#she admired honesty and now shes just??? flipping her ideas entirely????

[yb-cringe]

god . its killing me especially after that sweet ending to the stream just how. fucking awful it is that qjaiden is doing her whole isolation relapse again. and more importantly how Strange it is that she is relapsing

the more i think about it the more im curious if we’ll find out more about what was said or done during those two weeks because. qjaiden WAS doing better. she was letting people in, even post-photo/suspicion incident. up until the last day, she even let baghera in and it went Well

which is why its just. so weird that shes made this sudden flip and decided actually no i cant trust anyone and i need to make another base further away where no one can find me

like what Happened, ?? why the sudden change?? she’s rehashing old traumas and i just dont understand Why Now—

[acnelli]

The Speech

Hermione becomes the first female Minister Of Magic, so Ron has to hold a speech about it. 

Just in case you’re wondering...I was never very interested in Pottermore or anything that got published after DH, so there might have been a female MoM before Hermione but I think this little detail is not important to enjoy the story ;-) I also don’t really see Hermione as a MoM. For me Hermione works at the Ministry, creating and pushing for laws to protect and improve the life of those oppressed and fighting for equality. But I liked the idea of a very nervous Ron talking about his wife in front of a huge crowd.

You can also find this story on FFN and AO3.

I'm so screwed.

This sentence was stuck like a mantra in his head ever since Kingsley talked him into this nonsense.

Who in his right mind would want him, Ron Weasley, to hold a speech? Sure, it was his wife that becomes the next Minister of Magic and she also will be the first female one. Which makes him the first husband to hold a speech about the new Minister.

But why couldn't they just skip this stupid tradition?

Not that he wasn't able to talk a lifetime about Hermione. But he sure wasn't ready to talk about her in front of half the Ministry, his entire family, a bunch of friends and not to forget these annoying press people.

Ron was fairly confident that he would say something stupid. He was Ron bloody Weasley after all and if anyone would describe him to a stranger this would be in his character description: Saying and doing stupid and/or inappropriate things.

Kingsley was about to end his speech and Ron knew that it will be mere seconds before he was called up to the stage.

Oh Godric, please don't make me embarrass myself in front of my children.

He thought back to this morning when his fifteen-year-old daughter made him a cup of tea to calm his nerves.

"Don't worry, Dad. You will do just fine. And please eat something." Hugo said, as he shoved a slice of toast at him. He picked his breakfast up and even took a bite, mainly to appease his son.

 Hugo stared at him, determination and worry on his face. It never failed to amaze Ron, how much his son was like Hermione, both in looks and character.

 Ron sighed and took another bite before shoving the plate away from him. "I' m sorry, buddy. Might eat this backwards if I'm having one more bite."

 He sipped his sweet tea and wondered why the hell he was such a nervous wrack. It was the Quidditch games at Hogwarts all over again.

  Ron thought he was over his insecurities, but old habits die hard, right? Looking at his two children made him feel a tiny bit lighter though. They both got his ginger hair and freckled skin with the tendency to get burned easily when out in the sun. Hugo got the warm brown eyes of his mother, Rose Ron's blue orbs. Rose sat beside Ron on the kitchen table, sipping her own tea. She was already in her dress for the ceremony, her long wild locks pinned up at the nape of her neck. She rarely touched her breakfast. Ron knew she was feeling the same anxiety he felt. Two years ago, during summer break, Hugo told Ron that Rose never eats breakfast before a Quidditch match and would sometimes spend the better part of these mornings in the bathroom. Rose was in many ways like him. She was funny, loved Quidditch, normally eats on behalf of a whole Quidditch team and had a temper similar to Ron's. Thank Godric, she got the brains of her mother.

None the less, she could easily comprehend what Ron was going through.

"And now, ladies and gentleman, please welcome Ronald Weasley.", Kingsley announced and stepped back for Ron.

He took a deep breath before he finally entered the stage and went to the podium. His family clapped excitedly in the front row, even cheering for him. He looked over to Hermione, who smiled and winked at him. Of course, the whole Weasley family joined the festivities today to celebrate with Hermione. They were all sitting in the second and third row along with his parents-in-law, who looked both proud and just the tiniest bit nervous.

For a short second he feared, that his impulsive decision from this morning. to ditch his sorry attempts of the prepared speech, was probably the worst decision of his life, but when the applause died down, he hadn't much time to panic over it. So, with a final deep breath and a look into Hermione's eyes, he started to speak.

“Th- thank you”, he said after the applause died down and tried not to flinch about the noticeable tremble in his voice.

“Well, as tradition demands, I'm expected to hold a speech about our new Minister of Magic. Speeches are not exactly my strong point and, in all honesty, I dreaded this moment ever since Kingsley asked me to hold it.” Ron threw a pointed look at the former Minister who just gave him an innocent smile.

Over the soft laughter of the audience, Ron heard a snort and quickly located the source. Harry was smirking at him and Ron supressed the urge to flip the tosser off. He hated The Daily Prophet with a passion, but for this headline he might forget about his principles for a day and actually buy this piece of garbage. Nevertheless, he decided against it, mostly because he didn’t fancy to be on the receiving end of some rather nasty hexes performed by his wife and mother.

“Some of you might be surprised to learn that I haven’t prepared this speech during todays breakfast, but for the better part of the last weeks evenings. Though certainly not perfect, I thought the outcome was quite passable. But last night I went over my words and realized that I would tell you things about Hermione Jean Granger-Weasley that all of you already know. Actually, you could have found the better part of my words on a chocolate frog card. Instead, I would rather tell you about the first day Hermione and I met.”

As Ron let his gaze wander over to his family, he saw a smiling but slightly puzzled Hermione looking at him. “The day I met Hermione was, of course, the very first day at Hogwarts. On the train ride I already met Harry Potter. You’ve probably heard about him at some point, saved the world or something like that. Anyway, in that train compartment Harry and I immediately became best friends and while we stuffed ourselves with a ton of sweets, a girl opened the door to our compartment, asking us about the lost toad of a fellow student. I was showing Harry some useless spell my dear brothers told me about, that of course, did not work. This girl though, performed an actual spell just perfect and informed us that she read every first years school book over the summer as preparation for our upcoming classes. Sure enough, she outshined everyone in every class and there wasn’t a teachers question she had no answer to. Back then and especially on that first day, I could never imagine to be friends with Hermione Granger. I thought that she’s a bossy know-it-all and on Halloween, two months after our first day at Hogwarts, she heard me calling her just that. As an eleven-year-old boy, it never seemed possible to me that Hermione could be sincerely hurt by my words. But of course, it upset her. Very much.

That being said, I’ll never regret these nasty words, because this Halloween night was the beginning of a life-long friendship between me, Hermione and Harry. If I hadn’t said that in front of her, she would have never locked herself up in the bathroom to cry and Harry and I would have never ran to this said bathroom, because a mountain troll was wandering the halls of Hogwarts and Hermione was the only one who hasn’t been warned about it. Ever since the three of us beat that troll, I could not imagine a good day without Hermione as a friend by my side. She still nagged us about doing our homework and scolding me for swearing too much and said things like ‘Ron, it’s Hermione, Harry and I’, but when I look back, the unhappiest times were when we didn’t speak to each other or when I wasn’t able to talk to her.”

He paused for a brief moment as surely the darkest time of his life came to mind, when he abandoned Harry and Hermione on the Horcrux hunt, his heart full of pure fear and hopelessness when he thought he would never see them again. Or the weeks of Hermione being petrified, as he could still see this young red headed boy talking to her in the hospital wing, desperately wanting her to tell him off for staying out after curfew.

“Hermione did and achieved a lot of great things in her life. Most of these things you might already know, like her helping to defeat Voldemort and his Death Eaters or her success in freeing the House Elves. Although these are amazing and exceptionally brilliant achievements, Hermione is so much more than the brightest witch of our age and a war heroine. Did you know that the beginnings of her efforts to free House Elves lay in our Hogwarts years? Back then, she started a campaign to free them and it didn’t stop her, that for a very long time, it had been a one-woman-movement. Her courage and ambition to help the defenceless and her undying sense of justice are exceptional and even more admirable, if you consider, that as a Muggleborn, Hermione had been in great danger herself, being the main target of Voldemort’s Death Eaters. Regardless what she went through herself, she never stopped to look out for others, especially her family and friends. And this is what she’ll continue to do as the leader of Wizarding Britain. Hermione will fight for a better life for everyone, for all of you and for those, whose suffering is still invisible to us.

I once read an article about Hermione inheriting the title of the brightest with of our age. It said, that she sure is intelligent, but mainly book smart. If you ask me, a person, who is simply book smart could never use the knowledge in real life, right? Well, nothing could be further from the truth. Hermione’s quick thinking and brilliance at everything she does, saved Harry’s and my life more times than I care to admit. Even in the most dangerous and horrible situations she was in, her highest priority had been to keep us safe.”

I was wrong. These were the darkest hours of my life., Ron thought and Hermione’s screams echoed through his mind.

“Hermione saved me in more than one way. She taught me self-worth and confidence, which, especially as a teenager, I hadn’t much of. She believed in me when I didn’t believe in myself. She was there for me when I needed her the most. And the best thing of all: for some unbeknown reason, she loves me. And in the end, this makes me the luckiest bloke in the world.”

For the next words Ron looked only at Hermione, who gave up to hold back her tears for quite some time now. “Befriending you had been the best thing I had ever done. I heard a lot of people say that they married their best friend. Well, I certainly did. We went through so many adventures -good and bad- together and I`m happy to say, that the good ones outweigh the bad ones big time. I love you, Hermione and I`m ready for this next adventure to come our way.”

[pennamesmith]

Romeo and Skeletor

Double Trouble needs dating advice. The Super Pal Trio is here to help. More Skeletor stories! 

*

“Remember,” Wrong Hordak recited, “recovery comes from connection!”

Several hands went up. Most belonged to clones. This was a common and welcome sight in Wrong Hordak’s Ex-Horde Therapy Group.

“And no,” Wrong Hordak continued, anticipating everyone’s question, “that does not necessarily mean romantic connection, or even connection with another sentient being. It means that in order to heal our traumas, we must be a part of the world around us, and acknowledge the world as a part of us.”

Most of the hands went down. Thoughtful murmurs rippled through the crowd. It was the end of another day of helping and healing. With a few more words of wisdom Wrong Hordak closed the meeting, and the assembled members began to stand and make their way out of the room. Most seemed sanguine and cheerful, but one stayed seated and watched the others wearily.

Double Trouble was the group’s newest and most skeptical member. They were trying, they really were, but it wasn’t easy. A lifetime of artful deception did not exactly lend itself to sharing or emotional honesty.

They had their reasons for being there, though.

Wrong Hordak, effervescent as ever, looked over and winked. “Another successful session, my most exalted paramour!” he told Double Trouble proudly. “Now then, I must consult with Perfuma about the itinerary for next week’s field trip to Mystacor. But tonight, I hope you are prepared to be dazzled by my famous quiche!” He beamed brightly.

Double Trouble worked very hard to maintain a calm expression while their stomach did acrobatic flip-flops. “My breath is bated, darling,” they finally managed, before scurrying off to the other side of the room.

The thespian cursed, internally. It should not be this difficult for a shapeshifter to hide a blush.

Closer to the door, Hordak was showing Adora something on a data pad. Double Trouble wended a wide circle around them, even as Adora gasped in surprise and began babbling what certainly seemed like juicy gossip. They simply weren’t in the mood.

Outside, Catra, Scorpia, and Entrapta were strolling away together, while the scorpion princess spoke excitedly about something called ‘Super Pal Trio Game Night.’ Double Trouble pricked their ears — this, perhaps, was a more promising prospect for their problem.

They took a step forward, and were immediately interrupted.

“Where do you think you’re going, hmm?”

Besides Perfuma, Wrong Hordak’s other assistant for his therapy group was ‘Skeletor,’ one of Entrapta’s eccentric bots. Once, he had been a part of Horde Prime’s drone army. Now, he had a nasally voice, a talent for self improvement, and a puppy.

The puppy’s name was Relay.

“How’s this for a surprise?” Skeletor said, holding Relay and patting the robotic canine gently on the head. “I’m considering putting him on a leash!”

“That’s very nice dear, but you’ll have to excuse me,” Double Trouble deflected. “I’ve got issues right now.” They began to move past the skinny robot, before a thought occurred to them.

“Actually, you might be able to help me out with something. Tell me, how do you feel about aiding and abetting identity fraud? I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Mehehehehe! Just like the old days!” Skeletor cackled. “All right, you’ve got yourself a deal! What’s your plan?”

*

Shadows Over Salineas was going swimmingly.

It wasn’t really a game night, more of a game afternoon, but that hadn’t stopped Scorpia from bringing a tower of boxes into Entrapta’s Bright Moon lab. An entire world of cardboard and plastic was spread out before the three women.

“I am going to finish this Sword of Protection quest!” Catra angrily declared as she moved her game piece back and forth. “No matter how long it takes!”

“Okay, but the Evil Horde already has a lot of points at the Princess Alliance table,” Entrapta cautioned, gesturing to another part of the board. “Plus they’ve got a lot of tanks in front of the castle.”

“Anyone want to help me battle the Laughing Dragon?” Scorpia spoke up from behind a clawful of cards. “I’m gonna —”

She was cut short as the laboratory door suddenly opened and Skeletor slouched inside, wearing a miserable expression.

“This is the worst day of my life!” Skeletor moaned, flopping bodily across the table. Game pieces flew in every direction and clattered on the floor. The other three exchanged nervous glances.

Catra tossed her cards aside. “Well, I guess this is what we’re doing now. What’s the matter, boneface?”

“You’ve got to help me!” Skeletor blubbered. “When are you goody-goody fools going to understand? I care for no-one and no-one cares for me!” He shook his fists and produced a rose tied to a card covered in cartoony hearts.

Scorpia tilted her head. “Is that a flower?”

“It is a flower!” Skeletor howled. “The bitter rose! From a secret admirer.” He clutched it to his chest lovingly.

“Seriously?” Catra floundered. “Does somebody actually have a crush on that goof?”

“I know it sounds strange,” Skeletor retorted. “Never mind that!”

Entrapta rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “So, to be clear. You’re happy about getting the rose?”

“Yes, I am!” Skeletor shouted.

“But it’s a problem because…?”

“I live to be bad!” Skeletor whined. “How else can I act when I’m surrounded by such fools?” The robot swooned again. “Nice? Doesn’t sound like much fun to me! Yuck! What a disgusting idea!”

“Oh, I get it!” Entrapta grinned. “Skeletor needs us to teach him about love!”

Scorpia’s eyes sparkled. “A Super Pal Trio rescue mission? For love? I accept without any further questions!”

“Wait, wait,” Catra protested. “Stop. No. None of this makes any sense. Entrapta, is this another one of your secret friendship experiments?”

“Nuh-uh,” the scientist shook her head. “But... it is unexpected. Skeletor, are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

Skeletor looked uncomfortable. “Certainly! Um… Tell me about the loneliness of good! Is it equal to the loneliness of evil?”

Entrapta seemed suspicious. “Hang on,” she said, peering more closely at Skeletor. “Something isn’t quite right here.”

At that moment, Skeletor walked into the room, again. This time he was holding Relay and a fresh armload of barbarian romance novels.

“I can’t do it,” he admitted with an apologetic shrug, sheepishly handing back the books. “And, I do not look like you.”

“Oh phoo. I went too far, didn’t I?” the other Skeletor sighed, in a completely different voice. “I knew this wasn’t going to work.”

In a flash of dark light, Skeletor morphed into a decidedly more reptilian shape. Double Trouble huffed and tossed their hair back. “Well, that was different, at least. I’ve never done a robot before!” They paused. “Not in that sense, anyway.”

Catra started out of her chair. “What are you doing here?” she demanded.

“Just what I said.” Double Trouble sat back down on the table and nonchalantly studied their nails. “I need advice. Romantic advice. And since you three are all half of some of the oddest couples on the planet, I thought I might start here.”

“Okay,” Entrapta said, already beginning to take notes. “But you’ve come to me for that before. Why the disguise?”

Double Trouble looked away and muttered something.

“What was that?”

“I said it’s because I was embarrassed, all right?” Double Trouble crossed their arms and pouted. “This is not something I usually need help with. I’m supposed to be the one who’s cool and in control. I’m Double Trouble! But now I keep feeling things! In my mind, and my body! Making my guts act all weird, and my brain stop working, and… gah!”

“Those are called emotions, Dee Tee,” Catra deadpanned.

“Plus, you and Wrong Hordak have been going steady for a while now,” Scorpia added. “What’s the matter? Oh no! Have you lost… the spark?” She gasped, claws to her face.

“Just the opposite. Wrongie is perfect! He’s always in a good mood, he always wants to spend time with me, he always knows the right thing to say, and he’s just so darn cute! All the time!” Double Trouble’s face sank. “And sooner or later he’s going to realize that I’m not perfect, and it’s all just an act.”

“You don’t have to be perfect,” Entrapta pointed out, looking up from her notes.

“This is just like what happens in Romeo and Julian!” Double Trouble wailed, ignoring her.

“What?” asked Skeletor.

Double Trouble sniffled. “It’s a play. Someone in the Bright Moon army wrote it and it’s been getting rave reviews in all the theatre magazines — oh, but that’s not important! We’re talking about me!” The lizard flailed their hands helplessly. “What I mean is, it’s like we’re from two different worlds!”

“What, Horde World and Etheria?” Scorpia guessed.

“I’m thinking more Innocent Baby World and Cynical Opportunist World,” Catra cut in.

“Hey!” Double Trouble snapped. “I am not a cynic! Anymore!”

They turned to Scorpia. “But I can still make it work! I just need more research. Your girlfriend is all about this self-care nonsense. How do you deal with that?”

Scorpia got a dreamy look in her eyes. “Yeah, Perfuma’s pretty great. She’s kind, and patient with me, and she knows all kinds of meditation stuff, which is good because hey, funny story, it turns out I’ve actually got a lot of pent-up anxiety from —”

“Ugh! Useless! Next!” Double Trouble pointed to Entrapta. “You! Space bats. How do they even work?”

“Good question! I could share some of my research on Hordak with you,” Entrapta suggested. “It’s more of a hobby though, so I’ve only got a few terabytes of data. Did you know their species has an entire sub-language of ear movements? It’s fascinating!”

Double Trouble paled. “Um. Do you have an abridged version, or…?”

“Look,” Catra interrupted. “I think you’re coming at this the wrong way. First off, you can’t control what other people do or feel.”

Double Trouble narrowed their eyes. “That’s a bit rich coming from you, kitten.”

“I have been doing a lot of self-reflection the last few years, okay?” Catra growled back. “And trust me, trying to be the coolest, the strongest, the best? It doesn’t work.”

She looked across at Entrapta and Scorpia, and fiddled with the wedding ring on her finger. “Sooner or later you have to show your real self. Even if that’s uncomfortable. You can’t connect with someone that way until you’re willing to be weak in front of them.”

Double Trouble regarded Catra for a long time while their face registered a range of unreadable emotions.

“Fine,” they finally groaned, defeated. “But can you at least help me think of something nice to do for our dinner tonight?”

Catra smiled. Entrapta and Scorpia squeaked in excitement.

“For that, you’ll need my help!” said Skeletor. “I’ve longed for this moment!”

*

Wrong Hordak looked up brightly from his cooking. “You are here! Come in, come in!” He swept Double Trouble up in an enormous hug.

The lizard blushed and did not try to hide it. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world, darling.” With a flourish they revealed a rose and a box of distinctively tiny chocolates, which Wrong Hordak accepted gleefully.

“Now then, why don’t I stand back and let you impress me for a while?”

Wrong Hordak glowed with excitement.

“Impressive?” Skeletor said, somewhere far away. “You boob, it was spectacular!”

[kumeko]

A/N: For the Butterfly Estate Zine! Spoilers for later events in the manga, for anime-onlys.

…

…

…

…

Shinobu pressed her fingers against the coin, feeling the imprint of the hard edges on her skin. Even in the warm, spring sunlight, the metal felt cold. “Kanae gave this to you, right?” she asked, idly turning it over on her palm.

 Standing next to her, Kanao nodded her head slowly. “To help me decide,” she explained, a fond smile on her face. There was a hint of sorrow in her expression, something Shinobu saw in the mirror whenever she thought of her sister. It was less than it was yesterday, less than it was a year ago, and while it would be ever present, the pain had eased.

 Shinobu glanced at her younger sister. A chill breeze blew through, ruffling her hair and the butterfly clasp keeping her locks together. Would she wear a second one, when Shinobu died? A memento from both sisters? Swallowing down the lump in her throat, Shinobu closed her hand around the coin. “Despite how she acted, she always knew what to do.”

 Kanao clasped her hands in front of her, nodding. “She did.” Peeking up, she added shyly, “And so do you.”

“Do I?” Shinobu questioned, looking up at the Wisteria trees that bordered her estate. Their sickly-sweet scent lingered in the air, the purple blooms fluttering in the wind, and even after all this time, Shinobu couldn’t get used to their scent. She felt small and impermanent in comparison to the eternally blooming giants. The problem she faced was bigger than her, almost as old as the trees themselves.

 A part of her feared it would continue long after she was gone.

 A soft touch brought her out of her thoughts and she looked down to find Kanao’s hand wrapped around hers. In front of her, her sister uttered simply, “Yes.”

 For once, Kanao looked self-assured, no doubt colouring her voice. Shinobu swallowed. It was wrong of her to lean on Kanao so much, to need this confidence. Despite herself, she raised her other hand, sandwiching Kanao’s between hers. “I guess you’re right,” she finally said, keeping her voice from cracking.

 This settled it. Any reservations she had about her idea, Shinobu let go. Her time was limited. It had always been the case, ever since she’d picked up her sister’s sword. No, even before that, when her parents had died, when she’d taken the Master’s hand, her body trembling from fear. It was just more so now; she knew her expiration date better than most.

 Only, this wasn’t just revenge. It couldn’t be. Not when Kanao was standing in front of her, love and belief shining through her eyes.

 No, this was about protecting. About keeping her family, however small it was now, safe.

 “Thanks.” Shinobu pulled her hand free. The coin was still on her hand, heavy as ever.

 “Do you need to make a decision?” Kanao asked, her eyes flickering from the coin to Shinobu.

 “I guess. Heads, I’ll do it.” Shinobu flipped the coin, watching the bronze gleam in the sunlight. She already knew what side it’d land.

 Tomorrow, she’d talk to the Master about the Wisteria poison.

 -x-

 “AHHHH!” Tanjirou roared, his sword high in the air as he charged forward. Shinobu could almost see the rush of an incoming wave, the clash against the rocks when he struck. If Giyuu’s technique had the tranquility of a pond, Tanjirou’s was the aggressive stream coursing ever forward.

 And she was the water spider, gliding above it all. She jumped, flipping through the air and landing behind him. Unable to change his course or stop his momentum, Tanjirou crashed into one of the trees surrounding the training grounds. He rolled backwards, falling flat on his back.

 “Good effort,” she praised, tucking a lock behind her ear as she bent over him.

 “T-thanks,” he wheezed. He lay there and tried to catch his breath.

 “You’re getting better.” Shinobu lifted her right arm and inspected her uniform. Poking her finger through the hole he made, she chuckled. All this from a boy who just learned to keep his breathing constant. “You’re a quick learner.”

 Tanjirou’s eyes lit up and he sat up quickly. “Really?”

 “Really,” she nodded, humming her agreement.

 “G-great.” He’d moved too quickly, and his body struggled to keep him upright before giving up entirely. Falling flat on his back, he closed his eyes and sighed happily. “I can try again in a minute.”

 There was something utterly refreshing about his earnestness and honesty. It reminded her a little of Rengoku. Maybe she should have them meet properly after this. Sitting next to him on the cool, wet grass, she leaned back and enjoyed the cool breeze. “It’s fine, take your time.”

 “Thanks.” His breathing had yet to even out.

 Glancing over to her right, she observed their audience on the veranda. Hidden in the shade, Nezuko was watching them curiously, her pink eyes bright despite the gloom. Kiyo was sitting behind her, braiding her hair, while Sumi and Naho neatly folded their laundry. At first, they’d run away at the sight of her, but now, they looked almost too relaxed next to her.

 Nezuko. A demon that didn’t hunger. Shinobu’s eyes flicked back to the panting Tanjirou. “You’re going to kill Muzan for her,” she asked without thinking.

 Tanjirou’s eyes flew open and he stared at her in surprise.  “How…”

 She chuckled. “It’s not like you hide it.” Or, even if he tried, could hide it well. Tanjirou was far too frank for deception.

 “R-right.” Tanjirou gave a sheepish smile, his cheeks colouring a light red. No doubt he was remembering past declarations of Muzan’s death. He sat up slowly and waved to Nezuko. “It’s the only way to save her.”

 Shinobu imagined her expression was the same whenever she looked at Kanae—tender, soft, a little sad. Picking a strand of grass, she methodically tore it to pieces. “You could die.”

 “I won’t,” he replied immediately, filled with the confidence of youth. For a moment, she believed him. There was something in Tanjirou that she hadn’t seen in ages, a hopeful belief in the future mixed with a tragic understanding of the present.

 Perhaps Muzan could be defeated in her lifetime.

 Still, wishes didn’t make things so, and Shinobu tossed the grass pieces at him. “You could die,” she repeated firmly.

 Tanjirou looked at her now. Recognizing the seriousness of the question, he frowned, crossing his arms as he considered it. “I…” He lowered his eyes, taking a deep breath before offering a sad smile. “That doesn’t matter. Nezuko’s family; I have to try, no matter what.” Once more, he looked at his sister. “She’d do the same for me.”

 “That, I can understand.” Even now, she could smell the Wisteria, hear the click of her nail flipping the coin. Kanae’s blood had been so warm, her body so cold. There were things you did for family, no matter the cost, and she found herself looking for Kanao even though she wouldn’t be here. “There are some things more important than your life.”

 “Yeah.” Tanjirou nodded.

 Shinobu turned to him, sizing him up. He’d survived grief, managed to stand even when sorrow threatened to swallow him whole. Kanao would need someone like that when she died. Selfishly, she asked, “Would you be friends with Kanao?”

 His eager nod eased the load on her shoulders ever so slightly.

 -x-

 Sitting on the porch, Shinobu gently swirled the sake in her cup. It was a rare night she got to relax, to just sit here and admire the night sky. The moon hung low in the heavens, full and heavy, and the gentlest of breezes rustled through the grass.

 Behind her, quiet footsteps approached her and she smiled. “I thought you didn’t like drinking,” she teased, glancing over her shoulder as Giyuu stepped out into the moonlight.

 “I don’t,” he stated, slowly sitting down next to her. As usual, his blank expression and dry tone gave away nothing.

 “Could have fooled me,” she muttered, taking a sip. She wasn’t quite sure when this had started, this almost-habit of late-night drinking. At some point, he’d started joining her when she relaxed and watched the moon. At some point, she’d stopped minding it.

 “I don’t think anyone could fool you,” he answered bluntly, his eyes on the moon.

 She chuckled. For a man who didn’t know how to joke, he was constantly unintentionally funny. “No, I suppose not.” Her wits were the only thing that made up for her stature. Leaning forward, she smiled teasingly. “So did you miss my company or the view while you were away?”

 Giyuu’s brow furrowed, the only indication that he was frowning. He fell silent, more so than usual, and she hadn’t expected him to consider her question so seriously.

 Perhaps she should let him off easy this time. It had been a while since they’d last sat together like this and despite her attitude, she did enjoy his company. Somehow. It wouldn’t do to scare him away. “You don’t—”

 “Both,” Giyuu finally admitted.

 “—have to…” Shinobu trailed off, blinking as she processed his answer. Staring at him, she tried not to gape. “Both?”

 He merely nodded. Nothing about his straight back, the profile of his blank face, or even his hands, neatly tucked into the opposite arm’s sleeves, gave away his emotions.

 Both. Shinobu bit her lip, stopping herself from asking what exactly he meant by that. Did he like this quiet hour together too? Did he just miss the calm of it all? And would it be worth the frustrating hours of trying to pull the words from his lips?

 No, definitely not. Still, in a rare moment of honesty, she smiled into her cup. “Me too.”

 He glanced at her when she said that but still said nothing.

 She swirled her sake once more. The moon’s reflection rippled in the clear liquid. Butterflies danced in the nearby wisteria trees and even when she died, that scent would follow her to her grave. Taking advantage of the atmosphere, she asked, “Why did you spare Tanjirou and Nezuko?”

 From the corner of her eyes, she watched as he bit his lip, his frown growing deeper as he grappled with an answer. After a long silence punctuated only by the soft chirp of the cicadas, he finally answered, “She protected him.”

 “That was unusual for a demon,” she agreed. His expression was dark and she wondered if that reminded him of some incident in his past, some haunting memory he hadn’t finished wrestling with. For all her talk about becoming friends with demons, she would have killed Nezuko on the spot. Almost had, in fact, if not for the Master’s intervention.

 And now this unusual demon and her brother could be the very key to ending centuries worth of conflict. She set down her sake, no longer thirsty. “They’re going to come for her soon.” Shinobu could almost feel it. The new training, the Master’s changed tactics, everything was coming to a head.

 Her days were numbered. A year’s worth of poison had to be enough to bring the demon down. Tomorrow, or maybe the day after, she’d have to tell Kanao. She wasn’t looking forward to that conversation.

 “Yeah.” Giyuu nodded, finally looking at her. “We’ll be ready.”

 Shinobu raised a brow. “That’s surprisingly hopeful of you.” He didn’t say anything but she had a feeling it was Tanjirou’s influence.

 Something started changing after Tanjirou had arrived, and it wasn’t just the demons who’d transformed. She heard the quiet clink of a coin, saw gold flipping against the bright blue sky. The coin would land, the die set, and there was no time to say it but now. Fiddling with her sleeves, Shinobu asked quietly, “Could you take care of Kanao?” Impassive eyes stared at her and she smiled, giving nothing away. “If something happens,” she clarified.

 “No,” he answered just as bluntly as he normally did.

 “How cruel.” Shinobu sighed.

 “She has you,” Giyuu continued, as steady as a river, and for all the deaths they’d experienced, it seemed hers had never crossed his mind.

 Shinobu took pride in the compliment. She hoped it wouldn’t hurt him too much when he found out he was wrong. “She does.”

 There was a small gap between them, a space that had shrunk in the past years. She wondered if it would have disappeared in the coming months, if their fingers would have overlapped and thighs brushed one another.

 A question she’d never know the answer to. She felt sadder at that than she’d thought.

 -x-

 The demon’s strikes were harder than she’d expected. Shinobu lay on the wooden platform, gasping as she tried to breathe. Her ribs were cracked, a trickle of blood escaping her lips, and she barely had the energy to open her eyes, let alone grab her sword.

 No wonder he was an upper moon. He was far too strong, and she couldn’t kill him with her weapon.

 She’d hoped and hoped, but it seemed there was no wiggling out of her fate.

 Shinobu, Kanae stood by her head, her expression sad. You know what to do.

 Shinobu closed her eyes. Somewhere, a coin glinted in the sun, flipping through the air. Somewhere, the wisteria trees perfumed the air with their sticky, sweet scent. If she were honest, she’d made her decision long before that. The second she’d picked up her sister’s abandoned sword, rage swirling in her petite body, she’d known one way or another this was her destiny.

 Grabbing her sword, Shinobu took a deep breath. Maybe she should have closed that gap, reached over and grabbed Giyuu’s hand. Or prepared Kanao better, there were so many things she’d wanted to teach her.

 Damn it all, she thought she’d prepared herself for this, but there were so many things she wanted to do, to say. Her sister stared down at her and Shinobu hoped she wasn’t disappointed that she was going to die the same way she had.

 “Is that all?” Doma sighed, his voice grating her ears.

 “No,” she gritted out, forcing herself to stand.

 It was too late for regrets.

 The coin had landed heavily, the symbol digging into her skin. Heads, she had declared, her heart heavy with resignation. I guess I’ll do it.

 Shinobu raised her sword and charged.

[lettersnorth]

Cravendy Hound

Cravendy woke up two days prior, and has spent those days awkwardly exploring the company while simultaneously avoiding all of its members. Finally, she understands what has happened in her absence...a very basic understanding, at least. The details are far too many to untangle at the moment.

Cravendy has left a note on Lin’s door, inviting her to meet at one of the Lavender Bed islands. She waits on the bench absolutely terrified. Outwardly, this unintentionally translates into a menacing aura. Fists clenched, eyes dark, looking pissed off as hell.

It was a day with no work to be done. For most people, that would be a cause to celebrate. Right now, at this point in time, for Aislinn, it's a nightmare. Nyscera's people and Bertram, all of them had conspired against her. Sweeping the paperwork from her desk, aiding her in the clinic, leaving her with no escape. Work was the distraction used to keep her thoughts from looking back. Like a colorful toy you waved in front of a child to keep their attention where you wanted it.

However, there was one piece of parchment left for her on her now far-too-clean desk. A note. The blood promptly drained from her face as she read it over. What in the Seven Hells was this? She fought back a litany of curses. No. She wasn't doing this today. She couldn't do this today. However, underneath the note was another's handwriting. Bertram had written something. And whatever he had penned had her out here, in the rain, making her way to this damned meeting. She caught sight of the familiar silhouette as she approached and immediately felt her throat go dry. As she drew closer, she realized the look was all wrong. The anger, the glaring eyes. Nothing about this....person was Wyda. She came to stand wordlessly just under the gazebo's shelter. She simply couldn't find anything to say.

Cravendy similarly feels her heart sink when Lin steps into view. There is no plan, no eloquent speech prepared. Hells, she doesn’t even have a rough idea of what she wants to talk about. But she feels like she has to say something - anything - for both of their sakes. And yet, words fail her. The silence stretches between two of them like a widening fissure, and it feels insurmountable. Gods, what was she thinking?

Cravendy gets up. Why did she do that? Now she’s standing! She moves to sit back down, but wouldn’t that be more awkward? Cravendy freezes in a half-squat for a second until finally deciding to throw caution to the wind. Hells. She’s got the nerves of a kid on stage for the first time, but at least things can only get better...right?

Cravendy strides over to Lin, grabs her shoulder, sits her down on a bench, and then takes a seat across from her. Okay, pieces in place. Things should happen now. Aaaanytime now. “.....................................”

Aislinn's eyes flared widely as Cravendy grabbed hold of her shoulders, clearly taking umbrage at being maneuvered into place by a person she knows is a total stranger. Unfortunately, her still-healing injuries leave her unable to swiftly move out of the way in time and she finds herself plopped on the nearby bench instead. "Nymeia's bloody britches." she muttered, returning the Seawolf's glare with one of her own. "Starting to think I might have been better off wandering another circle around the House." In all honesty, it's the most emotion she's displayed since the events of that horrible day.

“Aye, you an’ me both. Suppose we got that in common? Not wantin' to be ‘ere. Today being a weird an’ unpleasant day.” Cravendy tries to laugh and her voice cracks from high to low. Twelve have mercy, her expressions are not fully her own yet. Her face reddens and her scowl only deepens. “M-mud an’ shite! Been more than a year since I last spoke, I promise I ain’t like this normally...”

"I'll have to take your word on that." came Aislinn's rapid fire retort. She had clearly reached 'Anger' along her trip through the five stages of grief. But even she can hear the bite in her words and knows they're misdirected. She looked away, out over the water as a war waged within her chest. Logically, what happened wasn't Cravendy's fault. It also wasn't Cravendy's fault she woke up. She just did. Logically, Aislinn knew all of this. She just didn't like it. "....It'll get easier, I'm sure." she finally, grudgingly allowed. That felt alright to say. That felt safe.

Cravendy winces slightly, but the bite in Lin’s voice feels deserved. It isn’t as if she’s unaware of what has happened in the past year. In dreams you can become another on the flip of a dime...She’s in possession of memories that are both hers, and not hers. She shakes her head.

“Don’t go easy on me. I know what happened. The mess I caused.” She  crosses her arms and...my god. She was never going to get used to how after waking up, she suddenly had the toned body of a fistfighter. God, everything is so weird. “...An’ I won’t go easy on ye. Ye look like shite, an’ ye look like ye can stand to get somethin’ off yer chest.

Aislinn North shot the Seawolf a swift, dry look out of the corner of her eye. "You're looking for someone to unload on you, aren't you?" she shrewdly assessed. "Did you? Cause this mess? I mean, did you mean to summon..." her voice caught, stumbled over the word. "the primal?"

“Personally, could do without. But when ye do somethin’ wrong, an’ ye don’t get what ye deserve then...well, I’d be wonderin’ whether or not I was still dreamin’.” Her jaw set, tight. To Lin’s second point, she found herself at a loss for words. Part of her wanted to absolve herself of guilt and claim it wasn’t her fault. A half-truth to make everyone feel better, and one that she knew would gnaw away at her heart like all of her other white lies. No...She literally died following this creed. She had to carry on differently, no matter how uncomfortable. “....It was unintentional. But what I did leadin’ up to it was my fault.”

“Accident or not, I made a right mess of things. If hatin’ me will make ye feel better, then I’ll gladly bear it.” Hair fell in front of her face as she let out a short breath.

"How could I hate you? I don't *know* you." Aislinn replied. "And that's an awful lot of wasted energy, in my experience." She grew quiet as she mulled over Cravendy's words. For a long stretch the only sound was the rain drumming against the roof of the gazebo. She saw what she was trying to do. Get all the information and assemble it into something that made sense. That gave her answers. And what would answers do now? They wouldn't change the outcome. "You're right though...you did make a mess of things." she said with blunt honesty. "And we're all just going to have to learn to live with it. Not all of us are going to manage...*well*"

Cravendy‘s brows knitted together. She was partly relieved to hear that she wasn’t going to be immediately hated by Lin. Dream-friend or no, it was definitely something she could do without. But the other half of her was frustrated at the existence of yet another problem that she caused, that she couldn’t fix at once.

“Maybe ye don’t know me, and maybe I don’t know ye, but whether ye like it or not, I’m ‘ere for you. Because...” Cravendy pauses. Because what? She feels selfish for saying anything at all. If her goal isn’t closure, then what is it? She doesn’t know, and it infuriates her. “...Just because.”

“....................” It dawns on her that she hasn’t introduced herself. Shit, is it too late to bring it up now? She simmers in anxiety and, as usual, it comes across as looking like she’s about to fight something.

Aislinn sat back sharply, caught up short. Clearly, she wasn't ready for that. She looked away. Her fingers tapped out a quick rhythm against her leg, her jaw squared. How many times did it take for her to learn this particular lesson? Cracking herself open again and again only to lose people. No. *This* time she would get it. *This* time she'd learn. Upon glancing back at Cravendy, her dark musings fly from her. The woman looked like she wanted to punch something. Aislinn tensed. "Alright, there?" she asked uncertainly.

Cravendy narrows an eye as she reads Lin’s expression. Shit, looks like she’s closing up. But then again, what other outcome could she expect? Thrust herself in her life and expect immediate and full reconciliation? Of course not. Cravendy doesn’t know Lin either, and maybe never seeing each other would be the best path to take...but it feels wrong to see her like this. It just does. “It’s not alright! I...I wake up after tryin’ to end things and I guess things are better? But worse at the same time? I’m still where I was a year ago an...” She cuts off her outburst. Piss n’ wind, just another way to further alienate Lin. “‘SCUSE ME.”

Cravendy gets up, dunks herself under the water and yells at the top of her lungs. When she comes back, she looks spent. “Should’ve said this at the beginnin’, but I’m Cravendy. And I’m...I’m just losing me mind! Haha. That’s a...a joke.”

As the woman let loose on her, Aislinn realized the turn of phrase she's used since childhood may have been misconstrued. She sat in stunned silence after watching Cravendy pitch herself into the lake. She'd get up but at the moment, in her condition, that seemed like too much of a chore. "I didn't..." it was all for the best as Cravendy immediately returned and squelched back down on the bench. "It's just...something I say. Of course nothing about this is alright!" it’s as close as she’s come to yelling throughout this entire nightmare. She let go a breath and touched a hand to her temple. "Cravendy...I gathered that. From the note you left me." A part of her had to admire someone who could do exactly what they felt like doing. She, herself, had been holding in a scream for days. She looked forward to when she could pick up her pistol again and target shoot. She had always been better at letting her gun snarl and growl for her. "And like I said, it's not an easy thing. But it'll get easier."

Cravendy sits in wet, miserable silence. Her hair, once a dense tangle resembling a pine tree, is now slicked down against her face and shoulders. And she’s godsdamned grateful for looking like a mess right now, as it hides the tears and redness in her eyes. She’s not some whelp to be pitied, she’s a tough pirate that shoots first and asks questions later! Used to be, anyway. Cravendy sniffs once. Must be the cold.

“Hah, ah...No.” She takes a bundle of hair in her hand and wrings water out of it. It’s a little salty. “Yeah. No...No? No. ........Aye.”

Aislinn tipped her head as she listened to Cravendy argue. Though whether it was with Aislinn or herself, the highlander couldn't be sure. "Aye." she affirmed. "Because there's no other option." she spoke like someone who knew that was the way of it.

After a pause, Aislinn slowly pulled herself to her feet. "I'll be heading back to the House now. Not that anyone has left me much of anything to do...but still." she sighed. She hesitated a moment, studying Cravendy. Feeling torn in several directions all at once. "Come back up when you're ready. No sense sitting in wet clothes for very long."

Cravendy sighs. Well, that went swimmingly. She shrugs her shoulders and lets Lin go, preferring to unwind in the privacy of this lonely island for now.

[ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes]

Burned Part 14

Summary:  Alfie Solomons is in need of a secretary. Tommy Shelby mentions a young woman in need of employment. From there the two step into a dangerous dance together.

Part 14: Alfie grovels.

           It was midday about a week after Charlie Shelby was kidnapped. For more than one reason, Alfie was relieved to hear the little boy was returned unharmed. Not only was he safe but now Alfie didn’t have to further incur the wrath of Tommy or Louise.

           The week had been torturous though. She was still holding him on a probationary period. So, he stepped up his game to win her over again. Flowers crowded her desk, a diamond bracelet appeared on her wrist overnight, and he made sure to uphold his promise of transparency.

           But Louise was being coy because she wanted him to earn her back. It wasn’t every day Alfie Solomons was ignored. She felt it was healthy for him to know how it felt.

           Instead, it was driving him crazy. Now a desperate man, he threw caution at the wind. After Louise returned from seeing some friends for lunch, she went into Alfie’s office. She was filing a few things when he walked in. She gave him a glance of acknowledgment but simply resumed her task wordlessly.

           Alfie didn’t speak either which was a good indication he was scheming. He locked the door behind him and casually went about pulling the blinds shut.

           Louise pretended not to notice. She heard his footsteps and finally, he embraced her from behind. His strong arms circled around her waist. “Did I tell you how fucking gorgeous you look?” He purred.

           She bit back a smile but only shrugged in response.

           “’Course I ain’t surprised. Always look beautiful, don’t you?”

           “Is Alfie Solomons resorting to flattery?” Louise cocked an eyebrow. Her fingernails flipping quickly through the files.

           “Only if it’s working.” He kissed right below her earlobe because he knew that was one of her weakest points.

           It did make her misplace a paper, only realizing her mistake a moment later when he quit. “You’re good at talking, Captain Solomons.”

           His lips smiled against her skin. “And you know what it does to me when you call me that.”

           She let a smirk slip past. But she had her wits about her and wasn’t ready to let him off the hook. “Can’t you see I’m a little busy trying to sort out your messes? You’ve scattered these account papers all over the place. And I can hardly read your handwriting.”

           Alfie rested his chin on her shoulder. “Sorry, love. Can I take you out tonight?” He asked.

           “Still trying to butter me up?”

           He groaned and buried his face in the crook of her neck. During business interactions, Alfie would rather die than beg. The gangster had an uncompromising image. He would cede, as he had before. But he was going to get the last word no matter what. But Louise wasn’t a business transaction. If he was going to get anywhere he had to put his ego aside, realize he was in the wrong, tuck his tail between his legs, and keep working towards forgiveness. “Yes.” He admitted.

           Louise smiled and reached up to run her fingers through his hair. It was good to know that he was trying everything he could to make it up to her. She decided he deserved a break. “Yes, I’ll go out with you tonight.”

           He lifted his head in victory. “We can go wherever you want.” He promised and reached up to still her hands. He took the papers from her hands and tossed them aside. Lacing his fingers with her left hand, he raised it so they could both admire her ring. “Been thinking ‘bout our wedding.”

           “Oh yeah?” Her knees went a little weak at the idea he was dreaming about that special day in the future.

           “S’gonna be perfect, innit? You can have it however you want, yeah, but when it’s over, I’m taking you to Paris.”

           “Paris?” Louise turned to face him. Her eyes lit up. “I love Paris, I haven't been so long.”

           Alfie smiled. “Yeah? Well good. ‘Cause we’ll stay as long as we damn well please, won’t we?” He murmured and pulled her close to kiss her deeply.

           She giggled against his lips as he lifted her up and placed her on top of his desk.

           “You and me, love.” He grazed his lips over her jaw and down her neck. “Mr. and Mrs. Solomons in Paris.”

           Hearing the name made Louise’s resolve weak. He was being unfair and knew what strings to pull to make her swoon. She squirmed when his beard tickled her skin. “City of love.” She sighed happily.

           “And a good thing too, innit? That way, neighbors can’t complain when we’re fucking all night.” He growled playfully with a cocky look in his eyes.

           She couldn’t help but smile and bring his lips back to hers. He could be such a prick sometimes but he was endearing in his own way. Keeping him at a distance was tough even if she was pissed at him. The week had been just as difficult and long as it had been for him.

           There was a sharp knock on the door to interrupt the shared fantasy of their honeymoon. Alfie reluctantly pulled away, a grumpy frown now gracing his face. “Of course, can't get a fucking break.” He muttered. “Oi, I’m busy, fuck off!” He shouted at the person on the other side of the door. Thinking that was that, he went back to Louise.

           “Sir, it’s important!” Ollie knocked again to emphasize his point.

           “Fucking hell.”

           Louise stood up, moving past Alfie to unlock the office door and let the assistant in. “Hello, Ollie.” She greeted.

           He nodded as she let him in. “Hello, Louise. Uh, sir.” He turned to Alfie. “A message from Luca Changretta just arrived.”

           Ice-cold water doused the situation in an instant. Reality returned and the couple was reminded, yet again, the sort of life they lived. Louise looked to Alfie for answers but he merely gave a grim nod.

           “What’d he want?”

           “Well, nothing specific yet.” The young man answered and handed his boss the letter. “But he’s coming over from America soon.”

           He scanned the letter. “He’ll be wanting allies in London.” He surmised. “Good planner, ain’t he? Definitely done his research.”

           “Would Sabini help him?” Louise wondered aloud.

           “’Course, they’re all fucking wops, aren’t they? Think they’ll get along just fine.” Alfie muttered in reply.

           “Maybe you should see what the Shelbys are doing before you make any rash decisions.” She suggested calmly. It was best to step out in front of Alfie before he let his agitation answer any inquiries.

           Ollie fidgeted beside her. “Well, that’s the other thing.” He further opened up the situation with more news.

           “What?” Alfie asked gruffly. “What else could there fucking be?” He tossed the letter onto his desk.

           “Michael and Polly Grey, along with John and Arthur were arrested charged with murder.” He answered.

           Louise frowned, her forehead wrinkled with confusion. “Not Tommy?”

           Ollie simply shook his head. “No, he’s still a free man.”

           Alfie let out a bitter laugh. “That fucking mad man. Really, the fucking gypsy’s lost it, hasn’t he? I’m telling ya, s’that head injury of his. Docs must’ve let some screws go loose when they were trying to fucking put him back together.” He walked around his desk to sit.

           “What do you mean?” His fiancee asked.

           “He let the police arrest his own family.” He told her with a shrug and crossed his arms over chest.

           “He wouldn’t do that.”

           “’Course he fucking would. Think about it, Lou, if the police really had all this information then they would’ve nicked Tommy first. He had something to do with it, I’d bet a lot of money on that.”

           “How would he even benefit from doing something like that?” She argued. It seemed preposterous that a man would allow his family to be charged with such heinous crimes.

           Alfie simply shrugged and shook his head. In all honesty, he couldn’t answer her. “Right, thank you, Ollie.” He waved his assistant off. “Let me know if you hear anything else.”

           “Yes, sir.”

           Louise sat down across the desk from her fiancee. “What do you think you should do?” She asked candidly. It was the first test of Alfie’s commitment to his promise of being honest with her.

           He mindlessly moved things around his desk to preoccupy himself. “Lay low for the time being. Keep an ear to the wind, eh? I’ll see if I can get a hold of Tommy, see what he’s up to.”

           “Alright.” She nodded. It was a relief that he didn’t just immediately shoot her down and tell her not to worry about it. “And you’ll let me know if that plan changes?”

           “I told you I would. But,” He looked up and rested his elbows on the desk. “If I need you to go somewhere else, for any reason, you won’t fight me, yeah?”

           She muddled over the clause and decided it would give him a peace of mind. “Okay.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           The world was going to know that Alfie Solomons was marrying the love of his life. In fact, it was becoming a bit of gossip around London. Big, scary Alfie was betrothed to a quiet girl. And not just any girl, the daughter who fell from aristocratic grace. A woman who was rumored to have killed a man.

           Strange indeed.

           Still, he turned a deaf ear to any rumors. He was too busy with his own ventures. Everything was up to Louise as far as the wedding. She could have it however she wanted. But, Alfie had a plan of his own that he thought could help her decide the location of their nuptials.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

           “Alfie, honestly is this really necessary?” Louise was in the car beside him and she was blindfolded. She had been for the entire trip.

           “Well, it wouldn't be any fun if you knew where we were going, Lou. M’beginning to think you don’t fucking know what a surprise is meant to be.” He teased.

           She blindly landed an elbow to his upper arm. “Cheeky boy.”

           He snickered. “Won’t be too much longer, love. I assure you, it’s worth the trouble.” He promised and grasped her hand in his. He was thrilled to see her reaction to his big reveal.

           True to his word, they arrived shortly after. The car stopped at the end of a gravel drive. Alfie helped Louise out. She inhaled the clean air and basked in the early spring sun. They weren’t at Margate because there was no hint of sea salt in the breeze. Instead, she could detect the scent of grass and roses mixed with lavender.

           “Well, we’re not in the city anymore.” She held his hand as he guided her forward a few steps.

           “Far from it.” He confirmed. “You ready?” He asked just to delay the suspense a little bit longer.

           She grinned and nodded eagerly. “I think you’ve kept me waiting long enough.”

           He agreed by slipping off the blindfold.

           Louise’s lips parted in utter shock when she saw where they had traveled.

           The Barnes estate, Inglewood, which had been in the family for generations. But Louise hadn’t stepped foot on the grounds since she was eighteen. The last time she’d been there, she snuck out the back entrance and ran through the gardens. The moon had lit her path through the darkness. She circled around the manor with a bag in hand. Daniel was waiting for her, ready to help her escape. Her teenage brain had been so full of adrenaline and excitement, she couldn’t see how utterly delusional she was being.

           Now she stood there a decade later in the bright afternoon. Tears formed in her eyes as she took in the home she’d missed for so long. The large windows allowed in all of the morning light as the sun rose. The stones that had remained there for decades and decades, seeing the birth and death of the Barnes’s. Now she was the only one left. Yet she almost expected her parents to open the door and welcome her back home. They would embrace her and tell her how much they’d missed her during her time away. The doors remained closed, no one was inside.

           Alfie let her process the surprise before he stepped in. “It’s yours now, love.” He murmured and wrapped an arm around her waist.

           Her head turned, a tear slipping down her cheek. “What?” Her voice was weak with disbelief.

           “I bought it for you. It’s yours.” His smile was as warm as the spring day. The countryside sun wore off his rough appearance. He appeared softer in the light and much, much happier.

           Louise gasped tearfully and hugged him tightly. “No, it’s ours.”

           She entered her home and found it hadn’t changed at all since she’d left. Even the portraits remained in their usual spots in the foyer. A large portrait of her parents greeted them. Her mother, an elegant beauty with dark red hair and emerald green eyes. Donned in one of her favorite navy blue gowns, a diamond necklace adorned her neck. Her husband affectionately touched his wife’s hand, a proud look matching his confident posture. His hazel eyes were full of warmth despite his elite appearance.

           Louise was overwhelmed with emotions as she walked over to the portrait. Her fingers touched the edge of the original gilded frame. She swallowed and remembered how she often stared up at the portrait and wished she could be just as beautiful and in love as her parents were. She turned and saw Alfie patiently waiting behind her.

           “You alright, love?” He asked sympathetically.

           She nodded despite the tears streaming down her cheeks. “I’m happy I am…I just…I wish I’d come home sooner. Wish I could’ve said goodbye to them.”

           He nodded and walked over to embrace her again. “I know. I’m sorry, Lou.” He knew what it was like to lose a parent without even having the chance to be there for them. He would’ve given anything to be beside his mother, holding her hand to comfort her as she lived her final moments. It would be something they had to live with for the rest of their lives.

           After a quick tour through some of the many rooms of Inglewood, Alfie and Louise walked outside. There was an overgrown garden that gave way to a huge lawn. To the left of the house were the stables and more pastures along with forested trails for riding.

           “Well, it needs some work but figure we could have our wedding here,” Alfie suggested. They walked arm in arm across the patio. "Sometime in the summer when it's warmest?"

           Louise dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief again and nodded. “I think that would be lovely.” She agreed. “Something small, we can hold the reception inside.”

           “Posh event for my Surrey girl.” He smiled and kissed her temple.

           “Alfie, you’ve given me so much.” Louise looked up at him. Her brow wrinkled in concern. “I’m afraid I haven’t given you enough in return.”

           “Oh, Lou, you have no fucking idea how much you’ve given me.” He hugged her close. “Nothing I can give you will even come close to the happiness you’ve brought me.”    

Permanent Tag: @sansajonsastark​ @giftofdreams​

Tag list: @vehement-care​ @kimmietea​ @eleventhdoctorsangel​ @fire-treasure-iii​

Masterpost

PB Masterlist

[weltonreject]

our october traditions.

|| for @zombiebowlcut​ and their genius mind. boris’s first american halloween. || ao3

i.

Theo heaved two very large, but equally misshapen pumpkins onto the kitchen counter. Boris was staring at the newspaper-- upside, mind you-- and didn’t even notice Theo until he nearly placed a large gourd in his lap.

The newspaper folded down almost perfectly. “What is that?”

“It’s a pumpkin, shithead. We’re going to start decorating for Halloween.”

“What?” Boris furrowed his eyebrows and acted like Theo was speaking in tongues. They hadn’t even started drinking that afternoon; Theo made sure of it. It seemed a bit dangerous if either of them were under any sort of influence. “Decorating?”

“Yeah! I’m going to teach you how to carve a pumpkin.”

“...What?”

Theo ignored Boris’s confusion. “Okay so first, lay out the newspaper on the table while I get a knife or something.” Theo pointed loosely with his hand as he started pulling out kitchen drawers. He pretended he didn’t see the strangely filled sandwich bags and looked only for any useful utensils.

“Knife? To cut?” Boris said, stepping down from the chair. He dug in his pocket before snapping a switch blade out of his dark jeans. If Theo wasn’t looking, he would have mistaken it for his snapping wrist.

“Jesus, Boris. Since when in the fuck did you start carrying that around?”

“Um, got knife... from someone sleeping in my house.” Boris shrugged, turning it in his hand. It was slightly comforting to see the handle sitting somewhat uncomfortably in the palm of Boris’s hand. Of all the things he’d held, it was nice to see a weapon fit the worst.

“...Okay... I’m not gonna touch on that one. Just, um, make sure it’s, uh, clean and then pick your pumpkin.”

Boris flipped the blade in his hand, shrugging at it. Theo began unfolded the newspaper and spreading it over the counter island. He nodded toward Boris, who was still staring at the two pumpkins with indifferent disgust. At Theo’s instruction, again, he suddenly slapped his hand out onto the larger of the two.

“This one.” He said, almost proudly. “Is mine.”

“Do you have any ideas?” Theo had been a fan of the most simple triangular features for his jack-o-lanterns. His mother had always been the one with the artistic hand and the more inventive ideas. She made a bat one year, parts of the cutout left remaining to show the bones and structure of the wings. Theo tried to keep it up well into November, he’d loved it so much.

“Ideas about what, Potter? Have no idea what we are doing. Bring in strange fruits and ask me to pick, then to cut, then to-- ideas, Potter? Have one idea. You have lost mind. Desert has done lot to you. Je-sus.”

“You have to carve something into it, Jackass. You don’t just cut shit out. It’s decoration, not the ER left-overs of a bar fight.”

Boris smirked at him. “What do you know about bar fight? Would never do such a thing.”

“I’ll deck you right now, fuck off.” Theo shoved Boris harshly, forgetting for a moment he had a knife in his hands. Luckily, it clattered onto the table; Boris dropping it the moment Theo stepped up to him. He was more aware of the danger than Theo was. “Think of a face or something to cut out. It’s whatever you want.”

Boris mulled the concept over with surprising thought. He turned his head side to side, flopping his hair back and forth. It was in a matted clump from sleeping in Theo’s bed earlier-- really only getting up a few hours before. His lips pursed before he smacked them and clapped his hands deafeningly loud. It shook Theo enough to remind him to stop staring before Boris turned back to him.

“Have it. Can see it.” Boris reached for the knife.

“Wait! Hold on! You have to carve the top part out first. It’s the lid and how you get all the insides out.”

“Huh?”

“Cut around the stem so you can lift it up and out. Like a lid-- you’re supposed to put candles in jack-o-lanterns. And you can’t do that if it’s got all it’s guts inside.”

Theo thought he’d confused Boris more. But without much preamble, Boris bought the knife down into the top of the pumpkin. Both of his hands gripped the handle of the blade; it was still an uncomfortable object to wield. Thank God.

He practically hung over the pumpkin, trying to get his entire arm into it. Theo felt like he was watching a surgeon discover his love for anatomy.

“Ha! Is like putting hand inside someone.” Boris laughed, his elbow flexing as he moved his arm around. Theo could hear the pumpkin squishing in Boris’s hands, right between his fingers.

“Uck! Boris, that’s gross.”

“Do not mean intestines, Potter.” Boris said wryly, lifting his hand up and rolling his fingers around in the orange, stringy mess.

“EW! That’s fucking gross. That can not be what-- Ew. No. That’s gross. Fuck off.” Theo wanted to gag but didn’t want to look weak; able to handle insurmountable amounts of drugs but not looking at the inside of a pumpkin. Or hearing a possible comparison to some kind of sexual act. No, Theo couldn’t gag at that. Now how would that look.

It was in Theo’s best interest to let the topic go. To act like he and Boris weren’t familiar with what they were dancing around. No, it was better to grab the knife and just keep cutting.

ii.

Boris's pumpkin, in all honesty, looked better than Theo's. It was carved blindly and with half-committed Russian words that half-complimented, half-insulted the face. The eyes were round and wonky, trying to have pupils, but the concept of not completing a cut in order to keep some of the piece hanging in the empty space eluded them both. By the end, the pumpkin had eyes that were wide-open and startled. Unblinking. Refusing to give them any privacy, it seemed.

Theo stood a step farther away from Boris as they admired their work, but he wasn’t sure why. It was just a pumpkin. It was just them.

“I’ll grab some candles when we go out-- we can light them when it gets darker.” Theo said.

“Going where?”

“To the supermarket. We have to get candy.”

“Oh. Okay.” Boris seemed to have an argument, or at least a question, but there was an unfamiliar timidness in his acceptance. He put his hands in his pockets, as if keeping his rebuttal to himself.

“Typically, you don’t get your own candy.” Theo reassured Boris’s presumed knowledge. “We just have no houses for trick-or-treating. So we’re improvising.”

“Plan to do what? Ask for candy at supermarket?”

“No.” Theo laughed. He quickly tried to disguise his mockery of Boris’s naive and honest question. It was finally something Boris had very few and far between ideas about; Theo had to remember these weren’t traditions to Boris, yet. They were still all first iterations, first experiences-- all with Theo. “We’re going to steal some candy. I’ll grab you some, you grab me some. Then we’ll trade whatever we don’t want.”

It wasn’t a gift or favor if it didn’t cost either of them anything. Then again, love never cost anyone anything--

"Trick-or-treat.” Boris repeated, the concept emerging from his own embodiment of the word. “That is-- knock, yes? And the-- word.. ack, what is word, Potter? Over body. Um... Dis-guys?”

“Costume.” Theo blinked and snapped back to Boris’s face. It was no longer soft or amused-- furrowed in his confusion. “You aren’t really hiding from anyone. You don’t need a disguise. Just a costume.”

“Oh. Okay.” Boris held his arms up, looking at his sweater sleeves. “What is costume?”

They didn’t really have the means to be much of anything except maybe different variations of the same hungry children, but Theo quickly tried to come up with something. Boris couldn’t just be the kid who couldn’t afford a costume. "You can be Dracula!” Theo motioned to Boris’s conveniently monochromatic outfit. “That’s perfect! You’re... brooding enough.”

“And teeth!” Boris bared his crooked teeth, nearly perfectly angled for fangs. Almost close enough to bite too--

“You’ll terrorized everyone at the store.”

“Yes, can do that. But who are you?” Boris asked, lifting a weak hand toward Theo. He was in his old, far-rattier, sweater and a pair of slacks from his previous school. “Cannot be scary, Potter.”

"Uh-- hey!” Theo said, pursing his lips. He quickly changed to clenching his jaw; Xandra always pursed her lips or popped her hip. Theo stopped doing both to look more physically upset with Boris.

“You look like... Liberian!”

“... A librarian?” Theo said slowly, trying not to laugh. “Well thanks. I guess, then I can just be... I don’t know. Van Helsing, maybe?” Then we’d match, and we’d belong together in public. “Oh, but then we’d match-- I don’t know if that’s--”

“A victim!” Boris cheered, throwing his arms up and charging at Theo.

For a moment, Theo allowed himself to laugh. He ducked his head to the side-- all but fucking giggling like some little girl-- and letting Boris drop his arms on top of his shoulders. His arms were long and there was still distance. It was strange-- and it was suspicious from the outside, sure-- but it was still safe.

In another moment, one coming way too quickly, Theo felt his stomach try to rise up to his throat. Boris’s one hand braced the side of his neck, while the other looped under his arm and gripped his shoulder. His grip pulled on his clothes, tight but not as frantic as it had been before-- just the night before. The collar of Theo’s sweater moved away, a stitch quietly popping under Boris’s fingers. It made space for Boris’s teeth-- lips-- trying to find their spot on the side of Theo’s neck.

“What the fuck, man. Get off of me!” Theo cried, shoving Boris’s back harshly. He stumbled back but his hands were still on Theo. And he still wanted them to be. “Don’t fucking touch me like that.”

Theo wasn’t sure if he’d intended to slap or punch Boris. Either way, his hand made sharp and heavy contact with Boris’s mouth, his head snapping to the side as he staggered back. Theo readjusted his sweater in the immediate aftermath, his hands trying to echo where Boris’s had been, if only to relish the contact for a moment of imagination.

Boris stood, hunched over, cupping his mouth. “Fucking got me, Potter.” His hand fell away and he was smiling. His lip had split and blood was pooling around the curves of his bottom lip. Boris’s fingers played with the large droplet of sticky crimson guilt. “Ha! Look! Blood, Potter!”

“I-- yeah.” Theo knew better than to say the other forbidden word: sorry.

“Vampire! AH!”

“Yeah. Full vampire.”

Theo wondered, selfishly and disgustingly, what Boris’s teeth would have felt like playfully puncturing his neck and not his knuckles. The forbidden chance had been dangled in front of Theo, temptation grabbing him with a tight grip, and he blew it. Curiosity would be the most promising nightmare.

“Let’s go get some candy, before all the good stuff is gone.”

iii.

Theo scoured the aisle for mixed bags of snappable candy. Boris didn’t like the candy with sticky, chewy, stringy insides. No caramel, nougat, or that chewy coconut shit either. He liked candy that snapped when he bit down. It was something stupid and primal, Theo was sure, but the short, staccato laugh Boris let out when the snack would snap between his front top and bottom teeth was unforgettable-- and that night, desired.

If Theo could get Boris to laugh, to find small, infantile joy eating stolen last minute, sale candy, he’d gotten everything he wanted.

There was a bag of Crunch bars, KitKats, 100 Grand bars, Twix, and Snickers sitting along the sparse bags of sugary, hard candy. Theo grabbed it and tucked it into the inside of his father’s borrow coat. It barely looked like Theo had taken anything-- in fact it made the waistline of the coat fit better. He still had some sleeves to fill.

Theo spotted Boris weaving around the seasonal endcap of the aisle, studying the ways all the familiar candy wrappers were now orange or covered in bats. He pretended to study the nutrition label on the back of a bag as a mother and child walked behind him. The child tried to point at Boris’s split and still-bleeding lip, but the mother paid no attention to Boris. Just like he had no intention of paying for that candy.

Theo left Boris to his operation and wandered down to the oral hygiene aisle. He strolled, with almost adult-like authority, along the rows of expensive electronic toothbrushes until he reached the plastic covered ones that hung on the wall like packaged pens. Theo grabbed a blue one-- with soft bristles, because someone had sensitive enamel from years of eating straight sugar and not gargling after vomiting-- and slipped it up his sleeve.

He sighed, pretending he hadn’t found what he was looking for, and started to head out toward the parking lot again to wait for Boris. Just as he tried to exit the aisle, a worker came around with an arm full of plastic pumpkin baskets. Theo skidded to a halt-- clutching his jacket and the candy-- in lightning fast response.

“Sorry.” Theo said, stepping aside quickly. The worker was frazzled, barely noticing that Theo had even stopped him. The baskets wobbled in his arms, their faces printed just off-center to the indentations of the “carved” features. They were ugly and obviously all defects. “Hey, can I have one of those?”

“What? They’re all going in the trash. They’re garbage and it’s literally Halloween.” The teenager spoke as if Theo had been born on a different planet, unaware of the time, day, and possibly the year.

“Yeah. I know. Then let me have one.” Theo thrust his hand out. “Fucking give me one. It’s important.”

“Okay, here you go. Asshole.” The worker handed it to Theo, but not before ripping the tag off the handle. “Go loiter somewhere else. We’re closing in a half hour, too. Is that your friend? The one who looks like a corpse.”

“He’s a vampire.”

“He looks like he’s fucking dead.” The man correctly, hitching his armful up. “And he’s been reading that bag label for five minutes. Is he simple or something?”

“English isn’t his second language, cut him some slack.” Theo scoffed. “Asshole.”

“Well, whatever he speaks, tell him we’re closing and to either buy the candy or leave.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Theo said, smiling. “I’ll be sure to do that.”‘

While the teenager turned away, Theo grabbed a tube of toothpaste, floss, and one of the travel head covers. He barely tried to hide them as he marched for the door.

There was something careful in how Boris was searching, Theo didn’t want to disturb him. Part of him said it was because he wanted to let Boris have his own shopping time uninterrupted or rushed. But the larger part of Theo was secretly pleased that he was choosing candy meant for him with such purpose and care. 

It meant nothing, probably, but Theo let it mean everything as he stood out at their meetup spot. As he waited, he practiced smiling without looking too happy.

iv.

“Here. For your candy.” Theo held the plastic pumpkin out to Boris. His hand felt like it wanted to be shaking, but it was too afraid to even do that.

Boris took it carefully, studying its off-brand features. “Is for my candy? That you give me?”

“Yeah! But, you’ve got to ask me for it first.” Theo said. He used his teeth to rip open the bag, tossing the end into the dumpster.

“Have candy, Potter?”

“No! Trick-or-Treat! You’ve got to ask-- just hold your basket out and ask ‘trick-or-treat’! And then I’ll say some super weird passively-adult thing about your costume and then give you your candy. Okay. Now go.”

Boris jerked his basket forward, teeth bared and dried blood now brown. “Trick! Or treat, Potter!”

“Oh wow! Look at your fangs... Not even fake.”

“Fuck off! Teeth are fine-- chew just fine.”

“You can’t tell a suburban mom to fuck off.” Theo laughed, tilting the bag into Boris’s basket. It overflowed and the stiff candy clattered on the asphalt. “They’ll call neighborhood watch on you.”

“Fuck if I care.” Boris held the basket to his chest, crossing his arms over it. He held delightful ownership over the new holiday clutch and seasonal candy. They’d created their own tradition, own triumphing memory, standing by the dumpster of Lucky’s. It wasn’t perfect and it wasn’t exactly the quintessential American Halloween, but it was one Boris could recount without sounding like he’d copied some made-for-tv movie; it was lop-sided and little fucked up-- just enough-- to truly be Boris’s first Halloween.

Actually, all the perfect Halloweens Theo had ever had seemed fruitless compared to watching Boris cradle his first trick-or-treated haul of candy. Getting things right the first time was stupidly overrated.

Theo felt the urge to jot that down. To remember to tell his mother-- next time he saw her-- how great Halloween had the potential to be if the mischief and wickedness were lent the chance to match costumes with joy and innocence.

v.

Boris accosted the entire living room floor as he dumped his basket out onto the carpet. He spread it out so no two pieces of candy were resting on top of each other. His hands ran over the crinkling wrappers, feeling the even square molds-- until he stopped and firmly gripped the toothbrush. He held it up to Theo with an accusatory look.

“Are trying to tell me something?” He asked.

“No, no. It’s not like that. Most of the time, there’s this family of doctors or something that always give out healthy food or non-candy for Halloween. I decided the family you ran into would’ve been a dentists. So I gave you a toothbrush.” Theo shrugged. “You wanted the full experience.”

Theo also wasn’t sure if Boris even had a toothbrush. He’d seen him with one, when they first met, bristles flattened and parted from over-extended use. He said nothing further-- not about the old toothbrush, or about how Boris placed it gingerly by his side just then, tucked just under his knee for safe keeping.

“Stupid dentists. Of all doctor career-- all part of body to think about, all day all the time-- who pick teeth? It is bone. Weird bone to talk with! Who want to see bone all day, and fix and grind and drill? Seem so stupid when think about it.” Boris exclaimed, still running his hands over the candy. “Will not go to dentist house again. Have learned lesson, Potter. Fuck the doctor houses.”

Theo laughed and moved closer to Boris-- just to be able to pour his own candy out for trading. “Okay, what do you want out of my pile-- I’ll take all your snickers.”

Theo’s bag was full of most of the same candy, but also small Hershey bars and Baby Ruths instead of 100 Grands. It was the principle of trading more than it was either of them getting more of what they wanted. Confectionery bargaining was a skill few had back in New York. Only Andy was ever really good at it.

“What is in Baby Ruth?” Boris asked, turning over some of Theo’s silver-wrapped pieces. “Is that woman?”

“Baseball player, actually. Like Babe Ruth.” Theo said, quickly pealing one of them open. “Here, try one. It’s mostly nougat I think.”

“Uck.” Boris muttered, still taking it. He popped the whole thing in his mouth, his cheek bulging as he tried to chew it quickly. It was too sticky, but Boris didn’t seem to mind. “Gross.”

“Careful. Your fangs.”

“Ah!” Boris bared his teeth again, holding his arms up as if he had a cape to shield him. “Will eat your blood!

“It’s uh,” Theo nearly gargled the word, struggling to say it cleanly. “it’s suck your blood, Boris.”

“Yes. That too.” He chopped his teeth loudly, the candy gone. Theo recoiled and clutched his own jaw. Boris did it twice more, breaking into a grin the more Theo looked disgusted. “Am bothering you! Halloween spirit, yes?”

“Sure. Something like that.” Theo picked up a Crunch bar and tossed it at Boris’s head. It caught momentarily in his matted curls before slipping through and onto his legs.

“Oh? Candy fight?” Boris grabbed a fistful of chocolates. His long fingers and tight grip snapped many of the bars in half, the sound heard underneath the crinkling plastic. “Tradition too?”

Theo paused, his arms no where near his face in defense. He grinned, only clenching his eyes closed. “Yeah. It’s definitely tradition. For us, at least.”

“Can be tradition that you lose?” Boris cackled, throwing both handfuls directly at Theo’s chest. “Do not think will change. Am always good shot, Potter.”

“Oh, fuck off. Arrogance is not about to become any part of this holiday, Boris. I swear to God--” Theo was pelted with every candy brand on the floor individually. Boris had a pile at his feet he tossed at him one by one, squirming backward slowly as Theo dodged them and shifted onto his knees.

“No! No! No! Cannot touch Dracula!” Boris cried, fully falling onto his back. He wiggled back and forth like a snake but gained no distance away from Theo.

There was something about a snake Theo read in a book once. Temptation, or something, right? Wasn’t that how the story went? That snake, that woman, and that apple-- but that one wasn’t candied.

Theo flopped down on Boris with all his weight, laughing at the loud oof! Boris wheezed out. His arms grabbed onto Theo’s back, but he didn’t push him away. Instead, his hands pressed Theo closer and rolled them over. The candy slid and squashed under them, like a really strange bed of orange and red foliage. With Theo on his back, Boris sat up with his legs on either side of Theo’s waist. Theo was pinned, eyes wide and mouth open, but not in any rejection. The temptation looked sweet.

“I bite!” Boris cried, placing his hands on Theo’s chest and shoulder. “Suck blood from you, Potter.”

And he did. He pushed Theo’s head to the side and playfully (and with surprising delicacy) bit down on the curve of his neck. It was weird, really really weird, but it was still touch. Undefinable touch, at that. It wasn’t anything romantic and definitely wasn’t anything sexual. It was just playing vampire. There were no rules or sermons against that. Theo allowed himself to laugh, shivering at the cold drag of Boris’s teeth across his skin.

It was so weird, but Theo felt so free. He’d never felt the touch of anyone be so warm and his entire world seem so far off. It wasn’t even tradition at that point; it was habit. Boris would always be the one that made Theo feel like every frayed nerve was neatly sewn back together. Like every moment was worth remembering and recording, all in the hopes of recreating it someday. Same crooked smiles, same laughter giggles, same mishaps, same boy. Always the same boy.

[entering-mymind]

Chapter 4 - Sanctuary

This is the fourth episode of the series where I have inserted my OC character (Mando’s daughter) into the Disneyplus television show. With her addition I believe this helps the viewers understand the choices Mando makes in the series. Would love to hear feedback! I do not own these characters and the story and dialogue goes to the respected credit of the screenwriters and creators of the show.

The day was productive for the little village, the people of Sorgan were busy harvesting their krill as a small girl played in the distance, chasing a frog like creature. Her mother watched while fulfilling her harvesting duties when something disrupted the birds in the nearby forest. To the villagers they knew what this meant.

“Go, go, go! They’re back!” several villagers exclaimed while helping their fellow man escape.

Panic erupted as the little girl screamed for her mother to save her, without hesitation, the mother ran towards the danger to rescue her flesh and blood.

Blaster fire shot high from the trees when the Klatooinians emerged from the forest ready to purge.

Knowing what would happen if she didn’t get her and her child to safety, she thought on her feet and plummeted into the water with her little girl. Taking a weaving basket, she placed it over them hiding their presence. She tried to keep her scared child quiet with the soft shushing of her voice.

The Klatooinians ran sacked the village depleting the good people of their entire stock. The villagers were powerless to do anything, they weren’t fighters, warriors of any kind, they had to accept this constant ordeal, unless they found someone willing to fight.

                                                        * *  *

The Razor Crest flew through the galaxy unknowing of its destination, Mando continued flying while his daughter looked through the navigational system to find a suitable hide out.

“Now I’m not trying to be that person,” young Mando air quoted, “but when did you start allowing anything on your console? I mean I can’t even put my feet up and you’re allowing the kid to stand on it, but mostly he can press buttons. My hand use to get slapped for that,” she pointed out as the child pushed its second button.

“Stop touching things,” Mando said to the child but it snidely pressed its third button rattling the Razor Crest. Immediately Mando fixed the issue and placed the child on his lap.

“Oh, and now it gets to ride shot gun, Mmmm,” she made a noise Mando was familiar with.

“You know you can stick out your tongue without my knowledge.”

“That’s the reason for the noise so you know I’m sticking it out at you, Mmmm.”

Mando just shook his head reminding himself that a teenager was in his presence, “Did you find any place suitable,” he changed the subject.

“Yeah, one that’s coming into our scopes, its called Sorgan. It has no starport, industrial centers, or population density, a real backwater skughole if you ask me,” she said in honesty.

“Meaning it’s perfect for us,” Mando turned to his daughter, “Ready to lay low and stretch your legs for a couple of months.”

“Yeah, it’ll be nice.”

“It will because nobody’s gonna find us here.”

                                                       *   *   *

Mando set the Razor Crest down in a dense forest, far from any village or prying eyes. He shut down the ship and informed his daughter of his plan, “I’m gonna go out there and look around,” he handed her the child to watch, “It shouldn’t take long,” Mando made his way to exit while she rose in annoyance.

“Hey wait a minute. Do you not remember the last time we were split apart? A whole battle erupted. Nah-uh, not again,” she tried reasoning with him.

“Listen I’m just trying to find us some lodging, I’ll be back for the both of you, okay,” Mando left the cockpit and headed to the lower deck. He pressed for the hatch to release when the platform lowered revealing his daughter standing next to him while holding the child. He sighed in annoyance but knew better after all they had been through,” Oh, what the Hell? Come on,” he ordered as they made their way into the forest.

The trek wasn’t long, they came upon a quiet little tavern filled with locals, casually they found a table for three when a waitress approached them.

“Welcome travelers. Can I interest you in anything?”

“Bone broth, for the little one,” Mando ordered as the waitress turned to his daughter.”

“I’ll have a cup of Moogan tea, please.”

“And for you?” the waitress asked Mando.

“Nothing.”

“Very well,” the waitress was about to leave when Mando stopped her.

“That one over there. When did she arrive?” Mando nodded his head towards a brawny woman sitting across the way.

Really trying to think, the waitress guessed, “I’ve seen her here for the last week or so.”

“What’s her business here?” Mando hoped to get some intel.

“Business?” the waitress questioned with a chuckle, “Oh well, there’s not much business in Sorgan, so I can’t say. She doesn’t strike me as a log runner.”

Mando knowing the game flipped her a credit but this took the waitress by surprise.

“Well thank you, sir,” the waitress clearly wasn’t understanding Mando’s intentions in order to get the intel he was fishing for, “I will get that broth and tea to you as soon as possible, and I will throw in a flagon of spotchka just for good measure. Now don’t get any ideas,” the waitress turned playfully to young Mando implying she couldn’t have any due to the drink being infused with alcohol, “I will be right back with that,” but once the waitress left the brawny woman had vanished.

Immediately Mando rose in search for her as young Mando pondered where her father was headed, “Where are you going?”

“Stay here,” he commanded.

“But,” she tried to get her own information when Mando was already outside thermal tracking the woman’s whereabouts.

The tracks lead around the domed structure, still radiating heat, then abruptly the trail went cold, it was as if she had disappeared or found refuge above. Mando peered up noticing the woman hanging from a rafter just waiting to strike.

With precise aim she kicked Mando backwards making him strike the opposite building. The woman pinned him and began punching, the two became involved in a hand-to-hand combat when she slammed him to the ground with one swing.

Defenseless on his back, Mando ignited his flamethrower but she pinned his arm with her foot siting on top of him to create the final blow. Tucking his foot under hers, Mando flipped the scenario and alligator rolled himself on top but she was ready and threw him off with ease.

The two locked hands and rolled, not wanting to lose the other when they drew their blasters hoping to get the drop. Stagnant, they kept their weapons pointed at the other when they heard slurps of someone drinking. The two foes turned noticing the child gulping its soup with young Mando holding her tea and nodding in approval.

“Now that was impressive,” she said more to the woman then to her father,” Do you want some tea?” young Mando offered her beverage hoping this fierce woman would join them.

All four of them headed back in the tavern claiming a table, young Mando sort of sat in awe of this woman, who’s name was Cara Dune, wondering what her story was and how she was able to hold her own ground against her father.

“Saw most of my action mopping up after Endor,” Cara started, “Mostly ex-Imperial Warlords. They wanted it fast and quiet. They’d send us in on the drop ships. No support, just us. Then when the Imps were gone, the politics started. We were peacekeepers, protecting delegates, suppressing riots. Not what I signed up for,” Cara stopped and took a sip of the Moogan tea young Mando gave.

“Which battles were you in, did you witness the Death Stars destruction, how about…?” young Mando eagerly questioned but was silenced quickly with one look from her father. Cara smirked, amused by young Mando’s admiration of her.

“How’d you end up here?” Mando questioned diverting Cara from his daughter.

It seemed Cara wanted to answer young Mando but instead addressed Mando not wanting to open up old wounds.

“Let’s just call it an early retirement,” Cara vaguely stated while taking another sip, “Look I knew you were Guild. I figured you had a fob on me. That’s why I came at you so hard.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figured,” Mando replied.

“Well, this has been a real treat, but unless you wanna go another round, one of us is gonna have to move on, and I was here first,” Cara finished the beverage and walked off making her point.

“Whoa, she is hard core,” young Mando said in praise when Mando looked at her, “Not saying that you’re not either Papi,” she tried to rectify her statement so her father felt included.

“Come on, looks like this planet’s taken,” Mando clarified as the three would make their trek back to the ship.        

                                                                  *   *   *

Night approached, Mando wanted to make some adjustments to the landing gear of the Razor Crest before they left, fixing the alignment that had been a jarred from the Ravinock clinging onto it. He figured this would be a good time to teach his daughter some mechanical lessons, he pointed out certain parts, explaining what they did and how they worked.

Mando began adjusting specific gears showing her by example when he handed her the wrench so she could finish on her own. Suddenly the two heard a landspeeder approach with two nervous men on it. In apprehension one stayed behind the other afraid of what these strangers could do to them. Mustering up the courage one of the men approached in a non-threating manner.

“Excuse me, excuse me, sir,” Stoke said.

“There something I can help you with?” Mando replied without looking at them while still teaching his daughter.

“Uh, yeah, Raiders,” Caben chimed in.

“We have money,” Stoke quickly pointed out.

“So you think I’m some kinda mercenary?” Mando said.

“The both of you are Mandalorians, right?” Stoke questioned unsure now.

“Or at least wearing Mandalorian armor. That is Mandalorian armor, right?” Caben asked in wide eyes.

“It sure is,” young Mando replied poking her head out.

“See? I told him,” Caben began to follow Mando’s moves, “Sir, I’ve read a lot about your people…I mean tribe…If half of what I read is true,” when he was cut off by Stoke.

“We have money,” Stoke reminded.

“How much?” Mando asked trying to turn his daughter’s attention back on the ship.

“Everything we have, sir,” Caben said in full honesty, “Our whole harvest was stolen.”

“Krill, we’re krill farmers,” Stoke informed.

“We brew spotchka. Our whole village chipped in,” he held a small satchel when Mando signaled for his daughter to get on the ship.

“It’s not enough,” Mando declared.

“Are you sure? You don’t even know what the job is?” Caben said while him and Stoke followed the two Mandalorians.

“I know it’s not enough. Good luck,” Mando ended pushing his daughter in front of him.

“This is everything we have, we’ll give you more after the next harvest,” Stoke insisted but Mando was done listening to their pleas, he opened the hatch startling the two villagers backwards when Mando boarded as young Mando followed suit slowly.

“Come on let’s head back,” Caben said to Stoke.

“Took us the whole day to get here, now we have to ride back with no protection to the middle of nowhere,” Stoke said loudly hoping to win sympathy from the younger Mandalorian.

“Where do you live?” young Mando stopped and turned to them.

“On a farm,” Stoke informed since she had not be included in the conversation, “We’re farmers.”

“In the middle of nowhere?” she clarified.

“Yes,” Stoke said a bit confused on where she was heading with this.

“You have lodging?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” the two men could see they were getting through to her, now all she had to do was convince the other.

“Hold on,” she walked on board scouting for her father but he wasn’t far, “Papi, this is perfect, we couldn’t have asked for anything better.”

“They’re problems are not ours,” Mando began situating things for take off as she followed undoing what he secured.

“Of course but we could at least try and help, stay long enough until the heat on us cools. In that timeframe we could teach them simple techniques, easy defense mechanisms, how to protect themselves and their loved ones,” but she wasn’t getting through to him, she would have to play at his heart, “What if your parents knew how to defend themselves, what if mom knew your teachings?”

Mando stopped dead in his tracks, he couldn’t believe she would bring this up, just like the scenario with the child, helping these people seemed dear to her; for some reason he never could deny her.

The two villagers anticipated the outcome because it had been quite some time the two Mandalorians were in debate, the men waited patiently hoping it would swing in their favor. Suddenly they heard footsteps approach when the young Mandalorian asked for the two to help gather their things, appeased they eagerly helped when Mando appeared and requested for one thing.

“Give me those credits,” Mando outstretched his hand.

“Papi,” young Mando scrutinized believing they were only doing this for the lodging and seclusion when Mando reassured his daughter.

“It’s not for us.”

Everyone got on board the landspeeder when Mando directed them to a small camp deep in the forest.

Cara Dune sat with her back against a tree when Mando threw her the pouch of credits causing her to draw her blaster.

“Ready for round two?” Mando questioned as she looked at the pouch in curiosity.

The landspeeder slowly made its way back to the village as Cara and Mando discussed the situation.

“So, we’re basically running off a band of Raiders for lunch money?” Cara honestly stated.

“They’re quartering us in the middle of no where. Last I checked, that’s a pretty square deal for somebody in your position. Worst case scenario, you tune up your blaster. Best case, we’re a deterrent. I can’t imagine there’s anything living in these trees that an ex-shock trooper couldn’t handle,” Mando said in confidence but Cara stayed silent.

“You were a shock trooper? Whoa!” young Mando exclaimed putting another half smile on Cara because she found this young kids admiration for her sweet.

                                                           *   *    *

Night turned to day as the landspeeder seized movement awakening everyone with a thud.

“They’re here, come on,” a group of excited children approached eagerly awaiting to greet their guests.

“Looks like they’re happy to see us,” young Mando said enthused herself.

“Looks like,” Cara agreed when the children made silly faces at the child when it began to coo and giggle.

Other villagers approached to help unload their liberators belongings as Mando and his daughter were escorted to their lodge.

                                                         *   *   *

Tying off a blind so some natural light could filter in, Omera heard a noise and saw her two guests stand in the doorway awaiting passage.

“Please come in,” Omera welcomed.

Mando and his daughter entered setting their belongings and the child down.

“I hope this is comfortable for the both of you. Sorry that all we have is the barn,” she apologized that they didn’t have anything else more suitable.

“This will do fine,” Mando reassured.

“I stacked some blankets over here,” Omera pointed out.

“Thank you. That’s very kind,” young Mando said when she noticed a small girl sneak in.

Young Mando found the little girl’s actions amusing but it put her father an alert, instantly he swung around almost drawing his blaster when young Mando stepped in between and placed a hand on his arm preventing him to draw.

Disturbed, Omera walked over to showcase her child, “This is my daughter, Winta,” she embraced her in a hug, “We don’t get a lot of visitors around here. She’s not use to strangers.”

Mando continued to stand his ground when his daughter spoke, “As we’re not use to company.”

Omera smiled and then turned to her daughter to explain the situation the village was in, “These nice people are going to help protect us from the bad ones.”

“Thank you,” Winta’s small voice said when Mando and his daughter nodded back in unison.

“Come on Winta. Let’s give our guests some room,” Omera escorted themselves out while looking back at her cryptic guests.

                                                           *   *   *

The three of them stayed rooted in the barn, obtaining to certain duties while maintaining to their weapons.

“Knock, knock,” Omera didn’t want to startle them.

“Come in,” Mando said more at ease.

Omera walked in with a tray of food where her daughter followed close behind glaring at the two Mandalorians as if she wanted to ask a question. Winta looked up at her mother in apprehension when Omera gave her the confidence to ask.

“Can I feed him?” Winta pointed to the child who stood in his crib.

Mando stayed busy when his daughter took initiative, she was always good with kids.

“Sure you can,” she said as she watched Winta kneel in front of the child and hand feed him some small pellets.

With glee Winta giggled happily and then turned to young Mando, “Do you two want to play?” Winta stood eagerly awaiting young Mando’s answer.

Unsure of what she could and could not do, young Mando glared at her father who continued cleaning his pulse rifle. Everyone sat in silence as Mando finally acknowledged and nodded in approval towards his daughter.

A bit more eager than young Mando wanted to show, she stood and picked up the child in her arms when Winta took hold of young Mando’s hand and pulled her outside in excitement.

“Come on, we have tons of games to play!” Winta rambled in joy.

Believing the three would reside in the barn, Mando tried to stop them, “I don’t think,” he began to protest.

“They’ll be fine,” Omera stepped in between, assure the children were in good hands.

“I don’t…”

“They’ll be fine,” Omera could sense his high alertness for, whom she assumed were – in some form – his children.

Mando stepped back still a bit uneasy, what if their antics got out of hand, what if his daughter got to excited and experienced an episode? He couldn’t think like that, he had to trust her.

“I brought some food for the two of you. I noticed neither of you ate out there. I’ll leave it here for when I go so you and your…”Omera stopped unsure if she should say the other Mandalorian was his child, but he clarified it for her.

“Daughter, she is my daughter.”

“It shows.”

“Thank you for the food,” Mando turned and began cleaning other weapons when Omera hesitantly asked a question.

“Do you mind if I ask you something?”

“Go ahead,” he didn’t pay attention and kept focus on his cleaning.

“How long has it been since you or your daughter have taken off your helmets?”

“Yesterday, but separately,” he clarified.

“Separately, neither of you can see each others face, ever?”

“We are given a day, on a kin’s date of existence then the parent may gaze upon their flesh and blood,” Mando informed more than he planned.

“Wait, so you’re saying you haven’t seen your daughter’s face in a year?” Omera couldn’t believe what he was missing.

“Almost, we will celebrate in about a month but…” Mando stopped himself when Omera gently encouraged him to proceed, “This year she turns eighteen, the year a Mandalorian acquires the title and their independence. But it also comes with a law that even forbids reveal among family,” Mando tried to distract himself but Omera could see his pain.

“So you and her will only be able to see each other this last time? How cruel, so many tiny details you’ve missed throughout her years as she grew from a child and into a young woman. I don’t know what I would do if I missed a single detail about Winta,” Omera realized she was coming off harsh, “I apologize mothers and fathers raise they’re children differently. I presume her mother agrees with the Mandalorian beliefs?”

Mando stayed silent unsure of how to answer her question when he said only two words,” She passed.”

Omera paid her respects but then fell silent, she wasn’t sure on how to proceed the conversation, but she had to know more, “And when was the last time someone, apart from your daughter, saw your face?”

Mando realized he wouldn’t be rid of this woman unless he answered her questions. He didn’t need to get into specifics, so he walked to the window and pointed at the children who played with his daughter and the little one.

“I wasn’t much older than they are,” he informed.

“You haven’t shown your face to the outside world since you were a kid?” Omera said broken.

“No. I was happy that they took me in. My parents were killed and the Mandalorians took care of me and then they took care of us.”

“I’m sorry.”

“This is the way.”

Omera could sense this would be the extent of his sharing, “Let us know if there’s anything either of you need.”

“Thank you.”

Omera left with a sadden heart, sadden for the Mandalorian of his past, sadden for his daughter who would only see her father’s face one last time, sadden that the Mandalorian had missed out on key elements of his daughter’s life, but mostly sadden that they had to close themselves off from the world.

Omera approached the group of children and noticed the Mandalorian’s daughter appeared to be in high spirits, maybe because she didn’t know otherwise than from the life she was raised in. Omera knew it wasn’t her place and so tried to make her guests stay as pleasant as possible since they were helping defend their village.

                                                        *   *   *

A few hours had passed when young Mando walked in with the child who was fighting off sleep. Gently she placed him into his crib and tucked the blanket snuggly around so he wouldn’t get cold. She noticed her father still attending to things when he pointed in the corner showing a tray for her.

She examined her take and noticed a nice plethora of tasty food, “Yum, crusty bread, but you didn’t eat it?” she questioned even though she was happy he didn’t.

“I know it’s your favorite.”

“Thanks Papi,” she couldn’t help and smile under her helmet even though she knew her father couldn’t see, but he could always sense her happiness.

She took a seat in the corner in order to get off her feat but Mando believed otherwise. He wanted his daughter to be able to eat so he finished what he was doing and was about to leave when she stopped him.

“Wait Papi, I’m not hungry yet, still trying to catch my breath from playing with those little ones,” she said with a chuckle as they reminded her of the younglings at the covert.

She looked around really in taking the barn and the outside surroundings of the village, “This place reminds me of my childhood, when it was just you and I, before we were discovered by the creed,” she said a bit saddened as she recalled the past.

“Those were some happy times,” Mando chimed in also recalling a part of his life he would relive in a heartbeat.

“Do you remember when we had an infestation of womp rats? You set up traps everywhere but they kept out smarting you?” she reminisced in the story.

“Those damn things thought they had the best of me,” Mando declared.

“Yeah, they kept figuring out how to get the food off the trap without getting caught.”

“That was until they met their demise from my blaster.”

“Oh yeah, that’s when you taught me how to shoot, maybe not so suitable for a five year old but came in handy in the long run.”

The two stared at each other practically envisioning themselves in their home on Lah’mu, but knew they couldn’t go back.

“So I saw you talking with Omera,” she said in a playful tone.

“Why do you say it like that?” Mando wasn’t sure where his daughter was going with this.

“Oh, no particular reason, its just in a little over a month I’m turning eighteen, my day of independence will follow, so I just want to make sure you will be okay with me not always by your side.”

Mando stayed silent, he had been pondering over this for quite awhile and now was as any good of time to tell her, “I’m going to revoke your right for independence.”

“What?” she said more in shock than she expected herself to be in, “Why? You were the one who pushed me into this, and now you’re not going to let me receive the Mandalorian title or my independence from your care? I don’t understand.”

He walked over to her when she stood and backed away, “I’m sorry this comes as a shocker but I don’t think you’re ready,” Mando started, “Once you can obtain control on your own then I will discuss with the tribe…”

“Are you talking about my episodes? You don’t think I have control over them? I know they come unexpectedly but I am doing better, I’ll try harder,” she reassured when Mando put his hands on her shoulders trying to bring her at ease and not cause an episode for her.

“I’m not doing this to punish you, you know that right?” he asked.

“I’m not so sure.”

“I’m doing this for your protection, everything I do is for your protection.”

“Hey Mando, it’s getting dark are we going or not,” Cara shouted through the doorway.

“Hold on,” Mando yelled when he placed his hand on the side of his daughter’s helmet acting as if he was caressing her cheek, “We will discuss this further when I get back.”

“Why? There’s nothing left to discuss,” young Mando moved passed her father and knelt before the child’s crib, checking up on him.

She kept her back turned towards her father as Cara peered inside seeing the intensity between the two. Mando grabbed some gear, he stopped behind his daughter about to put his hand on top of her helmet when he felt it best she needed her space. He exited the barn as Cara followed wondering what had gone down between father and daughter.

                                                          *   *   *

Cara and Mando trekked through the forest in search of the Klatooinians camp, knowing it wasn’t her business Cara vaguely brought forth what she witnessed with his daughter.

“So is the kiddo alright? She seemed to be giving you the cold shoulder,” Cara wanted to make sure Mando’s head would be in the game and not somewhere else.

“She’ll be fine,” was all he wanted to reveal while he tracked the Klatooinians footprints through his heat sensor. Mando stopped and then pointed, “About fifteen or twenty of them came through here on foot,” he scanned the area realizing something else large had destroyed the trees, “And something big sheared off those branches.”

The two walked a bit further and came upon a huge footprint as Cara clarified, “AT-ST.”

“Imperial walker. What’s it doing here?” Mando questioned.

“I don’t know. But this is more than I signed up for,” as they saw the destruction of what an AT-ST could do.

                                                            *   *   *

“Bad news. You can’t live here anymore,” Mando addressed the village the following morning.

“What, why?” the villagers murmured in shock.

“Nice bedside manner,” Cara whispered.

“You think you can do better?”

“Can’t do much worse,” Cara walked forward to get their attention, “I know this is not the news you wanted to hear, but there are no other options.”

“You took the job,” Stoke reminded when young Mando walked out of the barn disappointed that they couldn’t help these people.

“That was before we knew about the AT-ST,” Cara said.

“What is that?” Stoke questioned.

“The armored walker with two enormous guns that you knew about and didn’t tell us,” Cara blamed.

The villagers pleaded confused on why these three wouldn’t help them when Omera stepped in.

“We have nowhere to go,” Omera glared at Mando and his daughter.

“Sure you do. This is a big planet,” Cara informed, “I mean, I’ve seen a lot smaller.”

“My grandparents seeded these ponds,” one villager stated.

“It took generations,” Stoke added.

“I understand. I do. But there are only three of us,” Cara wasn’t sure if she should include Mando’s daughter but she did.

“No there’s not. There’s at least twenty here,” Stoke clarified.

“I mean fighters, be realistic,” Cara exclaimed.

“We can learn,” Stoke said determined as the other villagers followed.

“I’ve seen that thing take out entire companies of soldiers in the matter of minutes,” Cara told in truth.

“We’re not leaving,” Omera said determined.

“You can not fight that thing,” Cara said.

Young Mando looked at her father hoping he remembered what she had suggested previously in order to persuade him to help with the two men’s pleas. Mando knew exactly what she was trying to convey when he spoke, “Unless we show them how.”

The villagers agreed eagerly that they would learn but Cara just glared back shaking her head in scrutiny.

                                                           *   *    *

“You got two problems here,” Mando started, “You got the bandits and you got the mech. We’ll handle the AT-ST, but you gotta protect us when they come out of the woods. And I don’t have to tell you how dangerous they are,” Mando reminded them, “Cara here was a veteran. She was a drop solider for the Rebellion, and she’s gonna lay out a plan for you, so listen carefully.”

“Now, there’s nothing on this planet that can damage the legs on this thing, so we’re gonna build a trap. We’re gonna need to dig real deep, right here,” Cara pointed to the largest krill pond, “So that when it steps in, it drops. The two of us will hit their camp. Provoke them. That’ll bring the fight out of the woods and down here to us,” Cara informed.

“I’m gonna need you to cut down trees and build barricades along these edges,” Mando commanded, “I need it high enough so that they can’t get over, and strong enough so that it can’t break through. Okay who knows how to shoot?” Mando ended when Omera was the only one who raised her hand.

The congregation broke up as Cara took a group while the others went with Mando. Young Mando helped her father distribute the guns as Cara showed the civilians how to craft wooden spears and use them.

Mando and his daughter hung some pots and pans so the villagers could use them as targets to hit with their blasters, but only Omera could repeatedly hit her mark.

Dusk was approaching as Mando and Cara would soon be leaving, he had to make sure his daughter was going to follow protocol and not disobey.

“I know my role in this, protect the children,” young Mando stated in honor.

“You know you are contributing to the battle by doing this, the children’s safety is worry off their minds,” Mando pointed to the villagers turned fighters, “So then they can perform their duty.”

“This is the way,” young Mando said.

“This is the way,” as he watched his daughter enter the hut with the child in one hand and her blaster already drawn in the other just in case the battle flowed inwards.

He hoped it wouldn’t come down to that when Omera approached the hut to put Winta in. She kissed her daughter intensely not knowing if she would see her again, but knew she would be in good hands with Mando’s daughter. Once mother and child departed Mando clarified the start to the events.

“The sun is about to set, and we’ll be leaving soon. When we return, we’re coming in hot,” Mando informed.

“We’ll be ready,” Omera promised as Cara approached signaling to move out.

                                                       *   *   *

Cara and Mando rushed their way through the forest finding two Klatooinians drinking around a fire, immediately they were seized and taken out. Cara and Mando ventured further into the camp, staying clear of another campfire where several more Klatooinians sat enjoying their stolen spotchka.

Mando and Cara entered a tent, blasters drawn, believing a fight would break out but the area was only occupied by several containers filled with the blue liquid. Mando wasted no time and stuck a detonator on a wall when Cara whistled for Mando to get ready as they would be receiving company.

Cara took lead punching the band of Klatooinians that entered. Mando followed suit taking out the ones Cara left for him to handle. With every passing moment the detonator - Mando activated - counted down to destruction, but soon Cara and Mando became overrun.

Blasters became drawn as Mando and Cara took refuge behind the liquid containers believing they had been pinned. Noticing the Klatooinians blaster fire penetrated the tent’s wall, Mando rapidly fired to create an escape.

“Come on, I’ll cover you,” Mando ordered of Cara as she bulldozed her way through the wall.

Quickly Mando followed when the detonator went off exploding intensely.

“I hope the plan worked,” Cara said panting as the two watched the tent burn in flames.

Suddenly their attention was brought towards where two red eyes glowed a few feet away and rose higher in the sky. Knowing this was the time to leave, Cara and Mando ran back towards the village dodging the AT-ST’s fire.

                                                          *   *   *

Everyone in the village waited in apprehension, afraid of what was about to unfold as they heard the sounds of gunfire approaching.

Like an instinct, young Mando raised her weapon ready to defend her territory when she heard the children whimper in fear. Quickly she turned and knelt in front of them hoping to bring them peace.

“Hey, its okay, everything will be fine,” she looked at them but stayed rooted on Winta who held tightly onto the child.

“How do you know,” Winta asked seeking an honest answer.

“Here,” young Mando pointed to her gut, “I know because I listen to it, and you wanna know what its telling me?” all the children looked at her in wonder, trying to understand how she was able to tap into a mysteries force, “We’re going to win, and no harm will come to you because I won’t let it,” the children smiled with relief when young Mando suddenly clutched at her core.

She caught herself from falling and instead stumbled upwards to her feet, she turned her back on the kids not wanting to display her fear as she tried to assesse the situation.

“No, no, no, please not now, not now,” she said in a shaky breath, believing she could calm herself down but it began.

It was as if her entire body ignited in a jolt, her core radiated with intense vibration, awakening every cell in her structure. She put both arms around her mid-section hoping to encase whatever wanted to escape from within. Every breath she took the sensation grew, coursing though her frame in a vengeance and overtaking its host. Suddenly she fell to her knees and hunched over in pain, one hand on the ground losing her blaster, while the other still held onto her mid-section. Winta could see young Mando’s distress and wanted to go to her but young Mando declined.

“I’m okay, really,” she waited for a tremor to pass when she spoke again, “Kids we’re going to play a game,” another tremor rammed through her making her speak in agony, “The game is ‘Mother Says,’ I’ll be the mother and I say loop that harness around your bodies tightly and quickly,” she demanded more forcefully than she cared too.

The children complied when young Mando noticed one end of the harness was attached to a concrete structure while the other end needed to be secured. In defeat she couldn’t move to secure it herself, she stared at the harness vigorously knowing she had to achieve this task another way.

She outstretched her hand and created the motion within her mind, she envisioned tying off the other end as the event she foresaw began to unfold in reality. The children were bound, now she had to keep them safe from herself.

“Mother says, no matter what you hear, all of you stay put, do not untie yourself, promise me,” young Mando shouted.

The children agreed when young Mando mustered up all of her strength and rose to her feet in order to run as far away as she could.

                                                             *   *   *

Mando and Cara emerged from the forest, running and then taking position with the rest of the villagers behind the barricades.

“This is it,” Cara shouted, “Once that thing steps into the pond, it’s going down.”

Everyone stayed frozen, waiting for their commanding officer to give them their orders, “Weapons ready,” Cara shouted as everyone drew their blasters high.

The AT-ST came into view, making its way towards their trap.

“Just a few more steps,” Mando informed.

The AT-ST was about to take its last step when the driver noticed its watery ruse.

“It stopped,” Cara said in defeat.

Everyone waited, not knowing what to do when the AT-ST flooded the village in light.

“Get down. Get down,” Mando commanded as the AT-ST scanned the perimeter opening fire when it had targets in its sights.

“Stoke stay there,” Omera shouted as their troop began to scatter from fear.

“Hold your positions,” Cara demanded.

The AT-ST positioned itself for no further movement when the Klatooinians began their attack.

“Open fire,” Cara commanded when the villagers followed orders and started shooting.

Enemy fire returned with most coming from the AT-ST.

“We gotta get that thing to step forward,” Mando instructed.

“I’m thinking,” Cara replied in a bit of panic when she looked to the ground for answers, suddenly she glared up in confusion as she witnessed rocks floating in the air, “What the Hell,” Cara said in bewilderment when she noticed other objects around the village begin to float freely as the ground quaked beneath them wildly.

Suddenly a loud blood-curling scream radiated from within the village, sending chills down Mando and Omer’s spine, because it came from the children’s hut.

                                                       *   *   *

Young Mando staggered through the village but she didn’t get far, the intensity overran her mobility, sending her to all fours again. She collapsed to the ground frightened of what was going to happen next. She had to prevent the impact from reaching the children’s hut, because they would be the closest to the blast.

Young Mando positioned her hand towards the hut concentrating to hopefully move the impact away when she witnessed a clan of Klatooinians sneak attack from the side. Realizing her situation, she reached for her blaster but realized she dropped it in the hut. Thinking quickly and using her episode to her advantage, young Mando placed her hand firmly on the ground sending the vibration, which wanted to emerge from her, into the dirt.

The terrain began to quake and crack as if an earthquake had manifested. Fractures made their way from young Mando’s hand towards the clan of Klatooinians, without warning the soil beneath their feet gave way, replicating exactly what had happened with the Mudhorn.

A few Klatooinians jumped to safety while others hung on for dear life, the earthquake continued uprooting surrounding trees as one fell directly onto the trapped assailants.

With a hint of relief, young Mando returned her focus onto herself in order to gain control, but this was exactly what her father was referring to. She had to prove him wrong but the remaining Klatooinians perused in a vengeance.

They ran in rage, weapons drawn high ready to end her life when she decided to end theirs first. She waved her hand in an upward motion, the remaining Klatooinians unwillingly mimicked her gesture and rose into the air helpless. They wiggled in fear unknowing the phenomenon that was happening to them. With a snap of her wrist the Klatooinians necks twisted, meeting their demise, she then swung her arm sideways sending the lifeless bodies into the forest.

Disappointed she had to resume to violence she couldn’t hold on any more, in defeat young Mando let out a horrific scream hoping this would reach her father so he could prepare the others for impact.

                                                      *   *   *

That scream, it was her scream, the scream before she released havoc, Mando had to warn everyone and prep them for a collision, “Tether yourself to something rooted, now!” he commanded of Cara as she could hear the panic in his voice.

Mando ran along the perimeter instructing everyone to fall back and tie themselves immediately to something that could not be uprooted. Confused on this change of command, Cara followed suit and demanded everyone to do as they were told. Everyone complied when Mando noticed Omera was missing.

“She went to the children,” Stoke informed, exactly where ground zero would occur.

Mando had to save the children and Omera, he raced through the village when he found Omera, quickly he grabbed her but she wiggled herself free declaring she had to get to Winta. Mando lassoed Omera but the two fought, he finally gained control of the situation when he saw his daughter in the distance, away from the hut.

He watched as if the event was happening in slow motion, she rose to her knees unwillingly, arms outstretched, when an unseen force erupted from her body. One hand pointed towards the children’s hut, desperately hoping to deflect the blast, while the other hand tried to push the excess force in the location of the battle, but the reminisce of the invisible force she couldn’t control still disbursed in all directions.

Mando held onto Omera and quickly released his grappling hook by wrapping it securely around a stationary cinderblock. Instantly Mando and Omera were flung backwards as he touted the wire begging for it not to break from the pressure. Just as fast as it happened Mando and Omera fell to the ground in a thud.

The two rose hearing in the distance the sound of the AT-ST crash, immediately Cara screamed for everyone to untie themselves and attack. The villagers complied and ran with force towards the defenseless machine and injured Klatooinians, the creatures attempted to hold their ground but was quickly overrun.

Cara took charge, ignited a detonator and threw it in the broken AT-ST’s window. She screamed for everyone to take cover when the machine exploded, a wave of relief washed over the villagers seeing their victory play out before them. Everyone cheered in glee when Omera smiled in relief and went to her child as Mando went to his.

Young Mando laid sprawled on the ground, unconscious, in fear Mando cradled her in his arms placing a hand on her chest. In relief he felt her breathing as he drew her closer, not wanting anyone to pry, Mando picked up his daughter and carried her to the barn and placed her on the cot. He put his hand on the side of her helmet when she slowly came to.

“Is anyone…”she started when he silenced her.

“Everyone’s fine, rest.”

All she could do was breathe heavy and close her tired eyes believing her father. Seeing her at peace Mando went to check on the child and noticed the hut had not been touched, the blast had somehow been deflected from its path. Winta held onto the child happily and from seeing her mother.

“Her gut was right,” Winta exclaimed.

“Whose gut?” Omera asked.

“The young Mandalorians, her gut told her we would win,” Winta said happily as the other children cheered in excitement.

                                                        *   *   *

Just beyond Omera’s home, the child, young Mando, and the children played joyfully, acting out new games while incorporating others.

Cara, Mando, and Omera watched from the porch as Omera gave Cara a drink. Omera turned to Mando and offered him one as she would place it in the house, but he politely declined.

“They’re happy here,” Omera pointed out from the imaginary smiles she could read from his children.

“They are,” he openly said.

“They fit right in,” she added and walked off towards the children.

Mando peered, almost pondering a different scenario he wished could play out when Cara interrupted his thoughts.

“So what happens if either of you take that thing off? They come after and kill you both?” she seriously asked.

“No. You just can’t put it back on again,” he informed.

“That’s it,” Cara almost wanted to chuckle but restrained herself not wanting to offend his religion, “So you can slip off the helmet, settle down with that beautiful young widow and raise your kids sitting here, sipping spotchka?” Cara glared at him as if he was crazy to pass up this opportunity when he spoke.

“I tried it once,” he paused, “It didn’t work out.”

Cara gazed at him wondering what he meant, but his focus was drawn on his daughter. She could see his intensity on how protective he was over her when he changed the subject.

“You know we raised some hell here a few weeks back.”

“We sure did and yet you still won’t tell me where that blast came from. Did you plant a phantom detonator somewhere without my knowledge? I mean if I knew you had one of those we could have lead with that,” Cara pried but Mando wouldn’t revel anything.

“We have to take into consideration that it’s to much action for a back water town like this. Word travels fast. We might wanna cycle the charts and move on,” he suggested.

“I would not want to be the one who has to tell them,” Cara pointed her cup in his children’s direction.

“I’m leaving him here, traveling with me, that’s no life for a…” when he stopped himself realizing he put his daughter through it, “I did my job, he’s safe. Better chance at a life,” Mando clarified.

“It’s going to break his little heart along with your daughter’s.”

“They’ll get over it. We all do,” he ended.

                                                           *   *   *

The villagers returned to their daily duties, harvesting krill, maintaining to their crops when Mando approached Omera.

“Excuse me. Can I have a word?” he addressed her.

“Of course,” the two walked a distance away when Mando began casual conversation.

“It’s very nice here.”

“Yes,” Omera shook her head happily.

“I think its clear he’s…he’s happy here,” Mando implied.

“Yes, and so is your daughter, but what about you?”

“Me?”

“Are you happy here?” Omera was trying to reach him, “We want you to stay, we want your daughter to stay. The community’s grateful. The both of you can pack your armor away, but if there is any trouble you can always take it out. You and your children could have a good life, they could be actual children for a while, you could see your daughter’s face daily instead of for one last time. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

Mando glared in the distance, he saw his daughter teaching the intently in tuned children how to draw.

“It would,” Mando’s voice broke when Omera placed her hands on the sides of his helmet ready to take it off for him. He seized her motion knowing this couldn’t be their future, “We don’t belong here,” Mando informed, “But he does.”

“I understand,” Omera said saddened, “I will look after him as one of my own,” she promised when the sound of a blaster erupted from the forest.

“Go get the kids,” Mando rushed off with his weapon drawn as young Mando stayed behind mimicking her father.

                                                            *   *   *

On the outskirts of the forest Cara stood there with a dead bounty hunter at her feet. Beneath the body Mando heard a faint beeping, turning the deceased over and revealing a tracking fob.

“Who’s he tracking?” Cara asked.

“The kid,” Mando replied.

“They know he’s here.”

“Yes.”

“Then they’ll keep coming.”

“Yes,” as Mando crushed the fob under his boot.

                                                          *   *   *

Cara helped load the landspeeder with Mando and his daughter’s gear when she asked a simple question, “Are you sure you don’t want an escort?”

“I appreciate the offer, but we’re gonna by pass the town and head right to the Razor Crest,” Mando informed.

“Well then,” she held out her hand,” Until our paths cross.”

Mando took it, “Until our paths cross.”

Holding back her tears, Winta ran and hugged young Mando’s waist, “I’m going to miss you both so much,” Winta reached for the child and embraced him also.

“Me too,” young Mando replied holding her composure.

Mando and Omera glared at one another one last time when she thanked him, truly thanked him for all he and his daughter did for the village.

Winta gave one last hug to the child and young Mando before she returned to her mother in tears. Mando gathered the last of their things and helped his daughter into the landspeeder. Mando then took a seat at the edge signaling for the droid to move out. The village waved goodbye at their three new friends, wishing them safe travels, but sadden they couldn’t stay and be apart of their daily lives.

[resetmypatientviolence]

Whatever Comes Next (Drake x MC) [M]

Pairing: Drake x Jaela (canon)

Word Count: 3,596

Rating: M

Warnings: Language, Smut

Song Accompaniment: Love Me Right-- Rendezvous At Two

Description: Surely Drake can’t be the only one to pose for a sexy photo on the final night of their honeymoon?

Author Note: Anddddd I’m back. Well, at least for this. We’ll see how much TRH inspires me for smut on shots. That said, this might be a Drake and Jaela you’re not used to seeing in my fic: canon. No past traumas of STB or nothing, This fic follows along the canon versions of them, which, in my opinion, are fucking adorable. Enjoy! Masterlist is found on my blog bio.

And the moment is captured on the final night of their honeymoon. Jaela admires the muscles he provides for her viewing pleasure… but she can’t help but giggle at the sight, her new husband clearly out of his comfort zone in posing for a photo in the cozy and, ahem, very well used bedroom.

Drake cocks an eyebrow up and sits up, a smirk still on his lips. “That bad, huh, Abdi?”

Jaela snorts, scooting closer and turning her phone to him. Drake sets a hand on her thigh, nails gently raking across her skin and he flushes, snatching it away. “Hey!” Forgoing romance, Jaela dives for the phone, stretching her nearly nude body across Drake’s bare chest, reaching for the phone in a desperate sort of way. He cannot delete it. “You are NOT deleting that!” She gasps, hand around his wrist.

There’s a playful smile on his lips and sparkling in his chestnut eyes that makes Jaela return the same expression in their battle for her phone. His hand rests on the middle of her back, fingers splayed. Skin on skin sizzles. “You laughed!”

She knows he’s not hurt by the way he grins, wrapping a leg around her thigh, holding her in place. “Because it’s a cute and silly and kinda sexy picture of my husband,” … the man she didn’t know she could love any more than she has during this entire time escaping reality, lost to only each other on this island. “I want it forever. I want to remember you when I’m away, or when you’re away doing whatever we’re supposed to do as big fancy nobles.”

Drake cringes at the world noble—not unexpected—but slowly lowers the phone and hands it to her. “Ah-ha!”

Jaela sits up and knowingly straddles his waist, shutting off the screen and smirking at the twitch from his dick against her. It’s never taken long, let alone on this perfect honeymoon, Drake—and her—always at the ready, even if one if sleepy or still worn from the other. Drake smirks, hands sliding along her smooth thighs. “I love the view…” His eyes darken and they flick from her breasts to face twice. Jaela tosses her phone aside and wiggles her hips, meeting his hands with hers.

“Is that so, Walker?”

“I do, Mrs. Wal—”

“Abdi-Walker—”

“Mrs. Abdi-Walker…” Drake finishes, low, eyes roving over the curves of her breasts, hard nipples barely contained in the black lace bralette. “You know… I think it’s a little unfair that you get a ‘sexy’ picture of me for when we’re apart and I get…” She shivers at his touch, finger touching her over her black lace thong. She really doesn’t know why she put it on, honestly, after their latest romp an hour or so ago. “Nothing but my mind…”

Drake sits up and pulls her close to him. Their skin touches and it’s like into a million little fireworks bursting. Jaela shuts up his slow, tempting drawl with a deep kiss, inhaling his scent. It’s mixed of the ocean salt, sand, and her—and it’s been driving her crazy this entire time. Drake smiles against her lips, letting their tongues explore each other’s mouths with a languid pace—then he parts, eyes now nearly black with desire. “I think I could use some visuals for when I need to think of my wife sucking my…”

“You just want to see if I can do any better than you posing, huh?” Jaela cuts him off, grinning. He won’t get it that quickly.

Hair falls over his eyes when he shakes his head, pretending to be thoughtful. “Oh, I know you’re going to beat me. I also just happen know that my incredible sexy wife would love to pose for me too… and would also get off on the idea of what I do when we’re apart and in different beds.”

Biting her lower lip, a flush of warmth diving low in her belly, Jaela nods. She can’t deny that idea, even if she doesn’t need a photo of him to get going. Or the idea what he’s doing, thinking of her. “Think you can handle this?” Jaela purrs, removing herself from his lap, messing with her hair. Drake steals another appreciative look at her body. It’s taunt, firm, and curvy in all the right places, glowing from the sun, salt, and his endless kisses in their newly wedded bliss.

“I know I can’t,” Drake says, the rise in his boxers’ evidence of this. “But I’ll certainly enjoy the view…” He settles back against the pillows holding up his phone, the lust clear on his features. He glances between the phone and real life before him.

Posed on her knees, gives her best smolder to Drake, needing no instruction on how to pose for the camera… let alone with her husband behind the lenses, cock twitching each time she moves. A little shoulder pop, a pointed smirk at his hardening dick, a bite of her lip, a peek at her ass… everything to get him going, over and over and when they only have a screen to view.

Flipping her hair back, Jaela lets a bra strap slip down her arm, the second it falls lasting an eternity by the way his eyes follow, jaw dropped. His reaction is all she needs to keep the tease going, slowly sliding it back up her arm shimmering under the soft lights of the bedroom that made everything warm and simply perfect every night… and morning… and afternoon.

Jaela switches positions, hands on the bed to give him perfect access to view her chest. Smirking, she crawls forward and comes between his legs. Drake sits up a bit more, cheeks flush heat, phone still taking photos. The soft clicks only make her wetter between her thighs, knowing what they’ll be used for. “And… do you think one more will do?”

“Uhh…”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Hair falls over her shoulders, but she knows this adds to his arousal. He loves to pull on it or run his fingers through it when they make love or fuck, depending on the mood. She reaches behind her and unhooks her bra, letting it fall off her body, merely a soft tumble on the sheets when it lands.

Drake makes a sound somewhere between a gasp and choke, eyes locked on her chest, nipples stiff-- ready. Jaela chuckles and weaves her fingers in her hair, holding it up, posing topless before him, giving him the sultriest look she can manage, light hitting her cheekbones perfectly, nearly glowing for him. There’s fire in her eyes and the rush of warmth between her thighs. The thong won’t be far behind the bra. That was known the moment she reached behind herself. In fact, why did she even pack a bra, in all honesty?

“Got it?”

Drake takes a moment to answer, jaw dropped and slack, as if he’s under a spell. Finally, he seems to come to, gulping hard. “Uh-huh…”

They look brown eyes—and suddenly, Drake’s kissing her, hard, phone tossed to the side. They fall together on the luxurious silk sheets, hands feverishly touching every inch of skin they can manage, the hunger to satisfy their lust and need for each other too much to bear. It’s the last night—Jaela intends to make the most of it, to take a final night of escape before reality rushes in without relent.

She lets out a little cry of a pleasure mixed with pain when Drake nips her lip hard, rolling her to her back. She willingly sinks into the soft mattress, hips rising to meet his. “Abdi…” He breathes against her neck, a finger slipping down her side, following the curve of her hips. His lips find purchase as he lifts her thighs, pressing his covered manhood against her sex, teasing her just like she likes.

Jaela moans quietly, enjoying the sensation, the buildup before the release. The tease. The game. The cat and mouse. The desire. “D… Drake…”

“You certainly put on a little show for me…” Jaela gasps when he pulls away and flips her over on all fours, bringing her hips to him. The fireplace crackles low in the bedroom, glasses of whiskey still abandoned after their first round. Jaela adjusts herself on her elbows, looking back at him with a grin. Drake removes his boxers and his eyes sparkle as he looks down at her on all fours for him. Waiting. Wanting.

“I always will. Besides…” She moves her hips in a figure eight, the heat somehow travelling even lower in her body, to the apex of her thighs. Music plays in the background, but it’s long forgotten in the moment, Drake pushing her hair over her shoulders and letting his calloused hands travel down her back and sides, coming to the curve of her ass, memorizing the feel of her body. “I know I’ll be well-rewarded for giving you some bonus shots…”

Drake agrees with a growl low in his throat, kneading his palms against her ass, nails digging the skin. “Oh… very…” While one finger loops under the thin band of her thong, lifting it, he lowers himself to kiss down her spine, speaking quietly. Only the music and soft sound of the waves are barely louder than his words coated with desire and pure, unadulterated lust. She knows exactly what she’s in for.

And she can’t wait.

His lips press against her, taking his sweet time as he kisses down, teasing her by moving his fingers along the band, causing the fabric to rub against her clit in a pleasant—yet frustrating—way. “Very…” he continues, breath hot against her skin. Jaela shivers, gripping the sheets. She’s about to pounce him if he doesn’t hurry up. “Very…” His tongue comes to her thong. “Well…”

She gasps, tensing, then relaxing, when he draws a line along the band of her thong with his tongue, the salvia an all too brief moment of cool before her skin burns with tension, Drake savoring the moment. He comes back to the middle after drifting to the right, then takes the thong between two fingers, lowering it.

There’s no time to talk back to him, offering a witty or sexy quip, Jaela didn’t decide, before he kisses down where the lace is removed, pussy exposed to him. Drake wastes no time to press his mouth to it, fingers digging into the flesh of her ass, eating her out with vigor. He’s done this… Jaela’s lost count of how many times he went down on her… yet each time, Jaela feels like it’s just like the first time all over again, back in the palace at the Homecoming Ball, unbelieving that this is happening.

His fingers offer a grand, rough contrast compared to how delicately his tongue slips between her folds, twisting and flicking in all the right ways. Her forehead touches the sheets and she attempts to steady her breathing as Drake does his work, just like he has every night of this honeymoon. She rocks her hips as his tongue slips between her walls, just for a moment, Drake lifts his head, lips and chin slick with her juices.

“God… if only I could taste you when I look at those pictures…”

Jaela giggles, lifting her head up. Drake gets the rest of her thong off, throwing it somewhere within the expansive room. They lock eyes, the carnal desire in Drake’s expression disappearing when he smiles wide, holding her hips, tip of his cock brushing against her. “You do know that we won’t be separated for a while… there’s no way we’re getting sent on trips alone this soo—oh!”

Drake smirks at her reaction to him entering her, thick shaft stretching her in every way Jaela loved. Her eyes flutter shut while Drake presses his hips flush to hers, letting her adjust… then pulls out to the tip before sliding back in with ease. She’s dripping, really, the posing and anticipation for their final night too much to bear any longer. She wants him—all of him in every way possible. “… There’s no way when we’ve got an heir to make…”

Jaela gulps hard at his words but lets the feeling of him overtake her. Him, in every form. Him, in every way. Him in every… thing she desired from him.

Was she nervous about children? Absolutely. Drake’s fingers twine in her hair, a gentle pull as they meet, feeling every inch of each other. But… somehow, it felt natural to want this, to want to urge on the next chapter of their lives as a couple. After all, isn’t this what the honeymoon of nobles was for? The next chapter?

She throws her hips back to meet his as he thrusts forward, gritting his teeth as he enters her again and again, both building a smooth, familiar rhythm. No words are needed as they connect, their moans and breathy gasps peppering the room. Drake reaches down with one hand and squeezes her breast, tweaking the nipple.

Jaela shudders, coming from the combination of his dick, her own hand, and how he handles her breast, walls squeezing around him. “Fuck—Drake—”

“Good girl,” he gasps. He loves saying that now that he knows how wild it drives her…. Just like how she’s learned exactly what he loves.

There’s a sparkle in her eye when she pulls far enough away that he can’t enter her again. He seems to come out of his stupor, savoring how she feels around his cock, how freeing it is to be with her completely. Drake reaches out, saying, “Huh?” before Jaela turns and backs him against the pillows and headboard, straddling his lap. The confusion is replaced with a smirk, looking her up and down. His hands come around her back, nails raking the sweaty yet smooth skin there. Jaela brushes herself against his tip, hovering—teasing—their stomachs and chests touching in the quiet, tense embrace, waiting for the next move.

Jaela only arches an eyebrow while the cooling sea breeze blows past them, ruffling white the curtains draped around the canopy. Drake, tired of waiting, tries to buck his hips up to connect with her, but Jaela moves faster, rising up. “Not yet…” she purrs, tracing his lips, then dragging her nimble fingers down his chest. “I want to savor the moment. This. Us.”

Drake’s head falls back as Jaela slowly—so, so slowly—lowers herself against him, feeling every inch that enters and stretches in the most delicious ways. They shudder together, drawing in a sharp breath when they fully meet as one. But Jaela doesn’t move, hands on his cheeks, drawing his face to hers. Drake opens his eyes slowly, lazily, holding her thigh. “Mm… Abdi… you make me…”

“Drunk?” she laughs, kissing him hard, circling her hips. Jolts of electricity course through her, starting low, deep in her core then bursting forth through every vein, big and small, setting her alight with so much more than desire. It’s need. It’s want. It’s… the future. She now throws her head back and Drake’s lips don’t leave her, following down her throat to her collarbone, lavishing the skin over and over with his tongue and teeth.

“Always,” he breathes against her, hands sliding to her ass. “You’re everything, Abdi, and these weeks… I’ll never forget them. Us.” Using his teeth on her lower lip, he gently drags her head forward, nose to nose, staring into each other’s dark eyes.

Slowly, Jaela moves her hips, rising. She squeezes him slightly, loving how he groans low against her lips. “Me either, Drake…. I love you,” she whispers, drawing him out till the tip, then, with the same painstaking slowness as before, she lowers herself again, allowing them both to feel every sensation that will send them cresting over the edge in no time. But, Jaela wants to make this moment last as long as it can.

After all, if things go as planned, there won’t be time to savor a world that exists with the two of them. Before long, she knows, there’s going to be more to worry about. To think about. To love with everything they have. But for now? Now, it’s just her. It’s just Drake. And it’s just this bed, Jaela rolling her hips with expert moves, giving Drake just what he likes with her on top.

His lips connect with her breasts, moving between each, lightly sucking then blowing on her nipples as she rides him, time lost to them. Time doesn’t matter as they move together in this moment. She braces her hands on his knees to give him full access and better handling as she moves, eyes hooded, watching him work against her chest. Can he feel how hard her heart is beating for him? How much she loves him? How much she long for these magical weeks—to be one with him over and over without fear of getting caught—for so long?

Does he know that she doesn’t want this moment to end?

Judging by his groaning, how he shakes, hands opening and closing against her back and ass, he knows. And he won’t last too much longer. All good moments must come to an end… but they can only lead to something greater, can’t it? Jaela smiles at the thought of what’ll come next—soon, if this honeymoon was any indicator-- capturing his lips in a hurried kiss, pushing him back against pillows, increasing her pace.

“J—Jaela—”

“Not yet,” she breathes, moving faster. Drake groans in disagreement, but settles, touching her clit with one hand. Jaela tenses herself, but she keeps the pace bouncing on his dick, the sound of her juices and the slapping of slick flesh on slick flesh meeting over and over filling the room to the fullest. “Say my name. Loud— fuck—”

She’s coming from his fingers making quick work of her, combined with how he moves his own hips with hers—and god, the look in his eyes. He wants the same thing as her, perhaps even more. But, all the same. “As you wish, Your Grace—” But he’s cut off with his own moans and groan. Both hands come to her back, hitting hard and leaving a brief sting as Drake holds her closer.

Each other’s names spill and fall from the other’s lips, louder than the squeaking bed and the headboard tapping against the wall. Their bodies, completely entwined and every inch pressed against the other, are on fire—a burning hot fire that’s ready to explode until the end of eternity, both lost to the passion of the other—and the possibility of the future, something that only love can create.

Drake’s cock hits her in the just the right spot, and she bites down hard on Drake’s earlobe. And that’s it—

With a hard, erratic thrust up, lifting their bodies up from the mattress, Drake cries out her name, “—Ja-Jaela!” as he comes, holding her hips down to his, spilling his seed within her. They tremble together, lips finding the other as Jaela circles her hips while Drake weakly moves his hips here and there. His hands, gentler than before, come up to her sides rubbing them while they come down together. Another amazing night in the books. One that certainly won’t be soon forgotten.

Heart pounding, body pulsing, they separate from their kiss, breaking into the grins they always did when the moment was over and all that was left was the afterglow of passion: soft, tender love.

Carefully, as they did every time since they decided three days in that it was worth it to start trying, Jaela removes herself and lays back on the bed. Chest rising and falling, Drake groans but joins her side, snuggling up against her shoulder hand flat across her stomach. He peppers kisses along her shoulder and Jaela shuts her eyes in pleasure, enjoying the feeling. “Mm…”

Drake smiles against her skin and moves closer to her, kissing her temple. “It’s a shame we can’t stay here any longer, Abdi.”

“I know…” She bites her lip, opening her eyes to look into his. She’ll never get tired of how he looks at her with that wonder, that wonder like he can’t believe she’s real. “But… I think…” She glances down to her stomach and sets a hand over Drake’s there. “I… I think I’m ready for what’s next.”

Drake smiles the biggest she’s ever seen before, even bigger than their wedding day. He lights up like a kid at Christmas, giddy with excitement to open his presents. “Really?”

She nods, matching his infectious grin. With a look like that, how can she not be ready for what comes next? “Of course,” she replies, the answer spilling out of her and into the world with ease and confidence. “I’m ready for whatever comes next with you, Walker. Haven’t we always conquered anything that’s come our way? Surely a little baby…” Jaela pauses, looking thoughtfully up at the canopy. “Well, if they have your personality, there might be a few road bumps, but I think we’ll survive. I did marry you, after all. If I can handle you…”

“Then certainly you can handle a clone of me,” he laughs, rolling over her, sealing the moment with a final kiss, their minds wandering away from the island for the first time in two weeks… excited for whatever—whoever—comes next.

Disclaimer: All characters and rights belong to Pixelberry Studios.

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Drake: @fairydustandsarcasm

Fic: @burnsoslow, @sirbeepsalot, @hamulau, @choicelogansbitch,   @indiacater, @aworldoffandoms, @gnatbrain, @pedudley, @moonlightgem7, @nikkisha16

[melliflovs]

Fine Details - Gilbert Blythe

Requested by Anon: I was wondering can u do one where the reader is coles year younger sister & gets bullied just like him, & Gilbert always stands up for her and has always loved her smart brain & her art because she’s just as artsy as cole & one day a drawing falls out of her bag and he picks it up and takes it home because it’s hers, and it falls out in the creek at school one & she sees it and their feelings are reciprocated outside and it’s just so cute??

Word Count: 2,122

Warnings: Bullying, fluff,

Summary: Gilbert finds himself smitten with the artistic girl in the back of the class. He figures it must run in the family.

masterlist

       The walk from the Mackenzie farm to school was typically a peaceful one, during which (y/n) and her brother would stroll along and discuss their latest works of art. Cole Mackenzie was her older brother and all her life she’d looked up to him. Between his kind spirit and artistic skill, she always wanted to be like him. But to Cole, he always wished to be more like his little sister; just as skilled but more innocent. And even though her talent was more openly received by their parents because (y/n) was a girl and an attraction to the arts could one day bring along a suitor, Cole felt no envy for her, just pride. She meant the world to him and was just happy to watch her art flourish.

    It wasn’t entirely uncommon for their walk towards school to get interrupted by Billy Andrews and his small gang of goons. So when he walked across their line of sight and called to them, the siblings didn’t think much of it. “Hey! Mackenzie!” He said as he sauntered over to them with a cruel grin, his gaze fixed directly at Cole. “I was wondering when you two would show up.”

   Cole only grunted lowly in response as he moved slightly closer to his sister. Billy chose to ignore the small movement as his eyes flickered to the paper in his hands, “What’s this? He asked, leaning down at him. His hand reached for the paper, catching Cole off guard as Billy took it from him, eyeing it curiously. On the paper was a beautifully drawn rose. Every curve was precise and it looked almost as if it was a picture. With a scoff Billy showed it to his friends. He moved both his hands to the top of the paper, leaving a small gap in between before looking directly into (y/n)’s eyes with a cruel smirk. The sound of the delicate paper ripping made her flinch. She’d stayed up nearly all night in an attempt to perfect the flower and now it was shredded in two. Billy didn’t stop there as he doubled the paper over, continuing to rip it apart. By the time he finished, it was nothing more than small bits of confetti sprinkled in the mud.

      (y/n) stared at the ground where bits of her art was left. Ruined by Billy. Cole grabbed her arm lightly and tugged her along towards the school. He wished he could’ve fought back but he would’ve been outnumbered. There was nothing he could do. He felt useless as he held onto his little sister, he wasn’t able to protect her when she needed it. 

    (y/n) sat at her desk in the back of the class, carefully shading in her latest drawing. It was of the creek than ran through Avonlea. She defined the small ripples in the water as it ran down stream and to the edge of the page. As she continued to work she became focused on her art, closing out everything around her. (y/n) was always careful not to get caught. In the past she’d seen Cole get shamed for his artwork and was determined to keep her hobby off Mr. Phillips radar.

   Gilbert watched her with awe. Even though he couldn’t see what she was working on, he knew the end result would be magnificent. It was clear she had talent, possibly more than her brother who always showed up to class with clay under his nails. He continued to watch her as she stilled for a moment, stopping to admire her own work with a soft smile on her face. The sound of the teacher clearing his throat obnoxiously caught her attention as he continued to blab on about a subject that no one understood - or even cared about. Gilbert continued to take small glances at her whenever he got a chance. It had become a common thing over the past few weeks and often found himself turning to look at her subsciously. Unfortunately, that’s what got him caught. 

     When his eyes connected with (y/n) from across the small schoolhouse for a moment he couldn’t look away. Even from a distance he could clearly see how the light reflected off her pupils and lit them up. No matter what situation (y/n) was in, he always thought she looked beautiful. But as he regained his wits he was reminded that it isn’t considered cute to stare directly at a pretty girl so begrudgingly he turned away, looking back down at his desk. 

     As lunch arrived Gilbert was immediately swarmed by the other boys in the class. All of them scrambling to speak with him, each of them wanting to earn his attention. From the corner of his eye Gilbert spotted (y/n), still sitting in the back corner as she smiled at her brother and continued moving the pencil gracefully over the paper. 

  His gaze returned to the boys around him as Billy shoved his way to the front with a scoff. “You lookin at her, Blythe?” He questioned with a sneer. Gilbert tried his best to ignore the rude boy but he continued on, pestering him until he got an answer. Billy looked at two of his friends standing behind him, nuding them lightly with his elbow. “Guess Gilbert here wants to date a Mackenzie family reject. Huh, Bud?” 

   “I thought we went over this Billy, I’m not your bud.” Gilbert said, standing up from his chair, matching Billy’s height as they stared each other down. Billy was the first to cave, lifting his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine, fine” He said pausing a moment before a smirk coated his features “Bud.”

   Gilbert was the first the move, lunging for Billy as he grabbed onto his shirt. Pulling him close, Gilbert got in his face speaking slowly and clearly so everyone got the message, not just him. “I am not, was not, and will never be your bud. Next time you speak, you speak with respect or else next time it’ll be my fist. Not just my words.” Gilbert glanced around the room for a second, everyone was watching. Even (y/n) had stopped drawing for a moment to watch it unravel. “Now, apologize to her.” 

   “W-What?” Billy asked, unsure of what Gilbert wanted as he was held up by his sweater. 

    “Apologize to (y/n).” 

 Billy moved his head to the side to look at her. When his eyes met hers it was clear he was afraid and when the words left his lips she revelved in the sound. It was like music to her ears. “I’m s-sorry (y/n). For everything I swear it.” She nodded at him, acknowledging his apologie as Gilbert let him go. The pair clearly satisfied with how it ended. As (y/n) went back to her art she couldn’t help but peak back at Gilbert, a small smile on her face as she watched him ruffle his hair with his hand. A faint blush coating his cheeks as he talked to his friends. 

     School had finally ended, and resulted to be far more eventful than usual as everyone packed up their things in preparation to go home. Cole walked over to her with a ball of clay in one hand and his hat in the other, rushing her so he could run off with Anne and Diana to sculpt. (y/n) grabbed her bag and coat, leaving with her brother. 

   Gilbert watched her walk out the door as he slung his bag over his shoulder. Walking to the door he spotted a paper face down on the ground by her desk. Curious, he flipped it over and was immediately awestruck. In all honesty he’d never seen her work up close like this, always from a distance. He knew she was talented but the art in his hands blew him away. Gilbert recognized the exact spot that she modeled the drawing after. Every fine detail outlined perfectly. Heading for the door himself he took off towards his next destination.

    (y/n) walked through the creeks as the cool water rushed past her ankles. She focused on the sounds and feelings as she got out of the creek, sitting down on a nearby log and reaching for her supplies. Almost every day Cole would walk her there because it’s where she got all her inspiration. The stream brought out the best in her. If she focused on her surroundings she could bring almost anything to life on paper.

   Picking up a pencil she began to outline the trees around her, recreating the scene she was sitting in. As she continued to draw the pencil seemed to grow a mind of its own. Despite her original plans for the piece she began outlining a delicate figure standing in the center. Dark curls and a heavy sweater made her head race. It was clear where her art had gone, her inspiration and her muse clashing together in a mix of lead and lines. 

    She softly blew on the paper when she was done, getting rid of the excess lead. The drawing looked more like a photograph with film than a paper and pencil. She beamed down at the drawing as she admired her work. (y/n) considered herself to be a fairly humble person but when she looked down at her work she knew she’d outdone herself. 

  It looked stunning.

 Her marveling was cut short by a voice from behind her. “Is that me?”

    (y/n) bit back a scream as he caught her by surprise. She pulled the paper close to her body, shielding it from his view. Completely off guard she struggled to find her words. “I, uh. G-Gilbert what are you doing out here?” 

     He smiled at her. “Answering a question with a question, smart.” The black haired boy pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, “Actually, I was looking for you. Thought maybe you should have this back.” When he handed the page back she immediately recognized it as her own. She never even noticed she’d lost it to begin with.” 

  “Thank you.” She said, looking up at him. “For everything you did today. I mean it, you were amazing.” Gilbert shrugged at her comment shly scratching his back. She had no idea the effect she had over him, Gilbert found himself a flustered mess around her. None the less he managed to pull off the calm and cute facade and the girl in front of him was none the wiser. 

   “It was no big deal. Besides, someone has to put Billy in his place everyone one in a while.” She bobbed her head in response, slowly loosening her grip on the paper. 

   “So,” Gilbert began. “Is that me? Either way it looks amazing.” 

    She looked down in shame, a soft “Yes.” coming from her lips. He couldn’t help the smile that crept on his face at her answer. It made his heart skip a beat as she slowly revealed it to him. 

     “I love it.” 

 (y/n) looked up from the ground with wide eyes. “You really think so?” 

   “Are you kidding me? Your art never fails to amaze me, you never fail to amaze me. You’re absolutely brilliant, (y/n). Just to add to that, you’re also ridiculously beautiful and talented.” Gilbert began to speak animatedly about how much he adored her - and of course, her art. While (y/n) was good with art, he excelled in words and it showed as happy tears began to fill her eyes. 

   She’d never received praise like that before. Cole had always been more critical of his own art, and it often carried over to hers but he was always supportive. But to hear someone talk about her art with admiration in their eyes was a completely different experience. With a surge of emotion (y/n) bolted forward into Gilberts arms. He tensed for a moment, shocked at her reaction at first but shortly relaxed as he wrapped his arms around her. 

   “I think I like more than just your art.” He whispered calmly, his heart racing with anticipation until he thought it would burst. 

    “Oh, yeah?”

   “Yeah, and I’ll ask Cole’s permission if I have too.” Gilbert couldn’t stop the smile from growing on his face as he heard her giggle at his joke.

   “I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” She said, slowly distancing herself from him. She wished she hadn’t, immediately missing the feeling of his arms around her. 

  “Good. He scares me.”

    With another laugh she pushed him away lightly, not getting very far as he caught her wrist and pulled her back into him. They never wanted to let go, and they supposed they didn’t have to - at least until Cole came back to walk her home.

[lexiseigneur]

Chapter four: Acts of cruelty

Ao3

The truck lifted dust off the road which flew into the ochre light. Lexi’s stomach dropped and twisted as she considered what they were doing. This amounted to piracy. Never in her thirty years of life would she have imagined pulling off such a stunt.

“Can you hear how many there are?” She whispered to the dhampir lying a meter to her left.

His head twitched to the side in concentration.

“There are two Strigoi and the human driver.”

Lexi hid her admiration. The man had enough of an ego without her letting on what she found impressive about him. Now that was one impressive thing about him, the size of his ego. Two small charges were buried under the road and the vehicle barreled toward them. Quinlan had already prepared a rifle and was now uncovering the switch to activate the bombs. Lexi stared at the small instrument. Those were her last explosive charges and they would use them to steal blood of all things. The memory of his barely restrained hunger kept her from complaining. Sleeping was difficult enough on a normal day. Since Quinlan had more or less kicked his way into her life and destroyed her carefully established routine, rest had been rarer still. She did not fool herself into thinking that the small lock on her door would stop him if he truly wanted to get to her. The pressure behind her eyes increased every day and she needed to sleep.

“You should cover your ears.” He said and flipped the switch.

Lexi clasped her gloved palms on her lobes. The explosion sent debris flying over their heads. Still intact, the truck had stopped. There was a gaping hole just ahead of it. A Strigoi made its way out and Quinlan took aim but did not shoot until the second stepped out. Then within seconds, both bodies hit the ground. The driver was slumped over the wheel, unconscious or dead.

“We should help him.” Said Lexi as she stood.

Quinlan’s arm shot up to hold her.

“We will do no such thing. I cannot be seen.”

While organizing this mission, the dhampir had been clear that if the Master thought him dead, there was no reason to refute that belief. Lexi glared, shook her arm free of his grasp and retorted:

“Well, I can.”

His expression was difficult to read with the combination of hood and large sunglasses.

“Do as you wish. I will not assist you.”

“I did not count on it.” She replied with a smirk.

Both descended to the truck. His footsteps sounded like raindrop as he used his fantastic speed to transfer the liquid cargo to their own vehicle. The driver was a young man, probably younger than she was. His forehead bled from a nasty gash but he still breathed. She took his gun and put it in her own pocket. More weapons always sounded good. The man was not as heavy as she expected. But that was a stupid expectation. Since the Fall, nobody was as heavy as they should be. Not even collaborators. She pulled him off the road and away from Quinlan who still worked quickly.

“What?”

The man startled. Lexi swore as she had not expected him to regain consciousness before their departure. His head lolled up and their gaze met. She stumbled away at the expression of pure hatred.

“Terrorist cunt!” He yelled and immediately reached for his weapon.

The emptiness of his holster jolted him awake completely. He jumped at her, his large hands outstretched. The firearm was already in her fist. She lifted it just as Quinlan appeared between them. He impaled the man with the bone-hilted sword. The driver stared at his wound in confusion then at Quinlan’s face in horror. The stinger collided with his naked throat, producing a wet thud. Within three seconds his face turned ashen and in less than twenty seconds, he was dead. Only then did Quinlan remove his sword from the body. The warrior wiped the metal clean on the black uniform of his victim. Lexi did feel horror at his death but much less than she had anticipated. Guilt and sorrow were crushing her for other reasons. The man had died experiencing her worst nightmare. Had this happened to him as well? The trucker’s face became one with that of a thin man wearing rimless glasses. This was her fault because she had been too slow… That suffering was entirely on her. She locked the rising grief in the small dark room and turned to the dhampir.

“Why did you do that, Quinlan?”

“As I recall…he attacked you.”

Lexi nodded in agreement. This was an undeniable fact and she pointed at the gun in her hand.

“Yes, I was going to shoot him.”

“Then what is the meaning of your question?”

“You have a literal truckload of blood, just for you. You did not need his.”

Quinlan brow furrowed slightly. She could not tell whether it was irritation or confusion. Lexi sighed.

“You could have killed him in an instant without him ever understanding what was happening.”

Her voice was very low and measured as it always was when she used the small dark room.

 “You don’t have to be kind…but you do not need to be cruel.”

Then the absolute pointlessness of her comments struck her and she added:

“Forget about it, it’s not like I can stop you from doing whatever it is that you wanna do.”

Quinlan put the sword back in its sheath. He smirked menacingly.

“You are correct. By that, I refer to your last statement.”

Lexi chuckled and the smirk vanished.

“I fully expected you to agree with that one…Alright, let’s light this mess on fire.”

Quinlan dumped the dead Strigoi in the back of the empty truck and she pulled the driver back in his seat. Black smoke billowed as they drove away at neck-breaking speed. The blood sloshed in the back where half a dozen empty bags laid on the floor. She had not even had time to see him feed. Quinlan must have been secretly quite desperate. And the day they had met, he had not even had the benefit of animal blood. Lexi moved uncomfortably in her seat at the idea creeping in her mind.

“That’s what you wanted to do to me. That first day.”

Quinlan did not answer right away and she thought for a second that he had not heard.

“Yes, when you pointed your gun at me that was my intention.”

Well, at least his honesty was refreshing.

“Why didn’t you?”

The sun was going down and the yellowish light darkened further. Quinlan removed his sunglasses and put them in his pocket.

“Because you lowered the gun.”

Lexi shuddered. Unknowingly, she had been moments from death.

“Unless you are immune to cyanide, I would have taken you with me.”

His gaze shifted in recollection.

“The thing in your breast pocket. It was poison?”

“Yes.”

For a reason privy to him, he smiled.

“I do not believe that I am immune to such substance. So yes, we would have perished together.”

“How very romantic.” Sneered Lexi.

The sun was a faint line of dirty light on the horizon.

“Why are you divulging this information? The pill will now be useless against me.”

Lexi rolled her eyes.

“Do you plan on murdering me and forgot to tell me about it?”

Quinlan laughed. It was a bark-like, booming noise so unexpected that Lexi found herself smiling.

“No, I have not. My plans require you to stay alive.”

“Voilà! On est d’accord.”

She cringed. Her native language crept back up in moments of intense exhaustion. Quinlan did not immediately remark on it she hoped he would ignore it.

“Vous parlez français?”

She winced at the total absence of accent. If it were not for the low rumble accompanying his voice, this could have been a compatriot speaking.

“It’s my mother tongue. I don’t feel like speaking it at the moment. It just came out.”

The familiar words and intonations were like knives in her brain. They brought back the memories of all that was lost. Of the one she had lost. English allowed for an emotional detachment she craved. That she needed.

“Very well.”

Still, there was one thing she could not let go.

“Even if we did speak it…You don’t use “Vous” with me, come on…It makes me feel old.”

And disconnected. The polite form was used to address strangers. Quinlan was still very much a stranger but she had just spent an entire year alone with a cat. As distasteful as she found him, he was still company. Another soul.

“Do not worry…you are still very young.”

Lexi tried to decipher the real meaning behind those words. He probably implied that she lacked his wisdom. The swirls on his neck were very flushed and she turned away as her thoughts wandered to the truck driver. She tossed those back in the black room mercilessly. At the end of times, messed up things happened and she could not let all of them tear her apart.

“You should sleep. We will not arrive at the compound for several hours.”

Keeping her eyes open was a difficult task but she knew she would never sleep for longer than five minutes. She would just end up frustrated. Her head moved at the rhythm of the drive and she drifted.

The small woman’s breathing was now regular and deep. At the back, the wet sounds of the blood resonated and filled him with intense satisfaction. It had been a long time since he had had the luxury of a base of operations and the perks were undeniable. He glanced at the small form on the passenger seat. Human associates also had perks. However, this one was particularly irritating and opinionated. Her words wormed their way through his mind. “You do not need to be cruel.” Excessively irritating. Forming moralistic opinions was easy without the burden of a lifelong mission. The scene replayed in his mind’s eye with its usual accuracy. The anguish on her face as she stared at the dead man and then the sudden calmness rising from within. The distress had melted away from her traits in an instant. He had thought her in shock until she had started speaking.

The woman whispered in her sleep and her muscles contracted. She awoke but remained motionless. Quinlan estimated that she had slept for less than an hour. This aspect of her, he also found deeply inconvenient. The constant state of exhaustion diminished her value considerably. Her issue was on par with that of the late Dr. Goodweather. Both insomnia and alcohol abuse dulled senses, intelligence, and physical strength. Those human weaknesses were a plague. He conceded that at the very least, hers was involuntary.  The rest of the trip, she only dozed asleep for a few minutes at a time.

The blood was placed into a chest freezer that Lexi did not use often. Quinlan seemed particularly satisfied with their bounty but also, deeply relieved. The folds and swirls adorning his neck were redder than she had ever seen. Considering the events of that day, she was quite convinced that training was off the table. For that reason, as the dhampir cleaned and oiled his weapons, she had a quick dinner and a shower. The road dust settled on the tiled floors when she cut off the water. Clean, fed and tired she sat at her drawing table and doodled mindlessly. Her thoughts tried to wander to the driver’s fate but she controlled them. The words she had uttered just after lingered. Was she a hypocrite? Could she scold him for being cruel? She was not without sin in that regard. Lexi cringed at the word sin. Memories seeped through that door in her head.

Lexi was crouching in a corner, hugging her knees and crying. Sitting on the floor on the other side of the room, her mother rocked while wailing. The bible she held was wet with her tears. Lexi observed her face, so deformed by anguish as to cease being human. The woman was even starting to drool slightly and it mixed with the blood from her cut lip. This scene, all of it, was painfully familiar. A perceived slight, a burned meal or a displeasing glance and this was how her father’s punishments ended. Every single time. And as always, Lexi would cry, hug her mother and…nothing. Things would stay the same and the cycle would repeat. Her eyes widened with that realization. And as she looked at her mother, expecting to feel pity and love, she found herself filled with contempt. Did Lexi appear as pathetic when she cried? The tears dried instantly and she stood. The eight-year-old girl ignored the pain in her back and approached the adult woman. Why was her mother so weak? The desire to slap her across the face and make her quiet was shocking to the child. She pushed that violent urge into the back of her mind, into a dark undiscovered corner. Then she locked it behind a small door. The woman spread her arms to receive her daughter’s embrace. Lexi stood still, looked into her mother’s face and said: “One day, he will kill you.”

Then she slapped the Bible out of her hands. The woman gasped in surprise and horror. Lexi ran out of the room. Then the girl fled the house and only stopped running when she no longer recognized her surroundings.

Lexi was fifteen and her parents had been divorced for six years. Due to her stubbornness, she had managed to avoid visiting her father for the past three years. Even after he had called to announce his cancer diagnosis, she had not relented. That day, because he was dying and she was his only relative, she had gone to see him at the hospital. Lexi was disgusted at his gaunt appearance but even more so at his words.

“Pray with me, Alexandra.”

The teenager waited for the nurse to leave the room to reply.

“Do you think you are going to heaven, dad?”

He appeared confused. Lexi marveled at the mental gymnastics of her progenitor. This monster thought himself a good man.

“If one repents…” He started in a feeble voice.

“If God sends you to Heaven, then I will look forward to Hell.” She interrupted.

The man stared in horror, much like her mother had that dreadful day. This time Lexi did not need to push her feelings away. She enjoyed the pain she inflicted.

“I’ll pray with you.” She spat with her lips rising in revulsion.

For hours after each beating, she had read the Bible with her mother. Drawing on that knowledge, she selected a sentence that had always resonated with her. Then she stood and while leaving said:

“As I walk in the valley of the shadow of death, I will not fear you ”

The man had died alone later that day.

Those were Lexi’s most shameful memories. Where she had wielded her words, not unlike the way Quinlan wielded his sword. More shameful still, because she did not regret them. The woman was still drawing and as her mind wandered, the outlines of cats formed on the paper. One turned out more elaborate. Hairless with clear blue eyes. She giggled while adding stripes to its face. A knock on her door startled her. Quinlan had never dared disturb her during that quiet time in the evening. Although he had already seen that room, she went to the door and only opened it a crack. It was her private space and not even his gaze would be allowed inside.

“What?” She asked quite rudely.

Her nerves were raw from sleep deprivation, the events of the day and the reminiscing.

“Your day is not over. You have not yet trained.”

“I’ve already showered…”

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. His arms were crossed on his large chest.

“You seem to be under the mistaken impression that I was asking.”

He stepped back and headed to the gym.

“Do not make me come back and get you.”

His voice echoed from across the compound, full of threats. Lexi fumed with indignation. Today, she would manage to strike his stupid striped face.

[swellwriting]

Slight Differences - Part Two

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Warnings:  None

A/N: i’m probably not doing another part to this but if you want more George send in some requests!

Word Count: 2.8k       Part One

George and Fred had a little test they liked to pull on girls, to determine if they were worth the time. If Fred was interested in a girl George would go talk to her, pretending to be Fred and if the girl didn’t catch on or couldn’t tell the difference then the relationship wouldn’t turn into much after that.

It was important for the twins that the person they were dating could tell them apart, it showed they cared and payed attention. George made his way back home and went upstairs to his room, Fred coming in shortly after.

“So you and the neighbor girl got along really well.” Fred teased jumping into his bed.

“It’s nothing really, we are just friends, you’re just jealous she took a liking to me over you.”

George said with his back turned to his twin as he was trying to sleep.

“Nah, I figured I get all the girls so I’ll let you have a go at this one.” Fred continued to tease.

“I’m not ‘having a go’ at her, I want to get to know her and be her friend and if she wants more than maybe it will go further.” George explained.

“Woah, you actually really like her George! When are we gonna test her, we should give her at least a week.”

“You could have tested her before she went home.” George said a smile creeping on his face that was half hidden under his blankets.

“No way mate, after one night she would not be able to tell us apart no way.” Fred laughed at the idea, people who had known them all their lives couldn’t tell them apart no way some girl they just met could.

“No, that’s one of the first things she said she would do, by the time dinner was done she said she would be able to tell us apart, and she did! She pointed out every detail even some I didn’t notice.”

“So that’s why you’ve fallen so hard so fast, she really must be something. We should bring her to the lake tomorrow with us.” Fred said. It’s not like he was usually neglecting to new people but this new information he learned about you made you seem like someone he wanted to know.

“We are going to the lake tomorrow?” George asked, this was news to him.

“Well we are now I just made the plan up, it’s our last days before Hogwarts and that lake is a lot less swimmable.” Fred joked, people sometimes swam in the lake at Hogwarts but there were far too many creatures that lied deep within, the small lake by their house was a lot…friendlier.

The next morning you woke to your aunt tapping on your door, so light that it almost didn’t wake you up, the small rays of light shining from your window could wake you up faster.

“Come in.” You spoke in your groggy morning voice.

“Good morning hun, well its closer to afternoon, there is a Weasley boy at the door for you.”

You were lying down when she walked in, hair sprawled out over your pillow and drool drying on your cheek. When you heard this you shot up, not prepared for anything the day would bring.

“He’s here? At the door?” You questioned head reeling with memories of last night, the way you innocently held hands and walked home.

“Well he’s sitting in the kitchen now, I didn’t leave him standing outside. Just get tidied up I’m making breakfast and then you can get ready and go out, or whatever it is you guys are doing.”

Your aunt was great at taking care of you but she had no experience with the whole young love thing so she was just trying her best and not trying to suffocate you.

“Okay I’ll be down in like five minutes.” You said as she walked out the door. You quickly brushed your hair out returning it to its semi tame natural state, washed your face and as elegantly as every girl can you slipped on your bralette underneath your shirt without even taking it off which was a magic trick of its own kind.

You put on your slippers and made your way to the kitchen where George was sitting patiently.

Your rubbed your eyes and sat down beside him, “Morning.” you smiled at him.

“You’re just getting up? You’re so lucky my siblings would never let me sleep in.” He spoke as he took in all your features, you looked so cute in your oversized t-shirt and pajama shorts that were almost hidden by your shirt.

“Oh I think she loves to sleep more than anything.” Your aunt chimed in as she placed a few pieces of French toast in front of the two of you.

“I can’t argue with that.” You admitted grabbing a piece and pouring syrup on it.

“Did you eat already George? Your welcome to have some!” Your aunt asked but didn’t wait for an answer before making him a plate which he gladly accepted.

“You like sleeping, I love eating.” He said as he shoved a piece into his mouth. You both ate and shared light conversation.

“Is there a reason you came here or where you just hungry?” You asked as he finished his juice.

“Oh, yeah we are going to the lake if you wanted to come, I forgot to mention that earlier.” He blushed bashfully realizing he completely forgot why he came here when he saw you.

“Oh to go swimming? Sure I just have to change.”

You changed into your bathing suit and pulled a light summer dress over top. In all honesty you hated bathing suits how is anyone comfortable in these things, exposed stomach and butt almost completely out, not to mention finding one that actual stayed tight to your chest. No matter what cup size it’s so easy to have a slip and boom you are exposed to the entire pool, or lake in this scenario.

You grabbed a back pack and put a large beach towel inside as well as some other things you might need. You and George made your way back towards his house but as you spotted Ginny you sped up your pace.

“Oh are you more excited to see my sister than me?” He joked keeping up with you.

“Well maybe I’m just trying to race you there.” You joked back now running ahead of him, as you ran your dress blew up in the breeze and George got a sight of your body underneath losing all chances of beating you there, forgetting he was even supposed to be racing you until you looked back at him. He quickly snapped back in to reality and caught up to you, it didn’t help that you were running in flip flops.

His mind replayed the small sight, it was like slow motion and he couldn’t wait until you went swimming and took off that dress. He instantly felt bad for thinking of you like that shutting that out of his mind, you weren’t just some object for him to ogle at.

You caught up with Ginny and listened to her talk and talk as you walked down to the lake, Ron led the way showing Harry and Hermione all the different things on the way there, like the tree he fell out of when he was eight and the path he went down and got lost once.

George and Fred walked behind you also deep in conversation.

“She’s actually quite attractive George, I don’t know why I didn’t notice sooner.” Fred said to his twin brother trying to push his buttons.

“No, no noticing stop noticing, you missed your chance.” George argued quietly not wanting you to hear.

“No I don’t think so, you don’t appear to have made a move yet, she’s not even walking with you.”

“She doesn’t have to, don’t ruin this Fred, we will be back at Hogwarts in no time and you can chase after Angelina again.”

“You’re right, soon we will be back at Hogwarts and she will be the new girl that every boy wants to know, you’re running out of tiiime” Fred sung the last word and he walked ahead to bug his younger brother.

George instantly panicked, although Fred was just bugging him about stealing you from him he was right about all the other guys at Hogwarts who would want you, he had to make some sort of move to show you that he wanted more than just friendship from you, but he didn’t want to scare you away either.

When you arrived at the lake you put down your towel and sat far enough from the water to stay dry while you soaked up the sunlight.

“Are you going to swim?” George asked sitting down beside you while Harry, Ron and Hermione argued over the water and who would jump in first, it was hot outside but the water was rather cold.

“Yeah, I’m just enjoying the sun first.” You slipped your dress over your head leaving you in just your bathing suit. George’s breath caught in his throat as you sat beside him so exposed, he tried not to stare and think of something to say.

Your skin looked so soft with the sunlight reflecting off it making your skin shine, he wanted nothing more than run his fingers over your skin and feel you. He suppressed those thoughts.

“Well come feel the water at least.” George asked, planning to force you into the water.

You had no idea of his intentions. “Sure.” You agreed walking in front of him and dipping your toes into the cold refreshing water.

George almost ruined his own plans when you walked in front of him, he wasn’t trying to stare at your ass but it was just right in front of him. When he looked up he noticed his brother staring at him making a face of judgment at his wandering eyes.

He quickly came up behind you and placed his hands on your waist, his hands lingered for a few seconds too long, he got lost in the feeling but quickly remembered he was trying to push you in, he gave a little nudge and you fell into the water.

When you came back up you turned around to see George standing there and laughing, he took off his shirt and threw it giving you a minute to admire his ginger hair reflecting the sunlight and his body that had been very well defined by playing Quidditch, then he jumped in beside you splashing you once again.

You pushed his shoulder away from you “George you , you..”

“What? What are you going to call me?” He teased swimming away from you. Your brain resorted to muggle swears as they instantly ran through your mind.

“You fucker! I swear, I can’t believe you did that.” You playfully yelled at him splashing him.

He swam up to you and grabbed ahold of your hands and pinned them behind your back playfully but when he pulled your arms back you were pulled flush to him. Your face was inches from his causing both of you to freeze and hold your breath.

You stayed still like that unsure of what to do until Fred Jumped into the water right beside the two of you pushing you both underwater.

-

The rest of the week went on like that, sharing long glances, holding hands as he walked you home, lingering touches and trapped breaths.

On the last summer night before Hogwarts you were all sat inside seeking warmth from the cool summer night that was setting after being in the sun all day.

“I’m so cold I should go home.” You spoke rubbing your arms as you sat at the table.

George sat beside you his face dropping at your words. “No, I can walk you home or you could wear my sweater…you know if you want to.”

“Oh sure, if you have one, I could probably fit in one of Ginny’s if you want.” You both were so awkward about something some simple.

“No, I uh, come upstairs I’ll let you pick I promise they are clean.” His face was growing red at the idea of you coming into his room, you walked up the stairs taking a hold of his hand as he guided you.

You entered the messy room filled with various items for pranks and such.

“Which side of the room is yours?” you asked not wanting to intrude on Fred’s stuff since he didn’t even know you were in here.

George was thankful that Fred had gone outside or he would be in here ruining your rare moment alone together.

“Oh this sides mine here.” He pointed and you went and sat on his bed crossing your legs up and waiting for him to grab you a sweater, he grabbed one that looked a bit big and had been recently worn by him.

He held it in his hands and was unsure what to do, he walked and sat beside you on the bed holding it in his hands not looking at you.

You stuck your arms up, signaling for him to put the sweater over your head but as he moved toward you with it his knee slipped from the blankets and he ended up sort of pinning you to the bed, his face inches from yours again.

You looked into his eyes as he tried to get up mumbling an apology but you grabbed his cheeks and pulled him back down, kissing him roughly.

Your hands were so cold on his cheeks, he pulled you up with him so you were both sitting again not breaking the kiss. He placed his large warm hands over yours warming them up.

He pulled away from the kiss. “Merlin you’re so cold.” He said rubbing your hands still on his cheeks.

“You should warm me up then.” You said leaning in to kiss him again, you straddled his lap as his tongue entered your mouth, his hands lifting up your dress feelings your cold skin against his fingers, much different than earlier in the sun, he was just about to reach up to your chest when the door opened and you jumped backwards off of George.

“Woah, so this is where the two of you went? Mum would love to hear you two are snogging in our room.” Fred said laughing as he took in your ruffled states.

“Fred don’t please she won’t leave us alone if you tell her.” George pleaded with his brother.

“Don’t worry, I’m no rat.” He said patting his brother on the shoulder. “You took my advice anyways.” Fred smiled, but when he saw your confused face he got an idea.

“Oh wait, you totally didn’t kiss her first! She kissed you! Ah I knew she was a bold one.” He chuckled having fun lightheartedly making fun of his brother.

“Does it really matter who kissed who first.” George said as he threw his sweater into your lap you pulled it over your head enjoying the warmth and smell that lingered on it.

“It does when you’re a Gryffindor you’re supposed to be brave.” Fred continued.

“Well, I’m a Gryffindor too!” You pointed out.

“You certainly are.” Fred smiled as he walked out of the room.

“You guys better come downstairs before mum wonders where you’ve been off to.” Fred yelled while making his way down the stairs.

You looked over to George who looked beyond flustered, but when he looked up and saw you looking at him, he quickly closed the space between the two of you kissing you again but this time being the first to make the move. You almost got back to where you left off until Fred yelled from halfway down the stairs.

“It doesn’t take that long to grab a sweater.”

George pulled away resting his forehead on yours “Oh fuck off Fred.” He quietly said.

You just giggled and placed a quick kiss on his lips “Come on we better go outside, I’m nice and warm now.” You said standing up and taking his hand making your way down the stairs.

As you made your way outside you ran into Mrs. Weasley who gave you a knowing look, smiling at the sight of you two holding hands, her heart warmed.

You were now much more excited for Hogwarts, not only did you have six people there that you knew already but you also looked forward to sneaking around with George.

Maybe changing schools and moving across the world wasn’t such a bad thing after all, you had never been happier.

[ais-n]

Hi Ais! Sorry to bother you. I just need someone to talk to about this. I have been writing since i was like 15. My dream have always been to write a book. And i have started a lot of them but never finished anything. It’s like i get stuck at one point and feel my story is trash so i stop. Sometimes i find my plot boring and stupid and other times it’s my own inability to properly put it into words. I admire you and i wish i could write like you. I hope you never stop writing wonderful stories❤️

You’re so sweet, thank you!

I’m not sure if it would help to get a long ass rambling answer to this to encourage you to keep going based on my personal experience… but just in case it would, here goes:

It’s really hard to actually finish projects… starting them is so much easier. I get to a point where I’m like, “This is trash!” and/or I grow bored, and then I kind of peter out. I also have this unfortunate aspect of my personality where I figure I’m pretty unimportant and invisible, therefore what I have to say or write isn’t that particularly necessary for others to see, therefore it’s not that big of a deal if I just never post anything I did because I’d just be cluttering up the space where actual good writers or actual interesting people would be speaking instead. 

Sometimes I just want to write a story to see where it goes, and then once I get to a point I can figure out how it will probably end, and if no one else is reading it or interested in it, I’m kind of like, well I know how it ends so I guess there’s no real point in writing the rest of it out or posting it because that’s just extra work for no reason. It was a combination of that thought process, and the feeling of “this is trash! Start over!” that had me writing and rewriting and dropping and restarting and editing and dropping and rewriting Incarnations since I was 12-14… I keep forgetting if I started at 12, 13, or 14 on that book. I think 14? But then maybe it was actually 13? idek.

Point being, that was a book that I started, stopped, started, stopped, dropped entirely, on and off for years. The idea would be really strong in my head but then sometimes I’d forget about it for years, then remember it for a while, then avoid it because I felt like a failure. What I know is when I first wrote it, I got 150 pages before I thought it was trash and totally stopped it. In the ensuing 15ish years, I would think of that world and want to do something in it but I just did not want to pick up where I had left off. So what I did was I kept starting new scenes, creating new characters, adding new aspects to the world, and each time I’d get a little ways into it and then go UGH THIS IS BORING or THIS IS TRASH and stop/drop it again, until the next time when I started something new again. 

Around 2012, for Nanowrimo I tried starting it up again. I looked at the bits and pieces I’d written over the years, grabbed one of the scenes that seemed more interesting, started with that and ran with it. I met the requirements for nano, I liked the characters, I liked the new concept, but I still wasn’t sold on the book. I was kind of bored at the end of it because I didn’t fully know where I wanted to go with it… I was a little overwhelmed. It still didn’t really click with me to keep working on it again. I left it on the backburner for more years. 

At one point, I created a Scrivener project for it, and then as the years passed and I’d get a brief idea for something, I’d go open it up and throw that info into a note, or add a new document exploring the idea, or whatever. Sometimes I’d write another short scene, other times I’d just do that and go.

Sometimes I tried to do other stuff related to it which was not writing the actual book… like I created some Sims to look like the characters, to see if I wanted to change anything in the description when I got an idea of it visually. Far more recently, I started making some of the key buildings in Sims so I could get inspired for more details on those. Are they accurate? Absolutely not. But they gave me ideas. Same as I tried to store the inspiration I’d get when watching tv shows or movies or whatever, and it would make me think of the characters or world or some other aspect. If I was inspired to write, I’d go write a note or scene right then, but if it was just a vague inspiration I would just try to focus on it when it was there, and really acknowledge the importance of feeling that inspiration, but then not actually do anything about it. But that would keep it in my mind.

Another thing I did when I really wanted to write was I would go to sleep thinking about an aspect of the story, to try to make myself dream something related, so I would wake up with inspiration.

I also tried to inspire myself by buying some physical organization materials – I got a bunch of whiteboards so I could figure things out by writing it out, and I got a huge roll of white butcher paper so I could hand draw massive timelines for the characters to lay out their events and see whose overlapped with whose; I got a corkboard and pinned index cards and sticky notes to it and then took different colored strings and connected them across the board according to various criteria. I got notebooks and wrote out ideas and notes on the magic system and all sorts of things. I had gotten to a point where I was glad to have all the digital information but sometimes I needed something physical to work on, something tangible, so I felt like I actually had accomplished something and it wasn’t just in my head. I also made a book cover for the book (digitally) to remind myself to keep working on it, and made a digital map of the world with the help of a friend who’s good with geology so I had a reference I could hang about my computer.

Every time I had a thought or idea, or I had this vague restlessness of wanting to work on something but not feeling like actually writing, I tried to do something else related to it in some form. Usually world building or character creation of some sort, but sometimes just thinking about things.

I tried a lot of things, but in all honesty I figured I would never, ever finish that story. But then one day, and I don’t even remember what the catalyst was to be honest, it just… clicked. I had an idea for something, and when I went to write down that idea or do whatever with it, I remembered other notes I’d left over the years, other scenes, and I started looking at the massive amount of information I had compiled - and I realized, holy shit, I know how to connect this all. I found a way to pull together a lot of stories I’d made which I thought were all totally disconnected, and bring them into one theme. And when I did that, all these questions I had for this or that aspect of this or that, suddenly had really interesting answers or ideas I could roll with. 

I found a way to stop being bored. And now, when I find that I just really really don’t want to do the next thing, I try a few times to make myself do it if I’m just feeling like I’m being lazy, but if repeated attempts are unsuccessful then I throw myself a curveball in the story or plot or characters, and it becomes fun again to write and plot it out as I try to figure out how to integrate that. I do that until I run out of steam, and try the same things again.

Because of that, a couple of years ago, I finished the book, and I was really happy with it. I’m still proud of myself for finishing writing it, but now I’m on a two year slump of editing the damn thing. 

When I think back to the original story I wrote when I was younger, versus the book it became now and the series it’s starting, they are VERY different despite the fact that have the same initial basis. In fact, the original heroine of the book is now technically sort of a villain. Her story is the same; I just flipped the perspective. The original book was very base; I mean, at the time, I felt it would be interesting to write because it was a young woman as the main character with all the power, at a time when almost all the main characters I found to read were young men. 

But the thing is, it was otherwise a super basic concept. Young woman suddenly finds out she’s the chosen one, lots of cool magic, she goes through her whole storyline with how things affect the world around her, the end. The story might have worked and been interesting solely because I was like 14 when I wrote it; if it had been published then, people might have given me a bit of slack for some of the laziness just because I was young. But the story I have now, informed by decades of life and experience since then, is SO fucking much better than that book was originally. It’s way more complex, far more interesting, the worldbuilding is far beyond what I had before, the characters are more nuanced, the cast is more diverse, the prejudices are more tailored. I’m GLAD I put that book aside a million times. I’m GLAD I didn’t finish it any of the times I had it in my head I had to finish it by the time I was xyz age. I feel like the series it is now is going to be far beyond what it would have been if I’d run with the original idea.

You know what helped me A LOT in actually finishing it in the end? Aside from everything I said? 

I asked some friends to beta read it for me. And the people who read it really liked it, and gave me ideas on how to improve it. Their interest renewed my own interest and gave me enthusiasm I sometimes lacked on my own. I care a hell of a lot more about actually finishing something if someone else cares if I finish it.

Someone once asked Neil Gaiman how to be a good writer and get published, and one of his biggest recommendations was to just finish writing a book. He also said not to conform; to write the story that you want to write, that is right for you. I feel the same way, which is nice because Neil Gaiman is super dope so I feel better that my feeling is reflected in an actual successful and great writer. I feel a little safer in having my weird ass view on things, which is that I don’t believe in genres, really, or rather I don’t really believe in writing a story specifically for the boxes checked off for a specific genre. 

For me, anyway. It’s totally fine for others, if that’s their jam - there can be some great stories that way! 

But for me, I literally just do not want to write a story at all if I have to make it fit someone else’s label. I lose all interest in it and give up completely. I think that’s probably because when I started writing, it was because I was a nerdy ass  youngster who couldn’t find books that felt like they represented me exactly or what exactly I wanted to read, so I was kind of just like, “I guess I’ll write it, then.” There are tons of books out there that do fit the criteria of the genres, and they can be SUCH fun and good books to read… the people who write those books excel at that type of writing, and so if they tried doing anything else they would not be true to themselves. 

We need those writers and we need those books. But we also need the writers and the books that just say fuck it to everything and do what they want. You may not be as popular, or you may find it difficult to go the traditional route; maybe you can’t become a full-time writer, if everything is stacked against you, I don’t know. But you can write what feels right for you, and there will always be readers out there who needed that book to feel right for them.

My hope for you is you don’t silence yourself and your stories like I tend to do. I hope you finish your books/stories, and I hope you share them. There is probably someone out there wishing your book existed, and until you write it, they won’t have that exact perspective and that exact story to read. Don’t get discouraged if it takes you a long time; and don’t downplay the value of walking away and not thinking about it for a while at a time. But I do think there’s definite value in always coming back.

So what I hope you do for yourself is find some easy way to compile all the different information you’ve formed for your book(s) over the years so that you make it really easy on yourself to add extra bits and pieces as you go. I hope that you do other things that aren’t specifically writing but still get your creativity going for the stories - whether that’s making Sims, drawing art, writing things out on paper or whiteboards, doing everything digitally, doing everything physically, whatever it may be. I hope you find ideally a few someones to read what you have so far, get their take on it, and I hope they are enthusiastic enough to help you keep it in the forefront of your mind.

I TOTALLY understand having wanted to be a writer since you were young… I have always wanted to be a writer, as far back as I can remember. (Of course, if you go back far enough, I also wanted to be a veterinarian or other things too). 

My goal is still to someday be an actual author. I feel like I’m not, still, but maybe someday I will be. 

I used to put a ton of pressure on myself to finish things by certain ages, and when I missed my goal I got depressed and thought I was the worst and why bother, no one wants to read it anyway, and etc etc etc. Also, for like 10 of those years I was working on ICoS and that really took my mental energy and creative interest as a focus so I didn’t really even want to work on my LGBTQIA+ fantasy books for a while. But as time passed, and objectively looking at the story I have now compared to the story it was before, I think it was far better that I didn’t force the story before I was ready to write it, but also that I didn’t let myself just put it off forever and never make myself work on it again. 

There is no age limit to being a writer… first of all, you’re a writer if you write, so if you already wrote a bunch of books or parts of any stories - you are already a writer. You’ve already accomplished something awesome! But if your goal is to be a paid author/writer, then whether you are one now or one in 20 years or even 70, you still can be a writer. You still can fulfill that dream. Never give up on it, for yourself and for the diversity and complexity of the stories out there in the world, and for the readers who would want to see what you have to say.

Nanowrimo is next month… maybe you could start thinking about the stories you’ve worked on so far, see if any strike your fancy for exploring a bit further, or just take the general concept of one of the worlds and create a totally new set of characters and plotline on that world. Whether or not you end up liking that new plot, the new characters, it will still give you a more nuanced view of the world itself. It might spark an idea now or 20 years from now. It might, someday, be the key to finishing the story.

Don’t devalue the importance of those little bits and pieces, or the importance of taking your time but never giving up, or of even just talking the story out to others and seeing what they have to say. I constantly think what I write is boring and stupid, I constantly get suddenly bored with something and just cannot for the life of me write the next chapter no matter what because it sucks ass. 

So I switch it up. I push aside for a moment what I thought I had to do next, and then I ask myself, “What can I add that would make me actually want to write this?” I’ve found that by doing that, you can get some super interesting new ideas that coordinate together out of nowhere later if you just keep going. 

So maybe for nano, you can ask yourself, “What would I want to write in this world or this character’s life, etc, that would make me actually want to write it?” Completely forget about it fitting perfectly with what you have. Screw that. Just make it fun for you. I feel like it’s a very natural writer thing to do where even if you start with something that seems extremely disparate, as long as they’re following the same general world rules, eventually you’ll have an epiphany that ties it all together. 

Also ask yourself, are you trying to make the characters conform to the plot, or letting the plot conform to the characters? If your world or characters want to veer totally off from what was planned, as long as it’s in character - follow them, not your plans. You wrote those plans when you had a limited understanding of the characters and world… the time you spent with them since then is valuable and shouldn’t be ignored. If they want to send you on a wild goose chase into the middle of nowhere when they’re supposed to be doing something else entirely, do it. Follow that goose. See where it leads you, and then see how fun it is trying to make your way back.

Maybe you can try that this nano (or just do a totally new story altogether if that’s your jam instead), and see where it takes you. Maybe you can find some people to read it, and maybe you can track all the info you put together, no matter how small and stupid it may seem. And maybe, someday, you’ll be able to look back years later like me, and thank your past self for never giving up and for keeping that information accessible so that one day, far down the line, you’d have everything you needed at your fingertips when a sudden idea inspires you to look at your story, characters, or world, from an angle you’d never considered before.

Also, fwiw, I like to always throw one thing in that’s a bit unexpected, if possible, into characters or plots. In all honesty, I do that in part because I get bored affffff very easily so I want to keep myself entertained. But it also makes for a lot more interest, I think, in the characters. Like, whatever the plot is, or the character is, think about what would be the easy next thing… think about what the stereotype of that would be. And then deliberately choose something either completely different or a little bit off in order to introduce intrigue.

ICoS, for example - Boyd was judged a lot for many things, and he wasn’t really good around people naturally. It would have been easy to say that because he was kind of socially distant/awkward he would suck at undercover, but to me that wasn’t interesting. Instead, he could go undercover and be very good at it when needed because, despite his natural reticence to trust others, he had spent his life watching other people trying to learn their behavior/mimic them to understand why people didn’t like him. So even though on his own he would hate going into a party or have no fucking clue what to say, if he was playing a character, he was very good at it because he had gathered that information for years. Instead of saying that because he was bullied he didn’t know how to deal with people, I said he knew how to deal with people because he was bullied.

Incarnations, for example - Vikenti is a magical cop who’s really grouchy, kind of rude, kind of a dick. He spends most of his time seemingly insulting everyone around him. It would have been easy to just make him be a dick cop who grumps on everyone and does nothing beyond the job. And yet, he’s taken under his wing a young woman who others see as a monster. A young woman who everyone who knows the story of their background would think he would have every reason to hate. And you also see him helping this random girl get a memento even though he easily could have ignored it because, ultimately, she had nothing to do with him. There’s also an Empath who’s a pretty good dude who has the biggest crush on him even though their sexual orientations don’t line up. Everyone wonders how this Empath can even like him when he’s such an asshole, but then you have to ask yourself, wouldn’t an Empath of all people know best who to trust and who not? There are scenes with Vikenti, who seems like a super straight and straight-laced dude who doesn’t know how to explore emotions beyond insulting people, where he is the one there who catches someone when they fall, or says just the right thing when it’s needed. Because he’s an asshole, but not an asshole. He cares but just doesn’t care.

So, if you’re bored with parts of your stories or characters, I also really encourage throwing dichotomy and contradictions in there. Take something solid on the story, and then think of something that seems to be at odds with that, and make that be a solid part of it too. Now you have something interesting to explore… how someone or something can be these two seemingly contradictory things in the same form. I find that can help me stay interested, too.

Anyway, I’ve rambled enough and am probably not very helpful, I’m sorry :( I just wanted you to know I totally know what you mean, and precisely because of that, I know without a doubt you can do this. You will finish the story or stories you need to finish. I 100% believe in you, and I hope you can get to a point where you 100% believe in yourself too.

Happy writing, my friend! You are going to finish your stories and they’re going to be fantastic! And if they aren’t fantastic the first draft, that’s the way it is for pretty much everyone - all you have to do is keep working on them until they are. You will absolutely get there, because it’s a journey you already started long ago. You’ve come this far and there’s a lot more waiting for you as you go forward. My writing voice is no better or worse than anyone else’s, it’s just what feels right for me. Your writing voice is yours and therefore inherently lovely. Which means, if you wish you could write like me, you absolutely can: by writing like yourself. I bet you already are, you just can’t see it because of how stressful it can be in the middle of the millionth project feeling like you got nowhere previously. But if you keep going, keep pushing, I know you won’t regret it later, and I know the story you end up finishing will be exactly the story you needed to write at that time, and somewhere out there in this world, someone will be incredibly grateful to you for having written and shared it.

(Oh btw the thing I was talking about is Incarnations - and the first 4 chapters are out free here if you want context on the stuff I mentioned, in case somehow it helps? I really need to edit it… I keep putting it off, but your message is making me want to start it up again, so thank you!

[kittymochi-art]

Ch 3 is up!

Oh god, what has he done? Momo is standing in front of Shouto, crying. She’s trying to cover her face with her hands but is failing miserably. Shouto just stands there frozen. He has no idea what to do in a situation like this. What should he do? Shouto begins to move his hands in front of him in an attempt to do literally anything, but he can’t figure out what. So instead, he stands there awkwardly with his hands outstretched in front of him. Momo is sniffling and wipes her face. When she uncovers her face, she’s… smiling?

“I’m sorry, Todoroki-san,” Momo says with puffy eyes and flushed cheeks. Shouto quickly puts his hands back down at his sides. Was he attempting to hug me? Momo wonders.

“Ah, but I’m the one who’s sorry…” Shouto says as he pushes his hand through his mismatched hair. He can’t make eye contact with her after that. He feels horrible. But before Shouto can comprehend what's happening, Momo closes the distance between them and embraces him in a hug. It causes Shouto to flinch at the sudden body contact.

“I was worried that I had upset you or something… So when you said we’re friends, it made me really happy,” Momo says quietly.

Shouto stands there in stunned silence. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands at first, so they just float at Momo’s sides before he gingerly wraps them around Momo’s back to reciprocate the hug. He can feel his whole body get very hot which makes him very nervous. What if his entire body bursts into flames along with Momo? Before Shouto realizes, Momo ends the hug and steps away from him. Her face must be the same color at Shouto’s at the moment because she avoids making eye contact with him.

“S-sorry, Todoroki-san! It looked like you were trying to hug me, so I- Ah, um-,” Momo sputters. “I apologize if that was uncalled for!

“No, it’s fine, really,” Shouto reassures her while also avoiding eye contact.

The two of them both agree that it’s getting late and should go back to their rooms. Shouto lays down in his futon and covers his face with his right hand. Maybe his right side will make his face go back to its normal temperature. Why can’t I control my left side? Shouto wonders furiously. Unbeknownst to Shouto, the common factor of his “quirk malfunction” is Momo, obviously.

The next day in class, Shouto is getting ready to leave. Momo has class rep duties so she already left the classroom. It feels weird not having her in the seat next to him, but he pushes that thought aside. The bell finally rings and he takes his time leaving the class since he sits in the very back. When almost everyone disperses, he notices Yousetsu peek his head through the door. When he spots Shouto, he greets him with a smile and heads over to his desk.

“Hey Todoroki!” Yousetsu says with his hand raised. He’s obviously just looking for Momo so Shouto cuts to the chase.

“Yaoyorozu isn’t here,” he says more dryly than he intended.

“Ah, is that so,” Youstsu replies with a hint of disappointment.

Shouto gets up from his seat. “Well if that’s all, I’ll be heading out.”

Yousetsu places a hand on Shouto’s shoulder to stop him, and Shouto glares at the 1-B student. Yousetsu realizes his mistake and removes his hand quickly.

“Ah, sorry. I just wanted you to pass this onto Yaomomo when you see her,” Yousetsu says as he hands Shouto an envelope. Shouto hesitantly takes it and nods his understanding.

“Thanks man, I’m counting on you,” Yousetsu says with a grin.

“Are you sure you can trust me?” Shouto asks, confused. Why would Yousetsu trust him to deliver this envelope? Just holding it is making Shouto want to burn it for some reason. Weird.

“When Yaomomo was helping me study, she kept talking about what a great person you are. If she can put her trust into you, then I can too,” Yousetsu admits. Shouto is taken aback by the sudden honesty. And also the fact that Momo was talking about him? This makes him curious.

“I see,” Shouto simply says, “I never got a chance to thank you by the way. For saving Yaoyorozu. So thanks for that.”

“I’m sure if you were the one who were there she wouldn’t have been hospitalized…” Yousetsu says mostly to himself than to Shouto.

“You were willing to die protecting her,” Shouto states matter-of-factly. “Thats the mark of a true hero.”

After that, Shouto makes his exit.

Man, I see why Yaomomo respects him so much…  

Momo finally finishes her class rep duties and makes it back to the common room. She lets out a sigh and sits herself down on the couch. She enjoys the soft plushness of the couch for a while when someone approaches her from behind. He peers his half-and-half head of hair over the couch which startles Momo.

“T-Todoroki-san?”

“There you are. Here,” Shouto says without any explanation. He hands her what appears to be an envelope?! He gives it to her with such a straight face, but Momo can’t help but wonder what’s inside. This can’t be… No, no, no, it can’t possibly be a love letter, right? Why would he give it to her with such a straight face? Momo’s face flushes even though the possibility is very unlikely that it’s a love letter coming from the strongest in her class.

“It’s from Awase,” Shouto finally says.

“Awase-san?! Why do you have it then?” Momo asks incredulously.

“He asked me to give it to you after class today.”

“Oh.”

Momo tenderly takes the envelope from Shouto’s hand and scans it over with her eyes for a moment. She looks up at Shouto then back down at the envelope. She can’t possibly read this in front of him, right? Momo flips it over in her hands and gently rips it open from the top. Shouto rests his arms on the back of the couch casually watching Momo’s every movement. He can’t deny that he’s genuinely curious what’s inside. Momo finds an ordinary hallmark card inside. The front just has a simple floral print on it. She takes a deep breath and opens the letter.

Dear Yaomomo,

You really are an amazing person. Even when you had that head injury, you knew the best course of action to take. I know I told you this a million times, but I’m sorry you got hospitalized because of my incompetence. I got to know you better these last few weeks, and I consider you a good friend. You’re the smartest person I know. Remember when you said you strive to be like Todoroki? Well I strive to be like you. Thanks for tutoring me the other day. This is me showing my appreciation to you.

PS: I included a gift card so spend it on whatever you like. You should try using it on the person you also want to show your appreciation to.  

Momo finds herself smiling and wiping away a single tear after reading the letter. Shouto is still leaning on the couch behind Momo waiting for her to say something. He didn’t read over her shoulder despite the strong urge to. He has a bad feeling in his gut. It’s a strange, familiar feeling he’s felt before when he saw Momo spending lots of time with Yousetsu. He hates this feeling.

“How sweet. Awase-san thanked me for tutoring him,” Momo says with a smile. A rush of relief falls over Shouto.

“Is that so?” he simply asks.

Momo looks up at Shouto and nods. She still has that bright smile on her face that Shouto admires so much. Just looking at her makes Shouto’s heartbeat quicken. He really needs to get to the bottom of these strange feelings he gets when he’s around Momo. Her eyes go back to the letter in her lap, and she continues smiling. Shouto wishes she only looked at him that way… Dammit, what am I thinking right now…

If only he could keep her smile to himself.

[sassycassie-s-writing]

“I Thought You’d Changed”

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): Avengers - Peter Parker/Spider-Man feat. Tony Stark

Rating: PG

Original Idea: None really. Just my head.

Notes: (Masterlist)(About Me) Okay, so in the comics the Civil War was over the Superhero Registration Act since secret identities weren’t actually known, instead of the Sokovia Accords and, of course, trying to get to a Winter Soldier Deathsquad before some crazy dude. I kind of brought the SRA into the MCU. Kinda. I needed a reason for conflict.

^^^^^

I was standing a step up from Iron Man, putting our heads on the same level instead of me being ridiculously shorter than him.

Or rather, I was standing a step up from Tony Stark. The intimidating armor was nowhere to be found. Yet.

Peter was watching me in surprise, eyes wide.

“I’m a tough cookie, Mr. Stark,” I purred. “I’ve withstood the blunt trauma of being punched by something with the power of the Hulk. And I’m still here. So do not test me. Men may be strong, but women are tough. I doubt I could outsmart you. Or out-punch you. But I don’t need to. All I have to do is outlast you. And I promise: you will lose your motivation before I lose my temper. You will run out of ideas on how to test me before I run out of patience.” I cracked my knuckles. “So don’t even try. You won’t win against me.”

With that, I leapt onto the nearest rooftop with a flip and disappeared into the darkness.

Peter followed me. “Are you crazy?” he demanded. “Mr. Stark—”

“Doesn’t need to like me,” I interrupted. “I don’t care what he thinks of me. He can beat me up but he can’t beat me down. When I got hit with that mechanical arm that packs the punching power of the Hulk, it knocked the breath out of my lungs. Most normal people’s internal organs would have exploded. I don’t care who he thinks he is. He can’t control me. Ever.”

“Yeah, but the Registration Act is coming whether people like you and me like it or not—”

“And I’d rather retire from being a superhero completely than be forced to work for the government with my secret identity known to everyone on the planet.”

“Why? We have a moral obligation to do the right thing with our powers.”

“And jeopardize everyone I care about in the process? My mom doesn’t even know about my powers and she’s the first person I tell everything to. First kiss? Yup. First fender-bender? Yup. Last time I stole a cookie from the cookie jar? Yup. Given superpowers? Absolutely not. She needs plausible deniability. As does the rest of my family. And I’m not going to give that up. If the people who’ve become my enemies find out who I am, the people I love could be killed.”

“Please, just sign the Registration Act,” Peter pleaded, grabbing my upper arms.

I wrenched out of his grip. “Never.”

“Then, at the very least, stay out of the conflict. I’d hate to run into you when the factions meet.”

“Look, Spidey: if the Registration Act passes and the last couple heroes whose identities aren’t known are being forced to sign or retire, I’m retiring. I’ll be safely out of the conflict. Heck, maybe I’ll retire to Aruba and get a massage on the beach. I am not going to endanger the people I care about. They deserve to be safe too. Isn’t it the government’s job to protect their people? Signing that document would violate that. And I have a moral obligation to do the right thing by my family and friends. Screw the world. There will always be someone else to punch the living daylights out of bad guys. In the grand scheme of things, me and my powers really don’t matter.”

He looked disappointed. “I thought you’d changed.” Peter held onto my arm to keep me from leaving as I turned away. “You told me when you turned against the drug lord you worked for and helped me take him down that you wanted to do the right thing,” he reminded me. “Do the right thing now!”

I whirled on him, my hair whipping against his chest. “I was never a conventional hero, Spider-Man,” I spat, snarling his name like it was full of poison. “You knew that when I changed sides. Or at the very least you should have figured that out. Gee, I thought you were something of a genius, Parker. I will always choose the freedom and happiness of myself and my family over anything you or the world want from me.” I looked him right in the eyes through his mask. “Always.”

I ripped out of his grip and lashed out an arm. A web shot from my wrist and I leapt off the building, swinging away.

^^^^^

The Iron Man suit ascended behind Peter as he watched Brown Recluse swing away. “Girl trouble?” Mr. Stark asked with more than a hint of sarcasm.

Peter sighed. “Something like that,” he admitted.

“She won’t do it,” Tony stated.

Peter shook his head. “She’d rather retire to Aruba than sign the Registration Act,” he replied.

Mr. Stark snorted. “Well, maybe she’s the smart one.”

“I thought… I thought we could make her see sense. That this is the right thing to do. But she just… she doesn’t feel the same way I do. I thought I was really getting through to her.” Peter sat down on the edge of the building. “I thought she’d changed.” He felt a metal hand pat his shoulder.

“She’s chaotic neutral. Choosing her own freedom and happiness over the good of the world.”

“How can she be so selfish?”

“Y’know, kid, I don’t think she is. Based on what I overheard and what you’ve said, she was thinking more about her family than herself. Maybe some of it was selfishness, but at least she’d rather retire than join Cap’s resistance. She’ll hide away… and everything will be fine!” Tony was trying to be upbeat for the kid’s sake, but he didn’t really believe what he was saying.

In all honesty, the darkness of Brown Recluse’s character and how menacing she’d seemed on the staircase kind of intimidated Tony. For her age and rather petite stature, she was kind of scary. An anti-hero who wouldn’t allow anyone or anything to control her. He could admire that, even if it was frustrating and sad.

“But we have incredible powers! And because of those powers, we have the moral obligation to do the right thing with them!” Peter wailed, running his hands over the top of his mask as though he wanted to run them through his hair.

“Well, she obviously doesn’t see it that way. I don’t think anyone ever told her that she absolutely had to do the right thing with the powers she was given,” Tony pointed out. Peter moaned in complaint. “Look, kid, I know you care about her a lot. She made a hard choice when she turned on her old boss to help you take him down. I know that you and her… well, you’re polar opposite in some ways, and completely the same in others. Which makes your natures pretty compatible. You’re a caring kid, Peter. And I know how difficult women can be sometimes. But if she chooses to retire, then I guess all you can do is be at peace with it.”

“Guess so.”

^^^^^

I landed heavily on a random windy rooftop, nearly hitting my nose on the concrete, and fell to my knees. I ripped my brown mask off and shoved it between my legs. My gloved hands lifted up to cover my face. Tears streamed from my eyes.

I was just a kid. What was I thinking? Why had I even started to use my powers like this in the first place? I wasn’t ready for all that came with it! I had to keep making adult decisions without adults advising me and had no idea what to do. Choices had to be made. They were all difficult. Nothing came simple in the life of an Enhanced person—superhero or not. I was a teenager without any solid support or guidance. No one could know about my powers and the choices kept coming that I had to deal with alone.

For the first time since I was a young child, I didn’t even bother to try to control my sobbing. It shook my entire body, my breaths hitching in my lungs.

Not to mention I didn’t like snapping at Peter. He was a good kid. He had a good heart and a good sense of humor.

But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t put my family and friends in danger.

I should never have put on a mask. I should have just let my powers subtly enhance my life but not get involved with greater things. I was too young for all of this. I knew I didn’t understand the world at large. I knew I didn’t have the knowledge, experience, and wisdom necessary to do so. I should have, at the very least, waited until I was older.

Why hadn’t I?

I continued to cry, hating myself for making these decisions and hating myself even worse for hurting Peter. He really was one of the only friends I had. The legs of my suit got soaked as my tears kept falling from my face and landing on my thighs.

It took me a long time to pull myself together enough to pull my mask back on and swing safely home.

Inside, I stripped off my suit, hid it, and collapsed in bed. Thoroughly emotionally and physically exhausted.

[queermequeeryou]

chapter four

Mad was feeling like everything was going out of her hands. She was overwhelmed with effects that, like a ricochet, has started to hit her harder than she expected in her deepest nightmares. It was one thing to be self-reflecting, even self-blaming but it was the other one to hear it from other person’s mouth. The mouth she used to kiss with admiration and sympathy. She could really fell in love with this girl but she did not. Her head on the brink of exploding, her mind almost entirely wretched. She did not know if she should be teaching by now. It was all too much. She took the free day at university and went to the doctor which was also her good friend. Well, more of Brooklyn’s best high school colleague anyway, without further explanations he just signed the sick leave for her til the end of the week. Mad wanted to reflect on everything, focus only on book agreement and figure out if she should transfer to different university. She did not want Paris to leave as it was the best one on linguistics in NYC so the most adequate would be for Mad to just go. They both knew that seeing each other almost everyday was out of the consideration. Although, Mad really enjoyed working there and as Paris mentioned that she wants to leave, that was all even harder. What should she do? Where should she go? Mad did not talk to Brooklyn about it. He was focused on his first days living with Blackie again and also Leo was not ready for this talk. She wanted to do this later, though. As always, her brother had to know. He was the most important person in her live and it was a both-sided feeling. Mad woke up around midday and felt not even slightly better but at least she tried to get a better sleep which was more like lying under the sheets and trying her to remain with lids tightly shut. With not much effects. She went into the kitchen to have a coffee and found out that Jackson has already been fed. The water bowl full stood next to the food one as well. There was a note on the table. “Jackson has eaten. I also left some pancakes under the plate for ya. The frozen soya yogurt’s in the fridge. I work til 5, bae til 4. He’s picking me up after. I hope you’re at least fine. Gonna talk later if you’ll be up to it. Later, B.” Mad smiled a little bit. It was really nice of Brooklyn. She petted Jackson and kissed him on the forehead, then took a glance under the plate and decided to have two pancakes with the coffee.  After late breakfast/lunch Mad took Jackson for a walk and she run a bit as well but she did not feel it much today. Anyway, the weather was nice and warm but not too hot so she fancied a longer stroll with her lovely, fat dog. He seemed to enjoy it as usual so she was happy to see him having fun, chasing after birds that were flying nearby and playing with the sticks. It mood her up a tiny bit and when they got back to the apartment it was already 3 pm. She picked one of the volumes with works by Samuel Beckett and opened it on “Waiting for Godot”. She was always coming back to this story with great pleasure. Mad decided to reread it as she got almost for hours to meeting with LaToya and the crew. She was flipping the pages while touching old, smelly paper and floating deeper and deeper into the plot of the play which was both relaxing and clearing feeling. After she finished the text she closed her lids and breathed. It was a wonderful idea to get back to this story now. She stood up to heat some of the leftover tofu with vegetables from yesterday as her dinner which was probably worse idea. It gave her a feeling like it all smelled like Paris’ perfumes. It made the events from the previous day so vivid that she decided to put the food aback and went to have a shower and dress up into her more formal suit and tie. When she fixed it, she lit a cigarette and looked through the window into the widening darkness of the upcoming evening. She put her left hand into the pocket and inhaled the smoke deeply. After that, she took all of her notes and packed them into the case. When she entered the 20th floor where the company was situated the secretary told her to go to the conference room and wait. In few minutes came LaToya with few various people who greeted her politely and they all sat to talk about the book. All of them felt same strong prediction that this volume was going to be really appreciated by the public and they all agreed that she has talent. Actually, it was more of that then telling her what should she change or correct. LaToya introduced her Nazir - the Indian designer who was said to be the author of her book’s cover. He showed her the ideas he had already prepared and most of them were stunning. The work was really the greatest remedy for Leo to got out of the sickening thoughts and focus on what was important for her. After the meeting, they paced fast forward with the process which Leo enjoyed a lot. She was packing back her things to the case still reflecting on the book when LaToya suggested they should have dinner together to celebrate the next huge step. Actually, Leo felt very hungry after refusing to eat dinner before heading to this appointment so she accepted the proposition. They took her Lincoln and Mad drove them to the best Italian restaurant nearby that LaToya chose. Mad was not used to go to fancy places but she thought it is a special day and she can afford it one time so she will not disagree. Moreover, she was an aficionado of Italian cuisine so it was a wonderful idea to go and have a dish there. Like Mad has expected, the place was very sophisticated and elegant. She was probably one of very few people who was up to go there and not feel strange. Very common opinion shared by many was that going to expansive restaurants was the habit of incredibly rich individuals who were actors in their lives and preferred to eat some outstanding, pricey food while doing their businesses with not a bit of honesty or caring. For Mad it was more like the very festive, elegant way of spending time with the others. She was not wealthy enough to let it happen on a regular basis but she did not mind it at all and in times when situation was self-explaining she was always willing to eat some good food in places that got some charm in them. She held the door for LaToya and helped her with the coat. They were seated close to the window and suggested wine for the start. After a little while they were sipping a red drink while looking ahead for the landscape of New York City at night and it was incredibly beautiful. “I’m really glad that I’m the one who’s going to publish your book. Because I’ll take lots of credit for it. It’s a win-win without any doubts.” “Well, I have to say that I share your opinion. Thank you, LaToya. I’m glad for what you’ve been doing.” replied Mad and took a sip of her drink. “You’ve mentioned one time that you were living in Spain. How was that?” this question seemed out of the blue but Leo did not mind to answer that one. “I liked it a lot but I missed by brother and there came a time when I just had to get back where I belong.” “It’s here or in Africa?” her sight was very thrilling and approaching. “For now I can say it’s here but I’ll definitely get back to Africa sometime soon”. LaToya smiled a little. “Get back. May I ask why Africa or does it really not have an answer at all?” “I guess you know as much as I know. That’s just this feeling of freedom, of belonging. I feel this also here in New York but Africa has one more advantage. I feel like when I'm there I am able to enjoy life more. I am more thankful for every second, more in a moment here and right now. I don’t know but there are two places for me that matters. New York City and the African continent and I can’t even explain it properly.” LaToya took her half empty glass and looked into the surface while moving it in the different angle. “You know, my brother was black. He had a huge obsession or passion on Africa as well. He wanted to go there and he was speaking about his origins all the time. I really saw it as a grief. I knew that was the grief he had. I don’t understand why. He was born there but he was always speaking about slavery, about how the States are romanticised by almost every American and European and many more people. I did not understand him but I tried. He got married. His wife really quickly got pregnant and Martin was beyond happy. He wanted this so much and when the daughter was born it turned out it’s not his. The daughter was white. He was disappointed because his wife didn’t tell him she got pregnant with white guy a little before they met. That broke him. He left her but then he got his things together and got back because he really loved her. They managed to get out of this but when their daughter was three, Lula died because she had a car accident. Martin had to put his dreams of getting to Africa aback and focus on rising daughter. He really learnt to love her paying no attention to the genetics. We were living together, supporting each other but I still didn’t understand him a tiny bit. We were not close but I liked his daughter. She was the only child I could manage to accept and even like. The worst thing..” LaToya finished the last sip from the glass and moved her glass towards Mad then gave a look on the bottle so the younger woman poured her more wine. “The word thing was one Martin got cancer. I saw him falling apart entirely. He was not able to accept he’ll never go to Africa. He stopped even caring for his daughter. She just closed himself to everybody and I only heard some tribal music from his room, sometimes sobbing, you know. I knew he’s not going to make it because he was not even fighting. I didn't understand him. I have never managed to do this but strangely enough, I feel like being with you makes me more understanding to him. And even more oddly, you remind me of him. That’s why I hired you. Because all of this made me expect you’ll be the right person. Passionate-driven. You really love Africa. And you write a book about what you love. How could that not be a success?  She smiled again and took another sip of the wine. Mad was quite surprised by her lack of cold today. Maybe, it was too far speaking but definitely she was more personal to her. Leo took her hand on the table and rub it gently. LaToya let her do this. They finished their drinks after food not speaking much after this story. “Would you like to have a smoke at my office?” said LaToya finally when they have already float a little into thoughts. “I would really not mind it at all.” replied Leo and helped her out with the coat. 

* LaToya rolled a joint really quickly and used her tongue to stick the paper together. Leo was impressed as she never learnt how to roll the cigarettes or joints that fast. She normally simply remained with plain package of Marlboro. The businesswoman sat on the table and lit the joint with half closed eyes. Mad stood up and walked towards her. She put her hands on the table having LaToya in between and she opened her mouths with the smoke in her direction. She gave her the joint. Mad took a good inhale and put her hand on LaToya’s waist. She laughed shortly and put the joint to the ashtray for a moment. They shared a glance for a while, Leo put hands on her cheeks and kissed her lips really deeply. LaToya unzipped her pants. They were kissing and Leo found her way to the zip of the older woman’s skirt. This time, under that she was wearing tights with garters and it was mind-blowing how she was looking that good in them. Leo was able to relax but she was not sure if she is really making a progress on not mixing more things but it was good to be not focused on the case with Paris. She moved her hand between LaToya’s legs and let herself melt into this gestures and all the fantasies she has had about the woman from the first moment they have met. Mad really needed that time after all that has happened. LaToya moaned louder and Leo moved her fingers upper. She just did not expect one thing but right now it was not the time she will figure it out. But without a doubt, she will do it soon.