he removed his hands from her form and returned them to the pathetic fabric that dared separate the two of them. She had plenty, and could mend whatever he broke. Right?

 He didn’t voice the question so he didn’t get an answer, forgoing his fingers to dig his hungry teeth into the fabric and yank his head back, animalistic joy welling in his chest and mixing with that pride at the loud screeching sound of ripping fabric.

 Air stung her sopping core and she gasped, the slips of fabric that survived his onslaught did not to help save tickle her skin. The gashes in her hand grew deeper as she tried to restrain herself yet that resolve to follow his command, to be that so called      good girl    that deserved the reward that had been kept from them both for months now remained.

 He chuckled darkly, seeing the pink glow to her battered form. All the way from her cheeks to his prize. A smirk to his lips as he considered his options. Torment her more, or claim their prize?

 He decided he would do both.

 He lowered his head once more, kissing along where fabric had once hid. Slowly but surely driving inward towards the pleasant sopping mess that was her core. She squirmed, the sensation too much even with the sharp bites of pain to anchor her. A short whine escaped her lips as the fraying strings of her resolve began to break into splintered ends.

 The entire rope shattered the moment he reached his goal, a loud moan punctuating it’s brutal end the moment his lips first pressed upon his prize. The taste of her viscous fluids coating his tongue instantly, sweet as a honey made just for him.  

 "That feels good doesn't it?" He asked, raising his head after his first assault, “but you want more” He paused, a wild grin taking his face as he considered very carefully whether it was worth the fun she’d poke at him later for his next words. “But you want to ride the Dragon.”

 If she poked fun at him, he could always shoot back that her nod of yes was near instant.

 “Just a bit longer then.” He cooed, before laughing at her whimper of frustration, using the act to hide his second attack. He rubbed a hand down the length of her slit, fingers growing slick with the same essence that now dripped from his face, her spin arched at the pressure and once more one of those magnificent melodic screeches of pleasure hit his ears. He smirked then, not giving her a second to recover before sliding a single one of those coated digits into her fiery core.

 Her legs grew taunt and her back remained arched off the blankets surface like she was a living breathing cathedral. He didn’t hold enough fervor in his ishgardian body to be above sacking it though. And soon the plunder would be his.

 His finger was immediately greeted by the warm tightening embrace of her insides that only pulsed faster with a fiery life as he curled it at the knuckle. She gasped, throwing her head back at the sensation, snapping her final bits of pride into broken little shards of self.

 “P-please!” Her voice was an echoy ghost of what it normally was, weakened by the dryness at the back of her throat, and the thirst that rested within. He answered her with a knowing smirk and the addition of another of his thin fingers to her core. She nearly threw herself upward off the bed, the dragoons' well trained legs a danger here.

 “Please what?”  He whispered, rubbing his thumb in lazy circles around the bundle of nerves that would drive her mad. She bit at her lip until she feared it might start to bleed. The corpse of pride still trying to save itself like some vain dying god.

 “P-p-lease.” She whispered this time, shaking faintly, using the last of her resolve to still yet comply with his demands. Yet how she wanted to look him in the eyes and plead with their mismatched colors, saving what little pride she had left by silencing her words.

 “Please.” He paused his movements, stilling the constant pulsing action of his fingers. “What?” He asked again, leaning forward and watching now how her entire body twisted against the stillness now. Starved with twitching euphoria just out of reach. His free hand rested upon her hips now, to prevent her from actually manging to reach that, from actually managing to fuck herself upon his hand.

 Though admittedly he would have been impressed, it was he who was growing impatient now. The ever growing strain against his undergarments was a pointed reminder of that. He could see her tremble slightly, bite her lip and fight against her will still. Part of him was proud, that will power of hers was legendary in      all    things it seemed but -

 He released his grip upon her hip and grasped her chin firmly again, drawing their eyes together. Leaving nothing in the air save the loud beating of her heart and the shallow breaths they both mustered.

 “Please...” She whispered again, he met her words with the faint trace of his fingers down her parched lips. “Please, I’m yours just -” The words were almost there, perhaps it he just flexed his hand slightly they would -

 “Stop! Stop Teasing me!” She squirmed, the inside of her growing tight around his two fingers. “Just Please!” She exhaled, her words more a strangled gasp than a proper moan. Tears now edged at the rim of her eyes now, and his smirk faltered. No matter what she managed to stutter out, she was at her limits and he would not push her beyond them.      

 “Take me, Estinien! I-i can stand this no longer!” And this time, she’d admit it too. Good, good. He had been worried for a spell, that she was too proud to admit when something was too much but then again, she hadn’t been earlier under different circumstances.

 He removed his fingers, tips dripping with her essence staining the top covers a deeper color then they started. She exhaled, and then whined for the absence and he couldn’t help but chuckle.

 “Do you want my spear or not?” He raised a brow, she responded with nothing but heavy eyed silence as her body relaxed from the precipice it had been upon. The cliff she had been so close to crossing. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out but a gasp for air.

 He took a step back, unhooking her feet from around him to shimmy out of the one remaining bit of clothing stopping her reward. That which she so nicely asked for, that which they both hungered for in equal measure now as he was sprung free.

 “Are you ready?” He returned to her form, gently running his hands down her warm body as he wrapped her legs back around him. It wasn’t that she wasn’t helping, but her attention was elsewhere now, eyes lingering upon what pressed hard into her thigh, mouth slightly agape in expectation.

 He’d never get tired of that look. Nor of the one he knew awaited them both at the end of this brutal joining.

 She nodded faintly, though, to answer his question as words now were beyond her hazy eyes. He voiced the question again, raising a hand to move some of the hair from her face, and then unwind her hands from above her head. Placing each palm gently upon his shoulder, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the way they relaxed at his touch. Melted upon his skin till they almost became as one.

 She exhaled a shuddering breath as her eyes cleared and but one tear escaped them, one he quickly wiped away. Cradling her cheek in his hand with a reverence he did not even afford the divine. Leaning down, their lips met once again but it lacked any of the ferocity their earlier joinings held. Only pure gentleness, a reassurance to both their souls that they knew their bonds and boundaries.

 And then, still with his lips just hovering above hers, he closed that final gap and connected them. The sign of their joining the arch of her back into his chest and the low groan that left his own lips. Why had he kept her waiting all this? Why had he kept either of them waiting?

 Perhaps it was the sweetness of this exact moment, the jolt of electric sensation through both their bodies that was made more wondrous by the wait. But he could philosophise about this meeting later, when he wasn’t so focused on the shock of his starting pace.

 Slow, but increasing at a speed that could only be described as breakneck. Or perhaps, he would chuckle later, spine shattering. The resounding slap of their bodies together and the creak of the rickety frame holding up the mountain of blankets muffled the thought however, and the low frantic gasps of his name drowned it outright.

 Her fingers lost their way among the tangles of his white hair, grasping at anything to ground herself from the onslaught she had dreamed of. Wrapped in the knots, she inadvertently pulled, snapping his head back and issuing a deep growl from his lips that set her already sensitive nerves alight.

 “Again.” His voice was all rough edges, a husky depth with no end, but she wasn’t about to leave a request like that unanswered. She wrapped a strand around a set of fingers when she could and gave it a firm tug, once more drawing a sharp inhale from her lover and a noticeable increase to his speed. And to think she thought he had reached his peak, she gasped, near yelped in surprise, but she would not complain.

 If anything she’d keep her hands wound right where they were, tugging upon his white wisps he called hair every time he pulled from her even slightly. He grinned, teeth barred in rabid devotion,  though she could not see it, as he buried his face into the crook of her neck. It was his turn to beg.

 “Harder.” He urged her, lips pleading against his pathways along her neck. She gladly complied, grasping a full handful and tugging his head from its hidden perch, eyes heavy and hazy with a new found feral lust that had been hidden for but moments too long.

 What passed through his lips then wasn't the common tongue, of this Voss was sure, but even more sure was she of the meaning behind the strange moaned guttural sounds.

     "Good girl,"  

 Those sounds alone would have left her mewling, but in addition to the punishing pace he had set, one she kept egging on with ever faint tug it set her dangerously close to an edge she knew she'd quickly topple over. Red hot coils building into blinding infernos in her gut, breaths becoming ragged and short and constant, the outline of him, her fellow dragoon nothing but stars. She knew the snap would come soon and she'd be nothing but faintly twitching putty in his hands, at his mercy.

 "Mine. My Girl."  

 Sounds she hadn't expected to be the final push beyond electric oblivion. Panted words of ownership punctuated by frantic thrusts and growls, as he himself was not too far behind. She couldn't tell how far, of course, as her eyes grew blinded by the stars of euphoric absolution that took her senses far and told the world through one final moan of but a single conformation.

 "Yes!"  

 Her mind was alive in sensations, too many for her to comprehend. The press of his body, the erratic pulsing of her core, the blooming bruises upon her skin, the stuttering irregularity of his brutal pace that stalled and near stopped with a low wheeze and whispered echoing of her name as well as a plastering of her inner walls with a material reminder of the joining and its cataclysmic end.

 Perception spun out of control, and as she felt his form near collapse on top of her in one final wheezing flurry of friction, the only sound remaining in the cool room their ragged breaths frantically trying to catch up, and the pounding of their hearts in their ears. Before he crushed her, he rolled across the bed eyes focusing finally upon the crisscrossing beams that made up the ceiling. He didn’t doubt that she could realistically hold the weight of one adult elezen man, but that felt somewhat rude and at least here, he actually cared about that.

 Long moments passed in silence, words and language long beyond either of them. The sky grew brighter as night slowly passed into day. Slowly, as sentience returned to them both, and a dull ache across all of their bodies, Voss crawled close to him. Slinging a leg over his own and nuzzling her face into his side with lazy exhaustion.

 “Love you...” She whispered, shivering faintly as the thin layer of sweat the two of them had acquired during their act cooled them in the Mor Dhona morning chill. He reached far, pulling one of the hundreds of blankets she kept there over the two of them, fighting off the worst of it.

 “I love you too, Dee.” He whispered back, noting that even now her eyes fluttered shut. Soon, he yawned, his would follow and then.

 Well, they could face their morning later.

[wistfulcynic]

For the end of year asks. You’ve answered 10, 8, and 3, so I want 1, 2, 4-7, and 9... don’t shoot me please... 😘

Of course, if you’ve already answered some of the others, you can skip those too...

😲. I’m... not sure that's how you play the game?? But okay, buckle in. 

1. What’s your personal favourite thing you wrote this year?

I’ve written a lot of things I liked this year. Unlike previous years I don’t think there’s anything I don’t feel good about. I think for favourite I’d have to go with ...and held her in my arms, because it turned out pretty much exactly as I envisioned it and I like the intensity of the pining, and The Bend of the Arc, because it was such a stretch for me and I really like the end result. That and the comments on it were just so lovely. 

2. What’s your least favourite thing you wrote this year?

As I said above I’m happy with everything from this year, but I guess the one I'm least happy with is where none intrudes. I kind of feel like my head wasn’t quite in the right place and I wrote it too quickly. It could have been better if I'd taken more time. Ironically, it is my most popular Tumblr post ever. 

4. Which of your fics this year was most successful?

On Tumblr, it was where none intrudes which still continues to get random notes. On AO3 (and I'm discounting Moonlight here because that started last year) it currently stands at Error 404 by a single kudo over the stars through our souls. 

5. Which of your fics do you wish was more successful?

I guess that depends on what successful means? I wouldn’t have minded more people reading A Uniquely Portable Magic because I think it’s some of the best descriptive writing I've ever done, but the ones who did read it gave such amazing feedback I consider it a success. The Fire of the Frost had the worst reception I’ve ever experienced on Tumblr, which I kind of expected because sequels are always less popular than the original and Moonlight was also a dud on Tumblr. But I’m still disappointed, I had thought it would do a bit better than it did. Like I thought it would flop but maybe not leave behind an actual indent in the ground. 

6. What’s your favourite piece of dialogue you wrote this year?

Oof. I’m sure I'm overlooking something, but one scene I really like is this one from The Bend of the Arc. There are a couple of good exchanges in that fic I think but this one is where we really see the connection between them. Putting it below a cut as it’s long!

Emma popped the last bite of soufflé into her mouth and resisted the urge to lick her fingers. Instead she sipped her champagne and looked around for another tray. One passed by bearing what looked like tiny donuts and she almost dove to grab one. Biting into it, she found that it was savoury and filled with a feather-light truffled chicken mousse. She closed her eyes on a moan of delight, and when she opened them again Killian Jones was standing in front of her, watching her with an expression she found deeply objectionable.

“Well, darling, I do hope you’re not here for me this time,” he said.

Emma sneered. “I’m not.”

“Learnt our lesson, have we?” he replied with a smirk.

She ground her teeth. “I’ve simply got bigger fish to hook,” she said.

“Indeed. Considering that I am an entirely innocent man.”

She snorted.

“That infuriates you, doesn’t it,” he observed, smirk deepening. “That I walked free.”

Nearly a year’s worth of frustration and righteous fury bubbled up inside Emma, bursting forth before she could stop it. “It’s not right!” she exclaimed. “It’s not justice!”

“No, it’s just not perfect justice. Though one certainly could argue that a decade spent under the thumb of a madman is more than enough punishment for whatever crimes I committed.”

Something in his voice troubled her, a pained sincerity that niggled at her conscience. She ignored it. “Rationalise it all you like, if it helps you sleep at night,” she retorted.  

“Oh, I have no trouble sleeping,” he said, stepping closer and leaning into her space, hips first. “Though occasionally I do forgo it voluntarily, in favour of more… enjoyable activities.”

“You’re filthy.”  

“I certainly can be,” he purred. “If that’s what you want.”

“I want nothing from you.”

“Well love, we both know that’s not true.”

“Oh do we?”

“We do. You’re something of an open book, you see.”

She rolled her eyes. “I am the opposite of that.”

“You’d like to be. But for those who know how to look, your tells are obvious.”

“Bullshit.”

He shifted, standing straighter and observing her with blue eyes that went, between one blink and the next, from flirtatious to coolly assessing, sharply analytical. She felt a flare of alarm in her chest, and the worrying suspicion that she may have underestimated him.  

“The relaxed posture,” he said. “That’s one. You’re a woman of action, rarely still. If you stop moving you start thinking, and you, Emma Swan, hate nothing more than being in your own head. You’re tense all the time unless you’re pretending not to be, as you are now. Playing the role of carefree society girl, perfectly at home in these glittering surroundings where you are in actual fact deeply uncomfortable.”

She attempted a laugh. “Maybe I’m just having a good time.”

“You’re holding that glass so tightly you’re in danger of snapping the stem, and you’re digging the heel of your shoe into the floor. It takes a lot of effort to maintain that outward calm, which is why you don’t normally bother. You hate artifice, bullshit as you would call it, and your plan tonight is to get in, get your mark and get out. After you’ve eaten your fill of the food, that is.” The corner of his mouth curled into a half-smile. “Do correct me if any of this is wrong.”

“It’s all wrong,” she snapped.  

“Now, love, don’t you start to bullshit.”

Emma’s fingers clenched tighter on the champagne glass and she deliberately forced them to relax. “Why don’t you just leave me alone,” she hissed.

His eyes softened, and heated with an expression that made her belly clench. “Because you intrigue me,” he murmured.  

“Well you disgust me.”

He laughed. “Liar.”

“How dare you—”

He brushed a lock of hair off her shoulder, his fingers close enough that she could feel the heat of them but not their touch, and when he spoke again his voice was rough. “You’ve a delightful pale pink flush all across your skin, your pupils are dilated, your breathing shallow. And your pulse—” His hand glided down her arm and wrapped around her wrist, fingertips pressing gently onto her pulse point. “It’s racing, love. I don’t require any special skills to pick up on these tells.” He caught her gaze, his own heated and intense. “Would it help if I confessed that the attraction is entirely mutual?”

“No!”  

“Pity.”

She tried to pull her arm from his grip but he held fast, leaning closer still to murmur in her ear. “He’s over by the fountain.”

She wouldn’t look, thought Emma. She wouldn’t. She closed her eyes as Killian released her and the heat and intoxicating scent of him moved away. She didn’t want his help, didn’t need it. Resented it. But she couldn’t stop herself from looking and of course there he was. Her mark, standing in front of the fountain at the centre of the room.

“How the hell did you know—” she spun around but Killian was gone.

7. What’s your favourite piece of description or narration?

Unquestionably the beginning of Portable Magic. 

He’s not sure what draws him through the door. The look of it, perhaps, the twisted grain and the knotholes, polished to a patina by centuries of wind and rain and hands upon it. Some hands much like his own and others very different. He finds comfort in that, as he places his hand on the door. His hand.

His only hand.

On the other side of the door is a bookshop. He knew that of course, from the sign in the window, another thing tempting him inside. It’s far too long since he read a good book, too long since he let himself get lost in stories other than his own. He’s not quite ready for what he sees.

The shelves are made of the same wood as the door. Carved from it, it seems. Hewn might be the word. The knobbly, knothole-y wood that even his limited carpentry knowledge tells him could not form straight shelves. It doesn’t, yet they hold the books. Row upon row of them, dizzying rows. His head spins when he tries to look at them, like a kaleidoscope or a funhouse mirror, too many things, too many angles, too little space.

He blinks, and everything is fine again. It’s just a bookstore.

“It’s just a bookstore,” he tells the cat in the window, a huge grey tabby with long, silky fur and pale blue, unblinking eyes.

“Of course it is,” the cat replies. “What were you expecting?”

“I—what?”

“Meow,” says the cat.

...and this paragraph 

He sits at the table and opens the book at the top of the pile, glances into it, and is absorbed. It’s the tale of a lonely man, a wanderer without a home who finds his place in the hearts of those he meets along his travels. It grips him so entirely that he fails to notice Ruby as she sets a pot of tea before him, with a mismatched cup and saucer and a plate bearing a thick slice of cake, fragrant with lemon and dotted with plump blueberries. Absently he prepares his tea—a splash of milk, no sugar—and sips it as he reads. It has a bright, floral aroma but a rich flavour that reminds him of the Earl Grey his brother favoured, and he has to pause for a moment to allow the ache to pass. It does, faster than it once did, and so he risks another sip and sighs this time in pleasure. It’s delicious. He settles deeper into the chair and the book, sips the tea and nibbles the cake and doesn’t notice either one disappearing or the afternoon sunshine fading into twilight beyond the windows until Ruby comes to clear the table with a clatter of silver on porcelain. 

9. If you could go back and change something about one of the fics you wrote this year, what would it be?

I have a difficult relationship with all the perfect things (that I doubt) because part of me loves it and part thinks maybe I should have made some different choices. I guess it’s just that there are so many options for that scenario and I kind of want to write all of them (but also there is NO TIME, so don't get any ideas, woman!). 

-

um, I would say send me an end of year ask, but Krystal has ASKED THEM ALL

[nightingiall]

head in the clouds: part iii

{story page}

“You know,” says Rory through a mouthful of popcorn, picking a stray kernel out of Spike’s fur. “I don’t think it’s healthy for Spike to be this large.” 

She doesn’t remember how exactly Niall Horan convinced her to come to his place to spend some time with Spike, especially after she’s been adamant on wanting nothing to do with this. They’d bumped into each other at, of course, a party, somewhere at the Residences, somehow ending up alone on someone’s balcony. They shared a joint and he said something that made her laugh so hard tears sprang to her eyes. And after he showed her some photos of his very large, stolen, perpetually frowning cat, it wasn’t long until she caved. 

And, now, here she is, two bottles of beer and a whole bowl of popcorn in, curled up into Spike on his couch with some true crime show playing on his television.

“How do you mean?” Niall is three bottles of beer in and is still going quite strong. Rory can’t deny that she’s impressed. 

She runs her fingers through Spike’s fur, smiling at the resulting purr the gesture elicits out of him. “Like, I’m pretty sure it’s not normal for him to be this size. And he drags his paws when he walks sometimes, like it’s a struggle for him.” 

When she looks up at Niall, he’s quirking an eyebrow at her, that stupid grin of his threatening to break through his features, and Rory just knows he’s about to say something that’ll have her rolling her eyes. “Rory Bhatt,” he draws out, and his voice is low and slow as he leans forward to narrow his eyes at her. She tries to ignore the swoop in her tummy at the way his accent lilts through her name, at the way the blue in his eyes appear brighter than she’s ever seen. “Are you fat shaming Spike?” 

She doesn’t know why she does it. Doesn’t even want to do it. But a laugh bubbles out of her so abruptly that Spike moves away from her and starts slithering towards Niall, clearly not appreciating being disrupted as he’s trying to take a nap. “No!” She has to clutch her stomach she’s laughing so hard, and she’d blame the beer but she’s not even drunk. 

Niall joins in regardless, scooping up Spike into his arms as he cradles him. “Did ol’ Rory offend you, Spikey boy?” he coos at him. He leans back into the armchair and the cat curls into his lap, purring contentedly the whole time.

“I’m just saying!” she attempts to continue, swiping at the moisture that’s collected beneath her lashes, and Niall’s full-on grinning at her now. “How many cats do you know have grown to that size? Maybe Dreyfuss wasn’t taking care of him properly.” 

Niall hums, looking at her thoughtfully now. Spike has already made himself comfortable, tail flicking once against Niall’s chest, and Rory has to hold back a laugh at the thought of Spike falling asleep and Niall not being able to move for the next hour or so. “Suppose you have a point,” is what he finally says, looking at Spike fondly. Rory startles for a moment at how tender the moment is, how gently his fingers skim across Spike’s fur, how closely he holds him. It’s a side of him she’s never seen. “But what should we do? We can’t exactly take him to a vet right now.” 

Rory ignores the we in his statement, figuring that she’s in way too deep now to be insisting that she doesn’t want to be a part of this. She wonders where his head is, though. He’s always annoyingly optimistic and preppy, but she also hopes that he understands the gravity of the situation he’s gotten himself into. “Well, what’s your long-term plan for Spike? Are you going to keep him once the summer’s over?” 

“Of course!” Niall gives her a look like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I didn’t rescue him from Dreyfuss for no reason ya know. Just because she’s rich and owns shit or whatever doesn’t mean she gets to treat her pets like shit.” There’s a fire in those blue eyes, lit up into the most electric hue, accent thickened significantly. He’s hypnotizing. Rory can’t tear her eyes away. “He’s mine now. Aren’t ya buddy?” he murmurs, voice all gentle and sweet now, like it always gets when he talks to Spike. “I won’t treat ya like ol’ Dreyfuss did. We’ll get you healthy in no time.” He looks up at Rory, smile intact. “Won’t we?”

Rory finds herself smiling back. For the first time, she feels as though she and Niall Horan might just get along. After all, he’s shown her nothing but kindness. And he may be annoying sometimes, with his loud, obnoxious laugh and terrible jokes, but his positive attributes are among the rare finds at Hightstown, especially with people their age. He’s incredibly attentive, has always been respectful of her boundaries, thoughtful, and overwhelmingly empathetic, even to a fault. Most of all, he has made her laugh in a way she hasn’t in a long time. So maybe, she thinks now, looking into those big blue eyes that always seem to reflect whatever light that gets thrown into them, helping him keep this cat a secret isn’t such a bad idea after all.

“Yeah,” is what she ends up saying, more conviction in her voice than she’s ever heard. “We will.” 

***

This is how it starts. Fiery hot summer days melting into cool, breezy nights. Racing to Niall’s place after their lifeguard shifts, giggling the entire way. Sharing beers and laughs over figuring out the best cat diet and getting Spike to be more active.

This is how it starts, and there are only 42 days of summer left. 

***

Rory is kind of drunk. 

Chester from the kitchen, an older man with kind eyes and a big personality who’s worked at Hightstown for as long as Rory can remember, had given her two bottles of wine that were from an extra shipment that came in by accident. She’d gone there to snag some extra meat and other scraps they could use to make something healthier for Spike to eat and ended up with an interesting tidbit of gossip from one of the assistant chefs. Apparently, Mrs. Dreyfuss was going crazy searching for her missing cat. She’d laughed it off then but quickly detoured to Niall’s place to let him know that he’d have to be more careful now that people may actually be keeping an eye out for a stray wandering around. 

Somehow, that turned into them sharing a few beers, then chasing Spike around the apartment for a while, luring him through the obstacle course Niall built for him before giving him his food and letting him rest. They’d learnt the hard way that Spike got impossibly irritated with them after they made him exercise, so they always give him some alone time afterwards so he can enjoy his food in peace. 

Now, they’re sprawled out on his floor, one bottle of wine already drained by the both of them, stomachs full from the chocolate-peanut butter cupcakes Niall made—another thing she’s learned about him, he’s an excellent baker. Her limbs feel all lax and sated. They’d fully intended only to drink a glass or two each, but the wine went down so smoothly, a burst of sweet tartness on her tongue, and before she knew it, the entire bottle was empty. 

“That was,” Niall slurs, and she can see from her peripheral that he’s rolling onto his side to face her, “the best wine I’ve ever had.” 

She finds herself giggling at his words. Stupidly, inanely, happily. “Agreed.” The ceiling looks as though it’s rippling like waves in an ocean above her, all long, fluid lines, the muted colors of white and brown swirling together. She rolls her head over only to find Niall looking at her already, that stupid grin plastered onto his face. His lips are stained cherry red from the wine, chocolate, brown hair looking incredibly soft as it sticks up in every direction, cheeks tinged a perpetual bubblegum pink, presumably from the alcohol thrumming through his system. It appears that she’s so drunk that she can look at him and only think of sweets. “You look ridiculous by the way,” is what ends up coming out of her mouth, even though she’s gone enough to admit to herself that she thinks anything but. 

Niall laughs at that, a loud, guttural cackle that reverberates off the walls and bounces around the entire apartment. It’s resounding and vibrant and it has the alcohol in her veins feeling like champagne bubbles instead of the velvety wine she actually consumed. She finds herself laughing too.   “What do I look like?” 

She simply stares at him for a moment, lower lips worried between her teeth, and she nearly wonders why she’s unable to formulate words before she’s realizing that she can’t tear her eyes away from that magnificent blue. They’re intoxicating, magnetizing, and if Rory weren’t already drunk she’d think that those eyes alone could get her wasted. She’d never looked close enough before, but there’s a ring of gold, right around his pupils, blending up into a bright, sapphire blue. Brilliant, soulful eyes that somehow sparkle in the light, that somehow look as though they held the entire universe, constellations of stars orbiting around in those deep pools of blue. 

“Rory.” He’s still laughing, waving his hands in front of her face, snapping her out of her thoughts and she blushes, wondering dumbly if he could somehow read her mind, skin tingling in mortification at the idea. “Don’t pass out on me now.” 

She rolls her eyes but giggles at the way he unwittingly hits his hand against the couch. “You look like…” She feels around for her phone so she could snap a photo and show him but she can’t find it anywhere. “Where’s my phone?” She shifts around to sit up and her head immediately starts to spin. She is so drunk. “I’ll just,” she mumbles, spotting the notebook and pen on his coffee table they’d been using to write down a recipe for Spike’s food and grabs it, “I’ll just draw you.”

“Ooohh.” Niall sits up too, limbs flailing around clumsily as he laughs at himself. He accidentally knocks over the empty bottle of wine that had been sitting between them, the action sending them into another fit of giggles. “Draw me like a French girl,” he slurs out through his amusement, grinning wildly at her as he shifts into a ridiculous pose, “or however that saying goes.” 

Rory can’t breathe from the way the laughter escapes her at the way he tries to pout seductively, tears springing to her eyes as she tries and fails to control it. “You’re such a dumbass.” Her fingers find the pen, dragging it across a clean sheet of notebook paper in short, quick strokes. It’s a hasty and slightly sloppy sketch of a boy who seems to have her laughing more than she ever has in her entire life. Of a boy who has a bright smile and a raucous laugh and a big, kind heart. “There,” she declares once she’s done, flipping the book around so he can see her creation, and it’s only when she’s paying attention again that she finds that they’ve unknowingly moved closer to one another. 

“I think I look quite good actually.” He’s still laughing. Rory wonders how he still has oxygen in his lungs left to do that, how he manages to make it take up the entire room. “But I think your hands can make anything look good.” He’s grinning at her but then his eyes go impossibly wide. “Because you’re a good artist!” he quickly clarifies. “Not anything dirty! That sounded like it could be dirty. But I just meant—”

He can’t finish because he’s curled up on the floor again, overtaken by another round of the giggles, and Rory’s sucked right into it, dropping the notebook because she’s laughing so hard. Niall’s all sprawled out, limbs knocking into hers, hand over his chest as a tear rolls down the side of his face, and Rory reaches out to swipe at it. But she’s drunk and is lacking coordination so she accidentally pokes him in the eye, falling into another bout of laughter because of the way he yelps. 

And they laugh and laugh until, somehow, his hands are in hers. Until, somehow, she’s falling into his limbs, warm, gangly legs tangled within hers. Until, somehow, they’re not laughing anymore, just looking at one another, all soft smiles and flushed cheeks, the spiral of the notebook poking into her side. Niall is still working through a giggle, the sound knocking around in his throat as he rubs his eye, leaning onto his elbow as he looks down at her, and it’s happening again, her getting lost in the wonder of his eyes. Until, somehow, he’s saying, “Is this the part where you kiss me?” 

Her eyes widen at him, heart skipping a beat in her chest. “What?”

There’s that grin again, wide and bright and blinding. “Isn’t that what happens in the movie?”

Another laugh threatens to break out of her throat. “What movie?”

“The ‘draw me like a French girl’ movie,” he says simply, shrugging. But he leans closer regardless. 

This time, she actually does laugh again. “Titanic?”

“That was Titanic?” He sounds skeptical, eyes going out of focus as he tries to remember the scene he’s talking about. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Niall, I’m pretty sure.” She rolls her eyes at him again. “And I’m pretty sure you’re getting the quote all wrong.”

He makes a face at her. “That’s not even the point, Rory.” 

She almost rolls her eyes again, a retort already sitting on her tongue. But it disappears when suddenly, her eyes are zeroing in on those wine-stained lips, and all she can think of now is how sugary and delicious they must taste, like the wine they just drank, like California grapes and chocolate-peanut butter cupcakes and whatever else he must taste like. “Your lips look like they taste like all the sweets in the world,” she blurts out, and immediately blushes at the sound of her own voice. 

Niall raises a brow at her, eyeing her a bit coyly as he unconsciously runs his tongue across his lower lip. Rory watches the action in a daze, humiliation at her drunken admission simmering away into a hot ball of desire, melting down her throat and into the pit of her stomach. When he speaks again, his voice is low and deep, a smirk slowly spreading across his face. “Wanna come over here and find out?”

And, god, she does want to lean over and find out. She really, really does. Because he’s so close and he smells clean, like lemongrass and lavender. Because it’s all she’s been thinking about the whole night. Because he’s joking around but is looking at her like he absolutely wouldn’t mind kissing her if she wants it too. 

But she can’t. She can’t let last summer happen again. 

So she forces a chuckle and shoves his face away and slyly says, “In your dreams, Horan.” Niall shoves her back and suddenly she’s actually laughing. “Wanna open the other bottle?” she asks, waggling her eyebrows at him. 

“You know I do.” He winks at her, already getting up to go find it, and Rory only allows herself to watch him go for a moment before following after him. “We should watch Titanic while we’re at it because now I need to know how that scene actually goes.” 

Rory starts laughing at that, wondering if he’s ever actually seen the movie because she figures that any guy would remember a scene where Kate Winslet stripped her clothes off so Leo DiCaprio could sketch her wearing only the fancy necklace that everyone in that movie was obsessed about. When she gets to the kitchen, Spike is still curled up in his food corner, licking at his paw, clearly still mad at them. She frowns at him for a moment, wondering if perhaps they were going about this the wrong way. 

Niall must see her face because he says, “Don’t worry about Spike, he’s just being pissy.” He smiles at her when gets closer, reaching out to playfully nudge at her chin. “I FaceTime’d my cousin who’s a vet and she said that a little exercise won’t hurt and to not let him guilt us into letting him get out of it. Turns out cats are smart little buggers.” 

As if replying to Niall, Spike meows lowly from his corner, and the two of them burst into a fit of giggles again. “Hey, have you seen my phone by the way?” she asks, suddenly remembering its absence earlier. 

He twists the wine opener into the cork, looking around before gesturing behind him. “Is that it on the counter over there?”

Sure enough, when she looks over, there it is. She’s surprised to see how late it’s gotten when she turns it on. The surprise quickly melts away into dread at the notification telling her that she missed four calls from her mother, one voicemail waiting for her. She sighs as she opens it up, forgetting how annoyed her mom always got whenever she didn’t answer the phone. The past few weeks have been good because Rory actually remembered to call her every night. And if she was too tired to call then she’d send a text saying as much. But with radio silence tonight, her mom must have been pissed. 

Rory opens the voicemail and presses the phone to her ear to hear it, but her mom always talks irritatingly low on the phone so she has to turn the volume up and start it over. “Hey, sweetheart,” comes her mom’s voice through the speaker, and to Rory’s surprise, she actually doesn’t sound upset. “Nani came over today and wanted to talk to you, hence the many calls. You’re probably busy but she’s here for the next day or so, so call me back whenever you’re free. Love you, Aurora.” There’s a rustle of movement before she speaks again. “Nani says she loves you too. Talk soon.” 

The message ends and Rory figures that she’ll call back tomorrow when she’s sober and actually has time to talk. So she shoots her mom a text telling her as much, apologizing for good measure. She knows she didn’t get yelled at because her Nani was around. 

“Aurora?” comes Niall’s voice from behind her. When she turns around to face him, he’s looking at her all surprised. She’d forgotten they were standing in the same room before she played the message out loud. “I’m learning so much about you today.” The beginnings of a laugh are threaded into the seams of his voice, and Rory can’t even find it in herself to be annoyed that he now knows her actual name. Harry and Leslie don’t even know, and they’re some of her best friends. He smirks at her, sending her a wink, saying, “Beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” 

Her skin begins to burn at his words, and she’s glad that her hair is down because she knows even her ears are turning bright red. “I don’t go by that name,” she mumbles out, pocketing her phone and moving towards him to grab the now opened wine bottle, pouring a generous amount of the deep red liquid into their glasses.

Niall’s looking at her curiously, but it’s not the judgemental kind that Rory nearly expects from everyone. “Why not?”

She shrugs, but can’t come up with an answer. There isn’t really a big story behind why she prefers to be called Rory. She’s just always thought that it fit her better. “Aurora was always too prim and proper for me I guess.”

At that, Niall laughs, taking his glass and leaning against the kitchen island where they’re standing. “Why, because it’s a Disney princess name?”

She laughs back, leaning against the island as well, flipping her hair back over her shoulder just for something to do. “Well that definitely didn’t help. But, I don’t know.” Her mind searches for a memory of having a bad experience with the name and none comes up. Everyone’s just always called her Rory except for her mom. But that was always because she’d told them to. “I just never felt like an Aurora. I always wanted people to call me Rory.”

When she looks up at him again, his face is softened up around the edges and he’s smiling that fond sort of smile at her that he usually reserves for Spike. Or maybe she’s imagining it. Maybe she’s too drunk. “Well,” he starts, voice a mere whisper in the already quiet kitchen, and it makes her lean in just to hear him. He leans in too, hand coming around to rest on the island ledge beside her, and she’s suddenly thinking about kissing him again. “I think ‘Rory’ is beautiful too.” And the way he says it makes her heart stop, makes her mind go blank as she gets lost in those eyes again, wide open pools of honesty and sweetness and what also looks like affection. But then he clinks his glass against hers and the spell, once again, is broken, and she’s crash landing back to earth. “Cheers,” he murmurs, still smiling at her, still leaning into her space ever so slightly. 

Rory smiles back, but she doesn’t make a move, knows she won’t. Not after last year. Not after falling for a boy who made her feel like she could float up into the sky only to turn around and break her heart. So she simply says, “Cheers” back and they quietly sip their wine before somehow finding their way back to the living room. 

They end up finishing off the second bottle, wine glasses abandoned on the table in favor of passing the bottle itself between them, and getting way too drunk to even get through Titanic, instead sprawling out on the couch, Rory on one end and Niall on the other, sharing stories they’ve accumulated over the course of the summer and laughing their heads off. At one point, Niall nearly falls off the couch and Rory nearly spits wine into his face so, yeah, they’re wasted.

They’re currently dying over an impression by Niall of Mrs. Dreyfuss when she realized Spike went missing, and Rory doesn’t know how she still has the energy or lung power to laugh as hard as she has. She’s wiping streaks of tears from her eyes when Spike finally crawls in next to them, curling up into their tangled feet in the middle of the couch, and both she and Niall start cooing affectionately at him before they realize how stupid they sound and start giggling again. 

“I really love it when you laugh,” Niall says suddenly, and when she looks up at him, he’s leaning his head against the back of the couch and watching her with a soft smile. “You, like, light up.” He makes a gesture with his hands to mimic sparks and Spike makes a sound that, to Rory’s drunken mind, sounds almost like agreement. “This whole summer, all I wanted to do was make you laugh.” 

She doesn’t know what to do except roll her eyes and toss a pillow from the ground at him. Her skin always feels impossibly warm whenever he throws a compliment at her, and she’s starting to think that he’s just doing it to watch her go red. “You’re drunk,” she says, still laughing a bit. 

Niall tosses it right back at her, and it hits her square in the chest. “But it’s true! You and Spike could have been twins with the way you were always frowning.” 

Rory looks at Spike, who is indeed frowning, and she gasps, feigning offense. “That’s so mean!” She throws the pillow at him again, narrowly missing Spike, who watches her almost warily. “But also probably true.” They laugh again, and every time Rory thinks she simply cannot laugh anymore, something happens and it just bubbles right out of her. Once they’ve finally settled down, silence overtaking them for a few moments, Rory slides down to make herself more comfortable on the couch, eyes trained up at the ceiling, which once again looks like fragments in her drunken vision. 

She closes her eyes and just feels the alcohol pumping through her system. Just feels the way she’s light and airy and carefree. Just feels how good it is to be here, laughing away at everything and nothing with Niall, like there isn’t anything else that matters. Just feels how Spike’s warm fur is curled up against one of her legs and Niall’s fingers are tracing circles along her ankle on the other and smiles to herself because it all just feels so right. 

“You know,” she starts, voice slightly slurred but also slow and quiet in the sudden calmness that’s enveloped the living room. “I wasn’t going to come back this summer.” The words flow out of her naturally, and once she starts talking, she realizes that it’s something she should get off her chest, once and for all. “Which is actually crazy now that I think about it because I’ve been working here for as long as I can remember, and everyone here is like family.” She thinks of Gigi and Harry and Leslie and Chester and all the other staff who have basically seen her grow up. Summer would not have been the same without them. It wouldn’t have felt right. “I was afraid...that things would be different. After last summer.” But she stops herself before she says too much. 

Niall is apparently very perceptive though, because he says, “Someone hurt you, didn’t they?” His voice is hushed and gentle, and when she shifts her head to look at him, he’s watching her carefully. 

“Why?” she asks back, feeling wary all of a sudden. “What have you heard?” She feels like she’s been asking him that a lot lately.

He shrugs, looking down at Spike, who seems to have fallen fast asleep. “Nothing. It’s just,” he’s shrugging again, as though attempting to fill up the space between his thoughts and his words, trying to get them right. And when he looks at her, there’s something in his eyes that she recognizes, even though the space is dimly lit, the only light coming from the lamp at the far side of the room. “I see it, sometimes. In the way you carry it, in your shoulders.” At his words, she suddenly realizes how tense she’s become and relaxes into the pillows slightly, but not tearing her eyes away from him. “You get this look sometimes. When someone says something and you want to laugh but then don’t, as if realizing you shouldn’t. Or when we’re at a party or event and you tense up because you start to realize you’re having fun.” 

Rory doesn’t know how Niall Horan has noticed all these things about her. Doesn’t realize all these things about her even existed. But it’s sort of eye-opening. She’s spent this entire summer feeling sorry for herself, feeling insecure over what others might have thought of her after last year, that she’s forgotten how to have fun. Forgotten why she even loves this place. 

“Sorry,” Niall’s suddenly saying, eyes widening as though he regrets the words that just left his mouth. Rory realizes that silence has stretched between them for minutes and she was too lost in her thoughts to notice. “I didn’t mean to cross a line or anything just—”

“No,” she says, and tries to sound reassuring but instead it sounds sluggish and slurred, her tongue heavy in her mouth. “No, you’re right. I—” She sighs, looking up at the ceiling again, hands folded over her tummy. “I guess I just didn’t realize that I became this person that...I didn’t even want to become.” 

Niall gives her a moment to mull over her thoughts before he says, “I don’t think you realize how much of an impact you have on people.” His fingers are tracing random shapes into her ankle now. Rory wonders if he even realizes he’s doing that or if the gesture is just absentminded. “Everyone here loves you.” 

And for once, she allows his words to take on the meaning he intends, allows them to wash over her bones and settle into that Shack boy-sized hole in her heart left from the summer before. She is more than her heartbreak. She can rise from it and move on.

“Thanks, Niall,” she murmurs after a moment, and as she smiles up at the ceiling now, she can feel herself being pulled into sleep, limbs feeling lethargic and heavy from the day’s events and the silky smooth wine buzzing through her. “Tonight was fun. I needed that.” 

She doesn’t have to look at him to know that he’s smiling too. “Good night, Rory.” 

And silence blankets them for a final time that night, wrapping around them snug and warm. Just two people and a cat, all tangled together, slow, deep breaths lulling them into a state of calm until they listen to sleep’s call and drift off to dreamland.

***

“When are you going to tell me about what’s happening between you and Niall Horan?”

Gigi’s waggling her eyebrows at Rory from where she’s sitting at their kitchen table the next day, sipping on a cup of coffee, and it reminds her too much of a similar conversation they had at the beginning of the summer. 

Except this time, a searing heat cascades across her skin, her cheeks prickling with the telltale signs of a blush, and she’s glad to be holding up a book so Gigi can’t see the way her skin is undoubtedly turning red. “Nothing is going on between me and Niall Horan.” 

There are 40 days of summer left, and that feels like the biggest lie Rory’s ever told.

--

tell me what you think! :)

[hoodie-lover]

My Multiverse Ask Event! #4

KikiTheSapphireKitsune - Archive of Our Own - First, Second, Third Megalovaniaintensifies - Archive of Our Own - Fourth KikiTheSapphireKitsune - Archive of Our Own - Fifth, Sixth, Seventh Megalovaniaintensifies - Archive of Our Own - Eighth KikiTheSapphireKitsune - Archive of Our Own - Ninth Megalovaniaintensifies - Archive of Our Own - Tenth, Eleventh KikiTheSapphireKitsune - Archive of Our Own - Twelfth, Thirteenth, Fourteenth Megalovaniaintensifies - Archive of Our Own - Fifteenth, Sixteenth KikiTheSapphireKitsune - Archive of Our Own - Seventeenth, Eighteenth Megalovaniaintensifies - Archive of Our Own - Nineteenth KikiTheSapphireKitsune - Archive of Our Own - Twentieth, Twenty-First Megalovaniaintensifies - Archive of Our Own - Twenty-Second, Twenty-Third, Twenty-Fourth, Twenty-Fifth KikiTheSapphireKitsune - Archive of Our Own - Twenty-Sixth, Twenty-Seventh, Twenty-Eighth, Twenty-Ninth, Thirtieth Megalovaniaintensifies - Archive of Our Own - Thirty-First, Thirty-Second, Thirty-Third KikiTheSapphireKitsune - Archive of Our Own - Thirty-Fourth, Thirty-Fifth Glorious_Smut - Archive of Our Own - Thirty-Sixth KikiTheSapphireKitsune - Archive of Our Own - Thirty-Seventh, Thirty-Eighth, Thirty-Ninth

Error managed to get into the Creator Realm, he brought the gang with him and they were looking for Maxie and her friends. Though that implied the creators wouldn’t find them first, which they did. 

“Hello, hello, hello!” Maxie said, wrapping her arms around Error as he glitched and screamed. 

“LET ME GO!” He screamed, and Maxie let him go with a pout. 

“So, as Kiki said, we will be inhibiting your quest! Trials and tribulations to test how much you have actually grown to see if you actually deserve to know. Also we’re bored and want to mess with you.” Maxie said, and Error facepalmed. 

“So, what do you want us to do?” Nightmare said, growling. 

“Please Nightmare, nowadays your bark is worse than your bite. Anyway, we have a few obstacle courses, some logic puzzles, some PTSD triggers.” Maxie said, smiling evilly. 

“What…?” Cross said, and Maxie raised an eyebrow. 

“What?” Maxie said, and Cross facepalmed. 

“Oh, no no no, I have only written a story about forest rangers. I would never torture Error. I am usually the one hissing in the comments to punish anyone who does hurt Error, I wish the hissing thing was a joke. Nightmare would kill me if I hurt Error, right? Getting killed by my second favorite Sans for hurting my first favorite Sans is not on my list pal.”

“Well, it seems we have a good noodle. Truly a rare find.” Error said, and Cross snickered. 

“One, I’m flattered that you like me. Second, I’m glad you fear me.” Nightmare said, looking around for the voice.

“You won’t see them, from here on out, you’re in a little playground my friends and I made. Good luck.” Maxie said, snicking. 

“Oh dear, guys, watch out the voices are planning to get the askers to mess with your search. They wanna draw this out so take any hints we give with a grain of salt. I'd start by looking at what Error is ẁ̵̡̼e̷̪̿à̸̩r̴̜͗i̸̛̦̗n̶͕̄ǵ̶̲, not many Sans with both a j̷͕͕̈́͂a̸̹̓ċ̵̲k̵̳͈̓̆ȇ̵̟̎ṭ̶̯̈́ ̵̨̺͋a̵̜͝n̵̠͋d̸͙͝ ̷͖̇͊s̵̢̟̑c̷̦̜̐͠a̸̦̘͗̎r̶̪̣͛f̵̰̄̾.”

“I think you guys are being censored. And I think we know who.” Error said, glaring at Maxie as she whistled. 

“So any other possible relationships in the making? come on my gloomy boys feed me gossip!”

“None over on our end. Though Swap!fell has a crush on Blue, and Red is territorial. We’re waiting for the brawl.” Killer said, chuckling at the thought. 

“sanses and the one or two AU papyruses when you try to stop the human at the judgment hall why not stop at the soul room to get near god power”

“Doesn’t matter. They would still beat us. We would have six, and the human has beat the photoshop abomination.” Sans said, and the others nodded. They had come over for a quick hang out.

“Ok my little Horror, aka my third fav, how good a cook are you? Like we talkin Gordon Ramsey of skeletons or what? Also are you aware you are a cute little bean?”

“I love Gordan Ramsey! He’s awesome! He has no qualms about yelling at people for their awful crimes against food. And I am aware, trust me, I know how to use it.” Horror said, winking. 

“May I hug all the dark sanses or would that cross a line? You all deserve all the love the megaverse can give you. I know what it feels like to be trapped, alone, and hurt in so many ways, I know what it is like to feel out of option and angry. You don't deserve that, despite everything you are all wonderful.”

“I’d love a hug!” Cross said and felt the hug, though no presence was seen. 

“Can I have a hug?” Horror asked and was given a hug.

“I’m good.” Killer said, and everyone else nodded. 

“Oh guys there are so many people who have written lyrics for your song megalovania. They can be quite good. I have only ever played the pacifist route myself and can't bring myself to watch an actual playthrough cause I can't watch my beloved monster friends get killed, but it is a catchy song. Have you guys seen any of them yet? Also I think you will like this fan song a lot https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TtCBLvAw4ZY&t=71s”

“What the fuck?” Killer said, nearly everyone had the same reaction.

“I liked it.” Cross said, humming the tune.

“papyrus how does your special attack work like if the annoying dog didn't take it”

“It’s just a blaster. Though it would be much friendlier than Sans’.” Papyrus said with a shrug.

“Can I also hug Blueberry? He is my fourth favorite.”

“Absolutely! I love hugs!” Blue said and felt the hug as he smiled. 

“You voices are weird.” Stretch said, lighting another cigarette.

“No more. That’s your third, I’ll burn the pack if you smoke another.” Blue said and Stretch groaned. 

“flowey if you really think its fun watching human kill everyone why do you beg for mercy if you act like you dont care ps if u wanna murder human kill toriel first.”

“I don’t beg! I was just scared at first and knew I couldn’t break the script! And in case you didn’t hear, I have literally done everything.” Flowey said, rolling his eyes. 

“to annoying dog sorry to papyrus in advance please follow papyrus all day while playing dogsong and steal all his bones  ps im glad ink didn't murder you”

The annoying dog yipped, he was glad he wasn’t murdered too. He kicked his stumpy legs and wagged his tail as he flew off to Papyrus, who had a feeling of foreboding and anxiety.

“YOU STUPID CANINE!” Papyrus declared as he tried to run while missing his femur. The dog smiled as the song echoed through the Underground and the dog smiled an innocent smile. 

“So here is a question to the Sans personality types, why do you lie to your brother about their food? You're not helping them, it would be far kinder to be honest and help them learn to be better. Someday they are likely to meet someone who will not let them down gently and will hurt them.”

“Implying we can. They either run out the door before we can talk or we have to try talking over them.” Sans said.

“Impossible in many AUs, plus, it’s actually good half the time.” Outer said, and Red nodded, glaring at Swapfell as he was ogling Blue from a distance. 

“Dream, what is it like being with your brother again? How is your guys brotherly bond affected by well everything that happened?”

“It’s awesome. We have fun and prank some unsuspecting Sanses every now and then. As people seem to forget for the longest time, we were mistaken for fey. And we didn’t help those accusations.” Dream said, “Though we never hurt anyone. Just harmless things like a pie going missing or flowers vanishing into thin air.” Dream snickered, he was back in the Doodlesphere by this point and reviewing paperwork. 

“Boys how do you feel about Uncle Dreamy?”

“Don’t.” Killer said. 

“No.” Cross said, eyes blank as he shook his head, everyone else was silent as they shook their heads and cringed. 

“frisk how is murdering everyone one fun after all i dont think you enjoy getting repeatedly killed plus since you reset so many times you know everything that happens underground besides there are more things to murder in surface ps you didnt answer if you got to the surface on genocide”

“I like to see the dust fall, them scream in pain, and beg for mercy. It’s cute. And yes, I can murder more things on the surface, but they don’t turn to dust or give the, for lack of a better term, high I need. And I don’t get to the surface, only if I spare everyone do I get there. And before you ask, in neutral runs I’m in a limbo state, have to RESET to leave.” Frisk said, smiling as their eyes glowed red.

“frisk what about napstablook or mad dummy you can't kill either”

“I can kill Glad Dummy, and Napstablook is worthless. I don’t wanna waste my time on them.” Frisk spat, growling as they left the ruins, stepping over Toirel’s dust. 

“You know what is cute? all the baby bones art of you guys. Awww why is every baby sans just so huggable? Ok ok but really baby Error! just picture a tiny baby Error and tell me that shit is not cute.”

“They’re very cute.” Nightmare said.

“But they didn’t show us any.” Killer said and Nightmare froze. 

“Oh.” Error said, and Nightmare turned into a puddle out of shame.

“And payback time, Nightmare, any stories about Dream?”

Springing back to life Nightmare donned a wicked and demonic grin. “Dream didn’t know what a bed was until he was 100. And it took three people to pry him off of it.” Nightmare said. 

“That’s actually sad. How long did you sleep in a tree?” Cross asked and Nightmare whistled. 

“Our whole lives before the apple incident. Up until then we only slept in a bed seven times each.” Nightmare said, and Cross gave him a teary hug.  

“dust how come your a bad guy you were forced to kill everyone your not a bad person if someones a bad person its the human and chara”

“First of all, Chara is only a problem because of Frisk, so they aren’t as guilty as you think. Though they are not innocent. And no one wanted to befriend a killer, sure they like Red, but it’s the culture. And Ink played his cards right so I couldn’t make things worse for him, there’s a reason he didn’t stop Nightmare from helping me.” Dust said, “Same goes for everyone else.” He finished and everyone nodded. 

“Hold on a sec, contacts? How do contacts work with eyelights? I don't understand...”

“Magic.” Error said, and Maxie snickered. 

“So, let’s begin the challenges!” She said and they were separated and thrown into a version of Snowdin.

“Where are we?!” they cried out, looking around but Maxie laughed. 

“Welcome to your first challenge! Can you handle the Star Sanses all by yourself? Only one of you has to win for all of you to proceed, and the battles will be scaled so you are evenly matched.” Maxie’s voice echoed through the area, but she was not seen. 

“Maxie. What are you doing?” Jana asked, accompanied by Beatrice. 

“Having a bit of fun. What are you doing?” Maxie said, smiling innocently. 

“Are you seriously messing with them?” Jana said, shaking her head in disapproval. 

“You didn’t raise any concern when Jack, Zack, and I were talking about our plan. So why are you looking at me like that?” Maxie said, and the two sighed. 

“Because we want to help. But only to an extent.” Jana said, and Maxie was intrigued.

“To what extent I may ask?” Maxie wondered, smiling. 

“If you trigger their PTSD or do anything relating to Ink, we’re out and we will tell them who Error was.” Beatrice said, and Maxie shrugged. 

“Sure. It’s a deal.” She said, holding out her hand as Beatrice shook it. 

“We’re still going to Jack’s for pizza right?” Maxie asked, changing the subject.

“Hell ya. I’m bringing garlic knots.” Beatrice said and Maxie's eyes lit up. 

“Garlic knots!” She held her hands up in joy. 

“Blue most of us saw that Christmas party webcomic already. We know you spiked the eggnog. Why do you always pretend to be so innocent? not that I have much room to talk on that front...”

“I have long admitted to spiking the eggnog at that party. And I haven’t spiked anything since. No one seems to believe me!” Blue said, grumbling as his eyes turned to small broken hearts as tears filled his eyes. 

“Sure.” Stretch said, and Blue glared, some glitches popping up. 

“to sci and alphys is it possible to turn flowey back into asriel.”

“Without 7 human souls, I don’t think we can. We’ve looked into it, just to see if it was possible. He may be ok with staying as Flowey, with the exception of the pacifist run, but others in his situation aren’t. So we looked at his code to see if it was hypothetically possible, and it isn’t.” Sci said, sipping coffee. 

“Yeah, h-honestly, I was h-hoping that we could. I-I regret i-it so much. I-I wanted to see i-if I could help others. B-but this is i-irreversible.” Alphys said, ringing her hands. 

“It broke Toriel and Asgore’s hearts. Though, they would respect Flowey’s wishes if he didn’t want to, he is still a person whose opinions should be listened to. Even if he is a jackass.” Sci said and Alphys nodded. 

“sanses how do you guys stop genocide routes from starting since you said there were very few”

“We don’t. They just stop, and then they start up again. Like wet and dry seasons, only more sporadic.” Classic said.

“Some worlds, like mine, don’t have as many, the way the world works kinda discourages it.” Red said, and Swapfell nodded. 

“frisk what was the strangest interaction you have had with someone in the underground”

“Gaster. He is so mysterious and strange. I wonder what his deal was, but I never can find out. I’ve met his followers and such, but I’ve never heard him speak, and I’m assuming the person I saw was Gaster!” Frisk said, they were somewhere in Snowdin forest, marking down words on their arm. 

☝☜❄ 💧✌☠💧 ❄⚐ ❄✌☹😐 ✌👌⚐🕆❄ 💣🕆☹❄✋✞☜☼💧☜. 

 ❄☟☼☜✌❄☜☠ 🏱✌🏱✡☼🕆💧. 

“so what has been the most dangerous mission the dark sanses have been sent on”

“There was HorrorLustFell.” Nightmare said, “Unaware of what was going to happen, I had Cross deal with it.” 

He was waiting for Maxie to start up her game, and he hoped his boys were doing well.  

“HorrorLustFell.” Cross said, “I took a month-and-a-half break after that to recover.” Cross said, raiding Grillby’s and the shops for armor, supplies, and food.

Everyone gave similar responses.

“Who all is helping with the search? everyone or just the gang?”

“Just us. Everyone knows what we’re doing and they’re willing to help if we need it.” Error said, shrugging as he made himself a swing and began to swing.

“Okay here is one for the classic undertale gang, since they know about the resets and multiverse now. thoughts on this video? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H8hGMFQPBDw”

“Sans, do you want to talk?” Papyrus asked, and Sans was gone.

“I knew he had problems, but if someone can deduce that? Wow.” Toriel said, holding her hand over her mouth. 

“We have several therapists available.” Outer said, “The hard part is getting him to see one. And I know I’m a hypocrite.” Outer said, shrugging. 

“You are correct, space Sans.” Papyrus said, “I just wish he could talk about it.” Papyrus said. 

“I mostly wanna see what paps has to say about his brother hiding his mental health problems.”

“I knew he had issues, but I want him to talk to me, I know it’s hard to talk about your mental health problems, but it’s been five years. Though he has suffered far worse than any of us, if the Dark Sanses are anything.” Papyrus said.

“I’m going to stall Frisk, Toriel, you need to get out of here. Frisk will be getting here soon.” Papyrus said and everyone dashed out of the house.

“Have the sans ever had to have an intervention for any of the other sans, like Blueberries alcohol problem?”

“I have no problem first of all. And secondly, we have had to have interventions.” Blue said, “Black had a drug addiction a while back, and we are trying to get Papy to stop or reduce his smoking habits.” Blue said and Stretch sighed. 

“At least I’m working on it.” Stretch said, and Blue nodded. 

“oh i'm just teasing him, cause I love him.”

“Thank you!” Blue said, smiling. 

“frisk has there ever been a timeline in which the annoying dog didn't take the legendary artifact and if it wasn't taken what does the artifact do”

“I have never gotten the artifact.” Frisk said, Papyrus and Sans coming into view.

“to error how much exp did ink get you?”

“Quite a bit. The number escapes me, but it was in the hundreds.” Error said, swinging. 

“flowey at the end of the pacifist timeline you decide to give up the souls and break barrier once the barrier was broken you could have easily murdered more humans and get to be a goat again so why kill a few for their souls?”

“Timelines never last that long, and when I turn back, it leaves an impact on me that makes it hard to be a jerk for a while. Residual effects of being that whiny crybaby.” Flowey said, “And it wouldn’t change anything.” Flowey said, wilting a bit.

“Fresh, tell me about your furby collection? I miss mine. I had 3, they always said they were hungry last at night when I was falling asleep... it was kinda creepy.”

“I have a version of every Furby ever made. 3 is pathetic yo. Though they are demanding and creepy sometimes, I’ll give ya that brah.” Fresh said, looking around as snow fell around him.

“What are you guys doing to find Error's origin anyway?”

“We were going to ask the creators what they knew, since none of Killer, Dust, or Horror’s code could help us and Error’s code is a mess on account of him being a glitch, then we’d go from there, asking questions and making guesses based on what we knew.” Nightmare said, “For all we know Error could be from one of the many neutral timelines, and that wouldn’t pin anything down at all.” Nightmare said. 

“Blue, how do you hide your glitches? That seems like a very hard thing to explain to people you don't want knowing about the multiverse.”

“Dream made a small illusion charm with Sci and Alt’s help that makes me look normal. It’s also pretty!” Blue said as he held up a golden charm in the shape of a blueberry, it was attached to a gold chain that was hidden by his battle body.

“Have the rest of the Sans seen Error in his glasses? I need to see them all squirm at how cute he is!”

“Only Blue and Classic have seen him in his glasses. Other than us of course.” Killer said, “I helped make the frames, and the way his eyes lit up when he could clearly see for the first time, it was the best feeling in the world. I remember taking care of Pap, it felt like that.” Killer said, and he smiled at the memory. 

“How does Dream feel about being an uncle now? Is he a FUN Uncle?”

“I’m not really considered an uncle per say, but I do try to be fun. And it is fun to say that I am technically the Dark Sanses’ uncle, they have the funniest reactions.” Dream said, laughing.

“Error am I embarrassing you too much?”

“Yes.” Error said, still swinging.

(Tumblr, I need asks from you guys too.)

Next

Previous

[darkpoisonouslove]

“Take You Home”

Summary: Coming back to the penthouse after a social event with the elite of society leaves Griffin and Valtor with some emotions that need to be assorted. After so many years of being deemed unworthy to receive any adequate emotional care, Valtor is happy that Griffin was there for him to teach him how to bring them both back to the comfort of their home and ground them in it. Part 10 of “Sparks of Life”.

I wasn't expecting all the angst in this but there's also a good dose of fluff to compensate for it. Or so I hope. I'd be glad to hear your opinions.

"Home, sweet home," Valtor said as he parked the car in the garage. He was being a bit overdramatic since it'd been just a few hours since they'd left for the charity gala but they'd honestly felt like years. Even with Griffin's warmth at his side and her laughter in his ears. He hated to think about ever going to a social event without her. He had no idea how he'd survived all those years before he'd met her but he knew he couldn't do it now that he'd tasted the respite her company provided even when he couldn't taste her lips in the hall full of people.

"At long last," Griffin huffed as she unbuckled her seatbelt slowly, her movements drained of energy. She hated those gatherings with a burning passion–especially when they were some sort of fundraisers for the "less fortunate" as if luck had anything to do with gaining millions–but she hated the thought of staying home alone while he was at an event on his own so she always came with and he'd be forever grateful for it. And maybe a tad bit smug that she preferred his company over that of a good book even when she had to endure the presence of annoying "high society" members. It was a testament to her love and while he didn't need proof to know how vast that was, he still appreciated it.

"Yes, social events certainly feel like a punishment straight out of hell when the guest list is only made up of boring snobs," Valtor said as he pushed his door open and got out of the car and she followed his example, looking like she wanted to feel the comfort of their home as much as he did. He couldn't wait to get out of his suit and into her embrace. He'd spent all night practically glued to her but with all those eyes on them it'd felt more like he'd been trying to shelter himself inside her being instead of cherishing her simply for the sake of it. He needed to fix that. "Good thing I had some quality company with me," he said as he caught her gaze over the roof of the car while he was locking the vehicle.

Griffin grinned at him. "I'm starting to think you'll never stop getting distracted by me so I suppose you have nothing to worry about there," she said, drawing his attention to the way the mirth radiated from her as if to prove her words when she made him forget everything else for the time being as he walked over to her, never breaking eye contact and Griffin turned to meet him when he came to stand in front of her.

Valtor took her hand in his, content washing over him when she immediately closed her fingers around his. "You are the most beautiful sight both my eyes and my heart have seen," he said, watching her eyes shine like they were made of light as he brought her hand up to his lips to put a kiss on it and just the thought of him being the one who put all of it inside her heart was enough to make him the happiest man in the universe and erase all of his problems. They were all inconsequential when he had her there with him to love and worship and get the same in return from her precious soul. It was a dream she'd made come true when he hadn't even known it existed in his heart and it made her the most special person he'd ever known.

"Sweet talker," Griffin teased lightly after she'd made sure he knew the compliment was met with reverence and welcomed in the core of her being where it would live from now on along with all the rest of those he'd offered her during the years. It was a good thing her soul was so big–endless–that it had enough space to be the home to all of his admiration for her.

"Well, of course it's sweetness that comes out of my mouth when there's nothing else inside of me thanks to you," Valtor said, smiling when she chuckled even when it was in the midst of an eye-roll. He'd deserved that but it was a sweet price to pay for managing to amuse her. Especially after the evening of stiff etiquette they'd had.

"Come on, I want to get rid of these shoes," Griffin said as she pulled on his hand and he let her drag him towards the elevator. "I'm considering throwing them off the balcony and the possibility of hitting an innocent passer-by is the only thing that's stopping me," she confessed.

Valtor understood the impulse to get rid of everything uncomfortable–he himself was dying to finally escape the hold of his tie that had had to remain "properly" tightened around his neck the entire time–but he thought her discomfort could have something to do with the fact that she was mentally exhausted from the whole thing when she hadn't been burning with the desire to be there to begin with. She was used to wearing heels and rarely complained about them so there had to be something else. It almost made him wish that he'd left her home where she could have rested instead of dragging her along with him but he knew she wouldn't have heard a thing of it and it was him who had to relent. Her stubbornness was one of the things that had charmed him anyway.

"That and the fact that it would be a crime to throw them out after how much you paid for them. I've barely worn them," Griffin said as she let go of him to press the button for the elevator and gave him the opportunity to wrap his arm around her waist and pull her closer to him like he'd wanted to the whole time but he hadn't wanted to draw not only the eyes but the whispers to them, too, when he'd known she hadn't been comfortable anyway. She laid her head on his shoulder and sighed contentedly and it made him wish to never leave their private space again when he wouldn't get to feel that whenever they weren't alone.

He would happily grab the shoes and throw them in the nearest incinerator but he knew she hated to be wasteful. She was always so thoughtful and he loved her all the more for it. "Too bad there's no way to drop them on the head of every single one of those clowns we had to stand all evening," he said when he knew that at least would lift her spirits even when it needed to remain just a fantasy.

"Truly a shame," Griffin said quietly but he could hear the smirk in her tone as the mental image was no doubt doing its job of entertaining her just the way he'd intended. There had to be something in the whole ordeal for them, too, and coming up with somewhat violent scenarios of retribution for the scrutiny they'd been put under during the entirety of the gala was sort of a tradition at this point. They would make for one hell of a murder couple despite Griffin's usual kindness and his oath to never become like his mothers who may have gotten away on the charges of murder but he knew they were guilty through and through.

The elevator brought them up to the penthouse and it was still striking how much relief flooded him at the sight of the apartment. There was security in the memories he could see everywhere around him and the place was truly a home when it was imbued with their shared life. There was magic in knowing she was there with him, sharing the space not only of his apartment but of his existence as well and enriching it with her presence, helping him truly live. It was so intimate and at the same time so open when he could just reach out and touch every detail of her life when it was all sheltered there along with his own.

Griffin threw her clutch on the couch and went straight for the shoes, leaning on him as she unclasped the straps that held them to her ankles. She didn't even have to ask for him to hold up her dress so that she could actually reach under the long dark green fabric and get rid of the heels that had tormented her more than enough for one evening.

She dropped them next to the couch as well, carelessly like she almost never did. "Will you unzip me?" she asked as she moved out of his grasp and in front of him when she already knew he would help her with her predicament.

"It will be my pleasure," Valtor said as he instantly reached to free her from the satin that clung to her body beautifully but adamantly like it was ivy that needed her life energy to sustain itself. It almost made him wish he hadn't helped her put it on before they'd headed out even if the color did look spectacular on her. Though, on the other hand, everything did so she could have chosen anything else from her wardrobe and she wouldn't have been any less gorgeous. He would've appreciated it the most if they could have just stayed at home and gotten each other out of their clothes instead of going to a black-tie event.

"I'm afraid pleasure is going to have to take a backseat to sleep," Griffin said just as he was sliding the dress off of her to leave her naked except for the black lace of her underwear. "I am too tired," she said and he understood. The evening had been mentally and emotionally taxing on both of them and he would love to simply curl up with her in bed and fall asleep to the sound of her even breathing. It was the most calm and secure thing in the world and soothed him like nothing else could. "Necklace, please," Griffin reminded after he'd left her dress to drop on the floor and he wasn't doing much more than rubbing her shoulders to help her relax.

"Of course," Valtor agreed–to everything she'd said–and reached to unclasp the golden chain that had the blood red ruby at the end of it suspended between her breasts where the plunging neckline of the dress allowed it to be. It looked like a small version of her brilliant heart and had made him so proud of both their taste – his for buying it and hers for wearing it so appropriately on a night when he needed her support with his predicament as much as the children that the donations would go to.

He let go of the ends of the chain when he felt the weight of the ruby was supported by Griffin's palm. It had her turning to him instantly and slipping the necklace into the pocket of his suit jacket to leave her hands free to work on his tie. He could sigh in relief although she hadn't even started taking it off yet.

"You're breathtaking," he said as he watched her deftly undoing the tie and loosening its hold on his neck. He didn't need her nakedness put in the context of sex to appreciate it. It was enough to know she felt comfortable sharing the sight of herself like that–so natural and exposed–with him. There was trust and intimacy and all of those warm, fuzzy feelings that left his heart full but didn't make him afraid it could explode because they just had it swell and expand until it was big enough to shelter all of them, like an entire universe of happiness right there in his chest.

"I wish that were true in the literal sense so that vulture Hankens would just drop dead the next time he decided to spent the entire time he was talking to you staring at my cleavage," Griffin said, the anger seeping through in her words now that she wasn't grinding her teeth in order to crush it before it could get out like she'd been doing at the gala. "Just because my neckline is so low doesn't mean that he should stare at me like I'm a piece of meat on sale," she said, the words not any louder now but they sure carried a lot more negative energy than before. She hadn't had her chance to express her disdain for the whole ordeal yet and it was finally starting to pour out now that they were at the safety of their own space.

"I'm afraid that nothing will make him take a hint if the fact that I was on your arm the whole time didn't succeed in that," Valtor allowed himself to join her. Frankly, he would prefer to leave the whole dread of the experience right there at the gala but she was still angry and it would be far better for her to let it out rather than bottle it up inside. She'd taught him that and it had worked miracles when he'd finally released all those feelings he'd been stuffing inside himself ever since he'd been little. She'd been there to listen through all of it and help him free himself from all the hurt and rage and he wanted to do the same for her when she needed it.

"I thought that it was me who was on your arm," Griffin teased and he could see in her eyes that her laughter had come out to the surface and would just need her to release it to fill the penthouse. She was still amused by that time he'd let her walk around with him on her arm to shut up the tabloids that had been speculating whether she'd become his "trophy wife". Good. He was glad to know that she still held that memory dear even long after it had done its job of cheering her up after the articles had upset her visibly despite her attempts to hide it. He would have let her parade around with him as her arm candy for the rest of his life if that was what would be necessary to brighten her mood. He was hers and he didn't want anyone to have any doubts about that.

"Please, I was clutching at you so hard I had to put conscious efforts into loosening my grip to make sure I wouldn't bruise you." He'd wanted to pull her out of there and hide her from the world until she told him she wanted to go back outside. The lustful stares she'd received had made it hard for him to contain himself and his violent impulses. If there was anything that could change his mind about bringing her along to these events, it was definitely the ogling that he knew made her nauseous.

Griffin paused right as she undid the buttons of his shirt she'd started on after she was done with the knot of his tie. "I don't know why I hoped that us being married would make any difference when it came to his staring when the fact that his own wife standing right next to him never did," she whispered and he was ready to swear that her voice had that tremble in it that paved the way for tears of helplessness but she pulled his tie off sharply. "I'd feel sorry for her if she hadn't spent the entire gala looking down on me like I'm scum she needs to scrape off the soles of her shoes," Griffin spat out as she bent down to pick up her dress and throw it on the couch along with his tie to deal with them in the morning. The whole event had drained every last bit of her energy, not to mention her restraint when she'd been close to destroying Mrs Hankens simply with words.

She headed towards the bedroom and he was quick to discard his suit jacket–right after he took the necklace out of the pocket–and shirt and follow her. She needed all the support he could give her as she wasn't used to being trampled so blatantly and dispassionately by someone's self-imposed superiority. Nor would she ever get accustomed to it, he knew that. She hadn't already and she wouldn't in the future either. Not with her righteousness and flaming self-respect. And he wouldn't want anything less of her but he knew it just left that acrid taste in her mouth when she had to confront the contempt she was met with by a hypocrite of high social status that didn't even have half of her brains not to mention her kindness yet still acted like they were more than her just because they were born rich.

Griffin was already sitting in front of her vanity and taking out her earrings, her gaze so intense that he would have been scared for his life if it had been directed at him. Currently, her focus was on the earrings and ridding her ears of their weight which he had no reason to object to except that she was putting all the anger she couldn't pour out on those who'd ignited it and deserved to feel its burn towards her own jewelry and he was afraid she'd hurt herself instead.

He left the necklace on the vanity so that his hands would be free to put on her shoulders and help ground her in the relaxed atmosphere their home provided. He didn't need her accumulating even more restless rage and was happy to see his touch was actually helping. It seemed to drain the momentum of the anger and left her muscles slackening under his palms.

Griffin sighed as she let her hands fall away from her ears to leave the earrings on the wooden surface in front of her as she couldn't be bothered to put them back in her jewelry box. It demanded too much energy that she simply didn't have. "I know I don't have her upbringing and decorum but the look she gave me when I actually laughed instead of making that soulless sound that echoes through all of them like a cheap imitation of an original that had never existed made me feel like I was too human," she said, her voice small like he hadn't quite heard it before, even when she'd been met with contempt for her lack of falsity. "It made me feel like I had to be ashamed that I was a living person instead of a robot that had any remote chance of meeting her standards," she admitted and the words were enough to send him on a rampage but he couldn't when he had to take care of her. It was because of him that she was even introduced at those circles and had to go through the hell of the upper class etiquette and the resentful stares she received when she dared be different, when she dared be herself.

"Just ignore her," Valtor said, knowing it was easier said than done when the woman's stare was piercing through you like needles the only purpose of which was to find your weak spots and attack them vehemently. "Nothing we do will ever be good enough for her." Ignoring her was their best bet since they'd never win her approval no matter what. It'd been the same with his mothers when he'd striven to do his best but it had never satisfied them, sending him on a wild goose chase in the name of perfection that was simply unachievable. But he'd only figured that out after he'd realized he was enough for Griffin just as he was, just trying and not necessarily succeeding. It'd made him want to put all of his efforts into being better instead of forcing him to despair when he could never reach the impossibly high standard set for him.

"Don't you mean nothing I ever do?" Griffin asked but there was no malice in the question when her venom had never been directed towards him. She just sounded perplexed by the fact that he'd included himself and it pained him that she'd been so distressed by the woman's behavior that she hadn't even noticed that he was right there with her in her misery.

"I will always be just an undeserving brat picked up from the masses when Belladonna was too cold to even give birth to a child of her own in Hankens' eyes," Valtor said, the words coming out with ease now that he could tangle his hands in Griffin's purple tresses and feel held in her love for him. It hadn't always been like that but he preferred to focus on the softness of the present as he started pulling the pins out of Griffin's hairdo to help her out and pull the enjoyment he knew she got out of having him playing with her hair to replace the negativity suffocating her. "It was always there but she just didn't dare show it when my mothers were around since she was too scared of them. Once they were in jail, though, the resentment instantly surfaced and she's made it more than clear that I will never be worthy of having everything that I do."

It had stung in the beginning, burned even. What little joy he'd gotten of finally being free from his mothers' hold on him had evaporated instantly when it'd become clear that not only she, but no one else thought he was capable of running the company nor did he deserve it when he was forcefully carved into the shape of a proper CEO and hadn't been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. It had sent him overworking himself even more than the habits he'd been abused into had been forcing him to prove himself to people who had deemed him incompetent and unworthy without ever bothering to pay actual attention to any of his work. It had been a doomed mission that had, thankfully, changed when Griffin had entered his life.

She'd always made him feel seen and appreciated and like he didn't need to deserve any of her love because she just wanted to give it to him. It'd finally convinced him of his worth both as a person and as the heir of the business and that was something no one else had bothered to do for him. So her opinion had become the only one that mattered. She was the only one who'd truly made a difference in his life turning it into something beautiful that he cherished every day and as such, she was the only one allowed to influence it. It was as much hers as it was his and no one else's.

"Valtor... " Griffin trailed off when the words would turn right into cries but the tears were still there in her eyes threatening to run free and destroy not just the makeup that she didn't need anymore when they were finally home but also their peace when he knew they were forcefully dragged out of her by the imprint other people had left on his soul. She knew just how much his position as Belladonna's son had cost him and it pained her just as much as it did him to hear someone accusing him of receiving things for free when he'd almost paid with his entire life for his wealth and status. He would have if it hadn't been for her to share her own with him and fill the emptiness that'd been left when all of his joy and happiness and everything that made life worth living had been taken from him.

"Don't cry, Griffin," he said as he ran his hand through her hair that was now free from the hairdo to feel her shiver which left her muscles relaxing once again from the tension that had entered them. "They don't deserve neither your tears, nor mine," he said as he didn't want to see her upset even if she'd been the only one that had cared enough to live through his pain along with him. He didn't want her to suffer when he'd already been through that. He just wanted them to be happy together. "They already took enough from both of us."

He left the hairpins he'd pulled out of her purple strands on the vanity as he tried not to think about all the times she'd been robbed of her peace of mind because of her relations to him and took her hand, immediately relaxing when she clasped it tightly in hers like she wanted to protect it from the possibility of them being pulled apart. She'd chosen to be there with him at every turn of his crazy life that no map could help you navigate and she'd remained at his side to help him steer it out of trouble and towards happiness. She was giving him peace of heart and he knew by the matching golden bands on their fingers that he was doing the same for her. It certainly was a magical knowledge that left him confident in himself and their love and that was the best gift he could ask for. It was the best present to help him make his peace with the past he'd had to live through because of someone else's whims.

"I know what I have, Griffin," he said as he held her gaze in the mirror to lend her some of that confidence she'd given him for safekeeping when she'd known she could trust him with that now that his heart had recovered from the violence it'd been subjected to from everyone, including himself when he'd allowed others to get in his head. "And I know it's mine because I'm the one who can best take care of it," he said, letting his love reach her even when she wasn't facing him. She had all of it wrapped around her as she was the only one who'd earned his heart and the right to wear it as her crown that put her far above anyone else clawing at their feet to reach them with their selfish and cruel intentions. They were in their own heaven and no one else was worthy enough to get so high up and reach them there.

Griffin squeezed his hand. "Just let me remove my makeup and I'll be there with you," she said, her voice quivering slightly when the tears were still present but he could see even through the eye shadow and the mascara that those were happy ones because she was always real and honest with him and allowed him the privilege to see her soul. Something Hankens would never get to witness no matter how closely they observed her body or dissected her behavior. They were simply undeserving of witnessing all that beauty that she gave to the people she cared about and that was him, her friends and her students.

"You're always with me," he said as he let go of her just to make them both even more aware of that as the feeling of their connection wasn't severed even when their skin wasn't touching anymore. It could never be when they lived inside each other's souls, their love for each other tangled together to flow through every obstacle with the force of a flood and to nurture the budding happiness inside them to grow when watered with it.

Griffin smiled at him and he knew he'd taken her home.

[dvlwthn]

“  i  can’t  change  into  a  person  i  don’t  wanna  be  .  ”

Is that JOSEPH MORGAN? No, that’s just JAMES DAVIDSON. They were born on 19/05/1980 and are a WEREWOLF (alpha of the crimson shadow pack) living in Northknot Town. They work as a DETECTIVE AT THE POLICE STATION. Some say they're CONSIDERATE and DILIGENT but I’ve heard others say they're GRUMPY and SECRETIVE. When you think of him, don’t you think of A HAUNTED PAST, BRUISED SOUL BUT CRACKING AT TENDERNESS, MOVING HEAVEN AND HELL TO PROTECT HIS FAMILY?

A E S T H E T I C

cracking  at  tenderness  ,  swimming  in  rage  .  scars  covering  the  mind  ,  body  ,  and  soul  .  an  unstoppable  force  .  moving  heaven  and  hell  for  those  he  cares  about  .  dropping  everything  for  family  .  sleepless  nights  with  the  morning  sunlight  being  the  only  indicator  of  time  .  following  the  moon  .  

Q U O T E S

“  whatever  doesn't  kill  me  . . .  had  better  start  running  .   ”   –  cassandra clare.

“  sometimes  we  are  what  we  are  ,  and  we  should  embrace  that  .   ”   –  lucifer.

“  i  bear  it  so  they  don't  have  to  .   ”   –  clarke griffin.

M U S I C    P L A Y E R

“   keep  your  silver  ,  give  me  that  gold  !  you'll  remember  when  i  say  we  can  be  heroes  everywhere  we  go  .  keeping  us  down  is  impossible  ,  'cause  we're  unstoppable  .  ”   unstoppable by the score.

“  i  am  the  eye  of  the  storm  .  inside  i  am  silent  and  strong  ,  just  waitin'  for  the  right  right  moment  to  strike  .  coiled  like  a  cobra  coming  to  life  .  ”   eye of the storm by watt white.

“  keep  pushin'  even  though  it  hurts  !  i'm  chasing  what  i  know  is  true  .  there's  nothing  that  i  would  not  do  .  when  everyone  around  me  drops  ,  i'm  never  gonna  ever  stop  .  i  won't  waste  another  minute  ,  no  ,  i  won't  .  i'm  a  man  on  a  mission  .  ”   man on a mission by oh the larceny.

P E R S O N A L I T Y  

+ loyal, attentive, and confident 

 - quick-tempered, unforgiving, and cunning

The eldest Davidson has been an inspiration for many, but to him, it’s just him doing what’s right. He refused to let his father ruin him and did his best to just stay true to himself, which is has. Always one to pay attention to everything happening around him, whether to be able to help quickly if need be or to fight if needed. Not much got past him anymore. He was always ready for anything.  Wolves are known for their temper, it’s something he can’t fully control no matter how hard he tries. Throughout the years, he has gotten better, but still, when something sets him off, it sets him ALL THE WAY off. This also adds into his unforgiving nature. He gives out two chances, but once you’ve blown those, he’s completely done with you. Doesn’t matter if you try to make things right, the only way he’d forgive someone is if they did something BIG to deserve it. 

H E A D C A N O N S

001. The Davidson family has always been a well known family of wolves form Kaleb’s bloodline. Even despite them living in Europe, they were known in the states as well. They always had family in Northknot, but James’ immediate family only ever travelled to stay there for a short while before heading back home. However, that all changed after the youngest Davidson child was born and their mother died during childbirth. James was eighteen. * 002. Their father, after losing his wife, changed for the worst. While they all took it hard, their father blamed them... mainly James’ youngest brother since his mother died giving birth to him... James being the oldest made sure that his siblings didn’t have to deal with their fathers wrath. Anytime their father was set off, James would jump in and take the beatings so his siblings didn’t have to. He fought everyday to try to get his sibling to be able to leave with him but was denied cause people refused to believe him. So since they couldn’t leave, he didn’t either. He put up with his father for five years before the man took it too far and almost killed Jude while James wasn’t there. It was rare that James left them alone with their father, but the youngest* wasn’t feeling well and James went out to get something to help. Their father was out so he thought it was okay, especially if he rushed. But he walked in before and saw that the man wasn’t going to stop so James jumped in and the two fought. . . only one survived. It was a fight that was years in the making. The sibling hid the fact that James killed their father... burning the body and getting rid of any evidence. James had already been in the process of trying to become a cop, and none of them wanted to ruin his chances. 003. After becoming a cop, James worked hard to keep doing better until eventually he made detective. He’s helped so many people and loves doing what he does. The pack noticed and eventually when the time came six years ago, they nominated him as Alpha. He was honoured and grateful... James has always been the type to put everyone before himself, so while it was what everyone expected, it still surprised him.  004. He is a single father. Three years ago, a one night stand resulted in the best thing that’s ever happened to him. His daughter, Luna Rose Davidson. Luna because she was his moon, his light in the darkness... Rose after his mother. The mother of his child simply disappeared leaving only a note explain who she was to him and a quick ‘i’m sorry’. He’s a little worried that she’ll come back and try to claim her rights to his daughter, but to him, she gave them up when she left with no explanation as to why. 005. In his free time, which he doesn’t get much of, James likes to draw. It’s something his mother was amazing at and she taught him. They did it together all the time. When she passed away, he did give it up and actually picked up piano. It was again something for his mother... she had always told him how she wished she knew how to play... so he learned for her. Nowadays, these two hobbies keep him busy and relaxed when he has the extra time. 006. With the recent killings, he has been a little more on edge. He worried as a detective, alpha, and a father. James is working hard to try to find something that will help him figure it out and will stop at nothing to keep everyone he cares about safe.

C O N N E C T I O N S

SIBLINGS. James is the oldest of four, first it was him, then Jude, followed by Tabs, and finally his youngest brother. James protected them from their father and raised them on his own. *James was eighteen when their mother died and he took on the role of guardian, so Tabi was eight and Jude was fifteen. Their fourth brother needs to have been somewhere in between seven and one (which would but them anywhere between 29 and 24 [hopefully that’s enough age range to work with])... James is very protective of his siblings. The youngest brother didn’t end up having the wolf gene, but could have been changed into a wolf by someone else or even a vampire...  [ 2 of 3 taken: JUDE. TABITHA. ] 

MOTHER OF HIS CHILD. It was a one night stand that resulted in James having a child left on his door steps nine months later. She disappeared without saying anything to him, just a small note. It didn’t say why she left or if she’d be back... so for the last three years, he’s been raising his daughter [ Luna ] on his own. It doesn’t know what he’d do if this woman came back.

BEST MATE. Everyone needs a best friend and James is no different. They can be from the same pack, or maybe they met from work, or even met when they were younger. I just want someone to be close with him outside of his family. [gender doesn’t matter] 

SOMEONE HE HELPED. Due to him being a detective, he’s helped plenty of people. But this person lost they only family they had, so after solving the crime, James takes it upon himself to check on this person constantly and help them with all sorts of things. BONUS if it happened awhile ago and he’s just been checking on them everyday since they were younger. 

ENEMY. Lets be honest, as an Alpha, he’s bound to have a few enemies. Could be jealousy or a wrong that had been done. . . I’m open for whatever. 

SOMEONE HE GOES TO TO WATCH LUNA. Sometimes he asks his siblings or another pack mate, but THIS person is his usual go-to. Being an alpha and detective, he does end up needing a little help... and he trusts this person. [UPCOMING; JOEL]

[bbreferencearchive]

Viola Bonaldi interviews Bobby BeauSoleil

This is the raw interview Viola Bonaldi did with Bobby BeauSoleil in the summer of 2018. Viola Bonaldi wrote an article incorporating the raw material below for Salmuria.

You can read the English version here: https://salmuria.it/emailing-with-bobby-beausoleil/

… Or if your first language happens to be Italian, read it here: https://salmuria.it/corrispondenza-con-bobby-beausoleil/

How did your passion for art — first music and then visual art — come about? Do you remember a specific moment or an episode that enlightened you? Did the Sixties atmosphere play an important role?

As far as I can tell, I mean, to the best of my recollection, I already had a passion to express myself in creative ways when I was born. According to what my mother told me later, about the time I took my first steps I was playing her pots and pans and making drawings on the walls of the house.

Honestly, I can’t remember a time when I didn’t feel like I had something to say in the arts. I believe this is the case with most if not all artists. For some a passionate desire to express in the arts may lay dormant for a time, and then suddenly something happens that triggers the calling, awakening the latent artist within. In my case it seems that I was born turned on. I didn’t need the social explosion that happened in the 1960s to bring the creative urges out of me, but it did provide a playground for them, and sometimes I found inspiration in the passions of people I encountered during that period.

When you haunted the Sunset Strip in Los Angeles you were known as “Cupid”, the archaic Roman primordial god of love, because of the way girls liked to be around you, a young, vibrant, beautiful, multicolored artist. From that capricious god you eventually turned yourself into “Lucifer”, the “angel of light”, fallen from Paradise as a consequence of his pride. Your life is largely connected to archaic myths, and this is often reflected in your work as an artist, both musically and visually, which is full of esoteric symbolism. Now, more than four decades after your work on Lucifer Rising, who are you? Lucifer, Cupid, or some other “creature”? And how do you explain your interest in the arcane?

Wow! Big questions! Well, first of all, I have never pretended to actually be any “creature”, as you put it, that I’ve been associated with. I am just me, an innately nameless soul. As an artist, I have sometimes used my own physical being as a canvas, willingly adopting personas from mythology that others have seen in me. My parents gave me a name at birth and I have been happy to be that person most of the time. Occasionally I have taken on the personifications of archetypes from myth as a way of allowing them to live for a brief time, and in a limited way, in the world of the mundane. There are, by the way, some common traits between Cupid and Lucifer. Both of these mythological beings are imagined as angelic, both known to have a naughty streak, to be creatively rebellious, and both are associated with love. I can think of far worse things to be known for expressing in the world.

What attracts me to the myths is the wealth of story and allegory that can enrich our larger capacity for understanding. Myths are often used as a tool for deepening cultural identity, and to give a hand up by way of providing context and instruction to those who aspire to higher truths. And mythology is an artform that can inspire new art, and thus myths can be alive and continue to grow and influence. As for other arcane interests, I have found little of any real substance in the so-called “dark arts” or silly practices like devil worship. However, as a mystic seeker I have found that treasures are often hidden in dark places. Following a shadow to its source will invariably lead one to the light.

You write that your works are rarely borne out of direct observations of the natural world, from the perception of real things, but come instead from your own mental reinterpretations and from the world of dreams. Is this a consequence of your limited conditions in terms of the space you live it? What is your process for drawing subjects from your recurrent dreams?

Certainly, there are no beautiful vistas to be seen through the dirty windows of the place where I live. I can see moving images from nature in photographs and films, and sometimes these inspire me to produce a visual interpretation. For the most part, though, I tend to see the beauty of nature as paintings made by God, ever changing in the light of consciousness, awesomely inspired and breathtaking, far beyond the capabilities of any human artist to do them justice. Rather than producing poor imitations of the moving paintings created by God, my natural inclination is to make a few humble additions to God’s creation, as one of the forces of nature.

So, for the most part, I draw inspiration from my unfettered and fertile imagination. You can fly in your dreams, right? What can be seen, imagined or experienced is not limited to what is possible in the physical world in some states of mind. I cultivate some of these states of mind, such as lucid dreaming, as a source for concepts that may be made manifest in the physical world through my arts. This works for visual imagery and for music as well, and even sometimes for written words, like poetry. In the vast territories of dreams especially — both daydreams and the kind that happen during sleep — the mind plays freely, in safety, amorphously creating odd mash-ups, evolving patterns, astonishingly wonderous sounds. Much of my work is an attempt to bring these experiences into the physical realm, or at least to hint at them.

What does a young man think when he is sent to death row? You couldn’t play an instrument or have contact with other people, right?

When I arrived on San Quentin’s death row in 1970 I was a total wreck, broken and shattered, far more devastated than I ever let anyone know during that period. As difficult as it was, in some ways that 26 months I was on death row was a blessing. I needed that time alone to grapple with my conscience, to fully face what I had done head-on, to begin to learn how to think things through and begin the process of accepting responsibility for how I was going to deal with the consequences of my actions and eventually find a way to redeem myself. It was a tall order, one that seemed utterly insurmountable at the time. Think of a complicated picture-puzzle with about a million pieces.

Having a guitar was not allowed on death row, like you say, but I could get a little manual typewriter and a few pencils and sketch paper. Writing and drawing helped me to focus on my inner world and begin the process of putting the pieces of myself back together.          

Where did you learn to create musical instruments? How did you manage to do that in prison?

Finding ways of making new or different kinds of sounds has been a fascination for me since I was a small boy. The first time I built a musical instrument was when I was about 8 years old. It was a contraption I called a “jazz band” — basically a percussion instrument made out of a wooden crate, with a variety of found objects like tin cans, pie plates, glass jars, spoons and whatnot nailed or attached to the crate in some way. I made a lot of noise on that thing, beating on it with sticks. A couple of years later I made an electric guitar — or rather, something that looked like a guitar I had seen in the window of a music store — in the workshop class at my school. It didn’t work, but from that experience I learned a lot about what is needed to make one that would. I have customized, or “hot-rodded”, every guitar I’ve had since, and built a few guitars from scratch.

In the mid-1960s, when I was putting together a band that would become known as The Orkustra, I was faced with the challenge of figuring out how to go about electrically amplifying different kinds of woodwinds and stringed instruments. This was a necessary step in fulfilling my desire to assemble the first electric orchestra. This experience became invaluable ten years later when I took on the Lucifer Rising soundtrack project. After I was given a permission from the warden at the prison to produce recordings for the project I successfully sought an additional permission to build some of the instruments I would need in the prison handicraft shop. I was allowed to build several guitars and keyboard instruments, and to experiment with music electronics and synthesizer design. This led to the invention and development of some instrument innovations.

Things have changed in prisons since then, with most of the prison handicraft programs having been shut down. Though I’m not able to build instruments at present, I still manage to find ways to hot-rod guitars. Fortunately, the technical skills I acquired earlier opened doors to my being in prison jobs that have given me access to advanced tools for producing work in various media, including video and sound design. I have been blessed with some unusual opportunities to employ my abilities in ways that are helpful and beneficial to others. Despite the imprisonment, I count myself fortunate to have had these opportunities, and I am grateful.

How can a human being detained for decades in prison survive in such a place without becoming a “monster”, as you have reflected in some of your writings? Can we say that Lucifer Rising saved you?

Prisons are unnatural places. They are ill-conceived responses to social problems like crime and mental illness — and in the US, anyone who breaks a law, mentally ill or not, is subject to incarceration in the prison system. In practice, imprisonment worsens these types of problems, generally speaking. Imprisonment warps the mind, not only of prisoners but also of the people who are paid to supervise them and keep them locked in.

Fairly early in my incarceration I became aware of the effects being in prison was having on me, and on others around me. By that time, I had already begun to slip into involvement in violent situations. When I saw what was happening I began to take steps to mitigate those negative effects. I resolved that I would never allow the prison environment to define me. Making a personal vow of non-violence that I have maintained to this day was one of those steps. By pouring myself into creative expression as an artist, along with promoting and maintaining healthy relationships with people on the outside, I have been able to gird myself against the insanity around me. It takes continuous effort and resolve, and a lot of vigilance, but it is possible to empower oneself to rise above the snares and pitfalls of prison life and maintain one’s personal integrity.

Yes, you could say that the Lucifer Rising soundtrack project saved me, in a way. It took years to complete the soundtrack compositions and recordings. During that time the project consumed me utterly. And it did so in a positive way. My concept for the Lucifer Rising themes was to musically describe the fallen angel’s desire to redeem himself, tracing his path through the dark passages he would pass through in his journey toward reconciliation and the light. The story, as I decided to interpret it, has certain resonances in my own life, so working on the project was cathartic.

Did you like Charles Manson’s music?

Sometimes I did and sometimes I didn’t. Charlie was a uniquely talented musician, but he had a tendency to be inconsistent in the way he approached musical performance. Much of this had to do with context. Some of his songs were a lot like songs for children, and were obviously meant to be sing-along songs for the people in his commune. Those songs would not have had much appeal to a general audience, and I have seen them used in sensationalist media to ridicule his musical ability. There were songs of Charlie’s that would not stand the tests of time, like much of the music that was made during the sixties, but many of his songs were entirely relevant for that period and some of them had real depth of meaning. The ones I liked best were those that he sang and played spontaneously, in a stream-of-consciousness style, like some rappers of today. As an improvisational player, I particularly enjoyed playing with him on songs he created in this mode. My accompaniment seemed to inspire him and helped to bring out the best qualities in his performances. This type of collaboration formed the basis of my relationship with him, such as it was. Unfortunately, no good recordings have survived.

You appear to have a deeply spiritual conception about purpose in relation to destiny. You have written that every person is born with some special ability or message they are meant to express in the world, a unique hand of cards to play in life. If you had not done “a bad thing” as your Professor Proponderus character said in the animated film you made, and been sent to prison, what do you think your life would have been like? Who would Bobby Beausoleil have become outside of jail? How would he have played his cards?

Taking my cue from the cards metaphor seems like the best place to begin a response to your questions ... The thing is, most human beings are not dealt only one hand of cards in life. Each time one makes a major decision in life, or has a significant accident, Destiny deals the individual a new hand of cards to play. It is impossible to say what my life might have been like had I not made the dire decisions that caused me to be sent to prison.

Some imaginative writers have postulated that each major decision creates a new timestream in a parallel universe. Well, I don’t know if that’s true, and it’s doubtful any of us ever will in our lifetimes, but let’s play along for the sake of giving due respect to what you are asking. Had I played my hand of cards differently in 1969 it’s conceivable that the Bobby Beausoleil of that alternate universe would have become a famous rock star, as I once hoped to be. Just as conceivable, the Bobby Beausoleil of another parallel universe might have wound up in some dark alley, dead of a drug overdose, something I have never had any aspirations to be.

We don’t get to choose beyond playing the cards we are dealt as well as we can in the hope that our decisions will take us to where we want to go. It is when we play our cards willy-nilly, without care, that we may instigate disasters in our lives and the lives of others. That said, I have done my best to play my cards well in the intervening years, and to overcome, to the extent that may be possible, the failings of my past. We shall see what the cards I play now will bring in the future.

Reading the transcript from your last parole hearing one can note that your artistic activity, and publishing communications with people outside of prison via the internet, has sometimes been used against you and your release. But you still do it. Do you do this out of a philosophical sense of duty, or because you feel safer in prison and don’t really want to be released? I mean, it seems like you’re shooting yourself in the foot ...My idea is that it’s only an excuse. It doesn’t matter what you do. For some people you will always be condemned because you have the Manson stigma on you.

Excuses are made by people who shirk the responsibilities they have agreed to accept, and who fail to have the courage to do the right thing and uphold those responsibilities. After long and very careful consideration, I resolved years ago that I would not restrict or limit my life in accordance with the excuses made by other people.

This is not an act of defiance by any means. I carefully follow the rules I am given to follow; none of my art or publishing actually violates any of them. And I assure you, I have no desire to wrap myself up in the dubious security of prison life. I want to get out of prison as much as any imprisoned person ever has. In the end, what it comes down to is that my spiritual obligation to fulfill my purpose in life trumps any of the rationalizations or excuses that may be used to justify keeping me in prison, and all the nonsense related to them.

A soul comes into the world for only a brief time and for the purpose, however slight it may be, to contribute to bringing sentience to the physical universe through expression of a God-given ability. This is called dharma, the purpose in life. Failing to uphold this responsibility is a breach of the sacred covenant a soul makes when coming into the world.

As an artist, it is my role to express creatively and to share the work I produce in such efforts with the world. Perhaps this will serve to uplift another soul, or to inspire someone to make their own dharmic contribution to the human mission. Or maybe it’s of no real value at all. In any case, I feel very strongly that I must remain true to my calling, and to fulfill my sacred obligation as a sentient soul, come what may.

In the years past I fought long and hard to restore myself to integrity. Too great an investment has been made to retreat from what I know I’m here to do, or to otherwise compromise my integrity out of fear of some arbitrary, politically motivated resistance. Clearly, nothing in the work I create is indicative of any violent tendencies. Excuses aside, this is what should be the focus in a parole consideration hearing. At some point I may be fortunate enough to have my case in front of arbiters who recognize that my creative efforts have been the instrument of my rehabilitation, restoring me to a responsible human being, and who will, in consideration of this, support my release from prison.

From your experience, what do you think of the use of social media and the internet?

My direct exposure to the internet has been limited by restrictive prison policies, but studying technological advancements is a hobby of mine. I won’t be left behind like Rip Van Winkle! As a multi-media artist, I am interested in how computers and computer devices like tablets and cell phones can be used to express creatively in new ways. There are artists out there who are doing amazing things with these new technologies!

The internet is a mixed bag, mostly because it is still like the wild west — a work in progress. For the everyday person to have rapid access to so much information is truly marvelous, extremely empowering, but this is only beneficial if the information is accurate. With every person able to have their very own pulpit there is way too much fake news and click-bait gossip poised to ensnare the unwary. I believe this will improve in time as the search engines incorporate better algorithms to snag and tag the suspicious content. On the other hand, there is the wonder of streaming media. I can’t wait to be able to catch up on come of the films and music I’ve been missing!

There is a lot about social media that doesn’t seem very sociable to me. The ability to communicate across vast distances in real time via texting and chatting on Facebook and other social media sites, with pictures and video, makes for an extremely valuable tool. That’s just it: a tool. There is no replacement for real sensory contact between human beings. We are hardwired for touch and direct eye contact. There are reasons why suicides are occurring more frequently in these times; it seems to me that too much reliance on social media platforms is part of the reason for this. It worries me that many young people will sit side-by-side and text to each other instead of looking at one another and talking. And too many people are cocooned in their personal bubbles, insulated from empathic connection to humanity, making derogatory, harsh, even hateful judgements of other people, often only because they are isolated and lonely and need to share their misery. Emojis are cute but they are a poor substitute for communicating real emotions. Humans are complex creatures. We can actually choose to be less anxious and depressed as a species by relying less on virtual socializing.

You took your freedom early, still a child, but soon you lost it. Unlike the stories of most prisoners, however, you affirm that your family situation was very positive when you were a child. Do you remember the happiest episode of your childhood, and the saddest one? Do you recall your childhood home and the scents of that time?

I remember my childhood home vividly, smells and all. Although I tended to be more adventurous than most of the kids I knew, my childhood was pretty average, growing up in a tract house nearly identical to all the other houses in the neighborhood. My happiest times were when I was sent off to stay with my grandmother during the summer, because the world seemed so much bigger in the Los Angeles area where she lived. My happiest memory there was finding an old guitar in my grandmother’s attic. Destiny dealt me a new hand of cards that day! The saddest day of my childhood was, at age 15, going with my family to my grandmother’s funeral. That was the day I left home for good, for some reasons that didn’t actually have anything to do with my grandmother’s death. I loved my family, but the family home was just too small.

Silvio Pellico, an Italian writer and patriot imprisoned for life in 1820, then given a commuted sentence and released after 10 years, stated that, without a doubt, free living is much better than living in prison, yet even in a miserable prison you can enjoy life. What do you think about this?

Prison is generally a pretty miserable place, that’s a fact. Spending my time in a puddle of self-pity has always been an option, just as it is for people on the outside. Choosing that option is what turns a miserable place into a hell. Many people in prison do just that. There is not only misery but a good deal of anger and rage in here as well. I mentioned earlier, I made the decision to not allow prison to define me. As a result, I have managed to do the extraordinary while in prison, and I have inspired some other prisoners to do similar things. While prison is a miserable place, being a miserable prisoner is not a must. Transcendence of misery is always possible no matter how hard it gets.

Your answer to a question no one has ever asked you ...

“Do you wear boxers or briefs under shorts?” No, I don’t.

Describe the room you live in and what your days are like at the prison where you live. What do you do for entertainment. How are you feeling?

My mind is much younger than my body, so naturally I have my share of aches and pains to deal with. To help preserve my health and activity I do hatha yoga on a semi-regular basis. I am also one of the two teachers for the yoga class here. A couple of times a week I play with other musicians here and once in a while we perform together in the prison house band. We have a music class once a week and I help with teaching guitar to students. Even though my spiritual orientation is grounded in the traditions of West Asia, I’m perfectly comfortable playing in the Gospel band in the prison chapel. Also once a week I take my guitar to the Hospice part of the prison hospital, and play music for men who are in the process of dying.

My cell is about the size of a typical bathroom in someone’s home. There’s a door in one end and a window in the other end that lets in daylight; there is a small sink, a toilet, and a large metal locker for storage. I use the top of the locker as my work surface. I’m using it now while typing these words. My bed is the size of a cot, a concrete block with a mat stuffed with jute fiber; of course, it serves also as a seat and a place where I set my art materials when working on a painting or drawing. My guitar shares the space, and I’ve got a small television and a radio. I would say that I live like a monk if my cell were not so cluttered with stuff for work, play, eating and sleeping. I manage to figure out ways to make the space work for me fairly well under the circumstances.

I currently have a job five days a week in the prison library. It takes up a bit too much of my time and sometimes conflicts with things I’m trying to do. But then, most people who have jobs have similar problems.

Much of my time has been going into writing and editing. A couple of books are in the works, one of which is scheduled for publication in 2019. This leaves me little time for reading, though I manage to find some time to read, mostly books on spiritual philosophy, mythology, media technology. But when it comes to words it’s the writing that gets most of the juice. I love good films and some television dramas, if they are done well. I will watch the TV for two or three hours in the evening if there is something on worth my attention. Some of my writing time naturally goes to communicating with family and friends, creative collaborators, and, when I can fit it in, some of the fans of my work as well.

My long-awaited double vinyl LP, Voodoo Shivaya, a concept album I worked on for seven years, recently debuted. The response has been gratifying, quite favorable so far, even though the music does not fit in any of the established categories or genres. So I’m feeling pretty happy that I’ve been able to share this music with the world.

Do you have a suggestion you can give us?

Try to avoid killing anyone, if you can. It is very very difficult to come back from something like that. And if you find yourself faced with a seemingly insurmountable challenge, don’t be too shy to ask for help. The best place to look for help is deep within yourself where you will surely find great resources of strength and courage you may not yet be aware of. And remember, there is always at least one way to play your cards that will allow you to prevail over and ultimately transcend any challenge.

[thekitchensnk]

and the spider lilies bloomed in the fall (chapter 12)

Rating: T Warnings: Violent imagery, murder Pairing: Gin/Ran Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12

“They say that lovers doomed never to see each other again still see the higanbana growing along their path, even to this day.”

A girl collapses on a dusty road one day. A boy takes her home.

The girl lives.

—

(The boy doesn’t.)

In the mountains, the smallest of noises could sometimes trigger avalanches- gargantuan rivers of snow which could crush and drown a man, disorienting him and trapping him so that he could never find his way back to the surface.

In the darkness, he would claw at the ice with his bare, bleeding hands, only to find that he had been digging away from the surface and towards his death the entire time. Once the first movements of compacted snow started down the mountain, it would accelerate, tumbling at first and then rolling faster and faster until disaster was all but inexorable.

Golden hair caked with dirt.

A hand offering a dried persimmon to a starving girl.

A fox’s wedding, a needle drawing blood and a ring made out of tin.

A bride’s bouquet made up of scarlet spider lilies,

A crying woman; a dying man.

---

(A grave in a garden.)

---

There were fewer people in town these days, she noticed. People spoke of runaways and -in far quieter voices- the disappeared. The pawnshop keeper’s daughter. The grocery shop owner. When people looked at each other, it was with suspicion in their eyes. No one lingered in the streets long anymore, especially after dark, not even the shivering whores and the swaggering gangsters. Deep down in their guts, everyone had reached the same conclusion.

There was something out there in the darkness, and it was preying on them, on the poor and the lonely and the downtrodden.

Town was quiet, these days.

Sometimes the only way you could tell that a single soul lived here was the footprints left in the snow.

She kept her eyes down, and she shivered. 

---

There were days when she barely saw him from dawn till dusk, days when he barely said a word to her.

The cold wind whistled through the gaps in their small wooden shack. When they went to bed, he would turn his back to her. Despite the cold, he would not touch her, no matter how much his teeth chattered and his bones ached.

There were scant centimeters between them, but they gaped like an abyss as they lay beside each other, dwelling uneasily on their own, private troubles. But he said nothing, and as such, nor did she, suffocating with her old unease that to say anything at all would only be to drive him further away.

For the first time in a long time, she felt lonely.

The nightmares and crying fits she had once suffered, and which they had once banished together, returned with a vengeance. It was a rare night that she did not wake struggling to breath.

Only then would he cross the chasm that lay between them, snaking an arm around her to pull her close, breathing in the scent of her hair. He would tremble as much as she did, and more often than not, his tenderness, so absent in the frosty light of day, would only make her cry harder.

He was always awake already when the night terrors hit. He lay awake, staring at the ceiling, because sleep would not come.

---

It was not a spur of the moment decision to leave.

He had been steeling himself to do it for weeks before he actually did, had been making small preparations in a thousand different ways to ease the process. He had been distancing himself in the hope that it would numb the pain enough to act and give him the mental clarity to do what was necessary, and slowly, slowly, it seemed to work.

He stoked the fury in his heart, the injustices committed against her, the sordid rummaging of her soul and the yukata pushed up above her waist. He recalled the ring of the slap to her face and the airy weight of her body as he carried her back home, the mottled bruises, the golden hair.

He stoked these images until they burnt like blue flame, until they hardened and condensed like black steel.

He would hold her through tears, and the anger would shield him from the distraction of caring too much, of caring too hard.

In the cold steel of his rage, he could bear her sadness, he could cast aside his own pain, he could focus.

Aizen.

That was all that mattered.

Kill Aizen; take  back what was stolen.

Her nightmares would end, and there would be no more tears. They would be together again, he knew, and everything would be alright.

He would suffer, but if it was in her name, then it couldn’t be so bad.

To see her smile again... Was there anything more worthwhile in the world?

 ---

The world presented him with a golden opportunity to leave when the winter was reaching its pale zenith. He left that very same day.

He had been out wandering miles from home, out in the pine forests which skirted the mountains on the far side of town. Snow had lain thick on the ground, and his feet were numb and near frozen with the effort of walking through it. He had been there in order to collect his thoughts and to practice using his powers far from Rangiku’s prying, hurt-filled eyes. She had been quiet that morning, and he had felt her eyes on his back for long minutes after he’d left. His heart had been heavy, but his feet had carried him down the road quickly regardless.  She had not asked him not to go.

There was something eerie about the sight of him, silver hair, white yukata and pale, skinny limbs in the snow, devoid of colour and stark against the black pines. Bursts of scarlet light would flicker from between his hands, and his shadow would play about devilishly against the frozen trees.

The snow, crisp and porous, muffled the sound of his footfall. It tumbled and swirled above him, and the sky, iron gray, towered chasmally above him.

It was as he was gently shaping the reiatsu in his hands that he heard footsteps behind him. His heart stopped for a moment. The very snow which hushed his own movements did the same for others, and so he had noticed that he wasn’t alone until his new companion was only a few feet away. Fortunately for him, the pines were large and overgrown, and so he had not been noticed.

He peered through the branches, and what he saw then made his heart flutter.

He knew that face, and a kind of desperate, bubbling delight rose in him when he saw it.

It was the face of a man soon to be dead. A shinigami.

It was not the man who had sunk his sleezy hands into Rangiku’s chest and stolen her light, but it was one who had watched on idly and done nothing. And for that crime, Gin decided, he was going to die.

He allowed his features to go blank. He had not been noticed, and now he had the pleasure of deciding how that man would pay. And he would pay, because Ichimaru Gin had never before had the delight of killing with righteous fury.

He arranged his features into a familiar grin, and stepped out between the trees.

“Mister, ya’ shouldn’t be out in the forest alone. Don’t ya’ know that people have been goin’ missin’?

The shinigami swore loudly to have the silence broken so unexpectedly.

“Shit! Kid, you almost scared me to death!” he cursed. “Didn’t see you over there for a moment.” He paused and looked at him with open, trusting eyes.  The fool. “Is your family close by? We’re a long way aways from the nearest town.”

“Ain’t got no family,” Gin said honestly, “’cept one, but she’s a long way off.” He wasn’t sure that Rangiku fit neatly into the category of “family”, but she was the most important thing he had, and the man would be dead soon, so he figured a small lie wouldn’t hurt.

The shinigami let him approach, curious that he should be in the forest. “What are you doing here then?” he asked.

Gin paused, and mulled the question over. 

“Hunting,” he said with a large white smile.

That was not a lie.

“Are ya’ a shinigami?”

The man’s chest puffed out with pride. “I am. I’m part of Captain Hirako’s Fifth Division, and my team is overseen by Vice-Captain Aizen himself.”

Gin filed the information away for later reference. He hadn’t the slightest clue what any of it meant, but he was sure that it would be important later.

“Wo-o-o-w,” he said and he drew out the syllables, his grin widening. “Ya’ must be super important then. Who knew that we had someone so important sitting in our little ol’ forest?”

If anything, the shinigami preened further. Gin took it as further confirmation that the man was soft in the head. “The Vice-Captain trusts me with essential work,” the man confessed. Gin was disgusted to hear his voice catch slightly with emotion. “I’m a great help to his research efforts.”

Gin’s eyes narrowed. “I bet ya’ are. What are those, I wonder?”

The man gave him a pitying look. “You seem like a smart kid, but be real kiddo- the Vice-Captain’s research is a bit complicated for a child to understand. Maybe one day, kiddo, eh? Eh?” The man smiled at him.

“Oh, sure, stupid kid. That’s right. Yep, yep,” Gin said with a dismissive wave of his hand. He paused a beat. “I’m just curious as to why he has thugs kidnappin’ innocent townsfolk throughout the district and disintegratin’ them into thin air, s’all. What’s the gem? What is he makin’?”

The man froze, and turned on him. “What?” he hissed through his teeth.

Gin gave him a smile and made a sympathetic noise. “Ya’ really are dumb as a bag o’ bricks, aren’t ya’? Ya’ heard me.”

“How-“ the man began to ask, but he had barely gotten the word out when Gin interrupted him.

“Matsumoto Rangiku,” he said. His eyes flashed dangerously. “What did you take from her?”

“Who-?” the man started helplessly.

Fury boiled within him, and the air became thick and heavy with the killing intent which hammered down around him.

“Matsumoto Rangiku,” he gritted out venomously. “Ya’ cretins stuck ya’ hands inside her chest, ya’ stole somethin’ from her, and ya’ left her in the dirt to die and ya’ spat on her body, and ya’ don’t even know her name.” He paused, and a kind of heartbreaking confusion came over him. “Ya’ don’t even know her name...”

The man quailed before the strange, pale child who thrummed with anger.

“I- I- I-“ he babbled. “I was just following the Vice-Captain’s orders. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m sorry kiddo, but I don’t know who that is.”

A sudden sweet calmness came across Gin’s features then, and his smile was beatific.

“Huh,” he said. “Well that’s a-okay then. I’m sure ya’ precious Vice-Captain will love to hear about this,” he said sweetly. “Off ya’ pop now. I’ll let ya’ go,” he made a shoo-ing motion with his hands. “Go on. Go.”

The man stared and staggered to his feet. He proceeded through the trees with a lumbering gait, casting a wild-eyed glance behind him every few seconds.

He was half a mile through the woods, still looking over his shoulder, when Gin whispered in his ear.

“Of course,” his saccharine voice bled through the falling snow, “ya’ never did give Ran-chan this chance, did ya’?” He paused, and an exaggerated, considered look crossed his bloodless features. “Thinkin’ about it, that don’t seem fair.”

And he lunged forward and plunged his knife straight through the man’s stomach.

The shinigami cried out as he fell to the ground.

“Not fair at all.”

He had to give the knife a hard lug to extract it, and as he did so, blood sprayed across the snow in an arc of scarlet.

“Ya’ didn’t even know her name...” He dropped to his haunches so that he could look the man in the eyes as he died.

“Nearly got that on my yukata there, Shinigami-san! It would dreadfully be hard to wash out of white. Ya’ should be more careful where ya’ bleed! Not all of us have people ta’ do the washin’ up for us, ya’ know? Not like ya’s over in Seireitei.”  Gin paused for a moment, and smiled a sick smile.  “Though actually… Thinkin’ about it…” he mused, looking down at the man, “Maybe black is more my colour.”

His grin was empty and cold as he whispered in the dying man’s ear again. “Ya’ should be glad that Rangiku is a kind, sweet soul,” he informed the man in a cold whisper. “When a baby bird fell out of its nest, she insisted that we look after it. She gave a whore with no spiritual power food that she could have eaten herself, despite the fact that she’s almost starved before. If I didn’t have the thought of her to stop my hand, ya’d have suffered far longer. Ya’ should be thankin’ that girl ya’ assaulted and spat on. Don’t think ya’ll be forgettin’ her now.”

He grabbed the man’s neck and slit right across; his hot blood steamed where it hit the snow. He managed to avoid the worst of it. Only a single drop hit him, right on the cheek, and it trickled down to his neck. Blood on the snow; blood on his skin.

With a grim face, he stood up to his full height, and began to strip the corpse. He eyed the knife tears with disgust. The clothes were still warm.

It was time.

---

“Gin! Where have you been?”

The sky had darkened considerably in the time he had been away, and fat, full snowflakes filled the air. To have seen him so soon, she must have sat with the door open and the freezing air blowing, as she had so long ago, on the day that he’d been cornered in town and forced to use his powers. Her expression fell and she hesitated when she saw his new black shihakusho. “Those’re shinigami clothes… Where’d you get something like that…?”

He could not look at her and he walked on unflinchingly. The snow dimmed all noise and muffled her words. The cold was biting. If he looked back, he was lost.

“I’ve made up my mind,” he said, eyes trained towards the horizon. The words were distant; they rose out of him as if from another person, as if they echoed from a place a million miles way. They were as smooth and blank as bone. “I’m goin’ ta’ become a shinigami.”

Behind him, out of sight but so painfully, painfully close, her eyes widened in fear. But he did not see. One look at her tearful eyes and he would be lost. He would be back at her side and weeping like a child.

“I’m goin’ ta’ become a shinigami and change things for ya’.”

He swallowed, a lump forming in his throat, but he did not falter. He did not pause. He kept walking, walking, leaving her behind.

Softly, so softly that she always doubted afterwards that he had ever said it at all, he murmured: “I’m goin’ ta’ make it so you don’t have to cry anymore, Rangiku.”

Her eyes shone with unshed tears. They stung her eyes in the freezing cold and lashing winter snows. But though her eyes stung, she barely felt it. She barely felt the bite of the cold at her feet, the sting of her fingers turning blue.

Those small pains, those menial, everyday pains were tiny; they had no space to grow and flourish, not when the pain of heartbreak was crashing down upon her like an avalanche.

“Gin!” she cried. "Gin! Why?”

He did not listen. 

He did not reply. 

He moved onward, his black robes billowing out eerily amidst the swirling white.

Her mouth moved, but there was no sound. She gripped at her yukata childishly. The tears were on her cheeks now. Don’t leave me.

She stood alone, lost and forlorn in the middle of the road as his back faded into the distance. Don’t leave.

He did not look back.

---

And just like that, he was gone.

[theharellan]

misconception: that solas doesn't form meaningful bonds during his time in the inquisition other than with a romanced inquisitor

send me meta this is actually a different meme but shush | accepting

i’ll be talking about this until the day i die, but solas makes plenty of meaningful relationships beyond not only the romanced inquisitor, but the inquisitor, period.

game mechanics overly emphasise the relationship between any canon companion and the play character, so i sort of understand where this misconception comes from. their arcs are decided, in part, by their relationship to the player and so it would be really invalidating if, say, you has negative solas approval but he still made it clear that he had accepted the reality of the world around him b/c of his friendship with the iron bull, for example. it’s one of the ways the developers make sure their choices matter.

luckily, this is an rp blog, so i can say that an inquisitor can treat solas like absolute shit and he’ll still make ties in the world and realise how fuckin wrong he was, as he well should.

i’m on a tangent and i haven’t even rly started answering this yet, so here we go:

a befriended inquisitor is just as important to solas as a romanced inquisitor. just as important to his development, to his epiphanies, etc. much of the dialogue goes unchanged regardless of if a relationship is platonic or romantic. even if he doesn’t have romantic feelings for the inquisitor, he still feels the whole world change upon meeting them. he still compares them to the ancient wisdoms he’s known in a pre-veil world. i’ve seen jokes that say the lines have romantic overtones, but really i think solas is just the sort of person to form highly emotional friendships. falon’din and dirthamen are implied not to be brothers, but “twin souls,” something that myself and other a-spec ppl have likened to queer platonic partners. while those two have undoubtedly sullied the term for anyone who opposes them, what i’m trying to demonstrate is that solas comes from a society that doesn’t find close platonic friendships odd.

but like i said, this goes beyond the inquisitor.

the fandom vastly understates his relationship with cole most of all. often he’s depicted as one of his fathers, which i can appreciate as a joke, but i feel like it undercuts how important that relationship is– for both of them.

cole goes to solas first when he’s experiencing trouble after adamant, not the inquisitor. not even if they’re a mage. b/c he knows he can trust solas to not use him. solas involves himself in cole’s well-being potentially even if he loathes the inquisitor and everything they are, something he didn’t do for wisdom’s sake, but is willing to for cole. and regardless of the option chosen, solas continues to support him and ask after him:

Solas: How do you feel, Cole? Are you…Cole: I am me. I cannot be bound, broken. I will help the hurt and kill the killers.Solas: I see. I… let me know if I can help.

solas offers affirmation and support for cole, talking him down from what seems to be a panic attack at one point:

Cole: It’s brighter here. Glittering. Glaring. Glinting. I can’t…Solas: It’s a mild tremor in the Veil. Nothing to worry about. Focus on what is here, in this world.Cole: But… what is here?Solas: Feel the ground, the breath in your lungs, fabric rustling against your skin.Cole: (Breathes.) Thank you.Solas: It’s nothing. It can be overwhelming for anyone.

and when cole tries to fix what’s fundamentally broken in solas, solas doesn’t spurn him. this isn’t to say characters who do react with venom when cole oversteps bounds are wrong, cole being able to see in heads doesn’t mean he has the right to speak their pain aloud, but i think it demonstrates the patience solas has for cole being who he is. it has the potential to go down a path that solas doesn’t quite… get. assuming the trespasser line “he didn’t want a body, but she asked him to come” is referring to solas, solas is someone who desperately doesn’t want to have a physical body and is probably afraid of cole having the same regrets as he does.

their relationship also goes both ways. cole offers him support throughout the game, understanding solas in ways that others can’t. not necessarily through any fault of theirs, but being able to key into solas’s emotions goes a long way. and then you get to trespasser, where cole is the one person to speak fondly of solas and the only one to approve if you say you have to save him from the vidasala. imo if we go by game canon solas is closest to cole, even closer than a befriended or romanced inquisitor. since this is an rp blog, that obviously varies, but as it stands no one understands solas like cole and no one understands cole like solas. a cole who becomes more human is likely to become alien to him in some respects, but from canon banter it’s clear that solas is willing to try. this was a very long winded way of saying solas loves cole.

beyond cole, it’s hard to argue solas forms emotionally intimate relationships with others in the inquisition. that being said i also don’t think they have to be emotionally intimate to be meaningful.

it’s, like, 100% canon that he hangs out with people outside of when we drag him places. blackwall has banter that implies they talk regularly, at least enough for blackwall to conclude that solas “knows all there is to know about everything” and even ignoring that they canonically play diamondback together. in banter they swap their experiences at war, although given they’re both hiding something they’re both being vague about it. still, solas clearly comes to regard him highly enough that he’s mad about the revelations of blackwall’s personal quest. a combination of solas having more in common with him than he hoped, and that for all solas has done wrong “killing civilians for fun and profit” wasn’t one of them. and solas seems to have come to respect him enough to apologise, backing out of his initial reaction to accept that thom had taken a step to becoming someone better.

josephine also references speaking to him, despite them never speaking on-screen which was a crime. she says “he has the most fascinating stories” and in ambient dialogue with her agents references occurrences where they seem to speak to nobility together. again, i wouldn’t say they had a deep bond, but i think they developed a rapport.

as for people i do think solas was genuinely friends with, there’s cassandra, varric, and iron bull. unlike the former two there isn’t really a reference to them hanging out outside of banter, but given their relationship i at least like to imagine they spend some time together.

varric and solas clearly spend time together before you meet them in-game, for one. long enough that varric thought of a nickname, though whether “chuckles” was decided on right there or earlier it’s hard to say. the two have actually a pretty funny rapport going, varric being one of the people to bring out solas’s sense of humour without much difficulty. and when they’re not joking around, they have interesting conversations. i’ve actually been wanting to rewrite the balcony scene with thora, my dwarf inquisitor, and solas to incorporate the fact that varric– who makes his living writing– doesn’t match his narrow view of what dwarves should be. it’s just one way the game steers solas in such a way that he isn’t allowed to grow unless the inquisitor gives him permission to, similar to how his view of the qun will flip-flop depending on if he’s talking to iron bull or a friendly qunari inquisitor, but i digress.

with varric, cassandra, and bull alike he demonstrates that he’s more capable of changing his mind than people give him credit for, i think. he admits he might have been mistaken in his interpretation of the dream of a man living his days alone on an island.

cassandra and solas’ relationship started out very hostile from the sound of it, but the hostility is worked out before the inquisitor wakes up, so much attention isn’t drawn to it. solas says he gave up his staff, and while i don’t think he was ever technically a prisoner, i also don’t think he would’ve been allowed to up and leave after that point. he references that she threatened his life if he didn’t get results, and yet in banter he’s complimentary towards her, most notably her ability to surrender the chance for power when she feels she is unfit for the role and that she’s capable of changing her mind. idk, i think their relationship demonstrates the best of both characters– cassandra’s ability to be less hard-line than she is around the likes of varric’s, solas’s ability to respect people with differences of opinions to him, both of their abilities to change their minds about the other.

heck, there’s even the option for some emotional intimacy. cassandra offers her condolences about wisdom, solas comforts her when her faith is shaken, providing hope when she realises her power did not come from the maker as she was taught. he’s also at his misotheist finest in this conversation:

Solas: You seem troubled, Seeker. Still plagued by thoughts of your order?Cassandra: I… am reminded of what I was told following my vigil. They said my abilities were a gift from the Maker, a reward for my faith and dedication. But it was a trick, wasn’t it? A ritual no different that the Harrowing, simply magic…Solas: Do you know how rare spirits of faith are? How difficult it is to draw them to this world? You should be proud, having accomplished something so remarkable, not ashamed it was not what you thought.Cassandra: Thank you, Solas. That… does make me feel better.Solas: Your faith does you credit, Cassandra. I hope your Maker is worthy.

he’s well-aware that cassandra is resolute and uncorrupt, capable of fixing what went wrong with the seekers (even if he is cynical about the inevitable degradation of any organisation). i really don’t know how you read their dialogue and think solas didn’t deeply connect with her in ways that shaped him regardless of his relationship with the inquisitor.

now iron bull is someone whose relationship with solas varies wildly depending on the inquisitor’s choices, and another character whose choice is undercut by the realities of a choice-based narrative. if the chargers are sacrificed they’re under no circumstances friendly, ableit solas seems to pity him in that case. otherwise, solas engages with bull in a way other characters don’t. but to be fair to them, i think solas understands better than any other party member what it’s like to lose your culture and home to help the people you love. through their conversations before his pq– which often got very heated, possibly the angriest solas gets in banter– solas listened and learned and kind of sussed out what bull’s fears were, what was keeping him in the qun. and like, i also think solas has a lot of experience knowing what ppl who are trying to pry themselves out of a toxic religion are also dealing with? what i’m getting at is iron bull imo reminds solas of the elves who fought the evanuris, people who had doubts about the societies they were raised in and broke from it, but still carried the damage it did to them. and he takes steps to reassure bull that “madness” isn’t something he ought to fear, b/c he isn’t a mindless beast but an incredibly intelligent person, capable of playing chess without a board. something that takes considerable practise and was for centuries considered a miracle in our world. there are issues with how solas approaches it, his understanding of the qun is flawed and imperfect, but he literally offers himself as a means of support when bull expresses fear that he’ll “go savage”:

Solas: You have the Inquisition, you have the Inquisitor… and you have me.

and after that i have a hard time imagining that they would never hang out more casually. solas would never be as close to bull as the chargers by any means, and you may not even consider them friends, but again their banter really reflects a significant relationship that would effect him without the inquisitor’s input. assuming they save the chargers, anyway. personally, i consider them friends

i just hit 2000 words and i’m starting to see why i let this sit in my drafts for like a year, so i’ll try to wrap it up. there are other characters i think have an effect on solas despite their relationship having its ups and downs. sera, namely, someone he seems to respect and resent simultaneously, grudgingly admitting he envies her at one point. their relationship is one of the most frustrating in the game but also my favourite due to how similar they are when you get down to it, sera i think on some level reminds him of when he was young, hence why he tries to give her advice. in another world, given time, i think they could’ve been friends, albeit friends who sometimes drive one another up the wall. much of what they say in-game reflects itself– solas talking about organisations degrading, in time, sera saying if you chop off the head of a government another will show up and muck up all the work you did to overthrow the first. they’re both artists, elves who feel disconnected from others of their kind. we don’t get enough of their positive interactions for me to claim they’re friends in-game w/ a straight face. rp wise, however, it’s been one of my favourite things to write, as they navigate a strange not-hostile relationship. also i just adore sera as a character, i wish there wasn’t such a divide between solas and sera fans b/c they both parallel and contrast w/ one another really well.

for one final note i do want to talk about specifically my solas interpretation, the relationships i either hc he’s built or he’s built through roleplay. my solas had a part to play in the rebuilding of skyhold alongside freed circle mages, teaching them practical magic they were denied learning in the circle and becoming something of a role model (god help them) for the more radical mages. solas served with the inquisition for a year in canon, three years in my canon. once he works past the haze of how wrong the veiled world feels i can’t believe solas, who constantly tells the histories of people– real people– whose stories he felt were important enough to remember and retell, even seemingly insignificant ones about baking bread or seeing sunlight for the first time, would connect with precisely none of the people around him on a personal level. not when we see his ability to do just that in-game, even with people without a mark on their hand.

tl;dr give solas friends. remember your inquisitor is not the be-all and end-all of his life and that he’s had 1000s of years to forge relationships with people who have just as much as an impact on him, and his time with the inquisition is no different. i don’t doubt all of us have hcs about how the companions have changed our inquisitor’s life, for better or worse, so i can’t see why it’d be any different for the companions. solas included