#sigh. time ot tag this thing

[spencerfagnew]

OFFICIAL EVEN IF YOU WERE DEAD (vampire au) LORE POST

this will contain brief overviews of each character as of now!

credit to @franklyfeline for helping me decide some of the lore (mainly w ianthony :3)

characters:

vampires : 

chronological order of turning:

tommy bowe  :  turned around 1150 or so, oldest vampire out of the main cast. lives in the house, pretty fucking strange to be honest. has lost his accent over years of being in the americas. familiar is spencer. 

angela giarratana  :  turned at some point during Italian Renaissance (it was a crazy time for vampires). a rather chaotic vampire, she traveled throughout most of euraisafrica, before eventually moving to the americas in the 1920s. she lives in the house. familiar (slash babysitter slash best friend) is amanda. she actually turned chanse, another vampire, because she got tired of not being able to hang out with him. 

court(ney) miller  :  turned during the salem witch trials. they attempted to burn her for being a ‘witch’, but it didn’t quite work out for them. courtney went in hiding for many years until the 1800s, when the industrial revolution brought many vampires to the americas. she lives in the house. doesn’t have an official familiar, but is very close friends with both damien and shayne, so they kind of share. also is friends with spencer and tommy. 

anthony padilla  :  turned around 2014-2016. previously was an aspiring actor with his (ex) best friend ian. he doesn’t really associate with any of the other vampires, besides being on the local vampiric council. dramatic ass depressed vampire is all i have to say to be honest. 

damien haas  :  turned around 2019-2020. he was extremely scared and worried for his relationship with his best friend, and current familiar, shayne. it ended up being okay, and he eventually met court and joined the house. he’s probably one of the more normal ones. 

chanse mccrary  :  turned by angela in 2022. they met at a bar and hit it off, though he was kind of skeptical why she never could meet up before dusk. she eventually told him that she was a vampire, and he was strangely okay about it? eventually it ended in her turning him so that he could 1) live forever and 2) not pay rent. a win win for everyone. doesnt have an official familiar, but normally shayne or amanda helps him out if he needs it. 

familiars  :

spencer agnew  :  tommy’s familiar. he honestly thought that tommy’s whole vampire thing was a bit, hence the reason he said yes. he kind of freaked out when he realized he’d accepted an ACTUAL vampire’s request, but actually ended up going through it, even when offered to leave without punishment or harm. he guesses he just kind of likes tommy (and he has this weird homoerotic thing going on with him. but thats unimportant.) he lives in the house. pretty good friends with shayne and amanda. #familiarthings or whateva

shayne topp  :  damien’s familiar AND best friend. the familiar thing is more of a marriage of convenience; shayne really functioned as one anyways. that in no way means that shayne is just a helper to damien – really the title is just so people stop trying to kill shayne when he goes out with damien. he moved into the house with damien, and ended up actually being friends with pretty much everybody. tommy doesn’t seem to like him though. that might be because he has a strange knack for accidentally walking in on him and spencer trying to have sex on the living room couch. 

amanda lehan-canto  :  angela’s familiar and babysitter. they met on pure accident – she accidentally went into a vampire-only bar and, while narrowly avoiding getting eaten, ran into angela, who had just gotten kicked out of said bar. instead of trying to suck her blood, angela started traumadumping. amanda took her home, and ended up talking with spencer (who had already been tommy’s familiar at that point). they hit it off and she was invited over (during the day) to hang out if she wanted. eventually she was even befriended by the vampires, tommy and angela liking her especially. it was kind of natural that she became a familiar. she eventually moved into the house.

werewolves  : 

rhett mclaughlin  :  functional pack leader, along with link. was turned sometime in the 2000s. overall silly guy. yeah idk what to put here

link neal  :  functional pack leader, along with rhett. turned around 2010, became friends with rhett near that time. 

ian hecox  :  turned around 2017. was taken in by rhett and link. used to be an aspiring actor with his ex-best friend anthony. only really realized anthony was turned into a vampire after he became a werewolf, so he sees no possible way of reconciling. 

arasha lalani  :  joined the pack right after trevor. befriended ian very early on. likes to bully him for his “breakup” with anthony, but is genuinely protective of ian along with the rest of the group.

kimmy jimenez  :  one of the older pack members. a silly goose tbh. she probably parties the most, and is at fault for most of the pack’s turnings.

trevor evarts  :  basically adopted by rhett and link. youngest out of the group, he gets along the most with arasha. 

garrett palm  :  one of the oldest pack members, he was a werewolf for long before he joined the pack. pretty chaotic, but not in the way you’d expect. he cooks the most, but is known to play pranks on fellow pack members. 

keith leak jr  :  nobody knows how he got there, he just kind of showed up. pretty chill, normally lives in the pack house. he’s the closest any of them get to stereotypical werewolves.

settings:

the house  : 

the house is the house that tommy, spencer, angela, amanda, courtney, damien, shayne, and chanse live in. it’s a two-story house in los angeles that they hypnotised their way into getting for free. it's dark and wooden, but it does have a pool outside, so thats a plus. it has 5 bedrooms, along with 2 other ‘living spaces’ that they’ve converted into bedrooms (shayne and damien stay in the same room. “just to take up less space”.)

pack center  : 

the pack center is a small few-room abandoned house that the pack found and fixed up (illegally, but that doesn’t matter). they live mostly separately, but it functions as a meeting area or housing situation. 

also! here is the google doc containing all of that information PLUS a (mostly) accurate list of fics in this series that are published or in the planning stages! i will try to update it as frequently as possible.

[nereidprinc3ss]

promiscuous

in which spencer reid doesn't like that flirty!reader is going on a date. he makes that known. (bandages universe)

flangst, 18+ for discussions of sex warnings/tags: gn!reader I think, mentions of going to a bar/going for drinks, very suppressed mutual pining, jealousy from Spencer, reader implied to engage in casual sex, reader calls themself a slut somewhat disparagingly but like as a joke, it all gets resolved, he is very sweet, he rambles when he's nervous a/n: oh God I love them so much they are like so in love and they literally have no idea at all because they're so dumb... but WE can tell.. turning point for them

“Penelope wanted me to confirm that you guys are coming to drinks with us tonight?”

It’s something of a standing tradition for the BAU on the last Friday of every month, and usually you’d agree, but tonight, you have other plans. 

“Raincheck for me,” you say, sliding some files into your bag which you do not plan on reviewing. “I have a thing.”

“What thing do you have on a Friday night?” Morgan asks skeptically. You don’t bother looking at him as you hide a smile. 

“A date, Morgan. You jealous?”

“You’re going on a date?”

You’d nearly forgotten Spencer was in the room until he spoke—he’s been in one of those quiet moods of his where he sort of floats around everyone else and makes himself insubstantial. As you cast him a sidelong glance, trying to figure out his tone of voice, you see he’s frowning. Nearly grimacing. His brows are drawn so tight you’re worried he’ll give himself a headache. 

“Uh, yeah. I am.” Suddenly, your parade feels a little rained on. 

“With who?”

You pause, looking back down at your desk with a new frown of your own and shaking your head as if you could clear it that way. “Just… some guy from OT.”

“Dalton?”

Ding ding ding. Somehow he got it right on the first guess, and for some reason, you wish he hadn’t. You don’t want Spencer knowing who you’re going on a date with. It feels wrong. 

“Does it matter?” You evade, shoving your things with a little more force into your bag. 

“Well Dalton is an idiot, so I guess I’m just trying to figure out why you’d go out with him.”

“And if it’s not Dalton?”

“Then I’d tell you all the guys in OT are idiots and you shouldn’t waste your time on any of them.”

“Alright—” Morgan passes between your desks, placing a friendly hand on your back as he does. “I’m gonna let you two hash this out by yourselves.” He gives you a look, eyebrows raised, unsmiling, that means, go easy on the kid. It makes you feel terribly guilty. And more than a little defensive. 

“Night,” you call halfheartedly. He only waves as the glass doors swing shut behind him, leaving you and boy genius alone in the bull pen.

Silence falls, cloistering you as you finish packing up together. It seems to magnify the buzz of the overheads. You notice him intentionally lingering, and you sling your bag over your shoulder with a sigh. 

“Okay,” you say, turning to face him with your whole body. He seems uncomfortable with that, but you’re not letting this go. “What is this? Why are you mad at me?”

“I’m not mad at you,” he mumbles, refusing to meet your eyes. “I just think—”

“Yeah. You’ve made your thoughts abundantly clear. I don’t know why you’re judging me for going on a date.”

“I’m not judging you! I just think you deserve better than a guy who looks like he… snorts protein powder for every meal and has less capacity for intelligent conversation than a mealworm.”

“Okay. Do you have someone in mind?”

The words come out a little sharper than you’d meant for them to. A little louder. Spencer looks like a scolded puppy as he swallows. 

“Not specifically. Just—someone more like you.”

He just doesn’t get it. You fold your jacket over your arm. 

“Yeah, well, until someone more like me comes along and asks me out, Dalton is the best I’ve got. I know he’s not my soulmate, Reid. But he asked me to drinks, and I said yes.”

The room is mostly dark. Only a few fluorescents remain on to cast Spencer in an almost clinical glow against a dark grey background. You’ve been here before. It feels like an interrogation. An environment where you’re practically begging for the truth without saying please, but there’s only room for measured dishonesty. 

Spencer speaks under his breath, fiddling with the strap of his own bag. “He’s not good enough for you.”

“What do you want me to do?” It’s an exasperated, confrontational sigh. Your arms raise and fall heavily back to your sides. Another long grey hallway of silence that leads nowhere. When it becomes clear he doesn’t have the answer, or he’s not comfortable sharing, you straighten. “I’ll see you Monday, Reid.”

Your spirits are completely dampened as you trudge to the elevators. What once seemed like an exciting opportunity now only serves as a depressing reminder that you’re wasting your time with a man who isn’t what you want. Maybe you should just call the whole thing off. 

“Wait,” Spencer calls, half-jogging to catch the open elevator. His bag bobs with every step, pens and things jingling around inside. It’s endearing, even though you’re upset with him. Your arms remain stubbornly crossed, but he makes it anyway. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your mood.”

You laugh dryly. “Yeah, well…”

“It’s just that…” he sniffs and looks down, hair falling in front of his face. He really is sweet, even when he’s kind of a dick. He’s full of so much sincerity he doesn’t know what to do with it all. “I know how you are—you’re special, and funny, and intelligent, and, and Dalton—all those qualities are wasted on him. He looks at you and he just sees a pretty face. It may sound trite, but… he doesn’t deserve you.”

You sigh again, heart squeezing. The glowing light on the panel of floor numbers flickers. “I know your heart is in the right place, alright? But it’s not about who deserves me or who doesn’t. I’m not a prize. I’m a person, and people like to feel wanted. Sometimes, it’s just—it’s about who’s there, and who likes me enough to say it to my face. Sometimes that’s all I need, and I know you didn’t mean it like this, but when you say he doesn’t deserve me, it really seems like you’re not considering what I might want at all. Maybe Dalton is what I want.”

God—this elevator ride is like, comedically long. 

“Is he what you want?”

At least he has the bravery to ask. 

You glance over at Spencer, washed out bloodless and looking like he’s prepared to flinch, like he doesn’t know if he’s ready for the answer. The doors ding and slide open, and stale air whooshes from the chrome compartment into the lobby like a held breath finally exhaled. You swallow. 

“I don’t know why it matters to you.”

“Because you’re my friend and I want to see you happy,” he insists, trailing after you as you speed walk through the lobby. Every click of your heeled boots echos. 

“Then shouldn’t you be supporting me?”

“I’m not going to support you in making the wrong choice.”

The conversation spills out into the bitter-cold parking lot. You turn around to face him. 

“Respectfully, you have no idea what’s right or wrong for me. I don’t like whatever this is,” you say, gesturing with a finger between the two of you, as if the conflict were a tangible thing—a phone line hanging between your hearts. “I don’t know if it’s, like, jealousy, or some misplaced feeling of possessiveness, or protectiveness, or—”

“It’s not like that!” He splutters. 

“Okay—so what is it like? If you want to see me happy, why don’t you support me in pursuing the things that make me happy? And if that’s meaningless sex with some guy from operational tech, so be it! You are not in a position to give your two cents on who I sleep with!”

“I wasn’t trying to—I wasn’t even thinking about—about sex! I don’t care who you sleep with!”

He’s turning increasingly pink. 

“Fine. But if you weren’t thinking about sex, if you thought I was under any illusion that Dalton was going to be my fucking Prince Charming then clearly you’re not equipped to have this conversation. I know he’s an idiot. I’m not looking for my soulmate—thank you, though, for reminding me that it’s completely fucking pointless to even pretend. I love you, Spencer, but grow up. And stay out of my business.”

And with that, you’re turning on your heel and marching toward your car. Spencer calls your name—once. Twice. The wind lashes against your bare arms and stings your eyes as you fumble with your keys. 

It’s just the wind. 

Nothing else. 

-

Maybe you’re simply not meant for love. 

It’s a narcissistic thought in the sense that everyone has it at some point in their lives—everyone falls victim to the delusion that they are so uniquely wretched, so singularly incapable of being understood by another person. It’s the universal illusion of solitude. And you’d thought yourself above it for a long time. In college, there was fling after fling. Your bed was never empty if you didn’t want it to be. In your young adult life, you have other priorities—but you rarely have to be alone. 

Now, though, as you sit on a rickety metal stool deep in the bowels of the Bureau’s records room, banished to sort through files in search of one that had been mishandled during a cold case and is now supposedly relevant again, (although you’re not sure it actually exists) you’re pondering the nature of those connections you’d been so sure your life was full of. Were they all artificial? Designed by you subconsciously to manufacture a sense of complacent satisfaction? To stave off the aching, gnawing loneliness in your gut that you’re only now becoming aware of and has been eating you away in bigger and bigger bites since Friday night?

Morgan was supposed to be just as arm-deep into a box of dusty manila folders as you are now, but he talked his way out of it, and you’re sitting in an awkward twenty-minute-long-so-far silence with Spencer. Which isn’t helping anything. 

The tension comes and goes like the moon pulling the tides. It’s like you can sense it wafting off of each other—you feel it in the prickle on the back of your neck and the buzz in your stomach when he’s about to say something, and you glance over, and he’s already looking at you with his lips parted, and then he doesn’t say anything after all, and the silence reinforces itself. 

It gets frustrating. 

Not to mention this task is equal parts mind numbing and infuriating. Maybe Hotch just hates you. 

Eventually Spencer clears his throat, and you welcome the distraction. 

“What year are you on?”

You give him a long look which he doesn’t reciprocate, because you want to say, really? But eventually you pick up the edge of the box you’re sifting through and double check. 

“Uh… June 1979 through August 1979.”

He nods matter-of-facts. “They should be making us wear gloves.”

Your incoming tangent spidey senses are tingling. It’s not exactly an opportune time, but it’s better than silence. 

Plus—you’re pretty sure this is his idea of a peace offering. 

“Why’s that?” You mutter, flicking through yellowed papers. 

“Wood pulp paper contains an alum-rosin mixture to minimize ink bleeding, but in the presence of moisture such as that introduced in trace amounts by our fingertips it generates a diluted sulfuric acid solution. They didn’t start adding alkaline buffers into paper until 1986, and the cellulose chains that comprise the structure of the paper inevitably shorten and break down over time, so we’re actively degrading these documents by touching them without gloves.”

“Did you say sulfuric acid?”

“I said a diluted sulfuric acid solution,” he clarifies, utterly missing the point of your question as he so often does in that disarmingly endearing way of his. “Sorry, by the way.”

You look up from a photo of bloodied bell-bottom jeans. He’s caught you by surprise. 

“For what?”

“For—”

He struggles with the words—you watch his lips form a few silent ones before he gives up on the nonchalant act and sets his file on his lap. He can’t seem to tear his eyes from it, but you don’t mind. 

“For everything on Friday. I… I know it was none of my business. I sometimes struggle with… keeping my thoughts to myself. Especially when it concerns someone I care about. But I wasn’t judging you, I swear. What you said about—about sex, I—” he sighs, obviously frustrated with himself, and pushes a bit of hair out of his eyes. “That’s not where my mind was at, at all. Whatever you… do, or don’t do, is none of my business. Obviously. You don’t need me to tell you that. You don’t need me to tell you anything. I just really wanted to clarify that I wasn’t shaming you or judging you for—”

“Spencer,” you say gently, cutting him off and reeling him in before he can dig any deeper. 

“Yeah. Sorry.”

He glows under the canned lighting, a soft aura of white blurring the edges of him. The stale room buzzes. It’s otherwise quiet down here. Peaceful, almost. 

From anyone else, you might consider it overstepping. 

You wouldn’t have been willing to forgive them in the first place. 

But it’s not anyone else. 

“Thank you, for apologizing. I really appreciate it.”

He glances up at you, sort of hunched—always trying to make himself smaller than whatever force created him had intended. The deep brown of his eyes is melted and swirling and sweet and nervous. He’s not naturally good at these interpersonal things, but he’s always trying. He’s always pushing himself for you.

Do you ask too much? 

Do you offer enough in return?

Struck by sudden insecurity, you look away. Go back to your files. 

Perhaps you made a mountain out of a molehill and told him to climb it. 

“I mean, I am kind of a slut. I wouldn’t blame you for thinking so,” you laugh airily. “Maybe it was a good reality check.”

A trailing silence. An air conditioner kicks on. 

“What? That’s not—that’s not at all what I was trying to say.”

“Spencer, it’s fine.”

His stool squeaks as he sits up straighter. 

“No, I really want you to understand. Even if I cared or thought about how many people you might sleep with—which I don’t—and even if I determined that you were… sexually promiscuous, I wouldn’t assign a moral value to that judgement. Sexual promiscuity is observed all the time in the animal kingdom, it’s biologically sound and justified and in less misogynistic cultures where bonds forged between humans weren’t socioeconomic arrangements dependent on women being viewed as commodities first and foremost, it’s completely unremarkable. But I haven’t made that determination. All I know is that… you’re you. And that’s all that’s ever going to matter to me.”

Silence falls. Your voice gets stuck in your throat. 

How does he so casually show you more kindness than anyone else has ever managed to show you in your life?

Spencer takes pity on you. 

“And… we’ve talked entirely too much about something that’s none of my business today.”

It’s wry and earns a chuckle from you. Even Spencer manages a chagrined smile. That same strand of hair falls loose as he looks down. Light bounces from his self-effacing smirk. 

You fiddle absentmindedly with the fraying corner of a folder, and you’re about to open your mouth, about to speak into the sparkling cloud that the easy laughter and the melted tension has left in its wake, and tell him how much you appreciate him and how kind he truly is and undoubtedly whatever you say will be made more beautiful because of it—because of the affection you have for each other—and then you stop, eyes catching on the case file between your fingers. You frown. 

“Wait—what’s the case number we’re looking for?”

“91 18 00063 7.”

You hold the file up, eyes alight. 

“I found it.”

Spencer frowns and takes it without asking. You watch as he reviews the number in tiny black typeface along the top of the document. His brow scrunches in disbelief. 

“I genuinely didn’t think we were ever going to find it,” he murmurs after leading through the photos and glances back up at you. “We had thirty years of boxes to look through and you found it in under an hour. You’re like magic.”

It’s impossible not to smile. You feel all warm and sparkly as you snatch it back from him and stand, straightening your jacket. 

“Will you tell that to Hotch?”

“I… will tell anyone who will listen,” he assures you, and you’re confident he’s following as you make your way through the maze of stacks. “Are we not gonna clean up our mess?”

“There are people who will take care of that later.”

“Yeah. Like me. During my lunch break.”

“Don’t worry. You’re going to be well rewarded for your efforts today.”

“What does that mean?” He mumbles, and you can practically hear his blush. 

You smile to yourself. 

Still got it. 

for more of these two, check out the bandages universe masterlist!

[loverslantern]

The Hunter and the Witch~ Dean Winchester x f!reader

Description: More of Y/N's past is revealed. Dean is there to comfort her as he inquires about the parts she never shared. Warnings: Angst, talk of past abuse, child abuse, comfort, coping, understanding trauma, trauma, denial, no GIF sorry!

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @okayiamkassandra , @fablesrose , @ada--44 @bonkydarnes , @star-yawnznn @crazyunsexycool @onlyangel-444 @seninjakitey @mystic-mara

Word Count: 1,974

Words mean more at night

(Masterlist, Prev Ch, Next Ch)

A back-and-forth motion rubs against my knee but my eyes are down at the carpeted floors. Someone got me to my motel room.

I blink, my eyes tracing the movement to a familiar veiny hand. He’s kneeled in front of me, patiently waiting for me. His motion on my knee doesn’t stop as he smiles at me sadly, “Hey,” he says.

“Hi,” I answer weakly, watching his face for any changes. Carefully he raises his free hand to my hand, giving me time to back away. He covers my clutched hand, I hadn’t realized I was forming tight fists. He gently pries my fingers open revealing little alcohol packets. That’s the light thing I was handed to clean off the specks of blood…blood from—

“Hey, you’re okay,” Dean says softly, pulling me back to the present. He takes the packets from my hands, opening one carefully but before he moves to do anything he asks, “Can I?”

I nod, not trusting my voice. I know I wasn’t supposed to allow him our small touches but that can all be screwed right now. I want a hug and I want to hide under the covers until it all passes, as childish as it sounds. “Words,” he reminds. He had his nailbed-biting habits I had the habit of shutting down and he knew that well enough to try and push me out of it, even if it meant just answering verbally. “Yes, please,” I say just barely above a whisper.

The motion on my knee stops and with that same hand, he reaches up slowly to cradle my head, pushing some of my hair back. He gets closer to my face and with the alcohol pad he lightly rubs off a spec on my cheek, his eyes focused there. I knew what he was thinking, I could see the thoughts and questions swirling in his eyes. “You can ask,” I say, it’s better to get it over now. He doesn’t say anything for a beat as he cleans a couple of spots on my face, “Not my place too,” he answers.

He lets go of me, pushing off the balls of his feet, and standing up, he collects the scraps and walks to the other side of my small motel room to discard them.

I want to sink into myself, “You’re upset with me,” I tell him, knowing I'm right by his body language and just overall behavior. Again he doesn’t answer but I can see the tension in his shoulders and I know he’s holding back. I kick off my shoes, scooting back on the bed until my back hits the headboard. I bring my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around me as he fidgets with something on the counter. 

He turns around swiftly but doesn’t move towards me, “Why didn–” he cuts himself off, running a hand down his face. “I’m sorry,” I say softly.

He shakes his head, “No, you got nothin’ to apologize for sweetheart I–”

“You can say it. Let’s just talk about this now, I don’t like it when you’re upset at me,” I admit though I’m sure he already knew. He sighs, looking away, “I’m not upset at you.”

“You aren’t?” I ask, surprised.

“No. I’m mad I didn’t know,” he steps closer until he reaches the bed, “I should’ve known.”

I pat the spot next to me, allowing him to get closer so we could sit comfortably like old times, “We were young,” I reasoned. He takes the spot next to me, the bed dipping as he does, “I have two years on you,” he counters. I roll my eyes, he always tries to play that card. “Well, I was very good at hiding it, had to be. Plus…you heard what I said about B/N.”

He groans, frustrated, his head leaning back on the headboard, “That doesn’t make me feel better. Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped.”

“You had your own things to worry about. We didn’t see each other very often then either, we hung out more after he died and by then it was no longer an issue,” I explain. But he doesn’t respond. “I’m quite resilient you know. Not much can really kill me,” I add, trying to lighten the mood. His head snaps to me, “That doesn’t make it better. You were still…”

“It’s okay,” I say, focusing my eyes on the wall across the room. “It’s not,” he replies, “He died when you were 15, you had 3 years of that.” I’m almost surprised he remembered the exact time like that, though maybe he had been thinking about it and started to calculate. I don’t say anything for I have nothing to say at all, I don’t talk about it and I’ve tried to forget it. “I shoulda known,” he repeats. I turn my head to look at him being met with his side profile, his eyebrows scrunched together and his jaw tense, he was beating himself up over something he couldn’t control. “I didn’t expect you to help me or save me you know, or anyone for that matter. Just hanging out with you and Sammy was enough.”

His jaw seems to twitch, “I saw some bruises before, but you said it was from a hunt you helped your Dad with. You're a lousy liar so I should’ve known.”

“Dean,” I say firmly,  touching his shoulder. He meets my eyes, his green eyes are cold, “Trust me when I say it wasn’t your fault, it was no one’s fault. It just happened. And it’s over now, has been for a while.”

He swallows roughly, his Addams apple bobbing, and I know he doesn’t believe me, “It’s your Dad’s fault, he’s a prick. Don’t matter if he was grieving or not.”

I frown, remove my hand from his arm, and focus my attention back on the wall. I can feel his gaze burning into the side of my face, “Don’t tell me you actually feel bad for him…” he says but I don't answer, “You don’t blame him?” he asks confused, leaning forward in an attempt to catch my eyes. I shrug, shrinking further into myself in an attempt to make myself smaller, “I don–I don’t know. He wasn’t always like that…he just….Mom was gone so…” I exhale a shaky breath, “I know it was wrong, that he shouldn’t have been doing that. I know that. It’s not like I forgive him or anything, I mean he hurt my brother—”

“And you,” Dean cuts me off to add.

“Yeah…and I know there are healthier ways of coping, I don’t condone his actions and I couldn’t imagine how anyone could do that to their kids but Mom was gone and…”

“There is no ‘but’ and you know that. Your explanation isn't going anywhere ‘cause there’s no excuse for that,” he interjects firmly. I know he’s right, but it doesn’t feel right to believe or say and I don’t know why. “He was only mean when he was drunk, otherwise he was quiet or gone,” I try to reason but the words feel wrong as they leave my mouth. “Not an excuse,” he counters.

“I know,” I mumble, “But! It started as an accident!” I say looking at Dean, “And it was necessary. He was on a hunt by himself and we knew he would be back soon but it was late so me and B/N made dinner together, we ate and saved some for him. B/N ended up falling asleep early, his football practice totally knocked him out, so I stayed up and waited at the kitchen table to make sure Dad got home okay. When he finally did get home he was very drunk and smelt like alcohol, I helped him and he was babbling about Mom. He pushed me off of him, ‘said he could do it himself so I backed off a little.

Then he was trying to get to the fridge for another beer but I got in his way cause I knew he had too much and should have water instead, he called me some mean names that I don’t wish to repeat. I’m very stubborn so I didn’t move and he hit me, it was just a slap though. But I have this whole defense mechanism and if my body thinks it’s in true danger then my powers will start working to defend me without really my control, and it’s very hard to shut off. So things started to rattle, and a picture frame on the mantel of Mom broke and that really made him upset so he hit me again this time harder and I actually passed out. But that’s okay! cause nothing else broke and I could’ve really hurt someone or if it got too out of control then I could’ve gotten the attention of hunters.”

I stop my rambling of the story, watching Dean’s face to see if he finally understood. But his eyes were filled with so much sadness and his face dropped with sympathy, a frown on his lips. “What?” I ask confused, didn’t he get it now? He doesn’t answer, instead, he wraps his arms around me, bringing me into his chest. I shift my legs so I can hug him back comfortably, but I hold onto his arms more confused than anything. “Wasn’t necessary,” he says, his chin on my head. I open my mouth to say something else, to say he’s wrong but it hits me then. I was being an idiot, a total fool.

If someone told me that story I would feel bad for them and say they didn’t deserve that, they did nothing wrong in the first place. But it wasn’t someone else’s story, it was mine, and somehow that made it different. Right?

It shouldn’t. I know it shouldn’t, so why do I feel this way? I’m not normally like this. “Wasn’t your fault. You were a kid and you were trying to help, he’s an asshole and shouldn’t have done any of it,” Dean says softly.

Tears run down my cheek. I didn’t like his Dad because he didn’t treat them well so why was I making excuses for my Dad? Was it because of Mom? She loved him so wholly but still would have despised what he became, did he know that? Did that only make him feel worse?

And just because he wasn’t always mean to us doesn’t mean it was okay. Because it was more than being mean, I know that.

I know by morning I’ll be in a better mood. I’ll have a different perspective on things that I won’t understand for a while, I’m self-aware enough to know that too. But it will be okay because things always turn out okay, they always get better. Tomorrow will always be a new day and the sun will shine brighter.

I pull away from Dean just far enough to look at him, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, it was nothin’ against you.”

He gently wipes away a tear falling down my cheek, “Stop apologizing.”

I open my mouth to apologize for apologizing but seeing the issue there I lean my head into his chest again. We stay there silently for a while and I try to focus on the soft rise and fall of his chest instead of my mind. He rubs a hand up and down my back, and my shoulders drop. It’s been a long day with a lot of emotions and I was tired. “He can’t hurt you anymore. ‘Won’t let anyone hurt you,” he whispers just barely audible. But my eyes were fluttering shut, growing heavy so maybe I imagined it and the soft press of his lips to my crown.

Tomorrow will be better, I remind myself.

[neon-junkie]

Breakin’ a Sweat

Summary: Hunter’s enhanced senses have been kicked up into over-drive as you come back from a session at the gym. Your post-workout shower can wait, as your Sergeant seems rather irritated at your natural scent.

Pairing: Hunter x f!Reader (she/her)

Word count: 2.4k

Tags: Scent kink, First time, Sub/dom, Oral (receiving) Facesitting, Knife play (if you squint,) Playful bickering, Dirty talk, Teasing.

"You alright, Sarge?" Hunter's been bouncing his heel against the floor ever since you returned, no longer putting his stimulating focus into twirling his viroblade. His brows are furrowed, arms are crossed, and there's a broody expression plastered across his form. To a stranger, Hunter would be nothing more than a sulking man; but to you, he's clearly agitated. "Fine," Hunter instantly replies. His hands come up to wipe his face, and you notice the light layer of sweat forming above his brow. His chest rises and falls as he lets out a deep breath, and once more, his arms cross against his waist.

"Are you sure? Because you-" "-I'm fine," Hunter sternly replies, his brows dipping even deeper with frustration. "You're not fine," you blatantly state, rather unhappy with his defensive tone. If the others were here, Echo would be the first to curse him out for his snappiness, but shame on them for being on a supply run!

"I am. I'm just..." Hunter's bouncing leg comes to a halt, and he swivels his chair around to look over at you, looming in the Marauder's hallway. "Weren't you about to go and shower?"

"Uh... yes?" your tone heightens, confused at the sudden change of conversation. "Okay, well... hurry up." Hunter spins away from you, zoning out at the wall, and you can hear his leg begin to bounce again. With a sigh, you roll your eyes, "do I smell that bad?" you mock. Sure, Hunter can be weird when it comes to his heightened senses - stinky things especially irritate him, which would explain why Wrecker has to follow strict orders of showering after every work out - but come on! You're not that bad! Your time at the gym was barely worth it!

"No, but... It's not that. Just go and shower," Hunter urges with a wave of his hand. "Not that?" you repeat his words. "Then what is it?" There's a pause, a moment of silence, and Hunter seems hesitant as he slowly turns his chair around to face you again. "You don't smell bad, but you do... smell." Your hands come to rest on your hips, and it's obvious how Hunter's gaze is struggling to meet yours. Only, when they do, you notice how wide his pupils are, and suddenly, it all makes sense.

"So," you stretch out the word. "If I don't smell bad, then how do I smell?" you question, and now, your tone is obvious. You've caught on, and you're teasing him about it. How cruel! It seems Hunter is buying it, as his tongue runs across his dry lips as he thinks about his next set of words.

"Good." "Good enough to eat?" you coo, batting your lashes innocently. "Stop it." "Come on, Sarge. I want to know what's getting you all worked up," you continue teasing, and you have the audacity to begin slowly making your way over to him. The second you start moving, Hunter's eyes dart up to meet yours, and there's arousal glistening within them, along with a tint of fear. Hunter is a man of self-control, but in weak-willed moments like this, he can't help but allow his heightened senses to get the better of him. He's enticed, so enticed that he remains seated, and looks up at you with pleading eyes as you stop at his knees, and look down at him. "Tooka got your tongue?" you tut. Hunter's keeping his breaths short, but he caves, sucking in a deep breath in an attempt to relax. With it, he intakes your scent, and his nostrils flare before he brings his palms up to his face. He groans into them, and his heel begins bouncing again, looking debauched without a single inch of contact.

"You smell good," Hunter mutters into his palms.

"What about me smells good?" "This," Hunter points with one hand to your crotch, the other sprawled over his face. He's peeking at you between his fingertips, and the second your eyes meet, he looks away.

Your hands come forward to softly grasp Hunters, and he allows you to remove them from his face, and settle comfortably on your thighs. "Do you want this?" you question, causing Hunter to dart his head up in your direction. "Are you sure?" Hunter stutters, his eyes widening at your proposal.

"I wouldn't be offering if I wasn't sure," you reply with a soft shrug. "Then, yes. I want this." Hunter dampens his lips with his tongue, the sweat on his brow now softening as his form relaxes. You're on the same page. However, you're the one holding the reins. It's surprising - a man such as Hunter, dominant and forward, but eager to submit the second his senses start acting up. Still, he's attempting to hold his breath. You're inches from him, and if he was struggling before, when you were down the hallway, then Maker knows how bad he must be now. Hunter has been teased enough, and you take pity on him. You command your first order, in a sweet, yet firm tone. You can play the role of Sergeant, for now. "Lie down." "But the others could be-" You cut Hunter off with a click of your tongue, and shake your head in disappointment. "I said down, boy," you order once more as you point to the floor. Hunter pauses for a moment, his heart thumping in his chest, in awe that this is happening - this is really happening. With nervousness, Hunter slowly rises from his chair, only to fall down to his knees, and then back onto his ass. "Like this?" he sheepishly questions whilst lying on his back, his hands coming to rest on his chest. "Like that," you agree with a nod. The second that your words leave your lips, you begin kicking off your shoes. Your fingertips find the waistband of your gym leggings, and Hunter instantly jolts upright, a hand reaching out as he yelps, "wait!"

"Something a matter?" you question, fingertips sitting on standby, tucked into your waistband.

"I... is this..." he mumbles, and clears his throat before deciding his next set of words. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to make you face your problems."

With that, Hunter gulps. All he does is nod as he lies back down, watching you with pleading eyes. After a few seconds, you resume, sliding down your leggings and lazily kicking them off. "On or off?" you question as you point to your underwear. "...On," Hunter decides after a moment. "I... I want to take them off, when the time is right." "Alright, Sergeant," you say with a mindless shrug. Hunter is already losing his mind with you like this, only wearing your underwear and gym top, now walking over to him and getting on your knees. His hands rub over his face as he watches you, fingertips flexing as you shuffle forwards, and position your clothed cunt over his face. Your hands come to rest on his chest, sitting almost upright. You peer down, and soak up the sight - Hunter is beneath you, with his gloved hands now moving around your body to grasp onto your thighs. He tugs at them, and before you know it, you're being pulled down onto his face.

The first thing that you feel is Hunter's nose bump against your clit; it rests there, and you overhear Hunter groan beneath you. "Somebody has a thing for scents," you comment.

Hunter's hands flex against your thighs as his groan turns into a grumble, "enhanced senses, and all that," he mindlessly explains. You're about to bite back with another comment, but all that comes out of your mouth is, "oh!" as Hunter drags his tongue against your clothed pussy. Once, twice, then Hunter's hands move up to tug at the waistband of your underwear. "I can't tolerate these any more! Get them off, or else I will." "You will?" you scoff, silently giggling at Hunter's short fuse. "How?" Hunter replies by removing his hands from your thighs to unsheathe his viroblade. He, without looking, twirls it between his fingertips, and chuckles as you, once again, reply, "oh!"

A smug smile crosses your lips, and you mentally say goodbye to your underwear. "Go on," you urge. Hunter is oh-so-gentle as he hooks the blade beneath both sides of your underwear, cutting the garment off one leg at a time. It falls straight onto his face, and he lets out a huff as he pulls it off, and throws it into the distance. His viroblade is sheathed, and the second that it clicks into place, you're being yanked down, directly onto his face.

Hunter lets out a low and deep moan as he licks your pussy for the first time. His nostrils are flaring, soaking up your raw scent - it can't get any better than this, truly. Your upright position begins to wither, slowly arching forward until you're pressing your head on Hunter's stomach. He's not holding back, lapping at your cunt as if it's his last meal; if anything, he's moaning more than you are, grunting and groaning beneath you as he gets his credits worth.

Hunter lets out an, "mhm!" as he wraps his lips around your clit, and sucks, causing you to jolt in pleasure. "Fuck," you mutter. Your body automatically pushes down against him, rutting your hips, grinding against Hunter's mouth. He doesn't seem to mind; if anything, he encourages it, as the hands on your thighs have begun pushing and pulling, urging your hips to grind.

"That's it," Hunter mutters against your lips. "Ride my face." Huh, you don't need to be told twice!

All Hunter needs to do is stick his tongue out, and relax as you roll your hips down onto him. He's on cloud nine, totally blissed out! His legs have since bent upright, and one heel is thumping against the floor, going stir-crazy over all the action. And his erection, his poor, poor erection, is straining against his cod piece. Sure, you can't physically see his erection, but his cod piece is looking rather off. So, what do you do to help? You decide to place your fingertips right in the centre, and push the armour against his already-pained erection. Hunter lets out a "mhm!" followed by a deep groan, that shifts into a growl. "Don't you dare tease," he warns, before kissing your pussy. "How am I teasing?" you innocently coo. Again, you push down on his cod piece, and something inside Hunter snaps.

Within a flash, Hunter somehow manages to pull your hands behind your back, causing you to fall flat against his stomach. Gloved hands keep you steady, not allowing you to move - all you can do is lie on top of him, quite literally, and hold on tight for the ride.

Hunter, now with the upper hand, curses, "bad girl," against your cunt before diving in. He's pulling out all the stops - sucking your clit, tongue fucking your entrance, doing anything and everything to turn you into a whining mess. And from the way that your legs are trembling, it's obvious that he's doing an incredible job. Minutes pass, or were they merely seconds? Time spirals into a blur as you become engulfed in pleasure, and on the side, you mentally thank your past self for going to the gym today. Shit, if you knew Hunter was going to get this worked up over your post work-out body, then you would have put some more effort into it. Maybe invite him along, next time? Your final whimpers are half-muffled, your cheek pressing to Hunter's armoured stomach. At least Hunter is polite enough to tone down his attack as you ride out your orgasm, not wanting to cross the bridge of over-stimulation; that can be saved for a rainy day. Instead, he gently laps at your cunt as you come down from cloud nine. The grip on your wrists loosen, and before you know it, you're shakily pushing yourself upright. Hunter slowly slides his way out from beneath you, and he's grinning as your eyes meet his, not bothering to wipe your release off his chin. Hunter sits beside you as you fall back onto your knees, your chest rising and falling with a steady pace. "Shit," you curse, and Hunter lets out a chuckle. "Yeah, you can say that again," he nods.

You meet his gaze, and your debauched expression turns into a playful scowl as you order, "please wipe my cum off your chin." "Why? Not my style?" Hunter shrugs, and laughs when you lean forward and attempt to wipe your slickness away, only for a firm grip to appear on your wrist as Hunter rejects you. You scoff, and pull your arm away, shaking your head in annoyance at him. "Fine," you grumble, causing Hunter to laugh again.

He caves, and finally wipes his face clean, unfazed by using his forearm armour as a clean-up rag. Silence fills the air, but not the awkward kind, until the beep of Hunter's comm bounces off the Marauder's walls. Hunter answers, and as expected, the others are on their way back. "No time to rile up your senses up again, Sarge?" you bat your lashes. Hunter sends you a smirk, and to your surprise, he responds, "I don't need another round. Or at least, not just yet."

"Another... wait-" you pause, "did you...?" Hunter shrugs as he rises to his feet, offering you his hand the second that his legs are stretched. "You still need that shower, right?" Taking his hand, you let out a sheepish, "yes." Hunter looks back and forth between you, and the refresher, until you take his hint and begin making your way, eager to get cleaned up, but still in need of answers. "Make sure you wash all that sweat off," he orders. "I'll clean up the mess you made." Maker, what started as you having the upper hand, certainly hasn't ended that way. All you can do is give him a simple nod before stepping into the refresher, ready to wash your sins away with whatever water is left in the Marauder's water tank.

And whilst you're doing so, Hunter cleans himself up, along with the light puddle that you've left behind on his ship's floor.

The only thing that remains are your torn panties, now a keepsake in his armour pocket.

[usopps-devotee]

Wips

Death by chocolate

Summary: testing sanjis patients leads to a very "sweet" punishment.

Tags: food play, mean dom sanji, no smut yet, unchecked for grammar and spelling, potentially incorrect French translation (I don't speak french)

You should have known better than to test the cook, thoughts of "How bad can it be?" or "What's the worst that could happen?" landed you a spot at the dining table in front of the world's favorite and most disgusting dessert, chocolate. He ignored every last sorry and plea of mercy, you've really pushed Sanji's buttons this time and he's making sure you're not going to do something like this again. It starts out with a simple layer of cake, decadent and fluffy maybe if you focused on the texture and not the flavor you could survive what you presume to be the first half of your torture.

Sanji cuts a small piece of the bottom layer holding it out for you to taste, hesitant doesn't begin to describe the churn in your stomach ot the red hot anxiety flashing though your veins. He's a patient man, you know the cook could sit at the table all day fork in hand if need be. You lean In close, eyes closed before your jaw is roughly grabbed and the cake is almost melting on your tongue.

"Chew and swallow it, I hope you're done playing dumb with me."

His tight grip on yout face loosened but he didn't let go, instead preparing another bite. This one was bigger than the first, gathering from the bottom 2 layers and the frosting between the two, you're thankful he isn't making you eat the top layer yet, the frosting was always your least favorite part.

Feeling you trying to shy away he tightens his grip, forcing your jaw open and placing the cake in your mouth before you have time to react or pull away. Cringing at the taste and texture of the desert he almost feels bad, almost, he has to remember your behavior today.

As much as your cook adored you and loved the fact that you clung to him like his shadow, distracting him from his responsibilities is one thing he doesn't tolerate. He feels the more you distracted him the longer it takes him to finish his given task, today was proof. Your pretty voice constantly whining his name, desperate for his attetion. Feeling over his body but just enough for your touch to still be deemed 'innocent'. Lewd comments both behind closed doors and in front of the crew, on top of having the audacity to continue when the cook asked you nicely to stop.

Your behavior immediately changed when you saw him gathering the ingredients to chocolate cake. Which is what landed you a spot here sitting at the kitchen table. Swallowing the thick peice of cake and frosting, you already see the next bite prepared. It's more frosting than cake it the top, and that's what he decided to tease tou with, holding it out just inches away from your lips. Sanji looks you in the eyes as you silently plead for him to at least slow down your rate of consumption. Sighing, he takes the bite himself, giving you less chocolate to worry about.

The melodic hum that left Sanji would be reserved in your memory for only your wettest of dreams, had it not been for your libido getting you in this spot in the first place, you would have pounced on his cock right then and there. Instead, you watch as he takes another bite for himself, then steps away from the table. You see him grab a bottle of port wine and one glass presumably for the both of you to share. Pouring the first glass for you, he watched as downed the sweet red without much thought or consideration other than hopes to remove the chocolate taste from your mouth.

"Mon doux ange, où sont tes manières ? Je te pardonne pour cette fois, mais apprends à savourer tes récompenses, ma chérie."

He chuckled as he poured another glass, this time taking a sip while it was still in his hands.

Jealousy

Summary: You don't take kindly to others trying to take what is rightfully yours, usopp gets a reminder of this in the bathroom of a bar.

Tags: Possessive reader, sub usopp, public sex, no smut yet, unchecked for grammar and spelling

Usopp doesn't know how he got in this situation, one thing he does know is he can't get out. He's been flustered by your touch for the better half of an hour while the crew and locals party at the bar you currently reside in. The feeling of your hands gliding over his lower body; his thighs, his ass but most importantly his cock, has him trying to focus on anything other than your caress.

It was rare that Usopp was flirted with by someone other than yourself, the both of you liked to keep it that way. So when persistence in human form wanted to cling to him you didn't take to it very lightly. Grabbing him by the fabric of his overalls you dragged him into your lap where he currently sat. He currently held no qualms against the current placement. If anything Usopp was quite excited by the possessive thrill and being sure that you would never leave, along with the reward of your touch.

"Bathroom" He couldn't tell if the word fell from your lips as more of a purr or a growl but what he did know is you plan to rip him apart from the seams and he's completely down for it. His legs are wobbly from your teases alone as he walked like a baby dear for the first time, with you right behind him hand around the small of his waist.

Let's go to bed

Summary: The best way to get what you want from law is always to put in a show.

Tags: fluff, mention/use of alcohol no smut yet, unchecked for grammar and spelling

If you were honest you really don't have a clue how you ended up in this bar drunk off your ass. Maybe the back and forth playful bickering between you and Penguin got to you, maybe you were too tired of hearing Bepo complain about any climate not cold enough to freeze your nipples off. But you kept ignoring the voice in your head telling you its because of the lack of attention from law. You and your captain had an interesting relationship, closer than anyone else on the ship but not close enough for either of your liking. That thought drive you insane, the space between the two was the same space that allowed you to take almost any drink offered to you.

That's what got you in this mess now, dancing on the table tops and counters, causing you to be the center of attention. You wouldn't have it any other way. As you think, to take another offered drink, you lock eyes with your captain, who looks more intrigued than pissed off. This being so out of the blue, a part of you figured he'd be fuming. The look on his face tells you that he knows this little display of yours, if all for him, all because of him. Maybe you could give him one last hint and one more show. Making a b-line over to the musicians with a song request, he could see the grin in your face and knew your plans now edged toward devious.

[mid0khan]

I got tagged by @the-apocrypha in the last line game, so I'll share a little bit of the (really big) Sandman fic I'm working on (like seriously I went from 'only writes one shots' to 'start a 100-chapters-long project' with no transition and I don't know what I'm doing I can only pray it's good)

Anyway, enjoy

Hob stood across the street from the bookshop.

When Abel had told him there was an angel in London, and one with a passion for books and a knack for magic, he had hardly believed his luck. If the revelation hadn’t been immediately followed by Cain stabbing a butter knife in his brother’s head (“How dare you ruin a perfectly good mystery you miserable maggot!”), Hob would have hugged him. Cain had assured him such a “benign” wound would heal pretty quickly, and he had even proposed to burry Abel near the surface, so he would rise up more easily, but Hob had awoken before he had a chance to thank his unlucky informant.

Finding the bookshop had been easy enough, but Hob was now facing an unexpected difficulty.

The ghost car, the one he had seen driving itself and that had caused him to avoid Soho for years now, was parked right in front of the shop.

He had feared he would see it; he was in the middle of its territory after all. But he had never thought the thing would be waiting for him there.

Hob had been standing there, staring at his newfound adversary for at least half an hour. The thing hadn’t moved at all. It was waiting for its time to strike, no doubt. Hob had no choice but to try and get around the car to reach the shop’s door, and pray that the car wouldn’t have a sudden crave for blood.

He warily crossed the road, keeping his distance with the ghost car as much as he could. It didn’t move. He hugged the wall, slowly approaching the door while never taking his eyes off the beast. From up close, he could see what a beautiful car it was. He hadn’t seen this kind of Bentley in ages, and this one looked brand new! He would have been in awe if he hadn’t been so suspicious of the thing. He finally reached the door, all but fleeing away from the car with a sigh of relief.

When his eyes got used to the relative darkness of the shop, Hob gasped.

Books everywhere. Books on shelves so full they looked like they were going to crumble. Books in piles on the floor. Books on the stairs, because there was a mezzanine filled with books too. New books, old books, children’s tales next to things that really should not be read by children, big classics and very niche authors… It was untidy. It was crumpled.

It was lovely.

“Go away,” a voice slurred to Hob’s left, making him jump. “We probably don’t have what you’re looking for, and if we did, we wouldn’t sell it to you anyway.”

Hob had been so focused on the books, he hadn’t noticed the little reading space next to him. Slumped in a very old armchair, a red-headed man was staring at him, slightly menacing. He looed very out of place in the bookshop, with his old-rocker style and his sunglasses, but somehow, he also seemed to perfectly belong there.

“Weird way to handle a bookshop,” Hob mused, and the redhead hissed at him. “But I’m not here to buy anything, actually I have a book to show to M. Fell?”

The redhead raised an eyebrow, curious, all trace of aggressivity leaving his body.

“Oh! Well in that case, welcome. Aziraphale is out for now, but he should be back soon. You can wait for him here, take a sit.” With a lazy raise of his arm, he pointed to a chair, and after carefully putting the pile of books covering it away, Hob sat, trying not to stare too much.

He was sure he had already seen the man somewhere.

The thing with being immortal was that he had seen a lot of people. It wasn’t always easy to remember which face belonged to which name, or where and when he had met someone. But there were situations that were harder to forget than others.

He had frequented a few circles that were… not very legal, in the 60’s. He had missed the thrill that came with doing something forbidden, that he had grown up with as a mercenary, and he had been quite good at picking locks. He had made sure never to kill anybody (his life and the last century both had had enough death already, thank you very much), but still, it had not been as fun as it had once been. He had felt like a fraud, stealing alongside people who struggled to make ends meet when he himself had been richer than any of their victims.

But there had been a weird job, not long before he had left his group. Someone had offered thousands to simply walk in a church and steal holly water. Of course the client has made it look like a big coup, but Hob had not been fooled. He had refused the job. He didn’t want to risk getting dragged in some demon summoning or whatever.

The redhead was the spitting image of the client.

Maybe it was just a man looking a lot like his father. Or maybe it was the same person. A fellow immortal? Another angel? Something else?

Maybe he could help too?

“Could you take a look at the book, too?” Hob asked, making the redhead frown. “I really need advices on how to use it.”

“How to use a book? Well, usually, you’re supposed to read it.”

“This one is a bit special; besides, I can’t read it.”

Hob took the grimoire out of his Marlowe was better tote bag, and the redhead tensed

“Nope! Absolutely not.”

“Could you help me-”

“No.” The redhead stood and grabbed Hob, forcing him toward the door. “I’m not helping you with that, Aziraphale is not helping you with that, you get out and you never come back.” He pushed Hob out of the shop and slammed the door shut behind him.

Hob stood there, dumbfounded. Welp, that didn’t go as planned. What was he supposed to do now? Could he convince the redhead to let him back inside? Was there maybe another book-specialist angel in London?

He was snapped out of his thoughts by a squeal. He realized he was still in front of the bookshop’s door, and a white-haired man was standing in front of him, a look of bewilderment on his face, his hands flapping in front of him in excitement. The man pointed to the grimoire still in Hob’s hands with a shaking finger.

“Oh my, is it really… No, it can’t be, but it looks just like… Where did you… Come in!” The man grabbed Hob’s arm and dragged him back in the bookshop, while almost screaming. “Crowley? Crowley dear, you won’t believe what I just found!”

I am supposed to tag people there too, which makes me a bit nervous, so I'll tag @cuubism, @kydrogendragon and @mimisempai if you want to play, and if you don't, forget I ever tagged you

[clumsiestgiantess]

Y’all remember when I asked you to choose which way I wanted to take the language barrier story (either a continuation or a prequel)?

Continuing with Ritchie and Mason seemed to be the one people were most interested in, so without further ado…

Part 3 of Takeover Scenario Future!

(part two here) (@goblinunderabridge, @entomolog-t, @microfoxprime, tagging y’all because you were the ones who wanted this to win!)

The first night with Mason was wild.  Once I was certain everyone else had gone to bed — even my sister, who kept checking up on me every twenty minutes — I made us a fort beneath my blankets.  He stared in awe at the covers high above him, grinning at me as if it was the coolest thing he’d ever seen.  It was kinda like a sleepover, only he’d be here every night.  I reminded myself to get an actual bed for him later.  Tonight he seemed perfectly content to stay right here with me.  “Wow! S’ti ekil a elohw sucric tnet rednu ereh!  Knaht uoy, niaga, rof lla fo siht.  I yltsenoh t’ndid kniht stnaig derac hguone tuoba su ot evig em gnihtemos yletomer ekil siht.  M’I dalg uoy dnuof em yadretsey.  Neve fi uoy did kaerb ym gel.”

“You’re welcome.. I think?”  I hadn’t understood much of it, but Julie had stuck it to me to learn ‘please’, ‘thank you’, and ‘you’re welcome’ in the survivors’ language.  I asked about learning ‘yes’ and ‘no’, which seemed important, but she shrugged and said that wasn’t really necessary considering nodding or shaking your head could easily replace those words in the basics of communication.  She added that thumbs up or thumbs down could also mean ‘good’ or ‘bad’.  We’d just started learning ‘sorry’ when I was called off to get to bed.

We stayed up a good portion of the night playing Super Smash Bros on my Switch.  Mason refused to sleep until he’d mastered the little controller.  Thankfully the single joycon they give you on the switch was just big enough to be a bit larger than keyboard size to him.  He was decent — clearly he’d played games like this back in his world.  The only thing stopping him from beating me was the fact that he had to use both hands to move the joystick.  I still let him win a few times.  He called me out on it for most of them, though.

I don’t know when I fell asleep, but I was shaken awake by Mason.  He gestured around to the bed then to himself and I eventually realized he was asking for his own place to sleep.  Nodding tiredly, I helped him down off the bed to the floor.  He only needed a single pillow as a mattress and a small blanket as a whole comforter.  I’d just put away all my gaming stuff and slid into bed when he spoke.  “Ritchie?”  It was strange hearing him speak my name.  So much of what he said I didn’t understand.  

“Yeah?”  “Tha.. Thank…  Knaht uoy.”  Well, at least he was trying.  I wasn’t sure what he was thanking me for, either.  Maybe everything.  “Re- Re’uoy emoclew.”  Damn those contractions are hard to pronounce.  I peered over the edge of the bed at him.  He was sitting up on the pillow, grinning at me from below.  “Goodnight!” I called quietly, settling back into my bed.  “Thgindoog!”

Groggily sliding out of the covers the following morning, I nearly gave myself a heart attack.  I’d missed stepping on Mason by a mere few inches.  Thankfully, he was still asleep and hadn’t noticed.  Just as I returned from the bathroom, my mom hurriedly opened the door to my room.  I yelped, quickly coming up to the entrance to block her view of the little bed on the floor, and the small person sleeping soundly in it.  “H-Hey, Mom!  Why are you up so early?”  “What do you mean?” she asked me, “I have to drive you to school in twenty minutes!  I came to see if you were ready for breakfast.”  Her confusion turned to stern exasperation.  “Ritchie, don’t tell me you forgot.  You have six weeks of summer school, young man!  You better get up and get ready!”  “Alright, ok!  I’m up!  I’m getting ready!”  She sighed and closed my bedroom door.

Up until then, I’d forgotten about summer school.  Probably because it sucks.  At least it’s shorter than normal school.  I hurriedly readied myself in my room, stuffing things haphazardly into my backpack.  As I sat on the edge of my bed to yank on my socks, Mason stumbled blearily into the space, still half asleep.  “Tahw…  S’tahw gniog no?  Yhw era uoy pu os ylrae, edud?”

He grumbled something at me, then yawned.  “I have to go to stupid summer school,” I told him with a groan.  Mason stepped back slightly, giving me a slightly hurt look as if I’d grumbled at him.  I held up a hand, “No, no I’m not angry at you!  I’m angry at school, see?”  I picked up my backpack and placed it in front of me, zipping up the pocket I’d been stuffing things into.

Immediately upon seeing my backpack, Mason’s eyes dulled.  A knowing, almost disgusted look spread onto his face.  “Yeah,” I sighed unhappily, “school.”  Mason waved a hand at me dismissively and turned to go back to sleep, but froze in his tracks before he could reach the pillow.  Whirling back around, he ran across the room to me, excitedly talking nonstop.  “Woah!  Slow down!  I only know like.. five words in your language!  And you’re talking so fast I wouldn’t understand a single one!”

He stopped next to my backpack and yanked the zipper back open, pointing to himself then to the open bag.  “You’re kidding…  Why would you willingly go to school?”  Just like I’d been taught a few things by Julie, Elenor had also taught Mason several words in English.  ‘Why’ was one of them.  Mason stammered a moment.  “I tsuj.. tnaw ot og htiw uoy.  Ees erom tnaig secalp, I sseug.”  He stammered awkwardly, glancing away from me.  Whatever he just said, I understood ‘you’ and ‘giant’, and the fact that he was suddenly at a loss for words.  I didn’t know exactly what that meant, but I didn’t see why he couldn’t come.  It would probably make classes a bit less boring, even if Mason couldn’t exactly get out of my bag without being seen.  “Alright,” I nodded, “Let me just rearrange a few things in-”

“Ritchard?  Are you ready up there?”  I flinched, blood running cold.  “You have ten minutes to be in the car.”  Quickly grabbing Mason, I hastily slid him into my backpack — tucked between my binder and the side of the bag where the zipper was.  He gave me a wide-eyed look as I went to zip it up.  “I’m so sorry, man.  I just- my mom’s gonna kill me if I’m not ready.  Just.. try to make yourself comfortable in there, ok?”  Sliding a more gentle hand in, I settled him more comfortably so nothing was in danger of hurting him and especially his leg.  “Ok, gotta go.  I’ll see you at school, buddy.”

Zipping up my bag, I cautiously slung it over my shoulder and made my way downstairs.  Placing it on a chair at the table, I quickly snatched up some breakfast as my mom warned me again about being late.  While I finished eating, I felt a tug on my sleeve and glanced down.  A little arm had slid out of my bag, trying to get my attention.  It slid back inside once I noticed it, and Mason’s face peered through the gap where his arm had been.  He pointed to the table and mimed biting something.  “Oh yeah!” I whispered, “I can get you breakfast, one sec.”

While my mom went to put on shoes, I grabbed a bagel off the counter and slipped it into my bag beside him.  “All good?”  Mason gave me a thumbs up and I zipped everything up again.  Nothing too extraordinary happened on the way to school, but I made sure to treat my backpack with a bit more caution than I usually would.  With it on my lap, I could feel Mason shifting around inside, still trying to get comfortable.  Guiltily I remembered how hastily I put my things inside it.  Whenever I get to my locker I’ll have to rearrange it for him.

However, I didn’t realize that during summer school, you don’t get a locker.  You just bring your bag right to class — in front of about a dozen people.  I had no choice but to leave him there.  Class went by agonizingly slowly knowing there was someone else hidden right beside me in my backpack.  When lunch came and I headed to the cafeteria, I pretended I’d forgotten something and went back — secretly hoping to check up on the survivor.  But of course teachers just have to eat in their room.  Defeated, I trudged back down the hall to get lunch.  At least I could bring Mason something to eat whenever I returned.

Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea bringing him with me.  His presence was only making me more anxious.  Thankfully, I managed to wrap up some of the school’s meatloaf — which was really just random meats stuffed suspiciously together — and returned to class.  It would probably leave a huge mess in my bag, but at least my secret friend would have something to eat.

Actually, he might not even have that.  Mason was gone.  The zipper to my bag was open wide when I arrived.  I cursed under my breath, carefully rummaging through everything in my backpack.  The only sign of him was a partially-eaten bagel and the little empty place he’d constructed for himself.  Desperately, I wanted to call out to him, but I could only sit quietly at my desk, glancing accusedly at the people around me.  Did someone steal him?  Who would’ve gone through my stuff to find him?!

I dreaded it the whole time, but as the end of the school day arrived and the bell rang, I sat at my seat and attentively watched everyone’s bags and hoodies to see if anything could hint at a survivor stashed away inside.  Once I became the last in the classroom, I began peering around the floor.  “Ritchie, is there something you need help with?”  I jumped as the teacher eyed me confusedly from across the room.  “I- I think I lost something,” I said numbly, “but I can’t find it.”  She let me stay for a bit longer, but eventually even she had to leave, and I was left standing alone in the school.

By then my bus had long left.  I was stranded, but not so much as Mason might be, so I kept searching.  “Mason!” I whisper-yelled through the empty halls, “Where are you?!”  My phone started ringing, making me jump as I slunk around.  I glanced at the caller ID and paled.  It was my sister.  My mother was still at work, but my sister was at home, waiting to see whether I’d come back from school.  “Shit!  I can’t let her know about Mason!  She won’t let him stay with me if she finds out I lost him on the first day!”  

Up ahead, I heard the sounds of a custodian in the next hall and quieted my voice.  I peeked out from the corner, planning to make a quick dash past the hallway’s opening while he wasn’t looking.  He seemed distracted enough, so I angled myself to make a run for it, but froze as a shout echoed down the hall, followed by a loud slam.  A survivor scrambled to their feet and ran for the end of the hallway, followed by the custodian with an empty bucket.  I watched in horror as Mason was roughly scooped up into it.  

With a huff, they walked around to the end of the hallway, and tossed the bucket’s contents outside.  Oh thank god, he’s just letting him out.  I raced away down a different hallway and out the side door.  My side ached by the time I got to the door where Mason had been tossed out of.  He was there!  He was.. helping someone up?  I stopped in my tracks.  Mason helped another survivor to their feet.  This new survivor was the first to spot me watching them, and upon realizing I was there, he started screaming — dashing away into a nearby bush and tugging Mason along.

“Wait!  Mason!” I yelped, rushing forward.  The survivor skidded to a halt, letting the other continue hiding.  “Ritchie!”  I fell to my knees at the sound of the relief in his voice.  He ran up to me, scrambling up my bent legs like a ramp before hugging my chest tightly.  In that way, I could feel both of our heartbeats pounding in our chests.  We sat together like that for a while before my phone rang again, startling us both.  Mason stood practically glued to my side as I hesitantly picked up the call.  

“WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU, RITCHIE?!  I KNOW YOU TOOK MASON BECAUSE HE’S DEFINITELY NOT HERE!”  Oh.  “YOU BETTER NOT HAVE GOTTEN HIM KILLED!”  “N-No!  He’s fine!  He’s right here!  He wanted to come to school with me!”  “He wanted to, or you wanted him to?” she asked.  “He wanted to!  You can ask him yourself!”  “Mhm,” she grumbled disbelievingly.

“Anyway, can you come pick me up?  I’m still at school; I missed the bus.”  A groan rumbled out of the speaker.  “Alright, I’m coming.”  The call ended.  I breathed a sigh of relief and glanced back down at my survivor friend.  “What happened?” I asked Mason, opening my bag and pointing to the empty spot where he’d sat earlier.  “Where did you go?”  “I was taht yug!” he told me, pointing to the bush where the other survivor was hidden. “Eh saw gnilaets sgniht morf eht moorssalc eht tnemom eht rehcaet deppets yawa, os I-”

Mason stopped, recognizing the growing confusion in my eyes.  I didn’t understand him.  If only I could just, like, watch a video or something and understand his language.  He sighed, also clearly wanting me to understand him as well.  Never in my life have I wanted to actually learn something language-related until now.  It’s.. kinda the reason I’m in summer school in the first place.

Stepping a little ways in front of me, the survivor motioned for me to follow him.  We made our way back to the bushes in the exact opposite way as the day I found him — with him in the lead and me cautiously following.  When I neared the bush, the other survivor whimpered something to Mason.  I could see him cowering deeper and further away from me.  Mason briefly began to speak, then his eyes lit up with an idea.  He raced over to the dirt, broke a small stick off the bush, and began to draw.  

When he was finished, I slowly peered down at it.  The drawing showed a sad little stick figure behind the bars of a cage, then Mason pointed at the other survivor.  “Ohhh,” I realized, him nodding along with me.  “Eh saw dnuof yb a tnaig dik,” he explained, drawing a larger stick figure with a mean face standing beside it.  “Adnik ekil woh uoy dnuof em, tub eht tnaig ohw dnuof mih saw.. a tol esrow.”

I watched as he gently coaxed the other survivor to come out.  He stepped up to the very edge of the bush, but stayed beneath it.  The little guy looked awful — much more like the wild survivors I’d seen before I met Mason.  His eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with purpled bags beneath them, and everywhere on him were the telltale signs of either bruises or starvation.  He looked older than us, but I couldn't tell if he was actually older, or if his awful tortured state made him look that way.  It was probably both.

“Wh- Who would do this?” I asked quietly.  Mason rubbed away parts drawing to show the survivor escaping a backpack.  He’d been living in the school since his escape.  But today was the first day of summer school.  He would’ve had to have just escaped today!

Shocked, I looked to Mason as he stopped drawing.  His expression darkened for a moment, then he turned and looked up at me — not with an accusing ‘you might’ve done this to me, too’, but a thankful ‘you might’ve done this to me, too’, only I hadn’t.  I’d hurt him by frightening him, but I’d never intended to do anything that would make him look like this new survivor.

With a shaking hand he reached for me, leaning more heavily on his good leg.  I gently took his hand and sat him in my other palm.  The new survivor physically flinched at our interaction, as if I were touching him instead.  I brought Mason to my face and scrutinized him for a moment.  “Are you.. thgirla?” I asked, remembering only one of the words I meant to ask him.  He pressed a bit closer to my hand, but nodded.  If I was so horrified by seeing the poor state of the new survivor that I’d previously grown used to seeing, I could only imagine how Mason must’ve felt finding him — how he must’ve felt when the survivor told him that a ‘giant’ my age in my school had done that to him.

He squeezed my finger as if to say he knew I wouldn’t have done that sort of awful thing, then turned to the other survivor.  “Ees?  S’eh a yldneirf eno, I raews!  Eh nac teg su tuo fo ereh ot erehwemos efas!”  “Dna woh gnol evah uoy nwonk mih?”  He seemed to have said something either really smart or really scary because his reply quieted Mason for a moment.  

“I- I t’nevah nwonk mih gnol, tub I wonk s’eh doog!  Sih retsis-”  “Won s’ereht a retsis?”  “Ehs swonk ruo egaugnal!  S’ehs neeb sdneirf htiw a namuh rof sraey!  I t’ndid tsurt siht tnaig ta tsrif rehtie, tub ehs detalsnart rof em; eh sdnatsrednu.. emos sgniht tuoba su.  Eht tnatropmi sgniht!  Dna s’eh gnoig ot nrael erom!”

The two survivors almost sounded like they were arguing, but I think Mason was just trying to explain to the other guy that I wasn’t going to hurt him.  Damn, why did ‘I’m not going to hurt you’ have be part of today’s useful phrases to learn instead of yesterday’s?  After a back and forth that went on for several minutes.  Mason said something decisive.  Moments later, the new survivor begrudgingly slid out from beneath the bush.  

After some half-arguing, he approached me with his head down as if he were being marched to his doom.  I slowly lowered my other hand for him to climb onto.  Tucking Mason against my chest — which he didn’t seem to mind — I was able to keep a steady both hands on him to ensure he would have as comfortable a ride as possible.  Still, the survivor struggled slightly in my grasp — repositioning himself every few seconds while frightfully glancing back at me.

I made it to the pickup line where Julie’s car was already sitting.  A jolt of guilty fear zipped through my chest, but I braced myself for her yelling and headed over.  Sacrificing my hand that held the new survivor’s back, I opened the car door.  Julie was on the verge of yelling at me, but then she realized the survivor in my hands wasn’t Mason.  Then she realized I was carrying two survivors.

“Where did you-?”  “Mason found him in school.  He said that this guy was caged up by another kid.”  Julie gave the new survivor a pitying look — anger rapidly fading from her expression.  “By the state of him, I wouldn’t doubt it.  Come on, get in.”  I deposited both survivors onto the dashboard so I could get my backpack off and my seatbelt on before reaching out and picking them up again.  The new survivor struggled in my grip, but Mason slid down to happily sit on my lap.  He called up to the guy in my hands and his struggles slowly lessened.

“S’tahw ruoy eman?” Julie asked the survivor in his own language.  He turned to her, wide-eyed.  “T- Tahw?” he asked.  She repeated what she said, nodding to him.  “Ym eman.. si Sirhc.”  “Sirhc,” she repeated, “Ll’uoy eb efas htiw su, I esimorp.  Revetahw deneppah ot uoy erofeb, s’ti revo won.”  The survivor stilled in my hand, and stayed fairly quiet for the whole ride back, except for occasional questions he’d ask Mason or Julie.  Again I had that sense of not belonging.  Everyone in the car had either asked or answered questions throughout the drive, while I sat in silence — only able to guess at what was said.

Back at home, Julie took the new survivor off to the kitchen to get him something healthy to eat and drink.  On my way to my room with Mason, she asked me to tell Elenor what was going on.  I poked my head into the seemingly empty room across the hall from mine.  “Elenor?”  The survivor appeared from behind my sister’s bed.  “What is it?” she snapped.  “Julie wanted me to tell you that we found another survivor.  He was in my school escaping from a kid that had caught him.”  She sighed, said something under her breath in her own language, then nodded and waved a hand dismissively at me.

In my own room, I finally put Mason back down.  He stepped out of my hand to the surface of my desk.  I gave him a long look, then sat down tiredly, head resting on my crossed arms.  “I want to know what everyone’s saying,” I told him quietly, “But I barely know any words in your language, and I’m even worse at pronouncing them.”  Mason came and sat down directly in front of my arms, scrutinizing me with concern.  “English,” I tried, pointing to myself, “you?”  I pointed to Mason.  “Hsilgne,” he replied.  “Hs.. ill.. gn-e?” I repeated questioningly.  We spent a while repeating the word for his language back and forth, then Mason eagerly grabbed a pencil and tugged a piece of paper closer.  In his hands, both items looked massive.

He tried to write something, but kept fumbling with the pencil.  “Hold on,” I said, opening a drawer and digging through it.  “I put a pencil through a sharpener for a bit too long…  Aha!”  I pulled out a very used wooden pencil — the tip ground down all the way to the edge of the eraser.  It still looked thick around in Mason’s hands, but it was small enough that he could use it much easier.  Mason wrote down a word in his language, then pointed to the last letter.  Looking up at me, he nodded towards the larger pencil.  “You want me to write?” I asked, picking it up.  He nodded, made room next to his word on the paper, and pointed to its last letter again.

Confused, but intrigued, I wrote the letter he pointed to: ‘h’.  He went down the strange word, pointing to each letter from the end of the word to the beginning.  ‘h’, ‘e’, ‘l’, ‘l’, ‘o’.  Wait.. what?  I looked at the word I wrote then at the one he wrote in his language.  “Hello?” I tried.  “Olleh!” Mason replied happily, pointing to the papers.  “Wow!  Ronele t’nsaw gniyl; ti yllaer si sdrawkcab,” he mused to himself.

Excitedly, I wrote a word in my language, then pointed to the last letter.  Mason immediately got to work copying it down.  Soon we began learning how to properly talk to one another without having to mime everything.  Through the paper, he told me what had happened without me at school while I occasionally repeated larger or important words I wanted to commit to memory.  I learned that Mason had heard the new survivor — his name was Chris — trying to gather some supplies from the room to try to hole up in the school for a while.  He’d escaped whatever awful kid had taken him by breaking out of the plastic lunchbox they’d kept him in — continuing to kick the latch until the cheap plastic snapped open.  

When Mason climbed out of my bag and made his way over to him, Chris had thought he was also escaping.  However, after learning that he’d befriended a ‘giant’, Chris had begged Mason so vehemently to run away, and tried to convince him that he wasn’t safe, that the teacher in the room nearly found them and they both had to run and hide outside the classroom.  From there, Mason had to chase down the other survivor to try to convince him to come with me.  

Of course, they both ended up getting lost.  After the last bell had rung, Mason feared that I’d left him behind.  He’d begun to have second thoughts about chasing Chris when the custodian found them both and kicked them out.  I knew the rest of the story from there.  “Era uoy thgirla?” I asked him after he’d finished relaying what happened.  I’d asked him that before, but I wanted to flaunt my knowledge of his language a bit.  Mason nodded happily, flopping down on my crossed forearms.  

“Haey, m’I tsuj dalg I tog tuo fo ereht dna kcab ot uoy wohemos.  I saw gnitrats ot daerd taht d’I eb gnivil ni eht sehsub niaga…” Despite my efforts to learn, I still couldn’t quite decipher full verbal sentences yet.  Instead, I tried to cheer him up by laying my head back down over my arms, jokingly resting it on top of him.  He laughed loudly, shoving at my chin.  “Yeh!  Pleh! M’I gnieb dehsums!” he yelped.  

The rest of the day passed more easily.  I grudgingly did homework, then went to check up on the other survivor before I got ready for bed.  He’d decided to stay with Julie, which.. fair.  She can actually understand and speak their language.  Apparently, he had a colony of people that he’d been taken from that he wanted to get back to.  Julie had promised him she’d take him early the next day after a safe night’s rest, and ONLY if he agreed to take armfuls of supplies with him to his camp.

Laying down roughly in bed, I snickered as I watched Mason get launched a good five inches into the air.  I didn’t realize it would do that to him until a split second before I hit the mattress.  He shook himself off eagerly and pointed at my Switch laying beside my bed.  I shook my head “Worromot.  I ev- ah ot peels.”  Mason gave me a slightly disappointed look, but nodded, understanding I’d have to get up early again tomorrow.  By the time I was finished getting ready for the following day, Mason was tucked away in his tiny bed, fast asleep.

[honeysuckle-venom]

Sometimes I'm really frustrated that I didn't get certain types of testing and therapy when I was much younger. My brother was in occupational and physical therapy by the time he was three years old. Granted, some of his difficulties were more obvious than mine. And it was a decade later; there was more awareness. But also some of it is that my parents just weren't very responsible with me!

Something that is always just kind of told as a funny family story is the fact that in preschool, at parent teacher meetings, my parents were told that I "failed scissors." Yeah, that's cute. But it also meant something! My teachers brought up the fact that I wasn't meeting a developmental milestone; that's something to take note of! I was dyspraxic. There was a reason I couldn't use scissors until I was much older, a reason I didn't learn to tie laces until I was nine, that I couldn't do buttons or zippers, that I didn't hold pencils or forks properly and made messes when I ate, that I couldn't catch things or tell left from right until way later than my peers! And I was having sensory meltdowns multiple times a week in preschool, I would cry when garbage trucks went by because they were so loud, my first sentence was "tag hurt" about the tag in my shirt. Like, someone should have maybe noticed some of these things and gotten me checked out! If I had ever had occupational therapy it would have been honestly lifechanging for me.

And like, it's fine. I did okay without it; that's why I never got it. I did well in school, and as I got older my physical coordination problems were less important as emphasis was placed on academics instead of fine motor skills. I learned to mostly cope with my sensory issues and hide them in public. The fact that math was much harder for me than other subjects and that I had trouble with visual information was certainly never investigated, because I still did well in all of my classes, and it wasn't until I was sixteen that I found out I had also had a visual learning disability the whole time. That one I blame my parents less for, as the signs were much more subtle. But it still sucks that it took so long to figure out; when I finally was diagnosed with a learning disability the tester included all sorts of recommendations for accommodations that would have been incredibly helpful in school. Even simple things like larger fonts and less visual stimuli on worksheets would have helped a lot.

Idk, it's just frustrating sometimes, because I really think early interventions for some of this stuff would have made a really big difference in my quality of life as a kid. Especially occupational therapy for my sensory issues, because that was causing the most distress, and has continued to cause significant distress to this day. My parents didn't know anything about anything, so there was never any kind of intervention like OT or a sensory diet or anything like that, but gosh it would have been huge for me. Heck, even owning a weighted blanket would have been helpful as a kid (I have one now). I know there wasn't nearly as much awareness of things like that 20 years ago, but some of my problems were a) being pointed out by teachers and b) just generally very obvious, and a little bit of research would have gone a long way. Instead I was just written off as a sensitive kid, which like, yeah, true! But there were reasons for that! Sigh.

[visitbespin]

20 Questions for Writers

tagged by the wonderful @autumnwoodsdreamer, thank you!! ✨

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

19 works

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

139,379 words

3. What fandoms do you write for?

star wars, star trek, and...others (that i either won't mention + there's 2 more fandoms i have unpublished wip's for... one day they will see the light of day) (and i used to write for dghda!)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

you could always see me

time to come home

we're a slow burning tune

no different

5. Do you respond to comments?

yes!! and i love to do so!!

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

i don't really write angsty endings? so i'll pick home is far away - the first fic in the series of the same title! it has a hopeful ending but it leaves the characters in an 'angsty' place emotionally, essentially because it's part 1 of 3.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

home, in every language - part 3 of the home is far away series. ♡ though i am also very fond of the ending of when to hold on and when to let go.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

never, thankfully!

9. Do you write smut?

i have not

10. Do you write crossovers?

no, unless we count mixing characters from various star wars properties; i love mixing rebels characters with the OT, mando, and thrawn books characters, it brings me a lot of joy.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not that i know of

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

nope

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

nope

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

wow that is quite a question... within star wars i'd pick dinluke or thranto lol. truthfully i think my answer to this question changes every year lol, my ao3 bookmarks show this pretty clearly

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

oh hell... it's a star wars au of another fandom that i started writing in fall 2022. please let me finish this someday, i'm on chapter 4 of 4, and the whole thing is only 10k words rn 😭

also, more relevantly, there is a fic about ezra & luke on lothal that i started in ... early 2023. it's 6k words rn and i'm probably 40% through the story... [sighs deeply] please let me finish this one too, please.

16. What are your writing strengths?

constructing a narrative? i don't know, i'm fond of these stories i've woven. i find it hard to write a fic that's ~just vibes~, although i do love to read those; my writing is always spurred by the need to write these characters undergoing something meaningful, with a meaningful conclusion.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

...i have previously read back some of my work and found some very clunky sentences/paragraphs that really make it clear i'm only a writer by hobby, and that my profession is...more technical lol. i also don't like some of the romance i've written in the past, but i don't regret writing any of it.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

hell yeah i've done it multiple times! my bobannec fic is kind of very about that, and i've used other languages in non-sw fics. i like reading it in fics as well.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

dirk gently's holistic detective agency! in 2017-2018. to this day i think it was/is the most welcoming fandom to write fic for.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

home is far away, all 3 parts. ❤️ and since i have a place to say it, that fic means so much to me because it let me express so many of the feelings i was experiencing in 2022. the same goes for when to hold on and when to let go. i really love and cherish both of those stories.

no pressure at all, tagging @theydjarin @gizkalord @gil-estel and anyone else who sees this and feels like answering questions! 💌

[shobringer]

Hello there!

It's about time I did a post like this. Hi, I'm Charlie, known to my close friends as Charles or Ferre, and I love writing.

I'm a polytechnic student, and am currently studying for my diploma in Story and Content Creation (for media). I am a huge theatre fan, mainly Les Miserables, and I kinda go batshit crazy over Star Wars at times.

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

Alright, with all the introductions out of the way, I've been thinking about being more active on Tumblr so I'll be opening writing requests to anyone who may be interested. I mainly write Star Wars and Les Mis, you may check me out at archiveofourown.org/users/CharlesAndCo for the works I have published. (I implore you to ignore my Marvel fics...) But before everything, I do have several boundaries when it comes to writing for requests, so please, I hope you'll respect them if you're thinking of requesting for any fics.

I will absolutely not write /reader fics, even gender neutral readers or male readers.

The ships I specialise in are as follows: for Les Mis, Valvert, Enjoltaire, Courfius, Combeferre/Jehan; for Star Wars: Obikin, QuiObi, Anidala. I would not be opposed to exploring other ships, but I will put my foot down if it comes to any ship I am uncomfortable with, which does not happen often but if it does, consider this a warning.

If I have any ongoing WIPs when you request, especially oneshots that are meant to be gifts to my friends, I will not prioritise your request over the works for them. I love my friends to hell and back, the only way to get around this would be to become my friend, I guess.

NSFW is... well, it depends. I may or may not write NSFW depending on how I feel about it. To put it simply, I have had bad experience when it comes to sex, and so sometimes certain things do trigger me and bring back bad memories. So unless you really think that I would enjoy writing the NSFW request you send in, I'd appreciate it if you mainly stick to SFW works. Thanks :)

If I am uncomfortable, due to any reason, with the request you send in, I will probably very politely decline to write your request.

I write trans stuff as well. HMU if you want me to write a Trans!Javert fic for ya ;))))

I'm pretty versatile when it comes to writing. If you have any specific writing genres or styles you wish me to write, include it in your request and I'll see if I can meet your expectations. For example, if you want me to write an introspection for you, say it in your request, and I'll gladly write it for you!

What you could request:

Les Mis (Musical, 1972, 1978, sigh 2012)

Other musicals like Newsies,

Moulin Rouge (movie my beloved, wouldn't mind musical too)

Falsettos

Catch Me If You Can (musical)

Little Shop of Horrors

Jesus Christ Superstar

(Maybe...?) Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

Star Wars (mainly Prequels, may write OT though)

If any other musicals that you might want to request is not in this list, you could check with me if I know it/would write it. And yes, Hamilton, DEH, BMC ain't on here, I will not be writing them, thank you.

More might be added, as I discover and watch more shows.

That's about it from me for now. Idk if I'll get any requests from anyone that ain't my friends (not to say that my friends can't request anything, y'all would actually have priority), but I was bored and I need to start writing more. If you've made it to the end here, thanks for reading.

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For more information about tags:

[starlingsrps]

rebecca mary hunter, thirty one, kindergarten teacher/bartender

the hunters are a very nice family and they simply don't know what happened to rebecca.

(she can hear that)

smack in the middle of golden child marie, literal nun rose, and boys, rebecca would maintain that her parents never really gave her a shot if she thought it was healthy to dwell on it. they were always busy - between the laundromat and church, the little hunters spent a lot of their time with after school activities or church. rebecca was a girl scout (but marie was a better one) and in the choir (but john had the voice in the family), always tagging along. they all went to the parochial school where it felt impossible, again, to make any kind of mark of her own. she put her own a graded papers on the fridge and left them there until someone decided to notice, even if pride was supposed to be a sin.

by junior high, her friends felt more like her family. she kept a toothbrush at kelly's and lily's mom was the one to take her to urgent care for stitches when she split her lip on the coleman's trampoline. her mother just sighed over an unexpected medical bill. it's not that rebecca doesn't think that they hated her - she still doesn't think that they hate her. even now she knows that if she wanted to come home, she would be welcome to but…it would be on their terms, just like everything else and she'd rather not.

her grades were good and her activities well rounded enough that when it came time to apply for college, she went for it. not the most popular decision - there was a perfectly good community college locally if she felt like she needed to keep going to school and the nursery school marie worked at would be happy to take her on so why did she need to go out of state to do the same thing?

as with most things rebecca gets done on her own, she did it with her head down and intense focus. when she got into san jose state with lily, it was the colemans who took her out ot celebrate with them.

it was a long way from ohio to california and not just in terms of distance. she didn't go wild, despite the daily calls from her mother to make sure she wasn't doing that. she partied a little but mostly hung out with lily studying or watching movies. they were a little boring, rebecca won't argue that, but at the end of freshman year, they had both survived and expanded the friend group a bit. summer back home felt stifling by comparison.

the rest of college was about the same - rebecca majored in elementary education and dipped her toe into the dating pool for the first time her junior year. she also got bangs for the first time and considers that more important than james. they've certainly stuck around longer. serves her right for trying to date in the catholic student center. terrible idea.

after graduation, she and lily moved to san francisco. lily got a job with a tech start up and rebecca waited tables and tended bar while waiting for a job to open up. she thought long and hard before accepting a kindergarten position with the san francisco diocese - there was and is a morals clause and while rebecca wasn't and isn't a dancing on tables kind of girl, she still doesn't think it's very fair.

her twenties went by faster than she would have liked - lily got married and moved to los angeles with her husband (they still text every single day and there's not a lot lily doesn't know). rebecca dated a lot, mostly a series of men who seemed like they would grow out of their bullshit and never did. took her until age twenty five to lose her virginity even after lily had beaten it out of her that it was a social construct but she still wanted it to feel like it meant something (it really didn't). she made the mistake of sharing that life event with marie when she was home for rose's first profession of vows and it had spread to their parents before the cake was even cut in the convent community room. things have been a little tense with her family ever since. she was last home for christmas four years ago and the two times she wasn't working over the holidays, she spent it with lily and her family in LA.

limelight kind of fell in her lap. the bar she was working at shut down suddenly, her roommate was applying there, and it seemed like a good idea. with her recent break up with jim (another aspiring stand up comedian who wasn't really that funny but he had been good company and seemed like he might straighten himself sooner rather than later), she wasn't ready to give up her two job grind to spend so much time alone. limelight was racier than she was used to but when she found out how much bartenders cleared in tips each night, there wasn't a chance of her not trying her damnedest to get the job. she did, ellen didn't, they haven't spoken since despite living in the same apartment.

she may be slightly in over her head and she may be skirting the line of tasteful in her morals clause but the tips are too damn good to back down and go work at a tourist trap again.

look, rebecca is just a very sweet and generous person who makes a mean martini and just wants to be slammed against a wall. it's called having layers and maybe it's lily's fault for giving her a stack of romance novels and a vibrator for her last birthday.

[dragonrebelrose]

I don’t expect any happy endings for any characters anymore except the ones they deem “worthy” these days, and for them that means the sUnShiNe tRiO and...no one else...

I love these tags:  

#what’s funny is that there’s bad Star Wars content#like the Martez Sister arc and the pod race in Phantom Menace…which are both just…lame at best#but they aren’t explosions that damage other parts of the story#it’s hard to watch Return of the Jedi without remembering Rian Johnson’s character assassination of Luke in The Last Jedi#you can skip the episode where Trace Martez panics and dumps the spice they’re supposed to deliver#but you can’t patch Luke’s character back together#at least the Prequel Trilogy had enough course correction with Revenge of Sith and Clone Wars#so that whiny Anakin in Attack of the Clones blends into possessive angstlord Anakin by the time we get to Mustafar#the Sequels stomped SO HARD on so much of the beloved OT that no number of series set in the interval and make amends#*sigh*#I can live with all that and try to pretend that the ST doesn’t exist#but if they kill Sabine and/or Ezra? that might kill my enthusiasm for Star Wars…because it’s become absurd and predictable#from a storytelling perspective at least#or at least I’ll just crawl back to Rebels and act like the Mandoverse never happened

I totally agree. I hate the Martez sister arc so much because we already got a story like that where Ahsoka helps out a pair of sisters in the Ahsoka novel, which I read years ago and felt like TCW episodes with Rafa and Trace were just way too similar that it put a bad taste in my mouth. And I haven’t gone back to rewatch those episodes at all so I completely forgot that Rafa freaked and spilled their spice shipment, that’s how bland and boring they are.

I didn’t completely hate what they were going for with Luke at first, but boy do I hate how they just kept digging themselves into a deeper hole for him in TROS. So in TLJ he tosses his old saber away because he wants nothing to do with it or with the Force anymore, okay, I get it, that’s fine. But then they literally have him say “That’s not how you treat something like this” (can’t remember the exact line) like BRO you TOSSED it away last movie and now you revere it as some sort of sacred object? Yeah it’s because the writers were backtracking WAY too much and all of a sudden they want to bow down and worship all of this random stuff. Again, it left a bad taste in my mouth. In fact, that nonsense gave me whiplash it was so apparent what they were doing.

It’s funny, I really dislike the prequels but I adore TCW because they actually did TRY with those stories and yeah, like you said, they slowly fixed and blended prequel Anakin into Angstlord Anakin. It flowed much better.

But yep, I agree with you that if they kill Sabine and/or Ezra...I just really don’t know if I can or even should return to Star Wars. They already killed Ben Solo and I already vowed to distance myself to Star Wars after that but thankfully we did get SOME decent shows and stories so it kept me going, but things just look bleaker by the day. And if the Ahsoka show flops in every way, not to mention killing Sabine and/or Ezra, then yeah there’s truly nothing left for me to enjoy in Star Wars.

Lucasfilm: Literally every single romance or almost-romance we’ve ever written in the Star Wars universe has ended in tragedy.

Lucasfilm: Han/Leia? Split up after their son went off the deep end. They eventually died broken and alone.

Lucasfilm: Anidala? No match for Palpatine’s plotting, Anakin’s attachment issues, and Padmé’s Sadness.

Lucasfilm: Obitine? Jyn/Cassian? Reylo?Tragedy! Tragedy! Tragedy!

Lucasfilm: At least we gave you Kanera. Aren’t they just so sweet and devoted and —— oh, whoops! More tragedy!

Ezra: I’ve got a bad feeling about this.

Sabine, drawing her blasters: They can pry you from my cold, dead hands.

Ezra: Please don’t tempt them.

[averagehorrorgirl]

-> I Told You <- Tags: Mention of death, typical star wars violence, swearing Synopsis: Survivor of Order 66 turned bounty hunter finds much more than what you were bargaining for. But fairy tales don’t happen, and now you’re back on the very planet you swore you would never return to with a small green child and a Mandalorian. Except, the past you believed dead has a way of crawling out of the sands of Tatooine.   Author's Note: I loved Boba since the OT when he came back in the Mandalorian I cried lol.

- Flashback - 

You looked at the green armored bounty hunter “Boba...” you begin before he cuts you off with that deep voice you fell in love with all those years ago.

“Y/N, Jabba requested I go on the Sail Barge to watch the prisoners be executed, and well, in case something goes wrong the credits alone that I will get for Solo’s capture will be enough for us to live someone nice.” He looks at you through the t visor of the helmet. 

You inhale a short breath as you rest your head on his breastplate, the cold metal soothed your worry just a bit. The feeling of him in front of you, breathing and heart beating “no amount of credits are worth your life Fett” you mumble as you wrap your arms around his waist.

You feel him shift in front of you as he wraps his armored arms around your frame, one of his hands travel up the back of your neck and into your h/c hair as he gently runs his fingers through the locks. “I’m just a simple man trying to make my way through the universe” he rests his forehead on top of your head.

You snort playfully and flick the exposed skin of his neck lightly “I’m telling you Boba, something doesn’t feel right...” you shrink into yourself as you feel your heart quicken at the thought of him dying, or tortured or whatever could happen out there. 

“I’ll be careful princess don’t worry” he rests his hands on the side of your arms looking at you for your response.

You hug him one last time as you bend down and grab his blaster from its spot upon the ground “come back to me Fett” you hand him the blaster giving him a nod. 

He chuckles “I hear you little one, I’ll be back tonight” 

You nodded and smiled up at him one more time as you wave him goodbye. 

But, he never returned when the sun on Tatooine began to set, and he always returned when he said he would. You tapped your foot radically as you chew at your bottom lip watching the door intently. “Maybe he’s just finishing with Jabba about the credits” you mumble to yourself as you head to your shared room for a sleepless and restless night. 

As the morning sun creeps through the window your eyes remained glued on the spot the famed bounty hunter would sleep only to see an empty cold spot. You sigh as you get up and retrieve the weapon you swore you wouldn’t touch anymore. Your f/c lightsaber. You stare at the cursed thing before you throw it into your satchel and pick up one of his good blasters and holster it at your hip. You begin to wander to the doorway before you stop, you notice one of his cloaks and decided to throw it on adorning the Fett clan symbol as a brooch.

“Time to go to the disgusting palace and see what’s up” you mumble to yourself as you take one last look at your home before you head towards Jabba’s Palace.

 You wander inside the palace and the horrendous smell hits your nose as you grunge at it before tugging onwards towards the throne room. Many of the other bounty hunters knew you, as well as Jabba, and his translator Bib Fortuna. He learned the hard way not to fuck with you. But he still creeped you out, with those pink eyes and sharpened teeth. However as you looked around the darkened palace you noticed the slug was nowhere to be seen, nor was Boba. On the throne instead was Bib. Your face frowns at the sight as your heart drops to your stomach as you approach the throne.

“Where’s Jabba Bib?” you snarl towards him snapping him out of his partying trance

“Jabba? Jabba is dead, the Sail Barge was destroyed by the prisoners” he looks at you with some fright as he swallows the words that bubbled on his tongue 

Your breath quickens as your finger tips become cold and fire spreads through your veins as you look at him. Your hand twitches with a familiar power that you shoved away a long time ago. “And Fett?” you hiss towards him your aggressive tone made the throne room deathly silent as they all stared at you many of the slave girls yanked on their chains that wouldn’t break no matter how much they pulled.

He chuckled nervously as he adjusted himself upon the throne of the Hutts as he looks around “Y/N come on, he went out there willingly it isn’t my-” he was cut off by the sounds of him choking as he brings his hands to his throat giving you a pleading look as you use the force to tighten your grip around his throat. Your eyes held anger and furry in them as your body remain calm, your right hand merely raised a bit causing Bib his issues.

“I asked. What. About. Fett. Bib, if you thought feeding the slave girls to the Rancor was a horrible death I will make it infinitely worse....slower, I will make sure you feel ever single cut, and I’ll pluck your eyes out and shove them down your throat so you can watch me tear your heart out.”

He gasps for air in the spots he can as he continues to choke on nothingness “Boba..” he gasps “Boba is dead” the male twi’lek continued to gasp for air as you blink rapidly before you drop Bib as you rest your hand on your forehead coming to terms you will never ever see the man you love ever again.

‘dead...’

- End of Flashback -

You stare out of the window inside the cockpit of the Razor Crest as you return to the one planet you swore to never come back to. Tatooine. You let the child crawl around your lap as he looks around, occasionally making coo’s towards Din to get his attention. The beskar wearing Mandalorian turns his head to look at you as he begins the landing sequence, “why do you hate this planet so much Y/N? I recall you saying such when we found The Child” 

You try to ignore him as you eyes remained peeled on the window that shown the grand desert of Taooine “I lost the most important thing in my life on this dust rock” you mumble as you give Din a glance “this planet is just a taunting nightmare of that echoing pain” you mumble as The Child coos up at you grasping at your hair before the familiar feeling of the ship landing drives you to pick up the small creature and hand him to Din. “It is a story I do not wish to talk about. Let’s find that contact of yours” you mumble as you throw on the all familiar cloak as you walk down the ramp of the Razor Crest. Your skin instantly hit with the heat of Tatooine as your boots crunch the sand with every step. 

You look around the spot Din landed as he begins to talk to the lady who you don’t quite remember her name and you chuckle when the droids work at his ship before your attention is drawn into their conversation “Where is Mos Pelgo? I’m told there is one there.” Din says. 

You stride towards your armored companion and join in on the conversation, “that’s impossible, the last mandolorian died here years ago when the Empire was still around” you say as your heart quickens as you put your hood up to hide your head from the beating of the suns

The women looks at you before she glances at the brooch on the cloak “it’s true there’s one living there. The marshal of the town. He wears a symbol just like that one” she points at the brooch before you instintfully smack her hand away. 

Your throat tightens as your eyes narrow as your hands twitch with a familiar power before your turn around and cover your mouth to get control over your breathing ‘no that’s impossible, I went to the explosion myself there was no survivors’ you think to yourself. Din watches your behavior closely but continues his conversation as he discovers the location of Mos Pelgo. 

You hated sand, you hated the trip to this forsaken town, and you hated being on this planet. It brought out the darkness within you, the powers you try so hard to cut yourself off from everyday. You look around as everyone stares at Din and you as you park your sand speeder beside his, “I don’t see a Mandalorian Din” you mumble as you walk into the bar with him. 

He just glances at you before he approaches the Weequay behind the bar “can I help you?” the Weequay asks as he continues to clean the glasses but not without sparing a glance at your hooded frame. 

“I’m looking for a Mandalorian” Din replies, 

“Well, we don’t get many visitors in these parts, can you describe him?” the Weequay says. You sigh as you remove your hood allowing your h/c to flow down your shoulders and you take a seat at one of the nearby tables.

Din takes a moment before he responds “someone who looks like me.”

The Weequay looks Mando up and down before he says “mmm, you mean the Marshal?” You look up at the pair at this statement, ‘is it possible?’ you thought to yourself as you listen to them more intently. 

“Your Marshal wears Mandalorian armor?” Din asks curiously before the Weequay glances at the doorway of the bar with a grunt,

“see for yourself”

You stand up and find yourself at Din’s side as your pulse quickens, your hand finds your f/c saber that is hidden away in your satchel. Your heart is in your throat as you see the familiar green armor but your senses told you it wasn’t him. Were your eyes deceiving you? Was this some short of illusion from this cursed rock. “B-Boba?” You say in barely a whisper but not without Din catching it as you stare at the man in shock, your e/c eyes wide in horror. 

The man in the familiar armor approaches the two of you “what brings you two here strangers?” The voice, the voice wasn’t the same. Your lips curl into a snarl as you feel anger coursing through your veins as Din replies to the question.

“I’ve been searching for your for many parsecs”

Your hand twitches on the familiar saber in your bag as you glare at the man as he approaches the bar “well, now, you found me. Weequay three snorts of spotchka”

‘That’s the wrong drink he knows I hate the stuff’ you think to yourself as your mind tries to wrap itself around the fact the armor is familiar and looks unharmed by any explosion. The man grabs the shot glasses as well as the bottle as he walks over to the nearest table “why don’t you join me for a drink”

You continue to glare at him watching his every move as he takes a seat and removes the helmet your lover wore all those years ago revealing a silver fox man as he smirks at the two of you “I’ve never met a real Mandalorian”

You see red as you draw out your f/c light saber and igniting it faster then anymore could blink holding the dangerous blade close to his skin “where did you get the armor?! Where did you get the fucking armor?! It doesn’t belong to you! You slimy dirtfish I will gut you right here and peel that armor off your cold corpse!” You shout at him before Din stands between you and him giving you a glare through the helmet.

You glare at the marshal as your saber still points at his throat before you retract the deadly weapon before scoffing at the man as you lean your back against the bar not once taking your eyes off him. 

The man swallows and chuckles “heard stories. I know you’re good at killing.”

“You bet your life I’m good at killing” you sneer towards him with Din giving you a glance to knock it off before he returns his attention back towards the man in armor who proceeds to pour the shots,

“Probably none too happy to see me wearing this hardware. I figure only one of us is walking out of here, or two. But then I see the little guy...and I think, maybe I pegged you wrong” he continues speaking. 

Every nerve in your body was in overdrive as your hand remained clenching the saber as you desired nothing more then to end his life and take back what belongs to you, or the last fragment of the man you love. 

Din looks at you before he returns to the armor stealing thief “who are you?” he questions

“I’m Cobb Vanth, marshal of Mos Pelgo”

You snort as you point to him “more like slimy romp rat you armor thieving prick” you hiss towards him in anger before Din raises a hand towards you to calm down.

“Where did you get the armor?”

“Bought it off some Jawas” Cobb quickly answers which only further fanned the flames of anger within you.

“Bullshit! No Jawas go that far north! Tell me the truth!” you shout towards him.

Cobb watches you “easy my lightsaber wielding friend-” he was cut off by Din

“Hand it over.”

Cobb looks between the two of you as he puts the shot glass down, “look, pal, I’m sure you call the shot where you guys come from, but ‘round here, I’m the one tells folks what to do”

You raise your hand the familiar feeling returning to you as Cobb slowly begins to choke on nothingness but still had the ability to talk “how about this. Marshal.” you say as venom drips off your tongue “I won’t kill you, I won’t crush your windpipe like a fucking twig if you hand over the armor. Plain. Simple. It belongs to me” you hiss at him as you approach him slowly before Din steps forward.

“Do what Y/N says. Take it off or I’ll let her finish the job” you glance at Din before you release the marshal of the force but remain at Din’s side

Cobb points to The Child “we gonna do this in front o’ the kid?” to which he coos from his spot by the pot in front of the bar.

Din replies with “he’s seen worse”

Cobb shrugs as he looks between the two of you “right here then?”

You and Din both say in unison “right here”

Cobb sighs as he stands up his hand hovering over his blaster to which you ignite the saber as you watch the man closely, sensing the air around you the tension thick as the guts of a rancor. The tension was cut short as the ground begins to shake. The three of you walk to the entrance of the bar as you sheath your saber and put it back in your bag as you observe people running to their homes and in the distance the sand becoming disturbed and turning almost into water with how it moved as the unground dwelling beast swam through town before it strikes out of the sand and it’s massive jaws take a whole Bantha down with it.

“Maybe we can work something out” Cobb says defeated as you roll your eyes before you walk into the bar and pick up The Child from his bowl that he was hiding in before you catch up with the boys. “That creature’s been terrorizing these parts since long before Mos Pelgo was established. Thanks to this armor, I’ve been able to protect this town from bandits and sand people. They look at me to protect ‘em. But a krayt dragon is to much for me to take on alone.” Cobb stops and rests his arm on a post as he looks at you and Din “help me kill it, I’ll give you the armor”

You glare at him even though he gives you kind eyes as Din thinks for a moment before replying “deal. I’ll ride back to the ship and blow it out of the sand from the sky” 

You shake your head “no no Din you can’t it feels the vibration it won’t surface if you fly over, plus the only weak point on a krayt dragon is it’s belly” you mumble as the two boys listen to you. 

Cobb nods towards you “she’s right but I know where it lives it’s not far come on” 

You soon found yourself on the cursed sand speeder again riding beside Din and Cobb as he begins to speak “you don’t know what it was like, the town was on it’s last legs. It started after we got news of the Death Star blowing up. The second one that is.” 

You zoned out of the conversation. You didn’t care. Your mind was tormented with how Boba’s armor looked untouched by an explosion but yet a stranger wore it and Boba never came home. He had to be dead there was no other explanation. The three of you begin approaching the canyons before you look over at Cobb “you will never be the man who wore that armor before you. You were a coward and ran. You disgrace the armor every second you wear it” you say but not without the tone of heartbreak seething through your aggressive one before you become quiet again. 

Cobb sighs as he looks at you as he looks he wants to say something to you before the sound of the Tusken hounds cuts him off. The two boys ready their blasters as you remain seated on your speeder. Din gets off once he sees the scale covered dogs and shouts in Tusken. You had no idea what he was saying but you watched the scene before you. But you felt distant. Like you were apart from your body, and the old aching feeling that was buried so deep returned to your heart and you soon found yourself around a campfire surrounded by sand people as Mando continues to speak with them. Cobb nudges your arm as he looks at you. “I am not the man you expected behind the helmet am I?” he questions.

You remain quiet as you continue throwing small pieces of splinters into the fire from the stick you were playing with as Cobb continues 

“he’s dead I’m guessing?” You freeze at his statement as you e/c eyes move from the fire to his face. “And you are what? A jedi? Sith?” he continues to ask. 

You sigh as you return to throwing splinters into the fire “the armor doesn’t belong to you. You have no business knowing how, or what I am. Let’s leave it at that” you mumble as you wipe a stray tear that falls onto your cheek. 

- Time Skip -

You watch the Tusken Raider as they busy themselves within the corpse of the krayt dragon as Cobb approaches you and your sand speeder with Boba’s armor taken off and nicely packed together as he gives you a smile which you returned “back to it’s rightful owner, I hope our paths cross again” he looks at you as Boba’s helmet lands in your hands. 

Your fingers caressing the visor and the familiar dent on the right as you look up at him, “as do I. With less hostile conditions” you offer a small smile towards him.

He chuckles “oh believe me I don’t wanna find myself at the wrong end of that saber....now” he looks at you curiously. “I gotta ask. What are you? Sith? Jedi?”

You give a sad smile as you look down at Boba’s helmet “I was a padawan when the purge happened. As time went on.... I was neither. It’s the best answer I can give” you look up at him again to see him nod

“I understand. Be safe” he waves to you as you get onto your speeder and follow Din back to where the ship was landed.

The two of you begin loading stuff up onto the ship, Boba’s armor was the last part to be loaded as you tuck the pieces under your bed as you hold the helmet in your hands as you crawl into your bed and stare at the t visor. Silent tears roll down your face as a quiet sniffle is emitted from your form. 

Din stares at your form with many questions that danced around in his head but he decided against asking you currently as he turns around and sets the ship on its next course through space.

You lost track of time with the memories of Boba and you flashing through your head as your hand ran over the all to familiar armor. Your fingers becoming familiar with each dent, each flake of paint and to what puzzled you no signs of an explosion. Your thoughts and memories were interrupted by the sound of Din’s armor as he approaches your form. You wipe the remaining tears on your cheeks as you sit up placing Boba helmet in your lap as you look up at your companion. “Ah, sorry, what is it?” you sniffle as you compose yourself quickly,

“we need to talk” he says straight forward as he leans his back against the table across from you as he looks at you. 

You nod, you knew you would have this conversation with him eventually “what is it you desire to know?”

“What are you? Jedi? Why can’t you train the child? Who does the armor belong to? Were you part of a clan?” He fires off question after question as he points to the lightsaber on your pillow “is that yours? Did you kill someone for it?”

You take a deep breath as you look at him with your e/c eyes as your h/c hair flows down your chest as you lean forward. “I am no Jedi, I was a Padawan, well...even that is a stretch. I was assigned my master at the age of 8, extremely young for a Padawan most are still younglings at that age but they saw potential in me” you scoff as you feel tears slowly form in your eyes as you continue to tell your story. “I was assigned Master Plo Koon. Leader of the Wolf Squadron also known as the 104th Battalion. I was with him for three years. Then....the purge came. We were in our starfighters and our clones fired upon us. My friends, my clones tried to kill me!” you voice raises slightly as the painful memories resurface slowly. “It was the battle of Cato Neimoidia and then out of the blue all of our clones turn on us and shoot my master and I out of the sky. His starfighter crashed killing him instantly, they shot me down as well but I survived the crash. Well, barely I was gravely wounded” You move some fabric around your ribs exposing the scars the deeply imprinted your flesh before you point to your lightsaber “as did my weapon. But the clones....” you chuckle darkly “if it’s one thing they knew was how to take down a Jedi. They hunted me for days before being called back to Coruscant. Those men I called friends...” you mumble sadly. “I had no one. I was barely trained, I knew how to use the weapon but the force? Only a fragment to that of a fully trained Jedi. So...I tried...to sever my connection with the force. It was the thing that kept me on the radar of the empire but it failed time and time again. So I fled to the one planet those assholes wouldn’t find me. Tatooine.” You look at Din intently, “I cannot train the child because I wasn’t trained myself, and my connection to the force is...damaged, or tainted. As you saw with Cobb he was choking, that was me. The dark side of me, of the force I will not pass that onto the child.” You see Din nod slowly as you continue. “I became a bounty hunter, to stay hidden right under the noses of the empire, and-” you chuckle as you run your hand over Boba’s helmet that remained in your lap. “Him and I were on the same bounty and it was loads of credits, so naturally we competed for it. He won of course but that night....” you smile happily “that night was heaven, his touch was like lightning sending shock waves through me. And so, every bounty became a competition, and he would win most of them, sometimes I let him win because every night led to the same. The same fire. This went on for.....um, almost a year before he was laying in the bed and I was getting dressed like I always did and he...” you sniffle “he told me to stay. It was an unspoken bond, an unspoken acceptance of the relationship. Life for once...was good he never questioned me about the purge, about me being a Jedi. He accepted me for me. Then.....the day came” you mumble as you look down at his helmet and hug it tightly against your chest. 

“What day?” Din asks softly, 

“The day he died...” you mumble “he wanted us to live somewhere nice. Not some dust planet in the outter rim. We wanted to start a family so he went after the highest bounty in the galaxy. Han Solo. He did catch him and he was supposed to be given the credits but Jabba asked him for one more favor. To watch over the execution of Solo and his companions. But he never returned and after I gently asked around I discovered he died along with Jabba on the explosion of Sail Barge. I went there myself and everything was ash. There was no survivors.” You mumble as a tear slips down your cheek and lands on the helmet. “The cloak is his, the brooch is his clan, Fett.” You look up at the Mandalorian waiting for him to say something.

He glances at the armor, the saber, then back towards you as he stands as put both hands on your arms much like Boba did to calm your nerves. “I am truly, truly sorry Y/N” he says before he stands and wanders back into the cockpit allowing you to be alone with your thoughts and memories once again.

- Time Skip -

You smile down at the child as he coos at you as Din wanders around and talking of levers or an activation switch. You chuckled to yourself at his actions before you step in his way of his wandering and gently place your hands at his arms to stop him in his tracks. “Din, everything will be fine, the force is strong here the child knows what to do you have to stop moving” you chuckle as you look up at him. You sensed him relax under your touch which was rare for the armored Mandalorian before the two of you glance up at the sound of ship entering the atmosphere. The two of you jogged to the edge of the cliff as you place your hand over your mouth as your breath quickens and your stomach ties in knots. “No no no, that’s impossible” you say as you watch the familiar Slave-1 land.

“What’s impossible?” Din asks,

you glance up at your companion “that’s Boba’s ship. Din, I have to know. I’ll meet you back at the ship I promise” You grab your f/c lightsaber from your bag at your side as you prepare to jump down the cliff before Din grabs your arm.

“Be careful...” he glances to the kid who was surrounded by a blue mystical pillar “I’ll meet you down there shortly”

You stare at him for a moment before giving him a warm smile before you hop down the cliff and slithering your way through the many different rock faces towards the all familiar Slave-1. Your heart was in your throat as you twirl the hilt of your saber in your hand you were feeling the rage fill up within you like a pitcher. You wanted blood. You wanted to smell the burning of flesh as your saber would sink into whoever stole the ship. The sound of footsteps cause you to crouch down near a circular boulder, you feel the rough surface against your back and palm as you place your hand on the rock as you peak your head around. You see two figures, a hooded man and a masked women. Something felt...familiar with one of them but you couldn’t exactly pinpoint which one you carefully analyzed their weapons, snipers and one of those odd sticks the sand people used. You rolled your eyes as you continued to watch the pair as you glance at the Slave-1 just a bit beyond them, the man instructed the women to head to the rock face and position herself to aim at the child ‘not a chance if I can help it’ you think to yourself as you take a deep breath as you already feel adrenaline coursing through your veins as you put your hood up hiding any features about yourself as you emerge from your hiding spot as you continue to twirl the hilt to keep your anger in check. 

The two of them turn to face you as the women aims her gun at you but with a simple swipe of your hand her weapon was knocked away from her. “Now now, we don’t kill children. I however, will kill you and take what rightfully belongs to me” you glare at the two of them as you motion to the ship off in the distance. 

The two studied you for a moment before the man spoke “the ship belonged to my father, it is rightfully mine” the deep draw of his voice it shook you to your core, it was so familiar, so warm, so...forgotten about. You momentarily lower your aggressive stance from shock as you stare at the hooded man, you saw his jawline and a few specks of scars but nothing familiar but within the force you felt something pulling you towards him. Something familiar, something from your past tugging at your heartstrings. Your moment was interrupted when you felt the wind knocked out of you as the women tackled you onto the rocky ground your saber knocked out of your hand as she begins to land punches into your jaw. You wrap your legs around her waist and easily flip her over as your hand grabs ahold of her helmet as you begin to smash it into the ground with all your strength over and over again. The hooded man quickly comes to his companions aid as he swings the staff towards your body to knock you off her, you felt the staff connect with your ribs as you fly off her but you quickly recover and jump to your feet just as the man came at you again with the staff. You grab it mid swing and with the aid of the force you pick the man up and throw him against one of the larger rocks, not enough to kill him. The women groans as she slowly crawls to her gun as you look for your saber amongst the rocks, the man groans in pain as he uses the staff to aid his body upright as he circles you. You keep your eyes on him as you mimic his movements as you see the gleam of your saber from the blaring sun. You suddenly feel a hot burning pain in the upper part of your chest as a sniper bolt goes through the upper part of your collarbone. You glare behind you and see the women swaying back and forth with the sniper as you turn your attention back towards the man and your saber as your hand finds the wound. ‘Maybe I’ll be able to see Boba soon’ you think to yourself as you taunt the man to attack you, listening carefully for the women to take aim towards you again. Click you hear the familiar sound as you reach out and summon the familiar weapon into your hands igniting it and projecting the bolt back towards her, to which she barely dodged out of the way from. The man swung his staff at your legs but your heightened abilities due to the blaster bolt made your reactions quicker as you cut the staff in half as the women makes her way to your back in an attempt to strike you with a vibroblade in which you swung around your saber around your body with elegance but strength as you hit the blade with such force with your own its knocked out of her hand. You reach towards her with your saber free hand and begin to force choke her to keep her in place as she hovers a few inches off the ground. You point the saber at the neck of the hooded man. "The ship belonged to someone I held dear. It belongs to me" you snarl in heavy breaths as the wound begins to seep blood onto your clothes.

The hooded man stared at you with his own labored breaths, "there is only one women in the entire galaxy I know who fights like you do" he mumbles.

You inch the saber closer to his skin. Your strength slowly faltering from using the force so much. The man slowly reaches for his hood as he reveals himself. Beautiful tanned skin, the familiar scars the you used to trace after each bounty and the hardened eyes. His beautiful golden brown eyes stared at you as they cracked. Like they always did when he saw you. But this was different like he saw you rise from the dead. Your breath quickened as your ribs tighten around your lungs to the point it feels like they'll pop. It was Boba. Your lover. Your missing heart. He was alive, this whole time. You felt a wave of guilt rush over you as you drop the women and your saber as you rip your hood off your head allowing the sun to pierce your skin on your neck as you collapse to your knees in front of him as you weakly reach for him "Boba....."

[cinnaminyoons]

( ECHOES. )

ミ☆  sometimes all your boyfriend needs is a little extra love.

⤷ PAIRING pjm x m!reader

⤷ WORD COUNT 2.6k

⤷ TAGS jealousy, insecurity, choreographer!reader, exes!reader/lisa

⤷ REQUESTED

Hey! I really love ur writinggg I was wondering if u cld do a jimin x male reader idol! Au where the male reader is a choreographer and is appointed to choreograph a dance for lisa ( I think it was chocolate mushroom?) . Lisa and male reader has some sort of history tgt and that's why jimin accompanys male reader to yg and watches him teach lisa the dance. Then jimin gets jealous and u cld continue however u want from there!!! I'm sorry if I'm being tooooo specific HAHAHAHHA

Today is a rare day off for Jimin. He had made plans – stunningly, wonderfully, planned-out plans – to spend time with the love of his life. They shared ideas over dinner, over movies, and even the ones about staying in bed until noon and wearing pyjamas all day made him giddy with excitement. It is going to be a memory for the scrapbooks.

At least, it was supposed to be.

"Hyung, I'll drive you there."

You pull on your shoes – simple sneakers, comfortable and disinclined to slipping on smooth polished floors. "You're supposed to keep driving to a minimum, baby. Besides, you're all comfortable – it’s too much a hassle. I’ll come home quick for you."

Jimin huffs and cuddles his grey dog plush closer, his sweater sleeves pulled over his knuckles. "I'll just stay in the car. Nobody will see me."

A glance up. "I thought you wanted to watch?"

"People change their minds."

You stand up, reaching for the stack of items on the buffet table next to the front door. Your hand pauses. The stack is gone.

Jimin lifts the car keys. In his other hand are your leather wallet and phone.

"Stay here." He leans up and presses a soft kiss to your cheek. "I'll put on jeans. Don't move."

He disappears down the hallway before you can ask for your belongings. You've always loved his clingy affection, always wanting to follow you around, but you can't help but think that this situation has him accompanying you to watch you like a hawk. You sigh, chest tight with trepidation, and push your ball cap further down over your eyes.

—

The building is sharp, modern, and intimidating. You know you shouldn't be afraid of it – it is, after all, only a variation of a big cube – and you've signed in more times than you can count on two hands, but something about the sleek luxury of its perfectly-maintained glass walls makes nervousness crawl at the back of your skull. The work contract you signed gave you practically free reign over the new dance, and it is really only your reputation on the line. You'll get paid anyway.

The worry crawling about in your head stems from the fact that you are romantically involved with an idol from a different company. You say 'romantically involved' rather than 'dating' because the former suggests a baseline of impersonal professionalism that acts as a shock absorber. Your relationship, added to the fact that you've worked for a rival more often than not, could become a conflict of interest if someone at the top cared enough to point it out.

Perhaps Jimin feels this too because he grips your hand tight and keeps his head down, face mask on and steps quick. Though he wears a cap similar to yours, the cotton-candy pink strands poking out from under it immediately mark him an idol. All the workers around you are black-haired.

As soon as you find the designated studio, you breathe a silent sigh of relief, closing the door on the watchful eyes of strangers.

You turn to Jimin and murmur, "Just keep quiet and to the sides, please. I don't want you to get kicked out."

He blinks, rather offended. Have you forgotten his whole thing is dancing? "I know how to act in a studio."

"Good."

Towards the other end of the studio is a slight figure, dressed in grey joggers and a pale yellow hoodie. Straight dark hair is pulled neatly up, swaying as her weight shifts from one leg to the other.

Lisa meets your eyes through the mirror and smiles, standing straight. "Afternoon, oppa."

Her voice bounces off the walls. These rooms have a tendency to do that, the faint echoes of squeaking shoes and crunching water bottles amplified by the emptiness.

"Hey, Lisa. Were you waiting long?"

"Not at all. I've stretched, so if you're ready, we can jump straight into it."

You unzip your jacket and shrug it off, dumping it unceremoniously in a corner. A pink-and-black water bottle rests there already. Gotta keep the name loyalty going.

"I watched the video," she says, taking a place in the centre of the room. A half-smile flashes across her features. "You looked great."

Something runs beneath the face-value innocence of her words. You lift your eyes to hers and both of you understand that whatever is between you hasn't truly accepted its death.

You loved her – you still do. Just not in the way you used to.

This is on company time, now. Emotions are meant to be left at the door.

You give her an acknowledging nod, but that is all. "Ahead as ever. Do you have any questions before you start?"

"Oh, one." She lifts a perfectly-manicured finger. "Halfway through, you do this..." She illustrates with the top half of her body, though without as much finesse as a performance would require. "And something else, but it's difficult to see."

"You mean this part?" You lower yourself to the floor – as much of the choreography is based on it – and demonstrate. There is a subtle difference between your version and hers, and you repeat it a few times as she nods and commits it to memory. The music begins.

Jimin thought coming with you would have assuaged his green-eyed monster. He is right there, he had assumed. He could assure himself that you loved him fully and without hesitation.

Yet, as he sits against the cold mirrored walls, your black backpack tucked under his chin, the insidious illness digs into the soft flesh of his heart. She looks so good with you. The height difference between you and Jimin is noticeable, but with her, it is the first thing he sees. On her face is a look of pleased professionalism, and she puts a smooth edge to the dance, adding a seductive and eye-catching aspect to it that goes unrivalled.

You watch from in front of her, as that is where they have decided the camera will be. Your arms are crossed, and none of her movements goes unscrutinised.

She's beautiful, anyone with eyes would agree, and insecurity whispers in Jimin's ear, curling cold bony hands over his shoulders. He shakes them away as best he can but they hang on tight, and he lacks the strength to fend them off.

He grows cold, inside, and even hugging your backpack does little to warm him. It should – holding things that belong to you have always done so. The sweater he wears? Not his. Yours. He loves it so much you've never worn it since you began dating, and it has a comfortable and steady place of pride in the middle of his closet. The low drop of the shoulder lines, the too-long sleeves, the soft and heavy weave – it all reminds him of you.

He wonders why you are the one in charge of not only coming up with the dance, but teaching it to her, too. Surely Lisa must have had a personal say in it at the table. It isn't like you market your abilities towards girl groups, and Jimin would have thought that being alone with a woman in the studio would have been a preference. The only logical explanation he can come up with is that she asked for you by name, and that she had plans in place banking on you coming alone.

A twisted sort of pride and smugness fills him. Just by being there, he had thwarted unsavoury intentions. It would explain why she had not greeted him.

Still, Jimin fears taking his eyes off of you, and he doesn't blink, not even when his eyes begin to water. He has to eventually.

It's all about you, all about her. You're the earth to Lisa's sun. Lisa dances, you watch her, and Jimin, the moon, sits off to the side, forgotten and cold and alone, with not even another moon to confide in.

He knows your... history with her. You had shut down a contract on choreographing the group’s new title track and Jimin, curious and having stumbled across your email declining it, asked you why. You'd waved it off, citing a timetable clash, but Jimin knows your timetable like the back of his hand. You share a calendar and Jimin is always acutely aware of time and how it passes, counting down the days until he can snuggle into your open arms and forget everything but the soft rise and fall of your chest.

Eventually you admitted that you and Lisa had been closer than was strictly allowed. You had been reluctant to disclose more than that, but Jimin wanted to know out of simple curiosity, and you've always had a hard time refusing him.

On and off, you'd described it. Casual, you said.

He had accepted this and did not think about it again for months. You were his, and that was all he needed.

Now it is all he can think about.

What if you decide you actually prefer her company? What if you decide to leave him and come out to the public as Lisa's boyfriend, not Jimin's?

It weighs heavily on him. He notices how your hands wrap over her shoulders, how your feet nudge hers into place, how your lowered head and murmured words don't quite reach his ears.

The end of the session doesn't end quickly enough. When it does, at long last, Jimin is the first at the door, holding the backpack by the loop on top rather than swinging it over a shoulder. His visitor pass hangs around his neck, white lettering on a black card denoting how he does not belong there. You do not have a visitor pass, and neither does Lisa.

You compliment her while you toss your jacket over your shoulder. Her smile is wide and sweet, her thanks-and-see-you-later genuine. She tucks her hair over her ear, and her fringe sways back into place. Jimin stares at his feet as you hold the door open – she leaves first, waving and smiling, and you split off the opposite way down the corridor. Jimin trails behind.

"Jimin, baby? You were upset earlier. What's wrong?" You wait for him to catch up and try to link your hands together. He pulls away, soft fingers slipping out of your grasp, and you frown.

He only walks faster. It wouldn't be hard to catch up to him – each of your strides are basically two of his – but you let him go. When you head down into the car-park underground, you unlock the car before he gets there, letting him slide in and sit quietly until you arrive and claim the driver's seat.

The car ride is heavy. The air is heavy. Jimin's heart is heavy.

Absorbed in his own thoughts, he doesn't notice the things he usually does. He loves car rides with you, normally. The simple black sedan – an automatic with chrome wheels and seat warming options – is safe and comfortable and reminds Jimin of first dates and awkward kisses. Today he doesn't point out the pretty sunset, pale pink and orange with wispy chick-yellow clouds struck across the sky.

You've had this car for a while. He wonders if Lisa's ever been sitting where he is now, or in the back seat, where the windows are tinted black for privacy. He knows he's used the backseat for wandering hands and hungry mouths, and he's likely not the first.

A sliver of doubt creeps into his mind, crawling low to avoid the searching floodlights. Has he ever had you, truly? Do you look at him and see something temporary, a placeholder, something to place in the back of a drawer and never touch again?

Maybe this is why you are so hesitant to come out as a couple. Doing so would chain yourself to him, and any breakup would be more trouble than not.

Jimin shifts the backpack on his lap. He whispers, "Do you still want her?"

He fidgets with the sleeves of his sweater and fixes his mask. He is sitting in the front seat where windows cannot be tinted and must act as if a camera is right outside the car, its lens searching for a familiar celebrity face.

You glance at him before returning your eyes to the road. "No."

Jimin waits for the but, the although. It never comes.

"You are the only one I want to kiss. You are the only one I drive home faster for." You turn left and wait in a slip lane, using the time to gaze at him. You try his hand again, and this time, he allows your fingers to thread between his.

He stares at your entwined hands, turning them over silently to trace the lines of your palm. He likes how they fit perfectly together, how his hand looks soft and delicate and rests comfortably in your warm palm.

The car rolls forward, engine rumbling softly. You stroke his fingers with your thumb, brushing over his knuckles and the soft skin between them.

"Don't speed," he lectures, though his voice is quiet and muffled.

"I know. I can't get caught, or how else can I come home and kiss you?" You squeeze his fingers, driving with one hand. You shouldn't – ten and two always, you know the rule – but Jimin's small hand tightens on yours when it starts to slip away, and he holds it tenderly in his lap as if it is a precious artefact made of pure gold. He cups both hands around it, protecting it from the elements.

You have to keep your eyes on the road, following the white lines that flash by. Jimin's gaze on the side of your face is nervous and you can feel it boring into your temple.

"Hyung, are you upset with me?" he asks quietly. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not upset," you reassure, "why would I be?"

He shrugs, keeping his eyes low on your hand. He plays with your fingers. "I ruined the mood by being there, right? I should've just let you go alone."

"Jimin..."

He clutches your hand a little closer at your sigh.

"That's what you used to do," you say. "You used to bottle it all up and never told me anything. We both felt awful." You glance at him. "As long as you're not keeping quiet about what's bothering you, you could never make me upset."

The silence you leave after your words is intentional. He knows this, and it comforts him. Gives him a space to talk about what's troubling him.

"I was jealous," he finally admits in a small voice. "I didn't trust you to not do anything if it was only you and her. I don't know why – you haven't given me any reason to worry about that."

"Do you still worry about it?"

He shakes his head. Nods. Shakes his head again. Settles on a sigh.

"It's okay, baby. Do you think a movie would make you feel better?"

"How many am I allowed?"

"As many as you want."

 "Lord of the Rings marathon?" he asks, hopefully.

You smile, all the edges soft, and nod. "When we get home, get changed and get ready with a blanket. I'll order take-out and we can cuddle all night long. Does that sound good?"

He pulls down his mask and brings your hand up to his face, soft lips brushing your knuckles. The glimmer returns to his eyes and warmth blooms in his chest, scalding the dark creatures that chitter around his heart.

He smiles. "I think that sounds amazing."

[flam-burr]

Moon - Yautvember day 5

Content: Maria spends another sleepless night in the village. Luckily for her, A'ji is there.

Tags: Fluff, worrying for a friend, comfort

A/N: Let's just appreciate these two beans, shall we? Check out @jacklycan 's profile for the prompt list and enjoy the ride!

Maria leaned on the outside of her hut, sitting on a box somebody had left behind. The air was colder than it had been during the day, but she still sweated like the worst summers of her childhood under the cotton-like dress. She tried not to think about it, tasting the sweet sensation of the breeze giving her a break in the sleeping alien village, and looked at the hut next to hers. The lights were out and the kennel was empty, like the rest of it.

Elena had gone out hunting. Again.

Maria sighed, bending her legs to her chest. She had heard her and Ko’pa leave a few hours ago with their hounds. Not really a surprise since it was apparently the perfect time to hunt some kind of nocturnal predator that roamed the area, but she had thought they would have had more than two days to spend together before the next expedition. Maria earned for some time spent with someone who could understand her struggles and language, possibly without showing off an unsettling set of natural deadly weapons in the meantime.

Nevertheless, she knew Elena was as stubborn as a mule: she wouldn’t have backed down even if she had asked her to do it.

She only hoped she was okay.

“Hello.”

The deep voice startled her, making her turn with a sharp movement to her left.

A’ji lifted his hands, backing up a step as she eyed his entire figure and relaxed a bit against the hut wall. His bluish skin made him shine lightly in the moonlight, enhancing the darker stripes on his sides.

“Sorry.”, he said, helping his broken English with the Silent Voice. “Didn’t want to scare.”

Maria shook her head, allowing herself a small smile before lifting her hands to answer as she spoke.

“No scare. Just a surprise.”

A’ji nodded, lifting his upper mandibles the way she came to recognize as a smile, and lowered his hands.

He pointed to the box Maria was sitting on with a mute question and she moved a little on the side, patting the newly free spot to invite him to sit. A’ji came closer and sat with grace, leaning his back in the hut with his hands on his knees.

Maria smiled at him. She appreciated A’ji’s company more than the other Yautjas’: he was calmer and quick to catch what she wanted to say, which helped a lot since she seemed unable to learn their language as Elena did. He allowed her to feel safe and strong without a blade in her hands.

A’ji nudged her, breaking her train of thoughts.

“You okay?”, he said.

Maria nodded. A’ji lifted a spiked eyebrow while tapping his thumbs together.

“I’m fine.”, gestured Maria. “Just no sleep.”

“Because of them?” A’ji pointed to Elena and Ko’pa’s hut.

As she followed his finger, Maria could feel her face giving away her thoughts even before the Yautja could talk.

“You worry.”, he said.

Maria sighed lightly and nodded, lowering her gaze on her knees.

“They strong hunters.”, A’ji insisted. “They are fine. They come back with sun.”

“I know.”, Maria replied. “But it’s still dangerous.”

A’ji frowned, marking his words with gestures. “They strong.”

“But she is a human!”, Maria snapped.

Her voice startled a few alien birds and somebody’s hounds started barking in the dim moonlight.

Maria covered her mouth with her hands as A’ji looked around for the guard that immediately showed up from the border of the village. She made herself small behind his frame, feeling the embarrassment painting her cheeks red while the two Yautjas chittered between them in their language.

The guard barked something at A’ji -probably not a good thing-, then gave her a cold look and left.

Maria slowly relaxed as A’ji leaned again on the wall. She felt guilt reddening the cheeks even more.

“Sorry.”, she said.

“No problem.”, he pronounced some word that Maria intended as a name and continued: “Likes to mess with others. Oomans more: likes fight with Elena.”

Maria scoffed, shaking her head.

“Of course he does.”, she muttered.

A’ji waited by her side. Silence fell on them like a cover, occasionally interrupted by a gust of wind that made the foliage move.

He had questions for her, it was tragically obvious in those bright and intelligent eyes, but Maria took some time to gather herself before answering. “It’s just… she is not like you.”

A’ji cocked his head to the side, keeping silent as she continued.

Maria licked her lips. “Elena… she doesn’t heal as fast nor is as strong as a Yautja, even with that long-life serum Ko’pa gives her. Every time she goes out in that damn forest it might be the last one, yet she keeps going- and I know she does it because she owns this culture more than I do, but…”

Maria sighed, forcing her hands to form those last words she hadn’t the courage to say out loud.

I can’t lose her too.

A’ji remained silent. Maria wondered if he actually understood her burst of words or if he was trying to understand what just happened.

Eventually, he lifted his gaze to the moons.

“I get the problem.”, he said. “I… feel it too, sometimes.”

Maria stared at him. He must have caught her shock for he chuckled softly before resuming. “Ko’pa is cousin, but is almost brother. He believes I can be great. I don’t want to lose. But tonight, they safe.”

He lowered his gaze on her, then pointed to the sky.

“Those are hunter’s moons.” A’ji made a small pause before uttering the next words: “Luna del cacciatore.”

Maria cocked her ears, the familiar language speaking to her on a more personal level than the others.

A’ji seemed to have intended so from the beginning and chuckled affectionately at her.

“Elena told.”, he said.

This time, Maria couldn’t keep herself from chuckling herself and A’ji continued: “I know it means good lighting for hunt, but she also told Artemis watches from moon and likes hunters, so they safe, yes?”

She had to admit it was in Elena’s way of thinking to tell a similar story. Being older than her by a few decades, old gods’ stories were often part of her way of doing. How she took care of others. She imagined she meant to deliver the sense of calm she was starting to feel in her bones with that story and smiled to herself.

Maria sighed, a slight note of relief that A’ji caught and cherished with a happy trill.

“Still worried about them.”, Maria gestured.

A’ji chuckled, shaking his head.

“But thank you.”, she added.

[doomdaysdecays]

Whumper turning into caretaker because they've pushed the whumpee too far and now have to keep them alive (with CPR)?

CW: drugged whumpee, weight loss mention, intimate whumper, referenced amputation, CPR, broken rib

“Whumpee.”

Whumper cupped their face, a sting in his chest that he was embarrassed to admit he felt. The anesthesia was stronger than anything he’d ever given to his sweet pea. They hadn’t lost too much blood, their arm, ot rather what remained of it was safely bandaged.

Gently, not commanding but rather assisting them, Whumper slid his hands under Whumpee’s arms. “Come on,” he sighed under their weight as he struggled to sit them up straight against the wall despite how thin they’d gotten.

Whumper scratched lightly behind their ear which Whumpee usually despised, growing desperate to see a reaction. God, he couldn’t lose them.

“Whumpee?” He gripped them harshly, fingertips clawing into frail shoulders as he shook them. “Wake up, just open your pretty little eyes for me, sweet thing.” Fingers skimming across where Whumpee’s pulse should be. Whumper froze.

“No. No no no.” He laid the limp person below him onto their back, sprawled out, helpless as they were. Whumper couldn’t enjoy the view. Whumpee, his Whumpee, wasn’t breathing, and not because he’d withdrawn the privilege of air from them, but because he’d fucked up.

He clasped his hands together on top of Whumpee’s chest. For the first time he could see his hands were shaking. Whumper felt something new flare up deep inside, sudden anger. “You can’t leave me,” he snapped, “because I didn’t allow you to.”

It was a messy rhythm, but it had to suffice. The heels of his hands pushed at least three inches deep every time, on and on until something cracked, until he couldn’t feel his palms.

“Wake up.” It was no command. It was a plea.

Ten minutes after that, or twenty, or thirty, Whumpee’s chest rose and fell. Their mouth fell open as they sucked in all the air they could, choking as they gulped it down like a man dying of thirst. Whumpee coughed and sputtered and promptly winced at the ache in their ribcage.

“Breathe, sweetness,” Whumper with a smile that only spread wider as Whumpee regained more and more of his consciousness. “I- Thank the Gods you’re with me love, I...You can’t just scare me like that...”

Whumpee felt the pangs of guilt at his words before they even comprehended them, though the expression on Whumper’s face that they could barely take in through lidded eyes meant no harm.

Not just yet.

They cringed at how dry their throat was, coughing harder as they pushed themselves up from the ground with the hand they still had. Whumper smiled softly.

“You’re my little angel, aren’t you?” he said. “If you die, you die of my volition.”

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