#then again maybe no one dies but. it’s very likely considering how archives went

[soupdwelling]

the fact that we’re so close to the end of tmagp s1 is SCARING ME what if someone dies…. i don’t know what ill do… i cant lose any of my friends yet alex jonny please

[gigglemugger]

The Naked and the Blind (or The Ballad of Meg Halsey).

Fandom: Re-Animator (Movies - Combs), Herbert West - Reanimator - H.P. Lovecraft.

Pairing: Herbert West/Meg Halsey

Rating: Explicit, or at the very least Mature.

Archive Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence.

Synopsis:

"Meg Halsey had a problem. In fact, she had several problems, the first of which, she acknowledges while looking at her semi empty living room, is that she can't afford to live alone anymore. The second one is that she doesn't wanna go back to her daddy's house again. This would be an inconceivable notion to her thirteen year old self, even her sixteen year old self, but at twenty five, she'd really choose living under the bridge first. Ok. Maybe not that." Meg Halsey is perfect: Beautiful, accomplished, a bright future doctor. She escaped her hometown and moved to New York, where she likely would have stayed forever. After her mother dies, though, she is forced to move back to Arkham and face everything she wanted to leave behind. --- A.K.A I made a tumblr post about how Crampton/Combs are romantically involved in all of their collabs, got replies and decided to write down a suggestion of "what if Meg was the protagonist, not Dan?" Also I did the cop-out summary thing and pasted the first paragraph of the fic. It's highway robbery. Criminal (I'm sorry).

Thanks to @resonanteye and @sugarsweetnightmareee for helping me shape this up in the replies!

Word Count: Multi Chapter, so far 2,561 published, 19,701 written at the time of publication.

Chapter Count: 1/? (likely 9).

AO3 Tags: I uhhh......... I have no idea what I made it started with one tumblr post then one reply and here we are, I included other works by Lovecraft here and rounded Arkham up and then ran, Character Study, In a way, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Dan Cain, he doesn't exist, Danbert shippers cry I get it, Canon-Typical Violence, Animal Death, Eventual Romance, Slow Romance, Slow Burn, Slow Build, Eventual Smut?, maybe? - Freeform, this fic is an affront to god just like herbert's reagent, Not Beta Read.

Language: English.

CW: Meg went through some trauma. Dead parents, dead cat. She also helps kill her dad later on, considering, so. It's a heavy fic, but if you liked the movie you'll be fine.

AO3 link.

AO3 Notes (yes, they're huge, bear with me): This is an AU about Meg Halsey. I always wanted to write this because in every single Combs/Crampton collaboration, they play lovers (Castle Freak, From Beyond, the Evil Clergyman) EXCEPT FOR in Reanimator, so I made a tumblr post saying I'd like to explore a Meg/Herbert thing solely because of that (and I've only seen it being done one other time, which made me wanna take a personal shot at it). This post was WAY more popular than I expected (it didn't hit the hundreds, but it hit like 20+ notes when I expected like 1 and it being a comment of "are you insane?" with nothing else), so I decided to take it seriously. Then someone suggested I make a version where Meg is the main character, no Dan, no nothing and I thought that was a really interesting idea and ran with it.  I made several notes (like four pages) about Meg's character and realized that she’s an amazing, incredibly accomplished ball of air. They made her have good instincts, a good brain, be helpful, be sweet, and then gave her zero personality. This isn’t her movie, so the first thing I did in this AU was scramble around with her brains and give her a will to live for something. The second thing I did was to scramble around with her brains enough so she’d have ambition.  The third one was to scramble around with her brains enough she’d have a crush on West—who is her equal here. I'm not saying this relationship won't go into some toxic patterns, but so does Danbert, though I understand the implications. It's more like a double edged sword, though.  When I say this is an AU, I mean it’s an AU for sure. I changed a lot of plot points, and switched things around, because it turns out that having Meg as a protag changes a lot on its own. I personally think that Herbert liked Dan for three reasons: He was beautiful, smart and incredibly gullible. Here he likes Meg because she's smart, ambitious and much more like him than others would think. She doesn't take bullshit, though. Scenes are maintained but go different directions, etc. Meg also went through trauma and transformation, which will be unpacked, and though she externally acts like the Meg we know, most of the time, she's not. She had like a Veronica Mars esque transformation, minus the REAL TRAGEDIES of Veronica Mars.  I decided to name this a ballad cause I always name things ballads and start with the definition of the word cause I’m pretentious and like to make it seem as if it’s not ‘cause of the ballad of John and Yoko. In this case, though, I decided to just call it the ballad of Meg Halsey, instead of the ballad of Herbert and Meg, or Halsey and West, because this fanfic is very much about Meg—she deserves it.  The Naked and the Blind comes from that line from Every Me Every You by Placebo (like the naked leads the blind, I know I’m selfish, I’m unkind). It felt fitting. I also included two characters of Lovecraft lore which will be useful throughout the fic (and possible sequel in which I take the bones of bride of reanimator and completely reshape it), Asenath Waite and Edward Derby, from The Thing on the Doorstep. I also mention the Pickmans, Necronomicons, all of that. I think I'm going to use Welsey as a ship name for now, though I'm sure someone else somewhere in the world has already come up with a ship name for them. I also named the Playlist I made for them this. Very normal behavior.  I have seven chapters written, almost at the end of the fic as a whole, and I’ll try to upload one every Monday. We’ll see.

1. Sucker love is heaven sent.

Meg Halsey had a problem. In fact, she had several problems, the first of which, she acknowledges while looking at her semi empty living room, is that she can't afford to live alone anymore. The second one is that she doesn't wanna go back to her daddy's house again. This would be an inconceivable notion to her thirteen year old self, even her sixteen year old self, but at twenty five, she'd really choose living under the bridge first. Ok. Maybe not that.

Here's a picture of Meg Halsey's life one year ago: A happy medical student in New York, with her own room and roommate at one of the dorm houses. Not a sorority girl like her mother gushed about her being when she was twelve, but still friendly towards everyone. Her hair was a little shorter, less gruffy, definitely bobbed, and she probably looked serene. Medical students aren't by definition serene, but she hadn't majorly fucked up. She got high grades, was the second best in her class which was full of men, and she was proud of herself.

Then her mother died. The rest was probably history, or easily deductible.

Savings had existed, but living in Arkham was more expensive than she remembered. Her dad wanted to pay for the house, but she refused because she knew what that entailed. He also wanted her to move back with him, but that would also mean other things: You don't need to pay rent, but you'll have to cook, clean, take care of affairs and be your mother. She was shocked he hadn't sent for her when she was dying, but then it had been so fast that maybe he didn't have the time.

“Don't worry daddy, it's OK,” she had said with a smile, eyeing the wine. She couldn't drink in front of him unless it was a special occasion, like a thirteen year old. “I'm just gonna have to find a roommate.”

It had been a week ago, at that house that smelled of death. Wood, carpets of history, several footprints of doctors, her mother and all the versions of herself.

I wish I could have that drink…

“Hmm…” Yes. The characteristic Dean Halsey “Hm.” The same he had for his employees when he needed to convince them of something. Here we go… “I'm not sure it's safe for you to invite a stranger into your house, Meggie.”

“I had a stranger in my house, remember? My roommate in college.” A nice girl, who never got into trouble, she had told her mother in her semi-weekly calls, which was a lie. Becca was a protester who was always in and out of jail because of fights with the cops. Still, that meant Meg had quiet nights to study, or contemplate the lights on in places that hadn't been Arkham.

“I still don't know about that, sweetheart. Maybe you should move back in for a while…”

“Are you alright, honey?” Her mother's voice resonated in her head. Last phone call before disaster. She remembered the clothes she had been wearing: Light sweater, jeans, boots. A Meg Halsey classic. She remembered it was raining and that two people went behind her, two guys, talking. There was a light breeze from the door and they were gone.

“I'm alright, mom. You?”

“Meg,” Dr. Harrod said. Hospital. Residence. Meg was holding onto her scalpel too tightly. “Maybe you need a break.”

“I'm fine.”

Another picture of Meg Halsey’s life: Prodigy. Brilliant. Bright smile, beautiful blue eyes. She was a perfect specimen of what you would call a girl: Polite, traditional, good. She never stayed out past eight, she never went with boys that much, she never strayed from her studies. She wanted to be whatever her dad thought was best, whatever her mother thought would make her proud.

Meg had goals and ambitions, sure, but she also wanted other things. She watched her parents at the table, while cutting her meat. They were always smiling, laughing easily. All of it. She wanted it all. She even thought she had met a boy, her last high school boyfriend, traditional all the way, very nice and Christian upper middle class. Then…

The television was on, showing the news and Meg bit her lip. She looked at her nails, looked at the carpet and then at her cat, roaming around. “I'm not even going to have money to feed you at this rate,” she said when her beloved Rufus came to her lap. She put her face on his back gently. “God…”

Not turning back to the house, she'd have to find a roommate, one that she wouldn't be afraid would murder her in her sleep. Maybe she needed some coffee. Maybe she needed a million dollars.

She looked at the clock on the wall, the one that looked like Felix the cat, which she had in her bedroom at ten. The eyes went back and forth, freaking her mother out. It still had the stain of when she tried to paint it pink with glitter nail polish. Most importantly, it told her it was almost time to leave. Harrod would be going up and down looking for her and she had morgue duty, which was surely a lot for her muscles and she didn't look forward to it—morgue duty being that now it was the norm that someone else other than the attending intern doctor take the body downstairs, after an incident occurred (no more was mentioned about such an incident).

She wouldn't let her colleagues say she was using her status as the Dean's daughter to get out of good honest work.

However, she would have to look at Hill… He was always there testing his weird pen…

“Ouch!” She shrieked, looking at her hand and seeing the blood. “Oh, Rufus, get off!” Rufus did so, apparently understanding he shouldn't bite her and that she'd be rightfully pissed. She had to admit it was effective in bringing her back to the scene, though. It was a documentary which aired now, about a fishing town with a strange, rare disease. She had heard about it, and should be more interested considering, but frankly all she wanted was that coffee and a shower.

It was a pleasant afternoon in Arkham, her birth city. A strange city to be brought up in, with a deep history of the occult, but with a pristine, ivy league college in the form of the Miskatonic University. Meg stepped out of her car, chilly. She was wearing boots, a sweater and her hair was up. It was getting longer. Her dad almost went insane when she wanted to leave Arkham for New York, especially for medicine if she so insisted on studying that.

“A more womanly course would be interesting…”

“What's more womanly than curing people? Than being a healer?” Her mother waved her hand.

“I'm just not sure, Meg. Your dad thinks the same… Maybe it'd be best…”

“Would you have gone if you could? If you could do anything, would you? I can. I wanna go to New York.”

Every time in the past few months that she felt the air of the hospital wafting on her, sterilized and reminiscent of all the times she went to visit her dad, it was sort of like defeat. Not that she'd let that bring her down. She did go to New York after all. It was temporary, just until her dad got back on her feet.

Until he met someone, Becca said. A hot, pretty new thing to screw.

“Halsey,” Harrod said, standing by reception. Was she waiting? “Right on time. You need to go to 106, now. A patient just died, you need to take her down.”

At least she wasn't the one who killed her. Hooray for small miracles.

Scrubs became her, she thought—not that having vain thoughts was her hallmark—but they were not better than suits by a mile. She felt extremely underdressed in a second, walking into the morgue, at least compared to the austere, small man checking the beakers.

“Meg?” The man raised his head. The second man, being the corpse, stayed thankfully very still. “What are you doing here?”

“Pushing a body?” She laughed a little, to make things light, but she knew she had been busted. A few years ago it'd be unprecedented to go behind his back on anything, but now... Besides, it wasn't drugs, it was just a dead guy for Christ's sake.

He looked concerned right away.

“You're too small to be doing this kind of work. You'll kill yourself.”

“Honestly daddy—” she could feel the ears of the stranger perking up at that. Great going, Meg. Tell every single stranger about it. “It's fine. I can do it.” He paused and pursed his lips.

“Certainly one of your classmates…”

“I said I'm alright,” she smiled a little towards him, to mitigate any disrespect, before turning her attention completely to the left. “Who are you?” The small man looked up from a tag in one of the corpses.

“Oh, don't mind me. I'm sure I don't wanna interrupt family.” Her dad wouldn't pick up on the sarcasm, Meg knew, but she did. Her shoulders tensed, her eyes narrowed.

“Nonsense,” Dean Halsey began, well humored. “Mr. West, I'd like to introduce you to the most brilliant medical student in this room…” She looked away.

“Stop it, dad,” Meg smiled her brightest smile to hide her discomfort, as usual. West smiled back, in contempt.

“Oh, does she have a name?”

“I'm Megan. Halsey.” She didn't bother stretching her hand, she didn't wanna touch him.

“Pleased to meet you, Ms. Halsey.” I don't think so.

“West just came from Switzerland. He was doing independent research for Dr. Gruber, before he died.” Meg knew the story, heard it through the grapevine, but no one knew any details.

Gruber was a brilliant doctor, though. She had read his most recent paper on brain death, and all the other ones he wrote a lot in New York. A page turner, Gruber—by medical paper standards, at least.

“So, you studied death?” She asked. His ears perked up again.

“Yes, I have.” Well dressed, prim and curt. Fun. I'll love having him in class.

“Alan,” a third voice filled the place, coming from the adjacent room, the one where he no doubt had been procuring a corpse from. Meg involuntarily twisted her nose and pretended she had an itch. She stopped on his feet. “Nice to see you down here, Ms. Halsey.”

“Well I'm glad, cause here I am, every Tuesday.” Next time tell him when you go out to do your laundry.

“Definitely more than your father comes down here. We haven't been seeing him in a while.”

“I was just showing our newest student, Herbert West here, the not-so-grand-tour.” He always made that joke when he brought people down. Meg saw him do it at least twice and heard about it four other ones. “This should interest you, Carl. He worked with Hans Gruber.” While her dad introduced Hill, and all of his prowess to get research grants somehow, probably with that freaky pen he carried, Meg was thinking briefly about how was Herbert West working for Gruber, fully, even as a student.

“I know your work Dr. Hill. Quite well.” Meg raised her head. “Your theory on the location of the will in the brain is… Interesting, though derivative of Dr. Gruber's research in the early 70s.”

She knew that. She needed a dictionary to read his most obscure work, but German and English were similar enough, she got by.

“So derivative, in fact, that in Europe it's considered plagiarized. And your support of the 12 minute limit on the life of the brain stem after death…”

“...Six to twelve minutes, Mr…?”

Meg wanted to leave.

“West. Herbert West. Frankly, Dr… Hill? Your work on brain death is outdated.”

“Carl,” her dad interrupted and Meg looked away from the scene. Frankly, Hill gave her the creeps, sort of, and seeing him that angry was unpleasant. Suck it up, ok? You know him since you were at least twelve, it's fine.

You were always soft.

“...Megan and I would love it if you came to dinner.” Wait what?

“What?” She repeated out loud. Herbert turned his bright hazel, poisonous eyes towards her. She straightened her back. “I'm sorry, dinner? When?

“Thursday,” West answered for the others. He put his hands on his hips. “Maybe pushing bodies around really isn't for someone as small as you, Ms. Halsey.”

“I'm fine.”

“You might kill yourself.”

“Dad, dinner, Thursday? I'm not sure I can make it.”

What else are you gonna do? Your friends don't talk to you anymore since you left for New York to hang out with feminists, artists, and bohemians, leaving them here with babies and husbands.

“Well, I'm sure you'll make an exception,” Hill said, looking straight at her. “A lovely, amazing student such as yourself should take some time off every now and then. Celebrate.” She hated when he looked straight at her. She could feel her dad and West observing in the sidelines.

“Sure,” Meg found herself saying, hands tight against the steel of the gurney, knuckles turning white. “I'll cook.”

You'll what?!

“Fantastic,” Hill finished, looking at Herbert next. “I'll see you in class, mr. West. Ms. Halsey.” He nodded his head and she smiled, closing her eyes.

Both Hill and her father left in what seemed to be a dream sequence, no doubt discussing the grant, and the autopsy room was silent once again.

Her head was throbbing. The walls and floors were gray, there was a corpse rotting in their midst, Meg took a deep breath—chemical and invigorating somehow.

“I take it you don't like Dr. Hill either.” She looked at West, whose eyes still shone. He approached her, footsteps echoing out. “How did you know I was studying death?”

“I'm a doctor, Mr. West. I read,” she released the gurney, feeling tired for the meal she'd have to cook, on top of studying. There was a beat before she could stop herself from asking “What happened between you and dr. Gruber?”

“What do you mean?” A slight twitch, a small movement of the lips. “Dr. Gruber had a lab accident that I was unfortunately too late to prevent.”

“I heard he was in his office when he died.” Another twitch.

“I'm sure you heard it wrong, with all due respect ms. Halsey.”

Chemical smells, corpses rotting, the smell of something burning—Hill's pen no doubt left crisp black flesh behind, and he did it on enough people in the morgue proper that it got to where she was. She looked at West for almost long enough she'd probably have his exact face and pose at that moment committed to memory, forever.

He looked at her, waiting for something to happen.

Her hands hurt from grasping the gurney for so long.

“I'm not doing so great, sweetie…” She had said. Two men talking behind her. Her dad and Hill were gone. West was there.

“I'm sorry I asked,” Meg finally gathered, headache suddenly subsiding, like it never was. “Sorry for your loss, he must have been a wonderful mentor.” West bowed slightly and Meg did the same before turning around and going through the doors.

[gaiuswrites]

King of Cups || Chapter 7

Chapter 7: The Fool

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | six

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: It all spills over.

Word count: 8.8k~

Rating: Explicit

Warnings/tags: SMUT (WE MADE IT FOLKS), thigh riding, fingering/hand job, very brief breathplay/choking, cum eating¿? Angst/emo shit (I'm so sorry i have no self control)

Notes: HI FRIENDS, wow it's been a minute. Sorry for the massive delay. For anyone wishing to start KOC, now would be the perfectly spicy chapter to do so! This chapter was Herculean. idk why. Love you guys, enjoy! x (gif credit : @djarinsgf)

“Maker,” you bemoan, shielding your face from the heavy beat of the suns.

You’ve known warmth—you were raised in warmth. This is beyond it.

It’s not just warm, it’s sweltering. The heat is oppressive, congealing the air to mist; you can barely see through it what with the sweat running into your eyes. Tall, craggy dunes line the valley of desert, trapping the planet’s hot pulse within their walls. Your steps crunch along the dry, pebbled earth as you swat at the gnats buzzing in ribbons around your head.

A muffled gurgle sounds from behind you and you slow to a halt, boots gritting into the cracked top soil.

“You doing alright back there, Munch?” you ask, craning your head to the child nestled into the carrier fashioned onto your back. A green ear pokes free from the top, and you can see the jewel of his black eyes peering at you through the gauzy cloth you draped over it. He grunts, and you give a small shrug—shifting the pack by the straps, eliciting a giggle out of him. “We can always turn back, okay? I’m not going to be mad.” Another noise, a happy coo this time, and you shimmy your shoulders again, jostling the bag playfully.

“Well, you just let me know.”

Your conversations usually unfold this way. They leave much to be desired, but you’d like to think you understand one another—in fact, you probably understand the kid more than you understand his dad.

You’ve grown close with him, you’ll be the first to admit it. You’re attached to each other. The little one has been your constant companion for these months and in some ways, you suppose he takes care of you just the same as you take care of him. The chamber of space can be lonely; it’s cold and unkindly reflective, stranding you to the echoed chain of your thoughts—but when he tugs at your hair or slobbers spittle down the front of him or crawls up into your lap to nestle into your tunic, it feels like you belong there—there on the Crest, streaming through the galaxy.

And maybe, simply, it feels good to do right by a child—as if you could make up for it somehow, within yourself. To do better than you were given.

Squinting, you raise your wrist to check the coordinates on your comm and shade a hand over the screen, blocking the glare cast onto the display. “Almost there,” you mumble, resuming your stride as you begin the last leg of the trek to the settlement you and Mando discussed that morning.

“What?” he asked, planted some paces away from you.

You hummed a curious note, glancing to him.

“What is it?”

You were trying to be small all morning—shrunken and shy, avoiding the thought and avoiding him all together. You quieted yourself, as if to not take up space, but the attempt was fruitless; of course he picked up on it – you get good at reading people on the job, he’d said – and of course he called you out on your behavior. You took a big gulp of your caf, gaze flickering down—increasingly more and more invested in the scuffs marked into the table you sat at.

“Dala,” he said pointedly, arms folding over the breadth of his chest.

Shit. Who did you think you were fooling? Playing possum with a Mandalorian?

Worrying your lip, you stood. You couldn’t bear to look up at him, just looming there across the table from you, so you paced around the deck as you rambled. “Okay, so you know how I’m still connected to the RRM channels? Well, I’ve been checking the message boards and I—there’s a settlement here out in the Wastes. It’s small and new and they’re looking for volunteers and—”

You whistled in a breath. Fuck it.

“And I want to help.”

Like the toggle of a switch, you went from having a career—having a purpose—to having nothing. And all your gratitude for the transport he’s offering couldn’t fill that empty lull that’s settled inside you.

“Would you be comfortable with letting me take the kid? I know I’m probably asking a lot—and I will fully respect whatever you decide—but I can keep him by me the whole time, I swear, I just—” You shook your head, pinching your eyes shut before sighing, “I need to be doing something. Anything.”

There was a long pause. You scratched at the torn skin around your cuticle, nervously searching the pitch of his wordless visor. He didn’t move a muscle. He didn’t even twitch.

“That’s fine,” he finally remarked, graveled.

You blinked, taken aback at his agreement, and all at once your fidgeting ceased and a bright grin broke out over your features in its place.

It nearly brought him to his knees.

“Wait, seriously?” you asked, bouncing on the balls of your feet and he nodded, a subtle tilt to his helm. “Maker, thank you,” you exclaimed, and without thinking you flew towards him, flinging your arms around his neck and sealing yourself to his armored frame. His arms escaped out from his chest in surprise, suspended and stiff, before falling measuredly to his sides. You could’ve been imagining it, but you swore you heard the distinct grit of his teeth grinding together under his helmet.

“Really Mando,” you beamed, pulling back to lay your eyes on him, to let him see the earnest there: you have no idea how much this means to me. “Thank you.”

You gave his shoulders a squeeze, thumbs brushing along the scratchy fabric of his cape before tearing yourself away. Swiping up your mug of caf, you wound down the corridor - airy, buoyant - back to your makeshift quarters to prepare for your outing. It took him another minute just to get his damn feet to move from the spot on the durasteel you welded him to.

Din told you to be safe.

You smiled, and promised you would.

You left the Crest before him and it was strange, surreal. For the first time, you stood in each other’s shoes, leaving Din there on his own while you set off into the world. He watched you go—you and his boy—watched you walk away into some great unknown without him.

And he didn’t like it.

He soured, somewhere in the deep of him—within that pit he called a gut, he twisted sick.

Your feet hit the ramp, dull and tinny, and it sounded like goodbye—it sounded like you leaving. It’s what it will look like when time and fate touch, and inevitability catches up with him. It’s what it will look like when he takes you home. You’ll walk out of his life, down that same ramp, and your steps will echo those same beats. You won’t look back.

And Din, with all his strength, all his unshakeable resolve—Din will let you go.

///

The encampment is settled into the shadow of a cliffside, seeking respite there from the blazing suns, the taupe of the canvas shanties camouflaging into the arid landscape. Some crawl their gaze up as you enter the village, and you offer them smiles they do not return. Others do not acknowledge your presence at all— unstirred as your footsteps sound past, their heads bound heavy towards the earth. It’s not long before a decisive voice cuts through the hush that’s claimed the settlement.

“Are you with the RRM?”

You turn and are greeted by a woman ducking out of a tent—the grey of her woven tunic browned with sand, heat collecting in her black, coiled hair.

“Yes, I’m with the Movement.” It’s not a total lie. Sure, you’re on leave, but that doesn’t discount you completely. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

With a sharp exhale like a prayer of relief, she makes her way towards you. “Where’s the rest of your division?” Her eyes narrow discerningly, flitting behind you as if expecting to spot the rear of your party trickling in.

“It’s, uh—it’s just me,” you confess, pressing your lips together in a thin smile.

She rakes a hand over her hair, over her face. The skin around her knuckles is split, the beds of her nails chalked with days of unwashed grime. “Alright,” she concedes begrudgingly, without any better option presented. “And who is this?” She nods to the child, emerging from the pack and staring curiously at her.

“This is—” You take a moment to consider it—consider the secrecy around the child, the bounties, the life on the lam. Less is more, you decide. Again, it’s not a total lie. “I’m babysitting.”

The kid grunts an emphatic patu.

You both share a look—a quirk of her dark brow, an apologetic heft of your shoulder—and she sighs. “Well, I’ll take all the help I can get,” she quips dryly with a wave of her hand, leading you into the settlement.

///

She’s coarse, this woman—Arlaani, she told you—matronly and effective. She has a calculating gaze and powerful shoulders that she holds steady as she shows you through the camp. There are lines around her eyes, carved into the curves of her mouth. She knows what you know—what all women learn: sometimes you must be hard in order to keep others soft.

You walk shoulder to shoulder, matching her long strides with your own.

“The Black Sun has taken the southern hemisphere; their numbers have only grown since the Battle of Yavin. Pirates, mercenaries, spice runners—they’ve ransacked one half of the planet and have the officials of the other half in their pocket,” she scowls. “They have stolen our land, our homes—we’re moisture farmers, mechanics, mothers and fathers. We are simple people and we have been forgotten by our government—by those who vowed to represent us, protect us.” Arlaani draws in a long breath. “We’re on our own out here in the Wastes.”

You survey the area; the lifeless ocean of rock and sand, the few scattered trees that have died on their feet—roots withering bone dry in the suns. “Why settle here if it’s so uninhabitable?”

She huffs a humorless laugh. “Because, it’s uninhabitable,” Arlaani explains. “No one robs a beggar. There is nothing in the Wastes the Black Sun wants.”

There are no buildings, no structures; the whole area is undeveloped and raw. Tents are dotted sporadically in clusters, crates of supplies and water canteens stationed every other one. Children dawdle idly, tired and overheated, leaning against boxes and posts—their bellies distended and skin parched taut. Flies land on their shins, on their cheeks. They do not go to shoo them away.

“The Movement supplied those for us when we landed,” she comments, nodding to the crates. “That was two months ago.”

“No one has come back to check on you since?” you ask, brows notching together.

She shakes her head solemnly, jaw set rigid. “Our little ones go hungry, our elders are sick with red fever. We will run out of water before the week is through,” Arlaani says before she turns to you, holding your gaze—the seriousness evident in the stone of her eyes. “I thank the gods you are here.” She presses a palm to your shoulder. You feel the weight of it, the weight of her—of the lives she carries on her back.

“I thank the gods.”

///

You stop by each tent delivering what little food and medicine you brought with you from the Crest, and after each encounter—the people so grateful, so weary—your mind strays further and further to Mando.

Din, you scold yourself. Not Mando, Din. Din Djarin.

You still can’t bring yourself to say it.

He spent that whole fateful day nearly two weeks ago bristling at the very sight of you, going out of his way to limp to the other side of the ship just to ignore you better, only to do you in for one final head spin and give you his name.

Two weeks, and you still haven’t said it. There’s no other excuse: plainly - pitifully - you’re scared. You’re scared he regrets it.

Because how horrible of a truth would it be? To be offered something out of carelessness or guilt; to be the product of pity, or even worse, a mistake that cannot be unmade, cannot be rectified. He can’t take his name back, can’t unspeak it any more than you can unhear it, and this fear, picking at you like an old scab—it’s so painfully human, so terribly universal:

what if I’m not worth it?

And isn’t it easier to neglect the answer, then it is to ask the question.

So you’ve buried his name for both of your sakes, keeping it somewhere secret and private, there to garner dust in the quiet of your mind.

You’re brushing through the draped entrance of a tent when you spot him: a small boy hiding behind a supply crate, the top of his dusted head poking out over the ledge. You catch him peering at you, and he ducks down shyly. A honeyed grin blooms across your face.

“I think we’re being watched Munch,” you coo. The little ball of robes blinks up at you from your arms, earning his nickname tenfold as he crams his mouth with a flakey cracker. “You want to say hi?” He hums in response and you crouch, letting him wiggle free from you to toddle over to the other child. With small steps, he eventually makes it over to the other and immediately, without hesitation or provocation, extends one of his crackers to him.

Your heart swells until it bursts, proud and beautiful in your chest.

Munch leads him out from behind the box, the two boys shuffling slowly through the dirt back to you. He can’t quite meet your eyes—his gaze lands somewhere around your chin, your collarbone, and you fold forward, bent at the knees to meet his height.

“Do you have a name, sweetheart?” you ask kindly.

He nods, nibbling quietly on the cracker, and you breathe out a chuckle. “Not much of a talker, huh? I can respect that,” you say, eyes crinkling fondly with a smile. “Well if you want to tell me, you can—or not. That’s okay, too.”

He nods again, and you fish out more salty treats from the sleeve in your pack, gently handing them to the other—a gesture he nervously accepts, dirty fingers trembling as he plucks them from your open palm. This boy is precious—sweet faced and cherubic, he must not be a cycle over the age of seven.

And the realization comes so suddenly that it blindsides you—struck by it, there between your lungs: Din was his age when it happened—when life happened to him. When this could have happened to him.

You can’t help but think of it—think of him and everything he told you that night he came bleeding through the Razor Crest. You can’t stop imagining him; Din as a little boy tucked away, his people—his parents—decimated overhead. He is a Mandalorian by proxy. Displaced from his home, from his past, saved by a sect with an affinity for orphans—to protect those who cannot protect themselves. The irony of it all is not lost on you:

Din is a refugee too.

You see him in this boy, and in all the faces here—in every set of eyes, young and old alike. Each are individual - idiosyncratic - but they each wear the same qualifiers. The same exhaustion. They each fight the same tired battle, leaving them with identical sets of marks.

Does Din? If you were to see him, truly see him, would you find them there? You’ve seen the scars he’s earned from being a Mandalorian.

You wonder if he has any from simply being a man.

Pushing yourself to stand upright, you cradle Munch back into your chest, his teensy claws riddling your shirt, and offer the boy your hand—outstretched in front of you.

He’s cautious. Too cautious for a boy so young, for a child who should know nothing but abundant love and fearless imagination. He shouldn’t have had to learn this lesson: that some hands should not be taken, that some people should not be trusted. He studies you, hesitant but hopeful, and you smile softly—cycles of hard-won patience and empathy curving the corners of your lips.

He lays his small hand in your own. You walk on together.

///

The day blows by like hot desert wind, chafing at your skin. Minutes have ripened to hours—morning has crawled to midday.

The three of you finish your rounds— distributing rations throughout the camp, pitching tents, taking stock of the dwindling supplies for you to relay to the Movement once you return to the Crest and have access to your holopad.

It’s then that you notice Arlaani again. She’s speaking in hushed tones with another man, the both of them hunched over a large carton. You see the concern ticked clearly along the man’s jaw, the dread grooved into her brow, her crossed arms. With a frown, you plop the child down onto a nearby petrified log and the other boy joins, hopping up next to him, all too happy to get off his feet. You tell them not to wander off— a kiss to Munch’s forehead, a ruffle of the boy’s hair— before making your way to the couple.

“Hey,” you call, jogging over. “Is everything alright?”

Arlaani wheels around as you approach. It hasn’t been long since you’ve seen her, but somehow she looks older. Hollowed, drained— like there’s less and less in her. “It’s the water,” she grits out, “sand mites have gotten to the crates, to the canteens.” She tosses you one of the flasks. It’s littered with holes, porous and leaking— the remnants of water splashing out of the orifices bitten into the sides.

Arlaani dives through the crate, rifling through the supplies. She’s tense, upset, her voice is rife with it. “They’re all like this. Ruined, fucking—” She heaves out a hissed exhale and props herself up on the edge of the box, neck bowed between her shoulder blades. “This was the last of it, and now—now…”

The man tries his best - how do you comfort marble? - as he places an arm around her, his thumb drawing patterns there, reassuring and calm but she wants nothing of it; she gruffly shrugs it off as if stung, weaseling out of his hold. “I can’t— I need to think,” Arlaani bristles, as she paces away from the settlement, receding deeper into the Wastes.

“I’m sorry,” he stutters, “I have- I have to—” His eyes follow her shrinking form, worry apparent in the shape of them. It’s so obvious. He’s terrified of that woman—probably loves her, too.

“Go,” you say, and with a knowing expression, he turns and trots after her.

Heavy footed, heavy hearted, you trudge back to find the children exactly where you left them. Once there, you collapse to the hard ground, dust and dirt puffing up as you recline onto the log. Your palms run over the earth—scooping up sand and rock and letting it slip through the cracks of your fingers, gaze trained out onto the encampment—the people milling about, the miasma of helplessness stifling the air.

This isn’t enough. You’re not doing enough— these impermanent little nothings, your measly good deeds. It’s not going to matter. They’ll be bones by the time the next wave of volunteers rolls through. They’ll be grain.

You need to do something that lasts, that outlives you when you leave.

You glance over to the kid and his new friend, their little legs swinging off the edge of the trunk, heels thumping against the old wood. They look to you, two pairs of big eyes—crackers in their tiny fists.

“You boys ever dig a well?”

///|||///

The suns roast into his beskar, blistering him from the inside out.

The day has been long and it’s only half over. It took him longer than it should have to gather himself— his fob, his rifle, his fucking head—and depart the Crest. Longer than it should have to hunt the bounty here—some marauder scum who’s number is up and luck has run out. Longer than it should have to set up his sniper’s nest, sculpted into the mountainside.

Din is distracted, has been all day— has been since you left.

He can’t stop feeling you. Your warmth pushing against his chest, your arms looping around his neck, the heat of your palms searing through his flight suit. Din can smell you on him still— like citrus and moss, you cling to his cowl from where you buried your head.

It’s intolerable. It feels like an infection with how it’s been building, how this has spread— slowly but surely rearing to an unignorable head. Serpentine and insidious as it crept through him, this growing affliction— this morbid curiosity that spoiled like rotting stonefruit into infatuation— slipping along his bones and organs, blemishing Din in faint little licks— imperceptible to the naked eye but there all the same.

How did this happen? How did he become this?

You’ve been more relaxed now, bolder in some ways. Transparent. Sometimes, you’ll touch his arm as you walk by him or sweep your hair from your neck when you sit by his side in the cockpit, star shine on your jaw. You’re quick with a laugh, lips pulling back into a pretty grin. He’s even caught you staring at him, there out of the corner of his eye—from where he steals those same glances under the safety of his helm.

He spied you once, just a glimpse of your backside, padding quietly away from the shower with only your underwear on, drops of water tracking down your spine. It was brief, you were fast—you must have forgotten your shirt in your bunk—but he had to lock himself in his quarters and fuck his hand before he could even think about piloting the Crest into the stratosphere.

Din is a lot of things, but he isn’t daft. A part of him knows. A part of him is aware that you are two very human people with very human needs—and that you’ve been ignoring these primal aches with premeditated dereliction for months now.

And you can only dance around each other so long before one of you snaps.

And Maker, he’s so desperate to be rid of you—to get you out of his fucking system; to let him sleep without dreaming of you, to let him wake without plunging into his briefs and jerking himself off. You are everywhere. In his ship, in his galley, in his thoughts. He has no privacy, he has no sanctity— he has no idea how you have managed to worm yourself so deep into every living part of him. Others have tried and they have failed, and you— you did it in your sleep. From that very first fucking night, curled up in his chair, gore and ash stained tunic rising with your slumbered breathing. You snored.

You fucking snored.

And now you’re killing him— just as the suns above, you are blistering him from the inside out.

His level-headedness has all but evaporated. He’s peeved. Not only is Din distracted, but he's angry— has been since he plodded up this damn hill, waiting for his quarry to pass through the ravine between the valley of mountains—because instead of performing his job, he’s consumed with you. All of you.

He kneels, flattening himself against the rocky sand— your hands, so small and soft against him— and unclips the rifle from the strap on his back—how good you’d feel on his skin—he aligns his sights— the weight of your breasts in his palms—

His helmeted head clunks to the ground and he loses his aim, a frustrated growl emanating out from him. Focus, Mando. Fucking focus.

Din reorients his crosshair, training it on the gang of pirates in the gorge below. They lean haphazardly over their speeders, their cargo nets packed full with different wares and spices, jeering loudly and chugging from the jugs of spotchka they undoubtedly looted earlier that afternoon. He inspects the rabble, searching for his target and—those pretty lips that smile so easy for him, stretched around his length.

Fuck. He pinches his eyes shut.

You whispering husky into his ear as you ride him, you bent over the pilot’s chair begging for his cock, you sprawled out over the deck while he laps at your sweet cunt.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck— he can’t do this. He can’t fucking do this. You’re everywhere everywhere everywhere— you buffer his vision, his senses, his sight. He’s blinded with you. You’re blinding him.

With an infuriated heave he shoves himself off the ridge of the dune, bounty-less, and reverses his course back to the Crest—heart beating furious and bloody against his ribs.

///

The settlers surround the trench, peering down at you as you work. Hours ago, when you originally proposed this idea to Arlaani, they insisted on helping— to which of course, you insisted they didn’t. And so they watch— the refugees, Din’s foundling, the nameless boy— mangling their hands restlessly, animated with an inkling of that all too lethal substance long sought after by those of all species and creeds: hope.

You sink the shovel into the dry earth and your muscles burn with the effort—the skin on your palms stings from the rough grate of the wooden dowel and the yawn of your back strains as you pitch forward.

You’ve missed this.

You’ve been so distracted. You’ve grown comfortable in your routines, you’ve let yourself go listless—living in blissful ignorance—all because of a metal man in his metal ship with the most impossible and darling child you’ve ever known. All because your body reacts at the very sight of him, all because your belly flips when he speaks, that modulated purr rumbling loose from his beskar, all because, because—

You like him.

You wish you didn’t—you hardly know why you do—but you’ve soaked your fingers enough times in your rack to realize that this thing residing within you burns.

You can’t even see his face, and you don’t have to. His presence alone— that raw, vacuous energy that surges from him—it’s addicting. It's engulfing. It makes you whimper into the night, massaging your pearled clit as your other hand muffles your moans and you come over and over and over again, chasing after the fantasy you so dangerously harbor for this man. The man who’s piloting you back to Coruscant—the man who sleeps just down the hall.

But that isn’t real. That’s not real life— that’s not your life. This is real—the fuchsia of the setting suns blazing through the horizon, the sweat on your brow. You’ve missed this— Maker, you need this. Working with your hands, making an impact. You’re wanted here and kriff, does that not feel so unabashedly right. To be wanted. To be important.

Your back groans, the sinew woven over your spine aching in protest and you know, without a doubt, you’ll feel this for the next week. Half of you dreads it—being cooped up and sore, lactic acid compacting your joints— while the other excites at the prospect; the memory of a good deed lasting long after it’s finished. That reminder always there, always present: see, there’s still hope in the galaxy. We can still do good. There’s goodness where you look for it.

You fling dirt over your shoulder as you burrow lower and lower. With each shove, the soil changes hue, changes density—the striations darker, more definitive. It’s less dry now, thicker too—turning from sand to clay the deeper you dig. Again, you drive the spade into the sod with a taxed grunt, when you hear a distinct, wet squish.

You pause, stilling your shovel in the dirt. Everything - everyone - freezes.

Adrenaline thrums through you as you drop to your knees, using your hands to brush away loose silt piled atop the loamy floor, excavating what lies beneath.

Prayers and hollers erupt above you and you lurch your focus up to the sound, a feverish grin plastered to your face. The little boy jostles the child excitedly, and his green talons rumple the other’s tattered tunic. Your head falls back, cushioned by the dirt wall and you laugh - gargled, relieved - as water begins to seep through the tired ground.

Bubbling up, bubbling up—unearthing.

///

The promise of ridding yourself of your soiled clothes was the singular thought that fueled your trek back to the Crest. Every inch of you was filthy, caked in dried mud and gritty sand and you wanted nothing more than to strip from those dirty layers and melt into your bedroll. The kid, that lucky little bugger, had passed right out; sun drunk from his long day, he’d slept the entirety of the return trip—stirring only once when you placed him in the hover pram and sealed it shut.

Your bones are worn. Your tissue, your tendons— every little scrap that keeps you stitched together craves sleep. You reckon you should feel miserable, what with the tell-tale stiffness already burdening your spine and the fresh callus from the shovel’s handle reddening your palm.

But you’re not miserable, not even close. No, you’re happy—you’re glowing; fulfilled and serene, humming as you wash your pants in the basin, kneading at the sopping fabric. You wring out the article, shaking free the excess droplets before draping it on a metal rung overhead. You peel off your shirt and bra band next, leaving you only in your underwear as you plop them into the bowl and begin to scrub at the stains, concentrating on a particularly dirty patch at the sleeve.

The grating mechanics of the Crest’s great jaw unhinging sends your stomach bounding frantic to your lungs.

Kriff—shit shit shit, he’s back early.

Clutching onto your modesty, you cover your breasts and scramble to your quarters, quickly shimming a loose tunic over your head. Its hem barely covers the curve of your ass and you tug long at the cloth before peeking cautiously from the doorway and tiptoeing out of your room.

“Hey,” you warble, rounding a corner as solid feet pound up the ramp—you can feel their reverberations in the floor under your own. You pad into the galley, pulling at your shirt as you go, to tidy up the washing you left unattended. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you so—”

You falter.

He’s there at the mouth of the ship, the ramp drawing slowly up behind him and he’s fuming; you can practically see the steam lifting from his armor and his breathing is labored—chest rising, plummeting violently. You both stand immobilized on opposite sides of the hull—you, bare-legged and exposed and Din, all but anonymous under the steeled fury of his armor. Finally, the sound dampens, ship shuddering as she seals shut—sealing you in—and the leather of his fist creaks in the silence hanging dense like smoke around you.

“Mando...?”

He doesn’t grace you with a response. Instead he begins to stalk forward, stripping weapon after weapon from himself with every thundering step—rifle, blaster, vibroblade—he sloughs it all, metal clanging against metal as they clatter to the deck.

“Hey, what’s wrong-”

He’s not stopping. Fuck, he’s getting closer and closer and instinctually you back up—staggering until you’re pressed against the bulkhead—his broad frame crowding you until all you see is the silver polish of his beskar. You jolt when his hands fly up and slam into the wall behind you, framing either side of your head, fencing you between his forearms. Your lips part, wide-eyed and confused, and you gulp around the nervous lump threatening your voice.

“Do you have any idea,” he seethes, “what you do to me?”

“W-What-” Your stammering is cut short as he slots his thigh between your legs and you have to tilt your chin to meet his visor, a gasp finding itself on your tongue.

“Strutting around my ship, putting your hands on me, that kriffing smile…” Din ruts his knee into your heat, and you’re practically hoisted onto your toes. Your core pulses against the blunt pressure, blood racing to the throb at your center.

Maker, you could fucking faint.

“Do you know how long I’ve thought about this—about you?” His voice is tar black—smooth like obsidian—and you succumb to it. You can’t speak; any and all language evaporating from the forefront of your mind, because he’s everywhere. He’s inescapable and smothering and his scent floods over you, intoxicatingly wild—like iron and sand and something dangerous. Something heady, carnal.

“Is this what you want?” he hisses.

You’ve gone dumb. You’ve imagined this, you’ve dreamt of this, but now it’s actually happening—here, in the flesh, it’s finally happening and you’re trembling with the reality of it. All you can muster is a shaky nod, tongue darting out over your lip.

“Tell me,” he orders, scanning your face behind the guise of his helm. You feel his gaze rove over your eyes, your cheek—fanning across your lips.

Your breath hitches.

“Yes,” you whisper, “yes I want this.“

It’s all it takes.

Din is rougher than he means to be. He wears this as he wears his armor, plating the soft parts of himself he doesn’t want anyone touching. He doesn’t know anything else. He doesn’t know how to be anyone else but this.

He grabs a handful of your waist, rooting you still as he rolls his thigh against you. You inhale an airy noise, grappling onto his other arm stationed by your head and you bite your lip, sucking it into your mouth. Your cunt spasms for him as he presses up into your mound, fightless against the groan that seeps through you.

“You like that?” he pants. ”You like fucking my thigh?”

Din manhandles your hips, his hold on you vicious as he rocks you back and forth on his plated leg, your clit catching on the cold edge of his thigh guard with each motion. It sends hot sparks down your spine and you trap a moan behind your teeth, letting the sound rumble there before you swallow it. His hand weaves up from your waist, the drag of his glove setting fire to your skin as he passes over the swell of your clothed breast, and you arch into his palm as he swipes a thumb over a nipple. “You want more?”

He splays his large hand, groping at your plump flesh, and pinches your nipple hard until it pebbles through your shirt. With each sharp twist, his intention becomes clearer: it won’t be enough to skate by on moans alone.

“I asked you a question.”

Din slides his other hand to the small of your back, drawing you flush to his front, and you can feel him— the outline of his firm length twitching under his flight suit against your hip. He cranes over you, intimidating and menacing and achingly devious. The panel of his visor has never looked darker.

“Use your words, dala,” he husks.

You should be embarrassed by this—by your need made evident through the soaked lining of your underwear—but you aren’t. The heat that stipples your cheeks isn’t born from shame, it’s sprung from lust—pure and primal—and you can’t afford to give it any further consideration because all there is is this man wrenching sounds from you like an animal— and he’s scarcely even touched you yet.

“Your fingers,” you whimper, “I want your hands."

He learned this lesson within those first weeks—relearns it every fucking day. You could ask him for anything - everything - and he would oblige.

He can’t say no to you.

He shifts out from between you, hooking into the elastic of your panties and tears them down your thighs to rest just above your knees, the spread of your legs keeping them from dropping to your ankles.

Patiently - tortuously - he scrapes up your legs, leaving embers in his wake as he trails higher  higher  higher to where you need him most. You’re shivering—nerve endings fried and frayed—and every atom inside you hums with anticipation, with unbridled impulse.

The orange tips of his gloves dimple your inner thighs - squeezing, massaging - before he tilts his helmet, angling himself to see you better, and paws your swollen lips apart.

Your pussy is drooling for him.

He moans something indecipherable— a curse in Mando’a—at the sight of you glistening for him under the dimmed lights like this, and immediately you buck your pelvis to him, hungry for his touch—and the pathetic noises babbling out of you prove too much for him to bear.

“Fuck this,” he snarls, ripping a glove off and tossing it aside, “I need to feel you.”

Your eyes have dilated with want, blackened as you watch Din retrace his bare hand—that gorgeous thing you’ve never seen, only ever fantasized about—back to your heat and slowly - so fucking slowly - pass a finger through your slit.

You throw your head back, knocking against the durasteel. The mewl that escapes you is inhuman.

He’s so warm. His tan skin is molten—it’s like he brought the sun in with him, as if he’s burning that star straight into your sex. You’re slippery with arousal; you can feel how glossed you are, you don’t have to look. You can hear it—hear the obscene squelches he’s stroking from your seam.

“Maker, you’re - shit - you’re wet,” he groans loudly, reveling in the way you pitch your hips—seeking his warmth, his friction. He’s been toying with you, drawing patterns along your pussy and playing with your puffy folds, but he hasn’t even come close to your clit. You know it’s no accident. Din is methodical in all things, he doesn’t make mistakes. This is a decision—it’s intentional. You think, perhaps, he’s looking to break you—some sort of retribution for these months you’ve spent swimming in circles around each other—and you think, perhaps, you’d let him.

That you’d like it.

When Din grants you mercy, finally gliding his index along your neglected bundle of nerves, reflexively you fist into his cowl, knuckles going pale.

“Stars-” you exclaim—just like that.

He handles your body like he does one of his pistols - practiced, unparalleled - encircling your clit with precision, his finger on your trigger—blinding, perfect agony swiveled into your sweet cleft.

When he pushes himself inside you, all the oxygen gets punched out of your lungs.

“Fuck, and so tight,” Din growls, bending at the knuckle to curl over that spongy spot of your walls that makes you gape, makes your brain go slack. Your arms scamper around his pauldrons, nails scraping sharp over beskar. The heel of his hand presses into your clit and you grind against him, each roll of your hips pleading a filthy please please please as you chase after the orgasm he’s baiting you with.

He responds to that, bourboned praise dripping smug from his smirk. “Fuck, look at you, so desperate—gonna cum for me already?”

You don’t have the wherewithal to formulate a response. He’s fit another finger into you, fucking up into you hard—fucking you exactly how you need him to. It feels like you are about to shatter right there on your feet. It’s almost unbearable, this mounting tension that’s climbing within you. You’ve been so starved for this, so deprived of a kind touch and a good fuck, and within no time at all he’s coaxing you to the ledge of your release.

“Mando,” you sob, entwining your fingers into his cape, grinding grinding grinding into his palm when suddenly, without warning, his ministrations cease—that burning coil abating to a simmer. You let out a rasped pant, collapsing forward onto his shoulder— your climax ripped away from you at the last, pivotal second.

Your eyes are screwed shut, you don’t see the movement—you can only feel it once it’s already there: the bounty hunter’s glove grating over your neck. You sputter out a gasp as he forces your jaw up to align with the chill of his visor, trapped in the unrelenting strength of his grasp. Your eyes clamber around the chrome boxing you in, gulping back the fear coalescing in your mouth.

“You say my name,” he gravels. “You say my name when I’m inside you.”

Your cunt spasms around the fingers still seated within you—aching for movement, aching to cum—and your lower lip quivers as he leers. “I gave it to you—say it,” he commands.

For a fleeting moment, in the remaining rational corner of your brain, it occurs to you that you’re terrified—that there may be no going back once you speak it. There’s no unmaking this choice. Like a door—a door that swings both ways—once it is cracked ajar, it cannot be closed again. Because you know yourself, you loathe to admit it, but you know his name will crumble you; that you will bend—that you will want to give and give and give to him— and still, despite, you lay onto the handle and fling that door wide open.

“Din.”

“Fuck,” he seethes. His reaction is visceral—the whole of him stiffens, leathered pads of his fingertips searing into your throat. “Again.”

“Din,” you whine as he rocks his fingers into your walls.

He moans, wanton and guttural, at the way his name tumbles from you like velvet. “Good girl—fuck, that’s good.”

He vanishes from your neck, bringing his hand down to cup his cock bulging painfully against the fabric there and your gaze snaps to it, saliva pooling in the well of your mouth. You slither your hand down his breast plate, over the paneling of his flight suit, trailing south until it lands on the hide of his glove. You stop, waiting there - breathless - until he nods curtly.

His hand falls away. You mold your palm to his length.

“Din,” you give freely, high-pitched and girly, and his cock brays under your hand. Fuck, he’s big—you can feel his mass through his pants and your pussy flutters around his fingers moving deliciously lazy inside you. Your eyes latch onto his, the brown of them hidden somewhere under the helm, and you can feel his own bore into you, weighing leaden there—

before you both simultaneously rupture.

Din’s fingers slip out of you to fiddle with the hem of his pants, unbuttoning in a clumsy flourish until he springs free with a groan of relief.

Maker.

He’s fucking divine—long and veined, with a patch of dark curls padding around the base of him. Din weeps for you already, frustrated and pent up from the confines of his restraints, beads of arousal dappling his head. He hisses as you swipe a digit over his cock, smearing his precum down the silken slope of him. You’re transfixed—the both of you staring as you wrap your hand around his shaft and he shudders, keening in to your touch.

“Mm, fuck you’re soft- kriff-”

Din dwarfs you—you barely fit around his girth—and he can’t help but buck into your palm as you begin to move in tandem. Din flicks at your clit, mirroring your pace as you get each other off. It’s awkward and lewd and perfect—both of you, a tapestry of woven limbs and sweat and you pump him harder and harder, choking his cock with your fist. You fuck him raw, the dry drag of your satin hand ripping curses from his mouth.

“Fuck, dala,” he pants, “I-I’m not—” I’m not gonna last. His words are snuffed out as you circle your wrist and brush a thumb over his leaking tip, forcing him to shiver. He doesn’t have to finish his thought, you understand plenty well. You’re dancing along that same precipice, flirting with the fall.

“Stars, yes,” you plead. Fuck, you want him to cum— you need him to. You need to make him feel good, to let him know that you’re here - you’re right here - and that he means more to you than you care to admit; that you want him—have since you first laid eyes on him, since he rescued you, since he took you back to the Crest and gave you the last of his bacta to heal all your splintered bits. That he deserves this—with all that he’s done for you, all that he’s doing for you—

with all that he his.

“Din—please.” Fuck, you don’t even know what you’re asking for—more of him, all of him—and a groan tears through his modulator at the sound of you begging his name—like he’s wounded, like it pains him to hear you say it.

It’s a race now—the two of you hurdling headlong towards this terrible, messy collision. You’re both sloppy—wet sounds and slaps of skin—as you stumble closer to the brink of release. He’s been rendered incoherent, chiseled down to the basest of grunts and broken words you don’t recognize. His thumb finds a devastating pressure on your swollen nub and your legs begin to vibrate, nearly unable to stand on your own two feet with how fucking perfectly he’s working your pussy.

This thing inside you feels giant - monstrous - and that slow wave that’s been building and building and cresting is here, upon you. You’re trapped in the barrel of it, and it’s going to crash at any moment and sweep you out to sea. Drown you—happily, gladly. “I’m - oh fuck—"

“That’s it, good girl,” he praises, tightening his circles on your clit. “Cum for me, cum on my hand-”

A crack of lightening streaks up your middle, the whole of you shaking as your orgasm rushes through, a sputtering cry let loose into the ship. You feel yourself gush, dripping past his thickness stuffing you full, dripping down your inner thighs. Din pulls out from you and you whimper at the loss—his absence leaving you gaping, leaving you bereft. You’re siphoning down air, dizzy from your release, when he raises his hand, glistening with your fluids, and traces your bottom lip—asking for entrance.

Fuck.

You part for him, eager and pliant, and he snakes two fingers inside—tasting your own tang and the leather residue left there, stamped into the whirls of his fingerprints. Your tongue swirls around them, laving him clean, and you drag over the ridges of his shaft— still hard and throbbing and waiting in your grasp. He bobs his fingers in your mouth, matching you thrust for thrust, and you let out a depraved little moan, humming around him, and all Din can do is watch.

Watch as he disappears between your lips—his skin pulling and catching on your plush flesh— watch as you suck on them, watch as he practically fucks your throat. And Maker, you take him so fucking well, letting him do what he pleases with your all too supple body.

He can’t even begin to imagine what his cock would look like—what it would feel like nestled in the hot cavern of your mouth, hollowing your cheeks to suck him like hard candy. Din doesn’t let himself—can’t. If he did, fuck, that’d be it. He’d be done for. He knows he’d cum in a flash and he wants to make this last—to hold on to this - onto you - for as long as he can, allow himself this singular concession. The only time, he convinces himself, the last time.

He won’t think about you again.

He won’t think about you again.

He won’t think about you again.

You quicken your rhythm and Din bucks wildly into your palm, his seizing and twitching alerting you to how close he is. He slides from your mouth, a string of saliva trailing along after as he clasps onto the back of your neck.

“I’m gonna cum, I’m—” Din knots into your hair, gripping you rough, panting frantic. “Fuck. Fuck, dala— cyare-”

With a hoarse shout, he slams his gloved fist into the durasteel and spills over himself in hot, thick pumps, spurts shooting out to splatter on your tunic, on his flight suit, on your knuckles. You ease him through it, his cum glazing down his cock before you slow to a languid stroke, his seed sticky under your palm. You’re panting, the both of you, spent noises reverberating ugly and loud against the metal sidings.

Din sinks his helmet to your forehead while you catch your breath, his cold beskar kissing your flushed skin—the density of it comforting, grounding. Your eyes teeter shut and you let yourself lean into him, a dazed grin tugging at your wet lips. This is— nice; so much gentler than the pace he drove not minutes before. Head to head, his hand buried in your hair, your arm slung over his hulking shoulders; your fingers thread into the askew fabric behind his neck to discover a sliver of skin treasured away underneath. You trace there - lightly, whispered - earning a fizzle of static sent whirring through his vocoder.

“Fuck,” Din mumbles, before unweaving himself and separating from you. Your legs have gone useless and rubbery—you almost face plant forward without him there— and by the time you blink open, he’s already tucked himself into his pants and picked up his glove, slotting it over those skilled fingers that had just filled you to the brim. He turns back round to find you staring at him through the haze of your afterglow, eyes glassy and fucked out; your fluids dribbling down towards your underwear still bunched above your knees, hair tangled with sweat and saliva and cum—his and yours.

You look wrecked—disheveled. You’re so fucking pretty it makes Din want to scream.

He picks up a stray rag from a crate and offers it to you, before silently sliding your panties back up to your hips in one dexterous swipe. He lingers there but for a moment, savoring the touch of you—grazing a digit into the crease of your hip. You’re rendered mute— your brain can hardly string a sentence together— but finally you manage, your voice weak when you find it again.

“Thank you,” you croak, wiping away the traces of him off your knuckles, and you smile coquettish, delirious. “That was… that was, uhm—I really enjoyed that.”

A quiet beat slogs by.

And then, everything  shifts.

Din’s hand descends from your waist, holstering it to his side, and he moves away. He moves away from you.

You can feel it immediately—like a gust of chilled wind, the change in the air nips at you. Din’s armor is anything but warm—his presence, his aura, anything but inviting—but now, he seems farther from you than ever before, his visor tempered and steely.

You know him. You know this man. You’ve travelled with him, you’ve mended his ills, you’ve taken care of his son, you’ve spoken his name, you’ve laid prints on his skin and deeper still—

And here, before you, Din is white noise. Indiscernible. Unreadable.

Nervously, you twiddle with the frayed edge of the stained cloth, worrying your cheek. You swear, just for a second, that you see him inch towards you— you think you sense him, some part of him, breaching the chasm that’s formed between you. But it’s only a trick of the lowlight—a trick of your cruel heart, winged and errant beneath your ribs, misconstruing your thoughts to fancy.

Because he doesn’t. He doesn’t come to you like you want. He doesn’t touch you again, he doesn’t hold you like you need.

It feels like you’re withering—your legs too bare, your tunic too short, hair too mussed, eyes too bleary—everything feels wrong now, misplaced. “Din,” you start, you try—you try to keep attached to this tether, to this thin strand you’ve sewn between your bodies, but he shrinks back. He severs it. He is as you first met him. Rigid. Distant. A Mandalorian bounty hunter— the best in the parsec. He is as he was months ago, when you were strangers.

When you were nothing.

“I—” He silences himself, teeth clenching shut around the unspoken sentiment you so long to hear, and instead takes another step backwards. Farther away. Farther from you.

He stands straighter, impossibly taller, and you feel

small.

“Goodnight,” Din gives, his voice shrouded and cloaked by his modulator. He pivots on his heel, retreating into the depths of the Crest and leaves you there, the ghost of his hands on your neck, on your breasts, in your heat— still tingling from where they haunt you. Exhausted, you thud back into the bulkhead, unfocused and unseeing.

“Goodnight Din,” you murmur, but it falls upon deaf ears. He’s gone, and the empty hull swallows your words—burying them.

taggies:

@girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @pedros-mustache @miranhas-art @djarrex @bookloverfilmoholic @keeper0fthestars @misguidedandbeguiled @bookishofalder @helmet-comes-off @grumpymuffinmama @niiight-dreamerrrr @spideysimpossiblegirl @janebby @greatcircle79 @djarinsbeskar @sammysdaisy @whataperfectwasteoftime @mandobloggin @silver-streaked-wings

[tharrb]

Of lions and newts

https://archiveofourown.org/works/40325208

Marcy found it ironic. How, despite Anne preaching about how change is inevitable and we shouldn’t run from it, but instead embrace change so that we may become better people-

Nothing about her situation has changed.

She still had to move, and it was just as terrible as she thought it would. Her parents were still hard on her. School only got harder and harder. And absolutely no one at her new school liked her, proving that Anne and Sasha were the only friends she was ever going to have. And after her parents demanded she stop talking to them, she thought she’d never see them again.

Marcy went through all of that trauma, all of that time in Amphibia thinking she was finally going to be happy, only for that to be but a cruel joke, and had nothing to show for it. Unlike Anne and Sasha, she never made any friends-none that didn’t want to use and exploit her, that is. Nobody in Amphibia genuinely liked her. Nobody liked her period.

Maybe this was for the best, like Anne said. It did taught her a lesson-that this was the good that came from wanting things. That it’s simply not her fate to be happy. At the very least, it got her to finally get rid of all that fantasy crap, no matter how much it killed her to do so.

What did it matter, if she felt a little bit of her soul dying each day? She wasn’t that stupid brat anymore. That girl got a much needed lesson, via the business end of a sword. And in the end, wasn’t that all that mattered?

And so, Marcy found herself in the girls bathroom, sobbing to herself in her school uniform. During shop class, she had accidentally cut herself. Her class mates got one look at her green blood and started mocking her. She ran off with a storm of laughter behind her.

This was not going to look good. Not only did she leave a class unexcused, but she caused an incident that was going to be reported to her parents. As she sucked her cut thumb, she wish the moon would just hurry up and kill her.

“Ruff!”

Marcy turned to see a yellow dog sock puppet. The arm attached to it moved into the entrance of the bathroom moved in, revealing a girl around her age. She was a light skinned Asian girl with brown hair, tide with a braid on the side.

“Hi.” Said the girl in a very cheery voice. “I saw you running into here from the hall, and I thought you might need some help.” Marcy wiped the tears from her eyes. “Oh, your bleeding.” The girl said. “Here, let me help.” She took out a band aid and placed it on her thumb.

“Oh I forgot, my names Katou Jeri. I’m an exchange student from Japan.” “My names Marcy. Marcy Wu.” “It’s good to know you Marcy. We should be friends.” Marcy turned from Jeri. Jeri gave a perplexed mumble. “Im sorry” Marcy said apologetically. “It’s just… I don’t have any friends here.”

“Well I don’t have any friends here either. Maybe we can both be friends.” The bell rung. “Oh gotta get to class. Bye!” As Jeri ran off, Marcy began to consider her friendship proposal.

—

The two would meet again many times. As it would appear, both girls had quite a lot in common. They mothers both died when they were young, they both live with their fathers and step mothers(although Jeri’s seemed much nicer). But most profound, is that they both had traveled to another world.

As it would seem, digimon, a popular franchise in Japan that Marcy had only a passing familiarity with, were real. (The hogmegdon event wasn’t just a hoax, it would seem) Jeri and her friends had befriend several of these creatures. Jeri even had a partner digimon of her own, Leomon, before her time with him was cut short.

Marcy wished she could say she envied Jeri, but she knew better. What was she supposed to tell her, that she was jealous that her partner was murdered in front of her? Still, it felt unfair. Beelzemon didn’t even know Jeri, and he still turned good after he had hurt her. Meanwhile andrias, her own adopted father, didn’t care enough about her to not hurt her twice. Jeri being able to forgive beelzemon murdering Leomon just made Marcy wish she had her strength.

“What are you interested in? Jeri said, snaping Marcy out of her introspection. “What?” Marcy wispered(they were in the library). “What works of fiction do you like?” “Oh, uh. I used to like fantasy, but I outgrew it.” The words didn’t sit right on Marcy’s tongue. Outgrew implies she got board of it naturally, over time, and not that she was forced to toss it in the garbage to appease her parents.

“Hmm.” Jeri droned.”maybe you’ll like this.” She got out from her bag a group of cards with strange creatures on them. “This is the digimon card game.” Marcy looked at them, her interest peaked. “My friend Rika taught me how to play. She’s, like, the best at the game.”

—

While Marcy lived at home, she was able to convince her parents to spend the night at Jeri’s bored room at school, under the belief that it was a “study session”. The two girls got into their pajamas, ordered some pizza, and watched war of the warlocks on Marc’s iPad. Marcy had forgotten just how good this movie was.

Marcy broke down in tears.

“What’s wrong?” Jeri said in a sympathetic tone. “It’s..it’s nothing.” Marcy said, still trying to stop the tears that were still coming. Was it so bad, that she didn’t want her stupid feelings ruining the first sleepover in three years? All because a little bit of joy reminded her of how much of a shell she is?

“Come on Marcy, you can tell me.” Said Jeri. “It’s just…” Marcy bleated out. “Nothing I did in Amphibia mattered. It was all a lie.” “Really? It didn’t seem all bad.” “I didn’t make any friends there. I was just…used.” “The way you’ve described it, it seems you had a lot of people who like you.”

“Stop trying to make me feel better Jeri.” Mumble Marcy. Her voice becoming horse from her incessant crying. “Maybe being lonely and miserable is just my destiny…”

“Don’t say that!” Shouted Jeri. She looked at Marcy with first determination. “Your l time in Amphibia wasn’t meaningless, I’m sure of it! And you have control of your own destiny! And you know how I know this?” Marcy looked at her friend in awe. “Because…I went through something similar.”

“You know when red blobs invaded he real world?” Said Jeri. As if Marcy could forget. Three years before she went to amphibia, red blobs appears all over the world, including in LA, only 10 miles from her neighborhood. The tv claimed it was a biological attack by an unknown terrorist group.

“That blob was the d-reaper, a program that wanted to destroy the world. I was in a very bad place at the time. Leomon had died very recently. When I was in the digital world, the d-reaper had kidnapped me. It fucked with my head, and used me to fuel itself. Even worse, I believed that I was somehow responsible for its actions as it hurt my friends. But I was able to escape with the help of my friends. And I learned that, no matter how helpless we may seem, we all have a purpose in life, one that’s up to us to decide. And we all have people who care about us.”

“Wow Jeri.” Marcy said, simple awestruck by her friends words. “You’re so strong.” “Really?” Said Jeri. “I was going to say the same thing about you.”

“I mean, I was stuck feeling sorry for myself the entire time I was in the d-reaper. I couldn’t even appreciate all that my friends were doing. But you? You were tortured by the core so you would give in and be assimilated…but no matters how bad things got, you refused to give up, even when you thought were completely alone. The core had to trick you, and even that didn’t work.”

“I… I hadn’t thought of it like that.” Marcy said in disbelief. As the two continued their night in peace, Marcy thought of how lucky she was to have Jeri by her side.

She had thought, that she’d never be happy again after she moved. But she was given a miracle she never thought existed. One she didn’t believe she deserved.

[mrswhozeewhatsis]

Soft

A/N: This is for both the @spnfanficpond's S14 Weekly Episode Challenge, week 20, and also this month's Alpha Reader Program with @deanwinchesterswitch! Kym is a great Alpha reader, putting up with so much babbling of ideas with me!!

Summary: Chuck is depowered, Jack de-poofed Eileen and Y/N, and they all rescued Cas from the Empty. (The finale never happened fight me.) Now, with no more Big Bads on the horizon, Dean needs to figure out what his happily ever after looks like. Once he does, then he needs to go get it.

Pairing: Destiel x reader

Warnings: Pining. Idjits in love. Canon-divergent after 15x19. Fluff.

Word count: 4311 words

Prompt: "I'll stop talking." "Probably a good idea."

Dean watches her throw her arms around Cas’s waist and really snuggle into his embrace. It’s done. Chuck is depowered, Jack is in charge, Y/N is back, and now Cas is back. Everything is as it should be. Dean pats Cas on the shoulder, meeting his gaze with a smile he can feel is strained, locks eyes for a second with Y/N, and heads towards his room via the drink trolley. A little time resting in the only soft thing he’s ever been allowed to keep is definitely in order.

Sitting on his bed, back propped against the headboard and whiskey bottle in hand, he forces himself to consider everything he’s been trying not to think about for far too long. Cas will want to talk at some point, and Dean knows he can’t get it wrong. Well, no, he actually could get it all very disastrously wrong, but this time, he doesn’t want to.

And he has so very much to think about if he wants any chance to get this right. First, he needs to decide what “right” looks like.

If you’d asked him a few years ago what a good life looked like, he would have denied Cas’s place in it. There were just so many reasons why Cas couldn’t be a part of any picture he’d have painted back then. That was before, though. Before Cas told him, unequivocally, that he loved Dean in a way he thought he couldn’t have.

Maybe a year ago, if Cas had said those same words, Dean would have jumped into his arms and kissed the hell out of him. At that point, he’d finally admitted to himself that Cas was more to him. That Cas meant more than Dean’s fear of someone thinking he liked dick. Cas meant more than his hang-ups about how sex worked with a dude. Cas was more than a guy, and not simply because he wasn’t human. Angel or not, Cas was Dean’s person.

That was before, though. Before Mary died. Before Chuck had his little hissy fit. Before Dean acted like an ass… again. Before Y/N.

Now, Dean sits on his bed, not drinking the whiskey in his hand because he knows it won’t help. He needs to think clearly. He needs to decide how he feels. He’s loved Cas for years. But he’s beginning to think that maybe he loves her, too.

She appeared with the army of hunters that had arrived when Chuck opened Hell. She was relatively new to hunting, so when her partner died early on, she needed an experienced partner. With Dean barely speaking to him, Cas needed something to focus on, and he took her under his wing, so to speak. Which meant Dean barely spoke to her, either, outside of barking orders.

He was just so angry at the time, and it spilled onto her. Dean didn’t want Cas around him, but then he didn’t want Cas focusing on her, either. Or giving her that squinty head tilt. Hugging her while she grieved her partner. Talking to her about lore and weapons and sigils.

With Jack and Rowena dead, Y/N filled the fourth seat in the Impala just a little too quickly for Dean’s liking. And it had nothing to do with how fondly Cas looked at her when she fell asleep on his shoulder. Yeah, he understood that she needed training and experience, but there were a million other hunters fighting ghosts and zombies with them that she could have joined.

Dean was so mad, Cas left. And she went with him. And no, Dean did not spend several sleepless nights wondering about the sexual orientation of angels.

She and Cas were hunting partners for a while, but then Cas went to Heaven, so she moved into the bunker and never left. Dean tried not to dump his shit on her, knowing that it was his shit and not hers and he was being a dick, but she was everywhere—cooking in the kitchen, beating up the heavy bag in the gym, shooting curse words into the paper targets in the range. Dean didn’t want to laugh when she slapped one on his chest that read “DICK” as she walked out the door. He also didn’t want to deck Fancypants Dean from the other world when he asked her to go with them to Rio and then kissed her, dipped her like a 50’s heroine and everything, right in front of him!

And he definitely didn’t want to miss her when she left again with Cas. They were gone, again. Alone. Soon, he realized that he missed the smell of her cooking. He stared at the taped-over hole she left in the heavy bag when she tried attacking it while wearing heels. He tried to forget how lethal she was in the gun range. He failed to stop wondering how many beds were in the motel room they were sharing each night.

He got better about not being a dick to her when they returned. He even shared his pie. The first time she gave him one of her hundred-watt smiles, he nearly melted. She offered to help wash Baby, and he accepted. Not being a dick got easier as they became friends.

Then Chuck killed her. Just poofed her into nothing. A finger snap and Dean felt like he was back on the rack, a knife slicing into his heart. Why? Watching Cas mourn her was almost as hard as admitting that he felt the same way. He shouldn’t feel this way. They were friends. But the pain and grief in Cas’s eyes were mirrored in his chest. Not that he could say that to anyone. She was Cas’s… something.

Yet, before the Shadow swallowed him and Billie whole, Cas still said that his moment of complete happiness was loving Dean.

After Cas was gone, Dean sat on the floor in the dungeon and wondered at the complete lack of black goo anywhere. It had seemed to be everywhere but had left no trace. His mind bounced against the image of Cas getting swallowed whole and ricocheted into the image of Y/N poofing into thin air. Sam’s face when he picked up Eileen’s car keys, phone, and wallet. Jack’s face burning brightly when Chuck killed him in the graveyard. Mom’s face when he wrapped a shroud around the body that wasn’t hers. Charlie’s face as she lay in that awful motel bathtub. Bobby’s face as he called them idjits one last time. Dad’s face when the doctors tried to revive him, but he was already long gone.

Dean went on autopilot. He got up from the floor, drove to Sam and Jack, and then, he … did what needed to be done. On the drive away from Chuck’s defeat, Dean tried to imagine the life ahead of him without Chuck’s influence. Just him and Sam and Jack. He pictured them in the bunker, all in black and white like the old photos of the Men of Letters in the archives. Nothing big to fight, only little hunts. Maybe there would be the occasional trip to Hell to visit Rowena. Maybe Rowena could use a hand down there? Hell sounded nice, this time of year. You know, when everyone else is dead….

Dean didn’t let himself complete that thought. He still had Sam.

Then Jack brought back Y/N and Eileen. Color returned to Dean’s world. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than Heaven or Hell. With Y/N in his arms, all he could think about was Cas. Dean needed Cas back, even if it meant watching them ride off into the sunset together. When Jack said he couldn’t get Cas as easily as he’d gotten Y/N and Eileen, she ended up crying in Dean’s arms, letting him comfort her. She comforted him. They comforted each other.

Before the big rescue, Dean decided that if Cas and Y/N chose to go off and live a happy life together, he’d wish them well, even if it meant drowning himself in whiskey.

But now they’re both here. When their departure was hypothetical, it was easy to convince himself that he could be supportive. Now that he was up against the reality of it, he could barely breathe. Yes, the two of them alive and happy together without him is better than the two of them dead, but….

Dean puts down the whiskey and grabs an open bottle of what is probably very stale water off his desk. He drinks it down and then stares at the whiskey bottle. He tries to breathe through the pain in his chest caused by the prospect of visiting Cas and Y/N in their little country cottage with the white picket fence and beehives in the backyard. Oh, how he wants to drink something stronger than water and make this pain stop.

No. He needs to say this to himself completely sober.

“I want them,” he announces to the room, quietly enough that no one outside could hear, but the words still echo in his ears. “No, I don’t just want them. I want a bacon double cheeseburger with extra onions and a slice of apple pie with a scoop of ice cream on top. I need them. I need Cas, and I need her, and I need to stop acting like I don’t.”

Picturing the little country cottage once more, he shakes his head. “I have to try. Cas said he loved me. Y/N at least doesn’t think I’m a dick. I can’t do nothing, anymore. I have to try. I have to tell them both and at least ask them to give me a chance.”

Dean pulls at his hair and sighs. “But that’s not how the world works. I can’t have them both. I need to decide who to talk to first. I need to choose.”

The angel that literally saved him from Hell but wears a vessel Dean doesn’t know how to handle, or the woman who would be the complete package if he weren’t already in love with Cas.

“How do I choose?”

And that’s all assuming that either of them even (still) wants him. Cas may have changed his mind after Dean stood there stupidly and said freaking nothing while the Empty swallowed him whole. And she’s never really indicated that she wanted anyone but Cas. And Cas has always seemed perfectly happy to indulge her attentions. Hell, maybe they will go off together to that cottage in the country and leave him alone. After the way he’s acted, it’s the least he deserves.

“If I even have a choice, I can’t choose.”

Pacing the room, he kneads the problem in his mind like a baker would knead dough. After only a couple of minutes, he tires of rolling around a thousand “what ifs” in his head and stops in front of his bedroom door, hand almost grabbing the knob to turn it.

“What’s the worst that could happen?” he asks himself, trying to give himself the courage to move. “They both say they don’t want me, they only want each other, and I’m left alone, like I’ve always been. Nothing changes for me.”

Swallowing down the blast of grief that idea causes, he takes a deep breath and watches from outside of his body as he turns the doorknob and walks down the hallway.

He hears her voice coming from her room long before he reaches it, but he’s almost in the doorway before he can make out the words she’s saying. She’s chattering in that way she does when she’s excited or nervous about something, and his heart clenches as he wonders what’s got her so jittery.

“It’s just that there’s so much to consider and so many possibilities and I’ve been waiting until now to think about it and oh god now I’m rambling and we really need to come up with a better phrase for that now that Chuck’s not in power andfuckinghellIthinkI’llstoptalking.”

Dean watches her put a hand over her mouth to stop the flow of words and can’t stop his smile. She’s adorable.

Cas sees Dean in the doorway, gives her a gentle smile, and says, “That’s probably a good idea.” He nods his head towards Dean, and she turns to look at him. They’re both sitting on the side of the bed, one of her hands is encased in both of his, and Dean feels his heart wrench at what that might mean.

He tries to read their expressions, get a feel for what’s happening in the room, but his own feelings are overwhelming him. They’re both right here, staring at him, while he’s staring at them, and no one is saying anything!

“Uh,” he starts —oh, you’re doing great there, Dean, so eloquent— before clearing his throat and taking a steadying breath, “I don’t want to interrupt you guys?”

Cas smiles, but Y/N gulps and shakes her head.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says in that way that always makes Dean feel warm inside. “It’s okay. What do you need?”

Dean tries again to read their expressions, but all he can feel is tension. Is it coming from him? “I, uh, need you,” he says to both of them, bouncing his gaze back and forth between them.

Cas stands up, letting go of Y/N’s hands, and pats her on the shoulder. “I’ll let you guys have some time alone. We can finish this later, right?”

Y/N nods, but Dean stops Cas from leaving the room with a hand on his arm. “No, Cas, I mean both of you.” Wishing that he could simply snap his fingers and have both of them automatically understand, he stares into Cas’s eyes like he’s done so many times before, trying to will his jumble of thoughts into the angel’s head.

Cas must only get static, though, because he smiles his same old fond smile, puts his hand on Dean’s left shoulder like he always does, and replies, “Of course, Dean. I’m always here when you need me. How can I help?”

Dean groans, wiping down his face with his hand while his shoulders droop. “Fuck, this is hard,” he mutters, then leads Cas back to where he’d been sitting on the bed, drags over the desk chair, and sits facing them both. “Look, I don’t do chick flick stuff, and you guys both know that, so bear with me, okay?”

Cas and Y/N both nod, and Dean wishes he had the whiskey bottle with him. Maybe a little in vino veritas would help him get through this. Staring at the two of them, he doesn’t even know where to start. He looks back and forth at each of them again, noting that they’re holding hands once more, and focuses on that.

“Look, guys, I know you two are,” he waves a hand around trying to indicate what he means, “together? Involved? Whatever you want to call it since we’re not in high school and we’ve all worked to derail an apocalypse or two. And I don’t want to mess with that. Well, not exactly. Wait, that’s not what I meant.” He takes a steadying breath and mutters, “Fuck, this is hard,” yet again.

He looks up and finally notices that both Cas and Y/N are now considerably less relaxed than they were a minute ago. Both sit stiff-backed, trying to look at anything but each other, and their hands are no longer linked.

“Wait, you guys are together, right?” Dean asks, suddenly questioning every moment he’s ever seen between them.

Y/N clears her throat and replies, “Well, that’s kind of what I was trying to talk to Cas about when you came in.” Her eyes bounce between Cas and Dean nervously and she shifts her position on the bed a little so she’s facing towards Cas a little more. “Cas, part of what I was trying to say is that I have, you know, feelings for you, that are, well, more than friendship.” Her words rush faster and faster until she gets to the end. “I held it in for so long, and then I was dead, and you were dead, and it was all awful, but now we’re back, and we’re here, and I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel what I feel.” She ends with a small gasp of much-needed air and then stares fearfully at the angel while she carefully exhales.

Cas tilts his head and squints, and Y/N slowly deflates a little bit more with every moment Cas takes to reply. Dean had no idea what he was walking into but somehow feels a little better knowing he’s not the only one feeling the need to put things on the table. The only concern now is that he might be watching the two people he wants so very much get together right in front of him, without him. Well, I’ll always have Sammy and visits to Rowena in Hell, he thinks.

“Cas? Please say something,” Y/N pleads, the panic becoming clear to Dean as her breathing quickens and her hands fumble in her lap.

“I thought you were in love with Dean?” Cas blurts out, leaving all three of them exchanging looks between them.

Dean sits up straighter and glances between Cas and Y/N, but focuses more on Y/N. “Really?” He can’t stop the word from leaving his mouth. He’s too excited by the possibility. Doing the math in his head, his heart starts to race happily. Half a chance Cas really loves him like he said, half a chance Y/N loves him like Cas said, that equals a whole chance he might actually get at least half of what he wants.

Completely ignorant to the social graces surrounding admitting other people’s feelings for other people to those other people, Cas just keeps going, turning to Dean. “Yes. I’ve noticed her engaging in some of the social actions that usually indicate romantic affection towards you. I assumed that meant she had feelings for you.”

Dean looks at Cas, then throws his hands up in the air. “Well, I’ve been watching the two of you cuddle up together all the time like two peas in a damn pod, so I knew she had feelings for you! And you’ve been cuddling right back, so I figured that meant the two of you were a thing, no matter what you said!”

Face glowing a bright red, Y/N interrupted the staring contest between the two men. “Well, I’ve been watching all the eye-fucking between you two since day one, so I thought you two were a thing! I mean, seriously, you two need to kiss or fuck or something so the rest of us can breathe clear air, again!”

Both Dean and Cas turn to stare at Y/N.

“What? You two had no problem talking about my feelings! Turnabout’s fair play!”

Cas takes hold of Y/N’s hand to ground her and says, “So, you have romantic feelings for both of us, then?”

Fear washes over her face as she nods, nervously glancing between the two of them.

Cas smiles. “And I have romantic feelings for both of you,” he states. The two of them smile at each other for a moment and then turn to Dean in unison. Their hands are clutched together, knuckles white with tension.

With two pairs of striking eyes staring at him, Dean squirms.

“Dean, we would very much appreciate you telling us what you’re thinking and feeling, right now,” Cas said, using his calmest and most caring voice. “I believe the phrase is, ‘this is a safe space.’”

Dean takes a steadying breath, looks at each of them individually, and decides there’s no use running now. He’s here. He knows there will be a soft landing when he jumps. He’s jumped into worse with less and come out winning. He can do this.

Dean takes Y/N’s free hand in one of his and squeezes it while he decides what words to use. She relaxes, her shoulders dropping, but Dean notices Cas stiffen out of the corner of his eye. Dean stiffens right along with him, bringing his eyes up just in time to see the flash of disappointment in Cas’s eyes before it disappears.

Fuck, he’s screwing this all up, already.

Words are still foreign things he can’t seem to grasp, so he decides to act instead. Still holding Y/N’s hand, he reaches with his other hand to grasp Cas’s neck and pull him in.

The kiss is awkward as hell. Cas’s eyes are wide open when Dean closes his, and then teeth clash, and Cas stays frozen while Dean tries to gently kiss some life into him. Right before Dean is about to pull away and question all his life choices, Cas melts. Cas’s hand is suddenly in Dean’s hair, pulling Dean closer as the kiss turns into the warmest, loveliest kiss Dean’s ever experienced. Cas’s lips are as soft as Dean ever imagined, the little bit of rough stubble a new but not awful feeling, and Dean’s pretty sure he could do this for hours and never come up for air. Maybe it would kill him, but he’d be okay dying this way.

Eventually, the kiss turns to little nibbles, and then they simply sit there for a moment, foreheads together and eyes closed, feeling the warmth of each other.

“I didn’t think you could feel what I feel,” Dean whispered. “And then you said you could, and you did, and then you were gone, and it was too late.” He shifts only enough to press his lips to Cas’s again one more time. “You can have everything you want, angel,” he says, pulling back enough to look Cas in the eyes.

Cas’s smile is as wide and happy as Dean’s ever seen it. They stare at each other for another one of those long moments where Dean swears Cas must be able to freeze time. Cas’s eyes shift away from Dean, and he’s reminded that he’s staring at only half of his happiness.

The other half is still holding his hand, watching him and Cas with wide eyes and a shy smile. With nothing left to lose, Dean leans in and feels the rest of his world click into place as his lips settle perfectly on hers. The kiss with her is different, and yet also the same in how right it feels. She opens her mouth a little, and their tongues slide together like they’ve done this a hundred times before. When they finally break apart, he doesn’t know what to say, so he just lets his smile loose. She smiles back, and he knows she understands.

Everything in him wants to keep going back and forth, kissing them both, but there’s always that little voice inside his head —which sounds a bit like Chuck, these days— that tells him that this isn’t real. It makes him slow down a bit, lean back in his chair, and enjoy looking at the two people in front of him. He watches the two of them kiss and is surprised when his gut doesn’t churn with jealousy this time.

Each time he had imagined what they did behind closed doors, he was miserable. Yet, here he is, watching them kiss, feeling happy. The part of him that was jealous and hurt now knows that they both want him, too. He’s not on the outside looking in, anymore.

The little voice that sounds like Chuck gets a little louder. ‘What is this, a three-way roll in the hay like with the Doublemint twins back before Hell, or those triplets with Lee? Yeah, this isn’t how real life works, pal.’

Cas and Y/N finally pull away from each other but continue to stare into each other’s eyes for a long moment. Now, Dean knows how other people have felt while he’s stared at Cas in the past. Part of him wants to laugh at that, but that evil little voice has convinced him that this is temporary. They’re all holding hands, now, like some kind of hippie prayer circle or Zen meditation thing, grinning like idiots at each other, and it can’t last.

Dean’s smile falters, and he looks down at their hands, trying to memorize this moment before it all comes crashing down. Before he has to choose. Before they have to choose. Before he loses everything.

Cas lets go of his hand and uses it to lift Dean’s chin so he sees Cas’s face again. “You can have this, Dean. We can have this, exactly like this. We don’t have to choose. It won’t be easy, but nothing worthwhile ever is, right?” Cas’s hand drops down and grasps his hand, again. “Polyamory is not unheard of and is accepted in many cultures.”

Dean looks back and forth between Cas and Y/N, gauging their feelings about this from their expressions.

Y/N giggles and shrugs when Dean looks at her, questions in his eyes. “I’m game to try if you are. I’m guessing it’s going to involve a lot of honesty and talking, but I could never choose between you.”

Dean’s shoulders relax and he takes what feels like the first deep breath of his life. He’s fallen, hard and fast, expecting the pain of a crash landing, but found a safety net instead. It’s thrilling, it’s scary, and his heart wants to burst out of his chest, but it’s all good.

Squeezing both of their hands, he grins. “Let’s do this, then.”

Later, when he and Y/N are curled into Cas in bed, who’s reading a book because he doesn’t sleep, Dean squeezes her hand on the broad chest between them and smiles when she squeezes back. When he’s asleep and dreaming about hunts and fights and beating the Devil, for the first time, when he falls, he lands softly.

[whatifxwereyou]

The Oncoming Storm Part 13: Worry

Liu Kang x Reader and Kung Lao x Reader (gonna do both, two paths!)

Liu Kang knows exactly what he's doing. Like, exactly what he's doing. Send help. Plz. Next update on Thursday! Gonna go for the double again this weekend. Thank you, as always, for reading! Appreciate you guys!!

Part 12 Part 14 Chapter Index

Meditation brought you no peace. Even as you laid down, you knew you couldn’t sleep. In moments like this you would normally wander about the temple to take your mind off your racing thoughts. But you were exhausted, and the idea of walking around was unappealing, to say the last. You needed rest but your brain wouldn’t allow it. It’d been cruel to you all day long. Maybe you should go and find Chen and see if she still wanted to meet up with some of her friends and have a drink. You could joke and have a drink under the watchful eye of someone who would take care of you if it made you sick. Then again, if you found Chen, then you would also be teased. That and she would expect to hear how your afternoon with Kung Lao had gone. You still weren’t sure how it’d gone so discussing it seemed out of the question.

Chen wanted you to make the kind of mistakes that you had been incredibly careful to avoid since your early twenties.

Avoiding that dangerous train of thought, you returned to your afternoon with Kung Lao. He’d been weird. Reflective and pushy, but still kind and confident in you in ways you had never expected. You couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed that you’d done so poorly. Your confidence had been shattered. It would come back, you were sure, but the vision you’d had and the fact that you’d hurt Liu Kang had really set you back. You were grateful, in hindsight, that Kung Lao had forced you to push beyond your limits.

Before you’d had no limits and since that night, you’d given yourself limits without realizing.

“Ugh.” You got up and pulled the top drawer of your desk open to find the small and delicate flower that Kung Lao had given to you. Seated on the edge of your bed, you admired the wilting and precious thing. It wouldn’t live for much longer, but it didn’t make it any less beautiful. You’d forgotten what it had looked like while alive over the years and the reminder was nostalgic and touching.

What had Kung Lao been doing today? Yes, you knew you were practicing, and he was encouraging you to push beyond you limitations but there was something else beneath that. A motive. You couldn’t say that he hadn’t been himself because the Kung Lao you knew had been ten years old. Still, he’d been weird for half the session. Besides that, you were certain that he’d considered kissing you several times and had hesitated- waited for you to make that leap. You had thought about it, of course, how couldn��t you? But it was different when you considered you had both thought it.

You set the flower on the wide windowsill, watching the wind slightly jostled the withering petals.

What did any of it mean? What were your heart and brain doing? They certainly weren’t working together.

Liu Kang had kissed you.

You brushed your fingers over your lower lip and shivered at the memory. It had been more than a kiss; it had been world-shattering. Okay, maybe you were being dramatic. But it had made everything else disappear. Nothing else had mattered. Not your vision. Not the mark on your back. Nothing.

Even though you’d been terrified and exhausted when it’d happened, it had been perfect. Even thinking about it made your chest ache.

You hadn’t seen him since then.

You’d spent so much of your time together that it almost felt like withdrawal to not see him for that long. Reaching again for the flower, you moved to your desk, afraid that the wind would blow the precious thing away. You rested the flower atop the journal.

You needed sleep but your brain wouldn’t turn off.

You hoped that Liu was okay. That in whatever way you had attacked him, you hadn’t done any damage. You wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself if you had. You also hoped that Kung Lao was okay. His behavior had worried you. You didn’t have the words to ask him what was going on. You had, in fact, asked him exactly that and he’d had no answer for you. He’d been evasive and you didn’t know him well enough to know if that was normal behavior for him. Maybe feelings made him uncomfortable. They certainly made you uncomfortable.

You recalled that even as kids he’d avoided uncomfortable conversations with humor. Back then, you’d done the same. Other than that, you hadn’t been able to shut him up. He’d told you everything under the sun that he could think to say. You smiled at the memory but shook it away as quickly as it had come. You had to get it out of your head that they were the same person. Yes, they were but there were twenty years of distance between them. He was different and so were you. He’d died and you had grown to love his memory.

You remembered him in reverence, but you had to put that aside if you had any hope of knowing the man that he’d grown to be.

Before you knew it, you were waking up to the sound of a knock on your door. Your back ached and your arm had gone numb from falling asleep on top of it. Wiping your eyes of sleep, you sat upright and scooted back in your chair. There was a second knock on the door, a polite and soft knock. You stood and half-expected to find a monk checking in on you. Instead, you found Liu Kang. He seemed tired. The sky was dark beyond the window in the hall behind him. You’d slept through the evening.

He greeted you with a nod instead of words. From the look of his thoughtful eyes, he seemed to have a lot on his mind. “Is everything okay, Liu?” You had a thousand other questions to ask him. Was he okay? Where had he been? Did you hurt him? How had you attacked him? You wanted to ask him what that moment between you had meant but you pushed that all aside. For now, the one question would do. The other answers would come with patience.

“Yes, everything’s fine.” He smiled as if realizing that he had worried you by not doing so. “I wanted to see you, that’s all.”

“Oh.” That was sweet, was what you wanted to say, but you didn’t.

“Can I come in?” He gestured toward the room and you stepped aside to allow him entry. He walked into the room and sat on the edge of your bed. You closed the door behind you and then joined him. “I’m sorry that it’s been so long.”

“Oh? Don’t be. It’s okay. I know that you have a lot of responsibilities here.” You smiled. It really had been some time, but you understood that he was busy. At least the distance hadn’t been in your head.

“I’ve been doing some research through the archives for Raiden. It’s been busy and tedious work. Trust me, I would have rather been here.”

“Research? About anything fun?” You brightened up, hoping to get him to talk about his day. He had listened to you many times and you were happy to repay the favor. Liu Kang averted his eyes and his prayer beads shifted nervously from his wrist and into his palm. His index finger tapped against the beads and your stomach dropped.

“Not so much fun, but interesting.”

“Oh. It’s about me. The research was about me.”

“Yes,” Liu turned to face you. “About what you’re experiencing. Nothing personal.”

“Well, did you find anything?” You wanted him to be honest with you even if what he’d found wasn’t what you wanted to hear. Liu softened. Sometimes it seemed to you that he could read your mind.

“No. In truth, it’s difficult to say what we’re looking for. We need to know more about what you’re experiencing and that could be…”

“Uncomfortable.”

“Invasive. Seers are rare, Y/N, but many have stayed in Raiden’s Temple over the years. I mostly went through files of old predictions and afflictions suffered around the same time. Nothing lined up of any note. I didn’t honestly think that it would, but we had to check.” Liu Kang tried to catch your gaze, but you kept your eyes turned downward. “Raiden wants to see what you saw using his magic if you’re up to it. I’m not sure when, I just know that it’ll be soon.”

“Oh, yeah, of course. If he thinks that it’ll help and can do some good then, that’s fine. A little discomfort isn’t going to kill me.” You smiled but it faltered. The gravity of the things you’d left unsaid was weighing you both down.

“Y/N?” He turned toward you as if he had something important planned to say but you stiffened up. You didn’t want his pity or his worry.

“I miss studying with you.” You interrupted. It wasn’t what you had wanted to say but he seemed to understand your meaning. You missed him. “Everything seems so complicated now. Part of me is missing those first few weeks, even as sick as I had been.”

“We can’t live in the past, Y/N.” He rested his hand on your cheek and urged your gaze up to his. You held your breath. His fingers brushed from your cheek, over the line of your jaw, beneath your ear, and then down beneath your chin. “When you said that you suffered an illness in your childhood, you didn’t mean that you were sick, did you?” You stiffened up. Of all the things you’d expected to talk about with Liu Kang that night, it hadn’t been that. You supposed it was important.

“I…” His hand was still on your chin and as you opened your mouth to speak his hand moved with you. He searched your face and then carefully dropped his hand. You were grateful that he had. The overstimulation had been insane. The air between you when you were that close was so thick that it was often difficult to breathe, nonetheless talk. With his hands on you, it was only that much worse. “Yeah, that’s… I was still sick, but it was because I saw things. So, if what you’re asking is if this was the first time that I saw something like that? Then no. When I was a kid, it came on very suddenly.”

“Same symptoms? The clotting? Passing out?”

“Yeah. It was something I dealt with then but when I turned twelve it went away and… I haven’t thought about it in years before this.” You felt suddenly nervous. His face was flooded with concern and he was the one to now avoid your eyes. Your stomach twisted into knots made of guilt and frustration.

“Were you not going to tell me? Or… anyone? The doctors in the infirmary had no idea.”

“I’m sorry.” You couldn’t avoid the blame. It hadn’t been on purpose. You would have brought it up if you had thought it were a possibility. “I hadn’t thought about in so long that when I started having issues here? I didn’t think of it immediately. When Kung Lao’s hat tore up my side? Yeah, it briefly crossed my mind. But Liu, listen.” You scooted closer to him, closing the small gap between you. You took his hand where the beads were wrapped around his palm and held it between both of yours. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t owe me an apology, Y/N.”

“Yes, I do.” You insisted. “It was stupid and selfish of me. It’s going to sound silly, but I felt that by saying something about it, it would be like willing it into existence.” You let go of his hand and felt your chest ache with guilt. “And yet… here we are. And here it is. Back. I should have said something. I just kept hoping that it was anything else.”

“Words only have so much power,” he whispered.

“For three years of my life, Liu, I saw things beyond my control, beyond predictability. It made me so sick that I thought I would never recover. I couldn’t go to school; my parents wouldn’t even let me stay at home anymore. I felt hopeless. Powerless. I was foolish to think that not saying anything would change the truth and I’m sorry.”

“I’m not upset with you, Y/N. I’m just worried.” He urged you again to look up at him, finger hooked again under your chin. Worry was still very much present in his eyes, but so was determination. That was better than just the one. “You aren’t powerless. And you aren’t a child. You’re strong. No one is sending you away. You’re not alone anymore.” He urged his hand over your jaw and rested it against your cheek. It was warm and you couldn’t resist leaning into his touch. “You have me.”

“I do.” You closed your eyes. Each of his fingers were placed with purpose, his thumb carefully brushing over your cheek. “And Kung Lao.”

“And Kung Lao.” Liu said so with a sigh. You caught his gaze. There were volumes he didn’t say but you couldn’t argue that he had secrets. You had a thousand things you weren’t saying either. Things that you weren’t ready to say. Maybe he felt the same way. You almost asked him what was happening. Should you be putting a stop to this closeness? Or to Kung Lao’s obvious flirtation? Should you focus on figuring out what the tug between you meant or sorting out your mixed-up feelings for Kung Lao? Instead, you stayed lost in his eyes and savored the touch of his strong hand on your cheek.

Before you said anything you had to at least sort out your thoughts. It wouldn’t be fair to put that on Liu to decide for you. you had no idea what was happening in your head or your heart and now with the added trauma of your childhood illness returning more dangerous than ever, you owed it to them both to figure it out yourself.

“Y/N?” He asked with some concern in his voice. His other hand rested on your other cheek and his dark eyes searched yours with worry. His eyes traced over your face and returned to your gaze. You exhaled, not realizing that you had been holding your breath. You really had to stop getting lost in your head like that, especially since Liu Kang no longer seemed shy about touching you. You rested your hand over his on your cheek. Your hands were dwarfed in comparison.

“Are you okay, Liu?”

He laughed in surprise and his worry faded. “Me? Really?”

“Yes, you!” You took one of his hands away from your cheek and grasped it with both of yours again.

“I’m fine, Y/N. You spaced out and I’m starting to worry that the blood loss may be worse than we thought.” He teased, his heart-shaped lips curving into a smile.

“I heard you tell Raiden that my arcana attacked you.”

“It did.” His smile didn’t fade. He almost seemed proud of it. “Knocked me clear across the pit. Nearly lost consciousness.”

“What?” Your stomach dropped.

“Yes, but I’m fine, Y/N. It was mostly impressive.” He smiled reassuringly but you were still horrified that you’d hurt him so terribly without knowing. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m fine, really.”

“Did you get it looked at? Are you sure that you’re okay? I can’t believe that I attacked you.”

“I did, of course. It would be hypocritical of me not to. It’s just a bruise, I promise.” He assured you. “And I don’t think you were attacking me, Y/N. I think that whatever you experienced, your arcana was trying to protect you from it. Raiden thinks that it’s whatever shadow that has been cast over your gift. Your arcana lashes out to keep you safe, but it cannot attack a shadow, so it attacked me.”

“Just a bruise? You promise?”

“Yes, I promise. I’ll give you proof if you need it. You were really this worried about me?”

“Yeah, well, a little bit.” You were a terrible liar and Liu cocked an eyebrow in amusement that you’d even tried to lie. You’d been dwelling on his well-being since you’d heard him tell Raiden. “Fine, it’s been eating me alive. Happy?”

“I’m perfectly fine, Y/N.” He touched your cheek again and then sat upright and untied the red sash around his middle. You turned your gaze away from his hands immediately. He set the sash aside and pulled open his shirt so that you could see the purple and blue bruising on his stomach, spreading over his side and under his arm. You covered your mouth and gasped in horror. You’d done that? He laughed in surprise at the look on your face. “No! It’s fine, Y/N, this was supposed to comfort you, not make it worse. It doesn’t even hurt.”

“Liu, that’s the biggest bruise I’ve ever seen.” You almost touched it but then retracted your hand. You didn’t want to make it worse. Instead, you peered around him to see how far it extended over his side. He lifted his arm to show you. It stopped there, thankfully. Liu Kang then grasped your hand and very gently placed it against the bruising over his ribcage. Your breath caught in the back of your throat. He didn’t even flinch.

“It’s fine, really. It’s not as bad as it looks.” He stiffened up and watched your fingers. You brushed them just over the outside of the bruise, tracing the shape of it over his muscles. Then you pulled your hand back and held it close to your chest. Gently caressing his muscles was something you definitely didn’t mean to do but you had done it. Your heart was practically beating through your chest. There was that overstimulation again. You’d hurt Liu Kang, so much so that he had the ugliest bruise you had ever seen on another human being, even in old action movies. Then he had basically stripped just to show you that he was okay. Then, you’d kind of felt him up, fascinated by the bruise and his physique. He hadn’t been shy about his body, so it probably didn’t bother him. He’d made it quite clear that he was comfortable shirtless. “Y/N, I’m fine. Don’t beat yourself up over it.”

“I could have killed you.”

“Not easily.” Liu smiled and you looked aside, embarrassed. “Really. I only showed you to try and relieve your worry. If it had done any real damage then my ribs would be broken, Y/N. It’s superficial. I wouldn’t tell you that I was fine if I didn’t mean it.”

“You’re sure?”

“Trust me, Y/N.”

You did. You trusted him and so you would convince yourself that, while you had attacked him, he really was okay. You owed that to him. “Okay, Liu. I’m still sorry that I hurt you, but I trust you to know your own limits.”

“Y/N, if I hadn’t been there then who knows what would have happened to you? A little bruise is worth that.” He left his shirt hanging open and then gestured to the desk, but you interrupted him.

“That is not a little bruise. It is, in fact, the biggest bruise that I have ever seen in my whole life and I was a martial arts teacher before this.”

“It’s fine. I promise.” He laughed and grabbed the book and journal they’d been writing in. You caught sight of the flower falling to the side. “Are you up for studying? Or… does that seem trivial in comparison?”

“No!” You said too quickly and then laughed at yourself. “Honestly, I was thinking earlier how much I’ve missed it. So, I would like that. Very much.” It did seem a little trivial but not in a bad way. It was a good and simple thing to do. A simple grounding thing amongst all the complicated nonsense.

“I’m glad.” He seemed relieved and slipped further back on your bed, resting his back against the wall just below the window. You scooted back to join him, taking the journal from his hands. He opened the book and read from where you’d left off, stopping every so often to describe something with more clarity or to share a story. You asked questions when appropriate and every so often you made a terrible joke and stopped to laugh and share a personal story of your own. You took notes but mostly held the journal in your lap and listened. His careful, calm, and kind voice was familiar and comforting and you had missed it.

You shivered and Liu took the blanket from the bottom of your bed and draped it over your legs and his own. He scooted just a tad closer to you and much to your surprise, he slipped his arm right around your shoulder, hand brushing over your other arm to warm you. He knew exactly what he was doing, and you smiled but avoided his eyes that were boring a hole into you all the while. He returned to reading quickly, arm still around you, hand on your shoulder, thumb gently caressing your skin.

You rested your head on his shoulder and listened, abandoning your quest to take notes in the journal. His voice reverberated through his body and into yours and it gave you the shivers again.

“Are you okay?” He whispered, resting a finger on the page to mark his spot. You lifted your head from his shoulder and offered him a sleepy nod. He was already close, but his eyes searched your face, and he drew ever closer. His fingers brushed over your jaw and down the side of your neck. You held your breath as he seemed to consider words and then abandon them. Instead, he returned your tired nod. You caught his gaze on your lips, his own parting just slightly, the corners tugging into a soft smile before he turned back to the book.

Oh yeah, he definitely knew what he was doing but you didn’t mind it either. He went back to reading, pushing half of the book into your lap as he did. You held the left corner of the book for him on instinct. You’d read books this way with your sister, but never with anyone who made your heart race the way Liu Kang did.

You closed your eyes to focus only on the melody of his voice but drifted instead to sleep.

[lucky-sevens]

mechs deep lore compilation post

so! maybe you’ve read the other compilation post i made of basic lore/how to get into the mechs! maybe you want to know more! or maybe you’re a fan already and want to see how deep down this rabbit hole you can get!

well, good news for you: i have gone down the rabbit hole and hit bedrock only to find maki yamazaki standing by my side with a pickaxe! it is time for mechs lore part 2: electric boogaloo also known as ‘wow blue have you considered sleep’

rest under the cut!

i’ve tried to organize this, but given how many random facts there are, it’s hard! decided to start off with lore for each character (in order of them joining the mechs in-universe), including all the carmilla lore at the end; then move into general world lore/a bit of album lore, and finally more obscure/unknown facts, such as explaining the whole scuzz thing! also, citing the sources has been difficult, as a lot of things are from, say, old twitter posts and the like. there might be less links here than you all would like, but bear with me- compiling all this lore is quite difficult!

disclaimer: unlike stuff like the wiki, this includes a lot of my own theories and red stringing, and while i’m noting if something’s fanon or canon, the fanon may occasionally make its way into my theories!

links to the songs will be mostly TheVoidSings’ youtube lyric videos, as i don’t want to find the links to all the different platforms they’re on and the videos are lovely and accessible!

also- i’ve done some significant editing on the mechanisms wiki, as have other talented people- go check it out! it’s a good source of lore!

now on w/ the actual post!

crew

jonny d’ville

his lore is fairly concrete, but since he’s an unreliable narrator, we don’t know what bits can be trusted! his backstory song is one eyed jacks, which gives a pretty clear picture of events, but here in his crew bio he says that he made up new texas, and doesn’t have a very good memory of events in general. (it’s implied that he didn’t lie about killing his father, but we don’t even know that for sure.) a note: unlike the others, we don’t know what happened to his heart in order for him to be mechanized.

the aurora

the aurora’s lore is a mess. here’s what we know for sure, which is an edited version of what i have on her wiki page, (where i have also given a list of her known physical attributes);

she started off as a moon, but was weaponized and turned into a ship. she initially was a navy ship, but mutinied and joined the rebellion, participating in the october revolution, in which nastya died and was mechanized. this may have been her choice, but it is more likely that carmilla and/or jonny forced her into it, as they are the ones who won her from the cyberian navy.

when they stormed the ship, a woman was trapped inside- specialist 278 tereshkova, presumably aurora's programmer. What her and aurora's relationship was like is unknown, but aurora did not make any attempt to save her, so it may have not been positive. before dying, tereshkova managed to program a final distress message into aurora, as well as coding the mechanisms' blog.

she’s likely to be based off of the historical battleship aurora, like nastya is based off of the historical russian princess anastasia.

now, it’s time to get into the main theory about her: that aurora used to be briar rose! i’m collecting all the evidence on it, as well as all the evidence that can disprove it.

here’s a refresher on briar rose’s whole deal, taken from ‘the aurora strikes’-

The Rose Reds were the most effective of the soldiers created from Rose's genetic material, but they were not the first. Rumours spoke of an early prototype, known as the Briar Rose, that had malfunctioned and slain everyone on the desert moon of Briar, where she was being grown. But she was not dead. As the Mechanisms discovered, instead, she slept, at the heart of the defence grid that surrounded New Constantinople. The grid was composed of Thorn-class gun emplacements and was virtually impenetrable. And in its centre, the Briar Rose slumbered, plugged into the system, her anger, her rage, her hatred and her fear, fueling the machines, and focusing their gun turrets.

the main support for the theory here is that over time, briar rose could have fused to the moon, which is one of the very few conditions in which a biomechanical weaponized moon seems plausible and not just like a collection of vaguely cursed words. however, in the fiction ‘by any other name’, which is some collected lab research on briar rose, there’s this line- “During transportation and integration of the specimen, take all precaution and care.”- key word here being transportation. so she must have been moved off the moon.

the fiction i cited to disprove the theory actually has something that further supports it, though- the presence of a mysterious woman in king cole’s lab, who could be carmilla. hood, the revolution’s hacker, notes on a picture of her ‘[No idea. The others I’ve been able to find evidence of, but she’s a fucking ghost]‘. the description is a bit off, though, as she’s described as a short, pale, woman with hair long enough to be pulled back and carmilla is quite tall and has short hair- as well, in a later part of the fiction, the woman is killed and does not revive. however, there’s also another who could plausibly be her, noted here- ‘A tall woman sits opposite Prof. Root with a tray of her own. From her stature, it is conceivable she was one of the figures in the chemical suits. They talk sporadically, but the audio is heavily corrupted.’ she isn’t one of the ones killed later on, either, so that’s possible.

we know carmilla knew aurora when she was a very young moon and raised her practically from birth, so if she is one of those two people, it would make sense.

in ‘the aurora strikes’, aurora pushes to save briar rose- nastya explains this as ‘she can not bear to see another biomechanical organism in pain’. in my own writing about aurora, i interpret that as her having very high empathy, but there could be a more personal connection here. this is also notable as the only time aurora is mentioned in-album beyond jonny calling the mechanisms ‘the crew of the starship aurora’.

nastya rasputina

nastya’s backstory song (cyberian demons) was only performed when they were still dr. carmilla and the mechanisms, so it’s harder to find! thevoidsings has made a lyric video of it here, though, and it gives another very clear picture of her backstory! there’s also the fiction of the same name, which i didn’t understand upon first read-through but is basically a nastya character study, covering different points in her immortal life.

her performer went on hiatus for a while, and as an in-universe explanation, the cyberian sequence was written! in which nastya flies aurora to cyberia, infects herself with a computer virus, and transmits it to the entire planet, causing it to explode. this is all in the cyberian demons fiction i linked above, and with it are two other tangential fictions- one presumably just before those events, and one that’s an outsider pov.

there’s also out, which i’d suggest reading rather than just looking at my summary; basically, nastya has a crisis over aurora changing so that it’s harder to recognize her love, and ends up leaving the ship to float away into deep space- this is presumed to be her death, but that is never confirmed and nastya seems to assume she will wake up at some point.

ashes o’reilly

ashes’ whole deal is quite straightforward, which is a nice break from aurora and (to a lesser extent) nastya! their backstory song is lucky sevens, and it’s elaborated on further in their crew bio; interestingly, ashes was the one most into the idea of immortality at first, and also gave clear consent to carmilla.

ivy alexandria

we don’t know that much about ivy, which is fitting, as she doesn’t either! the most clear information we can find about her is in her crew bio, which can be summarized as: she grew up in a library!

archive footage explains more about her memory situation. she has no memories of anything before she was mechanized, according to this line ‘[...] she can tell you dates, and places, and body counts, she can list for you the exact circumstances of each event of her long, long life (at least, every event since that time, long ago, among a maze of bookshelves in a library that, awake, she can no longer describe to you, though once she knew its every turn by heart, when a woman stood over her and offered her eternity: before that, there is nothing at all).’ she also processes her memories differently than most people- they’re more like records, instead of things that affect her emotionally. (archive footage is also beautifully written and very much worth reading!)

the toy soldier

would say it has concrete lore, but it’s also almost solely responsible for fucking up my timeline and the album lore, so i’m rather angry at it. nevertheless, its entire backstory can be found in the fiction ‘the story of the toy soldier’. additionally, there’s a short story about its time fighting in the revolution of once upon a time (in space); presumably, this is the first time it did so, though it was likely in the war at least twice and possibly even three times. the mechanisms were only watching the second time, though it’s not out of character for it to have participated in the war again, and there’s also the dr. carmilla song, eleven, (which is about a war and uses a lot of rose symbology so it’s likely the revolution) where it is present. notably, carmilla had left the mechanisms by the time once upon a time (in space) takes place on their timeline, and the toy soldier is the only one there. at first, i interpreted that as carmilla meeting the toy soldier before it had met the mechanisms, but there’s two inconsistencies there: firstly, it doesn’t recognize her when it joins the band, and secondly, in the song they leave together. this increases the likelihood of it having been in the war three times.

we actually have a recording of the toy soldier’s first time joining the band- the mechanisms @ lashings! (part one / part two / transcript) there’s also a note of that show in the story of the toy soldier! they bought it because jonny was in jail (x). interestingly, that show is the first recording of rose red, and it’s later noted jonny was in a rose red prison!

now it’s time to get into the main theory regarding it, which also will factor into the write-up of ulysses dies at dawn later! i personally subscribe to this theory, or at least, most of it.

here is frankie @byron-von-raum‘s post- the theory here is that the toy soldier is the rebodied mind of the widow’s fiance. i’m not going to get too into that part, as i don’t personally incorporate it into my lore and more importantly frankie already has a post on it! read that if you’re more interested!

the most important bit here is the evidence it collects regarding the toy soldier living near labyrinth; in one of the pictures from the toy soldier’s backstory, there’s a dionysus brand wine bottle. the consensus he comes to is that the toy soldier lives in a colony of earth that trades with labyrinth, and while i think that’s possible, the all-encompassing nature of the city makes it more likely that they would have a minimum of outside communication, so the toy soldier would just be from the city proper. i will get into the impacts of this/expand on it more in the world lore section!

another thing: the angel has an out of character explanation! if you look at photos of old mechs gigs, jessica law looks similar to the drawing of the angel in the story of the toy soldier! their voice being stolen was most likely a reference to that.

drumbot brian

brian’s backstory is laid out in his crew bio! i’d summarize it, but to be honest, it’s already a summary, so i’d suggest just taking a second to read that! sadly, this is all of what we know about it. the priest from his backstory was apparently made almost immortal in some twisted form of mechanization, and has never forgiven brian for it/is still trying to hunt him down (x).

his bio is also where his morality switch is introduced! (interestingly, it takes a far lower role/is mentioned far less in canon than in fanworks.)

there was originally going to be a backstory album about him called indistinguishable from magic. this never happened, but ben below is working on a new one called the wanderings of drumbot brian! no more knowledge on this currently. 

the main theory about him is that he had some kind of alliance/is lying about something to do with carmilla! we know from maki that carmilla didn’t go out of the airlock (more on that in her section), and when brian is questioned on what happened to her, he doesn’t give a concrete answer. this is in contrast to all the other mechanisms, who assume she fell out an airlock. here’s what he said:

I will not point fingers and lay blame. I do not know how it came to pass that Dr. Carmilla left this vessel, whether by fair means or foul, and so I will not engage in this painful discussion. I hope she did not suffer, and that we may forgive the perpetrator of this deed.

he’s speaking very formally here. (fucking nerd). well, no; legitimately, this is not the normal way he speaks in other contexts. he could be masking something. we know that even when he’s lying, he’s not good at it, and this comes off as clearly odd. in support of this, i believe one of the songs on his unwritten backstory album was called ‘the doctor’s demise’ (though i could be remembering incorrectly).

there’s not much more evidence we can draw on here to come to a consensus, though!

something else to note- i’ve written this other meta about his prophetic powers! feel free to read if you’re interested in that aspect of his character!

gunpowder tim

of course, tim already has a whole mini-album to himself (gunpowder tim vs the moon kaiser), but there’s a couple more niche things about him, though not as much as aurora and ts!

mainly, the implications that he destroyed the sun. there’s an old mechanisms tweet that states he 'was floating in the wake of a detonated star’. additionally, there’s this old blog post, which turned into a bit of a fiction! the figure speaking is not named, but given the other mechanisms who speak (therefore knocking them off the possibilities list) and the fact that the post was made around the time tim joined, it’s likely that it’s him. now, he says this:

“It wasn’t the deep space that drove me crazy,” he said, his voice low, calm and polite.  “It was the sudden realisation that I was entirely responsible for the destruction of my entire civilisation, and happy for it.”

though destroying the moon and his other actions in gptvtmk could possibly count for this, it would fit more if he had destroyed the sun.

both those posts also imply that he was floating in space for an incredibly long time. i don’t know how he survived if so, but it seems very likely that’s what happened.

i considered these posts being too early/having a changed canon now, like the odd use of different pronouns for some characters in the earlier fiction, but they seemed to have gunpowder tim vs the moon kaiser mostly worked out by the time tim ledsam officially joined, as they perform it at the only recorded gig from that year with him (port mahon 2011), which was around when the second blog post was made!

marius von raum

we don’t have a written backstory or backstory song to go on for him, but kofi young (his performer) is working on a full album about him called ‘the death of byron von raum’!

the blog post kofi made about it as a summary is the main source of marius lore that we have! i’d highly suggest reading it, but the main points are:

1. it’s going to be very dark and tragic, and shows that marius at heart isn’t really the kind of comedic figure that he comes off as in the band! ruth @thedreadvampy (the mechanisms’ official artist, as well as morgan’s sister and kofi’s partner) has also made a tumblr post that connects to this!

2. the world he’s from used to be high-tech, but has devolved over time into 18th century levels of technology! what this boils down to is; what we assume is marius and an unknown friend (more on this in raphaella’s part) manage to discover ancient technology and attempt to use it! all we have here is this quote om the blog post- ‘In the middle of this, two kids hiding from the soldiers discover an army of ancient mecha and use them to fight back, but only end up plunging the world into further chaos.’.

3. anime protagonist marius!

we also have this small piece of writing, screenshotted here (monogoggle...)-

[image id: a screenshot of writing, most of it out of view/hard to make out. it’s also in the middle of the line, so the breaks are off. however, it looks to say ‘at the controls of RISML/cockpit is cramped and d[...]/has his monogoggle over his/controls are uncomplicated/the neural interface. They [...]’ end id.]

raphaella la cognizi

i’ve been very deep down the mechs rabbit hole for over a month now, and yet i’ve found hardly anything about her!

there’s a small theory i have, though it doesn’t have too much supporting evidence! in marius’ backstory, it mentions two kids, and raphaella and marius joined together (first mention of either of them is together, in this facebook post!) when questioned about marius and raphaella, nastya says a story instead of stories (x). (that post also clarifies that carmilla was not involved in either raphaella or marius’ backstories!) this could potentially point to raphaella being the other person from marius’ backstory. the evidence against it is that if raphaella featured that heavily, r. l. hughes would have said something about the album as well instead of it just being kofi talking about marius, but it’s still interesting to think about!

there’s also a theory that she was the preacher’s daughter from brian’s backstory, but the only real evidence there is that she could have used his tech to mechanize herself (which her doing is only fanon!) and that she performs ‘lost in the cosmos’.

dr carmilla

this is most likely going to be the shortest section, as it’s basically another crew member; that being said, there’s a lot of lore here!

if you haven’t listened to the carmilla albums, i’d really suggest doing that! there’s two- exhumed and (un)plugged and ageha prototype edition! the story there is harder to put together than in the mechs backstories, especially because the songs are mostly out of order, so i’ve decided to just straight up summarize my interpretation, along with what we have to go on from maki, instead of framing it like a theory, as that’s the easiest way! still, please bear all this with a grain of salt- it’s most likely to be contradicted in the new album maki is working on.

carmilla and her girlfriend loreli lived on a planet called terra. for their childhoods, it was a fairly okay place to live (though i elaborate on this a bit in the world lore section!) however, it was bombed; most likely taking the role of an alternate universe hiroshima, as the blurb on her bandcamp says ‘Dr. Carmilla tells the twisted tales of a dystopian future following WWII having ended very differently.‘ after this, the planet sunk into a nuclear winter.

loreli got sick and died; or, she should have, but carmilla saved her by turning her into a vampire as well. this resulted in loreli losing her morals and becoming abusive towards carmilla. carmilla was too deep in love to see this, and stayed in the relationship for several years.

we don’t know what happened to make her strike out on her own, but eventually she did, and created the mechanisms. while with them, she recognized her own failures with loreli, and left the mechanisms (which they all believe was caused by jonny d’ville pushing her out an airlock, rather than her own volition.)

from there, she traveled back in time to the point where loreli was dying, and let it happen- potentially burying herself and loreli alive, which she survived due to her immortality and loreli did not.

however, she was trapped underground for a hundred years. when she is finally found and dug out, she starts enjoying herself (i.e. committing murder). for some unknown reason, she clones herself multiple times, creating the in-universe version of maki yamazaki.

the mechanisms assume she pursued them after she was pushed out of the airlock, and that that was what eleven was about, but i’m not sure why she would do that, given that she left them of her own volition. because of time shenanigans, it could have been far later on her personal timeline; maybe she simply wished to reconnect with them after all those years.

that’s all we have; we don’t know if she died, or anything like that!

world lore

all the folktales and normal history the irl mechs work off of also exist in-universe! (for an example- the toy soldier and ivy start reciting the walrus and the carpenter together in lashings, and the mechs also do alice in wonderland as a song.)

we know the alternate universe theory is correct, mostly because of this piece in the fiction on kofi’s blog-

In those burning instants, he’d feel the weight of it all, and know it was true. The golden age that never came; the city that stood at the dawn of a world instead of in its dying embers. And beyond – to a myriad of Camelots and a thousand thousand Arthurs, unfathomable worlds apart, each different, each fighting the same hopeless battle.

He’d feel the burden of that task pressing down until it felt like it’d crush his chest, and he’d wake every day gasping for breath, feeling older than he ever had, older even than Ector.

And as he screamed inwardly, Galahad would meet his gaze with those crazed eyes of his and grin, and Arthur would know again that whatever had spoken to Galahad was moving him too.

the mechanisms are most likely traveling between several alternate universe versions of folktales, and occasionally alternate versions of earth! (cyberia, tim’s earth, terra...) this is likely why everyone in their stories is human, and is actually low-key evidence against drawing them as aliens (though ofc feel free to have fun!)

i was initially going to put all the album lore in its own separate sections, but a large amount of it is how it intersects with other pieces of lore, and the rest isn’t necessarily niche enough to cite here? my personal advice is that if you want to learn more about the albums, read the fiction! i have a compilation post of all the fiction up on this blog, and you can find it on the website here!

let’s start with the mechanisms’ roles in ulysses dies at dawn, though! we know for sure ashes is hades, brian is the oracle of delphi, and the toy soldier was a nymph (which is actually quite worrying, considering what that means and the inherent issues with consent there, but i digress.) tim most likely took on the role of achilles (more on that here). then, we know some of the mechanisms’ activities and can guess their roles from that. raphaella was helping athena on her research, marius was psychoanalyzing the olympians, and jonny was committing mass murder. it’s a common theory that one (or three) of the mechanisms was cerberus, but sadly i couldn’t find any evidence towards or against that.

i said in the toy soldier’s section that i would talk more about the implications of it being from labyrinth here! the main thing is the fact that, for it to join the rose red war, the city must have interacted with king cole at some point. it’s a risky thing to pose a theory on the toy soldier’s allegiance towards a certain group, but the fact that it seemed to stick with the rose reds here might also mean that the city was, in fact, under king cole’s power. this fits in nicely with the greek mythology aspect of it all; king cole, in that universe, could have been a stand-in for the figure of kronos/saturn!

a few other theories on how the lore intersects:

1. high noon over camelot takes place after the bifrost incident! in terminus, we see communication breaking down, and that could have been the reason the station was isolated. the mechanisms go from it to the bifrost incident, but as they canonically travel in time, that’s not enough to disprove the theory!

2. arthur becomes king cole eventually! this is mostly going off of the fact he’s called ‘the once and future king’, but also the fact that cole used to be considered a good king.

a few loose pieces of worldbuilding:

people from new constantinople seem to be longer lived, and their culture is built around age as a concept. the older you are, the more wise and important you are. specifically, in this fiction, snow is dismissively noted as ‘barely fifty’ and king cole’s age is held up as evidence to why he’s a good ruler.

terra, carmilla’s planet, has two major languages; high terran and low terran! high terran is a more regulated, formal way of speaking, specifically something that only the rich and privileged tend to know. there are many dialects, but the grammar is dictated by the capital. low terran is a creole language formed from several others, including high terran, that most children are taught in school as the baseline. (though they might speak a completely different, less widely spoken language at home!) carmilla speaks low terran but not high terran (although she pretends to know the latter.)

the mechanisms were all (or mostly all) at fort galfridean at one point; don’t have the source to hand, but marius apparently became a prophet to the saxons for staring into the sun for a very long time.

if you’re looking to draw album fanart, there are a few things i know aren’t as widely known; the ones i can think of off the top of my head is orpheus having a ‘foppish haircut’ (the type of thing that falls under that definition is narcissus’ undercut), and snow’s disfiguring scar. there is also official album art; i, personally, have not seen much of it, and i’d encourage coming up with your own character interpretations.

one last theory- it’s highly likely carmilla was involved in the events of the bifrost incident. in the mechscord (sadly, invites are closed due to the difficulty with handling the boom in the fanbase) maki yamazaki has mentioned that part of the criteria for picking a mechanism is ‘good friend for lyf’. at first, i assumed that she meant good friend for life, but when asked on that she was worryingly cryptic (as tends to happen), and she made a joke earlier in character as doc c about accidentally calling odin. though immortal lyfrassier edda most likely became fanon just so they could become a mechanism, this is a piece of evidence towards them actually becoming immortal.

my personal headcanon is that to gain true immortality (which maki has said king cole and the olympians do not have) you have to have some kind of eldritch component, so carmilla had to go to odin for aid. this is supported by the fact that in drive the cold winter away and cyberian demons, their mechanisms are noted as having a rainbow sheen to them!

other lore

scuzz nishimura

scuzz has built up a bit of a reputation for being the ‘cryptid mech’, but her lore is really quite simple! she was a member of the band back when they were doctor carmilla and the mechanisms, but left before they became more popular, so there’s not too much knowledge about her. she appears in this fiction and the only two recorded gigs from that era (lashings and homesick). she’s also visible in several photos!

i know i’ll get people in the notes asking for photos of her if i don’t include any, so have this;

[image id: a cropped picture of scuzz nishimura, looking tired and resting her head on her hand. she looks to be wearing white gloves and some kind of sweater or waistcoat, and her hair is cut short. her cello is also visible, as is someone else’s hand. end id.]

we don’t know too much about her; all we really have is that she was their cello player!

assorted things with no explanation

there’s this old piece from the wayback machine-

[image id: a screenshot of what looks to be the fiction page from a old site for dr carmilla and the mechs. the writing reads;

Writing

( The Aldwich Horror } A short story in which Dr. Carmilla attempts to solve the mysteries of the Aldwich Horror, the strange appearance of a new crew memeber and several zoologically dubious pets.

( Disinterration } A cautionary tale about exhuming corpses.

end id.]

‘disinterration’ is most likely a reference to the carmilla song exhumed, but i’m unsure about ‘the aldwich horror’. the most intriguing bit there is ‘the strange appearance of a new crew member’. i’ve researched the other aspects in an attempt to figure this out. aldwych is a closed london tube station- it served as a bomb shelter during the blitz, which is interesting as both carmilla and tim have backstories involving the world wars (though only carmilla’s is world war ii specifically; tim’s is wwi). the zoologically dubious pets are most likely the octokittens, which we know the toy soldier brought on board, so it would have to be in a place on the timeline after ts joined and before carmilla left. the only mechanism that joins in that space is gunpowder tim, so it’s possible that he is the new crew member.

the mechanisms blogs have a lot of incidental lore, so if you’re this deep in i’d suggest looking at my compilation post of some of my favorite posts of theirs!

and that’s it! we did it! i can finally go to sleep now. i’m so tired. please. i am going to die. i have homework. thank you all so much. please consider coming to my funeral service.

[mintaka14]

Locked Out

A Miraculous Ladybug fanfiction

By Mintaka14

Chapter Two - Unlocked

 The knock came again, and Luka sighed, dropping the towel that he’d been rubbing over his damp hair around his shoulders. He padded out of the bathroom and over to the front door, yanking it open.

“Jules, if you’ve forgotten your keys again, I swear –“ the words died as he met the insanely blue eyes that he’d been dreaming about ever since he’d first seen them. Her gaze slid over the towel around his shoulders, and dropped to the towel around his waist, and then jerked back up to his face again, which he was pretty sure was turning all sorts of red.

“Here!” she squeaked. “For you. If you want them, the box, I mean. Not the underwear. That’s Juleka’s, obviously, not that she can’t have what’s in the box too. Because I made enough for both of you, and oh God I’m going to just stop talking now.”

With a strangled sound, she shoved a pair of silk and lace underpants at him, and a box with them. He caught box and underwear by reflex.

Unfortunately, the movement dislodged his towel, and he could feel it sliding. There was a confused moment when he grabbed for it, bobbled the box, and heard Marinette squeak. Through the dim mists of his awareness, it occurred to him that she’d probably automatically tried to catch the towel before it could go too far south. That was not, however, where her hands ended up.

There was a frozen moment when Luka became very conscious of small, warm hands on his bare skin, the towel caught and scarcely preserving his modesty as her palms pressed into the dip under his abdominal muscles. Wide blue eyes lifted to stare up at him in horror. Luka drew in a slow, calming breath and let it out, desperately trying to think unsexy thoughts. Those gorgeous blue eyes of hers were not making that easy.

“Out here? Really?” his sister’s voice drawled. “Are you trying to get us kicked out of the building for public indecency?”

Yep. That would do it. Luka looked up to find Juleka in the hallway, her hands full of shopping bags. Marinette squeaked again, and snatched her hands back, and somehow Luka managed to catch at the towel, the box and the underpants still perched on top without losing any of them. He ended up wedged awkwardly against the doorframe with the towel trapped between the wall and his hips, and the box wobbling precariously as he tried to tuck the towel more firmly into place, while his sister stalked towards him and Marinette turned a brilliant shade of red.

“Oh, hey, Marinette,” Juleka said casually. “You’ve met my idiot brother, right?”

She edged past them both, plucking the pair of underpants off the box in Luka’s hand as she went past. He felt a hand on his back, and a sudden shove, and then there was the sound of the door closing and Juleka’s evil cackle on the other side.

“Jules! I’m going to kill you,” he growled. His sister laughed harder.

Luka knew, even before he put his hand on the door handle, that it would be locked. It didn’t stop him from frantically jerking at the handle while Marinette watched with wide eyes. Finally, he accepted the inevitable, and turned back to his dream girl with a sigh.

“If I strangle my sister, will you testify that it was justifiable homicide at my trial?” he asked. Marinette gave a choke of laughter.

“For the right offer, I’ll help you hide the body.”

“What would you consider the right offer?” His worldly goods. His songs. His heart… she could have all of it.

That beautiful smile turned a little mischievous. “I’m sure I can think of something.”

One of the neighbours emerged from their door and threw them a scandalised look, and Luka remembered that he was still a little less than fully attired as the neighbour scurried away. He glanced back at Juleka’s door, which was still firmly closed. He sighed.

“In the meantime, I guess I’m stuck out here until Jules decides to take pity on me.”

Marinette held up a finger in the sign for wait.

“Give me a minute,” she told him, and before he could say anything, she’d disappeared down the hall and up the staircase to the next floor.

About the point when he realised that it was rather chilly in the corridor in nothing but a towel that was feeling smaller all the time, it occurred to him that he was actually standing around in the corridor in nothing but a damp towel at the request of a woman he’d only met twice under odd circumstances. That didn’t bother him as much as it probably should have.

He was still holding the box Marinette had shoved at him.

It did cross his mind that maybe he’d been the victim of some weird practical joke. Before he had a chance to get really worried, however, he heard the sound of returning footsteps on the stairs, and Marinette rounded the corner. She was focused on the black case in her hands and whatever she was pulling out of it, an adorable frown on her face, and as she got closer he saw the light catch on something metal. It looked like a peculiar ring of keys.

Marinette walked past him and bent down to the door handle. Luka lifted his eyes to the ceiling. The curve of her ass in those jeans was not something he wanted to be thinking about in the middle of the very public hallway, particularly while he was in a state of undress. He shuffled uncomfortably in his towel, listening to her muttering under her breath.

“I always wanted to try this,” she said, and he realised she was talking to him. “It turns out there are locksmithing courses you can do, and if I’d had my kit with me the other day I might not have had to climb up the balcony, but then we wouldn’t have met, which would have been a shame.”

Yes! he agreed with silent fervour.

“Still, at least it means I can try it out now, and …” Finally, there was a click, and Marinette straightened. “Tadah!”

She beamed at him, and reached out to turn the handle, swinging the door wide open.

“I knew that would come in handy one day,” she told him triumphantly as she slid the tool back into its case.

Luka came to a realisation that he was making a strange whining noise when she tilted her head quizzically.

“Marry me,” Luka said, and the words only caught up with him when he saw her eyes go wide. He scrubbed one hand over his face. “Oh, God.”

“Luka?”

“I’ve been trying to work out a way to ask you out that didn’t make me sound like a complete creep,” he admitted ruefully. “This was not what I had in mind. I don’t suppose there’s any chance of talking you into going out to dinner with me after this, is there?”

Her eyes flicked down and back up, so fast that he wasn’t sure he’d seen it.

And then she bit her lip. The look she gave him from under the sweep of her dark lashes with those devastating eyes of hers left him wondering if he was having an out of body experience.

“Oh, I don’t know.” The purr he could hear in her voice fried whatever functional brain cells he had left. “You might be able to persuade me. It might be a good idea to put some pants on first.”

“Pants. Yes. Right.” He looked around vaguely as if they might magically appear, and Marinette giggled, one hand going to her mouth. “Pants before dinner. Tonight?” he asked hopefully.

Words.

Would be useful.

Marinette smiled at him like the breaking dawn. “Tonight would be good. Juleka has my phone number.” She was walking backwards slowly towards the staircase, her eyes still on him and her smile bright.

“Call me,” she said shyly, and pivoted on her heel, running lightly up the stairs before Luka could collect his wits enough to respond.

Luka had no idea how he managed to walk inside, or get clothes on, but he was sitting on the couch in jeans and a tshirt and staring into space when Juleka came out of the bathroom and did a double take.

“How on earth did you get in? I locked that,” she said, and eyed the wide open front door. She kicked Luka’s bare foot a few times until he blinked and focused.

“Marinette,” he said blissfully, and Juleka’s eyes narrowed. “Did you know she can pick locks?”

There was a long moment while his sister stared down at him. He opened Marinette’s box which had somehow ended up intact. It was full of macarons, and he absently ate one. It was amazing.

“She’s incredible,” he sighed, and Juleka rolled her eyes, reaching for the macarons. Luka glared at her, and snatched the box away.

“You locked me out. You don’t get Marinette’s macarons.” He took another one and stared at it thoughtfully. “ Macaron. That’s pretty. Maybe we could name our first child Macaron.”

“What the hell did she do to your brain?” Juleka said incredulously. “You might want to wait at least a few months before you start planning the wedding and a family, though.”

“Oh, I already proposed,” Luka said vaguely. “She thought we should get dinner first.”

There was an even longer silence this time, then… “You what?”

He had a feeling that there was something he was supposed to remember.

Dinner. Marinette.

Tonight!

She’d said yes. She’d said yes!

He looked down, and he was definitely wearing pants. Marinette had said that that was important.

“Can I have Marinette’s phone number?” he asked Juleka.

She blinked. “So… you proposed to her… but you don’t have her phone number,” she said slowly. “That makes sense. Seriously, I’m a little terrified right now of what might happen if you two do get married and have kids together.”

Luka felt a goofy smile spread across his face at the thought. Juleka shook her head, and, in spite of his protest, swiped a macaron from the box he was guarding.

“Damn, that’s good,” she mumbled around a mouthful, and pulled out her phone with her other hand. “I’d ask if she knows what she’s getting herself into, but honestly, she’s even more bonkers than you are. You’re a perfect pair.”

“I certainly hope so,” Luka agreed happily, and wandered away with the box full of macarons to call Marinette.

[captaincravatthecapricious]

After the Circus Part 4

Some thoughts from Tim.  I did not edit this, sorry.  

@janekfan

cw: strained friendships, arguing, fainting, dizziness, trauma, references to Jon's getting covered in lotion, disassociation, food mention, mentions of panic attacks (none in the story), canon typical season three Tim headspace (although he's being less mean!)

Tim’s eyes are burning.   He rubs at them absently.  Christ, his back hurts.  Elbow numb from pressing it into the break room table. 

He feels like he hasn’t closed his eyes longer than to blink since after Prentiss with those pain killers knocked him flat.  Feels like he hasn’t even blinked since Martin found out that Jon was kidnapped.  Didn’t even have that small bit of respite that is due to most creatures.  

He can’t take his eyes off Jon’s fragile form.  

He’s asleep on the couch.  Jon, that is.  Martin has dozed off at the table.  Chubby cheek smashed into it.  He’s pale, Martin is.  And tired.  There are deep circles under his eyes, almost starting to rival Jon’s.  Tim wants to brush the hair off his forehead.  Wants to tell him that it’s going to be okay, but Tim doesn’t believe that it’s going to be okay.  In fact, he’s fairly certain it won’t be.  Especially not after the Unknowing.  

Maybe… Maybe he could try.  For Martin.  Maybe.  

A quiet voice from deep within says that maybe he could even try for Jon.  Maybe.  

After all, what had Martin said?  Something about not letting the Circus claim any more lives.  A voice that sounds suspiciously like Martin whispers that that includes Tim’s life too.  

Imagining things.  

Christ, he needs to sleep.  

Nothing keeping him here now.  Not really.  Just… worry that he though he was done having.  

He really thought he could quell his care for his …the people who used to be his friends.  

The people he wouldn’t mind trying to be friends with again.  

Which leads him back to Jon.  Who he’s been staring at since …well he’s lost count.  

He’s asleep on the couch.  He’s shivering, but Tim isn’t going to take the blanket from Martin.  

Tim might almost want to care for Jon (while aggressively pretending not to care, of course).  But… but he hasn’t earned blanket rights.  Not after every hurt Jon has caused.  (The Martin in his sleep deprivation induced imaginings reminds him that most of the hurts were not caused by Jon.  Most, actually.  Jon caused some, but not most).  But Tim isn’t ready to believe that.  Or even if he believes it, not admit it for long enough to give Jon the blanket.  

In any case, Martin deserves it more.  Poor, optimistic, besotted Martin.  Tim tries to call him stupid.  Just in his head.  But a phantom, imagined voice (maybe Sasha’s?) shuts that thought down.  Christ, he’s losing it.  He needs to sleep.  Take a double shot of sleepy time cold medicine and hope that knocks him out.  

He’d do that now… but he isn’t leaving Martin here.  

And Martin isn’t going to leave Jon.  Not like this.  Not in a million years.  

Apparently Martin is A-Okay with someone stalking them and just going back to calling him a friend.  

Stop it, Tim.  Not helpful.  

And Jon really just looks frail and pathetic.  And that’s just made him angry recently, but right now… right now it makes him angry at the Circus.  

Which… not the best way to fix a friendship… if that’s even what he’s trying to do.  And he doesn’t know that for sure.  He isn’t sure of anything.  Head and eyes full of sand.  Burning and heavy and gritty.  Can’t think.  Doesn’t know if what he’s feeling makes any sense.  

The feelings don’t even feel like they belong to him.  Not at this stupid hour.  

What time even is it?  His phone ran out of juice, he thinks.  Died not long after Jon fell asleep again, before Martin fell asleep, before Tim took up his vigil.  Feels like he’s taking over for Martin.  Trying to care in his stead.  Trying to care enough that Martin will let himself get some proper rest.  

Which… which means Tim needs to do something.  And by something …well that probably means he needs to open his home to both Martin and Jon.  

Martin’s flat is too small for just one extra person, even as small as Jon, and there is no way in hell that Tim is going to let Martin alone with Jon.  Not when he knows Martin will give everything he has left to watch out for Jon.  Martin is quickly running out of things to give.  

Not that Tim has much to offer, but he can’t let Martin burn himself out completely on Jon.  

And Jon… well Tim hasn’t exactly been paying attention, but he thinks Jon is essentially homeless.  If him going back to sleeping on a shelf is any indication.  Or intending to, if he hadn’t passed out before reaching it.  

See, Tim isn’t that bad.  He brought Jon to the cot.  Miles better than a shelf.  

Probably, anyhow.  

Jon might have a mattress by now.  

He idly wonders if that hypothetical mattress would be like the one Tim used to host sleepovers on.  

Like the one Tim and Sasha and Jon shared on late nights after drinks and days full or research.  

And then he feels decidedly ill.  Because the Sasha in his memory isn’t the right one.  

He’d be sick if he had the energy.  

But he doesn’t.  

So he just readjusts and ;ays his head down on folded arms.  Back glad of the movement, but still protesting the new position just as much as the last.  

He’s decided, though.  When Martin wakes up, all three of them are going back to his flat.  

Until then he’ll watch the delicate rise and fall of Jon’s chest.  The rest doesn’t look easy.  Hasn’t since he got back.  Tim has to wonder if it’s been that way since Prentiss.  But he’s too tired to think.  Only has it in him to watch.  

Watch Jon whimper in his sleep.  Too weak to move about, like Tim knows Jon does when he isn’t weighed down by another person or his weighted blanket.  

He considers going to grab that blanket for Jon now, but he doesn’t have the energy to move.  (And a private part of him is worried that Jon will vanish if he looks away for even a moment.  Like he will be stolen away again.  Or that he will just… stop breathing.  Just fade away quietly without anyone to notice.  Or… care.  

So.  So Tim tries very hard not to think about where else he’s heard these words as he waits, and he watches, and he listens.  

When Jon wakes with a strangled scream, Martin nearly falls out of his chair.  Tim barely blinks.  Too tired to even move at that point.  He doesn’t want to think about how long he’s been awake.  

Martin’s by Jon’s side by this point.  A hand smoothing down his hair, and Jon’s crying again.  

Distantly he thinks he should probably try to get Jon to drink something or eat something.  Get some salt and water into him somehow.  But Tim is too tired to do that, and Jon’s crying too hard to do anything.  

Tim gives himself 30 seconds.  30 seconds to close his eyes, then stand up.  

He should be alarmed by the head rush that nearly takes him back down.  That’s not something he experiences too often, but… well he hasn’t exactly been taking care of himself.  

He trudges off to see if he can remember if he brought anything in with him.  If he did, he’ll grab that and anything that Martin might have brought in, and after that he’ll grab Jon’s weighted blanket.  

his feet feel like lead and he’s trying not to stumble over himself or the trailing blanket.  He’s got Martin’s bag over his shoulder, with the Tim’s water bottle and phone charger shoved in on top of Martin’s stuff.  Keys in his pocket.  Phone is his pocket.  Stifling a yawn in Jon’s blanket.  

He prods Martin with his shoe.  

“Come on, Marto.  We’re leaving.”

“I’m not leaving him!”  Loud and sudden and panicked.  

It starts Jon whimpering again.  

Pathetic, he thinks before he can stop himself.  

“He’s coming with us.  You can take the blanket or Jon, but either way, both are coming with us.”  

Martin glares at him in bleary suspicion.  “Where?”

“My flat.”

“Why?”

“So you don’t fall asleep at the table again.  And if that means getting Jon and you on my spare mattress or in my guest room, then so be it.”  

Martin slumps.  Partly because Jon is needing something or other, and early because …well… he looks basically dead.   

Tim can see when he gives in.  

Marin nods.  

Tim can also see when Martin realizes there is no way he can carry Jon, at least not until he’s gotten some proper rest.  And Tim doesn’t make Martin admit it.  

He hands off the backpack and the blanket, and scoops Jon up himself.  

Jon’s eyes flutter shut.  Heart racing against Tim’s chest, head lolling against his shoulder.  Fainted again.  It’s… starting to get worrying, in all honestly.  He hasn’t seen Jon this badly off since… well the few times he was running some truly scary fevers and the one time he didn’t sleep for an entire week.  

Jon isn’t feverish.  At least Tim doesn’t think he is.  Which means, it’s not a fever or it’s very low.  So Tim has to guess whatever Jon went through lead to a hell of a flare up.  

Nothing to do for that now.  

Maybe he can stop by a charity shop and get Jon a temporary cane tomorrow.  After he’s slept.  After he’s certain he won’t pass out from lack to sleep, himself.  

Get Jon a new cane, and hope Jon is up for solid food, because damn Tim wants crepes.  

He would sell his soul for some crepes.  

Martin is struggling to his feet.  Just as warn out as Tim.  

It isn’t a long walk to Tim’s flat.  He tries to hail a cab, but… he guesses it’s a weird hour on a week night.  No one is out.  

It isn’t a long walk.  

But Martin stumbles into him every few steps.  Trying to lean over to check on Jon.  

Jon is… conscious?  Maybe?  

But barely.  

He nudges Martin onto the couch.  Then drops Jon into his lap.  That should keep Martin from going anywhere.  

Then Tim drags out the sleepover mattress.  It hasn’t been out since… since Sasha was alive.  

Since before the Archives.  

It smells a little musty.  But… it feels like home as he tiredly wrestles some sheets onto it, and kicks his coffee table out of the way to make room for it.  

Martin stares at him uncomprehendingly.  

Tim leaves him to it.  

Tim fetches a lucozade for Jon, and two glasses of water.  

He goes and showers.  He brushes his teeth.  He throws on some sleep clothes.  

Martin still hasn’t really moved.  

Tim lifts Jon off his lap and onto the mattress.  He sets Jon down with more care than he can really take in right now.  And takes his place on Jon’s side.  

Jon looks to be sleeping, not unconscious now.  Good.  

“Marto you can shower if you want.  Feel free to find some clothes if you do.  Something should fit.  Or you can just… take a load off and join us.  Whichever.  But I’m going to sleep.”  

It’s been ages since he’s slept with Jon.  But… it feels like home.  Or… something like home.  He buries them both under Jon’s blanket, and under the spare duvet.  Drawing and arm around Jon, trying not to get lost in the tight feeling in his chest when Jon snuggles up close and tucks his nose against Tim’s clavicle.  

Tim pats the empty side of the mattress, and giving Martin something adjacent to a smile.  

When Tim wakes up.  Martin is sound asleep in some sweats that are oversized on Tim.  

He feels… heavy.  Both from exhaustion and from the weighted blanket.  

He can’t tell what time it is.  Blackout curtains are drawn against any light that could be.  It’s just… a dim grey… meaning there must be light spilling in from the kitchen.  Probably light out, then.  

Then… then he spares a glance for Jon.  Looking small and beaten in his arms.  

His eyes are open, and… he might actually be lucid this time.  

He makes a small question sound.  

It damn near breaks his heart.  

“Why are you being so nice?”  His voice is still wrecked.  It looks as though Jon might have burst a blood vessel whilst sobbing at the Institute, but he can’t be sure in this light.  Still.  It hurts.  

He also doesn’t have an answer.  

Pity is the wrong answer to give to Jon, and he knows it.  

But… it was some pity.  And some for Martin’s sake.  

He doesn’t know what to say.  

His silence, however is scaring Jon.  Jon who is starting to hyperventilate.  

“Hey.  Hey.  It’s okay.  I… I don’t know why.  But… I couldn’t leave you there.  And I couldn’t leave Martin even if I could.”  

Jon finally seems to notice that Martin is basically spooning him.  And makes a small sound.  

He looks back at Tim, a little teary.  

“Glad to see you awake, but maybe you should rest a little more.  I’d get you something to drink, but I don’t think I can get out without waking Martin.  But… but if you do need anything, I’ll risk it, so uh.   Let me know?”

Jon just shakes his head, and buries his face in Tim’s chest.  

Tim is… surprised.  Last time he was this close to Jon, Jon flinched away.  And that kind of makes him feel sick to think about.  And this… this makes something melt in his chest.  Something he hadn’t felt in a while.  

“Get some sleep, bud.  I’ll be here when you wake up.”  

Jon hmms, and Tim lets himself sleep.  

[lokis-army-77]

If You Please

Chapter twelve

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2588

This is technically a reader insert but without the (y/n) and all that. She also has no name mentioned so feel free to imagine as you please.

Follow the reader through the events of the Captain America movies and experience her love for Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: none

Note: Normally I am the type of person to be date accurate when writing things and if you are too, I'm sorry. I messed up on the dates, so the battle of New York happens like a month after it should. This is also a short chapter because it's a filler and I'm trying to just get to the Winter Soldier but have everything make sense.

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Masterlist

A few days later I had received a small archivist job in the WWII department of the Smithsonian. Thankfully the made-up resume and a few fake SHIELD recommendations came in handy. I would officially start the following week after a few background checks were cleared. In my free time until then, I unpacked all the boxes in my apartment. It started to feel more homely and warm when all of my things filled up the space. When I didn’t feel like unpacking anything, I started taking long walks to the VFW building. I hadn’t joined in on any of the meetings yet, I just stood by the doorway and watched, listening to the stories people told.

One day that week as I stood back in the hallway after the meeting had ended, a man came up to me. He was a little taller than I was and had the brightest smile I had ever seen. I had watched him in the meetings before, he was usually the one hosting them, giving advice to all who needed it.

“I’ve seen you standing out here for the past three days, why don’t you come have a seat next time? It would be more comfortable than standing out here for an hour.” He said as he leaned his back against the wall right next to me.

“I have thought about it, but I tend to get here after you have started. I don’t want to interrupt anything by just barging in.” I said over my shoulder at him.

“You won't interrupt anything, just come on in next time, we’d be happy to have a new face around,” He pushed himself off the wall and walked down the hall.

After that, I ended up joining the meetings and even spoke a few times. I learned that the man who came up to me that day was Sam Wilson, pararescue, who had served two tours in Afghanistan. From the first day he came up and talked to me to now, we quickly became friends.

The days had turned into weeks and I was finally able to live relatively by my own means. The Smithsonian was great, in the archives, no one was really around and I could spend a whole day without any interruptions, which allowed me to just concentrate on what I was doing. After closing, I normally walked to meet Sam, who was usually way too excited to see me, even though we saw each other almost every day without fail.

“You’re late today.” I jumped, startled out of my thoughts at the sound of someone talking to me. I looked up, spying Sam standing next to one of the small trees outside the VFW building.

“What do you mean late?”

“I mean you usually get here at three-thirty. It's four right now.” He said looking down at his watch.

“Oh sorry, I didn’t realize. I've just been lost in my thoughts lately.” I sighed.

“I know we’ve only been friends for what? A month? But I already know when something is bothering you, What is it?”

“Nothing really, just my brother. Since moving here he's called at least twice a week to check up but it’s been radio silence for the past two weeks, he doesn't even answer when I try calling him. I'm just a little worried that something bad is going on, considering his job.”

“Well, maybe he’s just really busy at the moment, or he's somewhere he can't call you. You know how it is being out on those military missions.”

“I know, it’s just the last time we were apart on a mission,” I trailed off and looked up at Sam, he raised his eyebrows, quietly waiting for the end of the sentence. “Someone close to us passed. It’s still fresh in my mind like it happened yesterday. I was there that day and I was too far away to even know what had happened, now my brother and I aren’t even in the same vicinity as each other, there is no telling what could happen and it makes me nervous.”

He gave me a small apologetic smile and patted my shoulder before leading me from the tree where we stood to where his car was parked. “What do you say we hang out at mine and just watch some tv? Get your mind off things? Or we can talk about it, either way, it’s better than dealing with it alone.” I nodded my head and grabbed onto the car door handle as he unlocked it.

Walking through the front door after him I took a quick look around. It was cozy, way more decorated than I thought it would be for a man in his early thirties living alone.

“Make yourself at home. Do you want anything to drink?” He asked neck-deep in the fridge.

“Okay, I’ll just have some water,” I called out as I made my way further into the living room. The couch was backed up to the wall a few feet away from the dining room table. I sat down on it and scooted as close as I could to its right arm. A few moments later Sam came over with two glasses of water and a bag of chips. He handed me my drink before crashing down into his own seat. “Thank you,” I said before taking a long sip.

He nodded as he said “No problem.” Before he got himself really comfortable he searched around for the TV remote. As he pressed the ‘on’ button the TV came to life. “What in the world is that?” He sounded concerned so I quickly looked at the screen.

“Breaking: Attack on New York City. This afternoon at 2:15 several unidentified aircraft descended onto Earth's surface. Strange beings, some are calling aliens, Accompanied these ships and are causing havoc in Manhattan. Eyewitnesses have stated that they have seen Iron Man, and what seemed to be Captain America, leading a team of three others fighting back against the invaders. The battle seems to be over but updates are still coming in, let's take a look at some footage of the downtown destruction.” My eyes went wide and my heart stopped as I listened to what the reporter was saying. I kept my eyes glued to the screen as it changed to show a destroyed street. As the camera panned around I spotted Steve fighting against two of the creatures, before the clip quickly changed to show one of the large ships crashing into the New York skyline.

“Oh God Steve, what did you get into?” I murmured to myself.

“You say that like you know him personally.”

“Uhh.” I just gave him a wide-eyed look of surprise. “I do, he’s my brother.”

“Now really isn’t the time to be joking about things,” He gave me a pointed look.

“I swear I’m not joking, he really is my brother. I can explain later, I need to try and get a hold of him.” I pulled out the small flip phone from my pocket and dialed the number for Steve's cell phone, it rang and rang but no answer. I hung up quickly and dialed the number Fury gave me at the beginning of the month. After two rings he answered.

“I assume you are looking for Captain Rogers.”

“Where is he? Is he okay?” I tried to keep the worried tone from coming through in my voice.

“He’s fine. He is in the middle of a debriefing. I’ll tell him you called.”

“Okay, thank you.” As soon as the words left my mouth he gave a quick hum and then hung up. I looked over at Sam whose eyes hadn't left me at all. “Everything is fine, he's in a debrief so that means that whatever happened in New York is definitely over.”

“That’s good to hear, hopefully, those things don’t try to come back again.” He shook like a shiver ran down his spine. “Now please explain how Captain America, a man from the 1940s, is your brother.”

“I can hear the skepticism in your voice.”

He held his hands up in defense, “Hey, I'm not the one saying I'm the sister to a 90 something-year-old man.”

“Look, it’s a long story that I would rather not get into now but the short version is that I was born in 1921, Steve is my older brother, we both ended up taking the super-soldier serum and fought against HYDRA in the second world war. We ended up crashing a plane into some Ice in the Atlantic ocean and were found and unfrozen last October.” “If you are really Captain America’s sister, then why are you never mentioned in anything?” I looked at him and shook my head.

“Well for starters it was the forties and I was a woman fighting on the front lines. Credit is never given where it is due. But there is also the fact that I was a part of the SSR, which was very secretive, after I died.” I put my fingers up in air quotes, “They should have erased most, if not all the files on me, per protocol. The only reason Steve is well known is because of his time going cross country selling war bonds.” I paused for a second before quickly adding, “I’m sure if you look hard enough, you’ll find me in the history books somewhere.”

Sam just sat there not really saying anything. This was the first time I think he had ever been quiet for more than five seconds. I let out a deep sigh and stood, grabbing my bag from the floor. “Thanks for having me over, but I think I need to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He stood and walked me to the door.

“Don’t be late. I’ll see you.” Sam waved me off and I headed down the street.

About half a year later while sorting through some archive files, I came across Peggy Carter. I felt a pang in my heart as I stared at the photo of her standing next to Howard Stark. Other than Steve and Bucky, those two were my closest friends. I fell down a rabbit hole after that, finding any information on the two that I could find. They had both helped found SHIELD in 1965, they had both gotten married and had children of their own. Peggy's children had stayed out of the public eye, but in true Stark fashion, Howard’s son evidently took over the family business and was living the high life. I pulled out a newspaper from the stack I had on the table in front of me and was shocked at what I saw. The title read ‘Howard and Maria Stark Die in Car Accident’, I knew Howard most likely wasn’t alive anymore but seeing the photographs of the wrecked car in the newspaper cast a somber mood through the room.

I laid the paper down on the table and ruffled through more of the papers before determining that we had no information on if Peggy was alive or not. That sent me into a frenzy of looking through phone books to try and find her and calling every retirement home in DC that I could. The only lead I had to go off of was a small interview from a newspaper, talking to Peggy about the seventieth anniversary of V-E Day, stated that she was living in Washington, DC.

After eight failed calls, finally, on the ninth, I had finally found a home which had a Peggy Carter as a residence in room 204. I rushed to pack up my things and left my office early. I ran down the back hallways as fast as I could without drawing too much attention. When I made it out of the building I ran full speed to the road to hail a cab.

Amazingly the traffic was almost nonexistent and I made it to the retirement home in only ten minutes. I fumbled out of the cab and I raced through the front doors of the building. I must have startled the women at the front desk because as soon as I rounded the corner to the staircase, they were yelling after me. I took the steps three at a time in my haste to get to the second floor. I stopped running when I was outside of room 204. I couldn’t see anything clearly through the frosted window so I knocked hesitantly and slowly opened the door and stepped in.

There in the middle of the room, against the wall was a single bed. A woman laid there quietly with her eyes closed. The closer I came to her the more familiar she looked. I let out a relieved gush of breath. There she was, older now, but still the Peggy I once knew. I nervously grabbed one of the chairs in the corner of the room and brought it over to her bedside so I could sit. Gently I gave her a small tap on the hand before just holding it in mine. She stirred but her eyes never opened.

All of a sudden one of the nurses from downstairs came into the room, with an angry and shocked expression.

“Ma’am, You can't be in here. If you want to see a patient, you have to sign in.” I ignored her, my eyes trained on Peggy's face. The commotion of the woman barging into the room had made her open her eyes and look around. I just watched as she scanned the room, first to the door on the left, to the wall in front of her, past me sitting on her right, then to the window behind me.” Her brows raised and she lifted her hands to her eyes to rub. The shock on her face was evident as she turned her head to stare directly at me.

“Hey Carter, long time no see huh?” I gave her the biggest smile that I could.

“Is it really you?” She reached her hand out to mine and grabbed hold.

“It is, it’s really me.”

“Ma’am, I mean it, you can't be here.” The nurse tried again, this time Peggy shot her a glare.

“Ms. I’ll have you know this is one of my best friends and she can be in here if she wants to. Now leave us alone.” The young nurse nodded her head and rushed out, even in old age she could still put on that commanding tone that struck fear in every man. She slowly turned back to me, almost like if she looked back for me, I would be gone. “How? How are you here?”

“It’s a long story Peg, are you sure you want to hear it?”

“Look where I am, I have nothing but time.” She laughed out and I let out my own small laugh as I shook my head.

In addition to what I had been doing, like hanging out with Sam, after that first visit, I made it a priority to see Peggy once or twice every two weeks, depending on how she was doing. Dementia had put a lot of stress on her, and seeing me after almost seventy-five years and looking relatively the same as I had when frozen took out a giant toll on her.

And that's how the next 10 months went until Steve eventually moved into an apartment directly under me.

Tag List: @ginger-swag-rapunzel @underc0vercryptid-reads @geek-and-proud @intothesoul @leyannrae @starkleila

[karla-the-elemental-dreamer]

KH-OC Week - Catch Up: Day 3 - (3 AUG 2021)

@khoc-week

For this day, I will be covering 2 prompts: 'Loss' and 'Heartless/Nobody appearance'.

Firstly, for 'loss', I ended up having a dream, which seemed to play on the BBS scene where Eraqus was struck down (so relating to this theme; losing Eraqus; losing someone dear to you). Only in the dream, Xehanort didn't have his way, and the Land of Departure remained in existence. And then it seems like the situation was swapped, and Terra seemed to bring a 'you get what you give' experience to my end:

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

Dream No. M79A - Master Eraqus' Second Chance (24 JUL 2021):

The dream started with me at the Land of Departure, outside, witnessing the cutscene after Terra (KH-BBS appearance) fighting Master Eraqus, for myself. In the same way, Terra went “What have I have done?”, as he then started crying. However, I quickly came and wrapped myself around Terra (now suddenly in KH3 appearance) from behind and closed my eyes, but it wasn’t just an ordinary hug. I seemed to be able to exercise the power to bring Eraqus back to life, that is, if I was able to say the right words (while in the void via Terra) to Eraqus to convince him to come back.

It wasn’t long before Riku (KH3 appearance) came up to me and gently said, “Terra’s grieving”, suggesting I leave Terra and go with him. For some reason, I seemed to trick Riku into thinking I was feeling slightly remorseful that I couldn’t help Terra; I kept to myself that I had already acted, and in a profound way. So for the time being, neither Terra or Riku knew what was about to unfold, and Terra continued to weep outside as Riku took me into the halls.

The dream then seemed to play from a third-person perspective for some time, as Terra walked in, but seemed surprised when he noticed Eraqus standing on the top level. Terra shouted “Master!” as he ran up to the second level to meet Eraqus. With Terra being literally gobsmacked that Eraqus was there, they went into a side area to talk. Terra asked Eraqus, “Was it Aqua?”, in which Eraqus responded with no. “Was it Ven?”, Eraqus said no again. But, realising that Terra couldn’t possibly guess anyone else…

Eraqus continued something like, “It’s someone who has a very special place in your heart. She told me to come back. In-fact I can show you what she said to me”. With Terra closing his eyes, the scene went to when I was in the black void, floating in-front of Master Eraqus as I said something like, “It wasn’t Terra’s fault, Eraqus, please forgive him. (forgotten in the middle), I hope I’ve done enough, and that you decide to come back”. As Terra opened his eyes, there was a quick sub-scene at the front of the halls, of Kairi and I standing side by side as Terra’s voice said, “There’s two princesses of light”.

The dream went back to the main scene, from my perspective again now. I was standing with Riku at the front of the halls as Terra walked out of the side area. I approached Terra, who had a look of awe on his face, as when I was right in-front of him, he wrapped me in a tight hug. The dream camera showed Riku first of all looking confused, but then the awareness of my situation seemed to hit him, and he sighed and gave a close-mouthed smile with the energy of ‘you cheeky dreamer’.

As Terra released me, my phone went off; Terra going to join where Aqua and Ventus were standing, while I went closer to Riku to answer my phone. It was my mum, and she seemed to be crying over the phone. She told me that I had to come home; that my grandma had died. I grew upset and started crying as I approached Riku and said, “we have to go home”, telling him what happened. With a look of sorrow, Riku gave a remorseful groan as he welcomed me into his arms.

After a lengthy hold, Riku released me and I thought we would now be going. But then for some reason, I didn’t know how Riku and I could get home. I looked over at Terra and said that Riku and I could use his help, in which he softly nodded and left Aqua and Ventus’ area. Terra realised what I wanted as he equipped his armour and opened some sort of portal in the room. Like in an earlier dream, Terra got me to sit in-front of him as he leaned over me, while Riku seemed to be hanging from the vehicle like he was holding onto some monkey-bars.

Landing in my house, I went to my mum who was in the front room, visibly very upset at what had happened, while Riku and Terra watched on from the side of the room. And I too ended up crying again at the inescapable feeling that my grandma was gone. After a few moments of me just standing there and sobbing, Terra slowly walked over to me and draped me in another long, tight hug, me now crying on his shoulder.

When he released me, that’s when the dream went to the next scene, but it felt like it was playing as a sub-scene. My grandma was standing in-front of the central heating unit, and was talking, seemingly how she was explaining how she was back. But it sounded weird as she was saying all these complex English sentences, and English isn’t her first language IRL. At first, I was wondering how she came back, but then an energy hit me, and I realised it was Terra. When he held me in the front room, he was returning the favour; he basically did the reciprocal of how I had brought back Master Eraqus for him. After a while of my grandma saying some weird stuff, the dream ended.

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

Secondly, the 'Nobody/Heartless' prompt:

Firstly, my name as a nobody would be Xalkra; and I have my own Organisation XIII. As for appearances, I haven't really considered it much yet. Xalkra would obviously be wearing the black coat. Like Larxene, she has a bratty demeanour and can be quite devious. Xalkra is the leader of the Org, and has the title of 'The Mastermind'. I use my academic gifts and abilities for good things; she uses hers for ulterior motives.

And then in my AU, I have two side main characters, two teddies (a male and a female) called Selvian and Sierra. In adapting them to the KH AU, they are like my Donald (Selv.) and Goofy (Sier.), and we would form a KH trio in itself if the criteria required. I have an archived drawing (from my GIMP days) of the two bears as their nobody forms, Lexavnis and Serrixa. For height perspective, the bears would come up to my pelvic bones:

Today I know more about KH than I used to; and now I understand that the nobodies aren't necessarily fully evil. So if I had to revise their appearance today; I would. Lexavnis and Serrixa seem to have a heartless palette going on here.

With my previous fan-fic AU, Lexavnis and Serrixa would do Xalkra's bidding. In the story, Xalkra said that Selvian and Sierra had to race Lexavnis and Serrixa (our Org can could co-exist at the same time; so like Sora and Roxas), and the prize was the spare vessel that Selv. and Sier. had to try and win to revive/re-create Repliku, after we thought he was killed off in KH3.

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

Bonus (still Heartless/Nobody) - Horace:

I do have other teddy bear OCs, but they don't feature as much as they are not the main two. They would also make up Xalkra's Org 13. There's one bear called Horace, who I have concepted to be an obese bear that doesn't know his limits, so much so that he even goes around and eats furniture (eg. why does your bed only have 3 legs?). He is quite 'dumb', he doesn't speak, just wanders around, 'rumbles' and eats things. Others have to keep him away from objects/structures, and vice-versa.

His nobody is called Raxeoch. Once again, he can't talk, he may appear 'dumb', BUT he is actually smart, otherwise how can he eat things to help Xalkra's motives? Unlike Horace, Raxeoch knows what to destroy. In the fan-fic I wrote, the start of the assault on Riku's Destiny Islands property was when Riku caught 'a teddy bear', trying to stuff a sun lounge chair into his gob. I never finished the fan-fic; I was eventually going to get Raxeoch to eat Riku's (or maybe somebody else's) keyblade.

Let me know if you ever want a drawing to be done of Horace (I currently don't have one).

Edit: Forgot to mention that teddies cannot wield keyblades.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO, “Dye and Diversity.”

Hope you guys enjoy the story today 

Yeb stared.

She tilted her head this way and then that, and then continued to stare on the other side.

A soft sigh, “My eyes are up here.”

Yeb looked up to where the human was staring at her ascance his head slightly tilted.

“What?”

“Sorry dumb joke.”

He pulled to a stop, and the strange wheeled chair below him pulled to a halt.

She stared some more, “That is so strange! It looks so fun!”

Her interjection seemed to surprise him, and he glanced down  at the chair, “Um, I suppose I’ve never thought about it. It’s kinda fun sometimes. I don’t use it much.”

Yeb waddled behind the chair and clambered up on two little pegs she saw jutting  out from behind, “Why not?”

“Well usually I can walk, and it is generally frowned upon to use a wheelchair if you don’t need one.” 

Yeb felt a rush of wind as he pushed the chair forward, and they began to roll slowly down the ramp, “Well why not?”

He laughed and shook his head, his earlier sour demeanor lost behind grim amusement. A few of the others came to join them as they rolled downward and off the platform. Yeb lifted her eyes  wide-eyed in shock as she stared at her strange and unusual surroundings, and the massive interior docking bay of the space station…. To think! An entire city built in space! Looking around she could see ships of many sizes and designs, and other unfathomable and strange creatures hurrying this way and that.

A thought came to her, “Why aren’t you using the arm sticks?”

“Arm sticks…. Oh the crutches?”

“Yeah.”

“My arms are sore from using them, and plus the wheelchair seems safer on the station. I'll Be less likely to trip and get hurt.”

“Oh ok!.”

It still surprised her to no end that the human had even managed to survive without a leg. At first she thought he might have been born with that deformity. On her planet, while it was possible to survive with an issue like that it was not very common at all. She could think of only one Tricar she had seen live to adulthood in such a condition. There were always complications, plus, while Tricar were semi-social they tended to live only in mating groups and abandon their pups at a very young age. 

If you couldn’t survive to adulthood in the cold metal mazes  of her planet than that was a personal problem.

She climbed up higher onto the back of the human’s wheeled chair to get a better look. She wobbled dangerously in her excitement, her hands and feet not exactly built for climbing with her stubby fingers and large flat feet.

With wide eyed excitement she looked all around them marveling at the diversity of lifeforms. There were so many of them!

She pointed to one, eyes wide, “What alien is that!”

The human turned his head to look then frowned “What do you mean?”

“That one right there!”

He frowned and looked again then laughed, “Oh well Yeb, that is a very tall human.”

“Oh, she frowned.” It sure didn’t look like any of the other humans she had seen, sure it was the same general shape, but it just looked so different that she couldn’t have been sure. But she supposed now she could see the resemblance. Like a stretched human.

“How about that one!”

The human continued to smile, “That is a human with a lot of fat, Yeb.”

“Oh….  what is that?”

“Er, like blubber but not really.”

That translated better and her ears flipped back over her head in mild understanding, “Oh, I get it, so those humans must be from cold climates, and that’s why they have insulation?”

“Not exactly.”

Her head turned and she pointed to another group, “Are all of those humans too!”

“Yes all of those are humans.”

“So pretty!” She exclaimed, they came in such interesting and new color combinations, ice white to stone ebony. Granted they all looked human, but the diversity in them was so astonishing that it was hard to believe they could all be the same species. As a biologist herself she might have assumed that maybe they were under the same classification, like fish, and how fish all sort of looked the same but that didn’t mean they were in the same biological category.

“Are they all the same subspecies?” she wondered.

“Yes.”

“Really? But they all look so different!” on her planet while they did tend to be diverse in height, their fur was generally always the same color, a grey white.

“There used to be other subspecies of humans a long time ago, but then they slowly started to die out. At the end it was only the Homo Sapiens and the Homo Neanderthalensis. Both of them coexisted for a while and even interbred but then the Neanderthal died out leaving only the Homo Sapiens with some Neanderthal DNA in certain cases,so we are all that's left, and our diverse lifestyles have given us different adaptational traits despite being the same species.”

She stared at him enthralled by this strange revelation about humans.

“For instance, in the middling areas towards the equator, things are a lot warmer and the light of the star hits the Earth directly, so humans kept their original dark skin color as protection against UV rays which can cause DNA mutations leading to cancer. A lot of times humans towards the equator tend to be taller and leaner which helps them to not overheat.”

“Your planet has a climate that diverse?”

“Yes, we can be as cold as your planet, or more than twice as hot.”

She stared wide eyed and shuddered at the thought.

“In fact, where I grew up we had seasonal changes in temperature. In the summer it was about thirty degrees hotter than the comfortable level I keep on the ship, and in the winter it could plunge to temperatures well around your home world.”

“How does anything survive in a climate so varied?”

“With air conditioning and heaters.” he said smiling, “Anyway, humans slowly began to move north, and as they did the rays of the sun couldn’t cut so easily through the atmosphere, as they were angled. That meant less UV light actually making it to earth. Problem is, humans need the sun to create certain vitamins used in the body. Darker skin helped to block the sun's rays when they become too much, but when there is less sun it isn’t so easy, and so humans developed lighter skin tones that were more vulnerable to sun damage but more easily allowed for the creation of those vitamins. In addition humans in higher climates tend to be shorter and stockier to conserve heat.”

“So…. you can tell where a human comes from?”

“You can tell where their ancestors come from.”

“So your family is from a cold climate?”

He smiled, bright white teeth showing the light above, “Yep, my ancestry stretches back to Russia, Norway, and other assorted parts of north eastern europe, but my family has lived far away from those places or the past few thousand years.” He smiled, “And yes, I can trace my lineage that far back. We’ve had pretty good record keeping for the past few thousand years considering we have internet databases stretching back about that far, and massive archives.”

“Wow/” She muttered quietly, “And I don’t even know who my mother was.”

The human raised an eyebrow at her, but by that time she had already transitioned to looking and pointing at something or someone else. She loved looking at the humans, they were so diverse and strange, and there was always something new to see. Sometimes it was their clothes sometimes it was their skin, sometimes it was their hair,

Sunny, the big blue Drev, placed a hand on the human’s shoulder in a quick gesture, “I am going to go look for the parts, I’ll get back to you in a minute ok?”

“Cool, bring me a working leg when you do.”

“She snorted but nodded and walked off,while he and the others continued onward.”

Yeb lifted her head in wide eyed wonder watching as they passed down a dark hallway from the docking bay, and then out, into an absolutely massive room. It was so large they might as well have been outside, a huge curving room in the shape of a doughnut that went around for miles and miles in either direction. Much of the ceiling above the mwas covered in some sort of see through glass structure giving her a view of space outside,and the rest of the expansive station highlighted by thousands of stars and hundreds more blinking lights.

Voices echoed and warbled all around them as hundreds and thousands of people filtered through the station like slow moving ice water. The room was so large that they had even built structures on the inside, which rose up many stories into the air glittering with colorful neon lights. She saw hundreds of aliens slipping in and out of these buildings and passing overhead on catwalks high in the air, talking, chatting and walking together.

It was all so alien and she was so excited.

She almost fell off the back of the chair as her unfit feet and hands slipped off a climbing surface. A hand steadied her from behind, “Don’t get too excited.”

She was pleased to find after that that the humans were very interested in bringing her around and showing her all of the new things. WIth her ability to eat a wide variety of food, she even got to try and taste some of their more strange concoctions, both excited and repulsed by some of them.

They walked past another shop whose brightly glowing lights attracted her like a moth to a flame and she backpedaled. Sounds pulsed and throbbed around inside her head and brightly colored pictures decorated the walls. On the inside, she watched in wide eyed fascination as one human sat patiently arm exposed, as another inked a pattern onto their skin with a whirring machine. The colors they used fluoresed under the strange blue light above.

A hand on her shoulder, “that is probably a human tradition you don’t want to experience.”

“What?”

“Tattoos, injecting ink directly into your dermal layer through use of tiny needles.”

She cringed a bit, “Why?”

“Because you can get cool pictures.”

There was a hum from beside her as one of the other humans walked up, “Maybe not the tattoo, but…” She trailed off and pointed to the other side of the room where humans were sitting in chairs leaning back as other humans painted strange chemicals on their fur. One of them stood up, and when she did, her hair was long and blue.

Yeb stared, “You change your fur color!”

“Yeah all the time.”

Adam rolled up behind them, “I don’t know if that's a good idea, we don’t know what kind of chemicals….”

“Well there is only one way to find out.”

They turned to look at her, “Want to dye some of your fur a cool color?”

She was so excited all she could manage was a squeak. The thought was so strange and exciting. There was only one fur color on her planet, to think that she could just go and change it!

Why hadn’t her people thought of this!

“YES!”

Her enthusiasm seemed to surprise them, but with smiles they were very encouraging and walked in with her as one of the humans came to greet them, “What can we do for you.”

Maverick patted Yeb on the shoulder, “Our alien friend here would like to go a different color.”

The human looked down and started with a frown, “Er…. what…. What are you. You don’t look like any Tesraki I’ve ever seen.”

“That's because she’s not. A new species, just coming into the galactic community. Anyway what do you say?”

The human paused then shrugged, “Long as you sign a waiver saying that we aren't responsible for any allergic reactions or damage to the hair of an unknown species, then sure.”

They glanced at Yeb, and she waved it off, “Let's do it!”

It was probably a horrible idea to have a team of humans not exactly known for their good life choices cheering on a naive Tricar as she chose bright neon green which was supposed to be at its brightest on the top of her hair and fade down slowly to the furn on her back.

The humans were excited all around, and she drew a small crowd as they began the process.

She probably should have been more concerned not sure what the chemicals would do to her, but nothing ventured nothing gained: that was a human expression she had learned just a few minutes ago, and she really liked it.

Warm water ran through her fur, and then a strange sticky paste was applied to it. Shehad to sit around and wait for a little bit as the color set, and then sit around some more as they washed the residual color out. When they were finally finished, she was turned to face the mirror, and her eyes went wide again.

Her grey white fur, against the bright neon green!. She turned back and forth watching the light glitter over the bright color.

“Wow.”

“Wow.”

“Wat have we done.”

“I love it!” She exclaimed, leaping out of her seat to look at herself more readily in the mirror.

She watched as Adam leaned over in his seat and passed his arm over some sort of device.

Se assumed he was paying for it and was quite pleased walking out of the shop with her new fur enjoying the eyes on her as she passed.

It wasn’t long before some of their other companions returned. Sunny turning to look at Adam with a frown, “What did you do.”

He raised his hands, “Oh come on, its harmless, na look at how happy she is. Come on.”

Sunny rolled her eyes..

“Spirits give me strength.”

Yeb capered around the group, rubbing her paws through her newly colored fur. It didn’t feel any different, but she sure FELT different.

She was sure she was going to really enjoy all these strange human things.

Then again.

She had really only experienced the good things.

It would remain to be seen if she was going to be able to handle the darker side of humanity. 

[frustratedpoetwrites]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter Characters: James Potter, Lily Evans Potter Additional Tags: Morning After, Goodbyes, Sharing a Shower, reluctant goodbyes Series: Part 2 of The Marauders Pub Soho Summary:

The morning after a night of passion Lily has to leave a soundly sleeping James, but she doesn't want to.

Lily lay staring at the skylight, and watched the patch of sky turn from black to indigo. She just gazed without moving, hardly even blinking as it gradually grew lighter and lighter. She had not been able to find any rest for more than a few brief snatches, as tired as she was. Her whole body zinged with electricity, her brain abuzz with everything that had happened last night and had continued to happen throughout the night. She glanced over towards the body sleeping soundly beside her, the sheets pooled around his waist showing his toned back. He had acquired some new tattoos in the six years since she had last seen him. When she’d remarked on the delicately detailed Lily that was now inked on his right side sweeping across his ribs, he had quipped back that it marked the spot where she had stuck her knife in him when she’d left him to pursue her career. That remark had stung more than she wanted to admit, even though she did deserve it. 

She had told him last night she never wanted to leave his side again, and she had meant it. Especially at that moment, standing in the bar he basically built, surrounded by the memories of their childhood. Engulfed by the overwhelming scent of James himself. At that moment it had been so easy to say yes to all of his questions, say yes to coming here to his place instead of going back to her hotel as she had planned. She wished she could stay in this moment, with the old day finished and the new not yet begun. In this bed with this man forever. But all too soon she would have to leave. She needed to get on a plane in a few hours. If she didn’t, then any dream she had to live in London permanently would be gone.

She glanced around James's attic room trying to see if he even had a clock. She was amazed that he still lived like this. There was a rail for his clothes and a bed so low it was almost like the mattress was on the floor. That was it. She hoped he didn’t live like this all the time, but she suspected his life and energy was spent at the bar.

It had looked so beautiful, the large dark polished oak panels and the brass rail, the small stage with the piano sitting proudly. And all the pictures on the walls of their schooldays. It had always been his dream to run a bar, and the four Marauders had made it a successful reality, but she knew who had been driving it from day one, and she was  incredibly proud of him for that.

She reached for her clutch bag and fumbled in it for her phone. It did not light up when she tapped the screen. Her battery must have died. 

Fuck.

She glanced over at James, still sleeping soundly, and contemplated waking him, but she knew he was exhausted. She had wiped him out, she thought to herself, suppressing a giggle, it had been a wonderful night. He had not forgotten any of the things he used to do to make her whole body hum, and he had learned a few new things too she had discovered. His strength and stamina had greatly increased. Not that she had expected him to hold himself chaste for her, but she still had a pang of jealousy at the thought that other women had touched him, had been with her James. Had they asked about his tattoo? She always thought of him as hers, even though she hadn’t exactly expected to ever come back to him that day she had left. Any time before now when she had considered it she talked herself out of it because she was convinced he would be with someone else.

She rolled over onto her back again, and looked up at the skylight. 

What time was it?

She’d hoped she wouldn't have to do this but she slid off the edge of the bed and took James’s phone out of the pocket of his jeans and opened it, shaking her head at the stubborn distrust for technology that meant he still used an old flip phone. Although at the moment Lily was grateful because she didn’t have to worry about unlocking it.

She tapped in the digits for her assistant's number as she crept into his ensuite, slipping on the dressing gown that was on a hook behind the door.

The phone rang just once before she heard an unsure “Hello?”

“Hey, Jess it’s me…”

“Lily!” came the scream, causing her to jump and nearly drop the phone. “Where the fucking hell have you been? I’ve been calling you all night. Your meeting has been moved up, you need to get to the airport right now!”

“What? Oh, fuck!” Lily took a breath and closed her eyes as her assistant kept rambling over the phone, talking so fast Lily could hardly understand them. “Jess, Jess, Jessie!” She tried to speak urgently and sharply without making too much noise. “I need you to bring me my bag and my suit, the green one. Put an extra pair of underwear in my bag.”

“I’m sorry, Lily, but your overnight bag won’t be enough, I've had to pack your suitcase, you’ll be staying for a week. They’ve sent a whole itinerary, but when we left Hong Kong I didn’t think to pack any of your formal wear. I’ve arranged for the concierge to book a fitting for after your first meeting, once you’ve checked in. Where are you anyway? I need to let Terrence know where we need to come and get you.” 

Lily went to answer then realised she had no actual idea of the address. It wasn’t far from the bar, she didn’t think. But she had been interested in other things besides looking out the car window to notice what neighbourhood they were in. Lily looked up as the door to the bathroom swung open gently, revealing a conscious James leaning against the frame wearing only his battered looking jeans, his tousled hair framing his tired-looking face and his glasses perching on the end of his nose, as if they were mere moments from falling off.

She let the phone fall from her ear slightly as he continued to stare at her, a wry smile reaching only the edge of his lips. 

“Something tells me you aren’t staying for breakfast.” His tone was light but she heard the resignation behind it. As she looked over at her childhood sweetheart, an idea struck her.

“Jess? You still there? Pick me up outside the Marauders’ Pub in Soho. Yeah? And Jess? I'm gonna need another plane ticket.”

“Well, okay boss but they are sending you a priv…..” Lily did not hear the last of her assistant’s words as she closed the flip phone and tossed it back to him.

“I can't believe you still use that antique.” He caught it deftly in his left hand and dropped it into his back pocket.

“I can’t believe I’m letting you dick around with my life again,” he replied, barely even trying to mask the disappointment.

“As much as I'd love to have this argument again, I really need you to pack yourself a bag. Do you have a good suit that fits you?”

He shook his head and blinked at her as she brushed past him to his rail of clothes and started looking through them. He still had some nice attire here, a lot of it she remembered from their life before.

“Lily, wait,” he called after her but she took no notice. She had no time. Already, in her head, she was mapping out what she needed to do. A whole week with these people. The one day originally planned would have been torture, but this... If she had back up maybe she could make it work.  “Stop.” He placed a hand on hers as it rested on the next coathanger. She looked up into his gorgeous eyes as they shone with all the colours as his emotions played out across his face. He was always so expressive. “What are you doing?”

“I want you to come with me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not? You’re your own boss, you could take the time off. It’s not like you’re the only one in charge. What about Sirius? Or Remus? Or even Pete?” She paused, “Is Pete doing okay? I thought he wanted to go in a, erm, different direction but I saw his name up there with the rest of you?”

He sighed and rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “Pete is a silent partner, he helps out when he can but his wife made him join their family business, he helps by keeping them away.” His hand dropped to his side. “Lily I can’t afford to just drop everything, everybody else has other responsibilities, I’m the only one left to run it and I won't let it fail. My staff depends on me.”

“James, this is me telling you I don’t want to leave you again. I don’t want to go on this trip without you by my side, I could use someone in my corner. I could also use a devilishly handsome, charming, charismatic–” he raised an eyebrow at her seductive tone but didn’t stop her putting her hands on his chest, tracing the antlers that spread across them. 

 “My tattoos aren’t very corporate,” he murmured, his voice sounding deep and throaty. she shrugged in reply,

“You’d be surprised what people hide under their suits these days.” She told him with a twinkle, sobering when his lips thinned. “Please James. I need you.” She hadn’t realised how true those words were until she had spoken them to the universe.

“I’m sorry Lily, but my staff need me more. They rely on me.”

“So you’ve never taken a day off? Never had to call in sick?” Before he could answer her questions an idea struck her. “What if I pay your staff for the week? How much would that be?” He stood for a moment apparently stunned then started laughing and stepped away from her, sitting down on the edge of the bed. She tried not to look upset at his reaction to her suggestion. She stood watching him and waited for his mirth to subside.

“Oh, you are actually serious? You want to pay me so I will spend time with you?” He shook his head as his mirth still rippled through him. “This isn’t Pretty Woman and I’m not some, some...rentboy you picked up off the street.” 

Now he sounded angry. James’ phone started buzzing in his back pocket. She had not thought that offering to pay his staff would equate  to her hiring him as an escort service. Her brain hadn’t gone that way at all. She let him answer his call, as she rushed back to the bathroom for a much needed shower and tried to clear her head.

James may have skimped on bedroom furniture but he hadn’t skimped on his wet room. The shower was a walk-in style and big enough for four people, the naturally textured tiles on her feet were warm as she walked in, the large slabs of highly polished sand-coloured stone on the walls were so neatly fitted she couldn’t even see the joins. 

Turning on the shower filled the room with hot steam and the reassuring splats of water droplets peppering the tiles. Stepping into it, she gasped at the pressure. It was like standing in a tropical rainstorm. She just stood there unmoving, letting the water rush over her enjoying the sensation as it beat down on her head.

“That was your PA on the phone. I gave them this address so you can leave from here.” James said as he stepped into the bathroom like they did this kind of thing all the time. “Thought you might want to have some fresh clothes to wear.”

“You really won’t come?” She asked, trying one last time. She forced herself to keep her eyes forward when she realised he was joining her by the sound of his jeans hitting the tiled floor. 

Despite their recent intimacy, or perhaps because of it, being this close to his naked body turned her core white-hot. She tried very hard not to react as she felt his naked skin brush up against hers.  His arm reached past and grabbed an unlabelled metal bottle from the small alcove. Then his fingers were in her hair and her nostrils were filled with the scent of an English summer garden.

“Is it okay that I join you in here? Thought it would save some time.”

“Yes, okay, it’s absolutely fine,” she tried to keep her voice as neutral as his but even she could hear the breathiness.  

“I told your assistant I can’t, it’s not my scene at all,” he told her conversationally, as if he wasn’t standing butt naked behind her in the shower. He was trying to calm her down, trying to talk about what needed to be talked about. The fact they were taking a shower together didn’t seem to phase him at all. Determinedly, she tried to follow his lead.

“This is not me running away from you. I need you to understand that.” She hummed in pleasure as his fingers massaged deeper into her hair. “I’m sorry if I offended you, offering to pay.” 

 “I’m still not sure if I find it more funny or offensive,” he began. “I can’t say I’m not tempted to run away with you, but you know as well as I do how much of a distraction I would be. You need to be at your best. I will be fine, I’ll just have to trust you’ll come back. That you're not making me the poor jilted lover once more.” He told her. She wanted to tell him he didn’t need to worry, wanted to say all the things that she had agonised about saying as she lay awake beside him in his bed, but no words could adequately explain how she was feeling. So she turned and reached for him, pushing her fingers up across his stubble studded cheeks into his hair and kissing him soundly. Breaking the kiss he tilted her head back as his lips dragged kisses across her throat. She didn’t need to ask where his mind was right now, she could feel his arousal pressing against her stomach. All too soon her brain caught up with her and soundly put on the brakes. “Not that I don’t enjoy where this is going, but we need to stop.” She took a few quick breaths as his hands continued to soap her breasts. “I don’t have the time and I’m a little tender.”

“You were the one who started things, Evans. I was just helping you wash,” he said innocently, amusement dancing in his eyes. But he did take his hands off her body and even though she had asked him to, she mourned the loss of contact. “In all honesty, I don’t think I have it in me right now to perform at my best anyway.” 

“Let’s just put this on pause for now then shall we?” She told him, giving him a gentle kiss, hoping he understood how much he continued to mean to her. Lily dipped her head to rinse the bubbles out of her hair. It felt like silk as she combed her fingers through it.

“What is that shampoo? It’s amazing!”

“It’s a prototype. Remus’ company makes it, the only thing that’s come close to making my hair behave. He’s made it his personal mission to tame it. He gives me a new formula just about every week.” He pointed to the small bathroom cabinet above the sink. “The conditioner’s in there, it's one you have to leave in. I put towels on the hook.” She stepped aside once she was rinsed, letting him have the full force of the shower. 

“Does he always make it smell like flowers?”

“Yup.” She expected him to elaborate but when he didn’t she just let it go and stepped out of the shower. She found the small spray bottle in the cabinet simply labelled conditioner and scrunched some into her hair as she watched James wash his. The bubbles slid down his frame in ways that made her wish she could just step back in there with him.

Lily wished she could continue to stare at him but her logical brain was kicking in to tell her all that she still had to do. Moving back to the bedroom, she twisted her hair up out of the way while she looked for anywhere he would store things. There wasn’t even a cupboard in the bedroom so she padded her way through to the living space. She barely remembered it from the night before, and she was stunned at how minimally he lived.

It was a beautiful apartment, the exposed red brick looked amazing with the warm honey-coloured wooden floor. The living space was a good size for London, the kitchen looked brand new with a wooden worktop that matched the floor and clean white cupboards. She spotted the coffee machine, and hunted in the cupboards to see if he had any beans, suppressing her irritation when every one was empty. 

The more she looked around his place, the less it felt like he lived here at all. There was a giant modular brown leather sofa taking up the majority of space in the living area, a coffee table that looked like it was made out of granite, and a giant tv on the wall. 

“What is this place to you James Potter?” She mused as she looked around. She was tempted to start rummaging in drawers (if there were any) but it felt like possibly a step too far for now. 

The intercom buzzed impatiently making her jump guiltily and nearly drop her towel. As she stared at the white box on the wall and wondered how to operate it James came striding out of the bedroom holding a hand towel around his waist, hair still dripping. He lifted the receiver then buzzed to let the person come up. “It’s your assistant.” He explained before vanishing back to the bedroom.

Lily stood looking through the peephole until she saw her assistant's blonde head appear from the stairs.

She opened the door and ushered them in quickly. Taking the bag from them awkwardly with one hand.

Jessie looked around and hummed appreciatively. “This is nice, you could do a lot with this place. When are they moving in?”

“I don’t know,” Lily replied quietly. “I’m going to go change. Can you play nice with James, please? It would be great if you two get on.”

“Well I’ll behave if he will,” Jessie swept an invisible strand of hair out their face before relenting to Lily’s reproachful look. “Alright, alright. When we spoke on the phone they were pleasant so I can be too.” 

“Great, I’ll be super quick,” as she made her way back into the bedroom James stepped out wearing that same pair of jeans he seemed incredibly fond of and one of his many black Marauders Pub t-shirts. He put out a hand to stop her as she tried to slip past him.

“I’m going to get out of your hair,” he said quietly. She could tell by the tone he didn’t want to be here when she left, didn’t want to be the one left waving by the door. She understood that in an instant, saw it in his sad eyes, and the hesitant touch he placed on her arm. 

“Okay.” With a glance at her assistant she walked him back into the bedroom. “This was not how I wanted this to go,” she said, keeping her voice down once she knew they were alone.

“Saying goodbye brings back bad memories,” he told her shuffling his feet and running a hand through his hair. “I want to believe you're coming back this time.”

“Of course I’m coming back. I’ll call you, every day. But could you do something for me?” She asked, reaching to snake her arms around his neck.

“Can you get yourself a new phone so we can video chat?”

“Yes, Evans I think I can manage that,” he told her, leaning down to kiss her goodbye for the last time. 

[grim-on-the-darkside]

The Latest Information on Lucas’s Sequel Trilogy he wrote in 2011. Also some information from  Star Wars Archives: Episodes I-III: 1999–2005, author Paul Duncan interviewed George Lucas his ideas of a Sequel Trilogy.

Firstly, some of the things Pablo Hidalgo has stated about Lucas’s sequel trilogy that he has access to and spoke to Lucas directly about.

We know Lucas never considered the EU canon or a part of his Star Wars universe so it is not surprising his Sequel Trilogy was of his own creation.

........

"Fast forward to 2012, when we hear George is looking to make SW movies again, I though I thought 'I wonder what next Mon Calamari's gonna be. And it turns out, the Mon Calamari this time was huge swaths of the EU. There was no Jacen, no Jaina. No new Jedi Order. Chewie lived. Not surprising, but there it was."

~ Pablo Hidalgo, 2016               

https://ibb.co/nmjWcBM

..

[Regarding Lucas Sequel Trilogy Treatments he wrote in 2011 and sold to Disney]

Comment - "What are you talking about? J.J. threw out His story treatments and he [George Lucas] has no imput at all anymore."

Pablo Hidalgo Response - "Not entirely true. But the treatments as they were pretty much disregarded the EU, which was to be expected.”

~ 2018

https://ibb.co/Dz7qhTB

........

Commentor - 'Thank You for the clarification, might I ask if you ever recieved any direction that George Lucas with the number of children the Solos had as depicted in the EU?'

Pablo Hidalgo - "All I meant is his starting point for this Trilogy didn't have Jacen, Jaina, and/or Anakin."

Commentor - 'Was there Ben Skywalker?'

Pablo Hidalgo - "There was not."

https://ibb.co/JH2Y8tg

.................

Question -  "My question is, *what did George's treatments for 7 look like? I would love to see if they fit the EU."

Answer [Pablo Hidalgo]- "They did not. For instance, there was no Jaina, Jacen, or Anakin."  ~ 2017                                                                       

https://ibb.co/N7HKCsF

................

Pablo Hidalgo - "Jacen and Jaina never existed in George's storytelling, even in treatment form."

Comment Response - "And about Mara Jade?"

Pablo Hidalgo - "No. George never thought of Mara as being part of his universe either."

~ 2016 https://ibb.co/YLHk6Ft

.......

From Star Wars Insider

..

"There was no Ben Skywalker in George's Universe. He came from the NJO team." ~ Pablo Hidalgo 2016

https://ibb.co/HDtXh6D

................

"Question from Today, but I thought this was pretty well known. George Lucas never considered Jacen, Jaina, or Mara Jade as part of his universe."

~ Pablo Hidalgo May 2016 https://ibb.co/VDX2qvY

....

"But anyway Luke in exile predates TLJ by a long time and came from someone who can very happily and rightly supersede anyone's feedback :)"

~ Pablo Hidalgo https://ibb.co/sKZnWKk

[Luke was in something of a self imposed exile on an Island in Lucas Sequel Trilogy which is something that Disney ripped off from Lucas’s Sequel Trilogy. Pablo is referring to Lucas in this quote.]

..

"Luke was training a new generation of Jedi, it all went wrong because of 1 boy, and he's the 'Jedi killer' - that's the source.”

~ Pablo Hidalgo, 2016 https://ibb.co/JjYtGtf

[The source being George Lucas sequel trilogy treatments he made in 2011 and ended up selling to Disney later. Something else Disney ripped off from Lucas’s Sequel trilogy.] ..

Pablo Hidalgo -   "George's starting point for 7 had no Jaina, Jacen, Anakin and Chewie never died. So yeah."

[Reply] - "Could we please send this to every EU purist we know?"

[Other replyer] "They wont care."

[First Replyer] "They will after what Hidalgo just said after this."

[Pablo Hidalgo] - "No, they won't. You can't correct the internet.The info's out there. They've made up their minds."

https://ibb.co/mXGX0Qn

..

Pablo Hidalgo - "But there was no sequel trilogy at that time."

Commenter 1 -

'Also, Lucas' Treatment of EP VII did not have the twins born in the Thrawn Trilogy'.

Pablo Hidalgo - "It didn't have twins."

Commenter 2 -

'You're referring to the treatment Lucas sold Disney in 2012. I guess plans changed.'

Pablo Hidalgo - "Or were defined. Jacen and Jaina were never part of George's story. They were Tim's [Zahn] invention."

~ Pablo Hidalgo Q&A

https://ibb.co/VQ5Zrr0

..

Here’s what George said about them during an interview with James Cameron for his The Story of Science Fiction project.

“Back in the day, I used to say ultimately what this means is we’re just cars, vehicles, for the Whills to travel around in…. We’re vessels for them. And the conduit is the midi-chlorians. The midi-chlorians are the ones that communicate with the Whills. The Whills, in a general sense, they are the Force.

All the way back to — with the Jedi and the Force and everything — the whole concept of how things happen was laid out completely from [the beginning] to the end. But I never got to finish. I never got to tell people about it.

If I’d held onto the company I could have done it, and then it would have been done. Of course, a lot of the fans would have hated it, just like they did Phantom Menace and everything, but at least the whole story from beginning to end would be told.”

~ George Lucas

https://www.indiewire.com/2018/06/george-lucas-episode-vii-episode-ix-1201974276/

..

As part of the book Star Wars Archives: Episodes I-III: 1999–2005, author Paul Duncan interviewed George Lucas. During this interview, George talked more about his plans for the sequel trilogy.

Paul Duncan: What about the stormtroopers? They look robotic, but they’re not.

George Lucas: How do you know what they are?

Paul Duncan: Did you have a different idea of what they were?

George Lucas: Yeah, they started out as clones. Once all the clones were killed, the Empire picked up recruits, like militia. They fought, but they weren’t very good at what they did.

Paul Duncan: That’s why they kept missing.

George Lucas: That’s why they kept missing. Then after the Rebels won, there were no more stormtroopers in my version of the third trilogy.

I had planned for the first trilogy to be about the father, the second trilogy to be about the son, and the third trilogy to be about the daughter and the grandchildren. [There was only one, Ben Solo, another Disney rip off.]

Episode VII, VIII, and IX would take ideas from what happened after the Iraq War. “Okay, you fought the war, you killed everybody, now what are you going to do?” Rebuilding afterwards is harder than starting a rebellion or fighting the war. When you win the war and you disband the opposing army, what do they do? The stormtroopers would be like Saddam Hussein’s Ba’athist fighters that joined ISIS and kept on fighting. The stormtroopers refuse to give up when the Republic win.

They want to be stormtroopers forever, so they go to a far corner of the galaxy, start their own country and their own rebellion.

There’s a power vacuum so gangsters, like the Hutts, are taking advantage of the situation, and there is chaos. The key person is Darth Maul, who had been resurrected in The Clone Wars cartoons — he brings all the gangs together.

Paul Duncan: Was Darth Maul the main villain?

George Lucas: Yeah, but he’s very old, and we have two versions of him. One is with a set of cybernetic legs like a spider, and then later on he has metal legs and he was a little bit bigger, more of a superhero. We did all this in the animated series, he was in a bunch of episodes.

Darth Maul trained a girl, Darth Talon [The only thing from the EU in Lucas’s Trilogy, but it wasn’t even really her, just had the same look and name, completely different background. She wasn’t even born yet at that time frame in the comics]., who was in the comic books as his apprentice. She was the new Darth Vader, and most of the action was with her. So these were the two main villains of the trilogy. Maul eventually becomes the godfather of crime in the universe because, as the Empire falls, he takes over.

The movies are about how Leia — I mean, who else is going to be the leader? — is trying to build the Republic. They still have the apparatus of the Republic but they have to get it under control from the gangsters. That was the main story.

It starts out a few years after Return of the Jedi and we establish pretty quickly that there’s this underworld, there are these offshoot stormtroopers who started their own planets, and that Luke is trying to restart the Jedi. He puts the word out, so out of 100,000 Jedi, maybe 50 or 100 are left. The Jedi have to grow again from scratch, so Luke has to find two- and three-year-olds, and train them. It’ll be 20 years before you have a new generation of Jedi.

By the end of the trilogy Luke would have rebuilt much of the Jedi, and we would have the renewal of the New Republic, with Leia, Senator Organa, becoming the Supreme Chancellor in charge of everything. So she ended up being the Chosen One.”

George also expanded on Midi-chlorians:

“This is the cosmology. The Force is the energy, the fuel, and without it everything would fall apart. The Force is a metaphor for God, and God is essentially unknowable. But behind it is another metaphor, which fits so well into the movie that I couldn’t resist it.

Midi-chlorians are the equivalent of mitochondria in living organisms and photosynthesis in plants — I simply combined them for easier consumption by the viewer. Mitochondria create the chemical energy that turns one cell into two cells.

I like to think that there is a unified reality to life and that it exists everywhere in the universe and that it controls things, but you can also control it. That’s why I split it into the Personal Force and the Cosmic Force. The Personal Force is the energy field created by our cells interacting and doing things while we are alive. When we die, we lose our persona and our energy is assimilated into the Cosmic Force.

If we have enough Midi-chlorians in our body, we can have a certain amount of control over our Personal Force and learn how to use it, like the Buddhist practive of being able to walk on hot coals.”

And the Whills:

“The Whills are a microscopic, single-celled lifeform like amoeba, fungi, and bacteria. There’s something like 100,000 times more Whills than there are Midi-chlorians, and there are about 10,000 times more Midi-chlorians than there are human cells.

The only microscopic entities that can go into the human cells are the Midi-chlorians. They are born in the cells. The Midi-chlorians provide the energy for human cells to split and create life. The Whills are single-celled animals that feed on the Force. The more of the Force there is, the better off they are. So they have a very intense symbiotic relationship with the Midi-chlorians and the Midi-chlorians effectively work for the Whills.

It is estimated that we have 100 trillion microbes in our body and we are made up of about 90% bacteria and 10% human cells. So who is in service to whom? I know this is the kind of thing that fans just go berserk over because they say, “We want it to be mysterious and magical”, and “You’re just doing science.” Well, this isn’t science.

This is just as mythological as anything else in Star Wars. It sounds more scientific, but it’s a fiction.

It’s saying there is a big symbiotic relationship to create life, and to create the Force, but if you look at all the life-forms in the universe, most of them are one-celled organisms. I think of one-celled organisms as an advanced form of life because they’ve been able to travel through the universe. They have their own spaceships — those meteorites that we get every once in a while. They’ve been living on those things for thousands of years, they’ve been frozen, unfrozen, and can survive almost anything.

The one-celled organisms have to have a balance. You have to have good ones and bad ones otherwise it would extinguish life. And if they go out of balance, the dark side takes over.”

..................................................................................................................

Obviously there is the older information that’s already been out there, I just wanted to share some of the newer information that has come to light. I’m sure in time we will learn more.

[formerprincess]

A tale written with fangs and claws || Chapter 61

Chapters: 61/? Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Liam Dunbar/Theo Raeken, Corey Bryant/Mason Hewitt Characters: Liam Dunbar, Theo Raeken, Mason Hewitt, Corey Bryant, Nolan (Teen Wolf), Brett Talbot, Lori Talbot Additional Tags: Alpha Liam Dunbar, Slow Build, Friends to Lovers, Dunbar Pack, Bisexual Liam Dunbar, Werewolf Theo Raeken, Alpha Theo Raeken, Canon-Typical Violence, Smut, Mates, Liam and Theo are mates, Top Theo Raeken, Bottom Theo Raeken, Top Liam, Bottom Liam Dunbar, Bisexual Theo Raeken, Original Character(s) Series: Part 1 of Morning Dew Pack

Maddie and Asher follow Liam's invitation. He also learns new things about were cheetahs and Theo gets a new job from an unlikely source.

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"Anyways, he invited the whole core pack to a BBQ. It's nice meeting with Luka. I learn so much about general history and other things. That's alright with you?" Liam switched his cellphone from the right hand to his left so he could reach for a shampoo bottle with his right. He was currently doing some shopping before his shift at Ellie’s started and also used the time to have a phone conversation with Byron. Byron chuckled softly. "Why shouldn't it be?" "Dunno. Maybe because you think I'm replacing you? Rather listen to him than you?" Byron sighed softly. "Liam, I am well aware of my own age. It is very noble of you to care about my feelings in that matter but I have to tell you not to worry. I know you listen to me but having another werewolf, an Alpha even, closer to your own age group, gives you undoubtedly the advantaged to see things from a different perspective. You young people see the world differently than we do, that is perfectly fine. You can never know too much and different viewpoints allow you a better understanding of things. I am not worried you will forgo my advice or replace me with Luka. In fact, I am excited you get to make this experience with other Alphas and leaders of supernatural groups." Liam exhaled and smiled. "Good. I am grateful for all of you taking your time to teach me things, explain things to me. Especially at the moment, I feel I'm learning so many new things about our world. Things I never ever thought of before." "Your willingness to learn is one of your most admirable traits. When we met, it was one of the first things I noticed", Byron praised him. Liam meanwhile opened the shampoo bottle and sniffed. He grimaced. Way too chemical for his liking. He hastily closed the bottle and put it back on the shelf. "I try my best. The way I see it, knowledge makes me a better Alpha. Which, funnily enough, is an insight I share with Scott." "You're right. Knowledge is always good." Liam found another shampoo he liked and took it to the cash register. Byron meanwhile reminisced. "I think I met Luka's parents once. Unless there is another pack with the same name in North America, which I highly doubt. Insightful and willing to listen. Remarkable people. It appears, their son takes after them." "Wow, maybe one day you two can meet and you can tell him that. I'm not sure when his parents died exactly but he still grieves them and hearing about them will surely make him happy. Maybe you can also meet Savannah and Maddie." He considered this a good idea. Byron hummed approvingly. "I'd love to."

"One second, Byron." Liam found it incredibly impolite to check out and be on the phone so he paused the call and turned his full attention to the cashier once it was his turn to pay. The transaction didn't take long and Liam left the store with his shampoo. Only then he picked up the conversation again. "Sorry, had to pay." Byron hummed again and Liam remembered a question from earlier he had wanted to ask: "You said it's highly unlikely two packs with the same name existing in North America. Why?" "I guess I should have worded it better. There is a chance of another pack having an Alpha named Barrett, it is not an incredibly rare name, but the possibility of the other pack referring to themselves as Barrett Pack is rare. You know, Liam, packs can have all kinds of names. A lot of them take their Alpha's last name. McCall, Hale, Barrett. Others, like ours, derive their names from the world around them or things connected to them. Red Ambers Pack, The Creek Pack, Silver Eyes. What all those names have in common is they are exclusive to those packs, simply because no one wants to be dragged into another pack's business because they share the last name. Imagine another pack, full of brutal and disruptive wolves, being called Dunbar Pack. One day someone shows up at your door and causes trouble. You would be furious. It's common werewolf etiquette to not have an already taken name. Also an etiquette stemming from old times." "Why do I now imagine all Alphas visiting an office where they register their names and pay the registration fee?" Liam snickered. Byron laughed wholeheartedly. "It's a nice image. Most come from hearsay, to be honest. And, in case of a pack having their Alpha's last name as pack name, the name changes with the Alphas. Unless it's another family member taking over, but that goes without saying." Liam pondered. "So our pack would have gone from Fairclay Pack to Dunbar Pack, if it weren't for Morning Dew." Liam opened his car and put the shampoo bottle on the passenger seat before he closed the door and locked his car again. Now he made his way toward's Ellie's store. "Exactly", Byron confirmed. "I like it better that way. Think of the poor registration office. All this paperwork for a name change." Byron laughed again and Liam joined him. "My shift's about to start, Byron. Talk to you later." "Take care, Liam."

He ended the call and pocketed his phone. The store was very central, with many shops around, and Liam used it to run some smaller errands quite often. When he now arrived at his workplace, Ellie was on a ladder. “Didn’t I tell you to wait with restocking until I’m here?” Liam asked lightly and sidestepped a few empty boxes. His boss placed a box on the shelf. “You mean because you’ll heal faster if you fall from the ladder?” “I…yeah. Besides I’m your young employee. Use me.” “I want to take up that task in case you have no use for Liam!” Carlie yelled from somewhere between the shelves. Her friends giggled. “Carlie.” Liam smirked. “What about Theo? He would get jealous of me for having you.” Theo had visited Liam in the shop before and as expected Ellie and her friends had fawned over his charming personality. “I take both of you!” They all laughed and Ellie thankfully climbed down from the ladder to let Liam take over.

He was working away for a while when the door opened and Theo entered the shop. He didn’t even need to open his mouth, the feeling of resignation and frustration pouring through their bond was enough. Liam gave him a pitiful glance. “The job interview didn’t work out.” Theo completely skipped over Liam already knowing his emotional state and just continued. “They wanted a twenty-year-old with thirty years experience and I can’t offer that. Tried telling her I’ve been to hell. She thought that was a joke.” "I'm sorry." Liam meant it and went to console his boyfriend. He hugged him tightly and Theo clung to him. He wanted to work again and Liam always felt a pang of guilt. Theo had hated working at the diner but he had been working and because his Alpha pressed, he was now jobless. "It's just...It's starting to get borderline ridiculous! Seattle is not a small town, how can nobody be in need of a healthy college student willing to get his hands dirty? Bullshit!" Theo ranted and Liam let him. It was only logical Theo needed to air out his frustration.

"Don't mind me barging into your conversation", Ellie appeared next to the couple. "But, Theo, if you really want a job, I can offer you one. Liam said you two wanted to work together after college anyway. Why not start now?" "That would be possible?" Liam asked surprised. She shrugged. "I see why not. There is more than enough work for the two of you. Also, two strong young men are always better than one. Carlie, don't even comment on that one!" "I didn't say anything!" Carlie shrieked and Theo laughed. "It sure sounds like fun." He looked at Liam. "Is this okay for you?" "Yeah, I don't mind." Liam really saw no issue with that. Ellie was right, they wanted to work together someday, might as well as start now. "Then, yeah, I'd love to accept, Ellie. Thank you." Theo was extremely grateful. She was happy. "Amazing. We can later talk about all the details. I'll offer you the same contract as Liam." He understood that. "Any rules for working together as a couple?" "Boy, you visited Liam several times since he started working here. I never had to fish you out of the storage room or the back office. I'll take the chance." "We are professional!" Liam squawked. Ellie shot him a grin. Then she pumped her fist. "Not me being selfish but there will be some deliveries arriving soon. You two strong men can take this, right?" "Absolutely", Liam promised and pulled Theo along to show him everything.

****** Working with Theo was easier than Liam imagined it to be. Sure, he would have never made the suggestion for their own coffee shop had he doubted that but it was even easier than in his imagination. They worked well together and knew how the other would react in certain situations. They also fell in an easy working rhythm without speaking so much. "Is it really okay for you? Me working here?" Theo still asked when they were storing the deliveries later on. "Yeah, sure. I don't mind in the slightest." Liam opened a box and began handing Theo things. The Second Alpha sorted them meticulously. "Just wanted to check, so you don't feel like I'm intruding or whatever." "You're not. We want to have our own store one day. This is a great exercise." Liam gave him a big smile which Theo returned. "Besides, Ellie is a great boss, you'll see. Makes life easier." "Easier?" Theo inquired and grabbed another box from Liam to store it away. Liam grunted. "She knows about us being werewolves. We don't have to find silly excuses if anything comes up. I had to lie so often in Beacon Hills and come up with stories to cover. Now my boss knows what I am, my coach knows, even my most important family members know.  I don't have to lie anymore and that makes things so much easier. My friends all are either supernatural themselves or involved with the supernatural one way or another. I can be honest, and just be me, you know? It feels so much better", Liam confessed. "It truly is easier", Theo admitted. "Ellie is my first boss in known about the supernatural, it's quite a luxury for me." He gave Liam a cheeky grin and Liam laughed. "You don't mind working with me, right?" He then inquired. "If I did, I wouldn't have accepted the job offer. I'm desperate for a job, but not that desperate." Theo sorted the last thing and handed Liam the label maker. "I'm sure there was a compliment somewhere in that sentence", the young Alpha nagged but didn't mean any harm. Theo understood and scoffed playfully. But then he grew serious. "It's actually quite soothing for my wolf. Being around you, knowing where you are." "Knowing where I am? You know where I am, even if you're not here with me." "It's not that. I know where you are, yes. But are you safe? That's how the mating bond manifests for me. By the urge to protect you every time and at all cost." Liam loved Theo with all his heart and he loved the protective streak the older one had developed for him. Yet... "I like that and I appreciate that. However, I am perfectly capable of protecting myself." "I know you are", Theo confessed, "And that scares the crap out of me." "Huh?" Liam frowned in confusion. Theo grumbled. "One day, I fear, I will be too slow. And you jump headfirst into danger, probably sacrificing yourself for us, and I won't be able to protect you and keep you from doing it. One day, even though you're perfectly capable, I'm afraid a bad guy will get lucky and you will die." Theo shuddered and Liam smiled softly. He put his things down and moved closer to his boyfriend. "I protect myself as good as you do. I will never leave you like this, okay?" "Hm. Promise?" "Promise." Liam kissed him. Maybe it was a dangerous promise given their life but at this moment it felt needed. The sheer thought of one of them not returning after a fight was terrifying and cruel. So acting as if they had complete control over their fate was the only thing to stop the thoughts from going down this path. Theo responded to the kiss but then poked Liam's side. "Come on, let's get those things to Ellie. She didn't hire us to make out. That would be a different line of work."

Liam snickered but then grabbed a box and followed his boyfriend back into the store. "Before I forgot, Sadie and Mason plan on taking you shopping to your new friend Savannah's boutique. Told me before I left." "Me??" Liam shrieked and Ellie looked at him in shock. "Yep. Sadie stalked Savannah online and wants to see the stores. Mason's all for that idea but both agreed it would be rude to show up there without you. So, you have to be the sacrificial lamb, puppy." "No", Liam said firmly, "I'm not going shopping. You all dressing me up once was bad enough. No way!" "Tell them that. I'm just warning you."

The young Alpha grumbled and Ellie chuckled. Liam decided to change the topic slightly. "Luka said he would also invite Savannah and Maddie to the BBQ. I'm really excited to have you all meet. They're cool. It's nice hanging out with them." "Or texting with them", Theo teased. It was true, especially Savannah sent a lot of texts but she never expected a decent answer and just spammed with various things. Maddie, her sister in spirit as the two called themselves, responded equally excited and Liam's phone was buzzing significantly more since he met them. "Are you jealous?" "Me? Of what or whom?" Theo asked surprised. Liam shrugged. It had crossed his mind, he still remembered Theo's jealousy regarding Scott once. "Of Luka maybe?" "Why? Because you had a lunch date?" Theo joked and began tidying up behind the cash register. "It wasn't a lunch date. Not even a date. Just two friends getting something to eat. I do the same with Mason." The Second Alpha shook his head. "I'm not jealous. You're friends, you clearly respect each other and I see how happy it makes you. You see it as a chance to exchange views and advice. How could I be jealous of that?" He paused. "I mean, he is handsome and I know you noticed this as well. You have a type, puppy. Charming men with dark hair. Only natural you find him attractive." "I don't have a type." Liam had begun to fill the displays around the cash register and now shook his head. Theo raised his fingers while he enumerated. "Brett. Me. Luka. Even some of your exes. All fit the bill." "No." Liam scrunched his nose. Though he was not so sure about that one. "Hayden, for example, didn't fit the description." "Yeah. This particular type you have is reserved for males only. I met all your ex-girlfriends and when it comes to women you go for different types. But almost all your ex-boyfriends or crushes share the same traits." Flawless logic but Liam would rather swallow his tongue than directly admit that. "Okay, so what? He is attractive. Doesn't mean I want to start something." "Never said you do."

"Can the old coot give you advice?" Ellie injected. Both men looked at her. She shook her head. "Don't do that to each other. Don't tell yourself you're not allowed to find someone attractive just because your partner might get jealous." "I'm not jealous", Theo clarified. "I know you're not. It's just general life advice from an old lady." "You're not that old", Liam mumbled but continued to listen to her. "I saw relationships end over this. Because one partner thought they were not allowed to find anybody else than their partner sexy or handsome. It's ridiculous. Finding a person attractive says nothing about feelings or ambitions. Just like you said, Theo, it's a preference, a type. But this irrational of making the significant other jealous can become such a pressure, it ends in a breakup. And yet somehow society began telling people, young people, this is how it should be. It shouldn't. It's toxic. My advice is to see it as easy as you two do. A little bit of jealousy is good and I know there is a thing called emotional cheating, that is wrong, but not taking things too seriously is the best way to handle it. I am in a happy marriage and we both find other people handsome. Doesn't mean anything." Liam and Theo looked at each other. "I think we got that one covered", Theo muttered and Liam nodded with a smile. "Yeah."

****** "I hate you and regret all my life choices up to this point." Maya had her arms crossed in front of her chest and glared at the building ahead of her. "Why am I here?" Liam put his arm around her shoulders. "You know you love me and your life choices were good. But if I get dragged down by them, I need to drag someone with me", he explained sardonically and pointed at Sadie, Mason, Brett, and Corey currently gushing over the shop window of Savannah's boutique. Mason had managed to convince Corey and Brett to accompany them and they had excitedly agreed. Liam had decided for that alone they all would get one Christmas present less. Or a lump of coal. "Liam, look, they have suits." Mason was already at the entrance. Coal was a good idea. "And bowties!" Or nothing at all.

The boutique was perfectly illuminated and the carpet was held in pastel colors. One ground floor and a first floor, connected through circular stairs. Several clothing racks and shelves with all kinds of garments were placed around. Liam didn't know where to look first. "Welcome, welcome." Savannah walked towards them looking stunning as always in black heels, white ripped jeans and a black spaghetti top. She smiled brightly at Liam before she hugged him. Then she introduced herself to the others. "I am Savannah. Feel free to look around and see what you might like. If you need help, don't hesitate to ask. And shut up, those earrings are adorable." Just like that, Sadie had a new best friend. Both women excitedly greeted each other and soon enough their friends all swarmed the place. Maya stayed next to Liam. "You look out of place. Are you alright?" Savannah asked. "I don't like shopping", Maya admitted. "I just can't spend hours browsing a clothing store. It's just not me." "That's a shame. I think everybody should enjoy buying things for themselves. We try to give customers that here in our store. But maybe we can help you. Pilar!"

A dark-haired woman in Savannah's age showed up at the top of the staircase. "Yeah?" She called out while she walked down the stairs. She wore sneakers, grey shorts, and a colorful top. "Guys, this is Pilar, she works here with me and is also one of my Betas. Pilar, those are Liam and Maya. Maya hates shopping. Think you could help?" Savannah moderated the getting to know each other. To Maya, she further explained: "Pilar is great with clothing and has this unique talent of always finding something a person likes. I swear, she will make this a fun experience." "Oh, great." Maya still didn't seem convinced but she gave Pilar a brave smile when the were cheetah grinned proudly. Then she swiftly pulled her long, wavy hair up in a bun and studied Maya. "Tell me about yourself. Are you more tomboy or more sporty? Dresses yes or no?" "I'm not a tomboy. I'm simply not interested in too much makeup or dresses. Don't know if that makes me a tomboy already?" Pilar hummed. "What are your hobbies? What do you care for?" "Painting, I care about the environment, protests," Maya started to list. "Environment, amazing. We have a collection of local-made eco-friendly clothes here.  I make all of them, so I know what materials were used and how. Maybe we can find something there?" Maya looked suddenly incredibly happy and followed Pilar up the stairs again.

Savannah grabbed a polka-dotted bowtie in blue and white and held it up to Liam. "You would look pretty in a bowtie." "Absolutely not!" Liam shook his head. She laughed. "Relax, I'm just messing with you. You're not my dress-up doll." He chuckled. Her humor was something you had to like, otherwise you might feel insulted or ridiculed. But Liam got it. "You're coming to the BBQ?" "Later, I think. It's a busy day here and I cannot plan in advance when we will be done. Stocktaking, you know? I'll keep you guys updated." She smirked. "I wonder what his house looks like. Is it big? Small? Maybe even bigger once inside." "Are we still talking about Luka's house?" Liam questioned. Savannah clicked her tongue. "Maybe. Maybe not." Her eyes flashed light blue. Liam narrowed his own eyes in concentration. "Are your eyes always this color? Or did they change after you did become an Alpha?" "Blue, you mean? It's the default eye color for cheetahs. Our Alphas don't have different colored eyes than the rest. Blue for everyone." "Wolves only have blue eyes once they took an innocent life. Hence why I'm asking." The blonde shook her head. "We don't have that." Savannah wrapped one arm around Liam. "Now, tell me, any life updates? Things I should know about? Should I take time off work for a wedding?" "My wedding is in a few years, don't stress." Liam blushed. She cackled and let go of him when three women passed the store window. They waved and Savannah waved back. "The brunette one is Beatriz, the redhead is Paola, and the one with the black hair is Carmen. They make the rest of my pack." "Your pack is solely women?" Liam was surprised. "I mean if you don't count our parents, yeah. It's not uncommon for were cheetahs. We are matriarchic minted packs most of the time. It has its origin in the myth of the first were cheetahs. We originated in Africa and there was a village. The old king had been okay-ish to the women in the village. Not the most supportive fella but not bad either. But he got dethroned and killed. The new king made women fair game. They had to serve the men, were mistreated, abused, raped, were no more than slaves. One night the women fled into the wilderness. But without any food or weapons, they were scared and so they prayed to the highest gods for help. One heard their prayers and decided to help them in exchange for something. The women would get the powers to overtake their oppressors and in return, they would forever serve the cheetah goddess. Thus were cheetahs were born." Liam marveled. "I have no idea how werewolves were created. It is so cool you guys know your origin story." "Well." She looked rather proud of herself. "It's tradition and we're proud of it. No, we don't hate men. That's not what this is about." "Who hates men?" Mason appeared next to them. "Nobody." Liam ducked last minute before his best friend managed to place a pink tie around his neck. He just didn't count on Corey appearing behind him and placing a small tiara on Liam's head. "We crown you Alpha of our hearts!" Liam wanted to be mad. But it was hard when he was already laughing. "You're ridiculous!"

****** "Do we have everything we need? Are you sure it's fine? Maybe we should have picked up wine? I don't know." Corey stood in the kitchen and nibbled at his thumbnail. He had begun that after running his hands through his hair and destroying his hairstyle three times in a row which almost caused a nervous breakdown on Mason's part. Liam reached out and gently tugged his friend's hand away from his mouth. "Wow, you are nervous. Relax, it's only Maddie and Asher." Corey groaned. "I know. But I feel this is the first time Mase and I represent this pack as emissary and consultant. Yes, you are here but nobody else is, and what if something goes wrong?" "Corey, you advised me in the past", Liam reminded him. "I know but that was in group settings. This time, it's just us." He pointed at himself and Mason who also seemed incredibly nervous. Liam almost pitied them. "Look, I felt the same way before the Alpha meeting. But it turned out fine. Maddie's a great character and I'm sure Asher is as well. I mean, otherwise, they surely wouldn't be friends." He exhaled. "I also don't think you two are even capable of starting a war or offend somebody. I know you. Mason, you're great at diplomatic stuff, and you, Corey, are great with keeping the peace. I trust you." Sometimes as an Alpha, you had to give a pep talk. Liam could relate to the anxious feeling and the fear of destroying everything but he absolutely believed in his consultant and his emissary. He would have never given them those positions otherwise.

The doorbell rang. "Okay, relax!" Liam felt like a father protecting his kids from trouble in school as he now made his way towards the front door and Mason and Corey followed closely.

And then he opened the door. "Liam! I brought the playdate for your boys" Maddie announced cheerfully and with the biggest grin on her face. She stood at the front door alone, Asher still at the car which he currently locked. Other than last time Liam saw him he was now wearing jeans, sneakers, and a grey henley. It fit him better than the suit. More like him. And it seemed like his best friend had not bothered to wait for him. It also seemed as if he was used to this given he didn't even comment on it when he now joined them at the door. "I'm thirty-one. I don't need a playdate!" He now corrected her playfully exasperated. He smiled at Liam. "Hi, I'm Asher, please ignore her." Maddie opened her mouth in mock outrage and Liam laughed. "Hi, I'm Liam, welcome. Those are Corey and Mason." He stepped aside and pointed at his friends respectively. Both raised their hands. "Hey." "Hi." Maddie had overcome her faked shock from before and stepped into the house. She continued the conversation with her best friend as nothing happened. "No, what you need is some happiness fucked back into your soul." "Oh my god!" Asher glanced at the ceiling as if he asked higher powers for help. Then he gave Liam, Mason, and Corey an exasperated glance. "Please, double-ignore her." "You can't ignore me! You love me!" She reminded him gleefully. He sighed. "I wonder why." But the banter between the friends managed to break the ice, Mason and Corey warmed up immediately, and smiles spread over their faces. "You just stepped into the house, so you don't need an extra invitation", Mason mused. Maddie nodded. "No, I don't need this. We can enter any house unless a or mountain ash barrier prevents us. Speaking off, you have one outside, right? I felt it." "A ghostly barrier created by our witch, yep", Corey confirmed. "You were only able to pass because Liam invited you. Other supernaturals without invitation would have not been able to get over it. But it's amazing you could feel that." "Sometimes we can feel those things. Not always", Maddie explained.

Mason was already on the case and lead them to the dining room where they had put the bestiary and Corey's computer. "He needs to write this down." Liam knew his friend. Maddie pointed at Asher. "I have one of those as well." Asher was more interested in what Corey and Mason had gathered. "Is that a bestiary? I've heard about those but never saw one before. Wow. How did you get that?" "From friends. Yeah, I think that's a good explanation." Corey kept it simple. It didn't need more explanation for the moment, the three of them started talking animatedly. Meadow and Liam retreated into the kitchen.

"I know it's weird. A human and a vampire being best friends. But he makes me feel normal." She smiled weakly. "I don't think it's weird." Liam shook his head. "Mason and I were friends before I became a werewolf but after I finally came clean to him, it was good to have him. To know not everything is supernatural. Sometimes I need this. Normality. I understand what you're saying." Maddie seemed happy he understood and looked at the three men. They were still deeply involved in their exchange, didn't even notice their friends being gone. "I think this was a good decision", she said quietly. "Yeah? That's good." Liam was also pleased it worked so well. She sighed. "He doesn't have many friends. Acquaintances, yes. But not those I-can-call-you-at-three-in-the-morning-because-my-whole-life-is-exploding-right-now type of friends. It's good he's meeting new people." "I thought Asher was part of your coven." Had Liam been wrong? "No, he can't be", Meadow declined, "See, vampires are independent beings. We can form covens but even then we tend to ourselves. I told you I can walk around during the day but at night, vampires are more active. You won't find a vampire sleeping during the night unless they're forced to. Our rhythm is completely different than a human's. It's not like your pack, you are humans as well. We have a human side and yet we're detached from the human living. Having a human in a vampire coven wouldn't work." It made perfect sense Liam just had not considered it before. Logical. "So best friends but not part of each other's groups. Huh, okay." "Yep." She popped the 'p'.

"How did you two meet?" Corey asked meanwhile. Asher put one arm over the headrest of his chair and looked at Meadow. He started laughing. She grinned. "Oh, I can tell you. A few years ago this vampire came to town. She had been going on my nerves for a while and causes some havoc. One night, she was on the hunt for new prey and picked Mr. Asher himself. Look at the guy, who can blame her?" Asher groaned and rolled his eyes but continued to look highly amused by how she was telling the story. "Anyways, she lures him away and I follow. She's doing the most, all seductive and sexy, and then I barge in, ready to save the innocent human. The vampire chick and I start yelling at each other, she cries about how she almost had him and what does he say? Sitting on the couch, frowning as if she insulted him, and then he hits her with: I'm gay!? Like, how could you not pick that up? Completely unfazed by the reveal about vampires." "To be fair, I knew about supernaturals through my father. It wasn't a groundbreaking discovery", Asher relented. Maddie ignored him this time. "From that moment on I knew he is game for everything. We started talking, I learned whose son he was, the rest is history." "Meaning since this moment she's pestering me and acting like my undead auntie", Asher teased her. "Well, someone has to take care you're not going to the dogs. Also, undead auntie? If anything I'm the cool auntie!" She acted arrogantly and watched her nails. "Don't be fooled, she's the one getting her heel stuck in the streets and lands on her behind while trying to get it unstuck." Asher let Liam, Mason, and Corey in on a secret. Meadow shrieked and walked over to his hit shoulder. "This was one time and absolutely not my fault." Every word was followed by a hit. He laughed and tried to stop her from hitting him. "You were drunk and the shoes too big. Which I told you in the store." "Yeah, the only fashion tip of yours actually useable." Asher groaned. "Oh god, no, not this again." Mason used this to take notes. "So calling out god in the presence of a vampire is okay. Nothing happens." "I'm not Satan. We can walk into churches without bursting in flames or getting hit by lightning too." "Demons burst in flames upon entering a church. Hence why my father never visits one", Asher put in his own two cents. Corey eyed him. "Morbid sense of humor or truth?" "Dark humor. His father is the human equivalent of a demon if you must know. Though I personally prefer to call him a walking trash pile of a human being. You never know when a demon is around and overhears. Wouldn't want to insult them", Meadow nagged and Asher shushed her. "Maddie!" "What? Your father is garbage. Not just because of his businesses but just alone based on how he treats you." "It could be worse." This didn't seem to be the first time the friends got into a spat over Asher's father. "At least, he didn't let me be homeless." "He lets you live in a tiny shoebox of an apartment and makes you pay horrendous prices for rent. The bar is so damn low and yet this rat walks beneath it with his head held high." Liam didn't want them to fight and cut in. "The joy of terrible fathers. My biological one is also one of those. But it's good to have people in your life who care about you." "You cherish them more. That's how I see it", Asher agreed. Meadow understood the peace offering as what it was and kissed his cheek. "Such a cutie." "Hate you." "Asher, you're embarrassing me in front of our new friends." "They know you for a few days now. That train has left the station. They already know how nuts you are." Mason cackled. These two gave him and Liam a run for their money. They also could banter and bicker but when push came to shove, they were there for each other and had each other's backs.

Asher returned his attention to the bestiary and pointed at an entry. "That information is false. It says nymphs are redhaired. Nymphs can have every hair color in the world, not just red. If you can, I would note that somewhere." "You can read Latin just like that?" Corey was baffled. Asher shrugged. "Sure. Learned it in school and never stopped using the skills. Especially after I met Maddie and started helping her with a few vampire-related things. Comes in handy." "Asher is good with languages. It helps him in his job as well." "What are you doing for a living?" "I'm an event planner. My client list is small but exclusive. It's not the most charitable job in the world but you have to get out of bed." And just like that, Liam decided he liked Asher immensely. He had this wicked humor you only got after years of being through an absolute shit show and from what he already heard about his father and what he saw at the meeting, Liam could see where this came from. Meadow had said Asher's mother died when he was a child, another traumatic experience. Yet here he was, talking openly with strangers and sharing things with them. Away from his father, Asher seemed more relaxed and himself. And it was obvious he cared deeply for Maddie. Liam liked people with their hearts in the right place. Those were his type of people.

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Author’s note:

The eyes of a were cheetah when they flash:

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I am happy I got to insert Asher more. I love this guy. I love all my characters but after I barely had a chance to write about him in the last chapter, this chapter felt good. Next chapter they all finally come together. Or do they? We will see 😁 Did you like the chapter so far? I hope I managed to bring out the friendship Maddie and Asher have. They're each other's persons.

[slashersteve]

No Shame

pairing: Steve Harrington/Female Reader

warnings: there’s sex guys okay omg, oral sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up don’t be like them)

summary: (y/n) sneaks into Steve's room at 2 am, and Steve decides to give her the best night of her life.

note: this is called no shame but why is that all i feel huh answer me im so sorry also this is a series on my archive and my first time actually posting a smut im BORED 

***

While (y/n) considered herself to be spontaneous, Steve would describe it as more of impulsiveness. It was 2 in the morning, 2 in the damn morning , and here she was, tapping onto his window to his bedroom, his bedroom on the second floor of his house. Was this how girls felt when he used to do this? At least he'd ask first, not that he minded that (y/n) was here, as long as she wasn't crawling into some other guy's bedroom, but he would've liked a warning.

Her explanation was as she climbed into his room, very silently, "I was just in the neighborhood." Steve rubbed his tired eyes, laughing sarcastically at her joke. She lived in the house across from his, though he couldn't see it due to the trees, and long drive-way so of course she was in the neighborhood. He decided to just leave the window open, she would be leaving fairly soon and it was actually a pretty cool summer night. (y/n) herself was wearing a pair of jean shorts, and a loose fitted t-shirt that fell slightly over her shoulder. The first thing she did was fall onto Steve's messed up bed, arms and legs spread open as she sighed.

"What are you doing here?" Steve asked again, going over to his door to make sure it was locked. Ironically, his parents were home, and if they found him with a girl in his bedroom, he'd get into quite a bit of trouble. It was easy enough to do this kind of stuff when they weren't there, as long as he wasn't caught that is. The other nights she would be here, they weren't home, and they were very closely caught one other time when she'd accidentally fallen asleep naked in his arms.

He remembered being vaguely aware of the opening of his bedroom door, and his mother telling him that they were home before he literally shoved her off of the bed. It wasn't about just keeping him out of trouble, he could handle his parents, but it was (y/n) he was trying to keep out of trouble- well out of the trouble she was almost always in. She had whined loudly, asking what the hell his problem was before realizing herself that his mom was just about to peek in. She had quickly slid underneath his bed and Steve pretended to be barely waking up, covering his body completely and telling his mom, "Good to know!"

Then when she was gone, he could hear (y/n) trying to smother her laughter as he nearly tripped over the sheets just to get the door closed properly and locked.

"That was so fucking close," Steve had said, feeling out of breath from the sudden rush of adrenaline of being caught. (y/n) slid out from under the bed, not even bothering to cover herself up as she stood up, rubbing the back of her head as she replied, "That would've been fun." He had felt really bad for shoving her off the bed like that, but she was in equal distress. She put on all of her clothes when she was climbing out of his window, she blew him a kiss and thanked him for the head-rush.

That was the closest they've ever been caught, and he was afraid that this time- they would most definitely get caught if they decided to do anything. The reason he was trying to keep her out of trouble was because her parents were much more strict than his were, as in they would keep her locked in her room for the rest of high school had they known she was sneaking around with Steve Harrington. They trusted him a lot, he'd been Little Steve, the boy next door who would occasionally help out with their yard for a little extra spending money, for as long as they knew him. He was pretty sure that if they knew their daughter who would bring him pink lemonade, and sandwiches in those times would end up in a very so and so relationship in the future with him they would've probably moved out of Hawkins and pretended they never knew any family by the name of Harrington. Dear god, they could never know.

(y/n) sat up, leaning back onto her elbows and tilting her head when she met Steve's gaze, "Oh come on, you know you're excited to see me." The tone in voice was teasing, making Steve shift in his spot by the door, "I was laying in bed, and just got so very, very bored. Then I started to think- what do I like to do for fun? And well- here I am." She gestured to the whole room, as much as Steve wanted to go over and do exactly what she wanted him to do, he stayed still, arms crossed and gazing at her. She wiggled her eyebrows, he rolled his eyes.

"No way, not tonight, my parents are home," Steve said, it was her turn to roll her eyes.

"Oh please- you definitely know how to show a girl a good time either way- I heard the tales of the infamous King Steve, fucking girls when their parents are just down the hall," she sat up now, crossing her bottom legs together. While that was all true, very true, and not something he'd put on the skills section of his resume, but nevertheless a skill, he still was against this completely.

"I get caught (y/n), it's whatever, I will survive. You? Your parents will lock you in your room until graduation," Steve tried to explain. (y/n) groaned, throwing her head forward. She looked up at him now, and for a moment Steve thought that she was going to understand, get up, and climb out that window. It sure looked like that's what she was doing as he watched her stand up and go towards the window. He really should've known better though, when she suddenly was removing her t-shirt, and then her shorts. Steve felt his boxer shorts tighten just a little, it was just a natural reaction when it came to her by now.

(y/n) wasn't an idiot, she knew exactly what to do to get Steve going, she even wore his favorite panties of hers. She pretended that this night was one of her spontaneous urges, but really she had been planning this for a few days now. She hadn't seen Steve since his parents got home from their trip, and she'd been so incredibly hot and bothered without his touch. The hot make-out sessions behind the gym just weren't cutting for her, she had to get Steve's hands on her, feel his lips on every part of her body, feel him fill her up inside.

When this started at the start of the summer, she admitted she felt a bit pathetic and needy, practically begging Steve to touch her, to literally do anything when she was over for a get together with her parents and his. They left them there to go out for lunch together, thinking nothing would ever happen between Steve and (y/n). It was really their fault for believing that. (y/n) remembered the day as if it was yesterday, she was wearing her new one-piece polka dotted black bathing suit, lounging by the pool, Steve was in the water then, wearing nothing but a pair of bright red swimming shorts and she couldn't take her eyes off of the guy. Even when he saw her looking, she didn't even show a bit of shame. She felt dirty, inside and out, for looking at a boy, for thirsting after a boy she'd known since Elementary school. But the rush made it all the more better.

Maybe it was because she was hearing stories about her childhood friend Steve around high school, about how many girls he'd left satisfied, how many girls who wished to have another night with him, girls saying the real reason he was King Steve was because of how fucking good he was in the sack. Things that if her parents knew they would severe all ties with the Harrington's altogether just to keep their daughter away from some fiend like their son. (y/n) was a virgin then, and these rumors spiked her interest entirely, made her feel things that she was sure was super wrong. Growing up with her mother who was very, very against premarital sex, or honestly relationships before 18 or even 30, she wasn't allowed to explore herself or her sexuality at all. That if she'd thought of anything dirty, even if it was just holding a boy or girl's hand, it meant she was doing something wrong. But that's exactly what made (y/n) so very, very excited. It's what made her make the choice she made that day, and every choice after that.

She would say that was one of her spontaneous, out of the blue moments, but like right now, that just was not true, she had been dying for a moment like that for weeks now. And what a moment that was, it was written in the damn stars when she watched him get out the pool, trunks sticking to his skin, shaping his thighs and then some. He was soaking wet, skin glistening underneath the hot sun, she couldn't help it when her teeth went over her lips. When his eyes had met hers, she thought she would've died of embarrassment, but no. It was something she wanted, she didn't care if he declined her and their friendship was ruined for the rest of their lives, at least she gave it a shot.

Steve had been surprised by her behavior, not expecting her out of all people to behave in such a way. She was practically eye-fucking him, and while he initially thought it made him uncomfortable- he realized it was quite the opposite. The way she looked laying there, chest heaving up and down slightly, bare legs glowing under the sun, and the way her bathing suit hugged her body(which he noticed before but pushed the thoughts away quickly).

Maybe it was a spontaneous moment for him. Because she got up, and walked towards him, and he didn't even hesitate to kiss her when she was close enough. Then they kissed some more, and then they were suddenly inside the pool shed. It was there, when his swim trunks were around his ankles, the top of her suit was pushed down, his hands in between her legs, did Steve gain control of himself, realizing what he was doing, realizing and remembering who this was panting and desperately grinding herself against his fingers.

"Shit- fuck - what are we doing?" he had asked, (y/n) was in too much of euphoria feeling his hands on her most vulnerable spot to even answer him properly, her words coming out as just a whine. She didn't even think about the fact that she was about to lose her virginity to Steve Harrington in a pool-shed, a pool-shed of all places, not until Steve had told her. She always thought she'd lose it on her wedding night, if that ever even came, or she could wait that long, because after getting a taste of it- if Steve wouldn't do this, then she thought she'd definitely want to find someone else who would.

"Fuck- Steve- please," she nearly begged, looking up at him with wide eyes, "I want this, fuck I want this so bad." Those words made Steve's dick twitch, and he had to bite his inner cheek to stop himself from groaning, "Just one time, okay, one time, and we don't- we don't have to do anything again or talk about it again. Just please just- just fuck me." The words that came out of her lips was something he'd never imagine coming out of there, and something he never imagined would've turned him on so much.

So, he did just that, pulling his fingers out of her wetness to pull down her entire bathing suit, stroking himself a few times before lifting her body up and pushing her against the wall, aligning himself with her entrance. (y/n) was in ecstasy at this point, not even caring that her parents could freely just walk into the backyard, coming back early from their lunch with Steve's parents and hear her very loud moans. She would endure the prison cell her room would be and the loss of contact because at the moment, it was worth it- especially he pushed himself slowly into her, until he filled her up completely. Steve loved how she felt against him, how tight she was around him, the feeling of her nails digging into his back, legs wrapped perfectly around him as he slowly started to push in and out of her, the pool shed full of the sound of theirs moans and grunts, and the way she was screaming his name. He loved that, a lot . And when it was over, they both knew that this definitely wasn't going to be the last time.

And it wasn't.

Because 2 months later, here they were standing in his bedroom at two in the fucking morning with his parents sleeping soundly in their bedroom just down the hall. (y/n) stood in front of him in just her underwear, breasts out in the open for his hungry eyes to see underneath the dim light of his bedside lamp he'd switched on the moment he heard her tapping on his window. She was smiling at him, that same teasing smile that he almost took as a taunt. Like she was saying 'I'm standing here, with just my panties on in the middle of your bedroom. What are you going to do about it huh?' Steve could think of a million ways he could do something about that. Just the thought was making his dick harden in his boxer shorts, and he thought well she did come all this way .

When he finally spoke, his voices were a view octaves lower that only made (y/n) become excited, "You always get your way don't you?"

(y/n) grinned like a cat now, and shrugged, "You make it so easy."

He let out a breath through his nose, tearing his eyes away from her a second, but that was just to double check if the door was locked. When the doorknob didn't budge when he tried to turn it, he turned back to her, his eyes becoming darker with desire and need. He walked towards her, grabbing her hips and pulling her body tightly against his as she giggled. With his face dangerously close to hers, he said, "I'll fuck you, but you have to be quiet."

The way he said it made her body shiver all over, so much that Steve even felt it, a smirk resting on his lips as he saw how even more excited she'd become.

"I can do that," she said in a whisper. He raised a brow, wanting to believe that she could but he knew she honestly probably couldn't. That was okay though, he knew exactly what to do about that, he'd done this before many times with girls that weren't her, not in a while of course ever since the relationship started- but Steve still knew what to do. He thought perhaps that's why she was so excited, she admitted to him when they were getting busy in the backseat of his car that she heard all about his sexual escapades from certain girls at school, and how that ignited her to start this with him. She was excited because this was something out of those moments, except for him it would be it was his own parents home and not the girl's. He licked his lips. Knowing he wanted to make this extra good for her.

He leaned down, kissing her. In moments like this, their kisses were always quick and messy, he was the much more experienced one between the two of them, so he always set the pace for their kisses, which were usually nothing but ferocious and wet. This time, his kiss was well- gentle. And it was a surprise, a very pleasant one. One hand had moved from her waist all the way up her and then to behind her head as he kissed her, pushing his tongue between her parted lips and tasting her completely. She'd never been kissed like this by him before, expecting a quick fuck then her hopping her happy, satisfied ass out the window and back to her own room. It was different, and she liked it.

Steve didn't notice that he was kissing her differently, the idea in his mind was only 'make this the best night of her life with him' doing what he just thought was right, and boy was it a good choice because it was making (y/n) extremely weak in the knees as his tongue moved around her mouth, clashing with hers, his fingers tightening ever so slightly on the back of her head. She let out a soft moan, especially when the hand on her waist moved down to her ass, giving it a squeeze. That was when the kiss started to turn into what she was used to, her hands moving up to grip his shoulders, biting down onto his lower lip making him practically growl. The sound made her squeeze her legs together feeling the wetness that was already there.

He pushed her backwards towards his bed, and she fell softly onto the messed up covers, looking at him with dilated pupils. Steve ran his tongue across his bottom lip as his eyes shamelessly swept across her breast, then downwards at her panties, biting his lip. She whines underneath him, making him look back at her and smirk while he shook his head.

"You have to be quiet," he said again, "If you don't- I'll just have to stop here..." he let both of his hands grip her breasts, making her breath hitch and her upper body lift up slightly, "And send you home. I'm pretty sure you don't want to have to go home when you're this wet right?" His knee now pressed against her, feeling her wetness soak through her panties onto his knee. (y/n) gasped, locking legs around his knee as he applied more pressure.

"Oh shut up-" she said, voice cracking slightly as she rocked against his knee, "You like it when I'm loud."

And that was true, so very true, and he had no problem in admitting that, especially when it was his name that was being called out from her lips, his name because he was making her feel too good. But tonight, Steve found it as a challenge for her and himself, to keep her quiet so his parents won't wake up, thus ending this entire relationship altogether. She was never one to comply though, Steve knew that for a fact, he wasn't lying when he said she always got her way, but not tonight she would. He would keep her quiet, but he wanted to play with her a bit before that, let her believe that he'd let her do what she wants.

Massaging her left breast, he latched his lips onto her right, swirling his tongue around the peaked bud and keeping his eyes trained at the bottom of her face as she shamelessly let out moans and gasps, grinding against his knee to find any sort of relief. Just as Steve thought, she wasn't keeping quiet. He moved his lips off of her, trailing kiss up the side of her neck, then forcing his lips against her, drowning out her soft sighs and moans. Her hand moved, grabbing his erection and he hissed into her lips, she started to try to put her hands into his boxers, but he stopped her, pressing his knee tighter against her. She hummed quite loudly, and he laughed.

Steve began to kiss down her body again, this time going between her breasts, and over her stomach when he met the waistband of her panties, she was squirming knowing what was coming next. His hands gently began to pull down her underwear, revealing her aching heat to him. He gazed up at her, she was on her elbows again, looking down at him with an almost pained look. Steve knew at that moment that this wasn't a spontaneous moment of hers, she missed him as much he missed her, the look in her eyes was telling him that. He licked her lips, keeping his eyes on her as he pressed an open mouthed kiss on her left inner thigh, feeling how hot her skin was.

(y/n) was quickly becoming a mess, watching him intently as she let out her soft whines of his name. Steve didn't tear his eyes away from her as his kisses inched closer to where she wanted his mouth the most, when he was just about to reach there, her legs practically shaking- his eyebrows wiggled as he switched to the other.

"Oh for the love of god," she said, not using her indoor voice, falling back onto the bed. Steve laughed against her thigh, his hot breath tickling her, sending another rush of pleasure through her, "Steve- come on- come on."

"Be quiet," he told her firmly, hooking his arms underneath her thighs.

"How can I when you're being such a fucking tease?" she was annoyed, but she was also quite enjoying this, enjoying the buildup, enjoying the attention he was giving to her pleasure, but if he didn't do anything soon she was going to shove him off and make herself come. Oh but she didn't want to do that- she didn't come here to do something she could do herself. The wait would be worth it, worth it completely.

His mouth was on her almost a second after that, licking a long stripe between her folds, making her squeak out of surprise and pleasure, lifting the bottom part of her body upwards. His arms held her in place, before he buried his mouth in her cunt. She didn't stop the moan from her lips, falling backwards onto the bed and gripping his bed sheets.

"Oh fuck Steve, you always do such a-" she started to speak, but suddenly one of his hands was removed from her legs and his mouth was off of her, he practically glared at her before he reached upwards, holding up her discarded panties, and shoving it into her mouth. Her words were muffled, and she coughed questionably- wondering what the fuck Steve just stuck in her mouth, but before she could even attempt to ask- his mouth was back on her, and she literally could care less about what was gagging her. His tongue delved inside of her, nose rubbing against her clit sending waves up pleasure on her body.

She was quiet, well quieter. Her moans being muffled by the fabric stuffed in between her lips, biting down on it as she squirmed and closed her eyes.

Steve kept his eyes on her, seeing the dark pink lace fabric between her lips moving slightly as she whimpered. Steve sucked onto her folds, groaning at the taste he could never get enough of.

"That shut you up finally," he said against her sex, voice deeper and hoarser, "You taste so fucking good, can't get enough of this-" She answered that by grabbing his head, entangling her hands into his messy brown hair, begging him to continue eating her out. He complied, practically began to tongue fuck her, then suck on her clit as she started to shake underneath him. Biting down on the fabric, he could hear her muffled voice say "Steve!"

Even with that gag, she was still so fucking loud and he loved it.

He could tell she was close, attempting to get out of his grip in order to tighten her legs around him, but he kept her in place, sucking shamelessly on her clit that sent her into a frenzy, moving her body the best she could to grind against his face. Honestly, he was surprised his parents hadn't come banging on his bedroom door yet- asking him what the fuck was going on there. That would really kill the mood, but her muffled moans that were still quite loud were music to his ears, especially when she finally did come. He was lapping at her cunt, tasting every inch of her with his tongue when she gripped his hair a little too tightly folded upwards, feeling that pleasure suddenly burst- coursing through her entire body, he groaned desperately against her lips as he tasted her cum- lapping at her cum like a man deprived of it as she trembled beneath him.

When the grip she had on his hair loosened, Steve removed his lips from her. She just laid there, body almost limp, her chest heaving up and down. He looked completely sexy and erotic to her right now, his hair disheveled, pink lips plump and wet, chin wet with her release, then he ran his tongue over his lips. (y/n) whimpered at that, and Steve wiped his mouth and chin with the back of his hand. The sight of her before him was interesting, laying there coming down from her orgasm, dark pink panties sticking out of her mouth, a sheen of sweat glistened all over her. The room stunk of sex, and sweat- even if his parents knocked on his door asking what all the ruckus was and he threw her off of the bed like that other morning- they'd just know. Steve groaned, applying pressure to his ignored erection in the mattress when his eyes met her wet cunt again.

(y/n) got a hold of herself, that mind blowing orgasm made her not move for just a damn minute. Steve had eaten her out a number of times, but he'd never made her come that hard before, and when she saw him grinding not so discreetly against the mattress- she felt another rush of desire before her. Forgetting about the panties in her mouth, in fact not even caring all that much, she grabbed Steve by his shoulders, pulling him upwards on top of her.

She used her feet to push down his boxers, and Steve quickly removed them himself, pushing himself inside of her all at once using the wetness from her release. A curse word slipping from his lips when he was completely inside of her heat. She drawled out a long, suppressed moan against his ear, his head fell in the crook of her neck, placing a wet kiss there.

"Fuck I love the way you feel, always so fucking wet and tight," he said against her skin, kissing her in the same spot again. She replied with a hum, nuzzling her face into his hair, her hands were snaked around his arms, hands pressed against his shoulder blades, her legs wrapped tightly around him, encouraging him to move against her. He began to move, sliding in and out of her in quick thrusts, she pressed her face now into his hair, and he began to muffle his own fairly loud groans against her skin, biting ever so often, knowing that just might leave a mark.

Drunk on his passion, Steve started to pick up the pace, the sound of both of their skin slapping against each other and the bed creaking echoing in both of their ears along with her suppressed moans, and phrases that sounded very much like 'Yes Steve! Yes fuck me Steve!' He'd had enough of that stupid gag, leaning upwards finally to pull it out of her mouth, not giving a fuck if they were caught. He would lie, he would say it was someone else, he didn't care.

At an instant, (y/n) cried out his name, "Steve!" He started to fuck her harder, growling as he pounded shamelessly in and out of her, pushing her legs apart in order to push deeper inside of her. That made (y/n) literally scream his name that prompted Steve to kiss her, drowning out that scream. (y/n) kissed him ravenously, tasting herself on his lips and tongue. She came again, it came quick and made her choke on his tongue and Steve wasn't very far behind.

He let out a rough whine, feeling his own orgasm coming fast. He pulled out of (y/n) just as he came, hands viciously jacking himself off as he dirtied her up with his cum. It fell heavy and hot on her thighs and part of her stomach. His entire body was a flushed pink color as he panted, lips open, and eyebrows furrowed. He stopped his movements, falling forward on top of her, feeling his own cum against him and not caring, resting his head against her rising chest.

(y/n) let out a very loud satisfied sigh, and he felt her hands gently kneed themselves through his hair, making him look up at her, she moved some of his hair out of his face, and she grinned, "That was fucking amazing." Steve didn't want to toot his own horn, but yeah that was pretty fucking great. Plus, he enjoyed feeling her hands massage his scalp slightly, relishing in the moment before she'd have to get up and get herself cleaned up and go out her window. It had always been this between them since those two months, and at this point, Steve didn't know what this relationship was and didn't care, it was fun especially with her. He hadn't been with another girl since then, haven't even thought about it. Why would he go off with some other girl when the perfect one was right here running her hands through his hair after a good fucking?

He wouldn't realize until much later that he'd let her do practically anything, if she asked him to rob a bank he wouldn't even hesitate, as long as she let him kiss her until neither of them could breath anymore. Hell, she could end this tomorrow and run off with some other guy, and there wouldn't be a damn thing he could do about it but cherish the moments between them.

(y/n) couldn't go just yet, he just fucked her into next week- how the hell is she going to be able to climb out the window with these wobbly ass legs? But it had to be done, if she laid here with Steve laying on her like this she might fall asleep in his arms, which she didn't actually mind, but it was too risky. Like this wasn't, she thought amusingly. She moved to sit up and Steve reluctantly got off of her with a whine. He slid on his discarded boxers, going over the bathroom to get a wet towel to help clean her and him off. That was when (y/n) sat up, her hand touching the wet object that Steve had stuck in her mouth in an attempt to keep her quiet. She picked up the very familiar cloth, and couldn't stop the laugh that came out of her mouth.

"Oh fuck you Steve," she said just as he walked back into his bedroom, the light from the bathroom shining on her sitting there holding her underwear in one hand and giving him an amused look. Steve smirked and shrugged.

"Had to find some way to shut you up," he replied, starting to wipe her inner thighs and stomach. She laid back, looking at her panties and laughed.

"My own panties, you're so kinky Harrington," she wiggled her eyebrows, making him roll his eyes thinking for a moment that this was the girl who literally was too scared to say a curse word as a middle school to saying crude things like that.

"It's not a kink, any cloth would've done," he said, (y/n) scoffed not believing that for a second.

"Yeah right- I saw the way you were looking at it in my mouth." Then again, she didn't know what even was in her mouth and she hated to admit it- but that's kind of fucking hot.

"It might be just a little bit of a kink," he said rubbing the back of his neck almost embarrassed, (y/n) hummed.

"Thought so."

Steve leaned over her, their noses almost touching and he said in a gruff voice, "But I much prefer hearing you scream my name, instead of those muffled ones you were giving me. You just wouldn't be quiet." (y/n) nipped at his lips, and when he tried to kiss her, she dodged him by shoving him off and rolling off of the bed, knowing if they started something again she'd never leave. She could stay until the morning like last time, but the idea of sleeping in too late and waking up to knocking her head against the floor wasn't so appealing. He watched as he put on her shirt, then slid on her shorts. Steve raised a brow and grabbed the panties she tossed aside.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" (y/n) looked at him, then the panties, then back at him and shook her head. Steve gripped them between his hands and she said, "Keep them Harrington, I'll be back for them tomorrow night so we might just need them." Steve's eyes darkened slightly, and she shot him a wink as she climbed out the window. Steve watched her carefully climb onto the room, then slide off of the side of it, landing onto the lawn chair she set there, her sandals set down neatly at the side.

When she was on the ground, picking up her sandals, she looked up at Steve and waved at him as if it was just a visit between two best friends. Steve stupidly waved back, and she turned around, walking past the pool silently, hips swaying just a little bit more than usual. Steve watched her until she disappeared behind the back gate, and when she was gone, he looked down at her panties, still wet with her own saliva. He felt his dick twitch in his boxers, dammit.

He shoved them into his side dresser, and looked at his messed up bed, seeing wet spots where her thighs once were, and he removed the sheet, shoving it into his hamper. He'd have to get up early to wash his sheets, because if he didn't her scent would be all over it and he'd never get some decent amount of sleep. Well, he guessed that didn't matter- because she was coming back tomorrow night, which from the events of this night-  he wouldn't be getting any sleep anyway.

And damn he couldn't wait.