#they’d better fix this in season 3

[ourtubahero-blog]

They broke us and they broke us good.

[moonstruckme]

On Thin Ice

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

This was requested by anon, but I'm not including the request because I'm going to write at least one more part and I don't want to spoil anything. But thanks so much for requesting, anon my love! I'm really having fun with it :) Also, just a disclaimer that I know next to nothing about figure skating, so while I tried to look most things up, there may be some inaccuracies

summary: when your usual figure skating partner Regulus is injured, you're forced to prepare the most romantic routine you've ever done with Sirius Black. You've known Sirius since you were little and have always found him irritating, but as you spend more and more time together, your feelings towards him start to change

cw: mention of injury (no details), Sirius Black is a relentless flirt

Figure Skater!Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 3.3k words

You want to be kinder to your friend, but you’re a bit angry with him. You’re not great at hiding it, either.

“It’s not like I can fucking help it.” Regulus rolls his eyes, and you do your best to undo the petulant pout of your lips. 

“I know,” you sigh. “I know that. I’m sorry, it’s just, seriously? Why can’t Coach give me someone else?”

“You know why.” 

You blow out another huffy breath, because you do know, but that doesn’t make you like it any better. Sirius is our best bet, your coach had told you, firm and impassive to your protests. He’s great on the ice, he always scores well, and Reg can teach him the routine while they’re at home. If we used anyone else, we’d lose time while they learned it. You’d sulked, and he’d given you a stern look. So suck it up. 

And you’re trying. Kind of. You wouldn’t ordinarily consider yourself an ill-tempered person, but Sirius Black brings out the worst in you. Always has. He’s Regulus’ irritating older brother, always around to pull your pigtails when you were little and make fun of everything you and Reg enjoyed as you got older. And in everything you love about your best friend, Sirius is the opposite. Where Regulus is restrained, Sirius is brash; where Regulus is content with a few close friends, Sirius needs an entire posse around him at all times; where Regulus has a quick, quiet wit, Sirius seems to feel a joke isn’t worth telling if everyone can’t hear it. He’s loud and facetious and insufferable, and now he’s your partner in the most intimate routine you’ve ever done.

“I know,” you groan again, falling back onto Regulus’ bed. “I just wish I could change it. Who do I have to bribe to get you a miracle recovery?”

Regulus scoffs, but he lies down beside you sympathetically. “The doctor said it should be better by next season, but a fractured ankle doesn’t fix itself in a couple weeks.” His voice turns bitter. “Trust me, I asked.” 

You wince guiltily. You’re not the only one suffering from Regulus’ incapacity. You’d both been practicing this routine for weeks. It was one of the most challenging and showy either of you have ever done. You were both supposed to have the chance to really shine, showing off your skills with complicated jumps and throws, some of which you’d never attempted before. But now Reg wouldn’t get the chance.

Ironically, it had been a fairly simple routine that had taken him down. One of your go-tos. You’d been performing it together for years, but maybe that sense of security was dangerous too. It’s too easy to land wrong, and one tiny slip had fractured Regulus’ ankle right in the middle of competition, forcing your coach to come help you get him off the ice. 

You’d cried more than he had as the on-site medics had inspected it, completely unhelpful but unable to bear seeing your best friend’s features twisted in agony. It turned out that was nothing compared to the look on his face when they’d told him he wouldn’t be able to skate on it for months. 

“How does it feel?” you ask, more gently now, and Regulus’ scowl softens in response. “Does it still hurt all of the time?”

“Not really, only when I walk on it. And they said I should be able to do that without much pain soon, just no jumping or anything.” 

Your heart aches with sympathy, and you have to resist the urge to reach over and touch his hand, his hair. Regulus has never much liked being touched, which you understand, but it makes him a difficult person to comfort. You resort to your method with the highest success rate: distraction. 

“Well, at least the cast is a fun accessory,” you say, forcing levity into your voice. “We could draw on it, it’ll be like having tattoos.” 

“Pass,” Reg replies disinterestedly. “Tattoos are more my brother’s aesthetic than mine.”  

“Ugh.” You roll your eyes, unable to stopper your irritation at the return of the conversation to Sirius. “Do you think Coach will let me have a new partner if I kneecap him?”

“If you’re going to kneecap someone,” comes a cool voice from the open doorway, “it’s probably best not to ponder your scheme so loudly in their house.” 

You raise your head to find Sirius leaning against the door frame, arms crossed insouciantly in front of his chest. He looks at you with the eyes he shares with his brother, but where Regulus’ tend towards cool grayness, Sirius’ always seem to waver between gray and blue, like the sky during a storm. They’re flashing now, amusement mingled with cunning, as you meet them with a glare. 

“Maybe I’m just giving you a red herring,” you say smoothly, “so you’ll never see my actual plan coming.” 

“I wouldn’t put it past you, shortcake,” Sirius replies, grinning when your face goes hot at the nickname, “but I think I’ll start wearing protective gear just in case. Reg, think you could revoke this one’s key until after the competition?”

Regulus pretends to contemplate this, staring up at the ceiling. “No, she’ll only start coming in through my window again.” You grin at him, and the corner of his mouth twitches in response, remembering all the cuts and bruises you used to have when you were younger from climbing the old tree outside his window, late at night when you were both supposed to be asleep. The first few times you’d tried, rotting branches had broken and fallen from beneath you, but you’d kept at it until you’d plotted a safe course. You’re sure Reg would have snuck downstairs to let you in the front door if you’d asked him, but better you get in trouble than him. “Anyway, it’ll be entertaining to watch.” 

“Whatever happened to brotherly loyalty?” Sirius feigns hurt, but gets past it quickly. “Well, I suppose you’ll just have to keep in mind that if I can’t perform, there won’t be a performance. I’ve already learnt half the routine, and I think you might struggle to find someone else skilled enough to catch up in time.” He winks at you, and you scoff, pointedly unaffected. “So I’ll see you at practice on Monday, sunshine,” he gloats, and disappears down the hallway. 

You wait until you hear the click of his door to lay back down, passing a hand over your face exhaustedly. “I can’t believe I’m going to have to deal with that all of the time,” you moan. 

Regulus chuckles wryly. “Welcome to my world.” 

☆ ☆ ☆

“Y/N,” Coach calls frustratedly. “You have to let him throw you, not jump.” 

You’ve almost just followed in Regulus’ footsteps for the upteenth time today, which isn’t exactly in line with your plan of getting Sirius injured, but you figure will do in a pinch. The truth is, your focus has been off all day. Switching to a new partner is always hard; you’re used to Regulus, you’ve spent years learning how to skate together, to anticipate the other’s movements, and finding that rhythm with another person takes work. But learning how to skate with Sirius is more challenging than even you had expected.

He’s distracting, for one thing. He keeps smiling at you, making faces when you mess up, and whispering obnoxious little pointers when you’re in the middle of a complicated move. And his own movements are bigger and more elaborate than you’re used to, lacking Regulus’ control. You can see, objectively, how it works for him. It gives his performance that extra bit of artistry that Regulus has often been accused of needing, but it makes him more difficult to anticipate. He’s stronger than Reg, too, so he throws you higher, flings you farther, grips you tighter. It’s a lot to learn, but your coach doesn’t seem very sympathetic to your plight. As far as he’s concerned, you’ve wasted almost an entire day of practice and are undoing weeks of hard work learning the choreography with your repeated mistakes. 

You nod at him again, moving to reset, but Sirius slides in front of you. 

“Hey,” he says, “I can feel you tensing when I go to throw you. Is something wrong?”

You cross your arms in front of your chest, breath still puffing into the air between you from the exertion of your leap. “No,” you reply shortly. “I’ll fix it.” 

And really, you should have been able to fix it a dozen tries ago. You’ve practiced throws with Regulus for years now. You’re supposed to push down on Sirius’ shoulders, use the momentum of your spin to give you a little boost, and let him do the rest. But you can’t seem to manage the last part. Sirius’ hands on your waist had discomposed you from the first try, and you keep finding yourself trying to jump off the ground before he has a chance to lift you. It doesn’t work, you know it’s never going to work, but it’s like some fight-or-flight instinct takes over every time Sirius’ hands get close to you. You suspect it’s because you’re so used to Regulus’ touch aversion; this routine is meant to seem romantic, but between the two of you, it had always felt chaste, more about the mechanics of the movements than the meanings behind them. Sirius loves to be touched, though, probably too much. He teases you about how cold your hand is in his, the tentative way you touch his shoulder when you’re supposed to grip it, how you jolt a little when he rests his hand on the small of your back. You’re on edge every second he’s around you, which by the very nature of the routine, is often. 

And so you keep jumping, which causes Sirius’s throw to be stunted when he can’t get a good grip on you, which causes you to fumble your landing. Every. Time. 

“You can trust me, you know,” Sirius persists, looking half earnest for once in his life. “I’m not going to launch you too high or anything. Just let me do the work.” 

“I’ve got it,” you growl, and Sirius raises his hands in mocking surrender, moving out of your way. You glide back into position, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. You don’t need his advice, you’ve been doing just fine without it for years. You’ll get it on your own. 

☆ ☆ ☆

“Why is it,” Regulus drawls, coming into your room, “that when you mess up at practice, it’s still my problem to solve?” He sits on the edge of your bed, careful not to disturb the open bottle of nail polish you’re using. “I’m not even your partner right now, but both Coach and Sirius are complaining to me that you can’t sync up with him.” 

You keep your eyes on your fingertips, sweeping the brush across your nails in careful, measured strokes. “I’m working on it.” 

“What’s the problem?” He sounds more puzzled than frustrated. “Sirius is annoying, but he’s not actually an asshole. He won’t sabotage you.” 

“I’m not accusing him of anything,” you say. “I just…I can’t get it right. I don’t know. He’s so different to you, and I can’t figure out how to make it work.” 

“Well, you’d better figure it out soon,” Regulus replies, not without sympathy. “There’s only a couple of weeks until comp, and it seems like the both of you will need all the practice you can get together.”

You know he’s right, and that’s exactly what you’re dreading.

☆ ☆ ☆

The next practice goes about the same, the only difference being your coach’s mounting exasperation. Actually, no, there is one other change: Sirius’ movements become smoother, more sure, as he grows increasingly familiar with the choreography. 

So basically, he’s getting better while you’re getting worse. 

Though you all know there’s no time to waste with the competition coming up, Coach ends practice early in his irritation, letting you go with strict instructions to get your shit together before you meet again tomorrow. You promise him you’ll try, though you’re both coming to know that won’t be enough. 

You take your time unlacing your skates, shrugging on your jacket and stopping to buy a hot chocolate from the vendor up front before going out into the brisk autumn air. You’d started this new routine after your first practice with Sirius, stalling so that he’d have a head start and you wouldn’t have to walk home in the same direction, but you take two steps outside before you realize your plan has been foiled. 

“Coach will kill you if he catches you with one of those,” you say, and the cherry of Sirius’ cigarette burns orange as he takes a drag, eyes lighting with playful defiance. 

He blows the smoke away from you. “You won’t tattle on me though, will you, sunshine?”

“Reg won’t like it either.” 

“He knows,” Sirius says, as though Regulus’ opinion is of little concern to him. “You took your time in there. Ready to go?”

You don’t try to keep the suspicion from your face. “You were waiting on me?”

“I figure we could use some extra practice.” He drops his cigarette, stamping it out half smoked. “If you’re not too tired, I mean.” You give him an indignant look, and Sirius grins. “C’mon, it’s too cold out here for those leggings.” 

You follow him reluctantly, sipping at your hot chocolate because damn it, he’s right. The wind had been cool when you’d gone into practice, but nightfall has stolen the little bit of warmth the sun provided. You wouldn’t be surprised if you woke tomorrow to find the trees prematurely bare of their leaves. 

The Blacks’ house isn’t far, and your eager pace gets you there in a hurry. You’re thinking you’ll go to Regulus’ room as soon as you get inside, ditching Sirius and whatever humiliation he has planned for you, but when you approach the house, every window is dark. 

“They’re at my aunt’s for dinner,” Sirius answers your unasked question, unlocking the door. “I begged off because of practice.” He laughs as you follow him inside. “Try not to look so happy about it, shortcake.” 

You roll your eyes, starting up the stairs that go to the bedrooms. “When will Reg be home?”

“Late.” Sirius’ voice is close behind you. “You’re welcome to wait for him, of course, but we may as well make use of the time.” On the top step, you whirl, relishing the opportunity to look down on him for once. 

“Fine. What are we doing here?”

You don’t know if you’d hoped he’d be intimidated, but Sirius appears as unbothered as always. “Like I said. Practice.” He brushes past you, leading the way into his bedroom. After a moment, you follow grudgingly.

Like everything about Sirius, his room is loud. Almost every inch of wall space is covered in band posters, medals from competitions, pictures of his friends. There are clothes strewn across the bed and shoes scattered about the floor, but if Sirius is even conscious of the mess, he doesn’t mention it. 

“What did you have in mind?” you ask.

Sirius turns, and when his eyes meet yours, they’re surprisingly determined. “We need to figure out whatever it is that’s been holding you up,” he says. “We’ve gotta get past it.”  

You feel like stomping your foot, but very maturely refrain. You’re about done with the subject of your failures for the day. “I don’t know what it is.” 

“I think you do,” Sirius says cooly. “Wanna know how I know?”

“How?”

He grins. “Because you just admitted it.” 

“You—I just asked how,” you splutter angrily. 

Sirius gives you a knowing look. “Right, so it has nothing to do with you being afraid of me touching you?”

Your face heats. How could he know that? You look at him for a moment, and he looks back at you with that cool, even gaze, like he thinks he’s got you all figured out. As much as you resent him for it, he’s right. You’ve got no shot at a decent score in this competition if you can’t get past your mental block around Sirius. “I’m not afraid.” You roll your eyes, downplaying the admission. “I’m just not used to it, okay? I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed, but you’re not exactly a carbon copy of my usual partner.” 

Sirius grins again, and for the first time you get the sense that he’s laughing with you instead of at you. “I have been made aware of that a few times over our lives, yes. But okay, you’re not used to it. Let’s get you used to it.” 

You cross your arms over your chest, not sure where he’s going with this but fairly sure you won’t like it. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m going to throw you until you can handle it without flinching. Sound good?”

You look at him like he’s stupid. “The rink is closed, and there’s nowhere for me to land here.” 

“Sure there is.” Sirius pats his bed cheerfully. You stay right where you are. Something changes in his expression, and you think you might detect a bit of kindness behind his teasing tone. “C’mon, sweetheart. I don’t know what Reggie’s told you, but I don’t actually bite.” 

You huff, but go to stand in front of him. He’s shed his coat, revealing the plain black shirt underneath, and the sleeves grip his biceps. Even in the poor lamplight, you can see his eyes changing colors like schools of fish as they swim. Now blue, now gray. 

“Alright.” Sirius sets his hands on your waist, and you tense automatically. “See, that’s the habit we have to break. Relax for me, shortcake.” 

His words certainly don’t help, but you do your best, unclenching the muscles in your stomach and legs. 

“Perfect,” he says, then launches you into the air. You barely have time to gasp before you’re landing on his bed, springs squealing in protest. “Okay, next time, try to spin or something.” 

“I wasn’t ready,” you protest. 

Sirius laughs. “I know. Sorry, couldn’t resist. Let’s try to do it like practice this time, yeah? So you go over there,” he motions to the door, “and run towards me. When I throw you, try to spin if you can, but don’t try to stick the landing or anything. Just land on your butt.” 

You roll your eyes, moving to the door. “Yeah, I’m in no hurry to break my ankle like Reg, thanks.” 

He winks. “Just making sure.” He spreads his feet a bit, bracing himself. “Alright, let’s give it a try.” 

It’s easy to remember Sirius is an older brother when he gets all bossy like this, but you comply, gaining as much speed as you can on the way to him before he’s gripping you around the waist, tossing you into the air. You manage a half-turn before your back end hits the bed. 

“Better!” Sirius exclaims, beaming at you. “You still seemed a bit tense, but at least you didn’t try to jump by yourself. Again?”

You can’t help a little smile of your own as you nod, pushing up off the bed and repositioning yourself at the door. 

☆ ☆ ☆

When Regulus gets home, he finds you sprawled on Sirius’ bed with his brother sitting beside you, both thoroughly worn out. 

“Did you fix it?” he asks.

You grin at the ceiling, wondering if it’s your pride or Sirius’ you’re feeling in the air, or both. “I think so.” 

“Coach might get the chance to be mad at me instead, tomorrow,” Sirius laments. “My arms are fucking dead. Too many throws and I might drop you on the ice.” 

“Don’t break my partner,” Regulus says warningly. 

“Yeah,” you second, hauling yourself into a sitting position and going to meet Regulus at the door, “please don’t.” 

You can hear Sirius’ eyes rolling as he says, “I won’t. See you at practice tomorrow, shortcake?”

It’s harder than usual to muster up annoyance for the teasing nickname. “See you tomorrow.” 

[trashpandawithangerissues]

BULLY HEADCANONS

FOR CONTEXT I HAVE LIKE A LITTLE AU WHERE ITS THE NEXT YEAR AT BULLWORTH AFTER THE EVENTS OF THE GAME SO SOMETHINGS ARE DIFFERENT:

Derby, Ted and Johnny are all 18 (we at least know they’d be 17 in the main story)

And Edgar is 19, same age as the Prefects (who are around 18 in the main story)

Also all the Townies that we’re still old enough to attend school got reenrolled thanks to Jimmy boy (he gets Zoe back into school in the game so he could probably get the others)

Derby Harrington

- Not SUPER inbred (like Tad nearly is), but he still does have some issues. His immune system is AWFUL like the flu season is like the purge for him and if - god forbid - he gets sick he looks like he’s about to right his will. Like this is him:

- He’s the one who introduced Bif and the Preps to Boxing and also Botany (in a deleted dialogue when you kill the crapula maximus Chad says: “Derby’s going to KILL you!”) He and Parker are the most invested in Botany and Derby has a couple nice orchids on his balcony. He also trains Bif and also the others and I like to think that before Bif took the boxing spotlight, Derby was the champion, but his parents thought he’d be better suited for modelling

- Doesn’t particularly like modelling all that much, it bores him more than his father’s lectures do

- Sometimes disobeys his parents out of spite, but nothing overly serious, because he doesn’t really feel like getting beaten everyday

- He and Pinky put up the dating/betrothed act for their parents, they really kinda just hang out on their dates as besties/cousins rather than actual partners

- He has a drinking problem, like BAD (in the prep hide outs there’s almost always a bar in game) He’s also the complete opposite when he’s drunk, sometimes he’s sad af, sometimes he’s angry, sometimes he’s telling you your his best friend and he loves you and sometimes he’s white girl levels of crazy. He can do shots like it’s NOTHING or scull a whole bottle of expensive booze (shocks people when they first see this happening, damn near gave Johnny a heart attack)

- His way of saying “hey I don’t hate you and you’re my friend heheheh” is buying. So. Much. Stuff. Like oh you don’t have money for lunch? Here’s 3 cheeseburgers, oh you need money for your car to get towed? Take my money.

- Overdresses, to everything, like it could be fancy dress and he still looks way to fabulous.

- Has a guilty love of old corny movies and horror movies like slasher movies, he and Johnny watch them together either at one of their houses or at the movies/drive in movies

- Fairly decent at academics, especially math from him having to help his father with accounts

Johnny Vincent

- Of course, has a smoking addiction who would have guessed. Also he definitely could use an inhaler he STRUGGLES sometimes

- He’s AGGRESSIVELY Italian/American, like he’s the fucking poster boy for them. Angry Italian, the Italian hand and everything. He talks with his hands quite a bit. Like he’s yelling at you in loud Italian while doing this

- He has a sweet tooth especially for home made desserts, just home made food in general he’ll devour it if you look away for one second

- you think he’d be good at flirting but no, he’s a nervous wreck actually. Like if the person he asked out said yes he’d be the type of guy who’d pump his fist as he walked away.

- His uncle - one of many lol - owns a locksmith business and from this, Johnny can crack open damn near anything. Want to get into the staff room? Consider it done.

- Also, his love of cars, motorbikes and mechanic work is from the family business, he knows EVERYTHING about it, how to Hotwire cars, how to fix the pistons cheaply and effectively. His version of Derby’s “I’ll buy you anything you could ever want” love language, his is “I’ll fix you car for free give me some WD 40 and some cigarettes” He will NOT let you go to the mechanic as long as he’s alive

- Like Derby, adores old corny movies and especially the drive in. His favourite type of date is taking them to the movies to watch a horror movie. Is that because he wants his scared date to cling on to him at the jump scares? Maybe. Does he also just really like bad horror movies? Yes. Derby and him could binge the whole of the slasher type movies in one night easy.

- He wins an old broken down Harley Davidson from the auto shop class for having the best grades in school in that class. He fixed it up and he treats it better than he would his first born child

- Although he’s not that good at school, if he can relate it to mechanics, he’s amazingly good at it. Like math, if it’s something he’s had to use before fixing cars he’s great.

- Despite that, he has had to ask Derby for help in math or, reluctantly, Earnest

- He can speak Italian and also English, sometimes he messes up here and there but overall he’s pretty fluent in both. His Grandma and Grandpa on his mum’s side came from Italy and in his Fathers side his Great Grandparents came from Italy

- His sense of style came from his family lmao so did the smoking tbh

- His mum makes so. Much. Food. Like to the point she’ll cook for his friends. He has to tell her when people come over, last time he brought over the boys and he didn’t tell her she yelled at him in Italian and immediately whipped up a whole pot of pasta for them. His friends love her

Ted Thompson

- Golden Retriever boy

- He was going to get braces again (he had them when he was younger FOR SURE) but didn’t want to get bullied again/be a NERD

- If someone’s flirting with him, he won’t get it until you YELL IT at him. I feel so bad for Damon and Justin

- He uses bro and dudes unironically. He’s such a loser I love him

- Like overly competitive in EVERYTHING even board games and video games. Like this would be him

- Sheldon is his step brother. He hates him. Like these two would that sibling duo where Ted just -throws- him away when he’s pissing him off, which is everyday. He’d be that sibling to put Sheldon up somewhere high or tape him to a pole and leave him there. He wouldn’t admit it but he’ll kill someone if they do the same to Sheldon, that’s his job.

- He’s one of those gym bros who could eat a whole cow and still not get “fat” he’s like a black hole he’ll inhale a whole foot long in 5 seconds. He loves Johnny’s mum because of this, she’ll just feed them so much food. He also loves pestering Derby for food, tbh so do Johnny and Edgar.

- He’d totally just, pick up smaller kids like Kirby with one arm. All the big Jocks do tbh

- He’s one of those loveable idiot guys when he’s drunk.

- He BLASTS white girl music like you can hear it from down the road, he also treats it as if it’s karaoke and it’s that karaoke is a competitive sport rivalling AFL and Rugby on footy final day. Like for song like “Talk Dirty” he sings the trumpet part as well.

- He has a Wii and he’s broken at least like 2 remotes, he has to have the strap, lest someone gets a concussion

- The type of guy that if he found out you’re a lesbian he’d be like “Wow you like girls? I do too! We have so much in common”

- I feel like he’d be aggressively supportive of people, like someone calls his friends a slur and he’d just barge them Tf over and throw them in a bin

Edgar Munsen

- I like to think he does his own tattoos, the one on his arm is his first one he ever got. he wants to get more soon. He did that one right as he turned 16, Gurney probably did it for him.

- I feel like he’s also surprisingly good at drawing because of it, like oh btw you said you liked flowers? Here’s a tattoo design. And it’s just like a really good sketch and he down plays it constantly.

- One time he drew one of Derby’s orchids and he nearly got it tattooed right then and there, then remembered his dad would actually kill him

- He’d also get piercing later on, Johnny suggested the place he got his.

- He and Gurney are the booze smugglers of Bullworth, any alcohol you could name, they’ll steal it/buy and smuggle it in for you

- Like he’d stuff booze under his shirt even he’s probably pulled this before

- He smokes the devils bush if you know what I mean. Plus other stuff (in game a couple townies mention making bongs)

- He for reason always has a knife on him. Like he just pulls out a switchblade at school. The prefects have tried taking it off him, but he always gets it back somehow.

- He keeps forgetting he’s technically the same year as the Prefects and he hates it

- Like Johnny, he’s pretty good at breaking into stuff, even more so actually

- He’s definitely hot wired a car before

- I personally think he’s multi-racial with some Asian, African American and Hispanic in him (I like to think he’s Vietnamese/Jamaican-American/Puerto Rican/Mexican)

- He’s more Hispanic though, he’ll cuss you out in Spanish in a heartbeat and maybe some other languages

- Like he’d stub his toe and you just hear loud cussing in 5 different languages

- Like Johnny, he sometimes messes up some words of any of his many languages, but more so

- He also loves horror movies but unlike Derby and Johnny he likes the more psychological horrors that are FUCKED like those French Extremity movies

[danaewrites]

Helmet Over Heels

part ii: metal man with a backup plan

din djarin x reader // read it on AO3

word count: 6.4k

summary:  When your path literally collides with a beskar-covered Mandalorian one night, neither of you expect how that meeting will irreversibly change the trajectory of your lives. 

You’re pulled into his powerful orbit, agreeing to take care of his son in exchange for adventure and freedom– when he’s not off hunting bounties and inadvertently saving villages in need, that is. It’s the perfect plan. Or it would be, if only your quiet crush on the man would stop growing into something more with every hour you spend together. There’s no way he’d ever feel the same, right?

And Din? Well, he’s been trying (and failing) to convince himself that he’s not completely helmet over heels for you since day one. But a Mandalorian can only repress his emotions for so long…

(This fic takes place sometime after Season 2. Din’s back on his bounty-hunting business with a Razor Crest that was never destroyed and an adorable green sidekick who won’t stop chewing on its wires.)

tags: strangers to friends to lovers, slow-ish burn, nicknames, touch-starved din djarin and fem!reader, canon-compliant through season 2 and then Jesus takes the wheel :P

author's notes:

i think this fic set a writing record for me lol (10.2k words in two weeks? with a regular posting schedule?! unheard of!) many more chapters to come... i have so much planned for these two <3

read it all here: part i, part ii, part iii, part iv, part v coming soon!

You didn’t see the Mandalorian again for weeks.

You weren’t missing him, exactly. Sure, the droning noise of your coworkers’ voices seemed just a bit more dull in comparison to the baby’s sweet giggles, and Maker knew none of your regulars were ever up for lively banter, but rule number one in this galaxy was to never get too attached. Especially to mysterious strangers who left quicker than you could say ‘mudscuffer’ and more likely than not would stay gone. Despite knowing that, your foolish imagination hadn’t received the memo, and you kept finding yourself wondering what the beskar-plated man and his tiny son were doing somewhere out there in space. His ship must have been fixed, since you hadn’t seen any unfamiliar spacecraft when you strolled past Sanna’s shop the other day. In a temporary moment of weakness, you wished you knew what it looked like so you could casually fish for information about it from off-planet travelers at the cantina. Then again, asking questions could bring unwanted attention to the odd pair, so perhaps it was better for all of you that your curiosities remained unsolved. 

You’d woken up the morning after the storm to an empty cantina with every doorway blocked by two metres of snow. You weren’t sure how he’d managed to get out without disturbing the squeaky hinges of the shutters, but the Mandalorian had left the place completely untouched except for the bag of credits–far heavier than you deserved– on the bar. Your eyes had widened to the size of the two empty soup bowls next to it when you counted how much was in the pouch. Kriff, what sort of cosmic royalty was he, with this much money to spare on a cantina waitress? You remembered the bright glint of his armor in the moonlight, belatedly recognizing the characteristic sign of pure-cast metal. Beskar alloys were far from cheap, but pure beskar? If you had so much as a thimble-sized piece of it, you could afford passage off this planet fifteen times over. You huffed out a breath, shaking your head with a tiny smile. Well, that meant that he definitely still had enough saved to take care of the kid after his not-so-small gift, so you grudgingly allowed yourself to enjoy having a few extra credits for once.

The credits he’d left you weren’t enough to buy a ride off-world, but they’d pay for this month’s heating bill and a nicer set of clothes while you put the rest of your paycheck towards a future ticket. The extra money emboldened you to go shopping for the first time since you arrived on Nath– which was why you were currently weaving through the narrow streets of the Solstice Market, hoping to find a decent textile shop amongst the booths that lined this alley. You brushed past the promenade of young couples holding hands despite the cold (as well as significantly more haggard-looking spouses holding pouty children), awed by how the bright colours and loud haggling around you seemed to brighten Nath’s dreary atmosphere for a moment.

Your steps slowed to an abrupt stop as you heard a quiet chiming coming from your left. You turned to see a pocket-sized holospeaker sitting on a rickety display table, shaped like a mildly deformed egg and covered in twisting silver filigree. The booth worker looked hopeful as you eyed the far more impressive–and expensive–metalworks arranged in front of the small item, but quickly slumped back to dazed boredom as your fingers traced the rounded object instead. The speaker was dented and each note vibrated for slightly too long, but the melody it produced reminded you of the Odalian lullabies your mother had sung to you as a child. Stars, you hadn’t realized how much you’d missed her voice, soothing you with ballads of true love and tragedy until you fell asleep with the stories etched into your dreams. You blinked back the water that threatened to fill your eyes as you hummed along to the soft music, love and grief welling up between your ribs with a gentle ache. 

That was how the Mandalorian found you– eyes half-closed, your head gently bent toward the tiny instrument. You were so lost in your memories that you didn’t register his awkward presence until a tiny green hand poked your side. You gasped, instincts learned from years of working in a rowdy cantina kicking in as you reflexively threw a punch at the offending party. The Mandalorian immediately shifted to shield the giggling child, a move that was good for the kid’s health but rather unfortunate for your knuckles. 

“Kriff, metal man, you could’ve said something,” you wheezed out, rubbing your throbbing hand where it’d met unforgiving beskar. The kid gurgled happily up at you from his position in the bag. Apparently, your newest injury was the most amusing thing he’d seen all day. 

You pouted exaggeratedly at him, reaching to ruffle the wiry hair that floated above his floppy ears with affection. “Sorry about that, bug. Didn’t think I’d see you again,” you spoke softly, giving his very shiny father a subtle once-over in the daylight. The Mandalorian was taller and broader than you’d remembered from that dark night in the cantina– something that definitely did not cause your stomach to twist with interest. His armor appeared to have been polished sometime recently, and you stole a moment to admire the pride with which he wore the gleaming beskar. The effort he’d put in to maintain the parts of his appearance that were visible to the outside world was obvious (and strangely attractive, if you were being honest.) You briefly wondered whether he was as well-kept underneath the armor, but realized your mistake when that question brought a whole host of dangerous ideas to mind. Stars, why did you continually do this to yourself? You immediately shoved any daydreams of what he might look like behind that helmet somewhere far, far away lest a traitorous flush reappear on your cheeks. 

“I need to talk to you,” the Mandalorian in question stated, distracting you from your quickly-spiraling thoughts. You glanced up at him inquisitively but allowed him to steer you away from the busy crowds. 

“Nice to see you, too,” you grumbled once you had reached a reasonable distance away from the market. “What happened to hello, how are you, sorry I left and didn’t even leave a note saying how I got past the shutter locks.”

The Mandalorian turned to face you, cocking his head. “I left you the credits, didn’t I?”

You opened your mouth, retort poised on the tip of your tongue, but then thought better of it. Probably not a good idea to risk the generosity that brought you to this market in the first place. “Okay, you win that one.” 

The Mandalorian ignored your rare moment of surrender, rolling his shoulders back and stepping closer to you in a fluid movement that had more of an effect on you than you wanted to admit. “I need you to look after the kid.”

O-kayy then. Straight to business. 

“I have a job here, I can’t take him with me– it's too dangerous.” 

“A job?” Your brows furrowed as you considered what work he could possibly be doing here. People here either worked in the ice fishing huts or in one of Nath’s many depressingly ugly oil processing factories, and neither of those occupations seemed right for the intimidating man in front of you. You crossed your arms, only partially teasing. “You mean you have things to do besides scaring innocent waitresses half-out of their skin?”

The Mandalorian scanned the area around you, then subtly pulled a small metal object out of the leather holster slung around his hips. You leaned over to see the unmistakable blinking red light of a tracking fob resting in the palm of his dark glove. 

Oh. That explained the money, then. Bounty hunting— through the Guild, if the emblem on the device was anything to go by— had shot up in popularity after the Empire fell and the New Republic needed good mercenaries to capture the remaining Imperial loyalists. You’d bet a decent amount of credits that this hunter wouldn’t balk at capturing a few Imps, with the way he’d spat out the name of the Empire as if it poisoned him when you first met. Personal vendetta or not, you respected anyone who was brave enough to give them the justice they deserved for the destruction their reign had brought to the galaxy. 

You bit your lip, considering. You had already made up your mind to take care of the child when he suggested it, but he didn’t need to know that. “How long would you need to leave him with me for?”

“A day, at most. Shouldn’t take too long, I’ve been stalking the quarry for a while.” The Mandalorian continued. “I can pay you well for your time.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You still owe me a story, you know.” Bending over, you reached into the Mandalorian’s bag and gently picked up the child, careful not to snag his tiny tunic on the metal clasps. “C’mere, bug. Looks like you and I are going to get to know each other.”

A thought popped into your head as you stared down at the small green baby. “Does he have a name?” 

The armored man in front of you spoke with gruff pride, “His name is Grogu.” He seemed unexpectedly pleased at your question; you supposed he didn’t have many opportunities to talk about his son very often, with the literal wall his armor created in social interactions.

You watched in surprise as Grogu twisted towards the Mandalorian at the sound of his voice, cooing happily. “You like the sound of your name, huh?” Clearly, the kid adored him, and for good reason. The stoic warrior had an obvious soft spot for the little guy.

Speaking of which… You eyed the man in front of you. “You know, it’s generally polite to have introduced yourself by now, metal man. It’s getting a little weird to keep thinking of you as The Big, Nameless Suit of Beskar,” you teased. 

You beamed up at him innocently and spoke your name, extending your hand towards him. “See? Not so hard. Now it’s your turn,” you explained slowly, as if you were trying to teach a toddler to sound out the alphabet. 

After several tortuously long seconds, during which your outstretched hand began to waver slightly, he finally responded. “Most people just call me Mando.” 

You dropped your arm, flexing your fingers. Ah, well, you could work on the handshake bit later. “Mando.” You hummed at the way the name easily rolled off your tongue, absently registering how the man stiffened at the lilting sound. “Not as scary as the outfit, but it’ll have to do.”

The M–Mando shrugged off the strange, momentary stillness that had possessed him and began retreating closer to the throng of marketgoers. “You’ll be alright with the kid?”

You rolled your eyes, affirming your ability to take care of Grogu while he handled business. Mando gave a quick nod and turned, preparing to leave. You took the moment to swipe the holospeaker out of the child’s hands– how had he gotten ahold of that?– and scanned the market for a booth that he might like. You still couldn’t find a textile shop in your line of sight, but you noticed a tiny arts and crafts area that seemed perfect for him to play in. 

You looked up to find the Mandalorian still standing nearby, helmet tilted towards you as he paused. “For your.. story. He likes shiny toys– he’s always unscrewing bits of the ship to play with when I’m not looking.” He pulled a small metal ball out of his holster and tossed it over to you. “This is his favorite.”

You turned the sphere over in your hand, smiling as the baby immediately reached for it. “I wonder why,” you mused, giving his silver-plated father a pointed look. “Must remind him of somebody.” 

Mando huffed a surprised laugh out through the modulator, helmet angled with new interest in the green child deeply entranced by the reflective surface of the ball. “Never thought of it like that before,” he muttered as he walked away, sparing you a short wave before he disappeared in the crowd.

You watched him go with a poorly-hidden grin, balancing Grogu on your hip as you navigated a path back into the market. “Alright, bug, let’s go have some fun.”

***

You spent the rest of the afternoon browsing countless booths with your charge, picking up little trinkets here and there. You eventually left with a respectable amount of merchandise– a pad of paper and coloring supplies for Grogu, a new tunic set, and even a sachet of Hothberry tea leaves that were rumored to keep one warm for hours after just one sip. Nothing for Mando, although the thought had crossed your mind more than once. You began your return home, carrying the cooing green child under streetlamps that twinkled warmly as the sky gradually darkened. He’d behaved so well all afternoon that you gave in and bought a sweetgrain scone to share on the long walk back.

You spent very few minutes setting your purchases in your rental pod upon your arrival. Grogu was getting fussy despite the snack, and you realized that Mando had never told you a meeting place where he’d pick him up. You decided to just bring Grogu along to your evening shift at the cantina, since that would likely be the first place he’d look and you didn’t want to be blamed for disappearing with his child. Sure enough, the Mandalorian showed up soon after the sun sunk beneath the icy horizon with another bag of credits and armor that was slightly more scuffed than the last time you’d seen it. You smiled, handing him his sleepy but satisfied son and the art supplies you’d picked up.

Mando had stared at the bundle of gifts for longer than necessary and for a moment you worried that you had offended him somehow. When he looked back at you, though, your fears were calmed by his intensely genuine tone. “Thank you. That was thoughtful of you.” He carefully placed the items in his bag. You smiled as he tried– and failed– to wrest the metal ball from Grogu’s tiny hands, despite the child looking seconds from passing out.  

Your eyes darted to the gradually cooling bowl of soup in front of him, which hadn’t been touched since he sat down. You cleared your throat awkwardly. “Is, um, something wrong with the food? Because I didn’t see you touch it last time, and I can make something else if you need, but.. you have to tell me.”

The Mandalorian remained silent, and you doubted whether he had heard your small-voiced question when he finally spoke. “I cannot remove my helmet in front of others. It is the Way,” he explained carefully, watching your response. 

Your eyes widened in comprehension as you considered his statement. The library datapad had frustratingly little information on Mandalorian culture, and you’d never heard of this rule until now. If he couldn’t remove the helmet… how long had it been since he had the chance to eat or drink without the kid nearby? Between taking care of Grogu and tracking bounties, you assumed that there was very little time for him to find a secluded area to remove the beskar. You nodded decisively to yourself, grabbing his soup bowl and motioning for him to follow you. 

“What are you doing?” His voice was curious, alert but not apprehensive of your actions.

You swiveled to face him, keys dangling from one hand and a focused expression on your face. “We have a storage room for the non-perishable food back here. If you want to eat there, I can make sure that no one comes in for a while,” you explained, leading him to a cramped, dimly lit room with pallets of sandgrain flour forming a makeshift table next to a small folding chair.

“Is this.. okay?” You spoke hesitantly when he stilled at your words. Kriff, you hoped you hadn’t implied something insulting when you’d unthinkingly offered the room. You grimaced as your brain kicked into overdrive, spinning like a frightened sand massif at the first possibility of a mistake. 

“I know it’s small, and I understand if you’d rather—”

“It’s perfect,” Mando interrupted you, stumbling slightly over the rushed words. “There are– many who would try to remove my helmet.” His voice lowered, edged slightly with wonder. “Thank you for allowing me to maintain my Creed.” 

He stood there for a moment, helmet tilted intently down at you. His hands lingered for a fraction of a second, tough leather brushing powder-soft skin as he gently set Grogu in your arms. When he shut the door, you leaned against the doorframe as quietly as you could, still feeling the ghost of his touch on the hands pressed to your heated cheeks.

***

And so you fell into a routine: every few weeks, Mando would come by with the kid and leave him with you for a few hours while he tracked down another bounty. When he returned, you’d invite him into the back for a warm meal, allowing him to eat alone in peace for a few minutes while Grogu thawed the icy hearts of your patrons with his mischievous coos. He always arrived after nightfall and never spent longer than an hour in the cantina. Well, except for the one time he’d accidentally fallen asleep in the small room. You’d gone to check on him once you finally cleared out the evening’s customers. It was clear that he’d been napping by his scratchy, startled response when you knocked softly on the door– emphasized even more by his embarrassed posture when he exited. Privately, you thought it was rather endearing, so you chose not to tease him about the momentary lapse in consciousness. 

You’d gotten used to his schedule, your semi-frequent meetings becoming a habit you were quite fond of maintaining. So when you didn’t see Mando for several weeks longer than predicted, you began to feel worried. Your heart twinged at the thought that maybe he’d found someone more interesting than a cantina waitress to look after Grogu, someone who didn’t live on an icy prison planet a parsec removed from civilization. And yet– Mando hadn’t hinted that he’d be stopping his visits, and his job was dangerous and unpredictable. Your mind swam with visions of him spiraling through space, unconscious and battered, ship engines sputtering out flame. You started taking earlier shifts at the cantina, pushing down thoughts of him before they ate at you more than they should for a casual acquaintance. 

Which is why you were shocked when Mando appeared in the doorway one afternoon, silhouetted by the bright daytime sun for the first time.

A momentary hush descended upon the cantina, quickly turning into a roar of nervous chatter when the imposing beskar figure sat down at the end of the bar. You muttered an excuse to your coworkers and rushed over, trying to look casual as you scanned his armor. It looked considerably worse than it had the last time you saw him, scuffed and covered in frozen mud– but his movements didn’t seem impaired by injury. You let out a tiny huff of relief, the sound catching the attention of the Mandalorian. 

He nodded at you, straightening. You sent him a small smile as you tossed him the cantina menu. “Haven’t seen you in a while,” you said, as casually as you could manage. 

“Miss me?” You couldn’t see his face, but you would bet every credit of your tips today that he was smirking under that kriffing helmet. You gaped at him, then recovered yourself with a haughty toss of your head, letting your hair fall in a curtain before your face so he wouldn’t see your flustered expression. 

“Don’t know why I would. I only tolerate you for your son, you know,” you sniffed, placing your hands on your hips. 

He let out a surprised, genuine laugh at that, and your face warmed at the deep sound. You felt a heady rush of pride at being able to pull the reaction from the normally reserved man, fighting the desire to do whatever it took to hear it again. You quickly brushed that thought aside, however, when you took in the empty bag slung across his torso, frowning at the noticeable absence of Grogu’s big ears. 

The Mandalorian followed your trailing glance. “I don’t have the kid,” he said, tone edged with a hint of frustration as he adjusted his gloves. “Kriffing Imps,” he muttered.

You paled. Imperials? “Is he–”

Mando’s helmet snapped up at the panicked tone of your voice. “No, he’s safe. Left him with a friend,” he explained. “Someone’s been following me on this bounty— maybe another Imperial remnant. Didn’t want to risk him.”

Tension bled out of your posture at his words, but your eyebrows remained knit together in confusion. “So if you’re not here to drop off the kid…” you started slowly. “What brings you back to Nath? Since you obviously didn’t stop by just to say hello,” you asked, giving him a pointed look. 

Mando tilted his head in acknowledgement. Apparently, that was the closest thing you were getting to an apology. Oh, well.

“Wish I knew,” he muttered. “Chased the quarry across the galaxy for weeks, don’t know why he stopped here when there’s more populated places. It’s like he wants to be found.”

You sucked in your bottom lip, absentmindedly scrubbing at a sticky puddle of spotchka on the counter. “You think it’s a trap?”

He gave a small shrug, subtly flicking something on his helmet and scanning the room. “Not sure.” He turned back to you, posture tensed. “Somethin’ doesn’t feel right, though. Keep your eyes open and get out if there’s trouble.”

You nodded, wiping a pair of dusty glasses to make it look like you were doing something more than eyeing the half-full cantina with hidden trepidation. You felt it too– the strange quiet of the wind brushing past the shutters, the way your hair stood up on your skin. 

Minutes later, a Trandoshan sauntered into the cantina and took the seat beside Mando, who immediately stilled. He grinned lecherously at you, motioning for a drink. You poured a glass of spotchka and handed it over, grimacing at the feeling of his eyes trailing down your torso like cold slime. “Thanks, honey,” he drawled, scaly hand scraping your wrist in a menacing caress. You stiffened, but chose not to respond, focusing back on the dishes. This wasn’t the first time you’d been harassed by a customer, but until now no one had dared to do so in front of the beskar-clad man sitting in front of you. Your frequent proximity to the intimidating figure seemed to cow the usual crowd into something adjacent to manners– something you missed during the weeks he was away. 

“Heard you were looking for me,” he spoke affably to the Mandalorian beside him. The hulking lizard raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, smirking. Mando remained silent, hands tightened around his glass, and you wondered why he hadn’t already tied up the bounty and left. The Trandoshan’s sly confidence around his hunter made you shift uneasily. Something was very, very wrong.

“See, I got a lot of credits, and you seem reasonable,” the Trandoshan spoke casually. “I know the bounty’s not worth what I can offer you, so how about we make a deal?”

Mando shifted slightly, the beskar plate on his forearm glinting. “I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold. Your choice.” His voice sounded through the modulator, deep and calm with a predator’s poise. “How’s that for a deal?”

The Trandoshan let out a harsh laugh. “Shame you wouldn’t bargain,” he said with mock regret. He twisted his hand up in the air, and you watched as nine more Trandoshans slunk out of the shadows of the cantina booths. The rest of the patrons quieted as they watched the tense scene, the smart ones making their excuses and leaving in a hurry. You were no stranger to bar fights, but they’d never escalated past a couple of drunken punches and a firm boot to the curb for all involved. This one, though… it seemed like it might get deadly.

“My friends and I’ve heard something about a Mandalorian bounty hunter. One who’s got a nice, fat Imperial price tag on his head,” he sneered, spit flying from his mouth. “Think that’d be a fair replacement for mine.” 

Mando turned his helmet oh-so-slightly towards you, making the tiniest nod towards the door. Go, he seemed to be telling you, and you inched towards the kitchen–

Your breath caught in your throat as you eyed the lizards closing in around him. You were sure he was a seasoned warrior, but ten armored adversaries at once seemed a little much for one person. You couldn’t help him fight, but… maybe you could distract them long enough for him to gain the element of surprise.

Before you could talk yourself out of your quickly-made plan, you grabbed a tulip-shaped flute of algarine bubbly and stepped up to the orange Tradoshan you’d served earlier with a coquettish smile. “On the house,” you said, passing him the glass with a bat of your lashes you hoped came across as sincere. You felt ill at the way his eyes rested greedily on the sliver of your chest exposed by your lean across the bar, but it appeared that you’d momentarily distracted him. If only you could get his friends’ attention, too… 

You glanced around, searching for anything you could use to cause a scene– pointedly ignoring the way Mando’s gloved hands twitched at your movement closer to the dangerous humanoid. Trust me, you mentally pleaded with him. I’m trying to help.

Your eyes finally fell on the spotchka situated uncomfortably close to your elbow. Perfect. You gave the Trandoshan a ditzy giggle, swaying like you were entranced by his gaze as you quickly jabbed the large pitcher. You gasped in fake horror as it shattered, spraying alcohol over most of the floor and onto the three closest lizards. The group swiveled at the disruption, venomous glares shifting to you instead of the armored man they were gathered around. 

“Oops,” you smiled, sugary-sweet and innocent. “Sorry, honey.”

And then Mando did something with his arm, flexing out his vambrace in a motion so quick you didn’t register it until flames shot across the alcohol on the bar and onto the scales of the Tradoshans. He immediately snapped into action as they roared in shocked pain, twisting and shooting as they fell one at a time. You admired his agile form for a moment, awed by how precise his movements were, how easily he moved into the flow of fighting like it was a second skin. A moment too long, it seemed, because you snapped your gaze away from Mando to see the orange Tradoshan bearing down on you. 

“Fucking bitch,” he hissed, eyes bulging with hatred as he lunged across the counter. Your eyes widened as you ducked backwards, intending to stumble into the safety of the kitchen but slamming into the unforgiving wall instead. Stupid, stupid, stupid, you chided yourself, stomach dropping as you scrambled to get your bearings through the surge of pain paralyzing your muscles. You didn’t know how to fight–should’ve run for cover the minute the spotchka hit the floor, honestly– and instead you just stood there like a kriffing nerf herder. 

You cried out at the impact of the Tradoshan’s sharply-scaled fist scraping your cheek, gasping and flinching away from the hit you were sure would land next between your ribs. He hissed at you through jagged teeth, sour breath like acid on your face. He cocked his blaster and you twisted yourself, preparing to launch into one final, defiant attack–

A blur of silver slammed into the orange lizard, knocking him off of you with a violent crash. You heard his bony nose break with a crack, followed by what sounded like an entire charge cartridge’s worth of blaster shots. You pushed yourself off the floor, wincing at the throb of pain that echoed at your temples but steeling yourself to get up nonetheless. Your mouth parted at the sight of the cantina, booths ablaze and blaster shots ringing through the smoky air.

Mando shouted your name over the commotion, sharp and intense. “Are you–”

“Fine. I’m fine,” you wheezed out in a relieved sob as he made his way over to you. “We need to go, the fire–”

“I know,” he muttered as he hooked an arm around your torso and dragged you behind a countertop, shielding you with his armor. “They’ve blocked the doors. Windows, too– I got seven of them, but the others are trying to burn us out.” 

“Please tell me you have a backup plan,” you begged, narrowly avoiding a stray charge that chipped the already-fragile cabinet. It would only be a matter of minutes before your feeble cover fell, and you didn’t feel like waiting around for more Tradoshans to show up.

The Mandalorian shrugged, gesturing to the fireplace in front of you. “It worked the first time.”

Your jaw dropped, anxiety momentarily forgotten. “Metal man. Are you saying that on your first night here… you left through the chimney?!”

“It’s very comfortable,” was all he said as he swung you over onto the hearth, casually shooting backwards at the face of a Trandoshan peering through a crack in the cantina door. From the muffled sound of something hitting the steps, his aim was flawless.

You gaped at him, speechless with disbelief. Was he… teasing you? If he was trying to distract you from the pain shooting across your face, it was definitely working. “Oh, no, everything’s fine, I’m just escaping a crime scene with an apparent madman,” you muttered to yourself, shaking your head at the absurdity of the situation. “Don’t know how I could’ve missed the simplest way out of here.”

No wonder you hadn’t woken up when he left– he hadn’t so much as touched the very reasonable idea of opening the shutters to get out. No, the kriffing chimney was the most obvious next step. With that kind of creativity, you supposed it made sense that he’d stayed alive in the bounty hunting business for so long. The mental image of the big, stoic Mandalorian inching his way up the vertical corridor with a little green accomplice on his back–combined with the general chaos of the last half hour–quickly became more than you could handle. You allowed yourself a moment of hysteria before sliding into the fireplace, head tilting back as you viewed the long, long passageway above.

***

Comfortable, my arse. You panted, some ten minutes later, sweat streaming down your face as you struggled to keep a solid grip on the sooty brick around you. The climb was not as amusing as you’d previously thought. Maybe you’d manage better if you had a grappling gun hidden in your forearm and boots with climbing spikes, like the beskar-plated man behind you. Right now, though, all you had were your worn-through work shoes and a hacking cough from all the smoke rising up to you from the wreck of the cantina below. 

“Come on,” you muttered, willing yourself to scoot up another meter despite your quickly fatiguing thigh muscles. How tall was this chimney, anyway? It felt like you’d been climbing for miles, but maybe that was just your poor endurance talking. 

“You doing okay?” Mando called up to you, grunting slightly at the weight of the Trandoshan bounty around his shoulders. There was no way you’d let him try to carry you too, though you knew he’d offer if you faltered. You screwed up your face in concentration, muttering something resembling an affirmation as you focused on shifting higher and higher until you finally, blissfully reached the top.

You let out a small whoop of success, collapsing on the roof as Mando pulled himself up behind you. “Thought I’d never make it out of there,” you beamed up at him. Your relieved smile faded as you took in his still-tensed posture as he looked off the edge of the roof. 

“What is it?”

He turned back toward you, setting the Tradoshan’s body down with a thunk. “They’re setting detonators around the building,” he spoke, his modulated baritone rough and distracted as he fiddled with a heavy metal backpack beneath his cloak. 

You swallowed thickly, closing your eyes for a moment as you fought to suppress the panic that rose up at his words. When you opened them, he’d shoved the Tradoshan onto the roof of the building next door, which was a safe distance away from the flames but remarkably jagged. You eyed the area, wondering if his plan was to crouch there and pray that the shrapnel from the explosion would miss the two of you. 

Mando walked over, motioning for you to get up. You got back on your feet, slightly dizzy from the smoke as you stumbled over to him. 

“Need you to hold on to me,” he muttered awkwardly, extending an arm. You gaped at him, utterly confused at the uncharacteristic action. How was clinging to him like a baby womp rat supposed to get you out of here before the building crumbled? 

Still, you stepped closer to him and tentatively wrapped your hand around his vambrace. You made a tiny noise of surprise as he tugged you into his chest, your arms instinctively wrapping around his broad torso. You ducked your head, glad that he couldn’t see your flaming face from this angle. Yep, that touch starvation was definitely doing a number on you. You could feel the rise and fall of his breaths, his chest surprisingly warm underneath the cool beskar plates that protected it— and stars, none of that was doing anything to lessen your little crush. 

“Close your eyes,” he instructed, and you quickly complied. Seconds after you’d scrunched your face up in concentration, you felt a tug in your stomach and the wind rise in your hair. Your eyes snapped back open on instinct as you felt your feet leave the ground, your grip on Mando tightening in panic. You peeked past his armor and saw nothing but cold winter sky— and was that a kriffing jet pack?! You gasped as you glanced down and realized that you were rapidly approaching a hundred feet in the air, the cantina exploding into a fiery speck beneath you. 

You and large heights had a strained relationship, so you clung to Mando with all your strength and prayed that he had enough fuel to land somewhere very solid. “You didn’t tell me we’d be flying out of there,” you spoke, words muffled by the wind and the way your face was currently scrunched against his hard chestplate.

“You didn’t ask,” he responded. If you weren’t so focused on staying alive, you might have been offended at his cheeky tone, but you settled for an eye roll.

You landed a few miles outside of town on the ice fishers’ territory. It took you longer than you wanted to admit to get detangled from the Mandalorian, mostly because your fingers had frozen into a death grip of a hug around him. He gently pried you off his armor, setting you on a patch of snow slightly less icy than the others and walking past you. You turned to see him open the boarding ramp of a silver Razor Crest in all its pre-Imperial glory. The ship was older than you expected, but in decent condition.

You carefully followed him into the ship, climbing up after him into the cockpit. The leather passenger seat was surprisingly comfortable, and your muscles slowly unstiffened as you watched him fire up the engines.

“I have to go pick up the bounty,” Mando stated, moving over to set the navigation screen. He paused. “Do you need to be… dropped off somewhere?”

“I— I don’t really have anywhere else to go,” you admitted, looking down at your lap. “The only place I had a connection to here was just blown up.” You winced, wondering how you’d ever find work now that you were partly to blame for the destruction of the town’s singular watering hole. 

Mando was silent for a while as he maneuvered the ship towards the cantina wreckage. You craned your neck towards the arching glass windows, staring down at the snowy landscape of Nath. “It’s so much more beautiful from above,” you spoke softly, wonder evident in your tone. “Always wanted to travel, see views like this every day, but… off-world tickets these days are too expensive.” Your face took on a wistful expression. “Must be nice to do this for your job. I bet the kid loves it, too.”

Mando cleared his throat, helmet tilting towards you.

“You could— work for me. Take care of the kid, here on the ship,” he spoke hesitantly. “Visit planets with us when I’m not hunting bounties.” 

You glanced over at him in shock, mouth falling open. Hope swelled up in you at his words, and you could hardly breathe at the idea of what he was offering you. A way off Nath, to experience the galaxy like you’d always dreamed- stars, but it felt surreal.

“It’d be better for him to have someone to rely on when I’m gone, stay in one place for longer,” he continued, faltering slightly at your silence. “The ship’s small, but I can pay you well and your needs would be taken care of for as long as you stay—“

“Yes,” you gasped out, the words embarrassingly rushed, but you didn’t care. “If— if you’re serious, then yes, I accept.”

He seemed surprised at the vehemence with which you spoke, but nodded. “This is the Way,” his deep baritone sounded through the modulator, final and determined. 

This is the Way. You practically vibrated with excitement at the phrase, face breaking into a grin as you settled back in the seat. All you’d have to do was keep that pesky attraction to the beskar-covered man piloting the ship under control, and you’d finally be free. Free of Nath’s soul-crushing atmosphere, free to travel the galaxy like you’d always dreamed of— albeit with a little green child at your side. 

Sure, he was the most interesting person you’d ever met, and the way his voice lowered when he bantered with you sent a jolt of something down your spine.

But it couldn’t be that hard, right?

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read on: part iii

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Up next we’ve got the post-season seven stories! (Lol that was some fun alliteration)

🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷🦷 (it might be a BTHB but i’m loving the family feels! Loving chris’s new understanding of eddie but hating how he got it - diaz parents better watch out!)

🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️🛏️ (there was only one bed! Seriously buck and eddie really thought it through and this was the only option. Like really there was nothing else to be done. No don’t think about it too much just trust them! 😝 i’m so pumped for this one!)

- PCA <3

Loving the themes!!

45 for 🦷 (Yay! thank you!!!!):

---

“Christopher,” Eddie exhales, voice barely audible. It hurts too much. 

“I thought I’d feel better because they’d comfort me, but all they do is make everything feel worse.”

“Okay,” Eddie mumbles. He takes the tub of ice cream from his son and places it in the overfull basket. Then he puts the basket on the ground. He pulls Christopher into a hug. “I’m sorry, Chris. I’m sorry it happened this way.”

Vaguely, Eddie is aware they’re having this conversation in the frozen dairy aisle of a grocery store. Not, like, a therapist’s office. Which is what he might have preferred. But, fuck it. Chris is ready to talk. 

“It made me sad for you,” Chris blubbers. 

“For me?” Eddie asks.

“Yes, you, Dad!!” Chris snaps. “Because I always had you to make me feel better, but who did you ever have? Did you ever feel okay?”

Eddie is shaking a little.

“You don’t have to worry about that, Chris.”

“But I am.” 

Fuck. Fuck, Eddie doesn’t know how to fix this. He doesn’t know what to do. It’s like Christopher’s brain has matured a big lunging step forward over the summer and he’s seeing Eddie as a whole person and Eddie doesn’t know what to do with that. He’s not supposed to be something Chris worries about. 

“Christopher,” Eddie says. “I… Okay, maybe you’re right. Maybe I’ve spent a lot of my life feeling kind of bad about myself. But I’ve got Buck and Bobby and lots of friends that help me. I’ve got you. Being your dad makes me so happy, okay? So you don’t need to worry about this.”

Christopher makes a small, frustrated noise. “And-and I’m working on it, okay?” Eddie reminds him. “I’m working on feeling better about myself, and who I really am, and not… Not hiding. And it’s going to be better. It’s all going to be better, and it won’t be like this forever, okay?”

---

48 for 🛏️ (There was simply no other way!)

---

“Therapy,” Eddie answers. 

Buck tries not to react. He hadn’t known Eddie was going back to therapy. Despite multiple suggestions from literally everyone in his life. 

“Cool,” Buck replies. 

“Where were you?” Eddie asks. 

“Mowing your lawn,” Buck replies. 

The city has regulations, after all. 

“Oh,” Eddie replies. “Fuck. Sorry, Buck, I…”

Buck squeezes his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. Therapy is more important.”

That same night, the compliments sort of… Well, they amp up. They go from Buck being nice, to both of them being… Well, something. 

It starts innocently enough. Buck’s fault, as per usual.

“You look cozy,” Buck says as Eddie - donning an oversized sweater - flops down on the mattress to watch a show. They’re trying to catch up on old episodes of Hotshots, now that they know Bobby is going to be advising for the next season. 

Eddie looks down at the hoodie. “Oh? Uh, it’s yours.”

“Mine?” Buck asks. 

“Mine are in the laundry.” Eddie says. “Sorry, I can go home and grab more.”

“No, no, no,” Buck blurts. He doesn’t want him to stress or think he broke some sort of boundary. “You look good in my sweater.”

Eddie freezes. “I look good in your sweater?”

Fuck. Why did he say that?

“Uh, yeah. Sure. You look good in every sweater.” 

“Do I?” Eddie smirks. 

Fuck. This is a disaster. 

[sixhours]

i know you by heart - chapter 8

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Prospect, Joel Miller x Ezra, Joel & Ellie, Ezra & Cee, Joel is bad at feelings and relationships, Ellie is a little shit (affectionate), mostly follows canon after season 1, SMUT, gay sex, bisexual!Joel, period-typical homophobia, alcoholism behavior, light angst, angst with a happy ending, romance, age gap (~10ish years), I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

Chapter notes: The happily ever after. <3 Smut ahead, it's clearly marked.

He finds Ezra leaning on the porch railing, looking out over the back yard. It’s a crystal-clear December night, the bitter-cold air bringing every star into sharp focus against the inky black sky above.

“What’re you doin’ out here?” Joel asks. “S’fuckin’ freezin’.”

“Ah. Just admiring nature’s majesty and marveling at our place in the cosmos, I suppose.”

Joel joins him, back to the railing, sidling up to him until he can feel the shared heat of their bodies instead of the chilled air. Then he squeezes a little closer just because he can.

“Isn’t it a wonder to think that a billion different possibilities coalesced in just the right way to make the very star system, the very planet on which we find ourselves? The light from the stars takes billions of years to find us. Somewhere, some other civilization could be watching this very universe being born and think it nothing but a pretty illumination in the sky.”

“Are they freezin’ their asses off, too?”

Ezra breathes a low laugh into the night. “Such infinite complexity suggests that, perhaps elsewhere in this great ethereal realm, there exists another world similarly ravaged by plague, with similar creatures looking beyond their atmosphere and pondering the possibility of our very existence at this precise moment.”

“I reckon they’d have better things to worry about,” he grunts.

“Perhaps. And yet…here we are. Watching the sky, contemplating our place amidst the chaos.”

Joel huffs a sigh. “You’re startin’ to sound like Ellie.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, cher .”

He ducks his chin, folds his arms across his chest, toes at a loose board on the porch. “So, what…you tryin’ to wish yourself off this planet for a while? Thinkin’ of doin’ some space travel?”

“No, no,” he chuckles softly. “Just thinking how fortunate I am to have found you in this universe, songbird.”

When he finally finds his voice, all Joel can utter is a quiet, “That so, huh?”

“Undoubtedly,” Ezra stands, sliding over to thread his arm around Joel’s waist, lightly fixing him to the railing. The cold is momentarily forgotten. His hands slide down to slip into the back pockets of his jeans–he can think of worse ways to warm his fingers–and his breath is stolen by a kiss.

“Joel, where’d you put the–ugh, they’re doing it again,” Ellie's voice rings out from the back door.

The first time she caught them, the chastest peck, her theatrics could be heard three blocks over. At least tonight, she just rolls her eyes and goes back to looking for whatever she was looking for in the kitchen.

“Get a room!” Cee calls helpfully.

“Christ,” Joel breathes. “S’my own damn house.”

“Another time, then,” Ezra sighs, gaze lingering long enough to send a shiver across the back of Joel’s neck.

Then a commotion, the sound of pots banging in the kitchen, Cee and Ellie laughing, and Joel reluctantly pulls away.

“C’mon, spaceman,” he rumbles. “Girls are waitin’.”

“What’s on the cinematic docket for this evening?” Ezra asks as they head inside. They’ve started sharing movie nights along with the occasional family meal. It’s been a slow and tentative process, not for any hesitation on the part of the girls, who are clearly fast friends.

It makes Joel think, not for the first time and not without a pang of grief, that Sarah would have made a good big sister.

“ It’s a Wonderful Life . Ellie’s pick,” Joel grimaces. “Not my favorite, but t’is the season, I guess.”

Ezra frowns. “Oh…pity. I abhor this trope.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” Joel mutters, then stops. “Wait, didn’t you…weren’t you there last year?”

“Your young prodigy may have cajoled me into attendance.”

Joel blinks. “She did what now?”

Ezra smirks. “I suspect she had it out for us long before we were ever in the loop, songbird. As I said, she’s wise beyond her years.”

“Damn,” he whispers. “That little–”

“Shit!”

There’s more clattering from the kitchen and the faint smell of burnt popcorn. And more giggling.

“Ellie?”

“Cee?”

“It’s fine, we’re…fine!” Ellie calls back.

“Nothing to see here!” Cee adds, as if that makes it better.

“Y’all, please don’t set the damn kitchen on fire again,” Joel calls, shuddering at the vivid memory of flames licking up the sides of an overflowing pot of popcorn left on the stove too long.

“That was one time ,” Ellie says.

“Zero times is the number I’m lookin’ for, kid.”

“Should we…intervene?” Ezra asks, nodding toward the commotion.

But then the girls enter the living room carrying two bowls of popcorn. There are flecks of the stuff stuck to Cee’s sweater. Later, Joel will walk into the kitchen and find the source of their laughter, kernels scattered on every surface, and he’ll have to harp on Ellie to sweep up the mess.

Yeah, the girls are getting along fine.

Joel takes his usual corner of the couch and Ellie plops down next to him, stretching out her legs to hog the rest. Ezra takes the other corner, and Cee opts to keep to the floor, leaning against Ezra’s knee with her bowl in her lap.

“Ready?”

“No,” Joel and Ezra grunt in unison.

“Too bad, suckers,” Ellie declares cheerfully as Cee presses Play.

An hour into the movie finds three of the four asleep; unfortunately for Joel, he’s not one of them. Ellie has dozed off against his shoulder, her feet tucked under Ezra’s thigh. He picks a stray kernel of popcorn out of her hair and tosses it into the mostly empty bowl. Cee leans against Ezra’s knee, and his head is tipped over the back of the couch, snoring.

“Buncha deserters,” Joel whispers, thinking he should reach for the remote and stop the stupid movie, but he doesn’t. Instead, he places a kiss on Ellie’s temple and watches his family sleep, savoring the rare moment of calm.

They have good days and bad days. On the good ones, they practice guitar and watch movies and share meals and she kicks his ass at Boggle. The words come easily and the silences are warm and comfortable and it’s almost like old times.

The bad days are less frequent, but they hurt like a scab. Eventually the wound will scar, but until then, it’s an irritation, too easily picked at and never quite healed.

Then there are days when she doesn’t speak to him at all. Days when she’s up and out of the house before the sun, where she doesn’t come home until after dinner or, worse, she just doesn’t come home. The first time that happens, they have a talk. Now she leaves a note on the kitchen counter, usually a single word: Dina’s .

He still hasn’t figured out how to bring that up in conversation.

It will never be the same, he knows. Her trust was a fragile thing to begin with, and his lies made cracks in the foundation of their relationship that only time can repair. 

But they’re trying.

Today is one of the good days. When he jostles her awake, she lingers sleepily against his arm. At the door, she indulges him with a hug, even hangs on long enough to let him plant a kiss on her forehead. Yep, definitely one of the good days.

“You stayin’ with Cee tonight?”

“Mmhm. You two can do…whatever it is you do when we’re not around,” she says, wrinkling her nose.

“Y’mean sleep?” he says, barely stifling a yawn.

“Sure. Don’t miss me too much.”

“Stay outta trouble, both of you.”

Cee has an arm around Ezra’s waist in a brief side hug. They’re not usually so affectionate, still walking that strange line between close friends and family.

“Goodnight, birdie,” Ezra offers, voice going soft.

They don’t talk about Cee's father and Joel doesn’t press it. There are times when she looks at him as though she wants to ask him something–her father’s last words, or if he spoke of her, or if his death was drawn out or quick and painless–or maybe the weight of the death on his conscience has him imagining things. Part of him will always be waiting for the consequences of his actions to darken his doorstep.

They stand in the doorway and watch the girls walk down the street and around the corner until they’re out of sight. Joel wonders if Ezra has to resist the same urge to follow them until he knows they’re home safe. Tonight they’ll crash in Ezra’s office and plug Cee’s headphones into the record player and drink the beers in the fridge–the ones Ezra stocks specifically for this small act of teenage rebellion. Joel sighs as he closes up, thinks if that’s the most trouble they get up to tonight, he’ll count them lucky.

He leaves the door unlocked.

They really had intended to sleep.

Joel is not young. Ezra is not much younger. And while they had plenty of opportunities for alone time now that they were fully out, much of their original boyish urgency has faded, replaced by a comfortable companionship that’s probably more fitting for their ages.

And that was just fine.

But Ezra’s easy declaration on the porch lit a slow-burning flame. Skin to skin, warm and curled around each other, hands wander and find familiar holds. Ezra’s lips trace that spot on Joel’s throat that makes little electric sparks shimmer up his spine, and soon there are two pairs of boxers on the floor and Joel is caged by his partner’s broad shoulders, pinned to the bed under his lithe frame.

+++++++++++++++++++++++SMUT+CUT++++++++++++++++++++++++

Ezra prepares him well, pushes inside until he’s sheathed to the hilt, so full the blunt edges of Joel’s nails dig into the meat of Ezra’s lower back until his body remembers and relents.

Joel ignores the throbbing ache in his groin, content to watch as Ezra’s eyes flutter shut and re-open, heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide. He admires the furrow in his brow, the slack in his jaw, feels the taut rippling of his stomach against him as his weeping cock slicks the fine hairs at his navel. He strokes the patchy scruff on Ezra’s jaw, pulls him down to nip at his chin, lick into his mouth, press a kiss to the crescent scar on his cheek.

“Good?” Ezra whispers thickly, eliciting a dazed nod before their mouths meet. He lowers himself onto his elbow, resting his weight more firmly on Joel, changing the angle until he’s rutting in tight, shallow thrusts, hitting that spot inside that makes Joel groan.

He reaches back and finds Ezra’s hand, grasping it, letting their fingers twine like the rest of them. His thumb brushes the tip of Ezra’s tongue where it peeks out of the purse of his lips. Ezra groans and takes it inside the warm hollow of his mouth, bites down gently on the knuckle, traces the whorls of his fingerprint.

“You gonna come for me?” Joel growls, pulling him down until they’re chest to chest, hand cupping the back of his neck, threading in his hair and tugging gently. The other reaches between them, giving himself a few lazy strokes to ease the ache.

“Mmm, songbird…I…ohhh, amour , you…fuck…please…”

It comes out as a whimper, a whine, and Joel chuckles. For once, his partner has nothing smart to say as his thrusts grow harder, more erratic. Ezra’s mouth crashes into his, messy and desperate, feeding him a moan that fills Joel’s chest with the force of it. Ezra’s cock swells and throbs, warmth spreading sticky between his thighs, then he sags against his chest, panting and trembling with the aftershocks.

Joel urges them to the side and wraps his leg around Ezra’s hips, keeping them joined for just a little longer. Joel gently strokes his ribs, taking pleasure in the way the muscles twitch and jump under his fingers until he lets out an overstimulated hiss into his neck.

“ Amour …”

Joel grins, studying his partner’s face, the fire in his gut settling to an ember. He could almost be content to stay this way; sleep is hard-won, and if he allowed himself to drift, to pull the covers over them and close his eyes, it would be welcome. But then Ezra comes back to himself, sighing and nuzzling into Joel’s chest, circles one nipple and then the other with his tongue.

“I believe we have additional business to attend to,” he says, reaching down to stroke him slowly, letting his foreskin do the work, sliding over and over.

“Y-yeah?” Joel rasps, tongue thick in his mouth as his cock hardens under his partner’s touch.

“Tell me what you want, cher .”

“Mmm, I…ah, fuck, Ez, I–”

A growl rumbles up from deep within his chest and he pushes Ezra onto his back, covering his body, kissing him deeply. Ezra’s fingers stroke the planes of Joel’s chest, circling a spit-slick nipple with one finger, slides lower to trace the thick scar on his stomach and cup his arousal as it throbs and kicks between them. Joel hums in pleasure, momentarily distracted by these ministrations, then remembers what he intended to do. Carefully he crawls up the length of his body and straddles the other man’s chest. Ezra’s eyes flash with interest.

“Oh, I see we’re trying something new, songbird. I greatly look forward to seeing how you intend to–”

“Ez,” Joel says fondly, breathlessly. “Shut. Up.”

He cants his hips forward until his cock is grazing Ezra’s lips, parting them slowly. Forward, forward, watching the length of his arousal disappear until he feels the head hit the back of his throat. He thrusts experimentally, eliciting a choked gagging noise as Ezra’s eyes widen. Joel pulls back.

“This okay?” he whispers, suddenly contrite.

Ezra has the audacity to grin, and if Joel wasn’t already balanced on them, his knees would probably give out at the sight.

Then Ezra’s lips lock around his length and he sucks, hard .

“Ah, fuck, fuck,” he grunts, flames fanned to a roar, a blistering heat twining its way up the base of his spine. Ezra responds by gripping Joel’s ass with his hand and giving a sharp tug, pulling him forward, forcing Joel to brace himself against the wall.

“Jesus, Ez,” he growls. “You want it, huh? You want more a’ that?”

As if in answer, Ezra gags again, a tear escaping the corner of his eye. Fascinated, Joel reaches down to cup the man’s cheek, gentle even as his cock hits the back of his throat again, and again, and again. He lets Ezra set the rhythm, lets the waves of pleasure wash over him with every stretch and press of his cock deeper into the warm, wet cavern of his mouth.

Joel can’t look away, can’t tear his gaze from Ezra’s hungry eyes, his expression so trusting, so loving he aches with it.

“Yeah, you like that,” he whispers as one thumb delicately traces the track of a tear, wiping it away, a gesture that’s almost too sweet, too tender for the kind of fucking they’re doing.

“Take it, baby,” he murmurs. “Take it. All of it. There ya go.”

He groans as Ezra sucks, the back of his throat gripping the sensitive head while his tongue strokes and swirls around the length of his shaft. It’s not long before they find a steady rhythm that has Joel chasing his release.

“Alright,” Joel grits out. “Alright, yeah, I’m…Ez, Christ…so good…fuck…”

Ezra grins again, and any control Joel might have had over the situation slips from his grasp with a whimper. He’s at the mercy of Ezra’s dark eyes and that cocky smile, lips glossy with slick. He gives a low chuckle that sends pleasant vibrations up the length of Joel’s cock, then his strong, capable hand squeezes his ass, forcing him deeper. Joel tries to groan out a warning, a barely intelligible sound of pure pleasure before he falls over the edge. His forehead rests heavily against the wall as every nerve in his body is set alight, as his cock throbs and spills down the back of Ezra’s throat.

+++++++++++++++++++++END+SMUT+CUT++++++++++++++++++++++

Limbs like jelly, head swimming, he manages to extract himself from his precarious position without kneeing his partner in the face.

“You alright?” he murmurs, feeling suddenly self-conscious. “Didn’t hurt you?”

“Not in the least, mon cœur .”

Joel kisses him on the nose, nuzzles against it until he’s stretched out alongside him, half pinning Ezra’s body to the bed with his own.

Ezra gives a contented sigh of approval as Joel trails the gentle slope of his partner’s stomach, the fur at the junction of his thighs, the thick length of him soft and spent. He tucks his face into the crook of Ezra’s neck and breathes him in, wrapping his waist with one arm.

They should clean up. Even as he’s thinking it, his eyes are heavy, and it’s all he can do to fumble for the blanket they kicked to the foot of the bed. He pulls the comforter up to cover both of them and drifts in that post-orgasmic haze, face pressed to the side of Ezra’s neck, feeling the comforting thump of the other man’s pulse against his skin.

“Sing for me, songbird,” Ezra whispers into his hair.

Joel snorts. “Hell no. Guitar’s downstairs.”

“Last I checked, you don’t need a guitar to sing.”

“Yeah, but it covers all my mistakes. Ain’t got the voice for it.”

Ezra scoffs. “If you don’t, I will, and then you’ll deeply regret it.”

“Can’t be that bad,” he mutters, tipping his head up to bite at his earlobe, soothing the nip with his tongue. Goosebumps ripple along the curve of Ezra’s neck.

“Very well. You’ve been warned.”

He takes a deep breath. The most broken and off-key sound comes out of Ezra’s mouth and Joel is ready to smother him before he’s finished the first word.

“Christ, stop that racket,” he gasps, pulling back as Ezra’s laughter bursts and shudders against his palm. “Holy mother of…you weren’t kiddin’.”

“I hate to say I told you so.”

“That’s bullshit, you love to.”

“It’s true. But now you have to sing for me, amour .”

“Fine, fine, I’ll…just don’t do that again. ‘Least not til the rest of my hearin’ goes. Jesus.”

“It’s a deal,” Ezra says.

“The hell do you want me to sing?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

Joel sighs. Outside has grown dark, the stars from earlier in the evening obscured by thick clouds. The first flakes of a winter storm have begun to fall, snowfall illuminated in a faint silver glow by the single street light outside. He can just barely make out the shape of the record album propped on his dresser for safekeeping. He never did give it back, and Ezra hasn’t asked.

Joel clears his throat.

“For you…there’ll be no crying,” he begins, whisper-singing the song that has become his namesake into the crook of Ezra’s neck. “For you…the sun will be shinin’.”

“But I feel that when I’m with you, it’s alright,” he says, leveraging himself up, brushing the sweat-damp hair from Ezra’s temple, taken by the shine in his partner’s eyes. “I know it’s right.”

He ducks his head, murmuring the words into the hollow at the center of Ezra’s throat, punctuating the ending with a gentle kiss. “And the songbirds keep singin’ like they know the score.”

His voice is clear and unbroken as their noses brush, as his hand cradles his jaw, the softest intake of breath as he whispers the final lyric against Ezra’s willing lips.

“And I love you, I love you, I love you like never before.”

Fin.

[weretheones]

All You Got | Part 10

Part 10: A Reminder

Plot: Daryl Dixon hadn’t known much beyond anger and loneliness his whole life, until he found family at the end of the world. Everything he grew to care about was ripped away the day the prison fell; so when he recognized you, an enforcer of his loss, hiding in that cabin, he almost pulled the trigger. But after you end up saving his life, he couldn’t find the indifference to leave you for dead, even if you’d been on the Governor’s side. (Mid-Late Season 4)

Series Masterlist | AO3 Version

Paring: Eventual Daryl Dixon x Reader Word Count: 3.2k Warnings: typical twd content. mentions of death. mentions of prepping game? A/N: hi hi. another late post. very late. im sorry! life has been so distracting lately and without getting to much into it, I felt like I needed a break from writing to fix my relationship with it (to be healthier, yay). feeling better now <3 hope ur all doing well mwah.

Dawn's slow wake was infectious. Early light stretched through the backseat windows, and the moment it warmed the tips of your fingers flattened across the smooth pleather your muscles began to stir. 

Morning?

Your heavy hand, also half asleep, rubbed your eyes until you could make out Daryl’s figure. He sat in the same spot as you’d left him last night, as if time hadn’t moved since. 

“Daryl?” 

Your voice was groggy. A slow call into the air that, other than the muffled birdsong, was mute. That numb hand, now tingling with every move of your fingers, raised just above his shoulder. In the rearview mirror, you caught his swollen eyes flickering up and down, from your puffy morning face to that hand, outreached and hovering behind him. 

Hesitation won; you pulled back, letting your touch fall on the smooth seat beside you, instead. When you tried to meet his eyes in the mirror once more, they’d fallen. 

“You didn’t wake me up." 

His eyes didn’t lift, but he nodded— a heavy, slow nod. The rest of him moved with that same lethargic pace. He grabbed his crossbow from the driver’s seat and let his hand rest on the door handle for a breath. An inch, he turned back, just barely that you could see the tip of his nose breakthrough that curtain of dark bangs. Not enough to meet your eye straight on. 

“I’ll be back soon.” 

His voice was like sandpaper. Rough and dry, those few words scratched away the confusion you woke up with until it exposed a familiar ache of guilt, simmering underneath. But it was distant this time. Diluted. Not like the boiling hot burn you were used to— no. It wasn’t your guilt lingering. 

It seemed that tie to Daryl, wrapped around your heart, hadn’t loosened much since the fight. 

A few things had changed since then, though. Most notable was that empty feeling in your gut. Hunger. You got out of the car a few minutes later, only glancing at the patch of woods Daryl had walked into before you opened the trunk and grabbed a granola bar. It wasn’t much, but it would soothe that hollow spot.

The sleep calmed you, too. That stinging pain from the memory of Daryl’s sharp words had dulled. Sympathy always had a habit of taking root after the fact, and it was certainly nurtured by the look of regret he was practically drowning in this morning. If you couldn't already feel it, his little quirks, seemingly suffocated out by his timid remorse, told you enough. As the days passed on, and you saw the raw bits of his time and time again, he became less obscure; with him, it was the little things, like the way he chewed his thumb when he was thinking, or how he let his eyes linger far longer than he did his words. 

But he could barely look at you now. 

In fact, you couldn't recall him looking at you since standing on that side of the road last night. And that realization was colder than the morning breeze rushing through your hair. Daryl had always kept his eye on you, whether it had been to assess you in the beginning or, as the days slipped into weeks, to make sure you were okay; it didn’t matter much if it was the guilt shifting his gaze away from you, it still made your heart ache. 

You sucked in a deep breath, holding that crisp air in your lungs for a second too long. It helped a bit. There was a lot you wanted to say, even if the night’s rest had calmed that fire inside of you. There was a lot you wanted to fix, more accurately. But Daryl wasn’t here, and he wouldn’t be here for however long 'soon' proved to be. 

The hood of the car was cool underneath you. You sat on top, leaning against the windshield. He said he’d be back, and you didn’t doubt that— if he wanted to leave, he certainly wouldn’t leave a bag of food, an extra flannel, and other supplies behind. Not when the nights were growing longer and the air sharper. No, if he wanted to sneak off, he should have done it before sunrise. While you were unconscious. If there was any hope for a clean break at this bruised, but ironically loyal point in your alliance, that would be it. 

Fortunately for you, Daryl didn’t seem the type for messy goodbyes. 

The sun inched closer to its peak. 

An hour passed like that. You on the hood of that car, with nothing but that random magazine you found under the driver's seat and the chirping birds to keep you company. The same hood Daryl had worked under just a day ago— it felt longer. 

The trees rustled and your head snapped up. Fingers wrapped around the handle of your knife as you steadied your breaths, waiting for something to emerge. 

As you hoped so, Daryl did. 

Whatever had peeled him out of the car so early hadn’t proved troublesome; his long-sleeved flannel was clean of dirt and blood. The morning light rippled through red and yellow leaves, drifting down to his long, brown hair. It was damp, darker strands sticking together to frame his sharp cheekbones, shadowed by the early morning light and his rough scruff. The second he broke through the tree line, those hooded eyes were finally caught on you. You still sat on the hood, taking in a deep breath as the tension lifted off your chest. 

“Hey,” you offered. 

He was standing awkwardly a few feet away, but he managed to give a soft nod of acknowledgement back. 

A string of three squirrels hung from his weaker shoulder, his heavy bow strapped around the other. Uneasy fingers traced along the woven string as each of you seemed to wait for the other to say something first. 

Neither of you did. 

You— well, you had never been good with awkward tension. Daryl didn't seem so well-versed, either. He stood there a few seconds too long, unsubtly rocking his weight from one foot to the other before his eyes finally shifted off your unsure expression. 

"You, uh, you were hunting?" 

It was only then the silence broke. Although, from the sound of your messy speech, the awkward silence might've been easier to bare. 

"Mhm," he hummed. It was lower than usual. Thickened from a lack of sleep. "Thought we could save some'a those cans." 

"Y— Yeah. Good idea." 

The silence slipped back in. It was maybe even worse than before that small back and forth that felt more forced than anything else. As if it'd just put a glaring spotlight on that discomfort between you. 

Thankfully, Daryl finally looked for distraction in something other than that stiff expression you had. 

The car’s door creaked open and he reached down to the foot of the passenger’s seat, where he’d left his backpack. You slid off the hood. If he’d glanced back at you then, he would have seen the subtle distress begin to mark your features. He’d always been a bit on the quiet side, a man of few words, but there was something about this type of quietness— the type that invaded even his actions— that picked at your heart. It was attentive. Apprehensive to make any move. It reminded you of the cabin, that morning after you patched up his shoulder. After you came back shaking and numb from the sight of a familiar body torn to shreds. 

As you lingered by the side of the car, he finally pulled something out. And then his eyes met yours. You managed not to feel that usual warmth at your cheeks when he caught you watching him— which was often. Though there hadn’t been much warmth this morning, anyway. Not in the brisk air or the sweater you wrapped around yourself. Not even between you and Daryl, which felt the coldest until he held the familiar fabric— his poncho— toward you. 

“’S cold.” 

Your eyes flickered between it and him, but you didn’t hesitate to accept.

“A bit,” you mumbled. 

Overtop your sweater, the poncho was heavy. But the woven fabric was warm, too; a layer that settled across your torso, growing thicker with every breath. 

His hand went back to the string, positioning it higher on his shoulder. He nodded toward the trees. “You, uh, ya wanna go for a walk?” 

That piqued your attention. You glanced up at him, softly biting his lip, and took a second to realize he’d truly asked what you just thought he did. It was fittingly awkward, the way you stuttered out your agreement, but Daryl didn’t seem much bothered by it. Maybe he was used to your hesitations. Maybe he was just distracted by his own. 

You ventured into the woods. Sticks broke under your steps, and oddly, his too. There was a thought to ask him where he was leading you, sans car and backpacks, but the silence had finally grown comfortable for the first time in hours. You didn’t want to break that, also. 

The trees were sparse. A crisp breeze snuck through the gaps of bare branches, rustling the dry leaves that scattered the path. Daryl seemed to have a destination in mind, following a set trail laid out in nothing but his memory. Thankfully, he had a good one. 

“Finishin’ what y’all started?” 

A bit too good, at times. 

It wasn’t much longer until Daryl’s pace slowed. At that point, the air became sharper. Fresher. The leaves rustled, caught in a shifting breeze that brushed your ankles. That familiar twinge of damp earth and moss filled your lungs, and you could hear the rushing river before you even broke the tree line. 

The water was painted the same bright blue as the sky, with threads of silver passing through. It was beautiful. Gushing overtop dark, flat rocks and sparkling under the sun’s direct beam. The forest circled the bank, free sunlight dabbling the soft moss and drying the rocks that narrowly escaped the stream’s path. You stepped forward, careful to avoid the last of the summer’s flowers underfoot. Even under your blood-stained shoes, you could feel the damp ground cushion your weight. It was soft. Relaxing. 

“I found it while huntin’,” Daryl said. 

“It's beautiful.”

He had a ghost of a smile. Something small and shy. It seemed considerable, coming from a man like him. 

“Ya hungry?” 

You nodded. 

Daryl was quick at work to set up a small fire beside the short waterfall's bank. He began to prep the squirrel, too, but his movements slowed down as instruction seemed to creep in. His eyes caught the curiosity lingering in your own, and his hands reduced to a pace that must’ve been borderline tedious for a hunter as experienced as him. The soft sounds of the forest were a peaceful backdrop to his few sentences: how to skin the animal properly, what parts to remove, and which were the best to eat. Stuff like that. Stuff that you knew a bit about, here and there, from living on the road the last few months. But Daryl knew a lot more than you— or anyone else you’d known since the fall— ever did. 

You followed along as best as you could. This time there was no overt distraction of tanned skin or grease-coated fingers. Just the flutter of the wind tickling his bangs and making the small fire flicker, which was captivating in a different way. Softer. You could still hear the rumble of his voice, still thick with fatigue. 

The squirrel’s blood ran stark red— like Daryl’s had in the cabin— but soon enough the smell of cooking meat filled your nostrils and those bitter moments drifted away with the breeze. He passed you a leg as yours started to itch. That scab at your thigh was crumbling away, now. Just as the one on his shoulder was forming. 

The meat was hot. Bland, but you’d had worse before. Daryl was well practiced at cooking over a campfire, and juices ran down your chin at the third bite. After a few more, the meal was done and the bones landed in the short flames. 

Despite the fire, it was still cold. The air had that sharp, damp bite to it, and it carried a chill this close to the running waters. You buried yourself deeper into Daryl’s poncho and tried to listen to the noise. The soft coo of animals starting their day. But it was hard to ignore that burning look directed at the side of your face; Daryl was staring at you. The soft curves and edges of your side profile, stark against the moody forest behind. Even if his eyes fidgeted, and he tried to pay attention to the tall trees and soft waterfall instead, he found himself drawn back to you, over and over.

He told himself it was the guilt. 

“‘M sorry,” he said abruptly as if to alleviate it. Even if he hadn’t merely mumbled it, it wouldn’t really work. He already knew that. 

But on the other side of the rock, sitting closest to the river’s bank and watching him over your shoulder, you thought his nerves made the apology feel all the more genuine. Although in the time you’d known him, Daryl didn’t have much problem with sincerity. Vulnerability, sure. But even his most awkward, stiff moments of comfort had been soaked in devoted honesty and care. 

“I know,” you sighed, then turned to face him properly. “After everything that’s happened… I get why you snapped.” 

He cleared his throat, but his words still came out rough, “Nah. I was a dick.” He looked down. “N’ ya don’t deserve tha’.”

You paused, a bit shocked by his instance of wrongdoing. It was only then that the feeling of guilt in your gut solidified, right as you realized just how deep his remorse ran, past the strange insomnia and wandering hunts. 

“Oh." You blinked softly. “Thank you.”

It was quiet again. A look between the pair of you, carefully held from his soft eyes to your delicate expression. You weren’t sure what you were waiting for now, all you knew was that look he had about him was enticing. 

The overwhelming burden of that heavy tension lifted, and the only remnants could be seen in Daryl’s stiff shoulders. Something was still there, trapped deep in that big chest of his. You didn’t pry. A part of you already knew he was working up to it. He just needed patience. 

A few seconds later, it finally came. 

“I dunno if ‘m ever gonna forget wha’ ya did.” 

Daryl’s admission caught you off guard. But, it was fitting. His apology, his anger, his pain— it all led back to the prison, and that aching, undeniable fact that it was you on the other side of the fence. 

“I never asked you to,” you replied, your eyes falling to your fiddling fingers. “I know I won’t.” 

He cleared his throat. “I wanted to. Would’a been easier.” 

“What? Being my friend?” 

Daryl’s eyes were soft again, but something new laced that pretty blue, too. They flickered between your parted lips and expectant eyes. 

“Yeah,” he rasped. 

“You saved me. And more than that, you took care of me and...” You shook your head and took another breath. It was a surprisingly difficult admission— to explicitly acknowledge the immense gratitude you had for him. For his heart; the generosity and compassion it held, even after he'd lost so much. “You did all that knowing what I’d done.” 

He was quiet, waiting for you to continue. 

“I still don’t know why you did.” 

If he had an answer, he didn’t give it. You looked down again. 

“But that's why I could trust you. You gave me a chance.” 

A chance. That was asking a lot these days. 

He shrugged. “I couldn’t jus’ leave ya there.” 

“You could’ve. It's like you said— a lot of people would have.” A bittersweet smile curled your lips. “Even after we got even, you never had to stay.” 

Memories of that first night, waking up half confused, half terrified, snuck in. Daryl had been so adamant about helping you once— only once. That was it. And yet, here he was, still all you got left in this world. 

“I thought ‘bout it a lot.”

“Leaving?” 

He couldn’t say it, so he nodded instead. 

“Why didn’t you?” 

“Jus’ never felt right.” 

You swallowed, then offered a timid smile. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t leave.” 

“Me too.” 

The stare held between the two of you dug deeper as the seconds passed by, a steady slip from heartfelt reconciliation into delicate suspense. 

Daryl cleared his throat. 

“Ya really think they’re still out there?” 

He was still staring out to the water ahead when you turned his way. His bottom lip was slightly pinched under his teeth, chest rising in even but deep breaths. He afforded you that same patience as you did him, waiting for you to answer. 

“I think so.” 

“Why?” 

“It can’t all be bad.” 

That drew his attention. You could almost see him bite back the bitter comment at the tip of his tongue. A knee-jerk reaction that he was smart enough to hold back. 

"I know it feels like it is." You swallowed the small lump in your throat and hoped you didn't sound patronizing. And maybe you did a little, but you remembered the hopelessness after losing your brother. And you remembered needing something— anything— to hold on to again. “But there is good out there.” 

His eyes flickered across your face, even glancing down to that poncho of his, wrapped around your torso, before finding a warm home in that sweet look you had.

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Maybe ya jus' gotta remind me sometimes.” 

Your cheeks were warm, and that gentle smile you had quickly turned bashful. 

“You already know,” you retorted. 

He raised an eyebrow. 

“If you didn’t, I’d be a corpse rotting outside that cabin.”

He blinked, attention faltering a second until he was locking eyes with you once again, only now with a soft curl to his lips. That tender look in those pretty blues just about made your head spin; something shaved away his rough edges, shaping a soft, caring man under that burly surface. 

If you had been worried about that spark of a crush being stomped out, the new bloom of warmth in your chest quickly reaffirmed it.

“I don’t know if we’re ever gonna find them, but we might as well hope.” 

Daryl's stare was filled with an attentiveness that almost made you blush. The fight felt like distant history when he looked at you like that. 

“It's not like we have much else to do.” 

“Guess not,” he agreed.

And then that silence slipped back in, but there was a newfound comfort to it, even softer than it’d been before the fight. The air between you seemed to warm and heavy tension drifted away. In its place, a whisper of compassion and intimacy settled, instead. 

That feeling lingered far longer than the silence did.

-> part 11

A/N: awww reconciliation<3 I hope this was a satisfying one, it was (again) challenging to write lol. still not sure if I loveeee it, but I think its sweet.

if you’re reading this, thank you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. please feel free to leave feedback, it helps so much and I love to read it. have a lovely day <3

AYG taglist: @fuseburner @itsmeatballworld @rickysgrimes @stevenknightmarc @huffledor-able541 @your-shifting-gurl @hopefulatrocity @strnqer @dreamtofus @fillechatoyante @suniloli @kiaslily @poubxlle @normanplusdaryl

[sequinsmile-x]

Stained Glass Windows - Chapter Seventy

Life was complicated, but they wouldn't have it any other way.

-x-

Hi friends,

I cannot believe we are at chapter 70!! As I always say, I love this version of them so much, and I am constantly blown away by the love you've shown for them too.

When I first started writing SGW, I initially intended to end it around the end of season 7, and now we are on the cusp of starting season 7 in this universe...I can't imagine ending it so soon! So, as I always say - as long as you're still reading and enjoying...I'll keep writing it <3

I hope you enjoy this, and please let me know what you think!

-x-

Words: 2.6k

A full list of warnings for the fic can be found on the Series Master List.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Aaron frowns curiously as he closes the car door, his eyes fixed on the delivery truck parked on his driveway. 

He feels a familiar sense of relief as he steps into his home, the weight he would always carry on his shoulders in the outside world disappearing the second he closes the door behind him. 

“Daddy’s home!” Emily says from the living room, her voice full of joy. He follows the sound of it, abandoning his go bag in the foyer, desperate to see his family after being away for a few days. He smiles as soon as he sees them, all sitting on the floor together, Lily sitting between Emily’s legs with Jack opposite them, one of Lily’s favourite toys between them. Aaron is barely in the living room when Jack runs at him, his arms tight around his legs as he beams up at him. 

“Hi Daddy, I missed you,” Jack says, giggling as Aaron picks him up and tickles him, stamping a kiss against his son’s cheek.

Emily stands up and then picks up Lily, resting the little girl on her hip as she walks over, pressing a kiss to Aaron’s lips, smiling widely as she pulls back, “I missed you too.” 

Aaron smiles and leans in to kiss Lily’s forehead before he runs his knuckles down her cheek, “I missed all of you.” 

“You’re back for Lily’s birthday party tomorrow!” Jack exclaims, clapping his hands as Aaron kisses him again and then puts him down. 

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world, buddy,” he says, winking at his wife as their eyes meet. They’d both been disappointed when the team had been pulled onto a case just a few days ago, and he’d worried he’d miss his little girl’s first birthday. He’d felt nothing short of relieved when they’d caught the unsub, using information Penelope had found seemingly out of nowhere to catch him. Aaron had decided it was best he didn’t ask too many questions, more than happy to rely on plausible deniability if it got him home in time for his little girl’s birthday.  He looks at his wife, his curiosity finally getting the better of him, “Why is there a truck in the driveway?” 

She sighs and kisses Lily’s temple before she sets her down, “Jack, can you look after your sister for me a minute?” She smiles when he nods enthusiastically and leads Aaron out of the room, coming to a stop in the hallway just outside the living room, “My mother sent Lily a gift,” she says, keeping her voice low so the kids don’t hear her. “There are two men building it in the backyard as we speak.” 

He frowns, looking back and forth between his wife and the back of the house, “Did you just say building it?”

Emily hums as she nods and presses her lips together, her arms crossed over her chest, “It’s a playhouse. But it’s huge,” she says through gritted teeth, “You could fit in it,” she says emphatically and he tries to clear his throat to stop himself from laughing, but he doesn’t quite manage it, “You think I’m kidding?” She casts a glance at Jack and Lily, satisfied they’d be fine for a few moments, and then grabs Aaron’s bicep and tugs him to the kitchen where the large pane windows give a good view of the backyard, “Look at it.” 

His response is cut off as he looks out the window, his eyes going wide as he takes in the giant, bright pink, castle that was being built at the bottom of their yard. The pieces of it dwarfing the two men who Elizabeth had sent over to build it. He looks back at his wife, whose face and crossed arms say nothing short of I told you so as she raises her eyebrows at him. 

 “Oh god,” he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose, “The neighbours are going to hate us.” 

“I know she still hasn’t met her,” Emily sighs and leans forward, pressing her forehead into his shoulder, “But said she wanted to send something, and she’s trying so I said she could,” she says, leaning into his embrace as he wraps his arms around her. She groans as she rests her cheek against his shoulder and looks back out at the yard, “But I thought she’d get her a toy or a trike or something…not her first piece of real estate.” 

Aaron does laugh this time, his chuckle lost against her hair as he kisses the top of her head, his hand back and forth as he tries to ease the tension there that only her mother could create.

“Sweetheart, it’s not that bad.” 

She frowns at him as she pulls back, “Not that bad? Honey, you could probably see that thing from space.” 

He tucks some of her hair behind her ear and leans in to kiss her, smiling as she immediately sinks into it, “We’ll get used to it.”

She hums and curls her arms around his shoulders, her hands linking at the back of his neck, “You know the worst part of it?” 

He stamps another kiss against her lips, “What?” 

“We won’t even be able to get rid of it because Lily will fucking love it.” 

___

Emily sighs contentedly as she stands in her backyard. She closes her eyes and takes in a deep breath, taking a moment to take it all in, to enjoy the beautiful simplicity of her daughter’s first birthday party. 

“Now there's something I never thought I’d see.” 

She opens her eyes when JJ speaks, appearing at her side with Penelope as they all look over the large playhouse. The doors were open just enough that Aaron and Lily were visible inside, the little girl’s laughter drowning out the rest of the party as she focused entirely on her father. 

“Where did that playhouse even come from?” Penelope asks, taking a picture of the sight in front of them, barely dragging her gaze away from Aaron and Lily playing, “It’s huge.”

Emily groans, “My mother got it,” she says, blowing out a breath, “And I hate it, and it’s ugly but Lily loves it, Jack too,” she adds, turning to look at her friends, “They were both so excited when we showed them this morning.” 

Penelope hums and looks around, her gaze shifting from the kids from Lily’s daycare, to the team, to Haley, and then back, “Where is your mother, anyway?” 

Emily smiles tightly and clears her throat, looking back at Lily and Aaron, her smile becoming real when she sees Jack has joined them in the playhouse. She still wasn’t comfortable with the idea of Elizabeth meeting Lily, and she knew her mother’s patience with it was wearing thin. She was doing better, Emily knew that, and she was sticking to her programme, but it was still hard. Years of pain and abandonment and never feeling like she was enough were hard to get past, and she wanted to protect her daughter from it until she could be sure Elizabeth would never let her down too. 

“She couldn’t make it,” she says simply, not wanting to share something she was only happy to share with Aaron.

“It’s nice you invited Haley,” JJ says, clearly sensing Emily didn’t want to talk about her mother anymore, and she smiles at her gratefully. 

“Jack asked if she could come and it only felt right that she did,” Emily says, smiling as she watches Haley and Dave talk animatedly on the other side of the backyard, “It’s…complicated sometimes, but our kids are siblings and always will be.” 

“Speaking of siblings…” Penelope says, waggling her eyebrows as Emily looks up at her, “When are you and bossman going to make another adorable baby?” 

Emily chokes on a laugh, the sound catching in her chest as she shakes her head. It was something she’d been thinking about a lot in the lead-up to Lily’s birthday, the 12 months that she’d need to wait between pregnancies that she’d been quoted by her doctor looming ever closer. She wanted another baby more than anything, wanted to give Jack and Lily a sibling, but she was highly aware that, if things had been different, if she hadn’t miscarried and the pregnancy had been safe for her to carry, she would have only been weeks away from giving birth again. It hurt to think about it, the grief never far away, but she didn’t want that to stop her from moving forward. She’d let fear stop her from having what she’d wanted too many times in the past. She looks up, torn from her thoughts, as she hears Aaron and Lily laugh together, and she smiles, warmth spreading in her chest. 

She wanted her family to grow, to give her children what she’d never had growing up. 

“We want more,” she says, putting her hand up to stop Penelope’s delighted gasp before it even escapes, “But that is all the detail you’re getting until I tell you I’m pregnant.” 

Penelope pouts but then she nods reluctantly, “Fine. If I get another adorable BAU baby to spoil I’m sure I can respect your privacy.”

Emily laughs at her friend’s sigh, the way she says it as if it’s a heavy burden, but any further conversation is cut off as Aaron calls out for her, suddenly a lot closer than he had been before, “Em, someone wants her Mommy.”

She smiles as she turns to look at him, already reaching out for a grumpy-looking Lily, “It is almost nap time,” she says, kissing the little girl's head as she takes her into her arms, “Even the birthday girl needs to rest.” 

“Mama,” Lily grumbles, sounding sorry for herself as she buries her face in Emily’s chest, drawing sympathetic sounds from all the adults around her.

“Oh, sweet girl,” Emily says, kissing the side of her head again as she runs her hand up and down her back. She looks up at Aaron and smiles, “I’ll go put her down for a little while.” 

She hums softly to Lily as she climbs the stairs, trying to soothe her to sleep with her lips against her forehead. She attempts to lower her into the crib but Lily grunts and holds onto Emily’s shirt, her tiny fists tight in the material of it. Emily chuckles and rests her cheek on top of her daughter’s head as she walks over to the armchair in the corner of the room and settles into it. 

“Okay, baby,” she says, rocking them back and forth as Lily settles against her chest, “I’ll stay here with you.” 

“Mama,” Lily cries, pressing her face into Emily’s neck, fighting sleep just like she always had.

“I know, Lils,” she hums sympathetically, “You’ll feel better if you sleep,” she kisses the top of her head, “Why doesn’t Mama sing for you, huh?” 

Lily babbles, her grip on Emily’s shirt tightening, her small, but sharp nails, digging into her skin. Emily takes that as a response, and runs her hand up and down her back, pressing her lips against her forehead as she starts to sing a song she’d sung to her little girl since before she was born.

“Au creux de ton oreiller. Un beau rêve passera, Et tu l'attraperas. Un beau rêve passera, Et tu le retiendras.”

She sighs happily as she feels Lily get heavier against her chest and she closes her eyes, trying to figure out where the last year of her life had gone, how she’d gone from having a newborn to a one-year-old in what felt like no time at all. 

She rests her cheek on top of Lily’s head and breathes her in, “Mommy loves you, sweet girl.” 

___

“I don’t think either of them have ever gone to sleep so quickly,” Aaron says as he joins Emily on the couch, his hand warm and heavy on her thigh. She smiles and rests her cheek on his shoulder, wrapping both her arms around his as she snuggles into his side. 

“It’s been a long day,” she says, humming when he kisses her forehead, “They might actually both sleep until morning.” 

He laughs, “We can only hope,” he says, placing his hand over one of hers, tilting his head to look at her when she doesn’t reply, “Are you okay, sweetheart?” 

“Yeah,” she replies, blowing out a slow breath as she looks up at him, “I’m okay. I just…” she chuckles humourlessly, the sound wet as it catches in her chest, “I can’t believe she’s one,” she sniffs, tears she doesn’t understand burning at the back of her eyes, “I don’t know where the last year has gone.” 

He unhooks his arm from between hers and wraps it around her, pulling her closer so she’s practically in his lap as he kisses the top of her head, “I know,” he assures her, “But she’s still our little girl. It’s a long time before she’ll be going off to college, or getting a job. Or dating.” 

She laughs, wiping tears from her cheeks as she pulls back to look at him, “Interesting order that you put those things in.” 

He shrugs, faking his stern expression as he tries to cheer her up, “My little Lily-Pad isn’t dating until she’s at least 30.” 

She laughs again, the sound more genuine this time and she shakes her head at him, pressing her palm against his cheek as she leans in to kiss him, “I can’t believe you’re going to force me to be the cool parent.” 

He winks at her and stamps a kiss against her lips and then her nose, “I think we’re going to be equally as protective.” 

She smiles and nods, knowing it is true. That whilst she’d do whatever it took to make sure her children were happy, she’d also protect them with everything she had. She breathes in deeply, trying to force out some of the melancholy that had settled into her lungs, desperate to feel nothing but joy on her daughter’s birthday. 

“You know…” she says, shifting in his lap, making sure her knees were next to his hips, “It’s been 12 months,” she says, leaning in to kiss him, her lips ghosting against his cheek and then his jaw, “And we’re not getting any younger,” she pulls back, her teeth sinking into her lower lip, “We should get working on another baby sometime soon.” 

He squeezes her hips, the brief flash of concern in his chest, the memory of the danger she’d been in this time last year fleeting, chased away by love and desire that burns throughout his body. He wanted this, he wanted to build their family, but he never wanted to risk her. They’d discussed it endlessly over the last few months, and he knew they would continue to do so until and after she was pregnant again. 

For now, he shakes those thoughts away, wanting nothing more than to just focus on his wife and the love they had for each other, 

“Sweetheart,” he says, his voice rough as he pulls her impossibly closer so they are chest to chest, “You have an IUD.” 

She rolls her eyes at him as she plays with the collar of his polo shirt, “I’ll make an appointment to get it removed,” she says, leaning in closer, her lips just out of each of his, “Until then we can…practice.” 

He smiles, swallowing her gasp as he tugs her in to kiss her fiercely, only breaking away just far enough to respond.

“Practice is good.” 

-x-

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[swan-of-sunrise]

Taking Care of Business (Chapter Forty-Five)

Summary: On the anniversary of the Battle of Endor, (Y/N) opens up and shares more of her past with Din as they spend the anniversary in their home on Nevarro.

Pairing: Din Djarin X F!Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings/Disclaimers: Disclaimer for a discussion of wartime trauma/traumatic experiences

A/N: Hi there! Since The Mandalorian and Grogu and The Mandalorian: Season 3 aren't gonna release anytime soon, I decided that I'd write a few chapters about Din, Alor'ad and Grogu's life on Nevarro before their adventure continues in their movie/show, so stay tuned for more chapters :) Thank you for reading, I hope you all enjoy!

Chapter Forty-Five The Festival (Previous Chapter)

One of the first things that newcomers to Nevarro learned about the small Outer-Rim planet was that the sun set quickly over the vast lava flats and rocky terrain, all thanks to the planet’s unique orbit. The second and most surprising factoid about the Hydian Way’s booming anchor point was that its inhabitants – both the beings that lived on the ashen world of black sands all their lives and the settlers who’d emigrated there after its eventual liberation from Imperial forces – absolutely loved a good party. To please the people of Nevarro, High Magistrate Greef Karga instituted several jubilees commemorating various historical events and local holidays, and the largest of those celebrations was the Festival of Freedom, a day to celebrate the Battle of Endor and the ultimate defeat of the Galactic Empire by the Rebel Alliance.

While (Y/N) enjoyed the city’s many holidays and participated in as many of the festivities as she could, the Festival of Freedom was one that she couldn’t bring herself to celebrate. To a significant part of the galaxy, the war ended that fateful day and peace was automatically achieved the moment that Emperor Palpatine’s death was announced, but that simply wasn’t the case for (Y/N) and every single person who’d fought for the Rebellion; there were still planets to free from Imperial occupation and citizens to save from the wrath of their oppressors, and they simply didn’t have the luxury to stop and celebrate the momentous victory. That, coupled with the fresh memories of their violent and traumatic battle against Moff Gideon and his Stormtroopers on Mandalore, was what compelled (Y/N) to speak up and ask Din over breakfast if they could stay home instead.

“Of course we can, alor’ad,” Din automatically replied, setting his mug of caf down and reaching across the dining room table to rest his hand atop hers, his warm brown eyes overflowing with sincerity and a touch of relief as he continued. “To be honest, I was about to ask you the same question; my back’s still sore from that last hunt, and I don’t think it’ll feel any better if I go ahead and weigh it down with over fifty pounds of beskar.”

“In that case, I suppose that everything they say about great minds thinking alike is true.” (Y/N)’s tone was light and there was a smile on her face, but she expressed her gratitude to her husband by twisting her hand around and threading her fingers securely through his.

(Y/N) and Din spent their day tidying up the house, a task that they’d both been putting off for far too long; with (Y/N) spending most of her time fixing up what would soon become her seamstress shop, Din training Grogu in the Way of the Mandalore and the pair of them hunting down bounties across the galaxy for Captain Teva, their humble home and garden had fallen into the wayside. By dinnertime, they’d cleaned the kitchen and ‘fresher, straightened up the bedroom and living room, weeded the garden and were nearly finished folding their newly-washed clothes, all while taking turns encouraging Grogu to practice wielding the Force.

The sun had already set by the time they finished preparing dinner and tiredly sat down to enjoy their food, the both of them wishing that they could call it a night and go to bed early but knowing that the Festival of Freedom’s fireworks show would only disturb their slumber. “So, what do you wanna do to pass the time until the festival’s over?” (Y/N) asked, reclining on their couch with Grogu seated on her lap and absentmindedly tossing his silver sphere across the room, only for the child to halt its movement and summon it back to her using the Force. “We could play a game of sabacc…or we could watch a holovid…or we could always disassemble and clean every single blaster on this property…”

“If we did that, we wouldn’t finish until next cycle’s Festival of Freedom,” Din chuckled as he plopped down onto the couch beside her. Although they’d been living on Nevarro for several weeks, she was still growing accustom to seeing her husband without any of his beskar armor on; on their little tract of land, he exclusively wore the durable work-wear and comfortable lounge-wear she’d sewn for him, and she couldn’t get enough of seeing the fearsome Mandalorian looking so relaxed and at peace. “Why don’t you teach me how to sew?”

(Y/N)’s brow rose in surprise. “You wanna learn how to sew?”

“Of course, alor’ad. Your craft is important to you and to your people’s culture, which means that it’s important to me as well,” Din explained as his brown eyes shone with earnestness. “If you can learn how to fight from a Mandalorian warrior, then I can learn how to sew from a Naboo seamstress.”

A smile slowly spread across her face at that. “All right, then. We’ll start with something simple and go from there, okay?”

Her husband got up from the couch and bent down to kiss her forehead as he went to retrieve her sewing kit. “You’re the alor’ad!”

Although sewing was the furthest thing from the typical repertoire of a fully-trained Mandalorian warrior, Din was a patient student who listened to her instructions and watched her demonstrations with rapt attention. She showed him how to thread a needle and tie it off, then sat back and allowed him to practice on a scrap of plain cotton; thanks to his mastery of countless weapons at a young age, he possessed a delicate touch typically unseen in those with larger hands and after a couple of attempts, he successfully completed the task. It was then that Grogu, having grown bored with their unusual distraction and tired from his active day of training, let his parents tuck him into bed and instantly fell asleep, cuddling up to his stuffed loth-cat toy as he snored. As quietly as they could, they crept back into the living room and after enjoying a glass of wine, (Y/N) talked Din through sewing a button onto the scrap cotton.

“Okay, now make four stitches below the button to secure it…no, a little to the-yep, right there. Now, tie the thread off,” (Y/N) instructed and once Din finished, she offered him her small pair of scissors along with a proud grin. “And all you have to do now is trim off the excess.”

Accepting the scissors, her husband carefully snipped the thread and held up the cloth to admire his handiwork. “I lost track of how many times I’ve tried and failed to stitch buttons back onto my clothes, and I don’t even wanna know how many credits I spent at different tailoring stalls and seamstress booths before I met you.”

“While I can’t get you those credits back, I can make sure that you never have to pay to have your clothes repaired…with credits, that is. I still require kisses and cuddles in exchange for my repairing skills,” (Y/N) sunnily replied.

The Mandalorian’s lips curved into a suggestive smile as he set the cloth aside and rested a hand on the curve of her waist. “And what’ll these lessons end up costing me?”

Feeling a little mischievous, (Y/N) leaned over and trailed soft kisses along the scruff of his cheek, stopping right next to his ear and whispering, “Dish duty for a week.”

“Mir’sheb!” Din exclaimed in exaggerated outrage, his fingers dug into her side while (Y/N) devolved into fits of giggles and attempted to squirm away from his tickling attack.

Before Din’s lips could descend onto hers, the thunderous explosion of a firework echoed outside and their home’s foundation quaked; in an instant, (Y/N) was jarringly reminded of why they opted to stay home in the first place, and she immediately sobered. “Let’s, um…let’s try a little embroidery. It’s tricky to get a hang of but it’ll be a nice challenge…” She quickly extracted herself from her husband’s arms and crossed the living room to rummage through her chest of sewing supplies, vaguely aware of her frantic heartbeat and sweaty palms as she fought to keep her voice to stay steady. “We need some embroidery thread and needles-” Another firework exploded and her grip on the chest’s lid tightened in response. “D-Did you know that Boba gifted me an embroidery machine? Yeah, it’s a pre-Empire model, even older than the one my mother used to use.”

“Alor’ad…?”

“It works in a pinch, but I’d much rather embroider by hand if I can help it-”

“(Y/N).” Her eyes briefly closed for a moment and she shut the chest’s lid, slowly sinking to the ground and wrapping her arms around her knees, her gaze diligently trained on the star-patterned material of her lounge pants but mindful of Din as he tentatively lowered himself to sit on the floor beside her. “Please, ner cyar’ika alor’ad, tell me what’s wrong.”

Biting her lip, (Y/N) finally looked over at Din and felt a surge of guilt when she saw the concern written across his face. “Where were you when you heard about the Battle of Endor?”

Her husband’s brows briefly rose in surprise, apparently taken aback by her unusual question. “I was at the covert. I’d just returned from a job with a beskar ingot and the Armorer was forging my left vambrace when we got word that the Emperor was dead; in the city above us, the citizens were rioting and the Imperial garrisons were quick to abandon the planet once they realized that there were targets on their backs.” When she nodded and remained silent, a look of realization filled his warm brown eyes. “I thought that the fireworks might’ve triggered memories of your time in the Rebellion…but it’s something more than that, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” (Y/N) mumbled, dropping her gaze and tightening her hold on her knees when another firework exploded in the distance. “The day the Emperor died, I was smuggling over a hundred civilians off of Chandrila. We were stopped at a blockade and when I realized my cover was blown, I initiated evasive maneuvers; the transport I was piloting was a piece of bantha fodder, though, and it wasn’t long until the TIE Fighters damaged out fuel cells, making it impossible to make the jump to hyperspace without landing for repairs first. If those refugees were from any other planet, surrender would’ve meant they’d become prisoners of war but at least they’d be alive. Unfortunately, Chandrila’s outspoken support for the Rebellion meant that any of its citizens caught fleeing Imperial rule would be labeled as traitors to the Empire and executed on the spot.”

“What happened then?”

“My transport received an urgent transmission from one of the Rebel Alliance’s top generals, relaying the news that a second Death Star had been destroyed and rallying the galaxy to join in the fight against the Empire,” (Y/N) replied, briefly glancing over at Din as she continued. “They told me later that the holographic transmission had been broadcast across the galaxy but in that moment, I could’ve sworn that it was meant for me; it gave me hope for the first time in cycles that someday we’d be free and that everything we were doing as Rebels would finally come to fruition.” Her fingers idly fiddled with the material of her lounge pants and she could feel him shift beside her. “So, I flew our transport into an asteroid field and eventually managed to shake the TIE Fighters in there before landing on a nearby moon for emergency repairs. Once we repaired the fuel rods, I flew them all to our base on Bayora and was given orders to immediately evacuate another refugee settlement on Kuan.”

When she finished her tale, she took a deep breath and turned towards Din; his expression wasn’t one of pity or sympathy, but one of deep understanding that only someone who’d known bloodshed and loss all their life could ever convey. “The war didn’t end for you that day. That’s why you didn’t wanna go to the Festival of Freedom today.”

“It’s difficult to enjoy the celebratory fireworks show when all I hear are the terrified screams of those refugees every time those TIE Fighters bombarded our shields,” (Y/N) replied with a sullen, humorless smile. “I don’t fault anyone for commemorating one of the Rebellion’s landmark milestones, of course, but I don’t think I’m ready to move on and forget about that day.”

While her words still hung in the air, her thoughtful and kind-hearted husband reached over and rested a hand on her knee, the sensation of his thumb tracing warm circles along her limb succeeding in grounding her swirling emotions. “No one can tell you what to feel, alor’ad; you spent years witnessing first-hand the galaxy-wide horrors that the Empire inflicted on its people, and it would be cruel to tell you to just forget those horrors for the sake of a celebration.” He brought his free hand up to brush a wayward strand of hair behind her ear before gently cupping her cheek in his palm. “But you can’t remember the bad without acknowledging the good; you saved the lives of over a hundred refugees that day and the moment you got them to safety, you went on to save countless more. If it were up to me, the New Republic would set a day to honor you and every other Rebellion smuggler who risked their life to save our galaxy’s most vulnerable from the Empire’s wrath,” Din paused to give her a knowing smile. “But I’ve known you long enough to know that you’d rather eat a mynock than be the center of attention.”

(Y/N) laughed. “You really do know me, don’t you?” When their laughter died down, she took the hand that had been resting on her knee between her own and held it tightly. The Mandalorian’s hand was calloused and scarred from his years as a follower of the Way but while he viewed them as simple blemishes, she considered them to be badges of honor; they were an integral part of who he was as a person and evidence of his devotion to his religion and despite his own ambivalence towards them, she adored each and every one of them. Most of my scars are invisible, she thought to herself as she stared into her husband’s softening eyes, but that doesn’t mean he loves them any less. “But you’re right, sweetheart. I’ll find a way to balance the good and the bad and maybe next cycle, we’ll make it to the Festival of Freedom.”

“As long as you’re ready, we can do whatever you’d like,” Din promised, leaning forward to press a sweet kiss onto her brow and pulling back to give her a challenging smirk. “So, what’s this I hear about embroidery being too tricky for a beginner like me?”

“Hey, I never said that it was too tricky because you’re a beginner…” She didn’t bother to suppress the impish smile that began spreading across her face as she continued. “Everyone knows that bounty hunters lack a delicate touch.”

Instead of countering her playful insult with one of his own, Din arched a suggestive brow while his brown eyes darkened with a sudden fiery desire. “Is that so? Kelir Ni tengaanar gar pehea laandur Ni liser cuyir, ner ori’atin riduur?”

Upon hearing her husband speaking Mando’a so seductively to her, a pleasant shiver ran down (Y/N)’s spine and she felt her face warm when his eyes darted down to watch her reflexively bite her lip. The smoldering expression on Din’s handsome face was momentarily overtaken by confusion when (Y/N) got to her feet and began walking away, and she couldn’t help but smirk as she stopped to look over her shoulder at him and planted a hand on her hip. “You coming, or do bounty hunters require a written invitation?”

Din, clearly opting to ignore his aching back, leapt to his feet at an almost inhuman speed and scooped her up into his arms with a chuckle, muffling her own giggles with a passionate kiss as he carried her into their bedroom and locked the door behind them.

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

Mando’a Translations:

Alor’ad-Captain Mir’sheb-Smart-ass Ner cyar’ika alor’ad-My darling captain Kelir Ni tengaanar gar pehea laandur Ni liser cuyir, ner ori’atin riduur?-Shall I show you how delicate I can be, my very stubborn wife?

A/N: I know that this chapter was on the sadder side but don't worry, the next one is wall-to-wall fluff! Thank you all so much for reading and commenting! Oh, and I’ve created a Spotify playlist of all my favorite music from the world of Star Wars, so if you’re interested in checking it out the link is down below!

Spotify Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2KuSKJhVOPPvxdJ9YHeo4M?si=2977ff31bf0c4bdd

Chapter Forty-Six Taking Care of Business Masterlist

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[nani-nonny]

The Request snippet

Context: uh… I don’t have much. I wrote all this spontaneously but I suppose Frida as Big Mama’s Assistant. Snippet takes place post-movie and post-season 2, so I suppose think of this as season 3 snippet? The Hamato brothers are in the Hidden City exploring when Big Mama’s Assistant makes an appearance.

(Temporary They/Them pronouns for BMA until reveal)

Word count: 2.4k

Big Mama’s assistant lands before the turtles suddenly, making them flinch as They rise to Their feet.

The aura They exude is intense, one that demands the turtles’ full attention without any room for jokes. They seem tall, overwhelming in stature despite being no taller than Leo and Donnie. The mask alone seems to glare at them, sneering down at them like nobility to the common folk. Even Their stance alone seems to be on a higher level than them.

They stand with hands behind Their back akin to a commanding officer of some sort. It’s almost too intimidating for the teen turtles before Them. The turtles don’t remember their last encounter with Them being like this. Sure, the turtles met this assistant in passing but a brief meeting was nothing like this.

Big Mama’s Assistant speaks with a stern and commanding voice, muffled slightly from the mask and making it harder to deduce whether Big Mama’s assistant is alive or the perfect robot. “You are the Hamatos?”

The question almost sounds judgemental rather than looking for confirmation. A hint of disbelief in Their tone like they aren’t what the Assistant thought they’d be.

Leo, despite the intimidating factor the Assistant builds on his shoulders, plays a cool role, unaffected by the intensity of the sudden atmosphere. He steps forward, taking the lead for his brothers as he preens, “Oh ho, hear that guys? We’re famous!”

Leo leans in the Assistant’s direction, grinning cheek to cheek as he asks, “What did you hear? That the devilishly handsome one is the bravest, coolest leader that saved the world multiple times?”

The Assistant’s head tilts back slightly, but not a single sound comes out. It only seems like They’re not entertained by Leo’s antics. The mask itself seems to be hardening its glare at Leo.

So, Raph chimes in, pushing Leo behind him as he greets the Assistant properly. “Uh, sorry about Leo. Yeah, we’re the Hamatos. Why’re you asking?”

The Assistant hums in response before visibly studying the turtles’ appearance.

Donnie fixes his goggles in turn, leaning forward for a better look at the Assistant. Under his breath he mumbles, “Can’t get a reading…”

The Assistant speaks again, but this time Their tone is clearly filled with disappointment. “You’re less than I… expected... It’s a shame.”

Donnie scoffs dramatically, “Wha—huh? Less?” The softshell is about to give the Assistant a piece of his mind but Leo steps in front of him.

“Then you gotta be at your wit’s end to be asking for our help, huh?” Leo’s smiling like he has won the battle on remarks but Donnie sighs.

The softshell’s hand meets his face in defeat as he grumbles, “Not the best comeback, Nardo.”

The Assistant fixes their gloves, bringing attention to the claws attached to the fingertips. “No, no, the Blue One is right. Unfortunately, I lack the manpower to accomplish this mission I have for you lot.”

Mikey pipes up from behind Raph, “Does everyone in the Hidden City talk like you? Because Draxum kinda talks like you do. I don’t think anyone else calls Leo ‘Blue One’, other than Draxum.”

Raph narrows his eyes at the Assistant, ignorant of the blatant threat seconds prior. “Yeah, you know Draxum or what? Did he send you to us?”

The Assistant’s claws find purchase behind Their back once again, but the impatient tick, tick, tick from metal on metal resounds behind Them. “I’d rather be caught dead than ever find company with that old goat.”

“Yeesh, Draxum’s the pits but he’s not that bad,” Leo jokes then leans on Raph. He asks nonchalantly, “So you’re not with Draxum but you want something, what is it?”

The Assistant’s full attention closes in on Leo, all intimidation silencing the other three turtles. “I need your help.”

“Obviously,” Donnie mumbles but doesn’t speak more when the Assistant’s head snaps in his direction.

“There is someone far out of reach, and I believe you are my best bet on reuniting with them,” the Assistant reiterates.

“Is it a friend?” Mikey asks quietly, not wanting to make any bad blood between himself and the frightening, masked assistant.

“That is disclosed. At least, until you accept my request,” the Assistant answers briefly.

“So… you want our help, but you won’t tell us anything about it without getting our guarantee to help,” Donnie asks with a hint of annoyance.

“Why us?” Raph interrupts, confusion evident in the furrowing of his brows.

The Assistance waits a second, silence behind the mask but not indication for what the silence is for. Could They be thinking? Or could They be plotting? It can’t be discerned. Not even Leo can spot a hint of response from Their body language, as Their stature remains still.

When the Assistant responds, there’s a sudden change in tone. It’s minuscule, but barely—just barely—noticeable. Their tone is… hopeful.

“I witnessed your glory against the Krang’s invasion. Watched as you defeated those aliens by the breadth of a hair—mind you. But that win alone tells me you’re the only ones I know can pull this rescue mission off without failure.”

Leo grins with his brothers, preening delightfully at the high praise. But his brothers seem to have taken the praise otherwise.

“You’re saying this ‘rescue mission’ is on par with the Krang invasion?” Donnie asks with air quotes and annoyance resurging with a newfound source.

Raph takes an intimidating step forward, standing tall and wide to glare down at the Assistant. “We’re not taking it if it means life or death. We’re not taking any risks.”

Raph doesn’t wait another second as he picks up Mikey and Donnie to set them on his back. He tucks Leo under his arm like a newspaper and starts to walk away as he says, “Sorry, but find someone else.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” the Assistant’s furious voice tells them from behind.

Raph is about to look over his shoulder when a dark blur passes him and Leo’s suddenly missing from his hold. He doesn’t have time to react when Donnie is knocked off his back and Mikey is thrown to the sky. He is barely able to catch a fist aimed for his face, taking a step back from the sheer force behind the punch.

“Wha—,” Raph begins, astonished, but the Assistant doesn’t give him time to react.

The Assistant manages to slither out of reach, moving like a shadow. They land a solid punch to the thin wall of his shell’s side, making him feel winded for the first time in his life. This time, Raph is quick to act. He summons his power and expands a clone from his body, pushing the Assistant away.

The Assistant is unphased by Raph’s defensive maneuver, turning Their attention to Mikey who makes a sudden appearance.

The Assistant manages to catch the end of Mikey’s chains, but finds Their forearm in the coil of orange chains. They tug sharply, sending Mikey flying toward Them.

Mikey smirks and suddenly phases out of existence in a flash of red light, leaving behind the chains on Their forearm. Emerging from the red light is Donnie, landing a solid swing of his TechBo directly on the Assistant’s temple. The Assistant reels back, reflexes working faster than Donnie’s second swing of his TechBo. They pull on the Bo, only to be caught off guard when the Bo extends and reveals a flame thrower.

“Ha hah! Combustion! How—,” Donnie cackles when the first wave of flames erupts, but his victory stops short when burning, golden claws reach through the fire to grab the upper lip of his plastron.

A sharp squeak leaves Donnie’s mouth when he’s suddenly flung into Raph’s clone’s awaiting arms.

Leo suddenly appears in front of the Assistant, a downward swing of his sword meeting the heated claws. His expression winces with the effort of trying to complete his katana’s attack, but he smiles nonetheless. “Fancy moves, Terminator,” he jokes and unsheathes his twin katana in another downward swing.

The Assistant is quick to block the second attack with Mikey’s chains on Their forearm. The metal blade scrapes against the chains, creating a skin crawling screech until the katana finishes its stroke. The Assistant kicks Leo’s torso, sending the slider flying backward and leaving a katana in Their hand.

The Assistant pivots around just in time to block Mikey’s chain whip that snatches Leo’s sword from Their grip. Raph takes over immediately, numerous replicas spawning from him to surround the Assistant.

“Give it up, Masky, you can’t win this,” Raph’s voice echoes throughout each clone.

The Assistant is surrounded but doesn’t show signs of surrendering. Instead, They grab hold of Mikey’s chains and unravels it from Their forearm. They make a sharp tug and the chains extend from Mikey’s grip, revealing the box turtle as one of Raph’s clones.

The Assistant doesn’t stop there as They swing the chains around and around until they meet with the clones. Each clone dissipates upon contact with the chains, until the real Raph and Mikey are revealed. But the Assistant can’t react as Leo spawns behind Them.

The Assistant pivots to land a punch on Leo, but he creates a portal in time to redirect Their hit to Their own back. The punch sends the Assistant flying through the portal and out the portal originally behind Them. Unable to catch Themself in time, They find Themself stuck in an endless loop of portals.

Leo smiles triumphantly as throws his hands behind his back, standing nonchalantly beside his brothers that meet his side. Although the fight seems to be over, he has yet to sheath his twin katanas. “Pretty good fight, if I do say so,” he announces to his brothers.

Mikey watches as the Assistant falls through the portals, getting dizzier by the second until Donnie turns him around.

“Should we leave Masky there?” Mikey asks, unable to make a second glance as Donnie’s hand on his head keeps him still.

Leo hums in response, feigning thinking on it, “Hmmm, I dunno… Masky was kind of a jerk.”

“Yeah, I think they’ll be fine. This shouldn’t be different from Big Mama’s roundabout way of speech,” Donnie says with a roll of his eyes and pulls out his phone to take a picture.

“Leo, maybe you should stop—in a few hours, Donnie, take my pic,” Raph says and poses in front of the Assistant’s portal paradox.

Mikey jumps where he stands, raising his hand frantically, “Oo! Me next!”

But Mikey doesn’t get his chance for a photo op when the sound of the Assistant going through the infinite loop suddenly stops. Power and energy glitch and spark loudly, alerting the Hamato brothers and making Mikey flinch as he retreats to his brothers’ sides. Leo stands in the forefront, twin katanas out in a defensive stance.

The Hamato brothers make the frightening realization that the Assistant’s hands are aglow in a raging green fire. The green flames flicker as They grip the edges of Leo’s portal ring, claws somehow managing to pierce the blue energy as if it were a physical object to grab. With trembling grip, the Assistant has caught Themself from trailing endlessly through Leo’s portal loop. Straining to pull Themself out of the portal like a higher being unable to be contained.

“Omigosh, what do we do?” Mikey panics, unable to move from his spot next to his brothers.

“Oh, that is a new kind of freaky,” Raph exclaims with a shiver.

“Eugh, that is not what you want to see,” Donnie remarks as he grips tighter to his TechBo.

Leo glances over his shoulder at Donnie, hoping for some kind of answer as he asks in a panicked tone, “Is that supposed to happen?!”

“Not really! The speed at which the prisoner was traveling should’ve ripped limbs off if they tried to grab anything!” Donnie explains with an equally panicked tone.

They watch in horror as the Assistant pulls Their body out of the portal, tearing the portal in the process until it disintegrates in green flames. Landing softly on the ground, the Assistant flexes Their hand as They marvel at the green flames that extinguish to nothing. They look up at the turtles, making them flinch upon sight.

“Would you like to try again?”

“Okay, not gonna lie, but that’s a really cool line,” Leo admits before spinning his swords in hand. He forces a smile and challenges, “Your move.”

“Hm,” the Assistant hums before snapping into action. They lunge forward, claws reigniting in that green flame once again.

Leo flinches back at the sight of the flames, “Oh, unfair!”

The Assistant swipes at Leo’s leg like an animal, ferocious and deadly. Green flames meet air when Leo dodges backwards, missing contact by a hair.

Raph aims a right hook with tonfa in hand at the Assistant’s head—or at least, where it used to be. The Assistant redirects Raph’s punch in Mikey’s direction as They duck, and lands a swift punch directly into the thin walling of shell again. Raph stops his punch short of making contact with Mikey, allowing the box turtle to climb over using his arm as a bridge.

Mikey’s hands glow as he blows flickers of ash into the Assistant’s mask’s eyes, and amidst the confusion. The flickers of ash coagulate and gather together to create a cloud that blocks the Assistant’s sight completely, giving Donnie his opportunity. Donnie lands a perfect slam of his TechBo directly to the side of the Assistant’s, creating a heavy sound that reverberates throughout the entire area. The sound of a large crack is accompanied by a significant split in the Assistant’s mask.

And in seconds, the mask splits apart in a symphony of cracks and breakages that fall to the ground.

“You’re—you’re like us,” Leo stammers as his eyes widen and stops the swing of his blade short of meeting with the Assistant’s armored shoulders.

Orange, flame-like markings parallel Leo’s red stripes across his eyes. The Assistant’s eyes glare up at Leo as a green, flaming claw reaches for the blade aimed for her shoulder.

In the same stern tone, no longer muffled by the mask and more human than moments prior, she corrects, “I’m better.”

In one swift movement, the Assistant snaps Leo’s blade in half with a flaming claw. She sweeps her leg under Donnie and knocks him off-balance. She lands a hard punch on the side of Raph’s knee, forcing the snapper to his knees in the process. She lunges for Mikey and flips the box turtle over her shoulder into Raph’s arms.

She slips out of the circle of enemies and stops a few steps away from the Hamato brothers. She fixes her glove, extinguishing the green flames in the process. She flexes her hands again, bringing attention back to clawed fingertips. She asks calmly, a challenge in her tone, “Would you like to hear me out this time?”

:D

Nonny: Frida’s flame hands remind me of Tai Lung hehe vvvv

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

Season 3 Rewatch Drabbles: 3x10 The New Neverland

(gif by just-be-magnificent.tumblr.com)

Summary:  A series of 100-500 word drabbles to accompany my    rewatch of season 3 of Once Upon a Time.  There will be a drabble–either a deleted scene, a “fix it” fic or a character musing for each episode of the season.  Focus will be on Emma, Henry, the Charmings and Killian–with an emphasis on Captain Swan’s epic love story.

Word Count: 736

Other Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Killian sat brooding on his bar stool at Granny’s diner nursing a mug of beer.  As he watched Emma converse with her lad, his heart sank.  He loved her, wanted her more than he’d wanted any woman in centuries.  He wanted to be with her, be the man she came home to at the end of the evening, the man she confided in, loved, gazed at adoringly, the man she allowed in her life and in her bed.

But more than anything, he wanted to see her happy.  They understood each other, that was true enough.  Though the circumstances couldn’t have been more different, their lives were similar in a heartbreaking way.  Like him, she’d seen too much pain, too much hurt, too much fighting just to survive.  He deserved the fate he had, but she didn’t.  She deserved everything, every happiness life had to offer.

Even if it wasn’t with him.

He’d had hopes when they were in Neverland that he could be a part of that happy future with her–especially after the earth-shattering kiss they’d shared.  He’d been quite serious about pursuing her, courting her, winning her heart honestly and with no trickery.

But it had all been a beautiful but unattainable dream–as odd as it was to have one of those on a land seemingly built on nightmares.

He’d seen that clearly as soon as the Roger had touched down upon the waters of Storybrooke and his passengers had disembarked.  He hadn’t expected a ceremony in his honor, effusive speeches of gratitude.  He hadn’t even really expected thanks, but he had hoped for…something.  Some acknowledgement, some camaraderie, some, any, sense of belonging in the group of triumphant heroes.

For a split second, he thought he’d get it.  The lady Snow had spoken of someone they needed to give credit, someone they needed to thank, and his heart had lept, thinking it was he of whom she spoke.

But he should have known better.  It was Regina who was the focus of her gratitude.

No, Killian could see it clearly at that moment.  Pan had been right.  He was, and would ever be in their eyes, nothing but a pirate, a villain, someone with whom they could make temporary alliances when the situation called for it, but someone to never truly trust or allow within their inner circle.

He couldn’t blame them, truly.  He’d spent centuries committing the vilest of acts in pursuit of his revenge.  There was far too much in his ledger that he could never wipe out.  Swan deserved someone worthy of her.  Henry deserved a better father figure.

Whether or not Neal fit the bill, he didn’t know.  Swan hadn’t given him details of how Baelfire had hurt her, but it was clear he had, deeply so.  Perhaps the wound would prove to be too deep to overcome, but Killian had to give the lad the opportunity to try.  He owed him that much at least.  He would not be the cause of another family breaking apart.

Maybe a miracle would happen.  Maybe in the end, Swan would choose him, but in the meantime, Killian knew what he had to do.  He had to back off for the sake of the boy–both the boy Baelfire had once been, the one Killian had betrayed, and Swan’s own lad.

Aye, perhaps a miracle would happen, but Killian didn’t trust to hope.  He’d long since lost the right to wish for miracles.

Note:  Grrr!  If there’s one thing (other than Neal just being…well…NEAL) that makes me crazy about 3x10, it’s the fact that the heroes just seem to dismiss Killian.  Look at what he did for them: He went back to Neverland, the place he’d spent centuries of the worst years of his life.  He chose to bury the hatchet and work with his sworn enemy.  He’d offered his ship and his services for as long as they needed them, and in exchange?  In exchange they took it all for granted, not even thanking him, barely even acknowledging his presence.  They’ll give Regina credit for the role she played in saving Henry, but they won’t even acknowledge the far greater role Killian played, and it just makes me both sad and angry for him.  Thus this fic.  We know Killian suffers from a good deal of self-loathing.  This is what I assume led to his decision to back off when it comes to Emma.

NEXT CHAPTER->

[the-orion-scribe]

The Stanchurian Candidate is more messed-up than we thought

I think the majority of the fandom is unaware of or often overlooked two major plot holes for this episode, which I think are best highlighted here. If anyone were to think deeper, this episode is actually super messed-up with many out-of-character moments.

Major Plot Hole #1: Why is Stan both insistent upon brutal honesty and somehow completely unable to handle himself in front of a crowd during his mayoral campaign? Public speaking and being a showman, often to these very people, was literally Stan’s entire job description for over half his life, so he should have no reason to be that awkward and incompetent. Suddenly insisting upon brutal honesty is also completely out of character for him. (Seriously, if Stan managed to not spill anything about Ford during the Truth Teeth episode, how is he suddenly incapable of lying here?) But even this massive break in character pales in comparison to…

Major Plot Hole #2: (This one is deeper than the Bottomless Pit.) How are Dipper and Mabel just completely OK with using the mind-control tie on Stan, without even seeking his consent first? Especially given that Dipper was possessed by Bill (and, based on the events of the very next episode, definitely traumatized by the incident) not more than two weeks prior? I am positive that such an incident could be never forgotten so easily by either of the twins, but particularly by Dipper. Yet he raises no objection beyond “that’s… ethically ambiguous!”

Even when Soos was very visibly frightened after having the Tie “tested” on him, Dipper and Mabel just laughed at his pain and fear. Keep in mind that just a few episodes prior, the twins risked their lives and/or existences just to fix Soos’s issues with his birthday. I hardly think they’d be inclined to laugh at his pain and distress for any reason.

And, because I know someone will suggest it, the twins’ memories of the Sock Opera could not have been wiped by the Society of the Blind Eye, since 1) the Society was destroyed less than a week after the Sock Opera, and 2) in the Journal 3 entry corresponding to s2e11: Not What He Seems, Dipper directly references his being possessed by Bill, meaning he remembered the experience at that point (after the Society was gone), and would therefore also remember it during the events of The Stanchurian Candidate.

And also quoting from a conversation with @detectivejigsawpines, The twins literally overrode their uncle’s autonomy and took over his body without his knowing consent. And Ford should have known better, considering he was doing the same thing Bill did.

But I’m not being entirely fair. Though it pains me to say it, The Stanchurian Candidate does still have good points, despite all these faults. It is, of course, still an episode of Gravity Falls, and was, according to the credits, written by the same people as the rest of the series.

In actuality, the episode is quite good when viewed completely in a vacuum. Were this the first episode of the show that someone ever saw, they would (probably) not think it was bad. Without the greater context of Sock Opera and the personality traits the main cast has firmly established throughout the first season and a half, there would be nothing amiss about any of their actions.

In addition, the selfless love of Grunkle Stan still shines through in this episode, when he doesn't hesitate to break off his campaign speech and rescue Dipper and Mabel who are in great danger.

When viewed from that mindset, it’s alright. There are good jokes, fun moments, and the villain-of-the-week is soundly beaten in a satisfying manner. Still not the best episode in the series by a long shot, but not the worst either.

Of course, since Gravity Falls is a very story-based cartoon, you can’t consider this episode in a vacuum, which is where all the problems come from. Even the initial premise of the wacky mayoral election and why Stan wants to participate in it don’t make sense unless you understand something about Gravity Falls as a town, and Stan as a person, respectively.

Idea for a fix: My head canon has become that the majority of the episode (basically everything after they get back from the town hall) was a dream Stan had, since I think the writers may have intended for it to be an episode addressing the “stuff” Stan mentions he has been dealing with later, in “[Twins] vs the Future.” I feel this makes sense because, stylistically, the bulk of the plot appears less like a standard episode and more like the stories Stan sometimes tells throughout the series (such as those in the non-canon s2e06: Little Gift Shop of Horrors), which tend to feature exaggerated behavior and a slight sense of ‘unreality’ (compared to the baseline). Therefore, him having a vivid, all-the-negative-emotions-fueled dream that distorts his family members in somewhat disturbing ways makes a lot more sense than “and then Dipper and Mabel were randomly and - most significantly - gleefully supervillainous (and surprisingly, given their personalities, competent politicians) for one episode.”

Thoughts? Opinions? Soundly reasoned rebuttals?

(Above written with assistance from @callipraxia and @theoryofweirdness)

[dominimoonbeam]

Hi, first I wanted to say that I really love your writing and thank you so much for sharing it.

You're amazing and so talented and you made me addicted to your writing. The way you write characters is so real and your way of writing scenerios in general makes me so Invested in the story.

Another thing, I don't know if you accept requests and if you don't feel free to ignore it:

Can I please ask for Sam comforting darlin after a long week when they basically shut down from stress? (Can you tell I'm projecting?😅)

Please don't feel pressured to do it, I know you're working on a lot of stuff now too so maybe just keep the idea for the future?

Anyway I wish you a happy rest of your week, take care of yourself and rest if you need to!

Anon! Thank you so much for all the kind words! You're not the only one needing some comfort and care lately! I think something about this season has been rough for people for a bunch of different reasons, myself included. I've got you! Or at least, I tried. Hope you like it! And I hope things turn up and go smoother for you soon!

Sam/Darlin comfort fic below the cut. Will probably reread and post it on ao3 later on.

<3

They were tired.

Dead tired. Like they wished they were dead. No, no, that was bad. They didn’t wish that. They just… It had just been such a long fucking week and it felt like everything was going wrong. Nothing big enough that they could point it out or complain. Just, off. And they hadn’t been able to sleep. And it seemed like the longer it went, the longer they hid it well enough that no one pressed for an explanation they couldn’t begin to come up with, it got heavier rather than lighter.

When they got home that night from a job, they were actually relieved Sam wasn’t back yet. The last thing they wanted to do was to drag him down with them. God, he deserved so much better than them. They tossed their keys on the side table, toed off their boots, and hung up their jacket. The side of their face throbbed. They’d gotten hit with a fucking bat. David thought their cheekbone was broken and had only finally allowed them to go home because he knew Sam would take care of it.

Darlin sat down in the big chair, their favorite chair, and told themself they’d just sit for a minute. And then they’d shower, see if their face was really that much of a mess, and if it was, maybe they’d drag their ass over to the clinic and get a healer there to fix it. They felt bad making Sam patch them up all the time, but they also hated the idea of anyone else touching them let alone mending them.

They could put an ice pack on it. Maybe the swelling would go down on its own.

They sank back in the chair and closed their eyes. Just a minute.

-

Sam was still at the Solaire house when he got a call from David.

His heart always lurched high in his chest when he got a call from David, his first thought always that frantic fear that something had happened to Darlin. Why else would David call him instead of Darlin or instead of using the group chat?

Sam stepped away from the big table of squabbling younger vampires and a very amused William.

“David?”

“Hey Sam,” David said, voice gruff but easy, instantly relieving that tension in Sam’s chest. “I just wanted to check in and see how they’re doing.”

The tension was back. “What?” Darlin had been off for almost a week, barely talking but not willing or ready to tell him why. He wasn’t sure they knew themself, not yet. But somehow he didn’t think that was what David was talking about.

The pause stretched. “Are they not home yet?”

Sam was already grabbing his jacket and waving heading for the front door. “They might be, but I ain’t. Why?”

David sighed. “Sorry. It’s not an emergency, Sam. The job got rough and they took a bat to the face… I would have taken them to a healer but they insisted—”

“Yeah,” Sam said, nodding. Of course, they would. “I’m heading home now. I’ll let ya know when they’re patched up.”

He called Darlin in the truck but they didn’t answer, which conjured a mess of panicked thoughts. What if they’d passed out behind the wheel? The thought of his Darlin in a twisted wreck was hard to push away and almost immediately replaced by other tragic imaginings.

He exhaled small relief when he saw their car in front of the house.

The front door wasn’t locked. Darlin never locked it when they were home. And there they were, asleep in the big chair. He sighed and put his keys down with theirs. Another step inside and their eyes opened. Well, one opened, the other was swollen shut.

“Damn…” Darlin winced as he closed the door. They sat up with some effort. “Sorry, I think I fell asleep… What time is—”

“Don’t you dare stand up,” he warned when they were starting to tip forward. He was already in front of them, gently catching their shoulder to ease them back. He kept his voice in a low hush, thinking their head had to be hurting inside and out. “You shoulda called me, Darlin.” He knelt beside their leg, carefully fingering hair out of their face. The bruising was new, like it had only just begun, and the swelling was bad. It looked like their cheekbone was broken. “David said you got hit with a bat?”

Darlin sighed, shoulders slumping. “I wasn’t paying attention and this guy… Yeah.”

Sam clicked his teeth to keep from snarling at the idea of ‘this guy’ whoever the hell he was. He reached toward their face but they caught his wrist and pulled it gently down to their heart instead. “I’ll be gentle,” he promised, surprised.

Darlin smiled weakly, eyes already closed again. “I know. You always are, cowboy. But I don’t…” They sighed, their smile gone. “I don’t want to cost you anything right now, you know?” Their voice had gotten small, like they were far away inside themself.

Sam kept his hand to their chest, feeling their heartbeat through his palm. He leaned against their thigh, so they’d feel him right there next to them, practically leaning into the chair with them. “You never cost me anything,” he whispered back. “Healing you is a privilege. It makes me feel like there’s something I can do for you. I love you, Darlin.”

Their face pinched, not a wince but close, and he thought if they opened those eyes, they’d be teary. His other hand stroked up the side of their thigh, squeezing them gently. “Tell me what it is,” he said gently. “Tell me what’s going on in your head.” He said it quietly, like it could be just between them.

Darlin sighed and he heard all the exhaustion and strain in that breath. “I don’t know. I just… It’s been a bad week. It’s everything. I just feel… Everything. And I’m tired and I hate myself and I can’t… I can’t take things from you when I feel like I’ve got nothing to give.”

Sam watched them the whole time they choked out that barely audible confession. They’d never told him these things, but they didn’t shock him either. They hurt, because he never wanted them to feel like that, but they didn’t shock him. “Do you trust me, Darlin?”

That good eye opened enough to look at him, surprised. “Of course. I love you.”

He stroked his thumb against their collar, above their heart. “I’m going to heal you and then we’re going to take a bath. You can talk or you can relax. We’re going to get some well needed sleep and I’m going to order your favorite food. And every step of the way, I’m going to remind you that you’re incredible and all the reasons I love you, all the reasons your pack loves you, and all the reasons my clan loves you. You get to feel however you feel, Darlin, but that voice in your heart telling you bad shit, that’s asshole is lying.”

A tear rolled off Darlin’s lashes, even though their mouth was set in a stubborn line, like they refused to acknowledge it.

He reached up slowly, so they could stop him again if they needed to argue about this more, but he also couldn’t leave their face like that. His fingertips brushed the edge of the bruising and Darlin’s eye closed as that warm magic slid through their skin, spreading out. The delicate bone in their cheek healed and the swelling went down.

They exhaled relief when they opened both eyes and blinked at him.

He could see an apology building in their eyes, trying to form on their tongue. He took their face in both hands and leaned in, touching his forehead to theirs the way he’d seen the pack do. “Trust me,” he pleaded. “I ain’t ever going to lie to you, Darlin, and we’ll get through bad weeks together.”

Darlin stayed tense for another few seconds, like they might push this comfort away, but finally they sagged. Too tired maybe?

Sam smiled when they tipped their face into his, brushing a soft kiss against his lips. He kissed back and then pulled them to their feet to lead them to the bathroom. He had to make a dash back to his jacket to send a text off to David, telling him Darlin was fine but they were taking tomorrow off.

[megglesthegeek]

Ed and Stede were doomed to break up from the moment Ed asked to take it slow.

This is not placing blame on either of them, so we’re clear. Blame is placed on both sides, but I know how this is going to sound in the beginning. Bear with me.

The second Ed ignored Izzy and went after Stede it was their downfall. Izzy had said to Ed to give Stede space, and that the first kill was a mind fuck, but Ed didn’t listen. Likely because he didn’t want Izzy to try and tell him what to do, maybe even because he didn’t want to think Izzy knew better. But he went after Stede, and Stede likely needed to feel anything other than what he was feeling.

He didn’t have a choice in killing Ned. This can not be a kill them with kindness moment. Stede already proved his way of talking it through can be helpful when he talked down Hellcat Maggie and managed to turn Ned’s crew against him. But in dealing with Ned himself, it had to be death. One, he hurt his crew. I have seen a lot of people point out that he talked down Ed, which he absolutely did, but Ned ordered Stede’s crew tortured. He loves his crew, they are his family, and no one fucks with his family. Then he talked Ed down, calling him low-born among other things. Stede would absolutely not tolerate that shit. And what else was he going to do? What other option did he have? Ed should have known that, should have seen that. He had been a pirate, whether or not he wanted out or not was beside the point, he knew how that world worked.

So we have Stede in a vulnerable state, wanting to feel loved and to give love and not feel like a monster, and there’s Ed knocking on his door. If it had been a crew member, they’d have talked. If it had been Izzy… I think there would still be talking. Ed? Stede waited until he had permission from Ed, but there was absolutely no reason either of them had to go that far.

Stede should have stopped himself. It’s very clearly enthusiastic consent, Ed even starts to lean in after his nod before Stede does. But they had just talked about slow, and then next thing they know their in bed. Both of them deserved a better first time with one another. Yes, it was probably romantic and soft as shit given the song choice and the fireworks and all the lovely imagery, but they deserved better.

Then you have the Republic. Ed made a quick decision to join a fishing boat. He knew Stede wouldn’t join him. He knew that Stede liked being a pirate even before the infamy. He ran.

Stede was cruel in his reaction, calling Ed a coward. Stede isn’t exactly fearless, and he ran from a lot of things, so him shouting that to Ed as he left? Yeaaaah, that was a dick move. 

Seriously, there was no way they were going to make it through the season without an actual breakup. Where Ed was all in last season, he’s now very much not. And that’s okay, he has a lot of shit to work out, but he hasn’t told that to Stede. Stede is all in, but he also is all in to being a pirate. Because that’s what he wants but hasn’t made it clear to Ed. 

I will be very, very curious how they fix this next episode, and what it would mean for a season 3 set up.

[ironwoodprotectionsquad]

Some Christmas Ironqrow headcanons for you!

1. I always headcanon that Ironwood's relationship with his parents was rocky at best and he was an only child, so I feel like he didn't really celebrate Christmas before he and Qrow started getting closer, he'd always just work through it because why not. Meanwhile ever since Qrow went to Beacon, Summer and Tai had introduced Qrow (and Raven) to Christmas, and he loved it and always tried to make sure to be home for Christmas while Yang and Ruby grew up. So I think it'd be important for Qrow to bring Ironwood into his Christmas traditions. 2. I think that the Rose-Xiao Long-Branwen household always wear Christmas sweaters and do stockings and unwrapping presents under the tree, and Qrow wouldn't want Ironwood to be excluded from it and would buy James a sweater and presents and a stocking and try to fill it with sweets. And James would be so touched and love the sweater so much he'd wear it around the house all the time whether or not it's Christmas. 3. I headcanon that James is just a really good cook, and he'd be so grateful to Qrow and his family for involving him in their family Christmas that he'd want to do something for them too and decides to make Christmas cocoa without realizing that Qrow and Ruby both love chocolate. So then they'd be really happy about the cocoa and James would be all proud of himself. 4. Because of Qrow's semblance, I feel like every single Christmas there's usually some kind of disaster, like the tree catching on fire or a Christmas present getting broken or something. But when James is there, he just kind of notices things that might go wrong and casually fixes them. And he realizes Qrow is anxious about 'ruining Christmas,' and assures him that if anything does happen, it can be fixed. And so Qrow actually relaxes for once and stops worrying. 5. Yang and Ruby definitely try to get the two of them under the mistletoe together. XD Qrow tries to avoid it because he doesn't want to make James uncomfortable, but near the end of the day, they do wind up under it all alone and James kisses him on the cheek and Qrow thinks it's the sweetest thing. 6. The two of them would definitely curl up by the fireplace listening to Christmas carols while James read some book Qrow had gotten him for Christmas, and Qrow would fall asleep on his shoulder. 7. James would want to involve Penny in the traditions the next year and Ruby would be super down for that, and I feel like Ruby would try to get them all to snowball fight with her with Penny on her team. Tai and Yang would team up, and Ironwood and Qrow would team up, and they'd have like an all out (good natured) war with it. XD But James would let Ruby and Penny win. XD

So yeah, those are just some thoughts about Ironqrow Christmas I have. XD

Oh my gosh I love these all so much and they line up with a lot of my headcannons!!!!

I also headcannon James and his parents did not get along and so the holidays for him are really rough until he meets Qrow and he finds joy in the holidays again.

I just love the idea of Qrows semblance acting up more when he’s super nervous but when he’s calm he can control it better and love the idea of James helps him stay calm and relax so his semblance doesn’t act out as much.

Ohh I love the mistletoe thing especially if they haven’t gotten together yet and they’re trying to help them get together! Even better if James sneaks a kiss on the cheek when no one is looking.

I know this isn’t necessarily that kind of Au but give me papa James to Penny any day and I’ll eat it up lolZ XD. Penny would excitedly drag James into the fight and he’d surprisingly get really into it. He and Qrow would get into a heated fight and have a blast with it.

And then after a long and cold day in the snow they’d curl up by the fire and get just a little too cozy and both fall asleep on the sofa and comfy and cozy.

I love them all so much for these thank you for that. I know you know but this Christmas season has been really rough and weighing me down so these headcannons where so nice to see I’ve really needed a pick me up.

[silverwings22]

Song of the Sea: Chapter 1: Seafoam Blue

As Promised, I'm here with a Tech Fic! This is a Tech Lives Fic, and we will be continuing once Season 3 finishing airing.

(If they don't give me a satisfactory ending, I'll be fixing it.)

Chapter warning: drowning, profanity

Series warning: explicit smut, alien anatomy (it's a monsterfucker fic, guys), major character injury, grief, canon typical violence, autistic meltdowns, and my terrible attempts at Mando'a.

Next Chapter:

Seafoam Blue

The cadets of the experimental unit, Clone Force 99, were used to being sneered at by other clones on Kamino. “Defective”, “lab-scrappers”, and “better off decommissioned” were comments they heard frequently, which left them united and extremely defensive. It also meant they worked exceptionally well together because they tolerated no one else, and would likely be a very effective fighting force when they finally got off the planet of their creation. 

If they survived basic training, anyway. 

Today was aquatics environmental training, which meant the four boys were dropped off in the middle of the ocean with their gear packs, and tasked with getting each other back to shore. Hunter, the natural leader among them and under consideration for the sergeant position, was the first to break the surface once they’d been pushed out of the transport into the water. His long hair was plastered to his face, but he’d remembered to blow air out of his nose on the way up. As he got his bearings, three more heads popped up next to him. 

Wrecker was coughing, stinging water up his nose. Crosshair sucked in a breath just so he could start swearing like a Hutt. Tech just looked like he was having a hard time keeping his head above water. “Everyone okay?” Hunter called. 

“It burns my nose.” Wrecker complained. 

“That’s cause you tried to snort the ocean.” Crosshair groused. “Where’s the fucking inflatable?”

“Tech’s got it.” Hunter floated over to his brother, giving him an arm to pull up on so he could dump the water out of his goggles. Tech blinked the seawater out of his lashes and turned so Hunter could get his gear bag open, pulling out a small heavy box. Hunter pushed a button and held it up, the box opening and unfolding into a lifeboat. As soon as it was fully inflated, he and Crosshair climbed into it and pulled Wrecker up first. He was the weakest swimmer, his dense muscle making it harder for him to float and tread water. 

Crosshair turned around once Wrecker was laying on the bottom of the boat hacking up water. “... Where’s Tech?” 

Hunter paled, spinning around. “Tech!?”

There was nothing but ocean around them, with no sight or sound of their brother. 

Crosshair sucked in a sharp breath. “... You don’t think he kept all those goddamn tools in his pockets, do you?”

“He’s too smart for that…” Hunter said weakly, praying it was true. “Get eyes on Tipoca City, so we know where we’re going. We stay out until we find him.”

Crosshair nodded, getting out his binocs. Tech had better be okay… he wasn’t prepared to deal with anyone else. This squad was all he could tolerate, and he’d never say it out loud but he loved his brothers. Losing any of them was unacceptable. 

Down below, Tech had indeed left his pockets full of heavy durasteel tools and underestimated how heavy they would be in the water. He was sinking despite his best attempts to stay at the surface, already several meters down and descending. Bubbles streamed out of his mouth, and he cursed internally as he realized his rebreather was in his gear pack on his back. It wasn’t easily reachable, and even if he pulled it around he’d have to dig through all the other crap he had in there before he found it. The salt water coming in the edges of his goggles was blinding, he’d never find them before he ran out of oxygen and blacked out… then he’d take a reflexive breath and drown. The entire situation was unideal, but death sounded like the least pleasant part. 

The surface got further and further away, and he was debating whether or not he had time to go through the stages of grief before he actually died, when something bumped his leg. He looked down, half blinded with seawater, and found a cephalopod tentacle wrapping up from his ankle to his thigh. He tried to kick, less than enthused about being eaten before he was dead, when he was suddenly and violently snatched down and towards the direction of TIpoca City. It was hard to tell, but as a second tentacle wrapped around his face he thought he saw a pair of humanoid hands moving as well. A suction cup sealed over his nose and mouth, just as he blacked out. 

Tech heard humming when he woke. He was laying on wet sand, covered in grit and half-dried salt, on his side when he opened his eyes.He coughed and started propping himself up on his elbow. Everything was blurry, and he slowly reached up to his face and discovered his goggles were missing. The last thing he remembered was a tentacle wrapping around his face, preventing him from swallowing water when he lost consciousness…

He jumped when something touched his arm, rolling over on his back to see a… he wasn’t sure what he was looking at, actually. It appeared female, and looked concerned as she leaned closer to him. Her skin was purple with a greenish undertone, and her eyes were seafoam blue with oblong pupils in an only slightly darker shade. The sclera was barely visible, and they took up most of her soft and round face. Her nose was small and nearly flat, with a thin-lipped mouth. Her ears were delicate, nearly translucent green fins, and what might have been hair on a human was instead a series of thin tentacles she’d put in a ponytail. Two hung down the left side of her face like bangs, and they moved independently. This curious face sat atop a thin and graceful neck, tapering to narrow shoulders and a close-fitting strapless garment made of woven seaweed. The hands she raised in a gesture of peace were five-fingered with sharp black nails, and she wore what appeared to be durasteel manacles around her wrists that dragged a few feet of chain that attached to woven wire armbands around each bicep. 

The most surprising part of her, however, was from the waist down. She was splayed out atop eight powerful, sucker-studded tentacles the underside of which were the same green as her ears. In her right hand were his goggles, which she had evidently been inspecting while he was knocked out. She offered them back with a sheepish smile that showed a double set of inch-long top canines, and a soft humming sound that gave the impression of an apology.

Tech hesitantly took them and put them back on his face, squinting until she came into focus. Her torso was only slightly bigger than the half-grown cadet, but the tentacles making her at least three meters long from head to tip. A young adult of… whatever she was, he thought. At least she didn’t look like a child or elderly to him. “Um… hello? I assume you saved me… thank you.”

She cocked her head to the side curiously, humming again with a dip to indicate a question. 

“You do not speak Basic.” He blinked. Who the hell didn’t speak Basic? Wasn’t that why it was called Basic? He looked around, realizing they were inside a cave. There was a natural skylight high above them, the bottom a sandy private beach with a few sparse plants growing further up where the water didn’t touch. “... this is the inside of the inactive volcano below Tipoca City.” He realized as he sided up the composition of the cavern walls and the height of the roof. “This is well below sea level. I did not realize there was dry land under here…” 

The creature beside him cooed, wiggling over to him and checking him out. She pulled up his arm to inspect his uniform, tapped at his comm and gear bag with a sharp nail as if testing them, and started to poke into his pockets to look at his tools when he put his foot down. “Please stop that.”

She sat back again at the sound of his voice, lifting her hands and waving to get his eyes on her. After a moment of watching her fingers shift and twist, he realized it was a form of sign language not too different from the Tuskan he knew. It was at least enough to start forming a pidgin between them. 

“Pulled you from deep water. Couldn’t bring you to the surface. Can’t be seen.” She explained. “You okay?”

Tech spoke aloud as he signed, wondering if it would teach her Basic. He had no idea how long he was going to be here in this cave, he might as well make progress with his new companion. “Thank you. My name is Tech.”

She smiled, repeating his name curiously. “Tech.” She touched her chest to indicate herself. “Shiani.” 

“I am grateful for you rescuing me, Shiani. I have never seen anyone like you before.” He reached into his gear bag and pulled out his datapad, scanning her subtly to try to figure out what the hell she was. 

Her limbs undulated as she shifted to get a little closer, trying to look at his screen. “Kaminoan.”

“I am familiar with Kaminoans. I was made by Kaminoans. They have a much longer neck.” He showed her the screen, since nothing was coming up but old legends about creatures whose singing led sailors to their deaths. 

She laughed, a breathy and intriguing sound he found himself enjoying immensely. “More than one sentient species on Kamino. Sirens and longnecks. Longnecks force sirens to live in hiding under the sea, hundreds of years ago”. 

“I have never heard of your species.” Tech was delighted when she let him examine her tentacles, pulling one over his legs to poke at it. She giggled like she was ticklish. 

“They think we’re extinct. We helped them survive when the Great Flood happened. When we saved them, they enslaved us. When we fought back, they killed us. When we ran, they hunted us. So we hide.” 

Tech looked up at her, watching the sad expression across her face. “You were very close to the surface to save me.”

“Went where Shiani needed to be. Melody tells my hearts”. She explained, leaning closer when he moved to examine the gill slits on her sides. 

“Melody?”

“Sirens have three gods. Melody, Harmony, and Song. Light and Dark and Balance. None better or worse than the others.”

“And you believe a god told you to come to the surface?” 

“Yes. Shiani finds the key to saving her people here.” She reached up and lightly booped his nose with her fingertip, careful of her nail. “Apparently, Tech is the key.”

“How would I be key to saving a species of creatures living in hiding?” He blinked, leaning back at the unexpected contact. Shiani smiled, watching his reaction curiously. 

“Tech doesn’t like touching?”

“I am… less than fond of it when it is unexpected.” He adjusted his goggles nervously. “What do you intend to do with me?”

“Shiani will be your friend. But you can’t tell anyone about me, it would put sirens in danger.” She raised what passed as an eyebrow, a darker purple circle above her large eyes. “We can help each other.”

“How?” Tech scrunched his nose, and Shiani thought it was absolutely adorable. He looked like he was barely a teenager, in his little blue and red uniform. The glasses were her favorite, and she was glad he hadn’t woken up when she’d tried to put them on her own face just to see. They made her excellent vision blurry, but they were cool. 

“Metal in your pockets made you sink. Tools. You know how to fix things, and make them better?”

Tech nodded. “I enjoy inventing. I am a genius, it was genetically engineered into me during my gestation.”

“My people still use systems that are nearly a thousand years old in our cities. Shiani takes you back to the longneck city, you teach me to build things. Then Shiani can help her people.”

Tech frowned. “It would be complex to use electrical tools underwater.”

“What if we built things here first? She smiled. “Can bring you here.”

He nodded after a moment of thought. “That seems doable. I have free time between lessons and simulations, but it is predominately at night. Is that an issue?”

“Sirens see well at night.” She smiled, and he spotted a nictitating membrane move across her eyes to keep the sand out. 

He nodded again. “I can acquire a comm device for you when I get back to Tipoca City, so we can remain in contact.” 

Shiani nodded, looking at his wrist when he pointed at it. “Comm device.” She repeated, testing the measure of the unfamiliar syllables on her tongue. She was a quick learner, which Tech was grateful for. He disliked repeating himself frequently, which Wrecker often required. 

“Yes.” He smiled, sitting back beside her. She gave him her hand when he reached for it, flexing her fingers while he traced her phalanges and tendons. He was entirely fascinated by the difference between this and her boneless tentacles and this contact was acceptable, since he’d initiated it. 

When he reached for the manacles, her other hand snapped forward and caught his wrist gently. He looked up, a concerned look in his eyes. Shiani smiled and shook her head before letting him go so she could sign. “Chains are very special.”

“My apologies.” He looked sufficiently chastened, though curious. 

Her eyes lifted up towards the open mouth of the mountain, so small and high above them. “Getting dark. Tech will be missed.”

He startled with a sudden realization. “Oh… my brothers are going to think I’ve drowned.”

“Shiani take you back to Tipoca. Can let them know you’re safe. Just promise not to tell anyone about sirens. Long necks might attack again.”

He nodded immediately. He liked knowing things, especially things no one else was allowed to or unable to figure out. “It does not concern you that I was made by the Kami… Long necks?” 

She held her hand up, palm towards him, and pointed for him to place his hand against hers. Tech was hesitant at first, but slowly pressed his palm to her cool skin. He was still marveling in the texture, not slimy like an octopus or squid would be. She felt more like a dolphin, tough and smooth but thinner skinned and flexible. His hand was about the same size as hers, and she leaned forward until her mouth was almost touching the back of her hand before singing out a high, keening note that he felt inside his ribcage and between his eyes. It took him a minute to recover, realizing he’d flopped over like a landed fish and she was leaning over him curiously. 

“What… what was that?” He wheezed, hands wobbling as he signed. 

“Siren singing. How Shiani knows Tech is good.” She smiled at him. “Can feel your hearts.” 

“That is… I am not sure I understand.” He frowned, sitting upright. The siren scooted a little closer, offering him an arm to lean against while he got his bearings again. 

Shiani indicated for him to hold onto her arm. “Shiani takes you back to surface now, to find your brothers. You are little brother or older brother?”

“Both. Hunter is older than me, while Wrecker and Crosshair are younger.” He took the offered arm. 

Shiani nodded. “Hunter. Tech. Wrecker. Crosshair.” Her mouth wasn’t exactly made for the language, dragging out the sibilants a little more than he would. But she tried, and he liked the way her voice sounded when she spoke out loud. 

“I won’t tell them about you.” He reassured her. 

“Trusting you.” She nodded. “Shiani come to find you in three days, when moon is highest. Dock where ships come from the stars is always empty then.” 

He nodded, taking her arm and a deep breath when she wrapped a tentacle around his waist and pulled him into the water. She was wickedly fast below the surface, pulling him up the side of the underwater mountain until the lights of Tipoca City’s bottom were in sight. She took him right to the dock, shoving him into the air just as he was sure he was going to black out once more. When he caught his breath and looked down, she had vanished into deeper water, and he managed to grab the service ladder steps of the dock before his tools pulled him underwater again. 

He tapped his comm, which was waterlogged but still functional. “Hunter?”

“Tech!? Where the hell are you!? We’ve been looking for hours!”

“My apologies. My tools were heavier than anticipated.”

He heard Crosshair in the background, yelling at him about being a genius moron. Hunter sighed with relief. “At least you’re okay. Where are you? We’re not calling off this exercise until we have you back.”

“I am holding onto the underside of the main starship hangar dock.” 

Hunter sucked in a sharp breath. “Tech. That’s three klicks from where you went missing. How are you alive?”

Tech didn’t like lying to his brother, but he had made a promise to the strange siren who’d saved his life. And her concerns were valid, the Kaminoans were not always the most ethical in their pursuit of scientific breakthrough… “I was simply very lucky.” 

It was a long swim back to the sunken city of Acopit, Shiani’s home and the capital of Below Kamino. The dim, flickering lights of what had once been a bustling metropolis glowed like a dying sunset from the sea floor. Once, the city had been above water before the Great Flood. When the seas swoll to consume all of Kamino, and the sirens escaped slavery at the hands of the longnecks, they’d simply gone back home. 

She went straight to the center of the city, entering through a window of the towered palace that sat in the very middle of a circular courtyard. The entire city was laid out like a wheel, spokes connecting districts and everything leading here. There had been more towers when she was young, but the currents and disrepair had led them to break off and fall to sandy bottom. 

She slipped into her bedroom casually, setting the woven kelp bag she carried behind her bed made of a giant mollusk shell. It looked like she’d made it back without attracting too much attention… “Where have you been?” A voice scared her half to death, singing out in her native tongue.

Shiani squeaked and a cloud of black ink swirled around her tentacles, her face turning blue with embarrassment. “Kashae! Stop sneaking up on me!” 

Her elder brother, a large male of the same shade of purple-green as she was, was suction-cupped to the upper wall in the shadows where she hadn’t seen him immediately. His woven shirt was made of goldish-green sea silk and was paired with a cape of the same material, embroidered with heavy shells. There was a crown of coral and stone on his head, and he wore chains crossed over his chest like a body harness. “Where have you been, little sister?” 

“Hunting.” She said automatically.

“You’re a terrible liar.” Kashae dropped to the floor and reached over, flicking her nose with his claw lightly. “You always give yourself away, because you can’t look me in the eye. Where were you?”

She grumbled. “So bossy since Father gave you his crown.”

“That’s what kings do. Now tell me the truth, Shiani. You’ve been disappearing for weeks. It’s not safe outside of the city.”

“It’s not safe in the city anymore.” She huffed, gills flexing on her sides as she turned to lean on the windowsill with her elbows. “The perimeter barriers are failing. Just like the lights. How long until the sharks and sea monsters get in and start snatching children from their homes?” 

“We’ll adapt, like we always have. I’ll set up a city guard to patrol-” Kashae reached out, putting a hand on her shoulder. 

She snatched back. “And pay them with what? There’s not enough food to pay out the portions that kind of labor is worth. The hunting parties won’t go far enough out to find anything worthwhile. And I’ve been to six other Belowcities, just for them to tell me it’s just as bad there.” She shook her head. “We need new technology. We can’t keep limping this along, our people will starve in the dark because the city is failing!” 

“So what’s your plan, Shiani?” Kashae frowned, pulling on one of her head tentacles lightly. 

“There’s technology thousands of years more advanced than ours on the surface.” Shiani said quietly. “If I could just study it long enough, I could replicate it-”

“Is that where you’ve been?!” Kashae cut her off, voice raising so loudly she felt herself start to panic. He had his fangs bared, mouth splitting open from a hidden seam that went nearly to his ears and showed his entire jaw. “It’s forbidden to go to the surface! You know that!”

“The longnecks are making people now, Kashae! Not just plants and animals! They made a whole new race to enslave, like they did us!” She yelled back, fists clenched but she didn’t dare show her teeth. “We could help them, and they could help us!”

“No. If the longnecks made them, they’re going to be just as evil as they are.” Kashae grabbed her wrist. “You are not going back up there. You’ll get us all killed.”

“So you’d rather see our people starve at the edge of a crumbling city?” She snapped, limbs flashing with serious of pulsing blue rings. “What kind of king are you?!”

“That’s enough!” Kashae growled, free hand coming up and slapping her sharply across the face. One nail dragged a gouge in her cheek. Immediately, the both froze as a trickle of blue blood swirled through the water. Regret immediately colored the young king’s face and his mouth shut, his own blue rings vanishing at the sight of his sister’s blood. “Shiani…”

“Don’t touch me.” She shoved his hand off her wrist. “Just go!”

Kashae sighed. “I’m sorry, Shiani. But you can’t go back. I forbid it, as your king. Not your brother. Do you understand me? I won’t tell anyone about it this once, but if you go back I have to tell the High Council. You know what will happen if they hear.”

Shiani turned away, hand over her bleeding face. “... One day, they’re praising me as the Minister of Security. The next, they’ll have me exiled.”

“Not if you don’t do this again. No one has to know.” Kashae reached for her again, apologetic, but she just pulled away. “Shiani, please… I’m sorry.”

“Just go away.” She muttered.

Kashae sighed, backing up out of her room and rubbing his forehead. Once he was out of earshot, he waved to the nearest castle guard. “Have someone watch my sister… if she sneaks out, let me know.”

“Yes sir.” 

In her room, Shiani unfolded herself on her bed and looked up at the ceiling. It had been painted once, though centuries of water and time had worn it away. The only art that persisted since before the Great Flood were the mosaics in the Temple. Patterns of the Harmony, Melody, and Song. 

The oldest stories said the gods dwelled beyond the stars, keeping the balance of the galaxy and giving life and death in equal measure. Since Shiani had been a little girl, she’d always tried to put the needs of her people first… but all she’d ever wanted was to see those stars with her own eyes. 

The boy, Tech, was the key to saving both the sirens and her. She just knew it.

Concept art time!