#not that anyone cares but I just watched the two parter and I Have Thoughts

[badasbebi]

the cupid project ➛ 1/2

part two

✦ pairing: bada lee x fem!reader

✦ summary: you and your long-term work crush devise a plan to win a company contest. in the end, you wind up going to extreme lengths to commit to the bit

✦ genre/au: fluff, fake dating, videographer reader, bada's extra sweet here, slight friends to lovers

✦ word count: 7k

✦ warnings: isn't proofread. another unrealistic meet cute that doesn't really make sense. smut in part 2

✦ a/n: another two-parter simply bc my fics are too long. 2nd part is finished and will, again, be posted soon (literally tomorrow). didnt put as much thought into this one as I have with my other stories, which will probably be a pattern from now. still think its fun. enjoy!

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"It's been three minutes. Why are we still waiting on people?" Youngj fusses, running his fingers through his hair, tousling it

"Relax, Jae. You called us here last-minute. People are busy," Minho says from where he is sitting, scrolling through his phone.

Youngj's eyes snap to him. "Too busy for an emergency meeting with their boss?" He retorts, raising an eyebrow. 

Minho looks at him, then shrugs. "Well, that's what happens when you hire a bunch of ultra-talented, sought-after dancers. We don't need you," He finishes, swiftly turning back around, sunglasses concealing his eyes. 

Youngj gapes for a second, then seemingly surrenders, slouching back in his chair with a scowl. 

Meanwhile, you're balancing a camera lens in your hand on the sofa across from them, twisting and turning the machinery in your hand as you stifle your laughter. Still being somewhat new to the team, you weren't sure if you necessarily had the right to take part in Minho's teasing. You became an employee at JustJerk Dance Academy only six months ago, after JustJerk announced that they were looking for new hires. However, you weren't a part of their star-studded lineup of top choreographers and instructors. Instead, you were hired to be a videographer and photographer, working behind the scenes to ensure that every breathtaking move, every impassioned sequence, and every dancer was captured flawlessly. 

Which, it was not like it was very hard. The people here were phenomenal enough as it was, making your time spent at work nothing less than a blessing for someone who's long watched dancers from the sidelines. Even better, the members of JustJerk Dance Academy aren't just a group of talented dancers, but also a lovely group of people. They're kind and caring, often inviting you out to eat after a long day of filming or helping you with the things you struggled with. Sometimes, you still got awestruck around them because it was such a far cry from what you were used to. But, it was beginning to feel like home. And, as the days went by, everyone started to feel more and more like family.

Well, almost everyone.

Suddenly, you hear the doors swing open and glance up to see who's arrived.

"Sorry I'm late," A voice rings throughout the room, revealing none other than the legend herself, Bada Lee. 

Even after having passed by her a million times, the woman never failed to take your breath away. She was gorgeous and had an allure unlike anyone else, with a presence that seemed to shift the energy in every room she entered. In other words, she was also intimidatingly cool, which led to you frequently avoiding her because you were, simply, terrified. Though she's always been nothing but sweet and brilliant during your brief interactions, this kindness almost made things worse. It'd be much easier to disregard her if she was an asshole. Unluckily for you, she was one of the most charming people you've encountered in your life, making it nearly impossible to ignore the magnetic pull that's been causing an increasing amount of debauched thoughts and dreams. 

Bada walks toward the rest of the group with an apologetic smile on her face. Her long, black and blonde hair was tied back in a bun, and her baggy clothes were noticeably wrinkled, suggesting that she came straight from practice. Despite her slightly disheveled appearance, she looked as enticing as ever. 

You avert your gaze and continue playing with the camera equipment in your hands, attempting to appear nonchalant. 

"What happened? You're never late," Youngj asks, sitting upright. 

"I was helping one of my students out with a routine and got a little distracted. Sorry," Bada explains with a pout, sitting down on a separate couch next to yours. You keep your eyes on the camera in your hands.

"Don't worry about it, I just need everyone's attention for a few moments," Youngj says, scanning the room. "Is this everyone?"

"No, Redllic should be coming in soon. She was right behind me," Bada says, looking over at the door.

Your eyebrow inadvertently quirks up at the sound of Redllic's name escaping her lips. 

"Good enough, then. Let's get started," Youngj leans forward in his seat, clapping his hands together. "I want to first apologize to all of you for calling you here so abruptly. Unfortunately, this was the only time I had to get you all here together.”

Everyone eagerly waits for him to speak, the air thick with curiosity as Youngj takes a deep breath, his gaze shifting from one person to another.

"So, to clarify, I didn't call you guys here for anything particularly important."

Minho laughs bitterly. "I fucking knew it."

Youngj gives him a pointed look before continuing. "There's a special event that the company is holding and I wanted to inform all of you about it in-person, because even though it isn’t anything to worry about, it is admittedly a bit...unusual for us."

"What is it?" Redllic asks, appearing out of thin air. Everyone, except for Bada, jumps slightly, surprised by her sudden arrival.

"Redllic!" Youngj says, placing a hand on his heart. "You scared the hell out of me."

"Oh, sorry," Redllic shrugs, plopping down next to Bada, throwing her feet onto the coffee table. "What's going on?"

"Right, um," Youngj clears his throat. "As I was saying, there's an event that we're hosting for Valentine's Day. We're calling it the 'Cupid Project.' Basically, you're all going to get into pairs, and you'll be doing a variety of activities together," Youngj explains, his eyes scanning the group, watching the reactions on everyone's faces. 

Ew, is the immediate word that pops into your head. This reminded you of the group projects your teachers forced you to do in school. You can already see how this project will play out, and it's probably not going to be pretty. Based on the skeptical expressions you can make out, you are at least relieved to see that you aren't the only one feeling hesitant. 

"What kind of activities?" Bada asks softly, tilting her head.

"Just activities to get to know each other. Doing things you wouldn't normally do," Youngj replies, shrugging his shoulders. "Jho and I have some planned activities, but the point is for you and your partner to find things to do voluntarily. If we plan everything out for you guys, then it'll be completely forced."

"Wait, wait, wait," Minho interjects, pushing his sunglasses onto the top of his head. "So, you're telling me I have to go on a date with someone here?"

"No," Youngj shakes his head. "We're not forcing you to fall in love or anything. This is purely platonic, just a fun way to bond with each other. And there'll be a prize," Youngj says, wagging his finger.

"A prize?" Minho echos, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes. You and your partner will compete against the others and the pair who does the most activities and seems to have actually become good friends with each other will win a reward."

"How are you measuring that?" Hoyeon, another videographer, asks. 

"We'll conduct anonymous votes and collect them at the Valentine's Day party we're hosting," Youngj explains. "But, it's not supposed to be all that serious, everyone. We're just trying to do something fun and, you know, team-build since we've gotten a lot of new hires recently. And, we'll get a good video out of it. We're planning on making a highlight reel of the Cupid Project for our Youtube Channel, which will be nice promotional material, too."

So that's what this was really about: content. Truthfully, you wouldn't have an issue with this if it were not very likely that you'd be the one filming or editing this highlight reel. You internally groan, realizing you'll have to deal with an increased workload because of this clusterfuck. 

"I think it's a great idea," Redllic says, a mischievous smirk on her face. You watch her glance at Bada, who is staring at nothing with an unreadable look in her eyes.

"Well, what's the prize?" Minho asks. 

"600,000 KRW"

Others around the room whisper in excitement. You almost drop your camera. Out of shock, yes, but also because that was exactly the amount of money you needed to buy a brand new camera that you've been eyeing for ages. You've been wanting to record more complex videos, wanting to work on actual music video sets, but your current setup is limiting you. If you were able to get your hands on that camera now, you'd be about a year or two ahead of the original timeline you had in mind. You bite the inside of your lip, hoping Youngj doesn't see the desperation in your eyes.

"Holy shit," Hoyeon mutters. 

The two of you make eye contact, and you already know that the two of you are working together. You were close, having joined the company at the same time and being around the same age. This would be an easy win. 

"Alright, so it's settled, then," Youngj says, a confident grin forming on his face.

"Are we choosing our own partners?" Redllic asks, moving a blonde strand of hair away from her face. 

"No. That would lead to a bunch of people asking to be paired with people they're already friends with, which would make the whole thing pointless. We're drawing names out of a hat," Youngj says, gesturing towards the baseball cap resting on the coffee table.

Everyone collectively groans. You try not to cry. 

"Stop, come on, don't make this difficult," Youngj frowns. "The sooner you choose, the more time you have to prepare. Now, who wants to go first? I already have your names written,"

"Wait, let me go first," Hoyeon volunteers, jumping up and grabbing the hat. She reaches her hand inside and picks a small slip of paper out, then reads it aloud. You bite your lip, praying.

"Howl," Hoyeon declares, holding the piece of paper out for everyone to see. 

Your name is not Howl, but you nearly howl right then and there. Realistically, the probability that you would get who you wanted was unlikely considering the number of people in the room. Nonetheless, it hurt. 

The man with the wolf-centric name quietly stands and moves away from the corner he was situated in. He had been quiet the entire meeting, and most did not really notice he was there until Hoyeon mentioned his name.

"Guess it's you and me," Hoyeon laughs, smiling at the tall figure beside her.

Howl gives her a slight smile, shakes her hand, and they sit back down.

"Alright, Bada. Why don't you come over here?" Youngj says, gesturing to the coffee table.

"The one that everyone wants, I'm sure," Redllic comments with a bemused smirk, causing a clamor of chuckles.

Bada scoffs, and heads over to the table. She reaches into the hat, rustling through the papers. You hold your breath, reminding yourself of the unlikelihood that you'd be the name she pulled. However, as the woman's fingers curl around a single sheet of paper, your heart skips a beat. You feel as if you were the one reaching into the hat.

Bada pulls the paper out and unfolds it, her eyes scanning the sheet. Then, her eyes lock with yours, and your heart leaps. 

"Y/N," Bada calls out, holding the paper up.

You freeze, the room spinning around you. There's no way. 

Bada cocks her head to the side. "It's you, right?"

"Oh! Um, yeah," You sputter, quickly gathering the camera equipment around you.

You hear whispers and feel a hundred pairs of eyes on you as you walk over to the girl. You ignore the feeling of your skin burning. 

"Hey, Y/N. It's nice to officially meet you. I've seen you around a lot," Bada says, eyes warm.

"Yeah, nice to officially meet you, too," You say, extending your hand.

Her hand is warm and soft, enveloping yours like a blanket. Your hand feels cold and sweaty. 

"Interesting," Redllic quips, eyes darting between you two, a glint in her gaze. Bada tears her eyes away from you, giving the blonde woman a questioning look as she retracts her hand.

You take the opportunity to step away, returning to your seat and letting the other dancers pull names. The rest of the pairings are revealed without much commotion, except for Minho's, who loudly complains when he has to partner up with Jaeyong, a good choreographer, but awkward man. 

After all the names are drawn, everyone is dismissed. You're quick to leave the room, eager to return to the comfort of your familiar space behind the camera.

"Y/n! Slow down! We need to talk!" Hoyeon calls, catching up to you.

You turn around, side-stepping out of the way of people walking past you in the hallway. You wait for her to stop in front of you before you speak."With all due respect, I don't really want to talk right now. I just want to record. Then go home, and eat some ramen."

"With Bada?" Hoyeon sings, a cheeky grin forming on her face.

"Shut up," You mumble, rolling your eyes and continuing down the hall.

"Wait, why are you so bummed?" Hoyeon starts, following behind you, "Bada's cool?"

You sigh. "Exactly. She's cool. I'm...not."

"What? Yes, you are. Why would you think otherwise?" Hoyeon scoffs, her eyes narrowed.

"I just," You pause in the hallway again, trying to formulate the words. "I'm a little scared of her, is all."

"Scared?" Hoyeon questions, her forehead wrinkling. "She's nice though. You don't have anything to worry about."

"Yeah, but she's so pretty, and talented, and again, I'm not. Not in the way extraordinary way that she is, I mean.” You explain, shoulders slumping. 

A look of realization dawns upon Hoyeon's face, and she laughs menacingly. "Oh, I see what this is. You think she's hot, and you're a scaredy cat who's afraid of rejection. Case closed. I understand."

"That's not how I would phrase things but, essentially, yes," You concede, turning the corner.

"You're being silly. She's not a god. She's literally just a human being...a very sexy human being but a human being nonetheless. Just talk to her like one," Hoyeon suggests, shrugging her shoulders. "I mean, are you not going to try to get that money? I know you want it. I saw that crazed look in your eye once Youngj made it to that fifth zero."

You laugh, "I mean, yes, I really want that money. I don't know if it's possible though. Even if I wanted to reach out to her, she’s so busy I doubt she's planning on actually committing to this. Especially because she's already loaded."

"You don't know until you try you wimp," Hoyeon says, nudging you in the arm.

"Ow," You groan, rubbing the spot in a manner that probably proves her point. "Aren't you going to try for the money too? Where's Howl, huh?"

"We're friends already, it'll be chill. I don't know if we'll necessarily win the money, but, like, we'll have a good time," Hoyeon states, grinning.

"Ugh, gross," You say, sticking out your tongue.

She ignores your immaturity. "What do you wanna do with the money anyway?" Hoyeon asks, leaning against the wall next to an entrance to one of the dance studios.

"Remember that equipment I told you about? So I can start working on sets?"

"Oh, right," Hoyeon says, crossing her arms. "You said that you've been wanting to do that for a while, y/n. Are you really not going to talk to Bada? I’ve recorded with her a few times now and I mean it when I say that she's nice as hell. I feel like she'd probably be down, or, at the very least, will understand if you explain things to her. "

"I'll try. Maybe. At some point. It's not going to be today, though," you mutter, reaching for the studio door before you are stopped by Hoyeon jabbing her french-tipped fingernail into your chest. 

"You better. Or else," Hoyeon threatens, a dark expression coming over her. 

"Move your finger, please," You say, swatting her hand away.

Hoyeon rolls her eyes. "Whatever. Good luck filming. I'm gonna go find Howl. Love ya,"

"Yeah, yeah. Have fun," You wave goodbye to her as she walks down the hall, pulling out her phone.

Once she's out of sight, you release a deep sigh and push open the door, only to be met with the sight of a familiar face. 

"Oh," You breathe.

Bada turns, a surprised expression on her face. "Y/n, hi. Were you coming in?"

"Um, yeah," You reply, slowly entering the room and closing the door behind you. "Are you rehearsing something?"

"Yeah," Bada answers, glancing at the mirror.

"Sorry. I can go-"

"No, no, don't worry about it. If you need to film in here, that's fine. I'll just go next door," Bada says, waving her hand.

You pause, taking a breath. Now’s your chance. "Actually, forget the recording, could I talk to you real quick? About the...cupid thing?"

"Yeah, of course. I was actually hoping we'd get a chance to talk," Bada grins, sitting down on the floor and patting the spot beside her.

You hesitantly walk over and sit down next to her. You take a moment to compose yourself, running your fingers along the smooth fabric of your pants.

"So," Bada prompts.

"Uh," You stammer, wracking your brain for what you were supposed to say. "Um, well, I just wanted to say that, uh, you are really, um, talented. And-oh, this sounds really weird." You finish, running a palm down your face in embarrassment. 

"No, no, it's not," Bada chuckles, a gentle smile on her face. "Thank you, though. But, um, that's not what you wanted to say, right?"

"Right. Sorry," You apologize, a rush of blood filling your cheeks.

"Don't worry. Take your time. We have a lot of it," Bada reminds you, studying the expression on your face. Her voice and words are calming, but her staring is freaking freaking you out further. 

You take another deep breath, hoping to quell your nerves. "Okay. I'm sorry. Uh, I'll try again. What I really wanted to say is, I know that it’s a stupid contest, and that you probably don't care about winning, but I actually really want to participate in that project and win that prize money. And, I was hoping you'd, maybe, help me win?" Before she can respond, you launch into another tangent. "I'm sorry, you're probably busy, which is okay, but I just want to upgrade my equipment so I can get more opportunities outside of-"

"Hey," Bada says, gently laying her hand on top of yours. "Of course I'll help you. You don't have to apologize. I think it'll be fun."

You nearly spiral, but Bada's touch is surprisingly soothing, and you calm down despite your anxiety. 

"Oh, wow. Thank you, so much," You breathe.

"It's not a big deal, seriously. I'm looking forward to it," Bada insists, squeezing your hand.

You stare at her, and her kind, sparkling eyes. What have you gotten yourself into?

You both sit there for a second, a pregnant pause in the air, before you quickly pull your hand away, remembering how sweaty they were.

Bada smiles, unphased. Then, she begins tapping her fingers rhythmically against the ground, a contemplative look on her face as she stares at the space where your hands were previously intertwined. 

"So," Bada suddenly looks up. "If you're just in it to win it, and you really want a fair shot, I think we need to do something a little extreme."

You blink, scared. "What do you mean…extreme?"

She bites her lip and you have to resist the urge to stare. "Youngj said this was supposed to be platonic, so that's how most people are going to approach it. How do we seem better or stronger than other platonic relationships? What’s more intense than that?"

You must be misunderstanding where she's going with this. "Um, a romantic one?" You say, furrowing your eyebrows.

To your shock, she nods. "Exactly. Y/n, I'm saying that we should make our Cupid partnership a romantic one," Bada states, her expression serious.

Your head is spinning. She is taking this much more seriously than you were anticipating. You were expecting to just go out for coffee a few times, and maybe post a picture of your twinning lattes on instagram to sell your friendship. You have no idea how to process this more intense proposition.

"Are you suggesting that we pretend to date each other?" You confirm.

A beat of silence. She leans back slightly, her eyes flickering. "I mean, yeah. Sure," She pauses. "Unless you're not comfortable with that."

"I am," You respond, the lie escaping your mouth with ease. 

Bada's eyes widen and she sits up, a smile growing on her face. "You're sure? If you're not cool with that, we don't have to. I know the idea is a little bit out there. I just, uh, want to help," She babbles, her fingers tapping against the floor again. 

You laugh. Was Bada Lee nervous? "I'm not uncomfortable with it. I trust you. As long as it helps us win,"

"It will, I promise. I'll make it worth your while," Bada vows, her expression determined.

"I can't wait," You laugh again, feeling the butterflies in your stomach flutter.

"Cool," She breathes, her body relaxing. "Well, I should go. I'll talk to you tomorrow?"

You grin, nodding. "Yeah, that'd be great."

"Awesome," She smiles, standing up. She reaches her down and grabs your hand, pulling you up. "I'm not gonna be able to actually meet-up with you tomorrow because I have something scheduled, but I already have your phone number. I'll text you."

You nod, distracted and unable to speak as her soft fingers brush against your palm.

"Bye-bye," She waves cutely, her long legs swiftly carrying her across the room. You wave back, her departing smile etched into your brain as you watch the door click shut behind her. Then, you're alone. 

You stare at the floor, processing the interaction. You had just agreed to pretend to date one of the hottest and most intimidating women you had ever met. You had no clue why you did it. Maybe the promise of money and fulfilled dreams had blinded you. Still, the whole thing seemed a little too ridiculous. Too dangerous. 

But there was no backing out now. You already went through the trouble of telling Bada about your desperation, and you told her that you trusted her. You'd have to commit. 

"Well," you whisper, hugging yourself in a soothing motion. "Here goes nothing."

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You fidget within the plush confines of your seat, hesitantly glancing around your dimly lit surroundings as you twist a gleaming piece of silverware between your fingers. Your other hand remains in your lap, afraid to touch the red linen covering your table. Your gaze settles on a couple a few tables away from you, clinking their wine glasses together with pompous grins. It crosses your mind that the wine they're drinking is probably worth more than the money you're doing all of this for, and you make the executive decision to reach for the bottle of wine the woman sitting across from you generously bought. 

When you drop your fork to outstretch your hand toward the bottle, the woman in question seems to notice, hurriedly grabbing ahold of it before you can reach it, and pours the liquid into your glass, herself. 

"Thank you," you murmur, retracting your hand and finally allowing it to fall on the table. 

"No problem," Bada replies, her voice warm and velvety, like the wine. She pushes your drink toward you, and you hurriedly snatch it up to take a large gulp, allowing it to trickle down your throat. The heat of the alcohol soothes your anxiety, and you exhale deeply. 

Your relief lasts for approximately one millisecond. Because, in the next, you're putting your drink down and are being reminded of the predicament you've gotten yourself into. Bada's preoccupation with her menu gives you the chance to observe the way the soft glow emanating from a nearby lamp illuminates her features. The light traces the curves of her face, accentuating every perfect line. Her eyebrows furrow in concentration, compelling you to consider reaching over the table to smooth the lines over with your thumb. When you try to look away, your gaze locks on the pouting of her lips as she focuses on whatever she's reading. 

"I'm thinking of getting the Frutti Di Mare," she voices, snapping you out of your trance. She sets the menu down and looks up, a gentle smile on her face.

"I don't know what that is," you respond dumbly. 

She laughs, the sound light and airy, causing the skin near her eyes to wrinkle adorably. "I thought Italian was your favorite?"

"It is," you confirm, feeling flustered. "I just-the Italian places I go to are super watered down. The fanciest thing you'll see there is fettuccini alfredo,"

"That makes sense," Bada nods, her smile turning playful. "Then, I'll let you know what it is. It's basically seafood. I think it's usually served with pasta."

"Ah," you reply, nodding slowly. "Tasty."

Bada laughs again, and you feel like a scratched CD—unable to get any words out, twitching in place, devilish sounds threatening to enemate from you at any moment. "I'll make sure to order an extra portion for you to try. Unless, of course, you don't want me to."

"No, that works. I'm fine with that," you respond, quickly.

"I figured." Bada smiles knowingly.

Your hand clutches your chest. "Hey, is that a little shade? Did I miss it? Please, elaborate," you joke, leaning forward.

Bada giggles. "Maybe. You've been drinking a lot of that wine. And I think you ate most of the breadsticks."

You glance at your breadcrumb filled plate, then at the half-empty basket of breadsticks. "Oh. Wow. I did."

"You did," Bada affirms, her expression amused. She scoots her chair closer and takes a sip of her own drink, her tongue darting out to lick her lips once she's done. You have the overwhelming urge to mimic the motion, but resist, choosing to instead stuff another breadstick in your mouth.

You swallow the last bits of the breadstick, wiping the crumbs off of your mouth, only for a new, smaller, crumb to appear. Bada notices, and when she raises her arm, your breath hitches. You feel her soft hand graze the side of your face, the pad of her thumb rubbing the crumb off your lip.

"There we go," Bada smiles, satisfied. You can't help but lean into her touch, the warmth of her skin a pleasant contrast against the cold room.

You're startled out of the moment when the waiter appears, setting a basket of warm bread down. You jump, moving away from Bada.

"Have we decided what we'd like to eat?" he asks, his accent thick.

Bada nods, seemingly unaffected by the exchange. "Yes, we're ready. I'll have the Frutti di Mare."

"Great choice," the waiter says. "And, for you, miss?"

"Um, Spaghetti," you answer, your voice strained. 

The waiter scribbles down the order. "Anything else to drink?"

"I’m good, thank you," Bada answers, her tone sweet, smiling gratefully at the man.

"I'll be right back with your food," the waiter bows his head, his ponytail bouncing, and swiftly leaves the table, leaving the two of you alone. 

Avoiding eye contact with Bada, you grab ahold of your glass and drink. The air crackles with something subtle, and you find yourself stealing glances at Bada’s pretty face in between sips, your cheeks warming.

But you needed to get down to business. It’s already been two days since you discussed fake-dating, and this is the first time you’ve done anything together. The clock was ticking.

You placed your drink down on the table and swallowed loudly, causing Bada to stop fiddling with the napkin in front of her in favor of looking at you. 

"So," you start.

"So," she copies.

"What's the plan?" you ask, drumming your fingers against the table.

Bada's eyebrows furrow again. "The plan?"

"For the whole Cupid thing," you clarify.

"Oh," she says, blinking. "Right. Well, I was thinking, that this was sort of the plan."

"This being..."

"Dinner. At a fancy restaurant," she responds, gesturing to her surroundings. "People will see us hanging out together here, and it'll get the rumor mill running. I wouldn't be surprised if the media picked it up, honestly. I think it's a pretty solid first step. We're just planting the seeds,"

You nod. "Yeah, okay. That makes sense. How do we get from here to actually dating?"

She leans back in her chair, pondering the question. "Hm. I don't know. An Instagram post, maybe? A soft launch?"

You consider this. "Okay, sure. But, what would the picture be of? This is all so, vague."

Bada shrugs, nonchalant. "We'll figure it out as we go. We're gonna be spending a lot of time together for the next few days so there'll be plenty of opportunities for pictures. For now, I think we should just enjoy dinner. We're supposed to look like a couple in love right now and I don't know if trying to scientifically plan a soft launch is really giving romance."

"Right," you sigh. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize," Bada says, reaching across the table to give your hand a quick squeeze.

You're interrupted by the waiter returning, bringing the food. He carefully sets the dishes down, and a delectable smell fills the air.

"Bon appetit," the waiter bows his head and disappears again.

"Thanks," you call after him, taking a moment to observe the meal.

"It looks great," Bada comments, reaching for her fork.

"It does," you agree, grabbing your own utensils. You take a tentative bite, moaning loudly as the flavors immediately explode in your mouth. "Holy fuck."

Bada stares at you, wide-eyed and frozen, a piece of pasta still stuck on her fork.

You blush, covering your mouth. "Oh my gosh, sorry."

She gulps, snapping out of her stupor. "No, no, it's fine. That was just, a, uh. It seems like you really like it!"

"It's really good," you confirm, your words muffled by the food.

"I can tell," Bada chuckles, her voice low and her eyes twinkling.

"Sorry. I'm gonna try not to embarrass myself any more," you say, chewing more delicately.

She laughs softly. "There's no need to apologize. You're funny, y/n," Bada says, the sincerity of her words and the fondness in her tone making heat rise to your cheeks. 

You eat the rest of your food quietly, listening to the bustling noise around you, the sound of Bada's utensils clinking against her plate unusually relaxing.

As you're finishing your last bits of pasta, a group of loud voices and giggles pass by your table. One of the girls, a brunette, notices the two of you and stops.

"Oh, my god," you hear the girl not-so-discreetly whisper, clutching her friends' arms. "Is that who I think it is?"

You glance at Bada, and she's looking at you. You raise an eyebrow.

"Bada Lee and...I don't know who that is? Who is that?" The brunette's friend replies.

You look down, pretending not to hear the conversation.

"I don't know either. You think that's her girlfriend?"

"Girlfriend?! No way. They're probably just hanging out or something."

At this, Bada drops her fork and reaches across the table for your hand, grabbing it gently.

"You okay, baby?" Bada asks, her tone sugary sweet.

You're taken aback by the pet name. But, you decide to play along. You smile at her, placing your other hand over hers. "I'm fine, sweetie. Just a little tired."

"Do you wanna leave, honey?"

"I think I'll be fine," you grin.

"If you're sure," Bada smiles, stroking the back of your hand with her thumb.

"I'm positive, honey bunch," you affirm, biting onto your bottom lip to contain your laughter. 

"Aw, they're cute!" the brunette sighs. "I've gotta tell Sooyoung about this."

"Yeah, we should leave them alone, though. Let's go."

You and Bada watch the pair walk away. As soon as the women are out of sight, the two of you burst into laughter, dropping the facade.

"Did you see their faces?" Bada giggles.

"'Who is that?'" you imitate, your voice high pitched and nasal.

"Baby," Bada says, smirking. 

You laugh, but the endearment sends butterflies to your stomach. "Sweetie."

"Honey bunch," Bada grins.

"Honey bunny," you fire back.

"My love," she replies, tilting her head with a smirk, her voice playful. 

"Lovebug," you answer, raising an eyebrow.

"Is this foreplay?" she jokes, laughing. 

"I mean, if you want it to be, I'm not stopping you," you say, the words slipping out before you can stop yourself. Bada's eyes shoot up, and you feel slightly mortified and shocked by your own brazenness. 

"Do you mean that?" Bada asks, her voice dropping down an octave.

You open your mouth, then shut it. This is odd. You were regretting your lack of filter at first, but Bada seemed a bit too intrigued by the idea of consensual foreplay with you. She could just be joking, or really committing to the fake-dating bit. The look in her eyes was telling you otherwise, though.

However, you're cut off by the waiter reappearing. "May I interest you in dessert, or shall I bring the check?" he asks.

"Just the check, please," she says, not breaking eye contact with you.

The waiter bows, leaving the table once more.

You opt to stare down at the table. "I'll pay half," you offer, avoiding her earlier question.

"It's on me," Bada says. "I brought you here."

"Thank you."

"It's no problem," she says, a small smile on her lips.

Once the waiter comes back, Bada gives him her card. When he returns to your table with the receipt, Bada locks eyes with you, your heart thumping loudly.

"Let's get out of here," Bada says, and you nod.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

You stand at the entrance of the restaurant, a gentle breeze caressing your face. Your hands are stuffed in the pockets of your coat, and the chilly air nips at the tip of your nose.

"Are you ready?" Bada asks from behind you. You turn around to look at her, and the way her eyes reflect the light of the streetlamps above you causes your chest to tighten.

"Ready," you confirm, a hint of a smile on your face.

"Alright," Bada says, shoving her phone, which you don't remember seeing her pull out, into her coat pocket. She leads you to her car, opening the passenger seat door for you.

"Thanks," you smile, and she responds with a nod. 

After the door is closed, she goes around to the driver's seat, starting the engine and driving out of the parking lot. You're both silent as she navigates through the streets. You peer out the window, watching the city lights flicker and blur as you replay tonight's events, attempting to ignore the now obvious tension. 

"So," Bada breaks the silence, causing you to whip your head toward her. "You still haven't fully explained to me what plans you have in mind for that camera you're wanting so badly."

"Well," you begin, relieved that she took the conversation in this direction. "I love what I do at JustJerk. Seriously, watching you guys dance is amazing, and the people are the best. But, I don't want my career to end there. I want to do more on top of that, diversify my portfolio and all. What I really want to do is get onto a music video set. Maybe start directing, too. One day."

Bada hums and smiles. "That's amazing."

"Thanks," you grin, scratching the back of your neck.

"With all due respect, though, do you really need the new equipment for that? You do such a good job with our choreography videos. I don't know anything about videography, but I'd be surprised if that alone couldn't get your foot in the door."

"Well," you draw out, considering your words. "That's probably true. But, I don't think I'm that lucky. The equipment will help, the camera will be useful...the lenses will be nice to have…”

Bada frowns. "Have you given it a shot yet, though? As much as I'm going to try my hardest to help you win this money, realistically, there's a good chance that we still won't win. I'd hate to see you postpone your dreams just because of this camera, or because of this project."

You pause, staring at the car's interior, listening to the sound of the engine running, lost in thought. You weren't sure if it was because you admired Bada so much, or if it was something about her tone, but you were actually starting to rethink things. Perhaps you were holding yourself back a bit. 

"Maybe," you simply respond, unable to say much else. 

"I mean, the equipment will probably help," Bada concedes. "But, not having it won't stop you, I'm sure. Our videographers really don't get enough credit. But, you're all great and you're especially amazing at what you do, y/n. The only reason why I haven't gotten around to working with you is because the other dancers keep getting to you first," she admits, bitterly. 

"Wow," you breathe. "Thank you."

"Of course. You're awesome," she says, the confidence in her words filling your heart.

"So are you," you say, turning away from her, trying not to blush.

"I know. You’ve said it already," Bada smirks, and you simply roll your eyes.��

A more comfortable silence envelops the two of you, and the tension from before dissipates. You lean back in the passenger seat, a smile on your face, feeling content.

Soon, Bada pulls up outside of your apartment, and you're disappointed. 

"This is you," Bada announces.

"Yep," you nod.

"I had a lot of fun tonight," she says, smiling.

"Me too," you reply with a matching smile. "Thank you for dinner."

"It was no problem," she states, waving her hand.

You step outside, but, before closing the car door, you hesitate. "Um," you say, unsure.

"What is it?" Bada asks, a hint of worry in her tone.

"Can I give you a hug?" you blurt out.

Bada looks startled, but her expression softens. "Sure," she nods, turning the engine off and stepping outside.

You meet her on the sidewalk, and pull her into a hug, wrapping your arms around her torso and pressing your cheek against her chest. She hugs back, and you swear that you can hear her heartbeat.

"Goodnight," Bada whispers into your hair.

"Goodnight," you echo, pulling away, already missing her warmth.

She opens the car door again, ducking inside. "Text me when you get upstairs," she instructs.

"I will," you promise.

"Great. Goodnight, y/n," she smiles.

"Goodnight, Bada," you reply, watching her drive away. Once her car disappears, you sigh.

As you trudge up the stairs to your apartment, a single question repeats in your mind: What the fuck am I doing?

You finish cleaning up and getting ready for bed approximately two hours later. As you lay in bed, scrolling through social media, a post from a JustJerk fanpage catches your eye. It's a picture of Bada and you together at dinner, with the caption, "Caught on a date?!"

You laugh at the predictability of the situation, and just as you're about to turn off your phone, you think to check Bada's Instagram, curious. She posted a new story.

You tap it, and it's a picture of you, taken from behind, standing outside the restaurant. There are no words attached to the picture. Just one, pink heart.

You smile, saving the picture, and fall asleep with the image burned into your mind.

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Three days later, you are stationed near your camera, watching Bada teach. The day after your fake dinner date, she sent you a text describing the next stage of the plan, which was attending each other's events and collaborating in public whenever it seemed right. This initially felt like an excellent idea. You'd been dying to watch and record one of Bada's classes since you started working at JustJerk, and it brought you guys one step closer to convincing everyone you were seriously dating. What could go wrong?

The actual execution of this idea turned out to be much more distressing than you previously imagined. It started this morning when you were filming Minho's class. You kneeled in the front of the room, prepping your camera as Minho made rounds around the studio to talk to his students individually. Engrossed with your equipment, you didn't hear the sounds of the door opening and closing, or the following eruption of loud murmuring. It was not until you saw a pair of sneakers stop in front of you and caught a whiff of a now-familiar sweet aroma, that you bothered to glance up. When you did, you found yourself making eye contact with Bada, holding a bouquet.

"These are for you," Bada said, a proud smile on her face. 

Your jaw dropped and you scrambled to get up, almost knocking the camera over. They were roses, vibrant and beautiful against the dull gray of the dance studio. No one had done this for you before. 

"They're gorgeous," you whispered, accepting the flowers.

"I'm glad you think so," she replied, her smile deepening as she observed your reaction. You cradled the bouquet in your hands, inhaling the smell of the roses with a pleased hum and missing the endeared expression on Bada's face. You certainly didn’t see the way she started to lean forward to press a soft kiss to your forehead. Shocked, you loosened your grip on the bouquet, feeling nothing but the rush of warmth spread through every inch of you as a result of her tiny peck. 

She shifted back, as relaxed as ever. "I gotta go, but I'll see you later?" 

"Definitely," you nod, clutching the bouquet once again, head spinning.

"Great." She nodded, then made her way out of the studio.

After she left, you turned to face the room, only to be met with everyone’s staring. Right. That is what this is about. Getting attention. Nothing else. 

You glanced at Minho, who had a teasing smirk on his face.

"What?" you asked him, scowling. 

"Nothing," he laughed, then restarted his class. 

Now you are recording Bada's class. Or at least, that’s what you’re supposed to be doing. But, having to observe her so confidently lead her students through a routine, hearing her call out corrections with a simultaneously gentle yet demanding tone, noticing how hard her abs are when she lifts her shirt to wipe the sweat from her brow for the last hour? It's been painful. You're so busy trying not to swoon you've nearly forgotten to press record a couple of times.

She suddenly looks at you, flashing a small smile at you accompanied by crinkling eyes. You give her a thumbs-up and quickly shift your gaze toward the camera as if you were busy setting the frame, even though the shot is already perfect.

Bada returns her focus to the class, and the lesson continues. Every once in a while, Bada walks over to you, checking in and asking how everything is going. Each time, she offers a smile, a wink, or some form of encouragement, and every time, it takes everything in your power not to blush. She's clearly playing it up for the audience, but the effect she has on you is no act.

Her students are buying it, though. The moment she gets near you, the girls (and a few guys) start whispering amongst themselves. It's working.

"Alright," Bada claps, signaling the end of the session. "That's it for today. Good job, everybody."

"Thank you, teacher!" they all exclaim, bowing and gathering their things.

You're packing up your camera when you feel a pair of hands grasp your waist. Startled, you drop your tripod.

"Gotcha," Bada giggles.

"Shit, that scared me," you say, placing a hand on your heart.

"Sorry, sorry," she laughs. "How'd the recording go?"

"Pretty good," you say, bending down to pick up the tripod. Bada immediately crouches, beating you to it. "Thank you."

"No problem" she says, straightening up, extending the tripod towards you.

"Thanks," you say again, taking the device from her. "Anyway, you did good. It's not going to need much editing."

"Really?" Bada smiles. "Thank you. That means a lot, actually."

"It’s no problem," you grin, suppressing the fluttering in your stomach. "And, uh, thanks again for the flowers, by the way. They were beautiful."

“You are very welcome. Just fulfilling my fake-girlfriend duties," Bada beams, and you have to look away.

"Well, anyway, I should probably head home," you say, avoiding eye contact. "Gotta get started on the footage."

She tilts her head. "Uh, I don’t think so. That’s gonna have to wait for tomorrow,” 

"Huh? Why?" you ask, confused.

"Because, y/n, we're going bowling with Youngj and them? Don't tell me you forgot," she chides, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh," you say, remembering. "I thought that was supposed to be later."

"It's 7:30," she says, a slight frown on her face.

"Fuck," you curse, running a hand through your hair. "Sorry, I'll get out of here."

"We have to go there together," Bada reminds you.

"Shit. Okay, yeah, let's go," you sigh.

"Are you okay?" she asks, concern etched onto her features.

"Yes. No. Ugh. Sorry, I just had a lot on my mind today. Didn't get much sleep," you say, rubbing your eyes. It wasn’t a complete lie. Ever since your date at the restaurant, you’ve been getting bombarded with messages from friends asking about the two of you, giving you little time to rest alongside your work for Justjerk. There was more going on today, though. 

"That sucks," Bada sympathizes. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Not really," you answer, bluntly.

"Okay," she says, softly. "But, if and when you do, I’m all ears."

"Thanks, Bada. I appreciate it," you reply, and a part of you is telling yourself not to get attached. But the bigger part of you, the part that wants nothing more than to fall into her arms, tells that smaller part to fuck off.

"Of course. Anyway, we should really get going," she says, and you follow her out the door, leaving your thoughts and feelings behind.

read part two

[aylacavebear]

Touched Introduction: An Author's Note

Here's an introduction to what a Touched is. It'll help you get your feet wet and have an idea of the creature 'Touched.' I hope you'll enjoy coming along on the adventures that will soon be shared here.

Word Count: 579

Please don't take my work. I've put a lot of thought and work into this idea, and it truly is all mine. It took lots of research to make sure things were and are accurate. Your comments, hearts, and reblogs mean the world to me.

There are no warnings for this, as it is only some information for future stories.

----------------------------------------- Touched Introduction: An Author's Note

Touched are something of an enigma. It will, of course, depend on the story with how they are viewed by not only other supernatural creatures, but also hunters, and humans. Gods from any pantheon get bored from time to time, and they need something for entertainment. Sadly, that typically means messing with humans, as they are the most fun to mess with, since the Christian God gave them free will.

I personally like Bastet. She’s from the Egyptian pantheon and is the Goddess of protection, protecting homes from evil and women and children from disease and illness. She was originally a fierce lioness warrior goddess of the sun. However, her ferocious nature may have been softened after the domestication of cats around 1500 BCE. She also had both nurturing and violent qualities, but her shielding and motherly aspects are often emphasized.

Bastet loved humans but knew she couldn’t directly interfere with their growth as a species. She could, however, choose certain humans and give them her gifts through a touch. The gifts the human received depended on the human and how Bastet’s powers interacted with their DNA. The human had to be younger than the age of five, or things always turned out badly, so she’d gotten very careful over the years.

There were two special humans, both of which had been women. One over a thousand years ago, and now this new woman, born to a family and would be an only child. These humans somehow got the ability to have healing blood, a way to keep their loved ones safe in a way no other Touched was able.

The abilities of her Touched ranged just as much as their personalities did. Everything from being able to transform into a cat that could talk or telepathically communicate to being cat-like but still looking completely human. Some could even communicate with other felines. It intrigued Bastet how each human she chose progressed throughout its life. It was the ones who had actual cat features, like ears, a tail, canines, and retractable claws, that fascinated her the most, watching how they dealt with what other humans saw as not normal.

Sometimes, just sometimes, Bastet would meddle in the affairs of other deities or supernatural creatures. Like the time, in one story, where she gave her gifts to the Christian God’s biological daughter. Or, in another story where she gave it to a Nephilim. Okay, perhaps that happened more than just once, but it was well worth the outcome.

Sadly, Bastet could never interact with her Touched. It was like a curse. Once the gift was given, the Deity was forced to watch from afar, unable to guide them directly. Bastet sometimes left clues with the child’s parents so they could guide the child, but sometimes, things turned badly for the child.

These are the stories of Bastet’s Touched. There will be series and one-shots, perhaps even two-parters. No two will be related, but now you have some information when you get to embark on the journey as the Touched and learning to navigate the world in so many different scenarios. I hope you enjoy the fun little things that have played through my mind over the last almost two years when this creature creation came to me. I did need something that would survive the perils that consistently tend to befall anyone who gets too close to the Winchesters, no matter what universe they end up in or come from.

----------------------------------------- Touched Master List Main Master List

Permanent Tag List: @roseblue373 @flamencodiva @reignsboy19 @stillhere197 @foxyjwls007

@hobby27 @megs-gadom

[trashiewrites]

can you maybe do a fanfic for mw2 2022 that the reader gets kidnapped and soap or ghost has to save them

OH HOHO HO

THis one is a two-parter!

A/N: SORRY THIS TOOK LIKE FOREVER!!! NOT ONLY WAS I HAVING A WRITER'S BLOCK BUT ALSO TMNT TOOK OVER MY LIFE SO HERE WE GO!! I AM GONNA DO ALL THE REQUESTS I GET I SWEAR!! Without further delay, enjoy!

Took You Long Enough: Part 1

(Soap x F!Reader)

(Trigger warning: light angst, mentions of violence and death) if case idk if anyone need these Moreofthismainlyinpart2 maybe maybe

"I don't see why I can't go with you guys!" You protested to Soap, "you guys need all the help you can get to get those missiles!" You grabbed his arm, as he continued to walk past. It's not in your nature to question orders but this doesn't make sense to you.

"I get it (Y/n) but that's not your choice to make!" Soap whipped around to face you; his face as serious as he could manage. "I don't quite get LT.'s thinking either but it's not our place to question it. Plus, you get the privilege of interrogation against our little drug lady."

"I don't see how that could be helpful... she already told us where the missile is." You shrugged, "if anything, Ghost is the better interrogator. At least more efficient..."

"Efficiency isn't the focus here lass," Soap grasped firmly to your shoulders, "LT trusts you to get some more info on where she is taking Hassan. I trust you to do it if anyone can; it's you."

"But what if-" you said before being pulled into an embrace. Soaps arms wrapped tightly around you but yet so gentle, his warmth making you melt deeper into the hug. He placed one hand firmly upon the top of your head.

"We will be back before you know it, (y/n)."

——————————————

Watching as the boy boarded the heli was bittersweet, to say the least. Soap's talk yesterday did help you get the idea that it wasn't as pointless as you thought. But the lingering fear of something bad happening just around the corner was irking you. To be honest, you could care less about the actual mission, as much as it was your job that wasn't why you wanted to go.

John Mactavish, your sergeant, you had always been fond of. You both knew each other in your last platoon before the 141. He was the one who recommended you to the captain, who surprisingly agreed. To say you two were close was a gross understatement, in your head at least...

You do one final salute as they head up, John with a sly smirk also gives you a small heart with his fingers. You smile, standing there till the heli is no longer in sight. Heading back inside you went into Alejandro's office; you were glad he allows you to use it to gather your thoughts and prep for interrogations. He also states that if you need anything then call for one of his troops. They have been instructed to do as you ask within reasonable means of course. You lean back in the plush chair, writing notes on how you wanted to begin your approach. ————————————————-

To no one's surprise, the drug lord is a tough cookie. In the beginning, not spilling a word. Secondly, you dug into her relationship with Alejandro. Perhaps her getting riled up would have her slip a thing or two. Within the first day, you had managed to get that they didn't stop the trade for Hassan. Despite their Boss being taken hostage.

"No les importa que yo esté aquí. No importa si muero, El Sin Nombre sigue vivo." Valeria spoke, she spoke deeply with a sick grin on her face. "My legacy will live on even if you decide to kill me now. Especially in the stupid states."

"What do you mean?" You grabbed her by the collar, "Where did you send Hassan; what is he planning?"

"Like I'd say anything to you, puta~" you backhand her straight in the face. Grabbing her face and crushing her cheeks with your hand.

"¡Borra esa puta sonrisa de tu cara, zorra!" You growled, "how could you be proud of yourself, you betray your people, Your home!"

"You know nothing of my home." You punched her gut; you watched as her head dropped low. Taking a deep sigh, and taking a break outside would probably help calm your nerves. Opening the container door, you covered your eyes as the sun blinded your vision. Walking just past the guard stationed in front, you rubbed your temples. Quiet footsteps move behind you.

"No need to cover the door," you raised your hand, "I'm gonna hea-" within moments you felt an arm wrapped tightly around your neck and a cloth held over your mouth. They kicked your shins, having using legs no longer your first thought. After harshly struggling you felt your consciousness slip, fading quickly to an empty void.

Upon stirring awake, eyes flutter open. Your head pounding mixed with the coldness of the surroundings. You attempted to move your arms, hearing an unmistakable clanging of metal chains. You were cuffed? Your mind raced, how in the world did this happen? Where were you and how do you get yourself out of this shit hole? Taking a moment to clear up your thoughts, taking a very needed deep breath. You noticed people talking loudly outside the cell. "You know what happens to those two British guys?" Americans... is Graves behind this? "Yeah, I heard they both fled. One was wounded though." 

"Serves them right, you don't fuck with the commander!" one laughed aloud, "speaking of which!"

"Where's the girl," Graves's voice sounded stern, he was not here for a happy chit-chat; you knew that much... But once you find out what the hell is going on you're going to murder that man yourself... "Open that cell"

"Yes, commander." Both men said in unison. How the mood dropped, silence so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Broken by the screeching noise on the cell doors. There stood the tall man with a disgruntled face.  You stared in horror as behind him two men pulled an unconscious Alejandro behind him. 

"Graves... What have you done?" You stared at him in disbelief... "How could you? After all we have been through!"  

"It's nothing personal beautiful~" Graves crossed his arms, leaning against the frame of the cell doors, "Just a change in command, that's all. Daddy's in charge now!" You felt yourself wanting to vomit hearing such foul words exit his mouth. How crude... Classic for him and his people if you were honest. "Now with how gracious I am, I am giving you a choice. Get out of this heaping shit pile and work beside me, or rot in this rusty pothole!"

"Graves..." You stood up, arms forced down to your side due to chain restrictions, "Where is Soap and Ghost?"

"You worried about those wanna-bes? Those traitors?" Graves chuckled, "Fine, I'll tell ya! Ghost, man is probably running for his life right now from my men! Begging for mercy! I can imagine it myself." You clenched your fist, the thought in your head that this is what he has thought about us this whole time... Our brothers in arms your ass... "And Lil'Soapy boy! Oh," He rubbed his hand on his chin...  "My men shot him up pretty well! I wouldn't see it impossible that he's bleeding out in the streets right now!"

"YOU BASTARD!" You lunged forward, pulled back once again by the chains. Grave's laugh haunted you, not a hint of remorse just utter amusement. "WE TRUSTED YOU! YOU AND YOUR TEAM WERE OUR BROTHERS!" 

"Keyword, 'were' my dear! " Graves eyes within a moment were back to those of a dead cold killer, smiling like a greedy bastard. "You see, 'Brothers' was revoked when they weren't so willing to uphold the chain of command. Now tell me," Graves walks forward to you, "What happens when a small puppy barks at the big vicious dog?" 

"What?" you snarled, and he extended his hand. Grabbing your face and pressing down your cheeks so tightly as to crush your jaw. 

"You. Get. Bit..." Graves lets go, swiping his leg under your feet. You fell back to the floor with a harsh thud. "Now, I'd love to chat more... but I have a lot of work to do!"  he laughed once again before heading to the cell door. "Say. Let me know when you take me up on that offer earlier. Still stands till whenever I guess!"

"Go fuck yourself Graves!" You yelled back at him, "You'll pay for this! I SWEAR IT!"

"Tell me when~" He grinned, "Close her up boys!" As the doors closed you were once again left to your thoughts... Your head was empty, no matter how much you tried only one thing haunted you... 

"John..." You hugged your knees close, resting your head as tears unknowingly flew down your face. "I-I knew I should have come with you..."

Part 2! Out now!

[serendertothesquad]

Seren's Studies: Odd Squad UK -- "Three is the Oddest Number" Episode Followup, Part 1

Well, ladies and gents and human beings...it's here. The finale of Odd Squad UK. Given PBS's track record with this franchise, I'm going to just deem it the series finale until some news decides to slap me in the face that the show got renewed for a Season 2/Season 5. And that's assuming it actually does.

This is a three-parter (considering "Should Odd Acquaintance Be Forgot" is chopped in two parts), so I'll be tackling this episode and hopefully get to the other two tonight. Maybe. Hopefully. I'm not exactly confident nor excited to see how it ends, but nearly anything could be better than the trainwreck that was "Odd Together Now". And never forget that I took a fucking bullet for all of you who watch Season 3 because I watched that shit early. (Funny to think that I had a big old speech for my Seren Reacts video about how the show's ending...and how it aged poorly. Didn't even get to do a final run on it!)

But enough talk! Let's have at this episode below the break.

(A post-editing note: I was informed that Leonie is, in fact, a girl, and not a boy like I thought. I'm keeping the LGBTQ+ theory because we've already gotten gay triangle villain and they could extend that to child villains too, but keep in mind that Leonie is a girl and not a boy. That's my bad.)

Ohhhh...a Niki episode. Once again, as long as it's not Omar or Tasha, I do not give a flying rat's Photoshopped ass.

That aside, this looks eerily similar to the classroom at the Academy where Orchid taught in "End of the Road". It's just more green, and there are no Mobile Unit agents, but the sentiment is there.

Hold on, hold on...this shit was all them?

Okay! Great! Cool! So riddle me this, then: why did we not get any hints about you in any of these episodes? Even a shot of any one of these three peeking around a corner -- or hell, even a funny background Easter egg or a symbol of some kind! -- would have helped tremendously.

You guys remember my complaint about them trying to squeeze a story arc into 12 episodes? This is the result of that and my complaints are legit so help me God.

Oh, hi, Ohlm. You got out of your eternal grounding and hopped on a plane to the UK? Didn't...didn't even serve any jail time for committing mass murder, huh?

(Yeah yeah, I'm aware that's not Ohlm. But you can't tell me it doesn't look like an older Jaiden at first glance.)

This is the most goddamn LGBTQ+ child villain I have ever seen, and I will leave the fandom to discuss their own theories.

Their...their logo is literally...it's just a slimmed-down version of...the...Science symbol...

Deja vu, I have in fact been in this place before, in "Oscar Strikes Back". And if neither of these three were Scientists, then what is point?

Oxandra is a name I'm fine with. It's Cassandra but Odd Squad-fied.

Offee, though? Is the name born from a mother with a severe caffeine addiction, and anyone who says it's toffee is wrong. Think about it. Sit on how demonized coffee is in this franchise. And then, find the symbolism.

SEE???? AND HIS NAME IS OLLISON. ALLISON. HE'S A BOY.

THE MOST OBVIOUSLY LGBTQ+ CHILD SINCE SEATTLE MR. O BAR ONLY HIM.

"To do that, we need to steal three shapes from their gadgets."

I see someone's taking their cue from Odd Todd in World Turned Odd.

"But we can't just go into Odd Squad HQ and steal it."

Actually yes you can, and lemme lay this out:

Get some agent suits

Maybe get some masks, or disguise yourself with a shapeshifting device

Get into HQ

Steal the shapes

????

????

Profit.

*long deep sigh*

No. Don't do this. Not after m' boi reformed. Don't do this. I'm recovering from last episode still. DON'T. DO THIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-

Pretty sure I mentioned how good foreshadowing would be in "A Tour of Odd Squad", no?

And yet, they decide to shove it into this episode????? They decide to have the "kids in the superfan tour" thing in this episode?!?!?!?!

Okay, they cared about continuity this season, but only a sparse few times. They've bent the rules of continuity so many times that they could abso-fuckin'-lutely have put them in the tour in that episode.

"But Seren, you would still whi-" FUCKING YES I WOULD STILL WHINE. I HAVE A RIGHT TO WHINE THANK YOU.

Ohhhhh...because Icy Mouseeeeeeeeey.....

If this is shaping up to be a villain episode, then I'll say right now that "Villain Networking" handled it much better.

I...why do we need a time card? If they're already at the "assigning roles to the evil plan" portion, how the fuck long do they need?

Aaaaaaaah' c'maaaaaaaaaahn. You can't tell me they weren't thinking of Macklemore here. At least once!

"We don't follow fashion...?"

Already got my idea for a new Season 2/Season 5 character. And that's setting aside the fact that Onom is canonically a seamstress. (Seamster?)

No, that's a child in a mouse mask, Ryan Lewis. There is a difference between a bipedal mouse and a bipedal human wearing a mouse mask.

"Chasey or zappy" is a real PBS Kids way of saying "shoot first, or chase first?"

Though to be honest, wounding him would up the finale's ante considerably.

50/50 chance of Orli calling them out on being literal children instead of adults.

...

No, lemme change that. 90/10. And you should know what the 10 is for.

DID A WHOLE-ASS VISCERAL COUGH AT THIS LGBTQ+ CHILD ASKING ORLI TO TAKE A FUCKING SELFIE AND NAME-DROPPING SELFIE AND BRO WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING.

If I really wanted to, I could make an MLP unicorn telekinesis joke, but I don't want to, so I won't.

NOOOOOO. N O T THEM HAVING A PORTRAIT VS. LANDSCAPE DEBATE. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO NIKI CHILD WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK- *explodes*

This slow head shake is fucking sending me. This entire scene is beautiful for a cold-open-not-cold-open.

Y'ALL GOT TWO MORE SHAPES TO FIND NOW W H A T ARE Y'ALL DOING.

I appreciate the villains giving the math lesson this time around, even if they are our big bads. We don't get many villain math lessons because villains are supposed to be st00pid at math.

Oxandra. Sweet summer child. Either drop the evil laugh or work on it. It's not for you.

Look, the more this very obvious Otis reference is brought up, the more I will fucking complain about it.

Again I have to ask: what is the writers' fixation on referencing Season 2 stuff? 10 years' worth of stuff to reference and you go with Season 2?

...Oh, and speaking of:

"Is...that just a regular magnifying gla-"

"JUST LET ME HAVE THIS ONE, ORLI!! PLEEEEEASE!!"

"they wouldn't have gotten away from me and this"

bro has feet

other bro has a limp and two tiny wheels

Think realistically, Orwell. Really think. Sit on it forever if ya have to.

Y'know, seeing this season makes me realize that they really just up and went "okay, make a gadget for anything and everything in existence".

And that's in addition to the 10k they already have, mind you.

(On to Part 2!)

[trashboatprince]

Here are my thoughts on Wild Blue Yonder!

HOO BOY!

Doctor Who spoilers under the cut.

First off, loving the whole random ass opening with Sir Issac Newton, and the fact that they continue to use the word mavity throughout the episode. It's stupid, but it's exactly what you expect from Doctor Who

Ooooh, the Doctor being so bummed about the new console room, the way they sounded reminded me of Crowley's '90 years and not a scratch'. No wonder David knew what to do, he was told to think of the TARDIS blowing up for that scene. And... well... looks like he had to repeat that, haha.

QUEER FOURTEEN! QUEER FOURTEEN! I mean, honestly, I already suspected as much, but yes! Gay? Bi? Pan? Who the fuck cares, they're queer! (And I still stand by David's Doctors being ace, so... :))

The tenderness of Fourteen caring for Donna throughout this, especially at the end when they hold her while the spaceship explodes... *clutches chest*

The visuals for the ship are pretty damn cool, if a little cheesy, but this greatly reminds me of the station from RTD's second episode during Nine's era, which also included the companion nearly dying by a powerful heat.

If I had a nickel for every time David played a nonbinary non-human in tight clothing talking to someone with the label of 'Jim(bo)' in 2023, I'd have two nickels.

The fucking creatures in this episode! UUUUUHHHHHGGGGGG!!! The body horror made it impossible for me to watch because holy shit it started getting into that territory where I feel my skin crawl just looking at it!

That's not to say I hated it, I fucking love horror in Doctor Who, but UUHHGG!!! EW! FUCKING NO!

Also really creepy that not-Donna knew about The Flux and the Timeless Child bullshit. I hate this lore, but it was interesting how it was brought back in a horror setting.

David and Catherine playing villains against them playing heroes is a delight

Also, chalk this up as another time David plays a version of the Doctor, this time as an enemy. Though in my heart of hearts, the Spriggan is still his best villain Doctor, TLV!Ten and not-Fourteen be damned!

Scary as fuck, very intense, this was a great special that I really did not see any of it coming. I'm so glad it was kept secret.

WILF! I started sobbing when he showed up, I love Wilf so much, and Fourteen's pure delight at seeing him! <3 I miss Bernard, I'm so glad he was able to be part of this before he passed.

It's not Doctor Who without a cliffhanger!

I wonder what the salt thing will do in the series, will Fifteen have a call back to it? I'm very curious...

Overall, a terrifying special, I fucking loved it, but eeeeeewwwwww... the body horror and stuff. I hope David and Catherine had fun!

Also, I like Jimbo.

Anyone else get Midnight and the two-parter Ganger episodes vibes from this special? Cause I love that.

[parkminijiminie]

If people would just take a step back, they would have realized that the apartment from the videos is structurally different from JK's apartment. He's been doing numerous long weverse lives and walks around. You can basically have a 360-degree view of the interior of his place.

There are similarities but there also inconsistencies. I've also considered that it might be him when I first saw those videos, but the fact that there is a wall between his windows, but there is none in those videos, would be difficult to explain. You'll only see windows from end to end that you can even see the curtains. Everyone's entitled to their own opinions, but it makes me sad that a poor quality video was enough for some to drop JK and call him names.

I keep receiving a lot of asks about the windows in the video not matching JK's windows. I've seen some analyses, but I think they might be wrong. My only reason for doing this post is so people stop asking me why I believe the video is real , when the windows don't match.

Before you read this, please watch this video of the layout of JK's apartment and pay close attention to it, especially between 2:24 and 2:58.

Disclaimer: I am not saying I am right and I am not trying to convince anyone of anything, but after a lot of thought and careful observation, this is what I came up with:

1. The apartment is on the first floor/parter of the Brunnen building. The living room has two big windows. Both contain a big fixed, unmoving window and a sliding window glass door. There is a wall dividing the two windows. On the opposite side is the wall with the security system. On the right is a hallway, and on the left is some sort of free space, sort of like a hole in the wall.

2. The sliding doors open to a patio area, which is surrounded by a tall black wall, partially obscuring the visibility from the buildings on the other side.

3. The sliding door to the patio is actually not a singular door, but there are two separate doors, sliding on both sides of the main window. There is one main door on the inside, sliding on the inner surface of the big window , and nother door/protective screen on the outside, sliding on the outside of the big window. You can see that the rail for the outside door travels along the entire length of the main glass window, meaning it can probably move a lot to the right.

4. A very important point: the two doors have separate frames, and they move separately from one another. In the video above , you can see the real estate agent opening them separately, one of after the other and moving them to the side. This picture shows pretty well that there are two doors and they don't move together, but separately. (One can be closed, while the other is completely open etc)

5. If you go on google Street View, you can see there are a lot of cables hanging in front of the building, forming sort of a net in every direction. Remember this, it's important.

Now, many people seem to think the windows in the video don't match because JK's apartment doesn't have so many windows and because of the missing dividing wall and second hallway. When you look at the picture below, it seems like the apartment in the video has at least 4 windows:

But here is the kicker: these may not all be separate windows, or windows at all, and if this is JK's house, the video actually doesn't show the entirety of his living room walls.

I believe the video is taken from somewhere higher on the other side of the street, at an angle from the left of the building, and is very zoomed. I think it doesn't actually show the entire wall of Jungkooks' apartment and all his windows in the living room. Rather, it only shows a part of the big window in front of the sofa (but not the whole of it) and the two sliding doors connected to it. In fact, you can actually see a part of the tall black wall in the lower part of the frame and even a zoomed up image of one of the cables in the surrounding of the building.

Many people blamed JK for not closing his curtains, and actually used this as an "evidence" this couldn't be him in tne video, but I think Jungkook actually had his curtains closed, just not all the way. He had one curtain drawn, covering most of the big window in his living room, and the other pushed to the side, in front of the sliding doors. You can see it in the first picture on the atmost left. Initially, it looks like some sort of a white wall, but the Brunner building is black, so it can't be a wall. But it definitely can be a curtain. We know JK's curtains are a light color, and you can see how this "white thing" isn't as opaque or as uniform in color as a wall would be. in fact, in the original video, you can sort of see a tiny bit around it. It seems like it is moving a little, and it looks a little sheer.

The main thing you need to understand in order to get my theory is the position of the doors, which we now know are two, not one, and they move separately from one another.

To me it, it looks like the outside door to the patio is moved a lot to the right in the direction of the big window. The inside door is moved a smaller distance to the right and is partly opened, with the open space being covered by the white curtain. Both doors overlap at one place, creating the illusion of a smaller green rectangular window, but actually, it is just a zone where the doors and the main big window, around which the slide, all overlap. Sort of like if someone went outside and pushed both doors to the side in process. Then the person came back inside, leaving the outside door how it was and pulling the inside door, closing it partly, but still leaving a small open space, with the curtain in front of it.

I see many people saying this couldn't be Jungkook's apartment because the dividing wall before the kitchen and living room is not there, but the video is very zoomed, probably because the person filming is on the other side of the street and somewhere higher above (in order to see above the big black wall). It only shows only one of the windows. We can it is very zoomed in by the zoomed in image of the cable at the forefront of the frame, looking huge. (When you zoom in on something further in the distance, the objects closest to you look enormous). And we know that there are many hanging cables outside of the building. If the video was more zoomed out or the person was filming more to the right, we would have been able to see the dividing well.

I also see people saying it couldn't be the same apartment because you only see one hallway to the right of the security system, but again, the video is very zoomed, and the hall in the wall in the left is not visible because of the partly drawn white curtain, and the viewing angle (somewhere from the left of the building).

Anyway, I hope this makes sense to some of you. I tried as best as I could, but it is hard to explain it properly, and I am definitely not good at drawing. I don't claim to be right, just a theory, so don't come at me. And let's not forget that, above all, JK is human, and he never should have had his privacy validated like this.

[lovelywingsart]

//AU// Revival (pt.1)

-- Karl Heisenberg X OC (AFAB, She/They) --

It was a bit easier to post this one as a two parter as well, because I've been stuck on the second part and I'm impatient! I do apologize for another one, but it's been difficult to write and I really wanna get through this, and it would be one of the longer stories if I didn't... Which isn't a problem, but still.

**Remember, check out the Masterlist for more! <3**

-----

Warnings?: Emotional beats???, result of character death, not sure what else

Summary: Shortly after heartbreak, a friendly face appears with a 'gift' that would shake anyone.

The rain lessened as they ran through the back fields and into the mountains, Emelia keeping Adalwulf close even as he kept looking back. The boys sobs continued, eventually causing him to stop before he tipped over his own feet. His mother stopped with the tug to her arm, whirling back with shuddering breaths.

"Adalwulf-" she started, instantly kneeling next to him and holding onto his arms with a fierce determination to prevent him from collapsing. "Please love, you need to keep moving-"

"B-... B-But... Papa-"

His own small voice was cut off with a choked sob, and she stopped her movements. She watched him for a moment and instead simply hugged him tightly to her chest while fighting off her own sobs. Even she had felt the power diminish after the explosion, and she couldn't have even begun to imagine what he had felt with the previous connection... He knew what had happened from the feeling alone, and there was nothing she could have said to change his mind.

"He said to run..." she managed, attempting to keep her voice as calm as possible. She managed to pull away enough to hold his face, desperately attempting to wipe away the tears that mixed with rain even as he tried to shake his head away.

"He wanted us to run..." She continued, looking around them with panicked glances. They had been there for far too long... They had to move, she had to get him to safety- "Please, love, we need to go-"

"I don't wanna leave him...!!" He suddenly yelled, backing away from her grip.

A heavy guilt settled in her chest as she looked at him again, the determination in his eyes making them shine even through the tears. Just like his father.

Her gaze drifted from her son to the field behind him and back to his face as she took deep breaths in attempts to control her own emotions. She could physically feel his desperation to run back through his own trembling muscles as her hands lowered to his shoulders. The desperation to see exactly what had become of his father, to try and defend or save him still even if it meant risking himself. Such determination and resolve for a child, more so than she ever thought she would see- it was both a blessing and a curse.

"... Please, Momma..."

There was a pang in her chest as his voice cracked just slightly, and she swallowed her breath. There really was no convincing him, no matter what going back may have meant for them.

.... fuck...

Her hands returned to his face, fighting her trembling lip and the stinging at the corner of her eye. His eyes were glued to hers as she caressed his cheek lightly with careful breaths, once again wiping away his tears as he moved to hold onto her arms.

"... Alright..." she nearly whispered, and she watched his eyes widen. "Alright. We'll go... But we need to be careful. She's still out there, and I don't want her finding us..."

"The mean lady...?"

"Yes, darling..." she nodded before finally standing. "If anything happens, you run. Run as fast as you can. Do you understand?"

"Yes momma..." he replied quietly, and she nodded.

"Alright. Quick, now."

~~~~~

The distance back to the familiar fields was surprisingly short, though it seemed to take an eternity with each pause to hide behind what they could if there was any sign of movement. Emelias heart sank as the factory came into view, surrounded by thick, black mold tendrils that branched off as if they were trees and swayed with the small, lessening winds. The mold had attempted to crush the building even further after they had run, she noticed, though it's inner structure mostly prevented anything too severe save for shattered windows and somewhat crushed roofing. She had known the building itself to be majorly reinforced, but she wasn't aware of just how strong it had been. It almost made her proud to know he had managed to do so, with the majority of the damage coming from the inside out.

She couldn't help but pause, an unpleasant chill going down her spine once the clearing came into view-

The clearing with the scrap heap that had once been Heisenberg.

She couldn't stop her lip from trembling even as Adalwulf tugged on her arm at the sight, a quiet whimper emitting from his throat as he tried to pull her closer to the wreckage.

"Momma..." he whimpered, and she took a step back while shaking her head. No, she-

She tried to take a breath, though it came out more as a choked back sob.

"Darling, I can't-"

Her words were cut off with a sound akin to hooves against the ground, growing closer too quick for comfort, and another chill ran up her spine. This time was of fear, and It was then that she focused on the ground close to the scrap heap- and found it empty.

Wait, where the fuck was Winters?

She scanned the area quickly, her panic rising as she began to back away more with the sounds growing ever closer.

She had sworn she saw the bitch murder him too as they ran, where was he?!

Another frantic tug at her arm caused her to look down, watching as her son pressed to her side as he looked behind them with a scared whimper. Her reaction was immediate, nearly throwing him behind her as her muscles tensed and threatened to mutate again.

"Ah, Miss Walsh... And the young prince."

The voice made her freeze, calming her almost as quickly as she had grown defensive, though not entirely. She looked up to see the smiling- albeit seemingly tired- face of the Duke, though couldn't help but stay on guard.

"D-... Duke...?" She said, her voice a stunned whisper as the horses to the carriage he drove were slowed to a stop. The jolly merchant chuckled.

"In the flesh! So to speak, of course..." he said, offering a sad smile as his voice lowered just slightly. "I... must apologize for your unfortunate situation..."

Emelia swallowed hard, though lifted her chin with a wavering breath as she forced back more tears.

"It shouldn't have happened..." She managed. Her voice wavering despite her attempt at looking stronger than she felt. The merchant shook his head with a soft clicking of the tongue.

"It is... a shame." he replied solemnly, though nodded slightly behind him. "But I'm happy I could find you without searching very hard... I have something I would like to give you. Consider it a gift of wonderful patronage through the years, free of charge."

Her brows knit in a concerned confusion.

A... gift?

Now???

"I... I'm sorry...?" She spoke cautiously, watching as he reached behind his seat.

"You heard me correctly!" He smiled, though it didn't last long. "I obtained it when securing Mr. Winters, you see... But due to the nature of your circumstances, I feel it would be best if you were the one to have it."

She was silent as he rustled around, only to let out a pleased hum as he seemed to find what he was looking for. Her mild yet hesitant curiosity peaked as he brought out a decently sized object covered in a light brown cloth that was thin enough to accent a small, rounded surface with some pointed edges. He held it delicately in his hands as if showing it off, though that clearly wasn't the intent. But even with the covering, she felt a horrified chill down her spine as if she knew what it was. It made a small nausea bubble to her chest, and she almost wanted to scream at him and run.

What kind of sick joke-

"Ah, here we are..." he said, patting the base of the object. "Now, I don't mean to alarm you... Upsetting you is the last thing I would want to do currently-"

"What is it, Duke." She interrupted flatly, her voice clearly afraid as she stared at the object. His demeanor changed just slightly, and he gave a rare frown.

"I have a strange feeling you may know." He replied simply, holding it out to her. He glanced at Adalwulf, who also stared wide eyed at the covered object with a knowing, scared gaze; But he cleared his throat, attempting to bounce back into his normal self with a tiny forced smile.

Emelia stared at it for a few moments, her muscles trembling. She knew what it was. She could feel it- feel him the closer the object was. The thought of it made her sick, though she simply wanted to snatch it and run. To take it and protect it from further harm how she wasn't able to do before.

It took a few moments for her to swallow nervously and finally reached forward, her fingers tapping along the base of the item. She flinched for a moment as the touches sparked like static until it was fully in her palms, and tears immediately stung the corner if her eye.

She knew. Just from the energy alone, she knew.

She took the item gingerly in her arms, unable to stop the sudden sobs that started once more as she brought it to her chest. She could feel eyes on her as her knees buckled under her, crumbling to the ground with her arms tightly around the covered object. Adalwulf moved closer to her side, kneeling next to her slowly. Though his own tears started once again through a mixture of fear and panic, he reached for the cloth that had bunched up around her forearm. A small, shaky tug made her to move her arms, and they both watched as he shifted the cloth away fully to reveal a crystalline object with hardened flesh and mechanical parts. While she couldn't tell exactly what it was, she still knew it was him.

"... why..." she asked quietly, her voice broken. It wasn't clear who she was talking to, though the question lingered in the air as she ran her fingers along one of the iron bars with tears hitting the pale crystals. Duke was silent for a moment, though gave her son a knowing glance.

"Because every young boy needs his father." He said simply, and Adalwulf looked up at him. Emelias gaze followed, her face twisting into confusion as a sudden spark of desperate understanding entered the boys features.

She jumped as he suddenly pried his fathers crystal from her arms with impressive strength, nearly causing her to fall over before immediately sprinting towards the field with the scrap heap as fast as his legs could carry him.

"ADALWULF!!!!!" his mother nearly screamed after him as she scrambled to stand, only glancing back at Duke with near betrayed panic as he cleared his throat.

"We will be close to the Ceremony site should you choose to join us, my Lady." He said, giving a knowing not before carefully tugging at the reigns of the horses to get them to move. She watched him with a look of pure horror before suddenly sprinting in the direction of her son, who seemed to move faster than she ever remembered.

[iceinherheart-kissonherlips]

so my thoughts on the first two episodes of s12 of Doctor Who

not that anyone cares anymore

- part one of Spyfall was so nice! like... I don’t want to say it feltlike proper DW, bc everyone has a different view of the show/wants different things etc., but for the first time since Chibnall had taken over I liked the pacing/story. I really was into this whole thing!!

- anD LOOK, YAZ HAS A PERSONALITY?!?! AND WAS IN CHARGE OF SOMETHING?!?! YEEEEEEEEEEES.

- and WHOA WAS THIS EPISODE BEAUTIFULLY SHOT OR?!?!

- and I didn’t care for the ~monsters~, but then again, with Chibnall, I never do? like... they’re so bland and pointless, but this time it didn’t stop me from being invested in the story

- I kind of spoiled myself about The Big Reveal aka The Master is back. and on the one hand I was like ‘the Master is back and he is a guy again, gREAT’. on the other hand: not a white guy! third: shit, Sacha Dhawan did such a good job. he was fucking unhinged and it was beautiful. where Simm was ridiculous, but not scary at all (still love him tho), Michelle was fucking crazy and scary AF, but there was also this kind of softness about her, but she’d not bat an eyelid while killing you? Sacha is fucking something else, he’s completely mad and scary. which as an acting choice is A+, but when it comes to writing...

- that’s where part two comes in and Really We Make The Master Wear A Nazi Uniform. which you know, he isn’t a good guy, but like... Really. it’s 2020 AD. like, I get it, but at the same time... we could do without it, I am sure. and yes, I know, The Doctor says ‘it’s low even for him’ and is like ‘bitch what u doing’, but... UGH, CHOICES. and let’s not  ‘BUT LET’S KILL HITLER DID THE SAME THING!!!!’, well, yeah, but also not at all? so idk man. with neonazis sprouting around the world... you know. 

- also, this whole ‘someone destroyed Gallifrey’, and then the Master being like ‘I DESTROYED IT!!!!! BUT IT’S OKAY, because they were WRONG and LYING TO US’. like bITCH...Timelords ain’t shit, but there were like billions of other people, who probably were okay and you killed them BECAUSE SOMEONE LIED TO YOU AND IT WAS DIFFICULT... once again, A Writing Choice.

- and in part two we were back to the whole gang being kind of... meh? like... why u even here. what are you good for

- also, was it rEALLY necessary to kill off Barton’s mother. what scene brought NOTHING to the story. NOTHING. what the fuCK.

- I didn’t give a hoot about Ada or Noor in the episode. it felt like it wouldn’t make a difference if they were there or not

- also isn’t erasing minds and memories without consent SEXY AS HELL!?!?!?!?! I AM SO GLAD WE GOT THAT BACK IN 2020 AD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!11 SO GREAT!!!!!!!!!!!!11111111111 jfc, whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy. 

- also... why Chibnall thought it would be a good idea to have The Doctor kneel in front of the Master. I mean... power dynamics. okay, I get it. but at the same time... you have a female Doctor, DON’T MAKE HER KNEEL IN FRONT OF A GUY, NO MATTER WHO HE IS FOR FUCK’S SAKE. and I bet your ass that some people are already like ‘oh YES, THE MASTER IS A KINKY DADDY!!!!!!! YAS, CHOKE ME DADDY, I WILL KNEEL FOR YOU!!!!!!!!111′ yes, I am shaming you.

- and don’t get me started on this whole thing ‘YES, WE ASKED THOUSANDS OF TIMES WHERE THE DOCTOR COMES FROM AND WHO SHE IS’. like... bitch who are you kidding. it’s like Chibnall browsed twitter/tumblr/fandom blogs and tried to show us that ‘ha, see, you thought I didn’t think about that, but I did!!!’. well, next time freaking sHOW US.

- the ending was so anti-climatic. like... all this built up for what

- The Timeless Child arc... do I care, that’s the question. the answer is: I don’t know?

all in all: I didn’t hate it? I thought that part one was Really Proper Good. the pacing was to my liking, I wasn’t bored, the story felt effortless, the companions finally had something to do, there was a master surprise (hehe, get it?), the directing was amazing?! and I honestly had so much fun watching it. part two? well, not so much. there were so many things that fucking irked me there that I couldn’t just enjoy it as much as part one. 

is s12 better than s11? yes. I mean, at least I am not bored. do I have suddenly have fait in Chibnall? uhm... idk? we’ll see what he’s going to do next? I guess we’ll see next week, ay?

[the-archxr]

afterglow

din djarin x female!jedi!reader

part two to daylight

summary: din is eager to surprise you, but your reunion doesn’t go quite as planned. though, neither of you are complaining.

a/n: it’s finally here, guys. usually, I don’t take this long with two-parters, but this is the first fic I’ve written with full-on smut so I’m hella nervous about this, also reader has female body parts (I tried to make the last part of the fic gender-neutral, but this part is not). hopefully, this one is like…not bad? but if it sucks, I apologize in advance. also, this has tbobf spoilers.

warnings: shitty bar patrons, reader and din’s reunion is very rocky at first, lotta fluff, major smut, +18 content, oral sex (f receiving), it’s hella passionate—even the consent scene, cause consent is sexy, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it)

word count: 6k

main m.list | din m.list

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🪐

“You owe me thirty credits, Tamet.”

“Thirty credits?!” Tamet, the new guy who’s begun to frequent your cantina over the past couple of days, is furious as he slams down his pitcher.

The amber-colored liquid jostles out of the cup and splashes in a small pool of booze on the counter. You grimace. “You run a damn expensive cantina, lady. Chargin’ me thirty credits for a thing of ale.”

“Two days worth,” you interject. “You’ve had an open tab for two nights in a row. If anything, I’m being generous—“

Before you can finish your sentence, you’re covered in alcohol. Tamet holds the pitcher in mid-air as he white-knuckles its handle, even after having thrown the drink at you. Your senses rage at the environment around you. The cantina became painstakingly silent, the only noise being the loud pounding of Tamet’s pulse in your ears and the slow drip of beads of alcohol running down the slope of your face.

Heat bristles in your fingertips as you watch an angry red flush creep up his neck. His face is turned down in a scowl, eyes trained on you.

You almost cry. You consider picking up the pitcher and throwing it back at him hard enough to knock him out. Surely, you’d scare him off—since an object moving on its own would scare anyone, but you feel you lack even the energy for that. Your bones ache with tiredness, and your mind reeks of pent-up stress from the past couple of weeks.

This just happened to be the straw that broke the Bantha’s back.

You ignore him with a dejected sigh, desperately trying to push back the tears that prickle at the corners of your eyes, as you round the corner to get a cloth. You just wanted to clean up the mess, close the cantina and have a shower. You could honestly care less about the credits. You just want him to leave.

You never had the patience for patrons like this. So much so, it was an unwritten rule in your bar that whoever showed up would be civil for the sake of the woman who wouldn’t think twice about throwing them out. It went on like that for years. Calm. Enjoyable. Peaceful.

But Tamet was an outsider; a passerby who was making a pit stop and felt the need to establish his dominance over the lonely cantina owner in front of the onlooking crowd.

If only he knew that if you really wanted, you could break every bone in his body with just a crack of your neck.

The thought was tempting.

But then a loud roar of the crowd and a loud crashing sound resounds throughout the room. You abandon the cloth and walk out of the makeshift kitchen (that really only holds the booze and is good for literally nothing else) only to be met with the most ridiculous sight.

Tamet is on his back on the countertop flailing about, incoherently mumbling “sorry’s”, and “please, let me go’s”. Your jaw falls at the sight of him, but it’s when your eyes trail up to the man holding him that your breath is robbed from your lungs.

Mando, your Mando, stands over him, gloved hand pressed deep into Tamet’s chest as he holds his head just a few mere inches above his face. The dim lights reflect off of the shadows of his beskar and somehow that makes him look appear even more massive. He’s menacing…scary, even. A sight that you’re convinced if you hadn’t seen his signet, you would mistake him for someone else. Because you’ve never seen him like this before.

“Please…” Tamet chokes out, fear racking his voice. “Please, I’ll do anything. Please, just let me go.”

“First, apologize.” Mando growls lowly.

“…Wh-what?”

Mando’s gloved hand moves up his body until it nears the base of Tamet’s neck, fingers flexing into the flesh as the Klatooinian gulps.

“I want you to apologize to the lady, give her the credits and go on your way. Never show your face here, again. Do you understand?”

Tamet nods aggressively, eyes widening as Mando raises his hand slowly. He then begins to scramble off the counter, voice croaking with frantic “I’m sorry’s”. His hands and arms shake vigorously as he throws more than the owed credits on the counter before high-tailing it out of the cantina. He trips up the steps out the door and within seconds he’s gone from your sight.

Your breathing stutters with shock.

The whole cantina is on edge, unsure of whether or not to look at you, the scene itself, or the mysterious Mandalorian (who conveniently, has already chosen that he’s going to look at you). A nervous lump of laughter gets stuck in your throat at how quickly Mando’s demeanor changes.

Your eyes scan the crowd as they look at each other, waiting for someone else to make the first move. You suppose you’re looking for someone else to do the same.

To which Mando takes that as his signal.

He straightens up. “Please, go back to your drinks. Enjoy yourselves.” The crowd remains hesitant. You assume it’s Mando’s dramatic change in tone from angry to soft that keeps them wary.

But then Val, your neighbor who frequents you in light of conversation, speaks up. “You heard him.” She gestures to the crowd, and like a switch on a control board, everyone returns to their seats and drinks return to their hands. Laughter begins to pick up and you take that as your chance to clean up what had gone from spilled alcohol to shattered glass and scattered credits.

After a couple minutes of regulating your breathing and trying to get your heart to start working again, you go back out to the bar with a wet linen cloth and a broom and dustpan.

You remove the shards of glass to the best of your ability before you begin to wipe aggressively at the dispersed liquid (some had definitely been soaked up by Temut’s clothes). You try to ignore the way your body continues to shake, but it’s hard to do that when a familiar gloved hand lightly skims the back of yours.

The act is meant to be soothing, but it just ends making your heart stutter all over again.

Dank farrik. Fucking…stop doing that.

“I’m sorry about the mess. I can clean it up.” You hate the way you almost sigh at the sound of his voice, at the way it acts as an automatic energy surge that rips through you like a Tatooine sand storm. “Cyare…it’s okay, I can clean it up. Let me help.” If you weren’t going to cry before, you sure fucking would now.

Because he’s here. Your Mando, your space cowboy—the one who you had said goodbye to and were positive you’d never see again—was here.

Yet, you can’t look at him.

You missed him. Maker, you missed him so fucking much. But part of you—the part that has some common sense—proves to remain annoyed. Angry that he feels he can rearrange your life for a second time only to say goodbye to you again and leave you a broken mess. But mostly, you're angry that'd you let him. Without hesitation.

You don’t even notice how hard you start to scrub at the wood until a piece of glass rips through the cloth and cuts the palm of your hand. You gasp at the pain, which draws his attention to you’re bleeding hand.

Mando immediately takes your wrist and pulls it into the light as his visor scans the wound. There’s urgency behind his actions, but he remains gentle with the way he holds you.

He says nothing as he rounds the bar. He inspects your hand once again and in a quick motion, pulls out the piece of glass, then puts your hand under the running water. “Do you still have the bacta spray upstairs?”

Your throat is dry. “Yeah.” You want to joke. You want to quip that of course you still had that enormously large bottle of bacta he got you. After all, you aren’t getting into trouble like he does.

You want to lighten the mood, but you can’t. Regardless of how at ease you feel around him, your body has more or less, shut down.

He’s wrapping your hand in a bandage you hadn’t even noticed he retrieved. “Keep this on for now, then tonight put on the bacta. You’ll be good as new tomorrow morning.” He ties the ends of the material neatly before lifting your hand to you; as though he needed confirmation that what he did was okay. That you, ultimately, were okay. You’re acutely aware of the fact that he cradles your hand in his, even after letting it fall.

That action triggers something in you. Almost like a jumpstart to your senses.

“Why are you here?”

He pauses and visibly stills when you finally lift your gaze to his. You ache to touch him; to splay your hands—injured or not—along the sides of his helmet to make sure you weren’t imagining him. “I wanted to check up on you. Make sure you were okay,” he says simply. Like it didn’t take much thought and looking after you was second nature. You suppose you can’t blame him for that.

You can blame yourself, however, for softening at his words so quickly. It’s a natural response you seemed to have developed after knowing him—a reaction that reflects how you could never really be mad at him. Even if you wanted; even if you tried.

And then something murmurs in your mind. A slight shift in the air. A whisper of foreign sensations within an energy field that you knew as though it were your own.

Then you see it. Well…more like, you see him.

A tiny green head pokes out from underneath Mando’s arm. It coos as it shuffles out from in the satchel until you are in direct view of a pair of large brown eyes.

“Cyare,” Mando clears his throat and lifts the child up to meet you. “This is—“

Grogu, he says.

“Grogu…?” The baby giggles at you. You feel the beginnings of a smile start to form as you take him from Mando’s grasp who chuckles along with his child.

“Yes. This is Grogu.” He uses his index finger to push down the bulging fabric of his collar from the little guy's mouth.

The baby’s attention is immediately stolen by your friend, as he gazes up at him adoringly.

“Grogu,” Mando tilts his head, and the child gurgles. “Grogu, this is the lady I was telling you about.”

You grin, catching a silver reflection out of the corner of your eye. “You guys talk about me?”

He moves back a bit from you, and even though you can’t see his face you can see the shock settle in. His fists clench at his sides as his shoulders square out. “I, um…is—is that okay?” You laugh a little at that.

“Hey!” Your head swivels to the source of the noise and you see Val leaning over the counter. “I’m gonna head out for the night, honey. You all good?”

You shoot her a smile and nod. “Have a goodnight, Val.”

Her eyes flit up to Mando for a moment before she smirks to herself. “You, too.”

You pass off Grogu to his dad before taking a quick look around the cantina. You spot a handful of patrons who are nearly finishing their drinks and ending their conversations. “I might as well close up shop, go have a shower. Smelling like a swamp certainly isn’t good for business.”

Mando sits Grogu on the counter as he awkwardly moves on his feet. You expect him to react to your joke, but instead, he looks nervous. Agitated. As though he wants to say something but can’t bring himself to do so.

You wish you could say you wanted to be angry with him. Truly, you did. But as you watch him hold out his finger for Grogu to grab onto, you realize it’s pointless. Because your heart swells at just the thought of him. You waited a whole month for him, never knowing if he was alive or dead, or if he even would ever come back to you.

But he did. He came back to you; had come back for you.

You imagined your reunion thousands of times, and each time, no matter the ending or circumstances, you never turned him away.

So why start now?

“Do you need a place to stay?”

His finger remains in Grogu’s grasp as the rest of his attention shifts towards you. He hesitates, only for a moment, before speaking. “You know it was only four months ago when you asked me the same thing, cyare…”

You nod slowly and cross your arms with a shrug. “And I mean it,” you reassure him.

Mando just stares at you—helmet titled down lowly as the visor fixates on your face. Within seconds, his intensity level was somehow dialed up to a hundred and it makes you shift nervously. You feel your breathing grow heavier as the air grows thicker. It makes you gulp and you have to avert your eyes to cut then tension.

“As I was saying, you guys can stay with me for the night. I’m sure the little guy could use some rest.” You turn on your heel and head towards the back-room staircase with Mando and Grogu following closely behind.

•

“Thank you for this,” Mando whispers lowly, thinking about Grogu who’s fast asleep on your couch.

“You’re always welcome here, Mando.”

After your shower, he had asked if you both could talk, which led to the two of you being forced to congregate really in the only other free room in your small lodgings—your bedroom.

The thought made you nervous; made your pulse quicken, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You both sit on the edge of your bed, but since it’s on the smaller side, your shoulders and knees practically touch.

Truly, the only way you could get closer to him is if you were to sit in his lap.

Not that you’d complain.

You snap yourself out of it. You can’t think like that; can’t take advantage of the situation at hand to fulfill whatever late-night fantasies you may or may not have had. But he is so close. And he smells so good.

Somehow, he smells like the pine trees on Endor. A mix of cool wind, moss, and the musk of the woods. It makes your throat close up and your fingers tremble. The energy in you is eclectic, and if he wasn’t paying attention you would’ve started to pace your apartment.

“Would it be wrong of me to assume that you’re letting me stay just because of Grogu?”

You laugh lightly. “You wouldn’t be entirely wrong, he is adorable.”

He laughs at that. It’s hearty and low and he has to grip onto his thigh for support. Your eyes trail the curves of his fingers over the smooth beskar on his thick thighs and it takes everything in you not to place your hand on top of his.

You inwardly groan at how stupid you feel. Here you are, drooling over the sight of your friend (albeit, your sexy friend) who’s simply trying to enjoy your company.

You hope he can’t feel your stare.

It’s when his laughter dies down, that he speaks up suddenly. “I’m sorry.”

Your gaze flicks up to his helmet only to find he’s already looking at you. You almost break out in an immediate sweat. Kriffing hell.

You inhale deeply. “What are you sorry for, Mando?”

“For not contacting you…for just…showing up out of nowhere. You have your own life, cyar’ika. It’s not in my right to keep uprooting what you have going on just cause I—“ he goes quiet. You can practically see him biting his tongue through the beskar. “Just cause I want to see you.”

Your breath hitches and anticipation thrums in your veins. “You wanted to see me?” You’re not too sure where the courage to speak up comes from. The question itself is nothing. But because your voice cracks and croaks beneath the weight of future implications, your words mean everything.

You feel as though you’re standing on the lip of a cliff face. Eager, but terrified as you wait for that go-ahead to jump; to take that one too-far step off the edge and just fall. Fast and hard and into an atmosphere that fills your lungs with him. Your bones ache for it. But you wait.

You wait for that push.

Mando angles his body towards you as his hand slowly takes yours and intertwines your fingers. The pit of your stomach plummets. “I always want to see you,” is his response. He runs his thumb on the underside of your wrist. “I think you’re wonderful, cyar’ika.”

You jump.

Crawling up on the bed, you kneel beside him. He looks up to you and you take note of how pretty he looks as the light of the moon hits the high points of his helmet. His breathing becomes heavy and slows the longer you look at him, and you take that as your sign to continue. Taking his hand, the one that held yours only moments ago, you place it on the base of your spine. He stills at that. His fingers barely graze the fabric of your shirt as his muscles stiffen and you take the opportunity to swing a leg over on the other side of his body until your straddling him.

Your face is so close to his, that you can hear the sounds of his stunted breathing through his modulator. Inhale. Pause. Huff. Exhale. Stop.

You sit fully down on his lap, and the tiny whimper he lets out at the sudden contact shoots right down to your core. His hands are slow, as they move along your back. He’s sure to maintain a bit of space, and, if you weren’t so eager to jump his bones, you’d have cried at his gentleness.

“Cyare…” his voice is low as he tries to speak. You move your hips a little, shifting so that way you can see him better and he sighs ever-so-softly. That’s when you become very aware of the feeling of him growing harder against you, and you have to hold yourself back from ripping off his beskar.

“Yes?” You whisper back as you smooth your palms up his arms before settling on the wide expanse of his shoulders.

He clears his throat and you can feel the way he holds himself back—the trepidation in his hips that tells him not to shift, tells him not to grind up against you. “Are you—do you want this?”

You move your one hand across his collarbone: an area free of beskar. You wonder if he can feel you touch him through all those layers of clothing. His sudden intake of breath tells you that he does in fact feel it. You look at him directly through his visor with a small smile. “Yes. Do you?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

You laugh loudly at his quick response until you feel yourself being flipped over onto the bed. You bounce on the mattress until he steadies you with his hands. He crawls over you, knees and hands caging you in under his massive form and the thought of what’s to come sends a pang of arousal down in between your thighs.

He stands up and begins to take off his boots. Then his holster, and any other weapons he has hidden. He’s there for a couple minutes, fingers shaking with anticipation which only makes it harder to unclasp the multiple straps slung across his body. He struggles for a few more seconds until he’s moved onto his cape and everything falls with a soft thud all at once.

He stands before you, the only items of clothing left on him being a thin shirt, his pants, and his helmet. You sit up, gaze focusing on him as you lift your shirt over your head and throw it onto his pile of clothes. He goes to stand in front of you, helmet watching the movements of your breathing that rattle your chest and you roll your eyes. “Like what you see?”

He’s silent as his gaze darkens, and your heart pounds ferociously against your ribcage. “Mesh’la.”

It’s that one word that flicks a switch within you. With the sounds of heavy panting and frantic thoughts filling the room, you immediately loop your fingers around his belt buckle and yank his hips towards you. You fiddle with it until his belt is open and the zipper of his pants is exposed. You then palm him and he groans. The noise is guttural and makes you whimper because fuck, you just need him to touch you.

Before you can remove him from his pants and touch him in the way he deserves, he’s pushing you onto your back. You go to lean on your elbows but the second you see him kneel in front of you, you feel your muscles go limp. He grabs your calves and gently drags you to the edge of the bed, stopping when your hips nearly fall off the mattress. A pause.

“I’ve never done this before…” He mumbles though part of you thinks he’s mainly talking to himself.

“It’s okay, Mando. You don’t—you can’t. Your hel—“

“You didn’t let me finish.” His hands, the ones that you finally realize are gloveless, slowly run along the smooth skin of your legs, stopping just above the knee, right where you want to feel him most. “As I was saying, I’ve never done this before, but I’m a fast learner. I promise to make you feel good, cyare.”

Your heartbeat drops to your cunt. But the confusion of the matter with his helmet remains in your clouded mind.

Was he going to take it off?

His fingers grip the edge of his helmet and in one swift motion, it’s on the floor. “Mando…” you whisper, and it’s the first time you can actually see him when he looks at you.

Holy shit.

He’s even more…beautiful. Almost in an unfair way. A way that you wouldn’t believe if you hadn’t seen it first hand. Soft brown curls fall around the crown of his head as they blend in with the furrow of his brow line. Eyes, deep brown and delicate shine against warm tanned skin as they look at you so…lovingly. It’s the first time you’re actually looking at him and it feels as though your heart is bursting in flames. “Your helmet…”

He just looks at you, before nodding. “It’s alright, cyar’ika. I trust you.” And just like that, as though him taking off his helmet was nothing, as though he had already made up his mind a millennia ago, he kisses along the inside of your ankle and trails his lips up the inner part of your leg. His stubble tickles the inside of your knee but then his mouth lands on the soft skin of your inner thigh and you gasp loudly. Far too loudly for such a simple kiss, but Mando seems to enjoy it anyway as he chuckles. He kisses you again, teeth grazing the sensitive skin before he lifts up your legs and pulls off your shorts.

The cold air hits you and you become hyper-aware of the fact that you are completely naked underneath your fully clothed Mandalorian. You go to move away from him, embarrassment over the situation beginning to kick in, but he’s quick to grab your legs and rest them on his shoulders. He kisses you again as he begins to mumble incoherently. A string of “mesh’la’s” is murmured into your skin as he follows the same pursuit up your body until his face stops just above your cunt. He breathes on you, and you huff at the feeling.

And then, much like how you jumped, he does, too.

He’s slow at first, tongue lapping at you gently as he tests the waters, as he navigates going about eating you out. He tries out different techniques, eyes watching you expertly to see what you like the most, what makes you shiver, and what makes you moan in that way that shoots down right to his dick. But then you groan and throw your head back into the mattress as he licks a thick stripe upward. And, as if that wasn't enough, he then chooses to suck on your clit and your thighs tighten around his head. He pauses at your reaction, eyebrows raising with curiosity. He does it again and you cry out. His eyes roll back into his head at the sound as he grips your thighs tighter and gets to work.

“I like the way you sound, mesh’la.” He mumbles against you—the vibrations adding to your building climax. Your legs shake and your hands grip the sheets in an effort to keep your limbs occupied. “Like the way you taste, too.”

Oh, fuck me.

He stops suddenly (though admittedly, he’d love to stay between your thighs for all eternity) and you take a minute for your mind to catch up with reality. He’s then tossing his shirt into the corner of your room and crawling up your body. He runs his rough hands along your hips and stomach, up to your ribcage, and over your breasts as his nose grazes the valley of your chest.

The feeling of you breathing beneath him gets him going in ways he hadn’t even imagined would have an effect on him. So, he spends his time tracing the dips and curves of your body, wanting to make sure he has every inch of you memorized.

Sure, he wasn’t super experienced with any of this—never found the time to get intimate with someone, regardless of how connected he wanted to be to another person. But he'd had fantasies. Had imagined you before—touching his helmetless face as you kiss him deeply. You made him feel good, made him feel loved and cared for. So he had to make sure he made you feel the same way. Make sure you knew just how much he loved you.

He rests his hands on your cheeks and strokes a thumb over the bone there. “Mesh’la…” He mumbles for the thousandth time that night as he stares down at you softly.

Maker, he hopes you know just how much he loves you.

He leans down and watches your beautiful bright eyes as they widen the closer he gets to your face. Initially, he worries that maybe he’s moving too fast, maybe you don’t want to know this part of him. But that fear--that nagging voice in the back of his head disappears, and soon he’s leaning down.

Gently, he kisses you.

You’re both initially shocked by it all. It’s the first time you feel his mouth on yours; the first time you get to feel each other breathe, the first time noses bump together and eyelashes rest against the others cheek. You’re resting on your elbows now (with what little strength you have in your arms) as you meet him in the middle. A large hand then cups the side of your face as he deepens the kiss.

You groan at how sinful the taste of yourself on his tongue is, and he silently deals with a shaky heart that finally knows what it feels like to kiss you. It's beautiful. Warm. Natural...as though he’s kissed you like this a hundred times.

Your hands shoot to his head, running your fingers through his hair and gripping at the nape of his neck—pulling him as close to you as humanly possible. He supports you with his free hand splayed over your back as his other tangles itself in your hair. He bites your lip, panting and desperate before kissing down your face. He runs chapped lips over the column of your neck before settling on the junction before your shoulder. He kisses and bites and licks at the raw skin, preening at the sounds he pulls from you.

“Is this okay, cyare?” You pause and force yourself to think about his question through the fog that has inhabited your brain. He kisses you under your ear softly and nuzzles his nose into the crook of your chin. “Are you…enjoying this?”

You laugh lightly and turn your head to look at him. “It’s more than okay, Mando.”

He kisses your lips again and then inhales deeply. “It’s Din.”

Your eyes focus on his brown ones as your mouth slightly falls open. “What?”

“My name. It’s Din. I want you to call me Din.”

The request lights up your skin and takes home in your heart. You smile up at him, relishing in the warm energy that graces your chest. “Okay, Din…” you murmur and look down to see his still painfully hard length pressed against your thigh. You lie back down and bring your hands up to his face—mapping the ridge of his nose, and the contrast of soft skin and rough stubble. He takes your hand and kisses your palm, and you almost cry at the action. At him.

You almost cry because your Din is beautiful and soft, and loving and gentle, even under all that hard beskar armor. He’s everything and more, and you promise to yourself you will convince him of how deserving of love he is every day. You will love him just as gently as he loves you.

But right now you need him to fuck your brains out.

“Din,” you guide his face to look at you, although it doesn’t take much effort because he can’t stop looking at you. He’s too caught up in the natural sight of you—a sight only his eyes free of his visor can know. “I need you.”

He pauses and swallows at your words. You then bring your knees up around his hips and guide them down to you in such urgency that he can’t help but let his head fall with a groan to your chest.

Maker, he needs you, too.

Din places one last chaste kiss to the skin just above your collarbone before sitting up on the back of his legs and grabbing his length. He thinks momentarily about how even with the fact that he knew how to have sex, he’d never been inside someone who could see his face—could watch how his jaw falls slack and how his eyes squint as a particular wave of pleasure rolls through his muscles.

But as he looks down at you, and sees that you’re looking at him with the same love and adoration he’s reserved for you, he realizes he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He lines himself up at your entrance and you both take a collective deep breath before he pushes into you. You throw your head back with a sigh as he slowly goes deeper. He lets you get used to that full feeling, giving you time at any moment to tell him what you want, what you don’t want and how you want it. He’s receptive to you, and only you. He wants to make sure you’re enjoying this as much as he is; if you want to come with him just as badly as he wants to come with you.

He bottoms out, pauses, then looks to you for the go-ahead. He takes a mental note of the way you look after the first thrust: mouth slightly open with gently closed eyes, and a glowing red flush creeping up your sweaty face.

Kriffing hell, you’re fucking beautiful.

He sits there waiting for your acknowledgment, though his hips scream at him to move, and then you’re nodding.

He starts off slowly, rocking into you at a steady pace that gives as much as it takes with each thrust. You’re both panting, feelings of desperation clambering their way to the top to strive to be louder than the other.

Your legs cross around his hips as you subconsciously pull him closer to you. “Harder.” You whisper the plea, worried that you were too quite for him to hear you. But Din did in fact hear you. And, with a quick repositioning of his grip around your hips he’s able to do just that.

His hips snap against yours in such a rhythm that robs you of your breathing and your ability to form any coherent thought other than how fucking good he’s making you feel. And in one particular thrust, he finds that spot inside of you that makes your eyes roll and toes curl and you’re gasping at the feeling. He’s started to grunt now, teeth gritting together as the sounds of your moans pitch higher.

“Fuck, Din. Maker…fuck, oh my…” You can’t form an intelligible sentence as the coil in the pit of your stomach twists tighter and tighter each time his hips meet yours. You look down at where your bodies are connected for a brief moment before he’s grabbing your jaw with his hand and bringing it up his face.

“Cyare…”

“I’m gonna come, Din.” You warn. “I’m gonna…”

“Open your eyes,” he instructs as he pushes hair out of your face. “Wanna watch you come all over me, mesh’la.”

You nod, though your brain doesn’t exactly know what it agrees to. Your knees shake against his hips and you whimper at how so fucking close you are. Din takes the opportunity to drive a couple more hard, fast-paced thrusts into you before the coil snaps and you scream.

Your knees squeeze his hips and your back arches as your orgasm hits you in tidal waves. Your muscles tighten and contract with each roll of his hips and he almost comes at the sight of you. You really are so beautiful. He’s close, can feel it every time you convulse. But then your hands make their way into his hair, and with one hard tug, he’s coming inside of you with a curse and a grunt. Warmth pools in your cunt, as he slows down—shallow thrusts that help him come down from his high as he spills inside you.

Dropping his head into the crook of your neck, he kisses your shoulder slowly, panting in the sheets as you kiss the side of his face. “I love you, cyar’ika.” His voice is deep and muffled and you almost don’t catch those words. You wonder if he even noticed he had said them.

But regardless of whether he meant to say it out loud, you hear his words nonetheless. So with a smile, you whisper back to him. “Love you, Din.”

As both of your heartbeats fall into a calm sync, your mind travels.

For the first time since meeting him, you choose to go deep into the recesses of his mind. You see flashes of vivid images and phrases and memories that all lead to the assurance that this time, he’s not leaving you. He repeats the words over and over in his head and you can hear them as though they were your own. He tells himself, as he drifts off to sleep, that him and Grogu are home now. Your heart swoons at the words. Home.

You, however, can’t sleep. The energy that buzzes around and within you keeps you up, so you opt to watch him sleep into the early hours of the morning. He lies beside you, one hand on your hip with your legs hooked together. His face is so impossibly close to yours that you are able to study the small knick’s and scars of life that paint his body. Then a soft yellow light from the sun shining through your bedroom window cascades on his mess of tousled brown hair.

You realize, in the afterglow of it all, that his previous clan of two, has now become a clan of three.

•

Din Djarin Taglist (+18)

@beeiar @rosechvnel

Part Two Taglist

@mysun-n-stars @fic-for-readers @halerune @ptsmplekaramele

[id-rather-be-an-outsider]

Respite Among Chaos | Pt II

Porco Galliard x Athlete!Reader

summary: now that you and Porco are closer than ever thanks to Reiner, witness the conclusion of your unresolved feelings for each other! are you ready to admit your friendship is a bit more? read part 1 here!

word count: 3652 (including words in text messages)

a/n: imma be honest this was gonna be a 10.2k 1-parter but Tumblr is being a bitch so that didn’t happen 🙃 I thought my hatred for the most recent mobile update hit a new height the other night when I was painstakingly trying to make the moodboard for this story, but today I learned something new about myself 🙃 please tell me I am not alone in this frustration. anyways, I hope you enjoy this conclusion!

masterlist

I’m surprised to find Porco waiting for me at my dorm, bouquet in one hand, Ben & Jerry’s in the other. “Porco! Where did you find a bouquet at this hour?”

“Walmart over in Liberio.” He shrugs it off as if it were nothing.

My eyes soften. “That’s really sweet, you didn’t have to do that. The ice cream was already more than enough.” I unlock my dorm, flicking the living room lights on. Pieck’s asleep in our bedroom, so I put my hand up to my lips. “Don’t be too loud.”

He nods and maneuvers around me so I can close the door, and I catch a whiff of his cologne. It smells like the forest after a long rain, refreshing. So very… Porco.

I hop in the shower, scrubbing myself down as quickly as I can and washing my hair (which takes the longest, of course), and as soon as I’ve got the water turned off I can hear a knock on the door. I wrap a towel around myself and open it to be greeted with Porco’s face.

He takes in my body and his nose turns a rosy shade of pink. He looks away as he says, “I got everything set up. Do you want to watch another scary movie?”

“Sure, thanks. I might be awhile because I have to put all my hair products in, but I’ll go as fast as I can.”

“Do you need help?” He asks.

“Nah, I got it. There’s a specific order to it or else it won’t lock in moisture how it’s supposed to.��� His mouth forms an ‘O’ in understanding and he leaves me to my hair care.

When I come out, I’m dressed in a baggy tshirt and basketball shorts, also known as my springtime pajamas because it’s too damn hot in Marley for me to be wearing flannel ones.

Porco’s laid out like last time, except now he has an arm resting on my side of the couch back, remote in hand. “I’m sure your hair is perfect, princess. Come on.” He motions for me to come on, already, and I acquiesce his request by jumping on the couch bed, making it rock a little. He casually pulls me into him with his arm, then starts the movie.

•••

Minus the flowers, that’s how most nights go now, and my days are spent studying with Porco next to me when I’m not practicing. Every now and then he’ll buy me coffee, complete with whipped cream and my favorite drizzle. Sometimes he’ll even drop it off to me when I’m in class, eliciting ‘ooos’ and ‘awwws’ from the other students, much to my chagrin.

He always greets my Professors with his pearly whites, using the excuse of, “I apologize for the interruption, Professor, but the track star here needs her daily coffee or else she might get bad luck - superstitions, and all - anyway, I hope your students are getting valuable information from all the hard work you’re putting in. Have a nice day!” And then he leaves before anyone can say anything.

In the classes I share with Pieck and Historia, the two of them always nudge my arm and tease me, and I always hide my face in my arms.

One day, I get a notification on my phone, and open it to see Historia has made a group chat. We spend the rest of Professor Hange’s class texting while taking notes.

I sigh in frustration, putting my phone down, but I’m a little too loud, garnering Professor Hange’s attention. They look over at me. “Anything you would like to share with the class, y/l/n?”

I vigorously shake my head no. “Sorry, my mom just doesn’t understand what I mean when I say I can’t talk because I’m in class.”

They muse on my easy lie for a moment, then say, “Well. It’s not surprising, given your boyfriend doesn’t understand that either.”

My eyes widen, and I say, “He’s not my boyfriend, Professor.”

They frown. “Hm? He should be. Seems like a keeper.” And before I have time to say anything, they return to their lecture, Historia and Pieck sniggering, their eyes darting back and forth between me and themselves.

I mutter under my breath, “You guys are the worst.”

•••

I jolt out of my sleep in a cold sweat, panting. I check my phone. It’s after midnight. In a moment of vulnerability, I text Porco:

Almost immediately my phone vibrates with a response.

No sooner have I gotten everything ready (including my appearance) than I hear a quiet knock on the door. Opening it reveals Porco, who enters, closes the door for me, and immediately envelops me in a hug. I sigh in his arms, breathing in his cologne. “Thanks, Porco.”

He pulls back, eyes searching mine. “What’s going on?”

I let my forehead fall against his chest. “It’s a long story... Pieck and Historia are the only ones who know the full thing. Marcel and Ymir know some of it, but they don’t have the whole picture.” I ramble, my voice muffled in his jacket.

“You only need to tell me what you want to tell me. But, you probably can’t do that while eating my shirt.” Porco jests, and gently grabs one of my hands, leading me over to the couch bed. He takes his jacket off, tossing it over the couch back, and I look away when he makes to pull his pants off, but catch a glimpse of his briefs as he holds the blanket up for me to climb under, patting his chest.

I quickly join him after turning the lights off, laying my head on him. He wraps his arms around me, pulling me closer, and I feel every tense muscle in my body loosen up, his embrace a calming agent.

“So.” He says.

“So.” I mimic. After a few moments of silence, I try, “I… was abused as a kid.”

Porco whistles. “That is… really depressing to start with. What else?”

“Sorry,” I apologize, “It’s… there’s no way to explain it without going straight to the nitty gritty. But basically, my mom and dad split, and my dad would hurt me to get back at my mom. He’d leave bruises, scars, he’d lock me in a closet, he wouldn’t feed me, and when she would confront him about it all he just threatened to turn it back on her because he had friends who were cops. My mom felt powerless, and I was powerless. He broke me down and convinced me it was my fault that he did it to me, that I deserved it, and it blinded me to a lot of toxic friendships throughout my schooling, up until college when I started therapy. So… that’s why I have anxiety. And why I feel like a burden to people.”

“I am so sorry, y/n. No one should ever have to go through that. Especially not a kid.” His hand finds purchase on mine, his thumb rubbing circles on my hand. “You have to be really strong to make it through something like that, though. No wonder you’re a superstar.”

“I don’t feel strong, though. Everyday… It’s like it takes everything in me to not crumble under the weight of it. It’s a chain I can never quite break free from, and it makes everything just a little harder. Even sleep.”

“Is that what your dream was?” Porco asks.

“Yea, it was. Sort of.”

“What happened in it?”

I give a breathy laugh. “It’s weird, but, here goes. I was stuck on a date with Reiner, and was trying to find a way to get out of it. Going to bathrooms to hide, trying to climb out windows, waiting for him to be distracted so I could run out of the front door, the works. I already didn’t want to be on the date, but the thing making me want to leave was that something was wrong with him. He sounded like my dad. And finally, I did find a way out. Only, when I got out I was trapped in my dad’s house, and if I was trying to go out an exit, the room would extend forever. If I was just walking around? Nothing. But then, he started chasing me through the house, like he was hunting for me. Whispering my name and laughing, with this laugh he always had before… I had to be silent, but he could smell me. Eventually, Reiner found me, but… he wasn’t Reiner anymore. He was my dad, with Reiner’s face peeling off his skin. And when he caught me, he… I woke up then.” I nuzzle into his chest, needing comfort.

Porco tucks his head in, resting it in my hair. “Do you think sleeping with me at night would help?”

I ponder it, but shake my head. “I really don’t know. Selfishly, I hope it does, but I don’t want to steal you away from Marcel all the time. He might miss his little brother, you know.”

“Steal me from him all you want, it’s not like Pieck doesn��t steal him from me constantly. Can I tell you something?” His voice rumbles in his chest, and the vibrations in my ear are relaxing.

“As much as you want.” Is my response.

“That whole thing about Marcel being injured… The reason I don’t like Reiner is because he almost killed my brother.”

“What?” I turn my head to look up into his eyes, moonlight filtering in through the blinds to reveal his depths of amber.

He bites his lip as he scowls at the air, mind caught in the past. “He crashed his car with Marcel in the passenger seat. He was at fault for the crash, and somehow came out relatively unscathed compared to Marcel. He put him in the hospital. Critical condition, and a coma. I didn’t… we didn’t know if he would wake up. Every day was a nightmare.” His grip tightens on me as his voice becomes strained. “When he did wake up, he was all smiles, being a good sport about everything - you know how Marcel is. But I was never able to forgive Reiner. I almost lost my best friend. If I did-” He cuts himself off, inhaling the scent of my hair. “It’s something I don’t want to think about. By the way, whatever products you use smell amazing.”

“That would be Cantu, sir.” I say helpfully, then drop off, not sure what to say. After a while I settle on, “That’s some heavy history to back up a grudge. Even if Reiner wasn’t a jerk, I really wouldn’t blame you. If something happened to you because of him, I’m pretty sure I’d be able to override my anxiety to commit battery and assault. Or arson, at least.”

“At least?” Porco repeats, shocked. “Well, since we’re confessing, I might as well tell you… I told Reiner if he ever fucked with you again I would lay him out in front of the whole school, football scholarship be damned. Well, not in those exact words, but still.”

I gasp, poking him playfully. “Porco! Stop bullying, speak up!”

“You’re so corny.” He chuckles, rubbing his hand up and down my arm.

“And you’re so meaty.” I argue with a giggle, rolling away a little bit.

Porco gasps dramatically. “Are you calling me-” He yanks me back toward him, “A meathead?” He starts tickling me and a shriek is caught in my throat, knowing Pieck is asleep in her room.

In between breaths, I squeak out, “No- I would- never do that- to you!” The sarcasm still detectable in my tone despite Porco demonically attacking my senses.

I try to push away from him, but he only grabs my hands, and the couch bed shudders as he moves to pin my hands down - one on either side of my head. That pesky moon highlights our eyes, and from my view, his lips, too. He looks down at mine for half a second, murmuring, “You do so much to me.” The air hangs between us for a few seconds, the gravity of his words sinking in, and he leans his head down, his lips meeting mine. One of his hands slips out of mine, cupping my cheek with all the tenderness one would afford a sleeping baby, his other hand splaying open to interlace his calloused fingers with my smaller ones. His warmth seeps into my body, heating me from the inside out, and I melt into his touch, my free hand moving from the bed, to his chest, to his shoulder, then to the back of his neck, like I’m holding onto him for dear life.

When our lips part ways, he whispers, “Fuck. Was… Was that okay?”

I whisper back, “Yea - it was okay. I’m… surprised, but it was okay. More, than okay.”

“How did it surprise you?” He asks, eyes betraying his confusion.

I elaborate, “I uh… I just… I didn’t think you…” I pause, realizing I still don’t quite believe it. “Do…? You feel that way?”

He laughs, but only just. “How do I find the one person on Earth who I can confess my feelings for, and kiss, and they still aren’t sure how I feel about them? Get outta your head, y/n.” He sinks down so his chest is pressed against mine, and the thud of his heart in his chest soothes my nerves.

I counter, “In my defense, you only said I ‘do so much’ to you. You didn’t specify what. Meathead.”

I can’t see the eye roll, but I can hear it in the way he groans. “That’s just semantics. But if you insist, I’ll explain it. But only a little bit, since you called me a meathead.”

I scoff. “Hardly fair.”

“Okay, okay, fine,” He says. “The things you do to me. You make me smile every time I think about you, you make me laugh without even trying, you make me look forward to studying because I get to do it with you, you make me into a fool, doing things I would never do for anyone before - but for you, I get excited to do them. And of course, you’re making my bank account loaded with all the money you’re gonna win for us at the Olympics.”

“For us? You mean for me? And that’s if I even go.” I chide. There’s a comfortable silence before I say, “But that’s… really sweet. I didn’t know you…”

“Yea, I know you didn’t know. It was killing me.” He finally shifts, laying down next to me and pulling me into him.

I find myself tracing patterns on his chest idly. “So… were you just waiting for me to figure it out? Because that would have been a terrible idea.”

He sighs, and I sink further into his embrace, a sigh of my own releasing itself from my lips in this small bliss. He says, “Well, that was before I realized you were oblivious, hot stuff. I should’ve known something was up when I asked for your number.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Because,” He kisses the top of my head, “Marcel came home from practice that day and said he hoped I’d been practicing my patience. Little did I know it was because he’d tried to tell you in a roundabout way that I was interested and you were convinced I wasn’t, but he didn’t bother to tell me that ‘til way later.”

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhh…” I say, finally realizing what Marcel was on about that day.

“You’re fucking kidding me. Did you just get that?” Porco asks, and I can tell he can’t believe it.

“To be fair, I am just a dumb jock.”

He stammers, then says, “Ohmygod, just shut up and go to sleep, nerd. You are not ‘just a dumb jock.’ Most ridiculous shit you’ve ever said.”

I kiss his chin, breaths of laughter escaping through my nostrils, and settle in for a good night’s sleep, free of any nightmares, because all I’m dreaming about tonight is the man next to me, making my heart flutter with every passing glance.

•••

“Sup, book thief?” Porco says as he lets her and Historia into my dorm for another group movie night.

“For the last time, Galliard, I thought Marcel’s book was mine! I gave it back after I realized it, I didn’t steal it.” Ymir gripes, then narrows her eyes at me. “You look too smug right now.”

I feign innocence. “Oh, what? I couldn’t hear you over the sound of you and Hisu not being the only couple in the group anymore.”

“You and Porco are homophobic.” She retorts, eyes shooting daggers through my impenetrable soul as Porco closes the door and rejoins me on the loveseat. Since both couples went public, we’ve had to make some adjustments, such as adding a giant bean bag chair capable of fitting two bodies, which they prefer over the previous arrangement.

Historia scolds, “No family drama in front of our new friend, Ymir! Hi, Colt, we’re not as dysfunctional as you think.” She beams at me, winking when she sees Porco throw an arm around my shoulders, pressing a kiss to my temple. “You guys are so cute.”

I hide my face with my hands, and listen to Colt  (who has generously chosen the floor as his designated spot) say, “Oh, don’t worry. I know Ymir is the real nightmare, here. I’m always afraid she’s gonna beat me with the baton in the coed relays.”

“I still might.” She threatens.

“Settle down, grumpy grampa,” Marcel warns, “Any more of that talk and we’ll be having a counseling session to resolve your anger issues instead of a movie marathon. Everyone all good? Pieck?” He looks around, receiving a thumbs-up from everyone including Ymir and Hisu as the pair get comfy on the lounger, and Pieck starts the first movie.

“Now who the fuck decided we’re watching all the hobbit movies? I don’t understand why I have to sit through this shit just to watch the desolation of a dragon-I-can’t-pronounce-his-face-“ Ymir’s complaining is cut off.

“-It’s ‘The Desolation of Smog!’” Colt says, then, “Wait- no, that’s not right. Smay-oge?”

“Smaug.” Porco supplies, and Marcel and I give each other the most shit-eating grins anyone will ever see.

In unison, we throw our heads back, shouting, “Shut up, nerd!”

[missacidburn928]

Sneaking a little peek...

Looks like Chapter 2 of You're The Coffee That I Need In The Morning is going to be a 2 parter. Once both parts are complete I will put them up on my ao3. For now though I offer you a little sneak peek.

The Way That You Kiss Me, When I'm Drinking Whiskey...

"What's going on here?"

They all turn at the sound of your voice. Varying looks across their faces, but no one speaks up. You proceed to walk to the makeshift table and place down your tray and turn once again towards the testosterone filled misfits on your lawn.

You calmly place your hands on your hips. “In case it didn’t register before, I asked you all a question. What’s going on here? Anyone care to enlighten me as to why Curtis has Mikey suspended in the air?”

They all stare blankly at you. Stunned it seems that you’re standing there so calmly, like this show of overt masculinity is nothing new to you. Newsflash boys, your best friends not only run an MC but you grew up with them. This is not your first rodeo with the male ego. Hell, you’ve had to break up more than a few fights between Bucky and Steve when hormones took over. 

You clear your throat as clearly no one is going to move. “Right. Well. Curtis can you please put Mikey down? I made fresh tea and it’s nice and cold. Once the boy is safe on solid ground you all can take a break and tell me what lead to this incident while you cool off.”

With a nod of his head, Curtis slowly returns Mikey to the ground. The boy promptly pulls out of his reach and rubs his throat as he heads towards the table. Walter follows behind him as Curtis lowers his head in shame at his outburst. 

You place a hand on his bicep. “It’s ok Curtis. Emotions get the best of us sometimes. I assume that’s what happened here. Go get a drink. We’ll get it all sorted out. I promise.”

He gives you a small smile and heads to join the others at the table. Sy stays in place, eyes roaming all over your body, a look of admiration filling his gaze. “You never fail to surprise me, Peach.” A salacious grin appears on his face. “Not gonna lie. That was hot as hell watching you command that situation. I’m about two seconds away from saying fuck it, sending the boys home, having you tell Wanda your not coming in today, locking you in our bedroom and worshiping every inch of you til you can’t take it anymore.”

You feel heat rise to your cheeks at his declaration and bite your lip. “Behave yourself Beasty. I’m sure you got enough last night to tide you over until I get back from work. Plus I thought you wanted to get this done today so I can get to planning.” You step up to him and place your hand on his broad firm chest. “How ‘bout this? We go have some tea with the boys. I head into work like planned. You finish the deck and when I get back, not only can you worship me all you want, we can christen the new patio as well.”

He grips your hips, pulls you close and growls into your neck. “Do you know how difficult it’s going to be working with a hard-on the rest of the day thinking about all the ways I’m going to wreck you on this patio tonight?” He nips at your neck and you let out a little whimper. “I’ll agree to your deal Peach, but don’t think making me wait will make it any easier on you. I just might be feral by the time you get home.” He skims his hands down to your ass and gives it a good squeeze.

You look him dead in the eye as a saccharine sweet smile adorns your face. “Promise?” You place a sweet little kiss on his Adams apple, turn on your heel, grazing your ass against the bulge in his cargo shorts and saunter off towards the table to sort the boys out.

[leucoratia]

Through time and space

Pairing: Loki & The Tenth Doctor (platonic)

Summary: After letting go of the Bifrost, Loki’s adrift in space. Alone, hurt and broken, he’s rescued by quite a peculiar traveller who lost his way...

A/N: I also posted this fic on AO3 for those who prefer the layout!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/35998315 

A/N: Golly. Well this monstruosity is finally done! @belligerentmistletoe this is for you, following the prompt “Loki and the Tenth Doctor from Dr Who”. It’s probably gonna be a two parter, but I was out of time for that one considering that it’s the holidays (I had to write the entire thing on google keep from my phone can you BELIEVE). Huge kudos to @worstloki and @call-me-half for proofreading this!! 

I really wanna do a part two, kind of in Stellophia’s style in their AO3 fanfic “Through the Shards of a Broken Mirror” (go read it’s so goooooooodddddd), but ey writing this sucked the soul out of me because I procrastinated until the last minute (Well if it ain’t the consequences of my own actions). Later probably!!

Have a good read and merry late christmas!

Warning: angst, graphic description of injury, self-hate

Word count: 4 159 words

« No, Loki »

The words rang in the prince’s ears, as the realization dawned upon him. Yet again, he had failed. No matter the amount of resolve, of pain, of tears and flesh and blood he poured in his acts, it would all amount to nothing in the end. What a fool he was! A fool indeed, for holding onto the scraps and desperately trying over and over and over again to outdo the golden son, to receive even a shred of Odin’s love! To be anything else but a spare part, to try to escape the fate his monstrous genes had drawn for him the moment he first saw this world!

He couldn’t even call Odin 'Father' after this. He had tried, as an ultimate cry for help, but as always, there was nothing to be done. Nothing he could do was enough. He wasn’t enough, was he? He never was but a stolen relic, carefully hidden away from anyone, even himself, for who would dare to peel off his layers would see him as he truly was; a monstrous, foul, evil thing.

Vision blurred by tears, the jotün prince frantically searched the king’s face for something, anything that would dispel his thoughts, that would show him that he was wrong and that he was loved and cared for and that everything that happened these past few days was just a nightmare and that Mother Frigga would wake him up with a kiss on the forehead and cradle him and tell him it was okay and-

 Silence.

 Odin’s face was hardened as he watched his son his prize, you mean? hang on for dear life on Gungir. His disapproving gaze pierced the fallen prince’s heart deeper than any spear could.

This was it. He didn’t even have to think, for what to do next was clear as day. He could never escape the fates of his monstrous origin. Having failed to kill the beasts that plagued the realms and himself, the only escape left was to murder himself. He owned everyone this at least. This was his only mean of absolution.

 Loki looked up to the stars, faced the king one last time, lips twitching into a not-so-smile.

 And he let go.

 Thor’s blood-curling scream rang through all space to hear as his brother looked down and confronted the wormhole. It was not long until not even Huggin and Muninn could notice a single flash of green in the deep, dark space. And in Asgard’s eyes, Loki died.

              ━━ ˖°˖ ☾☆☽ ˖°˖ ━━━━━━━━━ ˖°˖ ☾☆☽ ˖°˖ ━━

 It was silent. Who would have thought that space would be voiceless? Loki always thought space made a sound, had a scent even! Every time he snuck away in the library to hide from the court, from Father Odin, from Thor, he would find himself nose-deep into scientific papers dissecting space, stars, black holes and celestial bodies. He read about the birth and death of stars, about super and hypernovas, about gamma-ray bursts; and he always thought space made a sound. Mother The queen would tell him that space sounded faintly like the forges of Niđavellir, and that sometimes, if you listened very carefully, you could hear the deep growls of black holes.

But even though the fallen prince put every fibre of his being into listening, the only sound that came to him was the subtle thrumming of his heart. As he entered the wormhole, he closed his eyes and let himself fall.

And fall

  And fall

       And fall

          And fall

            And fall

                And fall

                     And fall

                         And fall

                             And fall

                                And fall

                                   And fall    

                                      And fall

                                          And fall

                                              And fall  

                                                And fall

                                               And fall

 He fell until the silence was so loud he could hear his own blood coursing through his veins.

                                                     He fell until he could no longer scream and hate and cry and move.

 He fell until his muscles grew thin.

  He fell until he forgot how to speak.

He fell until he forgot himself.

  He fell until he forgot how to think.

Adrift in the never-ending space, there was no more Loki Odinson, or Laufeyson, or Loki at all. There was just a boy. And he was hanging on by a thread.

              ━━ ˖°˖ ☾☆☽ ˖°˖ ━━━━━━━━━ ˖°˖ ☾☆☽ ˖°˖ ━━

 “Just a moment! I’ll be back in a minute, tops!” was what the Doctor had told Rose as he pushed her out of the Tardis.

“You better, or I’ll come and get you myself!” she had answered in a disapproving yet fond tone.

Arms crossed over her chest, she had watched the blue box disappear, followed by its signature humming.

 And so he was adrift in space, alone once again. It should have really taken a minute, all things considered. Just had to make a few adjustments to the old girl, take her out for a spin; maybe mingle with a few commands, who knows. The man out of time liked to have his monthly alone time with her. He adjusted his tie with a slight smile, laid eyes on the machinery and began working his magic.

But just as he pushed the dimensional shifter and prepared himself for the ever so familiar shake, he was met with a strong jerk of the machine.

 Then silence.

 “What?? What was that for??”

Wide-eyed, he bent over the board to look at the engine’s heart. Its blue core seemed dim, and smoke poured out of its joints and cracks. After fumbling for a few seconds with his coat in search of his glasses, The Doctor clumsily placed them on his face and dove nose-deep in the core, pushing buttons and yanking levers here and there. Fumes were fogging up his glasses, his hands were covered in grease, and he didn’t even know where to start.

 “My my, what’s going on with you? C’mon old girl, tell me what I’m doing wrong”

The control panel vibrated faintly, as if it was trying to speak to its pilot. And yet, even though no words were spoken, after hundreds of years together, of course he’d get it….he would, wouldn't he?

 He definitely would.

 Eyes flashing in understanding, The Doctor pulled his head out of the machine to duck down under the core and reconnect some wires. With the utmost focus, he melted two of them together, hid some more in the reactor's depths, pressed even more buttons, got grease and unidentifiable fluids all over his face and hands in the process; and finally reached for the control panel to pull the dimensional shifter again.

 Everything was normal. The Tardis' familiar rattle and whooshing was like music to his ears.

 "See? I knew that I'd figure it out! Now, Allons-y!!"

He laid back against a rail and took a deep breath in, relishing in a job well done. Off to space! They were going to 55 Cancri e, a planet he wanted to bring Rose to. He talked about it once, briefly. Quite a small planet, its main particularity was that it was entirely made of diamond. Although the traveler didn't personally find any wonder in this feat, for diamond gets quite old after a few thousand years (humans, such strange yet fascinating creatures), Rose had shown such marvel in the discovery that he just had to see that smile again.

Nothing too crazy this time, they'll never put feet on it anyways since the surface was about 2,100 degrees Celsius. This was just a safety trip, to make sure that nothing dangerous was wandering around the planet.

He really should have been back in a minute.

 But The Doctor was wrong. This time, he didn't quite get it.

 Just as he was about to put his hands back on the control panel, he fell right next to the Tardis door and smashed into the wall, knocking his glasses off his nose. It took him a second to register the fact that his ship had turned upside down, and another second to fall face-first into the opposite wall as the box started spinning like crazy, growing and shrinking over and over and knocking the Time Lord around like a dollar store ragdoll. The only sounds he could articulate were shrieks and muffled groans of pain as he was mercilessly thrown around by the spinning ship.

The Tardis had gone positively mad. Lights were turning on and off, sirens were blaring, steam was coming out of every possible tube and he could swear for a second that he could hear water coming out of the pool and drowning the corridors.

 "Ooh this is bad. Bad bad bad-" He muttered before being interrupted by a rail promptly shoved in his stomach as he fell miserably on it.

In his daze, he managed to grab it and hang on to it for dear life, as the best he could do was wait it out. He really, really started regretting going for this solo trip after all.

 ━━ ˖°˖ ☾☆☽ ˖°˖ ━━━━━━━━━ ˖°˖ ☾☆☽ ˖°˖ ━━

 The worst had passed now, and the Tardis felt steadier by the second. Finally, The Doctor fell back on his feet in a loud "OOF!", and tumbled back to the control panel, which was still oozing smoke and beeping loud enough to pierce more than a pair of eardrums.

"God...now THAT was NOT nice. What was that for?? I hope you have a good explanation for that one because YOU look like you just got shot by a Dalek, and I suffered the fallout!" He grumbled accusingly, pointing an angry finger at the console while patting his bruised face with his free hand.

Noticing he had, once again unsurprisingly, lost his glasses in the madness (not that he particularly needed them anyway, but he had always thought that they made him look smarter), he squinted his eyes at a screen which was displaying unusual readings.

"What?? What are those about now??" He said, tapping at the screen lightly hoping to fix whatever seemed to be wrong with it. But they didn't budge.

"Photon quantity is normal, gravity is abnormally low for the area I'm supposed to be in, celestial bodies in the area...zero?? Whad'ya mean zero, that can't be right." His eyes widened in surprise and searched the screen for anything that would erase his suspicions. But the numbers stared at The Doctor, bright and bold. He was completely alone in this part of space. The Tardis didn't even detect the smallest asteroid, not even the most microscopic speck of space dust.

Incredulous, he made his way to his machine's door in hopes of being wrong. Picking up his (broken) glasses along the way, he threw the door open and faced...nothing.

Where the diamond planet supposedly stood, there was nothing. As the Tardis read, he couldn't even see a single asteroid.

"Where in the world did you bring me to?" He wondered to himself.

The man out of time stared out into the emptiness for a few more minutes, out of disbelief. Maybe he was hoping to see something, who knows, to indicate where he was, for the Tardis apparently wasn't in the mood to give him that kind of information.

Hands resting in his pockets, with blood smudged on his face and clothes all roughed up, he sure was a sight to see. Eyes fixated in the deep, the Doctor was profoundly focused.

He had travelled, for sure, but he grew wearier and wearier by the second. Something was...off. Even though most of the readings were correct, he could sense that everything felt out of the ordinary, though he couldn't quite pin it down. It felt like coming back inside your home and seeing that everything had been slightly moved, just enough to be noticeable to the trained eye but looking otherwise completely standard.

Staring down the darkness a final time, he was about to turn away when the Tardis' voice blared in his mind, static and wrong.

"Unknown object approaching at approximatively two hundred thousand kilometers per hour.

-What??", he shouted in surprise "How big is it? How close?

-Four hundred kilometers. It will pass by in approximatively nine...eight....seven..."

Wide eyed, he searched the emptiness for the asteroid.

At seven seconds, he began to notice a green shape. Maybe a rare kind of space stone?

At six seconds, he noticed flashes of gold and began to be able to trace out its shape.

At five seconds, he saw for sure four lanky limbs, a head and a torso...the asteroid was human-shaped?

At four seconds, he concluded the green was a cape and the gold an armor.

At three seconds, he was certain that the "asteroid" was indeed a human.

At two point five seconds, in his panic, he urged the Tardis to opens the doors wide, move the control room out of the way and bring forward the deepest pool they had.

At one point eight seconds, the Doctor jerked out of the way and ducked behind the open doors.

At zero seconds, the falling human tore right through the Tardis and crashed in an ear-deafening sound into the water.

"What the hell..." cried out the traveler as he tumbled back up, closed his ship's doors and started running at his fastest towards the pool.

He ran as fast as his feet and the moving corridors could carry him. Although the water was made to ease the fall as much as possible, he had very high doubts about the person's survival. At such inhumane speeds, getting out alive of such a fall would simply be a miracle. And he had learned not to believe in miracles anymore.

As the man finally arrived at the pool, he heard nothing but the ripples of waves. He didn't see the one he just rescued gasping for air, nor floating on top as a regular corpse would, no.Bending down, he noticed the castaway laying in the deep, surrounded by the pool floor's rubble that he had destroyed in his fall.

"No, no, no no no no don't do this to me buddy. Come on, come on!!" He shouted, staring right into the water.

Hope drained out of the Doctor's face seeing the scene before him. The man's already incredibly thin body horribly twisted, bones poking out of his arms and legs, face deeply cut and dark red tinting the water all around.

The traveler tightened his hands on the pool's rim until his knuckles grew white and gritted his teeth together until it hurt. He was so close. So, so close. His guts twisted and he felt sick to his stomach. He was such an idiot. Water? Seriously? Even a preschooler knows that at such insane speeds water has the density of concrete, obsidian even! It was his fault as always. Maybe if he had thought of something better, something else to ease the fall, the man would have survived. Maybe if he made the Tardis create a room full of feathers! Or pillows! Or silk! Or moss! Or-

"No. That can't be right. Don't.", he murmured softly. "Don't do that. Don't give me hope."

But he was right. This time, he could swear on Gallifrey, even on Rose, that he saw bubbles coming out of the dead man's mouth. Little one yes, but they kept coming out at a pace only breathing could create. This could only mean one thing.

While entering the Tardis, the man had breathed, and he had lived. His castaway was alive.

The Doctor didn't even have to think twice. With no consideration towards his coat, his shoes or even his dear sonic screwdriver, he dove head first into the water and swam towards the man. As he tore through the water, he utilized the Tardis' telepathic abilities to ask his ship to prepare a med bay. He had no time to bring the terribly wounded man to a proper hospital. This was now or never. The medical skills he had obtained throughout the centuries would have to be enough. He just wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he failed the man once again.

He swam like a madman, wanting to spare every second; and after what seemed to be forever, he reached the bottom. The Doctor could see the man more clearly now. It shocked him to see how young he looked. He must be what? Twenty? Twenty three at best. And even badly bruised, emaciated and on the brink of death, he looked princely. He probably was royalty now that he thought about it, no commoner would be able to afford such obscene amounts of gold, much less golden armor.

"Who cares. Doctor, Doctor, act now, think later." He thought to himself as he scooped the castaway's limp body in his arms.

He rested his feet on the bottom and jumped, propelling himself high enough into the water to only have a few meters to swim through. Indeed, he thought, one of the perks of belonging to a millennial and extremely advanced extraterrestrial species were the many abilities that set them apart from the common spaceman. Or space woman. Or space person-

Yes. Yes. Priorities. Save the boy-king. Talk later.

 After a few more seconds of struggle, he finally reached the top ad gasped for air as he ruptured the water. As he difficultly walked up the stairs and extracted both of them from the water, he tried his best to keep the man's head up and held him as gently as he could.

"Man, you're heavy", he said, struggling, "wonder where you're hiding all that weight!" The strain in The Doctor's voice was palpable as he put all of his will into placing one foot before the other.

Around them, the Tardis was moving to accommodate a quicker route. The metal walls were rolling, as they were suddenly illuminated by soft indigo lights, and he could feel the floor pulsing under his feet. As disorienting as it could be, he kept going steadily. One left, a right, another right, another left, and straight towards the med bay...at least he thought so. Poking his head though the door and almost falling down with his new guest, he was relieved to find a make-shift bed in the center of the room. As he crossed the final meters keeping them from the bed, he shot a quick glance at the man in his arms. He seemed to be breathing, although faintly, his face, painted in crimson, was paler than a dead man's, his hair was matted by blood, his entire body drenched in ice-cold water, and The Doctor would have preferred not to look at his terribly broken limbs. Glancing at the splintered bones poking out of his arms and legs, tendons and muscle still attached to them, he felt like he was about to retch.

Finally, he laid him down onto the bed.

"Gimme a quick scan! Species, data, everything you can!", the man out of time ordered his ship while kicking off his now bloodied and wet cloak, and picking up his sonic screwdriver. He pointed the tool at the sleeping man and scanned him. Tossing the screwdriver aside, he began freeing him from his (huge, broken and so, so heavy, good lord) armor. Every single part came out with great struggle, as he tried his best to be delicate and not harm the rescued even more.

Boots, chest plate, arm covers, overshirt...

"What is this, a French pastry??"

This human had such an extravagant taste in fashion. As the man finally laid in only his undershirt and pants, the Doctor was interrupted by a screen's strident beeping. Ah, yes. The scan. He almost fell down, tripping on his own shoes, as he rushed to the screen, grabbing it with both hands and nearly pressing his face onto it.

As he read, his eyes gradually widened in incomprehension and shock.

"Height, one meter and ninety-one centimeters...weight, two hundred and fourteen kilograms....heartbeats per minute, twenty-three...species unknown? Well that's gotta be a problem.", he muttered, annoyed. From a quick glance at the scan, he could vaguely guess that the man wasn't human. Maybe a related species? Well, it would have to make do.

Walking back towards his bloodied guest, he rolled up his sleeves, grabbed his sonic and put on a pair of latex gloves. Time to get to work.

━━ ˖°˖ ☾☆☽ ˖°˖ ━━━━━━━━━ ˖°˖ ☾☆☽ ˖°˖ ━━

Loki was falling. Or was he? He must have been. The last thing he remembered was his free fall in the depths of space. He remembered thinking that in his misery, he was lucky that the last thing his living eyes would see would be space's dark beauty. He must be in Helheim now. He felt himself crack a smile. He hoped his daughter would be happy to see him, for they had been apart since Odin had made her queen of the dead. Even now, after hundreds of years, he still missed her, and all of her brothers and sisters, dearly. Odin had seen fit to cast out his monstruous, hideous children; for anything born of monsters such as Loki and his lovers could only bring ruin to the realm. He remembered the pure agony that followed their loss, and how he was broken in pieces smaller than a speck of dust when Tyr had bound Fenrir.

Truly, it did seem that Odin greatly relished in seeing him hurt.

A thought suddenly struck him. He didn't hear Gjöll's water flowing, nor the whisk of dead tree branches against the realms rocks, nor even the footsteps of the dead. Instead, he heard more of a...soft humming? He also came to realize that he felt his own weight again, felt his bones, his flesh, and a new, blinding pain that radiated from his entire body. He felt light and he felt heavy at the same time. Everything was tight. His body felt caged in something that wrapped around him almost completely

His fingers felt something soft, and his face was warmed by some sort of light.

Maybe he wasn't dead after all. Pity, he thought. Even that he had failed. Loki, King of Nothing and Prince of Monsters, was so incompetent he had failed to meet his own demise. He felt like laughing. Such a pathetic thing but to keep living. What had he, waiting for him? Power? Not a chance. Family? Preposterous. A place to belong? He lost it the second he discovered his true heritage. Truly, the Not-Prince was condemned to rot while battling himself forever.

He chuckled at the thought. Maybe he was indeed King of something, the King of Misery. King of Pitiful things.

As soon as the sound escaped his lips, he heard something (or is it someone?) fall, yelp I pain (definitely someone then), tumble back up while cursing under their breath, and rush to his side.

"Hey, hey, hey buddy, are you awake? Can you hear me? You made a pretty bad fall, caught you just in time!”

He opened his eyes.

 There was someone next to him. He was tall, with short and unruly brown hair, sideburns distasteful truly, and a drenched and bloodied light blue shirt rolled up at the sleeves. Loki disregarded the man questioning him who kept blabbering about falling and rescue and bruises, and looked around. He didn't recognize his surroundings. He was laying in a makeshift bed in what seemed to be a med bay, a highly unusual one, that is. The walls were what seemed to be metal panes drilled in many medium sized holes, black and red cable was running all around the walls, ceiling and floor, and a soft yellow light was passing through the walls.

"Hey, hey, come on! Can you hear me? Are you paying attention?", said the man, tapping his shoulder.

Loki jerked to the side, immediately regretting it for it has caused immense pain to course through him. He hissed in pain, causing the odd man to profusely apologize.

"Sorry, sorry, so sorry, didn't mean to hurt you. Can you hear me?

-Yes, I can hear you.", Loki snapped, although the words came out sloppier and weaker than he wanted them to be. His voice felt like gravel in his throat, and he broke into a fit of cough which only accentuated his general pain.

"I'm the Doctor. I sorta...found you while traveling. Who are you?"

It took him a moment to respond. Who was he? Prince of Asgard? Rightful King of Jotunheim? King of Nothing and Prince of Deceit? He settled on one thing

"I am Loki.

-Well Loki, it looks like you're gonna spend some more time with me".

[minor-solemnity]

Request:

Pairing: Tom x oc/reader

Summary:

Tom and oc go to the slug club yearly galla and oc is the loud Gryffindor 2nd in class and her and tom have been nemesis for long but the sexual tension is real and then tom sees her dancing with potter ..

Slughorn is like “ahh two of my favourite students” and he introduced them to a lot of people and a little girl spills something on tom and oc defends the girl and slughorn is like why dont you help him change oc ( as tom had some injury and was drenched and couldn’t change on his own ) and when they fight all the way to his dorm and she only agrees because slughorn tells her to and then when she helps him out of his shirt there is a lot of sexual tension and then kiss or maybe have sex in his dorm

And in the end she ends up sleeping on his bed and he like sees her face glisten in the moon light and is like fuck i like her even though he was trying to convince himself he didnt care abt her throughout the party ? And in the morning she is like well you slytherins have great beds you rich aristocrats or something and he just laughs and kisses her and malfoy is like well who would have thought the slytherin ice cold king and the Gryffindor lioness

I dont know feel free to change it up and if you donr want to then thats ok too it would mean a great deal to me if you write it no pressure tho..( going anon because i am shy )

~ red

Heyyy so I took a few liberties and this is gonna be a two parter because I have zero chill apparently but I hope you like this, Red! 

Next part will be up in a day or two :)

Never Gonna Give (You Up) Pt.1

You smile up at him as innocently as you can. You know you shouldn’t bait him. You know you’re being immature. You know that if this night descends into one of your usual verbal sparring matches you won’t be impressing anyone, let alone Christella Beaufort. But something about him brings out the worst in you. Makes you feel slightly wrong-footed which in turn makes you want to push and needle until he reacts.

You take a moment to marvel at the decorations for this year’s Saturnalia party. Every year, Slughorn seems to set himself an unofficial challenge to out-do himself with more elaborate designs. This year, the theme is clear: gold. Just lots and lots of gold. From the tablecloths to the chairs, to the golden snowflakes that melt into nothing a couple of feet above your head, to the floor which has been charmed so that whenever you take a step you leave a shimmering footprint in your wake. It’s bright and festive and you can’t help but smirk at the thought of Tom Riddle being stuck in a room full of Gryffindor colours. 

Speaking of the devil, you spy Riddle talking to Slughorn and one of the Ministry officials that often grace Slughorn’s get-togethers. You don’t particularly want to go over and talk to him, but you do want to make yourself known to Slughorn and find out if he managed to Christella Beaufort on the list this year. She’s the Head Curse-Breaker at Gringott’s, fiercely independent, highly intelligent, and so tenacious she had singlehandedly opened the door to witches wanting to go into the profession. In short, she’s your idol.

“Come on, Potter. We’ve got pleasantries to make and hands to grease.” You grab Fleamont’s hand who you’re attending the party with (as friends - you’ve made it very clear to him that you’re not interested in finding out whether his skills on a broom translate off the pitch). With that, you stride over to the drinks table where Slughorn and Riddle are chatting, Fleamont stumbling after you, his hand still locked in yours.

“Professor,” You greet Slughorn with a warm smile, “I have to say, you’ve outdone yourself once again. I’m particularly fond of the colour scheme this year.”

“Ahh, my dear girl, how lovely of you to join us!” Slughorn cries jovially. He pats your shoulder and you watch as his eyes slide to your hand, which is still clasped around Fleamonts. And (not that you care) you notice that Riddle’s eyes are also fixed on your intertwined hands. You let go of Fleamont’s hand and it has nothing to do with the frown that’s now marring Riddle’s brow.  He casts a fond (and slightly calculating, truth be told) eye over the three of you. “My three best students! First, second, and third.” Your smile turns strained and over Slughorn’s shoulder, Riddle’s charming smile turns smug.

Slughorn introduces you to the Ministry official - a boring looking man who you promptly forget the name of but who Fleamont seems entirely taken by. Before you know it, Potter has abandoned you to talk shop with Slughorn and Mr Ministry and you’re left with Riddle.

Lovely.

Just. Lovely.

At least there’s champagne. The other professors might disapprove but in all your years of Slug Club Saturnalias, Slughorn has never once skimped on the champagne. You reach for a glass and look at Riddle with a critical eye, searching for any imperfections. Frustratingly, you can’t find any. Riddle is, as per usual, the most handsome man in the room. Pale skin, impossibly dark eyes, refined features and cheekbones as sharp as his tongue. Metaphorically speaking. Though the idea of Riddle with a forked tongue is enough to make you snort into your champagne flute. 

Riddle’s attention snaps to you and he raises an eyebrow, unimpressed, impatient, annoyed with you already and making absolutely no attempt to hide it. “Did you find something amusing?” 

“Oh, no. I was just taking in your general appearance,” You say, waving a handle vaguely towards him. You smile up at him as innocently as you can. You know you shouldn’t bait him. You know you’re being immature. You know that if this night descends into one of your usual verbal sparring matches you won’t be impressing anyone, let alone Christella Beaufort. But something about him brings out the worst in you. Makes you feel slightly wrong-footed which in turn makes you want to push and needle until he reacts. It doesn’t help that the rivalry you’ve had with him since first year has only become more intense and heated as you’ve gotten older. 

His eyes narrow and he drags his gaze across your body. The moment stretches and your cheeks flame as his eyes follow the nip of your waist and the curve of your hips. Your mouth goes dry. Because this is another thing that you hate about Riddle: he never fails to make your stomach swoop. By the time he raises his eyes back to yours, his expression is one of ironic amusement. “Colour me impressed,” He murmurs, angling his body ever so slightly towards you and you have to force yourself not to take a step back. “You actually look… passable this evening.”

Prat.

You should walk away. You should find one of the fancy people that you’ve been desperate to meet since your invitation arrived a month ago. 

You don’t.

You stay and bicker with Riddle, throwing increasingly caustic taunts and jibes at each other whilst you sip champagne and pretend that you’d rather be anywhere else. You realise about twenty minutes into a debate about Minister for Magic Spencer-Moon’s policies (you rather like the pro-muggle legislature he’s attempting to pass and Riddle thinks you’re being horribly naive) that Riddle is still here. Which, well, obviously he’s still here; he’s talking to you right now in that same condescending tone he uses to tell students off for staying out past curfew. But he doesn’t have to be. Riddle is as ambitious as you are, more so, even. So why has he spent most of the evening with you and not sucking up to the many rich and talented witches and wizards in attendance tonight?

You glance around the room, suddenly aware that it hadn’t even occurred to you to leave. You’ve been so wrapped up in your conversation that everything else had just sort of… faded away. For reasons you are unwilling to examine too closely, you feel yourself grow warm. Riddle is still talking, gesturing animatedly with his champagne flute, looking horrendously handsome and like… oh Merlin, he looks like he’s enjoying himself. And that is… Well, quite frankly, that’s enough to make your brain grind to halt from shock.

You’re saved from your inner turmoil by Fleamont who appears at your side and wraps a hand around your waist. Riddle’s expression shutters. He looks at Fleamont’s arm around your waist and sneers and, for reasons beyond your grasp, you have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from explaining that Fleamont is just a friend. Fleamont, oblivious as always, grins and asks you to dance and you can’t bring yourself to look at Riddle as he leads you away to the dance floor. 

Fleamont is a good dancer. You suppose this is to be expected from the heir to one of the oldest pureblood families in Britain. You imagine that he learnt to waltz before he learnt to walk. You try to focus on the dance, on the way that Fleamont spins you around the room causing your dress robes to fan out around you in an elegant circle but out of the corner of your eye you can see Riddle watching you. He’s subtle about it, you’re fairly sure that no one else would notice, but even as he makes conversation with a wizard you vaguely recognise as Ensio Kiimamaa, widely regarded as the leading Potions Master in contemporary wizarding society, his eyes flicker to where you’re dancing with Fleamont. 

You’re really not sure what to make of it.

The dance ends, and Fleamont makes a show of bowing and offering you his arm, which you take with an exasperated laugh. “Let’s go talk to Kiimamaa, I hear he’s thinking about taking on apprentices next year.” As little as you want to go near Riddle for the rest of the night, you can’t think of a good reason to object, so you nod begrudgingly and walk over, trying to convince yourself that the trepidation you feel is a result of being introduced to Kiimamma and not because of the way Riddle’s looking at you.

You make your introductions and Kiimamma begins to explain his latest discovery: a highly acidic venom harvested from the Icelandic water-dwelling vatnaormar. He produces a vial of dark liquid, uncorks it and passes it around the three of you. “It’s highly dangerous to touch, but I’ve found that a sniff of it can induce heightened concentration and focus - I hope to find a way of incorporating it in a potion that’s safe to drink.” 

Riddle holds the uncorked venom delicately between his fingers, raising it up to the light to observe the venom and then time seems to speed up and slow down all at once as you watch in horror as two things happen almost simultaneously. 

First: A little girl, who you assume to be Kiimamma’s daughter, shakes free of Slughorn’s hold on her arm and bounds over, waving her arms excitedly before losing her balance and crashing into Riddle. Second: the uncorked vial slips from Riddle’s fingers and the venom arches in an elegant curve through the air before it splatters across Riddle’s chest.

The effect is immediate. The venom tears through Riddle’s dress robes in almost no time at all and his skin begins to burn, leaving awful red and pink welts on the pale skin of his chest. The little girl starts wailing and Slughorn and Kiimamma start flapping their hands.

Riddle’s eyes flash in pain and anger and embarrassment and he completely forgets his usual charm and grace as he rounds on the girl. Before he can start yelling at her as he so clearly intends to, you step forward and place your hand on the girl’s shoulder. “It was an accident, Riddle. She didn’t mean to.” You say and then add in a low tone so that only he can hear, “She’s his daughter. Don’t fucking yell at her.” His gaze snaps to yours and there’s a moment when you think he’s going to yell anyway before his jaw clenches and he gives you a single tight nod.

“Riddle, my poor boy, you must go to the hospital wing. Not to worry, I’m sure Madam Montague will be able to sort you out in a flash.” Later, you will be able to appreciate Slughorn’s ability to sound jolly in even the direst of circumstances. Right now, you just find it rather insensitive. Slughorn turns to you and with slightly pleading eyes asks you to escort Riddle. Try as you might, you can’t think of a good reason not to, so with a vaguely helpless glance to Fleamont, you grudgingly nod, scowling at the ground in annoyance.

You loop your arm through Riddle’s and he stiffens under your touch. You repress the urge to roll your eyes and begin to make your way out of the room, ignoring Riddle’s laboured breathing and the slight trembling of his shoulders. It’s only as you get to the door that you notice a tall, dark-haired witch with a jagged scar crossing the length of her face steps out of the floo. Christella Beaufort, the one person who you had wanted to meet tonight has arrived and you’re not going to get to even say hello.

(part 1) (part 2)

[marvel-and-mischief]

White Carnation & Violets

Part of my Floriography Series

A/N: This is a two-parter, Part 1 (titled Tulips) will be a gender neutral reader and Part 2 (titled White Carnation & Violets) will be a female reader with smut.

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x F!Reader   Words: 1900 Warnings: SMUT, heterosexual sex, P in V sex, unprotected sex, virgin reader, inexperienced reader, oral sex (female receiving), just smut no plot Synopsis: You share an unforgettable night with the Prince of Dorne

White Carnation: purity Violets: modesty

💐

You had been told stories of this moment, not all bad, but there had always been a warning, an undertone of fear mongering that it wouldn’t all be good. You would be nervous they said, you would have to remember to relax and fight through the pain because there’s pleasure on the other side. Make sure he does this and that so it’s good for you too. A part of you dreaded it until these past couple of days.

You had been born in the North, where these matters were private, or whispered secretively in the ears of young maidens to give them a heads up of what to expect, what to prepare for. And there was always a sadness that this would change a young woman’s life forever, not necessarily for the better. 

But then your father had moved you both to Dorne, had settled you in Sunspear where pleasure was everywhere. People kissed each other in the middle of the marketplace, hands wandered underneath skirts in public places, moans of pleasure travelled through windows and onto the streets. It wasn’t all the time but it was there, in places you didn’t expect. And instead of turning your nose up at it, instead of begging your father to take you back up North, your eyes lingered and your ears perked up for the smallest taste of what they were experiencing. 

You felt as though you were always meant to be in Dorne. 

You felt safe within the walls of the capital, comfortable with the beliefs of the people. And now, in the arms of your first lover, you felt at home.

Oberyn was taking his time with you, but you didn’t feel that was because of you. He was a sensual man, who didn’t like to rush his pleasure. He appreciated the mundane parts of making love; slowly revealing each part of your skin, peeling off the fabric of your dress piece by piece until there was nothing left, learning the bumps and curves of your figure, the marks and scars of a hard worker. 

Oberyn lowered you down the steps into a warm bath set in the floor of his room, white and purple petals floated on the surface and the water was milky from some perfumed concoction he poured in. He joined you in the large square bath, sitting beside you and leaning his head back to rest against the curved edge. 

“You intrigue me,” Oberyn murmured, turning his head slightly to look over your body.

“Is that a good thing?” you asked, playing with a petal and sinking low enough in the bath so the water came up to your shoulders. It might look silly seeing as he had already seen you naked, but now you were just sitting together, his eyes never once leaving you, you felt shy under his gaze, no matter how appreciative it was. 

“It is,” Oberyn responded after a short pause, “I am to be your first lover?”

“I am from the North.” That was explanation enough.

Oberyn hummed in thought. The water rippled where he moved his hand to place it on top of your thigh. He rested it there, not moving, allowing you to become acquainted with his light touch. 

“Do you prefer it here?”

“I do,” you didn’t hesitate to reply, there was no need to think on your answer, “I am free here. I can move around without chaperone, I can enjoy the sun on my day off, I can read and garden and do all manner of things without being judged for it.”

Oberyn chuckled at the excitement in your voice and placed a soft kiss to the top of your head where you had lowered it to his shoulder whilst you spoke. 

He bathed you then, guiding you to sit between his legs as he ran his large hands over your supple body, massaging the muscles, wiping away the days sweat and dirt, leaving you truly relaxed and feeling boneless. No one had ever touched you with such care and love. Because he did love you, as he loved everyone he took to his bed. He loved more than anyone you’d come across. He often found parts to love about every one of his lovers. 

And with you he loved your quiet nature, but also your curiosity for life and love. He loved the sighs you made when he rubbed over a particular knot near the bottom of your back, and Oberyn imagined it was perhaps a strain from your gardening work. He loved your nails creating crescent moons into his thighs, a reaction to the series of kisses he placed from one shoulder to the other.

You wanted to see him so you turned in his arms and straddled him, hands trailing a path from his stomach up to his shoulders to hold onto him there. You didn’t dare look down but you could feel his cock half hard and pressed against your stomach under the water and Oberyn hissed at the contact. 

“Can I kiss you?” Was it a silly question to ask? He wanted to do much more than that with you but he was still a Prince and you couldn’t shake that from the back of your mind. 

“Have you kissed anyone before?”

You shook your head honestly and Oberyn tutted in despair.

“It is a crime that no one has kissed your lips,” he leaned closer until you could feel his breath as he spoke, “but it is an honor to be the first,” and then he was kissing you.

Oberyn was cautious at first, allowing you time to relax into the kiss before he encouraged more, licking into your mouth to taste the tangy strawberry juices he’d fed you earlier in the night. His hands moved over your skin, pressing you into his chest in an attempt to pull you closer.

You had to pull back for air but you did so with a grin. Your first kiss was wonderful and breathtaking, so much more than what you thought it would be. Oberyn thought you looked ethereal, a dazed look in your eyes that expressed your bliss, and when you bit your lip and looked at him questioningly he couldn’t wait any longer.

He carefully moved you off his lap, keeping a hand on you at all times as he manoeuvred you both out of the bath and towards the bed on the other side of the room. Oberyn grabbed a towel on the way, dabbing at your skin in a fruitless attempt to dry you off but it didn’t matter, the bed covers would get ruined this night anyway.

Oberyn slowly laid you down in the middle of the bed, spreading you out before him. He kissed every part of your skin, lighting you on fire as you writhed on the bed for something more. He took his time making you ready with his fingers and his mouth, opening you up with a tenderness you appreciated. 

Your mind briefly went to the stories the women in the North would tell you about this night and you thought, either you were very lucky with your choice of lover or they were just wrong. Because not once did you feel apprehension, you never even thought about changing your mind, all you could think was wanting more and wanting all of Oberyn and possibly never leaving his bed again.

After shouting his name in climax, Oberyn hovered over your body and whispered your name to bring you back to him. He kissed you, much like in the bath, passionate and all consuming. You found your legs wrapping around his waist, urging him forward until he was sliding his cock between your slick folds.

“You are eager,” Oberyn chuckled, pressing open mouthed kisses along your neck, sucking marks into your skin.

“I am eager,” you breathed, laughing into the limited space between you.

Oberyn nudged at your entrance, teasing your desperation. He held control, even when you used your crossed feet on his back to encourage him closer, but you didn’t feel powerless. He was amusing himself but not at your expense. And on recognising these things you think you could so easily fall in love with him and that perhaps many had before you.

He gave into you eventually, and his own need to feel you around him. He pushed forward, hips moving slowly whilst watching for any hint that you needed him to stop. Oberyn whispered words of comfort as he sheathed himself completely into you, praising you, complimenting you, anything to keep you from concentrating on the foreign feeling of him inside of you. 

You didn’t realise you’d closed your eyes until you were opening them to see Oberyn smiling down at you. You returned the smile to reassure him you were fine and you were ready to continue. 

He kissed you as he pulled out, leaving just the tip in, making you groan into his mouth and grip onto his shoulders. He set a rhythm, not too fast but quick enough to have you really feel him. He was big enough that you felt him deep inside, more so than his fingers had before. He kept hitting a spot that had you arching off the bed and chasing another climax.

Oberyn pressed his face into the crook of your shoulder, grounding himself to you. You felt incredible, the way you squeezed his cock in anticipation of reaching another high, the tightness making him see stars. He had to keep remembering this was your first time, to not be as rough as he could be with his other lovers, but he would get you there one day. He decided he would invite you to his bed again, introduce you to Ellaria, have you on his free arm if you wanted that. You were too good for just one night.

He deepened his thrusts, pushing you over the edge with a sob. He could tell you were becoming oversensitive and so he pulled out of you to finish off on your stomach, hot thick ropes of seed painting the perfect picture on your soft skin. 

You felt him leave the bed but you didn’t have the energy to open your eyes to see where he was going. Your body was tingling with pleasure and you were smiling blissfully as you came down, breathing eventually evening out to something close to normal. 

You jumped in surprise at the sensation of a cold cloth being dragged across your skin and you opened your eyes to see Oberyn cleaning you up. You hissed when he reached your sensitive lips and he sent you an apologetic smile. 

“Do you need to go back home to your father?” he asked, discarding the cloth to the floor.

“I don’t need to…” 

“Good,” Oberyn pulled the sheet out from underneath you, throwing it off the bed to be cleaned in the morning and produced a clean bed cover from a drawer, “you can stay right here.”

Oberyn joined you in bed and pulled the sheet over the both of you. He gathered you into his arms and the two of you fell asleep, exhausted from the nights events but eager to explore each other again once you were well rested. 

Permanent tag list: @autumnleaves1991-blog​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @anu-simps​ @computeringturtle​ @bts17army​ 

[mmvalentine]

**Requests quietly into the mic**

Feysand as werewolves💀

Hahaha anon I love it okay, I'm gonna do like maybe a 3-parter angst fest (werewolves necessitates angst, right?) but I am doing a sort of shapeshifting power type rather than a loses all control at the full moon type, I hope that's okay. Here we go!

Afraid of the Dark pt 1

Feyre didn't know why, but of the many things Tamlin had taken away from her, this bar was the one she'd fought for.

At his behest, she had stopped seeing her sisters, lost contact with a number of friends, and quit volunteering at the art school. It had happened gradually- the things that Tamlin had liked about her at first, suddenly felt threatening to him and over time, she left them all. It was just that he was so insecure. He had had a terrible childhood, didn't know how to relate to other people sometimes and he loved her so much that it hurt him to see other people hang off her. Other men hang off her. He was just so protective.

Or at least that's what Tamlin said.

But Verlaris bar was Feyre's favourite place. She did not make it there often, but she was there today, and walking through the door felt like coming home.

"Feyre!" a familiar voice greeted her. She looked up at found Rhys, with the same broad grin that he always had when he saw her.

Rhys, who wore black leather jackets and onyx rings. Rhys, who had been a regular at this bar longer than Feyre had. Rhys, who seemed to frequently have blood on his knuckles and a dimple in his cheek. She probably should have been scared of him, but he had always made her feel so welcome.

"Hello you," she said with a soft smile.

"Hello prick," Tamlin said, walking up behind her.

Of course Tamlin hated Rhys. But to be fair, Rhys was as provocative to Tamlin as he was sweet to Feyre. He met Tamlin's gaze now, and grinned wider, which she knew would infuriate Tamlin more than his frown.

"Oh hello to you too, sunshine," he said, and waggled his fingers. Tamlin just growled, and stalked to the bar. Feyre sighed, and followed him.

"I don't know why you always want to come here," Tamlin said.

"This is the bar we had our first date," Feyre reminded him. "I've always liked it here." She ordered a drink, and then was surprised when Tamlin pulled her into his arms.

Less surprised, when Rhys walked up and leaned his forearms on the bar next to them. A show of possession, then.

"What are you drinking, Feyre darling?" he asked her. "The usual?"

"She's not your darling," Tamlin snarled. Rhys just looked at him with mock sincerity.

"Don't be jealous, Tamlin dear," he said. "You can be my darling, too."

"And you can fuck right off," Tamlin snapped. "Or I'll come over there and make you." Rhys just rolled his eyes.

"Tip number one," he said. "The new scotch they've brought in is delicious." He winked at Feyre, motioning for the bar tender to pour her one. "Tip number two." He leaned toward Tamlin, and suddenly his voice was low and velvet. He looked right into his eyes as he spoke. "Don't threaten a man in his own bar."

Then he pushed off the counter, and returned to the pool table where his friends sat.

"Feyre," Tamlin said tightly. "Why does that dickhead always talk to you like that?"

"Like what?" Feyre asked, warily.

"Feyre darling," Tamlin mimicked. "The usual?"

Feyre shrugged. "He's known me for as long as you have, I guess."

"I don't like it."

Tamlin said nothing else for the next hour. Just sat and drank, and drank some more while Rhys's friends tried to talk to Feyre. The more they talked, the more hunched over Tamlin got, until Feyre started to worry and sent them away.

"Let's go," he growled, and pulled Feyre out the door.

When they got home, Feyre sat down on the bed to take her shoes off, and Tamlin sat heavily next to her and put his head in his hands.

"Do you hate me?" Tamlin asked her roughly.

"What?" Feyre said. "No, of course I don't hate you."

"Then why do you always need all these other people?" he asked. "Why am I not enough for you?" Feyre sighed. They had had this conversation so many times.

"Of course you're enough," she said. "I just like to have different people in my life."

"I don't," Tamlin said. "I don't need anyone but you. And I wish you loved me as much as I love you. Maybe you just never will."

"No, that's not it, Tamlin of course I love you."

He looked at her, with searing eyes. "Show me," he said.

So Feyre got up, and sat back down in Tamlin's lap. Straddled him on the bed and put her mouth on his. Kissed him until his arms were wrapping around her waist and her fingers were in his hair and he was pulling off her shirt.

"I love you," she murmured.

"Don't go back to the bar," Tamlin pleaded. He smelled like beer. "Promise me. Promise me you won't go back to the bar."

"Tamlin."

"Promise me. We don't need anyone but each other. Otherwise I swear, I could just burn it to the ground." Tamlin's hands tightened as he said it, squeezing her sides too tightly. He shook her once, and her teeth clicked together. "Promise," and this time, there was an edge to his voice that had never led anywhere good in the past.

And so Feyre closed her eyes, said "I promise," and let Tamlin pull her backward onto the bed.

Later that night, after Tamlin had fallen asleep, Feyre crept out of bed and out the back door. She pulled on a coat and shoes, and walked all the way to the edge of the forest near their house, before she sat down on a fallen tree, put her hands over her face, and cried.

This was not the first time Feyre had been out here. Tamlin didn't like it when she cried, so she had gotten good at bottling up the need and only letting it go when he was not around. Passed out drunk and sated in bed was a fairly safe bet.

So here she was, in the forest at midnight, with no one to witness her tears but the moon. It was strange, Feyre had been so afraid of the dark as a child. And now, the empty night was her only comfort.

After a few minutes, Feyre had cried enough to feel calmer. Exhausted, in fact. She stayed though, seated on the log and staring at nothing, not ready to go home yet.

It was in this empty, numb space that she saw it.

Thought it was nothing at first, fireflies maybe. But no, when she peered closer, two violet eyes peered out of the darkness. She gazed at them for a moment, and as if realising it had been seen and not bothering to hide anymore, out of the shadows stepped an enormous, black wolf.

"Hello," Feyre said softly. She wondered vaguely if she should be afraid. But she was so tired, and so emotionally drained that she couldn't quite muster up enough feeling to care if it did eat her right then and there.

The wolf took a few steps forward, and then, wondrously, sat down opposite her. Lay on the ground, and rested it's muzzle on the toe of her sneaker. Feyre sniffed.

"Oh, not hungry then," she said. "And here I thought I was alone." She stared down at it, and wondered why it was interested in her.

"I've made a dumb promise," she told it. "I promised Tamlin I'd leave Velaris for good." The wolf just watched her with its strange, purple eyes.

"I feel so sad, and alone, and I don't even have anyone left to talk to about it and now I'm here talking to a wolf." She laughed bitterly to herself. "Well, I suppose you're here. And you haven't eaten me yet, so I may as well tell you."

Feyre looked out into the forest.

"Velaris was the last place I felt like I had friends." She looked back at the animal. "Would you like to be my friend, Mr Wolf?" The wolf gazed back at her, and of course said nothing.

After a while, Feyre got up, dusted herself off, and walked home. The wolf didn't move, just watched her go and she waved at it as she went.

/

After she had disappeared, and her scent faded, the wolf got up. Shifted back into its human form, and took Feyre's place on the log.

Rhys put his chin on his folded hands, and frowned.

****

Another concept I would never have thought of on my own, thanks nonnie! Part 2 now up.

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose @darling-archeron @rapunzel1523 @fairchildjace @philosophorumaurum02 @story-scribbler @allthecolorsneverseen @asteria-of-mars

[squeamishdionysus]

Healer

pairing: Jet x Reader

TW: Heavy injury, near-death experience, discussions of trauma

Summary: The Freedom Fighters take Jet to a family of healers after his fight with Long Feng, where he begins a new friendship with the reader.

Notes: Hey everyone!! This was a request for a user on another platform who wanted a Jet x Reader. After many, many rewrites, I finally settled on making a two-parter, with this being the first part! I hope you like it and if you do, please feel free to leave a comment!!!

Masterlist

The sun had just risen over Ba Sing Se. The sky was an orange tint with only a few clouds in sight, the kind of day that always puts you in a good mood. You had opened the curtains wide, letting streams of sunlight fall into your living room, warming and brightening the space. You put a teapot full of hot water on top of the pot stand, using your spark rocks to begin heating it. Your parents hadn’t woken up yet, and you didn’t plan on waking them up any time soon.

You were the child of a mixed couple, with your mother being a refugee from the Northern Water Tribe and your father being a local in Ba Sing Se. Your mother moved to Ba Sing Se a long time ago, after the man she was originally arranged to marry died fighting in the war. Being a waterbender and a healer, she became very popular among the locals, opening her clinic in the Middle Ring, where she healed anyone who needed it. That’s how she met your father.

Eventually, of course, they had you, and as fate would have it, you were a healer and waterbender, as well. Your mother taught you as much as she could, and as soon as you were old enough, you began helping her. Even with your help, though, business could still be tiring. That was why you were letting them sleep.

You sprinkled a few jade tea leaves into the water, looking out the window and watching the houses around you begin to wake up. Your neighbor, Mrs Yao, was out watering the flowers in her garden. A few stray cats sat out in the alleyway, their tails swaying patiently as a boy, the son of one of the other neighbor’s, left out a saucer of milk for them. A newlywed couple kissed each other goodbye as one of them began her commute to work, the other bouncing a small baby on her hip. A group of children chased each other down the street, giggling and playing as they slowly made their way to school.

It was rare you got to see such a scenic morning. Perhaps you would take a walk after breakfast, just to enjoy it a little more. The gardens around this area were always nice to walk through, and you were sure they’d be even nicer with the weather.

You continued looking out the window, thinking about all the ways you could enjoy this fine morning, eventually having to check on the tea. You took it off its stand, putting out the fire and pouring yourself a cup. You sighed, holding the cup up to your lips and breathing in the scent of hot tea. Jade had always been a favorite of yours

A sharp, urgent knock rang out, startling you. You couldn’t think of anybody who would be visiting this early, so you hurried over to the door. You opened it just enough to peek out and felt your heart drop. You felt panic wash over your body, the scenic morning turning all the more grim.

In front of your house stood two people, a boy and a girl, holding up an unconscious and seriously injured boy in their arms. The girl had clearly been crying, the paint on her face was smudged and you could tell just from the expression of the boy helping her that whatever had happened was not good. As for the boy they were carrying, he didn’t look good at all. His eyes were shut, he couldn’t stand and he could barely breathe.

“Please,” the girl spoke, desperation in her voice. “Our friend was attacked by an earthbender. We heard a healer lives here and we need to see her.”

You stammered, struggling to think. Panic was setting in, and you couldn’t get out a single sound. You didn’t know what to do, but you’d have to figure it out. You took a deep breath in, clearing your mind and beginning to think. Stepping to the side, you began to speak.

“Get in, go to the hall and find the guest bedroom. Lay your friend down on the bed in there.”

You watched as they entered the house, rushing down the hall of your house and into the guest room. You turned to the basin that sat in your kitchen, holding up your arms and bending a round bubble of water. You walked as briskly as you could to the guest room, walking in and kneeling beside the boy. You bent the water over his chest, feeling all of the broken and bruised ribs he had. You frowned.

“This doesn’t look good,” you said. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the girl fighting back another stream of tears. The boy beside her hung his head just enough so that you couldn’t see his face. You stared down at the injured boy in front of you, looking at his face. His eyes were still closed shut, his breathing short and tense, but steadier now that he was on his back. What were you going to do? You could try and heal him on your own, but it would be incredibly difficult, especially at your apprentice level. It was unlikely he’d live. There was only one thing you could think to do.

You bent the water into a nearby vase, standing and furrowing your brow in a serious expression.

“I need you two to take off everything covering his chest. It’s the only way I’ll be able to heal him effectively.”

They both looked up at you, a hopeful look coming across their faces.

“I need to get my mother.”

~

“These injuries are serious. What happened to him?” your mother asked, looking up at the Smellerbee and Longshot. They had told you their names after your mother and you had begun your healing session with their friend, Jet. You had woken up your parents half an hour ago and explained the situation, your mother immediately going to help. Your father was currently making a special medicinal tea in the kitchen, hoping it would be of help to Jet.

“It’s a long story,” Longshot answered. “And even if we had enough time to explain, we aren’t in a safe enough position to say.”

Your stomach tightened. Were they involved with some kind of gang? That would explain their clothes and face paint, but they seemed too friendly to be in one. However, that didn’t dismiss the idea that they could’ve just been targets. Either way, you were worried.

Your mother nodded. “I understand. I won’t pry any further. How about you tell us more about yourselves?”

Your father walked in, a soft smile on his face as he placed a tray of tea down.

“Jet, Longshot and I have been together for a long time,” Smellerbee spoke. “Before we came to Ba Sing Se, we lived in the woods around a small village that had been taken over by the Fire Nation. We stuck together because the Fire Nation had taken something away from all of us. Both Jet and I lost our families, and Longshot's village was burned to the ground."

Your father gave her a sympathetic look as he handed her a cup of tea. “I’m so sorry. I lost my father when I was about your age. It’s something nobody should ever have to go through, especially a child.”

Smellerbee gave him a soft smile. “Thank you, sir. It was alright in the end. We formed a group called the Freedom Fighters, where we would fight back against the troops in our area and help people who had been hurt by them.”

You were impressed and intrigued, hanging off of every word she said. “That all sounds so exciting!”

She nodded. “It was. For a while, at least. We even got to meet the Avatar at some point.”

You gasped softly, looking up from the boy below you with wide eyes. “The Avatar?”

“Yes,” Longshot answered. “Unfortunately, it wasn’t under the best circumstances. The Freedom Fighters had become more about revenge than helping the Earth Kingdom. We made a horrible mistake that almost cost the lives of an entire village.”

Seeing the previous awe on your face beginning to sink, Smellerbee quickly interjected, “but we’re not like that anymore. We came to Ba Sing Se for a fresh start to move on from our past mistakes. Unfortunately, Jet had a harder time letting go than we did and got himself arrested for attacking a tea shop worker who he thought was a firebender.”

Your mother frowned, the water underneath her hands continuing to flow over Jet’s chest.

“I had a horrible feeling the Dai Li had something to do with this,” she sighed. Your father gave Smellerbee and Longshot a smile.

“And please know that we don’t judge you for your past. You have all been through so much, and it is completely justified that you feel anger towards the Fire Nation.”

You nodded, the conversation ending there as you began to focus intensely on healing Jet. You could feel the bruises and broken ribs in his chest slowly begin to heal, and his breathing was becoming more and more steady. You were grateful the group had managed to find you and your mother in time before any of his injuries could get any worse. If they had waited any longer, you probably wouldn’t have been able to make this much progress.

About an hour later, you and your mother had managed to heal Jet enough that he would be stable on his own; his chest was still injured, but not lethally, and when he’d eventually wake up, he’d be able to breathe, talk and eat normally.

Your mother grabbed a towel and wiped her hands, smiling softly at Smellerbee and Longshot. “Jet is going to have to stay with us for a few weeks, just to make sure he heals completely. He’s not quite ready to be walking all around Ba Sing Se just yet.”

Smellerbee smiled brightly. “That’s great! How much do we owe you?

Your mother chuckled, shaking her head. “No, no, you don’t need to worry about that. Just worry about taking care of yourselves. Just make sure you visit at least once a week. That should be enough.”

Longshot bowed his head. Though his expression was blank, you could see the grateful glimmer in his eyes.

Smellerbee stood, Longshot doing the same. "Thank you so much. We'll be sure to come back and check on him tomorrow."

Your father walked with them to lead them out of the house and to possibly offer them some food. You looked back at your mother.

"What now?"

She sighed, looking down at Jet with her brow furrowed. "We're just going to have to do regular healing sessions and keep an eye on him until he wakes up. That's the best we can do for now."

You nodded and let your eyes fall on his face yet again, relaxing at the sight of him peacefully sleeping. The pain must have been subdued with your healing. You could finally take a breath and feel good that you had helped a little bit.

You stood and wiped your hands on your clothes, walking towards the door. You needed to eat something, as that healing session was quite draining. Perhaps you still had some good peaches.

You looked back at Jet one last time. He looked quite handsome when he wasn't in pain.

~

The light from the window to the side was practically blinding to Jet, his vision blurry as he tried to open his eyes. It took a while for his vision to focus enough for him to get a good look at where he was. The room was a lot different than what he was accustomed to. The walls were nice, much nicer than what you’d be able to find in the Lower Ring, and there was a landscape painting hung up on the wall directly in front of him. The mat he was lying on was a lot more comfortable than he was used to, and the sheets were made with some high-quality fabric. He had no memory of ever being here before. The last thing he really could remember was excruciating pain in his chest.

Right. He had that fight with Long Feng and had his chest crushed. The Avatar’s friends were there, as well as Smellerbee and Longshot. He must’ve blacked out some time after Aang left because he couldn’t seem to remember anything after that.

He tried to sit up, groaning as he moved his fatigued body for what seemed to be the first time in days. His chest didn’t hurt as bad as he recalled, but it was still very sore. He had to keep his back somewhat straight otherwise it hurt to breathe, not to mention his head was killing him. Overall, Jet was not comfortable in the slightest, and he still had no idea where he was.

When the pain toned down enough for him to be able to think and focus, he tried to observe his surroundings. He had already determined that he was most likely in the Middle or Upper ring, given how nice the interior was. There was a large vase beside his bedding, one he figured was filled with water. Other than that, not much was going on decorating wise.

He looked down at the sheets that covered his chest, hesitantly pulling them down to see the damage Long Feng had done to his chest. He winced. Large purple bruises were scattered across his chest. They weren’t severe, at least not as severe as he was thinking, but there were a lot and they were very sensitive. His mind went back to the feeling of being struck with the rock. It was horrible and it felt like it completely collapsed. The more Jet thought about it, the more it occurred to him that it was only a miracle that he wasn’t dead.

“Oh, great!”

Jet’s eyes immediately darted up to the doorway, just as a stranger walked into the room holding a tray of tea.

You gave him a smile, kneeling beside him and placing the tray down.

“Mother told me you’d be awake by now.”

Your voice was soft and reassuring, but Jet still eyed you with caution.

“Where am I?” he asked, his voice hoarse from going so long without use.

You took a cup of tea from the tray and handed it to him, smiling.

“You’re in my house Jet. Your friends, Smellerbee and Longshot, brought you in here a few days ago, because you were attacked. My mother and I are healers, so we’ve been taking care of you for a bit.”

He hummed, taking the tea from your hand and watching the steam rise from it. You shifted slightly, moving your feet from under you and crossing your legs.

“I’m sorry if you’re not a fan of jade tea, it was the only kind we had.”

Jet gave you a small smile of reassurance.

“It’s alright. I don’t drink tea often enough to have a favorite anyway.”

He took a sip of it, a sudden insatiable thirst awakening inside him the moment the tea touched his tongue. It had only just occurred to him how long he had gone without water, or food for that matter. He tilted his head back, chugging the tea until there wasn’t a drop left in the cup. He took a deep breath, looking back over at you, suddenly wide awake.

“How long was I out?” he exclaimed, panic in his voice.

“About a few days,” you said, handing him another cup that was on the tray. “And I wouldn’t call it ‘out.’ You were in and out of consciousness all day yesterday. I was able to make you drink a little water here and there, but not a lot.”

By the time you were finished talking, he was already done with his second cup, tea dribbling down his chin.

“Where are Smellerbee and Longshot?” He asked, wiping his face with his wrist.

“I don’t know, to be honest. They never told us where they lived.”

“And where’s your mother?”

You took a pause, pursing your lips together silently. You reached out and gently touched his chest, pushing him back a bit.

“Please lay back down. There’s a lot I have to tell you.”

He hesitated, giving you a questioning look, before slowly laying flat on the bed.

“Can you tell me your name?” he asked.

You gave him a smile and nodded, whispering your name to him as you raised your hands and looked towards the vase in the corner. You began to move them in slow patterns, water bending out of the vase and over to where he lay.

“Move the sheet out of the way so I can begin healing your chest,” you said, clear and stern.

He did as you asked, pulling the sheets out of the way to reveal his bruised abdomen. You smiled and muttered a small thank you, before bending the water over his wounds. The water began to glow dimly and left a cool sensation on Jet’s wounds. He hissed slightly, feeling the water begin to heal his wounds.

“You know,” he said raspily. “I’ve actually met another healer before.”

“Really?”

“Yeah… her name was Katara.”

You grinned. “Katara’s a beautiful name. What tribe was she from?”

“She and her brother were from the Southern Water Tribe. She was the only waterbender they had.”

You hummed, recalling what your mother had said about the Southern Water tribe.

“I assumed so. My mother told me that the Fire Nation captured all of the South’s waterbenders. I guess they missed one."

“Must’ve. She was travelling with her brother and the Avatar to the North when I first met her.”

You grinned excitedly, perking up at the mention of the Avatar.

“Your friends mentioned you had a run-in with the Avatar!” you beamed, continuing to heal him. “Tell me, what was he like?"

“He was a great kid. Friendly and always eager to help. He can be a bit naive, but he’s gotten smarter since I last saw him. I’ve run into him two separate times.”

“Weren’t you with him when you got attacked?”

His face fell a bit, his brow furrowing as he averted his eyes from you.

“Yeah. I was helping him find his bison.”

His tone was cold and distant, a total one-eighty from a few moments ago. You bit your lip softly and turned your head towards him.

“How did you get attacked, if you don’t mind me asking?”

He sighed, looking back up at you with a slight smile.

“How much time do you have?”

You grinned.

“All the time in the world.”