#my entire gallery is the new chapter now

[evilkaeya]

Some Chuuya expressions from this chapter

[punkshort]

Swept Away | Chapter 7: Making Waves

Pairing: sugardaddy!Joel Miller x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Joel receives some exciting news, meanwhile you're having one of the worst nights of your life.

Chapter Warnings: language, sugar daddy/baby dynamics, alcohol and food consumption, jealousy, sexual tension, flirting, physical violence against reader (not Joel), verbal abuse towards reader, blood/bruising related to an injury, feral Joel came to play, anxiety, insecurities, possessive behavior, smut (18+ MDNI), unprotected piv sex

WC: 10K (yikes)

Series Masterlist

Everything was the same it always was, but somehow also different.

Admittedly, the morning following the art gallery you awoke terrified Joel would ice you out again. You stayed in bed as long as you could, texting Celine just to avoid the inevitable heartbreak, but much to your surprise you heard a knock on your door around ten in the morning.

"Hey," Joel peeked his head into your room and you dropped your phone to your mattress. "You okay? You don't usually sleep this late."

"Yeah," you replied, voice still thick with sleep so you cleared your throat. "Just, uh, taking it easy and..." you trailed off and dropped your gaze to the floor.

"Avoidin' me?"

Your eyes snapped up just to find him leaning against your doorframe with his arms crossed and a teasing smirk on his face.

"Maybe," you whispered, plucking nervously at your comforter. He pushed off the wall and walked over to your side of the bed, then reached out to tame some of the hair around your ear.

"Gonna give me a taste and take it away, that it?"

Your cheeks felt hot and the butterflies in your stomach stirred to life, but you managed to shake your head and hold his gaze. "N-no. I just thought you might've regretted it again."

He sighed and he stopped playing with your hair so he could cup your cheek. "I never regretted it," he told you softly, then leaned down to press a tender kiss against your lips. "Not then and not now," he added before pulling away, leaving you breathless. "Now c'mon, your breakfast is gettin' cold," he said when he turned to walk out of your room.

And that was all that was ever said on the subject.

Now, a handful of days later, everything was business as usual. You still slept in your separate rooms and you went to restaurants together but the air around you was different. It felt charged whenever you were together. A lingering glance here, a gentle touch there reminded you something had definitely changed. Something that went unlabeled and unspoken and you didn't dare try. As much as you wished to take things further and try to get Joel to open up more, you refrained because you could sense he was growing impatient with Glenn and you didn't want to sour his mood even more.

He was running out of time and Joel told you he needed to step things up. So far, Glenn had avoided talking much business and spent most of the time just getting to know everyone better. Joel never pushed him. He saw how Glenn reacted when Zachary or Harry tried to bring up business and it wasn't good, so he bided his time and waited. But now he was feeling the pressure.

"Can't just spend an entire fuckin' month here for nothin'," he grumbled one afternoon as he paced around the hotel. You watched him from your spot on the sofa, still clad in your bikini from spending time by the pool that morning.

You chewed your lip nervously, his anxious energy transferring to you. "How important is it that you win?"

His eyes flickered over to yours and scoffed. "Real fuckin' important. If I get this spot, The Parador would become a household name. The revenue stream from this spot alone would be higher than all my other hotels combined. It would open up a whole new world of opportunities for my business."

Joel rolled his shoulder like he was trying to work out a tight muscle and you pursed your lips. Maybe you just hadn't given it much thought, but it sounded like a much bigger deal than you originally imagined.

"It's about exclusivity," Joel continued, "there's only so much space on this island. Only the best of the best build here, and the world fuckin' knows it. It's why they want to travel to this particular island - they want to experience a level of comfort and luxury they've never known before in the most beautiful place in the world."

"Well, did he say when he was going to make a decision?"

"Said by the end of the trip but no one's even had a chance to give 'em their sales pitch yet," he said, raking his fingers through his hair.

"Maybe he doesn't need the sales pitch," you said, picking up your phone. He stopped pacing and eyed you up.

"What'dya mean?"

You let your phone hang limply in your hand and you looked back up at him.

"Well, he knows what you're all about. He knows what kind of hotels all of you run and how successful you are. He doesn't care what your vision is or what will make your hotel different. But what he does care about is this island."

Joel frowned and slowly sunk into the couch opposite you.

"What else?"

Your lips turned downward and shrugged. "He cares about this island and its people. He wants to make sure the person he picks for this land will respect it and the people who live here. I mean, think about it. Guy could live anywhere but he built a huge mansion right here. His kids live here. His daughter is dedicating her career to helping local artists find success. He loves it here, Joel. He just wants someone who will love it back."

He stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable until he abruptly stood and in two long strides, closed the distance between you. He grabbed the sides of your head and pulled you up for a deep kiss, the suddenness of it stopping you from responding right away. Just when your brain caught up and your lips began to massage his, he pulled away with a huge smile.

"You're so fuckin' smart, y'know that? Jesus Christ, why didn't I see that?"

You grinned, trying to hide the pleased look on your face by shaking your head and turning away.

"What can I say? I have my moments," you shrugged when you sat back down on the couch. "Guess you got more than you bargained for with me," you added with a laugh.

"Oh, I knew that already," Joel said with a wink. Your cheeks warmed and you looked down at your phone with a stupid smile stretched across your face. It was moments like those when you heard the voice inside your head scream at you to ask the obvious question: what did you mean to him?

He kissed you like you were his girlfriend, but he never invited you into his bedroom. He had said he wanted more, but had yet to try. Was he waiting for you to make a move? You had been practically throwing yourself at him for the past week, there was no way you were going to do that again.

Joel had dialed someone who worked for him, completely oblivious to the confusion swirling around in your head. Instead, he was excitedly conveying the breakthrough you had about Glenn to the man on the other end and began to talk strategy. Already feeling bored, you decided to get up and go take a shower so you were ready for dinner, but as you were walking back towards your bedroom, you heard Joel say quietly into his phone, "No, I didn't even think of it. My girl did."

My girl.

Oh, you could get used to that.

"Aren't you bored as hell when Joel runs off to hang with the guys?" Zoe asked over dinner. Ironically, you had picked the same restaurant as Lynne and Tammy, who also invited Ian, for dinner. You didn't know Ian very well but from the look of it, he seemed to be caught in the middle. He tossed a few glances your way and gave you each friendly smiles, but Lynne and Tammy ignored you completely. However, based on their body language, you had a strong feeling they were most definitely talking about the two of you.

"Sometimes," you admitted. You shot the waiter a smile when he placed two drinks on the table. You each quickly grabbed them, clinking your glasses together before taking a long sip.

"Well, only one more week and then you'll have him all to yourself again, lucky girl," she said with a flirty wink. You thought you responded but you couldn't be sure because she had unexpectedly knocked you sideways. One more week? Christ, where did the time go? And what would happen between you and Joel when you got back home? Would he really just pay you and disappear from your life forever? The thought made you sick to your stomach and you had to put your drink down.

"You okay?" Zoe asked, furrowing her brows. "You look a little queasy."

"No, I'm fine," you said quickly, waving her off. "Just hungry."

"Sure you're not pregnant?" she teased. You laughed and pointed to your drink.

"Would be a little irresponsible of me, wouldn't it?"

You were so grateful for Zoe. She was a safe place when you were feeling lonely or insecure and it made you sad you wouldn't be able to keep in touch once the trip was over. How could you? If you did, she would eventually figure out you were hired, just like she was, to accompany Joel to the island.

Maybe it was the two devastating reality checks in a row but you had a hard time snapping out of your funk. You tried, you really did, but you couldn't stop thinking about losing Joel and Zoe so soon. It didn't help matters when she got a text from Zachary telling her the night with Glenn on his boat was going long and not to bother staying up.

She sighed with relief and flicked her hair over her shoulder before glancing around the dining room, murmuring to you about how she could use a night off while you just stared down at your phone, waiting for a similar text from Joel.

Nothing.

My girl.

You took a deep breath, trying to tamp down the insecurity, but it was hard. It was so fucking hard. Why was it always so difficult with Joel? Why did it always feel like whenever you took one step forward, you take two steps back? Did he even like you? You thought he did, but maybe you were wrong. Maybe he was just treating you like a sugar baby this whole time and you stupidly thought -

Your phone buzzed on the table and when you saw Joel's name pop up, relief instantly swept through you and all your nagging self-doubt faded away.

Going to be late, sweetheart. I'm sorry but I got a good feeling - finally getting somewhere with Glenn

You smiled, despite not being able to see him the rest of the night, he thought enough to text you and he called you sweetheart.

Right when you were about to reply, he texted you again.

I'll make it up to you ;)

You must have looked flustered because Zoe cleared her throat and quirked an eyebrow at you when you finally tore your eyes away from your phone.

"Do you have something to share with the class?"

You shook your head and tried to hide your smile behind your hand but failed. Still, Zoe peered curiously across the table and read Joel's last text upside down. She gave you a jealous pout and sat back in her chair.

"Not fair. You're so lucky," she sighed. "I think once Zachary and I are done, I'm going to quit."

"What?!" you quietly exclaimed. She nodded and shrugged.

"I'm done with it. It was fun, I got to travel a lot, have nice things and meet cool people but I need to think about my future, you know? And there's, like, a zero percent fucking chance I'll meet the love of my life being a sugar baby."

You nodded, struggling to figure out what to do with a sharp pang in your chest. Was it so impossible to think anything serious could come from a relationship with a sugar daddy? Luckily, Zoe continued.

"I look at you guys and I'm just reminded of what I could have, y'know? All I want is a guy who looks at me the way Joel looks at you."

Jesus Christ, Zoe was shaking you up and she didn't even know it.

"H-how does he look at me?"

Zoe rolled her eyes at you before saying, "C'mon, you know. He can't keep his eyes off you. He's so fucking into you, it's sick."

You laughed at that, a sharp little bark of disbelief, but then quickly corrected yourself. You had to change the subject, your emotions were splintering and you were desperate to talk about something lighter, but before you did, you sent Joel a text.

Can't wait ;)

Shoving your phone back into your purse, you turned your attention back to Zoe, frowning when you saw the sour look on her face as she finished her drink.

"What?"

She leaned across the table and lowered her voice. "Don't turn around but Trevor and Brooks are at the bar."

Your stomach twisted into knots and you took another drink, grateful to see your food arriving if just for the distraction alone.

"Wonder why they aren't on the boat with everyone else," you mumbled before stabbing a piece of pasta with your fork.

"I heard Brooks didn't want to go and Glenn sent Trevor to keep an eye on him," Zoe told you mischievously.

"How the hell do you hear all this gossip?" you asked after you wiped the shocked look off your face. Zoe giggled and swallowed a bite of her salmon.

"I get bored, I eavesdrop."

"Damn, either Joel doesn't hear this stuff or he doesn't care because the only phone calls I hear from him are work calls," you said before offering her a bite of your dish. She eagerly accepted and gave you some salmon in return. "Wonder why Glenn thought Brooks needed a babysitter," you said after another moment.

Zoe put her fork down and gave you a look that told you she knew way more than she should, so you mimicked her and set your fork down as well to give her your full attention.

"I don't think Glenn and Mary trust Brooks to carry on the business once he retires," Zoe said, glancing once over your shoulder at the bar. "I don't know why but that night at Glenn's house, I went to the bathroom and overheard Mary telling Brooks this is your last chance, or something like that."

You raised your eyebrows in surprise and slowly leaned back in your seat. So it wasn't just you who thought something was off about him. Then Joel's comment about drug use slipped back into your brain and you were about to tell her but you decided to bite your tongue at the last minute. You trusted Zoe, but you didn't want to betray Joel. So instead, you kept your mouth shut and played dumb.

"That's... crazy," you said, fumbling for words. It didn't seem to bother Zoe because she just nodded and picked up her fork.

"I know, right? Kind of humbling to know Glenn and Mary don't have the perfect little family we all thought."

When the waiter approached, you assumed he was coming to check on your food, but instead he held in his hand a bottle of champagne. "From Mr. Miller with his sincerest apologies," the waiter had said, making you blush when Zoe gave you an incredulous look. As sweet as it was, you really hoped that's not what he meant by 'making it up to you'. After the champagne was poured and the waiter left, placing the bottle on ice first, she pretended to stab your arm with her fork.

"What the hell, girl? Maybe I need to get a front desk job for some billionaire so I can find my own Joel."

You giggled and took a sip from your glass, the bubbles popping on your tongue. It could have been a three hundred dollar bottle of champagne or a ten dollar bottle, it didn't matter to you. The mere fact Joel figured out where you went for dinner and sent something over was astounding to you and you prayed you were reading the signals right.

"I should thank him," you said, pulling your phone back out to send him a quick text.

You didn't need to do that, but thank you :)

In less than a minute, you got your reply.

No need to thank me, baby - enjoy and I'll see you tomorrow

"Looks like your man's little gift caught someone's eye," Zoe said with a grin. You followed her gaze to Tammy and Lynne's table, catching the nasty look they were sending your way before they turned around and you giggled into your palm.

"She's still pissed with me because I almost pulled all her hair out at the art gallery the other night."

Zoe's eyes went wide and her jaw dropped. "Excuse me?!"

You laughed and stood up from the table, dropping your napkin on your chair before grabbing your purse. "I'll tell you all about it after I use the restroom."

She made a pained squeak, disgruntled you were leaving her hanging, but you just grinned and stepped away.

"You better be quick!" she shouted after you. Fuck, you were really going to miss hanging out with her.

Despite the looming conclusion to your trip, you were feeling pretty good. At least, in that moment, things felt like they were going well with Joel and you were having a nice time at dinner, even though Tammy had just been staring daggers at you.

The one thing you somehow managed to forget about was Brooks, who unfortunately exited the men's bathroom just as you were searching for the women's room.

"Well, look who it is," Brooks said when he spotted you. You tried to give him a polite smile but you weren't sure you succeeded.

"Oh, hi," was all you said when you tried to squeeze past him. Right as you passed, his hand shot out to grab your arm and you swiveled around.

"You ladies having a nice time?" he asked with a toothy smile. His dark eyes bored into you and if you looked close enough, you could see his pupils were like pinpricks. Then his hand casually swiped against his nostrils and you figured out what he had just been doing in the bathroom.

"Yeah, thanks. This place is nice," you said, taking a subtle step backwards before hooking your thumb over your shoulder. "Excuse me," you added, and before he could say anything else you turned on your heel and headed for the women's room a few feet away, relaxing once you heard the door swing closed behind you.

After you used the bathroom and washed your hands, you were fixing your hair and makeup in the mirror, your thoughts back on Joel, mind wandering to what exactly he meant by I'll make it up to you later when the door flung open. You hardly had a chance to process what was happening until Brooks locked the door and turned on you, sending a hot jolt of fear through your entire body.

"Listen, I'm gonna be straight up with you," he said, pinching the tip of his nose. His eyes looked a little red in the bright lighting of the bathroom and you could see beads of sweat collecting at his temples. You tried to create more room but your back was already pressed against the sink: you had nowhere to go.

"I know what your deal is," he told you, his hands fidgeting at his sides. "I know you're only into that old fuck for his money but I can promise you, I'm about to have double what he's got."

You blinked slowly, struggling to keep your breathing even. Your entire body was rigid, muscles tense and straining under your skin, and your heart was pounding so loudly, you could feel it in your ears. How could he possibly know?

"W-what?" you stammered. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Brooks's arm darted up from his side to grip the back of your hair too roughly, making you cry out in surprise and grab onto his forearm.

"C'mon, don't play games with me. I know a gold digger when I see one. And that's perfectly fucking fine. I don't care! Mad respect. What I'm trying to tell you is I could give you so much more than him," Brooks told you, taking a step closer so his hips pinned you against the sink. You whimpered and tugged at his wrist but he wouldn't budge. "I got more money and live in fucking paradise, baby," he said, trying to sound seductive as he leaned forward and tugged your earlobe between his teeth, making you recoil in disgust.

"Get off me!" you shouted, shoving him backwards as hard as you could. It worked. He let go of the back of your head when he stumbled away, but unfortunately it only served to piss him off.

"Are you fucking serious?" he seethed, expression turning stormy as he closed the distance between you and grabbed the back of your neck so suddenly, you were too stunned to react. "Do you even realize what I'm offering you, here?"

"I don't care," you said, scratching frantically at the back of his hand, body writhing as you tried to escape. Your engagement ring caught on his skin, tearing it and making him hiss. "I don't want anything to do with you! Get the fuck away from me!" You tried to push him again but he was ready for it that time. He grabbed your wrists with one big hand and yanked your head backwards so your back was arched over the sink. Your eyes filled with tears as you squirmed and tried to wiggle out of his grasp to no avail.

"Dumb bitch," he snarled. "You could have someone younger with more money. Thousands of women would jump at this chance but you're too fucking stupid, huh?"

Amidst the tears, anger ripped through you and without even thinking twice, you twisted around in his grasp to sink your teeth into his hand. Brooks inhaled sharply and cursed under his breath, dropping your wrists but keeping a firm hold on the back of your neck. You shoved at him again, over and over, trying your hardest to loosen his grip so you could make a run for it, but you just weren't strong enough. And maybe it was the drugs coursing through his veins or his ego took too big of a hit, but you didn't anticipate what happened next:

He let you go.

At first, you thought someone had stepped in, but when your panicked eyes darted around the room, you found you were still alone. The sudden freedom made you hesitate and it probably wouldn't have made a difference anyway, but later you would wonder if maybe you had reacted faster, it would have saved you alot of hurt and pain.

"Stop fucking shoving me, I'm trying to change your miserable little life," he growled, lunging forward to push your chest with all his might. His strength sent you flying backwards but you managed to catch yourself before you hit the back of your head on the porcelain of the sink. As a result, you twisted around and smacked your mouth on the edge of the vanity. Pain instantly bloomed under your lips and you feebly cupped your mouth, whimpering in agony as blood began to trickle through your fingers.

"Look what you did!" Brooks roared, and by now you could hear Trevor's voice in the hallway. Tears streamed down your cheeks, mixing with the blood and dripping onto the white tile floor. You sobbed into your hands and tried to hide under the sink because at that point, you had no idea what he was capable of doing.

You had squeezed your eyes shut and braced for the impact of a fist or a foot but thankfully, none came. Had you the courage to open your eyes, you would have seen him come to the sobering realization of what he just did when he saw your blood on the floor. He swiped his hand anxiously over his mouth, eyes darting around the room while you cowered in fear, and slowly backed away towards the door.

"Brooks! Open the goddamn door!" Trevor's voice came from the hallway, his tone quiet to avoid any attention but still laced with anger. He did as his brother asked, shakily undoing the lock and brushing past him, and Trevor glanced into the room before the door shut. His eyes widened and his jaw fell open when he saw the state you were in and rushed inside.

"Oh, fuck, I'm so sorry," he murmured, crouching down next to you. "What can I do? T-tell me what to do!"

"Get ... Zoe," you choked out between sobs. He nodded and backed away slowly, still unable to believe what he was seeing before he rushed down the hallway.

Zoe sprung into action the moment she saw you in the bathroom and you had never felt so grateful for anyone in your life. She got you out of there before anyone could see and ushered you quickly into the waiting car by the curb. It wouldn't be until later that you discovered it was Trevor who ordered the car on standby while Zoe was doing her best to clean you up before getting you out of there. She must have been rattled because her hands were shaking but you never would have known it by the way she spoke and took control.

By the time you got back to the hotel, the sun had set and the lobby was relatively empty. You kept your tear soaked face tilted towards the floor with a napkin pressed against your mouth to stem the bleeding as Zoe led you to the elevators. Once you were in the safety and privacy of your room, you released a haggard sob that was a mix of relief and frustration.

"Let's get you to the bathroom," she said, taking you by the shoulders after kicking both your shoes off in the foyer.

While you were having a decidedly terrible fucking evening, Joel had been having the exact opposite experience on Glenn's boat. Somewhere tucked inside your purse, which was abandoned on the dining room table next to a handful of bloody tissues, your phone lit up with a text from Joel:

Heading back now - hope you're still up bc Glenn pulled me aside 10 min ago and told me he's giving me the fucking land! We gotta celebrate baby

It was late. You never answered his text so he assumed you were in bed, but fuck... maybe he should wake you up.

He got the fucking land.

Glenn didn't announce it yet, but he planned to soon. Joel finally felt like he could relax and maybe enjoy what little time you had left together. He tried not to think too hard about that last part and just focused on the present, like following through with his promise to you.

As he swiped his card through the reader, he smirked to himself, thinking of all the ways he could make things up to you, then froze when he walked into the foyer and saw an unfamiliar pair of high heels by the door. His gaze traveled up and saw all the lights were still on.

That was unusual.

He took a few tentative steps inside, expecting to maybe see you and Zoe by the pool or in the living room, but he was wrong. And it was way too quiet.

He called out your name as he ventured further into the room and then two things happened at once: right as Zoe emerged from the bathroom with a shaken look on her face, Joel saw the pile of bloody tissues next to your purse on the table.

Something was wrong.

His eyes darted up to Zoe's and she held up her hands, palms out, before shakily saying, "There was an accident-"

"Where is she?" he asked. He could feel his throat closing up and his chest beginning to squeeze tight. Fuck, it was hard to breathe.

"She's okay, but she's got a busted lip and -"

Joel tore past Zoe in the blink of an eye, noticing the light on underneath your closed bathroom door. He knocked urgently, saying, "It's me, open up," but you didn't answer. He could feel the anxiety taking hold and flooding his veins with adrenaline. His hands trembled when he knocked again.

"She's a little shook up," Zoe explained from behind him. He dragged his palms nervously over his face and turned to her.

"What happened?"

Zoe opened and closed her mouth, unsure how to answer. "I only got a little bit out of her, but she was attacked in the women's room at the restaurant."

"Attacked?" Joel repeated incredulously. It was so much worse than he thought.

Zoe nodded right when the bathroom door clicked unlocked. You opened it a crack and went back to curl up in the empty spa bath with the pillow and blanket Zoe had brought for you from the living room.

"I can't get her to go lay down in your bedroom," Zoe explained before Joel nodded and pushed the door open. The first thing he saw was the counter filled with bloodied white washcloths and tissues, the sight more than a little horrifying but when he saw your reflection in the mirror, he swiveled around with a jolt.

"Jesus Christ," he whispered, then rushed to the edge of the tub and fell to his knees. He reached out to cup your face; your puffy, swollen, bruised up face.

His eyes never stopped moving. They darted everywhere, taking in every single detail, but mostly lingering on your split lower lip and the bright purple bruise blooming below your eye. His thumb traced gently over your cheek and he felt a sharp twist in his chest when you winced.

"What happened?" he asked you softly.

You sniffled and shook your head but he pinched your chin and made you look him directly in the eye.

"Baby, what happened?" he asked again, "Someone attacked you? Did you call the cops?"

Again, you shook your head then glanced at Zoe over his shoulder.

"Just tell him, babe," she said encouragingly. You sighed and pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders.

"Promise me you won't get mad," you began, voice thick and gravelly from crying. Joel pinched his eyebrows together and dropped his hand from your chin.

"I ain't gonna be mad at you, sweetheart," he whispered. You watched him swallow and you took a deep breath.

"Brooks cornered me," you finally admitted, tears stinging your tired eyes. "He followed me into the bathroom and locked the door. He - he said some nasty fucking shit and got mad when I told him to leave."

Joel's nostrils flared, his eyes scorching with rage.

"But I pushed him, Joel. I pushed him and so he pushed me back and then I fell into the sink and -"

"Why'd you push him, honey?" he asked, trying to sound calm but you could hear the anger simmering below the surface.

"Because... he kept grabbing me and wouldn't let go. Like, around my neck and hair. He wanted-"

"I know what he wanted," Joel said darkly, pushing himself up to stand then turned to acknowledge Zoe. "Can you stay with her for an hour?"

Zoe nodded and your eyes went wide.

"Joel-"

"It's alright, sweetheart. I'm gonna take care of it."

He stormed out of the bathroom, fists clenched at his sides, trying desperately to contain his anger but his face felt hot and his jaw already ached from how hard he was grinding his teeth.

You scrambled out of the tub, knocking your knee painfully against the porcelain, and raced after him. "Joel! You can't!"

"I'll be back in an hour," was all he said before snatching his wallet from the table and disappearing out into the hall.

"It'll be okay," Zoe said, appearing at your side to rub your back. "Why don't we try to put ice on your lip again?"

You wiped at your nose with the back of your hand and nodded, allowing her to refresh the washcloth with ice and getting you settled on the couch before stepping away to call Zachary to let him know where she was. She had clicked the button on the fireplace remote before she stepped outside to make her call so you stared blankly into the flames while praying Joel didn't do something incredibly stupid.

Joel was gone more than an hour. Zoe sat with you underneath a shared blanket while you watched some mindless television show and iced your face. The bleeding stopped long ago but the pain was beginning to set in, so she got you some ibuprofen and forced you to drink extra water, assuring you it would help.

By the time Joel finally returned, your eyes were beginning to droop but when you heard the door click open, you got a sudden burst of energy.

Sitting up straight and tugging the blanket around your knees, you craned your neck around, waiting for him to appear. He stepped in from the foyer a little disheveled but otherwise seemed fine, but when he locked eyes with you, you knew something happened.

"Thanks, Zoe. I'm sure Zach's worried 'bout you."

His voice was deep and commanding, eyes never leaving yours. She immediately stood, giving you one more hug and whispering in your ear to call if you needed anything, then gathered her things to leave.

You remained planted on the couch, unable to tear your eyes away from the look on Joel's face. When the front door clicked shut, signifying you were finally alone, his shoulders visibly sagged then he marched over to the couch.

Without a word, he scooped you up in his arms, blanket and all, and took you down the hall towards your bedroom. Now that you were closer, you could see some red marks on his cheek and neck, but you didn't have much time to dwell on it because to your surprise, Joel turned left instead of right, taking you into his room.

You hardly were ever in his room. The door was always closed when you walked by and your memory was hazy but you remembered it was bigger and he had his own bathroom attached. He carefully set you down on his bed, the side that remained untouched, before disappearing into his bathroom. You took a second to look around the now well lived in room. All around you were pieces of Joel: reading glasses, crumpled pieces of paper and a chapstick on his nightstand, a phone charger dangling from the wall next to his bed, a few articles of clothing were scattered around along with discarded shoes. If it didn't hurt to smile, you would have because you finally learned something new about Joel Miller: he was messy.

"Did you disinfect it?" Joel asked when he stepped back into the room with a wet towel. You slowly shook your head. You and Zoe had been more concerned about stopping the bleeding and then worried about damage to your teeth to really think about disinfectant.

He nodded and sat down on the edge of the bed, then beckoned you to come forward. You scooted closer and stretched out your neck, giving him better access to your face. He dabbed carefully at your lip, his eyes stormy while he still fought with the remnants of his adrenaline. When your eyes met, his gaze softened and he slowly dropped his hand to his lap.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, the emotion in his voice bewildering you.

"It's not your fault," you countered, but he shook his head and dropped his chin to his chest.

"Shoulda been there. Been leavin' you alone too much -"

"That's okay, Joel. That's why we're here, right? You need to do whatever it takes to get that land."

His heart sank and he closed his eyes. You obviously still hadn't checked your phone but he didn't bother telling you the news, anyway, because after what he just did to Brooks, he was certain that land was no longer his.

"You oughta get some rest, darlin'," he said softly while standing to head back into his bathroom. He dropped the washcloth into the tub, glancing briefly at his knuckles now that he had stepped out of the darkness of his bedroom. He did a piss poor job cleaning them up but he didn't care. He was exhausted and just wanted to go to bed.

When he came back into the bedroom, he frowned when he saw you with your hand on the doorknob.

"What're you doin'?"

You turned back to him and when he saw your face again, it felt like all the air got knocked out of him.

It's a miracle Joel didn't kill him.

"I'm... going back to my room," you replied, your voice so small and weak that it broke his heart. He shook his head and pointed back to the bed, right where you were sitting.

"Stay," he said, then softened his voice and added, "please."

Your hand dropped to your side immediately and you looked around. "My pajamas-"

"I'll get 'em," he said, pointing to the bed again. "Rest," he told you when he walked across the room, taking you gently by the shoulders and guiding you towards his bed. You did as you were told while he hurried across the hall for your clothes, then stopped at your bathroom for your toothbrush before returning and shutting the door.

You thanked him softly and disappeared into his bathroom to wash up. Joel nervously paced around his room, tossing his dirty clothes into an ever growing pile near the closet before tugging on a white tshirt and slipping into bed.

Shyly, you stepped out of the bathroom wearing a loose fitting cotton tank top and matching shorts. You looked at him and he ushered you forward in the darkness, so you flicked off the bathroom light and scurried into bed.

He couldn't stop himself. He immediately rolled onto his side and wrapped his arms around your middle, pulling you close, breathing in deep the scent of your shampoo and mint from his toothpaste.

You hummed happily and turned onto your side so his chest pressed against your back. The warmth of his arms surrounding you made you finally feel safe and at peace. But then your hand fell to rest on top of his and you froze, your eyes flying open in the pitch black room.

"Joel?"

"Hm?"

Your thumb gently brushed over the broken skin on his knuckles, then you sought out his other hand to do the same and your heart stopped.

"What did you do?" you whispered with a tremor to your voice.

He swallowed thickly and buried his face in the back of your neck before responding.

"What I had to."

You had a fitful night's sleep. If you weren't dreaming about a dark pair of eyes screaming horrible things at you in a bathroom, then you were dreaming about the aftermath of whatever Joel did to Brooks. Best case scenario, Glenn doesn't choose Joel to purchase the land. Worst case scenario, he gets arrested in the morning.

Both options fucking sucked.

If you were lucky, you got three hours of sleep. You laid in Joel's arms, listening to him softly snore behind you while the sky turned from pitch black to a deep, angry blue through the glass French doors that lead out to the pool.

Everything hurt, but the thing that hurt the most was your heart. You tried, you really did, but Brooks's words got to you. They festered under your skin, burrowed deep down and gnawed away at you until they found a permeant spot in your chest.

Nothing helped. A day ago you would have been thrilled to find yourself in Joel's bed, but as you laid there, all you could hear was gold digger, dumb bitch, look what you did!

Your mind had a vice grip on those words and it made you sick.

You wiggled in Joel's grasp, deciding there was no use in lying there if all you were going to do was work yourself up, but his grip tightened around you protectively and pulled you into his chest. You sighed and shifted around a bit more when his sleep filled voice startled you.

"Quit squirmin'."

You stilled and lifted your chin up. "I can't sleep, I was trying to get up without waking you."

"You ain't goin' anywhere," he grumbled, and for the first time since dinner, you felt the corner of your mouth tug into a careful smile. "Why can't you sleep? You hurtin'?"

You swallowed and dropped your gaze to his hands, which were pressed firm against your stomach. Now that the room was lighter, you could see the extent of the damage and it made you cringe.

"No," you whispered, only partially lying before closing your eyes so you wouldn't look at his knuckles any longer. "Can't stop thinking about -"

You cut yourself off but Joel knew what you were going to say. He sighed and pressed a kiss against your shoulder, surprising you despite the intimate position you had found yourself in all night.

He could feel how tense your muscles were so he gave your shoulder another kiss, but that time he let his lips linger a bit longer than was necessary. He smirked a little when he saw goosebumps flare across your skin, so he did it again.

"My poor girl," he whispered, his voice dropping to sound more seductive. "I'm so sorry you went through all this, baby. You don't deserve it," he added sweetly before brushing his lips over your shoulder and up the back of your neck. His exhale tickled you behind the ear and you felt yourself melt into his hold.

You boldly took one of his hands and dragged it up from where it rested against your stomach to lay flat between your breasts, letting him feel the way your heart raced, all for him.

His breath hitched in his throat, unable to resist brushing his palm experimentally over your hardening nipple, your thin top not providing much of a barrier. Instinctively, your back arched ever so slightly. Your ass pressed into his hips, causing him to groan, so you did it again.

"Christ," he murmured, tightening his grip, fingertips dimpling the soft flesh above your breast. "What're you doin', sweetheart?"

You only whimpered a little when you rolled your hips into him again to feel his erection pressing firmly against your ass. His responding growl sent a shiver down your spine and had your head tilting back so his mouth could suck on a spot behind your ear.

"Joel, please," you breathed. He made a little noise of disapproval in the back of his throat but that didn't stop him from biting gently at your neck.

"Don't think it's a good idea," he murmured into your hair, but the throb of his cock pressed against you said otherwise. "You've been through so much, you need your rest. You gotta heal, honey."

You whined impatiently and twisted around in his arms so you could finally see him. His hair was a mess but his eyes were bright and his skin had a pink tint, giving away his aroused state, as if you didn't already know.

"Please," you begged softly, brushing your lips carefully against his. Your hand slid up to rake through the matted hair on the back of his head while you nipped eagerly at his lower lip. "Please make it feel better, Joel."

His eyelids fluttered for a moment as he felt himself losing the battle. With a deep groan, he rolled over to pin you underneath him. He made a mistake when his instincts took over and he pressed his lips firmly against yours and you whimpered painfully. He immediately drew back and inspected your wounded lip for further injury, guilt flashing in his eyes.

"It's okay, I'm okay," you whispered, pulling him back down but tilting your chin up so he could kiss your neck, instead. You felt his muscles relax, his movements slowing and growing more tender, but kept his hips pressed against your core as a reminder of how hard you made him. "I'm okay," you whispered again, sliding your eyes closed with a soft moan while his mouth dragged up and down the column of your throat and his hand roamed freely underneath the hem of your shirt.

With hardly any effort at all, he lifted your tank above your head and tossed it onto the floor. His mouth immediately latched onto one breast while his hand played with the other. Between his tongue and fingers working steadily over your nipples, it took no time at all before you were a puddle underneath him.

"So beautiful," he murmured into your skin. His hand trailed down your side to play with the drawstring of your shorts, giving you another chance to ask him to stop, but instead you followed his lead and dipped your fingers past the waistband of his boxers. He inhaled sharply against your chest when you wrapped your fist around his cock for the first time and had to remind himself to be gentle when he heard you gasp at his size.

"Y'sure, baby?" he rasped, unable to stop his hips from thrusting lightly into your hand while you stroked him up and down.

"Mhmm," you mumbled, voice getting lost somewhere in your throat. You had never wanted someone as badly as you wanted him. It felt like he was everywhere. His scent, his hands, the pressure of his weight on top of you... you had never been more sure about anything in your life.

You hoped he didn't notice the nervous tremble in your hands when you pushed his boxers down his legs but after he tore off his shirt, he shakily fumbled with your own shorts and you had to hold back the smile that threatened to stretch across your broken lip. Was he nervous, too?

He sat back to drink you all in when you were finally bare before him, his eyes hungrily roaming over your soft curves, making you forget about every little imperfection you ever obsessed over. You only had a moment to admire his broad, tanned chest and thick biceps before he fell back onto his elbows to cage you in.

Your pulse thrummed fast under his gaze, the skin at your jugular twitching with each nervous beat of your heart.

"Wish I could kiss you," he admitted, eyes darting down to your lip.

"Me, too," you murmured before reaching down between your bodies. Your fingers wrapped around his thick length and you spread your legs wider to accommodate him. You guided him to your center, eyes never leaving his, before releasing his cock to wrap your arms around his ribs instead.

"Keep your eyes on me, okay?" he asked, voice a little broken at the request. You nodded and held your breath when you felt his tip breach your entrance. Of course, when his hips shifted to slide halfway inside, your eyes fluttered closed and your arms fell to grab at the sheets, the stretch taking your breath away.

"Baby, c'mon," he begged, nipping at your jaw. With a gasp, your eyes flew open to find his and nodded, wordlessly telling him to continue. One of his hands reached for your wrist and pinned it into the bedding next to your head. His fingers spread wide and found yours, lacing your hands together when he pushed in the rest of the way with a soft grunt.

"O-oh, fuck," you panted, struggling for air as you wiggled your hips, your cunt feeling like it was stretched to the limit. Joel watched you squirm underneath him and he couldn't help the way his chest swelled with pride.

"Yeah, you like that, baby? That feel good?" he muttered, cock throbbing inside you. You nodded, lips parted and eyes glassy, fingers flexing around his. Your fingertips brushed over his now scabbed over knuckles and a wave of your slick soaked his cock, turned on by the physical evidence of what he did to defend you.

And he noticed.

He noticed the way your eyelids drooped and your jaw went slack when you felt his knuckles again. Joel drew his hips back before slowly pushing his way back in, giving you his cock nice and slow.

"Could've killed him," he told you. Your eyes snapped open wide, looking up at him all soft and doe eyed. "Could've killed him for touching you, y'know that?"

You whimpered and wrapped your legs around his waist. Then your bruised, swollen lower lip trembled and his gaze darted down. Very carefully, he grazed his lips over your wound, both of you breathing in deeply as his hips pulled back and rocked into you once again. The stretch was intense, the feeling of him filling you up so perfectly overwhelming your senses.

You murmured his name and nuzzled your nose against his face, growing frustrated you couldn't kiss him. Once he set a slow, yet steady, rhythm, he pulled your hand up above your head, pushing it deep into the pillows, fingers tightening around yours as he plunged inside of you over and over. You could sense his frustration, too, by the way your jaws hung open, hovering over the other, breathing sharp gasps and pants into each other's mouths each time his hips snapped into you, knocking the air from your lungs.

"Wish I could taste you," you whispered against his open mouth. His brows pinched together, your confession rattling him for a second. "Want to know how your cock feels on my tongue. Wonder how much I can take," you continued, enjoying the way he was reacting way too much. Unconsciously, his hips picked up the pace, fucking into you a little harder and pushing you up into the pillows. His face contorted as if he were in pain and he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Can't say shit like that," he groaned, letting his forehead fall to rest on your shoulder. "Gonna make me come. You feel too good, fuck," he whimpered. "Shoulda been fuckin' you since we got here."

You smirked, as much as your lips would allow, anyway, before replying.

"Better make up for lost time, then."

His teeth sunk into the skin stretching across your collarbone and you moaned, slipping your fingers through his curls with your free hand. You held him there against your neck and shoulder, sighing at the trail of licks and kisses he left on your skin while his cock continued to mold a path inside you, your cunt squeezing around him with every sharp thrust.

"Shit, that's my girl," he rasped, tongue flicking out lazily to lick at your sweaty skin. "Takin' everythin' I give you. This pretty pussy just needed my cock, hm? Needed me to make it all better?"

My girl.

Stars exploded behind your eyes when you squeezed them shut, his filth hitting you like a goddamn freight train.

"Yes!" you cried out, tipping your head back into the pillow and tightening your hold on his hand. "Yes, Joel, fuck - feels so good. S-so deep. It's so much," you whined while he sucked another mark into the soft flesh above your left breast.

He soothed you with a reassuring hum before unlocking one of your legs from his waist and hooking it over his shoulder. You gasped, the sharp angle making it feel far more intense than before, dragging you closer and closer to your climax.

"Oh, my god!" you cried out when the tip of his cock nudged against a spot inside you that had your legs shaking and your vision blurring. Joel reared back, your hand falling limply from his hair, so he could fuck you harder. He huffed and panted for air, staring down at you with his jaw clenched tight and sweat trailing down the sides of his face.

The noises you were making should have embarrassed you but you didn't care, especially since Joel appeared to enjoy them so much. You gazed up at him, gasping for air every time his hips slammed into yours. You probably looked like a mess but he didn't seem to mind at all.

"Good?" was all he managed to grunt, entirely fixated on making you come.

"Yes," you whined, "please don't stop. Christ, Joel, I -"

You cut yourself off with a low moan, the relentless pace he set bringing you to the brink of an orgasm so intense, tears were already filling your eyes. He felt your muscles tensing when your breath started to come in jagged little gasps and he quickly cupped your face to tilt it up towards him, eager to watch you fall apart again, but this time promised to be much more satisfying.

With a deep growl, he ground his hips into you, rubbing the coarse hairs that curled at the base of his cock against your clit, soaking up your arousal with each pass.

Your mouth fell open and your face crumpled when you came, a litany of curses spilling from your lips while Joel continued to drag against your clit, drawing out your orgasm as long as possible while he actively fought back his own.

"Fuck, that's pretty," he grunted, still holding your face in his massive hand while the last waves washed over you. You nuzzled blindly into his palm, his other hand still holding yours so tightly, his knuckles began to slowly trickle fresh blood. "So goddamn pretty f'me, baby," he added, voice growing strained. His gaze dropped to where you were connected, watching how your slick had spread all over his cock and stomach, then flicked his eyes back up to you.

"I'm gonna come," he whimpered, cheeks puffing, sweat soaked hair sticking to his forehead, and brown eyes fixed on the now relaxed expression on your face. "Are you - can I -"

"Yes," you said quickly, "yes, Joel. God, yes, please come inside me, please," you pleaded. His eyes rolled to the back of his head when he came, your begging being the last push he needed to fall over the edge with a loud groan.

You watched in a trance, memorizing the look of ecstasy on his face, the little ungh followed by a low hiss each time he thrusted forward, shooting his spend deep inside your used cunt until his arms shook and he finally let go of your hand, leg falling from his shoulder.

"Fuck," he gasped, each of you fighting for air while you waited for your hearts to stop racing. His hands gently braced your hips before he slipped out of your wet clutch, his cock still half hard and covered with your combined release. You made a little noise at the loss, at the sudden feeling of emptiness, but he quickly fell to your side and pulled your back against his chest, soothing you with soft strokes against your hip as you worked through the aftershocks of your orgasm.

"Think you can go to sleep now?" he asked, his voice hoarse and muffled from his face burrowing into your back.

"Yeah," you sighed, wiggling in his hold until you were comfortable. His seed was still dripping out of you but the last thing you wanted to do was clean it up. You wanted to feel him there for as long as possible, even though you knew the ache in your hips would serve as a constant reminder for the next day or two, at least.

"Good," he grumbled as if he were annoyed, but you could feel his lips curving into a smile against your skin.

The last thing you remembered before falling asleep were the little bright red dots that stained his knuckles on the hand that was connected to the arm wedged underneath you, holding you safe and sound.

"French fries for breakfast?" you asked him, shooting Joel a look of surprise. He shrugged and popped another one in his mouth before patting the bed next to him.

"They're my weakness."

You giggled and practically jumped back into bed, your hair dripping from your shower and the soft, white robe caressing your still highly sensitive skin.

"Do you share?" you asked him with a suggestive tone in your voice. He quirked an eyebrow at you before feeding you a fry.

"Food? Yes."

You chewed and hummed as you leaned into his shoulder, eyes drifting to the television. You furrowed your brow as you tried to figure out the movie, but his hand around your shoulder distracted you when he tugged on the soft cotton.

"Women? No," he added before dipping his other hand past the collar, cupping your breast still concealed by the robe. You inhaled sharply, your spine automatically twisting to cater to him, to give him easier access to your body like it was its only function. You wrapped your arms around the back of his neck as he pushed you down into the mattress, movie long forgotten. When he began to suck on your neck, your lips still off limits, you groaned and gave his shoulder a playful shove.

"Look at how many marks you already left on me," you pouted, tugging open your robe with one hand so he could see.

He pulled back so he could admire his handiwork before giving you a sly grin.

"Good," he said before resuming his work on your throat. And if you didn't fucking love it so much, you might have protested a bit more but instead, you craned your neck to give him better access. You sighed and felt your body relax under him, cunt already softening and preparing to take him again when your gaze fell on the clock beside his bed.

"Oh, shit! Joel! It's almost ten!" you exclaimed, tapping on his shoulder to snap him out of his lust filled haze.

"So?"

"So?" you repeated incredulously. "What about work?"

"What 'bout it?" he mumbled, hips digging into the apex of your thighs.

"Don't you have a company to run?"

Joel scoffed against your neck and finally pulled away. He pressed his weight into his forearms, which bracketed your head, and kissed the tip of your nose.

"I'm the boss. Think I can do what I want."

He was skipping work for you? Your heart practically leapt out of your chest and into the palm of his hand. You had to fight back the huge smile that pulled at your face for fear of reopening the cut on your lip, but the way your face went hot and your eyes shyly dropped from his was enough to show how happy you were.

He grinned and leaned back down to graze his teeth along your jaw. As far as either of you were concerned, nothing could touch you in the safety of his room. In your minds, the repercussions of the day before were a problem for another time.

"Well, what do you want to do, then?" you teased, gasping when you felt his already hard cock nudge against the inside of your thigh.

"You," he answered gruffly, then as fast as lightening, his hand flicked open your robe to expose yourself to him.

"Christ, you're perfect," he groaned before descending on your nipple, his teeth pinching at the sensitive bud ever so slightly while you whimpered and writhed under him.

His phone vibrated in the sheets next to you, but he ignored it.

"Joel," you breathed, blinking fast to clear your hazy vision. "Joel, your phone."

He groaned and begrudgingly released your breast but remained on top of you as he fished around for his phone.

"Gotta tell Jeff to fuck off, then -"

He paused as he stared at the screen, the blood draining from his face.

Fear shot through you and you scrambled to sit up.

"What is it?"

He swallowed the lump in his throat as he reread whatever popped up on his screen before dragging his eyes away to look at you.

"It's Glenn. He's in the lobby."

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[mattsobvimyfav]

roommates (matthew sturniolo)

the final.

It had been four years since that chaotic, heartbreaking day. Four years since Charlie and I had stormed out of the dorms, and left behind Matt, Chris, and Nick and that entire chapter of our lives.

In the years that followed, the little fame we had garnered from appearing in the triplets’ videos became a stepping stone for something much bigger. Charlie and I threw ourselves into creating content, documenting everything from our college experiences to our spontaneous adventures, and even sharing vulnerable moments about personal growth and moving on.

The hard work paid off. Our YouTube channel blew up, amassing millions of subscribers. On TikTok, we were even bigger, By the time we graduated college three months ago, we had become well-known influencers in our own right, working with major brands and having multiple other influencers collabing with us.

But through all of that, there had been one rule we both followed without question: we didn’t speak about the triplets. Ever.

At first, fans flooded our comments asking about them. There were edits of Matt and me, of Charlie and Chris. Some even romanticized our fallout. But over time, the questions faded as our own content overshadowed the past. For over a year, there hadn’t been a single mention of them on our platforms.

In those four years, I rebuilt myself. I learned to let go of the hurt, piece by piece. And now, I was happy. I even had a boyfriend, Leonard, who I’d been dating for eight months. He wasn’t flashy or overly romantic, but he was dependable, and kind. He grounded me in a way I didn’t think anyone could after Matt.

Today, Leonard had helped us load our bags into my car before kissing me goodbye. Charlie and I were heading to the airport, about to embark on a new chapter of our lives in Los Angeles. We’d been offered incredible opportunities to work with major brands, collaborate with influencers, and expand our content. We’d also decided to live together, finding comfort in the bond that had carried us through so much.

As The uber drove us to the airport, Charlie was buzzing with excitement, scrolling through Pinterest for decor ideas. “What do you think about a gallery wall in the living room?” she asked, turning the phone to show me.

I smiled, glancing at her briefly. “I love it. Just don’t let me handle the measurements this time. Remember the disaster with the string lights?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “I still can’t believe you used duct tape.”

We pulled into the airport parking lot, and for a moment, the reality of what we were doing hit me. This wasn’t just a trip. This was the start of something huge, a completely new life.

As we grabbed our bags and made our way to the terminal, Charlie grabbed my hand, squeezing it tightly. “Can you believe we’re doing this?”

I looked at her, my best friend who had been through everything with me, and nodded. “I can’t believe we made it here.”

Four years ago, I thought I’d lost everything. But now, as we boarded the plane to Los Angeles, I realized I hadn’t lost anything that truly mattered. Charlie and I had built something incredible out of the ashes, and this was just the beginning.

A week into our trip to LA, Charlie and I stood outside a beautiful two-story blue house on a quiet, tree-lined street. The kind of street where you could hear birds in the morning. It wasn’t overly fancy, but it had charm, and as soon as we saw it, we knew. This was the one.

The house had a wrap-around porch with white railing, The blue siding gleamed under the California sun, and there were flower boxes under the windows, some with blooming plants that added pops of color. It was perfect.

“I can already see it,” Charlie said, her eyes sparkling as she stood on the porch. “Us sitting out here, sipping coffee in the mornings. You editing videos, me thinking of video ideas… This is it.”

I smiled, looking up at the house, trying to picture what our lives would look like here. It was hard to believe how far we’d come. From two broken heart eighteen year old girls to traveling across the country to start fresh, this felt like the reward for every hard decision we’d made.

Inside, the house was just as inviting. Hardwood floors, big windows that let in so much light it felt like you were outside, and a kitchen with just enough character to feel homey without being outdated. There were two bedrooms upstairs—one for each of us—and a small extra room we immediately decided would be our “creative space.”

As the real estate agent handed us the paperwork to sign, Charlie nudged me with her elbow. “You sure about this?”

I nodded, a grin spreading across my face. “This is ours.”

By the time we walked out with the keys, the sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange. Charlie unlocked the door, pushing it open dramatically and yelling, “Welcome home, baby!”

We laughed, running inside like kids, already talking about where we’d put our furniture and how we’d decorate for Halloween.

That night, as we sat on the floor eating takeout in our empty living room, it hit me. This wasn’t just a house; it was a new beginning. A place for us to grow, dream, and finally let go of the pieces of the past we’d been holding onto.

“This is gonna be good,” Charlie said, raising her smirnoff bottle in a toast.

“To us,” I replied, clinking mine against hers.

As Charlie and I sat cross-legged on the living room floor, laughing over our plans for the house, a sudden knock at the door startled us. We both froze, exchanging wide-eyed glances.

“Who could it be?” Charlie whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Maybe the real estate agent forgot something?” I suggested, though my stomach churned with unease.

We stood up, the mood shifting instantly from lighthearted to tense. Slowly, I made my way to the door, Charlie right behind me. My hand hesitated on the knob for just a second before I turned it and pulled the door open.

My heart stopped.

Standing on the other side of the door, looking older but all too familiar, were Matt, Chris, and Nick.

Matt’s eyes met mine first, his expression dropped, Chris looked like he was trying to form words but couldn’t, and Nick mouth was hanging open.

“Y/N”-

ROOMATES SEQUEL OUT NOW CHECK MASTERLIST

a/n- THANK YOU ALL SOOO MUCH FOR THE SUPPORT ON THIS SERIES I LOVE YOU ALL🩷 ITS BEEN A FUN RIDE

tag-

@ch0llies @namelesssav @christmastreecake @mattsturnii @larnieboox88 @izzylovesmatt @tbfaptbfae @2muchofaslvt @sturnioloshottiekay @rockstarchr1s @simply-a-simper @realuvrrr @sophia-77n @christophersstar @mattscore

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

The Rift - Chapter One

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Marcus Acacius x Marcus Pike x f!Reader

Rating: Chapter is T, overall fic is E (18+ only, explicit smut)

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Unrequited crushes, yearning, questionable science

Summary: Two weeks after the Rift appears, Marcus Pike and the Art Crimes team have been inundated by black market artifacts, and Marcus is more than happy to use this as an excuse to get closer to the curator who is helping them identify the items. Meanwhile, the perpetrators enlist a supervillain to cause a blackout around the Rift in order to steal even more. Hopefully that doesn't cause anything bad to happen!

A/N: We're building toward something big! One thing that I am doing in this fic, for my sanity and for yours, is identify the POV character whenever it changes. I don't usually do this, preferring to rely on narrative, but when three of your characters share the same name, this gets complicated.

Masterlist | Prologue | Next Chapter>>

(Pike)

Marcus Pike takes the steps to the National Gallery of Art two at a time. At the top, he catches his reflection in one of the large font windows and pauses to attempt to flatten his windswept hair before dashing through the revolving doors. He flashes a smile–and his badge–at the security guard, who recognizes him and nods. Rather than funnel through the ticketing counter with the rest of the guests, Marcus instead ducks through a door labeled ‘MUSEUM STAFF ONLY,’ hops down the stairs–three at a time, this time–and opens another door to the curation department, making a beeline for the now-familiar office.

“I’ve got another one for you,” he announces breathlessly, forgetting to knock.

The occupant startles, sending a novelty coffee mug full of pens and highlighters scattering across the floor. 

“Marcus,” you hiss, pressing one hand over your pounding heart. “Oh my God, you can’t keep doing that!”

“Sorry,” he grimaces. “I, uh, guess I got a little excited.”

“Two thousand year-old artifacts will do that to a man, I guess.” You take in his heaving chest, askew tie, and mussed hair. “Did you… run here?”

Marcus feels heat flush to his cheeks, and he grins sheepishly. Oh, if only he could say that it’s 

not just the startlingly well-preserved bronze comb now sitting in the evidence locker right next to the carefully cataloged Roman coins, ceramic glazed urn, ceremonial dagger, and a scroll of papyrus, all in pristine condition. No, it’s not just the flood of bizarre artifacts suddenly entering the black market that has Marcus’s heart pumping with excitement.

It’s the far-too-cute-for-her-own-good Museum Curator at the National Gallery of Art that has been indispensable in these cases, identifying and verifying the authenticity of each new artifact recovered by him and his team.

“Like you said, ancient artifacts really get the blood flowing,” Marcus grins, daring to chance a wink in your direction. “I dunno if you can really call them ‘artifacts,’ though. Or even ‘ancient.’ Weird times we’re in, right now.”

His thoughts drift to the Rift again–common knowledge, not just in DC but throughout the entire globe now, still less than a month into its existence. Heavily guarded, of course, and entrance is strictly prohibited. Hell, even loitering in the vicinity of the Rift earned Marcus a stern telling-off that even his FBI credentials couldn’t override. He couldn’t get the sight of it out of his mind, though. It was as though the empty space around the Rift simply… broke. Like the universe as he knew it was, and then suddenly was not in the space of around ten feet wide. He tried to look through the hole, through the bit that ‘was not,’ but it was like looking through warped glass. The air itself bent and swirled, and through it he swore he could hear the sound of hooves on cobblestone, snippets of language he had read his fair share of in graduate school but had never heard spoken aloud.

“So you uh… want me to come take a look?” you ask, sounding almost shy.

“I thought you’d never ask.” 

“I’m not running, though, so don’t even try.”

Marcus laughs joyfully. He can’t seem to stop smiling whenever he’s lucky enough to be in your presence, and of late, that means he’s smiling a lot. 

“Walking sounds perfect,” he agrees. “Plus, that was enough cardio for me for the whole week, I think.”

You grin back, and Marcus wonders if you can feel the electricity that seems to descend whenever the two of you banter, or if it’s only him that’s affected. Sounds about right, he muses ruefully to himself. You old sap. Still, the silence stretches out just a beat too long, and it sends his imagination whirling. Coffee dates, long walks through the city, cozy drinks on his sofa oh shit how do you even ask someone out in the age of Tinder–

“Lead the way, Agent,” you smirk, and Marcus feels himself melt.

You click your tongue thoughtfully as you examine the comb. “Bronze, Imperial, I’m gonna guess somewhere around… 500 BCE?”

Marcus whistles through his teeth, impressed. “How do you know that?” 

You pick up one of the coins. “Numismatics. Anyone with a working knowledge of Roman history can place one of these babies within a few decades or so.” You flip it over, revealing the stark profile of the Emperor. “This was around the height of his rule and he died in 504 BCE. Knowing that, the coins are from around 510-ish, so everything else that comes out of the Rift, well…”

“You think all of it’s from around the same time,” Marcus offers. 

You shrug. “They’re all coming from the same hole in space and time.”

“What I don’t understand,” Marcus mumbles, more to himself than to you, “is how the hell people are getting in and out of the damn thing, it’s so heavily guarded.”

“I’ll say,” you comment wistfully. “They’ve got that whole perimeter set up now, you can’t go within a quarter of a mile. Wish I could see it… I mean, talk about a curator’s dream, right?”

“It’s incredible,” he says softly. 

“Wait. You’ve seen it? How?”

Marcus smiles and holds out his hands, feeling slightly guilty. “Managed to hoodwink a few people with my credentials, but I barely got within eyesight before I was politely asked to leave.”

“By politely, I’m assuming you mean ‘with an assault rifle.’”

“Maybe a little.”

“Okay, now I’m pissed at you. And don’t flash those big brown puppy dog eyes at me,” you snap, right as Marcus begins to do exactly that. “Throwing your FBI Agent weight around, and you couldn’t even bring along your consultant.”

“Oh yeah, because I really wanted to put you at the end of some Heroic bigwig’s assault rifle as well,” Marcus laughs. “It was stupid, I let curiosity get the better of me. What can I say?”

“You can say you’re sorry by buying me a coffee. Not the swill they’ve got here, a proper latte. And while I drink it nice and slow-like, you have to tell me everything.”

Marcus can’t think of a single better way to spend the rest of his afternoon. 

Electricity crackled at his fingertips. Even if the paycheck hadn’t been enough to convince him, the ultimate test of his powers was enough for him to agree to something so petty as theft. For that’s what it was, when you took away all the other factors. The Rift was simply a complication. A variable. 

A challenge. 

Giving things power had always been his strong suit. Taking it away was another thing entirely, like flexing an unfamiliar muscle, or wiggling your ears. His biggest undertaking before now had been to shut down electricity to one wing of a building, but a whole city block?

Intriguing. 

Lurking in the shadows, at a safe distance from any of the Heroics security, the man known only as Voltage flared his nostrils, drawing the electricity back up into his body, and then… he pulled. Extracting the electrons from the world around him, his fingers flexed and strained as the current flowed backward, like forcing a waterfall to run in reverse. All the lights within a four block radius from the Rift–from cars, streetlights, personal flashlights, mobile phones, and screens–cracked and popped ominously before shattering and bathing the entire area in darkness. 

(Pike)

Not two miles away, the fluorescent light above Marcus Pike flickers, the unpleasant sound of electricity causing the hairs to rise on the back of his neck. Pulling a face, he rubs at the sore muscle with one hand, sits back in the uncomfortable metal chairs of the evidence room, and yawns loudly. 

“What I find interesting is that there doesn’t seem to be any residue on any of the items,” his partner remarks, seemingly ignoring the yawn.

“What kind of residue?” Marcus asks, curious.

“I dunno, like… time residue?”

The Agent laughs good-naturedly. “Time residue, huh? What the hell is that?”

“Haven’t you ever seen any SciFi movies?”

Marcus shoots the other Agent a skeptical look. “Last time I checked, this wasn’t a movie.”

“Exactly. So we have no idea what kind of thing we’re dealing with. I mean, come on. Black hole guns? Holes in space-time? And you’re drawing the line at residue?”

Marcus laughs again, shutting his laptop with a sigh. “Jesus, I had no idea how late it had gotten. Let’s take a break and start again in the morning, yeah?”

“D’you think anything else has come out of the Rift?” his partner suddenly asks.

“Other than the artifacts they’re smuggling? Dunno,” Marcus answers. “They’ve got that place locked down pretty tight. I’ve been wondering how the hell they’ve been getting this stuff out of there,” he remarks, repeating what he had said to you earlier that day. 

“If a bunch of coins are able to get out, it’s only a matter of time before… other stuff does, too.”

Marcus pauses, one hand reaching toward the door. The statement troubles him more than he cares to admit.

“Above my pay grade,” he tries to joke, but it doesn’t land. “Those Heroics guys have to have a handle on things.”

[izgnanik-a]

Royalty!Nik x Knight!Price - 1

Summary: The thriving Kingdom, under the rule of Nikolai’s family for generations, is finally threatened. It was a matter of time before someone targeted the old king, and threatened to kill him. There is soon a pressure for a new king, and the king’s only son isn’t ready for what’s to come.

Tags: MDNI; inaccurate medieval history, slow burn, smut, depictions of violence

A/N: This will be a slow update series, the chapters will either be individual as standalone blurbs or regular (idk rn). Please enjoy, and check out other content from my masterlist on my page. Enjoy.

Back to masterlist

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The quartet strings started back up as the doors to the gallery opened. Their beautiful crescendo welcomed the King and Queen with their new baby boy in arms. That very day he was christened and declared the bringer of peace between two troubled nations; one at war for centuries, now united in marriage and finally with childbirth.

The bloodline would continue with him.

As he grew older, he proved difficult. He was wise beyond his young years, academically gifted, and athletically successful. He was an equestrian like his mother, and an archer like his father. His grandfathers would be proud of his cartographic skills, assisting in pushing the limits of current civilization advancements.

He developed a better sifting technique for cleaner waters for the public, which decreased the pressure on medics with sicknesses like viral infections and parasites.

But what good would it do the kingdom if he didn’t stop fucking around?

“I want everything perfect for tonight.” Said the King, in high spirits as they walked the grand halls of the manor. A serviceman following him, hardly keeping up with the old man. “Make sure that the Prince is in his clothes by five.”

The serviceman lifted his finger to speak but was unable to intervene.

“It’ll give some buffer time between, but that’ll be perfect. That means there will be no room for mistakes. The Prince will not be able to mess this up. Now, are the tables set for this evening?”

“Yes sire—“

“And are the staff members accounted for and equipped?”

“To their stockings. Of course, sire. But—“

“Then it should be a clear day, and a beautiful evening. No rain shall come today, yes?”

“I suppose. But flowers do need rain.” The serviceman commented.

The King turned to him. “Would you wish ill on me?”

“No sire. I would never!”

“Then why would you wish rain on a good day?”

“What I mean is—“ the serviceman only pulled up his best smile and stood taller, “if it should rain, we’ll have a beautiful rainbow and clear sky forecast tonight.”

The King eyed him.

“I’ll take my leave, sire, and get to dressing the Prince immediately.” Excusing himself quickly, the serviceman snatched the hand of one of the maidservant’s passing with kitchen utensils in hand. “I need your help, but I need it quietly. Or the King will hang me as entertainment decor in front of the invited guests!” He uttered quickly.

“What? The kitchen staff are at short ends as it is.”

“The Prince isn’t here.”

“Well, you better hope he gets here, or we’ll all be decor.” She growled.

He grabbed her hand again. “The only person who knows how to find the Prince is nowhere to be found.”

“Then you can assumed they are together. Now I have a job to do. You just keep the King occupied so he doesn’t realize his sole heir is missing for his own birthday party.” She took her hand back with a fierceness and turned away.

The serviceman held his head in his hands in agony. “I did not wear my funerary attire today.”

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The soft mounds of the woman’s breasts fit perfectly under palm, and as she crescents, writhing like a hungry beast, she gave such howls of pleasure.

Under her full weight smothered a man who had no qualms with dying. He’d lay down his life if it meant being asphyxiated entirely by the weight and glorious drip of a woman’s cunt on his tongue. His palms soothed her aching breasts, relentlessly trying to make another orgasm rattle through her.

She gave such delightful cries. “Oh. Oh—“ While still grinding against the poor fellows offered mouth and nose. “Oh!” She staggered, lifting off her aching knees to hold tight to the head of hair beneath her. “It’s too much.” She begged.

“How about another?” He asked, gazing up like he’d devoured the most divine creation with hunger for more. “Please?”

“No more.” She fell onto her side and then onto her back. “You’re insatiable.”

With thrice the amount of energy, he sprung up to hover over her, cock hard between his legs as he lingered over her. “But it’s my birthday.” He tilted his head. “Didn’t you say this was a gift?” He eased his face into the sweat soaked curve of her neck, suckling along the already warm and bruised flesh he’d bitten.

The tip of his cock teased along her mound, dragging against the soft curls on her pubic bone.

She exposed her throat to his kissing and sucking, allowing his hand to scoop underneath the back of her neck to maneuver her head. “You’re the devil.”

With a smile against her chin, he kissed her throat as he dragged his cock tip between her wet folds to further tease. The hitch in her breath, the soft whine in her throat, the movement of her hips — it was all so inviting when she wrapped her legs around his hips and grabbed his hand to guide him back in.

He settled home quickly in her cunt, already so hot and accustomed to his cock, he was on a short lit fuse. Pumping into her as if he planned on being a father, he hoisted her knees into his elbows. With his head tossed back, it was easy to get lost in the feeling of her body, drowned out by the sound of her rising scream.

With dull nails digging into his thighs, he grit his teeth as he hissed, giving an amused laugh. His father would roll over sick if he saw him now; fucking a townsfolk like he planned on marrying her. It was nothing beyond a good fuck.

“Oh! Nik. Nik! Nik!” She moaned in unison with his grunting.

“Yeah? Yeah?” He huffed, feeling her walls quiver around him, pulsing with temptation. He shivered as he pulled off, wrapping a hand around his slick length and stroked himself until he was spewing. “Good— God.” He could barely hold himself up.

The woman underneath him started with a giggle, then outright laughing. He joined in unison, hanging his head trying to collect himself. “I don’t think the Church would condone your behavior.”

“Let’s not tell them then.” Sitting back on his knees, the woman sat upright to pull herself between the pillows.

Leaning over to the bedside table, she opened the drawer to reveal a small box. Holding it out, she looked proud of herself.

“What is it?”

“A gift.” She sniffed. “A real gift.”

“I’ve already gotten the gift I needed.” He teased, shifting to sit at the side of the bed. He was already grabbing at his clothes strewn about the room.

“Then this is a secondary gift.” She stated. “Take it.”

With slight reluctance, he pulled the box into hand and opened the lid. Inside sat a silver chain attached to a religious pendant. “Where did you get this?” He asked.

“Does it matter?”

“When it looks like this, yes.”

She waved it off. “It’s a gift. For a friend. Accept it.”

He dropped it on the bed. “I can’t,” he said as he was slipping his briefs on.

“The Prince is too noble to accept a gift from a commoner?” She teased.

“No. You should be spending your money on something for yourself.”

“It is. For all the good fucking I’ve been getting, the least you could do is accept it as payment.”

The Prince, Nikolai, smiled with his chin tucked to his chest. He pulled his under garments on, swiping a hand down his chest to smooth out any wrinkles from when it was strewn aside haphazardly.

“Your payment is unnecessary.” Nikolai, pulled his coat over and sat to slip into his mules.

The woman knees her way forward to lean against his back, her bare body pressed to his clothes. She wrapped her arms around his neck, chin perched on his shoulder. “The King would also roll over if he knew how graceful and kind his son was.”

“Wouldn’t want him to know that.” Nikolai huffed, tilting his head in her direction.

She plucked her pinkie out in promise. “I won’t tell a soul.”

Nikolai gazed at her hand as if it were some godly offered gift before reaching for it with softness. He glanced at her, and she brushed forward to kiss his cheek.

Flopping back onto the bed, she stretched her arms above her head, lying in naked grace. “When you leave, can you be a dear and shut the door tight? It came open last.”

“Now you’re just demanding.” Nikolai teased as he stood, he leaned over with his palms bracketing her thighs.

“Someone who’s taken orders all his life should be used to that behavior.” She smirked.

Nikolai hummed before giving into carnal behavior and biting on the soft flesh of her hips, he growled as her hands dipped into his hair and tugged viciously. When he released her, there was a lingering mark of where he’d been.

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When he’d left, he kept his head tucked low, bringing his face covering up to his nose, and moved with haste. If people knew the Prince walked among them, it would both cause a ruckus and a riot.

Though the king had been cherished, he had also been greedy and war hardened.

Nikolai made it up the hill before the streets started thinning, less people kept at his sides, and the smell of smoke had lessened greatly. At this point, his absence had caused a scene so walking through the main doors would do nothing compared to the flame he’d kindled.

“I only ever ask that you listen to my orders, and you cannot even do that!” The King uttered in shame.

Nikolai was sat, half pampered by the staff in his formal attire. He said nothing as he was shucked out of his shirt and offered to put his arms into one much more colorful and jeweled.

“If your mother were here, she would be disappointed in you.”

But it wasn’t easy to say what the Queen would have said. She was a gentle soul, even in the wake of her death. She would have never raised her voice, or struck, or bled her son. She would look at him, and he’d weep for the bad he’d done.

Just as she’d built him, she could break him down and start all over again with the love she so carefully gave.

“You will be civil and sociable tonight. Understood?” The King growled.

Nikolai said nothing, meeting his own eyes in the mirror across from him.

The King made no further remarks as he left the room, but the silence was screaming in volumes. Nikolai looked to the shaking hands of the worker at his collar.

“Don’t fear him. He’s just an old man.” Nikolai stated.

“With due respect, he’s the King.”

“He’s also my father. The man who raised me with his hard head stubbornness and ego.”

The hands at his collar paused. “May I ask you something, sire?”

“Of course. Anything?”

There was hesitation. “I’ve never met the late Queen. What was she like?”

Nikolai’s eyes softened to the memory of his mother flashing before his eyes. “She was kind. Nothing evil could ever taint her brightness. Not even death. She would never be disappointed in me, that’s why my father’s words don’t slice me as he thinks it does.”

“Why do you think he says those mean things? To hurt you?”

“To make an example of me. To make me become him. Resentful of my mother.” Nikolai said. “I could never hate her for leaving so soon like he does.”

Tongue-tied, they stepped aside as Nikolai looked himself from head to toe in his royal garb.

“How do I look?”

“Like royalty.”

Nikolai stared himself in the face.

All he’d wanted was a normal life, outside of royalty. It felt right to be beside the common folk, comfortable, despite their dislike for his father. He enjoyed his time in town, sneaking around added to the fun but he wished there was more privacy to it all.

“Let us not run late for the party. You know how the King is.” Nikolai drawled his tone in an arrogant manner, and it brought a smile to their face.

Led down the hall, the Prince peered over into the inner courtyard, flourishing with life and evening laughter. There were only a few guests so far, but he knew an army more would come.

He was meant to be sociable all evening, mingle to find a potential suitor as well and not just some randoms to take into his bed for the night and release.

The King, though quiet about it, was expecting a successor in the royal family. A grandson.

If Nikolai proved to be troublesome, there would be an arranged marriage and Nikolai would have no say in the matter. He wanted Nikolai to choose something for once in his life.

“Sire, the King is looking for you.” Approached the King’s hand, straight backed and arrogant.

“Of course he is." Nikolai mumbled under his breath as he followed in lead with the help.

Moving with a slow gait, Nikolai flashed beautiful smiles to the guests. Extending his hand towards them as if they were beggars, and they did nothing but bow their heads and kiss his knuckles. He moved like a human being, but to them he was their messiah. He wished to walk on the same ground they did.

The help, the King's righthand, slowed to a casual pace to be in line with Nikolai. He tilted his head back, voice low enough to be heard. "Do us a favor, and behave tonight."

"Excuse me?" Nikolai raised his brow.

"The King did all this work for you, and the least you can do is be grateful and attentive. Even if you don't plan on being King, you can at least offer him offspring who will run this country while you sleep with consorts-"

Nikolai grabbed his arm, bringing them both to a stop, and kept his eyes narrowed in on the sudden sweat on the man's brow. "Remember where you stand. You may be in the King's lap, but you will always be below me. You could never replace the emptiness at his side when I'm away. You are help, nothing more. Not his son, not his half, help." Nikolai released him with a gentle push. "I can walk myself to the King. Make yourself useful and get us refreshments for the table."

Turning back to the crowd with a fixed smile, he welcomed more guests along the way, and found himself standing before the King's table. He looked up to his father, cup up to his lips before he noticed his son.

Nikolai bowed his head before approaching the back of the table.

"Have you seen my esquire?" He asked.

"I believe he went to get you refreshments." Nikolai settled into his chair.

They'd settled in as more guests appeared, approaching the King's table with a bow or curtsey, and moving to open tables. The sheer volume of the room was booming, but it was nothing Nikolai wasn't used to.

The King leaned towards him while he was eating. "Do you see anyone who catches your eye?"

Nikolai didn't have his mind set on finding a suitor like his father was. His father, at his age, was in an arranged marriage with Nikolai's mother for wealth. Their families had been very wealthy, and together they could conquer whole hemispheres with their military strength. The only thing that Nikolai had his eye set on for the night was the bottom of his glass.

"Not currently, but I'm sure someone will." Nikolai flashed a feigned warm smile.

The King stared at the side of his face, contemplating on saying something that sat at the tip of his tongue. Something that has been lingering at the tip of his tongue for quite a while now.

The attention at the side of his face made Nikolai lift his head. He met his father's gaze. Curiosity circled in his eyes, and began drawing the blinds up over his expression. He thought to question his father, but the comment rolled back down his throat into nothingness.

Neither man said anything; the King turned his eyes forward to the crowd, and Nikolai was suspended in confused silence.

The party went on.

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Then came the dancing and introductory sessions.

Nikolai was placed at the center of the room, inviting new suitors into his arms as they danced with measured engagements. There was not a single minute he could have with one person, swapping out every single minute.

He felt like he was dizzy, like he'd drunk too much, and needed to sit down.

A beautiful woman was introduced into his arms again, and he withheld his urges to escape.

She smiled at him with such grace. "You don't look well."

"I don't feel well, but the show must go on." Nikolai flashed her a smile.

"You don't always have to listen to what your father tells you to do. You do know that, right?"

Nikolai furrowed his brow at the peculiar woman in his arms. "Did he send you to lead me off the path?" He asked and she only laughed.

She tipped her head back, and the skin of her neck looked so soft. Nikolai could have been tempted to press his lip to her pulse to feel the beat of her heart. "No, I'm only here because my father made me."

"Strange to give me such advice when you yourself aren't listening to it." Nikolai hummed.

"Yeah, well, it looks like the both of us don't want to be here, and yet here we are."

Nikolai stared at the twinkle in her eyes. He admired the crinkle at the corners when she smiled. "What's your name?"

"Kate."

"What an interesting name."

"I'd tell you my name is Katherine, but then it would be too formal."

"I hated Katherine anyways." He cocked his head aside.

"Kate is better.' She smiled. "Care to know what I plan on doing with my life?"

"Enlighten me." Nikolai hummed.

"I'm going to move away once I have enough money. I want to be a general."

"A war general?"

She nodded.

"Kate. You are one of the strangest women I've ever met to crave war."

"I was born of blood, and I feel comfort in it."

"Remind me to never marry you then."

"Don't. I have a flower waiting for me." She smiled proudly.

"Then congratulations, Kate. I wish you everything good, but don't stray too far, one day I might need you to run my army." Nikolai extended his hand out with hers grasped softly, bringing her knuckles to his lips to kiss.

The crowd began bickering and whispering. She'd been the first of his interest all night.

The King leaned forward in his seat.

"Have a good night, Prince Nikolai."

"Good night, Kate."

She moved away with such beauty that it was hard to stop thinking about her as she disappeared among the crowd. There were women after her who didn't quite catch his eye, but she had the love of another already. A dream set out before her, a life she'd planned to keep close to her heart on the battlefield.

He couldn't ruin that life for her.

Nikolai had returned to his seat, and the King leaned over once more to speak to him.

"So? Is there anyone yet?"

Nikolai sighed and shook his head. "No."

"What about that girl? The one with the blue dress you'd spoken to?"

"No. She's not the one for me. She's indecisive, and proud." Which was far from what she was, but he needed to say anything negative to detangle his father like a tick from him. "I couldn't have kids with someone like that."

The King deflated back in his seat with a troubled sigh. "Why don't you just pick one?"

"Did you just pick one?" Nikolai stared at the side of his father's tough face. "You had that planned out for you. You didn't have to do a thing."

"You watch your tone, boy." The King warned, making Nikolai small in his chair again. "If you do not make a choice by tonight, I will arrange a marriage for you whether you like the girl or not. This is about keeping the family name strong."

"It was never about happiness. Was it? It was always about wealth and power. That's all you ever see it for." Nikolai spewed towards the King.

"Marriage is an arrangement between two families. It is your duty to this kingdom to make sure that it remains decent and safe."

"Because you've done so well." Nikolai's tone was testy, hot to the touch just like the King's. He may have his mother's eyes, but he will always have his father's rage.

"I will deal with you after." The King bellowed deeply, like a predatory beast snarling and showing its teeth.

A messenger swiftly approached the backside of the table, kneeling before presenting the King a letter. Out of respect, he did not lift his head.

"This is not the time-"

"It is from one of your guests, your Grace. I apologize for the intrusion, but it was of urgency." The letter was only raised higher towards the King.

"By whom?" The King took the letter aggressively from the hands of the messenger, breaking the wax seal to peer at the still wet ink slathered on the page.

Nikolai stared in bafflement, as did the King, at the crude writing of: MURDERER

The King dropped the letter on the tabletop, "What is the meaning of this?" He uttered in disbelief.

The messenger stood slowly, and the more Nikolai stared, the more of him seemed to grow out. He was a massive man, wide and firm, having never missed a day's work or meal. He stared the King in the face with a black cloth pulled over his nose and mouth to conceal his face.

From across the room, the heavy doors from which everyone entered, were thrown open. The commotion was so abrupt that it caused the dancing to cease, for people to give cries of shock, and others to turn and block the path towards the King. But it was none other than the guards, so all was safe.

The King stood, fists pushed up on the tabletop. "What is this?" The King uttered.

The music hasn't yet stopped, still blaring in its awful cycle.

"An arrangement."

The King turned to the messenger and his bizarre answer. He only had the briefest of moments before he saw a flicker of a golden handle, and the heavy hand of the messenger laid flat against his chest.

With a polished dagger from his pocket, the messenger slipped the blade into the vital left side of the King's, pushing until the cross-guard met firmly with his body.

It was all so fast that time slowed at the moment of impact for Nikolai.

He watched his father's back hit the tabletop, the assassin's hand holding his clothes with such viciousness to keep him down. The chalice he'd been drinking out of only moments before was falling forward onto the ground on the other side of the table, spewing wine over the marble flooring. It fell like honey, thick and viscous, not only did it splatter slowly, but the cup flipped and rolled farther than imaginable.

The guards that had known trouble was afoot, who'd abruptly slammed open the doors, were shoving aside the crowd. Helpless to the weight of gravity and human bodies, they stumbled and skipped joyfully, it seemed, as the sharpened dagger dug through cloth and skin.

Nikolai's eyes scanned up the assassin's frame, seeing nothing but a hulking frame of a brute before him. Driving the knife in further until it hilted. Then he was turning. His pale skin was that of a corpse, his eyes were a browning liquidambar during the autumn equinox. So full of life, and bright.

He laid his eyes on Nikolai, as a warning, that if he rose from his chair, he too would meet the end of his blade.

- Then it all came back.

The clattering noise of running, the screams of the guests, the guards shouting, the gutted cries of his father.

The King's life had been threatened.

The castle had been compromised.

The Kingdom was in shambles.

Order had become no more than a whisper, and Chaos took it's place.

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a/n: idk if I want to continue this as an ao3 thing or continue it here and publish it over there when I'm done. lmk. I was also high-key listening to "Skyfall" as I was imagining Nikolai going through shock watching his father get stabbed, while everything slowed for him.

[shroomyart]

hihiii !! my name is shroom , and i’m a 24yo disabled queer artist from ohio , usa . i’ve been drawing traditionally for my entire life , and digitally for the last eleven years !

if you haven’t already heard about my current living situation and would like to learn more , you can read this post here . to put it shortly -- i need out of this house as soon as possible . i’m finally in a place where i have a job and the means to start saving up to move out !!! i’m so excited to start a new chapter in my life and would appreciate any extra help !!!

did you know that my commissions are always open ? if you didn’t , now you do ! you can view my gallery and terms of service here -- if you're interested in commissioning me , there is a form that you can fill out here or you can dm me here on tumblr @shroomyart !!!

if you don't want to commission me but would still like to help , you can simply reblog this post to help spread the word !! thank you so very much for reading !!!!! <3

[velvet-vox]

The insane, untapped potential of Rebecca from Murder Drones.

Hello Murder Drones Tumblr. My name is Markiplier, and I'm the fastest man alive.

To the outside world, I'm a regular Reddit user hiding in their mother's basement, but secretly, I've done nothing except consume Rebecca content for the past 72 hours, with only one objective in mind: spread the truth about this one, singular character that I didn't give a single damn about to convince you that she could have been someone important in an alternate universe.

To do so, I had to consult the classics. Rewatch the entire series again, hogging the murder drones rebecca tag, checking out her Wikipedia page (which has to be rewritten by the way, cause it sucks), create a new Rebecca centered gallery on Pinterest, and stalk the channels of her main worshippers, all in the name of my research.

Once I had collected enough data and ideas, I was finally ready.

Today, I'm going to shed light on some unknown traits and misconceptions surrounding the character, all the while showcasing all the ideas that I've gathered that would have made Rebecca a more prominent part of Uzi's and maybe even N's development.

This was by far the hardest undertaking I've ever imposed upon myself in the history of this blog. Please, enjoy the following content at your own risk and expense.

Chapter 1: The Origins.

Some context for those of you who are uninitiated in the Becca cult, Rebecca is this girl:

She's a minor side character inside of episode 3 and 4, and a background character inside of episode 2; she's infamous in the community for being a "bully" and trying to steal N from Uzi while already dating and making out with other classmates.

Despite never committing genocide and being the only member of the cheerleader trio to not have been responsible for anybody's death, she's pretty hated by the fanbase at large or plainly forgotten/dismissed, at best people just don't care about her and see her as just too unimportant to be hated, at worst they kill her in the most gruesome of ways or accuse her of racism, homophobia, eccetera (before killing her, of course).

Although pretty unpopular, she still has her own niche of fans who gather up at the table to worship her; furthermore, there are a lot of fanarts from people who don't even like her where she survived the events of Cabin Fever but is now disabled and confined to a wheelchair.

The reason behind such treatment is due to the fact that Rebecca has committed five of the worst cardinal sins a fictional character can make: being an obstacle to the most popular ship in a fandom; being mean to a fan favourite such as the main character without any clear motivation; being annoying by proxy according to other characters reactions without doing anything to disprove it, thus reinforcing the idea in the audience that you are annoying; being unimportant to the overall story without having any obvious redeeming or interesting qualities while being perceived as graving in each and everyone of your few scenes; and, of course, being a woman.

But besides all that, whose mostly common knowledge, what else is there to say about Rebecca? What are some of her less noticeable traits and characteristics that make her worth it of an analysis and a rewrite to better include her inside the plot?

Well, unfortunately, the answers are not as uplifting and as satisfying as Rebecca's stans were hoping they would be. Even in an alternative universe, I doubt she would really be as important as some of the other characters, more so an important character for Uzi's development. Maybe even N's.

But don't let this statement fool you into safety: I genuinely believe canon Rebecca is simultaneously so much better and so much worse than the community believes her to be. Rebecca is as much of a freak as Uzi, but not in her obnoxious, extroverted way, nor in Doll's sociopathic, introverted way: she's their uncommon middle ground who somehow manages to be more messed up than the both of them in certain aspects.

Chapter 2: "The quirks"

Upon commencing my research, I've quickly realised that I might be even more unnerved by Rebecca than I was with Yeva, and it's all due to the fact Rebecca facial expressions and body gestures might be the single most obtuse and undecipherable details that Liam has decided to insert into the background of his story. You probably don't understand what I'm talking about because you haven't been losing sleep at night like I did, but let me show you the pictures:

Noticing anything wrong?

Everyone else upon seeing V is immediately frozen in terror or just surprised by the Disassembly Drone presence, but Rebecca instead just looks mildly.... annoyed? Intrigued? It's hard to tell by the image's shots alone but the only time where Rebecca's facial expressions change to the shocked looks of the Worker Drones on the right is when Lizzie says her infamous line and socially excluses her from the popular kids table.

There could be more to say about Rebecca's following lines "Fine, I forgive her! Settle." and how they don't really mean what you think they mean, because, just like we are going to see in a moment, Becca really doesn't give a damn about murder, in some ways, even more than the other Workers, but I haven't found a single more compelling meaning besides, you know, Rebecca's family, which we are soon going to be talking about.

Other weird facial expressions that she does are the weird look that she has when escaping Prom, her reactions to people dying in Cabin Fevers, and probably every single scene she's in when you think about it hard enough.

She also does this weird thing with her fingers. A sign of anxiety? She looks fairly inexpressive. Yet again, she might have learned to mask her emotions and the hand gesture could be a way to let it all out without putting too much attention upon herself. But why? Is the guy standing right beside her one of her parents? More of that in a minute.

Finally, and this is the biggest point of speculation, there's a high possibility that Rebecca might have sensory issues, a possibility that we are going to treat as fact, thus explaining why she's so afraid of falling out of the boat in this scene: aside from the fact that Worker Drones are probably not waterproof judging by the text in episode 1; Rebecca is literally experiencing sensorial discomfort from the erratic movements of the boat, and even if she was able to survive in water, she wouldn't be able to swim due to her disability. (Other possible evidence of this is the squirm she emits when the door of the abandoned cabin Uzi is in slams shut. Darren also reacts to it, but in a much more normal manner).

But now you might be asking: "If she really had sensory issues making these moments where she lacks balance scarier, why did she pick up cheerleading?" Which nicely segway's us into the next part:

(Side note, I've only specifically searched for sensorial discomfort in relation to sex, and based the rest on preemptive knowledge, thus I might have messed up some parts of this analysis; I'm sorry to anyone who experiences these issues and didn't find their inclusion in this essay accurate.)

Chapter 3: Becca the 13th

In the following segment, the line between canon and fanon, reasonable and made up blurs, but I beg you to stay patient and follow my thought process: the far fetched parts are based on the elements already present in the show to make Rebecca a more interesting characther while tying her to the themes of the show and to the preexisting dynamics.

In my research to answer the question "Why did Rebecca pick up cheerleading" I looked up a site explaining all the reasons why girls decide to get into cheerleading, and I've singled out these answers as the most likely possibilities for Rebecca's interest in the sport.

Passion for the Sport: Many women who become cheerleaders have a genuine passion for cheerleading and enjoy the physical and artistic aspects of the sport. They may see cheerleading as a way to express themselves creatively and be part of a team.

Opportunities for Performance: Cheerleading provides opportunities for women to perform in front of large audiences, which can be a rewarding experience for those who enjoy being in the spotlight and entertaining others.

Team Camaraderie: Cheerleading often involves working closely with a team of other cheerleaders, which can foster a strong sense of camaraderie and friendship. Many women value the sense of community and teamwork that comes with being a cheerleader.

Scholarship Opportunities: In some cases, cheerleading can provide opportunities for women to earn scholarships for college or other educational benefits. This can be a motivating factor for women who are looking to further their education.

Personal Development: Cheerleading can help women develop valuable skills such as teamwork, communication, leadership, and time management. These skills can be beneficial in both personal and professional settings.

Love for Dance and Performance: Cheerleading often involves elements of dance and performance, which can appeal to women who have a passion for these art forms. For some women, cheerleading offers a creative outlet to express themselves through movement and choreography.

Which one of them is the most likely?

If your answer is all/some of them, then you are probably right, as there could always be more than one reason driving an individual to commit the actions that they do.

If your answer is none of them, then you must be pretty bold to make such an assumption, but you can't be blamed as it's finally time to bring up the two big elephants in the room:

These two.

Rebecca's relationship with the other cheerleaders can't be anything but toxic, it just makes sense to me: Lizzie's not afraid to throw people under the bus if it means that she gets to stay on top of the social hierarchy, with Doll being the clear exception at this point of the story due to their closeness and intimacy, making Rebecca the most direct victim of Liz and Doll the main target of Becca's jealousy; she can't act too much on her jealousy though, cause Lizzy can just cut out her wings whenever she feels like, so most likely all of the bullying that she does on Doll is subtle and only at most convenient of times. Doll probably doesn't react to Rebecca's bullying seeing as she is Lizzy's second best friend and killing her would inconvenience the cheer's squad, but if her reaction to Rebecca's speech in The Promening is anything to go by then she has at least built up a certain resentment for her throughout their time spent together.

Rebecca is kind of like Heather Duke with the personality of Heather McNamara and Veronica's shaky presence inside of the trio. No, I'm not going to diagnose Doll and Lizzy as Heathers, do that yourself.

But we're going to bring back up the DLR trio back in a moment, as the time has come to fire up the Chekhov's gun:

Remember when I said that we were going to bring up Rebecca's family later on? It's finally time.

In the same boat scene that we talked about earlier, Rebecca asks N this question: "So, my friend wants to know if you've killed her family... and are single."

In case you didn't pick up on it, this is a common tactic used to taste the waters in a relationship, when someone uses the excuse of having another friend who has a crush on you to see if you are up for dating. Naturally, the underlying message of this tactic is "I'm the one friend who I was talking to you about, I'm interested in you. Are you interested in me?" but that's not where Rebecca's sentence stops, no, before doing that Rebecca specifically asked N if he might have killed her friend's family, with the implication that she's talking about her own family.

So... Rebecca is without parents, just like Doll and she was probably left with just her dad much like Uzi. Where the differences between Rebecca and the rest of the cast starts to shine is in her reaction to the death of her parents. Where Uzi's and Doll's mood worsened after the death of one or both of their parents, Rebecca seems to be happier for it.

We can take this a step even further and assume that the possibility that N might have killed her family could be the big reason as to why she's so attracted to him, even more than the other classmates (keyword "family". It means that she could have had a brother or sister too, though I doubt it): she hated her parents, is happy with their deaths, and views N as her saviour and white knight in the dark for killing them.

If we look back at the shot from episode 2, we can come up with a couple of theories: she's probably alone at the parents teachers conference, or, and this is the most interesting alternative, the guy who stands right beside her is her dad, the weird hand gesture that she's doing with her fingers could be genuine anxiety about her dad finding out that her teacher has some bad things to say about her school performance and punishing her for it, which could also further explain why she does anything that Lizzie says if the theory that Lizzie's father is the Teacher is true.

Due to her sensory issues, it's possible that Rebecca's hatred for her family stems from a streak of physical abuse received at home and exacerbated by her already frail physique. She probably has been living alone with her dad for a while, like the girl from the 2017 It movie; so for her to hate her mom too, unless she was still alive and didn't show up to the parents/teachers conference, there are a couple of possible explanations: A, her mother died when she was too young for her to give a s##t about her; B, her mother was also just as abusive as her dad; or C, the most compelling explanation, as it parallels Khan's and Uzi's relationship: Rebecca's father uses the death of her mother as an excuse to wallop into self pity and be abusive, similarly to Khan but ten times worse, thus leading Rebecca to hate her mom even if she never knew her just by virtue of constantly hearing her name being used as justification for her dad's awfulness.

Rebecca could have, in just a couple of minutes, grown attached to N in the same way Uzi's grown attached to him throughout the course of the series: by viewing him as a sort of comfort net for the horrible things that have happened to her and as the one who saved her from her awful home life (by killing her parents).

Her dad probably did the interview right after Khan and thus implying a small space of time where he left her alone for god knows whatever reason, died to Eldritch J right before Uzi and N came in to stop her and Khan finally arrived to the crime scene, thus leading Rebecca to assume that N killed him in episode 4 and, through a connection made up by her wild immagination, her mom aswell.

So, for Rebecca, unlike Uzi and Doll, the day her parents died must have been the best day of her life; knowing how Doll lost her parents and looked pretty happy on the outside, Rebecca took this as a positive that her life could only improve; leading to the time spent between the ending of episode 2 and her death in episode 4 to be happiest period of her life, especially after episode 3 where Doll was revealed as a serial killer and went into hiding, making Rebecca the only friend Lizzie had left and solidifying her place in the social hierarchy.

When you think about it, we never see Rebecca being "happy" before episode 3, and while it could just be because we don't see enough of her, it could also really be that she was unhappy with her home life; Lizzie and Doll clearly weren't helping as despite Doll being at the bottom of the abuse trio of Lizzie and Rebecca, it's pretty clear by the framing of the show that Rebecca was always the most replaceable member of the trio, Lizzie was the master manipulator holding all of the cards of the social hierarchy thanks in part to her dad's influence, and Doll was Lizzie's irreplaceable (until V) main enforcer who at any moment could have just snapped and physically threatened Lizzie with her powers; leading Rebecca to feel constantly anxious of her every move. Plus, it must have been fairly obvious to the entire school that Doll and Lizzie had an affair going on and Rebecca wasn't part of it, therefore other students could have definitely picked up on her anxiety and started a gossip behind her back, leading her to feel even worse about herself than she already was. Which also, in turn, parallels Uzi and her feelings of being socially ostracized, making them even more of a foil to each other, with the main difference being that Uzi tried to fit in by becoming a hero to the colony and failing, while Rebecca carved her own unstable niche into society that she has to constantly struggle to maintain (Doll being at the positive end of the spectrum in this case, by being popular without struggling and willingly giving up said popularity for her revenge fantasies).

Her fear of losing the social stability and bullying immunity provided by Lizzie and Doll eventually turned into paranoia, forcing her to make up lies about dating people, like the guy "Brad" who she supposedly went to Prom with despite that apparently never being the case. To maintain the lies as truthful, she eventually benefitted from the ripple effect that those lies had created for her thanks in part to her good looks: now having the reputation of a nymph, she could get people to have sex with her, probably using it as an excuse for never actually being in a relationship with anyone (Darren is one of those people, she wasn't dating him, she was just making out with him).

There's also much to be said about the way Rebecca views sex and relationships as a whole; I'm not too sure about this talking point due to the aforementioned sensory issues that she has, but she could view sex as a sort of escapism fantasy, which also carries over in her love fantasy of N, and her relationship with the other cheerleaders as a semi functional support system, yet again other similarities with Uzi who, at the start of the series latched onto her fantasy of becoming a hero as escapism from her unfortunate school and home life, and, with a little stretching, we could say that Lizzy and Doll were to Rebecca what N and V are to Uzi, though not quite as healthy.

To ensure that Rebecca's views and actions on sex don't jive with her possibly having sensory issues, I've looked up information regarding the way people with these types of problems engage in sexual activity, and luckily for me, none of what I've found seemed to contradict any of the points I've brought up.

Here I have isolated all of the results of my research that fit Rebecca the most. Note: all of these apply to "some" individuals, not "every" individual. You don't have to check out all of these to have sensory issues regarding sex and other similar activities. I'm not a medic, so don't take any of these as gospel.

Perhaps the most obvious way that disordered sensory processing can affect sexuality is through physical touch. Some individuals may dislike hugs and embraces. Others may seek out a lot of touch or intense touch experiences.

Bright lights may agitate individuals with disordered sensory processing during intimacy. Play around to find the best lighting for you and your partner. Try using candles, soft bedside lighting, or turn off the lights completely! Avoid engaging in intimacy directly in front of a window or another uncontrollable light source.

An environment with a surplus of visual stimulation can be overwhelming and distracting. A cluttered environment can limit your partner’s ability to engage in intimacy because they are using energy to process visual inputs. For this reason, seek out clean, neutral, and minimalist spaces! In turn, assure your partner that it is okay to close their eyes during intimacy. This can help to calm their senses and allow them to focus on you, rather than the environment.

Background noises such as music, television, or roommates speaking next door may be distracting to individuals with disordered sensory processing. Find a quiet, private place to engage in intimacy. Avoid integrating music into the environment unless your partner suggests it!

Some individuals with disordered sensory processing have difficulty understanding where their head is in space; they may become disoriented or sensitive to different head positions. On the other hand, they may seek out intense vestibular sensations by engaging in extreme movements and positions. While some individuals may feel more comfortable being stable and stationary, others crave motion.

Sex is also most likely viewed as a coping mechanism for Rebecca, even if the main reason why she probably does it is to remain upon the popular girls in the school.

All of this added context makes Rebecca's death in episode 4 far more tragic, yet less random than some of the other campers. It comes as a result of one, yet fatal flaw: Her need to stay at the top of the food chain.

At this point in the story, Rebecca was getting closer to N, she could have just simply kept nurturing this relationship until it would have developed into something more genuine and mutual. It could have come to the point where eventually, once N would have chosen Uzi over her (because of course he would), she could have come to accept it and move on with her life instead of keep chasing her escapism fantasies and fawning over her parents possible murderer, maybe she would have even befriended Uzi in the process. But no. Her ego was her downfall: once N went away and could no longer satisfy her current needs, she decided to keep improving her social position, an easier thing to do now that Doll was out of the hierarchy, and proceeded to reinforce her reputation by making out with Darren, which got her accidentally killed by Uzi.

Accidentally, just like the death of her parents probably was.

Her death is almost perfect, even better than some of the others in the show: while Doll's death was brutal and heart wrenching but not really satisfying, Tessa's death mostly happened in the background and the show spent very little time on it, Alice's, Beau's, Yeva's and her husband's death depend on how you view their characters and if you think it fits, and V's death is the closest to perfect but wonky in certain aspects of its execution (just like V's arc in general), Rebecca's death is the perfect conclusion to her character.

She dies segmented, broken in pieces, part of her still lives for a couple of minutes, while the other gets eaten by what is essentially the character's foil of the one girl she was jealous of, and whose disappearance greatly benefited Rebecca. While crawling to the other campers, she must have suffered the whole time, just like she suffered her whole life before episode 2, the split of her torso represents her inability to pick up just one road, and in a meta context represents the fact that she is the middle ground between various character's situations.

It also represents the split in her life's trajectory: she was unhappy with her parents and was happy when they died, then became happy with her life and is now unhappy as she's slowly dying of a pain comparable to the one provided by her dad. All of this because of her ego.

And then lastly, as the final nail in the coffin, once she finally reaches the other students, her insides spilling out (reference to Melissa-titanium Doll's death post), everybody immediately forgets about her, just like they did with Uzi. She spent so much time climbing the social ladder, afraid and paranoid that she might tumble down and her parents would punish her for it, only for her to be immediately forgotten about once her systems shut down, still considered meaningless, tying her death also to Doll's and possibly Uzi's one, as the middle ground exploration of the theme of failure: Uzi fails but manages to achieve everything she had ever wanted, Doll fails but manages to achieve nothing, Rebecca fails but manages to achieve half.

It also ties back to Tessa as an alternate version who got freed from her parents abuse and had a chance to live a better life but still died soon afterwards because of a mistake she made.

Chapter 4: The Results

As you can see, just by using all the stuff present in the show if you squirm hard enough for it, with some added details we get a lot of utility out of Rebecca as a character:

- She develops Uzi, develops N, and develops and challenges Nuzi even more than she does in canon, but in a much more meaningful way.

- She works simultaneously as a foil to Uzi and Doll due to her benefiting from the death of her parents, and as well as a foil to Uzi and Tessa, who both had pretty bad parents but never wanted them to die.

- Her relationship with her dad also serves as a foil to Uzi's and Khan's father/daughter relationship, possibly helping to strengthen Khan's arc by showcasing a worse version of himself to the audience, rendering the reconciliation between father and daughter all the more sweeter.

- She deepens Uzi's and Doll's relationship in a different way than the Nori/Yeva parallels, by showcasing us a middle ground between the two characters that is simultaneously so much better and so much worse than the both of them.

- She also deepens the parallels between Uzi and Tessa, by showing us what could have happened if Tessa had the same sadistic tendencies of Uzi and left her parents to die intentionally (side note: Rebecca leaving her parents to die intentionally is also what could have happened in this made up canon. I doubt Rebecca finds joy in other people's suffering, but I can't help but think that she might have finally felt relief when the source of abuse in her life was finally gone), basically doubling as the middle ground between Uzi and Tessa but without their engineering skills, yet again, being so much better and so much worse than both characters.

- She serves to make Uzi more interesting by virtue of being foils but not in the obvious, narrative way of Doll, rather, in a more subtle, social way: if played right, her death could have hunted Uzi in ways the deaths of her other classmates didn't, by finally making Uzi question if she was ever in the right or if she isn't as much of a monster as Doll is.

- Further explores the themes of abuse present in the show and better ties said themes to Lizzy and Doll, who are currently lacking.

- She could have been used as a "tease" for Cyn, something that I haven't talked about until now (Uzi's and Cyn's middle ground). From what we know about Cyn, it seems like she was coded with some sort of robo neuro divergence, similar to the one that Rebecca possibly possesses; the details of Bec's story could have been reworked to parallel some of Cyn's story details, giving Uzi (and the audience) a taste of what Cyn's story or personality is like before meeting the real deal.

- She also, canonically, served to develop me.

Before I started working on this project, I never gave too much of a care about Rebecca. I didn't hate her like many people did, I actually liked her even if that liked soon turned into contempt once the serious writing for this essay actually started, but now I can confidently say that I'm a Rebecca enjoyer, the ideas that I've come up with for her are just too interesting for me to view her in the same way ever again, and I hope that this lecture might have also slightly changed your opinion of Rebecca as well.

[melodygatesauthor]

Feeling You Can't Fight - Chapter One

Moon Boys X m!Reader

Not Beta Read - Masterlist - Pride Event Fic 🏳️‍🌈

Written for the @flightlessangelwings pride event!

Summary

After replacing the loathsome former staff manager of the National Art Gallery in London, you find yourself all too interested in one of your employees in particular. Manager and employee relationships aren't allowed, and even if they were, you aren't sure if the nervous gift shoppist would be interested in you anyway. There's only one way to find out...

Reader Inclusivity

Reader is not race coded, is a cis man, taller than MK by a few inches, British, ex military, has a big peen

Tags/Warnings (for entire series)

NSFW, writer is NOT from the UK so please be gentle, I did my best with UK terms and such, smut, anal sex, oral sex, anal creampies, cum eating, cum swallowing, rough sex, Marc has DID, reader has mild PTSD, PTSD symptoms, trauma responses, semi-public sex, praise kink, fluff, comfort, angst, romance, love, forbidden relationship (boss and employee), minor physical violence.

Word Count: 2.5k

The front doors to the National Art Gallery in London stood before you, more menacing than you ever remembered them, even when you would go there as a child. It took a lot to shake you, you’d been to hell and back before, but starting a new job was nerve wracking for anyone. When you stepped into the lofty entryway, you were hit immediately by the smell of old books and cedarwood. There was nothing quite like the feeling of being in a museum, but it was a little different somehow when you were entering as a manager versus being a normal patron.

You remembered the phone call you got from an old friend during your time serving in the British Armed Forces. Apparently, the old staff manager of the museum was getting canned, and they needed a replacement quickly. He said that you had the qualifications they needed, and you thought it would be a good opportunity to start a new chapter in your life. You used to be so good at handling high pressure situations, but now you found yourself holding your travel mug like it was your lifeline as you walked further into the building.

You stepped up to the guest services area. There were a couple of receptionists that gave you a pleasant greeting, along with a man whose name tag read J.B. You waved, giving him a friendly smile. You weren’t usually an overly expressive kind of guy, but you didn’t want to make a bad first impression. From what you understood, your predecessor, Donna, wasn’t the nicest to the staff, so you wanted to try and separate yourself from her as much as you could.

“Mornin’,” You said, “J.B. is it?” You raised an eyebrow, pointing to his name tag.

“Yeah, are you the new boss?” He gave you a nervous smirk.

“I am. Have you got time to show me around a bit? Get me to my office and all that?” You grabbed the strap of your bookbag.

“Mornin’ J.B.!”

You turned and saw a disheveled and sleep deprived man shuffling toward you. He had a broad smile despite his exhausted appearance. You looked down at him from where you stood. The man was nearly half a foot shorter than you were. His face dropped a little when his eyes met yours, averting his gaze anxiously. You couldn’t help taking note of the way his clothes sat just a little too large on his body, and the way his curls, while unkempt, framed his face handsomely. 

“Scotty here could take you around. Considering he’s late.” J.B. scoffed, “always late, this one.”

The one called ‘Scotty’ gave J.B. a dirty look. “It’s actually Steven, Steven with a ‘V’, but no one can ever seem to remember that.” He looked at you again, expression still less than impressed until he spoke again. “Are you the–the new boss?” His brows were turned up and drawn together. If you were being honest he looked rather…cute.

“Sure am, cheers, Steven.” You reached out a hand.

Steven shook it and nodded, “cheers.”

He was a handsome guy, cheeks rosy from running into the building quickly after being late, five minutes to be exact. You mostly found yourself fixed on his eyes. They were beautiful, dark, and they seemed to glitter in the recessed museum lights. He gulped, and chuckled nervously, pulling his hand back and rubbing his neck.

“Right well, better get goin’ then,” you urged, gesturing for him to lead the way.

“Right,” Steven said in a breathy tone, prying his eyes away from yours.

You followed closely behind, and you were amazed at the man’s ability to find something to say about everything. Literally everything. While you passed the bathrooms on the way to the staff break room where the lockers were, he told you all about the time one of the tour guides got sick and spent nearly an entire day there. When you passed the meeting room he mentioned Donna, the previous staff manager, and her meetings that, in his words, felt like an excuse for her to berate the employees she didn’t like.

What really impressed you was his vast knowledge of history, particularly where ancient Egypt was concerned. There were a few times where you wondered if he was giving you a formal tour of the museum instead of a quick guide of your new workplace.

“I’m sure the patrons love you. Sounds like you really know your stuff!” You chuckled.

“Oh, well, I just work in the gift shop, m’not a tour guide. Donna crushed that dream any time I brought it up. She could be rather nasty at times…” His eyes grew wide, “sorry, shouldn’t’ve said that. S’wrong to say that about my old boss, I know it, she was just…”

He was looking at you with eyes that begged you to understand his feelings toward his former boss. You could tell he was kind at heart, not even wanting to talk negatively about someone who treated him and so many others unfairly. You put a hand on his shoulder, realizing now how much bigger you were than him. He stood at least six inches shorter than you, and you were a bit more broad shouldered.

“She was right cunt from what I heard. No need for pleasantries,” you said, hoping it would help him feel more comfortable.

He shrugged and smiled, “yeah, yeah you could definitely say that again.”

You were going to like Steven, you could already tell by the way he seemed to be a generally pleasant person to converse with. You’d almost made it to the staff room when a woman walked out. She was wearing a black dress and she smiled at Steven on her way by. You watched how Steven’s eyes changed from nervous to dopey with a slack jaw to match when she said hi to him. It was like you were watching a little boy in school nearly collapse over his crush.

“Who’s that?” You asked as she disappeared around the corner.

“Hm?” Steven turned back to you and his expression shifted back to normal, “oh her? That’s erm…her name is Dylan. She’s a tour guide. Lovely woman.”

You nodded, “well, I’ll have to introduce m’self later, she didn’t seem very interested in talking to me did she?” You chuckled.

“Oh, well I mean…yeah she’s usually really nice. I almost went on a date with her once, mucked that all up.” He looked sad when he said that. “Guess you could give it a go, she likes steak. I know that much.” He frowned at the thought. Clearly she was a sensitive topic for him.

You patted his back, “no worries with me mate, she’s not my type.”

“Yeah well, I don’t really even have a ‘type’ and I still can’t seem to get a girlfriend.”

There was an awkward silence while you stood in the hall in front of the staff lounge. Steven just nodded and sighed. You saw his eyes flick toward the mirror against the wall and then up at you. He gulped and his cheeks slowly started to turn crimson. You looked at him with a concerned expression.

“Everything alright Steven?” You furrowed your brow.

“Y-yeah, yep, yes, right let’s get goin’ then hm?” He opened the door and gestured for you to go inside.

You walked in and saw several lockers along the wall along with a handful of employees all scattered about, mostly on their phones. They all looked at you wide-eyed when you walked in the room. It was easy to forget that you were the one in charge. It wasn’t often people looked at you like that. You cleared your throat and raised up your hand in a greeting to all the staff.

“Hello, I’m…” you told them all your name. You swore you could hear crickets despite it being midday in the middle of a museum in London. “I’m the new staff manager. You can all breathe easy, I’m not here to terrorize you, just here to make sure everyone does their job.”

Your employees all hummed their greetings before returning to their own devices, both literally and figuratively.

You leaned over to Steven’s ear, “tough crowd.”

He jumped and gasped, as though he’d forgotten you were standing right there. He gave you a polite giggle before falling into his normal nervous flurry of words.

“Y-yeah, not the most friendly bunch. They’re also not used to…not Donna so…” He looked at you and nodded, “right, the lockers are right over here. Erm, I’ll just drop off my stuff real fast and then I’ll show you where Donna’s…well…” he chuckled, “your office is.”

Steven walked over to his locker and started putting away his things. You found it endearing, the way his pants were just a little too short, showing off his crisp white socks that disappeared into his loafers. He dropped something on the floor before muttering under his breath and picking it up. You sensed that this was the norm for him. He was a little clumsy, flustered, deceptively good looking, man.

That’s your employee, you reminded yourself, shaking the thoughts that threatened to course through your mind.

“Alright, let’s get on with it shall we?” He flashed a friendly smile before you nodded and let him lead the way.

Steven was a talker, that much was evident by the way he rambled on. By the time he got you to Donna’s old office, you knew everyone’s name who currently worked there, and who had ever worked there before; you’d been given another crash course in Egyptian mythology, and you’d learned that Steven was one of the most observant people you’d ever met. He seemed to know everything about…well…everything.

“I guess I should probably get to the gift shop. Those scarab jellies aren’t gonna sell themselves,” Steven rolled his eyes and chuckled on his way out the door.

Your office wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t small either. You had a nice window looking out at the front entrance of the museum. The people of London were bustling around the street, going into various shops and driving their cars. You turned when your door opened, it was John, the museum director; your good friend.

“Hey!” He said, coming up and giving you a big hug with a firm pat on the back.

He was shorter than you too. You had a tendency to tower over most people you met. He spread his arms out and gestured around the office.

“Look at you! Mr. Big Wig! How do you like your office?” He leaned on the desk with one hand.

“I like it. It’s a bit dark in here, but I’ll get used to it.”

“Good, good, listen, I’ve got to get to a meeting, just wanted to stop in and make sure you found everything alright. I sent you a memo with your job description and the scheduling and all that so if you have any questions let me know yeah?” He patted your shoulder and took his leave.

You got yourself settled in before finally looking at your emails. Sure enough your schedule and details were right where he said they’d be. It was the simple nine to five, nothing special there, except it looked like Wednesdays you were meant to come in a little later, and leave later too.

“Hm, inventory,” you muttered to yourself.

It wasn’t your idea of a fun way to spend your Wednesday nights, stuck in the museum storage room counting hippo plushies, but when you learned you would be joined by Steven, it made it not feel so bad in the end. It didn’t feel like something the boss should have to do, it seemed like something the employees should have no issue handling themselves, but you weren’t going to question it so early into your new job.

Two nights later, on Wednesday, you found yourself in the stock room waiting for the anxious gift shop employee to meet you down there. No one had shown you how to do this yet, so you were relying on him to give you the rundown. When he finally made it, he was flustered, running in and apologizing on repeat until you yelled over him.

“Steven!” You shouted in a booming voice.

He looked at you with those big brown doe eyes, “y-yeah?”

“Stop apologizing,” you gave him a friendly smirk, “I’m not mad.”

“Oh, you’re not?” He seemed surprised before letting out a sigh of relief, “well, thank goodness, that’s a first.”

“She was that bad, huh?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

“You have no idea mate. Meanest lady I’ve ever had the misfortune of knowin’ in my entire life.”

You watched Steven’s eyes flick over to one of the glass picture frames on the floor that had posters for the upcoming museum event. He tilted his head as though he were listening to someone. You cleared your throat, to which he jumped and looked at you again, giving you a friendly smile and a nervous laugh.

“Sorry…though I had something’ in my teeth. Shall we then?”

Steven started showing you how to take inventory of all the items in storage, and while you paid as close attention as you could, you couldn’t help getting distracted just listening to him talk. He was animated, passionate, and had an opinion about every item he picked up. At one point he looked at you and sighed.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to keep ramblin’ on. Used to drive Donna mental just listenin’ to me. She used to say it was the worst part of workin’ inventory.” He clicked the scanning gun over another barcode.

“Steven if I hear you apologize one more time, I’ll have you cleaning the toilets instead of workin’ down here with me yeah?” You looked at him expectantly.

“Yeah, right, so–damn.” He chuckled, “s’harder than you think to avoid sayin’ it.”

You were focused on Steven again, and just how good looking he was. You had a clear attraction to him, despite his awkwardness and disheveled appearance. In fact, that was part of what captivated you about him. He was effortlessly handsome, and the nervousness could be quite endearing.

“What, do I have something on my face?” He asked, face turning red under your gaze.

You shook your head quickly, feeling embarrassment wash over you, “no, sorry I was just spacing out s’all.”

That was all it took for you to start the spiral that was falling in love with Steven Grant, the tardy, handsome, gift shoppist who worked under you.

Moon Knight Male Reader Masterlist

Moon Knight Masterlist

[radiant-vulpine]

Chapter 3 Secret Boss [From a dream I had last night.]

Last night I had a very stupid dream about the Newsletter, where attached was an entire playthrough of Deltarune Chapter 3. Not much really stood out, but there was a secret boss character that caught my atttention. So, now there's a new funny friend in the "rogue's gallery." My sprite isn't very good, but it'll do.

The rogue's gallery, I suppose.

[thefrogdalorian]

The Best of Both Worlds - Chapter Eight

Din Djarin x Female Reader Modern!AU

❁ Series Masterlist ❁ My Masterlist ❁ Read on AO3 ❁

Word Count: 11438 Rating: General Summary: After a difficult few days of filming The Mandalorian, Din is excited to spend time with you as he finally takes you on your first proper date... Content Warnings: Smooching 👀, alcohol consumption. Author's Note: I was going to post this on Friday but just didn't really feel right after the news, but I'm very happy to finally share this one with you! Big chapter for our dear reader and Din's story together as their relationship to each other reaches a new stage. Next chapter is equally important and she also earns a nickname from Din which is very cute 🥺! Can't wait to finish editing and share that one, too! Hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thanks again to @suresnips for being my beta. Your feedback is always so helpful and appreciated ♡

7. Your Face Hung Up High In The Gallery [Din's POV]

Usually, when a new season of The Mandalorian began filming, Din would feel thoroughly invigorated by the process. Donning his precious beskar’gam and using the expertise he had accumulated through all of his training in the ancient Way to perform stunts helped him feel in touch with his roots. It helped Din to feel connected to the people who had taken him in when he was a destitute orphan, found wandering the streets. Yet, the beginning of filming for the third season had not brought such emotions forth within Din. Instead, he felt rather drained by the entire process. 

As he sat there in the back of the car that ferried him the short distance to and from the studios daily. Din was grateful that it was almost the end of the week for his patience was running thin. The shoot for the first episode of the third season of The Mandalorian was drawing to a close, ending in a climactic final act with plenty of fight scenes for Mando. Fortunately, since the day at the zoo, he had felt slightly more settled mentally than he had on the day when he was constantly missing his cues and was sent for an early lunch. The clarity the conversation by the penguin enclosure had brought had calmed his mind, and now he knew with certainty that nothing was standing in his way from attempting to claim your heart. 

Despite how well the shoot was going for the most part, there was a certain curly-haired co-star who seemed determined to get on Din’s last nerve. The constant questions and teasing from Peli about how the flowers had been received and the outing to the zoo had been amusing at first, but now they were beginning to irritate Din. Although he cared for Peli a great deal and was always grateful for how much she cared about him and Grogu, sometimes she could grate on Din’s nerves. The talkative, eccentric woman was someone Din knew that he could always turn to for advice, yet he also found that sometimes she could be a little overbearing and eager to give her advice in situations where it wasn’t even necessary. 

Din could not wait for tomorrow evening when he had arranged what he thought was the perfect proper first date. Finally, the two of you would be able to spend time together, no work, no zoos, and no toddlers. He wished that time would speed up so that Friday evening would roll around and he would finally be able to be in your presence again. Although there were not too many miles that separated you from each other and despite having exchanged phone numbers, things had been too hectic to take advantage of that fact. To Din, you could have been on the other side of the world entirely rather than only a few minutes drive away.

It wasn’t that Din didn’t want to text; he did, more than anything. But doing so was a risk. What if you asked a question that he could not easily answer? Din knew that it would be incredibly difficult to continue small talk via text, given the gravity of the secret that he was keeping. How could he possibly say he was just about to beat up an entire platoon of Praetorian Guards if you asked what he was doing at work? No, he had to be tactful about how he handled this part of his life. Din would never outright lie to you, but he knew he had to obscure the truth from you. It was a line, however, that he was struggling to tread. The guilt had been eating him up inside, but Din knew this was for the best. He had to protect himself. Din hoped you would not take his lack of frequent texts as rudeness, or a sign that he was not keen on you. In reality, it was entirely the opposite. 

With all the physical fight scenes that were present in the season finale, Din needed to be focused and on the top of his game. Despite the clarity that your outing to the zoo had brought, focusing on a fictional fight scene was complicated given the numerous complex emotions he was currently dealing with. For one, he had not been able to stop thinking about the time the two of you had spent together at the zoo the previous weekend. Since he had met you, Din was experiencing feelings that he had been convinced that he would never feel again. Not after Omera, the woman that Din had come so close to allowing himself to fall for before he realised that their ways of life would ultimately prove incompatible. 

Din still found that his mind occasionally drifted back there, to Sorgan, the idyllic village where he had laid low for a couple of months with work. Memories of the beautiful woman, with her long black hair and kind brown eyes, flickered through his mind. Din thought fondly of her, of how diligently she had taken care of him for the short time their paths crossed when his work liaising with law enforcement to root out organised crime gangs had taken him to Sorgan. Coincidentally, it was during that very same job that Din had encountered Grogu. Indeed, the boy had only been in Din’s care for a matter of days when he had been tasked to gather intelligence in that picturesque farming village where he had come so close to leaving his nomadic lifestyle behind and finally putting down roots. He had agonised for the first few months over whether his decision to leave had been the right one. Although it had hurt greatly at the time, now with time separating him from Omera and Sorgan, Din knew that his decision to leave unquestionably was the correct one. Especially when the call with the offer of the role of The Mandalorian came through only a few weeks later. 

Since Omera, Din had lived such a solitary life that he had almost forgotten how incredible it felt to enjoy someone’s presence as much as he enjoyed the evening at the museum and the day at the zoo with you. Din knew that deep down, complete solitude was not entirely what he wanted for his life. But it was just how things had turned out, he had made his peace with that. Until you came along.

Before then, Din had been pretty content to isolate himself. It had just been him and Grogu in the peaceful cottage that he had just returned to after the long day’s filming, Grogu already asleep in his arms. Although Din usually relished the quiet evenings with his son, he was quietly glad that filming had overrun and Grogu had fallen asleep as soon as his tiny frame had been secured in the car seat. There would be no dinner and bath time tonight; instead Din carried his sleeping son upstairs, grateful that Iggy had already changed him into his pyjamas once the filming had looked likely to overrun so Din did not have to disturb him. Din placed Grogu gently under the covers, tucking him in and leaning down to press a soft kiss on his forehead.

“Goodnight, Grogu,” Din whispered into the silent baby monitor before he grabbed the baby monitor and made his way downstairs. 

With Grogu asleep, Din was struck by the stillness of the cottage. It was dark and soundless. Usually, Din savoured his downtime, the moments he spent alone, away from others. Yet, for the first time since he had moved here, Din began to contemplate another’s presence here. He wondered how it would feel to have you here, in his orbit… in his home. How well you would fit in amongst the stunning scenery, with your beauty. Evening walks with Grogu, returning to the cottage where the two of you would bathe him before you cooked and ate a meal together at the polished wooden dining table. Then you’d cuddle on the couch together, Din holding you tightly in his arms and nuzzling into your hair.

Din shook his head and moved into the kitchen to prepare some food, almost disgusted with himself for how carried away he had just gotten, his imagination running wild. Such a thing could never happen, at least not until Din was more certain that he could trust you with his secret. For his cottage, with all of its proximity to the studios, was certain to provoke a line of questioning from you that he would be unsure that he could answer without breaking his vow of honesty to you. 

Truthfully, the depth of his emotions had terrified him. Intimacy like this, actually wanting to be in the presence of another was a new sensation for Din. After so long spent in solitude, it was going to take some getting used to. Din had been alone for so long that he had almost forgotten what it felt to feel like this.

Din had partly kept to himself because he viewed his life as much too complicated to allow someone else into, feeling that it was unfair to involve someone else with how unpredictable and nomadic his lifestyle was. There was also Grogu to consider, especially with the attention and stability that the little boy required taking absolute precedence. Yet, deep down, Din knew that he was terrified of getting close enough to someone in case the day ever came when he lost them. Losing his parents at such a young age left scars deep within Din that he was struggling to overcome even so many years later.

Of course, Grogu had begun to slowly but surely break down the emotional walls that Din had erected around himself. Until he had found the little boy in the attic on that fateful day, Din had not realised his capacity for love. Now, though, another presence in Din’s life was beginning to chip away at those walls with all of the light and warmth you had brought to his life. 

Din was attracted to the way you looked. But to him, your beauty went far further than merely skin deep. He found himself more able to relax in your presence in a way that he had not around others for a long time. Despite how much he knew you loved the show – after all, it was the reason he had crossed paths with you in the first place – somehow, it was easy to forget the burden of his secret in your presence. Din was so mesmerised by your intellect and how good you were with Grogu, how patient and kind you were to the little boy despite his nervousness and emotional outbursts. Anyone whom Din Djarin was going to fall for had to care for Grogu, too. 

All feelings of awkwardness that Din had felt over bringing Grogu with him to meet you at the zoo had dissipated the second that he had seen you. Din had been fearful of the way that his son’s presence might be misconstrued as a lack of interest or viewing the outing as purely platonic. But you had not had that reaction at all. It had been the complete opposite, you had welcomed Grogu’s presence and been so attentive when the little boy had shown signs of being upset in the frog exhibit. The kindness that you had extended to Grogu in the museum had continued even when you were not being paid to show it, something that had relieved Din immensely. 

Seeing you interact with Grogu had awakened something inside of Din, he was feeling strong emotions that he was not sure he had ever experienced at this intensity before. Time spent with you strengthened Din’s instinct that somehow, he just knew that you were right for him and the way you were seamlessly slotting into his life with Grogu was surely proof of that. Din had not spent much time with you but already he knew that the bond with you was something special, something that he had been searching for for a long time. With you, he felt like he finally had found a part of him that he had not even realised he was missing.

That realisation of how quickly you had become so important to him both scared him and excited him in equal measure. Din had to keep reminding himself that he had to maintain some distance and not let you in completely until he had told you the truth.  Yet, it was just too easy to let his guard down around you. Although he feared the repercussions of his secret being revealed, never seeing you again was simply not an option. That was why he had enlisted Fennec’s help to plan what he hoped would be an ideal first date. 

Given the circumstances behind what was – to your knowledge, at least – the first time Din had crossed paths with you, he figured that there was no point attempting to hide the benefits that his job came with. It would have been a pointless endeavour, considering that you knew his bosses had the financial capability to allow them to rent out the British Museum for just him and Grogu. So, rather than shying away from that fact, Din exploited that benefit to organise a date that he was sure would go down a treat and allow you to look at your favourite painting without the mindless tourists that you so hated. 

Din knew that with the date he had planned, he was opening himself up to conversations about how it was possible. But it was a risk he was willing to take. Besides, if you ever alluded to his work Din, planned to say that he had signed NDAs – which was not a lie. It was an easy way to get around any hypothetical questions. Not that you had ever really questioned him on text this week, even when Din had told you he had a busy, draining day at work. Your replies had just voiced concern and hope that he would have some time to relax, rather than pushing for details. Din was relieved that you seemed perfectly content to be in the dark about specific details about his job. Though Din thought that you perhaps would not be so laid back if you knew exactly what it entailed. No, he was sure that you would suddenly have boundless intrigue about what it was like to be The Mandalorian. 

Your easy-going nature meant that Din had felt even less troubled about leaning into the privileges that came with his mysterious line of work. So he had enlisted the help of Fennec to arrange something he was certain would mean an awful lot to you. Organising such a date had even been worth the playful ribbing from Jim that Din had received when the two had passed in the corridor. Din was grateful that his helmet had hidden the blush that swept over his features when Jim had remarked: “It must be someone special, first the flowers and now this.” Jim was right of course, the person Din was seeing was very special.

Thoughts of how the date would go raced through Din’s mind that night as he lay in bed. He was excited to see how you would react to what he had planned for your evening. But he was also anxious to see your reaction when he revealed what he had planned for your date. Above all, Din was hopeful that the spark that had been evident in your encounters so far would continue when it was just the two of you. Din’s mind took longer than usual to switch off, but fortunately, it was not an issue as he was not required on set the following day. The late night of filming meant that the morning session had been postponed until the following week and Din was not required on set in the afternoon anyway, so effectively he had a three-day weekend to enjoy.

Din was thankful that the scenes to be filmed in the afternoon did not include him. It was a sign that the show was widening in scope, focusing on a story bigger than just Din’s journey as a lone bounty hunter making his way through the galaxy, as the show had once been. For the first few episodes, Din hardly spoke. It was something that the heads of the studio had been nervous about, wondering whether the audience would form an attachment to a nameless, faceless character who hardly uttered a word. Din was pleased that Mando had proved them all wrong, with the almost universal praise and acclaim that the season had received. He had been relieved too, at how much praise his performance in particular had garnered. Not that Din had sought it out, but Jim and Dale had sent him a selection of glowing reviews to reassure Din. Their gamble and trust in an unknown, entirely inexperienced actor who wanted to remain anonymous had more than paid off. 

Now though, the scope of The Mandalorian’s third season had hugely increased and other characters had been introduced. They were mainly fellow Mandalorians that Mando was both allied to and sceptical of. Bizarrely, it mirrored reality for Din as the casting choices had initially irritated him and he had been suspicious of the newcomers. Unlike the casting for the main character, the studio had not elected to cast real Mandalorians, citing budget concerns. Jim and Dale had been equally disappointed, insisting that they had lobbied for real Mandalorians to be cast. But they were so rare, expensive and tricky to negotiate with that in the end, cost had won out.

Their apologies did not stop Din from being any less disgusted that the people walking around on set were pretenders, merely fitted in their beskar’gam by the costume department without any understanding of how sacred each piece of armour was. How centuries of Mandalorians had fought and died to preserve armour such as the ones they were wearing. 

Din was silently enraged by the knowledge that these people were just viewing their beskar’gam as a costume, something that could be taken on and off, without any true understanding of the deeper sacrifice and meaning of being a Mandalorian. Din had sought a lot of counsel from the golden-haired woman who led his tribe. She had been dismayed by it too, but reminded Din that he was doing nothing wrong. It was an unfortunate pitfall of working with such a corporation, which had shown little respect for various cultures throughout its history. It was the latest in a long list of such behaviour, and Din should not have been too surprised. 

It was all contributing to the sense of unease that he had felt on set during the first two weeks of feeling. Somehow, things felt much different than the first two seasons. It did not help that there was pressure to surpass their immense popularity, either. Din always feared that sooner or later, the bubble would burst, and people would realise that he was not good enough to be The Mandalorian.

For now, those thoughts were far away from Din’s mind as he tried to get his body to sleep. He focused on thoughts of you, the way you looked at him and how warm your body had felt, pressed up against his as the two of you sat next to each other eating ice creams on the bench outside the London Zoo. Din was only hours away from seeing you again, a prospect that excited and terrified him in equal measure. So many questions that would be answered the following day. But, now, it was time to rest…

✯ ✯ ✯

It was fortunate that Din was not required on set, as it was not even six a.m. when Grogu’s cries on the baby monitor roused Din from the peaceful slumber that he had eventually fallen into. He did not grumble or complain, just swung his long, muscular legs out of bed and made his way into his son’s bedroom next door. 

“Morning, pal,” Din rasped, reaching down to scoop Grogu out of his bed. “You hungry?” Din asked and was relieved when Grogu furiously nodded. Mercifully, it did not appear to be one of those days where it was difficult to discern Grogu’s immediate needs. “Okay, buddy. Let’s go get you something to eat, I know it was a late night of filming yesterday and you didn’t eat on time.”

With Grogu seated in his high chair, chubby hands happily clutching a serving of his favourite animal crackers, Din took his phone out and debated sending you a text. He knew that you would probably be waking up for work soon, not too many miles away. Din found himself wondering whether he was being utterly ridiculous for pining over you this much so soon after meeting, but then he remembered how his heart sang whenever you were near. With that thought, his thumbs moved to type the text.

Hope you have a good day at work. Remember, Trafalgar Square at 8:30! Can’t wait to see you.

Din read it several times, hoping it didn’t sound too patronising with his comment about enjoying work, especially when his job was nothing like yours. When he was finally satisfied with the text, Din sent it and took a deep breath. Even texting you felt like an event; Din wasn’t sure how he would survive time with just the two of you alone.

Din had already told you of the meeting place a few days before, once the details had been confirmed by Fennec, but an insecure part of him fretted that you had somehow forgotten, or made other plans and would not be there waiting for him. Meeting at Trafalgar Square was hopefully mysterious enough to throw you off the scent, even though the building Din would be taking you to was right there, overlooking the bustling square. Din was anxiously awaiting your reply; mercifully, a certain little boy provided the perfect distraction. Grogu was finished with his animal crackers and was furiously pointing in the direction of the garden, indicating that he wanted to go outside to play.

Din was only too happy to oblige, hoping that a few minutes of running around and playing on the climbing frame by the fire pit, right next to the little outbuilding which housed the gym would tire Grogu out sufficiently that the little boy would want another nap and Din could get some more rest. Instead, after running around, it almost seemed that Grogu had even more energy. So Din took him inside to the small room on the ground floor of the cottage that was essentially Grogu’s playroom. Din dug out some colouring books and the two set about spending the rest of their morning colouring in, a favoured bonding activity that Grogu always seemed to be in the mood for. Din could sense that his son possessed a great deal of talent. For exactly what, he wasn’t sure. But he hoped that Grogu would find it. Until then, Din was determined to nurture his artistic side. 

While Grogu was particularly focused on colouring in a mountainous landscape, Din’s phone chimed and he almost fell off his chair in surprise. A morning of running around after his son had rather taken Din’s mind off the earlier text he had sent, but when a reply from you appeared on his lockscreen, Din suddenly felt lighter.

Thank you! Just arrived at work, I have to show some kids around for a tour. Hopefully they’re as well behaved as Grogu. I’m really excited to see you too :)

Reading your words made Din’s stomach flip. The way you had even referenced Grogu caused an ecstatic grin to spread across his face, he squeezed his eyes shut in glee. Din shook his head and returned his phone to his pocket, wondering what he had ever done to be so lucky to find you. He figured he would leave you to your tour and concentrated on the task at hand, colouring books with his boy.

After a couple more hours of art, the rumbling in Din’s stomach signified that it was lunchtime. Din headed into the kitchen and made some sandwiches for the two to share. The weather was warm, it was early July after all and it seemed as though the British weather had finally remembered what season it was, so Din took Grogu outside and the pair munched on their sandwiches outside on the patio next to the fire pit. It was a feature of the house which Din did not often use. He wondered whether he would sit outside here with you on a cooling summer night, the two of you huddled up together on a bench as you watched the flickering embers of the fire. 

With lunch eaten and cleaned up, Din attempted to put Grogu down for a nap. Mercifully, Grogu was seemingly happy to get some rest, after his busy morning. His son’s eagerness for a nap gave Din the perfect opportunity to catch up on some much-needed sleep after the late night of filming and early morning thanks to his son’s antics. But as he lay there in bed, Din found that he could not settle. The knowledge of his upcoming date was still causing his stomach to do flips. Despite how drained he had felt after the first two weeks of filming, Din couldn’t help but wish that he was on set today. He was incredibly nervous about the upcoming date. Tonight, it would just be the two of you. There was nowhere to hide, just the two of you together. No beskar, no work and no toddlers. It was an equally terrifying and exciting prospect. 

The next sound Din heard was the sound of the doorbell ringing. His eyes flew open and he was momentarily disoriented, forgetting where he was and having no sense of time whatsoever. Din leapt out of bed for the second time that day, panicking that he had overslept. Mercifully, the time on his watch read a little past five p.m. and Din rushed into Grogu’s room, panicking that his son would have woken up without him. He was relieved to see Grogu still sound asleep. Din didn’t have the heart to wake him just yet, so he headed downstairs and was greeted by a familiar hunched figure silhouetted through the glass in the door.

“Hi, Kuiil,” Din welcomed the diminutive man, with his impossibly pink skin, a smattering of white hair above his top lip and deep wrinkled skin. “Thanks for coming, Grogu is upstairs having a nap right now. Figured we could leave him until dinner is ready.”

“Perfect, I’ll get started on that right away,” the old man rasped as he hung up the brown coat he always seemed to wear in the hallway. 

With Grogu asleep and Kuiil tackling dinner for the two of them, it was time for Din to get ready. He inhaled deeply in the shower, hoping that the heat of the hot jets as they rained down upon him would calm his nerves and soothe him somehow. The effect was fleeting before that stomach-flipping nervousness returned. He turned the shower off and exited the bathroom, wrapped in a towel to get ready. The house was a lot less still now. Somewhere below, he could hear the sounds of Kuiil and Grogu laughing and the occasional clanking of pots and pans as the old man continued preparing dinner. Din wondered whether the sound of you and Grogu interacting would ever drift through the cottage and greet his ears. Perhaps he would come in from a workout, to find the two of you playing together in Grogu’s room. Or he would descend the stairs in the morning to find you happily cooking in the kitchen, Grogu on your hip. It was such a vivid image that it almost took Din’s breath away. Din knew that he was probably several steps further than was normal for a first date. But then, the way he had met you had been far from normal. 

After he had dressed, shaved slightly and styled his hair, Din stood in front of the mirror and raked his hand through his hair for what was probably the fiftieth time. Part of the perk of the helmet was that there was no stipulation for how he had to wear his hair and recently, he had been enjoying wearing it longer. His dark hair was pushed back past his ears, the curls were longer on the back of his head and towards the nape of his neck. His moustache had been trimmed slightly, as had most of the scruffy stubble that was usually dotted along his jawline. Din checked his outfit in the mirror one last time, confident that he had played it just right with his outfit. He was wearing a classic white button-down shirt, the first three buttons undone and pushed open to reveal his bronze skin beneath. The shirt was paired with form-fitting dark brown chinos that showed off his muscular legs, which he worked so hard to maintain with his exercise routine, while not being too skinny that they were uncomfortable. 

Din took a deep breath and looked himself up and down one last time in the mirror, hoping that you would like what you saw. He had always struggled to gauge his attractiveness, which was unsurprising given how sheltered his upbringing had been and how much of his life was spent hiding his face behind his helmet. Still, when Din was free to show his face, he had never been particularly focused on others’ responses to him. Sure, he hadn’t failed to notice the occasional admiring looks from both men and women that were thrown his way, but most of the time he had been too focused on a job to stop and explore those gazes further. Now though, with you, he was finally getting to experience a whole new side of himself that had previously remained unexplored. It was an exhilarating prospect, but one that Din approached with equal trepidation. He could not shake the fear that you would perhaps be disappointed in what you saw. 

After deciding that he was satisfied with his appearance, Din grabbed his wallet and phone from the dresser and shoved them in his pockets. His phone had not sounded since your earlier text to confirm the time and venue for your meeting and he wondered whether you were going through a similar process to him, agonising over your appearance. He wished that he could text you and tell you that you had no need to worry. For Din, you could wear anything and he would still be blown away by your beauty.

Din descended the stairs and entered the kitchen and was greeted by the adorable sight of his son sitting in his high chair, face and arms entirely covered by pasta sauce. Din smirked at the sight, grateful that he would not have to be embroiled in the clean-up operation that would surely take place while he was out on his date.

“Oh, Grogu,” Din laughed, “I’m going to keep my distance from you, buddy.” Din gestured towards the freshly-pressed, bright white shirt that he was wearing for his date. The last thing he wanted was for a mucky toddler to ruin his pristine outfit. 

“As soon as he’s finished with his dinner, I’m going to be putting him straight in the bath,” Kuiil huffed. “At least he’s enjoying it, though.”

“It’s wonderful to see,” Din smiled proudly, relieved that Grogu was actually eating something other than his beloved animal crackers. It was a struggle to find foods that the little boy would try, but pasta with tomato sauce appeared to be something that could be added to Grogu’s list of safe foods.

Din poured himself a glass of water and then took a seat at the table, opposite Grogu and well away from the tomato sauce splash zone. He just enjoyed being in his son’s presence, watching with fascination the way Grogu seemed so enthralled by the textures of the pasta and the sauce that he kept making it into little balls with his chubby hands. It was definitely not the most conventional way to eat pasta, but it sure worked for Grogu and if it got him to explore new foods, both Din and Kuiil were more than happy to leave him to it. 

Din also warred with the internal guilt that he sometimes felt when leaving Grogu behind, no matter how short of a time the two of them were apart. Din knew that Grogu was happy with Kuiil; he adored spending time with the older man and the two of them had a truly special bond that anyone who spent time with the two of them together felt privileged to witness. Din knew that Grogu would have a bath, play with his toys and then be put to bed. Din knew that he would be there when his son awoke the following morning. But there was still a nagging guilt in the back of his mind, berating him for leaving his boy alone for something as selfish as a date.

“Din, he’ll be fine,” Kuill smiled sympathetically. The kindly old man appeared to have understood where Din’s mind had wandered. 

“I know, it’s not that I don’t trust you, Kuiil. There’s no one I’d rather him be with,” Din sighed, struggling to put his emotions into words. “I feel so responsible for him, it’s difficult to switch off.”

“Listen, enjoy your night with your lady. If anything happens at all, I will call you immediately. The car can quickly bring you back here, but really, I think this little one is worn out,” Kuiil nodded in Grogu’s direction. “Sounds like the two of you had a busy day before I even got here and after some post-bathtime playing, I’m sure he’ll be out like a light.”

“Thanks, Kuiil,” Din said appreciatively. He knew that the old man he entrusted Grogu with was nothing but diligent in his care of the boy, but there was always that lingering guilt that Din was never quite able to outrun, no matter how hard he tried.

Grogu had just about finished his dinner when the doorbell rang, signifying that Din’s driver had arrived. Din took a deep breath and braced himself to say goodbye to Grogu, hoping that it was one of those nights where Grogu would not get upset at his father leaving. Thankfully, as he leaned down to press a kiss to his boy’s coily hair, Grogu chirped happily and did not seem bothered that his father was leaving, especially as Kuiil was currently detailing all of the toys that Grogu could play with in the bath.

With his heart feeling lighter and safe in the knowledge that his son was going to be okay, Din pushed the old wooden door of the cottage open and made his way to the black van that would ferry him to central London to meet you. Part of the perks of his job was the fact that Din had a driver on call at all times, ready to take him wherever he desired on a moment’s notice. His usual driver was a man called Boba, Din suspected was around his age but somehow seemed more wizened. Din suspected that the two of them shared similar pasts, although he was inclined to keep personal chatter to a minimum.

“Hi, Boba,” Din greeted the bald man who was sitting in the driver’s seat.

“Good evening, Mr. Djarin,” Boba nodded, as he started the engine and drove off.

Din was grateful that Boba did not speak unless spoken to; he was not one for small talk, which suited Din perfectly. The radio was on, mercifully at a quiet volume and Din found himself staring out of the window as the lush green countryside turned into leafy suburbia and then, finally, the hustle and bustle of the big city. It took a certain amount of driving skill to be able to navigate London on a Friday evening, especially given the stop-start nature of the traffic. Din felt as though they were crawling along and wondered several times whether it would be quicker to walk. 

Eventually, though, the car pulled up a street behind Trafalgar Square and Din eagerly hopped out, anxious to get to the meeting point even though he was twenty minutes early. He had left extra early to account for the stubborn London traffic which had proved to be a wise decision as, despite Boba’s driving skill, the journey had still taken more than an hour.

Din hovered by one of the two fountains, not sure where the most convenient place to meet was, given the size of the square. Although the Corinthian pillar that hosted a statue of a British naval hero on top was the focal point of the square, it was busy with tourists attempting to hop on the bronze lions dotted around the base. Din hoped that you would be able to spot him in his current location. He paced around, checking his watch every few minutes and nervously raking his hand through his hair.

“Hi,” a quiet, familiar voice spoke into the warm summer evening and Din immediately spun around, just like that day at the convention when you had caught him looking up at the poster.

“Hi,” Din breathed as he finally looked at you. The sight of you almost caused Din to topple backwards into the fountain. He was almost speechless, as his eyes traversed your body and appreciated the way your outfit complimented your body. “You look incredible,” Din breathed, utterly floored by the sight of you. He had seen you in full-nerd mode at the convention, in your work clothes and dressed down for a casual day at the zoo. But to see you dressed up slightly, with hair and makeup styled to match… you were a breathtaking vision before him and Din could scarcely believe that you were his date. He felt like the luckiest man in the entire world. 

“Thank you,” you replied. Din watched as a shy smile crept across your features and you brought your hand to the side of your face, an indication that you were perhaps as nervous as him.

“Do you have any guesses as to the venue for our date?” Din asked curiously, raising an eyebrow. He wondered whether you had clocked how close the meeting point was to the stunning neoclassical building which looked out over the square. 

“No, I figured we met here because of its location in central London. It’s close to a lot of notable places,” you shrugged. Din smirked, delighted that what he was going to say next was sure to surprise you. 

“Well, I apologise if you’re a bit sick of museums given that you, uh, work in one all week,” Din said, bringing his hand to the back of his neck and squeezing in a self-soothing gesture. “But I remembered what you said during the tour, about a certain painting that always seems to have a crowd of tourists surrounding it…”

“Din! You didn’t!” You exclaimed, clapping your hand over your mouth in shock. 

“Would you like to see the sunflowers without a crowd of people gathered around them?” Din asked, although he already knew what your answer would be.

“YES!” You practically squealed. For a moment Din wondered whether you were about to throw your arms around him in excitement as you appeared to move slightly towards him before you stopped in your tracks. 

To Din, it appeared that you were holding back somewhat. He panicked that you were disappointed in his outfit, perhaps you had just been too polite to say no to a date. Din shook his head and dismissed those insecure thoughts as the two of you began walking up the stairs towards the stunning museum building. He could not forget the way you had looked at him when you had first turned around. There was definitely something there. Din focused on the building to ground himself, admiring the stunning facade. He gazed up at the portico, with its pillars and the dome on the roof above the pediment. Din hadn’t even stepped foot inside yet and he was already blown away by the beauty of the building. If the works contained inside were as incredible as the exterior, it was certain to be an incredible evening. 

A museum worker was waiting at the entrance and she took the two of you inside and gave a brief talk about the rules and expectations for such an exclusive tour. Unlike during his visit to the British Museum, Din had requested that the two of you just be allowed to make your way around alone and, apart from a security guard who would follow you into each room but keep their distance, the two of you would be left to your own devices. 

Din gazed up in awe at the dome above the steps that led up to the galleries. There were ornate marble pillars and gold patterns on the marble doorways. Every surface contained remarkable detail, even the mosaic floor, and Din almost felt that he couldn’t possibly take it all in at once. Surely he would have to stand here for hours and commit it all to memory. However, there was an entire, empty museum with untold treasures waiting to be explored.

“Where to start? This place is enormous!” Din remarked.

“Maybe we can start with the older paintings, the Renaissance and the like?” you suggested. “Then we can finish at the modern section, with the Impressionists and Van Gogh.”

“Lead the way,” Din gestured and you obeyed, practically galloping up the stairs towards the Renaissance wing.

Although Din could appreciate the skill that had gone into crafting such masterpieces so many centuries ago, the subjects of most of the paintings meant nothing to him as they mainly depicted religious history. The Creed that Din followed was quite different, with the bullet and sword carving out most of their history rather than the brush and pencil. Most of the figures meant nothing to him, although he was stunned by their attention to detail.

“Not really doing it for you?” You asked, as though able to sense Din’s disinterest with this particular section.

“Um, I mean… I can appreciate the skill but I prefer landscapes and nature, I think,” Din admitted, hoping that you did not think him uncultured. Din was anything but, yet his cultural background was worlds apart from what was depicted in this museum. 

“To be honest, me too,” you shrugged. “There are only so many creepy babies and angels that I can stand to look at. I know a section that you’ll like!”

Din was stunned as you moved towards him and reached for his hand, lacing your fingers together. He inhaled sharply as the realisation that you had actually taken his hand dawned upon him. Din did not have much time to react as you began leading him through the museum. All earlier nervousness on your end had apparently vanished, as you had actually taken Din's hand in your own. Din was so taken aback by the gesture and the feeling of your warm, soft hand against his, that he almost forgot to begin moving his legs to follow you. Fortunately, he remembered that to actually move forward he had to lift his feet, his brain finally catching up to your gesture. Din followed you to wherever you were taking him, a wide grin on his face as he appreciated the fact that you were joined together. He did not care where you were taking him, as long as the two of you were together. 

Din did not have long to ponder where you were going as he was led into a smaller room off the main wings which contained a variety of stunningly detailed, colourful paintings of an incredible array of flowers. Din paused for a few moments, taking in the art in the room, but you were already marching to the centre of the room. Din was disappointed when you dropped his hand and moved further into the room, wishing that the two of you could have held hands all night. 

“This is a section with a lot of Dutch flower artists, like de Heem, Ruysch and van Huysum,” you explained. “This one is by Brueghel the Elder. I just love the colours, so vibrant and the lighting is so realistic, it’s easy to forget that this is a painting. It looks almost photo-realistic, despite being over four hundred years old. Sorry, I’m going into tour guide mode, even though this isn’t my museum,” you added, sheepishly.

“Don’t apologise,” Din smiled, closing the distance between the two of you and nodding at you, willing you to continue. He was fascinated by your mind and wanted to hear what you had to say.

“You can see there are some tulips in this one, like the red one up there in the corner. At this time, the Dutch economy was built on tulip prices, people made enormous fortunes speculating on that little flower’s worth. Until, one day, the bubble burst and people lost everything. I think some Dutch people even resorted to eating tulips!”

“That’s fascinating,” Din shook his head as he took in the information. “Something so beautiful, eventually causing so much pain.”

“Yeah…” you breathed.

“Sorry, that was a little depressing,” Din scoffed. “I didn’t mean for it to be.”

“No, it’s alright. Art isn’t created in a vacuum, right? I mean, there’s a story behind every painting. I think it can help you connect with them on a deeper level.”

“It certainly can…” Din agreed, taking another step towards you.

“Um, anyway, perhaps we can head to the modern section,” you blurted out as if wanting to maintain your distance, “I’d like to take advantage of being able to look at the impressionists without people wanting to do a photoshoot by Van Gogh’s sunflowers or Monet’s water lilies,” you offered.

Din nodded in agreement and noticed that this time, you did not take his hand. That nagging feeling of insecurity was slowly creeping into his gut and he did not remotely enjoy the sensation. Why did you seem to be holding back from him? Din could not understand it. Surely, you understood how attracted he was to you?

Din followed you as you practically marched through the museum to the more modern section, stopping only briefly to draw his attention to a Holbein painting called The Ambassadors. Din listened intently as you explained that it was one of the most famous paintings in the gallery. Although he much preferred nature, he could appreciate the details of the clothes and the captivating facial expressions, especially given the size of the canvas. Then, the two of you left the Renaissance wing and moved to where the Impressionists were situated. 

Din had followed you closely as you strode purposefully towards the entire reason that Din had arranged a private evening in this museum in the first place. To the most famous piece in the gallery, the one that people from around the country and indeed, the world, travelled to see: Vincent Van Gogh’s sunflowers. Now, Din was standing next to you in quiet contemplation in front of the piece, trying to appreciate every inch and understand what drew you to it.

 “I can see why you like it so much,” Din offered. “There’s just something about it that makes you not want to look away.”

“Right? I could stare at it for hours,” you replied. “And honestly, without any tourists here, I might well do that.”

Din huffed a laugh at that. Although he was quietly jealous of the way that you were gazing at the painting of a man who had died over a century ago. Din wanted, more than anything, for you to turn your head and gaze at him with as much reverence as you were looking at the sunflowers.

“It was worth pulling all the strings just to see you so happy,” Din smiled. 

You turned your head at that, granting Din’s wish as you looked at him, eyes full of emotion. You opened your mouth as if to say something before subtly shaking your head and seemingly deciding against it.

“Thank you, Din. It means the world to be able to stand here in front of a painting I love so much…”

“Well, can you please tell me more about the sunflowers, my favourite tour guide?”

You shook your head and smiled before you launched into another mini-art history lecture. “It’s my favourite piece because I think most people only understand it on a very surface level, whereas I’ve always thought it was quite a sad piece. A lot of us associate the colour yellow and indeed the sunflowers themselves with happiness, but the story behind this painting is anything but happy,” you paused, looking at Din as if to confirm that he was still interested. Din nodded and you continued: “Vincent was friends with a painter called Paul Gauguin and invited him to come and stay with him in Arles, a city in Southern France because he aspired to set up an art colony. So, while he waited, Vincent spent his days painting the sunflowers, intending that the piece would decorate Gauguin’s room. But he didn’t come. As more and more time passed, it was clear that despite Vincent’s enthusiasm, Gauguin was not in any hurry to join him. That’s why you can see the sunflowers at the bottom are dying,” you explained as you gestured towards the wilted flowers at the bottom of the painting.

Din slowly nodded as he cast his eyes towards the sad sunflowers that he had never noticed before. It suddenly gave the painting a newer, more mournful meaning, a perfect mix of enthusiasm and melancholia that Din found strangely relatable and moving.

“There are a few different versions of the painting, where you can see the sunflowers in various stages of decay. It shows just how lonely he was, in real time. Gauguin did eventually come, but the two of them did not get along. Their frequent explosive rows caused Gauguin to eventually leave, a couple of days before Christmas. The entire experience contributed to Vincent’s declining mental state and he entered an asylum, where he spent most of the last year of his life…” you observed, voice quiet now. “I think it’s strange really, that such a famous painting can be viewed so many different ways and that most people do not know the entire story. A lot of people love Van Gogh, but few people truly understand him. And even fewer, I believe, would want to be associated with him if they lived at the same time as him. We like to think that things would be different now and oddballs like Vincent would be treated better, but I’m not so sure. I think we still live in a world where people who are different are treated terribly and anyone who shows any kind of otherness is ostracised for it. He was misunderstood in life and equally in death, too.”

“Wow…” Din breathed. He knew, of course, that he should have expected more than a surface-level assessment of the piece coming from you. But he was no less stunned by the beautiful words that came out of your mouth, the sentiment expressed and the way you seemingly cared so deeply for the world around you and all of the people in it.

“Sorry, I went off on a bit of a tangent there…” you shook your head. 

“Don’t apologise. You’re incredible,” Din reassured, beaming at you. His brown eyes widened in awe of the thoughts you had just shared with him. 

The way you bit your lip, blushed and looked down slightly at the floor as if shy about the compliment Din had just paid you only made him all the more determined to shower you with compliments. He vowed that as long as you were in his life, he would not go a single day without complimenting you, without letting you know how incredible he found you. 

“Um, I might just sit here for a bit and appreciate the paintings if you’d like to join,” you said, gesturing towards the bench that was just behind the two of you. 

Din nodded and followed you to the bench, making sure that he sat close to you and pressed his body against yours. Din positioned himself so that your legs, arms and thighs were touching as you sat on the bench. He was not putting much weight on you, but it was an indication of how close he wanted to get you, and how attracted he felt to you. You were pulling him into your orbit, perhaps without realising it. 

“It’s nice to be able to sit here and look at the paintings without a thousand tourists with their phones blocking your view. I mean, I know the sunflowers are the most popular but there is also the painting of the crabs here. I love the textures and colours. Plus that chair, it’s very much like those found in one of my other favourite Van Gogh paintings: The Bedroom. I think the detailing on it shows a….”

Din was well aware that he was not able to contribute to your ramblings, even if he had possessed the knowledge to. He was distracted by the warm weight of your body against his own, the way his pulse quickened just being in this proximity to you. His gaze flitted to your lips, looking so kissable in the shade of lipstick that perfectly complimented your outfit that you had chosen. Din was aware that you were still speaking about your love for the beautiful artworks before you, but your voice seemed distant somehow. 

Din knew that if he did what he wanted to and joined his lips to yours there would be no going back. Once he kissed you, it was inevitable that he would dedicate his entire life to you. You had already shown so many traits that he was attracted to with your patience, intelligence and kindness. If his lips claimed yours in a kiss, it would be like crossing the Rubicon, a point of no return.

Din sat there, so wrapped up in his thoughts that he failed to notice that you had stopped speaking. It wasn’t until you shook your head and looked away that Din was aware that he had completely zoned out and given you the misguided impression that he was uninterested in what you had to say.

“Sorry, I was boring you,” you shook your head and averted your gaze, clearly feeling embarrassed. Din felt awful.

“Not at all!” Din exclaimed.

“I know I can go on too much, I’m sorry if I–”

But Din cut your ramblings off, mid-sentence. 

“Truthfully, I was just thinking about how much I want to kiss you right now…” Din confessed.

“Then kiss me. I can’t wait much longer,” you breathed.

“Is that what you really want? I mean…”

“Din! If you don’t kiss me already, I’m going to scream!”

Din nodded nervously and brought his arm up as he leaned in. He cupped your jaw in his strong hand, stroking your cheek with his thumb and marvelling at how soft your skin was. He hadn’t even kissed you yet, and already his breaths were so shallow that he feared he might pass out. Din paused a few inches from your face, staring at your lips until you closed your eyes and closed the final distance between you, his eyes squeezing shut as your soft, warm lips touched his. 

Din had kissed people before. He had relished the uniquely intimate connection that came from joining one’s lips to another’s. It was something that had always set his heart racing and made him feel light-headed from the momentousness of such an occasion. Kissing you, though, was a different prospect entirely. It was as though every nerve ending in his body was suddenly on fire. The sensation of your lips together, his hand leaving your cheek to cradle the back of your head as the kiss deepened threatened to unleash something feral in Din that he was sure would be entirely inappropriate for a building as beautiful as the National Gallery.

“Um, wow,” you breathed after Din pulled away from the kiss. 

Din smirked and raised an eyebrow, pleased that you had seemingly had the same reaction to the kiss as him.

“That was incredible,” you added, confirming the fact.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Din confessed, biting his lip lightly. 

“I think I’ve wanted you to for even longer…”

“I’m new to… all of this, dating, you know. I mean, since Grogu, I haven’t felt able to just drop everything and go on dates,” Din explained, clasping his hands together and playing with his fingers, a sign of the nervousness he felt when talking about this. “I just wanted you to know that. I really enjoy spending time with you. I haven’t felt like this for… well, a long time, to be honest. You’re incredibly special and important to me, already, and I would love to spend more time with you.”

“Oh, Din,” you exhaled. “I… I don’t know what to say. Of course, I want to spend more time with you. I’m not very good at this either, I feel like with dating I always come off either too strongly or completely uninterested. But that day when, um, when I saw you at the museum… I was so upset that you were probably going to turn out to be a total creep like every other man I’ve ever given a tour to, because you were so handsome. When you were a complete gentleman it made things much more complicated. I don’t know how I focused on the tour!”

“I would never have guessed, you did a phenomenal job,” Din praised.

“Thank you,” you breathed. “I would love to see you again, as soon as possible. I’m um… I’m free all weekend, if that’s convenient for you.”

“So am I,” Din smiled. “I was thinking after leaving the museum, we could go for a drink somewhere together, if you have any recommendations.”

“Sounds perfect,” you breathed.

Din leaned in for another kiss. Now that that particular barrier had been broken, he was going to make a point of stealing as many kisses from your lips as possible. As your soft lips moved against his and he cupped your cheeks with his hands, Din knew that kissing you like this was something he would never tire of. When you eventually pulled away for some much-needed air, Din leaned his forehead against yours and the two of you smiled shyly, giggling breathlessly as you relished your newfound closeness.

“I’m so lucky our paths crossed,” Din sighed. 

For a moment, it was so easy to forget about how exactly your paths had first crossed. The fact that Din had seen you and began to feel things for you long before you ever knew it. Din felt a pang of guilt at the gravity of the secret he was keeping from you, but then he reminded himself of all the reasons this was important. Din had no doubts that you were an honourable, trustworthy person, but there was no way he could sacrifice the privacy and security of his son at this early stage. Din consoled himself in that moment by reminding himself that he had never knowingly lied to you. This was your first date, after all, he reminded himself to live in the moment and to stop thinking several steps ahead. One day, you would know the truth, one day.

✯ ✯ ✯

As Din gazed across the table at you, your elbow resting on the immaculate wooden surface and your hand cupping your chin slightly as you threw your head back in laughter, he was completely captivated by your effortless beauty. You were giggling at a memory Din was sharing of his time as a stuntman, albeit with the story attributed to a non-existent friend to avoid revealing that he worked in the film industry.  The bar that you had found was underground and dimly lit, save for the lamps that sat on every table. It was modelled after a prohibition-era speakeasy and it was no surprise to Din that you had suggested it, given your passion for history.

After you had left the museum, Din and you held hands and walked briskly through the cooling London evening. It was still reasonably warm, mercifully summer had finally arrived but compared to the thin clothes that both of you had set out in, the temperature had significantly dropped. Luckily, the bar was well-heated despite being located underground. There was ambient jazz music playing and the buzz of people enjoying their Friday nights with prohibition-themed cocktails. 

Din had swapped stories with you, the two of you learning more details about the others’ lives. Din found that he was surprisingly adept at obscuring the truth and removing key identifying features of his anecdotes. There was so much of his life, including the fact that he was a real Mandalorian, that he had to hide from you. But there was an equal amount that he could share, even if told from a slightly different perspective. Din loved hearing about your life too, your hopes, fears and dreams. He thought that you were one of the most interesting people that he had ever met, even if there was an occasional air of insecurity to you that he struggled to understand, given all of your talents.

Din smiled as he watched you stand up from the table and walk to the bathroom. You were still as stunning, even in the dim lights of the bar. His good mood did not last though when he pulled out his phone to pass the time in your absence and noticed, with a frown, that there was a new text from Jim.

Din’s heart sank when he read the message notification on his lockscreen:

Hi Din, Sorry for the late notice but you are needed on set tomorrow for pickups. Promise we will make it up to you next week. Jim

Din threw his head back and sighed. The promise of a free weekend, especially when he desperately needed one, had been cruelly snatched away from him. The vow that he had made to you in the museum that you would meet up again this weekend now looked set to be broken. It was not going to be the nicest end to a first date, to let you down due to a last-minute work commitment. Din sighed, showing his frustration over how unfair this all was. 

His heart sank further when you returned from the bathroom and the first words out of your mouth were attempting to arrange another time to meet up this weekend.

“I was thinking tomorrow, maybe we could meet up at this park near me, perhaps you can bring Grogu?” You suggested after you slid into the booth opposite Din. “I think there’s a play area, he’d probably love it.”

“I’m so sorry to let you down like this… I can’t. My boss just texted me and told me that I’m needed at work tomorrow,” Din sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “I’m so sorry, I really wanted to spend time with you.”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” you looked down dejectedly. “What about Sunday?”

“I think the disruption to Grogu’s routine of me going to work tomorrow will mean that I should probably spend the day with him on Sunday, to make sure that he’s alright,” Din replied apologetically. “Look, I’m so sorry about this. It’s not personal at all, but Grogu… he is my only priority. I have to do what’s best for him and an entire weekend of his routine being disrupted… it would be too much for him. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

Din winced at the disappointment he saw in your eyes, at how despondent and let-down you looked. He knew that he would make it up to you, he was a man of his word. He only hoped that you would give him a chance to.

“Okay, Din,” you smiled weakly. “Um, look, I should probably start heading home soon before the tube stops running.”

“Well, I was thinking we could stay a little longer. You could get a ride home in the car with me if you’d like?”

“Thanks for the offer but I know my route back home and I’m happy to take it,” you replied and Din felt uneasy at how distant you suddenly seemed to be, as though you were withdrawing from him and retreating into your shell. 

“Okay,” Din breathed. “Let me get the bill.”

Din hailed a waiter and paid for both of your drinks, on a company credit card, another perk of the job. Then the two of you slid out of the booth and made your way back up to street level, feeling rather like two moles that had just emerged from their holes after spending many months underground. Din was astonished that it was approaching midnight, all sense of time seemed to have vanished in the basement bar.

“I had a wonderful night with you,” Din said as he offered you his arm, which you took, looping your hand through his arm and resting your hand on his toned bicep. “I really am sorry about this weekend. Work said they will make it up to me, so I should be able to ensure that this does not happen again next weekend. Are you free then?

“I should be, yeah,” you smiled and Din felt relieved that your demeanour had lightened somewhat. “I was just a little shocked, it felt a little personal,”

“No, never,” Din said, stopping in the street and shaking his head definitively as he looked into your eyes, hoping that you sensed how much he had enjoyed your evening together. “I meant everything I said in the museum, you are incredibly important to me.”

Maybe it was the slight buzz from the alcohol, or maybe it was the way you were currently gazing at Din, but he suddenly felt a little lightheaded as you finally arrived outside the station.

“Thank you for this incredible evening, Din,” you smiled, as the two of you stood facing each other just outside the entrance to the tube station. “See you next weekend?”

“See you next weekend,” Din nodded. “I’ll text you in the week.”

Then, Din felt his pulse quicken as you closed the distance to him and pulled him into another kiss. It was more intimate this time, with your hands resting on his shoulders as his hands moved to the back of your head. The kiss was probably slightly more passionate than was appropriate for such a public place, but the cocktails and the intoxicating buzz that came from being around you meant that Din did not remotely care.

“Goodnight, Din,” you whispered against his lips after pulling away from the embrace, before turning and walking into the station.

Din stood there for a few minutes in your wake, fixed to the spot even after he had watched you disappear into the tube station. He could not bring himself to move, as though this spot where you had just kissed provided some tangible connection to you that lingered even after you were gone. Din wanted time to hurry up so that he could be in your presence again, knowing that the rest of the week would feel dull and unimaginative compared to the vibrant, inspiring few hours that he had just spent with you.

Din Djarin had often wondered what falling in love would feel like. He had long since given up on the hope that he would ever experience such an emotion.

Yet the butterflies in his stomach and smile that he still wore across his face, even after you were no longer at his side, suggested that he might just be on his way to finding out.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @toxic-seduction @survivingandenduring @readingiskeepingmegoing

[farm-witches-fic-recs]

Friends of Farm Witches Fic Recs

We made it! The coven is pleased to wrap up another year of friends and fics here on the farm. We're grateful to share this fandom with all of you and we look forward to continuing our work in the new year.

May you find peace and quiet in which to read, tasty foods for snacking, and abundant joy in everything you do.

Be well, farm witch friends, and enjoy this last community rec list of 2023. Leave the authors some love and kind words to cap off this year's creative journeys.

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All the Fellas That I Haven’t Kissed (@apothecarypants, @five678patty )“David is Sexy Santa. Patrick is Completely Smitten. That’s all you really need to know.”

Apricity (@demora00) “Hygge vibes, coffee shop, colleagues to lovers, relationship of convenience, hanukkah, solstice, along with a spa visit and an aurora borealis - what's not to like?”

Going Down (@concannonfodder) “This one is long and gets angsty around chapter 15 but the first 14 are a sweet and sexy way to spend New Years. Gallery Owner!David and Tourist!Patrick get stuck in a midtown NYC elevator on New Years Eve. After a few trapped hours of lively banter, vulnerable exchanges, and delicious sexual tension, they decide to spend the next few days together. Excellent writing.”

Hopes As High As  A Kite (hudders-and-hiddles/ @wild-aloof-rebel) “It’s so beautifully written with all the Hallmark Christmas movie vibes. It’s one of my go-to holiday reads. Curl up with a hot cuppa and let this make you feel like you’re being wrapped up in the coziest blanket.”

How Do We Get Back (@unfolded73) “An AU testing the "in-every-universe" principle: will David and Patrick find each other, even when stuck in a particularly angst-ridden timeline? (Spoiler: they *will*!) Funny and fast-moving, with excellent cameos by Twyla and Gwen and some shocking (but temporary) bad news, this story is a great way to spend a cozy afternoon.”

How the reindeer loved him (yourbuttervoicedbeau/@kiwiana-writes) “A masterclass in 'this concept shouldn't work as well as it does' tbh - the entire premise is RIDICULOUS but it’s stuffed full of feelings and knocks it out of the park.”

Making Spirits Bright (roseapothecary/@indestructibleheart)  “It’s “A Christmas Carol” for Patrick! You know Patrick’s story, and you can guess what the ghosts might show him. But I promise this fic gives us scenes that are fresh and new. There’s a lot of humor mixed in with the painful realizations, and, overall, it’s a strong, well-written, and satisfying fic.”

Now you see me (@grapehyasynth) “Stevie sets David and Patrick up on a blind date and though there isn't a lot of plot, the banter is SO sharp and the characterization is SO perfect that the piece just shimmers. This is a deep-cut one-shot first-meeting/first-date AU from 2019.”

[daes0]

Chapter 9: "I really like hearing your voice."

Rafayel and all the ways he says he l̶̯̞̱̬̘̜̗̏͒̂̐̈͋̍̓ô̶̡͙̤̻̐̓͑̚͝v̴͕͖̙̦̩͚͓̠̌̄͂͒͜ȇ̵̪̆͐̒̈́͠s̶̬̬̼͆͛̚ you.

Pairing: {Rafayel x Reader}

Rating: {Mature} {Violent Content}

Word Count: {2k words, 14.8k for entire work}

liar liar lover

Rafayel spent the night with you. And, well, one thing had led to another. Rafayel had loved you last night, gentle and oh so vulnerable yet sensual and seductive. He had touched you like it was poetry, begged with such a delicious whine in his voice for more of your touch. The spreading heat between you was burned into your thoughts forevermore.

But that was last night. Today… today came with consequences.

~

You got up early, trying your best not to wake him up as you got up from the bed, and in the darkness you tried to dress yourself. You dreaded the conversation, the inevitable question of what does this mean? Love was addicting, but also so embarrassing. You realize now that you rushed things too quickly, that you should've thought about this more instead of going by the euphoria of seeing the I love you on the fogged up mirror.

You needed time. Time to think, time to decide. Rafayel was your best friend and you wanted desperately to not ruin that. Losing Rafayel would destroy you. The risk of a relationship was too great for you to follow through with your feelings.

But was it too late now? Did last night change the trajectory of your relationship with Rafayel forevermore? 

And you should've known, should've remembered, that Rafayel is a light sleeper. “You look really good in my clothes,” he comments, a smile in his words, as he turns on the lamp that's on the nightstand next to his side of the bed.

You had gotten up, deciding to leave the room before he woke up to avoid the lasting awkwardness, but finding your clothes proved to be a challenge. A challenge that, as Rafayel gracefully informed you, you had lost.

Heat shoots up to your face all the way to your ears. “I-I…” you stammer for a good excuse, but nothing is good enough.

“Relax, I get it,” he says in a soft voice. “Last night was… special. But you gotta get back to hunting wanderers. Still, I hope you’re not running away, right?” He moves to sit up. “Your feelings are confusing sometimes."

"Imagine having them," you quip without thinking.

Rafayel smiles, but you don't notice it. Instead, your eyes trace over where the sheet scarcely covers, and the heat on your face gets worse.

He follows your gaze down to where the sheet lowers, and he has the decency to look a little shy. “Sorry,” he murmurs, fixing the sheet on his lap, but looks up at you with a determined look. “_____, you do like me, right? That's what last night was about, right?”

You’re quiet for a moment. “I do. But it’s not that simple, Rafayel.”

He leans against the headboard. “I like you.”

“Rafayel…” You trail off, unsure how to continue.

“And I really like hearing your voice.” He stretches his hand towards you. You put your hand in his, a leap of faith. “So please, keep talking to me. Don’t leave me in the dark.”

The incessant beeping of your watch interrupts you.

"Sorry," you mumble as you turn it off.

"You have to go to work," he says with a sigh. "Go. We have all the time in the world, remember?"

~

Rafayel is bringing in a new painting to the Flux Arts gallery when he notices a man and a woman in black suits waiting by the door.

"Is something wrong?" he asks, lowering his painting so that he can look at them in the eye.

A trail of recognition passes by the woman's eyes, and Rafayel feels like he's seen her before. "Forrest Attar is here," she informs him. "You'll have to wait until after he leaves.

Rafayel has never met Forrest before, but he knows enough to know he's a sinner. Even if he wasn't one in his previous lives, which he was, then he'd still deserve death for this current one. A gaudy billionaire who came to his riches through his family's generations of money. If he had spent a quiet life then he wouldn't have come across Rafayel, but instead he's become obsessed with increasing his wealth and creating an empire built off the backs of the common people. If there was ever to be one example of the dangers of capitalism, this was the guy.

"Forrest?" Rafayel repeats. "Would be lovely to meet him."

The man stands in front of the door. "Did you not hear her? Forrest Attar is here. You can't come in."

"Sure I can," Rafayel answers with a poised smile. "It's my gallery."

"Thomas runs the gallery-" the man starts to argue before he's interrupted by the woman next to him.

"You're Rafayel."

Rafayel hesitates. The way she said his name, it was like she somehow knew everything.

"He's the painter," she tells the man without looking away.

~

"Apologies for that, Rafayel," Forrest Attar says as he shakes Rafayel's hand.

"No worries," he replies. "Ash was able to clear things up."

"Ah, she's a new hire but she's already doing well," Forrest comments as a passing thought. 

"What brings you to the Flux Arts gallery?" Rafayel asks.

"Oh, I was just looking for something I can put in my collection," Forrest says as he looks around. "Is there anything you recommend I look at? I don't have much time to explore the entire gallery."

Thomas gives Rafayel a pointed look. Rafayel rolls his eyes. Of course Thomas wants Rafayel to peddle the more expensive pieces.

"Actually, what about the piece I just brought in?"

The covered painting leans against the wall, just as surprised as Thomas is.

Rafayel goes to unravel the painting, removing the protective covering with a quick jerk. Besides him, Thomas cringes at Rafayel for not treating the product with the best absolute care.

"Hmm… it's okay," Forrest says as he looks away, uninterested. "I was hoping for something a bit more colorful."

Rafayel smiles his best customer service smile. "You can look around for a bit, but I have some more pieces back in my studio if you'd like to visit."

This interests Forrest. "Your studio, you say? Hmm, the studio of a world-renowned painter, the personal works that he shies away from showing the public." He licks his lips in temptation.

"You're welcome to visit whenever, but I do have some time today."

Forrest hums in thought. "Hmm… fine. Let's go see it now."

~

The two bodyguards stay outside by the gate as Forrest and Rafayel explore the studio's paintings.

Mo Art Studio has a lot of Rafayel's unfinished pieces. They range from his daily practices, bits of flowing water captures by a gentle hand. The deeper into the studio they go, however, the more violent the works get. It doesn't fit Rafayel's reputation, so Forrest is surprised by the amount of blood within these paintings. Some don't even portray people at all, just gore in the water. Blood that almost stands out, creeping, eerie, and Forrest is reminded of vicious wanderers coming into Linkon City by the ocean.

"This is quite interesting," Forrest says, entranced by a particularly cruel painting.

Rafayel smiles wickedly as he rounds the corner to a locked door. He bursts the padlock in fire, which manages to break Forrest's gaze.

"Rafayel?" he asks before he's attacked.

The wanderer's jaw pierces through Forrest's head before he can scream. A spurting of blood and bone. The wanderer eats, consumes, devours. It destroys, covering its claws with delicious blood as it laps up the carnage. The snapping of bones echoes across the room. Rafayel stares, entranced by the slaughter, and smiles. He takes out his dagger, ready to attack whenever needed, but for now he watches the wanderer as it gorges itself.

Once it's over, the wanderer looks around. Despite being sated, it growls at Rafayel, a warning to give chase. It no longer wishes for a meal. It wants the thrill of a scared prey.

Rafayel slaps his hands together and a powerful fire bursts between them, separating his hands as a crackling flame chases after his skin. He tangles the flames, intertwining their beautiful threads and unraveling between his fingers.

The wanderer growls again, before turning around and hiding within the closet it claimed as its home.

When Rafayel turns back to the carnage, his instincts kick in and he readies his dagger.

Ash takes a step over the remaining blood splattered on the floor. Rafayel watches her carefully. She kneels down in front of Rafayel. "My god. Your child has come to serve you."

"Get up," he says, almost a snarl.

Ash stands up, her head still tilted down. "I've taken care of the other bodyguard." She puts her hand in her pocket, taking out a few bloodied and jagged teeth. "This is proof of my continued love for you."

"You did good, but don't treat me like a god. I lost most of my power long ago. I haven't been one in so long that it feels uncomfortable now."

Ash nods, still stricken. "As you wish."

She looks over her shoulder, at the mess of blood and the remaining bits of skin and bones on the floor.

"I've been following you. I recognized your work since the arson. I've been chasing after your masterpiece."

When she turns back to look at Rafayel, her face has morphed, changed into a different person.

"Your evol…" he starts.

"My evol is delusion," she explains. "I sincerely apologize for using it to deceive you, but given the circumstances, I couldn't reveal the truth until now."

Rafayel walks around her, towards the carnage on the floor. He crouches down and puts his hand over the blood. He feels its still warmth cling to his skin. He brings his hand up to his face and licks the blood off his fingers. He groans at the taste, disgusted, and rubs the majority of the blood off his hand on the floor.

"My revenge won't be over until our enemies are gone," he tells her.

She nods her head slowly. "Depends on who you count as an enemy. Humans- they're all sick. They're all complacent."

Rafayel is about to agree, but something inside him stops him. "Complacent maybe. But a massacre would be useless."

"Who are you targeting?" she asks.

"The powerful," Rafayel says with venom in his tongue. "The ones who during every lifetime attack and maim us."

"Is it worth it?" she asks. There's no judgment in her voice. "The fact that they come back- it's always stopped me."

Rafayel knows not to give up the card up his sleeve—the fact that humans can't reincarnate if their blood is consumed—so instead he says, "It's not worth it. They'll come back and continue hurting us. It is human nature to hurts those who are weaker to them. Lemurian or otherwise."

"Then why do you do it?" It's a genuine question, a genuine curiosity. "To slow them down?"

"I do it for me," Rafayel tells her. "I do it for my own vengeance. I do it because for a moment, they're not here, and they can't hurt another one for a long time. I do it because nothing stops them, except for people like me who slow them down."

And as he hears himself speak, he realizes it's true. Even if he didn't know how to shackle their souls to the mortal plane, he would still want to get revenge. And humans change, their souls morph into crueler forms. He's seen it time and time again. They're all decay waiting to happen. There was something within them yearning to kill, kill, kill, to hurt and maim and betray. Sinners deserve more than death- they deserve torture.

No. Rafayel seems to grow smaller. He didn't want that. He didn't want to kill. He just needed to. He had spent lifetimes' worth of time avoiding this, but it had grown too much. The sinners deserved to die, and Rafayel had eventually accepted the fact that he needed to be the executioner. He had spent so long avoiding his destiny, and he regretted that time. He should've killed them sooner.

He didn't want to kill, he reminded himself. A prayer of sorts, to the god of ego. He was simply the executioner, his actions held no meaning. 

But he knew. Secretly, he knew what his changing nature was. Knew the growing intent in his heart. He wanted the sinners to burn just as Lemuria had. And a part of him wondered, if once this is over, if he could come back.

END OF CHAPTER 9

[tikay21]

🐺How to use hashtags on tumblr to organize a story!

It was like paddling in an open sea .... Ok, it really took me 4 years to figure out the thing with the internal hashtags on Tumblr and realize that there is an advantageous sense in them initially only working within your own blog. If you don’t really need them, the benefit isn’t immediately obvious.

Plus, the display of the most commonly used hashtags leads you to assume they are more universally intended. The advantage of internal blog hashtags didn’t click for me - until the moment I actually needed them to bring order to my blog chaos and understood that you can easily sort everything with them, especially when it comes to storytelling.

I originally thought: “I'll make sideblogs for the stories, so I can have everything neatly gathered, with matching colors and background images." However, the hashtags from the main blog don’t work in the sideblogs anymore unless I link them and unless I’ve missed something again. Now I’m wondering if I even need the sideblogs anymore. Probably not. So, new plan:

I’ll post everything on my main blog

tag it with both specific and general tags

using intern unique tags for different supposes

and that’s pretty much it. At the top of a pinned post, I’ll provide an overview of what you can find under which hashtag, and they’ll automatically function as a sorter for an entire internal storyline. Done.

Btw, thanks for the right hints, which made me take a closer look, test things out, and understand how it works by answering my question on it here ...

@figure-it-out-later and @tenyrasims - which made me think about it and especially @satureja13 for the needed key to my head to unlock this blind point🥰. from @satureja13 : ... I just make sure to tag every post properly so I can add new stuff to my pinned post. You can also keep your pinned post clean by making sub posts, like I do for my chapters, for example. ... I can find every event, character, location… within seconds. That’s what I really love about tumblr.

So, what can I do now to satisfy my need for beeing over organization🙈? Technically, I could delete the sideblogs, but I can also use them in parallel, reblogging the respective content there, and thus have everything in a separate place, visually appealing with the story-appropriate colors - for my own peace of mind or for anyone who prefers to read there. But I’ll only reblog, not post the original, so following the sideblogs isn’t really necessary - though of course, you can if you prefer the color-coordinated layout there. If I ever decide it’s all too much, I can delete the sideblogs without losing my original content, as long as I only reblog from the mainblog to the sideblogs.

Is anyone still following? Probably not,😂 but I think this works for me.

Long story short: I’m going to rearrange things once more and adjust the pinned post accordingly... and bring any duplicate content back to the main blog. My old stuff from before the long break will stay here, and maybe I’ll update broken links if I ever get bored - not that I know the meaning of the word, lol. Otherwise, it’ll just stay as it is, since there’s barely anything left in my EA gallery, except for the stuff that can’t be deleted.

Ok, here we go ...

[annlillyjose]

Green Room – WIP Intro

hiii cuties!

have you ever been overcome by an irresistible urge to write a memoir at the age of twenty, or are you normal? i'm definitely not, so here's a new project (again)

green room is an experimental memoir that delves into my teenage years as a writer. i started writing seriously at the age of thirteen and self-published my first book at fourteen, which is something that haunts me to date. but here's the thing – i feel like i've learned a lot in the last six to seven years and wanted to explore it with another writing project.

i don't really know what this book is going to be yet. i'm going to start drafting during nanowrimo as a side project and hopefully finish it by the end of the year, but i'm not in a rush. i want to enjoy the process of writing this so i might take my sweet time.

now because this is an intro post, let's get to some specifics.

disclaimer: this is my original work. plagiarism of any kind will not be tolerated.

genre: creative/literary non-fiction

pov: first person retrospective

structure: a combination of chapters, vignettes, and poetry maybe

projected word count: 50k

concept: literary memoir on a writer's journey through teenage as they navigate genre, form, tense, character, story, plot, theme, atmosphere, and setting.

aesthetics/vibes: abandoned art galleries, mountaintops, beaches at midnight, falling asleep on the terrace, coffee mugs, word documents, cute stationery that never gets used, rejection e-mails, daydreaming, moon phases, still rivers, birds flying in groups, rain, academic validation, morally gray people, the colour green

THE ORIGIN STORY

i had always wanted to write something in retrospect of my teenage and document my growth, but didn't want to be so didactic in doing so. the memoir seemed like a serious piece of writing so i didn't really know if i was qualified enough to start. but if i've learned anything about writing in the last few years, it is that you can write whatever you feel like writing. so here i am with a new wip.

a little bit about the title – i struggled with this the most. but the novel i wrote during my late teens (dairy whiskey) was an entirely green book and i found myself finding thousands of green things every single day. my life had turned a shade of green. i was very inspired by the books bluets by maggie nelson and the white book by kan hang. i decided to make the colour green an important aspect of the book.

i don't know how this is going to turn out or if i'm going to do updates for this one, but who knows, i just might. until then, i hope you enjoy my other writing and shitposting. until next time, goodbye.

– ann.

general taglist (ask to be added or removed)

@shaonsim @heartfullkings @vnsmiles @dallonwrites @wannabeauthorclive @sienna-writes @violetpeso @flip-phones @silassghost @ambidextrousarcher @zoe-louvre @writing-with-l @magic-is-something-we-create @femmeniism @frozenstillicide @wizardfromthesea @rose-bookblood @coffeeandcalligraphy @rodentwrites @saltwaterbells @snehithiye @at-thezenith

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 10/17/2023

started explaining why this one is a little lighter than last week's gallery wall behemoth bc of a uhhhh kind of dire week, personally and professionally speaking, but then realized when fic authors do that in front of chapters i don't actually care or require an excuse from them, im just delighted to have a new chapter.

listening

this is a deeply cheesy little folk song but the lyrics "man you name it and if we ain’t got it: we’ll get it" gave me a sensible chuckle.

now for a moment to expound upon houston: they truly have imported every possible food service establishment. the two chains i miss most from jersey, jersey mikes submarine sandwiches and 7-11 gas stations, are both here. i get that this is the fifth largest metro area in the US or whatever but both of these companies are SO niche. absolutely bonkers. spotify.

i think this started autoplaying after a playlist inspired by f/allout: new v/egas came on??

-

reading

i originally had a very mean-spirited graf about the utility of a pool in northwestern massachusetts and the kind of person who can comfortably lose $31k, but it is genuinely awful that there are no rules around zelle. that money goes into a black fucking hole and there's no way to get it back, which is not the case for any other kind of recognized money except cryptocurrency

Did we confront Gary Kruglitz [the pool contractor]? Yes we did. We marched right into his office and grilled him hard until he defeated us with a simple and probing question: What's a zelle? It defied belief, we quickly realized, that a man who had been trapped in technological amber since the Nixon era was running a cyberscam designed to come between us and our money out of an AOL account.

-

watching

Van Helsing (2004, dir. Sommers). this movie is horrible. this movie is terrific. i don't have anything to say about this movie bc i was distracted by equal opportunity tits and asses the entire time. the time of the “Kate Beckinsale in a corset” movie genre is long over but GOD. watched with my sister bc it's leaving tubi soon

playing

one week i will have the energy to try New Thing but until i do it’s genshin. there's a poetry event that has terribly boring minigames, but the story quest has finally tied a bow on a piece of folkore we came across in the very first release so that was fun!

wrapping up some stuff in sumeru bc im running out of map pins, this game has done one of the things i hate most: progress-locking one extremely long and tedious collectible hunt (the music gates) behind another extremely long and tedious collectible hunt (the robots locked in the vines). the next time i see one of those little fucking budget koroks i am going to drop kick it into the sun. what the fuck is the circumference of teyvat anyway. it feels like we have explored so little of this planet's surface

i have graphics turned down pretty low bc of performance issues on my elderly laptop and this is still such a remarkably pretty game. look at this big estuary leading off into the distance

-

making

i wildly overextended myself this week, partially bc im trying to take advantage of this brief post-covid heightened immunity. lot of dinners. lot of late nights. on top of that BOTH of my siblings were in town for unrelated professional reasons this week :) no overlap so we did not have a nice fambly dinner :( but did have pretty okay separate dinners :) if they could learn to fucking communicate their trave plans and the number of peope that will be showing up at my home that would also be pretty okay >:(

one of the party games i played this week asked the question “what could you give a 40-minute PowerPoint presentation on” and i started saying facts about the downfall of the penn central railroad and they very nicely let me continue saying facts about the downfall of the penn central railroad, the largest bankruptcy in US history until ENRON, until the round timer went off.

i have some thoughts about Train Guys and how it's very easy to fall into being a Train Guy, bc there's a very easy template to follow, and there's a lot of Train Guy content, and have i been doing this bc i actually like trains, or bc it's easy to listen to Well There's Your Problem on repeat bc it's familiar and comforting, or do i just really really really fucking hate flying?

who could possibly say.

mackintosh update: allowed herself to be scooped up by my brother (who she met at christmas and loves) but did NOT allow herself to be pet by the strangers in his company. did hang out in the middle of the floor observing tho. a regular little extroverted socialite!

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Six

We leave for Dublin early on Saturday. It’s the only morning of the whole summer so far that I haven’t gone into the sea for a swim, but I don’t mind. I am vibrating with excitement as I dash down the steps of the mobile home and through the gates of the holiday park where Jude and Jen are waiting for me in the car. Claire and Kelly will be asleep for hours yet, and I am glad that they aren’t up to see me leaving, because I don’t want to have to explain why I’m so thrilled about going to a gallery. I know they just wouldn’t understand. 

“Looking very chipper for half seven in the morning.” Jen says as I hop into the back. I buckle my seatbelt eagerly. “I don’t know, I’m just excited!”

“You morning people are all the same.” She is half asleep in the passenger seat and it’s the first time I’ve seen her without makeup on. She looks a lot younger. 

“I’m a morning person and it pisses her off.” Jude smirks. “Sorry that I want to get up to Dublin early so that you can have a nice day.”

“Okay. Yeah. You said that already.”

“Just focus on the pancake breakfast we’ll have.”

“Yes, it will be delicious. Now shut your stupid smirky little mouth and drive us, taxi man.” She curls up and shuts her eyes, he starts the car and then we’re gone. 

The streets are bustling already by the time we arrive. We park up in an underground car park near Trinity College and make our way onto the leafy Georgian streets, and I stare up at the buildings in appreciation as we pass them. There’s something about this city that I just love, it’s got an atmosphere like nowhere else, lively and young and bursting at the seams with excitement and opportunity. I don’t get to come here very often and I want to take it all in slowly, but Jude and Jen are on a mission. They weave through the crowds, hopping off footpaths onto roads and dashing across, as they are veterans of Dublin. They grew up here, went to school here, spent their weekends in these parks and shops and for them it is nothing special, it’s just another town. I try to follow their path but I keep bumping into people, tripping on cracks in the pavements, clumsily stumbling between parked cars. I’m glad that they never look around and notice me doing everything the wrong way.

They stop suddenly groaning in frustration, and when I catch up to them I realise we’re trapped behind a huge group of tourists dismounting a fifty two seater bus. They block the path entirely and we’re forced to stop and wait. The tour leader at the front of the group holds up a huge American flag and Jen cackles joyfully. “Jude! Oh my god! We’ve found your people!”

“Yeah! Wow! All of my Irish-American friends in their homeland, back to discover their roots.”

Jen puts on a silly American accent. “I’m four percent Irish, and I’ve come to kiss the Blarney Stone.”

Jude joins in and his accent is obviously better: “Where’s all the fields and the sheep? Is that Big Ben?” I giggle with them as we run across the road to get away from the crowd and Jude continues. “Hey! Somebody call the cops! Those young people are jaywalking!” I think that it’s novel that he pokes fun at himself like that, as I feel I’d be a bit defensive of myself if I were him. 

When we go into a sweet little cafe off Grafton street and order pancakes for breakfast, Jen does her makeup at the table. She’s very good at it, the way that she draws her eyeliner in one smooth stroke is fascinating to me. I feel like mine always turns out uneven and wobbly and I end up just wiping it off. 

As we eat, I decide to ask Jude a little bit more about his background. “So everyone was saying that your dad is from the States?”

“Yeah.” He says. “I was born there – down in New Mexico.”

“Wow, that sounds amazing.”

“It was alright” He says with a shrug. “It always sounds kind of exotic to people, but it was a really normal town with nothing much to do, I mean, ever since Breaking Bad has come out, everyone seems to think that my life was somehow like that.” He laughs. “But really, there were, like, just big highways and malls.”

“So nobody cooking meth?”

He smirks. “I mean, probably. I guess they just didn’t invite me to help for some reason. No six year olds in the lab, or some bullshit.”

I smile “You’ve lived here in Ireland a while?”

“Well,” He leans back in his chair. “Since I was ten. My parents tried out American life for a few years, I did elementary school and all that, but I think it was just too hard. My mom missed her family and the easier lifestyle back in Ireland, so we moved back.”

“And you like it here?”

“Sure!”

“That’s because he has the best friends in the world.” Jen says as she applies her lipstick. “And we all love him to bits.”

“Aw, so sentimental.” He says.

“…and let’s not forget about the women! If I had as many girls knocking on my door as he does I’d be pretty happy too.”

He laughs in surprise and pushes her playfully. “Don’t say that to her!”

“It’s true!” She cackles. “Evie, they love him. Can’t keep their grubby hands away, and I don’t know what it is, because he’s obviously rotten. Right?”

I laugh along and say “Yeah, so ugly.” 

He turns to me eyes wide, pretending to be shocked. “Hey! I expected better from you.”

“Sorry” I giggle. “I don’t mean it! You’re not ugly.”

“Ugh, He knows he’s not.” Jen says “Let’s not inflate his ego any more, if he gets any more powerful he’ll end up sleeping with the rest of the women who don’t already fancy him and there’ll be nobody left for the rest of us poor peasants.”

He surrenders his knife and fork and throws his hands up. “That’s enough of that. Poor girl doesn’t want to know these things about me, she’ll think I’m some sort of… floozy.” He looks straight into my eyes and my stomach erupts with butterflies – he really is so beautiful. “I haven’t slept with everyone in Dublin. She’s telling lies.” 

Then he pushes his chair back suddenly and it gives me a fright. “Let’s go to the gallery now please, if we’ve all finished picking on me.”

“I don’t know if we’re all the way done with you yet,” says Jen. “But yeah, you’re right. Let’s head on.” She packs up the rest of her makeup, and then we pay for our pancakes and leave. 

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