#now did I lie in the structure and this building could never be built? maybe

[charlotte-of-wales]

being in architecture school means I’m neglecting every single class except for my design class, I’m constantly on the verge of a breakdown, I get little to no sleep and I drink way too much caffeine for my own good but every now and then I finish a drawing and it’s like.......I did that

[cafeinthemoon]

The Home I Crave - Chapter 9

Title: The Home I Crave

Genre: Fanfiction

Pairing: Tobirama Senju x reader

Rating: teen and up

Word count: 2654

Chapter: 9/?

Symbols: ⭕ | ➕ | 💛 | ▶️▶️

Read the previous chapters here: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8

N. A.: So I changed it! Maybe I should have chosen a gif where he's making one of his 😳 faces but well

Chapter 9 - Nausea

You kept your eyes on the bowl before you for so long that you almost forgot your surroundings. When your meal was served, you were enchanted by the warmth and the smell of condiments, but now the steam was gone and your nostrils were used to the scents, and you were just holding your hashi pretending to listen to the conversation around you.

The hardest part was to know that, if the circumstances were different, you would be enjoying every minute: the company of your brother-in-law and his wife was as pleasing as can be, the food was well prepared and the environment was light, comfortable; you even felt like part of your burden was taken off your shoulders with their reception.

During the dinner, Mito made a few questions about your adaptation to the new place and how you were dealing with the practical matters; you did your best to answer them without revealing too much, but you could tell that she wasn’t entirely convinced of your well being: unlike your previous meetings with her, you didn’t make a single question now, and were choosing your words with excessive caution, as if you didn’t want to give space to any discussion. You didn’t want to discuss anything now: your thoughts were all with your family, your sister on the compound. So far from you. You had no idea of how things were going with them, and what you could do to help.

Yet you were there having dinner with your new friends, who expected you to smile, to talk and cheer up as they were doing.

You started to think of their life together.

During the days you spent in the Hokage’s house, you had countless opportunities to observe him and Mito together, and the signs about their good relationship where there for anyone to see: the way they talked to each other, joked on each other and complimented one another while talking to other people revealed not only the existence of a romantic connection, but a solid friendship, built on mutual knowledge, respect and appreciation. They lived happy together, and were happy to live together.

Why couldn’t you have the same, then? You knew they had to work hard to find a way to build their good life despite not knowing each other and not choosing to be married, because not only their happiness depended on it, but the entire structure of an alliance. You were aware of this too; you were taught about this since you’ve heard about the possibility of an arranged marriage for the first time. You’ve been preparing to it, and were sure you’ve been doing your best to do your part. However, you didn’t feel your efforts were being acknowledged, not in words and even less in actions. Tobirama didn’t seem to make any effort to be with you except when you had work together, and even in such occasions he barely looked at you; your questions and other requests were received and processed with all the possible formality, as if you were strangers instead of two people who lived under the same roof. And now you just found out that some things were being kept out of your knowledge, just like you were an inexperienced assistant instead of a shinobi who worked directly with the head of your clan, exactly like your husband.

Even during missions with your own people in dangerous territories and in teams where you didn’t know everyone so well, you received a better treatment.

You started feeling something revolving inside your stomach, something that would surely come out if you stood there smelling that bowl for one more minute. It was when you noticed the conversation around you ceased and now someone was calling your name.

It was Hashirama.

- Y/n-san? Are you feeling well?

You raised your eyes to him, not knowing what to say.

- I was asking if you’re feeling well – he asked for the second time – You look pale.

You alternated your gaze between him and the bowl.

- I… I think I’m not going to finish this – and shaking your head – I’m sorry.

- You did not eat well during lunch, y/n-san.

It was Tobirama’s voice beside you. He was paying attention too. Should you be surprised to hear him telling you that you were supposed to eat well when your sister was sick and you wouldn’t even know if it depended on him?

- You should compensate it now.

You almost left him without a verbal response, but you didn’t want to look rude in front of Mito and Hashirama.

- I’m not hungry. I won’t be able to eat anything else tonight.

But that was not enough for him: he started to try and convince you to not leave with your stomach empty, which would interfere in your sleep and then in your performance the next day when you would have work waiting for you and etc.

- We will probably spend half of our day working at my brother’s office tomorrow. You need to be prepared.

- I know. But I’ve reached my limit today…

While Tobirama insisted on that, his brother and Mito tried to fix the situation, pointing out the same things as him but in a softer manner. You tried your best to put an end in that conversation, both because you wouldn’t eat and because you didn’t want to hear his voice for any longer. Why was so hard for that man to understand what no means?

And then came the moment when your patience was gone.

- Y/n-san, you...

- I said no!

When you stopped speaking, the silence that fell around you was heavy. Tobirama, who finally gave up on making up your mind, only stared at you, his lips shut so tight they became paler than the rest of his skin; if it was shock or anger what you saw in those red eyes, you couldn’t tell. You looked down at your hand holding the hashi and swallowed when you saw that you broke it in half.

You didn’t have the courage to look around or say anything else. You dropped the broken hashi on the table and left it, mumbling an inaudible “Excuse me” and almost running toward the bathroom.

***

Since you haven’t eating well that day, you didn’t thought it was possible to throw all of that out of your mouth, but that was exactly what you did. The thing you sensed in your stomach when you were at the table was finally expelled, and you were glad that you managed to reach the bathroom before it happened.

When you were done with it, you needed a moment to restore your normal breathing. Your vision, which has darkened after you left the table, came back, and you could leave the cabin and go to the sink to wash the bitter taste from your mouth and the sweat on your face; fortunately, you weren’t a fan of heavy makeup.

You heard a soft hand knocking on the door and knew it was Mito.

- Y/n-san? Are you okay? – and after a pause, to which you didn’t respond – Can I come in?

Again you said nothing, but after cleaning your face, you opened it.

The princess looked at you with a worried gaze, but the shock for your state didn’t affect her capacity of action. She entered the room and locked the door behind her before anyone could appear, then turned to you.

- I knew things were not going well since I came to your house this morning. I guess you understand why I invited you here – she held your shoulders with firmness, but the gesture didn’t lack gentleness – Tell me. What’s going on between you?

If it was because of her direct question or because you just threw up, it didn’t matter. You felt your legs weakening, your head getting dizzy and your eyes burning with a new flow of tears. You hid your face in your hands and for minutes, you weren’t able to say a word.

You felt Mito’s arms holding you in a tight hug, which prevented you from falling. When you were able to look into her eyes again, you already knew you couldn’t lie; to be honest, you wouldn’t be capable of doing so. Not in those conditions.

You just let everything out.

- I… I can’t do this, Mito-san… Not this way…

She frowned.

- You can’t do what? What are you talking about? – and lowering her voice – I can guess you just threw up. Are you expecting?

The anger and the deception you felt when you heard the word expecting almost made you throw again.

- How can I be expecting if that man haven’t touched me at least once? – you raised your eyes to hers – He never even tried! He barely looks at me! He has no interest in me! – you wiped the tears as you spoke – He prefers to sleep in his office than by my side!

Despite the visible preoccupation, Mito was not the type to lose her judgment in front of problems. Even more in that moment, when the stability of a treaty was being tested.

- Listen to me. I know Tobirama is not easy to deal with. I know. But what exactly did he do to make you feel this way? – she approached you and whispered – When I visited you today… You just had an argument. What happened there?

You nodded and described the situation involving the letter and your sister the best you could. But the Uzumaki wanted to know more.

- And this was not the first conflict you had, wasn’t it?

You explained that it wasn’t, though it was the first heated argument you had. You told her about that time when you tried to speak to him about the conditions of the treaty, the travel, your people and other necessary topics, but he wasn’t willing to make any concessions; speaking the truth, he barely heard what you had to say. He didn’t like to be contradicted and was convinced that he found the best solutions to the needs of your clan, even when both your father and his brother agreed with you on the said matters in the meeting, in which he was not present. Besides, you knew the circumstances of your people in a way that he could only dream, but that didn’t seem enough for him to give you the credit you deserved.

- He has no respect for me or my work, Mito-san – you confessed with bitterness – He doesn’t see me as an advisor, even less as a shinobi. He thinks I am some amateur who only got her position thanks to her bloodline but never learned how things really work and believes that only her passion is enough to make everything happen – your anger grew as you spoke; it was becoming harder to control your tone – I’ve never faced such disdain in my entire career, and I can tell you that I’ve seen many things during these years. I can stand the worst environments in a mission, but this I can’t tolerate. My people don’t deserve to be in such hands.

Mito’s expression changed when you mentioned your people. If she was guessing your struggle to live with Tobirama and was thinking of ways to help you, now she had no doubts about the gravity of the situation.

- This marriage, this treaty… It’s impossible to go on with this. Impossible! – you continued – I always knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but since the start I’ve sensed that something wasn’t right, and yet I tried to make it work, I gave my time, my effort, I did what I could to maintain peace inside his house, to do what was best for us, to talk, to… – and speaking lower, slower – I should have trusted my guts and warned my father about this. No one can live in peace with that man. No matter how hard you try. He was made to be alone.

The princess was now more serious than you ever expected to see her. She didn’t judge you nor interrupted you, but she had some things to tell you before taking any measures.

- Y/n-san, listen carefully – she held your hands with unusual firmness – I understand this feeling of… regret you are experiencing now. I understand it better than I’d like to tell you. You wish you’ve heard your inner instincts and spoke to your father about this, but for some reason you decided to go ahead and accept the terms and now that you found out that things are harder than you could predicted, you can’t help thinking you’ve made a mistake. I know, I get it. But you were also aware that many things would depend on you two keep living together in Konoha since the start. We are not speaking only of two people here. We are speaking about an alliance between two clans, which includes all the measures taken to maintain peace between them above all. If we want peace, the things we do now must follow this condition.

Those words touched deep inside you. They were the last thing you wanted to say to yourself, yet the very thing you needed to remind yourself of. Not so long ago, war was everything each clan knew and cared about; an alliance between them was something impossible, and a sequence of alliances that later would result in the foundation of the first Ninja Village in the world was less than a dream. Thanks to the hard work of many people – including your husband – this dream came true. Now that your clan was included in this, you would have to be careful as you’ve never been in your life – your actions could mean the maintenance of peace between your clans, or the death of it.

You and Mito exchanged silent looks that let it clear that you were aware of this responsibility. You took a deep breath.

- Thank you, Mito-san – you gave her hands a soft squeeze in response to her help – I know exactly what I have to do. I always knew. I just thought… my husband didn’t. His actions and the way he spoke about my people didn’t let his peaceful intentions very clear to me. It made me wonder if we would ever be on the same page.

The princess nodded, clearly relieved that her work there was successfully done.

- What are you going to do now? – and with a distinct bright in her eyes – Are you going to make sure you two will be on the same page?

You shook your head in agreement.

- Of course. This is why I was sent here in the first place.

She smiled.

- Alright – she turned to the bathroom’s door – Let’s go back to the table and see how the boys are doing without us.

You didn’t move; Mito was going to open the door, but gave up when she noticed your hesitation.

- What’s wrong?

You crossed your arms.

- I’m just not in the mood for dinner. I’m going back home.

She raised an eyebrow.

- Yes, you’re still a bit pale, after all. Maybe it’s better for you to go home… – she stared at you – Is that all?

You chose to be honest with her.

- Can you go with me, or at least say to them that I’m leaving? – you swallowed – I need a moment for myself. I don’t think I’d stand being alone with him right now.

- I see. Well, wait here. I’m going to talk to them, then we go to your house together.

You hugged her, no hiding your relief.

- Thank you for this. And can you please tell your husband that I’m sorry for the hashi?

Mito laughed at this.

- As you wish.

[tsumuniri]

━━━ Atsumu Miya is a free-loader. Living inside his twin brother's home as if it was his, he would bring home girls and annoy Osamu most of the time. Y/N L/N is quite the opposite apparently because she's a virgin loser. Being the popular anonymous BL mangaka known as Yamazaki, she stays in the homey abode of her parents and watches boys from afar for references (not for admiration sadly).

Now what will happen if fate decided to tie these two idiots together and made them live across each other in one apartment?

。m.list ❯❯ prev┃next

ONE ━━ THE TWIN BROTHER’S DECISION

"SO THAT'S THE TEA?"

You nodded dejectedly and raised the Tuna Mayo Onigiri in the direction of your mouth. You bit into the delicious rice snack, humming in delight as the saucy and sweet flavors of tuna cheered you up just for a slight bit. "They said that a girl my age shouldn't be living with her parents and should finally get a guy instead of drawing an imaginary one. You know that they're old school, Mai." You said, mouth full of rice bits and tuna.

The female ran her fingers through her short bright red hair. "Well, you are 25 now, and you haven't got a boyfriend since middle school," She propped her elbow on top of the round wooden table, resting her chin on her palm. "But they should've told you beforehand, right? How are you supposed to look for a residence in a short span of time?" She asked and watched you devour the onigiri meal with such ease. Her black-colored eyes held an uncertain expression as Mai was concerned for her colleague and friend.

After hearing the unfortunate news directly from your loving parents, your mind had to process the sudden information for two solid minutes. The first person you thought of to call is your closest friend, Mai, your roommate back at art school and a mangaka in the shounen industry. Although the two genres have completely different backgrounds, you two are stuck together like peas in a pod through the grace and glory of fawning over 2d men.

Ain't that great?

"They said I could stay back for two weeks until I could find a place to move in. I still have nine days to move out. And as for the residence part..."

You rummaged through the leather bag slung over your shoulder and took out a creased brochure of a newly built apartment based in the heart of east Osaka with its breathtaking cherry blossom conifers and pious shrines. The leaflet's minimalistic design delineated the idiosyncratic architectural structure of the tall building on the front page. Anybody could tell that this jointly owned establishment may settle for tenants with stable incomes.

For someone who changed the BL archives with her plot-driven works, Y/N could provide the fees to rent a homey room on the clabber-plastered apartment complex.

Mai shifted on her seat and studied the brochure on the table with interest— crossing her legs and leaning her torso forward to get a full view of the given pamphlet. "The building does seem promising. You could even check out your works in the Manga Shops at the city." She remarked as her eyes skimmed through the brochure, taking note of the facilities and rooms for the future tenants.

"Right? I already checked the place out yesterday, and coincidentally, the studio office is close by," The H/C-haired female pushed back the tiny strands of baby hair tickling her forehead as it was annoying her smooth skin. "They even allow pets. The apartment buildings I visited mostly don't allow pets, and the others who do, they have weird-ass tenants whom I don't really wanna be neighbors with." She ended, scratching the back of her neck.

"Soooooo, that's the apartment you're planning to move in."

You nodded your head, "I prepared the papers and told my parents about it. Maybe you can help me move my things out?" You suggested to your friend as your leg overlapped with the other, biting into another piece of onigiri from the porcelain plate.

Tilting her head to the side, Mai let out a light scoff from the BL mangaka's proposition as she gestured her hand downwards. "I'm offended, Y/N! Of course, I'll help you." She expressed her whimsical disbelief through her words. "I thought we were best of friends." The young lady teased.

"After all those collab fan arts of the Akatsuki, why wouldn't we be at this point?" You joked; however, the shinobi anime reference wasn't technically a gag as you both had a history of fangirling over the smexy criminal organization— even if you both had a peculiar taste in men. "By the way, why did you choose this place? Isn't this sort of far away from your workplace?" You questioned the red-haired female, a bit curious on why she decided to meet up with you in this Onigiri Restaurant.

Mai's lips turned up into a smirk as she motioned her finger for you to move closer. "My assistants and I decided to eat here after a hard day's work. By the time we were all seated, our eyes got blessed when the restaurant's owner catered to our table!" She whispered with excitement dipped on her tongue.

"Oh boy, if you had seen him, you would've gotten the inspiration to make a character from his well-sculpted face."

You raised a brow and let out a snortle, "We went here because a hot owner caught your attention? I should've gone with you then." You played along and couldn't help but laugh at your friend's reason for dining out a distance away from her studio office.

Like middle schoolers, you both giggled as Mai continued her story of the dashing Onigiri restaurant owner with her witty play of words. You never had any interest in dating; however, you still bid no mind to your friend's fawning over pretty men who would unlikely pay attention to either of them.

"That owner you're talking about might not visit his restaurant, Mai."

"I know, silly! But I do wonder what that work of art does outside his work."

Osamu is a very patient man. May it be through his responsibility of running an Onigiri business, or may it be just a simple waiting in line at the subway station of Tokyo, the male wouldn't lose his temper nor be frustrated over such trivial things.

But when his exhausted figure slugged inside the comforts of his home and found the living room all trashed with empty bottles of energy drinks and bags of chips, Osamu was finally at his breaking point.

"Atsumu, you mother-fucker... COME DOWNSTAIRS THIS INSTANT!" He burst out, calling out his twin brother's name as he began picking up the trashes scattered throughout his coffee table and his lawson couch. His ears caught the sound of loud footsteps thumping on the wooden-tiled floor as he could immediately tell that it was a certain someone who came down the stairs.

A bed of ruffled blonde hair popped out of the stairway as a certain setter casually jumps into the scene of the untidy crime, walking towards the other twin with open arms.

"Welcome home, Samu! Did your staff make a mistake in the newly-opened shop back at Shinjuku? You look a bit frustrated right now-"

Atsumu stopped himself once he noticed his twin brother standing over the mess he forgot to clean up. His arms dropped to the side while his chocolate eyes shifted over to Osamu's annoyed expression, "Okay. This time, I absolutely forgot to clean up." The male tried to explain himself.

The quiet one of the two shook his head in disapproval, sighing out and pinching the bridge of his nose to calm his fiery nerves. "I found this apartment, Tsumu. I think it's best for the both of us if you could finally get your own place." He stated, hearing the slight choke coming from his brother's throat.

"WHAT?! What made you think that this would be the best for the both of us, Samu?" Atsumu protested, his eyebrows furrowing together in confusion as to why his brother would suggest that sort of idea.

Osamu raised his hand and lifted three of his fingers to his twin's eye level. "First, you sometimes disrupt my sleep whenever you'd bring your flings at home," He stated and didn't bother to let the other speak their mind about the issue at hand as he continued his statement of reasons. "Second, you'd sometimes forget to do your lists of chores and often lie that you didn't do them because you were tired from training." He paused for a moment, thinking of a third reason until it clicked in the back of his mind.

"Lastly, you're a 23 professional athlete, who makes a lot of money than what I usually make, and yet, you're living with your twin brother."

Atsumu stared at Osamu as he crossed his arms, "So? You'll kick me out if I don't move out of your place?" He derided, his voice mostly holding a hint of teasing as he knew his brother wouldn't act so rashly over those reasons.

Oh, was the male so wrong.

"Yes, Tsumu. I'm kicking you out."

[ev-pierce-writes]

The Promise

The Heir Chapter 3

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12K

Warnings: I can't even remember.

Note: Oof its been a while sorry

___

The council meeting was where everything started to go wrong. The members of the Neutral Systems were always dismissive and condescending toward you, but the presence of the Mandalorian made it worse.

"These people are not easy to convince, Din," you warned him before stepping into the meeting. "I don't know what your plan for Mandalore is but you are either about to make great allies or terrible enemies."

"I'll follow your lead," he said.

"You brought him here?" General Tarrow questioned incredulously the moment you appeared.

"Is there a problem with that?" you countered. Din sat silently beside you, helmet on, surveying the situation.

"You were always one to flirt with danger, Your Majesty. But I never expected you to court the enemy," Prince Cornith, representative of the Angor system, said. You hated his smug smile and arrogant posture. And his implication stoked an anger in your chest.

"And yet I'm not surprised at your apparent prejudice towards someone you've never met. The Mandalorian is not an enemy. He's an ally in need of assistance to fight for his people."

"How are you expecting this to play out? A little catfight amongst warrior clans who know nothing but to fight?" the General asked. A wave of laughter spread through the representatives. You did not join in.

"My people have seen Bo-Katan on Mandalore. She's gathering the people around her. Readying for battle. She needs to be stopped before this escalates and it spills over into other systems."

"So what you're saying is to prepare for war?" General Tarrow's questioned, jumping to a fairly major conclusion.

"I'm saying we need to be prepared for the possibility of one good Mandalorian having to face a hundred bad ones."

"Why should we even get involved in this? This guy can't be trusted," Cornith said, pointing an accusing finger at Din. "Take off the ridiculous helmet and then we'll see for real. Maybe he's a deformed monster under it all."

You bristled against the blatant insult but managed to remain collected. The Prince enjoyed getting a rise out of you and you knew no one would stand up for you if you fired back.

"If the wrong person ends up on the throne, and Mandalore returns to its militaristic ways, they will encroach on your territory. They used to control entire systems. Bo-Katan can and will take yours."

"We are prepared to deal with that if it happens."

"When it happens, General, it will be too late. None of us are a match for a well-organized Mandalorian army. We need to get ahead of this."

"Who's to say he's even the one we should be backing? We are the Neutral Systems for a reason. We don't take sides."

"Djarin is a good man. I trust him. Societies don't rebuild themselves overnight. We need to lay the right bricks now to build a foundation that won't just fall apart and take the whole structure with it. Djarin is the one to do that."

"I hate to argue with you, Your Majesty--" This was a lie. The Prince loved to argue. "--but I'm afraid your judgment is clouded by your shared history with Mandalore."

"And I'm afraid your judgment is clouded by your selfishness, Prince Cornith."

He stood. "I act only with my people's best interests at heart."

"As do I." You stood as well and stared the Prince down. General Tarrow watched the interaction from his seat, just as distrustful as Cornith but less vocal.

"What happens if Bo-Katan does take control and finds out we've been going behind her back to form an alliance?" Cornith said. "The rest of us are done for. Nhora might have the firepower to protect herself, but we don't."

In a way he was right. If this failed, everyone, including Nhora, would take the heat. Din had remained silent the entire time, unsure if he was even allowed to speak. But finally, he did. "You're right. I can't ask you to put your people on the line. All I can ask is that when the time comes you will support my people and their wishes. I just-- I want to protect my family. You can understand that right?"

Cornith eyed Din with distrust and then shook his head. "I'm out. Whatever deal you're going to try to make, I won't get involved."

"Can you at least promise not to align yourself with Bo-Katan?" you pleaded.

He sighed, almost apologetically. "I'm sorry, but I can't take that risk. I'll do what I think is best to protect my people. I'm out."

Cornith's hologram flickered and then disappeared. Two others followed, leaving only you and General Tarrow. And though he still hesitated, Din's words had appeared to make a dent in the tough General's shell. If he wasn't going to listen to you at least he would listen to Din. He sat up and leaned forward, completely ignoring you when he spoke and looking only at the Mandalorian.

"How many soldiers are we talking? How many will it take for this little operation of yours."

"Six," Din said.

"Six?" both you and the General exclaimed at the same time.

"At most."

"And here I thought we were arguing over hundreds. Six we can manage." That was far fewer than either of you were expecting. Din hadn't explained to you what his plan was yet. And if he was being honest, he wasn't quite sure himself. But this was a start.

"You do realize what you are up against, Mando," you questioned. "She'll be expecting you to make a move."

"I once took out an Imp base with fewer than that. Bo-Katan doesn't want a war. She needs to defeat me in battle, fairly, to regain the saber. I just need to get in."

"And then what? Kill or be killed?" The thought made your heart constrict.

"I hope not. But probably."

The room fell quiet at the gravity of his words.

"I'm going with you," Zena said abruptly. She had remained silent throughout the meeting but now spoke with determination.

"Absolutely not," Din said. "No offense but I need trained warriors for this."

You could tell by the look on Zena's face that she'd already made up her mind. "It wasn't a question, Mando," she said. "I'm the best warrior on this planet and I'm going with you."

Din was silent. "Okay," he consented, though sounding a bit taken aback. "That's one. I'll need that Jedi too, Skywalker."

"Good luck finding him," the General said. "I'll discuss this with my Lieutenants. We'll see about filling out your team. But I'm not making any promises, Mando. And you're going to have to deal with the consequences of the Angor system potentially aligning with Bo-Katan. Prince Cornith will follow whoever offers him the best price."

And then the General was gone as well. You sighed, finally able to let down the hardened exterior you had put up for the council meeting. "That did not go as well as I'd hoped."

"I hate that Angor guy," Zena said with a huff.

"Me too. Eyed you like a slab of meat," Din said quietly. It was the harshest language you'd ever heard out of his mouth, almost protective of you. But he moved on quickly. "I was expecting the worst. At least we might have the General. I have a...friend on the inside as well. But I'll need help getting in contact with her."

"I'll take care of that," you said, sinking deeper in your chair, now only thinking that Din's plan might be a suicide mission. Din followed your movements, noticing the stress that radiated from you in waves. You'd taken quite the verbal berating from the council. He wanted to reach out and ease your worry the way he had last night but was too conscious of Zena's watchful eye. So he settled on speaking.

"You can back out," he said. His words caught you off guard. "I can go forward without you. You don't need to put your people on the line like this."

"Too late for that, Mando," Zena said, answering for you. "Once she makes up her mind there's no going back."

---

Zena was right. Your mind was made up. You were suspiciously silent through the rest of the morning's meetings and disappeared directly afterward to your chambers, reappearing again only for lunch. You were planning, turning things over in your mind, wondering how best to move forward. The next logical step seemed to wait on the reappearance of the Jedi and his ward.

Din noticed it all, the concentrated look on your face, your abnormal silence. He wanted to draw you out of your shell, tell you it would be alright, but he didn't know how. So he focused on Zena.

"I didn't know you could fight," he said to her. Zena had offered to give him a tour of the grounds of the palace, and you trailed along behind, eager for a distraction from the stressful morning. The three of you had come upon the sparring grounds, piquing Din's curiosity.

"I come from the longest line of warriors on Nhora," she said. "My mother, her mother, her mother... Not that they passed on anything cool like beskar armor. Is it all beskar?"

"Yes. Though mine wasn't passed on either. I got it through more... dubious means."

"And that? Also beskar?" Zena motioned to the staff on Din's back, topped with a sharp spearhead.

Din unclipped the staff from his back and handed it to her with surprising trust. She took it gingerly, feeling out the balance in her hands. "It's very light. Do you fight with this?"

"Is that a challenge, Zena?"

"Hah, I could take you, Mando. You want to go a round?"

Din didn't need to be asked twice. He was eager to see how your royal advisor fared one on one.

You stood above them on the observation ledge of the sparring grounds, watching as they faced each other below, knowing this would be a good fight.

Zena tapped the staff against the ground. "Where's your weapon, Mando?"

"No weapon. Wouldn't want to give you an unfair disadvantage." Though Zena took those words as a challenge they were not said arrogantly. Din's cool confidence was built on experience and success.

But Din was not prepared for what he would get hit with next. Specifically what Zena hit him with next. Zena struck out with the first blow, slamming the staff in a dangerously accurate hit to the side of his head. The beskar sent vibrations through his helmet and he stumbled back in surprise. Taking advantage of his disorientation Zena dealt a second blow with her foot to his side, and Din gasped, bending over in pain. He'd forgotten about rule one, never underestimate your opponent. And rule number two, no distractions. Having you as an audience was a damn good one.

Zena lunged again, though this time Din was ready, taking hold with his gloved hands of the staff and hauling her forward. But Zena anticipated the attack and counterbalanced, shifting her weight down and using the staff as a lever to launch him onto his back.

Din landed with a groan on the ground. Watching a Mandalorian get his ass kicked by your advisor was a very sufficient diversion.

"Unfair disadvantage, Mando? You seem to be the one at a disadvantage," Zena taunted as Din hauled himself to his feet. "Perhaps you're distracted by a pretty woman on your mind."

"We both know you're trying to impress her too."

Your heart began to flutter. He was trying to impress you.

"Ah yes, but the difference is I've already impressed her. You are behind."

That comment finally got to him. Din struck next, easily knocking the staff from Zena's hands and pinning her arms behind her back to immobilize her upper body. The staff went clattering to the ground. But it wasn't the end for your advisor. She kicked out her legs and took both her and Din to the floor, reaching out and taking hold of the staff to swing at his head. Din rolled out of the way, but not without having to relinquish his hold on Zena. She lept to her feet gracefully and lashed out her leg, planting a solid and swift kick to one of Din's pauldrons, sending him back to the floor.

"You should really work on your hand-to-hand combat, Din Djarin. I expected better from a lifelong warrior."

"I'm good enough to get by," Din said with a huff, finally making his way to his feet again.

"Good enough isn't good enough, Mando. You need to be better. The best."

"Fine, if you want a fair fight, you'll get one." Din pulled something from his belt. It was hard to tell what it was, just an oblong object in his hand. But then he pressed a button and the full length of it emerged, glowing and humming with electricity. The Darksaber.

"So when I defeat you, does that mean I'm the new Mand'alor?"

Zena was taking the appearance of the most powerful handheld weapon in the galaxy in stride.

"If you win, yes. But you're not going to."

The saber met the staff with a crash, sending reverberations across the sparring grounds. You felt a jolt of electricity spread over your skin, vibrating your body down to the core. Din suddenly took on a new appearance, powerful, intense, confident. The shift was small but compelling and you thought perhaps the vibrations spreading through your body were not just from the force of the saber.

Din attacked again, forcing Zena backward in a fight that had taken on a new energy. Zena was skilled and agile. She anticipated Din's every move and blocked his strikes. But she was no match to the Darksaber in Din's hands and found herself forced to step back with each blow until she was up against the wall. The staff narrowly prevented the loss of her head.

"How about now, ready to tap out?"

Zena held up a fist in response, letting him know she knew she was done for.

"I take that back. You are good."

In an instant, the Darksaber was gone again, just a hilt in his hands. "No, the Darksaber is good. You were right. I could use some practice. And I wouldn't mind getting it from the best around."

Zena laughed.

"I train at dawn. See you there, metalhead." With an affectionate rap of her knuckles on his helmet, she handed Din back the staff. "I've got work to do. Perhaps Her Majesty could finish the tour."

She bowed toward you with a dubious smile and exited the sparring grounds, leaving you alone with Din. You walked down the stairs and met him in the center of the ring, the power of the Darksaber leaving your skin vibrating slightly with its intensity.

"So, did it work?" Din asked, his tone level and unreadable.

"Did what work?"

"Did I impress you."

You couldn't suppress the shy smile that danced across your lips. "The Darksaber certainly did."

It wasn't the answer Din had hoped for, but he'd broken your silence, which was enough for him. Without Zena around to watch you, he felt a bit more emboldened to pursue your fleeting smile.

"Give me your hand," he said, voice still serious.

"Why?"

"Just--" He didn't wait. Din grabbed your left hand and placed the Darksaber in it, wrapping your fingers around it with his own. "Point it away from your face. And anything else you value. Then press right here when you're ready."

The Darksaber was in your hand. You stood frozen in shock, unsure of what to make of this gesture. Din was putting his most valuable, and most controversial, possession under your control.

"Go on. I know you want to."

"Are you sure I'm allowed to?"

Din shrugged. "I don't really care. I didn't ask for the thing."

You took a deep breath and then held your arm out from your side, worried you would accidentally slice your own leg off. But Din was right. You wanted to. Another breath and then--

Vroom. The shaft of the saber extended from its hilt with a jolt and you took an involuntary step back. The glow was even brighter up close, and if you listened carefully you could hear the crackle of electricity. You weren't sure why you'd expected it to be heavy, it seemed such a heavy object, carrying the weight of a people and a planet within it. But it wasn't.

Din stepped behind you, you thought to get out of the way of your swing, but then he placed a hand on your hip, showing you how to plant your feet and stabilize you. The left reached out and wrapped around yours.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice soft and guiding in your ear. Oh Maker, he was so close that you could feel his beskar armor against your back. The hand on your hip was gentle but strong, grounding you not to the floor but to him. You couldn't speak so you nodded in reply.

Din brought your hand up to your opposite shoulder and then guided it into a swift slash across your body, leaving a flash of white light in its wake that seared your eyes. The air sparkled, electrified. A gasp escaped your mouth at the sheer amount of power you held. But only one thought entered your mind.

"Can I cut something in half?"

Din laughed, in awe that this was your only request. "Sure, as long as it isn't me. Remember to balance yourself in your hips. Keep your feet planted. And maybe use two hands this time."

He released you and you stepped across the grounds toward one of the sparring dummies. Din watched, and though you walked gingerly, a bit wary of the saber, you held your head high. You were more powerful than you thought.

"Sorry, bud. This is for a good cause," you addressed the motionless dummy. Plant your feet, balance in the hips, and two hands on the hilt. Check, check, check. Draw back and slash. The Darksaber sliced straight through the sack of hay and sand, spilling its guts across the floor.

You squealed in delight. "Oh Maker, I think I could get used to this."

The beaming smile on your face lit the world on fire. Din found himself staring not at the mess you'd just made but at your expression of pure joy, glowing white from the light of the Darksaber. He wanted to make you feel like that all the time, he realized.

---

"What are the people like on Mandalore?" you asked, guiding Din around the palace library. It was quiet today, especially between the stacks, as everyone seemed to be enjoying the good weather outside.

Din sighed, unsure how to answer the question. "They need help. But they're stubborn and won't ask."

"Sounds familiar," you said and Din laughed in response. You wished you could see his face at times like these when the conversation flowed easily and he let you tease him.

"You know, some people on Mandalore don't even believe you're real."

"They don't?"

"They think you're a figurehead. A distraction from the real people in charge. That you only show up to make appearances at official functions."

It wasn't that surprising for you to hear. You rarely left the palace and never left the planet. But there was another reason you suspected their disbelief.

"I think I know why," you said.

Din's silence urged you to continue.

"Meet me outside the palace. At four. I'll show you."

When Din stood at the grand doors of the entrance to the palace, he thought for a moment you had forgotten about him up. He was looking for the regal version of you, the version where you wore your extravagant robes and were surrounded by guards. That is not the version that appeared.

Instead, you were dressed modestly, having abandoned your synthsilk robes for brown linen pants. A dark green cape was wrapped around your shoulders, the hood hiding your face, but the heat signature on Din's visor was clearly yours. The transformation was astounding.

Din bowed as you approached. "Your Majesty," he addressed you.

"Stop that, you'll give me away. You should use my real name."

Your real name? He hadn't yet been offered the privilege of that knowledge, and it embarrassed him to discover what an intense reaction the thought of it elicited from him. His heart rate picked up erratically and he thanked the Maker for his helmet to hide the blush on his cheeks.

You leaned in, beckoning with a finger for him to come closer, and whispered to him in a soft voice. Your name. Your real name. It was a beautiful secret, a name all for himself to possess and wrap around his tongue. It suited you, Din thought.

He repeated it back to you, testing out its weight. You liked the way the syllables rolled around his mouth, even through the modulation of his helmet.

"Come on, we'll start at the market first. I have forty hard-earned credits to spend."

Din trailed behind you through the late afternoon crowds, weaving this way and that over bridges and around stalls. There was no way Din would have been able to find his way around, but you knew the place like the back of your hand, following the paved stone paths, recognizing your favorite shopkeepers, and pointing out the best spots.

Once fully immersed in the throng and away from any guards who may have recognized you, you let your hood fall from your head, tilting your face toward the sun and smiling contentedly. Though your face was no different than it always was, you had changed somehow. No one recognized you or even gave you a second glance, other than perhaps to admire the beauty of the sunlight reflecting from your untamed hair. At least, that's what Din was staring at.

And finally he understood, that beneath it all you weren't just a queen, you were any other person who could blend in with the crowd. He was jealous. He wanted to disappear like that.

"Keep up, Mando," you said, and reached out behind you to grab his hand. You did it to prevent him from getting swept up and lost to the swarms of people, but his heart fluttered at the intimacy and ease of the interaction as you pulled him closer.

"Why are there so many people?" he mumbled into your ear as you paused at one of the stalls to take a look.

"Tomorrow's the fertility festival. After the last day of planting the year's crops, everyone celebrates and prays for good yields. The city will be even more packed tomorrow, so the market prepares for the influx of people." You moved on, dragging Din along behind you. "But today is really the day to come. Fewer people and a better selection."

Selection of what? Din almost asked until you pulled him to a stop. Somehow, you were back at that stall Din had noticed during his first trip here, the one with the delicious smelling food that he'd been in too much of a hurry, and too poor, to buy. Din lingered behind you, eyeing the small pastries and steaming bowls of...something. He wasn't exactly sure what. But it still smelled just as amazing as he remembered, even through the filtered sterile air of his helmet.

"I'll take three of those," you said, pointing at the largest pastries on the top row of the display. The woman running the stall silently slid them into a paper bag, completely oblivious to your identity. You loved the liberating feeling of not having anyone call you by your title or even recognize who you truly were.

"And for the Mandalorian?" the woman asked, glancing slightly nervously at Din's hulking shape hovering just behind you.

You turned toward him. "Are you super hungry or just really hungry?" you asked with a grin.

"Oh, no thank you. I can't afford that."

You pulled a stack of credits from your pocket and handed them over, completely ignoring his comment. "We'll take two more fruit pastries and two of the vegetable ones, thank you."

And then you were off again before he could protest, guiding him further away from the palace and into the market. From the top of a bridge, you flagged down one of the canal taxis, stepping down the bank as it slowed to a stop.

"Now where are we going?"

You didn't respond, just pointed at the flat-bottomed boat, indicating for Din to get in. He did as he was told, jumping in easily, and you moved to follow, sitting on the edge of the stone wall to reduce how far you'd have to jump. But Din stopped you with his hands on your hips, lifting you easily with his arms into the boat so that you wouldn't have to jump.

"Where to?" the helmsman said.

You pointed along the canal in the direction opposite of the city. "Just follow on up that way."

"Lady, you're going to hit marsh. I can't go that far without my boat bottoming out."

"Just go until you can't anymore."

The taxi maneuvered up the canal, at first following the stone walls that lined the waters edge. Soon, however, they turned to grass as you left the boundary of the city, the market fading slowly behind you. The man was right. The canal quickly became more of a creek, marsh grasses and reeds growing up around you.

"This is as far as I can take you. Not sure why you'd want to be here, but I'm not coming back so good luck."

How kind. Din helped you out of the boat, a bit wary of your strange plan. There couldn't have been anything out here. But you were scrambling onto the grassy embankment, paper bag of food in tow, and he followed diligently behind.

"I'm starting to think you're a bit crazy," Din teased. He'd roughed it before, and this was by no means roughing it, but he hadn't expected this from you.

"I know what I'm doing, Din. Just follow me."

The ground leveled out, marshes to one side of the creek, a smattering of trees on the other. The two of you walked along the shrinking stream of water, a soft blanket of grass beneath your feet, until you found what you were apparently looking for.

"When I was a kid, I would hide out here. No one could find me."

Din wasn't surprised. The small clearing was absolutely secluded from the rest of the world, the city skyline was gone, the sounds of the market reduced to nothing. Around him, the chirping and croaking of wildlife was the only noise besides the rushing water of the shallow stream. The air was warm today, warmer than it had been in a while, and though the evening was waning, you pulled off your cape and tossed it to the ground.

Without a second thought, you plopped down on the ground next to the stream, back against a tree, and off came your shoes so you could dig your toes into the sandy bank. You opened the paper bag, fishing around for the first pastry. When Din didn't join you, you patted the ground next to you, inviting him to sit.

"You're sure we're safe?"

"Of course we're safe, Din. I know my way around my own planet."

Finally he sat, looking slightly out of place in all his beskar. But he removed his helmet when you handed him one of the vegetable pies, helping him to look a little more relaxed in these unfamiliar surroundings. He leaned back against the thick tree, looking around to better gauge his environment. You, and the planet you called home, never ceased to surprise him.

"Have you ever left?"

"Where? Nhora?"

"Yeah."

You looked up toward the sky where the sun was starting to set, casting an orange and pink glow through the clouds. But you weren't looking for the sunset. You were looking for the moons, already rising.

"There. See the smallest moon, up and to the left?" Din nodded in the direction you pointed. "It's actually the biggest, only it looks small because it's so far away. That's where I was born. But no, otherwise I haven't."

Din nodded solemly and took a bite of the pie. You weren't sure why he'd posed the question and he didn't seem inclined to explain. You watched as he chewed slowly, crumbs from the crust spilling onto his armor. And then his eyes went wide with enjoyment. The soft buttery pastry melted in his mouth, sweetness contrasting with the salty filling.

"Wow, this is delicious."

You smiled in satisfaction. That reaction was all you'd wanted all day, to see him blown away by the things you called home. He finished the first pastry in silence and then held out a hand, asking you wordlessly for another.

"I once visited a planet with no atmosphere," he said abruptly. It was surprising to hear him speak like this, freely, with no prompting. You held your tongue because it was the only way to encourage him to go on. "Then there was the planet where I couldn't stop moving unless I wanted to be someone's lunch."

He paused, thinking. "I know four languages. Aside from basic."

That one was impressive. You realized this was him opening up. Sharing. It made your heart tingle with warmth. Then Din fell into silence, indicating it was your turn.

"I can fly an x-wing," you said after a moment of thinking. "Not very well. But in a pinch. And I've never punched anyone, though I really want to punch that Angor prince sometimes."

"You can try it out on me."

"I think I'd rather not break my hand on your armor," you said with a laugh. What else? "I'm twenty-six years old."

Din took a deep breath. "I don't know how old I am. Maybe thirty-nine. Or forty."

"You look older than that."

Din glanced at you to gauge if you were joking. You were, in fact, joking, a big smile filling the round apples of your cheeks, mouth full of flaky pastry. "Alright, very funny. Your turn."

"I--" Where did you want to take this conversation? Din's presence next to you made you feel comfortable and warm and something about that inclined you to dig deeper, let him in a little more. "I don't know who my father was. Or is, I guess."

Din let out a quiet breath beside you. You were both watching the sunset, not one another, but you didn't have to see his face to feel comforted by his presence. "My parents are definitely dead if that makes you feel any better. No doubt about that."

The admission was a difficult one for him, and he was glad you didn't press any further. But then suddenly your hand was on his leg, gripping his knee tightly and telling him to be quiet.

"What's wrong?"

"Shh!" For a moment Din thought you were in imminent danger, but then he saw no alarm on your face, only excitement. "Don't move," you whispered.

The final light of the sun had dimmed, leaving you surrounded by a deep blue twilight. And yet, you still managed to spot the creature, sitting on a rock across the stream from you. You stood as quietly as possible, moving slowly so as not to scare it away. Without bothering to roll up the legs of your pants you stepped barefooted into the shallow stream, the cool water rushing around your ankles, not yet warmed by the sun of the warming season. But a little cold water wasn't going to stop you from catching the small creature.

Din watched as you bent over slowly and then snatched as quick as lightning, grabbing at something sitting on a rock. When you stood, triumph on your face, he nearly laughed. "What is that?"

"It's a glow frog, remember?"

Of course, he remembered. The animal you'd compared Grogu to. You were grasping the frog firmly but gently, holding it up for Din to see. It was a comical sight, a woman normally so regal and queen-like, shin-deep in marsh water, wild animal in her hands.

"So is the glow part just for kicks or..." The frog was not living up to its name. No glowing in sight.

"Just wait. It takes a second." The sun had fully dipped below the horizon now, the light from the three moons overhead the strongest source in the night sky. But then it happened. The small creature in your hands began to illuminate, green and fluorescent. It started slow, almost imperceptibly, until it shown bright, casting its glow across your face.

And you were right. The resemblance was uncanny. The frog opened its wide mouth, eyes large, and it croaked, surprising you enough into dropping it back into the water. You giggled, and suddenly Din spotted the youthful shine reappearing on your face the way it had the other night in the kitchen.

"They respond to pressure, releasing a chemical when you surprise them. I used to catch them all the time out here. The only downside is this," you said, holding up your hands which now fluoresced as well.

"That doesn't seem healthy."

"Oh, its fine. Look, it just washes off." You rinsed your hands in the water, the green fluorescence washing downstream, most of it coming off, though not all. When you pushed the hair out of your face with a wet hand, you left green glowing streaks behind on your cheeks. You glittered in the moonlight.

Din had never seen you so happy. What happened to you?

"What did you say?"

Oh Maker, he'd said that out loud. He hadn't meant to. And he could tell by the fallen look on your face that you had definitely heard him, only wanted him to repeat it to be sure. Din regretted the words immediately, watching as the joy faded from your face.

"Nothing. Forget it." But it was too late.

You waded back across the stream, a sudden chill running through your body as the night air cooled. You sat heavily, pondering the implications of actually opening up to the man next to you. You'd spent so long trying to bottle up how you felt, pretending it didn't exist, pretending you weren't attracted to him, that the tender gesture of Din replacing your cape around your shoulders forced it all out in one go.

Once you started speaking, you couldn't stop. And he listened.

"I was seven when the Clone Wars finally came to an end. It was a...brutal, destructive end. After my grandmother died, my grandfather came back to visit sometimes. He promised to protect us, even though it went against our customs. Something about Mandalorian creed. I'm sure you understand," you said, gesturing vaguely in Din's direction. "But Nhora seemed safe from the war. I was still living on Lunar Post 3 with the rest of the kids from noble families. It was easier like that, educating us all together in one place."

You took a breath, coming to the hard part.

"I had an older sister, Tia. She was so...perfect. I looked up to her. She was going to be queen and even though she was eleven years older than me she treated me like the only star in the sky." Tears pricked behind your eyes but you kept going, kept yourself steady by gazing up at the sky. "She and my mother came to visit for my birthday. It was the last trip she would make before her coronation. But everything went wrong. I don't remember it well, but when the explosions hit there was no one there to protect us, not the guards, and especially not my grandfather. The first one killed my mother. Tia died in the second, shielding me.

"The blasts were meant for me and the other noble children, the second borns, the replaceables, the one's who could be eliminated and then played like a bargaining chip to force my mother's hand to help the Independent Systems. I didn't understand. I'll never understand. I was too young. But instead they took out the royal line and left only me. And so began eleven years of non-stop training for a position I was not born to have. I wanted to escape so badly, to any planet as long as it wasn't this one, just to mourn them even. But this was all I had," you said, gesturing to your surroundings.

Din was silent, unsure what to say, but you were grateful for that. You preferred silence anyway.

"The scars have healed with time. Maybe one day they'll be gone."

"Emotional scars never heal," Din finally said. He was watching you, one knee propped up to support his elbow as he leaned against the trunk of the tree.

"Well, that's true, but I don't mean emotional scars. I mean physical ones."

"But you're so... well, you're so whole, so undamaged." He was thinking about your soft hands and how smooth they'd been on his face.

"That's not true. I have scars."

Din narrowed his eyes, prompting you to continue.

You shrugged your cape off again and started to unbutton to top buttons of your shirt. You had nothing to prove to this man, didn't need to do anything to earn his respect. And yet you wanted to show him the most vulnerable parts of you.

"You don't have to--"

You yanked the collar of your shirt down, effectively shutting him up, and putting the scar that sliced along your clavicle on full display. "Here's where the first blast hit."

Then you turned away, kneeling with your back to Din, and fully unbuttoned your shirt, letting it slip from your shoulders and gather at your waist to show him the second scar, another long slice that curved around your right shoulder blade. Both scars were old, softened and faded over the years from having grown much bigger than when they were inflicted. They no longer hurt to touch, though the searing pain of the memories was still there.

"How..." Din couldn't finish his sentence. He was too preoccupied with the sight of your bare back, smooth except for the line that hinted at the intense trauma from your past. And the scars were beautiful; you were beautiful. He realized with a shudder that you were now naked from the waist up, giving the marsh a show he'd been thinking of catching a glimpse of for a while now.

You heard Din move, heard him shift and lean forward, felt his warm presence behind you. You wondered momentarily if he would touch you and found you liked that thought.

You didn't feel him reaching out until a single finger touched your back gently, gliding along the path of your scar and sending a shiver down your spine. The goosebumps that followed his touch did not go unnoticed by either of you. You looked back over your shoulder, watching Din from the corner of your eye as several waves of emotions washed over him, pity, sadness, horror, fascination, admiration. But he couldn't seem to pull his hand away, ungloved, from the skin on skin contact.

"Do you miss your family?" His question was asked in barely a whisper.

"I don't really remember them anymore." It was difficult to admit that you had mostly forgotten what your mother and sister looked like.

"You can miss something you don't remember having." Din was right, of course, though he'd said it absentmindedly, thinking of his own family. His fingers were still tracing along the skin of your back, up your vertebrae, across your ribs. Something else had taken control of his hand, like he didn't know what he was doing anymore, unaware of his movements.

You could have stopped him. Brought him back from wherever his mind was floating up in space. But you didn't. You leaned into his touch, consenting to the reassurance of his presence. You let Din wrap his arm around your waist, place his warm hand against your bare tummy, and pull you in.

He didn't know what compelled him to hold you like this. He'd never wanted to touch anyone this way before. But you leaned into him, your body melting against his, a contented hum spreading through you and into the big hands that held you, and it felt like a piece of him he hadn't even known was missing had been returned to its rightful place.

It was oddly serene, this position of being encompassed by someone so much bigger than you. But he was hot against your naked skin, insulating you from the night air. He pressed his face against your neck, breathing you in, lips barely grazing your skin, and you thought you could sit like this forever, protected, safe, warm.

He didn't try to grope you, didn't try to get a peek at whatever you might look like from the front. It was intensely comforting, knowing that he respected you, knowing he wouldn't take advantage of you the way so many other men tried to do. He only wanted to inhale your scent and never let go of this feeling he had no name for. It was a feeling he'd only ever felt once before, while holding the kid for the last time, knowing he had to say goodbye. Neither of you wanted to move.

The sounds of the world melted away and it was only you and Din and his breath against your skin. You had no idea how long you stayed that way.

"We should go," you whispered. "Before someone realizes I'm gone."

Though reluctantly, Din pulled away, that all-encompassing warmth gone, and he helped you dress. He'd barely even seen you, barely even touched you, and he was craving more. He wanted to be linked to you forever, to hold your hand the way you had in the market, to kiss you. He'd never done any of it before and yet he knew without a doubt you were the person he wanted to be with. He just needed to know you felt the same.

"You don't have to do alone," he said, hoping you would understand what he was offering.

"Excuse me?" You turned back to look at him but the helmet was already on and you couldn't tell what he was implying underneath it.

"Rule. You don't have to rule alone. I know you can. I've seen you do it. But you don't have to."

You stood, suddenly feeling exposed though fully dressed again, like the Mandalorian had just read your mind and discovered every feeling that swirled around in there.

"Don't you dare tell me what I do or don't have to do, Djarin," you said sharply. But your voice cracked with suppressed tears."There are traditions to follow, customs I have to abide by. This is my place."

The words were harsh, more defensive than they should have been and you regretted saying them the moment they left your mouth. But Din had recognized in you what you truly wanted, to not be alone anymore, to have a family again, and it scared you.

"Are you afraid of heights?" he asked unexpectedly, standing as well.

"What are you talking about?" you asked, your words still laced with annoyance and defiance. You were still feeling defensive, but now you were equally as confused.

He repeated the question and you shook your head slowly. What was he planning?

"Good, I'm tired of walking," was all he said before he wrapped his arms around your waist, powered up his jetpack, and shot straight up into the air. Somehow, you managed not to vomit at the sudden change in altitude. But Maker, you were flying, and incredibly fast.

One moment you were frozen in shock and the next you were screaming, your voice lost to the wind that pummeled your face. You hid your face in the crook of Din's next, holding on tight. No, you weren't afraid of heights, but that wasn't the problem here. The problem was you felt like you were going to fall at any moment, no matter how tightly Din held you.

But it was a short flight. You landed less than gracefully at the front doors of the palace, stumbling like you'd just stepped off a boat. Din caught your elbow and righted you.

"Dank farrick, Din! You scared the shit out of me."

"Sorry. You were spiraling. I had to do something."

You realized he was right. The shock of adrenaline coursing through your body had completely distracted you from the emotions you had been overwhelmed with only a couple of minutes ago. But now they started to flood back, the loneliness, the fear. Why did you feel these things, but only now, with Din right next to you? Did he remind you of how hard it was to be alone, show you what you were missing? You had to get away, to be with your jumbled thoughts for a moment and collect yourself. You couldn't breathe.

"Thank you for... spending the evening with me. I--" You couldn't look him in the face, even though it was hidden behind the helmet. You didn't finish your sentence, just walked away, leaving the Mandalorian standing in the entrance to your quiet palace.

"You can't run forever." You were already halfway up the stairs when Din called out. You didn't stop, didn't turn around, just ran like the coward you were from the feelings you couldn't hide from him. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You were an idiot that couldn't tell the one good man on this maker-forsaken planet how you really felt.

In your bedroom you stripped, changing quickly into your pajamas and then curling up in bed under the covers. Maybe if you pressed your face into the pillow hard enough you could scream in frustration and no one would hear.

Din had watched as you walked, no, ran, away from him. He should have stopped you, should have told you how he felt. How did he feel, though? What words would he have to say to you, other than what he'd already said? And then what, just to have you throw his feelings right back in his face.

He didn't move until you'd disappeared from sight, only then making his way to his room. It wasn't often that Din got the opportunity to sleep without his armor on. He usually didn't feel safe enough. But here, in this palace, he pulled each piece off one by one and stacked it on the floor. Here, he could sleep in comfort, in peace, without anything to bother him--

Except that he knew he couldn't. Not when he felt there was something left unsaid. He hoped you wouldn't be asleep yet, hoped that when he saw your face he would know exactly what he wanted to say.

You didn't get the chance to scream into your pillow. Someone knocked softly at your bedroom door, disturbing your stress relief hours. You swore to the Maker, if it was Zena or one of your guards here to berate you for sneaking out again, you would actually scream, and not into a pillow but in their face.

But it wasn't Zena or a guard or anyone else. It was Din on the other side and you were wearing those damn transparent pajamas again like you knew what they did to him. But he had to focus. He had things he wanted to say. He'd caught a glimpse of the real you deep inside and he wanted it back, all for himself.

"I meant what I said." Din never raised his voice, but now he was becoming insistent. "You put so much into caring for others. But have you ever thought about accepting some help every once in a while?"

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your heart rate. Why did seeing his face like this make you so nervous? It excited you to find the Mandalorian standing patiently outside your bedroom, especially at this time of night.

"I don't need help," was all you managed to sputter out. Apparently, Din had made a stop in his room to shed his armor, the first time you'd seen him without it. You'd expected him to look smaller under it all but he still managed to fill your doorway and block your escape.

"Maker be damned, I'm trying to tell you that I want to take care of you. I'm not offering because I think you need me, I'm offering because you're allowed to need me." Din took a step forward, closing the gap between you even more. Written on his face was an urgency you'd only seen a few times before.

"I--" You didn't know what to say. I don't know how? "I can't think when you look at me like that."

"Like what?" Din's voice was low with earnest gravity.

"Like you care."

"I do care. I care a lot, but for some reason, you won't accept it." His hands found your face, holding your chin to force you to look into his eyes. "Somehow you think this is disingenuous. And I know you don't trust many people but let me be one of them."

Care. Trust. His words rattled around your brain and sent you spinning. He was so close, so warm. The world was hazy with that tingling feeling, the one that pulled you to him, made you reach out a hand to touch the dark fabric of his undershirt. You had no idea what you were doing, no control over the movement of your fingers as they took hold and dragged him closer.

"Stop running," he whispered softly, letting you pull your bodies together.

He cared. Oh Maker, he wanted you to lean on him, to give him some of the burden you carried. So you did, letting your hands find his shoulders and rest there.

"Do you trust me?" you asked in a hushed tone.

"Of course--"

"Then kiss me."

He didn't need to be told twice, closing the last of the distance between you and kissing you with the same urgency that was written on his face.

You were it, the first and last. Your lips were like a siren's song, dragging Din to the depths of a passion he'd suppressed for so long, calling for him to relent to their addictiveness. He would drown in this taste until he succumbed.

Din kissed you tenderly, carefully, as if he was afraid you would disappear the moment he let go. No man had ever kissed you this way. They had all been greedy, triumphant, dominating kisses, as if you were a prize to be won, a conquest to be conquered. But Din, Din kissed like he had everything to lose and nothing to gain in return. He only pulled away when you did, breathless and panting for air, foreheads pressed together.

Your hands were still grabbing his shirt greedily as you dragged him into your bedroom. Din was so lost in capturing your lips with his again he barely noticed being pushed onto the bed until he was flat on his back with your body stacked on top of his. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing your hips flush with his, your knees straddling his waist in return, and your elbows leaning on either side of his head.

No matter how tightly he held you it wasn't enough. He needed to fit that missing piece back into the hole in his heart. But your lips were a start. It was impossible to tell where yours ended and his began and that's how he liked it.

Was this what he was missing out on his whole life? When you prodded your tongue against his lips, he let you sink deep into his mouth, moaning in response and sending vibrations through his chest and into yours.  He ran his hands up and down your sides, memorizing every curve and contour, wishing the clothing that separated you two would disappear but not knowing how to make it happen.

You broke away to run your fingers through Din's hair, his really fucking soft hair, and place a kiss on the nose that was simply begging to be kissed. You'd wanted to do that for a while.

"How do you taste so good? Like heaven on my tongue," he mumbled. His words sent shivers down your spine and you pulled away to look at his face. Din's eyes were closed, heavy with bliss and experiencing the greatest pleasure of his life. Your body tingled with excitement.

"Have you never been kissed properly?" you asked teasingly. It was meant as a joke.

"Never been kissed," was his short reply, eyes still closed, a dumbstruck look on his face.

You stopped in your tracks, abruptly pulling away further and sitting up.

"What?" you asked, a bit louder than you'd intended.

Din's eyes flew open. He wasn't sure what to say. He'd thought it was obvious, considering how awkwardly unaware he was of what he was doing. "I've worn a helmet for three decades. Doesn't really aid in building romantic relationships."

Suddenly you felt like apologizing, afraid you'd forced him into something he didn't want. "Oh Maker, I'm sorry, if I'd known I would have--"

"Woah, slow down, Angel." You were speaking too fast, tumbling over your words a mile a minute. Din sat up as well, holding onto your hips to keep you straddling him, grounding you and letting you know it was okay. "Don't apologize. I want you. I need you."

Fuck, he needed you. The sincerity in his eyes and his tender use of a nickname eased your worry. But you were still unsure. What if this was some part of his Mandalorian creed, and you were breaking it? Din seemed to recognize the concern on your face, the way he always did.

"Look at me." You did. "I want this. I promise. I've dreamt about kissing you since the moment I met you. Fuck, you have no idea. I dream about holding you and touching you and making you feel good. I just--I don't know how. Tell me how."

This was...new. Uncharted territory. Men usually knew what they were doing. Or at least thought they did. Generally, they were arrogant enough to believe they were pleasuring you, even when they weren't. Never had anyone asked what you wanted. The fact that this man, the greatest warrior in the galaxy, was absolutely clueless but asking for your help, turned you on even more.

If he thought that kiss was good, you were about to blow his mind.

Din had seen naked women before. Once, he'd chased a bounty into a strip club and shackled the man as he was paying for a lap dance. But nothing could compare to you. The urgency that had dominated your kiss was gone, replaced by a deliberate craving. You guided his hands to the buttons of your shirt, urging him to take it off himself. He did, fingers grazing your skin as he slipped the item from your shoulders, leaving your heaving breasts bare before him. You were breathing rapidly and Din burned, knowing that he was the reason why.

"Tell me if you want to stop."

Din nodded, eyes roving all over you, from your face to your chest to the soft plane of your stomach. Between your breasts hung the round pendant of your necklace and he watched as it swung gently back and forth. You could tell he wanted to touch you but was unsure if he should, or how he should. So you took his hand, holding his fingers gently to place them on the soft skin of your neck.

"Follow your fingers with your lips."

At first, he was confused, but then you began to move his hand, dragging his fingers down your neck, along your collarbone, over the tender flesh of your breasts, across your hardening nipple, and down toward the hem of your pants. Din did as he was told, placing soft, open mouth kisses everywhere his fingers went. He placed his free hand on your back, stabilizing you as you leaned back to give him better access. He lingered on the soft mounds of your areolas, taking each into his mouth and sucking gently. He did it instinctually, not knowing what reaction he would receive from you, but taking immense pleasure in the moans he elicited from your mouth.

Mouth still tasting every inch of your bare skin, Din gripped your hips and flipped you around so that you were laying on the bed. He wasn't sure if it was what he was supposed to do, but it seemed like the right move. He continued to kiss you everywhere he could, meditating in the sweet floral scent that an evening spent in nature had left upon you. You nodded when he looked into your eyes, silently asking to remove your pants for you.

Maker, you were gorgeous. He took a ragged breath at the sight of you, slick with desire, all for him. You whispered his name, pulling his intense gaze away from your folds and back to your eyes.

"Watch," you said. And then you began to touch yourself, a lazy finger gathering your wetness and dragging along your slit. You let your legs fall open to give Din a better view as you pleasured yourself. With your middle finger, you found your clit and circled, easing into the satisfying feeling that you knew would build toward an orgasm. You added another finger, dipping slowly into your cunt and savoring the warmth you found there.

Din could tell you'd done this many times before, knew exactly how best to touch yourself. But now someone was watching you, intently, exploring your edges and lines with his gaze, cataloging every hitch in your breath and twitch of your stomach. He studied your patterns and movements like he did his bounties, learning what you liked, anticipating your reactions.

"Fuck," you cursed under your breath, the wicked voyeuristic sensation lighting something new in your core. What had once been your own dirty little secret you were now performing for an audience, an extremely attentive audience, and it was hot as fuck.

Din watched as your head flopped back in pleasure, a breathy moan escaping your throat, as your free hand came to your breast to pinch and twist the hard bud. Just seeing you this way, writhing beneath your own touch, was making his cock grow hard, but he wanted desperately to be the one to make you feel that way, edging you toward orgasm.

You noticed his need and grabbed his hand to replace it with your own, though not before bringing your fingers to Din's lips for a taste. He wrapped his mouth around your wetness with no reluctance, eyes sinking shut with heady desire and licking them clean.

Like heaven. He wanted you so badly, to know what every inch of you tasted like. He would have to be patient.

Everything about this was irritatingly slow, but it brought your craving for him to a new level. The urgency that had built as you worked toward your first orgasm had subsided to a dull ache without your consistent fingers, begging to be attended to. You knew you could finish yourself off, quickly and easily. But you wanted him to be the one to do. You wanted to know what it was like to unravel beneath the Mandalorian.

Din truly had no idea what he was doing and he couldn't sustain what you'd started. But he was curious, unafraid, and the acute learner in him caught on quickly. You gasped as a thick finger entered you, experimental and slow, and you grabbed onto his shoulders for both his support and your own. He added another finger, testing the velvet softness of your cunt and the ridges of your walls, filling you and stretching you in a way you couldn't do for yourself. He could get the angle right, you knew, better than your own fingers could, but it wasn't enough. You would have to show him.

You peeled open your eyes, unaware that they had even been shut in the first place, to watch him. He was taking you in with his eyes, leaving no part of you untouched by his gaze.

"Din, look at me." His eyes snapped to yours. "Like this."

You showed him how to curl his fingers, how to press his thumb to your clit at the same time. And when he did, Oh Maker, it was the sensation you'd always craved but could never perform for yourself. He filled you so well and only his fingers were touching you. A stifled cry left your lips and you gripped his shoulder harder, trying to ground yourself despite feeling like you were being lifted off into space. He leaned down, fingers still moving magically inside you, and took a nipple between his teeth, nibbling gently and soothing the searing sensation with a soft kiss before doing it all over again.

"Does this feel good, Your Majesty?" he asked against the skin of your chest, voice husky with arousal. It was utterly sinful, using your title while he was finger fucking you into oblivion.

You could barely do more than moan in response. He was catching on quickly, noticing how your hips jerked in response to the pressure on your clit and your walls clenched around his fingers when he simply curled them up and forward. You were falling apart slowly but surely, your breathing erratic, some very unqueenly curses falling from your perfect lips.

This was torture, this build-up, slow, consistent, inching. You could feel it coming, feel the heat pooling between your thighs and your pelvic floor spasming. But it was so fucking slow, like marching straight toward a cliff and not knowing when the edge would come, when the ground would fall out beneath your feet. And you loved every moment of it.

Din's face had fallen to your neck, his lips pressing heated kisses everywhere he could put them. He could feel your erratic pulse beneath his lips, the vibrations of your moans spreading through him. "Does this feel good? I need you to tell me. Tell me."

"Fuck, yes Din, don't stop. Don't-- don't do anything different. It's perfe--"

The words got stuck in your throat as you moaned into your approaching orgasm. You would cum any moment if--

And then, the edge of the cliff gave out and there was nothing beneath you but your crashing orgasm and Din's steady hand, guiding you through your pleasure. Oh Maker, the progress had been so measured and gradual you hadn't even known it was coming, but now you were falling and falling, only to be caught by Din's unyielding touch.

Din's face was buried in your neck as you came, your delicious cries breathed directly into his ear. It was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard, the sound of you fracturing into a million pieces by his hand. He cursed under his breath and you felt his words against your skin as you came down from your high, twitching and spasming.

"Are you okay, Angel?" he asked sweetly. He brushed the hair from your face to gaze deeply into your eyes, bewildered by what he'd just done to you.

"I'm more than okay," you replied with a giggle. You couldn't help the sound that bubbled up in your throat. "Come here."

You pulled at Din's shirt to drag him into a kiss and realized he was still fully clothed, the bastard. You wanted the shirt off with the rest of his clothes. You wanted nothing between you and him.

"Off. All of this off," you said, motioning to his clothes. Din complied and stood, tossing everything to the floor. You sat up onto your knees on the mattress so that you were at his eye level when he approached the edge of the bed once more. Reaching out to pull him in by his hips, you caught a glimpse of the amazing specimen before you. Broad and thick was the best way to describe him, both his shoulders and his cock. He had smooth, soft skin with hardened muscles beneath, no doubt from the taxing nature of his job, slightly tanned and beautifully scarred.

And he was hard for you. It sent a thrill up your spine to grasp gently at his thick length as he pulled you closer, lips against yours. He gasped into your mouth as he aligned his body with yours, bucking his hips involuntarily into your hand while you stroked him slowly. You took the opportunity to nibble his bottom lip, relishing in how fucking good it felt to press your skin to his. He was intoxicatingly warm, his big warm hands on your back, his big warm cock against your stomach.

"Can I ride you?" you asked against his mouth. Din groaned, eyes fluttering shut.

"I have no idea what that means but yes, please."

"Lay down." Oh Maker, it felt a little too good to tell this force of a man what to do and have him listen. But that was a feeling to be explored at another time. Now there was only fucking him into the next galaxy. You wanted to hear your name, your real name, from his lips.

You climbed across Din's lap, straddling him but not sinking onto him yet, instead letting his cock rest between your folds and tease your entrance gently. You were in no hurry, the high of your first orgasm still leaving you overly sensitive to touch, but you could tell Din was eager for release. He gripped your hips tightly as you leaned down, letting him take each of your breasts in his mouth, one by one.

When you began to grind your hips slowly against his, it took all his effort not to let the dam break right then and there. He'd gotten himself off plenty of times, even going so far as to hold back as long as he could to prolong the pleasure. But your folds were slick and warm against his twitching cock and he wasn't sure he could take the torture much longer. He needed to be inside you and he wasn't above begging.

"Are you going to take me or just fucking tease me all night?" Din huffed.

You smiled and pressed a kiss to his lips, wanting to taste his exclamations on your tongue when you finally sank your pussy around his length. And he did not disappoint. He was just as loud as you'd hoped he'd be, after finally lining your entrance with his length and easing down onto him. What you didn't expect was how good it would feel to have him inside you, your own moans mingling with his at the sensation. He filled you completely, stretching you further than his fingers had. It was slightly painful, but only in the sense that pleasure is often conflated with pain. You took him fully, feeling the head of his shaft press against the sensitive flesh of your cervix deep inside you.

Rolling your hips experimentally, Din jerked below you, trying to speed up your movements, but you wouldn't relent. With a hand on his face, thumb and fingers pressing into his cheeks, you maintained eye contact, the other hand against his chest for stability.

"Let me take care of you, Mando," you whispered with a hazy smile. He wanted so desperately to flip you over and fuck you however he pleased, but he held back, the sight of you beautiful and bare atop him mesmerizing and enthralling. The flush of your skin and the gentle bounce of your tits as you moved hypnotized him into obeying your request. He would do whatever his queen asked of him, he knew, without question.

You slowly picked up the pace, maintaining the rocking motion that dragged his cock along your g-spot and drove Din mad. He groaned and grunted beneath you, his sounds mixing with yours in the otherwise quiet bedroom. You leaned back, placing your hands flat against his thighs, and kept going, loving the way he let loose without inhibition or reserve. His hands gripped tightly at your hips, crashing you back down every time you rocked up, and you felt your second orgasm building in your core. It was now a question of who would come first. You suspected it would be Din.

It was his turn to fall apart, to lose control. You wanted him to relinquish his dignity the way you had to him. Finally, those precious words left his lips, at first a whisper and building louder, your name groaned over and over and over again. Your walls clenched at the sound and he choked beneath you at the sensation.

"Fuck, Angel, I'm gonna cum if you keep that up." You leaned forward again and noticed his eyes were screwed tight like he was holding back as best he could.

"Oh baby, that's the point. Cum for me, Din. Cum inside me, baby." The commanding words tumbled from your mouth, mixed with your shameless moans as you held back your own orgasm, wanting to clamp down around his cock as he came. With a jerk, you felt his cock twitch inside you, and Din cursed loudly with a groan. He seized your hips even harder than he had before, firmly holding you against his own as he came hard, his cum spilling deep inside you. With his heat filling you, you let go, releasing your own orgasm and contracting around his length, milking every drop.

You collapsed on top of Din with an overstimulated sob, not even bothering to pull off of his throbbing member. He wrapped his arms around your back and held you, his ragged breath in your ear slowly steadying and returning to normal.

"Fuck, that was beautiful," Din murmured. "You're beautiful. Oh Maker, you're so beautiful."

Din wasn't sure what was happening to him but he couldn't stop talking. Every thought, praises, rambling, absolute nonsense, that crossed his mind left his mouth, completely out of his control. You giggled, your own cock drunk brain unable to comprehend little else other than how sweet his soft grin was or how he had only one dimple on his left cheek.

"I'm going to just fall asleep like this if that's alright with you," Din said, rolling you over onto your side so he could pull the covers over the two of you and hold you. You giggled again as he rested his chin on the top of your head and you buried your face in his chest, letting his warmth wrap around you. "And then I'm never leaving."

Though he said the words lightly, it was difficult to ignore the finality they carried, so you deflected. "Didn't you promise Zena you would train with her in the morning?"

Din groaned at the reminder. "I did, didn't I?"

When you didn't respond, he looked down at your face. Your eyes had closed softly and your breath was deepening, sleep starting to tug at the edges of your brain. You hadn't realized how tired you were until you were hunkered down, feeling the security of Din's fingers pressed against your back, the rising and falling of his chest lulling you into a sense of safety.

Din pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, believing you to be asleep, but needing to say these next words anyway, needing to make up somehow the failures of your grandfather.

"I know I won't always be around. I can't always stay. But I'll always come back. I promise."

*Read Next Part*

[angst-fairygodmother]

Light Fingers (The Umbrella Academy)

Diego’s vigilantism brings him repeatedly across the path of a young cat burglar. But as he finds himself developing feelings for the thief, he begins to wonder if there’s more to her than meets the eye, and whether they’re really on opposite sides. And as their relationship deepens, it brings with it a plot involving his estranged adopted father, and threatens to destroy all of them.

CHAPTER 13: DARKNESS FALLS

Word Count: 2362 Pairing: Diego Hargreeves x Reader Rating: T Content Warnings: swearing, references to violence (canon-typical), heavy angst, sort of spoilers for TUA season 1? Cross-posted to AO3: here

Previous Chapter: Confrontation || Masterlist

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Two weeks after your visit to the Academy, and everything that followed, a headline caught your eye as you poured coffee for a couple at the diner. ‘Eccentric Billionaire Reginald Hargreeves Under Federal Investigation. Crimes include Smuggling, Arms Dealing, Fraud’ screamed out at you in bold black print and you barely managed not to scald yourself as your hand trembled.

Your mind was racing. It hadn’t seemed real, when you were making phone calls and “visiting old friends” and whispering in the right, or wrong, ears. It was a stab in the dark, that you never expected to amount to anything. But it seemed like someone, somewhere, had listened and moved on D.S. Umbrella and your father-in-law.

A bubble of elation built up in your chest. Unable to contain yourself, you yelled out that you were taking your 15, despite the earliness of the hour, and jogged down the street to pick up a copy of the morning paper for yourself. As you scanned the article, more snippets jumped out: “midnight raid,” “suspicious and hazardous materials,” “illegal within city limits.” They also mentioned looking into his accounts, heavy investigation into recent break-ins at the warehouse that authorities suspected were to cover up evidence, and a re-examination of the adoption records for his now infamous Academy of children. That last one made your heart skip a beat. You hadn’t wanted to drag Diego or his family into any of this, and certainly not risk having his world flipped upside down. Still, there was hope nothing would come of that bit, and he would never have to be involved, and everything else was well worth it.

With a giddy giggle, relieved and stunned that things were going better than you could have hoped, you tucked the paper into your bag and returned to work, feeling lighter than you had in a while.

~

“This is insane,” Diego said, dropping onto the couch, head in his hands and the copy of the paper you’d brought home on the table in front of him.

“Is it?” you countered, sitting down on the far end and tucking your knees up to your chest. “We knew he was up to something…”

“But not this! Why would he raise us the way he did if he was a criminal?”

“Covering his tracks maybe? Or there’s something bigger here we haven’t put together.”

“You’re not even a little surprised by this,” there was something flat to his tone.

You shrugged, knowing that he knew you too well to deny it.

“What did you do?”

“Technically, nothing.” He fixed with you a firm, unamused expression that made you sigh. “I just talked to people. Gossip, anonymous tips, that sort of thing. I didn’t really think anyone would listen.”

His jaw clenched as he struggled to reign in his anger. “Who else did you talk to?”

“A few journalists, some law enforcement that Patch put me in touch with who wouldn’t ask too many questions, some folks in my line of work. That one clearly didn’t go anywhere, or we would have heard by now, especially if there’s an investigation too.”

“Thieves?”

“No waitstaff.” You rolled your eyes.

“What for?”

“I thought...I figured if some other crews went in, free looting, it would make it harder to figure out what we took, cover our tracks some.”

“That doesn’t make sense. He already knew we were there. Y/N, what aren’t you telling me?”

“It doesn’t matter. It’s done now. I’m sure nothing will happen, the authorities are probably in his pocket, and if not...Prison for someone like your father isn’t even that bad. It’s a penthouse, just one with a 24/7 guard at the door.”

Diego looked annoyed but didn’t say anything else. You bit your lip, the silence tense over the two of you.

“I’m sorry, Diego. I just thought...it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

He grunted in acknowledgement. A moment later, he stood, silently getting ready for bed, despite the relatively early hour, and went to bed without a word. You waited, fighting back tears, still curled on the couch. You didn’t expect Diego to be thrilled the way you were that something was happening with Reginald, but you also hadn’t predicted this anger.

“Y/N,” he called softly, an indeterminate time later, making you jump. “Come to bed, sweetheart.”

~

Things in the household felt fragile after that, even the dog could sense that both you and Diego were tip-toeing on eggshells, waiting for the outcome of the investigation, like the Sword of Damocles.

And then it dropped, with a breaking news bulletin, one that made you almost grateful that Diego had a late night at the gym. You wrapped your arms around yourself, shuddering, as you watched an all too familiar building go up in smoke.

“No one knows what, if anything, was taken by the miscreants seen fleeing the warehouse shortly before the explosion, or why they chose to destroy the structure so definitively,” the news anchor said, the rest of her words blending into a drone in the back of your mind.

At some point, you fell asleep there on the couch, waiting for Diego to come home, startled awake in the morning when the door slammed shut.

“Diego?” you asked, frowning and rising to greet him. “Are you okay?”

He laughed bitterly, shaking off your hand on his arm and stepping away. “You’re really asking me that, Y/N? After everything you’ve done?”

“What are you talking about, Diego?”

“I’m not an idiot Y/N.”

“No but evidently I am, because I genuinely have no idea what you’re talking about, baby.”

“Don’t,” he growled, shaking his head again. “D.S. Umbrella. Thieves, an explosion. You’re honestly trying to tell me you had nothing to do with it?”

“I didn’t! Not...directly!” you protested. “I promised you that I wouldn’t go after him, so I called in friends who could, who would.”

“How is that any different?”

“I...you said yourself that he was dangerous, and he proved that to me. And I got scared okay? I panicked, and when I saw a solution, I took it. Torch and burn, and salt the earth seemed like a good idea.”

“And Luther? Was he part of your plan or just an acceptable casualty?”

“What do you mean?” your frown shifted from one of upset to confusion.

“Pogo called, last night. Dad sent Luther to the warehouse had he got caught in your friends’ chemical explosion. He’s lucky to be alive.”

There was a slight hitch to his voice as he spoke, and you knew that despite the years of tension between them, hearing such news about his brother had shaken Diego badly. And you hadn’t been there for him. You reached out for his hand, to comfort him as you usually would before recoiling.

“That wasn’t supposed to happen. No one was supposed to get hurt.”

Diego scoffed in disbelief, nostrils flaring angrily. “Why should I believe you?”

“Because I don’t hate your brother, and I had no reason to want that. Because your father was the one who sent him in, alone and probably unprepared even though he knew better than anyone what hazards were in there. Because I’m your wife, and I wouldn’t lie to you, not when it mattered. Because I never wanted any of this, I just couldn't sit back and do nothing.”

“Why not? And give me a straight answer this time, Y/N.”

“While you and Luther were busy getting out all your boyhood aggression or whatever, I tried to find answers just like we planned. Only instead I ended up having a nice little chat with Reginald. And he said that everything was staged, that it was an audition. That I passed. And he threatened you, and he called the Academy a failed experiment.”

“You never said anything to me.”

“I didn’t know how,” your voice was sharp, pleading. “I have even less answers than I did when we started. All I have is that your father didn’t care about you, but he did about me, for something. He was willing to let you die to test what I could do. He was okay with the idea of hurting you to keep me in line. I...I had to protect you. So I did the only thing I could think of to do.”

“We’re s-supposed to be a team.” His eyes were still dry, but you could see the pain written across his features, and you closed your eyes against the sight.

“I know,” you said softly.

“W-w-we could have figured it out t-to-tog-gether if you had ta-lked to me…”

“We tried that Diego,” you wanted so badly to reach out for him. You hated that you couldn’t. Not now. “It had us spinning in circles.”

"So you just shut m-m-me out?" His lip quivered.

“Would you have done any differently?” you gave up on even trying to keep your own emotions out of your voice, tilting your head in question as you looked at your husband, the man you loved, and said words that you knew were breaking both your hearts. “Honestly?”

He was painfully silent, lips pressed together and eyes downcast as he considered your words, and what his answer would be. Rather than let the question continue to stew, you forged onward, almost afraid of what would happen if you didn’t.

“I’m truly sorry that Luther got hurt, and glad he’ll be okay. But I still stand by what I did. It was the right choice to make. If anything, it worked out better than I had hoped.”

“H-how could you say t-tha-that?” despite his stutter there was outrage in his voice now, raising the pitch to almost a shout.

“If it’s him or you, as far as I’m concerned, there’s no choice. I’m not sorry for that.” You shrugged. “And maybe almost losing his last loyal son will be enough to get your father to back off, to rethink, stop doing...whatever it is he’s doing.”

Diego’s body tensed and his eyes narrowed to a glare, the full fury and hatred locked inside suddenly directed at you. There was no trace of the pain in his voice now and it made your blood run cold.

“Luther’s an asshole, but he’s m-y family.”

“I know that, Diego. And I know how much family means to you. That wasn’t how I—”

“You know, you’re starting to sound a lot like my father.”

You stared at him, aghast.

“You’ve been just like him this whole time, haven’t you?”

“What?” you couldn’t keep the break and horror from your voice, didn’t want to.

“All this scheming and planning. Using the rest of us as puppets. It’s all about the so-called greater good. And screw anyone that gets in your way.”

“Diego, that’s not—” You tried to pull your emotions back into check but couldn’t. Hot, desperate tears pooled in your eyes before spilling down your cheeks.

‘Not what?’ you froze to ask yourself. ‘Not fair? Not true? Isn’t it though? Wasn’t he completely right, that you and Reginald were circling each other, playing a game with each other? Lay a trap, dance away from it. Steal a piece of information, change it’s meaning. Capture a bishop, sacrifice a knight. Move and counter-move. For months now.’

“I’m going to the gym tonight,” he said, making a dismissive gesture when you remained silent for too long. “I can’t do this anymore.”

He turned on his heel, throwing a few things in a duffle bag haphazardly.

“Maybe this was a mistake,” you said quietly as you watched him pack, rooted in your spot in the living room.

“Of course it was a mistake!”

“I don’t mean things with your father or D.S. Umbrella,” you took a deep, shuddery breath. “I...I mean us.”

“What?” his voice dropped, all the anger leeching away as he hesitated in the middle of folding one of his turtlenecks.

You took a shuddering breath, “None of this would have happened if we hadn’t gotten tangled up trying to pretend we fit together, in each other’s lives.”

“Y/N. Stop.” He shook his head, words clipped and forced. “Don’t say that.”

“Say what Diego? What we’re both thinking? I love you, so much. More than I can possibly say. But...I don’t think that’s enough. I was...we were better off alone. Everyone was.”

“That’s not t-true.” He took a step toward you and you took a step back. He looked like the world had just dropped out from under him.

“Tell me I’m wrong. Please?” you begged, voice and lip trembling. “If you can say that, after everything I’ve done, after all of this, I’ll believe you. But...don’t say if it’s not true.”

“That’s it?”

“I don’t know.��

Your gut gnawed at you, the still image of the burning warehouse catching in the corner of your eye. It felt like he was going to forgive you, even for a moment, for that, for Luther, and you couldn’t fathom that. And the more you spoke, the more you found yourself meaning the words. You loved him, and he loved you, and that could only hurt.

“I should go,” he said, half-heartedly, almost asking you to stop him.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

His keys rattled as he picked them up, and the door closing behind him seemed louder than you had ever imagined possible. It felt like one of his daggers was protruding from your chest. You couldn’t breathe.

“Diego, wait!” you called shakily, throwing open the door but not quite chasing him into the hallway.

He stopped but didn’t turn around. Silence hung like a wall between you. Your tongue felt like lead. What could you possibly say to undo what you had just done?

The minutes dragged on, the silence unbroken.

With a sigh you could almost imagine wafting back to flutter over you, he started to move again, and you stood there until his back disappeared. Only when he was truly gone, did you sink to the floor.

“Goodbye Diego,” you murmured, the words trailing off into a sob.

[crystalirises]

Lake

Tumblr back at it again with deleting my posts ;-;

So yeah.... reupload of that Parent!Eret and Fundy fic.

They ran a hand through their messy brown hair, the sun beating down at them from above as they settled against the smooth surface of a marble column. Their bones ached with fatigue.

Eret watched as the clouds rolled by in the sky, a calm afternoon breeze sweeping through the newly built land of New L’Manburg. It had been over a month since Dream had dethroned and casted them from their castle, tossed to the agitated wolves that comprised Pogtopia’s army. They could still feel the harsh glares that everyone had burned into Eret’s skin, the distrust in their gazes.

They pulled the flimsy brown cloak tighter around their shoulders, a piece of old clothing that Niki had cheerfully given to them the moment they had expressed their desire to move into New L’Manburg. Niki felt like their only ally in a country that detested their very existence. Not that they could blame everyone… not after what they did. The nightmares still plagued his mind, the horror in their companions’ eyes as it dawned upon them what Eret had done. There were nights where they would stare at the ceiling, Eret’s pure white eyes the only light source in a desolate room that felt too suffocating despite its spacious quarters. There wasn’t a day that went by where their heart didn’t ache with regret. Would they be here now if they had refused Dream’s offer in the beginning? Was all of this Eret’s fault? It felt like it was… Wilbur would be alive if they―

“Eret!”

They glanced up, freezing before a familiar pair of fox ears caught their eye. A soft smile formed on their lips as Fundy sat down beside them, a wide grin on his face as he fiddled with something in his hands. Eret had no doubt that Fundy had just gotten back from scamming some poor unknowing soul. Fundy’s gold-flecked brown eyes glanced at the large unfinished structure behind them, his brows furrowing as his ears twitched at the top of his head. Eret pursed their lips, wondering how Fundy would react to the building’s true purpose. They had thought it best if they had tried to create a museum in honor of… the first L’Manburg. It felt ironic… but someone had to do it. No matter how much it stung to go through memories of the past. It had to be done.

“Gold for the king.” Fundy’s voice broke through their thoughts, casting away the haze that had plagued him for days. There was a cheerful smile on Fundy’s face, his hands holding what seemed to be a stack of gold. Eret blinked at the offering, their mouth agape with confusion as they finally looked into the fox hybrid’s eyes. Fundy’s tail was curled around his waist, his ears twitching as he waited for Eret’s reply. Eret hadn’t the faintest clue on what to say. Their last conversation was years ago, during that strange time where Fundy decided to decorate their castle with faux flamingoes. Eret missed those flamingoes. “They’re not stolen, Eret. You gotta trust me on that.”

“I trust you, Fundy.” Eret’s hand hovered above the gold, guilt striking their heart at the momentary thought of this being a scam. Fundy bit his bottom lip, not missing the way they hesitated before taking the gold into his hold. Eret carefully tucked the gift away into their inventory, a small smile on their face. “I do believe you, Fundy. You have to understand my hesitation, I’m not quite on anyone’s friend list regardless of my ‘change of heart’ during the final war. What is this gold for?”

“I don’t have any use for them…” Eret knew a lie when they heard one, they know what it was like to lie. Fundy’s gaze shifted to the side, his fingers twitching before they finally settled into picking at his sleeve. Eret reached out a hand, gently moving Fundy’s hand away from his jacket’s sleeve. They didn’t want Fundy to tear into the cloth. “And… I heard about the dethroning thing.”

“You just found out now?” Eret raised a brow at that. They assumed everyone knew by now, Dream didn’t exactly keep George’s coronation a private affair. “I’m not a king. I never was.”

“I refuse to call George a king.”

“Well, he’s the new king. There is nothing to be done about that.” They pressed their fingers at the bridge of their shades, pushing up as it had begun to slip. “And how are you, Fundy?”

Eret turned to Fundy, their piercing gaze causing the fox hybrid to shift in place. They didn’t miss the way Fundy’s shoulders shook, the poorly concealed dark circles beneath his eyes. Though Fundy kept a smile on his face, their was a pain in his eyes that made Eret’s heart pang with a familiar regret. Everyone had lost something during the war, but Fundy most of all. He had lost his father, his home, his birthright, and now… Eret knew Fundy didn’t know what to do with himself. They were both foreigners in a land that regarded them with distaste and with mockery. They were the outcasts, the forgotten, and the traitors. No one wanted either of them.

“I’ve been… busy. Did you know it takes an entire week to fill in a crater? Well… half a crater. Tubbo made the presidential decision to build on top of the corpse of the old L’Manburg. It’s been great. It’s been great.” Eret watched as Fundy’s tail bristled at his own words, his shoulders hunching up as he kicked at a loose pebble on the ground. They hadn’t offered their services in the rebuilding of L’Manburg, not that Tommy would have allowed them to help. Fundy sat down, pulling his knees closer to his chest as he buried his head in his arms. Eret crouched down beside him. “Oh… and Wilbur’s back. Ghostbur… You know Ghostbur, right? He doesn’t remember much. He doesn’t remember what I did… what he did… and I think… he barely remembers me…”

There’s a wobble in Fundy’s voice, a strained sob that seemed to have been forced down. Eret placed a hand on his back, small tremors racing up and down Fundy’s spine. They could hear the soft sniffles, muffled but clearly there. Eret wondered when was the last time Fundy allowed himself to cry. They felt sick… who taught Fundy to cry so quietly? Eret took a deep breathe, hoping that they wouldn’t find claws digging into their skin in just a few seconds. They pulled Fundy into a hug, the fox hybrid stilling in their hold before finally melting into the touch. Fundy’s arms wrapped around their neck, his head leaning against Eret’s chest. Eret pulled him closer.

“It’s okay, Fundy. You’re allowed to mourn. It’s just the two of us right now… and you know I would never judge you.” Fundy was violently shaking in his hold, a cold chill spreading across Eret’s shirt as Fundy began to cry. Eret placed a hand on the top of Fundy’s head, caressing his still ash-covered hair. It had been a month and yet the residue of war still haunted Fundy, both physically and mentally. Eret closed their eyes, basking in the silence of the afternoon. They rarely got visitors to the museum, and even if someone were to stumble upon them, Eret would make they didn’t see Fundy. Fundy never did like to cry in front of people. Their heart broke as Fundy let out a soft whimper. Maybe… maybe if they hadn’t betrayed L’Manburg during the first war, Fundy would still have a dad. Fundy wouldn’t be an orphan. A scared and unwanted orphan.

“Thank you.” Fundy moved away, wiping at the tears in his eyes. Eret gave him a soft smile, placing a hand on his shoulder. Fundy sniffed, holding onto their hand as if it was a lifeline. It was times like these where they were reminded that Fundy was just a kid… now he was an orphan. The thought terrified them. Fundy may be Techno’s nephew but everyone knew Techno wouldn’t hesitate to kill him if given the chance. Eret couldn’t let that happen. Not to Fundy. “Shit. Sorry. I can… uh… pay you more gold for the shirt. Fuck. You shouldn’t have seen me like this.”

“We’ve known each other for years, Fundy. I remember when you were but a kit… you were a lot shorter then. You were terrified of me at the start, commenting on my… odd eyes. It took a while but you eventually warmed up to me. You rarely cried as a kid, but when you did you always ran to me. Years have passed… but one thing remains unchanged. No matter what happened – no matter what may happen – I am still your confidante. You need not be wary to come to me in your time of need.” A smile found its way to Fundy’s lips, a momentary joy that didn’t sit right with Eret. The tearstains remained on Fundy’s cheeks, a reminder that not all was quite well. Fundy… Fundy needed someone. Someone who could protect him. Someone who could bring back the life into those dull brown eyes. Fundy needed a parent. Eret didn’t know if they were the right person, but Fundy needed someone who cared. “Hey… You’re an orphan now―”

“Thanks for ruining the moment, Eret. No need to rub it in―”

“No! I didn’t mean it like that, Fundy. I would never― It’s just…”

They glanced over at him. Fundy’s ears were pressed against the top of his head, his eyes narrowing into thin slits as he bared his teeth. Eret wished he hadn’t begun in the way they did.

“You need a dad.” Fundy paused at that, glancing up at them in shocked silence. Eret fiddled with the bottom of their shirt, the proposal hanging in the air between them. They didn’t know if they would be enough – didn’t know if Fundy even wanted them – but Fundy needed to be safe. He needed someone who would think of him first – someone who would choose Fundy before anything. Someone who would show him that he mattered. Fundy bit his bottom lip, eyes casted low to the ground… but he moved a bit closer to Eret. After a few seconds, Fundy looked up once more, a cautious look in his gaze as he waited for Eret to say what they wanted. “You need someone who could care for you. Someone who would make you feel wanted. I may not be the best option, Fundy. Anyone else might be better suited for such a task. But if you will have me… then I would like to take you in. What I’m saying is… I want to adopt you, Fundy.”

The silence made their heart burn with ache. Of course, Fundy wouldn’t want them. Why would he? “I know you want someone else, anyone else. I know you probably have some semblance of hate for me. I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have asked… I’m sorry, Fundy. I-I-I’ll be leaving―”

Eret felt a hand grab at the collar of their shirt, yelping as they were pulled into an embrace. They held their breath. Fundy burrowed his head into the crook of their neck, his shoulders shaking as another bout of tears escaped the fox hybrid’s eyes. Eret returned the embrace, holding him closer to himself as if that would be enough to block him from the cruel world they lived in. Right now… all that mattered was the two of them.

“All I ever needed… was someone who wanted me more than I loved myself.”

They swore right then and there that they would be the best parent Fundy would ever have. Eret placed a hand on the back of Fundy’s head, holding him closer. They would be okay… Eret would make sure of it.

“I’ll try for you, Fundy. I promise… I’ll be here for you for as long as you need me.”

~~~

“Come onnnnnnnnn.” They chucked as Fundy pulled at the sleeve of their shirt, forcing Eret quicken their pace on the creaky wooden pier. The sun was setting in the distance, casting the lake in an ethereal glow of molten gold. Fundy had begged them to take him on a fishing trip – claiming to know the perfect spot to do so – and as Eret looked over at the serene waters, they were glad Fundy had suggested the idea. Fundy’s eyes held a spark, an excited gleam that Eret wished would never disappear. As they reached the end of the path, Fundy handed them a fishing rod. Eret didn’t know much about fishing, but it was worth seeing Fundy so giddy… almost child-like as he sat down near the edge, his legs dangling over the water. “Are you going to keep standing there?”

Eret blinked, casting a look towards the fox hybrid before taking a seat next to him. A soft wind blew past them, small waves fluttering through the water’s surface. They ran a hand through their hair, nearly knocking off the flower crown that Fundy had made for them earlier on in the day.

It was a cold afternoon, one that sent goosebumps down Eret’s skin as they looked up into the dying sky. A beautiful hue of pink, orange, and purple painted the sky with their radiance as fading gray clouds moved towards the distance. They looked back down at the lake. Its edges crowned by a massive display of pink flowers. Eret wondered who could have possibly had the time to plant them. Niki did say she was building a flower shop with Puffy… and a flower shop certainly needed flowers. Eret was brought out of their musings by a hand on their shoulder. They looked over at Fundy, a nervous glint in his eyes as he looked down at the unused fishing rod in his hands. Eret raised a brow at him, turning to cast their own hook into the water. They watched as the bobber floated up and down on the water’s surface, they waited for a few seconds, but Fundy didn’t follow after them. They threw a look towards the person in question, “Fundy? What’s wrong?”

“I um…” They watched as Fundy fiddled with the rod, his fingers biting into the wood as he looked out into the lake. His ears were pressed against his head as his shoulders hunched up. It only took Eret a second to realize what was wrong. They quickly moved closer to Fundy, pulling back their own fishing rod as they placed it on the space behind them. They clasped their hands over Fundy’s, a gentle hold that made Fundy’s tail wag a bit. Fundy chuckled, embarrassed that he couldn’t exactly hide the way he felt. “Wilbur used to promise me, when I was younger, that he would teach me how to fish. The wars and the election kinda pushed that back on his busy schedule, ya know?”

“I know. Wilbur… he was a busy man. I’m sure he planned to teach you… once the wars were over.” They both winced at that bittersweet lie. Wilbur didn’t plan anything after the war. He knew exactly what needed to be done and he didn’t once spare a thought for the people he’d leave behind. Eret shook their head at the thought, pushing down the horrible feel of loathing that threatened to form in their chest. Wilbur was a good father, he was just a revolutionary first. Eret turned back to the task at hand, helping Fundy hold the fishing rod in a proper manner before getting their own. Fundy’s gaze never strayed, watching as Eret held the fishing rod in the same way Fundy was holding it. “I didn’t fish as mush as Wilbur, but I could teach you the basics. If you want me to.”

Eret laughed as Fundy nodded his head, his flower crown nearly falling off. Eret had promised themselves to work on the museum, but when Fundy strolled in – a myriad of flowers in his arms – Eret knew their productive day was as good as gone. They didn’t mind, not when Fundy looked so happy… so carefree, as if the burdens of the past had vanished. Somedays… it seemed like everyone forgot that Fundy was just a kid. Fundy may look and act like a teen, but how could a child ever move past the trauma of battle? Everyone had grown up so fast. They all needed a break, a momentary peace where they could just unwind. They would give Fundy a chance at childhood, one that the hands of war took from him. Eret chuckled beneath his breath, Fundy tilting his head as if he wanted to know what Eret found to be so funny. Eret shook his head, giving the fox hybrid a reassuring smile. “I hope you’re a quick learner. Sun’s about to set, want to speedrun this?”

“Spee― pfft. I bet I could catch more fish than you.” Fundy flicked out a tongue at them, laughing despite himself. Eret rolled his eyes at the fox hybrid’s challenge. He couldn’t even fish and he expected to beat Eret? Oh, it was definitely on. Eret shook their head before turning to direct Fundy on how to use the fishing rod. It took a few tries, but Fundy eventually got the hang of it. Eret knew he could do it. Fundy was smart… but there was no way he was beating Eret at fishing.

The sun had disappeared into the sky before Fundy finally caught his first fish. Fundy looked up at it with awe, letting out small noise of surprise. Eret nearly laughed at Fundy practically pushed it into their face in his haste to show it to them.

“ERET! I CAUGHT ONE!”

“You sure did.” Eret smiled, placing a hand on Fundy’s head.

“Are you… are you proud of me?”

“I’m always proud of you, Fundy. I always will be, no matter what.”

~~~

Fundy pulled the brown cloak closer around his shoulders, shivering in the cool night air. The full moon casted a silver glow upon the water’s surface, a white abyss that looked tempting to fall into.

There was a heavy scent in the air, a bitter taste that sent a horrible chill down his spine. He focused on the pink flowers that dotted the lake’s edge, hoping the color would force his thoughts to calm down. It was a silent night in New L’Manburg, the lanterns casting the streets in dim golden rays. Fundy was glad for their presence. They gave him some semblance of comfort and warmth.

The day had been fun. He scammed a few people here and there and spent his entire afternoon with Eret. A smile found its way to his lips at the thought of his soon-to-be parent. It had been a week since Eret had asked him if he wanted to be adopted, and somehow, his world had looked a little brighter ever since that day. Eret looked at him as if he mattered… as if he was wanted. He didn’t know how to feel about that. His heart ached and crumbled at the dark thoughts that plagued his mind. Surely… surely this was a ploy? A trick? Eret wouldn’t want someone like him, right?

He began to pull at the tips of his hair, forcing down the sobs that threatened to slip past his lips. Eret couldn’t possibly be doing this because they cared. No one cared about him. He was a nobody, an orphan of a country long since dead. Who would willingly ever choose him? He wrapped his arms around himself, closing his eyes as tears pricked at the edges. Eret was doing this out of pity… out of some high moral obligation. There was no way… There was no way someone actually wanted him. Who would want him? The child forgotten by his own father and nation? This had to be some sort of cruel prank that would leave him broken by the end. Eret didn’t care. Eret shouldn’t care. His fingers gripped his forearms in a bruising grip as those horrible thoughts ran through his head. Eret didn’t want him. Eret couldn’t possibly want him. Eret would never―

He felt a heavy cloak being draped over his shoulders, a warm hand settling on top of his head. His eyes abruptly snapped open, a familiar pair of shades appearing within his vision. “E-Eret?”

“You shouldn’t be out here, Fundy. I don’t want you getting sick.” Eret made quick work of tying the cloak around Fundy, giving him a soft smile as they looked over at the lake. Fundy felt that strange pang in his heart. Eret sounded so sincere… but Fundy just couldn’t bring himself to believe it. Although he tried to hide it, Eret noticed the tears in his eyes. Fundy felt a hand on his cheek, a thumb wiping at the stray tears that had escaped him. Dre, he was pathetic. He leaned into the welcoming touch, wanting to pretend that Eret actually cared for him. “What’s wrong, Fundy?”

“I know you don’t care about me, Eret.”

“What?!” He felt Eret hold him closer, their other hand on his shoulder as if to keep them both steady. Fundy bit the inside of his cheek, wishing that Eret would stop pretending. It was worse that way. Best to rip the band-aid off as quickly as possible. “Fundy, what are you talking about?!”

“You can stop.” Fundy wished he could push them away, wished he was anywhere else but there. “I know you couldn’t possibly care about me. No one cares about me, Eret. I don’t expect you to. So, please stop pretending you do. Everyone leaves me eventually. I know you don’t care―”

He was pulled into a tight yet gentle embrace. Eret’s chin resting on his head.

“Don’t tell yourself those horrible things. I care a lot about you.” Fundy gripped the back of Eret’s shirt, sniffling as Eret rubbed a comforting hand down his back. “I wouldn’t have offered to adopt you if I didn’t. I care… a lot of people care. Fundy… do you really think no one cares about you?”

“They shouldn’t. Don’t you see, Eret? Anyone who’s ever loved me died…” Fundy couldn’t help but think of Wilbur… of Schlatt… of his late mother… Eret shouldn’t care. “I’m cursed, Eret. You’ll leave too… or you’ll die. I don’t want you to die, Eret. I don’t know if I could take it…”

“I suppose I’ll just have to make sure I don’t die then.”

Fundy rubbed at his eyes, tilting his head up to glance into Eret’s eyes… well, shades. Eret had a smile on their face, a reassuring gesture that made Fundy want to cry. “You can’t promise me that, Eret. You can’t promise me that.”

“But I will. You’re my son, Fundy.” He froze at the title. He hadn’t been called that in so long… at least not in a positive way. “I can’t promise you the world, but I can promise you that I care.”

“Heh… I guess you do care…” Fundy sniffled, feeling a smile on his lips as Eret finally let him go. “I’m sorry for doubting you.”

“We all have our doubts, Fundy. You need not apologize.”

“Yeah…” Fundy held onto Eret’s arm, clinging to it as if it were a lifeline. Eret didn’t make a move to escape his grasp, they only seemed to pull him closer to their side. Fundy laughed despite himself and the ache in his heart. Maybe he was wanted… “Can we go home now, ren?”

Eret smiled, “Of course, son.”

They walked away from the pier, the night wind billowing through their hair. Fundy closed his eyes, content to spend their walk back in comfortable silence.

He was glad to leave… the bitter smell of the foxgloves near the lake had begun to make him sick.

Yet… their poisonous scent lingered in the air.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So yeah...

This is connected to my previous one-shots titled ‘Clouds V.2.’ and ‘Foxgloves’...

I TRIED TO WRITE A WHOLESOME FIC BUT I DON’T HAVE A SINGLE WHOLESOME BONE IN MY BODY, OKAY?!

But yeah... hope you guys like this :DDD

[theteej]

on white performative anxiety on election night

Ok, here we go. I had decided that I would not watch the election results unfold last night because quite frankly--it was clear that it would be a close race, and just like with sports games it takes a particular type of narcissistic imagining to think that constant watching will change the impact of an event simply because you watch it.  Also, this isn't a sports game--it's people's lives.  So I ordered a pizza and worked through three unread X-Men collections (decent, by the way--especially the new take on Marauders).

By 8pm I was getting frequent texts, and despite putting my phone in another room, i heard the buzzing enough to get me off the couch. I logged onto social media to see a flood of white Democrats having a complete meltdown as if the election had been called.  And that same existential dread/despair cataclysmically reverberating across social media in New Zealand, South Africa, and Australia.  I was so confused.  What the actual fuck were people upset about?  He hadn't conceded. Most states hadn't been called.  The responses felt so much like being in high school or college where I'd studied for exams and felt reasonably prepared but then got overwhelmed in the psychic energy of performed anxiety/fear/studying that everyone did around finals.  Hell, in pre-covid times I had to limit my time on campus as a professor in the last week because the palpable miasma of fear/anxiety/performative freaking out was too much for me, even though I WAS JUST GRADING THE FINALS. Honestly, I was baffled.  Why were people like this?  They knew that Wisconsin and Michigan and Pennsylvania were not going to count their early voting polls first, and the in person would screw Republican.  WHY WERE THEY FREAKING OUT?

And then it slowly dawned on me.  They really had believed their own lies.  They thought there was going to be a magical, massive blue wave of repudiation of President Trump, after the xenophobia, the racism, the wanton cruelty, the vicious fascism.  They needed to believe that this moment would redeem them, this electoral moment would fix them.  And they were mourning, almost disproportionately, this sense of utter collapse.  They were treating the reality of the closeness of the election as somehow equivalent to the idea of a Trump re-election victory.  What the actual hell.

I started to see a lot of "I can't believe it's even this close" statuses.  I put down my pizza in annoyance and kept reading.  There were so many variations on the time-honoured "this is not who we are" canard so many people tell themselves about America. People were mourning, in real time, the lie they'd told themselves.  There was a fundamental believe that Trumpism, the vile populism and toxic mix of racism and other oppressive elements, was an "aberration" that could be corrected.  There was a willing disbelief that this was not part of the very core of this country, that 'America' as a concept is a bad place--one made entirely possible through enslavement and genocide and one that was absolutely fixable through a simple electoral action.  And it's wild, because that's never been the case.  Not now, not ever.  I remember in 2008, being overwhelmed by white people wanting to celebrate Obama with me, but I was also keenly aware of racism and the fact that my own state had just voted to take away same-sex marriage.  Dr. Jim Barrett, a professor in my graduate program at Illinois, stopped me, a new, black graduate student who he didn't know, and said, "isn't the election great?" and i said, "I'm from California, and I'm more worried also about how easily people can dismiss queer rights."  He paused for a second, and then said, "but we did it this time with Obama!"  Here was a full-grown man with a PhD in American history casually telling a black graduate student (WHOSE NAME HE DID NOT EVEN KNOW) how great it was to be able to absolve oneself of responsibility via an electoral process, and to imagine an America without self-criticism, just redemption.

And that's what was at the heart of this baffling pre-capitulation, one that exceeded even the easy stereotype of the always-losing Democrats.  BIDEN HADN'T EVEN LOST. He had (and as of now still) leads in electoral votes! But everyone was moaning, gnashing teeth, and grieving.  But what they were really grieving was their own innocence.  Their naïve assumption that they could be the heroes in a story, in a history of violence that was expressly built for them, even if they wanted to deny it.  Trumpism sells a fantasy of white revanchism, of recovery, and even those whites who imagine otherwise can't exorcise it via a ballot because the entire system of it is at its core, still violent and racist.  Y'all seriously wanted a parade, a movement repudiating this.  What America do you live in?  Did we not go through the same black summer?  Of course we didn't.  You saw this summer as a moment of profound alliance building and a recapturing of a mythical value of inclusion.  We saw it with surprise--oh white people either just realized that black lives are cheap, or they were sufficiently bothered/bored enough to perform about it.

So much of this is a navel-gazing performance of anxiety.  2016 was traumatizing for people who didn't want to think Trumpism was America, but it IS.  And it's done in your name.  

This morning, I saw even more of this.  A friend and colleague wrote a lengthy status about her anxiety about it all and hope that 'good' would prevail, and bemoaned the lack of a real wave of change.  A friend, family member, or colleague of theirs immediately commented with pro-Trump sloganeering.  And she did nothing.  She kept commenting.  This broke me for a second.  How could she not see what a joke all of this was? What she was?  Here she was bemoaning a lack of some sort of prelapsarian goodness, trying to make some sort of "we'll get through this message," and she couldn't even see what she was doing.  There was no acknowledgment, no censuring, no pushback, no RESPONSE to the Trump sloganeering, because she could not fathom the idea that this was connected to HER.  The disappointment she felt, that so many people expressed on social media? It was performative, it was a mourning one's inability to distance oneself from genocidal, suicidal logics of all of this populist turpitude.  She couldn't even denounce the very Trumpism on her own fucking wall, in response to her comment.  Of course there was no blue wave, of course there was no rebuking.  Why should there be?  There are no consequences.  Just white folk hoping civility will save them, with the same baffling surety as King Canute commanding the waves to cease lapping at the feet of his throne.  The whole event felt like a farce--people attempting to distance themselves from a violence done in their name by refusing to even pushback against he very violence that endangers millions of people, incarcerates children, kills with impunity.

I feel, once again, like I'm the one person who felt confident for an exam during finals week.  Everyone's freaking the fuck out, performing, demonstrating a goodness, trying to foolishly imagine the country as good.  I think back to March, when black voters in South Carolina made very clear what was going to happen.  White people were not coming to save them.  Electoral legerdemain was not going to happen, there was no last minute deus ex machina.  There was the brutal calculus that many people don't see the fascism as bad, and remain so insulated that they don't care if the brute returns, so much as the lesser peoples are put in their place.  Those black voters saw that their best chance was the utter uninspiring, safe, and milquetoast flavour of whiteness, Joe Biden.  And they were right.  We can push that one, perhaps.  Make changes.  But this was always going to be a bitter slog, and at most, a close thing.  America is a bad place. We cannot redeem it through performance, through simply voting.  We don't exorcise our structural violence with selfies and dashes of ink on sealed papers.

Now that we know this, we can actually push back against the attempted voter fraud that IS happening right now, and then hope that this mediocre blue man wins.  And then maybe y'all can join us in doing the hard, daily work that also involves critically acknowledging our own complicity, investment, and inclusion in a violent, illegitimate space.  We have to live in these contradictions, to push and transform it, and remember that there are no cheat codes here.  Just grinding work, and no cookies or congratulation.

Be fucking better, y'all.

[bellaslilpapercut]

Eclipse reread part 3 bewr bewr bewrrr! Covering the entire rest of the book in ONE post so buckle on in baybee: 

1. Absolutely everything about chapter 15 (wager) is disgusting. To a certain extent I appreciate how successfully meyer captures how frustrating assault is as a woman, how futile it feels to fight against it. But at the same time the way she handles the aftermath is unbelievably disappointing and infuriating. Charlie doesn't get up to help his own daughter, Jake trails after Bella into the house and sticks around, there's just no relief or reflection that feels satisfying. Bella can ask where the justice is when she finds out Jake isn't aging but just ignores Charlie defending her assailant? And to some extent I get it, I've shut down after assault before to the point where it took years to recognize that some of the things that happened even were assault. But when there's a pattern within the series of men being narratively rewarded for assault and abuse and women being punished for reacting to abuse it feels like the narrative is reinforcing the status quo of women<men. I'm not stupid, I understand when a book is trying to make me uncomfortable and I don't need villains to be punished to know that they're villainous. This doesn't come across that way at all. Meyers handling of misogynistic abuse and violence lack the nuance to make me believe that she sees this violence as something to be critical of rather than something that just happens to women. And again, because it's a pattern in her writing, women getting no reprieve from gendered harm, I don't believe she's making a statement. There's just no self awareness and that's the key difference between a story like Brave New World or Lolita and Twilight.

2. Also this quote that precedes the assault is just so so frustrating:

Bella is not mean for setting boundaries! She isn't stringing you along! I would love to hit meyer in the head with a rolled up newspaper. Anyway.

3. Bella keeps saying things like "this would be annoying if it weren't so scary" in regards to having her clothes stolen by vampires that want her dead and having to lie to people around her, again because dozens of vampires want her dead. And y'know after the third time she said she would be annoyed if she weren't scared I'm just left to believe she isn't scared at all. I don't feel rising tension, the newborn army feels like a minor nuisance and even after they connect it to victoria (who still hasn't shown up at all) I'm just like...okay well get on with it then! Meyer makes bella "shudder" (I'm still tempted to make a comp of every time she shudders in this fucking book lol) instead of showing us her actual fear. I don't believe she's scared, I don't care about the "threat," and I don't believe anything bad will happen to Bella. There are Literally No Stakes here. I'm not invested in this story at all.

4. Alice is a bad friend lmfao

Girl, you're psychic you know she wanted to wear red why are you just dressing her up for your brother.

5. Okay returning to point 3 because I read chapter 17 and had an epiphany: Bella says she isn't scared for herself and I get that I do. But smeyer also hasn't shown us that she's selfless- just that she doesn't care if she dies. If bella actually cared for her human friends, in any way, I would believe that the newborn army was a scary threat because the people she loves might get hurt. But I don't believe that she cares about that I only believe that she- like Edward- has a weird martyr complex.

6. The Mirror chapter also reinforces this. I can’t stop thinking about how much more impactful it would have been narratively if it had been Angela in Bree’s position (because she’s the only human friend Bella seems fond of but if Bella showed interest in any of the other humans, honestly any of them would do). Imagine the moment where the newborn vampire first lifts her head to look into Bella’s eyes and it’s someone she knows. Someone she cares for. There should have been consequences for Bella beyond “Jake got some bones broken and now I feel bad :(” which was also a shitty punishment because smeyer is inflicting physical trauma on an indigenous character just to make Bella feel bad. Okay. Anyway, it would have built the tension I was missing for- quite literally- over 300 pages of this book if Bella’s friends and classmates and Fork’s residents had been going missing the whole time. Suddenly, at the end of the battle, there’s Angela. Or Jess. Or Katie fucking Marshall. Someone Bella knew should have been there and maybe I would have cared about this book at all.

7. Going back in time to this quote which comes before the battle:

UGH!!! SHUT UP SMEYER! She literally poisoned Jake’s character from the moment she made him a main character and she has zero self reflection to see the damage that she’s causing here. I’ve said before that I don’t think Jake’s actions were a romantic deal breaker and that stands out now more than ever after reading Eclipse. THIS is the moment that Bella realizes she’s in love with Jake too. Smeyer not only sees abuse and aggression as romantic, she also lacks the braincells and reflection to see that she’s playing directly into racist stereotypes. Edward got to grow up- marginally- but Jake had to remain aggressive. I still don’t think she ever once meant to villify Jake- I think that there was no way in a hell a racist woman could ever successfully portray an indigenous character. His tenderness is tainted by the aggression she forces on his character and in the end he never had a chance because- again- he was being written by a racist woman with fucked up views of indigenous people.

8. Okay, I get it. They’re like Cathy and Heathcliff. Fine. I buy it.  

This isn’t even the last time she compares them to Cathy and Heathcliff. Kate Bush isn’t gonna write a song about you, meyer! Give it a rest! (Also lol at “like wuthering heights”)

9.  Jumping right to the end here because to be completely honest the only actual event in the entire book was the newborn battle. Jane was a bitch, fine. Edward talked at Victoria and bored her to death (presumably) and the action never felt very action heavy. I knew if from the “best friend (and werewolf)” line that this book was presumably written for idiots given how little is left to the imagination at any given time. I can’t stand when books treat the audience like dummies and I especially can’t handle YA books that do this. Teenagers aren’t stupid!! Young adults can pick up on subtlety in literature!! AND young adults can handle suspense and action. smeyer doesn’t do either well and the editors never once said “hey you know teens aren’t stupid right? like your audience will pick up on hints that you scatter you don’t have to forcefully explain everything?”  

10. Smeyer can’t stop interrupting herself even in the very last sentence of the book proper:

What, pray tell, is wrong with “Where it would stay for the rest of eternity.” Why did you have to sow doubt in the sentiment right after Bella made her For Real Final Decision???? And why the em-dash!? Again: the editors of the twilight saga are my nemeses but also my favorite conmen. What were they paid for?

11. Back to the editors real quick: if i was given a draft of eclipse I would instantly say: this story is almost 400 pages of nothing, you need to play with the structure of the story. You need to build suspense and if that means playing with POV like you randomly start doing in the epilogue, then do that. Or you can play with the plot. Nothing happens for 300 pages. It takes 300 pages to get to the newborn battle and nothing that happens before the newborn battle makes me feel worried about it. Again, kill off some humans, raise the stakes, do SOMETHING. This was so painfully slow to read because meyer tried to center this book on a love triangle that I didn’t even believe in myself. And even then, it took 14 chapters for the love triangle to get real action (as in an Event, not necessarily physical action). 

12. The epilogue. Oh man. Was the r-slur really so acceptable in 2007 that not one single editor questioned its use? I won’t type the quote in full but Jake refers to his fake arm sling as r-word. Like??? What? And THEN smeyer has him call Leah a “bitter harpy.” Shut up. 

In conclusion, nothing felt like a bigger waste of time than Eclipse. Genuinely, to be completely honest. Two (2) important things happened, at least in Bella’s narrative (I agree with Vinelle that the Volturi debacle was important from Carlisle’s perspective, it adds nothing to Bellas and Bella learns nothing important from it.): 1. Bella made a decision, she chose Edward. Who could have seen that coming? Whaaaat? 2. Rosalie told Bella her backstory. Not that Bella even used that to reflect on her decision to become a vampire but hey, at least it felt like an important moment. Jasper’s backstory only mattered for the newborn battle which didn’t matter at all (and it never informed his character and no one ever brings up that the confederacy was a terrible dark stain on US history (along with the rest of US history but that’s a full dissertation or two on its own)). I can’t imagine a way to improve this book as a standalone book. You could split up the plot (using that term loosely) so that New Moon and BD are both a little longer and BD a little more organized. But without completely changing the plot beats in Eclipse, its just pointless.

[awesomerextyphoon]

Charred Briar Roses - 4

Meet the Family 

Paring: Orc!Bucky x Black!Reader, Orc!Steve x Black!OFC, Orc!Sam x Black!OFC

Rating: 18+/Explicit

Word Count: 3,500

Summary: The girls get to meet the family.

Warnings: Smut and Mentions of Death

A/N: I’m sorry that this took so long to publish. I had a major writer’s block. Also, the smut is not as good as I wanted so bear with me. Enjoy!

Back to Masterlist

It took five days to reach the group to reach the Orc Settlement. Most of the journey consisted of Fumnanya giggling at Sam’s (not so great, but whatever) jokes while sneaking in a kiss or two, Ghada acting like she’s above the romance then getting caught making out with Steve (she seriously likes it), and you giving Bucky the cold shoulder. You saw the regret in his eyes, but you were too stubborn to give him a chance.

The Orc Settlement was located in the lowlands of the Anchoria Steppes not far from the Tsurchack Forest with its center nestled between a segmented river and a good sized lake to its right. It consisted of a few hundred dwellings that seemed to be a nice cross between a yurt and a longhouse (**think Viking Longhouse**) built with reusable timber, metal, and stone. A couple of the dwellings near the edges were sectioned off into what looked to be farms of six to ten families. There were training areas and market places interspersed throughout the settlement. In the middle, there was a large arena like structure near the center next to what had to be the Elder’s Residence with more town like structures around them. Surrounding the whole settlement was a wall of stone, packed earth, and iron about 12ft high with sensors (probably a force field) sticking on top of it every five feet or so.

It looked beautiful, so different from your former home of extreme decadence.

“Welcome to our home. I know it’s not as-” Steve started.

“It’s beautiful!” Ghada exclaimed while turning her head to smile at him, “We don’t care where you live. We’re just glad you agreed to take us with you.” Steve responded with a low hum and gave her a kiss.

It would’ve been more, but Bucky cleared his throat, “We need to report to the elders as soon as possible.” It was followed by, “And not have you suck your match’s face.” Thankfully neither of the two lovebirds heard him.

Some of the children in front of the gates ran up to the group with bright eyes and smiles wondering if they brought back sweets and toys.

Steve smiled and responded with a ‘You’ll see’ and motioned to the elder’s residence.

Once you passed the front gates, you and your sisters were greeted with reactions ranging from awe to outright contempt. You wondered if they knew of your identities, but Bucky assured you that it was because his people are a bit weary of outsiders. He decided not to tell you about how some of Sophronius’ forces had the almost the exact same hair color and types of clothes, but that was for another time. Right now, he needed to get the elders to let you three stay.

––––––––––––––––––––––––

When they reached the Elder’s Residence – a large longhouse consisting of wood, stone, metal and sturdy fabrics at the top – you stopped yourself from taking another step passed the threshold. What if they didn’t accept you? What if the elders or other members ratted you out to Sophronius? Or will they just have you exiled once they get the riches you and your sisters brought?

Bucky sensed your trepidation and put an enormous hand on your right shoulder, “It’s okay. You’ve got this.” With that your group entered the building.

The elders sat on a raised rectangular dais in the middle of the room with two guards on either end. There was a chandelier and torches all around the main room. Various statues and artifacts of elders passed are placed/hung around the room.

It was intimidating to say the least.

“Welcome back, warriors! Were you successful in your mission?” One of the elders,  Argusa, inquired in Orcish.

“We ran into an old woman who directed us to the lost capital of the Nephrashim.” Steve explained.

“That is nothing but myth, Rogers! If you found nothing than just say so. Honestly, one would think that the halflings would be better at excuses than this.” One of the guards, Figrel, scoffed. He later raised his hands in surrender when Bucky moved in to pummel him.

“Enough, Figrel! Please continue Steve.” Cladista, another elder, gently urged.

“We found the capital to be deserted...except for the princesses. They were at the palace. They agreed to come back with us and we were able to procure valuable medical supplies, building materials, and treasure that we might use for trade.” Steve reported as the elders fixed their gazes onto you and your sisters.

The staring went on for three minutes. No one made a sound as the elders were casting their initial judgement upon you.

With a loud sigh, Argusa spoke in Common Tongue, “We will hear their case. Tell us, why should we let you stay with us?”

Ghada took a cautious step forward, “My sisters and I can offer our services. Fumnanya is a skilled medic and scholar, Y/N is an amazing inventor and metalworker, and I am trained in trade deals and negotiations. Furthermore, all three of us are pretty well versed in combat and culinary arts.” She appealed while searching for any sign of approval from the elders.

“We can attest to their skills if it’s of any consequence.” Sam piped up when it got eerily quit again.

“Interesting. What do you think, Zadia? You’ve been awfully quiet.” Argusa inquired as she turned to the last elder.

“Hmm. They can stay with Bucky’s sisters and stepmother for now. We shall see about their services another time. Enjoy your stay, girls.” Zadia decided while motioning the group to leave.

The short excursion to Bucky’s family’s place was nice. More people warmed up to you (and by that I mean no one gave the three of you blatant glares of contempt), some even walked up and asked questions about you.

It was nice, but all that didn’t matter if Bucky’s family didn’t like you.

You kept telling yourself that you didn’t care what they thought of you, but you knew that was a lie. It angered you that you cared so much. He was the one that said no! Then why did it hurt so much?

Bucky’s sisters and stepmother lived on a farm near the outskirts of the settlement. It comprised of one large dwelling with four smaller ones surrounding it in a circular fashion. Outside of the dwelling circle were smaller cabins and huts for storing food, livestock, hunting tools and combat weapons, and stables for their dire wolves and eagle horses.

It was nice getting to know Bucky’s family. He had three younger sisters – Rebecca (Becca/Becky), Isolde, and Melisende (Meli) – along with Aspasia, his stepmother, a brother-in-law and three nieces and one nephew. They joked and laughed with you three about embarrassing hijinks the guys performed during their youth. You shared some of the your stories about Nephrashim and your former lives. They quickly accepted the three of you as family.

Furthermore, it was nice not having to worry about princess duties and royal decorum. All of you helped around the farm doing several chores for the first time; you didn’t have any hiccups besides Fumnanya freaking out over one of the eagle horses, but Sam handled it.

The only thing that could be better is the treatment you got from the rest of the settlement. Most of the inhabitants either scowled or just pretended that you three didn’t exist. Becca explained that it was because almost none of them had seen clothes and features (hair/eyes) like yours before, but you knew better. It was because they knew you were from Nephrashim. Bucky’s family never breathed a word about it outside the farm’s borders and you doubted the elders would say anything.

Well, you hoped that it would get better. And it did.

An outbreak of Sxtatzia (a cross between Smallpox and Influenza but for orcs) swept through the settlement. Most of the inhabitants who were infected got better except for Zadia.

Just about everyone had lost hope when Sam and Bucky marched in with Fumnanya and Meli in tow (Fumnanya had been teaching Meli some basic medical procedures and best practices). Fumnanya was able to work her magic after Sam threat-, ahem, insisted the guards let her look at the elder. It took the team four hours to create a viable and effective cure.

The day after Zadia was shown to be steadily getting better, the elders put the former princesses to work. Ghada assisted the traders in negotiations, trade deals and some body language/social cues that surprisingly holds up. Fumnanya taught the medics the different practices, poultices, and minor surgical procedures she knew. You taught the metal artisans what you knew about engineering and metalworking techniques.

The warriors couldn’t be happier with this new development. Well, maybe they missed having the three of you near them most of the time, especially Bucky.

––––––––––––––––––––

It had been three weeks and you still hadn’t talked to him besides an occasional sentence and he was getting pissed. Everyone else tip-toed around the subject of you two and it didn’t help that Steve and Sam were getting closer with their matches. Bucky had to go on hunting trips on his own if only to have a respite from the non-stop lovey-dovey chatter about their matches.

He finally got his chance when he was walking (lurking) around the blacksmiths/artisan section where you had your workshop set up. You were giving a welding demonstration when a little shit, Figrel’s younger brother, attempted to grab your ass.

Bucky strode right into the workshop, punched the little shit, threw you over his shoulder, and went on his merry way back to his dwelling on his family’s farm.

“What the fuck was that?!” you shouted as he plopped you onto a nest of cushions.

“I can’t let you go back there. All those eyes leering at you.”

“What do you care? You were the one who said no at the baths!” You countered as you stood up to take your leave.

You didn’t even make it past him because he growled in frustration and spun you around to face him.

He inwardly smirked at your whimpering, loving the way your lower lip quivered.  

“Because you’re MINE!” Bucky bellowed.

You gazed up at him with coy smile, “Prove it,” and he smashed his lips against yours and pushed you onto his bed.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Bucky may have had plenty of sexual partners, but he never kissed anyone...until you. Now he could see what all the fuss was about.

He pried open your mouth with his tongue and groaned when you accepted him while wrapping your arms around his thick neck. He loved the way your tongue danced with his and ended with your graceful but fierce submission.

Once he finally broke for air, Bucky moved to your jaw and neck gently nipping your skin with his tusks. He peppered you with kisses causing small moans to escape your desperate lips.

“Bucky please!” You pleaded as he sent waves of heat to your core.

Bucky stopped his touches, looked you right in the eye, and responded with, “Not yet,” and continued undoing you.

He ripped off your vest and worker blouse and hummed at the sight of your chest. Seeing you now, panting with a ‘giddy fucked’ face, looking at him with half-lidded eyes, made almost all the blood in his face go straight to his cock.

He dove into your chest, licking and gently sucking your breasts while you grabbed his soft dark brown (almost black) hair moaning his name. He worked your breasts so well that you came for the first time in your life within minutes.

“Bet you’ve never had one of your human boys do this to you, woman?” Bucky remarked with a smirk as he ripped off the rest of your clothing like it was tissue paper.

You could only gasp out a ‘No’ before Bucky sprinkled your midsection and hips with sloppy, desperate kisses (he used a lot of tongue) which again caused you moan. You wondered how much more you could take.

The Fae’s training never prepared you for this!

When he finally got to your thighs, Bucky hummed as he took in the sweet smell of your arousal. He faintly kissed and nipped at your inner thighs causing you to cry out in euphoria and impatience. He ignored your cries and gave your slit one long, slow lick.

You hissed at the sensation both from how amazing it felt and frustration from both Bucky and yourself for denying it from happening sooner.

Bucky’s enormous tongue attacked you pussy alternating between your clit and your folds. He soon added a thick finger to the mix causing to edge again and again until you beseeched him to let you come.

“You’re MINE princess! SAY IT!!”

You whimpered at his demand and Bucky stopped moving altogether.

“SAY IT!!”

You mewled, “I’m yours! I’m your bitch!”, you answered remembering what Becca said male Orcs loved to hear their women say.

Bucky chuckled and got up to remove his clothes and decided to make a show of it.

You were sober enough to gaze lustfully at his sleek, muscular, ruggedly handsome frame. You heard the women in the settlement gossip about how they thought the likes of Bucky is wasted on a ‘stupid trollop’ like you.

Checkmate bitches!

He removed his loincloth, his last bit of clothing, to reveal a behemoth of a cock.

You almost gulped at the size. You and your sisters have heard about cocks from gossiping maids and servants before the curse. Those ones sounded like they were a good size, but Bucky’s was on a much higher level.

Bucky, the lovable but cocky bastard, smirked, “Never seen one this big, huh?”

You bit your lip and looked down in shame, “I haven’t seen one at all.”

“And it’ll be the last one you’ll see, sweetheart.”

You let out an uncharacteristic giggle as Bucky parted your legs and lined his cock at your entrance.

He went in slowly as to not hurt you, but you still hissed at the size of him. You’ve never felt so full in your life.

“You’re doing so well for me,” Bucky grunted, “So tight!”

He filled you to the hilt and stayed there for a few minutes while he helped you get your breathing under control.

He started with slow strokes, savoring the way your pussy squeezed him, like you were made for him. He tried to keep it slow out of respect since it was for first time, but you felt so good so he picked up his pace.

The earlier feeling of discomfort at his size soon faded into euphoria. You never dreamt of pleasure like this. Now you understood what your and Bucky’s sisters were going on about. You mewled when Bucky hit your G-Post just right.

It wasn’t long before your first orgasm hit you like a tsunami and you convulsed around him a wave after wave of carnality washed over you. Soon Bucky came with a roar, shooting long thick ropes of his cum into you to the point of creating a bulge in your midsection and you passed out.

When you awoke, you felt a strong arm wrapped around you and a hand gently stroking your hair and back.

“I know you’re awake, sweetheart.”

You open your eyes and looked up to see love (actual love, not lust) and understanding etched in Bucky’’s features. You never knew you needed it, for someone to actually see you for yourself, not what you could give them.

He exhaled, “I’m sorry for the baths. It’s just that I didn’t want to have sex and then you’d leave me. I know it selfish, but-”

You stopped him with a soft kiss on the lips, “Why would I leave you? You actually see me for myself and not for my former station or as an annoyance. Okay, minus your sisters, stepmother, nieces and nephew because they are awesome.”

Bucky chuckled as his some of his long hair fell in front of his face, “I’ll be sure to tell them that, but not Becca. She has a big ego as it is.”

You giggled in response,”That’s fair,” you bit your lip and shot Bucky a coy look, “Do you want to go again?”

You didn’t need to ask him twice.

You two were at it for the rest of the day. The sounds of your lovemaking evident to the rest of the farm’s inhabitants.

“Finally!” Becca exclaimed as she and Ghada were sewing new clothes for the orclings.

Isolde chose that moment to walk into the common room, “Yes! I get my room back!”

The princesses and their matches were in bliss. Everything was right with the world...until it wasn’t.

––––––––––––––––––

It was two months after you and Bucky officially got together. The whole settlement had gotten into an easy rhythm of things when one of scout’s warning horns went off.

“It’s the Horde!”

Everyone who was not fighting was running to the shelters. Bucky had asked you to stay with Becca’s children and mother. You wanted to get angry, but you knew it was because he  wanted someone he trusted and loved to have his stepmother’s back. So you grabbed Waning Swan and ran to the shelters.

The battle lasted until morning and the settlement won, but at a price. Casualties came in at  80 dead and 200 wounded. The scariest thing wasn’t the gore or the corpses, it was the words, “He Knows”, scorched into the ground in front of the arena, or the Assembly Place.

Later that day, everyone who was able crowded into Assembly. Everyone’s eyes were boring into you. Fumnanya kept her head to Sam’s chest, but it wasn’t working.

“I knew those harlots were trouble the moment they strode into our settlement!” A woman who lost her mate to the battle shouted. A chorus of shouts of agreement followed.

Ghada was getting nervous as evident by her squeezing both yours and Steve’s hand. Luckily someone stood up for the group.

“I understand that you’ve suffered, Brida. I lost a son to the Horde, but we can’t blame it all on them. Sophronius has been after us for years. Be reasonable.” Agi stated while the guys gave him a nod of appreciation.

“Fuck that! You’re only saying that because you were they’re mates instructor and your nephew married one those mongrel bitches!” Baldo, another older warrior, exclaimed.

Big mistake.

It would take ten years to ascertain what really happened in the five minutes that followed. Baldo was thrown out of the Assembly, Brida was nursing a broken jaw, Becca had a wound on her left forearm from a sword, and Bucky had to be kept from attacking an idiot by Sam, Steve, Agi, and five other orcs. Everyone else was in an uproar and honestly, a full on fight was going to break out.

“SILENCE!” Argusa roared.

“We need to rebuild. Callisa, can we get a status report by the end of the day?”

Callisa was about to answer when someone demanded that they should do something about the Horde.

Steve gave everyone in your group a knowing and somewhat crestfallen look, “We’ll go to the Resistance and see if they can help.”

It took some minutes before Argusa gave the group an answer. The settlement tried to stay away from Sophronius and the war, but one could say their chickens have come home to roost.

“Alright then, you three take the girls and go first thing tomorrow.” Argusa decided.

“It’s not fair! You just got ‘ere, Auntie! Ingunn cried as she hugged Ghada. All of the orclings were crying and it was breaking your and your sister’s hearts. They’ve made such an impact in your lives that it hurt to leave them now.

“I’m sorry, love, but we have to leave. We’ll be back before you know it.” Ghada reassured her, but you had a feeling it would be a while before your group would return.

With one final hug and a pat, you said your goodbyes to the orclings. Meli, Isolde, Aspasia, Becca, and her mate, Gernot were waiting for you all at the gate.

“I know you’re sad about leaving us, but we will meet again my dears.” Aspasia uttered as she gave each of you a hug.

“Take care and keep these knuckleheads in line.” Becca joked while she gave Bucky a playful punch to the shoulder.

So with a heavy heart, you left the place that felt more like home in many ways than the place you were born.

The group headed southwest to the coordinates a trader said that he saw some Resistance Members. You were crossing a valley when an unscented flash landmine went off and everything went blinding white then black.

Next thing you knew, your group was in chains surrounded by a group protected by shadow...except for five individuals wearing necklaces and a medallion that belonged to…

“Mother!”

Taglist:

@lookiamtrying​ @chris-evans-indian-fanfic​ @retroxvailles​ @imdarkinme​ @dahkness​ @pseudonymphet​ @giorno-plays-piano​ @mcudarklibrary​ @anyatheladyclown​ @saiyanprincessswanie​ @macheregrace​ @hurricanerin​ @navegandoaciegas​ @stargazingfangirl18​ @sapphirescrolls​

[tundrainafrica]

Title: Passion Project (1/4)

Summary:

"Ignoring Hange Zoe had become a little passion project he allowed himself to indulge in, in between expeditions and quietly mourning unnecessary deaths in the battlefield."

Levi tries to ignore Hange but it never seems to last. A ficlet detailing the development of Levi and Hange's relationship before canon.

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Link to other chapters:  2 3 4

Notes:  

Just a little character study and a cumulation of all my headcanons about their relationship all the way until Eren joins the survey corps.

I intended on just making a one shot of Levi being jealous or Hange and Levi having a silent treatment battle but this story ended up morphing into its own ficlet when I realized that it wouldn't be so easy to write either of them into canon without detailing the whole development of their relationship from my own headcanon.

I hope you enjoy!

Levi was trained to resolve conflict with his fists and occasionally, with his knives. Having lived as a criminal in the underground city, he did not encounter many problems that could not be resolved with a little intimidation or bloodshed. Among his gang, most people below him never really protested his decisions. Farlan was too level-headed to let anything reach a point where violence became a necessity, thus nipping most conflicts in the bud before Levi had to deal with them himself.

With his moving above ground, Levi had to adapt to a far more rigid system. Violence and intimidation among fellow soldiers was not as easily tolerated and Levi had lost his only two weapons against conflict. With Farlan dead soon after, Levi was left to navigate his own way through social situations and the problems that inevitably came with them.

The first conflict Levi was left to handle alone came in the form of one Hange Zoe.

"Hey Levi! Teach me that thing where you flip and speed up with your ODM gear." She was the first one to approach him about his skills.

By that point, he had still been reeling from Farlan and Isabel's death. He was in no mood for socialization and didn't think he would ever be. He just stared at her as he tried to make sense of the situation and the emotions that built up inside him.

The demand came out of nowhere. He was mourning and someone was outright asking him to take time out of his schedule and to dig for some patience within him to teach someone something he himself did not know the mechanisms of. She was neither a sleazy drunkard, a thief nor a murderer yet Levi for the first time since he joined the survey corps was terribly annoyed and disturbed at the audacity of the demand and the insensitivity of the timing.

The rigid structure of the survey corps and the somewhat innocent yet annoying request of the young girl in front of him left Levi utterly confused on how he was supposed to react.

He found himself scrambling for the simplest way to react to such a stimulus while keeping faithful to his personality and social preferences that had grown on him as a criminal in the underground. Having let his instincts take over, he froze up and walked away, ignoring the protests of that crazy brunette.           

                                             Passion Project

Levi found remaining silent and just walking away to be an effective way to handle her. She was insistent, tenacious and just way too loud. Levi ended up having to close his eyes when she whined, begging him to show her how his weird grip manages to slice harder than the average grip or how he manages to maintain enough balance to fall back in mid air without completely losing control. 

As time went by, Hange's voice started to sound more like screeching to him. The high pitched whining morphed into the pain for the beginnings of a headache and Levi eventually had to learn to tune it out to save himself from that potential pain.

During those few moments where Levi allowed himself to think of Hange, he could not help but infer that that strong combination of tenacity and confidence may be that of someone who had grown up always getting what they want. Levi would have bet with all the money he had saved up since he had started to live above ground that Hange had never known hunger or deprivation. He decided for himself out of spite, that he would never give her the attention she craved so much from him.

A lesson on real life then. Levi thought in an attempt to make sense of his past actions and to placate the knot at the pit of his stomach. Someone has to teach her that she can't always get what she wants.

The brief thought morphed into a plan. Levi had somehow stumbled upon the conclusion that maybe he having had to struggle with depravity and poverty growing up, could teach her about the unfairness of life. In the end, ignoring Hange Zoe had become a little passion project he had allowed himself to indulge in, in between expeditions and quietly mourning unnecessary deaths in the battlefield.

A few months after Isabel's and Farlan's deaths, Levi encountered the first obstacle in his little passion project when he unwillingly gave Hange the attention she craved so much.

Technically, he did have a choice. The alternative was to watch her get eaten by a three meter class titan. Having lost as many people growing up, Levi was motivated to prevent as much unnecessary death as possible. Besides, being eaten by the smallest and weakest class of titan was just too pathetic of a way to die.      

Slightly bitter about how he had broken his small promise to himself even if it was to save her life, Levi made it a point to ignore her incessant thank-yous, praises and overall enthusiasm at the whole ordeal.

"You fucking almost died. You're not supposed to be this fucking happy," Levi muttered to himself, only fueling the motivation inside him to continue his little challenge of never talking to Hange again.

That second challenge did not last long and Levi wanted to punch himself because of how easily he had let go of all the pride, spite and bitterness he had allowed himself to build up. All Hange needed to do was knock on the door to his now empty room in the barracks with a pack of what looked to be some high-end black tea with the familiar logo of the royal family.

Levi had seen that tea traded a few times around the underground city. Even with the work he had done as a criminal, that brand was just too expensive for him to procure without blowing the modest reputation he had kept for himself for more than a decade

"Just a little token for saving me." Hange grinned. The gratefulness looked too genuine.

Levi had to look away. For one, he did not want to feel anything but annoyance at the woman who had made his first month in the survey corps a living hell. Also, for the life of him, Levi could not tell what kind of face he made when he saw the pouch in Hange's hands.  

"My parents brought some back when they came for a visit and I remember you mentioning that you liked tea…" The grateful smile of a moment ago morphed into a fox-like grin.

That was a lie. He never told anyone he liked tea let alone, had talked to anyone long enough to even disclose parts of his personality. That first part had sent some alarm bells ringing inside him but those were easily overpowered by the sheer wonder that overtook Levi as Hange held out the tea pouch in front of him. He was about to grab it for himself when Hange pulled it back towards her again.

"I actually haven't tried it in a while. We should try it together." With that, Hange forced her way into the small crack between Levi and his room and set up the kettle and tea cups as if they were not precious wares Levi had spent months saving up on.

Levi did not think he would have ever allowed his private space and belongings to be completely defiled, especially by the last person he had ever expected to have tea with. At that moment though, Levi felt no irritation. It was as if his whole being had decided before he even processed what Hange just did, that tasting that high end brand of black tea was most likely going to be worth it anyway.

                                        Passion Project         

That was the best black tea he had ever tasted in his life. It was good enough that Levi had started to think that maybe, getting to know her would not be such an excruciatingly painful process and that suspending his little passion project for a little while might be a good idea.

At least long enough to finish that bag of tea she left in my room. Levi thought to himself as he accompanied an excited Hange to the wooded area near the barracks for some ODM gear training. All he had to do was imagine the aroma of the tea as he steeped it and he usually gained a day’s worth of patience to deal with the brunette.

The first thing he ever made sure to drill her on was how to quickly take control of momentum so she could easily fall back in mid air to avoid being grabbed by the titans. With that he could at least make sure what happened in the last expedition wouldn’t happen again.

They had started their little training session at 5pm, right after their official survey corps training ended. Levi had expected that they would at least make it by sundown. Hange though ended up milking that one-on-one like a milkman to a fattened cow. She brought up questions about his movements that even Levi had to stop and reflect on.

How did you learn to use this underground?

Where did you get the gas?

How do you get the momentum to even spin your body?

How do you slice so deep while moving quickly?

Levi had started to answer all of those only to be interrupted every time with a different question. That day they had only scratched the surface of every question and Levi was sure Hange had only satisfied herself with her own theories for it. The questions though had left Levi enough to reflect on. He decided to use the remaining trainings he had promised her to at least explain them to Hange, after he figures it out for himself at least.

By the time they did get back, everyone else had already had dinner and Levi was forced to spend an extra one hour alone in the dining hall just to satisfy hunger pangs.

"You know, during the last expedition, I kicked a Titan's head so hard…"

"Hm?" Levi muttered as he looked for something else in the bare room to amuse himself with. He needed a break.

"And I didn't break my leg!"

Levi raised one eyebrow in reply, having given up on finding anything else to follow in the bare dining room. Most of the soldiers had probably retired to their room. It was past nine after all and they had to be awake by five.

"It was so light! To think that those giants have such light body parts! Where is the brain? Where is their olfactory system? Their auditory system? Their sensory pathways?"

The scientific blabber made it easier for Levi to tune out.

"Levi!"

It didn't seem like she had noticed that he had tuned her out for a few seconds. As Levi looked up at her, a natural reaction to having heard his name, he saw sparks in her eyes. She was in her own world already.

"If we study their anatomy, their movements maybe we could find more efficient ways to kill them, minimize casualties"

That would be nice. Levi thought to himself as he continued to look away, sneaking a side glance every few seconds. He had started to give her his full attention around the part where she had mentioned weaknesses and casualties. He was reminded there that they were both working towards fundamentally similar goals --- killing titans and avoiding unnecessary deaths.

The black tea that he had so carefully rationed saw its eventual end but surprisingly, Levi was not too devastated at the loss.  As the days went by, he had stopped imagining the aroma of the tea anyway. The one who had given him the tea had offered experiences more lasting and more interesting than the quick release the bitter yet malty black tea had given him for many nights.

Hange offered novelty, amusement and company. In the midst of repetitive training and depressing expeditions, she offered experimental ideas and crackpot theories. She spoke with more than enough enthusiasm that when Levi was with her, sometimes he did forget that they were all one misstep away from a dismembered limb or death by titan with every expedition.

The breaks they had spent exchanging ODM gear techniques and strategies in fights against titans had become a constant in Levi's daily life. While he had helped build Hange's skill with the ODM gear, she had brought her own expertise and in-depth analyses to the table.

As time passed, he had completely forgotten as well, that she was the one who had asked him to teach her in the first place. Hange's words were the ones that echoed as he went through the same repetitive drills every day. Even as he practiced with his gear side by side with her, it was her theories that fueled the image training with the titan dummies. 

His fighting style slowly started to change as it was peppered with the theories Hange had pointed out about titans. The mad scientist ended up teaching him. 

                                       Passion Project      

They were on their way home from the 25th expedition outside the walls when the squad Levi was assigned to encountered three large titans.                            

The first plan was to just speed up since the wall was already visible from where they had encountered the titans. Usually two squads together were needed to even kill that many large titans. Smaller titans were also starting to notice them as well.

Their forces had already dissipated through other battles and to make it worse, two of the titans were abnormal and were much faster than the others. Given that he was the only one in his squad uninjured, Levi had resigned himself to the fact that he had to fight.

"I'll take it from here. You go on ahead." Levi shouted as he slowed his horse. Before even looking behind him, he started to consider the theoretical weaknesses of the titans and the strategy he and Hange had spent nights studying.

One misstep and you're dead. Levi readied his blades. It would be the first time he'd have to deal with three large titans at once and he had to ready himself for the fact that other titans could come sooner. If he could not kill them all, he could at least buy enough time for his squad to reach the walls.

What did Hange say about titans?

For three to six meter titans, I'm sure with your speed you could easily go for the neck. I'm much slower so I would have to incapacitate them first.

Levi was already exhausted from the expedition and he decided to err on the side of caution.

Hange's words echoed in his head. I was thinking if I encountered a titan alone, I'd try to go for maybe the eyes or the arms first so at least I wouldn't be scared of them grabbing on to the cords of my ODM.  

Eyes or arms? Levi thought to himself as he allowed the ODM gear to propel him towards the nearest titan. He focused on what he did best, he dodged as soon as he saw the hands move to grab him and he let that movement and the force of the gas to launch him up and take him to whatever his next target might be.

The eyes of the titan came into clear view. He pushed himself forward and dug his blades into the titans eyes. He used that few seconds of respite to replace his blades midair. The titan continued to flail its arms towards Levi and the latter could not help but note that if it moved much faster than a lot of other titans. He had pulled back his grappling hooks, not wanting to risk it getting grabbed by the abnormal.

The titan couldn't see him. He had time.

You could probably immobilize a titan by cutting their Achilles. I don't know if I would be able to make that same cut though. It's a joint so it's gonna be harder than most areas.

As soon as Levi landed on the ground he dashed for the legs of the titan right behind the first one.

How do you slice so deep while moving so quickly?

Hange was right. The titan's muscle was notably harder at the back of the ankle. If he had sliced any lighter, he probably would not have been able to cut all the way.

The second titan fell forward on top of the blinded titan. He had bought himself some more time.

Levi ran forward towards the last large titan, cutting the Achilles tendons of smaller ones as he did. It was not an abnormal at least. Levi aimed his hooks towards the titans arm and launched himself towards the arm, using it as an axis to maneuver himself towards the back of the neck.

It was when Levi launched himself up did he notice that less gas than what he had expected was coming out.

You use too much gas. Erwin had said to him only a few expeditions ago.

Maneuvering came naturally for Levi but every now and then he did forget he was at the mercy of the amount of gas he had at each fight. In the underground, the gas lasted him weeks, his enemies were human after all and the gas was only used for escape.

Having to constantly propel himself into the air meant he had to resupply twice to thrice an expedition. Levi forced himself to ignore the lightened cannisters at his side and narrowed his eyes at the nape of the neck that was coming into view.

Kill the titan first. Gas later.

Levi pushed forward towards the neck, pierced his blades on the nape and heavily dragged it over the whole area. He might not have a second chance if the cut was too shallow.  

Can I make it? Levi scrambled to look for his horse in the steam that surrounded him. He did not have enough gas to land safely and instead used the titan he just killed to cushion his landing.

A smaller hand appeared from the steam and grab him. Levi let out a gasp as he felt the full force of the squeeze on his ribs.

I'm not dying here! Levi sliced open the hand with a spinning motion. His body protested the sudden movement  and Levi wondered for a second how many ribs the titan had cracked. He found his horse grazing west to the sea of steam as he landed. On his way down though, he had to dodge the hand of a smaller titan causing him to land awkwardly on his left foot.

Fucking hell. Levi ran towards his horse ignoring the stabbing pain on his left ankle. To hell with that ankle, I can't recover if I'm dead.

Levi only had to ride the horse and speed up before another hand grabbed him from behind. Once again, the titan had no regard of how hard it was holding its prey and Levi started to taste blood as his ribs protested the grip of the titan.

How long can I keep doing this? Levi spun himself again, slicing the hand open despite his body screaming at him to stop.

What happened after that was a blur. The exhaustion that built up over the expedition and his most recent injuries overpowered him. Levi could not even maneuver his body to a safer less fatal landing from a ten meter drop.

He closed his eyes, expecting to feel the impact of a headfirst fall only to instead feel the searing pain of a disturbed injury as someone looped their arms around him too roughly.

"There you are, Levi!"

The last thing he heard was the familiar overly excited scream he had grown accustomed to the past year.

"I knew slicing at their ankles would work!"

[swgoji2001]

My Thoughts on Jedi Fallen Order

So after upgrading to a new, stronger laptop (pretty sure my stupidity in attempting to run this game on my old laptop hastened its tragic, untimely demise), I finally finished Jedi Fallen Order last night. I had mixed feelings going into this game, as I have some friends who said it was amazing while others said it was a mediocre story with decent gameplay.

Now after playing, was it the greatest Star Wars game I’ve ever experienced? No, but it was very good. Some minor gripes here and there, but overall I had a blast playing the game.

Warning: Some spoilers will be included, I’ll try to keep them as minor as possible though.

Story:

So I’m not gonna go overly deep into the story as I don’t want to spoil it for anyone who still hasn’t played the game, but to be honest I found the plot of Fallen Order to be a bit generic at first. It’s a classic light side vs dark side narrative with a redemption arc or two sprinkled in. In fact, I found the plot of Fallen Order to be quite similar in structure to the Disney Trilogy. Both have MacGuffin hunts (holocron and wayfinder), both include journeys to different planets following the trail of someone else (Eno Cordova and that one assassin dude mentioned in IX), both have mentors who have distanced themselves from the Force (Cere and Luke), and both have antagonists who were failed by their masters (Trilla and Kylo). 

Fallen Order splits off from this more generic route after returning to Dathomir and does it’s own thing, but I found myself asking why I enjoyed the first 75% or so of Fallen Order when I absolutely hated the DT. I found the answer to lie mainly in two things: the characters and the world they found themselves in.

Characters:

Cal Kestis: I absolutely loved Cal’s character arc. He has his own deep personal struggles with his past, feeling responsible for the death of his master. He faces those fears and comes to terms with his past, determined to make a better future. Cal not only comes out of his journey a Jedi Knight, but as a stronger person. Compare this to Rey, who had no meaningful flaws or personal struggles. Plus Cal’s the first ginger Jedi! Score one for diversity!

BD-1: My fourth favorite Star Wars droid, only behind HK-47, KOTOR 2′s T3-M4, and K-2SO. He’s cute, adorable, and loyal to a fault. What more could you ask for in a droid? (Other than a tibanna-powered blaster rifle and a bloodthirsty, anti-meatbag personality of course!) Plus there’s a revelation about his history towards the end that only makes him better and better.

Cere Junda: Star Wars has always had its mentor characters, but in all honesty I found Cere to be pretty generic. A Jedi Master who failed her Padawan and touched the dark side, only to be horrified by it and renounce the Force. Throughout learning her story, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I had already seen something like this before. Her arc isn’t bad, it’s well done and feels natural to her character, it was just rather generic.

Greez Dritus: Gotta say Greez grew on me as the game went on. He has his flaw in his gambling problem which bites Cal in the ass a couple times, but towards the end I really felt the connection between him and the others grow. He’s also the source of a good deal of humor.

Nightsister Merrin: Sadly, Merrin being an eventual ally was spoiled for me, but I love the subversion because it was built up that she would be an eventual boss fight. Merrin might be my favorite character besides Cal, I wish there were more interactions with her in game! She’s hot, has a great accent, a wicked sense of humor, and is powerful with Nightsister magick. But beyond all that, she’s a parallel to Cal. Both are survivors, the last of their kind, and I’m hoping that if a sequel is made, it goes deeper into their relationship because Merrin and Cal have great chemistry. I also love how Merrin challenges Cal and Cere’s plan to train the next gen of Jedi using the holocron, putting that idea in a more realistic, less idealistic light.

Prauf: I really feel bad for him. I liked him and you could feel the camaraderie between him and Cal, how he wanted Cal to succeed and do great things. He didn’t deserve what happened to him.

Oggdo Bogdo: Fuck this frog! He killed me so many times!

Trilla Suduri (Second Sister): The Jedi Padawan that felt betrayed by her master and became an inquisitor. I always love it when antagonists have a personal connection to the protagonists in some way, shape, or form. Trilla shakes Cal’s faith in Cere, and plants seeds of doubt in him. She wants revenge and the Emperor’s favor, and therefore we know why she chases Cal across the galaxy. She has motivations for all her actions, which is something that Kylo lacked in the DT.

Taron Malicos: I knew something was off about this guy the second I met him. I quite enjoyed the clash of beliefs between him, Merrin, and Cal. Malicos proposes a way forward, a new Jedi Order, but one founded on darker teachings. He offers Cal that power, but Cal proves his stature as a Jedi in refusing it.

Ninth Sister (Masana Tide): Probably the weakest of the villain characters for me. Ninth barely has any presence in the game at all other than the start and to serve as a boss battle on Kashyyyk. I honestly just don’t think she fits into the story as is. Perhaps if they tweaked it so that Ninth and Cal knew each other back before Order 66 she would have fit better. Ninth just doesn’t have any personal connection to Cal and the Mantis crew (like Trilla does) and doesn’t really serve as a trial like Malicos does. Remove her from the story and not much changes.

(If you somehow haven’t had this next one spoiled yet, I’m impressed. Please skip to ‘World’ if so)

Darth Vader: I absolutely loved how he was portrayed. A terrifying, unstoppable force. You won’t last in a fight with him, your can only hope you can outrun him.

World:

Fallen Order’s worldbuilding was on point. Cal’s ability to sense Force Echoes lets you get a more detailed understanding of the environment around you. It’s a small-scale Star Wars story, but the planets all feel lived in if you take the time to explore them. It’s the small details like the probe droid witnessing your initial use of the Force on Bracca or the side-stories you can discover like the tragic tale of the family running from the Empire on Zeffo or Malicos’ corruption and manipulation of Merrin that really flesh out the world. Compare this to the galactic-scale story the DT told, which somehow made the galaxy feel extremely small and uninteresting.

My only complaint with the world-building is the Zeffo. They’re just... there. Very little is explained about them. Who were they? Why were they important? What happened to them? Why did they disappear? Perhaps this was to leave room for a sequel but to me the Zeffo just felt like discount Rakata. I wish the devs had gone with the Rakata instead, but maybe that’s just me.

Also the wildlife on every world is more than capable of killing you if you aren’t careful so you almost always have to be on your toes for them, which rolls us into the next part...

Gameplay:

The gameplay was great fun in Fallen Order. Leveling up and unlocking new abilities was exciting and once I got the hang of them all, it was so much fun just cutting through your enemies. I played on Jedi Master difficulty (died approximately 75 times, give or take a few I may have missed) and it felt really well balanced. It forced me to study my opponent’s moves and adapt to them instead of being a hack-and-slash type of game. Combos are fluid and fun to pull off, parrying opponents leaves an opening to attack, and you can experiment with different fighting styles.

Customizing your lightsaber and appearance was also great fun. So many different options and combinations for everything! Plus you got rewarded for exploration with these extra customization options, so it adds incentive to do that if you care about appearances and whatnot. You can become the General Grievous of ponchos!

Overall Rating: 8.5/10

Overall Fallen Order was a great game that could have been even better. Of course I have to admit I’m looking at this through the nostalgia of games like KOTOR 2, which flipped Star Wars completely on its head. I would have preferred if Cere’s story had been a bit more nuanced, the Ninth Sister had more reason for being in the story, or if the game had Cal seriously question the use and role of Jedi in the galaxy (he does a couple times to BD-1, but it’s never really built on).

And then there’s my overall gripe about this type of story set after Order 66. It sets up questions like... where was Cal during the OT? Was he dead? Somewhere in the Unknown Regions doing something else? I know the ending of the game sets up the opening for Cal’s story to continue, but still, these types of stories usually end in death for the Jedi protagonist, so I am a bit nervous for his future.

Despite that though, I am super happy I finally decided to play this and am eagerly awaiting a sequel to continue this story.

[iloveyou3thousand]

since you said you might be in the mood to write some fluff, what about this for some starker fluff? peter asks tony if they can build a pillow/blanket fort, and somehow it winds up being the most complicated fort imaginable because engineer tony has to make sure everything is perfect. and all peter really wanted to do was cuddle with his lover under some suspended blankets.

This really reminded me of one of my favourite episodes of Community and I had a lot of fun writing it so thank you!

—————————————————————————————

From where they sit in bed they can watch outside the window how the rain pours down over New York. It’s gloomy but it’s calming, somehow, because they’re warm and have been sleeping in a bit and it’s exactly the type of day that makes you want to stay right where you are and ignore whatever is going on outside.

Tony is writing some emails on his laptop so technically he’s cheating, but Peter lets it slide because Tony is allowing him to stay snuggled up under his arm, his head in Tony’s lap and face buried into the man’s abdomen.

He loves where he is, loves what they’re doing, but he also kind of feels like maybe they should be doing something fun. Something that’s not writing emails and dozing off again every couple of minutes.

Peter curls closer to Tony.

“You know what I was thinking last night, when you were changing the sheets?” Peter speaks up after another while.

Tony gives a soft hum of acknowledgement, and Peter hears that he stops typing to show that he’s listening.

“I haven’t built a blanket fort in ages.”

Tony hums again, types for another moment, and then pauses once more as if Peter’s words are only just now sinking in.

“A blanket fort? I can’t even remember the last time I made one. Actually I don’t…think I’ve ever made a blanket fort at all.”

That information shocks Peter. How can someone never have made a pillow or blanket fort before? It’s a childhood staple, something every kid does at some point, or has to do because frankly in Peter’s opinion if you’ve never built a blanket fort before then you haven’t lived. So naturally Peter’s conclusion is that Tony hasn’t lived yet. Not really, anyway.

“What?” Peter says, looks up at Tony from where he still lays in his lap, “You’ve never made a fort before? Not even a pillow fort?”

Tony meets Peter’s eye and shades his head.

“Did you save your email?” Peter asks, face serious all of a sudden.

“Sure, my email auto-saves, but I don—”

“Good,” Peter interrupts, and shuts the laptop in Tony’s lap.

“Hey!” Peter ignores Tony’s protest and picks up the device to set it aside before he climbs into Tony’s lap – but it’s only a way for him to get out of the bed, because he slides out of it on the other side almost immediately after, grin wide and eyes excited as he announces what they’ll be doing instead.

“We’re going to build a blanket fort.”

.

Peter shows Tony how it’s done. He tells him about some good strategies, items that are useful, and how to make things cozy inside your fort once it’s actually built. Much to Peter’s surprise, Tony seems really serious about it all. He listens intently to Peter’s explanations and he nods along like he’s storing the information in his brain for future reference.

The first fort they make is cute. It’s everything a fort should be. It’s just big enough for the both of them to lay in, with comfortable bedding and soft lighting, and is about to gather some snacks from the kitchen and enough pillows to lay comfortably propped up against and a laptop for them to watch movies with. It should have been perfect.

Except Tony doesn’t seem entirely happy with it.

He starts making a few small changes at first. Just to the structural integrity of it all. But then he thinks it should be bigger, in case one of them wants to stretch out or lie in a different position, or maybe someone even wants to join them.

Peter thinks sure, they can make it a little bigger, that’s no problem. So they make it a little bigger.

But then Tony doesn’t really…seem to stop. He gets idea after idea, and while Peter tries, at first, to steer him toward his initial plan of sitting down in their fort and enjoy some snacks with a movie, eventually he kind of gives up. When Tony has his mind set on something, it’s pretty hard to get him to see or do anything outside of that vision of his.

So Peter decides to go down into the kitchen and get them some breakfast/lunch. They haven’t eaten yet and while that usually doesn’t bother Tony, Peter’s stomach is starting to feel like it’s eating away at itself.

He makes some grilled cheese sandwiches and heats up some tomato soup, something he thinks are perfect brunch items, and Peter loads up the rest of the space on the tray with several drinks and snacks he can find. He assumes that by the time he gets back upstairs, Tony is probably done, and they can finally settle down and at least eat their food.

But when he comes upstairs, what he finds instead is… He can barely describe it. Practically everywhere he looks there’s blankets. Stretched over furniture in their living room, suspended between walls in the corridor leading Peter crouching into their bedroom, which was once a bedroom. Once. And now it’s the biggest blanket fort Peter has ever seen.

He can’t quite stand in it but it’s more spacious than before. There are blankets and pillows lining the walls, hung overhead, draped artfully across the floor. Tony is in the center working on getting the pole that holds it all up like a circus tent to stand upright properly.

Behind Peter, Wanda comes crawling in, arms full of pillows, which she drops on the floor next to Peter.

“Thank you, Maximoff, you’re a star,” Tony says without even looking up.

Peter and Wanda lock eyes for a moment, Wanda shrugs, and walks away again, leaving Peter to stand there looking thoroughly confused.

“…When did you even have the time to do this?” Peter asks while he’s still looking around.

“Oh, hey Pete. I was wondering where you were.” Tony looks up and grins, notices the food, and comes scampering over to check it out.

“Tony this isn’t a blanket fort anymore this is a… This is a blanket castle.”

“Neat, huh?”

Peter can’t disagree with that.

He finds a good spot to set the food down and manages to convince Tony to sit for a moment to eat, and while they do all Tony can talk about is the expansions that he’s thinking of making and how he’s trying to figure out how to incorporate the bathroom so that they won’t actually have to leave the blanket fort to go take a leak.

“Tony,” Peter says cautiously, “I don’t think that’s necessary. Don’t you think the fort’s good enough now?”

Tony almost looks a little bit offended. “Petey, I haven’t even gotten started yet. If you could see inside my head and I could show you what I’ve envisioned, you’d be amazed. Take my word for it.”

“I already am amazed, Tony, but—All I wanted was to just have some kind of like a nest or something to curl up into. You know? Together. Just something cozy. This is already beyond that.”

Tony takes a moment to look around the inside of the fort, and then back at Peter.

“You don’t like it?” He asks a touch cautiously.

“I didn’t say that,” Peter is quick to reassure him, and he crawls over so that he can climb into Tony’s lap and wrap him up in his arms. “This,” he says, “This is what I wanted. This and not much else.”

Tony puts his arms around Peter and Peter feels him relax. What was Tony even thinking, doing all of this?

“I guess I went a little overboard,” Tony admits sheepishly, chin hooked over Peter’s shoulder. He’s probably looking around the fort again, but maybe this time he’s not calculating what to do next.

Peter chuckles. “Yes you did. But that’s okay. I mean, you just made the biggest blanket fort I’ve ever seen, which is also pretty cool.”

Tony buries his smile against the side of Peter’s neck.

“You wanna…finish up eating and try this again?” Peter suggests.

Tony pulls back, takes one last look around, and nods.

“Yeah. Let’s try this again. Your way.”

[drshebloggo]

Ask box: JUSTICE FOR LANE KIM, a breakdown.

Anonymous asked: Do you know why Lane disappeared from the show as Rory's best friend over time? She appeared every now and then, yeah, but it has always bothered me that she slowly faded from being Rory's best friend to nobody... am I remembering things wrong?

I do not know! The Palladinos make decisions that sometimes are simply beyond my comprehension.

It’s been awhile since I watched Gilmore Girls in its entirety (and I kind of selectively ignore a lot in the last two, three seasons) but I don’t think you’re remembering things wrong. I will say, though, that the show faced a challenge with all of the Stars Hollow supporting ensemble when Rory went off to college. It’s these kind of problem-making focus shifts that I find really interesting, and they are UBIQUITOUS across teen/high school shows when a character or ensemble graduates.

Most of them that I can think of are done poorly, maybe with the exception of Friday Night Lights. But in defense of these shows, it’s HARD. How do you embrace a fundamental shift in the entire premise of your show? How do you deal with the new geographies of this shift, and the way they ripple into beloved character dynamics? How do you evolve a character through an engaging and meaningful arc without abandoning the foundation on which they were built? And how do you still capture your audience’s attention when there’s a risk that you’re leaving behind the magic that captivated them in the first place? IT’S HARD.

So in the case of Gilmore Girls, Rory at Yale is the shift that moves the show into a new paradigm, and it’s a big one. She’s separated from Stars Hollow and slowly beginning her emancipation from Lorelai, which is, on principle, painful for the audience because it’s directly against the show’s premise. (It’s no coincidence that the Palladinos starts seriously building the Luke-and-Lorelai-of-it-all once Rory’s away at college. Give that empty-nester some new story!)

Of course, Lane is right behind Lorelai in the list of People in Stars Hollow that Rory is Leaving Behind. How is Lane supposed to stay a part of Rory’s story when Rory is in a new context, and Lane is not? But, truth be told, Lane was ALREADY in this role. In seasons 1-3, LANE, not Lorelai, was #1 on the list of People in Stars Hollow that Rory is Leaving Behind. Ultimately Gilmore Girls is a story of two worlds, and Rory going to Chilton begins her passage across the into the New (Old, with Baggage) World. Lane is already being left behind, to some degree, and in seasons 1-3, there’s still room in the show’s universe to address those issues and give Lane some good storylines of her own, especially in conjunction with Rory.

So it’s possible that the issue is not necessarily one of screentime or setting. Whenever I hear the rebel cry of JUSTICE FOR LANE KIM resound in my heart chambers, I mostly think of the kinds of storylines that befell her in the later seasons, not simply in their detachment from Rory. Heeding her mom’s insistence that she attend Seventh Day Adventist college. Fracturing her relationship with her mom in order to pursue her dreams. Getting kicked out of her home. Living with her two boy bandmates who are very stupid and very messy. Never really getting the band off the ground. Her first sexual experience being terrible. Her first sexual experience being terrible AND yielding a pregnancy with TWINS. Why do the Palladinos hate Lane Kim!!! The only thing I wholeheartedly love about Lane’s later storylines is Luke hiring her to work at the diner and then being completely overwhelmed by her sheer competence.

It’s probably important to note that the mere construction of Lane Kim’s character is a bit tragic. The Palladinos are VERY good at building conflict and tension into what seems like simple character descriptions. Here’s this girl that loves rock music to an obsessive, encyclopedic level, wants to play drums in a band, and she’s from a strict religious household where she can’t express any of that. The description itself inherently means that things are going to blow up for Lane at some point. That’s okay, to some degree - that’s conflict, that’s drama, that’s good story.

So if we look at Lane’s arc pre-blow-up, and post-blow-up, the satisfying thing would be for Lane to experience some kind of happiness or success living unstifled in her dreams, to offset the trauma that her family relationships are ruined (at least for the time being). But the Palladinos don’t even do that! It’s encapsulated in the incident that tears apart Lane’s relationship with her mom: she goes to play at CBGB, her mom finds out and kicks her out, and the band doesn’t even get to go on!! The Palladinos love PAIN.

And okay, fine, there’s still some defense that that is well-designed drama and story. (And Lane and her mom do reconcile eventually, and it was at least very affecting, from my memory.) I guess you could argue that Lane IS happy with how things turned out after the lifelong lie she’s lived completely unravels and she’s able to just exist, unguarded. But also... the Palladinos wrote her that way??? And regardless, for me, the issues arise more down the line with Lane essentially staying in Stars Hollow. Wouldn’t unshackling herself from the yoke of her mother mean that she’s free to pursue her dreams? And wouldn’t pursuing her dreams necessitate her to ALSO leave Stars Hollow, like Rory herself? Would she not try to scrape together money to move with the band to New York City and hit the big time? (Bear in mind, I have no idea how the music industry works.)

Ultimately, Lane’s story in the later seasons puts the writers in a Catch-22. If she leaves Stars Hollow and goes somewhere else to pursue her dreams, she’s almost certainly written off the show. She’s a supporting character, and they can’t open up a new world beyond Stars Hollow and New Haven, just for her. On the other hand, if she stays in Stars Hollow, in keeping with the geographies of the universe, she stays on the show, and just... gets really disappointing storylines. I’d be inclined to keep giving Keiko Agena a paycheck. 

(Now, the fact that WB threw money at a backdoor pilot for Jess Mariano to go to California and open up a new world for a weakly-premised spin-off, and did no such thing for Lane Kim, is some bullshit. Literally “moving to the big city to live a dream” is SUCH a well-worn trope that all the storylines are essentially handed to them, and it’s almost inherently refreshed because Lane is a Korean-American woman and not a brooding white guy or a quirky white lady. You FOOLS, you could’ve made that show with your EYES CLOSED.)

Anyways.

I’m going to meander my way further off the main point for a moment to kick up some dust on JUSTICE FOR RORY GILMORE as well. When you write ten paragraphs lamenting Lane Kim’s eternal relegation to supporting role, it’s hard not to be cranky about affording world-opening and story-building for a main character instead. (Spin-off Jess very much deserves the crank, though.) But, frankly, the unyielding walls that the Palladinos built to construct their very effective Two-World Universe don’t do a lot of favors for Rory Gilmore either, in the end.

Basically, this construct of Stars Hollow ensemble and New Haven future means that Rory is the only one who will “get out” of Stars Hollow, because she is structurally decreed to do so. It’s the massive conflict that the Palladinos smartly built into their little generational premise: Lorelai fled her parents’ world, and Rory will slowly be lured back into it. Pain ensues. This is good drama. This is good story. This is story that will last seven seasons and six-hour revival.

But it also inadvertently makes Rory the Chosen One, in a story that doesn’t need one. This is not Joseph Campbell’s Hero with a Thousand Faces, and I’d like to believe that even Paris and Rory wouldn’t want it to be, much as they love the Power of Myth. Lorelai divests her entire life into Rory’s success; the town of Stars Hollow wants Rory to spirit out of their small town and Be Great; Rory’s grandparents expect her to follow in Richard’s footsteps and also carry out their orphaned dreams for Lorelai. And then the Palladinos choose little things that further this: Lane doesn’t ever leave Stars Hollow; Paris doesn’t get into Harvard but Rory does; Luke interrogates any boy that comes near Rory because no one is good enough. (I confess, I’m charmed into forgiving the last one.)

It’s much too much to put onto one character and leave unaddressed!!! It’s also why some audience members just really hate Rory, in a really unfortunate knife-twist on an otherwise-winsome main character. They hate the unwillingness of the narrative to acknowledge this very obvious dark and specific underside to Rory’s specialness, and the unwillingness of people within the narrative to name this very obvious dark and specific underside about Rory. But to paraphrase Jessica Rabbit: she’s just DRAWN THAT WAY!

Rory’s storylines never really confront the idea that she has had FAR too many unrealistic expectations put on her by literally everyone that’s ever existed in her life, and what it might mean if she doesn’t live up to them. What does it mean if she’s not Christiane Amanpour? What does it mean if she’s scared of disappointing people? What does it mean if she’s trying to live up to other people’s standards rather than examining what she really wants?

The Palladinos completely ignore this, and simultaneously give Rory multiple meltdowns (cheating with Dean, being cowed by Mitchum Huntzberger, stealing a boat, quitting Yale, an aimless/struggling career) and they never QUITE dig into the complete dark and specific issue at the core of Rory’s character construction... which just exacerbates the Rory hate. Rory has no self-awareness; the writers give her no self-awareness; we go in circles, and every few years there’s a slew of thinkpieces about how selfish and awful Rory is.

What makes it worse is that those questions outlined above are essentially applicable for two other women on the show: Lane Kim, and Lorelai Gilmore II, herself. Lane, like Rory, doesn’t quite bust through and answer them wholly. Lorelai, however, comes into the show having already answered them, years before, when she was a headstrong and tenacious teenager. The idea that neither Rory, her actual daughter, nor Lane, her spiritual inheritor of Parental Disapproval, are ever able to grapple with those concepts in a real way, and blossom into self-defined adulthood the way that Lorelai did is maybe the bottom line on where Gilmore Girls went “wrong.” Lorelai’s legacy is not that she’s hyperverbal, loves junk food, and got pregnant young. It’s that she rejected the expectations of her forebearers and carved out a place in the world for herself by her own definition, for better or for worse. It’s why Lorelai comes out of the narrative like a Super Mom, when in fact she’s still just as deeply flawed as Emily or Rory, and why Stars Hollow is overall magical and cherished despite it serving as a small-town hometown for Rory to leave behind. And it’s why A Year in the Life was SO satisfying for Emily Gilmore, because she proved it’s never too late to answer those questions and break through to the other side. Perhaps we’ll get enough revivals to see the same happen for Rory, and for Lane.

But enough dust about Rory. I think, after all this nitpicking, there were two options for the best way to have handled Lane Kim after Rory went off to college:

1. Give her a backdoor pilot and spinoff to Band Dreams NYC. Which, of course, was not in the Palladinos’ control, so, y’know, fine.

2. Keep Lane in Stars Hollow and give her a chance to answer those questions about self-definition and live out a few years of Lorelai-like hard-but-happy independence (and better sex) before saddling her with Zach and two babies (if you MUST). Bonus points if she moves in with Lorelai and they bond over being fundamentally disappointing to your parents and also missing Rory. A very good obvious choice.

Secret option 3. Just let Lane move to New Haven and live with Rory and Paris off-campus, and give me the goddamn roommate comedy of my dreams. Honestly this is what they should’ve done. Forget everything I said. This is my answer.

Tiny footnote: I cannot BELIEVE, that after twenty years, I am just now realizing how on-the-nose it is that Lorelai escaped from the clutches of New Haven and started a new life for herself at a place called INDEPENDENCE INN. Truly, it was right there in front of me and I didn’t even notice. This oversight might weaken the integrity of the thousand-paragraph essay I rattled off above...

[nightwingshero]

Hold Me Down Chapter 4

Yassss!!!! Hahaha!!!! Surprise!!! I was finally able to get this busted out!! Man, this chapter was...*whew*, it was a tough one! But she’s done and ready to read! It’s not fully edited because I’m too excited and want to post it now but I hope you guys like it!

@dieguzguz a special thank you to you, my dear. Sam, this would’ve been a train wreck if it weren’t for you. Thank you so much for being honest and putting me on the right track when I was going through my rough patch. With your help and advice, I was able to make this chapter everything it should be. Thank you!

The car ride was awkward. I felt like a five-year-old being forced to go to church on a Sunday morning, except I was a 27-year-old adult, being forced to move in with someone I hadn’t known for a full week. Someone, mind you, that had threatened to kill me and who I ended up holding a knife to. Part of me worried that I would wake up to one to my throat.

Atlanta was a decently sized,and with the traffic, it took us forever to get to our destination. The penthouse was on the outskirts of the city, giving what seemed to be a nice view of the city. But it had to have been built recently, the structure shiny and the windows huge. It’s almost intimidating as Randy turns, swiping a card at the gated entrance to the parking underneath.

The parking lot is dark, and I can’t help but remember all those scary movies I had seen in my lifetime so far. I eye Randy, because I know Viking Princess—Jane—is someone I can handle. I didn’t think Randy, or Jane, was a threat to me, especially in the light of current events. But in my life, you couldn’t be too sure. Someone was always ready to plunge a knife in your back, whether you were looking or not.

And I almost groan at the reminder of what I had agreed to. I didn’t know how the hell this was going to even work. I could pretend to be anything, anyone, to get what I needed. A businesswoman, a shallow woman who didn’t understand majority of things, even an escort at one low point in my life. But I had never tried to enter a fake engagement. I didn’t have the type of patience or time for that. A long con wasn’t something Dutch talked much about, despite teaching us the skill to do it. But cons were never the goal. No, our goal was much more sinister than that.

I rub my hands together as we park the SUV, glancing around to try and see through the tinted glass, but failing. As they step out of the vehicle, I follow suit, unsure of where exactly we were going, but I can tell that the garage is a few degrees cooler than being outside. It’s a nice relief, even if the eerie lighting threw me off. It didn’t, however, stop me from eyeing the line of cars.

An empty parking spot laid between a black Lexus and dark blue Jaguar F Type, making me curious to what was missing. I raised a brow, however, as I spotted an old black Mustang at the end of the line. Jane and Randy kept walking, as if it was absolutely normal, and it’s then that it occurs to me that maybe there were more people living in the building. I couldn’t wait to slip away to sweet talk the owner of the Mustang.

Stopping, Jane waves something in front of the elevator, a key card of some sort, and the elevator doors open. I’m grateful, as we ascend, that there isn’t any awkward elevator music playing to add to the odd atmosphere. I want to believe that this could fall under some sort of kidnapping, but I knew that wasn’t the case. I had come willingly, even if it felt like I didn’t really have the choice. Which seemed to be a reoccurring theme as of late.

So lost in my own thoughts, the ding of the elevator made me jump, forcing myself to face the reality of my new environment. The lights were off, indicating that no one was home. Despite the dark home, the massive windows at the other end showed the sun setting and the lights of the city shining around us. Mesmerized I walk forward, leaving Randy and Jane behind in the foyer. The lights switch on, and I realize that there’s a balcony there, the glass doors blending in perfectly with the windows, almost as if they weren’t there at all. The pool water sparkled, the blue of it creating a glow that clashed with the darkness of its surroundings. My skin itched to feel the gentle caress of the water, and I could bet anything that it was temperature controlled.

“I can show you to your room.” Randy called. I glanced over to see him waiting patiently at the bottom of a floating staircase, the dark black slabs embedded into the wall.

“Okay.” I replied, turning away from the view to follow him.

There were a couple of doors that we passed until we came to a small indent, not exactly a hallway, but something with a door on either side. “That’s John’s room.” Randy nodded to the right side. “If you need anything, he’s right across the way.”

I almost flinch a bit as Randy opened the door on the left. I’m sure he meant it to be reassuring, but I couldn’t bring myself to feel it. I was a misplaced object in this odd museum. The feeling just grows worse as we step into the room. The greys, blacks, and whites contradicting each other. It was probably the biggest bedroom I had ever seen, and my gut twists. Why the hell did someone ever find this necessary?

Randy gently placed the bag down on the bed and turned to me. “Take a few minutes to adjust and then come back downstairs. Jane is gonna whip something up for you.”

“And the prince himself?” I asked, continuing to look around.

“John is going to be out late tonight. He said that you were to eat something and to feel as comfortable as possible. You’re allowed to look around, most of the penthouse is open to you. His office and bedroom are off limits, though.”

I scoffed as I met Randy’s dark brown eyes. “Oh please, as if I would ever want to go anywhere near his bedroom.”

Randy’s lips grow into a tight line, but I can’t tell if he’s holding back laughter or a retort. Either way, it didn’t matter. He walked out, leaving me alone in my new gilded cage. I slowly walk around, noting how the windows were floor to ceiling, no way of getting out, especially from this high up. My skin crawled at the thought of there not being a way out, and I focused on my breathing. In and out slowly, because I wouldn’t let this get the better of me.

My fingers skim the silk fabric of the bedding, pressing down a bit, almost shocked at how soft it was. Feeling more like a child, I hop up on the bed and fall back. I sighed, my eyes closing briefly. I didn’t know what kind of mattress this was, but holy shit, was it heavenly. I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. I feel this overwhelming urge to cry, the heavy feeling settling into my chest. I was finally given just a moment to myself, to be able to actually take a damn breath, and all I wanted to do was cry. I’ve been arrested, kidnapped, backed into a corner and forced into a fake engagement all while losing my apartment. There was no safe space for me anymore, nowhere for me retreat to. I was locked away with someone that was a clear threat if not handled correctly, and god, it was terrifying. I hadn’t felt less level of apprehension since Dutch. Always laying awake at night, scared of what next test he had in store. Part of me worried to waking with John’s hands around my throat.

A knock on the door sounded, making me jump. “Yeah?”

“Food’s done.” Randy called and I could hear his retreat.

“That was fast.” I muttered as I rolled of the bed, my feet landing on the soft rug as I kicked off my boots.

On the way down the stairs, I cling to the railing as my socks slid on my first step, and I refused to have ‘falling down the stairs’ added to the day’s events. I didn’t want to make any more of a fool of myself than I already have. I eyed Jane as I went though, noticing that she leaned against the counter and texted on her phone. Cringing, I eyed the bruising that began to develop from me breaking her nose. I felt a bit bad for it.

“So…what exactly am I eating?” I asked as I slowly made my way to the island in the center of the kitchen. It was modern—like everything else—with the island bar made wholly of white marble. The cabinets and counters of the rest of it was pitch black with a black and white marble black splash. I would be lying if I had said I wasn’t at least a bit envious. It was gorgeous, everything sleek and clean, all the appliances matching perfectly.

Jane cleared her throat and shoved her phone away as I sat at the bar, my hands resting against the cool surface. “I uh, made you grilled cheese. Hope that’s okay.” She muttered before placing a plate in front of me.

“Yeah, that’s totally fine.” I gave her a small smile, but she didn’t see it. I could smell the cheesy goodness, the sandwich cut in half diagonally, showing off the golden melted cheese. I took a bite, the cheese oozing in my mouth. Chewing and swallowing, I watch as she leans back against the counter. She looks exhausted. Another twinge of guilt. “Hey, look, I’m sorry about the nose thing. It wasn’t personal.”

Jane’s sharp green eyes find mine with a raised brow. “Not gonna lie, part of me wants punch you to call it even, but I’m gonna ask in all fairness: how likely am I to win that fight?”

“Hmm.” I smirk before tearing off a piece of the sandwich. “Not very.”

She shakes her head with a laugh as I take another bite. “You know it’s Jacob that trains us, and to have your small ass put me on my face in front of my fiancé and trainer is extremely humiliating. Although, I gotta say as a fan of dramatics in that department,” she threw a mischievous look, raising her brow playfully. “That was pretty badass.”

“Thanks.” I laugh a little as I continue to pick at my food. “So, what happens now?”

“Now,” she sighed. “We play the game. You’ll need to keep a low profile while we set the stage. Obviously, it would be strange if it got out that you were living with John before you’re at least spotted together in public. If we play it right, I think we could make it seem like you’ve been secretly dating the past few months.”

“To the public?”

“Right. But as for the feds and Drubmans? They’ll see that you’ve wrapped John Seed around your finger, doing your job as the engagement gets announced.”

Finishing off half of the sandwich, I gave her a look. “When is that?”

“I don’t know. Honestly, I think it’s all a bit cliché. Just stage a damn break in. Rough John up a bit, break in for fake documents or something.”

I laughed at her as Jane shrugged. “There’s an idea.”

There was a relief in finding some common ground with Jane, something I didn’t realize I truly needed up until now. I didn’t have any allies here, but maybe I wouldn’t have to be so alone. The idle chatter between us was slow, nothing deep, both of us guarded. The trust wasn’t there, and I had to respect her for being smart enough to not give away any details I could use.

After I was finished, she offered a tour, but I stubbornly refused. I was going to walk around his palace and admire what he was, but that didn’t help me from my eyes wondering, eyeing the pictures of family here and there. Most of it was just abstract paintings he decorated on his walls, but I could see a family painting and a few pictures. There were black and white shots of planes on the wall behind me, for whatever reason. I crushed my curiosity down out of pride.  

I finally called it a night, throwing Jane a good night over my shoulder as I made my way back to the room I was assigned. Locking the door behind me, I sighed heavily. I could watch tv for the rest of the night, allow myself to slip into a mindless state to help with the tension that I was feeling. But my curiosity finally won out as I started to explore my room in more depth. I walked over to the double doors on the other side of the room, wishfully hoping it was a way to escape.

As I ripped the doors opened, I am both star-shocked and disappointed. Part of me wanted it to lead to a secret balcony of some sort, but what I found instead was an unnecessarily huge walk-in closet. I flipped the light on to see the racks completely filled with clothes: dresses, suits, designer jeans and shirts. There were sunglasses, jewelry, and shoes.

I almost died as I knelt down to check the bottom of the shelves, eyeing the boots that sat there innocently. It was like a damn bookshelf, all the boots at the bottom with a few gym shoes and then…then the heels made up for the rest of it. My eyes widened at the sight of a few Doc Martens, a regular pair, one knee high, and the last was heeled. I couldn’t help but smile in excitement, my love for boots knew no bounds in all honestly. I moved on, checking out the assortment of heels. Most were black, some blue, silver, and grey. There were a few red and burgundy ones, too, and I couldn’t help but…feel a bit of unease.

Frowning, I glance back around, noting the colors—or lack thereof—and I felt a chill. It was strange to me that somehow, whoever did this, knew my taste. Knew my style well enough to pull it off. I turned, grabbed a heel, eyeing that famous red sole before checking the size. I dropped it as if I had been burned, then ripped a black business professional dress off the hanger and checked the tag. A shaky breath escaped my lips as the dress slipped to the floor. Everything was in my size…how the fuck did this happen?

Catching sight of a gown bag, I swallowed before rushing over. I pulled it, carefully unzipping it as I went. Pulling a side back, I drop it and scramble away. Newly dry cleaned and packed perfectly away, was the same dress I wore that night at the gala. I tried to take a calming breath, convincing myself it was a coincidence and that I was just paranoid. But I’ve done this for so long, my instincts couldn’t help but scream, warning me that this was all just too much to not mean something, but I wasn’t sure what. He had seen the dress, maybe he had bought it knowing that. But that didn’t explain everything else.

I’m hesitant, because lately every time I tried to dig, something bad ended up happening to me. My curiosity had done nothing positive for me in weeks, and this was no better. I didn’t want to see this, I didn’t want to acknowledge the possibilities…but I wouldn’t be alive today if hadn’t done those things. Biting my lip, I slowly think up for a plan to see what I could find. A visit to a certain friend could help put things in motion in finding out anything I needed to know. So, I walk out of the closet with a bitter thought of how anyone could afford—or deserve to afford—even half the shit in that damn closet.

Those were my thoughts as I woke up the next morning in the slate grey sheets and expensive down comforter. Worse case scenario I suffered through this for a few months, getting a taste of what I could have when this was all over. It wasn’t that bad. I had protection, slept at a penthouse, all needs were taken care of. I could put up with the insufferable asshole. I had the patience for that.

Right?

I eyed the closet doors and felt a twist of doubt, unsure if I did. Half of me screamed to ignore it and keep my hand down for the sake of getting by without causing anymore trouble. The other demanded answers, curiosity and anger working together to piece every little thing together.

Groaning, I sat up and made my way to the bathroom, doing my usual morning routine. Throwing on a pair of black shorts and adjusting my tank top, I cautiously open the bedroom door. The smell of bacon hit me immediately, and I could hear the sizzling of something. I sighed in relief, shutting the door behind me and running my hand through my hair. If Jane was here, that would make me feel at least a tad better, even though I was the reason she was sporting black eyes now.

My feet hit the cold surface of the stairs as I made my descent, glancing over once the kitchen came into view, and freezing on the spot. I debate running back up the stairs, but he glances over his shoulder at me. There’s no going back now.

I would have never guessed that John could cook, and even if he did, I didn’t think him the kind of person to cook for himself. So, it’s a shock to me, and it’s the excuse I use as I stare at him. His back is bare, with him being in only grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips. It gave me the perfect view of his tattoos. A huge black and blue raven spreading across his shoulder blades, a symbol on his left shoulder, a knife and snake under it, and a plethora of smaller, individual ones along his forearm. I couldn’t get a better look on his other side, but I was so sure that he had others. And as much as I admired the ink across his skin, it was the lines of scars that threw me.

Taking my time, I continued down while keeping a watchful eye on him. I had underestimated him; I knew that much. I just wasn’t sure how much. Joseph showed some cards yesterday, enough for me to know and understand that crossing him would be a terrible mistake on my part. But John…he was still a mystery, and I couldn’t afford any more surprises.

“Wren.” He looked over his shoulder briefly once more, before turning back. It’s alien, how my name falls from his lips. It makes me feel something else that I don’t know how to place. “It’s about time. I thought I would have to come up and make sure you hadn’t died in your sleep.” He called as I stood by the island. His voice had a deepness, almost husky, and I wondered if he sounded like that every morning. Up close I could see the red scars better. Some were random lines, others were words. Sins carved into his skin harshly, as I spy Sloth under his right forearm along with the other tattoos there. I force my attention away from it, swallowing my curious questions.

“I thought Jane would be making breakfast.” I shot back with a shrug that he couldn’t see, so focused on the skillet in front of him. “I was disappointed.”

John moved, transferring whatever he made onto a plate. “Jane is with Faith at their house. She doesn’t stay here. Faith prefers her fiancée at home.” He turned with the plate in his hand, placing it on the island and pointing at the barstool. “Sit. You need to eat.”

Any retort died in my throat as he fished his phone out of his pocket. His chest was well toned and lean. He wasn’t big like Jacob seemed to be, but he had muscle to him. Part of me wondered how much of a challenge he would be if it were an actual fair fight, just him and I. His body was lithe, for sure, so not only would he have strength on his side, but he would be fast, too. I’ve already had a taste of that.

My eyes trace the lines of the scales he has tattooed just under his chest and ending just above his belly button, with another starting right under. A smaller version of the symbol in the center as dark lines and shading to give it a dark glow, with a design underneath that was cut off by his pants. I sat down, feeling uncomfortably warm, and looked down at the plate. “I’d appreciate you not acting like you’re my dad, telling me what to do.” I snarked.

John stopped texting to throw me a dark look, the corners of his mouth twisting the slightest in a smirk, opening his mouth to say something. He stopped himself, hesitating, before his mouth forms a tight line. “Just eat.” He began typing away again, his hair falling in his face a bit. “We’re going to have to announce our…relationship to the public soon. I’ve made a reservation for us this weekend. It’ll give your face time to heal and the sooner we get this going, the better.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he tossed his phone on the counter. “I hope you like Italian.”

He leaned against the counter, his hands gripping the edge as he stared at me. I almost rolled my eyes. How this man could be nothing but business while walking around in sweats was just ridiculous. “Oh good, I love spaghetti.” He said nothing, but I could see the frustration and ire working its way into his eyes. “I’m kidding. Italian is fine.” This time I did roll my eyes.

“Good. There’s plenty of clothes in your closet, and I hope you found something that suits your taste in the bathroom. I don’t know what brands you use, or whatever.” His phone buzzed, gaining his attention.

“You were the one that did that?” I asked, raising a brow at him, my thoughts going to mystery of the wardrobe I had been given. John snapped his gaze to mine.

“No.” he answered, quickly and almost snapping at me. Clearing his throat, he continued. “No, Whitney and Faith did that. I couldn’t be bothered with it. She thought you and Jane were about the same size.”

I narrowed my eyes at him when he looked away. That was…awfully fast, especially for the amount that littered that damn closet. It didn’t really make sense, but I shove it aside, not wanting to start a fight first thing in the morning. “And here I thought it was for the women I’m sure you have milling in and out.”

Ah. So much for no fighting. Pull a punch only to throw another. Good job, Wren.

But John scoffed, a small smirk on his lips. “My one-night stands don’t stay, my dear. And no one would ever be allowed to keep anything here, let alone a full closet of that size.” He threw me a taunting look. “Which I’m sure you’ll understand.”

I frowned, my nose wrinkling. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean you seducing all those men you con—”

I threw my head back, a laugh escaping before I look back at him. “Oh, no. I don’t sleep with my marks. Ever. That’s a rule of mine. I don’t ever mix business with pleasure. Besides, most of those men are old and cringy. No thank you.”

“Why?” he asked, folding his arms as he leaned against them on the island. “Bad experience?” He smirked at his own innuendo and I hesitated. I didn’t trust him, not by a long shot, and I didn’t want to ever give him something to use against me. But on the other hand, he was supposed to be an ally, my employer’s brother, and for this particular job, my partner. So, against my better judgement, I decide to be honest.

“When we’re recruited, we learn that creating ties is dangerous.” I stared, playing with the food with a fork. “So, we’re taught how to kind of…shut our emotions away.” Sighing I give him a look. “And for some people, it’s harder said than done.”

He quirked his brow at me. “You don’t have sex because you will get emotionally attached?” John laughed. “Oh, you’re one of those. A bit needy and can get a bit clingy because they end up wanting something more.”

I immediately frowned, irritation making my face hot. Fucking playboys. “No, I don’t sleep with them because they’re disgusting, greedy leeches, and it’s unprofessional. Sex complicates everything, because you’re always messing with someone’s emotions, and that’s where I draw my line. I’m in the game of stealing, not manipulating someone’s emotions just because I can. That being said,” I hopped off the stool, pushing the plate away, before I lean close to him. “Just because some women want something more, and have feelings, doesn’t make them needy or clingy. In fact, they aren’t the ones to blame at all. It’s not their fault you’re a heartless asshole.”

I turned, making my way back up the stairs without another word.

Coming back down a bit later, I found him no where in sight. Jane and Randy sat at the island instead, playing poker. They looked up at the sound of my approach. “I need a car. Unless you two wanna drive me around all day, although I would prefer to be alone.”

Randy hesitated looking uneasy. “Uh, I don’t think—”

“Just give her the keys to the Lexus. John has been using the Audi, he’s not gonna miss it.” Jane cut him off, throwing me a smirk. I couldn’t help but return it, the guilt slowly faded away more as the mutual respect began to grow between us. I had a feeling we were going to get along just fine.

He gave Jane one more look before turning back to me. “The table in the foyer, there’s a black tray where he keeps his keys. Do not grab anything other than the keys for his Lexus.” Randy warned, pointing at me. I rolled my eyes, making my way over.

I raised a brow, seeing the keys neatly laid out. How many cars did this guy have? I rolled my eyes, grabbing the Lexus key fob. I was ready to get the fuck out of here and see what I could find, both with the wardrobe confusion and the apartment issue.

Duncan, you asshole.

 I huffed as I parked on the side of the street, eyeing the building. This was the right place, right? Checking my mirror, I open the door and exit the car. I immediately miss the air conditioning, but I push that aside. I was on a mission and this was long overdue. I should have done this before anything else, but it had gotten away from me. I guess being kidnapped had a way of taking up your time.

The building was beautiful to say the least. And I wasn’t sure how the owner did it, mixing between old and modern. It was one of the classier tattoo shops I’ve come across. Made that familiar urge rise up within me again, that familiar and comforting sting that always left something beautiful behind.

Pain was temporary, but vanity…vanity was forever.

Making a mental note to come up with some ideas, I pushed the glass door open. This had to be the one. It was the only tattoo shop close to Mary May’s sports bar, and she did mention it was down the road. I would hunt them down, one by one, though. How many tattoo parlors could Atlanta have anyway? I was determined.

The air conditioning was welcoming when I entered, and a bell dinged to announce my arrival. The inside was gorgeous, to say the least. Dark walls with light flooring, a red accent wall that made the room pop in a way that drew you in. While most of it was sleek, there were Victorian touches here and there, from the plush couch to the light fixtures. A beautiful balance.

“Hold on, I’m comin’!” A male voice drawled, and I couldn’t help but allow my lips to curl into a smirk. I broadened when Sharky came around the corner. He stopped short, seeing me standing in the lobby, and I watched as he took a second to recover. “Oh. Hey there, Shorty. What’cha up to?”

I watched the way he shifted his weight from foot to foot while shoving his hands in his green hoodie. “Nothing much. I was in the neighborhood and thought I would drop by. Mary May said you got a new gig here recently. Didn’t know you were an artist, Sharky.”

“Oh, well.” He cleared his throat while throwing me a sheepish smile. “I actually do the piercings, you see. I ain’t good at drawing or any of that fancy stuff.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “To each their own. But uh…I came here for a reason.”

Catching onto my meaningful stare, he jumped with eyes wide. “Oh! Yeah, follow me this way. We can talk back here.” Sharky turned with a wave of his hand, and I followed him back down the hallway. I eyed the work hung up on the walls, but nothing stood out specifically to me. Just drawings or pictures of work that was done, very good work.

“Who did all these?” I asked.

“Our boss.” Sharky called over his shoulder as he opened a door at the end of the hallway. “He doesn’t come around much with his big-shot career taking up most of his time, but when he is here, he ain’t got any extra time. You gotta book him months in advance.”

I raised my brow, impressed. I’ve had my fair share of experience with talented artists, so it wasn’t that shocking that someone was so in demand. What was shocking was the fact that it wasn’t this man’s main gig. A big-shot career? What the hell did this guy do? And that question became even bigger as I stepped into what I assumed to be his office. Huge glass desk with a fancy computer, with blotch tests framed and amazing abstract paintings hung proudly on the walls. What really caught my attention was the one painting that seemed to be misplaced.

It was religious, that was for sure. A dark version of the Garden of Eden, Eve being entangled naked by a snake while Adam gripped her and bled. I had never seen anything like it before, but something about made you just stare. Sharky finally caught onto what had grabbed my attention.

“Oh yeah. He uh, he has an obsession with religion. I mean, some of his family does, too. Especially his parents, so…there are pieces like that in some of our rooms. Each one is inspired by a sin, I think.”

“And this one?”

“I think it’s supposed to be temptation or something. Or a warning to not touch snakes or naked ladies. I’m not sure.”

I shook my head. “Listen, I came here to check on you and discuss some business. I also need a favor.”

Sharky shifted uneasily. “What’s up?”

“I had some cops, and a fed, tell me they shook you down for information on me. They obviously have been following me because they had a photo of us talking. Any chance that they got anything on you?”

“Feds?” he asked throwing me a confused look. “Nah, nobody approached me.”

“Then what made you have a career change?” I asked.

“Thought it would be a good idea to make legit money, too. Besides, my boss wanted me.

“Is this the same guy whose name was on my lease?” Sharky flinched, giving me my answer, and I sighed. “Damn it, Sharky. I told you to put it under me—”

“My boss wouldn’t let me.”

“What do you mean?”

Sharky paled, making a show of glancing at a watch he didn’t own. “Oh, look. I gotta go—”

I immediately stepped into this path, crossing my arms as I blocked the door. “Sharky, explain. Now.”

“Okay!” he threw his hands up in defense. “My boss…well, he knows about you. Like, knows that you’re a total badass and stuff. So…he invested.”

“Invested?” I asked, an uneasy feeling coming over me. I thought I was flying under the radar, only coming out of the shadows because John had caught me. “What do you mean he knows about me?”

“Well,” he rubbed the back of his neck, unwilling to meet my eyes. “he knows of you. Knows what you can do. And well, he’s my boss Shorty. I can’t do business with just anybody.”

“Sharky, you’re a fence. That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do.”

“It’s more complicated than that.” He mumbled, staring at his feet. “If it weren’t for my boss, I’d be dead. He saved my life. So, no, I only do fence work for him and who he allows.”

My brows furrowed. This was supposed to clear up things, not making them more confusing. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it, but my aunt got me out of some…family issues. And well, my boss took me under his wing, kinda. Protected me, you know?” My heart tugged for him. I knew family issues all too well, and he was lucky to have someone to be there for him. Well, fuck.

“So, this ‘Duncan’ is your boss?” I sighed. “And he…invested?”

Sharky perked up at the change of my tone. “Yeah! He was like, super impressed with what you did in L.A., so yeah. He invested.”

“He…he knows about what happened in Cali?” I breathed out, a chill going over my spine.

Of all the things, that wasn’t something I would want anyone to witness. I was still licking my wounds from my wounded pride, my actually injuries healed long ago. It was the first time I had been caught, a tip was given, and I had found myself fighting for my life. I was lucky enough to avoid law enforcement, which seemed to be a miracle. I definitely left a lasting impression and I wasn’t sure if I would ever walk into that city again. Not that I would ever miss it. Good riddance.

“Yeah, but don’t worry.” He waved it off with a roll of his eyes. “He ain’t worried ‘bout all that.”

“So…when you bought me that dress…” I trailed off, the dress coming to mind as I gave him a look.

“He did. I ain’t that good at woman shopping.” Sharky replied with a laugh. “He has good taste, knows exactly what to get. That knife strap still working good?”

“The strap is fine.” I replied absentmindly. I had returned that dress, never keeping things that I used or wore on jobs to destroy any connection. I didn’t like this, not one bit. There was an extremely small chance it was a coincidence. It might not have even been the same dress I wore, just a replica that Whitney had bought. It could have been a joke on John’s part. Perhaps I was just reaching due to paranoia. I sighed and decided to change the subject. But…about that favor?”

“What do you need?” he asked cautiously.

“I need a new set of throwing knives. Just like, three of them. Custom made with the blue blades.”

Sharky threw his head back and groaned. “Girly, you know how much those cost? You want regular throwing knives, I got you. But those customized ones? My boss—”

“If he’s really invested, then he’ll get them.” I replied sternly. “I’m assuming he’s going to want me to do a job for him then?”

Sharky sighed, shaking his head. “It’s complicated. I don’t know what the dude wants, but he keeps the money comin’ for yah.”

“Well…that might be a blessing with what work I have cut out in front of me.” I walked towards the desk, finding it neat and clear of any documentation. Nothing that I could swipe, but there were interesting paperweights and fancy pens. No pictures of family…nothing. “I got myself tied up in a job for the next few months, at least.”

“Job with who?” he asked, not even noticing me taking note of everything I could. I was desperate for a clue, for anything, that could lead me to who this guy was. I didn’t like that someone was watching from the shadows.

“I don’t think I’m really allowed to say.” I replied turning back to him. “I know that I’m gone once it’s over. Tell your boss I appreciate…whatever it is that he did, but I don’t think I’m interested in whatever he has in mind. I just want the knives.”

Sharky shrugged. “I don’t think he has anything in mind, just interested in yah. You want me to deliver those knives somewhere special?”

I snorted. “You can have him deliver them himself to get rid of all this mystery bullshit. But if that can’t be arranged, I can just stop by here. Either way.”

Sharky gave a nod. I was tired of all this suspense, all these surprises that seemed to come out of nowhere. I didn’t know how many people were involved with this, but I was hoping that I had reached the end. Having another player in the game wasn’t something I could afford at the moment. I couldn’t even handle my new roommate, let alone Drubman and the feds breathing down my neck. Which reminded me that I needed to check in sooner rather than later before they hunted me down.

I only stayed for a few more hours, talking and joking with him. I didn’t get a whole lot of time with Sharky, or anyone for that matter. I never really allowed myself to make friends, and I always viewed him, and Mary May, more along the lines of associates or colleagues than anything. But I had found myself growing more and more fond of these people, no matter how much I tried to avoid it.

Finally, waving goodbye, I exited the shop and back into the heat of Atlanta. Somehow, I had managed to kill most of the day, which was fine by me. Normally I was a home body, but with my new living arrangement, I was desperate to get out of the house. Suddenly I found that I enjoyed being out and about.

I turned, checking to see Sharky gone as I pulled out my phone and clicked on her contact. Bringing it to my ear, I listened to it ring. I knew she was about to get busy, but I was hoping she would answer anyway.

“Hello?” Mary May answered, relief flooding over me.

“Hey, May. It’s me.”

“Well, look who decided to stick around. I assumed you were still here since you never swung by to say bye.” There was a beat of silence, but not enough for me to answer. “Wait, unless you’re already gone. Did you leave without saying bye, you asshole?”

I chuckled at her. She was always so damn mouthy. “No, I’m still here in Atlanta.” Unfortunately. “But I’m calling you because I need a favor. Can you look someone up for me?”

“Oh.” She sounded shocked, but she recovered quickly. “Yeah, sure. What’s the name?”

“Duncan. Male, I think.”

“First or last?”

“Yeah, I’m not entirely sure.” I replied almost sheepishly.

Mary May sighed. “Wren, do you have any idea how common that name is? That’s going to take me forever.”

“Well, apparently he’s a big-time businessman here in Atlanta, so that could help. He also owns a tattoo shop. Oh, and the bastard was renting my apartment the whole fucking time. There’s that.”

Mary May hesitated. “Wait…tattoo parlor? Wren, where are you?”

“In Atlanta—”

“Where exactly?” she pressed. I frowned as she sighed. Where the hell was this coming from. “Like, what’s the name of the parlor?”

“It’s the one Sharky is working with. I dropped by and said hey.” I said, brushing it aside.

“Does Sharky know you’re doing this?”

“What he doesn’t know won’t kill him.” I replied impatiently. “His boss has a keen interest, and I have every intention on finding out who has their eye on me.”

Mary May groaned. “Why do I get the feeling this is going to end badly? I can already tell this is going to turn into a ‘Wren-Gets-Into-More-Trouble-Than-She-Anticipated’ moment.”

“Where’s your faith, May?”

“Extremely low considering the last week.”

“Oh…well yeah, that’s fair.”

“So, the name of the tattoo parlor?”

“Right, hang on.” I turned back, checking to make sure Sharky was still out of sight before my eyes fall to the glass. “It’s called—"

I froze, frowning as I eyed the decal on the window. I can’t help but feel irritated, knowing that I had seen that symbol somewhere but couldn’t think of where for the life of me. I pinched the bridge of my nose as a headache began to form.

“Wren?”

“Oh, yeah. Uhm, it’s called Garden of…of Eden…?” I almost scoffed. There was no fucking way. “Yeah, okay, so this guy is religious. Or likes to play with a religious theme. I half expect him to be old and gross. And if that’s the case, tell him I’m a lesbian.”

She snorted. “Yeah, okay. I’ll see what I can find.”

“Thank you.” Just as I hung up, a little alert came through, announcing a new text. As I read it, my heart sank. Fuck.

Update? You’ve been silent too long. -JH

Welp. There was that. With everything going on, I completely forgot that I was actually supposed to be checking in with them, giving updates as things progressed. I bit my lip, trying hard to think of a good response. If they found out I had moved in with John, they would know something was up. This had to be done delicately or we were all screwed. Me, above the rest, though.

Made some progress with the youngest brother. Having dinner. Will keep you updated.

Shoving the phone in my pocket, I make my way to my new car. I was just ready to crawl in bed, sleep forever, and pretend this wasn’t fucking happening. This had only gotten worse, people shifting their attention towards me like never before. It was annoying and I wanted it over with. I couldn’t wait to leave, to go somewhere secluded where no one would ever be able to find me unless I wanted them to.

I drove back quickly, doing my best to avoid the traffic. Eyeing the black Audi, I groan. That only meant that John was back, and I really didn’t have the patience for this asshole anymore today. Part of me hoped that he would be holed up in his office, and I took comfort in it.

But all of that came crashing down when I stepped into the penthouse, loud music playing, the lights dimmed except for his massive lounge. Laughter and thrilled shrieking joined the music, forcing my headache to get even worse. I began to make my way over cautiously, eyeing Jane as she leaned against the separating wall of the room and hallway. She gave me a look as I stepped into the light of the room.

Nothing in this world really shocks me anymore, but I have to hand it to him, John Seed kept me on my toes. “What the fuck?’ I muttered under my breath, taking in the scene before me. John had the same suit on from this morning, or what was left of it. The vest was gone along with the jacket, his sleeves rolled up and the woman half across his lap must have been responsible for unbuttoning half the buttons, or ripping them, seeing that there were a few scattered on the floor. She was in a bright red dress that clung to her curves almost revealing, and she had no issue with pressing all of it against him. Her blonde hair curled and falling messily out of some sort of updo.

The two men on the adjacent part of the couch were no better. Though the women that accompanied them seemed a bit…paid for. They were older, rich by the looks of it, and I’m sure they lived like kings. I recognized one as Charles, the man I had tried to steal from, and the other was a man I hadn’t seen before. He had a half-assed combover with a gut.

“Who the fuck is this?”

I turned at the sound of the blonde’s shitty tone. Her red lipstick is a bit smeared, leaving some on the collar of John’s shirt and his neck. The eyeliner being smudged gave her a coked-out vibe that I wasn’t sure sat well with me, and eyeing the living room table, I found out why. Lines of white powder, nice and neat, laid contrasting against the black glass, and looking at John, I could see remnants of is in his facial hair. His eyes were glassy and bloodshot, his face flushed out. He looked at her with a lazy smile.

“No one, Holly. Don’t worry about her.” John drawled.

I narrowed my eyes at him as Jane sighed behind me. My jaw ticked as I tried to evaluate the situation. I felt like I had just come home to find my husband cheating, and not in the sense that I was betrayed by someone I loved. No. It was the feeling like I was the butt of a joke, that I was to be humiliated, and I was pathetic even being here to confront him for it.

“Right. I’m no one.” I echoed emptily. He caught my gaze once more, the challenge there in his eyes. “That’s exactly how the conversation went.” I’m not a jealous girlfriend—or fiancé—in this moment. I’m a pissed off business partner, who has found just how irresponsible her associate is; that had realized that this was a side of John Seed that wasn’t expected. I might have hated John Seed, but he had my respect.

Until now.

John smirked before hanging his head back. “Please go away. The last thing I want to deal with now is you. You’re ruining my fun with my friends.”

“Your friends?” I scoffed. A sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach made me cringe. “You call these people your friends?”

He laughs, looking at Holly. “She doesn’t even like to have sex. Such a fucking prude. Doesn’t know how to have fun.”

“That’s okay, sweetheart.” The fat one called. “You can come over here and I’ll teach yah!”

I scoffed glancing down at my shoes, trying to ignore the sting in my chest, and I look back up with a mocking laugh. “No, I have more self-respect than that. Unlike the other’s in this room, it seems.” I walk closer to John, his smirk falling at my words as I lean down. “Yeah, I might not be on your level of a good fucking time, and I lie, manipulate, and steal.” I sneered lowly as Holly returned to the table with a rolled up hundred-dollar bill. “But what I don’t do…is lie to myself. I don’t pretend to be someone I’m not for the sake of so-called friends that want nothing from me, but drugs and money. I don’t fill that dark hole with useless shit.” I lean back, taking a step away. “I may not have liked you, but I at least respected you. Disappointing that you don’t.” I sighed, looking at his little plaything. Clearing my throat, making a show of wiping my nose. “You gotta little something…”

She glared at me, rubbing the back of her hand against her nose, but traces of cocaine lingered. “Fuck off!”

“Classy.” I replied unamused, before quickly turning and walking out. “I hope you enjoy yourselves.” Jane met my gaze as I passed her, her eyes sad and tired. My heart is heavy for her, knowing that it was not just her boss, but her brother-in-law in there, wasting his life away on the things that didn’t matter. For people who would never give a shit about him.

“He wasn’t always like that, you know.”

I stop as I enter the main hall, my eyes catching the sight of Joseph leaning against the wall in the dark. He’s wearing a simple suit, similar to what he had worn yesterday, with the same damn sunglasses. “What? Arrogant, misguided, and heartless?”

He threw me a look, those eyes searching my soul until he pushed himself off the wall. “Walk with me.” Giving a slight nod towards the balcony outside, I walk next to him slowly.

Joseph is completely at ease, despite this not being his scene. He seemed so out of place, but he took it in stride. He pushed the sliding glass door open, the cooler air hitting us as we stepped out. Shutting the door behind us, he turned and walked towards the railing, leaning against it as he admired the view. It was fully dark by now, the lights of the city competing with the stars in the sky.

“My brother is most of those things and more, but heartless isn’t one of them.” Joseph finally spoke, drawing my attention to him, seeing the lights reflect in the yellow lens. “He would like you to believe that, because well…I guess that would make him stronger…untouchable, in a sense, yes?”

I leaned with him, deep in thought and hanging onto his every word. “Yes, I suppose that would make anyone feel invincible.”

“Hmm.” He gave me a glance before turning back and sighing. “John used to be such a loving child, constantly laughing and smiling, believe it or not. His parents…his parents ripped that from him.”

“You mean your parents.” I corrected with a furrowed brow, but Joseph just shook his head and looked at me.

“No, I mean John’s parents.” He cleared his throat a bit before continuing. “I’m going to tell you this because I need this to work between the two of you. I need you to work together and right now, that partnership is in flames. Anymore stress, and one of you is bound to explode, and John is infamous for his anger issues, especially to his enemies. And Ms. Blake, despite only knowing you for only 24 hours, I do not with that upon you. But this goes nowhere, do you understand? This stays between us.”

It’s quiet for a second as his eyes drill into mine, and I realize he’s waiting for an answer. “Oh. Yes, of course. I understand. I won’t say a word.”

Satisfied, he turned back to the city and I followed suit, hyperaware of Joseph’s words as they fall from his lips. “I suppose I should start from the very beginning. Our father was a…god fearing man. Knew the bible like the back of his hand. And while he held bible verses in one, he held a drink in another. He was an alcoholic and well…he took a lot of it out on us.”

“And your mother?” I whispered, my heart starting to ache.

“Oh, well, she was there, but she wasn’t.” he sighed. “I didn’t know it as well as I do now. Maybe I had known, I just didn’t want to admit it or accept it. But she was absent, locked away in the bedroom days at a time. I can’t say for sure if it was pills or a needle, but I knew well enough back then that she wasn’t of much help to any of us. It was Jacob who protected us.”

“He definitely seems like the type.” I muttered, remembering the towering man, and Joseph chuckled. “So, what happened?”

Joseph clicks his tongue matter-of-factly. “It was John, actually. That’s how they found out. He went to school with bruises on him and the teacher saw. The next thing we knew…child protective services had come for us.” It’s quiet again as he pauses, and I absorb the information. Even with the sounds of the city, you can hear the water in the pool, and it’s relaxing. There’s a loud cheering from inside and Joseph decides to break the silence. “We got adopted, of course. But…well, they were worse than what we came from, and Jacob being Jacob…well, he wouldn’t ever stand for it.”

“What did he do?”

“He caught their barn on fire.” I frowned immediately, flinching away as if he had slapped me, but Joseph paid no mind, not noticing my reaction. “Then he beat them to death. And they deserved it, but the authorities didn’t see it that way. So, they took Jacob away from us. Not long after that, John was finally adopted.” Another sigh as he shifted. “And these people, swore to be good Christian people, but didn’t know the meaning of it. Swore that John was born evil, born in sin.” He looked at me with a shake of his head. “Misplaced belief breeds disaster. Always.”

The way he said it made a chill go up my spine, my body going cold with dread. “They sound insane.”

“You haven’t even heard the half of it, my dear.” Joseph clenched and unclenched his hands as he stared at them. “They beat him, manipulated him, tore him down until he was exactly what they wanted. He was a shell of himself. Made him confess to sins he had never committed and made it to where he believed he was wrong. His whole existence was nothing but sin. So, he learned how to be the perfect son. Learned how to become a chameleon of sorts, changing colors and pieces of himself for each interaction and person. Something I’m sure you can relate to?”

I shift uncomfortably under his gaze, because it’s so true. Both of us trained and taught to be what others wanted us to be, to be the perfect shining example that stood above the rest. I hated that he was right, that there were similarities between the two of us that shook me to the core, and I wanted to rip it away. To deny any of it, because I would never do what he was doing now. Never would I fall so low.

Become one of his coked-up buddies he keeps around, for all I fucking care. If you value your life, you’ll do this.

A sick feeling twists inside as Hurk Sr’s words whisper harshly in my mind. I did value my life, and I wasn’t so sure of what I would and wouldn’t do anymore. If someone had asked me a few months ago if I would stage an engagement, I would’ve laughed in their face. But yet, here I was, in a situation I had sworn I would never allow myself to get into; a situation where someone else was in control and pulling the strings. I couldn’t really say anything anymore.

“He quit for a while.” Joseph murmured. “John hasn’t…he hasn’t done something like this in a very long time. But we need the partnership, I need them in there to align with us. He knows that…and this was his way…this is my fault, and I know that. John would do anything for his family.”

“You didn’t ask him to do any of that, Joseph.” I whispered. “We make our own choices. And there’s another way, John just…doesn’t know how to apply it yet.” I don’t know why I was defending him, but I knew I spoke from experience. When you didn’t know how else to handle a situation, you always fell on bad habits. They were the most comfortable.

“I’m hoping he will get better. He has, really. But tonight has me worried.” He scoffed. “The Duncan’s did a hell of a job on him, and I’m doing what I can to break their hold. After dead for so many years, you would think their influence would’ve died with them.”

My heart stops as I look at Joseph. “What? What did you say?” He gave me a confused look, and I clarified. “The name. Who?”

“The Duncan’s. They were John’s adoptive parents. Before he changed it back, John’s last name was Duncan.” I swallow as Joseph looked away, brushing something off his suit jacket.

John Duncan.

[violetsystems]

#personal

The holidays are quiet if not a little more restful than usual.  I facetime’d my dad and his wife and talked to my mom on the phone.  Since I left my job way back in July I haven’t had much video contact with anybody.  Everybody is too busy baking banana bread on YouTube I guess to check in.  The final days of my employment had devolved into a virtual SCRUM twice a day led by myself on camera.  It was exhausting at times to lead but kept people focused.  That is when they bothered to show up.  One of my employees was off making music with my boss half the time I was trying to lead those discussions.  I’m beginning to sense a theme.  People saying they are there but not really.  Maybe the mic is muted.  Maybe you can’t see behind the screen.  All I know is the follow through lately with people is missing entirely.  I spent a good hour the last two days trying to decouple a credit card from my old job’s contact info.  I’m locked out of both the phone number and the email attached to the account.  I got the run around trying to provide a US passport to confirm my identity.  It was good enough to enter China alone.  The first call that ID was sufficient.  They had said they sent an email to follow through with the process to two different emails I provided.  The email never came most likely because neither had been tied to the account previously.  I called back on Christmas eve and suddenly the passport wasn’t good enough.  Neither was an expired driver’s license.  The woman actually asked me why I hadn’t renewed my driver’s license.  I told the truth.  My ex girlfriend stole my car.  That didn’t really help the situation.  I sent a passport photo to unlock my facebook but they never followed through.   I had an easier time unlocking my Fortnite account with it although that took a full week.  I ended having to call the police on Christmas eve to explore filing a report for fraud and identity theft.  The police officer on the phone pretty much gaslighted me at the end of the questioning.  “Nothing criminal.” he stated plainly.  I didn’t get mad.  I didn’t even complain.  I simply said Happy Holidays and hung up.  Much like I’ve hung up on the last twenty years of my life at this point.  Nobody seems to want to answer the video call.  The opening introduction if they did would be something like “What exactly have you done with my life?”  Maybe they’re afraid to confront the truth.  The media, the government, and even the police seem to not want to believe evidence that contradicts their narrative.  I guess you could throw up your hands and revolt.  But the holidays have been peaceful and quiet enough to simply roll my eyes and move on.  I’ve had years of failures to connect.  COVID has taught me a lot of things.  I heard the mantra in all the mandatory corporate webinars.  This pandemic has brought to light structural problems we were never aware of before.  Sexual harassment in the workplace.  Check.  Organizational corruption.  Check.  The fact everybody is full of bullshit and will just mute the mic and pretend it never happened.  Check.  People feel invincible behind a screen and think they know it all.  Check.  Now that we’re aware.  What do we do?  How do we move on with our life now that we have all this space?  How do I even care about participating in a broken process when I have no debt and fiscal maturity?  How can I go back to being the old me when I’ve been completely erased and conveniently forgot about?  Why would I even bother?  

Mostly I take the time with this process to make sure my identity is completely secure.  Which is why it’s not really fun to be locked out of twenty years of your own information in the form of an email account and forgotten about for six months.  But this is just the structural reality come to light.  Much like the rest of America is waking up to the reality of what greed really does to people.  That was my Christmas present this year aside from the coffee that never came and that Cyberpunk game that I don’t really have the time or the subpar computer setup to criticize.  I’m guilty of tricking myself into thinking people care about me.  I have statistical data from the last six months that proves otherwise.  I also have financial data that points to whatever hustle I have been hustling during that time has paid off and will continue to.  But I don’t really have an answer to anything.  I’m in the worst kind of limbo.  I don’t get the sense these days that I should even remotely worry until July.  Which is kind of like saying fuck you to the world for the next six months.  I spent the last six waking up from a nightmare.  The only times I look back is to clean up the mess.  And a Christmas Eve call to the police is kind of messy.  But the result is more of the same for me.  An extravagant “I told you so.”  I’ve been telling myself for awhile now a lot of things.  Some of them were kind of unbelievable.  Now those very dreams are all I really take comfort in.  The limbo I’m in is more pointed to the light at the end of the tunnel than the void.  But I can’t say the same for everybody else.  I work for myself for the time being.  It looks really nice on paper.  I can even pay myself if it fits into my organization’s financial outlook.  But none of this matters when you or your struggles don’t even exist to people other than to mock or judge it.  All the work we do to survive.  All the work we do to create art and to be beautiful in the face of chaos.  All of that is negated by a loud mouthed jerk who can bark you back into submission.  A mob of dumb ass fraudsters that talk over and mute any opposition without any warrant or merit.  The press follows this mentality pretty clearly.  Everybody has a hot take and a theory.   But nobody wants to sit down and listen to the culmination of lies spread about people and situations.  Everyone is too emotionally interested in sharing their recipe for banana bread to an invisible audience.  I guess I could be guilty of that too.  Except that I share actual human emotion and care with a community of people who pay attention week to week.  For a person like myself who has no real need to worry about money for the foreseeable future what’s the value of care and attention?  A lot.  I don’t feed myself with vapor or fake sentiments.  I take it all at base level as real as it gets.  You can’t build a future on speculation.  You can technically if you are in the stock market.  But risk is risk.  And money is money.  No one can be me at the end of the day.  Sometimes I can’t even prove I’m myself.  My mom reminded me I had to provide ten pieces of documentation to renew my passport ten years ago.  The reasoning was simple.  The government did not believe I existed.  No bullshit.  A decade later nothing really has changed.  I’ve been to Shanghai by myself and eaten McDonald’s.  I read all these Republicans talk about how you put your identity at risk just setting foot in that country.  

And yet when does the rhetoric and brainwashing fall flat on it’s face?  When you can’t pass economic stimulus to not only save your own people but the fragile stock market all this bullshit is built upon.  I could keep telling you I told you so.  Or I could save my own ass.  And largely I did without really owing much to this country whatsoever except taxes in Q1.  Taxes billionaires don’t have to pay because they offer us so much relevant employment and benefits that fit on their bottom line.  The real truth is that America would rather not face the truth.  It hasn’t for years.  It’s built on this kind of thing.  It always has been.  And the world gets bigger and the excuses get worse.  And so what does anyone expect a person like me to do after you openly admit that there’s nothing criminal going on here.  How does that sound when you’ve been treated openly like a criminal in so many unsettling ways that you just don’t want to participate in society anymore?  Not that anyone really asks me to participate.  They’re too busy signaling or whispering secret messages.  Is it suggestion or valid communication?  I’m the one that has to shift through it all and detangle the mess from what is real and what is some sort of mass hallucination.  An alternate reality hunger game that the rich have been playing for years without any punishment or oversight.  When you get caught up in the crossfire they expect you to know the drill.  Keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you.  None of this is good for me.  You could argue it made me the beast that I am.  But I am the one who had to actively make that choice to adapt and survive.  But I’m not like any normal person these days.  I refuse to admit it anymore.  They say the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem.  I have a problem.  One that it seems I cannot fix.  And if you isolate and quarantine yourself from an entire twenty years of nostalgia what is left?  Where are the texts of merry xmas from yesteryear.  Probably pinging my old work number.  I can’t access my facebook.  Maybe that’s for the best.  I can’t shut down lines of credit until I renew my state ID.  I could jump on a plane and visit Shanghai Disney quicker than I could prove I’m alive to the US government.  And when does the constant gaslighting break down?  When do we realize that people gaslight to cover up an elaborate lie that has gotten out of control.  That we are not all in this together.  Not by a longshot.  That the problem of connectedness is right there in front of our faces.  We’re exhausted propping up entire infrastructures that keep a bloated empire alive.  Family fortunes built on opioids and war strewn out across the landscape in trusts and elaborate tax schemes.  Oligarchs that have generational wealth that buy our politicians and scam people into debt and forced labor.  This is America.  This is the systemic problem the pandemic brought to light.  This shit was built this way.  And like any fort constructed with shaky foundations, good luck hiding from the storm in that shit.  At least I can still access my Epic account.  What am I going to do for the next six months?  Complain about something I can’t fix because everybody wants to consider me part of the problem?  I don’t know what to do anymore except move forward and lead by example.  There’s enough quality people who follow to keep me warm with those thoughts through the holidays alone.  I won’t be drunk on a zoom call.  I’ll be in bed watching Wonder Woman or something.  When everyone you worshipped comes out of this looking fake, tired and exhausted you’ll know where to find me.  Unlocking more accounts tied to an identity that doesn’t exist anymore.  Nothing criminal.  Hopefully people will stop treating me like one eventually.  <3 Tim

[emptymanuscript]

My biggest pro-tip: Fiction is NEVER Reality.

If I could give one and only one pro-tip for writing that so very many people, including people who are otherwise excellent storytellers, just don’t get it’s to remember that Fiction is NEVER Reality.

I have never seen so consistent a sign of a piece of fiction that isn’t going to work as the claims, “But that’s how it really happened,” or, “But that’s how it would really happen.”

To the point that the one few times back in grad school where I was writing something BASED on a real event, and people really wanted to know where I got such a compelling moment I was extremely reluctant to share. And the second I did, my lecturer turned on me, warning me that real events usually don’t work and usually aren’t the best way to do the action in a story even when they do work. And I was like, yeah, that’s why I didn’t want to tell you.

Which should not be mistaken for a contradiction.

I am not saying this belief that Fiction is NEVER Reality is something imposed on me by my teachers. I got to this one on my own. Though I think there was plenty of implication from my teachers that such a thing was the case, that lecturer was actually the first teacher I ever had to specifically say that clearly tome. I will eternally maintain that whatever works in specific, works. That trumps any general truth about writing. Same the other way around. You can follow the “rules” to the letter and still get crap because they don’t work for your specific piece. Every writing “rule” that may exist, exists for a reason. So long as you fulfill that reasoning, you don’t have to follow the “rules.” So long as the reasons for that “rule” don’t apply to your specific piece, it will hurt the piece to apply it. And, that’s the same thing as Fiction is NEVER Reality.

I can successfully write “real” events, well enough to get a bunch of very excellent writers, including my lecturer who wrote a lot for the BBC, very excited because I get that SEEMING real and BEING real are different. SEEMING real is the goal. BEING real tends to kill the seeming of reality. Because a rule in the real world is a rule. Drop a ball and it will accelerate toward the surface of the Earth at 9.8 meters per second squared. That is reality. Not every choice makes sense. The inexplicable happens every day. People just lie because... who knows... they’re liars. The world doesn’t make sense except in a very local or very abstract or very scientific way. And that’s fundamentally not what a story is.

A story’s job is to convince you it is real. But we’re used to living in that extreme local or deep abstract. Which means all the middle world incomprehensibility just doesn’t land right with most people. So, following the rules that are real rules, that things just happen, that is wide and incomprehensible, shuts people down the same as if you try to tell them really weird stuff in real life. A story SEEMS real by limiting itself to that personal level, even - or most especially - when it is not being written about that personal level.

Pardon me while I sidestep into my philosophy of art for a brief moment, it is applicable. There are a lot of opinions about art, how art works, and what art does. And I should be clear that my opinion is NOT the majority opinion.

The philosophy that i am an adherent to, and all the above is a recursive part of why, is that art happens as an act of communication between Artist and Audience, with the Medium of the Art as a conduit between. For writing in specific, that means my philosophy is that ART is the act of me, the Primary Author, taking an image I have in my head and giving you, the Reader, the basics of that story through the Medium of a Book, so that you, as a Secondary Author can build the full story up in your own head. I don’t have the totality of the Art. You don’t have the totality of the Art. The Book is simply the container for us to pass the communication between us. The Art only exists in that communication and interplay between us. It requires all three parts. Otherwise it doesn’t occur. I can make up a million stories in my head, I do, and if I don’t tell them to you, I don’t believe that is Art, I believe that is play. And the same for you. It has to pass between two people or more, allowing room for interpretation to be Art.

Which I mention because it informs why the personal point of view reigns supreme for story. Because in order for a story to occur, it has to get inside a person’s head and operate there. The Audience can only interact, truly, with a piece of Art as it sits inside their own understanding. So as you step away from a PERSONAL level of understanding on the part of the audience, you are stepping away from what they will believe, understand, and care about. We, as writers, are always limited by an “I” that we cannot control. Just manipulate.

To some degree, it is our job as writers to build the scaffolding for the readers to climb out of that “I” into a new and wider world. That is inevitable. But the basic logic of that as the beginning is inescapable. Everything starts as “I.” That’s why first person is so powerful and so natural as a starting place for new writers. Because it plays to that “I.” “I” am reading about a person A, who has to do B, but C is in the way. And while things will build to a richness where it will appear that A, B, and C will exist beyond their life in the book, that “I” will never absent itself. Which is why readers get mad when authors do things with characters and their world that don’t fit with the conceptions and rules that “I” have built up. Because we, in our personal lives maintain a structure of personal order. Violate that structure and “I” will rebel.

The real world violates it constantly. CONSTANTLY. There is no escape. We never know for sure what the other people in our lives will do. We never know precisely what the weather will do. There’s not a hope in hell of knowing what our leadership, far away, and foreign nations will do. But we hate that. We have to live with it but we hate it. So, we invent a narrative. We create for ourselves a line of reasoning to explain the unreasonable. Our parents yelled at us even though we didn’t do anything because they had a rough day at work. You know, that Allison is always giving them a hard time. “I” bet that was it. “I” bet Allison really laid into my parent and threatened to fire them for not getting the Bulletin Board Project done and even threatened to fire them, when all they really wanted was to get in, get it over with, and get us all to Carrow Beach for a relaxing weekend but now they have to work instead and they feel bad and then feel guilty and “I” am not helping so “I” better help and maybe if “I” can get some dinner on the table they would have more time and energy. Etc.

We’re playing with that as writers. Everything happens, eventually, for a reason. Everything, eventually, has a clear architecture of order - though it is usually emotional rather than factual. Because if a writer builds toward that SEEMING of reality, we can rely on the reader to take it and run with it and build out from that logic because that’s what they would do anyway. Try to make it literally real and you’re fighting against the architecture you’re trying to use. It’s like trying to make boat out of building. You might be able to. But it’s not taking advantage of how things are.

So whenever you are trying to deal with REAL. Think about it from the point of view of “I”. Not what really happened but what “I” would come around to telling “myself” happened. You are recreating the MODEL of the real world you carry around in your brain, well enough that someone else can use that model to reconstruct that interpreted world.

This is my biggest number one thing because it is the only thing that dictates how everything else works. Why does a story have to be interesting? Because “I” don’t have the patience to read boring things. If “I” don’t care, “I” won’t read. Why does a story have to be clear? Because “I” am not directly experiencing any of it, there is no real world for “me” to see, just the model that has been given to “me.” The only way “I” know what is happening is if “I” am shown it. Why doesn’t the 100% Real world look like the world as “I” experience it? Because we all live in the matrix, we’re a brain in a walking, talking, feeling jar, and neither brain in the jar nor jar that is the body experiences anything without talking to each other and every bit of communication allows for miscommunication. So the world of every “I” is slightly different. So the most important, fundamental bits of a story have to be built. WHY something happens. WHO someone is. HOW they go about getting what they want. These things have to work internally to the story.

You can’t make something more REAL. What real? Whose real? Instead you make things seem more real by focusing on the emotional logic of an “I.” I am disenchanted with the world, so my fictional world becomes more gray to communicate my disaffection. I am frightened, so descriptions become more ominous to communicate my discomfort. I am happy so the party I am writing about is a description of joy safe in the harbor before the storm that is coming. A stalker doesn’t jump from the sidewalk to the second floor balcony (the first ‘but it really happened’ I ever heard) instead they are just there in the apartment to communicate the terror of that, someone in the room, where there shouldn’t be anyone, and when they flee out the window and you’re frozen in fear a full beat after they’ve disappeared, heart hammering, because you know, you KNOW, they’re still there, it’s two stories up, but you make yourself grab your keys in your fist and shuffle to the fluttering shades, wishing you could hold the noise of your shoes on the carpet like you’re holding your breath, and rip them back, taking two blind punches to try and drive him back, keep him from touching your skin, grabbing your wrist in a death lock, and then... you don’t know what and you don’t want to know so you punch like somehow God will guide the keys into his eyes, but the balcony is empty, you’re punching empty air, there’s no one at all, nothing you can see, like a ghost, who doesn’t care at all that there was nowhere to go, that you can’t vanish into nothing, that the door was locked, that there is such a thing as walls to keep you safe.

There’s nothing REAL about that. But that’s an “I” thinking, experiencing, an architecture is there: that the stalker is a monster and will obey monster rules. Later, yes, there can be an explanation about how he is a champion ex pole vaulter and literally can leap up and down from the ground to the second story. But by the time we learn that, those are just facts defining the monster’s powers. We already know HOW he did it: he’s a monster. It doesn’t matter that it is literary fiction and there are no fantasy or science fiction elements. It’s the rules “I” apply. How “I” think about it all. There are tons of ways to do this. It doesn’t particularly matter. There’s no right answer. But the way it really happened that no one believes of that you have to pause the story and justify, is one of the wrong answers. Because if the reader has to explain it all to themselves, then they aren’t working on the writer’s story anymore, they’re working on their own. Which is why it tends to throw people out of a tale.

Real is for Non-Fiction, and even then there’s an art.

Fiction, no matter how much it is based on a real thing, has to build up its own world and own logic. Realness either doesn’t apply or works against the model you are trying to create which means you’re working against your reader. Because fundamentally, Story is about A leads to Z. While reality cannot be predicted like that, only recorded, and even then can only move in a straight line from A to Z with labyrinthine explanations and diversions to accommodate the sheer amount of reasoning necessary to explain how A could get to Z in a clear path. The best you can do is to do the large scale abstract. You’ll see that a lot in movie prologue voice overs. “No one would have expected X, to win the election that year, but then there was a war and a plague and the language started to change, and when he won by a landslide, things changed even more.” That’s the abstract. Not the real. The ruleset that “I” carry around that says when things get bad, we turn totalitarian. And it happens quick. That’s not reality either. That’s a scripted narrative. We, culturally believe that. And that’s where we get tropes coming into it. Those are the abstract truths we, as a culture, trust, having no clue how valid it is for Reality itself. But it doesn’t matter. It’s a tautology. So it goes.

And I think I have gone on long enough. It’s just getting too REAL for me at this point :p