#thank u anon for indulging me i went off my shit

[number1jeonginstan]

oky so ik u got an ask from ddyskz  about a similar thing but can you do some of the following (seungmin, han, lee know or bang chan) as perv best friends???? idk... its fine if not but i just love your work <3

also can i be /ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\ anon?

A/N: Hi hi!! I loved this request, so let me know if you want a part two! I’m so thankful that you are loving my work!!! Ofc you can be /ᐠ｡ꞈ｡ᐟ\ anon!!!

WC:1.2k 

Minors don't interact, 18+

Pairing: BestFriend Perv!Seungmin x Reader

Warnings: m!masturbation, pervy Seungmin, that’s basically it!

You and Seungmin had been close friends ever since you both debuted. You had accidentally run into him, head-first behind the music bank stage. You ended up profusely apologizing, feeling so embarrassed and he just laughed, saying it was alright. 

From then on, the entire week of promotions, you both were hanging out in secret. It was like a new friendship blossomed between the two of you. You both had similar interests, causing you both to talk a lot more. By the end of the week, you two had exchanged numbers. 

As the years went on, you and Seungmin got closer, constantly hanging out with one another in secret. Sometimes it was just getting coffee, other times you were asking each other for advice on your vocals. One thing no one could take away from you was your guys’s Sunday drama watches. 

You would either go to Seungmin’s dorm, or he would come to yours and the both of you would binge-watch whatever new drama came out. This month was Daily Dose of Sunshine. You ended up coming over to Seungmin’s dorm seeing as the boys had gone back to their houses for the weekend. Seungmin’s family was out on a trip, so he stayed home. It worked perfectly for you as well because your group's new promotions had finally ended, meaning you could indulge in being lazy for a few days. 

You knocked on their dorm door, waiting for Seungmin to open it up. “Open the damn door!” you whined, pounding on it a bit more harshly. He finally did, rubbing his eyes. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, only some plaid pajamas. “Put some clothes on you weirdo,” you said, walking to his room, taking off your jacket, and lying down on his bed.

You were dressed in just a tank top and pajama shorts, knowing that you both would be glued to his bed for hours.  

“Why are you here?” he groaned, putting on a shirt from his cupboard. “Did you forget?” 

“Oh shit, what drama were we supposed to watch this month?” he asked, sitting on the bed, putting your splayed-out legs on his lap. “Nuh uh, it’s a secret” you giggled getting up and taking out your laptop from your bag. “Now please go get some snacks,” you said, pushing him lightly off the bed. 

“Okay your highness” he groaned, getting up and taking a good look at you. You were curled up at his headboard, your knees pressed against your chest while your laptop was splayed on his bed, ready to start the next episode. You looked good, too good. No makeup on your face, your hair a bit crazy, but still looking as pretty as ever. 

Every time you guys did this, he always had to jerk off after you left. The scent of you in his bed was too overbearing, and you always pressed against him the entire time you guys watched the show, never leaving his side. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could take it. 

He came back with a handful of snacks and some drinks, knowing that you would complain about being thirsty and then he would have to get up again and it would cause a whole fiasco. “How much longer Minnie?” you groaned, growing impatient. “Coming, you weirdo” 

“I was wondering, what do you want to eat for lunch, my treat,” you grinned at him. While you were gone, you stole one of his hoodies, it was already over-sized on him, but on you, it looked like a dress. He could feel his cock twitch in his pants, you looked so fucking good in his clothes. 

“Whatever you want,” he said, getting into his bed next to you. He slipped his legs under the blanket, you following suit. You curled up next to him, starting the show. It was peaceful, three episodes went by like this, your koala bear wrapped around him, your head in his lap while his arms were wrapped around yours. 

What you didn’t feel, was his cock slowly getting harder at every movement you made around him. “Hey, I’m gonna go to the bathroom real quick.” You got up from his embrace, accidentally falling directly on top of him, your cunt brushing against his clothed cock. You didn’t think much of it, but Seungmin was trying his best to not let out a groan. It was getting to be too much for him. 

As you went to the bathroom, he tried re-adjusting his cock in his pants, trying to hide his growing boner from you in fear you would think it was weird. You came back without his sweatshirt, making an excuse that you were getting too hot, and the blanket was enough. 

As you got back into the bed, you curled up against him, your chest pressing against the side of his body. He began feeling hot, there was one thing when you were wearing a hoodie while hugging him, but wearing just a tank top was too much. He tried not to shift a lot, barely paying attention to the show playing in front of him. 

Before he could say anything, he heard your snores coming from beside him. You began moaning in your sleep and he could no longer take it. He looked over to see your tits spilling out from the shirt you were wearing and gently got up, not wanting to disturb you. He rushed to the bathroom, not knowing how long he had until you woke up and tried taking full advantage of it. 

He locked the door, double-checking to make sure you couldn’t come in, and slowly took out his already hardened cock from the confines of his pants. He slowly began stroking it, using the pre-cum the tip of his cock as a lubricant. All he could think about was your tits, and how good they would look with his cum covering them. 

How he would fuck you so well while you were wearing his hoodie. He would fuck you anywhere you asked, even in his changing room during promotions if you asked. That made him think back to the outfit you were wearing for your most recent comeback. You pulled off the girl crush clothes perfectly, what he would do to fuck you from behind in that mini skirt you were wearing. When you were learning the new dance for the tiktok you both made, your tits were bouncing perfectly in your top. 

He groaned, putting the bottom of his shirt in his mouth, scared that you might hear him. You ended up waking up from your nap, getting up, and knocking on the door to the bathroom, thinking he just got in there. “Minnie, are you okay?” you asked your voice still groggy from your nap, and it made him groan. The way you said his voice was enough to make him cum. 

He began stroking his cock faster, needing to feel some sort of a release. “Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute, I just am feeling kinda hot, I’m trying to cool down.” 

“Okay Minnie” you giggled from behind the door, “I’m going to order some food for us!” 

You went back to the bed, while he finally found his release thinking about your moans on his bed, cumming all over his stomach. Thank god he didn’t get caught, or did he?  

[noranb]

Hey, hope you're having a good time currently.

Also, hope you're ready for a weird roller-coaster ride of vagueness and strangeness. However, I hope this may cheer you up, as weird as it is.

So, I wanted to say that your art, and also the general way you capture dynamics, reminds me of one oddly specific childhood memory I have.

(Like, vaguely a reminder, but still)

For context, I have a younger sibling who's always had terrible luck with bees and wasps and all those stingers.

I've only once in my life been stung, they get stung at least five times a year.

(Incredible they haven't developed any allergies or anything).

With that said, referring back to my earlier statement, here's the oddly specific childhood memory your art, and general capture of dynamics, reminds me of:

Obviously, my sibling is in no way, shape, or form, fond of these stingers. Now, we used to have this trampoline in our garden when we were younger and they really wanted to go jump around.

However, we didn't have shoes, (which is a completely different and irrelevant story, so let's not indulge), point is, they was scared of getting stung and shit because it was summer and those shits are relentless.

So, (as the good big brother I am), I offered to go first because they really wanted to go jump: my idea was that I went first, then they could tread in my steps that I was sure were safe. They agreed and off we went.

I got just to the trampoline, and then I hear them cry out, and wouldn't you know it? They fucking stepped on a stinger. So, I carry them in, we sit down, get out the stinger part and apply some salve and shit.

At the time there was this sort of panic, we'd been abandoned at home (again, totally different story) and we were just kids who weren't really sure how to handle all that, yet, it's one of the fondest and softest moments I remember of my younger sibling and I.

Just, it was so chaotic and we weren't really okay at the time, which makes it even softer to me. Because, even if we didn't have shit at the time, we still had each other. Those lively little moments of life and siblinghood will honestly always stick with me as a part of me. So it's a happy feeling your art provides me with and I'm grateful for it.

Generally the memory of how unlucky they were in that moment (and this is a compliment, please don't misunderstand) applies to your art.

However, what I think I also mean to say is:

Your art has this soft yet energetic feel to it, I guess that's what I'm trying to convey with this memory. It reminds me of some of my best and most treasured memories. I don't even know why it does that, I really couldn't tell you, but either way I love your art very much. Even in itself, without the undertone reminder of that memory, it's gorgeous.

Even if you may feel you need to improve, or simply that you want to, I can't wait to see just how wonderful such changes would be. It's a beautiful art style.

All in all, I will never truly know you as a person, and yet it's intriguing to think about how I look at your art and feel a sense of happiness because it reminds me of a loved one. I may not know you, but I wish you all the best. And I hope you've got (a) loved one(s) you get these kind of warm and fuzzy little reminders from.

Anyway, I should stop now. Hope you didn't die from this ramble and that I didn't tire you too much :)

Love, Anon.

this is... the wildest ask I ever got omg this reads like a novel?? 😭 but also one of the nicest asks at the same time thank you so much anon!! I have no idea how my art manages to invoke these feelings and memories but I'm so happy you like it ;u; thank you!!

[hyperdrivehearts]

Is the number ask thing still something you do? If so, 2, 15 and 18 please ^-^

QUESTIONS FOR THE MUN, REGARDING THE MUSE

(Always accepting these anon!! Seeing people ask me things (especially strangers on anon– it makes me happy that people are interested in my muses!!))

2. What made you decide to write this muse? 

Kalin and Yusei have always been my favorite 5ds characters, ever since it originally aired in Canada! There’s this channel called YTV (youth television) that had a Saturday morning bit called Crunch where you’d get your regular Saturday morning cartoons, and in the early afternoon some anime would air! It was always in this order: Beyblade Metal Fight, Yu-Gi-Oh 5Ds, Pokemon Diamond & Pearl.) My parents were and are seperated, so I was only able to catch episodes every second week (I relied heavily on the previous episode recaps but it would mess me up when things would have repeats) had a very hard time remembering the name of 5Ds for some reason, and was never able to catch up online of missed episodes like I did for beyblade.

Because I never could catch up on what i missed, I didn’t get back into YGO as a whole until 2012, where I originally wrote Yusei on wattpad in my original Dark Signer AU. (He had a really cool old lady seer for a friend (who was supposed to be Carly’s grandma(??)) and I had a self insert OC who was Crow’s sister and was supposed to be Yuseis love interest (how how far I’ve come.) ANYWAYS what I’m getting at here, is that Yusei has been a muse of mine since like 2012.

I rewatched 5D’s in about…..2016?? Maybe later????And then again not long after I met Kasa ( @soulburnings ) on her Manjoume blog, and then Kasa made her Yu boys blog, and THEN HER CURRENT BLOG FOR TAKERU and it’s Kasa’s fault entirely for getting me back into YGO. Since Kalin and Yusei were my faves back then (What can I say?  I love batshit murderers and cool bro characters– I have terrible tast,) it only felt natural to gravitate back towards them.

TLDR: Blame Kasa. Ily Kasa.

15. Would you like your muse as a person if you met them in real life?

Yusei could get along with a fucking LAMP POST honestly. He’s friendly, understanding, a bro, and he’s very patient with people and always sees the best in them. I feel like he’d be a person you could spill tea to, and he’d never tell a soul.

Kalin on the other hand…. not so much. Enforcer!Kalin would have definitely been someone I could get along with, while Dark Signer!Kalin would, y’know, try to kill me as one does. My Present!Kalin and hell, even canon Present!Kalin, are not a) approachable, b) are very open c) they both have the habit of shoving people away. And like, I also self project onto Kalin A LOT, and something that not a lot of people seem to realize that if you met someone so similarly like you, ESPECIALLY in the negative aspects, you probably wouldn’t get along that well and butt heads.

18. What aspect of your muse’s personality is most important to you? What aspect of your muse’s personality do you think is most important to them? Is it the same? Why or why not? 

Unpopular opinion: the fandom likes to make Yusei seem like an “uwu good cinnamon roll boi who can do no harm uwuwu” so for me, personally, it’s very important to acknowledge that he has one hell of a petty attitude and temper. It’s established right from episode 1, where he revs his engine because his friends didnt realize he was back home in the subway– he doesn’t say anything (and the reaction of Tank, Nervin, Blitz and Rally implies that this is a regular occurrence with him.) Yusei has shown on multiple occassions that he isnt afraid to throw his disk down and knock sense into someone with his fists. He built another, and better duel runner, to go after Jack solely for his Stardust Dragon card– it wasn’t even a revenge plot, he just wanted what was rightfully his.

(Not to mention, he has one hell of a resting bitch face. He’s scowling so much, I don’t think he even realizes it.)

Despite all of this, from destroying duel disks and decks as an Enforcer, to he and Jack punching each other in the face, I think it’s equally important to know that even when Yusei is being a bit of a prick, he doesn’t hold onto negativity and resent– he essentially doesn’t hold any grudges. (However, he does hold onto grief and sadness, so much so that Luna picks it out while communicating with his duel spirits in the dub.) After he got Stardust back, while he was still rightfully peeved at Jack for his actions, Yusei forgave him and moved on.

Despite all of Yusei’s good qualities, and being an excellent friend, Yusei does have negativity inside of him and that part shouldn’t be ignored. People are not black and white.

As for what he values about himself: nothing. Yusei doesn’t really have an ego. He knows he’s good at dueling, he knows he’s good with technology and mechanics, but hes humble about both things. He doesn’t value one over the other. He loves his friends, and protecting them is second nature to him, but he believes that everyone needs to value the people they’re close to, so it’s not really a part of his personality that he finds the most important.

Honestly, if theres anything that he’d think that’s the most important to him, it’s his pride. I know that sounds selfish, especially when it’s in Yusei’s case, but when Kalin crushed his pride, it shook him to the core where Yusei felt as if he didn’t trust himself dueling. For him, I don’t think its a matter of honour as much as it is a matter of justice. He takes pride in his friends and family, he takes pride in being a Satellite, he takes pride in fighting for the right thing: it’s less about himself than it is about other people.

For Kalin, I’m going to solely focus on my portrayal bc fuck canon, but anyways, it’s his determination to keep fighting, to keep living and knowing that people can change. He probably valuse that part of himself too, but he’d never admit it.  Kalin has literately gone through hell and back, and has come out entirely traumatized, but he doesn’t let that trauma win.

(suicide mentions below.)

Kalin’s suffering from PTSD and depression, and he is suicidal, yet he never truly gives up (until he’s sent to the mines in Crash Town, really.) When he first arrived at Crash Town to die, he could have lost his duel on purpose, but he never did until Yusei showed up. I think a part of it is pride, not wanting to go down without a fight, but I don’t believe Kalin was only fighting other duelists– he was fighting himself and his right to live. He already offed himself in the Facility.

As someone who tried to commit suicide twice, it’s important that Kalin keeps on fighting through it. There’s going to be bad days, days where you can’t leave your bed, days where you let out a nice cry in a hot shower. Keeping yourself going, for any reason, is very important because things do get better. (Im not great, but im better, and so is Kalin.) If that reason is as small as needing to feed your cat, its a good reason to keep going. For Kalin, he wanted to see Yusei once more and then he’d be satisfied.

Kalin’s not perfect, he is an ass and he knows that, but he does want to be better so other things can get better for him and rebound off of each other. (I was a prick too when I was in that mental state.) Things get better, but you also need to take charge and make it better yourself and Kalin knows he can force light into the darkness he was wallowing in for nearly 4 years.

It’s not a personality point, but I’m sure Kalin is just happy to be alive.

[adoringmha]

YOU JOKINGLY ASK IF THEY’RE USING YOU FOR YOUR BODY

characters: bakugo + denki + todoroki + (gn!reader)

summary/request: how the boys would react to you jokingly asking them if they’re using you for your body.

warnings: suggestive things + language cause bakugo–

notes: i accidentally deleted the request sjkgfh but i was actually thinking of doing this so thank u for requesting, anon! <3 this is from my other blog !! also everyone is 18+ !!

bakugo:

you’d do this after he already blew your back out <3

he’d be trying to cool off, literally panting as he lied down next to you on the bed

then when he turns to you and rests his head on your chest, ready for you to play with his hair, you’d indulge him for a bit and wait till he was basically almost passed out to mess with him

his reactions were always hilarious to you so you couldn’t not do this

when his eyes finally shut, your hands slowed down in his hair and he could feel your heartbeat pick up right before you spoke up

“hey katuski?”

he grunted in response and you tried to act as innocent as possible

“are you using me for my body?”

...

the silence was deafening–

you could feel his lashes against your chest as he blinked a few times and you could almost see the gears turning in head as he processed what you said.

“...huh?!” he slowly got up to glare at you questioningly, “what the fuck are you talking about dumbass?!”

you opened your mouth to speak but he interrupted you, “no– that is the dumbest shit i’ve ever heard!” he went off on a rant and you couldn’t really do much but listen. “yeah you’ve got a hot body, but that’s not the only reason i’m with you! you know that!”

he sighed and ran a hand through your hair to calm himself down before biting his lip frustratedly, and placing a hand on your cheek which you quickly nuzzled into. he leaned in close and looked deep into your eyes. “you’re fucking with me right? you have to be.”

you finally broke and smiled up at him, nodding. “yeah...sorry i just––”

you yelped as he crashed his lips against yours and pulled you on top of him as he lied back down. you pulled away with wide eyes to catch your breath, but before you could say anything else, you felt his hand come down on your ass with a little extra sting from his quirk and you gasped as he smirked lazily at you. “that’s for the shitty prank.” he pulled you down to lie down comfortably on top of him. “now stay here and sleep if you want me to forgive you.”

not like you could argue though, he was already half asleep and his arms were locked around you tight seconds after he finished his sentence.

denki:

please this boy would be so confused

you just love messing with him, he’s like a little puppy it’s adorable

you’d be in his lap, your hands running through his hair while he quite literally purrs into your neck, leaving sloppy kisses as he grinds up into you

you’d call his name and he’d hum, his lips still attached to your skin

“you’re not...using me for my body are you?”

he’d immediately go “huh?––”

and pull away from your neck slowly with a really loud suck skfgjh

he was pouting like a confused puppy as he looked up at you, hands running up and down your thighs mindlessly. “baby what do you mean?”

you looked into his eyes and pretended to be sad, “just kinda feels like you are...”

this only seemed to confuse him further and the more you looked at him, the sooner you realized, he wasn’t confused about why you were asking him that, but about what it meant. you bit your lip to stop your laugh from tumbling out.

he was looking at you, mouth open, not a thought behind his eyes. “i don’t...know what you’re saying.”

you locked your hands behind his neck and sighed. “you know...like you’re using me...for sex.”

he paused and his eyes widened, “what––baby no!” his hands fell limp on your thighs as he looked up at you alarmed. “i love you for you bunny, you know that. love everything about you, your smile, your laugh, your pretty eyes––”

he went off on a tangent and your smile widened with every word. eventually you cut him off by pressing your lips against his and he hummed happily and pulled you closer by your waist.

when you pulled away and licked your lips, he looked up at you with a dopey smile. “was that a good answer?”

you laughed and nodded, “you passed with flying colors.”

todoroki:

you’d say this while you were both eating your snacks after a long training session (and unprompted makeout session)

mina had convinced you to ask him to see what he says and tbh you were kinda curious to what he’d say too

he’d be minding his business, eating his soba happily, his free hand occasionally coming down to rest on your thigh

and you’d ask randomly, prompting the silence to fill with more silence,,

well other than the slurp of his soba

“shouto...are you using me for my body?”

...

you felt a bit of heat under his palm on your thigh as his hand froze in mid air, the rest of his soba slowly slurping into his mouth at the slowest pace ever

he put his chopsticks down and turned to look at you with furrowed, confused brows. “what?”

you shrugged, “i was just wondering if you––”

“yeah, i heard you.” he interrupted gently, “but...why would you think that? have i...have i made you feel like i don’t truly care about you?” he looked down, visibly thinking back to how he’s acted throughout your relationship, a concentrated look on his face.

after a few seconds of silence, you were about to call off the joke when his head shot up and he spoke up again. “is this because of last week?”

this time you paused, not knowing what he was referring to. “last week?”

he nodded, “when we...you know, for a lot longer than usual...i’m sorry i was just really pent up that day, but you said you were okay with it so i––”

you felt your face heat up at what he was referring to and laughed awkwardly, “no, no––i was okay with it...more than okay.” you placed your hand on his and shook your head. “i’m sorry baby it was just a joke i don’t actually think you’re using me.”

he tilted his head, “a joke?”

you nodded and gave him a small smile, “yeah, mina convinced me to. i know you care about me shouto, don’t worry.”

he let out a breath of relief, “oh. okay, good.”

you kissed him on the cheek and he smiled, subtly leaning into your touch. “well if that’s the case...” you looked at him curiously and he blushed. “then i was wondering if we could do what we did last week again?––”

[anne-i-write]

moriarty the patriot headcannons

| requested by anon: “uhhh kinda weird lmao but how would the moriarty bros react to an s/o from the future? (Headcanons) thanks! OwO” |

william x reader; louis x reader; albert x reader

word count: 1355

tw: a few swears, if i’m missing any please let me know!

a/n: i’m so sorry that these are coming out so slow please enjoy!

william: 317 words

please

as soon as you wake up he’ll be staring at you intently

“where am i?”

“durham, england, 1880… and in my room”

it takes you like ten minutes to process everything that’s going on because: “i’m dreaming right??? or did i actually shift???

after finally accepting the fact you indeed did not shift and are not dreaming, you finally looked at the man who had stayed silent during your incoherent ramblings

“you seem more awake now, is it alright if i ask a few questions?”

hhh he’s such a gentleman

you both honestly take this whole time shift thing really well

louis definitely walks in on you two and he’s like,,

“who tf are you and how did you get in”

sdjkfhd pls its so funny when you guys converse

his speaking manner is so refined and yours is just,, yours

but he loves it

he thinks its cute

he comes up with a story for you because there were people who were no doubt going to question how you came into his life

and from there you two hit it off really well

accidentally said you two were to be wed during a conversation and the nobles went insane

when you are on the carriage ride back from the party he apologizes for saying something so out of line

“i wouldn’t mind being married to you, william.”

this man always has something to say but THIS

YOU

he wanted to respond with something witty but you just,, existed and made him melt

“let’s go buy a ring tomorrow then.”

asks you questions about the future

only trivial things, never if his plan works in the long term

but judging by the way you talk about your previous life he can tell that everyone is somewhat equal, except for “the dumbass politicians” you speak about

oh did i mention he picks up your swears too LMAO

louis: 459 words

 he’s heading back to his room when you come OUT of his room

“who tf are you, how did you get into this house, and why are you here”

instant kill mode

you think you’re dreaming so you’re like,, ok cool and you tell him most of your life story and he’s like

??????

has never been more dumbfounded in his life

who is this person and what are they wearing and why are they telling me their life story

eventually the rest of the moriarty team gets involved and matters are settled lmao

you all agree that staying in the manor is the best course of action at the moment

louis thinks you’re taking this a little too well so he’s still a little sus of you

like seriously,, the future?? cmon now

the people you’re working for probably made those weird clothes for you

but anyways

you’re helping him clean the house and cook

“this is fun,,, but honestly?? if i have to do this by myself everyday i would cry”

you keep saying this and you know it’s getting annoying for louis but he ISNT TALKING

if you can’t beat em, annoy em

finally gives in

“how did you used to wash clothes in the future?”

and you get this big smile on your face and you start TALKING

you’re so excited that he finally spoke to you

even tho you know you lowkey annoyed him

but you’re talking and louis is like,, huh

you’re talkative, but not annoying at all

you have little stories that make him laugh sometimes

needless to say you both get closer

but it isn’t until one night louis is making rounds around the manor that he passes by your room and hears crying

so he’s worried and he goes into your room

bruh you try pulling that shit where you wipe away your tears and be like “oh i’m okay!”

like,, no u aren’t

louis makes you spill what’s bothering you

“my friends, my family… are they okay? are they looking for me?? they must be so worried”

note that you’ve already been at the moriarty estate for about two months without any word that you can return to your own time

and louis holds you

he teaches you more about the year that you’re currently stuck in and he tries to take your mind off of the bad things

asks william to buy more books to indulge you bc you have some book withdrawals bc “WHAT DO YOU MEAN A TALE FOR THE TIME BEING HASNT BEEN PRINTED YET” followed by a short crying session

he’s a really good boyfriend

you taught him what a boyfriend was and he couldn’t stop thinking about how much society’s view on relationships changed

albert: 579 words

is walking down the streets at night when he sees you barreling down the road in your clothes

you look pretty scathed when you run right into him

“are you alright?”

you’re scared and out of breath but he’s wearing what you can only assume is a uniform of england

he takes you to his place and tries to calm you down

he asks you questions and you tell him everything straight out

you know you look crazy but you couldn’t bring yourself to care

you were just walking back from a friend’s place IN BROAD DAYLIGHT and you felt dizzy and you woke up alone in a dark alleyway

“where are you from?”

you obviously give him your city but he corrects himself

“what year are you from?”

“2019”

doesn’t want to believe you bc you’re all frantic and maybe insane

but your clothes just seem to different for him to brush off the possibility

tells you to sleep it off and gives you his bed

he’s already writing a letter to his brothers that he’s possibly coming back with someone

“ohoho brother albert has a suitor now?”

anyways, albert asks you more questions about your other life as you’re both on the train to durham

albert went out to buy you more fitting clothes before leaving and you couldn’t even repay him

but he tries to get you in a comfortable position so you don’t spiral again

but he’s genuinely nice about it when he finally accepts the fact that you are in fact from the future

funny enough, you both don’t get each others names until you get onto the train

“oh, my name is albert james moriarty”

and you’re briefly like “oh like sherlock’s nemesis” but then you remember that this is only the victorian era

sherlock holmes doesn’t exist, it’s just a coincidence

so you both get to the manor and he introduces you to the moriarty team and this is where you’re like,,

oh my God

this is real and i know the ending

you suddenly want to travel back further in time and never meet them bc they’re all really sweet towards you

and you got attached to them more than you should have

albert notices you’re a little tense so he makes small conversation to get your mind off of things

“i do like to play the piano”

bro

they have a piano delivered to the house to make you feel more comfortable and hopefully keep you occupied

itching and nostalgic (ironic), you play songs from rachmaninoff and joe hisaishi, despite it being from the future

everyone knows chopin so shhh

“that’s beautiful, did you compose that?”

“no, but another composer did, i don’t even think he exists yet”

you’re very adamant on keeping things the same

like,, no i’m not going to tell you how to create a washing machine because i don’t want to mess up the timeline if i do go back to the future

you do get very sad occasionally because you are homesick and being placed in a world where you have only heard stories of is very disorienting

but albert and the boys make up for it

albert always tries to be by your side and if he can get his hands on a piano sheet he’ll buy one for you and see if you already know it

it’s always nice to have them around, but you know the troubles you’ll eventually have to face

moriarty the patriot taglist: @zoehanji

[deniigi]

A fic from Boba’s POV as a babysitter seeing Din’s family dynamics isn’t self indulgent it’s indulgent to your readers - fuck, that sounds like the best, most hilarious thing ever?!? (With peppered in bits of Boba’s identity crisis/diaspora feels)

I say you release babysitter boba fic ;) It sounds hilarious

Ask and you shall receive, anons. Beware. It’s like 11k of world building lol.

(I will post here and not on Ao3 because I’m not ready for that level of commitment rn lol)

Title: in the plains of Zeffo

Summary:

“I don’t like him,” Karren told Din.

“Concurred,” Din said.

“Ad’ika,” the Armorer scolded.

“I will not be shamed into liking him, either,” Din asserted.

“Din,” Karren whined.

“I’ll consider coming home if it means there will be no space for Bojzka,” Din said.

(Din’s original finder’s old crush on the Armorer is rekindled after he helps her reunite with Din. He tries to win her favor, but keeps getting tripped up by Din who knows she’s not interested. Boba Fett’s POV.)

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

There was little more entertaining than watching Djarin snap.

Boba ten years ago would have spat at the very idea that such meagre fare would suit his humor, but he was getting old, man. You had to take what you could get, and Djarin’s bared rage was a sight to behold.

Currently, he was locked in combat with Urro Bojzka. The Urro Bojzka. The one who even Boba had heard of, growing up on Kamino.

Dad had had some pointed feelings about Mr. Bojzka. Mainly, they revolved around how it was unfair that everyone called him an opportunistic traitor when Bojzka continued to exist and thrive in the universe at large, but Dad also had more specific feelings about Bojzka that bordered on jealousy.

Urro Bojzka was said to be the ideal Mandalorian man.

He was big. He was strong. He sounded like he’d smoked six different kinds of spice for forty years, and nothing and no one could take him down.

The cherry on top was that he was notorious for rescuing kids. The man had snatched nearly two hundred up out of smoking ruins and battlefields. A good twenty or thirty had become foundlings and then Mandalorians themselves, and counted among their number now, to Bo-Katan’s absolute glee, was their sweet, precious Din Djarin.

They should have known. Din was the epitome of Mandalorian; it figured that Urro Bojzka himself would have picked him up as a child.

Din however, had little appreciation for this fact beyond that which was only polite. He made it very clear that he’d already thanked Bojzka for taking him out of his childhood hellhole. He’d done that bare minimum and so no one could ask anything more of him.

Bojzka had other plans.

It turned out that Urro Bojzka had a thing for Din’s covert’s Armorer. God, did he have a thing. And not only did he have a thing, but he’d had it for decades.

Apparently, a thousand years ago, when Boba and Din and all the others around them had still been rolling around on dirt floors trying to eat beetles and shit, Bojzka had attempted to court Din’s Armorer. He’d gone as far and wide as a young Mando could. He’d tried flowers, perfume, credits, displays of strength and courage. He’d tried gifts of food and offers of travel. He’d even stooped so low as to read a book.

None of it had gone well for him. And that was probably because Din’s Armorer had recently proven herself to be no less than one of the heiresses of the Katzkai clan.

The Renda Bears. Those people were hard-fucking-core.

When Bo-Katan found out that Din’s ‘Goran’ was, in fact, Nomri Katzkai, the second daughter of Lanlee Katzai and the official apprentice of Fii Katzkai, the imperial Armorer himself, she threw up her hands and declared all endeavors hopeless now.

Din was one of them; he just didn’t know it. And his buir, who had removed herself from her family to be even more hardcore than anyone would have thought possible, didn’t seem overly excited to start explaining shit to him anytime soon.

So here they were. With Din about to kill one of the most famous war heroes in recent Mandalorian history over a crush that wouldn’t quit.

Bojzka smiled at him with dark eyes with scars through both of his eyebrows.

“Just a message,” he lobbied. “One letter.”

Boba would’ve fucked him. Yeah, why not? Just look at him.

“She’s busy,” Din said. “You’ll have to submit it to Eegang Quodo. That’s E-e-g-a—”

“Yeah, see. Here’s the thing, kid. This letter’s gonna be kinda personal, if you catch my drift—”

“Q-u-o—”

“—probably not great for the eyes of anyone who ain’t, you know, in on this whole relationship—”

“—d-o. He’s usually busy, too. So you probably should submit it to Paz, instead. He’ll lose it for you forever. That’s P-a-z—”

Fennec hid a razor-sharp grin behind a clenched fist. She flashed it at Boba.

‘I love him’ she mouthed, pointing at Din’s hiked-up shoulders. Even his cape seemed to have gone stiff in Bojzka’s presence.

“Din, honey. Listen to me,” Bojzka crooned. “I know you’re protective of your mama, but—”

“She’s not my mother. Don’t you fucking dare call her that, you hulking piece of—”

“Ah-ah-ah. You’re not listening. Come on. Chin up. Ears open.”

Bojzka tapped at the bottom of Din’s helmet like a CO with a teenage recruit, and Fennec just about screamed when Din went completely still and silent.

Bo-Katan met Boba’s gaze out of the corner of her eye. She mimed a syringe. Boba shook his head. If this fucker got bit, he deserved whatever infection it brought.

“Atta boy,” Bojzka said to Din’s rigid silence. “Here’s how it is: your mama and me go way, way back. And you know, after your touching reunion the other week, she even went and had a drink with me, and we got to talkin’ and started to reconnect, the old folks do. And I could read her body language, Din-Din. She wants a man. And that man’s me. So instead of actin’ like a child over all this, why don’t we—”

“She wanted Naseem,” Din snapped. “But Naseem died. Twenty years ago, he died. You just wear similar boots.”

Get ‘im, Djarin. Get ‘im.

“I—who?” Bojzka snapped.

“Naseem,” Din repeated like he was an idiot. “Traditional, bantha-sized, green armor. He worked all the time to keep all the kids in the covert fed.”

Bojzka processed this.

“Naseem what?” he asked stiffly.

“He’s dead,” Din said. “And Hajka left. So no. Goran needs neither a man or a woman, and especially not you. What she needs is a break and for Karren to stop fighting people on sight.”

Bojzka backtracked like a champ.

“Karren, that’s her youngest, right?” he asked. “Well, I bet Karren could use some sisters. I bet he’s lonely over there on, uh.”

“Zeffo,” Din gritted out. “And no. He’s not. He has three sisters. One of which is still at the covert, terrorizing him left and right.”

Even Bo-Katan could only empathize so much with Bojzka, war hero or nah.

“Why’re you all up in arms, Din? What’d I do to you?” Bojzka finally asked. “Don’t you want your buir to be happy?”

Din’s shoulders finally came down from his helmet.

“Of course, I do,” he said. “Which is why if you set so much as a toe on Zeffo, I’m taking both of your knees with me to Yavin.”

 --

Any parent would have been proud to have Din as their child. He took family honor to a level that even the Katzkai clan would have had a hard time sniffing at.

He had to have learned this from the wayward heiress. Although, if Boba was honest, he didn’t really think that the wayward heiress was all that wayward.

She’d come to visit Din on Tatooine. She was short and stocky and not terribly interested in the court or anyone outside of Din.

She wasn’t nearly as hostile as Bo-Katan expected either. She didn’t appear to love anything that she was looking at, no, but Din had explained that that was mostly because she wasn’t really a fan of him having become Mand’alor to start with.

When she came to visit, anyways, she was far more interested in getting a good fuss in to give herself peace of mind that Din was okay. That way she could then go back to dealing with the apparently endless series of crises at the new covert.

She was a great parent in that way. She even brought along her youngest, so that he could see his big brother.

That kid was fuckin’ adorable. Maybe fourteen or fifteen years old. Barely, barely, barely in armor. He was strapped into his leathers so tight, he looked like he was stuffed with straw.

He had medium-brown skin with yellow undertones and huge, nearly-black eyes. Coarse black hair poured into his face and curled around his ears—and if he thought he was going to stuff all that in a helmet one day, he had another thing coming.

He bopped after his buir when they entered the palace and stopped occasionally to stare up in awe at the palace’s high ceilings. Upon realizing that he’d lost his escort, he scampered along to catch up and did the whole thing again and again until buir had enough and snatched his hand.

He didn’t like that. He was fourteen-fifteen years old. He was too big for hand-holding, buir.

Never too old to be ignored, though.

“Goraaaaaan.”

“Hush,” the Armorer told him. “Keep up.”

He was handed off to Boba outside Din’s personal quarters, mostly because he was making such a fuss at the Armorer that she began contemplating leaving him at the palace forever. Din intervened and the kid latched onto him instead until Din convinced him that he’d be available talk just as soon as he and their buir were done speaking.

The kid’s name was Karren.

He and Boba were now best friends.

“—so Goran said, ‘I’m not having that idiot in my rooms.’ But then Eegang said, ‘we already have Paz in these rooms,’ and you’re not supposed to laugh, Mr. Fett, but we all did because we’re all stupid. So we had to do like, a thousand chores for eavesdropping.”

“So she’s not into him, then?” Fennec clarified. “He’s really into her, you know.”

“Of course, I know,” Karren lamented. “But Goran’s picky and the last person she was all close with was Hajka and we’re not allowed to talk about her anymore or Din’ll make you do two hundred push-ups while he watches.”

Amazing. Say more about Din’s oldest-child syndrome, little one.

“No, I like Din,” Karren sighed. “Now that Digo’s gone, he’s even nicer.”

Oh?

“What happened to Digo?” Boba asked as Bo-Katan joined them in curiosity.

“Digo’s a jerk is what happened,” Karren huffed. “She wanted Goran to give over the forge and join the elders, but Goran isn’t even that old. So when she said ‘no,’ Digo got mad and said that the only foundling Goran respects is Din. Which is bullshit because everyone knows that Goran has always been the nicest with Digo and Nasif—she made all sorts of excuses for them, Mr. Fett, like when they went out and got caught stealing parts like Jawas, she did four whole hunts to raise their bail. When Din gets in trouble, he takes care of it himself. He doesn’t ask Goran to do that kind of thing. And me and Shimmol just don’t get in that kind of trouble to start with—but no. Digo had to be all ‘if you don’t treat us as equals, then we’re gonna leave and start our own forge.’”

“No kidding,” Fennec said. “So they left?”

“Yeah, both of them ‘cause Nasif does anything Digo tells her to,” Karren said, kicking his feet. “And good riddance.”

Too many sisters, this one had. Boba felt for him.

“So Goran’s still recovering from that betrayal, I take it?” he asked.

Karren frowned and chewed a lip.

“I dunno,” he admitted. “No one tells me anything. I think that Goran’s been more worried about Din than them after all that happened. We thought he got crunched by the jedi—or at least I thought he got crunched. Paz says that Jedis compact Mandalorians into cubes of armor and Din’s got the best armor.”

Do not laugh at the child. Do not laugh at the child.

“I don’t think Jedis crunch Mandalorians,” Bo-Katan said generously, having snuck into the bare antechamber while everyone was distracted with the kid’s story.

“Well, I do,” Karren countered, with zero conception of who he was talking to.

Fennec beamed.

“Do you like this Urro guy?” she asked.

“No,” Karren answered immediately. “He’s sent Eegang four messages and they’re all gross.”

Yep.

It was gonna be a late puberty for this one.

“What makes them gross?” Bo-Katan asked.

“The mush,” Karren said expertly. “Bojzka calls Goran ‘Nomri.’ That’s a bad word at home. No one says that word. Goran is ‘Goran.’ The only people who call her anything else are the elders.”

“And you and your siblings, no?” Bo-Katan asked.

Karran cocked his head at her.

“Yeah, and ‘buir’ I guess, if we aren’t in trouble,” he said.

Bless him.

“Are you in trouble a lot?” Bo-Katan asked.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. I got a temper or something.”

“Is Din in trouble?”

“With buir? No, not like me and Shimmol. He’s too old to be in that kind of trouble. His trouble’s like ‘help, I fell a hundred feet off a cliff’ kind of trouble. He gives Goran indigestion, but she can’t make him reflect on falling a million feet out of a ship—Eegang says that’s called ‘rehashing trauma.’”

The covert on Zeffo sounded like it was holding itself together through sheer force of will and that alone.

Where did Boba sign up? It sounded like a fantastic experiment to pass the time.

“Are you a foundling, Karren?” Boba asked.

The kid lit up.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve been with Goran for five years now. Six in a few months. My dad’s a piece of shit. He killed my mom, and Goran got him arrested for that and for what he did to my auntie.”

Well, fuck. That explained a lot.

“And you like it there—on Zeffo?” Bo-Katan asked.

Karren shrugged.

“It’s cold and wet,” he said. “I liked Nevarro better. Din was home more on Nevarro.”

Awww.

“Aren’t you proud of Din for becoming Mand’alor?” Bo-Katan asked as gently as she could manage.

Karren’s frown eased up finally.

“No,” he said. “Din should just come home. He doesn’t need to be Mand’alor or married to some jedi. He should just come home. It’s stupid; his foundling should have stayed with us from the start. We always have room for more foundlings. I dunno why he had to leave with his foundling at all.”

Bo-Katan sat back and sighed.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “If it helps, I think he just wants to come home, too.”

“So let him,” Karren blurted out to her.

Tough tits, kid. That wasn’t how it worked.

“I think we should perhaps focus on one thing at a time,” Bo-Katan said. “What do you think, Fett?”

What did Boba think?

Boba thought that he had a great idea to distract this kid from missing his big brother.

 ---

Karren was perhaps a little too small still to reach the brakes in the crawler, but you know what? So was Fennec sometimes and she did just fine.  

“Gas,” Boba said, pointing. “Neutral. Brake. Park.”

“Gas, neutral, brake, park,” Karren repeated to him with his hands on the wheel and his knobbly wrists peeking out from the gap between his gloves and his leather braces.

Bo-Katan had refused to be present or responsible for this. Fennec had told them to wait while she went and took a shot first. ‘For safety’ she said.

“What’s neutral for?”

“You’re about to tell me,” Boba said, adjusting the rear view mirrors down to kid-height.

The sound of Fennec throwing herself onto the back of the crawler rattled through to their compartment.

“That’s our signal,” Boba said. “You ready to jam?”

“Jam?” Karren asked him.

Hm.

Punch it?

“Punch what?”

The fuck kind of slang did they use at the covert?

“Rock?”

“OH. Yeah, I’m ready.”

There we go. Onward march then.

 ---

An hour later, Din sighed with Karren whining under his arm.

“There is a reason he’s not trained yet, Fett,” Din said as Karren started chomping on the bunched-up flightsuit in his elbow.

The Armorer pressed both palms into the forehead of her helmet.

The crawler had perhaps seen better days. But it had also seen worse days, and Fennec was still going through little loops of cackling at the memory of having to chase after its open tailgate. Boba didn’t understand what all the fuss was about. The kid had done amazingly well for his first time at the wheel.

“I’m leaving all of you,” Karren grated out, trying miserably to escape Din’s elbow-prison. “I want to be Mr. Fett’s foundling.”

Bless him.

“You don’t,” Din told him forcefully. “Fett can’t handle a foundling.”

Ay, Boba would drink to that. He was happy to be a foundling-sitter and borrower, though.

“Buir,” Karren pleaded.

“You make me tired, child,” the Armorer told him. “Say goodbye to vod.”

“NO.”

Din sighed. The Armorer sighed. Karren, in a beautiful 180, latched onto Din’s ribs again.

“Come hooooooome,” he pleaded with Din.

“I caaaaaaan’t,” Din drawled back at him in a delightfully uncharacteristic tone.

“These people don’t need you. We need you. Shimmol took your bed and if you don’t take it back, she’s gonna keep it.”

Din’s shoulders dropped.

“I told Shimmol that she could take my bunk, Karren,” he said. “I’m not using it—”

“BUT YOU COULD BE.”

Boba took it back. He could take on a foundling. Fuck it, why not? This one was great.

“Come here,” Din said, dragging the kid up to his toes. He knocked the front of his helmet against Karren’s forehead with enough force that the bump was noticeable. That made the kid shut up and stand up straight on his own volition again.

“Soon,” Din told him forcefully. “Behave for buir.”

“Promise,” Karren demanded.

“Ehn.”

“Din, promise.”

“I dunno, kid. I’ve got a husband and all these damn kids to worry about.”

“Bring them. All of them.”

“No room,” Din said without missing a beat. “You have no idea how much space the husband needs to thrive.”

“Well, if you don’t come, then Urro’s gonna try to move in,” Karren snapped.

Din actually paused at that. The Armorer shook her helmet.

“Territorialism becomes neither of you,” she said. “If Urro wishes to join our covert, then we will treat him as we treat any other who wishes to.”

Din’s helmet seemed to squint at her. Karren glared outright.

“I don’t like him,” he told Din.

“Concurred,” Din said.

“Ad’ika,” the Armorer scolded.

“I will not be shamed into liking him, either,” Din asserted.

“Din,” Karren whined.

“I’ll consider coming home if it means there will be no space for Bojzka,” Din said.

“Carry on with your work and give my best to the jedi and the child,” the Armorer said with an air of dismissal. “Come, Karren. Thank you three for looking after him. Apologies for the vehicle. Come.”

Boba missed that kid already.

 --------

Bojzka, Boba had to say, really had no shame and he could almost appreciate that. Either that, or Din’s buir was a catch that the rest of them were failing to appreciate.

“How bad can it be?” the guy mused at Din’s stiff, furious hands mere days after the Armorer and Karren’s departure. “It’s a helmet, right? You can take it off with the people who matter, no?”

“We do not take it off,” Din said from between clenched teeth.

“Right, I got that. But there are exceptions for kids and spouses,” Bojzka said. “Or did I misread that part?”

Din was going to start shaking at any minute now. Bo-Katan assigned Boba the task of making sure he didn’t commit War-hero-homicide while she went off to find a calming device. It was only polite. It wasn’t Bojzka’s fault after all that he’d come in right after a tense meeting with a dissident group from Mandalore itself that made even Bo-Katan’s jaw jump.

“I think the rule is more important than the exceptions here,” Boba pointed out on Din’s behalf. “Joining the Children of the Watch isn’t something to take lightly.”

Din pointed at him wordlessly. Bojzka lazily followed the finger and then pointedly ignored Boba.

“What I’m hearing is that if we marry first, nothing changes,” he said.

Din’s index finger curled in with the rest of his knuckles until it was a fist.

“She is not looking to marry,” he said.

“What, so you speak for her now?”

“She is not looking to marry.”

“I can repeat things, too. Wanna see? You don’t speak for Nomri, Din.”

Boba was getting the feeling that Ms. Katzkai sort of did let Din speak for her in these types of situations. He was, after all, her oldest. And it sounded like he was the most loyal of her foundlings, too. If she shared anything personal with anyone besides her second in command, then it was going to be Din. That was just how these things worked.

“Did you call Eegang?” Din asked.

“I did,” Bojzka said. “He’s not especially helpful, I have to say. He keeps sending my missives back to me with grammar corrections.”

No. No. Keep it in, Boba. Keep it stoic.

“Eegang is the second CO at the covert,” Din said. “If you won’t take my word for it, then you’ll take his.”

Bojzka arched a fucked-up eyebrow.

“Eegang, the same guy who is allegedly secretly married to his partner? That Eegang?” he asked.

Din balked. Boba felt like electricity had just rocketed through him.

“Eegang is—” Din started.

“Nomri told me about him,” Bojzka said off-handedly. “She seems to think that he’s bitten off more than he can chew with taking on his last kid.”

“Eegang—”

“Something about baby being blind? Funny, did you not think that she trusted me enough to talk about her people?”

Any more of this and steam would start rising from the lip of Din’s helmet.

Thankfully, Bo-Katan returned with the jedi, AKA the calming device. Skywalker even came equipped with Grogu. They both appeared very confused and innocent, what with Skywalker drowning in his formal robes. They looked like they were going to absorb Grogu at any moment.

A+ distraction work, Kryze. Well done making yourself useful.

“Who’s Eegang?” Skywalker asked.

The line pulled taut across Din’s shoulders began to loosen.

“A comrade,” he said sharply in Bojzka’s direction.

“Is he nice?” Skywalker asked. Grogu chirped at him and resumed trying to dig into his multitude of collars.

“Very nice,” Din confirmed, staring deep into Bojzka’s eyes.

“He’s got foundlings, too?” Skywalker asked.

“Two,” Din confirmed. “Who he adores. Regardless of all challenges.”

Ah. It wasn’t just Eegang Din was protective of. It was the baby. Bojzka had really stuck his foot into that one.

“I’m sure the foundlings are fine,” Bojzka said. “It was just Nomri’s concern that—”

“Stop calling her that in my presence,” Din said. “In fact, let’s drop the whole thing now.”

 --------

Boba wanted to meet secretly-married Eegang. He sounded like he had a rich interior life. Din gave him a strong look and said that if the Armorer had left the covert, Eegang would not. One of them had to be there at all times.

Bo-Katan asked what Eegang’s speciality was.

Surprise, surprise: it was diplomacy.

Kryze was now invested. She followed Din around on his heels and suggested that if the Armorer gave words to Eegang to deliver during a formal meeting with the Mand’alor, then Bojzka might finally get the picture that Katzkai wasn’t interested in him.

Din thought about that.

He asked if this was not just a ploy for Boba and Bo-Katan to rally his covert comrades against him.

And it honestly wasn’t until he phrased it like that.

 -----------

Eegang was tall, sea-green, and in Bojzka’s face without so much as a by-your-leave.

“Three tests,” he threatened Bojzka with a baby on his hip. “One: stop sending transmissions. Two: get Elder Fayrz to approve your presence. Three: make even one of Goran’s foundlings like you. If you pass all three, your admission will be taken into consideration.”

The baby was very pink with curly hair so pale it was almost white. Its blue-gray eyes moved rapidly back and forth as it cuddled into its buir’s teal armor. Bojzka glanced from it to Eegang’s chipped helmet.

“Where did you find him?” he asked.

“Please give confirmation of your understanding,” Eegang said mechanically.

“He’s kinda cute.”

“Please give confirmation of your understanding.”

“Are you a droid or somethin’?”

“Please give—”

“Alright, alright. Fuck. This is confirmation of my understanding.”

“Excellent. This conversation is over,” Eegang said. “It is your responsibility to contact the elder and earn the approval.”

Bojzka jerked.

“Wait, what?” he said. “How am I supposed to do that if y’all won’t even let me through the door?”

Eegang’s helmet tipped so daintily to the side that Boba could have shed a tear.

“That sounds like a you-problem,” Eegang said.

 -----------

Eegang thereafter blocked Bojzka out of his mind and heart. He introduced himself with a dipping motion to Kryze and Boba that probably would have been more dramatic if he’d opted to wear a cape, which he did not. He revealed himself to be exceedingly polite and very fond of Din, though—if the gentle armor tapping and the use of the word ‘little brother’ was anything to go by. Din was usually receptive to gestures like that, Boba had learned, but not this time.

No, no. Din cared not for his ‘big brother.’ He cared only for the attention of Eegang’s baby.

“His name is Mesa,” Eegang explained after Din had kidnapped said baby. He introduced Mesa to Grogu who was stationed nearby, stuffed in the sleepy jedi’s shirt this time. . Grogu waved from Skywalker’s chest, but Mesa didn’t register the motion.

“His grandmother was quite ill, and it was her dying wish to see the child placed into the care of someone trustworthy. I have to admit, though, I may have made the decision a little rashly,” Eegang hummed as he watched Grogu lean as far as he could out of Skywalker’s clothing to try to make contact with his fellow foundling.

“Is he your first?” Bo-Katan asked.

Eegang winced.

“No, uh. I’ve got another,” he said. “She’s a huge fan of certain someones.”

“Me,” Din said without hesitation.

“And Paz,” Eegang said. “Which is a deadly combination.”

“She will be a mighty warrior,” Din informed Mesa and Skywalker. Skywalker twitched awake and didn’t understand anything that was happening. He noticed the baby, cooed, and waved with his gloved hand.

“She’s declared this one goat her nemesis and I cannot—I cannot—get her to just leave it alone,” Eegang said.

“A goat clan in the making,” Din said with approval.

“I’m hearing unnecessary commentary,” Eegang said without looking at him. “Please rephrase or shut up.”

Din seemed to gloat at the scolding. Skywalker glanced between him and his tall, teal comrade. He made his move and carefully came in to extract baby Mesa from Din’s arms to add him to his ever-growing collection. Grogu cooed again, closer now. He offered Mesa a hand, and this time, Mesa perked up and tried to grab at it clumsily.

“You manage the covert in the Armorer’s absence?” Bo-Katan asked Eegang. “You must be very dedicated to the Children of the Watch.”

“Define ‘manage’ and then ‘dedicated,’” Eegang said. “I prefer ‘accidentally charged with responsibility one too many times’ and ‘in too deep to turn back now.’”

“He’s being humble,” Din said. “Eegang has brokered peace between our covert and locals on numerous occasions.”

Eegang’s shoulders started to raise.

“Stop telling people that, they’re going to expect things from me,” he said, then popped back up like flipped switch. “Oh, I totally forgot why I even came. Jedi?”

Skywalker looked up from the conference of baby talk happening in his arms all wide-eyed, as though he’d been caught in the act of stealing imperial property.

“We did not welcome you into our covert,” Eegang said, “You must allow us to present you with a gift of welcome and entry.”

Oho. Very formal. Boba folded his arms and watched Skywalker for his reaction.

“A what?” Skywalker asked.

 -------

Bojzka was somewhat justifiably upset at the double standard going on here.

Skywalker was a jedi and yet welcomed into the covert with open arms and no admission requirements. He was, in fact, measured against his will for a set of armor. This was what Din’s buir had actually been after when she’d sent Eegang along to say hi.

Boba found that he enjoyed the reciprocation of ulterior motives that they were getting from Din’s covert. Kryze had never been happier. This was a game that she knew how to play.

“Wait no, hold up,” Bojzka interrupted. “I deserve a chance. Din, at least give me the name of one of your siblings so I can track them down with the elder.”

Din didn’t want to; there were foundlings happening and another meeting soon, but eventually even he had to give the guy something.

An honorable battle required at least two willing bodies.

 -----------

Din and Karren’s remaining sibling at the covert’s name was Shimmol. According to Din, Bojzka had next to no chance of gaining her favor because she did not leave the forge and therefore Bojzka had no access to her. Eegang corrected Din and said that Shimmol did, in fact, leave the forge, but never on her own volition.

She was preferred the dark. She hated social interaction.

To circumvent that, the Armorer had refused to induct her into the trade until she proved herself able to coexist with others. But Shimmol was eighteen, that fun age where no incentive or punishment was effective and digging your heels in was far more preferable to doing a damn thing your elders mentioned.

She’s announced that very weekend that she was officially becoming a recluse. Her present aspiration in life was apparently now to become a forge spider.

Bojzka, along with everyone else, had no idea how to receive this information. Kyrze took it upon herself to pat Bojzka on the shoulder and tell him to start with the elder. He might actually have some luck that way.

 -------

It took two weeks for Bojzka to re-emerge from whatever hellhole he’d had to walk a tightrope across to locate the covert’s elder Fayrz. He climbed in through Din’s personal quarters’ window and interrupted him and the Jedi in a moment of infrequent intimacy.

The sound of a body being throw over a bannister had a special kind of thud to it. Boba was up on out of his quarters in an instant.

Din flung Bojzka’s helmet after him. Skywalker had the grace to cover Djarin’s face with his shirt and walk him back into the room before anyone caught sight of it, telling Boba and Fennec, who had also emerged from her bed, prepared for drama, that all was fine. There was just a misunderstanding.

His bare torso was covered in scars. Boba found himself somehow surprised and impressed as the jedi unsuccessfully wrangled his furious husband back in the direction of bed.

He and Fennec peeked over the banister to see what had become of Bojzka. He was fine.

Fennec informed Boba that she was claiming part of his bed ‘in case anything else good happened’ since he was closer.

 -----

In the morning, Din was in marginally better spirits. Skywalker was to be found at his side, walking backwards and tripping over his cloak every four paces. He truly knew how to hit all Din’s ‘endeared’ buttons. If not to the earnestness and the near-miss of a disaster on the stairs, it would have looked like manipulation.

Bojzka attempted to rectify the peace by breaking into the court through one of the windows high up on the wall outside the second floor’s conference room.  This time, to ensure that he had Din’s full attention, he removed the jedi from the equation. Or he tried to anyways.

The jedi, in a split second, decided that, all joking aside, today, he would not be moved. His green saber managed to glow even in the sunlight pouring in to the hall.

“Do not touch,” he ordered, with both feet planted and Din and Grogu securely at his back.

Bojzka cocked his head at the saber pointed right at his nose.

“That’s a fun trick,” he said.

“Do not touch,” Skywalker repeated. “Me, him, or the child.”

“I’ll think about it,” Bojzka said. “Stand down before you regret it.”

“Luke,” Din said testily. “He’s not worth it.”

“Make me regret it,” Skywalker said to Bojzka.

Bojzka’s eyes widened slightly in interest. He used the back of his wrist to try to nudge the saber’s tip away and snapped his hand away from the burn.

“Do you expect me to be afraid of you, jedi?” he asked, trying to play it off.

Skywalker’s eyes reflected the light of his saber.

“Ask him what the glove’s for,” Fennec called from the far hall. Bojzka scoffed. Skywalker didn’t move.

“What happened to your hand?” Bojzka asked.

“My father cut it off,” Skywalker said. “But not to worry, I got a new one. Now step back. Sir.”

Bojzka didn’t move for a long time.

“Does it feel good to walk in the presence of these people?” he asked. “Is it a kink for you the way it was for your master?”

Boba had officially lost the plot. These were old politics now. Kryze would know what Bojzka was talking about, if only she deigned to come out from wherever she was hiding, which she wouldn’t. Of course.

“Does it offend you? My presence here?” Skywalker asked back without emotion.

“It doesn’t,” Bojzka said.

“I’m glad. That’s very convenient for me. I’d feel terrible if you bled out on these tiles,” Skywalker said. “So move.”

And goddamn. The mountain finally yielded to the sky.

 -------

Skywalker spent the rest of the day on high alert, with one hand on the hilt of his saber and his full concentration tied up with making fierce eyes into the palace’s corners to keep Bojzka at bay. It was really something to see. Din looked about ready to lay his fingers on his heart and swoon, and that was more than fair. If Boba’s spouse threatened to kill a man for looking at him wrong, he’d be touched too.

Fennec told Boba that she’d protect him from a man the size of a bantha but no larger, and it just didn’t have the same kind of ring.

She apologized and he told her it was fine. It was just in the delivery--and also, he’d murder anyone so blinked at her wrong, too.

She was pleased. Boba was glad they were on the same page.

“Let’s go find Kryze to negotiate,” Fennec said, “I need to know why Old Faithful’s back.”

 --------

Kryze’s commanding voice wrang out of Bojzka the real reason for his presence. The truth of the matter was that, War Hero aside, he was having a hell of a time getting the covert elder to grant him a second look.

Din told him that that was the point. Elder Fayrz was like that all day, every day and he’d change for no body, spiritual or physical. He bothered people when he wanted to bother them, and the rest of the time, he liked to pretend he was senile. He only really ever showed up if someone was buying a round or their life was in the balance.

Skywalker said that he sounded a lot like his late master.

Din agreed and said that Elder Fayrz had dedicated his life to two things: the covert children and fungi. Somehow, he made those two interests overlap. Din recalled being twelve and being taken out on a ‘mission’ by the old man who had informed him that he required his nose.

Elder Fayrz had no sense of smell. For a man with a fungi interest, he called this ‘very dangerous business indeed.’

Kryze demanded to know if all the weirdest Mandalorian elders still living had congregated at Din’s cohort which he quickly confirmed. Bojzka, however, demanded to know what would make this elder look him in the eye.

Din told him to go find a deathbed and lay on it.

He remembered belatedly to add ‘nearby Elder Fayrz’ to that statement.

 ----------

After about a month of this kind of back and forth, the Armorer decided that she’d had enough. She did not come to the Dune Sea. She sent a missive to Din informing him that he was coming home.

‘To talk,’ she said.

Boba vaguely remembered Karren saying something along the lines of ‘Din doesn’t get into trouble anymore,’ and was pleased to find that that was not the case. Din already knew what awaited him at his home covert and anyone with slightly more than a rock for a brain could see that it wasn’t going to be hugs and kisses.

Bojzka volunteered to accompany Din as a guard when the jedi made himself conveniently unavailable. Kryze and Boba flipped a coin while Din resisted stabbing him, and of course Boba won. Kryze flipped it again to be sure, and Boba told her sweetly that he’d send her a postcard.

“Have fun with the schmucks lounging around this place,” he gloated at Bo-Katan’s rolling shoulders.

She gave him two naughty fingers.

Whatever, girl. Sucks to suck. Bye, bye, now. Come on, Fennec. There’s adventure to be had.

 ---------

It was a ways to the new covert on Zeffo. Several hours, in fact, many of which were spent playing ‘I spy’ with Fennec while Bojzka gritted his teeth and asked them if they were always like this.

Fennec got Din to join in at that comment.

Eventually they ran out of white dwarfs and capes to identify and settled down into silence until the ship declared landing to be imminent.

Karren remembered Boba and the second he set foot inside the curiously constructed covert entrance. The kid came hurtling up to tackle him and wrap arms around his middle. It was endearing. Boba checked the doors to see if a guard would notice a kidnapping.

Fennec reminded him of child-based expenses. Her wisdom was invaluable as usual.

Karren scrambled away from Boba and, for a moment, made like he was going to attach himself to Din’s armor, but instead wriggled past Din to go tearing down the hallway. He skidded, crashed, and then clambered into a different room at the dead end of what appeared to be a row of barracks. Seconds later, Eegang exploded from one of the rooms adjacent wearing no armor but his helmet. He flung himself through the same doorway Karren had vanished through.

Din tilted his head.

“It’s fine,” a voice said behind them.

Their small party turned to see a woman wearing a cool purple helmet with only her flakvest on. Eegang’s pale baby was sat on her hip, pawing at her chest, trying to find purchase in the vest.

“Sotra,” Din greeted.

“Welcome back, brat-child,” Sotra said. “We missed you.”

This had to be Eegang’s secret-wife; unless she’d stolen that gurgling foundling in the night or something.

“Electrical?” Din asked, pointing at the far room.

“Loft,” Sotra said. “There’s hay, so of course all the kids have to be in it.”

“Just hay?” Din asked.

“And goats,” Sotra said.

Ah.

“We raise goats now?” Din asked.

“Oh, no, no,” Sotra said, sashaying past him towards the room her husband had abandoned, “It’s either coexistence or war, I’m afraid. The forge is past the hangar, keep going through the kitchens. Voxie knows you’re here—he’s awake, by the way. Welcome home, Din.”

“Thanks,” Din said. “This is my advisor, Boba Fett and our friend Fennec.”

Sotra splayed her whole, tall body into the doorway of her and Eegang’s barracks just as a fearsome battle cry sounded out on the other side.

“Hi,” she said.

“RELEASE ME,” a child in front of her about hip-height with serious bedhead shrieked in Mando’a.

Fennec’s eyebrows launched up to her forehead. Boba felt like he needed to record this so that Kryze understood what she was missing.

“Vod Din is home,” Sotra told the child.

“DIN.”

“Shhhh.”

“RELEASE M—mmf.”

“Shhhhh. It’s quiet time,” Sotra said with her free hand over the child’s mouth. “We’re being quiet.”

Din chuckled.

“Hey, Samo,” he said.

Samo let loose an ear-piercing scream behind her buir’s hand and ducked under Sotra’s legs. She ran at Din like there was a bomb behind her. Din caught her and swung her up to perch on his arm and she kicked relentless at his tassets in excitement.

“Shhh,” Din said. “People are sleeping—”

“YOU’RE THE MAND’ALOR. YOU’RE THE MAND’ALOR. YOU’RE THE—”

Doors started opening all down the line of barracks. A few curious, hazy, and lopsided helmets poked out from some of them, and from others, calls of ‘EYYYYYYY’ and chats ‘ALL HAIL THE MAND’ALOR’ started up, to Din’s immediate mortification.

This, Boba was delighted to realize, was not a cry of honor.

These half-asleep fuckers had been waiting months to embarrass Din. And he’d known that this would happen.

“Be quiet,” Din snapped all around him. “The elders are sleeping, you’re going to—”

“Well, well, well, look who’s finally home,” a taunting voice rang out on top of the rush. “If it isn’t the Mand’alor himself.”

“Paz,” Din sighed. “Not now.”

“When could there possibly be a better time, your liege?” a huge Mandalorian wearing full blue armor despite the early hour drawled from the doorway he’d attempted to casually lean in. Samo’s braids flew as her round cheeks snapped his way.

“Paz, don’t be mean,” she told him from atop Din’s arm. “Or it’ll be to the goats with ya.”

“Fuck me, the goats, what ever will I do?” Paz scoffed.

“BUIR, PAZ SAID A BAD WORD.”

“I heard him,” Sotra said scathingly, right at Paz’s visor.

“To the goats,” Paz’s neighbor hissed at him.

The hissing was taken up just as quickly as the earlier ‘all hails’ had been. Paz told everyone to shut up and mind their own asses. He was publicly booed until Eegang emerged from the loft room with Karren stuffed under an arm and demanded to know why people were congregating in the halls. He reminded everyone that that shit was a fire hazard, and in doing so, his tone changed completely from easy-going to Commanding Officer and the effect was immediate.

People scurried back into their rooms like frightened mice until there wasn’t a single open door left in the whole line.

Eegang huffed and traded Karren to Din for his daughter. Samo happily climbed onto his shoulders and held onto his chin. Karren grinned mischievously up at her, winked, and then thumbed back to the goat loft.

“Not the welcome you deserved, but the one you got. I’m afraid nothing has changed here,” Eegang told Din compassionately, wrapping his fingers around Samo’s ankles. “I see you brought friends.”

“And foe,” Din said, gesturing at Bojzka who beamed.

Eegang’s visor contained a grimace that would otherwise have wracked his whole body.

“You got in,” he deadpanned.

“Sure did,” Bojzka said. “Lovely place you have here.”

And honestly? Yeah. It sort of was. Maybe a little ramshackle, what with all the scaffolding and haphazard support beams thrown into the walls to keep the wet earth above ground from crushing everyone below it, but for all the unsteadiness, it was oozing with comradery. Family.

Behind each of those doors was a little unit like Eegang and Sotra’s or perhaps a tired body, barely extracted from its boots, taking comfort in this honeycomb of tunnels and rooms.

Boba couldn’t help but wonder how he and Dad would have done in a place like this.

“We try,” Eegang said flatly. “I’ll let the Armorer deal with you herself—if she’s awake, I mean. Otherwise, you’re condemned to Shimmol. I’m going back to sleep. Vok is waiting for you, keep going straight through the kitchens, Din.”

“Thank you,” Din said. “Sleep well, Vod.”

“Yeah, yeah. Come on, Monster. No goats for now.”

Samo waved at Boba and Fennec with a smile as bright as the sun. She ducked expertly as Eegang passed through the doorway to their quarters. He closed the door behind them.

 ------

“You don’t see families like that much anymore,” Bojzka hummed as Din led their troop down the hallways, through a series of ladders into a kitchen and then from there into a surprisingly neat, up-to-date hangar with concrete floorings. Six crafts were parked inside, tucked into the tight space like fish in a barrel.

“We have a few,” Din said. “I don’t know how many people are living here now, though.”

Given the size of the place? Maybe fifty or so, if Boba had to take a guess. There had been several sets of boots lining the wall outside the barrack doors.

Din picked his way through the crafts to two tarps covered in piles of spare, rusting, and grease-covered parts. At the end of the aisle between the tarps was a rectangle bordered by wooden benches and to the left of that was a little box that a mechanic presumably operated from. The box, however, had no windows. Its door was slightly ajar.

Din knocked and a snort and a slurp answered him.

“Jus’ a mo,” a thick voice said inside.

Fennec looked at Boba with intrigue.

“Tool gnome,” she said.

No, friend. Just a grease-monkey.

“Tool gnome,” Fennec insisted.

The door opened and a man at least six feet, two inches peered out of it.

“Tool giant,” Fennec amended in a whisper.

“Is that you, Din?” the mechanic asked. His helmet was rusty red and gray. Its visor had a yellow tint to it.

“It is,” Din said. “It’s been a while, Vok. These are my—”

“Forget them. Goran told me what you did to Razor.”

Din cringed.

“I—”

“AH. No. I don’t wanna hear it,” Vok said. “I just—I’m glad you’re safe, but you ain’t touching any more of my children, you hear me, boy?”

Din sunk into his shoulders in shame.

“I hear you,” he said.

“You’re damn right you do,” Vok said. “Man, I had a whole speech written out and shit, and here you are, early as the fuckin’ dawn. Did you miss Paz?”

“We did not,” Din said.

“I tried to have him do an inventory, I did,” Vok said sympathetically. “But he wasn’t havin’ it. Took an IOU and everything.”

Din sighed.

“Thanks for trying,” he said. “Is the forge...?”

“That way,” Vok said, gesturing to the far end of the hangar, where a series of scaffolding led up to a dark hole in the wall. “Mind your step. Stairs are next on my list. Who’re your friends?”

Din introduced them. Vok considered Fennec and after a moment of thought, saluted her. She tipped her jaw to the side and gave him a once-over.

“Din’s got my number if you’re not busy,” Vok said.

“I’ll take it under advisement,” Fennec said.

“I hope you do, my darlin’. You? Boj-whatever? I heard about you. You can go fuck yourself.”

“Thanks, Vok, we’re going now,” Din intervened.

 ----------

Fennec said nothing on the way up the scaffolding. She didn’t need to. Boba applauded her.

 ---------

The forge was the least finished part of the covert, and Boba could respect the Armorer’s dedication to looking after the flock before her own needs. Not that the forge wasn’t a comfortable place. Upon entry, Bojzka whistled at all the equipment inside. There were steel beams crossing in hatches along the ceiling. It appeared as though someone was working on a ventilation mechanism up there. Ropes and pipes hung down from the beams as though a pulley system had been recently removed.

The forge itself was a huge circular structure with a high wall around its exterior. It was built of a slick-looking black material. There were three water troughs set up in a line behind it and two rudimentary wood blocks with anvils set on them. Benches littered with iron tools sat next to the anvils.

Din appeared very at home in this place, despite not having even been in it. He wove around the accoutrements of the room towards a wooden door that had been placed on hinges on the far side like an afterthought.

He knocked.

“We don’ want any,” a sleepy woman’s voice drawled.

Boba jumped as a something brushed his elbow and discovered that Karren had followed them all the way down to the forge. His soft boots had hidden his footsteps, but, like Din, he was now in a place that he knew like the back of his hand. Din grabbed the scruff of his neck as he went for the door with both hands.

“You’re supposed to be in the nursery,” Din told him. “Shoo.”

“Shimmol, Din’s home,” Karren said through the door. “Goran, Din’s home.”

Very cute. Karren wanted to be the one to shared the news. Din pulled him back as shuffling started up on the other side of the wooden door.

It opened to reveal a fluorescent pink helmet with floral patterns painted down the edges in white.

“Din?” the young woman, who could only be Shimmol, asked.

Din’s brain stuttered.

“Uh?” he said.

Shimmol’s flightsuit was once white, but it was burned and smudged to gray all over. Her heavy gloves were half-burnt on both hands, too. She surged forward into Din’s chestplate. Din hugged her back awkwardly.

“Hello, sister,” he said. “This is, uh.”

“Do you like it?” Shimmol asked, pulling away from him to touch the edges of her helmet. “I thought it was cute. Wait til you see the pauldrons. They match.”

“They’re hideous,” Karren said.

“Did anyone ask you?” Shimmol flung at him. “No, I didn’t think so. Get gone, womp-rat.”

Wow. No wonder Karren was desperate for Din’s attention.

“I’m not a womp-rat,” Karren said. “I’m a Tooka. Goran said so.”

“You know, what you actually are is a ‘nuisance,’ so it doesn’t matter what—”

“Children.”

And lo and behold. The lady herself. Gold helmet and everything.

“Din,” the Armorer said, placing a hand on Shimmol’s side to move her. “Welcome home.”

Din accepted the helmet touch with grace.

“Bojzka,” the Armorer said next. “I didn’t expect to see you in my home so soon, or at all.”

Bojzka beamed.

“You’ve grown a beard,” the Armorer noted. “It does not become you.”

Boba coughed into his elbow to hide the bark of laughter screaming to escape his throat. Fennec thumped at his back.

“Let’s move somewhere with more light,” the Armorer said. “Karren, Shimmol. You’re dismissed for the next hour. Go eat breakfast.”

“But—” Shimmol started.

“Up, up, up,” Karren chanted, getting behind her and shoving hands into the small of her back. “It’s people-time.”

“Leave it. I hate people-time,” Shimmol said. “I thrive on darkness. It sustains me better than food.”

Din looked desperately into the Armorer’s helmet. The Armorer ignored him and told Shimmol that she knew this to false and to stop whining. Upstairs, now.  

The kids relented and left the forge. Din pointed after them.

“I know,” the Armorer said. “Let her work through it.”

Din pointed even more insistently.

“No, no. It’s true,” Bojzka said. “Mine went through the same thing.”

 --------

The Armorer sat them all down at a ‘u’ shape of benches on the far side of the forge. She turned on some overhead lights. They lit up the forge and threw its equipment’s shadows harshly against the floor.

“Thank you for coming,” she said lightly. “It takes a long time to get to Zeffo, even in the Outer Rim.”

“It suits you,” Bojzka flirted.

“It does not,” the Armorer countered unrepentantly. “And your flattery remains aggravating.”

Bojzka didn’t seem to process the meaning behind those words, too busy he was with basking in the Armorer’s presence. She ignored him to turn to Din.

“Eegang tells me that you have been aggressive towards Bojzka, ad’ika, is this true?”

Din hunkered down into his shoulders. He didn’t want to answer. The Armorer didn’t make him.

“This is unnecessary,” she said. “Bojzka does not bother me.”

Bojzka rounded a gloating grin at Din.

“He is delusional, but I’m afraid that head trauma does this over time,” the Armorer said lightly. “There is no need to defend my honor—I’ve already had this conversation with Eegang, so know that it is not only you who I’ve spoken to about this. And Bojzka.”

“Yes, dear?” Bojzka hummed.

“I would appreciate it if you ceased in antagonizing my foundling and second.”

“I’m not trying to, Nomri.”

“I know,” the Armorer said. “And that is where I believe this tension arises from. Din, you and your advisor may leave. I’ll handle this. In future, know that it is not your place to speak on these matters in my stead, yes?”

“Yes, Goran,” Din mumbled.

The Armorer waited.

“Buir,” Din corrected.

“Thank you. The last thing I need is the Mand’alor becoming invested in old-standing relationships. You may go.”

Din stood and Boba and Fennec stood with him.

“He is not Naseem,” Din said right at the doorway.

The Armorer’s helmet turned slowly his way.

“No one will ever be Naseem,” she said. “It’s okay. Go.”

 -----------

Boba need the full story on this Naseem guy approximately yesterday, but all he had at his disposal in the kitchens where he, Din, and Fennec had been banished was a collection of foundlings all staring up at their party looking guilty as hell.

In the midst of their group was a ten-year-old holding a glass jug absolutely brimming with frogs.

Boba had never seen this many foundlings together at once before, and he had to say: these traditionalists knew exactly what they were doing. There was nothing quite like a whole mass of youths to shift the mood.

The kids made a break for it.

  Fennec was the fastest of all of them, but even she was not as fast as the bodies that popped their heads out of the rattling back room and launched themselves without warning over the few rows of tables set out in the main space.

Din’s covert collectively looked after the little ones, he explained when one of these bodies returned with the wrist of a shrieking Twi’lek child in their grip. The shrieking cut off when the nurse dropped down into a crouch and flattened both of the child’s hands against their helmet so that they left splotchy prints behind.

Two of the folks who filed back into the room covered in mud did not wear helmets. Din didn’t recognize them until they spoke and said their names. They’d removed their helmets back on Nevarro, apparently, and they had not to put them back on. Now, they wore veils and headscarves—neither of them comfortable with their whole heads and faces on display.

One of these was a woman named Madda. She saw Din’s helmet and froze by one of the long tables.

“Din, I’m so glad you returned,” she said with hitching breath. And then she took her newly-acquired jug of frogs and went tearing back down the hallway towards the covert’s main entrance. Din watched after her, confused.

“Is the transition difficult?” he asked one of the other Mandalorians next to him.

Their helmet showed zero emotion, and yet Boba gleaned from it everything he needed to know. He put a palm on his forehead.

“Djarin, come here,” he said.

 -------------

Din chased after Madda to apologize for fucking up what was probably a years-long infatuation at this point. Fennec watched after him with a sly grin. But the Mandalorian with the flat helmet turned to Boba with far more open shoulders.

“You got through to him like that,” she said, snapping her fingers.

“It’s his secret talent,” Fennec told her.

“What was your name?” the Mandalorian asked.

“Boba Fett,” Boba said. “And yours?”

“Jhuvac.”

“Nice to meet you,” Boba said politely.

“Aren’t you the clone-guy?”

Welp.

“I prefer ‘Fett,’” Boba said.

“Nah, I feel that,” Jhuvac said, tossing her scarf over her shoulder. “Paz calls you the ‘clone-guy’ is all. That shit’s wild, by the way. But you can’t help your dad’s decision now can you?”

What was this? Understanding? From a traditionalist? Kryze would lose her shit.

“I can’t, although everything after that was totally me,” Boba said.

Jhuvac glanced back at him.

“Including the Solo stuff?” she asked.

Boba lifted a brow.

“Is there something you would like to know?” he asked.

“No,” Jhuvac said. “I know everything I need to. But you know what’ll make Vok’s life miserable?”

 ---------

The mechanic was a huge fan of Han Solo, and he had a list of reasons why Boba should cease hunting  the man about as long as one of his lanky arms. He listed them out one by one in his hangar full of metal scrap. Jhuvac was very correct when she said that the mere mention of Solo meeting his maker would cause Vok immense misery. Boba could see how it could be entertaining.

Fennec made it even more entertaining by poking holes in each of Vok’s carefully laid out arguments.

He kept asking her why she was hurting him like this. Was this a domination kink?

Fennec asked him if he wanted it to be.

Vok walked it all back and told her to do her worst.

Jhuvac decided that she suddenly had other things to do and invited Boba to accompany her on these things. Boba assented and left Fennec to her business.

 ----------

In the end, Boba found himself outside in a group huddle with a handful of covert people, two with no helmets, watching the feud between the foundlings and the local wildlife. The covert, he learned, broadly did not like Zeffo. They hated how wet it was. They hated how cold it was. 90% of them had grown up in desert climates, the remaining 10% in ice climates.

Zeffo, as far as they were concerned, was a backwater hellhole that they’d had little choice in selecting.

“It was this or breaking up and forming two coverts,” Sotra explained, removing Mesa’s captured snail from his face area for the third time. She gave the snail to the guy next to her who got up and took it down to the edge of the nearby river. He stooped to set it in the grass, then froze in shock when a fish’s wide mouth erupted from the water and encapsulated his whole glove.

It left the glove wet and empty.

“But you didn’t want to do that?” Boba asked.

“No, if we separated, it would be Eegang at the head of the new covert,” Sotra said. “And that’s just not in the cards for us right now.”

Gotcha.

“The children didn’t want to be separated either,” one of the Mandalorians with no helmet said. “Goran gave them the option, but things were frantic, you know. They cling to each other when they’re young like this.”

More than understandably, in Boba’s humble and correct opinion.

“What do you all think of Bojzka?” Boba asked them.

“Who?”

“The bull with no helmet? Beard?” someone said.

“The one trying to court the Armorer?” Sotra asked.

Everyone clambered back onto the same page in the face of this descriptor.

“He’s supposed to be some kind of hero,” Jhuvac said. “But I dunno, man. He seems a little, uh.”

“Goran’s too good for him,” Sotra interjected simply. “Imagine stooping so low after a life of respect and service.”

“He’s not ugly,” the Mandalorian who’d lost the snail pointed out. “I’d bang him.”

“You’re not a good bar, Ban.”

“I could be.”

“You’re the lowest bar, Ban.”

“Can’t be disappointed if your expectations on the floor.”

“Go bang him for Goran then,” Jhuvac said. “I can’t tell if she thinks he’s kinda cute or if she wants to stab him in the heart.”

“For the good of the covert, I will endure this hardship,” Ban said.

He was unceremoniously yanked back down when he started to stand.

“Din mentioned some guy named ‘Naseem?’” Boba asked.

The name alone sent the group into titters.

“Naseem was so nice.”

“Naseem was great, you have no idea. So respectful.”

“He wanted to take Din on so bad, it was almost heartbreaking. He and Goran were perfect for each other. He was so happy around her; I don’t think he ever talked in front of anyone else.”

“God, when he died, I cried so hard. I cried for days.”

“Same.”

“Same.”

“Same.”

“Kind of a tough reputation to beat, then?” Boba asked.

“Oh definitely,” Jhuvac said. “I mean, there was Hajka after him, but she was just so explosive. Like, she made Goran laugh a lot, I remember that, but she was kinda awkward, too. There was a battle on her home planet and she left everyone here to defend what was left of her people.”

“Goran collects the awkward ones, they’re her favorite,” Sotra said.

“You can’t judge her, you collect Eegangs,” Ban pointed out.

“There is only one Eegang.”

“Girl, we know.”

There was a pause while Sotra handed off her child so that she could beat the shit out of Ban on the lumpy grass. Jhuvac handed Mesa over Boba’s lap to the quiet person at his right. They took the baby without question and laid him on their chest.

“Where did you grow up, Boba?” Jhuvac asked. “Sorry, Fett. Do you like Fett?”

Boba was taken aback. It had been ages since someone had called him by his first name—and a Mandalorian no less.

“Boba is fine. I grew up on Kamino,” he said.

“With a covert?”

No, no covert. No anyone, really. Boba was what people in white coats tended to call ‘under-socialized.’

“That’s sad,” Jhuvac said. “It must have been lonely.”

It was, actually. Especially after Dad had died.

“That’s so sad, I’m gonna cry,” Ban said. “Join our covert.”

All helmets and eyes rounded on Boba and he felt like his collar was suddenly digging into his neck. He shook his head.

“I’m not really a Mandalorian,” he said. “It’s not right—”

“Bullshit.”

“Fuckin’ hell, Jhuvac, let ‘im talk.”

“No, that’s bullshit. Listen, Din has ‘don’t trust people’ syndrome. If he trusts you enough to bring you with him here, then you’re Mandalorian enough for us,” Jhuvac said. “And anyways, being a Mandalorian is about what you do, not who you are. It doesn’t matter if you’re clone-guy so long as you follow the Creed in a more or less northernly direction.”

Boba stared at her and realized that everyone was staring at him again. He cleared his throat but found that he didn’t have any words trapped back there like he’d thought.

“Or easternly,” Ban offered to break the awkwardness.

There were still no words on Boba’s tongue. He struggled to say at least something.

“I—th—that’s kind of you,” he eventually managed. “I don’t think I could cut it here, but that’s really kind of you.”

The Mandalorians exchanged looks and shrugs.

“Know that the offer stands if you feel any pull towards it later,” Sotra said. “We have a number of reformed who converted and who move in and out of our covert. Not recently, but when we were children, there were more. Goran, too, was once a reformed Mandalorian.”

“My buir, too,” Jhuvac added.

“My ba-buir was reformed,” Ban said. “But she might have caused a public riot. Or two. Or three.”

“Speaking of which,” Sotra said. “Elder Fayrz has emerged from his cave.”

“I’ll get him,” Jhuvac sighed.

Boba frowned and looked from them out to the hill the foundlings had selected to gossip on. A Mandalorian in black and white with a green cape was, indeed, now kneeling among them. Every face was turned towards him in wonder.

“I’ve heard of this guy. He looks fun,” he noted.

At least one hand from every body came up to clutch at their face.

“That’s exactly the problem,” Ban said.

 ------

Din rejoined Boba in the midst of Elder Fayrz’s attempt to recruit him into the covert. He somehow knew Dad. That in itself was a little disarming. At first, Boba hadn’t believe that the elder was speaking the truth, but then he started up with alarmingly specific training corp numbers and mentioned off-handedly that he used to work in the corps, training kids from six to fourteen.

It made sense now why, in old age, he was considered the most dangerous person in the covert to have around the foundlings.

Grandpa was a serial spoil-er and mischief-instigator. The children saw in him everything they wanted out of life and were loathe to be separated from their most favorite old man.

Din got between him and Boba and informed the Elder that he’d just gotten married.

The Elder’s attentions went rocketing in the opposite direction. He wanted pictures, he wanted to know all about the reception, he wanted to know why Din hadn’t brought his partner home with him, what color their armor was, where they were presently based—the whole barrel of spotchka.

Boba appreciated the save.

He also appreciated the moment when the Elder fully realized that Din had, in fact, married a real jedi.

“YOU STUPID BOY.”

There it was.

The children bustled and whispered.

“This is what happens when we do not teach them to read—where is your buir? I told her, I told her that you needed more lessons. Always with the dogs, I knew it would have some effect—”

Din couldn’t even argue. He and Kryze had been over the very same deficit about sixty times. If they were lucky, Bo-Katan gave him a day or two off in between scoldings.

While the old man was outraged, Din signaled to Boba that they would be leaving soon.

 --------

Bojzka joined Boba, Din, and Fennec at the ramp of their ship about ten minutes late. The Armorer personally showed him out of the covert and told him to return only if the galaxy began to collapse in on itself. She was at least cordial about it, which, in hindsight, was probably why Bojzka was having a hard time reading the glaring ‘please desist’ sign flickering over her head.

“Be safe,” she told Din while Karren made sad sounds behind her.

“Will do,” Din said. “Next time, I’ll see if Luke will come.”

“We would like to have him,” the Armorer said.

She dipped her helmet to Boba and Fennec and they returned the gesture.

“I hope you were well-received by the others,” she said. “Bojzka, good bye.”

“Talk to you later,” Bojzka hummed.

“We shall not,” the Armorer said.

 ---------

Back in the Dune Sea, Kryze was waiting in one of the conference rooms. Din avoided her and all her probing questions. Boba did not. He was in a sharing sort of mood and Fennec had a ‘thanks for the lay’ message to compose to Mr. Vok.

Kryze crossed her legs and gestured for him to join her at the table.

He did and crossed his legs right back.

“So?” she asked.

“Shocking peaceful,” Boba said. “Violent mostly towards their own members. Tried to recruit me at least three times.”

Kryze’s eyebrows did a little dance.

“Surprising,” she said.

“Not very,” Boba corrected. “Din is one of the more reserved members. He resembles his buir more than I expected.”

“And Bojzka?” Kryze asked.

“Soundly rejected, but somehow optimistic about it,” Boba said. “The good news is that Din’s been forbidden from trying to kill him.”

“That is good news,” Kryze agreed.

There was a long pause.

“Are you thinking about it? Joining, I mean?” Kryze asked.

“No,” Boba said, “But it is nice to occasionally be around Mandalorians who don’t have sticks up their asses.”

“Unicorns,” Kryze said.

“A whole covert of them,” Boba told her with a smirk. “Maybe it’s not them. Maybe it’s you all.”

“I beg to differ,” Kryze said. “If the issue is resolved, then I suppose we’ll have to move back on to official business.”

That was no fun.

“Why is Fennec so smug?”

Oh, that was more fun. Sit back down, Lady. This is going to be a bawdy one.

[artificialqueens]

Are You in Love With a Notion? (Diamond Chaney) - Ortega

summary: Ellie wakes up in the Lake District with a hangover, an engagement ring, and her best friend in her bed. It’s not quite Vegas, but it’s still a cataclysmic mess.

a/n: this one goes out to the anon that came to my inbox with the concept “diamond chaney but they impulsively get married one night and have to deal with the consequences later”. it was too good to just headcanon for so it’s now a fully-fledged fic. it’s complete and utter silly nonsense and it’s by no means the most groundbreaking writing in the world, but it is FUN! hope u all enjoy and pls enjoy my continued campaign for u all to board the diamond chaney clown bus xo

(do people still use snapchat? fuck knows, but i needed it for plot purposes. if u like u can pretend this is set in 2016.)

***

Ellie wakes up feeling like a bat has shat in her head.

It feels as if her pulse is contained entirely within her cranium given the way it’s throbbing, and every time she blinks it’s as if each of her eyelashes weigh twenty kilogrammes. She momentarily wonders where she is before the heavy cream drapes and the shiny glass-topped bedside table come into focus and she remembers she’s in the hotel room. A’whora had wanted to splash out for her birthday (“you only turn a quarter of a century old once, ladies!”) and no expense was spared since she’d got that promotion a few months back. She’d covered the difference for any of the girls who wouldn’t have been able to afford to go away and Ellie was thankful for her friend’s kindhearted and generous nature. After all, she’s not the kind of girl who would say no to a treat, and she’ll return the favour as soon as her salon takes off.

(And it will take off. She didn’t study business for nothing.)

But the room right now, even with its four-poster bed and the cosy sheets and the four soft pillows, is providing absolutely no respite from the fact that Ellie is hanging out of her arse. Throwing her arm over her eyes as she squeezes them shut, she gives a small, self-indulgent sob of anguish and suffering.

And as she rolls from her side onto her back, she becomes aware of the fact that she’s not alone in the bed.

The dread and fear that grips her heart reminds her of when she went on school camp in Primary 7 and had to jump into one of those freezing cold plunge pools.

She keeps her arm over her eyes for a few more seconds to allow herself to work up the mental stability she needs to face whoever’s at her side. Maybe it’s a dream. Maybe this has all been in her mind and in a moment she’s going to wake up hangover-free with her bed blissfully empty.

Ellie brings her arm down from her eyelids and, without knowing what possesses her (aside from the copious amounts of alcohol that remain in her bloodstream), bites down gently on her arm in lieu of pinching herself.

She can confirm she is still very much awake.

It’s not that a one-night-stand is beyond her; she would even go as far as to say that at one point both she and A’whora were infamous for it back at uni, and she’s admittedly glad that “Dirty Diamond” just isn’t as catchy as “A’whora” and therefore that particular nickname hasn’t stuck with her into adult life like it has for her friend. No, what she’s surprised at herself for is the fact she’s brought someone back at her big age. She hasn’t had a random hookup for a while now, and the fact she can’t remember it is even worse.

She presses the hand that’s under the duvet against her thigh and her heart almost gives out with relief at the fact she can feel clothes. She can’t have gone too far, then. This is okay. This is salvageable. As she runs her fingers over the hem of whatever the fuck she’s wearing, realisation slowly dawns on her that it’s her pink playsuit from the night before.

Ellie genuinely can’t tell if the situation is better because she’s not naked, or worse because she’s still in her clothes from last night.

Her pulse skyrockets again, however, as an arm gently thuds over her waist through the duvet and the person, whoever the hell they even are, snuggles into her side contentedly. Only…it all feels too weirdly familiar for Ellie’s liking. The body beside her, the closeness, even the rise and fall of the breathing is all that of someone she feels like she knows.

Lifting her arm off her eyes and to her forehead, opening them, and finally ripping the plaster off to see who’s by her side, Ellie doesn’t know whether to be relieved or slightly horrified.

A purple velvet jumpsuit with a belt to tie her in at the waist that’s coming undone. Black and purple painted nails. Endless waves of thick lilac hair that are fanned out in tendrils across the white pillowslip. An entire face of perfectly painted makeup that’s still clinging on from the night before.

It’s Lawrence. She’s waking up beside her best friend. This is fine. This is totally normal. They’ve shared a bed countless times before back at uni, and it’s not something Ellie’s ever been adverse to- quite the opposite in fact, she thinks, as her stomach does a flip.

Something still feels off, though.

And then, as Ellie brings her hand down from her forehead and something bumps against it, it hits her- physically and metaphorically- all at once.

The ring Lawrence always wears; her pride and joy, her grandmother’s ring. The one that looks like the heart of the ocean on her finger, a huge blue diamond surrounded by eight small platinum ones. The ring Lawrence guards with her life and would only take off if it was physically tasered off her. The ring that could single-handedly obliterate Lawrence’s entire student debt and probably Ellie’s too if she was feeling generous enough.

The ring- that ring- is currently sitting on the fourth finger of Ellie’s left hand. As if it’s an engagement ring.

“Lawrence,” Ellie says without thinking. Her voice is croaky and too-loud in the silence of the room, but Lawrence still takes a while to stir beside her. She pulls Ellie close with the arm that’s round her, nuzzles her face into her arm. Usually the feeling wouldn’t be an unwelcome one, but just now Ellie’s got bigger problems. She hisses again. “Lawrence, wake up.”

“I’m not shagging you, Ruth Davidson, you wee Tory,” Lawrence’s sleep-coated voice comes from beside her, and Ellie finally draws back, reaches behind her and takes the pillow out from under her head to thump her with.

“For fuck’s sake! Lawrence, wake up! We’re in the shit here!”

As Lawrence finally blinks slowly, Ellie watches her go through the seven stages of grief far more rapidly than she’s just done. She feels like an idiot for the way her heart dips in disappointment when Lawrence shuffles back from her and draws her arm away self-consciously. She mumbles, grumpy and tired. “Ellie, I’m not alive.”

“Yes you are, drama queen.”

“No I’m fucking not. I feel how Prince Philip looks,” she groans in despair, obviously as hungover as Ellie is. She screws her face up and rubs her eyes, in turn smearing her makeup over her cheekbones. “Why am I even here?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we shagged,” Ellie says dryly, before holding the back of her hand up to Lawrence’s face. “Main question is, why the hell do I have this?”

Lawrence’s eyes grow wide in recognition before she groans and thumps her head back against the pillow. “How did you even…? Aw, I don’t know, Ellie, I’m too hungover to be mad about it. Just gies it back before you breathe and lose it or some shite.”

“But why is it…you know. Why is it here?” Ellie asks insistently, pressing her hand against her friend’s face in a deliberately annoying way. Lawrence grabs her wrist and forces it away from her face to get a proper look, and Ellie can see the cogs turn in her head before her face blanches at the implication.

Appearing to try and collect herself, Lawrence frowns, batting Ellie’s arm away. “You were probably getting hit on by some reprobate forty year old man in a suit so I’ll have let you pretend to be married to me. You should be honoured, really, it’s the closest you’ll get to perfection.”

“Piss off,” Ellie rolls her eyes as Lawrence gives a sleepy chuckle. She fiddles with the ring on her finger. It’s a little too small, and taking it off is proving difficult. Combined with the underlying stress of something still not being right, though, and it’s not enough to make Ellie’s dread dissipate.

“Can you remember any of last night?” she asks Lawrence, who’s scrabbling around on the bedside table for her phone.

“Nothing. You?”

“Neither,” Ellie rubs her temples with her fingers as if trying to massage the hangover out of her brain. No such luck.

“A’whora will be worse than us, then, won’t she? Because the last thing I remember is her and Tayce necking the prosecco at pres- oh, shit,” Lawrence has successfully retrieved her phone, and as she cuts herself off she’s frowning at it as if it’s committed a crime against her. “She’s calling just now, actually.”

Ellie already knows A’whora will be perfectly fresh and put together even before Lawrence swipes her phone across the screen to accept the facetime call, and so seeing her looking exactly that plus her girlfriend beside her looking the exact same just makes Ellie want to die even more.

A’whora’s smile is smug on her face as she smirks at them through the phone. “How are you two lovebirds doing this morning?”

Her words are like cold water down Ellie’s spine, and from the way Lawrence’s expression has changed too it seems she’s not the only one. She’s wondering what A’whora’s trying to imply with her joke and really, really hoping it’s just an innocent barb with no meaning behind it. Ellie can’t speak, but Lawrence gets there before her anyway. “What?”

“The married couple! The newlyweds! The babas!” Tayce jumps in, way too energetic and excited and making Ellie feel more hungover just looking at her.

Her words, though, aren’t helping her growing need to spew all over the hotel room floor. “What are you talking about?”

A’whora’s jaw drops open, and she barely conceals a laugh. “Oh my God. What do you remember?”

Ellie doesn’t want to give either of them the satisfaction of admitting that the answer’s nothing, but Lawrence is talking before she can get a chance. “Neither of us can remember anything. All I know is that I woke up in bed with this slut and she’s tried to steal my gran’s ring off me to…fuck knows, pretend she’s married to me. She wishes.”

“Lawrence,” Tayce starts, barely audible from giggling. “You two are married. You got married last night.”

What the fuck.

How can they be married? It’s not possible. Ellie tries to think but she can’t conjure up any clear thoughts. She feels the same smack of dread and fear that she felt when she went on that motorcycle rollercoaster at Flamingo Land two summers ago. Lawrence had been by her side then, too, her hand over Ellie’s white-knuckled one and reeling off ridiculous jokes to try and calm her down. She hates rollercoasters, and this one doesn’t seem like it’s going to be over anytime soon.

Lawrence doesn’t seem fazed. “You’re on the wind-up. Els, don’t give them the satisfaction, they’re taking the piss.”

“We’re not!” Tayce gasps, affronted, and A’whora is protesting adamantly too. “There was a wedding party in the bar last night and the pair of you kept moaning about how single you were and how you’d never find love.”

Lawrence narrows her eyes at her through the camera, offended. Ellie is inclined to feel the same.

“And the pair of you eventually decided you were just going to marry each other. Bimini mentioned they’re an ordained minister, so then you both insisted they married the pair of you in the hotel bar.”

“Get so far to fuck,” Lawrence snorts derisively, but it’s still not helping Ellie’s rising, terrified heart rate. “We’re meanty believe this, aye? Why in the fuck would I ever agree to marrying this wee cow, as if I would lower myself!?”

Ouch. Ellie scowls, screws her face up as she tears her eyes away from the screen and looks at Lawrence pointedly. “Thanks babes, love you too.”

“But you know what I mean!” Lawrence sort-of-not-really apologises. “Right, then, I’ll bite. If we got married, how did we get to the registry office? What registry office is open at eleven at night on a Saturday?”

A’whora shrugs all blasé. “There’s one in the hotel, we just went there. Caught it just before it closed, I think.”

Ellie narrows her eyes. She wants to believe it’s a joke, so she attempts to pick a hole in the story. “If we were that drunk, though, they wouldn’t have married us? Surely? I mean it’s not Vegas, A’whora, it’s the fucking Lake District.”

“Oh no, baby, the registrar said they get couples turning up drunk all the time! And obviously myself, A’whora and Bimini were much more sober than you, so we were the responsible adults. Or bridesmaids, I guess. We were that classy level of prosecco tipsy, you pair were on the vodka lemonades by eight last night,” Tayce explains.

As the story unfolds, Ellie feels more and more nauseous. She wants to crawl up into a ball like a dead woodlouse. Surely not. Surely not.

“Wedding dresses,” Lawrence says argumentatively. “We didn’t have wedding dresses. It would’ve been so obvious we were taking the piss.”

“Oh, neither of you would stop going on about how the colour scheme was pink and purple! Matching pink and purple playsuits! Which I see you’re still wearing, you absolute hounds,” Tayce wrinkles her nose in distaste.

Everything seems to be adding up to a ridiculously clear and yet blurry degree, and Ellie can’t in any way cope with the magnitude of the situation. She throws her arms over her face and curls up into the foetal position with a groan of self-pity. Through the duvet, she feels Lawrence whack her.

“Ellie, shut up! It’s so obviously a joke,” she insists, and Ellie can hear the roll of her eyes. A’whora and Tayce are cackling down the phone like two little Wizard of Oz witches and Ellie’s never identified more with Dorothy in her life.

“Well, believe us or don’t believe us, still doesn’t change the fact you got hitched,” A’whora says lightly. “I mean, you’ll have the marriage certificate to prove it. You had it last night, it’ll be in your room somewhere.”

Ellie pops her head out from under the duvet in horror. Her voice comes out as a horrified squeak. “Marriage certificate?”

A’whora shrugs. “Yeah! If you don’t believe us then maybe you’ll believe a piece of paper.”

“The marriage certificate that doesn’t exist. Aye, nae bother,” Lawrence says, still clearly disdainful of the story. “You coming to breakfast or what?”

“Oh, babe! Been there, done that! We got up at seven, showered, dressed, makeup, breakfast, and we’ve been out for a walk. Get on our level,” Tayce flicks her hair. Ellie fleetingly loathes her.

Lawrence rubs her forehead with her free hand, clearly headachey. “Well I’m starving, so I’m not hanging around to be wound up by the fuckin’ lesbian Prank Patrol any longer. Time’s check out?”

“You’ve got til half twelve. I got us a late one, figured we’d all need it.”

As Lawrence promises to see the other two later and hangs up, Ellie can’t speak. She’s still in shock at the potential truth from last night; that they actually got married. To each other. Over the years, Ellie’s invented made-up scenarios in her head that involve various things: telling Lawrence how she feels, kissing Lawrence, Lawrence asking her on a date. None of them have involved marriage. She’s never even thought to think that far ahead, but now it’s a reality it doesn’t seem like the Disney-princess dream she’s always expected it to be.

It actually feels sort of like a nightmare.

A thud from a pillow brings her back to reality. “Ellie!”

Ellie looks at her friend, who’s managed to crawl off the bed and is standing beside it, looking expectantly at her. Ellie blinks in bewilderment, rubs her eyes before she speaks. “What?”

“I’m gonna go shower and get changed and then we can go down to breakfast? I’ll come back and knock in about fifteen minutes?”

Ellie can’t believe she’s so calm. Sitting up in bed and feeling her head sting again, she looks pointedly at Lawrence. “You’re not in any way bothered about the story the girls just told us? The fact we might have got married?”

Lawrence snorts. “Oh, Ellie, please. You’re so gullible I swear to God someone could tell you Davina McCall’s the new Pope and you’d just nod and accept it.”

“But the marriage certificate, though? The ring? Which, by the way, won’t come off,” Ellie tugs on it again, trying not to panic when it doesn’t budge.

“There won’t be a marriage certificate! You said it, it’s the UK, it’s not Vegas. There’s a reason shotgun weddings aren’t a thing here. You honestly think we could just rock up to a registry office and get married?”

Ellie falls silent. She should feel reassured, but she doesn’t.

“I’m away to scrub the first ten layers of alcohol sweat out of my pores, awrite? You better be ready by the time I’m back.”

Lawrence leaves and Ellie is left on her own with her thoughts, which all seem to ricochet off her brain and pummel it to a husk, making her hangover worse. She still searches lazily for the fabled marriage certificate in between showering and getting ready, looking fruitlessly under discarded clothes on the floor and under furniture. Lawrence is right- she knows Lawrence is right- but there’s still a part of Ellie’s mind that’s niggling away with a what if on a loop.

By the time Lawrence knocks on her door again, Ellie is back not knowing what to think. She finds herself frantically babbling to her on the way down to the hotel restaurant in the lift, but her friend won’t entertain it.

“You’re too easy to prank. How can you believe them, it’s obviously a bam up!”

“Well, it could’ve happened! They brought it up before we even said we couldn’t remember anything, right? I mean, why else would you give me your ring? You barely trust me to hold your phone for two seconds to take a picture,” Ellie runs a hand through her hair, which she didn’t wash and is still in its big curls from the night before.

“Aye! Because you dropped it in the road when we went out for Jazz’s birthday!”

“That was two years ago! And I paid for the screen repairs!” Ellie cries in indignation, but the memory still makes her blush. She grows quiet again before her mind takes her back to the apparent events of last night. “The story makes sense.”

“The story does not make sense!” Lawrence sighs, agitated. “What proof do we have? You’re wearing my ring and our pals have told us the plot of a Hangover film? Honestly, hen, if we got married last night I’ll buy you an Uber back to Dundee.”

As they reach the dining room, the pair of them stop dead in the entranceway. Because there in the middle, almost as if it’s framed, is a table for two surrounded by inflatable red heart-shaped balloons, covered in red sparkly confetti, with champagne flutes and roses and polished silverware.

“What time’s my Uber booked for, then?” Ellie deadpans sarcastically. She doesn’t know why she’s making a joke. She isn’t in a joking mood. She’s nothing short of horrified.

“Calm down. That won’t be for us. A’whora said there was a wedding party last night, remember? It’ll be for them,” Lawrence reassures her, but Ellie doesn’t miss the distinct lack of self-assuredness to her voice that had been there before.

A waiter approaches them and asks for their name. Lawrence speaks (because Ellie can’t quite manage), and in return the waiter fixes them with a bright smile.

“Ladies, on behalf of us all at the Old England, we would like to wish you many congratulations and happiness on this most special occasion. Please, follow me,” he reels off before walking in the direction of the over-the-top, Valentine’s Day-style photoshoot set-up that is apparently where they’re having breakfast.

Ellie is going to be sick.

“You’ve got to be fucking joking,” Lawrence whispers all in one breath, before sleepwalking towards their table and sitting down with a tight smile of thanks to the eager waiter. As Ellie sits in the chair opposite, she notices the affectionate smiles from couples at other tables and feels her face flush with hot embarrassment. The waiter disappears with a promise to be back for their order soon, and the pair of them are left sitting in stunned silence.

“Lawrence,” Ellie says first. Her gaze is stuck on the table, shocked and stunned.

“Don’t,” Lawrence replies. When Ellie finally looks at her she’s sitting with her eyes squeezed shut, her face a picture of strained concentration.

“What are you doing? You look constipated.”

“I’m trying to wake up from this abject fucking nightmare,” Lawrence says through gritted teeth.

Even though Lawrence is right- it is a nightmare, it’s a bad, terrible dream- it doesn’t stop the way her words feel ever-so-slightly like a blow to the crush Ellie’s harboured for an embarrassingly long length of time. She can’t think about that, though. There are bigger issues at stake here. Like the fact they’re married.

“Do you believe me now? Why the hell would the hotel do all this if we didn’t get married in their registry office the night before?”

“It’ll be…” Lawrence begins, trying to explain it away then putting her head in her hands when she realises she’s at a loss. “Fuck, I don’t know. We need A’whora or Tayce down here to talk it through with us. Or Bimini. If it’s A’whora and Tayce’s prank then they might not be in on it.”

“They had to go back to London early for a shoot, remember? They’ll have already left,” Ellie reminds Lawrence, and her face falls in dismay.

The waiter returns holding a bottle of champagne and Ellie watches Lawrence turn over her flute with a little aggressive thud and doesn’t say when until the bubbles climb to the very top of the glass. They both order pastries, Ellie’s appetite completely gone and Lawrence’s appearing to be the same.

Ellie narrows her eyes at Lawrence as she watches her glug the bubbles down. “How the hell can you be drinking at a time like this? Are you not hungover?”

“I am hungover, yes. But I need to be drunk to deal with this situation. So I’m hoping this’ll at least take the edge off a bit,” she says dryly. Ellie rolls her eyes.

“Being drunk got us into this situation, it’s not gonna get us out of it,” she sighs helplessly, realising too late that she sounds too much like her Mum. Lawrence responds appropriately; shaking her head at her moodily and staring off into the distance as she keeps sipping from her glass.

Ellie cups her cheeks, thanks the waiter weakly as he puts down a tray of pastries in front of the two of them. She tries to go over the events of last night in her head but draws a blank every time. According to A’whora and Tayce they’ll have been at the bar, decided to get married…Bimini had married them, somehow and somewhere, and they’d gone to the registrar…then they’d presumably got even more drunk and had a dance, and then…

How had Lawrence ended up in her room? Unless they’d…no. They’d both still had their clothes on from the night before.

But that wouldn’t have stopped them making out.

“Oh, God,” Ellie groans, unable to hold in the regret and the constant pain of her headache. Lawrence shoots her a funny look. Ellie’s loath to explain herself. The idea that the first kiss she’s shared with Lawrence has been messy, drunk, and one she can’t even remember is one that makes her feel stupid amounts of disappointed, but she’s not exactly going to share that with her friend.

“Loz, what if we did something last night?”

“What, aside from get married?” Lawrence talks through a mouthful of croissant. Then, as realisation dawns, her chewing stops. “Oh.”

There’s an awkward silence as they both stare at each other.

“Nah,” Lawrence finally shrugs as she resumes eating. “Because we both still had our clothes from last night on when we woke up?”

“Yeah, but we still could’ve kissed,” Ellie pulls a face, the words feeling too awkward and childish as they come out of her mouth. Lawrence seems to hesitate for a second before smirking across the table at her.

“Aye right. As if I’d ever let you near enough to me for that to happen.”

“Rich from the girl who was wrapped around me when I woke up,” Ellie quirks an eyebrow at her, and it’s Lawrence’s turn to fall silent.

Breakfast doesn’t last long. Between their hangovers and the fact that they’re both trying to make sense of the whole crazy situation neither of them can eat much, and they’re dragging themselves back to their rooms before too long. They continue to discuss everything, purely because there’s not much else they can talk about when the prospect of them being married is hanging over their heads like the world’s heaviest cloud. This time, though, it’s Lawrence who’s doing most of the nervous talking.

“I’m sure it’s easily explained away. They probably just got our table confused with the wedding party’s from yesterday. That’ll be what it is. Just some big coincidence. There’s a reasonable explanation to it all. Have you got that fuckin’ ring off your finger yet?!”

“I’m working on it,” Ellie grumbles. The best she’s managed is getting it halfway to her first knuckle before realising it was cutting the blood circulation off even more and she could get it no higher, so she’d immediately pushed it back down again.

She hears herself huff with annoyance. All she wants to do is sleep but they have to somehow deal with this first, and it’s more inconvenient than she’d ever hoped her first marriage (her only marriage) would be. Thinking for a second, she gives a little gasp as she has an idea. “Why don’t we just go down to the registry office and ask?”

Lawrence stops walking, fixes Ellie with a look as if she’s sprouted another head. “Have you lost the bloody place?! You want to go up to the registrar and go, ‘sorry to bother you, but can you please tell us if we’re married or not?’ We’d get sectioned!”

Ellie thinks that, even though it sounds as if it’s the easiest course of action, Lawrence is probably right.

“Besides,” Lawrence continues. “If there’s the possibility that we did rock up three sheets to the wind last night, I don’t particularly wanty show my face there again.”

“Right,” Ellie agrees. She bites her lip as she reaches the door to her room and puts her key card in. Lawrence waits beside her, a mutual understanding that she’s coming in to continue the conversation.

Ellie supposes she’s her wife now, so it makes sense.

“Who could we phone to confirm it, then? The government?”

Lawrence pinches the bridge of her nose in exasperation. “Ellie, you did not just ask me if we could phone the gov-”

“Oh my fucking God.”

Ellie cuts Lawrence off without thinking, and upon seeing the inside of the room Lawrence is rendered speechless too. There’s more balloons, ones without weights that cover the ceiling over the bed. The bed itself and the floor surrounding it is covered in rose petals, and on top of the pristinely made duvet there’s a box of chocolates and two bathrobes origami-d into swans.

Lawrence is the first to march into the room. She snatches up a small note that’s sitting on top of the chocolate box, unfolds it and reads aloud. “Congratulations to the happy couple, we wish you both a long and happy marriage. From all the staff at the Old England hotel. Fuck me, this canny be real.”

Ellie lets the door swing shut, walks over to the bed and sits on its edge precariously. An idea occurs to her as she retrieves her phone from her pocket. “Here. Check your phone. Messages, photos. There might be clues.”

She doesn’t look up to see if Lawrence is nodding or not, but she assumes she’s following her suggestion. Ellie is busy with her camera roll (where there’s nothing, and the last photo is a terrible, blurry, unflattering selfie of her and Tayce) when Lawrence gives a hum of recognition.

“I got a snapchat from you at one in the morning.”

Ellie cranes her neck. “What does it say?”

Lawrence, oddly, is keeping the phone out of her view. She’s quiet before she brings the phone back into Ellie’s line of vision, and the picture, whatever it was, is gone. “Just a drunk selfie. Nothing that could give us any clues.”

The pair of them are quiet as Lawrence taps against her phone screen. Ellie reflects. They’ve been in the shit like this together before: when they were eighteen and both their phones died before Lawrence’s Mum could pick them up from T in the Park and they got yelled at the whole way home when she’d eventually found them both, when they’d been stopped by the police because Lawrence had carried a traffic cone through the City Centre and tried to put it on top of the existing one on the Duke of Wellington statue. But this is a whole different level of shit.

Through it all, though, Lawrence has always been there with a joke and a laugh and reassurance for Ellie that things are never as bad as they seem. She always has this panicky way of staying positive, delivering comforting words through a voice that’s shaky with her own anxiety. Ellie always helps her in return when she needs it, has done for years: she’s usually good at staying calm, she’s chatty and can talk Lawrence through anything, and she’ll always reach out to take her hand or be there with a hug and a reminder that as long as Lawrence has got her, she’s never on her own. They’ve always seemed to take turns being each others’ anchors, and their friendship is a weird sort of pendulum of support. Today, however, they’re both blindly stumbling through their own process of coming to terms with this situation, and Ellie supposes neither or them are being much of a help to each other. She wishes she could be more helpful, because she cares about her friend so much.

Too much for it to be explained away as a friendship.  

“What are you looking up?” Ellie asks as Lawrence lies back on the bed with a thud, eyes still glued to her phone. Craning her neck, Ellie can see she’s typed how to get divorced into Google.

“Why are there no ordained divorce lawyers?” Lawrence mutters under her breath. “We can get married in a hotel bar but we can’t get divorced in a hotel room? What kind of fucking bullshit is this?”

Ellie lies back too. It’s not lost on her how close together their heads are. “Why are you trying to get us divorced? We might not even be married. I still think we should phone up the government.”

“Nicola Sturgeon’s got bigger fish to fry, babes, there’s an election in May.”

“Not the government, obviously,” Ellie rolls her eyes, scrolls her own phone absent-mindedly. She’d look something up to try and help but she’s at a loss. “Like…the offices! The records of marriage and stuff. They’ll have a department for this sort of thing, won’t they?”

“Will we even be on the system if our marriage is less than twenty-four hours old?” Lawrence wonders out loud. “And if we got married here, would we be registered in England, then? Aw fuck, so many questions and not a single answer.”

Ellie frowns to herself as she thinks. “What if we do have to get divorced? Will we need a lawyer? I don’t have that kind of money, Lawrie, and neither do you.”

Lawrence hums in worried agreement, and Ellie presses her lips together. It’s weird dealing with all of this when there’s a crush at play. In amongst frantically trying to figure everything out and clarify it all, a tiny part of Ellie wonders…would it really be so bad to be married to Lawrence? There’s not really an excuse for them not to date now. It’s really the perfect way of ruining the friendship she’s been so worried about ruining for the past few years; it’s not awkward to say she has feelings for her literal wife, she supposes. But every time those thoughts rest in her brain for a few seconds, Ellie forces herself to chase them away- because really, hen, are you insane? The sheer scale of the situation isn’t lost on her, she knows they have to figure it out somehow and mop this mess up. But pretending would be nice, and safe, and far, far away from this alcohol-soaked bubble of horror she appears to have woken up in.

It’s out before she knows it, though. “What if we just stayed married? If we are. If we just stayed married until we could afford to get divorced?”

“Jesus Christ, Ellie,” Lawrence drops her phone onto the bed, covering her eyes with her hands in resigned exhaustion.

“No, think about it! There must be loads of benefits to getting married,” Ellie explains, feeling as if she has to justify the ridiculous thought now. “You get, um. I think you get extra money from the government?”

“The tories have never given out extra money. To anyone,” Lawrence glares at her.

(Ellie knows it’s not what she should be taking from this, but it occurs to her that the way Lawrence has done her eyeliner today makes her eyes look really pretty.)

“Oh! Here, it says you get tax breaks if you get married. It would be good to not have to pay council tax for a bit,” Ellie says, looking up from her phone where she’s just googled what are the benefits of getting married UK.

Lawrence pauses beside her. When she speaks, she sounds contemplative. “Well, you’d be taking my last name, because am I fuck taking yours.”

Ellie gives a choked noise of indignation. “Fuck off, I’ve got the best last name out of the two of us! Diamond?”

“It’s the last name of a porn star! I’m not living my daily life like that!”

“So you want me to go by Ellie Chaney? A name that rhymes? Like a character from Balamory?”

“You already dress like a fuckin’ character from a kids’ TV show, it wouldn’t be that far-fetched,” Lawrence starts giggling, and Ellie can only fix her with an unimpressed pout. “Nah, this wouldn’t work, Els. We’re already arguing and it’s only been one day. We couldn’t stay married. Besides, I’ve got fucking standards, you know? I could so do better than you.”

It’s silly, Ellie knows, but the last comment from Lawrence stings more than it should. It’s got nothing to do with the concept of the two of them actually being married, but more the fact that Lawrence has basically just rubbished any hopes that Ellie’s ever had of maybe-someday-oneday them breaking out of their little bubble of friendship and trying to be anything more. She’s always done it; that’s Lawrence’s way, to shit on Ellie, to gently bully her, but Ellie has always known there’s no malice behind it. Except today it all hits differently, it hits a sore spot that she’s too tired of trying to keep hidden.

“Sorry that being married to me is such a disgusting prospect,” Ellie snaps without realising, turning over on the bed and standing up so she doesn’t have to see Lawrence’s reaction to the comment she already regrets.

“When did I say that?” Lawrence fires back, and Ellie can tell she’s confused by her reaction.

“We need to find this fucking marriage certificate,” Ellie ignores her, opening the drawers of the bedside table even though she sort of knows it’s a futile endeavour since she’s already searched.

Lawrence pushes, though, never one to back down from a confrontation.  “Why are you suddenly raging at me, what am I meant to have done?”

“You don’t have to act like you got landed with the booby prize on a game show, Lawrence, I’m still your friend. There’s worse people to be stuck with,” Ellie continues as she crosses the room to look in the drawers of the dressing table, hating the way she sounds like a petulant child but being unable to help the way her words just seem to be coming out.

There’s a silence that hangs in the air like fog, and then Lawrence’s voice comes again. It’s softer, a comforting note to it that makes Ellie’s heart lift cruelly. “Ellie.”

Ellie opens the wardrobe doors, realising too late what a ridiculous place to look it is but committing to the idea anyway. She’s still way too hungover to cope with any of this, and the prospect of an argument with Lawrence, especially over this, isn’t one she’s able to face. Accepting she’s not going to find the certificate, she sighs and walks back over to the bed. As she sits on its edge and keeps her back to her friend she fiddles with the ring on her finger, and it finally, mercifully, slides off.

Lawrence’s voice is stripped of all its aggression and incredulity from before as she speaks again. This time she’s quiet and sincere. “Ellie. What’s this really about?”

Before Ellie can consider the gravity of the question or indeed contemplate how to word an answer, Lawrence’s phone vibrates against the bedcovers. Neither of them speak as she reaches up to grab it, but when A’whora’s name flashes up on screen again they share a look of weary exhaustion, neither of them wanting to face their friend’s smug expression.

A’whora’s smiling cheekily as Lawrence answers the call. “How’re the young lovers doing after their breakfast, then?”

Lawrence’s nostrils flare. “I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer.”

“So all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, then. Just calling to see if you liked the wedding presents.”

Ellie feels like a crumbling sandcastle as she rolls onto her side next to Lawrence and looks at A’whora through the screen. “What?”

“The decorations at breakfast! The ones in your room! Just thought they’d really add to the atmosphere,” she smirks, unable to keep from laughing.

More confused than ever, Ellie frowns in bewilderment. “But that was from…the hotel did that?”

“No, I did that. I just phoned down and got them to set it up. They still had a bunch of wedding shit left over from that pair that got married last night. It wasn’t cheap, but it was worth it to give the pair of you the romantic equivalent of everyone singing happy birthday to you at a restaurant,” A’whora explains, still giggly.

Ellie and Lawrence are silent as they stare at their friend through the phone. A’whora seems perturbed, then narrows her eyes at them before she speaks again.

“You two didn’t actually…believe you got married, did you? I thought you knew it was a bullshit prank.”

Before she can register Lawrence’s reaction, Ellie’s mouth drops open in shock. She grabs the phone from Lawrence’s hands and yells at A’whora as if she’s in front of her and not in her own room down the corridor. “A’whora! I am going to fucking kill you!”

A’whora’s laugh comes through the phone like a crackly screech, and Ellie doesn’t miss the unimpressed look from Lawrence at having been unable to style out the fact they’d both been duped. Ellie can’t even let that bother her, though, because she’s too busy tripping over herself to retell to A’whora their rollercoaster of a thought process from this morning.

Lawrence shakes her head beside her, loath to admit she’d been fooled too. “I didn’t believe it for a second. She’s talking out her arse.”

Ellie cries out, affronted. “You were telling me I had to take your last name not even five minutes ago!”

A’whora has to wipe tears from her eyes by the time the pair of them have told her the whole story. “Oh my God, guys. This has been the best birthday present of the weekend. I actually think I’m gonna wee myself. Fuck!”

“I can’t believe you told us we got married and we just…believed you!”

“Well, no, you did get married,” A’whora says.

With this revelation, it crosses Ellie’s mind to lock herself in the hotel sauna until she’s cooked through. “What in the name of God-”

As she continues to speak though, A’whora clarifies. “Or at least, you said you both wanted to marry each other. That conversation did take place. Bimini started joking they were an ordained minister. They showed you their provisional drivers’ license and told you it was a minister’s license. You were both so drunk you believed it.”

“Christ in a wheelie bin,” Lawrence groans.

“But you’re not actually married married. It was just pretend. And hey! We had fun. You should do it for real some day,” A’whora cackles.

If she was in the room with her, Ellie would slap her.

They finish the call with the promise to be packed and ready to meet to check out at half twelve, and when Lawrence locks her phone the pair of them laugh softly about the idiots they’d both been. Ellie is glad A’whora phoned. The conversation that had been taking place prior had been about to go down a route she hadn’t wanted it to, and she’s glad there’s no reason for it to be brought up again. She can go back to keeping her crush on her friend a secret, never to be unearthed.

“I should probably go and start getting packed, then,” Lawrence says decisively, getting up from the bed and making to leave. Ellie remembers what she put on the bedside table, and reaches out to pick it up as she tells Lawrence to wait.

As Lawrence turns around, Ellie holds out her grandmother’s ring, feeling a little awkward as she does so. “Here. Since we’re not married anymore. It came off in the end.”

Lawrence looks a little sheepish as she accepts it with a soft thanks. She gives it a little smile, then shoots the same one at Ellie. “Thank fuck for that.”

There isn’t any malice to her words. If Ellie was being hopeful she’d maybe even say there was regret.

Lawrence leaves and she can’t shake the little niggling feeling of sadness that embeds itself under a synapse in her brain.

***

The cold air that comes with the beginning of Autumn is welcome to Ellie as she sits and waits on Tayce to bring the car round. She’s not quite fully recovered from her hangover, but packing, checking out and getting a can of Monster from a vending machine in the lobby has done wonders for her mood. There’s also the fact that she doesn’t have a potential marriage to consider, so that’s good. That’s a relief.

A crunch of gravel behind her makes her turn around, and seeing Lawrence wrapped up in her black hoodie makes Ellie feel mixed emotions. She feels silly for getting so caught up in the whole idea of them having been married, the way she’d panicked and immediately thought it was all real, taking A’whora and Tayce’s comments at face value. She’s embarrassed at how she’d taken it all so seriously, and most of all she’s embarrassed that Lawrence was there for every reaction.

“Hey,” she greets her, already feeling a blush grow on her face. “You recovered?”

“Just about, yeah,” Lawrence laughs softly. She gestures to the mango loco that’s in Ellie’s hand. “Can see you’re clearly feeling loads better.”

Ellie matches her laugh, raises the can up in a solo cheers. As she drops her arm again, she sighs a little.

“Listen, Lawrence, sorry about…this morning. Immediately panicking and getting so worked up and intense with it all. I was just hangy and emotional and I had the fear…you know what it’s like.”

“It’s no problem. Don’t worry,” Lawrence brushes her off. Her expression is troubled though, as if there’s something else she wants to say. The unspoken words are loud and stifling, and then Lawrence finally meets her gaze with a nervous one of her own. “Well, marriage didn’t really work for us. But…d’you think drinks would be better?”

Ellie’s heart is going to give out. She can’t cope with the events of the day at all. She can already feel her pulse speeding up with hope so she frowns at Lawrence slightly, clarifying like a child tugging the string of a balloon to bring it back to earth. “Drinks?”

“Yeah, like,” Lawrence shrugs, looks to the ground bashfully. “For a date. If you want.”

All at once it’s as if her blood has just suddenly exploded in her veins. It feels like Ellie is on some sort of other-worldly come-up as she blinks at her friend, her friend she’s had a crush on since fuck-even-knows-when, and is stunned into silence.

“The snapchat you sent me last night,” Lawrence continues, scrolling her phone and holding the screen out for Ellie to see. “I’ve felt like that too for a while now.”

Ellie is cringing as she reads the white text against the black screen- a screenshot of her message sent to Lawrence at one in the morning, which reads “so glad whe’re marrrued for rwal vc ive reallt luked you for ages and i quitr fancg u a lot acfually x"

“How did you even manage to read what that says,” Ellie screws her face up, failing to address the bigger picture.

Lawrence smiles, a little hint of a twinkle to her eyes that makes Ellie’s heart thump. “I knew what you meant.”

There’s a small pause where Ellie blushes and looks to the ground, handing Lawrence her phone back. Lawrence uses the silence to keep talking.

“I know I like to rip the piss sometimes, and I know I can take it too far. But today all of that was about…verbalising everything I thought you were feeling about me. Trying to reassure you that I wasn’t interested in you because I thought that’s what you wanted. Once I started I just…didn’t stop, I guess. Damage control, you know? I’m sorry, Ellie,” she reels off quietly. She’s not hiding behind any jokes and she’s not making fun of Ellie and she’s not making fun of herself. It’s honest and simple and raw and everything Ellie’s wanted.

She scuffs some gravel with her shoe. “You feel the same, then?”

Lawrence presses her lips together. Ellie can tell she’s nervous. “Yeah. I do.”

“I do? Is that some kind of sick joke?!” Ellie laughs, and as Lawrence joins in she suddenly hesitates. “Wait. This isn’t a joke, is it?”

“Well, I’ve had enough fucking pranks for one day and I’m pretty sure you have too.”

The pair of them share a laugh, and as Tayce’s car appears from round at the hotel car park, Ellie fixes Lawrence with a smile.

“Drinks sound good.”

Tayce and A’whora appear from the car and pop the boot open, and Lawrence and Ellie try and fail to bite back the smiles they’re shooting each other as they carry their suitcases over, a mutual agreement that they’ll talk more about their plans when they don’t have their nosy and shit-stirring friend and her equally nosy and shit-stirring girlfriend with them on their way to drop them off at the train station.

It’s not quite a shotgun wedding, and it’s not quite a marriage in Vegas. But a date and a drink with the friend she’s hidden her feelings from for too many years is a good place to start.

[mindofharry]

Your Harrys and taylor lyrics they remind me of!! ((keep in mind some are based off the fic not specifically HIM))

Caddy! Harry (i’m imagining what that anon said about them bumping into each other when he’s married!!):

“It's been a long time

And seeing the shape of your name

Still spells out pain

It wasn't right

The way it all went down

Looks like you know that now”

Bet! Harry:

“I can go anywhere I want

Anywhere I want, just not home

And you can aim for my heart, go for blood

But you would still miss me in your bones”

Golf! Dilfrry:

“I don't wanna keep secrets just to keep you

And I snuck in through the garden gate

Every night that summer just to seal my fate”

J, H &Y/N:

“Before you, I'd only dated self indulgent takers

Who took all of their problem out on me

But you carry my groceries and now I'm always laughing

And I love you, because you have given me no choice but to”

Cheater! Harry:

“You need one chance, it was a moment of weakness

And you said, "Yes"

You should've said, "No"

You should've gone home”

Lmk if i’ve missed any id love to do more<3 i hope u like this x

holy shit. this is so cool!!!! THANK YOU FOR TAKING THE TIME TO DO THIS???? ITS SO ACCURATE

[madhyanas]

I pronounce it as Yin hhahahah but also um 👉🏼👈🏼 are u going to share your poly fic with the class

i feel inordinately validated w getting an anon ask (also sorry this took so long wow i’m a hoe)

alright see anon i have a love for poly reader fics there’s a whole oberyn x reader x ellaria thing i want to talk about too asjdhgfsjhdgf 

@pettyprocrastination and @concussed-to-pieces really beat the shit out of me with their writing. in a really good way like i adore their poly content. also @wickedlyemma is simultaneously the best and the worst because her tua fics are what got me in this hellhole to begin with mwah

but the one i mentioned on the post you’re talkin about is a diego x fem!reader x lila fic for the umbrella academy. man it lives in my mind rent FREE. holy fuck. ok listen right just humour me for a sec.

this is about 1k lmao it really got away from me

not really what you’d call Good Writing but it’s a blurb that’s vaguely coherent please enjoy

(spoilers for s2)

s2 is where the gang finally find out they’re not the only ones w abilities, right? like they don’t know about the whole ‘43′ but they have an inkling. so: an au where lila STAYS, and after all that shit w the commission, the family gets back to the present and the next hyperfixation is to try and find these other super-powered people. (none of that sparrow academy shit alright - ben’s still hangin around - let me have my self-indulgent au where these kids catch a fuckin break)

———

It’s been a few months. The family takes in Lila as one of their own, but it’s stilted. Like a puzzle piece forced into the wrong space, made to mesh and fit in an image it doesn’t belong to. Everyone’s got their own shit to deal with after the time jump and very little time to make the effort to trust her. Five doesn’t even bother, and Luther’s inclined to agree with him. But that’s okay. They’re like her, in that they’re not normal. They’re all so laughably not normal. It’s so funny she cries. 

But she has Diego. Which is all Lila really cares about at the end of the day. They’re working through things. Things she put him through. Things he needs to let go. Things they need to talk about. Little by little, they make it work. No more secrets, not with each other. They love each other too much for all that pain, all over again.

But that’s family politics and emotional healing aight back to the romance. Listen ok maybe Five does his freaky investigation shit, maybe he digs up whatever records he can find of unnatural births on October 1st, 1989. Maybe he finds one of these unnatural kids and tracks em down to a flower store downtown - closer than any of them could’ve imagined, practically in the Hargreeves’ backyard. The owner is kind, pleasant. Boring, in Five’s words. You don’t seem anything out of the ordinary.

But even with a modest little greenhouse out back, you’re still in the middle of the city. With smoke, fumes, pollution. How are the leaves that healthy? How are the flowers that vibrant? How is it, that in your shop, no plant ever really seems to die? The flourishing life your shop fosters is beautiful, but uncanny. 

And yeah, sick of being treated like a knife in the back waiting to happen, maybe Lila volunteers for recon. To get away for a while. Some part of her is desperate for a mark, itching to get back to what she’s good at. Especially since the last one went... awry. 

Since they won’t trust her to go it solo, Diego gets dragged along as a handler supervisor. Perhaps because he’s the only one they think she won’t harm. Idiots. She’d never, not her boy. Not after the Kennedy clusterfuck. So Diego goes along, and to her surprise he’s actually looking forward to it. He knows the urge to stick to a lead like your life depends on it. He’s been that person before. God, he still is.

A honeymoon, she croons in his ear, and he snorts. His hand sliding into hers brings a grin to her lips and a warmth to her cheeks.

Out of all of them, Lila’s the least recognisable. She’s learnt how to blend in, how to appear innocuous. How not to appear at all. So she slides into the florist’s with ease, just another customer. And maybe the little gardener is cute. You smile at Lila like she couldn’t do anything wrong. You see her as a person, rather than a ticking time bomb. Your face falls meekly as Lila tells you she’s buying flowers for her boyfriend. You look so pretty when you’re flustered, scarcely breathing as Lila traces the smear of soil on your cheek, tucks that errant lock behind your ear. Oh, if only you knew.

Debriefing takes longer and longer as the days go on. Lila tells Diego with giddy excitement how you hum while watering the succulents, smile at the blooming buds like you’re proud of them. How you listen to Lila like she’s the only thing that matters and how your laugh sounds like the first break of spring. And Diego might take some convincing, but he can’t help but feel somewhat enamoured with the gardener. The idea of you, at least.

Falling for your mark. It’s so cliché.

Even so, Lila gets to know you. So does Diego, living vicariously through surreptitious surveillance and Lila’s own love-struck recounts. 

Maybe they break protocol a little. Lila takes you out for coffee, learns your order. Learns that the care you attend to your plants with is applied to just about everything in your life. Including her. Maybe Diego begins to join you, discovering that all the hiding and sneaking around was pointless because the name ‘Diego’ doesn’t mean anything sinister to you. ‘Hargreeves’, though, they don’t mention. Not right now. You’re kind, not stupid, and if you do have the abilities they suspect, then any mention of the mythic family will send you running for the hills.

While Lila’s in the bathroom, Diego throws a light jab. Just to test the waters. Maybe you counter with something quick and cutting, raising a brow. And oh, how his heart flutters once he finds out you have thorns. Diego falls quicker than he realises, your sweet half-smile taking hold of his heart just like Lila’s sharp grin did, way back in ‘63. He decides, then and there, that Five doesn’t need to know about this. None of the others do.

Maybe they break protocol a lot, and show up at the flower shop one day, asking you to sit down. No more secrets, they remember. Not between them, and now, not with you. They tell you a story of cruel parents, superpowers and lonely children. Of death and rage and destruction. Of the apocalypse, which never happened yet apparently did, and how you died, a speck amongst billions. Of falling down a rabbit hole to the 60′s, and falling all the way back again. They tell you who they are, who they think you are, and why they showed up in the first place.

Five definitely doesn’t need to know about this.

It’s... a lot. You need time to process, and they understand. They don’t like it, but Diego’s not Sir Reginald and Lila’s not the Handler. So they leave you be, thinking that’s that. Their florist, yet another mistake made by The Umbrella Academy, left in the dust. You feel confused and betrayed and heartbroken for a long while. Radio silence.

Until things get better. 

You show up at their apartment one evening, weeks later, holding a potted un-sprouted bulb, panting at the doorstep like you ran all the way there. They let you in without a word. You set the flowerpot on the table and god, you talk more than they’ve ever heard from you in one sitting. It’s rambling, not all that eloquent. But they understand what you’re saying, eyes softening at your misguided panic.

And then — shyly, as if they could ever deny you anything — you ask if they want to see. (It takes Diego’s elbow in her side to get Lila’s mind out of the gutter.) You dip your fingers into the soil, frowning gently in concentration. There’s a familiar pins-and-needles sensation in your fingertips, flowing through your nerves and into the moist earth. Absently, you worry if it’ll even work. These two have a tendency to throw you off guard.

But lo and behold, the dormant bulb unfurls before their eyes in a matter of seconds, springing forth a fresh green shoot, and a moment later, a starburst of golden petals. 

A daffodil, bobbing lightly on their coffee table.

———

ugh yeah lmao this got long but that’s the fic idea, anon. thanks for askin :)

and NO the super-powered kids aren’t related - in my mind the hargreeves’ were adopted/raised together and are therefore siblings and THAT’S why they shouldn’t date each other - but diego, lila and reader have no familial connection. at all. i’m not here for any pseudo-incest shit in this fic pls and thank u.

aha look at me writing blurbs for tua fics when i have a wholeass! paz fic! published! and u n f i n i s h e d ! alsdhfgalshdfg now i want to do more someone come scream at me about ezra and oberyn and ellaria and paz and boba and din and any other character under the sun

listen y’all i have a lot of IDEAS for various fics and i also have Zero self control - please ask me about them!!!! fuck it man ask me about anything odds are i’ll fuckin write it!!!!!! i am a desperate hoe!!!! i have no self-respect!!!!

[nanabrainrot]

Hello can I request for a Joker x reader wherein the reader is in a really playful and teasing mood and he’s just really *REALLY* horny and desperate and he keeps on trying to pin her down but all she does is giggle and play around with him a a aa he eventually gets so frustrated he just gets her to shut up with *ehem*.. yeah

sorry this took FOREVER and a half. I got backed up my classwork and I misread this prompt, entirely wrote a different prompt, reread your request and entirely rewrote it ... oops! I hope you can forgive my delay please enjoy this work u lovely anon! I don’t get many requests if any so I make the few I get special :) thank u ❤️!

The Tease

Summary: Playfulness is your best and worst trait (but only sometimes).

Warnings: sexual content

Pairing: Arthur Fleck/F!Reader

This would be so much easier if you weren’t naked right now.

You stood, one knee on the bed diagonal to him at the end and your other leg’s foot flat on the floor, body barren save for the clear glaze of a fresh layer of lavender moisturizer, and applying some lip balm with your right pinky finger absentmindedly, the left hand fiddling with the salve’s packaging. “Like, seriously! I just switched to lavender cause my magazine said lavender is super good for sleep and we sleep next to each other so maybe it’ll help with insomnia! Wait, or do you put it on...?”

It’s bed time and at bed time, you chatter with him, though his comments rare, for about an hour as you go about your night routine. An important note about your night routine is you could only get shut eye if you were completely naked. You climb towards him on the bed, eyes set past him on nightstand behind him, where you always had your lip salve on. “‘scuse moi,” you mumble, climbing across him, bare breasts grazing his bare chest as you reach to put the salve on the stand. The next moment you straddle him, grinning innocently, “This salve makes my lips so soft! I finally got one that worked I’ve been through like 3 lip salves that just don’t friggin’ work, if anything they made my lips dry! Dry! You’re a lip salve, do your job! Like see —“ You crash your lips against his, lips soft and plump against his own, torso fully trapped against his. His cock hardens in his plaid pajama pants and you notice his grip on your hips tighten. “Woah!” you pull back from the deep kiss with a big smile, “what’re you doing there Arthur?”

“You look so pretty today,” he murmurs, pressing kisses against your breasts before licking at your exposed nipple. “Ah!” you yelp, surprised, as his hips thrust upward and your bare pussy is grazed by his cotton clad cock. His arms tighten around you in a vice hug as he pulls you in tight, sucking at your tit, as he rolls you onto your back. “Let me put it inside —“

In a second, you climb off the bed, wriggling from his grip like it was nothing but a loose hug, prancing off to the bathroom. “Not until I floss, brush my teeth, and mouthwash, Casanova!” you declare, opening the mirror cabinet to months old medications Arthur no longer felt the desire to take beside a half-empty mouthwash bottle and some loose floss. “Are you coming in here to floss with me or what?!” you cry out, loud so he’s sure to hear. The floss glides through your first three teeth until Arthur shuffles into the restroom, stopping behind you to palm at your nude body.

“Hands off, I have to do my night routine.” A glob of toothpaste on a blue and green plastic toothbrush finds your front teeth when you feel Arthur’s bare cock prod against your ass. “Still doing my night routine —“ His calloused hand finds your upper back and shoves you down so your back arches in a way that puts your pussy on display. His cock is prodding the hole as you swish mouthwash about your mouth some seconds later. By the time you spit it out, his tip is at your entrance and Arthur’s hand jacking his base so the precum meets your hole. “Brush your teeth!” you remark, rolling your eyes. straightening yourself up and playfully, pushing him back gently. He scrunched up his nose at you as he pulled up his pants past his cock, hiding the hard flesh from you as you waltzed back to the bedroom.

He stood alone in the bathroom, silent palming his cock through the fabric as he watched your hips move, only more sultry knowing you wouldn’t let him have you. You did this some nights, playing with your food, acting like a cat toying with a mouse. You’d get your way and he too, but only after you drove him crazy.

“So I found this moisturizer again, and this superb neck cream! Tightens it all up! You gotta apply at night though, if you do in the morning the sun steals your youth,” you state, another claim from your beauty magazine subscriptions. “Arthur, come in here and pick your socks up off the floor and put ‘em in the hamper please!”

You sat on the edge of the bed, your legs crossed, the one on top bouncing with all the pent up energy you had in you. He watched you from the doorway as you applied the cream, hands smoothing the silky cream across your skin, dipping low almost to your breasts, tantalizing and enticing. He draws in closer, shuffling slowly as your eyes close to massage the flesh of your neck. “— and today at work Jamie definitely look lunch that wasn’t hers! She can’t even make a sandwich right, you expect me to believe that you made that gnocchi from home?! Mmf -“

Your back presses again the quilt, eyes shot wide with the bewilderment that Arthur was holding you down, his eyes darting to take in all your features at once. Yet again, it’s throbbing and pressed against your bare hole through the tented fabric. “Still not finished, mister. I just gotta do one or two more things,” you squint testily, a smirk playing at your lips. He knew you wanted it but your night routine came first. Routine, routine, routine with you.

You went in for a kiss, watching his eyes glaze over with desire, but closing in anticipation. Almost touching lips... almost there... “See my hairtie’s over here.” You always wriggled away from him, playing at him when he let his guard down. He groans at he realizes he’s pinning cold air down as you move to the nightstand to put your hair in a high ponytail. You watch him gawk at your breasts as you raise your arms to fiddle with the hairtie and grin. He never lost the magic in seeing you naked.

“Turn on the new episode of Happy Days?” you say sweetly. He nods his head with enthusiasm, grabbing the remote to turn it on. Anytime you asked him to change to a show at night, he knew you were drawing close to the end of your routine. “Just let me do one more thing!” you cried out, already feeling his wandering hands after you heard the signature voice of Fonzie in the back. His excitement was so raw sometimes, he only felt such tender attraction toward you.

His wandering hands encaptured you as you reached for your perfume, an expensive indulgence you only allowed yourself when the bottle was emptier than empty, and playfully toosed you on the bed, climbing over you with a shit-eating grin. “Ack! I’m not done, I’m not done!” You swatted him off you as he closed in on your neck, desperate to start on the nightly activities, huffing and puffing as you sat up at reached for the perfume, some Miss Dior on its last leg. Arthur was laying on his back, pajama pants tenting with his erect member, almost twitching with desire as he stared at the ceiling, like a child sulking when they got a toy taken away.

“Sit by the headboard, love. Let me draw the blinds.”

Bingo. His ears practically perked up as he scrambled to sit with his back pressed taut to the linen headboard (“Watch your posture!” you’d say all day) as his wandering eyes watch you almost saunter to the close the blinds and curtains. It was always the end of the routine, closing the blinds and retreating to the solitude, the pure bliss of pretending that all there was to this world was you and Joker, that there was nothing beyond Fonzie on the television and the green-haired man that loved you with all there was. The blinds are closed. You stand at the window, looking at the blinds for a moment, thoughtless.

You didn’t need to think of work or that you needed new shampoo or if you should lay your clothes out for tomorrow. The only thing that mattered was behind you. “Come to bed?” he says softly, never too pressing with you. You look over your shoulder and smile, a sort of shy smile. Sometimes, he felt like your crush, back when you were just a schoolgirl. “Yeah.”

The quilt is a bit cold as you lift and climb into it to sit beside him, where he’s watching you, not the screen. He lifts his right arm for you to climb into, nuzzle into his shoulder like always. “Pardon...” you murmur slinking into his side as the quilt falls onto your lap, the two of you sitting up against the headboard as Richie and Fonzie argue. You lean your head against his shoulder, only to notice him draw his head to yours, going to kiss you, lips parted and looking —

“Arthur, did you brush your teeth?!” you asked suddenly, eyes looking up at him with sudden realization. Did you miss him brushing them? You probably did seeing you were so busy and —

“In a second,” he whispers, lips suddenly on yours. It’s brief. You want another. “Another...” you say softly, cheeks getting rosy. He got a blush out of you everyday. “Okay.” He pecks you again. And again. And again. “In a second?” you repeat.

“In a second.” He rolls over on top of you, pecking deep kisses on your lips, tongue slipping through your lips. Finally, he thinks, his right hand settling on fondling your breast and the left gliding to your slick pussy. “Ah,” you pull back and gasp with a grin, “your hands are cold, Arthur.” He smiles, before his lips move to your neck. “Warm them up for me then,” he says, a digit sliding into your hole. The way your back arches when he starts moving it is delicious. “This is longer than a second...” you mumble, weakly, twitching as he adds a second finger. “Give me a few minutes.”

He’s sucking your tit when you tug down his pants, his big dick spring from the fabric. It looks like it’s visibly throbbing. Were you going about your routine that long? Your hand settled at the base, satisfied with the noise he makes, mouth still on your nipple. You stroke the shaft, up and down, pausing only when his fingers’ pace startle you a bit. You writhe a bit, trying to get him to detach from your breast to look at you. “Artie...” you whine, pouting. He surfaces with a grin, his hair in his eyes, fingers suddenly curling in your dripping cunt. “Ah! Can you - oh gosh - put it in m - oh my gosh, Arthur!” His fingers are long and spindly, curling them always startles you, makes you choke up a bit.

“Can I what?” he reiterated, putting his face close to yours. You scrunch up your nose a bit at him, before the expression in your face changes to one of bliss, back arching as his fingers speed up. “Can you put it in me?” you ask, looking up at him, your hands moving to hold his sides (he loved it when you touched him like that). “Put what in you?” he pretends, head tilting as his fingers curl.

“Oh my God put your cock in me!” you cry out, impatient. He chuckles before taking out his fingers, eying the way your juice collects at his fingers. “Now look whose impatient,” he remarks, pulling off the pants and discarding them off the bed as you squint at him. You look away as he spread your legs, adjusting the two of you under the quilt, suddenly a lot shyer knowing you two were going to... y’know. “This is a bit longer than a few min — fuck!”

“Oops,” he breathes, his cock in to the hilt, your warmth encircling his entire member. Both your eyes are widd and simply looking at each other, breathing hard, until you whimper as he withdraws it, only to fully put it back in. “Ah... you said... God... in a second...” you breathe, your hands clutching his biceps as his thrusts deepen, grow faster, until you’re moaning and squirming as you grip at him. In a few strokes, he was fully fucking you raw, the television drowned out by the sound of your dripping hole being filled by him over and over.

Your tongues wrestle, groaning into each others’ mouths as the bed creaks under you, squealing under the pressure of him now relentlessly fucking you. He parts lips with you, eyes wide. You grin. You know. “I’m gonna cum, baby, I’m gonna cum in you,” he chokes, his pace brutal as you moan loudly with a smile on your face, staring at his face knowing he’s going to fill you up.

“Cum for me, Arthur, cum in me.” The squeal of the bed halts, replaces by Arthur’s grunts, one hand gripping the headboard for some support and the other holding onto you with a firm grip. It’s warm and filling when he cums in you, you pant as his cock twitches in you. He pulls out slowly and you already feel it sliding fron your pussy on the sheets. You need to do laundry anyway. The closing credits of the episode roll as he moves to sit beside you, breathing a little hard. Your eyes widen.

“Arthur you made me miss the episode!”

[ficletsbynaria]

Hello! Hope you don't mind, I'd like to request something very specific and kinda personal... For maybe Tokoyami and Shinsou? Where their S/O plays an instrument but doesn't want /like to play infront of other people? And now there's recital and her mom makes her go as always but this time S/O didn't have enough time to practice (maybe bcs of hero work) and feels ashamed to play? 1🙏

“I have 20 minutes to get there and can’t stop crying 😖 I just like to imagine there is someone to hug me after… I’m so sorry, delete this if you want to ❤️ love u 2🙏”

worry not anon ! i’d cater to any requests no matter how specific it is 😊😊 as someone who writes self-indulgent fics i would know ,,, and who wouldn’t want hugs and kisses from tokoyami and shinsou ?? 💖💗💓

alright let’s get to it !

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 1,740 words

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔰: Tokoyami Fumikage, Shinsou Hitoshi

𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔰: none

𝚃𝚘𝚔𝚘𝚢𝚊𝚖𝚒

You clutched the bow in your hand, stopping yourself from throwing it across your room. Hot tears threatened to fall from your eyes as you inhaled deeply. It took everything in you not to cry in front of her that day.

“You are going to that recital, or I will drag your stubborn self there.”

You kept your tone steady. “Mom, I didn’t practice enough. Can’t I just miss one performance?”

She let out a scoff at your suggestion. “What an irresponsible request. It’s your fault that you didn’t practice, and you will pay for the consequences.” Your eyes went wide. Your mother was willing to embarrass you in front of a crowd.

“I knew that U.A. school was bad for you. You should’ve pursued classical music like me.” 

“I don’t want to be like you. You wanted me to become a musician. You never asked me what I wanted.”

She stared you down with a dark expression, her gaze making you flinch. “Don’t talk back to me, child.”

The sounds of knocking made you snap back to reality. You realized quiet tears stained your cheeks and you did your best to wipe any traces off with your sleeve. Violin and bow in hand, you swung open the door, revealing a dark (but welcome) figure standing there.

“Fumi?” The boy’s hair ruffled at the sound of his nickname. Tokoyami rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture he made when he’s a bit shy. Something he only does around you.

“Um, dinner’s ready. The others told me to come over and tell you.” He glanced at the instrument, “Since you seem busy and all.”  

You were slowly forgetting your sadness from before. Tokoyami couldn’t have arrived at a better time. 

“Oh! Are you practicing the violin now, Y/N?” Dark Shadow crept from behind Tokoyami, pointing at your instrument. You lifted it up and stared at it with tired eyes. “Yeah, just a bit.”

“You were in your room all day. I don’t think that was for ‘a bit’.” Tokoyami interjected. Your face felt hot at his comment calling you out.

Waving your hands defensively, you stammered out an excuse. “It’s not that! I was just perfecting some parts, that’s all.”

Tokoyami gave you a look and you sighed in defeat. Of course, your perceptive boyfriend would know if you were lying to him. 

“Is it your mother again?” He also read your mind so many times now, that it scared you.

“When is it not?” You joked. He, however, was not in a laughing mood. Looking you over, you felt small in his gaze, albeit almost being at the same height.

“Move aside.” You took some time to process his words but realized you were blocking the doorway to your dorm. You stepped aside, letting him in, and closing the door behind you.

This was a regular occurrence for both of you. Tokoyami sensing your sour mood and opting to stay with you in your room to help you feel better. 

Even though he initiated the dorm visits, when it comes to what you do in the dorm, you were the one making the first move.

Placing the violin and bow in its case, you quickly hopped over to your bed, where Tokoyami was already seated. Snuggling up to his side, you let out a quiet sigh. His hair tickled your cheeks and you smiled to yourself at the thought.

“My mom didn’t allow me to skip my recital. Even if she knew I would just mess up in the middle of it.” Tokoyami was quiet, letting you speak. “I mean, yeah it’s my fault I didn’t practice that much. But she should at least understand my reasons.” Your hands gripped the fabric of your pants. You anticipated another wave of tears coming, but your mind went elsewhere as you felt something warm wrap around your hand.

Tokoyami was facing away from your surprised face. It was unusual for him to initiate physical contact. You must be in a really bad mood for him to do that.

“You shouldn’t beat yourself up for something that you couldn’t control.” A man of a few, but wise words, Tokoyami continued. “Besides, you’ve practiced enough. So it’s unlikely that you’ll mess up.” He went silent again after that. You also couldn’t form any sentences after the initial shock of him holding your hand.

To make matters worse, he started rubbing circles at the back of your hand with his thumb. At this point, you were too flustered to think of a response. Finally, Tokoyami looked at your direction. His expression became serious. “If you’re nervous on that stage, think of me and how proud I’ll be of you when you perform.”

Your heart was hammering in your chest. Tokoyami was intense, but this was the first time he directed that intensity to you, in a good way. Regaining your composure, you glanced back at your violin case. 

If you’re nervous, think of me and how proud I’ll be.

You felt yourself grin at his words. Unable to contain your excitement, you gave Tokoyami a peck on the side of his beak. The contact startled him off your bed. His eyes darted around the room, avoiding yours. You couldn’t help but chuckle at his reaction.

“Thank you, Fumi.” You beamed up at him.

Tokoyami peeked at your face, then faced the other way, crossing his arms defiantly. 

“Don’t mention it.”

“Hey you’re blushing!” Dark Shadow popped out again and teased Tokoyami, causing the bird boy to curse it out.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

𝚂𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚘𝚞

You hid around the stage curtains. Your hands were becoming clammy at the worst time. You tried rubbing your hands together to gain some heat from the friction. Scared didn’t even begin to describe your state. You hated crowds, terrified of the eyes landing on you. Seeing your every move. 

Lucky for you, you had a piano recital coming up in 10 minutes. With a gymnasium packed to the rafters, and your whole family on the front row ready to watch. You considered begging your tutor to call off the performance, but you thought better of it. Besides, the wrath of your mother when you cancel the recital was a fate worse than death. 

One thing kept you from running away though. From hiding under your blankets, away from the world’s judgmental stares. 

You peeked outside from your corner, looking over at the audience. Your eyes lit up when you spotted a mop of purple hair somewhere in the third row. Maybe this recital wouldn’t be so bad, after all. 

As if feeling you ogling at him, Shinsou locked eyes with you. A smirk appeared on his face and he gave you a wink. The action made you blush and you whipped back into your safe corner. Of all times, he chose now to be a cheeky little shit.  

“Five minutes till showtime, Y/N.” Your tutor reminded you. Your nerves were on fire, and his little reminder did not help. Gathering your courage one last time, you checked again for Shinsou. Surprisingly, you couldn’t find him in his previous spot. That made you even more nervous. 

“Oh my god, I’m hallucinating.” You thought you saw your boyfriend in the crowd. Looking again for the third time, you confirmed that everything was in your imagination. 

Great. I’m going insane. 

You weren’t usually on edge. This time was different, since your practice was minimal, and you had no formal rehearsal beforehand. You wanted to quit piano when you got into U.A. but your mother told you that the general studies department didn’t have the same load as the hero course. She was right, in that matter, yet her reasons to force you into continuing piano lessons were a stretch. Arguing with her would lead to nothing productive, so you decided to humor her for now. 

Still, you were hoping to avoid recitals during your first year. With where you are now though, you deemed your hopes were ignored. 

“Sir, the backstage is for authorized personnel and performers only! Please go back to your seat.” 

Your attention went to the commotion behind you. You almost squealed out when you saw who was in the middle of it. 

“And what if I don’t want to?” 

The staff suddenly froze in their spot, eyes glossed over.  

“Go and tell your boss to give Y/N five more minutes.” The staff member slowly turned around and walked towards your unaware tutor. Meanwhile, the culprit was sauntering towards you. You hid your smile in your hand, clearing your throat.

“I told you not to brainwash innocent people.”

He chuckled. “He was taking away my alone time with you, how’s that guy innocent?”

Shinsou walked around you and hugged you from behind. You let out a tiny shriek as he nuzzled himself into your neck. 

“I missed you, you know? You kept practicing after class for the whole week.” Shinsou’s voice was muffled into your skin. You relished his warmth, using it to distract yourself from your nervousness. Back then, you didn’t consider him as the touchy-feely type. A few weeks into your relationship and you were proven wrong, however. Not that you minded.

“That whole week wasn’t enough prep. I’m going into this unprepared.” You sighed, pulling away from Shinsou’s embrace. He glanced at his watch, clicking his tongue when he realized he had a minute or so left.

He placed his hands on your face, compelling you to look at him. His dark purple eyes were boring into yours, and your focus momentarily went over to the ever-developing bags under his. 

“Listen to me when I say this.” Your eyebrow arched at his statement, thinking better of answering him if he decided to brainwash you now. He’d use his quirk on you as a joke sometimes, but when you noticed that any hint of playfulness was gone from his expression, you answered.

“Alright, I’ll listen.”

He smiled at that. “You worked hard to get to this point. Believe in your abilities, and you will  never feel like you aren’t enough.” He stated, removing his hands from your cheeks and placing them in his pockets. 

“Now go out there and knock ‘em dead.”

Shinsou gave you a quick kiss and ran off before more staff members came to scold him. Watching his retreating figure, you weren’t sure why you were so nervous in the first place.

After all, he believed in you.

[costellos]

LOL A 401K IM DEAD but honestly...... tru

all that tax stuff, retirement plans.... nanami’s got it covered. and then there’s gojo, committing tax fraud 🤧 i’d compare gojo to salt as a seasoning but that’s kinda mean, he does have some flavor. like, sugar probably suits him better?? sweet, can be addicting, but bad for you if have too much of it 🙈 AND THEN NANAMI. man’s the whole spice rack, he wouldn’t have it anything less since he loves food so much 😤 he is, as we say, umami personified 🤌

yeah, it’s unfortunate lmfao but oh well. i do occasionally have them in a smoothie though, like you said!

alsjfhsha it’s def time consuming.... like i’d be sitting down w my family and when i’m finally done picking it all out, they’ve finished eating welp 😭 and yeah, the rational part of me knows that, but i’m that person someone has to go up the service worker for and be like “excuse me she asked for no pickles” (except i didn’t 🙈) i’m much better in restaurants bc the language barrier isn’t as intimidating so i will tell them to leave out an ingredient if it’s something i can’t easily take out

mmmmm i can see that! he’d be the guy who’d eat pizza with a fork and knife wouldn’t he lol. and dab all the excess oil off w a napkin. he probably only goes to the Legit pizza places too haha but i think if he likes you enough he can be convinced to eat almost anywhere

ofc!! ask games are more fun if it goes both ways 😌 and ooooo tsumu! interesting...... 👀 those are honestly such good date ideas w a guy like atsumu! that’d rly be smth he’d enjoy and ngl the moment i read ‘something physical’ i immediately imagined y’all racing LMAO. he’s a prime example of how competition can be good for you w the right person, so i can see you filling in the space osamu left after he decided to focus more on his food aspirations. like imagine making cute lil bets w him and the loser having to do what the winner wanted hehe. omg a double date w the miya twins would be sm fun tho??? from my impression of you so far, i definitely trust you to keep tsumu in line lmfao so catch me there. me and osamu are the ones spectating and judging your guys’ competitions and cheering you on to beat atsumu like we’re olympic commentators or smth LOL

aaaaa i’m honestly p shy but if anything can get me to come off anon, it’d be nanamin 😂 (it’s like we’re todo and yuji bonding over their shared type but w nanami skdjfjsjsjs) let me know if you prefer to keep it here or on discord and i’ll give you my account, whichever platform you like better! also congrats on 1k! much deserved!! 🎉

cut for length!

A;LDSKJ GOJO WOULD COMMIT TAX FRAUD. lmao salt is a lil mean!! sugar is more fitting <3 sugar is also used for more fun foods, and I feel like it matches him bc of his sweet tooth. but Nanami........ o lawd. definitely the whole spice rack yes. 100% agree. pls I would use him in everything. wait was that a weird thing to say?

ah I totally understand! well, u got this friend. the next time u go out for Mexican food, I’ll be there cheering for u in spirit!!

and yes.... ugh... I don’t think he’s particularly picky, he’ll try anything. he just doesn’t like foods that are excessive, if that makes sense? like what you were saying with the grease. I think he’s more the type to like subtle flavors. an obnoxious meat lover’s pizza from The Hut would be a no go, but he’s down for a, quote, Legit Pizza Place. the kind of Italian restaurant that’s authentic! but let’s admit it, by that point it wouldn’t even technically be “pizza.” authenticity comes with a price :’)

ty friend you’re far too kind 🥺 AND PLS YOU’RE MAKING ME BLUSH OVER MY LAPTOP HHHHHHH. I would love nothing more than to fill the Osamu-shaped hole in his heart once they both go into their separate careers. and god..... don’t encourage him. or me. I would definitely make bets w him. and I would win. but thank you sweet anon, I would do my best to keep him from annoying the shit out of you!! it would be an honor to have you and Osamu comment on our tomfoolery. 👉👈

MY GOD I WAS ABOUT TO KEYBOARD MASH AGAIN. we’re definitely Todo and Yuji.... u like Nanami and so now I’m obligated to imagine a whole life we coulda had together in high school together. even tho I graduated five years ago. and I’m assuming you did some time ago too since you mentioned you’re old...... lordt. anyway! thank you for the congrats!! I would love to discuss more headcanons and such w you over Discord! dm me and I’ll add you so that we can sob over Nanami’s absence in the anime <33

nanamin date anon said: me, rewatching eps 9-13 on replay until the new episode comes out: hahaha i love all the jjk characters equally! nanamin and *looks at smudged writing on hand* the extras

lol i love them all rly, it’s just super refreshing to have an adult like nanami in a shounen

haha yeah, i’m definitely glad i’m not the oldest (bc that’s way too much responsibility for me, idk how they do it) so being player 2 as a younger sibling isn’t too bad, especially since it’s the story that i’m usually more interested in rather than the gameplay itself. i don’t have to worry about remembering which buttons to press in a fight when i can just watch the plot play out lol. (it’s definitely a good game, i just suck at the controls 😅 my brother let me play a bit and i couldn’t get the web swinging down i was struggling so bad aslfjjfsjak) what sort of games are you into? 👀

even if it’s boring to some ppl, watching is a good way to experience the game for yourself as well, esp if it’s a single player game! ofc i do tend to prefer multiplayer games, but it’s not too dissimilar to watching someone play a sport tbh. AND NO KENMA IM PRO-SIDEQUEST LIVE OUT YOUR COMPLETIONIST DREAMS. if we gotta fetch that dude a super rare item to unlock his backstory we MUST do it ok

YEAH! mikorin is also voiced by noya’s va! it’s honestly a shame gsnk didn’t get a second season, it’s so good 😔

me: lol does that mean kuroo’s your tomoda

kenma: ok this date is over

LMFAOOOOO not my fault the popular choices are the ones that get you the good end 😤 and it’s all good, i’m also guilty of replaying to see how the other choices impact the story haha. if there’s no save system tho, i’d make him switch out w me every time we replay bc i’d zone out at all the repeat stuff (bless games that have a skip option 🙏)

UGH TELL ME ABOUT IT!!! ok so I love the other charas too but.... Nanami’s so good. so good. iono about you, anon, but I went back and rewatched his episodes from the dub and it made me Feel Things. and I agree, it is refreshing to see an adult like him in shounen. esp since he treats the kids like kids. and he makes it clear that their being kids is never a bad thing. I will reiterate: he’s so good.

ahhh friend that’s so nice!. your brother sounds really chill. plus it sounds like a good balance: you get to watch the story, and he gets to dick around!! win-win. and as for my fav games, I’m up for anything! I try to avoid co-op games like Overwatch bc I get too competitive and I’m a sore loser lmao (but they are fun!). the last games I played were the Last of Us 2 and Persona 5, two very different games, but stuff that’s a good time nonetheless. tbh as long as I can immerse myself in the story and there’s tons to explore, I’m down. what about you?? you’d kind of mentioned otome games and Animal Crossing, but I’m curious!

hm. interesting. that’s a nice way to look at it. I guess if it’s a really good game, it’s no different from an interactive movie! also Kenma would love that omg you’re going to save so many villages in the rpgs he plays w you.... gotta max out EVERYTHING. every side quest! every mundane task!! collect literally every feather!!! but I feel like he would pass the time by making idle conversation. like some dumb shit Lev had mentioned earlier that day. such a nice way to unwind at the end of the day, shit talking Lev w his fav person 😌

anyway! going back to completionist stuff: Kenma would have such a blast going back and replaying games w you! and yes bless games w a skip option hhh. thankfully he’d remember all your previous choices together, so he can help navigate where to go next. he has no qualms handing the controller over, I think he’d love to curl up next to you and analyze how you play! but I also feel like he’d be giving unwarranted suggestions....... thanks, Kenma.

also, about Mikorin’s va: WHAT. OH MY GOD. so many things to learn..... pls. indulge me w your trivia.

[oh-mother-of-darkness]

ASKS (28)

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

Anonymous said: Hi ily💓

I love you too! There is love in my heart and you may take some

Anonymous said: Hey hey hey Amesssss!!! what was the first fic you ever wrote?

Well. Technically the first written piece was a play I wrote at around 13? It was about all of the characters from the Percy Jackson series watching Disney’s Hercules together

My first bat fic was this one, back in I want to say 2014

Anonymous said: You are a snack . So cute ❤❤❤❤

[Lizzo voice] baby I’m the whole damn meal 

Anonymous said: You may’ve done badly but you looked fine as heck doing it. (I’m aroace—I’m not hitting on you, I promise). Besides, everybody has off days. Even lawyers.

akhfasufgdlfeas I appreciate the clarification <3

Anonymous said: For my summer job I went through a lawyer’s disaster of an office and let me tell you. 90% of it was Westlaw printouts. Those things are the effing best. They tell you what’s going on, they give you the info you need, they’re not weirdly complicated and hard to find—Westlaw. It may be prohibitively expensive and a symptom of the flaws in our legal system, but by golly it’s the best option.

When you hit that “forms” button......... the magic....... the beauty.....

andromeda270 said: My legal research class got us two free weeks of westlaw(I’m still in college) and when I didn’t finish a paper I made a free trial for the wrong site but they emailed me anyway asking if I was interested in buying and could they talk over the phone. I fessed up and they gave me another free week to work on a paper for some class

That’s how they get you!!!!

collidinglegends said: Lexis is shinier, WestLaw is better

Amen babe

Anonymous said: Please sleep

Who’s got the time

Anonymous said: hi !! quick question . I’ve followed you for a while and i think i asked you this previously but im not sure... do you write Duke ?? would you be comfortable writing him if i sent in a prompt including others in the fam ?

Sure, if I like the prompt. I write Duke every once in awhile, although I wouldn’t say I’m confident doing it. He’s a fairly new character and I stopped reading weeklys about the time I hit law school three years ago

Anonymous said: Hope you feel better soon... I'll pray for you

Ah thank you friend I appreciate you

areverieofchaosdreams said: I'm probably pretty late to this cause I'm not great at time, but your thing is making All the Feelings tm. But in a good way. You and dapanda were the first batfam blogs I ever followed, and it's been a helluva ride. Your way of writing things just pulls me in a way that few do, so thank you. :)

A single tear falls from my lashes, followed by several more because I cry a lot 

hades-in-a-handbag said: Your thing is being the embodiment of goth mom energy Don't know if it's just your literal handle or what but you're so encouraging and motherly and also dark and emotionally scaring with your writing. Very sweet, very spooky

goth mom energy 

Anonymous said: Omgggg ames, ginny is so grown up!!!!!

She is! She’s a teenager 

morallyunequivocal said: not a prompt but oh no i just made myself sad with that last ask

that’s a mood

Anonymous said: You make plushies? Wtf, how did you get to be so talented and adorable at so many things. You’re amazing and I hope law school goes well.

Oh you’re so so sweet

Anonymous said: What law school things have you learned that you could see the bat family deals by with?

Well, I’ve had to take classes about forming and maintaining businesses, finding tax loopholes, writing and litigating contracts, and real property. Those are all things that WE would deal with on the regular. I also took classes on juvenile and adult criminal law, evidence, and police misconduct, which all seem Bat-relevant. At this exact moment I’m taking family law, which would include adoptions, and I have in the past taken classes about trusts and estates.

Anonymous said: Noooooooo no nono 🙏🙏🙏 dont ignore her 💔

Bad kittens get ignored instead of cuddled

crayolapumpkins said: hope the printing isn't too boring !! + I'm loving the fics , your work is always *chef's kiss* !! thank u for ur hard work ✨✨✨

[heart eyes]

Anonymous said: Since you have a big brother and a tiny sister, with that huge gap, what do you feel when you see those Dick & Damian fics or headcanons where Dick sees Damian as both a brother and a son? I know it's kind of canon now, but fandom has even gone as far as having Dick adopt Damian in various situations. Their age gap and their positions in the family allows for that kind of dynamic and I know it's reality for a lot of people too. But what's Your opinions on this? And maybe your brother's?

Huh, that’s a good question. My littlest brother and I are ten years apart, and Dave will tell you flat out I’m his favorite sibling because when I’m home we do everything together. I think the thing those fics are collectively missing is that there doesn’t need to be a brother/father hybrid because the role of Older Sibling With Age Gap is already its own distinct thing. 

Dave and I don’t have the same dynamic as the kids I actively grew up with. We had very limited contact during his growing up years, because I was off at school. Now that he’s a teenager, we communicate like adults but with the caveat that I am In Charge. I dictate the agenda, and I make the decisions unless I choose to delegate them. 

I’ve indulged a request about an adoption before, but I don’t really like that idea very much. Like I said, I don’t feel the need to add “father” into a dynamic that already exists on its own. 

hollyhock13 said: Listen. You’re a middle kid, but not the middle middle kid. You’re towards the older end, but not the oldest. Maybe second or third, depending on how many siblings you have

Correct!

Anonymous said: That is the coolest blanket I've ever seen!!

Isn’t it just 

Anonymous said: We're having a big adoption event tomorrow in Houston and we sent all the animals in our shelter down there. Our supervisors are in Houston too so us few kennel techs left at the shelter are scrubbing the place from top to bottom. We have music playing on the loud speaker and just ordered pizza. It's a great day. :)

:D

Anonymous said: Pls continue the Tim and hallucination Damian thing im on edge

Anonymous said: Bls bls bls continue the tim hallucinating dami fic, bc its killing me in the best way. My heart. It hurts. That shit hurted.

maybe

Anonymous said: Ames, thoughts on the new joker movie?

I haven’t seen it, although I probably will when I get the time

Anonymous said: Idk if this is a secret, more like a guilty confession. I really, REALLY hope Damian turns out asexual, or at least romantically unattached. I LOVE that most of his good interactions are with his vaious Bat siblings, Jon, Maps and his pets. Everyone loves shopping him with varuova characters and it makes me hesitate to share my opinion incase I'm looked at weirdly. But having a character I look up to be asexual would be amazing.

I would really like that too anon

Anonymous said: what do you think about Drake & his new outfit?

ugly

Anonymous said: Alfred Pennyworth is the baddest bitch

You are not incorrect

bruciewayneisbatman said: Amy and Kenza are the bittersweet queens of this fandom. The both of you are absolutely evil and tooth-rotting sweet at the same time. I love you two for that, btw.

<3 thanks Esther 

[han-jumins]

hey i was wondering if u could do a drunk confession thing with v and saeran please!! the first two where amazing 🐆it'd be great thank u i love ur writing

omg thank you so much lovely anon! ^^ I actually am quite mad at myself for not including these two because i love them lmao also holy crap its almost the choi bois birthday i need to do something for them 

a Saeran + V version of these  posts

Drunk RFA V + Saeran

V

This sunshine rarely gets drunk and is usually with Jumin when he is but tonight he is indulging himself in wine, surrounded with pictures of MC let’s say he’s not blind for this one

It sounds creepy and he knows it probably is but the growing love he has for her really cannot be contained at this moment

It has always been Rika who filled his thoughts but after all that’s happened he finally found peace within himself to move on and find his real sun

And that was MC

He learned to fall in love the healthy way and he felt really blessed that MC helped him throughout his journey

But is this man capable of being tainted by feelings of jealousy??

Yes

MC was on a date and he was feeling extra bitter that night

So when he was reaching for his phone, attempting to call her his eyes immediately widened

No he will not let her see him wreck himself like this

He still did it anyways

“V? What’s wrong are you okay?”

“Yes.. I’m fine”

“Why did you call? Should I come over? Is something the matter?”

“There is no matter but can you please come over?”

“I’ll be there”

When MC came, she was astounded by the amount of pictures surrounding the house and was more astonished by the man before her who reeked of alcohol

“MC my love” 

V hugged her tight 

He was being so uncharacteristical and she was confused until it registered in her brain what he called her

My love??

“V why are you drinking?”

“I am… displeased with myself”

“How come”

She held his cheek so tenderly V could feel his heart bursting with love

“I am such an unworthy man to have been jealous of your date today. I love you but it seems that I am too late”

“Oh V you were never too late. I only met up with him for a polite meal of gratitude, I was never romantically linked with him, it’s you I have my eyes on. I love you”

V felt so relieved and so happy he felt tears brimming his eyes as he kissed her so passionately

They spent the entire night cuddling and when morning came and their bodies were entangled with each other they felt so happy and content

Although V could feel a dull ache in his head, he was glad he remembered everything that went down last night

He was inhaling the scent of her hair as he pulled her close to him, never intending to let go

Saeran

Living with MC and Saeyoung was such a chore

But the only reason he was so irritated was because they acted so much like a couple

He couldn’t stand being in the same room when they were being so touchy and smiley with each other

One time it was movie night and they were pressed up against each other like some married couple

But it was only because Saeyoung had put the popcorn too far MC had to scoot closer to properly get some

It bothered him so much to feel this way so one night, he escaped the eyes of his brother to get wasted in some club

He was only there for the drinks though and had no intention of entertaining the girls who were sticking their ass out in front of him

When he came home, Saeyoung was ready to fight him about his whereabouts but he shushed him saying that he had no time for it

He was walking properly no doubt but he was drunk enough to be bold and confused

So instead of going to his room he accidentally stumbled to MC’s

Cue his face getting hot at the sight 

She was curled up between the sheets and had this cute bedhead

He walked towards her despite the mental protest and ended up kneeling beside her bed

Stroking her hair he felt yet again another churn in his stomach and a squeeze at his chest

“Why do you make me feel like shit and this shit actually feels good? I hate you, I hate you for making me feel this way, I hate you for your stupid face and stupid actions, I hate you for trying to make me feel better I hate you I hate you”

MC woke up to this string of I hate you mantras and when she found out Saeran was the one saying them she wrapped her arms around his neck and pullled him

He stumbled and toppled towards her 

“Let go you idiot I hate you”

“No you don’t”

“Yes I do”

“I know you Saeran and you tell me these things everyday, i know you don’t”

He could feel MC nuzzling her face on her neck and his heart started racing 

“Lay beside me”

Curse his drunken decision making he actually listened

He had his back facing her but she wrapped her arms around his waist and Saeran tensed up

“So… warm”

When he was sure MC was deep in sleep, he carefully faced her and had his hands on the small of her back, trying to pull her closer, wanting to feel more of her

“I… love you”

Unknown to him, MC was smiling against his chest

The next morning, they were met by the screams of Saeyoung

“My own brother?? and MC?? in he same BED. I feel so betrayed”

“Shut up” 

Saeran was having none of his brother’s crying and buried his face in the mess of MC’s hair

“You two didn’t even have the decency to close the door, God knows what I might have seen. Stop polluting my innocent eyes”

“Fuck off Saeyoung I feel like absolute shit”

MC felt really worried because she knows he had a drink last night 

“Do you want me to get you some advil?”

She was about to get up when Saeran pulled her back down and was fiercely cuddling with her

“Stay”

She giggled and pressed a soft kiss to his head

“I love you too”

He groaned knowing she heard him last night but he wasn’t really complaining

[sicklylittlesnowflake]

Archie has a stomach ache really bad but he says he has to play the football game and it turns out to be appendicitis and after/during the game he passes out or reggie notices and gets him off the pitch

(Anon the moment u said reggie I was on board!! Thank you for letting me indulge in my odd love of reggie mantle! Also sorry if my portrayal of appendicitis is wrong!!)

Archie hated hiding illness. He never really did it, and wanted to get over with it as soon as possible, and appreciated the affection he received when he was sick. He left the hiding and angst to Jughead.

However today, he couldn’t do anything but hide it. Today he had a very important football match and the whole team was counting on him. Something that Archie hated more than hiding illness was letting people down. His team had worked to the bone for this, and he was not going to let them down because of some stomach ache.

“Arch, you aren’t eating much,” Jughead pointed out while chewing his bacon.

Archie’s widened his eyes but smiled coolly, “..Compared to you, Jughead, everyone isn’t eating much.”

Jughead laughed at that, and once he finished the concern came back to his eyes, “but seriously Arch, is anything wrong?”

Archie shook his head, “I’m just a little nervous for the game, Jug. I don’t want to let anyone down.”

“And you won’t!” Jughead insisted, giving him an encouraging smile and looked over at Fred who was drinking his coffee.

“Jughead’s right, Archie. Your best will always be enough.”

Archie smiled uneasily, looking back at his food and tried to ignore the growing pit in his stomach filled with anxiety. Problem was, he couldn’t play at his best with this stomach ache.

Jughead seemed to notice Archie’s insistent anxiety and his gaze softened, a gentle and comforting hand rubbing his shoulder, “you’re fine, Archie. You’re one of the best out of there. But if any things wrong..you should tell me, okay? I’m always gonna listen to you.”

Archie gave him a small smile in return, “Thank you, Juggie, I appreciate it.”

Archie ran half a lap, gasping for air as his stomach flipped and ached, nausea hitting him in all directions as he gagged. He swallowed, trying to stop his heaving, preventing himself from getting sick.

He did his stretched, his body cramping as he did so, practically screaming for him to stop. He squeezed his eyes shut in pain, trying to stop himself from screaming out.

“Andrews! You’re slacking!” Coach Clayton yelled as the team warmed up.

Archie gasped in pain, his stomach seriously aching as the pain practically blinded him, struggling to move. Each step he took gave him a stabbing pain. He grunted, “Sorry coach!”

When Coach Clayton moved on to someone else to verbally attack, Reggie jogged over to Archie, concern plastered all over his face.

“What’s up, Andrews?”

“Nothing, Reg,” Archie hissed.

“Archie, I’m not here to grill you or anything! I’m sorry if you me looking out for you offends you.”

Archie sighed regretfully, “Sorry, Reg..I..”

“No sweats, Andrews. Are you okay?”

“Just a little indigestion or whatever, I’ll be fine,” Archie promised.

Reggie didn’t look too convinced, as he reached out and felt Archie’s forehead. His eyes widened, “Fuck, Andrews! That’s not good!”

Archie hissed and pushed him off, “Reggie. I’m fine.”

Reggie blinked, a little taken aback, “Archie, I’m only trying to look out for you.”

Archie sighed, “I know, Reggie, I get it. But I am not letting the team down! We’ve worked so hard..”

“Archie, your safety comes first.”

“Andrews! Mantle! Come over to the rest of the team into a huddle!” Moose called out, waiting for the two of them.

Before Reggie could protest further, Archie ran towards the group, a slight limp to his run. Archie tried to ignore the shooting pain up his abdomen as he ran, tears pricking his eyes as it burned. Reggie followed suit, worried out of his mind and huddled together as they chanted together.

Every step he took was a dagger in him, his body convulsing and pain shooting up to his torso area, spreading across his abdomen and stomach. Archie grunted in pain, squeezing his eyes and biting his lip, going unnoticed in the buzzing, loud football field.

He ran as fast as he could, the throbbing pain in his abdomen too much to ignore. But he had to do this, pushing himself past the pain to perform at his best. He felt numb at some point, besides the bursts of intense, fierce pain as he was tackled onto the floor. He breathed heavily, noises of discomfort and anguish escaping his mouth.

He met the eyes of Reggie, his worry evident in his eyes. The larger boy tried to communicate with him through looks, begging Archie to stop as he saw the pure look of agony written on his face, but Archie pushed on, played on.

Archie loved his team, bonding with his team over the course of many months. All working hard each day, labouring together, all to get to this point. He could not let them down. Not now.

Somehow, Archie got control of the ball, holding onto it, clutching it like a lifeline. He ran as fast as he could, despite the sharp, vehement pain his body was enduring, all else fading. All he could see was the goal, all sound draining out. All he could sense was his heart beating, and the pain burning him alive.

Then, Archie scored, his team erupting into roars of victory. All too loud, all too slow..so much pain…

“Half time!” The referee yelled, as both the teams dispersed into their respective corners of the field to huddle. Archie could move, stuck. His body was paralysed, pain too strong and intense. He gasped in anguish.

Suddenly, a strong pair of arms were steadily holding his shoulders. Archie looked up to see Reggie’s wild eyes, flooding with concern and worry for his friend.

Archie opened his mouth to speak, but a strangled scream of anguish ripped out of throat as another wave of powerful pain hit him, clutching his abdomen, collapsing towards the floor, knees buckling. Reggie looked around frantically, trying his hardest to support his friend and lay him down safely, examining his friend’s face for answers, until his eyes panned down to where Archie was clutching and he gasped.

“Fuck! Moose! Call an ambulance!” Reggie screeched.

“What?! What’s wrong?!”

“Just fucking do it! I think it’s his appendix!!”

Moose immediately ran to retrieve his phone, as Chuck told the coach.

“Reggie, it hurts,” Archie cried, grip tightening on his friend’s arm, groaning in pain.

“I know bud, I know, help is coming, you’re going to be okay,” Reggie reassured, trying to keep a calm tone for Archie, but was panicking inside. He laid Archie across his lap and held him, allowing to squeeze him as much as he needed.

“It hurts so much!” Archie wailed, squeezing Reggie’s hand.

“It’ll be over soon, I promise,” Reggie whispered softly, hand brushing through his hair as a siren sounded out. Suddenly, Reggie was picking him up and carrying him towards an ambulance. All he could see before he blacked out was the sight of his friend’s worried eyes.

Jughead paced around the ER waiting room for the millionth time that hour, breathing heavily and rapidly as anxiety continued to intensify.

“..Jug,” Fred tried hopelessly, trying to calm down the anxious teenager to the best of his abilities, but to no avail.

Jughead pressed a hand to his chest in attempt to steady his breathing, hands running harshly through his hair as he attempted to calm himself. He let out a little pathetic noise and whimpered, “It’s all my fault.”

“What?! No, Jug! None of this was your fault!” Fred protested.

“Yes it is!” Jughead choked, tears pricking his eyes as he swallowed, letting out one shaky exhale to stop himself from crying.

“I should’ve noticed–hell, I did notice but I didn’t do jack shit!” Jughead cried, a few tears spilling out of his eyes as he aggressively tried to wipe them away.

“Awh, Jug,” Fred sighed and stood up and approached the boy. He wiped one of his tears away and pulled him in for a hug, letting the boy sob into his shoulder.

“Jughead, its appendicitis, rarely does anything ever go wrong. He’s going to be just fine,” Fred said in a comforting tone.

Suddenly, the sound of rushed footsteps filled the room, and Reggie Mantle made his presence known.

“I came as soon as the game finished,” Reggie panted, clearly looking like he just stepped out of a football game. Still dressed in his gear, dirt splashing his body and sweaty, hair wet, sports bag slung over his shoulder.

His eyes softened as he realised how upset Jughead had been feeling, offering a kind glance. As Jughead realised Reggie had arrived, he lightly pushed off Fred and straightened himself out, wiping away his tears and sniffling. Despite this Jughead was clearly still very anxious and uneasy.

“..Thanks for noticing that Archie needed help unlike some people,” Jughead sputtered out in bitterness and self loathing, clearly angry with himself.

“Jug..” Reggie sighed. “Listen, this really isn’t your fault. I noticed too–but I let him play on and didn’t do anything until he physically couldn’t move.”

Jughead nodded, his breathing still very ragged and rapid.

“Hey..Jug, look at me, everything’s going to be okay,” Reggie said softly.

Jughead looked up at Reggie and nodded, as Reggie pulled him into a caring embrace, slowly calming down.

“Hey, you’re doing really well,” Reggie said kindly, helping Jughead sit down.

“Thanks Reg,” Jughead mumbled, leaning his head against Fred.

Reggie went to change into normal clothes, then returned later, sitting next to Jughead.

“Reggie, son, this might take a while..are your folks cool with that?”

Something flickered in Reggie’s eyes, a something that used to flicker in Jughead’s eyes, and in that moment he understood. He and and Reggie Mantle weren’t that different after all.

“They’re cool with anything,” Reggie smiled weakly.

Jughead looked over at Reggie, smiling at him with understanding and kindness. He didn’t know what happened, but soon the two were hanging out together, watching dumb vines on Reggie’s phone, distracting themselves from the horrors of the real world around them.

“Mr Andrews?”

Jughead raised his head from Reggie’s shoulder, who was talking to him about the new Spiderman movie (who knew Reggie Mantle was a nerd?).

“Is he okay?” Jughead piped up.

The doctor chuckled, “the operation was successful, he’s going to be just fine. He will need a week or maybe two of rest, but he’s going to be fine.”

“Oh, thank god!” Jughead exclaimed.

Reggie sighed in relief, and so did Fred.

“You can see him now,” The doctor informed them, to which Jughead rushed over to the door.

Fred stood up, walking up to the door upon realising Reggie hadn’t moved.

“..Um, am I allowed to come?”

“Yes, of course Reggie, c'mon!” Fred grinned as they walked into the door, to see Jughead who was already sprawled across Archie, hugging him tight, spewing random crap. The two chuckled.

“Yes Jughead, I’m alive,” Archie chuckled.

Jughead got off him, allowing Archie to see his father and Reggie.

“Reggie! The game–”

“Yes, the game that got you in this situation in the first place,” Reggie joked.

“..But yeah, we won dude, thanks to you. No one scored second half so the goal you scored first half made us win,” Reggie grinned.

“Oh thank god!” Archie sighed in relief.

Fred raised a brow, “at the price of what? Your appendix rupturing?”

Archie grinned sheepishly, “Sorry dad.”

Fred sighed and leaned in to give him a hug, “That’s alright, son. Just..don’t do that again–and when something’s wrong..football can wait. Anything can wait for your own health.”

Archie nodded, “Yeah, I know..I just didn’t want to let anyone down..”

Reggie rolled his eyes, “Stop with this hero complex, Archie, before you get yourself killed and then you’re useless to us.”

Archie laughed, “Alright, Reg.”

“Also Archie? You should learn to listen to me.”

Archie rolled his eyes, “Because I bow down to Mantle the Magnificent, of course.”

“Yes, you do, Andrews. Also–I’m glad you’re alive,”

Archie smiled, “Thanks for everything you did back there.”

Reggie went slightly pink, not used to receiving this kind of compliment and affection so cleared his throat, “..I only did it because I know Jones would sulk in his emo corner forever if anything happened to you.”

Archie laughed, and so did Jughead.

”..But, he is right Archie, I was really worried..“ Jughead sighed.

"I’m sorry Jug,” Archie said quietly.

“God, from now on you gotta tell me every single thing in Dickensian detail, okay? Describe your feelings, metaphors and similes and all that shit, hyperbole, whatever it takes for me to not fuck up, okay?” Jughead pressed.

“Jesus, mom, okay,” Archie laughed.

“Fred, can we order a pizza to a hospital? I think Archibald deserves it,” Jughead asked playfully.

“Alright, Jug,” Fred laughed. “Reggie, you should stay for it.”

Reggie grinned, “I’d love to, Mr Andrews.”

[overdrivels]

OMG a fire emblem au!!! Can u tell us who you'd hc in what classes omg

I’m jumping over a few requests for this because I’m excite. /shhh I just love Fire Emblem, okay? I just really, really like it. A lot of these are just pure silliness. 

Ana : Falcon Knight

Look, it’s just badass. Ridiculously badass. Healing from the skies and just stabbing enemies to death. This woman takes no prisoners and probably dodges snipers and archers like a boss. Also likes to yell from above at Soldier and Reaper. 

Bastion : Ballista (or Ballistician)

Bastion is literally a ballista. Not even the Ballistician class. Just literally the Ballista. Added ‘ballistician’ just in case ‘ballista’ doesn’t count.

D.VA : Dark Flier

Two words: Nerf THIS (gale force). 

Genji : Myrmidon or Assassin or Manakete

My favorite class, myrmidons. I really liked Guy from Fire Emblem (7). But then again, when Matthew showed his face, I was like ‘HOLY SHIT IMMA RECLASS YOU RIGHT AWAY, JUST YOU WAIT!’ So yeah, Genji has my bias classes. I also toyed with the idea of him being a Manakete, because…dragons. 

Hanzo : Archer or Bow Knight or Manakete

Bow Knight because a horse. He deserves a horse. Or something to love him unconditionally and kick some sense into him. He loves his horse. Archer because…well, no enlightenment.  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Also, dragons. 

Junkrat : (I don’t know)

Lúcio : Bard

THE BEST CLASS FOR THE BEST BOY. I’m so upset about this class never coming back, it died with Nils. They had an opportunity to bring it back in Fire Emblem: Awakening, but just didn’t. I’m still real salty about it. 

McCree : (I don’t know)

Don’t you dare suggest Laguz. Don’t–no, don’t–hands off the keyb–HEY! I didn’t play that one! Or it’s sequel.

Mei : Mage

‘nuff said. 

Mercy : Troubadour or War Cleric

Everyone gets horses. Or a giant battle axe to show off just how superior you are. I want to see Mercy smack people around like a boss.  

Orisa : Great Knight

Also, self-explanatory. Will wreck you twenty ways to Sunday. 

Pharah : Wyvern Knight

Badass class. Kind of like her mother, except she went for the more dangerous looking one and can wield axes. BAD. ASS. 

Reaper : Druid or Necromancer

The necromancer class doesn’t actually fit him, despite the name. Only because I associate this class with the one and only Necromancer class person: Lyon. But then again, if I think about the story, it fits, so here we go. Druid because NOSFERATU. My fondest spell. 

Reinhardt : General

This, too, is self-explanatory. I fondly remember when I got my first General class unit and placed them at a chokepoint and just watched everyone run into that unit and die from the mages behind them. It was beautiful. 

Roadhog : (I don’t know)

I originally thought ‘pirate’, but I have really crappy memories of pirates because of those reinforcements that came running up to me on shore in Fire Emblem (7) on that map where we find Serra and Erk. I think I lost a couple of people and had to restart the game. 

Soldier : Hero

I really liked their animation, to be honest. Especially with the shield swinging. I’d like to see Solider doing that. Also, extreme beasts in the arena. Please win me big money. 

Sombra : Thief

She disappears, steals data, I don’t know, it seems pretty fitting to me. 

Symmetra : Tactician

She will wreck you mathematically and lead the team to victory with or without resources. SHE IS A ONE MAN WRECKING MACHINE. (So no, not the tactician from Fire Emblem (7).)

Torbjörn : (I don’t know)

Tracer : Thief

Other than myrmidons, I believe thief class is the fastest. I feel that it’s appropriate for her. Besides, I like thieves. They get me my hidden treasures. 

Widowmaker : Sniper

Again, self-explanatory. My favorite sniper has to be Innis. He’s a jerk, but he was a loveable jerk. Oh, Jeorge was great, too. TOO BAD IN HIS GAME, I COULDN’T S RANK WITH HIM. 

Winston : Anima Mage

‘nuff said. LIGHTNING, THE CHEAPEST OF SPELL BOOKS. 

Zarya : Hero

I…I don’t know what to say about it. It just seems really fitting. 

Zenyatta : War Monk or Sage

Also want to see this guy smack a person or two with something real heavy. ENLIGHTEN THIS, BITCH!

Thanks for the ask and indulging in my interests, Anon! ♥