#this is what happens when you watch this scene at twelve in the morning in your feels

[fictiongods]

Kara in the stronger together (1x2) ending scene with Alura is actually the most heartbreaking thing you will ever see and they added it just so I would cry. “Whatever it is you wish you could ask Alura, you may ask me.” “I’d ask for a hug.” Oh okay. Okay. Okay, okay, okay, I’m fine. I’m good and fine. I feel so normal and fine and the mommy issues are un-quaked. Do you grasp this? All she wants IS A HUG FROM HER MOTHER. She wants to be held and protected by someone she loves and knows would hold her like she’s fragile, like she’s weak, and she wouldn’t be ashamed of that. She would be protected like she protects everyone else, but it’s a hologram so when she asks she can’t get it. She can’t hug her mother. Then in season three she got that hug. Finally, she got to be held and protected and safe and fragile and weak. She got her mother. And then she chose to leave that behind. Willingly. For the people she needed to protect. I hate it here Kara you precious little baby.

[rosamariaa]

my top 5 favorite book wolfstar moments

this is all for funsies. I'm going to be very honest here: I don't really think wolfstar is implied in the books, but I feel like if I put my shipper googles I CAN prove that those two were, at least, a bit weird about each other!

1. Remus "ideals" going askrew for Sirius:

We have two moments in the books where we see Remus being pretty ruthless when it came to the war, he thinks that if there's a way to put a enemy down then you should do it:

prisioner of azkaban, chapter eighteen:

"You should have realized," said Lupin quietly, "if Voldemort didn't kill you, we would. Good-bye, Peter."

deathly hollows, chapter 5:

Lupin looked aghast. “Harry, the time for Disarming is past! These people are trying to capture and kill you! At least Stun if you aren’t prepared to kill!”

However, when he was talking to Harry about Sirius reciving the dementor's kiss this is what Mr. Lupin has to offer:

prisioner of azkaban, chapter twelve:

[...] Lupin drank a little more butterbeer, then said, "It's the fate that awaits Sirius Black. It was in the Daily Prophet this morning. The Ministry have given the dementors permission to perform it if they find him." [...] "He deserves it," [harry] said suddenly. "You think so?" said Lupin lightly. "Do you really think anyone deserves that?"

This makes me actually go bonkers like... When he found out it was Peter all along he was full on ready to kill him but when he belived it was Sirius doing the same damn thing then suddenly no one deserves it... christ we see you remus lupin, we see you...

2. Moving in thogeter

I don't even have anything to say for this one just.. *gestures vaguely*

Order of the phoenix, chapter 6:

[...] and Lupin, who was staying in the house with Sirius but who left it for long periods to do mysterious work for the Order [...]

It's so funny cos like... he didn't need to do that... no one else is staying there even though it's the order's HQ.

And we know that as poor as Remus is he does have a house (Sirius stays there for a bit at the end of GOF) so he just... moves in... just because. yea.

a little extra scene that it's kinda funny, imagine finding out your teacher and godfather are dating by calling said godfather and said teacher picks up... lol :

Harry opened his eyes to find that he was looking up out of the kitchen fireplace at the long, wooden table, where a man sat poring over a piece of parchment. “Sirius?” The man jumped and looked around. It was not Sirius, but Lupin. “Harry!” he said, looking thoroughly shocked. “What are you — what’s happened, is everything all right?”

3. Remus is Sirius' good boy

Okay I will try not to ramble about this one but... I can't help it. He quite literally calls Remus a good boy you can not make this shit up.

Order of the phoenix, chapter 9:

Sirius, who was right beside Harry, let out his usual barklike laugh. “No one would have made me a prefect, I spent too much time in detention with James. Lupin was the good boy, he got the badge.”

I think what drives me insane about this one is that even though Remus had the same sense of humor as the other boys (although his was quieter and dry), they were a bit different. Sirius himself says that Remus would make them feel ashamed of themselves sometimes and, of course it depends on how you view Sirius, but to me I feel like he is a person that doesn't really put up with things just to please someone and so I feel like if it were a random person he would just go like "Well if you don't like what we do fuck off I guess" but since it was Remus he doesn't get annoyed at all and it makes it seem like he has a soft spot for Remus:

Order of the phoenix, chapter 29:

“Of course he was a bit of an idiot!” said Sirius bracingly. “We were all idiots! Well — not Moony so much,” he said fairly, looking at Lupin, but Lupin shook his head.

likeee that's his boy!!

4. Giving harry a joint present

You see, this one is very funny to me bc I was watching Sex and the city a few weeks ago and there's a scene where Carrie takes Mr. Big as her plus one to a wedding and of course she asks him to put his name on the present and he just. refuses. He has several commitment issues and even tho they were together for months at that point he thought a joint present "was too much".

And naturally my first thought was "oh wow that's so crazy bc in the children's book series 'Harry Potter', harry's godfather and teacher gave him a joint present without second thought". After moving in together. yea.

Order of the phoenix, chapter 23:

Sirius and Lupin had given Harry a set of excellent books entitled Practical Defensive Magic and Its Use Against the Dark Arts, [...]

how does that makes you feel mr.big

5. Intimacy

Last but not least (literally I think this is my favorite?) three moments that I think it shows us just how close those two are. Not even romantically, but in friendship too.

Order of the Phoenix, chapter 14:

[...] said Sirius with a wry smile. “I know she’s a nasty piece of work, though — you should hear Remus talk about her.”

We know Remus is a Nice Guy. He does everything he can to maintain at least a civil relationship with the people around him (save moments of distrees and his little cynical comments in poa, of course). And so the fact that he has a little "can I be mean?" moment with Sirius is just so funny... I just know Sirius supports all Remus' moments of haterism <3

Order of the phoenix, chapter 5:

“Molly, you’re not the only person at this table who cares about Harry,” said Lupin sharply. “Sirius, sit down.” Mrs. Weasley’s lower lip was trembling. Sirius sank slowly back into his chair, his face white

Order of the phoenix, chapter 29:

“I’m coming up there to have a word with Snape!” said Sirius force-fully and he actually made to stand up, but Lupin wrenched him backdown again.

I know people always talks about those 2 moments with the sense of like... oh wow remus asks and Sirius obeys thats hot and I AGREE it's the same thing I said before: If it was anyone else I think he would go "fuck off no" but since it's Remus he just do it unquestioned.

but ALSO. I feel like it does show how close they are... Close enough to push someone backwards etc those two lived together for more than a decade... they are Close and are used to each other and I think that's beautiful :')

[its-time-to-write]

just a short little Thanksgiving blurb for all my American girlies 🥰🦃

ours

You force yourself back to the present, where your twelve year-old cousin is updating you on the latest middle school drama. 

“…and that’s why boys named Max are a red flag, but dogs named Max are not,” she concludes. 

You giggle and nod appropriately, taking a sip from your drink. The house is filled with the entire family this Thanksgiving and while it’s pleasantly crowded, it still feels like a part of you is missing. 

Your phone is securely in your bag, a tactic to try to keep yourself from replaying highlights from the England match from the previous weekend. Every other WAG got to go support their man, but you were stuck in America with pre-Thanksgiving work. Thanksgiving has only been going on for twenty minutes, and you’re ready to call it and go home. 

International dating is hard.

Your mom can tell, so she’s been giving you tasks to do all day. She must’ve told your grandma or maybe she’s just incredibly observant, because she’s picked up the mantle as well and neither of them give you enough time to be alone with your thoughts. 

It’s nice of them, except now the family’s here and everyone’s asking about your boyfriend. They don’t care that he’s a footballer (in the best way) and they’re all excited for you, but you wish he were here. 

Maybe you can sneak upstairs and call him. 

You do some quick math and realize he should be asleep so you sigh and ask your cousin if she wants to come with you to steal macaroni and cheese. 

She smiles and says, “Yes, duh.”

“It’s going to be tricky,” you warn. “My mom and your mom are going to be on the lookout.”

“I bet Grandpa will sneak us some,” she reminds you. Oh yes, Grandpa would do anything for his granddaughters. 

You grab her hand and weave through aunts and uncles, brothers and sisters, cousins and a few other relatives. You’re pretty sure this is the biggest Thanksgiving you’ve ever had. 

You and your cousin successfully get your hands on two bowls of mac and cheese, and slip away to an unoccupied corner to eat it. 

You’re smiling and not thinking about Jamie at all. This is your favorite cousin, the one who’s eleven years younger than you, but you two have been doing dumb shit together since she could talk. 

You’re almost done when someone slides into your space, pressing their arm against yours. Your cousin’s eyes widen as she looks at you and you turn, expecting to see an aunt or god-forbid one of your snitch brothers. 

Instead, you’re met with blue eyes and a familiar smile. 

You choke on your last bite of food as you launch yourself into Jamie’s arms.  

“What are you doing here?” you ask, refusing to let go of him. “You have a match this weekend.”

He shrugs, still smiling. “Ah, you know, gotta be culturally sensitive with my American girlfriend, babe. Milestones and all that.”

You raise an eyebrow. There’s no way Roy let him go with that excuse. 

“Or I might have injured meself at the match last week and am out of training for two weeks,” Jamie says. 

“You’re hurt?” you exclaim. “Why didn’t you call me? Should you have been on a plane? What happened?”

You’ve inadvertently tightened your grip around Jamie’s neck, so he reaches up to remove your hands, still keeping them in his. He lifts them up to his lips to kiss your knuckles. 

“I’m fine. Just my ankle. But I figured, who not come surprise ya?”

“Does my mom know you’re here?”

Jamie’s grin turns cocky. “Called your mum and dad three days ago. I’m staying in their guest room, ain’t I? Got in this morning before you lot showed up.”

Your cousin has been watching this scene a little open-mouthed the whole time. “I wish my boyfriend would do that for me,” she murmurs. 

Your head snaps over to her. “Your what,” you say to her and she holds her hands up defensively. 

“Oh look it’s your English boyfriend who flew all the way to America for Thanksgiving, why don’t you kiss him some more?” she deflects, and Jamie shoots her a wink and tilts your face up for a kiss so your cousin can get away. 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” you tell him. “Oh my gosh, we’re going to have the BEST time. Get ready to have your mind blown, little British boy.”

“Anything for you, Miss America,” he teases. “Just don’t make me try those mushroom things I saw, looked fucking awful, that.”

You pull a shocked face. “Oh but it’s tradition. Everyone has to suffer through my uncle Darren’s gross stuffed mushrooms at least once. And since you’re new here…” you trail off. 

Jamie grimaces while you giggle and run a hand through his hair. God, you can’t believe he’s here and while you aren’t thrilled he’s injured, maybe it’s not such a bad thing. 

“C’mon,” you say, tugging him to the kitchen. “I want to go yell at mom and dad for not telling me you were coming.”

[thinkingaboutbetterdays]

surprise! ( greg sanders x reader )

There were very few cases that didn't leave a lasting impression on the team, but this case exceeded all the brutality that the team had worked on and even when you were at home in your apartment, your mind was working on the case, making it impossible to go to sleep.

The moment you found out you were pregnant, you changed your old habits, never skipping a meal, sneaking a snack or two, and starting to take vitamins, however, this case made you feel queasy and it was easy to fall into old habits, and so you skipped meals, forgot to take the vitamins and didn't get the rest your body desperately needed.

After five days of neglect your body was feeling the effects and you did your best to shrug off the nausea and exhaustion as you continued to run tests in the lab.

"Please, please, please, be good news." You muttered as you walked to the printer, picking up the results.

"Hey, how's it goin'?" Nick asked. "Got the results yet?"

"Just got 'em." You replied, turning to him with a smile. Your brow furrowed when your footing wobbled and Nick looked at you worriedly, stepping forward.

"Hey, hey, you okay?"

You shook it off and handed him the results. "Ballistics on the gun were a match. The test I ran on the sample from on the sole of the boots revealed that Hodges was right. Desert Mariposa Lily."

You walked to the desk to fetch the photos you had taken to show the bullets matched the gun Nick and Catherine had found at the crime scene, running a hand over your forehead which felt hot to the touch.

Nick heard the clatter of test tubes hitting the floor and rushed over to your side, rolling you gently onto your back. "Y/N! Y/N!" He looked at the doorway, "I need some help in here!"

Hearing the commotion, Catherine, Ray, and Greg rushed into the room and your boyfriend quickly knelt beside you, glancing at Nick.

"What happened?"

"I don't know. She just collapsed." Nick moved aside to let Ray take a look at you and Greg looked at your cheek and forehead which had small pieces of glass from the broken test tubes embedded in the skin.

"It's likely that she fainted, but she should have woken up by now. She must've hit her head on the way down. She needs to go to the hospital." Ray explained, looking at Greg whose eyes widened, nodding his head.

He picked you up off the floor, and Nick followed him when he carried you out of the room, "I'll come with you."

The two CSIs raced through the streets of Las Vegas to the nearest hospital and Nick helped hold doors while Greg carried you inside. "We need a doctor!"

Greg was instructed by a nurse to place you down on a bed a few moments later and walked down the hallway with the nurses as Nick recounted what happened.

"Are you family?" One of the nurses asked as a doctor walked into the room.

"Colleague," Nick replied.

"Boyfriend," Greg answered, looking over her shoulder to watch as the doctor listened to your heart, checking your pulse, instructing the three nurses around the bed.

"You'll have to wait outside then." She smiled apologetically and Greg opened his mouth to argue, but the nurse interrupted him, "Please, we'll keep you notified if we find out anything."

Greg and Nick reluctantly made their way out of the room and the former ran a hand through his hair, leaning against the wall. Nick's cell phone rang and he informed Greg it was Catherine, before answering it.

For over an hour, the two CSIs remained outside your room while the doctor and the nurses came and went and Greg grew more restless. Nick left down the hallway to find coffee and returned with two cups, holding one out to Greg who thanked him.

"She's a tough one. She'll be fine." Nick reassured him.

As evening turned into night and night became early morning, Greg was approached by the doctor who informed him of the various tests he had done, and their results.

"Pregnant?" Greg echoed.

The doctor nodded, "Almost seven weeks. It's been over twelve hours since she last ate, that's my best guess anyway. When she fainted due to exhaustion and malnourishment, she hit her head pretty hard. We're gonna monitor her for a concussion. But all signs say the baby is healthy. Just make sure she keeps hydrated and eats something."

Noticing Greg was in a state of shock, Nick thanked the doctor, shaking his hand before he left. He looked at Greg when he lowered his gaze to the floor contemplatively.

"Why wouldn't she tell me?"

"Odds are she planned to and given the work that we do, never found the right time." Nick reasoned. "Doc says she's awake."

Greg nodded slowly, heading towards your room before turning to Nick, and thanking him.

"I'll leave you two to it." He grinned before walking away.

Greg entered the room and you turned your head, the glass removed from your skin and closed with butterfly closure strips. You looked at your boyfriend as he approached the bed, smiling softly.

"Hey," You greeted timidly.

"Hey," Greg flashed a smile, "How are you feeling?"

"Like an idiot."

He shook his head, "Don't be. I know what it's like to get wrapped up in a case. But I wasn't eating for two."

Your eyes widened for a moment before you realized the doctor must've told him. "The doc told you."

"Yeah." He reached out to move your hair away from your forehead, "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I wanted to!" You sighed, "I had a big surprise planned, a nice dinner and a present. I special ordered this hat online that said CSI in training on it."

Greg smiled, feeling a weight off his shoulders. "I thought that you didn't say anything because…well, of me."

You shook your head, taking his hand. "I just wanted it to be special, you know?"

Greg ran his thumb over your hand, "If it helps, I was surprised."

"A happy surprise?"

"Very." He smiled, leaning in to kiss your forehead.

You placed a hand on his cheek, running your thumb back and forth along his cheekbone. "I love you. And I'm sorry for scaring you." You knew how you would react if you rushed into a room and he was unresponsive and felt guilty for the worry you had caused him and the team.

"From now on, you will never miss a meal. I will sit and watch you if I have to." A small smile formed on his lips as he leaned in to kiss you tenderly, pulling back moments later to whisper, "And for the record, I love you too."

When you returned home to your apartment the next afternoon, you revealed the spot you hid your gift for Greg and his eyes lit up when he saw the tiny hat. He brought you into his arms as he kissed your head, telling you how much he loved you. He couldn't imagine embarking on this new chapter of life with anyone else.

You returned to work a few days later and were greeted by the team congratulating you on your pregnancy. The case was closed and soon you found yourself immersed in another. Catherine was always checking in with you, making sure you had eaten and even bringing you snacks from the vending machine. Nick refused to let you carry anything heavy, even if it was a dusty box of old forensic files.

You believed things would settle down in a week or so, but it only got worse throughout your pregnancy. Ray was a godsend when the morning sickness hit and when you were working long hours he always made sure you got plenty of rest.

When your baby was born you knew that they was going to be surrounded by a group of hardworking CSIs who would love them dearly. As you looked around the table as everyone reviewed old files, you recalled the moment you suspected you were pregnant, leading to you taking a test at home while Greg was watching a movie. You had been dating for a little over a year, working together for three years, and it shocked you when it came back positive. You believed it would spell the end of your relationship, or be the reason you broke up further down the line. But as you looked at your boyfriend as he read a case file, you knew this was how it was meant to be - that you two were meant to be.

Little did you know that Greg had a hiding spot of his own. A ring box was stashed away until it was time for your date. He had made reservations at one of the hottest restaurants in town, booked months in advance, and he couldn't wait to surprise you.

[bangpop91]

I'll Meet You In Between

It's day 2 of @bucktommypositivityweek round 2! Today's prompt was scenes from a firetruck. This drabble takes place directly before Mayday. I hope you guys enjoy Day 2

Buck woke a groan fumbling with his phone to turn off his alarm before flopping back down into the bed not wanting to get up for the day. It hadn’t been that long ago that he looked forward to every shift. But these days the idea of getting out of the massive plush bed that also happened to feature a big muscular pilot with ridiculous bed head, and is like his own personal space heater. Buck wiggled closer into Tommy’s side burying his nose into Tommy’s armpit making his man grunt.

“Your face is like icicles,” Tommy groaned, adjusting himself so that they were face to face.

“It's not my fault your house is like a penguin habitat.” That startled a laugh out of Tommy while Buck grinned, pressing kisses against Tommy's stubble covered cheek. 

“You have a shift baby.” Tommy reminded him before capturing his lips in a sweet kiss.

“So do you.” He replied in-between morning kisses, where if he played this right could lead to morning sex 

“I don't have to fight crosstown traffic.” Tommy countered sitting up scratching his scalp making his mess of curls even more out of control from where they curled frizzy and untamed on one side and flat against his scalp on the other. He looks so rumpled and soft, far from the cool guy exterior Tommy meticulously puts on like armor every morning. He's moved on to casually scratching an itch on his chest while checking the weather on his phone like he does every morning before he gets out of bed. He wants to live in this moment and it's domesticity forever, he knows that realistically it's too early to talk about living together, about forever. But he wants this to be the sight he wakes up to every morning. Tommy looks down at him, Buck still stubbornly burritoed under the blanket  with his face in Tommy's pillow.

“Bed head?” He asked, looking at him with a lopsided grin. It makes Buck laugh from his spot in bed watching Tommy go through his morning routine.

“Nicely tousled.” Tommy and him should not be laughing at what dorks they are being, but he loves that he and Tommy can be silly, and there is no pressure to be tough, or manly, or cool, they can just be themselves. 

“Alright Darlin, you do have to get up now.” Buck is feeling a little bratty and burrows further into his burrito of blankets and Tommy’s pillow like a petulant child. “Will you get up if I promise to shower with you?” Tommy teases leaned over Buck.

“I could be persuaded.” He responds and lets Tommy lure him from the bed with kisses. He does make it to work on time, he didn't have time to stop and get coffee on the way to work which is fine because Tommy had sent him on his way with a thermos of coffee, kisses, and a reminder to be safe.

It turns out to be one of the worst and craziest shifts he has ever worked. He knows Tommy's own shift has been just as hectic. And yet in the rare minutes of downtime that he had to check his phone there were messages from Tommy.

A picture of a black cat from the pet rescue site that Tommy likes scrolling through with the accompanying message.

❤️ Loml ❤️ : I love Salem almost as much as I love you.

Buck: Awe he’s beautiful. I love him.

❤️ Loml ❤️ : 🐝🐝🐝🐝

❤️ Loml ❤️ : Are you enjoying the bee-nado

Buck: look at you learning how to use emojis I’m so proud of my old man.

❤️ Loml ❤️ : Don't be a brat, Evan.

Tommy finds him in the aftermath of the plane crash. They are in-between the 118 and 217’s engines when Tommy pulls him in for a hug.

“How you holding up Darlin?” His voice is low and quiet in Buck’s ear.

“I wish today would just end already.” He mumbled clinging to the back of Tommy's flight suit. He doesn't want to let go of Tommy, because right now Tommy is the only thing holding him upright.

“Twelve more hours okay.” Tommy promised, “Just twelve more hours and we will have forty-eight hours together. We'll turn our phones off, catch up on Stylish Designs, and try that new chili recipe.” 

“Okay.” Evan nodded with a smile, Having something to keep him moving towards. An end goal for his shift. Tommy is called away, his chopper is ready, Tommy presses a quick kiss to his lips.

“I'll see you at home.” He says with a big, bright charming smile that makes him melt. He'll see Tommy at home.

[sourw0lfs]

dance with the devil - part nine

Words: 571 | Rating: E (mostly parts 1 & 2, but also future parts) | CW: no warnings this time! except Steve's continued bad time

part one || part two || part three || part four || part five || part six || part seven || part eight || part nine || part ten || part eleven || part twelve

Turning twenty-one is supposed to be big and fun and momentous. Or at least that’s what everyone’s always told Steve, but he thinks it’s off to a rather crummy start actually. Surely that means it can only go up from here, right?

Except that part where it absolutely doesn’t do that. If anything, Steve finds his luck getting worse and worse. From missing his bus to losing his wallet to dropping his phone, it feels like one little thing after another little thing, and quite frankly he’s sick of it. If he didn’t know better, he’d blame Eddie.

But the thing is, Steve’s always kind of had awful luck, so if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s his own. It doesn’t make him feel better about Eddie just always being there, though.

“Are you absolutely sure you can’t just fuck off for like an hour?” Steve asks exasperatedly and for what feels like the hundredth time.

“Trust me,” Eddie deadpans in return, looking just as annoyed as Steve feels which only serves to make him bristle more, “if I could leave for any length of time, I would. But I get dragged back here any time I try.”

If Steve were less annoyed, he might feel sorry for Eddie. Something about a lack of freewill makes him sad, angry, upset? He’s not sure. But Eddie’s annoying, so Steve can’t bring himself to feel bad for anyone but himself. He’s never done well with being annoyed.

“What if you talk to whoever the hell is in charge of you or whatever?” Steve suggests, not for the first time in the week they’ve known each other. “Surely they can give you some kind of away time.”

Sighing like the weight of the world is bearing down on his shoulders, Eddie shakes his head. “I can’t get to her if I can’t leave. And I can’t take you with me, so we’re just gonna have to figure out how to get along.”

It’s the same response Steve always gets, but that doesn’t make it any less grating. Steve wants to be alone. Preferably for a long time while he processes the disaster that was the morning after his birthday. Shoving it down, pretending nothing happened because he doesn’t want Eddie (or anyone else) to see how much it’s upset him, can’t work forever.

This time, though, a thought strikes Steve and he frowns in thought. “What if you tried your weird magic shit?” he asks. “You cleaned up a murder scene with it. Surely you can use it to allow me to be alone for a while?”

Mentioning the murder scene to someone other than himself leaves Steve grimacing, but it’s the reality of things. It also brings him that much closer to a breakdown, but he keeps it held back. He always does when the memory tickles at the edges of his brain, which is alarmingly often the longer he dwells on it.

Eddie frowns in thought, expression matching Steve’s as he considers the suggestion. “I don’t think it would hurt to try,” he allows after a few moments. “Not optimistic, but we don’t seem to need many angelic miracles right now so…”

Which Steve disagrees with, but he doesn’t say anything in response. Instead he just watches Eddie, watches as the blinding light fills the room just like it had all the times before, and when it clears Eddie is gone.

Steve is alone.

As always, tags below the cut. Let me know if you want added!

@chaosgremlinmunson @soaringornithopter @hbyrde36 @shares-a-vest @dreamwatch @quevadilla @tboyeddiee @penny00dreadfull @momotonescreamingg @stevesbipanicic @dawners @steddiejudas @just-my-latest-hyperfixation @estrellami-1 @vthx @lolawonsstuff @gleek4twd @littlebluejane @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lawrencebshaggoth @sadisticaltarts @queenie-ofthe-void @r0binscript @anaibis @hairdressersdoitwithstyle @goodolefashionedloverboi @spookednsaucy @anne-bennett-cosplayer @flustratedcas

[thedeerman]

A DYWTK excerpt for (SFW) top Alastor Week

Day 4: Big spoon/Little spoon

(okay listen I get that Al should be the big spoon for this event but I like this scene more sooooo)

From Chapter 69 of Do You Want to Know?

Lucifer awoke quite some time before the radio demon did. It wasn’t that he didn’t sleep, he had been completely knocked out for at least twelve hours. But Alastor apparently needed a solid rest after all of… Well, whatever it was that happened. So once the sky began to light, the king finally got to return to his favorite morning activity.

Every moment that he was able to watch Alastor sleep was a moment that Lucifer absolutely cherished. Even just a few minutes of getting to admire all of the things about the radio demon that he was usually too embarrassed to stare at made the king feel like he’d never fallen from Heaven. Especially all of the sweet, cute little deer features Alastor had. 

After everything that Lucifer had seen him do, it always seemed so ironic that Alastor could look so innocent and adorable. But there he was doing just that, and the fallen angel loved everything about him.

Lucifer loved the radio demon’s soft red hair, he loved running his clawed fingers through it, he loved the look that Alastor gave him every time he did. No matter how hard he tried to hide it, it was extremely clear that the radio demon adored those moments of softness between them just as much as Lucifer did. 

The king absolutely loved Alastor’s fluffy deer ears and the way they silently spoke volumes about what he was thinking. He adored the way they would do a little flick when the demon was annoyed or perk up when he was interested or tilt back when he was unhappy. 

Lucifer loved the radio demon’s delightful hooved feet that no one else ever saw because ‘You can’t tap dance without a heel, darling!’ He loved Alastor’s absolutely charming little puffy deer tail that, although he’d never touched it, the king assumed would be just about the softest thing in the entire world.

And he absolutely adored watching Alastor slowly wake up. He loved the way the demon would scrunch his nose a little as he blinked the sleepiness away. He loved the way Alastor’s bright red eyes looked for Lucifer as soon as they opened, like he wanted the king to be the very first thing he saw every morning.

But as much as Lucifer loved everything about watching the radio demon sleep, his favorite part was always when he woke up. Every morning, Alastor looked right at the fallen angel and smiled his sweet, soft, sleepy smile. Waking up next to someone he loved was Lucifer’s favorite part of any given day, and he wouldn’t trade those moments for anything in the world.

And, even though the radio demon would never verbally admit it, Lucifer knew that he loved being the little spoon. So after a completely normal amount of time staring at Alastor’s fluffy little red and black deer tail twitch as he slept, Lucifer sprouted his wings and used the three on one side to make a big, soft blanket of feathers.

He stayed there for at least a few hours before Alastor woke up, but he didn’t mind waiting. He didn’t mind being there, holding his radio demon close and appreciating every moment that he was with the one he loved. He didn’t mind at all. 

Eventually Alastor began to stir, at first pulling Lucifer’s wings even tighter around him like he was making himself into his own little feather burrito. After a few minutes, however, he rolled over and looked at the king with his classic soft sleepy smile.

Quietly, Lucifer asked, “Did you sleep well?”

Alastor yawned, displaying all of his many razor sharp teeth. “Hmm. I think so, yes.” After a moment of silence he asked, “Have you been awake long?”

The king smiled and said, “A few hours, yeah. But I don’t mind waiting if I’m with you.”

[imagines--galore]

||Mind Over Matter|| Part Fifteen

Summary: Evelyn is Penelope Garcia’s protégé. She is a tech wiz, and knows her way around any kind of security and just like her mentor knows  how to dig deep and get into the past of anyone and has a knack for   anything with a chip in it. Including potato chips. The one thing she fails at is figuring out is the mind and how it works.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Evelyn Richardson(OC)

Rating || Genres || Warnings: T+ Romance. Adventure. Family. Some language, blood and violence in later installments.

Previously - Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen

A/N: A brief intro to someone from Evelyn’s past!

"Evelyn? Mind handing me that box of files?"

Silence greeted the young Doctor's request. A few seconds passed before he glanced up from the file he had been thumbing through, only to frown slightly at the sight of his friend staring blankly at the screen of her phone.

"Evelyn?" He spoke again, this time a little more loudly. No response.

Leaning forward he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Eve?" Despite his voice being gentle and low, the red head jumped, startled. Quickly putting her phone away, she sniffed before turning to Reid.

"Sorry Spence, I was thinking about something. What did you say you need?" She asked, eyes blinking rapidly behind her glasses. Spencer frowned. "That box." He pointed to the one right beside her. Nodding, the woman quickly slid the box over to him before turning her attention to the laptop screen she had opened in front of her. Though he had begun to rummage in the box for whatever file he needed, Spencer did not miss the way Evelyn brushed at her cheek where a tear had escaped. Not wanting to pry at the moment, he made a note to ask what was troubling her later.

                                              ————————–

"That was quite the lucky break Ginger." Morgan commented, smiling slightly at the petite red head, who merely shrugged in response. "It was really chance on my part. I mean its unbelievable how narcissistic the man was that he wanted to watch as we went over the crime scenes. He really didn't think he'd get caught." She muttered incredulously under her breath as she packed up her laptop in her bag.

Her mind was still reeling from what had happened in the past couple of days. The Unsub picked up the three victims and one would be victim at rather upscale and luxurious locations before charming them and courting them for exactly two weeks. Flowers, dinners, dancing, nighttime walks. The works.

And then at the end of the second week, he would insist on coming to their home for the first time. He would sleep with them and afterwards, insisting that since they had had the best two weeks of their lives what more could they have asked for before killing them. Of course, he wouldn't kill them immediately. The Unsub, later named Julian Black, would give them some form of anesthesia that would have them feeling numb around the area where he would then stab them so they would not feel any pain. Afterwards, he would watch them lay there, helpless and vulnerable, as the bled to death.

He had been in the process of courting his fourth victim when Evelyn, wanting to see if there was perhaps a hidden USB the last victim had been using to keep her more personal files safe, had stumbled upon the tiny camera while on the hunt. The Unsub had not been monitoring his feed at the time, and the red head had been quick when it came to tracking where the signal for the camera pinged. Within half an hour the FBI had apprehended Julian Black and led him away in cuffs.

Job done and killer behind bars, the BAU were now packing up. Though since it was nearly midnight Hotch had given the order for everyone to rest up for the night. They would be heading back to Quantico in the morning.

Emily smiled at the younger Agent. "Still, it was rather quick work on your part. I'm sure Penelope will be proud of you." Evelyn blushed at the praise, smiling brightly as she shouldered her bag. "Are you saying she isn't proud of me on a normal basis Emily?" She questioned, the teasing lilt in her tone evident as she raised an eyebrow at her friend.

The dark haired woman rolled her eyes. "Don't go fishing for compliments Richardson, you need to earn 'em." She called over her shoulder as she exited the room. Whatever retort Evelyn was about the give died on her lips the very moment her bright blue eyes focused on the person who had just entered the room they had been using to conduct all their research. The smile dropped from her lips, the light in her eyes dimmed, her shoulders slumped, and she appeared to make herself smaller. Smaller then she already was.

"D-Diana."

She whispered softly, prompting Morgan and Spencer, both of whom had been helping put away everything for later evidence, to stop what they were doing and turn their attention to the newcomer.

She was gorgeous, there was no denying that. Beautiful long blonde locks, bright blue eyes, a perfect heart shaped face and small nose with a set of full lips. Tall, with curves in all the right places, and dressed head to toe in designer attire. There was the telltale sign of a baby bump showcasing that she was not that far along, and that only seemed to add to her aesthetic. Of course, all that beauty was for naught given that her lips were pulled into a vicious smile and her eyes full of hatred and anger.

"Were you really about to go without even saying hello to your older sister? Aww Evelyn. I'm hurt." She spoke in a voice dripping with sarcasm, walking forward, towering over the red head.

Evelyn shook her head. "N-no. I-I was just b-busy with the c-case." She managed to stammer, eyes darting to her friends. Suddenly she flinched seeing Diana lift her hand. Only to relax when she simply placed a finger under her own lips as she assessed her sister. The flinch wasn't missed by the two profilers. Obviously Diana had hit Evelyn in the past given how the latter had reacted. Though the two men were still trying to wrap their head around the fact that they were looking at Evelyn's sister. They had known she had an older sibling, but one living in New York, so closely connected to their case? That was new information.

Diana nodded. "I'm sure you were. Though if you had gotten here sooner I wouldn't have lost my best friend." Evelyn flinched at the mention of the third victim. Morgan, bless his soul, jumped in to save her. "We were only informed of the case after Hailey's body was found. And it was your sister's quick thinking that we were able to catch the killer." Sharp blue eyes glanced carelessly in his direction before they were back on Evelyn. "I'm surprised she didn't manage to screw it up like she does everything." The words cut deep, prompting the red head to inhale sharply to try and steady her rapidly beating heart.

"Diana…I-" She was cut off when her sister cast her a hard look. "Did I say you could speak?" The other two Agents were absolutely stunned with the way Diana was speaking to their friend. Before Morgan could say anything, Reid had already stepped forward and placed his hand on Evelyn's shoulder, pulling her away from the taller blonde and stepping in her place. His face was unreadable as he fixed his gaze on Diana. 

"If you're only going to speak to her like that I suggest you leave." He spoke coldly. The woman growled under her breath before sparing Evelyn one last glare, where she was staring at her sister from over Reid's shoulder. "I see you're still letting someone else fight your battles for you." The blonde turned on her heel and stalked out of the room. She paused at the door, glancing back at her cowering sister. "Even as an FBI Agent you're just as pathetic as you were when we were kids."

And then she was gone.

Stunned silence followed her exit. Morgan and Reid both turned their attention towards Evelyn. Her eyes swam with unshed tears, and her body was trembling. Her knuckles were white from where she had been gripping the strap of her bag.

"Evelyn? What was-"

"I have to go." Without even giving Morgan a chance to finish his question, Evelyn darted out from behind Reid and out of the room, leaving two stunned men in her wake.

                                              ————————–

An hour later found Morgan exhausted and saddened as he stepped out of Evelyn's room at the hotel. He very nearly ran into Reid who had been standing just outside. Morgan had offered to check in on Evelyn first, while Reid had made a quick detour to his room to change out of the clothes he had been wearing the entire day. He had opted for a plain t-shirt and plaid pajama pants, with a hastily tied dressing gown over it. The older Agent pursed his lips before sighing. "You can go in, but I don't think she has the strength to talk about it again." Reid glanced at the door over Morgan's shoulder, before shaking his head.

"I just want to make sure she's alright."

Nodding Morgan patted him on the shoulder before disappearing down the hall towards his own room. Neither of them had spoken to anyone else on the Team about what had occurred. Both of them had decided that it would be Evelyn's decision at that front. Hesitating for just a moment, Spencer inhaled deeply through his nose before gently knocking against the maroon colored door. "Evelyn? Its me. Can I come in?"

There was no response. Spencer was just about to turn away, thinking that perhaps she wanted to be alone, when the handle turned, allowing the door to stand slightly ajar. Taking it as his invitation, Spencer stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. The room was spacious and was one with a balcony. Evelyn had left the sliding doors open to allow the midnight breeze to cool her room. The girl in question had walked back to her spot on the bed. Laying down on the soft mattress, dressed in an oversized shirt and faded pajama pants, she lay there with her gaze trained towards the ceiling.

Spencer was so used to seeing them shimmer with a range of different emotions. From laughter and anger, to confusion and distaste. But right then they were dull and lifeless. And sad. And alone. She gently patted the spot beside her. Walking over to her, he settled down next to her staring up at the ceiling as well. The bed was just big enough for the two of them, leaving barely any space between them.

"You talk to Morgan?" A meek nod followed his question.

Silence.

"Are you alright?" A slight shake of the head was his response.

Silence.

"I'm not the best when it comes to these things but if you want to talk some more, I'm here."

Silence. And this one stretched on for a good few minutes before her lips parted and she spoke. "Even after so many years, she still hates me." Spencer turned his head to focus his gaze on her. "I don't know what I did, but ever since I can remember she has always hated me." A sigh followed her words. "And she refuses to tell me what it is that I did. Now I think she hates me because she has hated me her entire life and just can't associate any other emotion when it comes to me."

He stayed quiet. "I'm sure that whatever you did, if you even did anything, you didn't mean any harm." Spencer had his doubts that Evelyn had done something wrong. She was the kindest most caring person he had ever met so far in his life and he doubted she had ever done any person any harm intentionally. Her gaze turned to him, and he realized that she wasn't wearing her glasses. Without the wide frame of her glasses, her features appeared delicate and soft.

"I was always envious of her. Still am. When we were kids she was always the one with all the friends. And even back then she was so beautiful. People refused to believe that we were even sisters since we look nothing alike and given how plain I am." He hummed once she finished speaking. "Typically the older child is the object of envy for the younger child, since they have more expectations to live up to."

The red head nodded, unconsciously leaning her head against his shoulder, scooting just a little closer to him. "I know. It's the natural order of things." For his part Spencer turned on his side and wrapped his arm around her waist. The change in his position had her head shifting to rest on his chest instead, right above his heart. Another few minutes of silence, before a sniffle was heard.

"I just sometimes wish she would see me as her sister. I even made a birthday wish about that once." A tearful laugh escaped her lips as she recalled her childhood memory. His other hand lifted to gently run his fingers through her brilliant red locks. Evelyn's hands rested against his chest, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt, as if she were afraid he would suddenly leave. "I know that it doesn't make up for it but you can always adopt Garcia as your older sister."

A chuckle sounded from her, prompting him to smile as well at her words. "I think mother-hen is a better fit for her." He laughed softly, his gaze soft as he looked at her. "You're probably right. JJ then and I suppose in time Emily as well." Evelyn nodded against his chest, tilting her head back to look at him. "Then I suppose Morgan is my older brother. Given how protective he is." Spencer hummed in agreement, feeling his eyelids start to grow heavy. "And Hotch and Gideon your father figures." The red head made a small noise of agreement as she yawned. Her lips were pulled into a smile though as she thought about the family she had made over the years.

Snuggling closer to Spencer, she inhaled deeply, taking in his unique scent. "What about you?"

The man blinked. "What about me?"

Her blue eyes found his hazel gaze. "What title do you hold in my make-shift family?" The Genius thought for a few seconds before shrugging. "I don't know. What title do you think fits me as someone in your life?"

Pursing her lips slightly, Evelyn allowed her eyes to slide close mind pondering on the question. The answer though came not from her brain, but from her heart and the words rose to her lips unbidden, unfiltered and with no hesitation.

"My best friend." Came her sleepy reply, which was followed by a sleepy kiss to his cheek on her part.

Spencer lay there stunned. He took in her half-asleep state. The gentle smile on her lips and her heavily lidded eyes, her breath beginning to even out as she fell asleep. Her eyelids fluttered as she fought to stay awake. A warmth spread through him at her words. One that finally came to settle in his chest. Pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead he whispered against her soft skin. "And you are mine." Humming sleepily Evelyn snuggled even closer to Spencer, greedily seeking his body heat as she slowly succumbed to sleep.

"And Evelyn?"

"Hmm?"

"I don't know how anyone wouldn't think you're pretty…"

"That's because I'm not…"

"You're beautiful."

"Thanks Spence. You're beautiful too."

"You're welcome Evie."

The words slurred as they both drifted off to sleep. Evelyn with her head resting near Spencer's chest, one hand resting against his chest, the other resting atop him, just under his shoulder. And Spencer, for his part, slept with one arm under her waist and the other lifted at a slightly odd angle so that his fingers could tangle in her red hair.

Neither stirred the entire night. Not by the cold breeze. Or nightmares.

                                             ————————–

Tag List - molethemollie @cillsnostalgia @aceofspades190  @kathaaaaaaa @lovelyygirl8 

[fluentmoviequoter]

Knowing You're Close

Pairing: Michael Ormewood x fem!detective!reader

Summary: You work best when you know Ormewood is close, and when he realizes how much his presence affects you, he wants to learn more.

Warnings: fluff, case involves child abduction, Ormewood may be OOC (it's a custom blend of his s1+2 character + how I picture him in the books)

Word Count: 1.5k+ words

A/N: I love him so much but when I write him I get so scared that he's wildly OOC. Plus, all of the gifs of him are from the scene where he (spoiler free, promise) does not look his best, so that's disappointing.

Since you arrived at the station this morning, Ormewood has been tapping his pencil against his desk. You haven’t said anything about it because it’s a reminder to focus on your case. You’re not sure why it’s encouraging you to focus other than the subtle reminder that people have weird little quirks that are only annoying until they’re gone. There may be several families in Atlanta that would give anything to hear their loved ones click a pen or complain about how the dishes were dried one more time if you don't make a break in this case soon.

“Hey, how far is the Coke Museum from the aquarium?” he asks without stopping the rhythmic tap, tap, tap-tap against his desk.

“A mile,” you answer. “About a twenty-minute walk or twelve minutes on Line 26 bus.”

“Thanks.”

You hum and flip the page in your case file. You’re missing something.

“Corruption,” you murmur.

“I told you, the vending machine was broken and taking one protein bar doesn’t make me corrupt,” Ormewood answers.

“What? No, this case, there’s something… I don’t know.”

“I can find it.”

You and Ormewood sigh together before you see GBI Special Agent Will Trent standing before you. Ormewood mouths good luck and then returns to his own work. And the pencil tapping.

“Let me read the files,” Will says.

“Will,” you begin, closing the folder, “you only want to help because you’re bored. Which means you’re going to ask to go out in the field and drag me all over Fulton County, which I am not in the mood for today. So, thanks, but no thanks.”

“Just Fulton County?” Will clarifies, attempting to see the crime scene photos on your desk.

“None of your concern, Agent Trent,” you reply with a smile. “We’ve got it.”

“There’s nothing to do around here!” he complains as he tosses his arms up. “Just pencil tapping!”

Ormewood winks at you as he switches up the rhythm of his tapping. “I didn’t know it was that easy to get out of working with Trent. I’ll have to try that next time.”

“Yeah, you can’t just say no, you have to make it about him,” you explain, closing your eyes as you sit back in your seat.

Ormewood laughs, then rephrases to say, “You tell him it’s not me, it’s you.”

You hum, but then your eyes snap open. “Say that again.”

“It’s not me, it’s you?”

“What am I interrupting?” Faith asks, stopping behind you.

“Didn’t somebody just get cut from the Braves?”

“Uh, excuse me?” Faith tries again.

“In a minute!” Ormewood snaps, leaning toward you. “Yeah. He was training to be a pitcher. Had the potential to be a star pitcher, take us to the world championship.”

“What happened?”

“They had evidence he bought drugs. Swore he wasn’t using, and all of his drug tests came back clean.”

“It’s not me… it's you,” you say under your breath.

“Where’s Will?” Faith inquires.

“Faith,” Ormewood answers, shaking his head as he answers, “no one here cares. We’re not keeping up with your partner.”

“I got it!” you cheer, knocking your chair back as you stand.

“Will. Trent. So-tall, rambles, anybody seen him?” Faith says. “It’s like talking to children.”

“I’ll go with you,” Ormewood offers, trailing behind you as you rush toward the elevators.

Faith watches, tipping her head as she wonders, “Or is it more like puppy dogs?”

“Okay, so Truist Park is at the 75/285 interchange,” you explain. “You can get on either interstate and get anywhere in Atlanta without being noticed. But Dobbins Air Reserve Base is just a few miles up 41 from the stadium.”

“Right,” Ormewood agrees. “But what’s the connection of those locations to the missing girls?”

“These girls were from Atlanta’s nicest neighborhoods. Areas where our city officials sit on the HOA board, or whatever rich people do in fancy neighborhoods. Take a few residents, get the attention of all of the powerful people in the city…”

You trail off, and Ormewood connects, “You get leverage to get what you want.”

“Right, at least in criminal logic. So, this pitcher gets cut on a technicality and decides to show Atlanta what they’re losing, maybe try to blackmail his way back onto the team.”

“Or?”

“Or someone else is trying to get him back on the team. He’s got a cousin, according to his Braves profile, that works at Robbins. The proximity makes me think he’s holding these girls on the base. Granted, I could be way off, and it has nothing to do with a baseball team.”

“Worth a shot. I’ll find your guy, and you look for a hiding place fit for teenage girls?”

“Sounds good.” You look over the top of the car as you climb out and say, “Be careful.”

“You too.”

You answer your phone as you follow a uniformed MP officer through the base to check the lowest security areas of the base.

“I found someone who wants to talk to you,” Ormewood says.

“No, I don’t!” a man argues.

“I don’t believe anyone, ever, on principle. But this is your case, so I’ll hold him here until you’re ready.”

“Thanks. I’ll be right over.”

After the MP officer agrees to finish the search and call your watch commander if he finds anything, you walk across the base and find Ormewood with one arm stretched out and his hand pressed lazily against your suspect.

“Trevor?” you ask the man. “I’m a detective with the APD. I have a few questions for you.”

“I want a lawyer,” he answers.

Ormewood scoffs, and you shake your head at him.

“Are you sure you can’t just answer a couple quick questions?” you ask. “It’ll only take a minute.”

“There are five missing girls out there,” Ormewood seethes, wrapping Trevor’s shirt around his hand. “Think very carefully about how you answer.”

“Lawyer!”

Ormewood steps closer to the man, but you wrap your hand around his wrist and shake your head.

“Alright. Trevor, I’m placing you under arrest for reasonable suspicion of abduction,” you begin, placing handcuffs on him. “You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, which you’ve already exercised, so we can’t ask you any more questions.”

“We just think about how guilty that makes you look,” Ormewood adds as he pushes your suspect into the backseat of the car.

“Officers!” the MP officer yells behind you. “I found something!”

“No, he didn’t!” Trevor yells against the window. “You didn’t find anything, man! Say psych!”

“Psych is not admissible in court,” you point out. “Lead the way, officer.”

“Why are you in my chair?” you ask as you return to your desk after receiving a full confession and recovering all of the abducted girls.

“I decided to offer my services anyway,” Will explains. “You seemed busy. The missing girls are-“

“Home,” Ormewood finishes. “We found them two-and-a-half hours ago.”

“How?” Will questions, clearly surprised by the outcome.

“Not all cases are solved on pure luck or weirdly timed flashbacks, Trent.”

“The whole thing screamed leverage,” you explain with a shrug. “I just had to find someone who needed the rich and powerful on his side. Someone desperate enough to stage numerous abductions to do it.”

“Well, now there really is nothing to do here. Have either of you seen Faith?”

Will stands from your seat as Ormewood suggests, “Maybe try calling each other.”

“Thanks for all of your help today,” you tell Ormewood once you’re alone again. He nods, and you ask, “Why’d you get rough with Trevor?”

“If it was my daughter, I’d want to know exactly where she was as soon as possible. He was going to keep stalling, and a public defender would have loved using his situation to delay until it was too late to save them.”

“Can you tap your pencil again?”

“What?” Ormewood asks, shock and confusion evident in the single syllable.

“It… I like knowing that you’re here, close, okay.”

Ormewood nods slowly, then begins tapping his eraser against his desk. You shift your focus to the paperwork for the case, but Ormewood watches you. Something about his presence seems to help you, provide a comfort that he hadn’t even noticed. More surprising, he thinks, is that he likes knowing how his presence makes you feel.

“Is it just my tapping?” he asks. He seems as surprised to hear the question as you.

“If it is?” you counter. “Will you move to a different desk?”

“I was thinking we find out if sharing a table only works at the station.”

“Are you asking me out?” you clarify.

“I didn’t anticipate the interrogation it would take to get an answer, but yes.”

You smile and tap your pen against your hand with Ormewood’s beat as you answer, “I’d love to.”

“I have got to stop coming down here with questions,” Faith announces as she abandons her goal and returns the way she came.

[landhoe-norris]

here are all twelve fics and one art that the wonderful participants of the winter break fic exchange in the carlando server made and posted.

i want to thank @boohowdy and @ruffboisebvettel for helping me with the planning and execution of this, for the cheerleading and for always being available for anyone who had any questions.

huge thanks to everyone who participated. thank you for putting your hearts and souls into your work; thank you for always being there for each other, and thank you for allowing us to share in your multitude of talents and creativity. you are all amazing people, and the carlando server is lucky to have you all.

*

watch this space, I'm open to falling from grace by tiredtiredsharl (@wolfiemcwolferson)

Summary: Lando is used to not seeing the people who live in the building. He comes and goes at odd hours and he uses the laundry room on his days off in the middle of the day and he checks his mail at 3:30 in the morning, so it’s more weird to him that he runs into Carlos twice in a five day period. He had started to think that he maybe made it up - got dosed at the bar or had a vivid dream about a man who was every single fantasy he’s ever had - tall and broad and hair and hands and lips.

Someone new moves into 4B and nothing is as it seems.

*

are you a future or a fairytale – am i naive or is this real by Missha (Mishtique) (@mish-tique)

Summary: It takes Lando a few semesters before he finally settles for studying photography at an international university. He hopes that this is the time when he finally settles and turns out to be happy studying – his parents just pray that he won’t change his mind again. They want him to settle down, find a nice person and become stable.

He just wants to be happy and live his own life without having people trying to micromanage it.

His sudden decision to also rent a room on campus comes with a surprise in the form of a Spanish, older, and-blessed-with-visuals-shaped-by-the-gods Alpha.

Carlos Sainz Jr is both the best and the worst thing that could happen to him during his first year in uni. Especially when the alpha keeps walking in on him wearing his, his – pretty clothes.

Or: 5 times Carlos catches Lando with something special + 1 time Lando wears something special for Carlos.

*

i love you forever, not maybe (you’re my one true love) by csjr (@boohowdy)

Summary: Lando is starting to suspect that off-camera, he’s quite the soft and gentle guy. What did he say once in an interview? He protects love? I’d love to be protected, Lando thinks.

or: the one where Lando is a student, Carlos is a F1 driver, and they go through a lot before they get their happy ending

*

Twin Flame by Phebes (@phebess)

Summary: 98% of people know exactly when they've met their soulmate. 2% do not.

or: the soulmate slow burn that nobody asked for

*

All The World Wondered 🔒 by biscuitydenim

Summary: Crimean War AU

*

Pull Everything to Pieces by kolyarostov (@landinrris)

Summary: Daniel’s here because he left classified documents on a train for someone to find (and find them they did). Max is here because he was in charge of tailing a suspect who was dealing illegal firearms and lost track of them (and thus the guns that were eventually found at the scenes of various crimes). Pierre’s here because he royally fucked up a diplomatic meeting with the French ambassador (Carlos thinks it was probably accidental nudes). Carlos is pretty sure Nico’s here because no one actually likes him. What he doesn’t truly know is why Lando’s here— but it can’t be good.

Or: Carlos gets sent to the bottom of the MI5 ladder after a training fiasco, and he'll do anything to make up for it.

*

That’s what happens in the movies, anyways 🔒 by Belzebubcat (@waddlingpenguin)

Summary: Lando isn’t sure what he expects. Maybe he thought Carlos would kiss him or- or say it back. That’s what happens in the movies, anyways. He leans in, eyes on Carlos and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Carlos doesn't respond.

There are no fireworks.

No string quartet playing in the background.

It’s nothing like what happens in the movies.

*

Those Lazy-Hazy-Crazy Days of Summer (With You) 🔒 by Toasted_Teacake (@the-toasted-teacake)

Summary: Carlos invites Lando to spend a few days at the Sainz villa under the guise of golf. Lando thinks he might finally be ready to fall.

*

it's the heart that really matters in the end 🔒 by LucysFault (@ruffboisebvettel)

Summary: So here Lando is, completing one step of the journey alongside his son, and a family somewhere out there are on the same path but just starting out. It’s like Candyland in his mind. They’re moving over the finish line while the other family have just had their piece placed on the board.

Or, Lando and Carlos meet in a hospital cafe, Daniel and Charles are their kids, and some springs are worth waiting for.

*

Impractical Magic by goldenboygate (@goldenboygate)

Summary: Charles and Lando were born into a family where falling in love means you end up dead. They take different paths in life, Charles wanting nothing more in life than to feel the exhilaration love brings, and Lando too afraid to ever put himself out there.

When Charles gets into trouble with one of his boyfriends, Lando must figure out how to help him while trying his best not to fall in love with the one man who can take his life apart, Detective Carlos Sainz.

*

Take My Breath Away by kabutocat (@foo1ishheart554)

Summary: Art. Lando and Carlos as Maverick and Iceman from the original Top Gun.

*

take my sweater with the loose threads by sadcornyfuck (@enjoythebutterflies)

Summary: Carlos is a patient man, waiting his entire life for a moment like this.

*

Te amo - I love you 🔒 by NamarieCarlando (@jolandax13)

Summary: Carlos and Lando are roommates. And in love. They just don’t know the other feels the same. But when Landos suppressants run out and he goes into heat, their feelings are finally revealed.

[sparrow-mask22]

The Umbrella Academy Story of The Mothers (5/8) umbrella edition: Efa

TW: childbirth, brief Delores slander, implied mental health issues, mentions of blood

October 1, 1989. Dublin, Ireland. 38 seconds before noon.

Efa Cloherty was a 27 year old woman who had been living in Dublin for as long as she could remember. She was standing in the crowd, watching the clock tower of O'Connell Street Methodist Church strike the hour of noon. As the bells chimed, she felt a sense of both relief and dread wash over her. It was the day she had been dreading for months, but also the day she knew would change her life forever.

Efa worked as a butcher at the Bijou Deli in Temple Bar, a job she had held for the past five years. She was known for her skill with a knife and her unflinching demeanor when it came to the daily slaughtering of livestock. As she made her way to the back of the shop, she couldn't help but feel a sense of dread creeping up on her. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly why; it was just one of those days when everything felt a bit off.

"Hey Efa," called her coworker, Gerry, as she sharpened her knives. "You alright, girl? You look a bit off."

Efa paused, wiping her brow. "I'm fine, Gerry," she lied. "Just a bit tired, is all."

She knew that Gerry could see right through her, but he simply nodded and walked away. He'd known Efa long enough to know that sometimes she just needed a little time to herself. As the morning went on, she tried to focus on her work, but her mind kept wandering back to the reason why today felt so different.

Delores, the owner of the Bijou Deli, glanced at Efa as she went about her tasks. She'd noticed the young woman's distraction, but decided not to say anything. Delores knew Efa well enough to understand that sometimes she just needed time to sort things out in her own head. The deli was bustling with customers, the familiar smell of cured meats and coffee filling the air. The morning rush was almost over, and Efa was eager to clock out and put an end to this day.

(Hahaha Efa your boss has the same name as your son's sex doll. That's funny!)

"So your dad has been after you to bring some of the sausages over to the family farm, huh?" asked Gerry, trying to make conversation as they worked together. Efa nodded absently, still lost in her thoughts. "Well, you know where they live. If he asks for them, you can just tell him you forgot or something."

Efa smiled weakly. "Thanks, Gerry. I appreciate it." She didn't want to lie to her coworker, but she didn't want to tell him the truth either. She didn't know how he'd react. Delores, watching them from the other side of the counter, wondered if there was something more going on than Efa was letting on. She decided to give her a break and offered to close the shop early for her.

But then twelve pm came and went, and Efa’s knees began buckling. She felt a sharp pain in her lower abdomen, and she freaked out. She had completely forgotten about her baby. How could this be possible? She took a pregnancy test that very morning and it was negative. She had just assumed she was imagining things, or that the stress of her job was getting to her. But here she was, in the middle of her work, starting to give birth.

"Efa! Efa, are you alright?" Delores called out, rushing over to her. "You're white as a ghost!" She quickly assessed the situation and realized what was happening. "We need to get you to the hospital right now!"

Gerry and two other employees, Aisling and Cillian, immediately assessed the scene. "We don’t have time for an ambulance," Aisling said decisively. "This baby is coming here and now." She quickly moved to clear a space behind the counter, pushing aside displays of bread and cheese. "Gerry, help me move this," she ordered, gesturing to a large wheeled tray of cold cuts. "Cillian, get some towels from the back and boiling water from the kitchen."

As the three employees worked together to create a makeshift birthing area, Efa began to pant heavily. Delores knelt beside her, holding her hand and murmuring encouragement. "You're doing great, sweetie. Just focus on your breathing." She glanced over at Aisling, who was already setting up a makeshift birthing pool using a large plastic tub and a clean apron. "Aisling, any idea how much time we have?"

Aisling shook her head, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Not really. It's hard to say. This is our first time doing this. But you're doing great, Efa. Just breathe deep and let nature take its course." She glanced over at Delores, who was supporting Efa, her face etched with worry. "Delores, could you hand me that packet of sterile gloves from the back?"

Gerry and Cillian moved the last of the towels and boiling water to the makeshift birthing area, and then stepped back to give Aisling room to work. Aisling placed the towels on the floor, creating a soft, warm surface for Efa to lie on. She carefully spread out the sterile gloves, making sure they were easily accessible.

"Okay, Efa," Aisling said gently. "I'm going to check how far along you are. Just relax and let me know if it hurts." She placed her hands on Efa's abdomen, feeling for the baby's head. After a moment, she looked up at Delores. "The head's already out," she announced. "Just a few more pushes and you should be able to deliver the rest of the baby."

Delores nodded, her eyes filled with tears. "You're doing amazing, Efa. You're so strong." She held Efa's hand tightly, willing her friend to find the strength within herself. "And Aisling, you're amazing too. You're really making this happen."

Efa let out a sharp cry as another contraction gripped her. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, focusing on the sensations in her body. "I-I can't...," she stammered, her voice barely audible. "It hurts..."

Aisling placed a reassuring hand on Efa's shoulder. "You're doing great, sweetie. Just a few more pushes and we'll have the baby here. Cillian, do you think you could help hold Efa up a bit? It might make it easier for her." Cillian nodded and moved behind Efa, wrapping his arms around her waist, supporting her as she continued to push.

Delores's eyes were fixed on the baby's head, which was now emerging from Efa's body. She could see the baby's tiny hands, covered in a sheen of vernix caseosa, and a thick mass of black hair. As the baby continued to push through the birth canal, Aisling gently guided the head, helping it make its way out.

Finally, with one last mighty push, Efa delivered her baby boy. He let out a healthy wail as he emerged, his tiny body covered in a layer of blood and amniotic fluid. Aisling quickly cleaned the baby off, revealing a handsome child with a mop of black hair. "Oh, he's perfect!" Delores exclaimed, tears welling up in her eyes. "Just look at that beautiful head of hair."

As the baby continued to cry, Cillian carefully placed him on Efa's chest. Efa looked down at her newborn son, tears streaming down her face. "He's perfect," she whispered. "Thank you, Delores. Thank you all." She pulled the blanket up around them, cradling her baby close.

Aisling smiled, her heart swelling with pride. "Well, we did it," she said, her voice cracking with emotion. "We all did it together. And we'll be here to help you take care of him, Efa. You're going to be the best mom ever." Gerry nodded in agreement, wiping a tear from his eye. "Indeed you will," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "And we're so grateful to Delores for being here with you. You've been such a tremendous help."

Delores smiled at Efa, her eyes shining with tears. "It's been my pleasure. I wouldn't have wanted to miss this for the world. He's such a beautiful baby." As they all admired the newborn, an old man quietly entered the room. He was dressed in a rumpled suit and carried a worn leather briefcase. His face was lined with age and wisdom, and there was a twinkle in his eye as he surveyed the scene before him.

"Sir, we are closed now," Delores said, noticing the old man as he entered the room. The man, Reginald, didn’t bat an eye at Delores's statement. He slowly made his way over to Efa and Cillian, studying the new family with a curious gaze. "This child is one of the most beautiful creatures I've ever seen," he said, his voice cracking with emotion. "I think I'd like to give him a home."

Efa was baffled by the old man's sudden appearance, but she couldn't deny the sincerity in his voice. "I... I don't know what to say," she stammered. "The baby's not even a day old yet, and we haven't even had a chance to figure out what we want to name him."

Reginald smiled gently, his eyes twinkling with wisdom. "Ah, names can be given. But to find someone who is willing to give a child a loving home, that is truly a gift. You have done well by this child, Efa. You've given him life, and now you're giving him the chance to grow up in a family that loves him."

Delores and Gerry exchanged surprised glances, but they didn't interrupt. This was a moment between Reginald and Efa, and they wanted the young mother to have the chance to speak her mind. Efa looked at the old man, her heart swelling with gratitude. "Thank you," she managed to say. "It means so much to us that you would even consider taking him. We've been through so much, and it's been hard, but we knew we could give him a good life."

Reginald nodded, his gaze never leaving Efa's face. "I understand that, my dear. And I believe you when you say that you can give him a good life. But I need you to understand something as well." He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "If you ever try to find him, to track him down and bring him back into your life... well, let's just say that it wouldn't end well for you." His voice was calm, almost soothing, but there was an unmistakable threat underlying his words.

Efa's heart skipped a beat, and she felt a chill run down her spine. She glanced at Delores and Gerry, who were both looking at Reginald with wide eyes, clearly surprised by his words. But before she could say anything, Reginald reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, worn leather book. He opened it to reveal a series of intricate symbols etched into its pages. "This is a ward," he explained, his voice solemn. "It will protect him from harm, and it will make sure that he can never be found. It is my gift to you, Efa, along with this child."

He held the baby out to her, his wrinkled hand steady and gentle. Efa hesitantly reached out and took the child, cradling him in her arms. Tears streamed down her face as she looked into the old man's eyes. "I... I don't understand," she managed to say. "Why would you do this?"

Reginald smiled, his weathered face creasing into a thousand lines. "Because, my dear," he said, his voice quiet but firm, "your son is not meant for this world. He is meant for something more. And I, Reginald, am meant to protect him. I have seen things, experienced things that you could not even begin to fathom. I know the darkness that lurks in the hearts of men. I know the terrors that stalk the night. And I know that your son must be kept safe from them, at all costs."

He paused, letting his words sink in. Efa felt as if she were being pulled into a world she had never known existed, a world where darkness and danger lurked just beyond the veil of everyday life. "You must trust me, Efa," Reginald continued. "You must believe that I am doing what is best for your child. For all our sakes."

Although reluctant at first, Efa felt a surge of relief wash over her as she realized that Reginald truly intended to keep her son safe. She looked at the old man, his ancient, weathered face creased with lines of wisdom and determination, and she knew that she could trust him. Delores and Gerry, who had been watching the exchange in silence, exchanged glances once more, this time filled with a mixture of hope and uncertainty.

As Reginald took his leave, promising to return in a few days to check on them all, Efa couldn't help but feel a strange sense of loss. A part of her was torn away from her son, but she also knew that this was for the best. She clutched the worn leather book that contained the ward protecting her child, feeling its power emanating from within her grasp. She would never again see her son's face or hold him in her arms, but she took solace in knowing that he was safe, and that he was loved

[meadow-roses]

Meet the Family - part 1

Grace invites Felix out on a date to hopefully pop the question- "would you like to join my team of secret agents?" but she's still not certain he actually has what it takes. Felix, secretly a retired secret agent, is extremely confused when Grace (accidentally) starts speaking in code. Neither of them have any idea what "frogs" stand for in this conversation.

This scene is around three years old, and was written as a character study for Grace back when I first realized she was involved in backstory plot! It's crazy to remember a time when the story didn't include Grace and her pals haha

This is not a scene in the actual story and a lot of the "plot" is not canon, but I thought it would be fun to share with you guys! Enjoy!

Part 1 * Part 2 * Part 3 * Part 4

***

Grace considered herself good at reading people. It was a skill that had come in handy more than once in the past, and now she found it more necessary than ever.

In most cases, getting to know someone is something that happens gradually over time. You learn their name and their favorite color, you know them for a month and find out they don't like spicy food. A year and you'll learn their routine for getting going in the morning, that they had an obsession with model trains when they were twelve-years old, or the story behind the odd knick knack in their bedroom. In a general sense Grace was fully content to get to know Felix in this natural way, but the more she learned the more she got the sickening feeling things weren't adding up quite right.

The traffic on the street outside cut patterns of blue and red in the sunlight thrown over the faded linoleum of the diner floor. They had chosen a table tucked into the corner, away from the service desk and where groups of people stood around the doors laughing and hugging goodbye. Grace had observed Felix often seemed anxious close to a lot of activity, and while she didn't understand it, she liked it when he was comfortable enough to converse without distraction. 

She fiddled with the straw in her water glass as she watched him carefully study the menu.

A rise in volume of laughter from several tables over broke his concentration and he looked up, catching Grace's stare.

"Do you know what you're going to get?" He asked, a finger left to hold his place on the menu.

Grace realized she had forgotten to even look. 

She shrugged. "Mmm I don't know, the second one."

Felix raised one eyebrow and looked back at the menu.

"The second one? I thought you didn't like peanuts." 

Grace laughed. Of course her random selection would end up something like that. 

"I haven't read the menu, I just picked something," She said between giggles. 

"Oh, okay," Felix replied with a chuckle. 

Grace sat up in her seat and leaned across the table, resting her chin in one hand.

"What do you think I should have?"

Felix's eye dropped back to the menu again as he traced his finger over the options. 

"This one is cheddar and steak," he said after a moment. 

"Sounds perfect! What are you getting?" 

She slid back into her seat, the red leather squealing in protest. They must have reupholstered the seats recently. 

"I hadn't decided yet," he replied, sounding slightly embarrassed. 

"No rush, take your time."

Grace watched as he stuck his thumbnail between his front teeth, a strange habit she'd noticed he did when thinking under pressure. This was a perfect way to buy her more time to figure out what to say, even though she had been thinking about this moment for the last few weeks. 

She picked up her own menu from the tabletop, gave the dessert menu a quick glance, then began balancing it to stand between the salt and pepper shakers. 

How do you ask someone if they have a secret identity?

Asking him to meet her for lunch was one thing, asking him to join her on a secret mission? That sort of thing took trust, and she was still unsure she knew enough of his story to trust him.

Although, she doubted anyone with a truly reprehensible past would be able to put on an act as consistently bizarre and endearing as the man sitting across from her seemed to be. Most people hiding a secret identity would go for a more… normal persona.

But trust was a funny thing. Once you've given it there's no way to take it back, not ever fully. She had an oath to uphold, and she couldn't let her feelings for him endanger that. 

"I think I'll just get the same as you," Felix said, breaking her out of her thoughts. 

Grace hummed in approval as he picked up his own menu and stood it up to match Grace's among the condiments. 

"So uh," Felix said, turning the pepper shaker so it fit better into the fold of the menu. "Is everything okay? You seem really quiet today."

"Oh, yeah?" Grace laughed, trying to not sound nervous. 

Felix's eyebrows knit in concern. "Yeah." He paused a moment. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Actually yeah, I just, didn't know how to start." Grace put her fingertip onto her straw and wiggled it back and forth in the glass. 

Felix reached out a hand and placed it gently on her arm. "Are you okay?"

"Oh, yeah! It's nothing bad, don't worry," she hurried to assure him. 

The concern on his face relaxed and he nodded, folding his hands on the table in front of him. 

"I'm leaving on a- research trip, in a couple weeks," she said carefully, avoiding looking him in the face. She found it was becoming increasingly difficult to lie to him when he looked at her with such earnest care, so she settled for a half-truth instead. "I just wanted to let you know."

Felix nodded slowly. "How long will you be gone?" He asked.

"I really don't know," Grace fiddled with her fingers. "It could be weeks, or even a year."

Felix nodded again. He did that when he was trying to think of what words would say what he was thinking. Grace had been taught long ago that a lot of what a person says is not said in only words, that every person has their own unique way of speaking without speaking. Felix, she had found, spoke without words almost more than with. She was still trying to figure out exactly what he meant when his mouth tensed up at the edges when he smiled. Normally she would assume it was just a forced smile, but there was some layer of nuance she knew she was missing. 

"That's great!" He said with that tense kind of smile. "What kind of research are you doing?"

"Um," Grace said. Her mind drew up a blank instead of the pre-planned cover story. She blinked rapidly and said the first answer that came to mind other than the truth. "Frogs! The life cycle of frogs. We're researching frogs." 

She smiled and nodded her head several times, trying her best to pass it off as normal. She reached for her water glass and sucked up a gulp through the straw. 

Felix squinted and drew his head into his neck slightly, an action he did when something didn't make sense to him. 

Grace cringed inwardly. That was a, really, dumb cover story. I might have just botched everything.

"Frogs? That's… really cool," Felix said. He was still squinting, but the smile had returned. 

"Ye-yeah," Grace said, a little too quickly after swallowing her mouthful of water.

Felix watched the resulting coughing fit, alarmed, as Grace tried to get herself under control again. 

"You okay?" He said.

"Sorry," Grace nodded, clearing her throat. "I didn't quite swallow that right." 

Felix awkwardly scratched an itch on the side of his face. "Well, I, hope you have a good time," He said with a hint of confusion to the tone. 

"Thanks!" Grace said, still coughing a little.

Before she could continue, the waitress interrupted to take their order. After the polite exchange of information she walked back to the service desk, leaving the table quiet. 

Felix seemed entirely engrossed in his own thoughts as he squinted intently down at the tabletop.

This was the part where she was supposed to invite him to join her, but who in their right mind would agree to a year long research trip about frogs? She couldn’t tell him the truth, not until she knew he could be trusted with it, but with that kind of a cover story, she was going to have to find another way for the prep team to vet him. 

After a moment Felix spoke, breaking the silence. He sounded like he was choosing his words very carefully, but the words themselves didn’t seem to match the level of care he was using. 

“I didn’t realize you liked frogs that much. What about them do you find so interesting?” 

“Frogs?” Grace said, suddenly feeling like she was missing something very important. “I, uh, you know they are really, uh, important to the ecosystem, and an endangered species and all.”

Felix nodded slowly like he understood something deep. “Endangered, huh.”

“Do you like frogs?” Grace asked, wondering if she’d stumbled on another random interest of his.

“I do.” He replied through his hand placed thoughtfully under his chin. He looked far too serious to be making a joke. 

Maybe she hadn’t blown it after all.

“I don’t know if you would, like to join me on the research trip then?” 

Felix raised both his eyebrows and regarded her silently for a moment. Very slowly, his eye squinted, and he nodded. 

“Yes. I-” His gaze dropped to the tabletop. “I’d like to do that.”

Grace had an increasing feeling that Felix was having a completely different conversation than the one she thought it was. 

“Wait, you… actually want to go on a year long research trip about frogs?” She said, relieving the tension in her pose by leaning forward onto her elbows. “Who would want to study frogs for a year?”

“Don’t you?” Felix raised one eyebrow. 

“Oh yeah, of course,” Grace hurried to cover her mistake. “I was just surprised someone else would.” She laughed nervously and began stirring her water around with the straw. 

The table grew quiet again as the two watched how the ice flashed in many colors as it swirled around the glass. The waitress brought them their food and left the bill, Felix thanking her as she left them alone again.

“So,” He asked, sliding her plate towards her. “When do we leave?” 

[ryehouses]

ive said this before and I’ll say it again: Boba POV for his and Din’s first scene in the kitchens

this was by FAR one of the most requested boba povs -- seriously, i have like twelve of these in my inbox -- so i figured that it would be as good a POV to start on as any!

set during chapter 3, "sha'kajir." the content warnings relevant to that chapter, including some extremely preliminary kink negotiation, some mild non-sexual choking and some painplay, apply.

if you're like "wait, all of the dialogue is the same!" it is, but the ~inflection is different from a different pov.

enjoy!

in which boba fett makes an educated guess. 

If Din Djarin wound himself up any tighter, he was going to snap in half and scatter beskar all over the floor of Ushib’s tidy kitchen, and somehow, Boba didn’t think that Fennec would be very happy with him if he let that happen. 

He wouldn’t be very happy with himself either, honestly. Boba liked Djarin. His side still hurt where Djarin’d gone for a gap in Boba’s cuirass – twice – and he was trying his hardest not to limp where Djarin could see. The mean little lyleck had kicked Boba so hard that Boba was going to need to hobble around with a brace in the morning, though he’d be karked if he let Djarin notice. 

The whole point of getting him in the sparring ring was to get him to relax, Boba thought, watching Djarin across the quiet, dim kitchen. He’d found Djarin in one of the old pit fighting rooms, where Jabba and his court had bet on gladiators, and had brought Djarin here after their spar to put Djarin more at ease. To get him more comfortable. 

Djarin was not comfortable. 

He’d been willing enough to spar, when Boba had finally managed to track him down. For a man in bright silver armor – not even a sensible green, a red that would disappear in low light, a blue that would blend into the sky – Djarin’d been karking hard to find. But once Boba’d managed to dig him up, Djarin had  agreed to spar, and during the spar he had relaxed. Boba had been able to see Djarin. To learn about who he was underneath the armor. 

Any ease that Djarin’d found in the sparring ring was long gone now. He was staring at Boba, one hand curled around a cup of tihaar that he hadn’t yet touched, like he thought that Boba was going to rush him and stick a knife in his belly. His shoulders were pulled tight. His free hand was twitching for a weapon. 

I don’t particularly want to get stuck with the darksaber, either, Boba thought. I’ve already been whacked with that spear. Djarin had only used the blunt end to jab Boba – he was polite enough, for a Mandalorian – but still. Sparring was one thing. Sparring was fun. A good way to blow off some steam. Boba’d hoped that the spar had convinced Djarin that while Boba might whack him around a little in the sparring ring, Djarin wasn’t in any danger here at the palace. Boba wasn’t Bo-Katan Kryze. He had no interest in stabbing any of his allies in the back, no matter what they’d accidentally walked in on. 

I don’t have enough allies to go around betraying them, or to go around shooting them because I forgot to look my own karking door.  

Boba eyed Djarin for another minute, feeling an echo of Djarin’s stress in his own shoulders, behind his teeth, and then turned away, swallowing the tihaar in his own cup. The familiar smell, sharp alcohol and sweet fruit, warmed his mouth. He watched Djarin out of the corner of his eye. Djarin didn’t move, stiff and wary. It was like Boba’d invited a half-starved anooba into his home instead of one of the best fighters Boba’d ever seen.  

Boba sighed. “I thought maybe food and drink would put you at ease,” he admitted, apologetic. Boba had vague, old memories of his father passing around a bottle of tihaar with the Cuy’Val Dar, old grudges set aside while the bottle changed hands. He’d thought that sharing food and drink was a way to set a Mandalorian at ease, but the days of the Cuy’Val Dar were long over, and Boba’d never been very good about remembering what few Mandalorian custos he’d learned at his father’s knee anyway. “But we can do this up in my rooms, if that’ll help.” 

Boba hadn’t wanted to corner Djarin. He knew well enough how a cornered fighter would react, and Djarin hit pretty hard. But maybe Boba’s room, with its open walls and its starlight, would be better. Boba liked the kitchens, personally. Liked the smell of fresh japoor bread and chuba stew. It reminded him of the simpler days out in the desert, sharing a tent with Ushib. 

Boba hadn’t had much to worry about, then. Not getting killed by the Spotted Anooba’s chief, who’d hated outsiders. Not dying of the wounds inflicted by the sarlacc. Life had been easy. Simple. 

Then I had to go off and start a syndicate, Boba thought dryly. Though none of this was in the job description. 

Boba wasn’t sure what had set Djarin off. What made him so tense and wary here. He had walked in on Boba and Theran, but – 

The suggestion – the idea of going up to Boba’s rooms – made Djarin tenser. “Do what,” he said, tone flat. 

Kark. Boba poured himself another small measure of tihaar. Looking at Djarin head-on only seemed to put him more on guard. “Talk about what you walked in on,” Boba said. He’d been willing enough to dance around the issue, to use vague terms or euphemisms; most beings preferred it. Boba’d prefer to keep Theran’s privacy, if he could, but he also needed Djarin to be sharp, if he was going to stick around with the outfit, and Djarin couldn’t be sharp if he was fretting over what he’d seen. 

Djarin was fretting over it. He was so stiff that Boba was half-worried that Djarin would fall over. 

Is it me he’s afraid of? Boba wondered, and the thought tasted sour in his mouth. Respect was one thing. Boba didn’t particularly mind being feared by his enemies either. 

But Djarin – Djarin wasn’t an enemy. Not now, at least. Once he got tired of hanging around on Tatooine and karked off back to the other Mandalorians, he might end up on the other side of a battlefield some day, but here and now, he wasn’t Boba’s enemy. 

“I’m not Jabba, you know,” said Boba, aiming for a light, unbothered tone. Djarin had said that he’d done a few jobs for Jabba. He probably knew how Jabba’d handled things in his court. 

This isn’t Jabba’s court. It’s not going to be Jabba’s court again. 

Boba had promised the universe quite a few things, when he’d been sitting in the sarlacc’s belly. He had decided, if he lived, that he was going to be better than Jabba. Better than Boba himself had been. 

“I’m not gonna have you dropped down into the rancor pit just because you walked in on me enjoying some of my – ” Boba hesitated for a split second, unsure how to describe what he’d been doing with Theran to someone like Djarin. 

For a Mandalorian, Djarin was – different. Boba hadn’t figured out just what it was about him that was different, but Djarin was nothing like the few Mandalorians Boba’d run into over the years. Boba didn’t know anything about him. He didn’t know if Djarin understood what he’d seen, between Boba and Theran. 

“ – odder pastimes,” Boba finished, wincing internally as he did it. He wasn’t very good at coming up with words on the spot. Odder pastimes wasn’t the best description of what Boba and Theran did together, but –

“Is that what it was?” Djarin asked, sounding tentative. “I didn’t – ” he paused too, and Boba wondered if he was blushing under his helmet. 

Boba paused. Pinned that thought down. 

Now where, he thought, did that come from? 

“How you punish your people isn’t any of my business,” Djarin continued hastily, pulling Boba back to the matter at hand. “I just heard – through the door, I heard what sounded like someone in pain.” 

Boba had to blink for a moment, surprised. 

Well, that’ll teach us to play on the main floor, he thought. Theran hated Boba’s rooms. He was as brave as a bladeback, Theran, and had been for as long as Boba’d known him, but Theran was terrified of heights and their old arrangement – renting a room in a cantina somewhere in Mos Eisley – was more dangerous now that Boba was trying to set up an outfit of his own. 

And I wasn’t punishing Theran, either. Theran didn’t go for punishment. He preferred regular, quick sessions, a few licks of the flogger to take him out of his own head for a little while. That was all. For anything heavier Boba would have insisted on his own rooms, or on a different suite. The room Theran’d chosen hadn’t had anywhere for Boba to stash any of his medical supplies, any snacks, anything that Theran might need as he came back up once he’d finished letting Boba bring him down.  

“Theran and I have an arrangement,” Boba said, watching Djarin to see if Djarin would understand the difference between the two. Punishment and arrangement. 

It was harder to guess what Djarin was thinking with all of his beskar on. That helmet was blank. Unchanging. The set of Djarin’s shoulders told Boba that he was uncomfortable, but little else. 

“He knew me before, when all of this – ” Boba gestured at the kitchens, which weren’t really much to look at, but meant the palace above them too – “was Jabba’s. We.. have compatible interests.”

Djarin’s confusion was almost palpable. “Compatible… interests?” he asked, still tentative. 

Boba tried not to wince. C’mon, Mando, you know what I’m talking about. 

Boba’s preferences weren’t necessarily common, but he was hardly the only man in the galaxy who enjoyed wielding a whip. Theran was hardly the only man who liked to be whipped. 

“Ni gaa’tayl,” he muttered to himself, hoping it was quiet enough to escape Djarin’s notice. Boba didn’t know enough mando’a to hold a full, complete conversation with a real Mandalorian and didn’t feel much like dealing with Mandalorian ossik tonight anyway, but sometimes the handful of phrases Boba still remembered from his days on Kamino were the only phrases that felt like they fit how he was feeling. 

Right now, I need all the help I can get, Boba thought. He studied Djarin, trying to figure out what to do.

Best to just – go for it, Boba thought. Boba had never been very good at being subtle. “Yeah, compatible interests. He likes – to give someone else control over his body,” Boba said, trying to explain his and Theran’s arrangement in vague enough terms that Boba wouldn’t completely run over Theran’s privacy, though Theran himself didn’t much care. 

He could tell that Djarin still didn’t understand, though. The Mandalorian had cocked his head a little, listening, like a curious anooba cub. Boba squashed the flicker of amusement and kept going. 

“He likes pain,” Boba said. “He likes… someone to look after him, to decide what he feels and when he feels it.” 

There, thought Boba. That’s about the gist of it, without digging into the specifics. Djarin should understand. Boba’d seen Djarin fight. Had watched him come up with plans, with strategies. Djarin wasn’t stupid. He could figure it out. 

Djarin, if anything, pulled his shoulders up even higher. “And you…” he said, trailing off before he managed to voice an actual question. 

Something about the way that Djarin was sitting – the way that he was looking at Boba, the way that Boba knew that Djarin wasn’t looking him in the eye, even though Djarin was wearing a helmet – scratched lightly at the edge of Boba’s awareness. Felt almost – familiar. 

Boba cocked his head and looked harder at Djarin, trying to see the man underneath the armor. “Like to take control, yeah,” Boba said. In for a peggat, he thought. There was no harm in describing his own preferences. Anybody who’d spent more than five minutes in a room with Boba knew that he liked to be in control. Boba’d accepted that part of himself a long time ago. 

“Like to cause pain, too.” 

Boba saw the moment that Djarin understood. His shoulders twitched, just a little, like Djarin had brushed a live wire.

Interesting. The feeling of familiarity scratching at the back of Boba’s head itched harder. 

“...Oh,” said Djarin. He set his cup of tihaar, still untouched, down on the counter beside him. He didn’t immediately sneer anything derogatory and he didn’t try to bolt, either. Boba watched him carefully for a second, then relaxed. 

Djarin understood. 

He was still tense, though. 

He said that he thought that he heard someone in pain, Boba thought. He came to help. 

Before Boba and Fennec had set off after Djarin – after Djarin had left Tatooine with Boba’s armor, not knowing what it was that he was taking away – Boba’d done a bit of research. He hadn’t been able to find the man’s name, not until Djarin’d shared it, but rumors of a Mandalorian in silver armor fighting the Empire, driving off pirates and rescuing towns from Greater karking Krayt Dragons echoed all over the galaxy. Djarin had helped a lot of people. Had killed a lot of people, honestly, but Boba’d done his own share of killing and wasn’t bothered by it, and all of Djarin’s killing had been pretty straightforward and clean, too. He wasn’t a torturer. He wasn’t cruel. 

He heard Theran cry out, and he came to help. 

“‘S not as bad as you’re worried about, Djarin,” Boba said gently, trying to set the other man more at ease. Theran didn’t notice, and he doesn’t mind an audience anyway. It’s just – it’s a matter of discretion, yeah?” 

“I won’t tell anyone,” Din said hastily, and Boba could hear him blushing. “I’m not – I don’t share other people’s secrets.” 

Boba almost smiled. “No, you wouldn’t,” he said, trying not to laugh at Djarin. Boba’d already known that Djarin could be trusted, at least a little. Djarin was the Resol’nare walking. “You’ve got your honor.” 

Djarin relaxed a little. 

Something in Boba’s gut twinged. Settled. Like Boba had just rounded a corner in Mos Eisley and come face to face with someone in the crowd, like he’ reached for his blaster, but instead of finding an enemy, had found someone that he could trust. 

Recognition. 

The way that Djarin was sitting – the way that he was looking at Boba – Boba recognized it. Had seen it before. 

“But that’s not all I wanted to talk to you about,” Boba added on instinct, though he felt a little bad when Djarin immediately froze. Boba paused for a fraction of a second, debating whether he should follow what his instincts were telling him or just let Djarin go, send him off to work through what he’d just learned on his own, but – 

But something about the way that Djarin was looking at Boba – something about the way that Djarin had fought in the sparring ring, about the way he carried himself – made Boba say, “Sometimes, pain is good.” 

Later, Boba wouldn’t be able to say what it was about Djarin that told him that Djarin was like Theran. Sometimes there were clues. A certain pattern of speech, a certain look, an intake of breath when Boba stood close. Sometimes beings who wanted what Theran wanted just came up to Boba and karking asked. Sometimes it was just a feeling.

With Djarin, it was just a feeling. 

“For some it’s a focus,” Boba continued. “Or a reminder, or a reason.” 

“Is that why you were.. Was it to help Theran?” Djarin asked. He was still holding himself very still. Boba wondered what Djarin would be doing if he’d let himself move. If he’d pick up his cup of tihaar again, or if he’d try to leave. If he’d put a hand over his thigh, over the plate of armor Boba’d hit with his gaderffii, and try to feel the bruise that Boba was sure was growing there. 

A spark of interest licked the back of Boba’s ribs. Trying not to show it – it’d never paid for Boba to play his hand too early, even if he’d had a perfect sabacc – Boba just said, “That’s between me and Theran.” 

What Theran got out of a flogging session was Theran’s concern. Boba’s too, of course – Boba tried to make sure that everyone he played with got what they needed – but it was private, even if Djarin would get something similar out of a flogging session himself. 

Would he? Boba wondered. He is Mandalorian. He ought to be used to using pain, or at least to fighting through it. 

Djarin was a frighteningly competent fighter. Boba knew that the Empire – even the Remnants – had tended to value their own pride over any kind of self-awareness, but if Boba’d been Gideon, he would’ve thought twice before trying to interfere with Djarin’s clan. Djarin had a shriek-hawk’s temper. 

Most of the best fighters had a more intimate relationship with pain than the average being. It came with being hit in the head – and the chest, the gut, kicked in the knee, grappled – so karking often. Djarin was one of the better fighters Boba’d seen. 

Djarin, fidgeting more obviously now, picked his cup of tihaar again and brought it up almost protectively, though he still didn’t make any move to take his helmet off. 

The flicker of amusement in Boba’s chest was brighter now, and it wasn’t as easy to quash. 

He tilted his head, considering. 

I can just let it go here, he thought. He’d explained himself to Djarin. Djarin’d promised that he wouldn’t go spilling the details of Boba’s arrangement with Theran all over the palace. Their business with each other, at least for the night, was done. 

But that instinct – that recognition, searing and bone-deep – wouldn’t let go of Boba, so he said, “Your buy’ce.” He drummed his fingers over his own helmet almost absently. “Can you take it off?” 

He wanted to see Djarin’s face. His eyes. 

Boba knew that there were some groups of Mandalorians who preferred to show their faces only to their families or their close allies. Djarin and Boba weren’t close. They’d known each other for just a little more than a week, and for part of that week Djarin had been unconscious in a bacta tank after defeating a Remnant Moff and upsetting Bo-Katan Kryze’s plan in one swoop. 

But Boba still wanted to see his eyes. 

Djarin clearly hadn’t been expecting the question. He startled, which caught Boba by surprise – he hadn’t seen Djarin startle before. Then Djarin sat up straight, chin up, that fierce lylek look plain even through his armor, and put his tihaar cup back down.  

Boba watched Djarin flex his fingers a few times. 

Interesting, he thought. He wasn’t surprised, though. Just about any being or beast had two reflexes, when surprised; fight or flight. With Mandalorians – with Boba too, either through persistent genetics, training or plain experience – the response was almost always fight. 

Djarin managed to master his urge to punch Boba, though. Boba saw him take a deep breath. Djarin sat up straighter. Boba watched him, intrigued. 

“Why?” Djarin asked. 

That was an easy enough question to answer. 

“Because I want to ask you something,” Boba said. “And I’d prefer to see your face while I do it. If that’s alright?” 

Djarin started at Boba for a handful of seconds. He’d gone stiff again, wound tight with tension, and all that energy would eventually have to go somewhere – Djarin titled his helmet a little and Boba could tell that Djarin was looking for a way out. 

Boba realized that he was between Djarin and the door and tried not to wince. 

Don’t corner him, he reminded himself. That’s going just gonna get you punched again, Fett, or worse. Djarin had already kicked Boba in his bad knee once tonight. 

But Boba knew how to manage this sort of reaction too. Moving very carefully, slow and deliberate, Boba shifted over to the side, leaving a clear path between Djarin and the door out into the hall, ready to let Djarin go if Djarin wanted to. 

Djarin didn’t move. 

Boba let him think about it. He could be patient. He hadn’t become the best bounty hunter in Jabba’s outfit by rushing headlong into things. Boba knew how to wait his prey out. 

Thinking of Djarin as prey, something to be caught – tamed – made Boba’s heart beat a little faster in his chest. Djarin’d put up a fight. He would. Boba knew that he would. It’d be fun. He squashed that feeling too. 

This was about Djarin. 

Finally, after several tense, frozen seconds, Djarin obeyed and reached up, curling his fingers around the edges of helmet. Most buc’ye – buckets – were the same, even if the shape and the features were different. Djarin released the seals with a hiss of compressed air and tugged his helmet off in one sharp move, like Djarin thought he’d stop halfway if he tried to pull it off slowly. 

Djarin blinked in the light, and Boba hid the frown that wanted to pull at his mouth. 

The last time Boba’d seen Din Djarin’s face, the man had been fresh out of a bacta tank. He’d looked terrible. The bacta had kept Djarin’s brain from leaking out of his ears – Boba’d seen the hole in the wall where some kind of new superdroid had done its best to kill Djarin – but even bacta could only do so much, and the last time Boba’d seen his face, Djarin had looked half-dead. Pale, bruised and exhausted, the old, half-visible scars on his face stark in the artificial light of the med bay. 

Despite the fact that it had been a few weeks since then, Djarin still looked awful. The bruises had all faded, but he had shadows under his eyes. His hair, a curly, soft-looking brown, stuck up untidily. His face was thinner, more worn, and the scar between his eyes still stood out, even in the low light. 

What happened? Boba wondered, alarmed. Djarin’d only been on Tatooine for a few days – he couldn’t have been that badly-injured out on his hunt. Boba knew that Fennec had made sure that Djarin had eaten, the night he’d landed on Tatooine. Djarin hadn’t been with them long enough to get this tired. This worn. 

Kryze, Boba thought, darkly. He should’ve known that she’d be too busy with her own karking plans to make sure that her guests – her allies – were well taken care of. 

Djarin held Boba’s eyes for a second. His eyes were dark too, like Boba’s. Kryze and her people all had blue or green eyes. Kalevalan Mandalorians were fair-skinned and fair-haired. Boba’d gone to Keldabe once, when he’d been younger and stupider, convinced that he could scratch out a living for himself among his father’s father’s people, and had been shocked to see how few Mandalorians actually looked like Jango Fett. 

Then Djarin’s eyes darted away again, anxiety plain in Djarin’s face. 

Boba softened. Djarin’d had a long few days, and he was clearly out of his depth.

“Jate,” he said, hoping that the common language would set Djarin more at ease. Djarin started at the word again, his eyes skipping back to Boba’s own for a second, but he did relax some. He rubbed a globed thumb absently over an invisible mark on his bright silver helmet, his eyes finally settling on the side of Boba’s face. 

Not a big fan of eye contact? Boba wondered. If Djarin kept his helmet on in front of everybody but his clan, Boba supposed that that made sense, though he didn't like the way Djarin kept looking sideways at Boba, nervous and tense.

“You don’t show your face often, huh?” he asked. 

Djarin just shrugged, raising one stiff shoulder and dropping it down. He looked at Boba’s cheek for another second, then met Boba’s eyes again. Djarin’s jaw was tight. He clutched his helmet like he wanted to pull it back down over his ears. 

He didn’t, though. He looked Boba in the eye and said, with a bit of a challenge in his voice, “Well?” 

Boba blinked at thim. 

Right, he thought. We were having a conversation. 

Boba let himself hesitate for another second, then pushed on. He’d learned over the years to trust his instincts, and this instinct, this feeling of familiarity – 

I think, Boba said to himself, that Djarin is – like me. Like Theran. He couldn’t say what it was, exactly, but Djarin has hesitated at the door, when he’d walked in on Boba flogging Theran. He’d stared for a second longer than he should have. 

“What’s your relationship with pain?” Boba asked, deciding to take pity on Djarin and cut straight to the point.

It was Djarin’s turn to blink at Boba. “Uh, what?” 

He didn’t bolt, which was a good sign. “What’s your relationship with pain?” Boba repeated, keeping his tone friendly and even. “Good, bad, want it, don’t want it? Does it distract you, or does it help you focus?” 

“Nobody wants,” Djarin began, tone hot and defensive, but he caught himself before Boba could correct him. He would’ve done it gently, but still. Djarin was wrong. Plenty of people wanted pain. Wanted to take it or to give it. 

Djarin chewed his lip, eyes darting up to meet Boba’s again. He was flushed faintly, the tips of his ears red, and that familiar feeling in Boba’s chest hardened into certainty. 

Cyar’yc, he couldn’t help but think, amusement uncurling in his belly. Sweet. 

“Have you ever thought about it?” Boba asked, gently. Gentleness didn’t come very easy to Boba, but he had learned it, over the years. It took more effort to be gentle than to be cruel, but gentleness had its place, even on Tatooine, and Boba found himself wanting to be gentle with Djarin, at least for now. He didn’t know Djarin well enough to know how to push him, yet. To know how far Djarin was willing to be pushed before he fought back. 

“About letting someone hurt you?” he continued. 

Boba saw Djarin swallow, and satisfaction flared bright behind his ribs. 

“Letting someone – no,” Djarin said. One of his hands twitched towards the bruise that Boba knew was darkening across the top of his thigh, but Djarin didn’t touch it. 

“Why?” Boba asked, curious. There must’ve been Mandalorians who enjoyed dominance or submission. Pain and pleasure. Boba’d never been one of them, but Mandalorians were beings just like any other. 

Djarin didn’t answer Boba right away. He shook his head a little, fingers tight around his helmet. 

“Why not?” Boba said, pushing just a bit. Djarin could take it. 

Boba’s persistence got a reaction. Djarin bared his teeth a little and snapped, sharp as a blade, “I shouldn’t need it. The only things a warrior needs are his armor and his courage.” 

Boba almost rolled his eyes. Mando ossik, he thought. Djarin wore his armor proudly, though – and took his rules seriously – so Boba didn’t disparage his people to his face. 

“Those are important,” Boba agreed. “But a warrior can’t march on just courage, you know.” 

Djarin bared his teeth again, studying Boba’s chin intently. “Why are you asking?” he challenged. 

Boba rather thought that it was obvious. “You’re Mandalorian,” he said. “A warrior. Warriors have… an interesting relationship with pain. The good ones, anyway,” he said, throwing Djarin the compliment. Anybody who could defeat an Imperial Moff was a good warrior. Boba’d seen Djarin fight on Tython. Kark, he’d seen Djarin fight here. Boba’d be carrying bruises underneath his cuirass for a good few days. 

Djarin didn’t soften. 

“Not just anyone can push themselves through training,” Boba pointed out. “Some warriors… they get through it because they have to, but others get through it because they like it. Pain helps them focus. Helps them center themselves.” 

Djarin’s shoulders went up again, tense and miserable. 

In for a peggat, Boba reminded himself. “I think it might help you,” he said, still gentle. He looked at Djarin’s leg. He could almost see the bruise that would be blooming there, underneath his silver beskar. Boba hit hard; he could crush a stormtrooper’s helmet with his gaderffii, if he put enough power behind the swing. He could crack skulls, break rocks. Boba couldn’t break beskar, but underneath the armor was just a man, and men bruised. 

Djarin’s flush was spreading. His dark eyes were wide. 

“And,” said Boba, laying down the last of his cards, “I think that you want it, though it’s hard to tell when you’ve got your armor on.” 

 Djarin twitched again, his whole body shivering with the urge to slam his helmet back on. Boba wondered what had made Djarin so defensive. He still wasn’t looking Boba in the eye. 

“Just because I want something doesn’t mean that I need it,” Djarin said. It hurt him to speak, Boba could see that it hurt him, but he made himself speak anyway. 

Brave, thought Boba. And honest. 

“No,” he agreed. “But that doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t have it, either.” 

That won Boba a derisive snort. “I’ve lived this long without it,” Din said. “I’m not – I’m an effective warrior. I provide for the tribe, I haven’t lost a bounty in years, I brought in renown for the Guild – ”

That one sentence had more words in it than Boba thought he’d ever heard Djarin say at one time. Boba wanted to frown again, but managed to avoid it. Djarin was still watching him with wide, wary eyes. 

“Yeah,” Boba said, holding up a hand. Djarin was a battle-trained warrior – he knew how to watch for hand signals, how to obey them, and his mouth clicked shut mid-sentence. 

“I’ve seen you fight, Djarin,” Boba said, trying to reassure the other man. “I know you’re capable.” His knee throbbed helpfully. Djarin had kicked Boba without a second thought. Without hesitation. “I’m gonna have a few bruises of my own when the suns rise.” 

Djarin looked at Boba like he wanted to keep arguing, but managed to hold off. 

Jate, Boba wanted to say. “All I meant is that if you want more,” Boba said, deciding to help Djarin out, “if you want to see what pain could do for you, well.” Boba gestured at himself. “You’re in a good place to try it out, is all.” 

“With you?” Djarin said. 

“If you wanted,” Boba replied, evenly. He was hardly the only man in Mos Eisley who knew how to swing a flogger, though. Djarin didn’t strike Boba as the type of man to trust that kind of vulnerability – his bare back, his submission – to a stranger, but then he really didn’t know Djarin very well, and had only gotten this far with him on instinct. If Djarin wanted to visit some cantina in Mos Eisley and find a stranger to flog him, that was his business, not Boba’s. 

“A few of the palace guards, some beings in Mos Eisley,” Boba continued, determined to give Djarin options. “Fennec, even, though she usually doesn’t play with men. She likes you enough she’d be willing to help out.” 

It had been Fennec’s idea to contact Djarin, actually. She liked Djarin. Respected him. 

Despite that, Djarin made a face, an open, honest expression, and Boba laughed. Djarin flushed again. The curl of amusement in Boba’s belly broadened. 

“Fennec’s out, then?” he asked. 

Djarin didn’t say anything for a while. Boba let him have his silence. Djarin was obviously thinking, and that was really all that Boba could ask from him. If Djarin really hadn’t thought of this before – had never considered intentional pain as a tool, as a relief – then Boba’d give him the time he needed to think about it. 

“What would it… how would I know?” Djarin asked, tentative again. The flush creeping down his neck was distracting. “If I wanted it? If it would… help me?” 

Boba could only shrug, spreading his hands. “I can’t answer that for you,” he said, repaying Djarin’s honesty with his own. “You’d just take it slow, and stop it if there was something happening that you didn’t like.” 

Djarin blinked at Boba again. “Stop it?” 

“Yeah,” said Boba. “In an arrangement – ” which wasn’t the right word, exactly, but was as close as Boba could get without needing to walk Djarin through a thirty-minute lecture – “either party, you or me, if you wanted to try it with me, or you and whoever else you picked, can stop at any time.” 

“Oh,” said Djarin. Doubt still flickered across his face, but there was something else in his eyes too. Curiosity, and something deeper than curiosity. 

Hunger, Boba thought, excitement beginning to build in his chest. 

Technically, he didn’t need to show Djarin anything tonight. Boba’s sessions with Theran were usually pretty short, but Theran was so used to Boba by now – and Boba so used to Theran – that Theran slid to his knees as soon as he walked into the room and gave up control of his body to Boba without a second thought. Boba was satisfied. It had been a good session, despite Djarin walking into it near the end. Boba was comfortable in his own skin. Settled. Between the flogging and the fight, Boba would sleep better tonight than he usually did. 

But the hunger in Djarin’s eyes had a similar hunger rising in Boba, an answer to the question Djarin hadn’t yet asked. 

Djarin licked his lips, then said, “How would I stop it?” 

The faint hunger deepened. “There’s a word, usually,” Boba said. He rattled off a few that he’d used before. “Gev, rahm, luubid, something like that.” A mix of mando’a and tuskra. Djarin ought to know both. 

“Gev,” Din repeated. “It’s that easy?” 

Boba nodded. “It’s that easy,” he said. 

The keen hunger in Djarin’s face shifted. He looked – 

Ravenous, Boba thought. Djarin looked starved. Like he hadn’t eaten for a week, lost in the desert, and had stumbled across a full feast. 

Pushing Djarin now could backfire. If he hadn’t considered pain a tool before, rushing him headlong into a scene probably was likely a bad idea. Boba didn’t know what Djarin liked. What his limits were. He didn’t know if Djarin just wanted pain or if he wanted more. If he’d like to be held down. If he’d want to get on his knees. 

But the look in his eyes, sharp with longing – 

Boba decided to risk it. “Here,” he said, taking a cautious, slow step closer. He left his helmet and his cup of tihaar behind. Djarin didn’t bolt. That was good. “Let me show you. Remember your word? Gev to get me to stop, alright?” 

Djarin tensed again as Boba got closer to him, but made no move to fight. “Alright,” he agreed, wary as a wraid. He shifted like he was going to stand, but Boba shook his head. He didn’t need Djarin to stand, not for this. 

Djarin hesitated as Boba got even closer, but still didn’t pull away. 

If he does, I’ll stop, Boba thought. Djarin didn’t really know what a safeword was, not yet. Not like Theran did. If he pulled back, if he tried to leave, Boba’d let him. 

Djarin just tilted his chin up. He met Boba’s eyes this time. 

Boba grinned. Mando pride, he thought. “Confident,” he said, close enough now for Djarin to touch. Boba got between Djarin and the counter where Djarin had set his cup of tihaar. That way, Djarin could bolt right or left if he had to, and get to the door without Boba blocking his path. Djarin didn't seem like he was going to bolt now, but Boba remembered how tense Djarin'd been when he'd realized that Boba had been between him and the door. “I like that.” 

Djarin shivered a little. He was warm. Boba was close enough now to feel the heat of his body. Moving slowly and carefully, Boba took a hand and did what he’d wanted to do since he’d brought his gaderffii down on Djarin in the sparring ring. He set his hand on top of Djarin’s thigh plate. Curled his fingers around the smooth edges of that beskar. 

The metal was cold. Djarin wasn’t. He went still when Boba touched him. His eyes went wide. Boba smiled at him, amused again, and pushed. 

He did it lightly enough. Boba couldn’t see what Djarin’s leg looked like, not like this, and he didn’t want to cause true pain. He just wanted Djarin to see what Boba’d been talking about. To understand. 

As soon as Boba pressed down, Djarin growled and jerked, twisting like he meant to lurch off the stool towards Boba. It was another, easy instinct for Boba to take his free hand and catch Djarin by the throat. 

He did that gently too, or at least did it as gently as he could. There wasn’t really a soft way to grab a man by the throat, and the look in Djarin’s eyes, wild and challenging, told Boba that Djarin didn’t want Boba to be soft. 

Still, choking Djarin out wasn’t something that Djarin’d agreed to and it wasn’t the kind of thing that Boba wanted to do without talking to Djarin first – without knowing for sure that Djarin would understand just what it was that he was agreeing to – so Boba was careful to keep his grip loose. 

He set his thumb at the corner of Djarin’s jaw. Even through his gloves, Boba could feel Djarin’s pulse hammering wildly. Djarin was still for another fraction of a second, and then his own instincts kicked in and he reached up to try to pry Boba’s hand away from his throat. His helmet fell from his hands, clattering against the floor. 

“None of that, now,” said Boba firmly, keeping his grip steady. If Djarin struggled, he’d hurt himself. Djarin stared at Boba, eyes wild, but obeyed. His immediate obedience made Boba want to smile. 

“Relax,” Boba added, as Djarin’s heart beat hard against Boba’s thumb. “You can still breathe, yeah?” 

Djarin took a few shallow breaths, his throat working against Boba’s palm. Boba didn’t loosen his grip, but he gave Djarin a few more seconds to realize that he was alright. 

“I need to hear you say it,” Boba said. “Can you breathe?” 

Djarin finally blinked, swallowing. “Yes,” he said. His voice had changed. Without his vocorder, Djarin sounded – uncertain. There was a hesitance to him that his helmet usually hid. He finally looked Boba in the eyes, too, and Boba could see Djarin’s shock. His confusion.  

“Jate,” said Boba warmly, immediately rewarding Din’s obedience. Djarin’s eyes widened at the praise. Boba couldn’t help but soften, instinctively adjusting his approach. He didn’t know what Djarin wanted just yet, but praise was usually well-received. “Very good,” Boba said. He didn’t have enough mando’a to tell Djarin to let go of his hand. 

Both of Djarin’s hands were wrapped around Boba’s. Djarin had a good grip. A warrior’s grip. He could break Boba’s hold, if he wanted to. 

“I want you to let go of my hand, alright?” Boba said, speaking slowly so that Djarin could hear him over the adrenaline, the confusion, that must be crashing through him now. 

Djarin blinked. His grip didn’t loosen. 

“Grip the edge of the counter, if you have to,” Boba said. Theran didn’t need anything to hold onto during a session, but it was alright if Djarin did. “But I need you to let go. I can make you, if you need me to.” 

Boba’d have to let go of Djarin’s leg to break his grip, but that wouldn’t be the worst thing. Djarin had given Boba a hell of a fight in the sparring ring, but here, now, Djarin was off-balance. Unsteady. 

Djarin swallowed again, looking a bit like Boba’d punched him between the eyes, and finally obeyed. His fingers loosened, one by one, and Djarin let go of Din’s hand. 

He did grab the counter, one hand on either side of Boba, clutching the wood so hard that Boba heard his gloves creak, but he let go of Boba’s hand. 

“Good,” Boba praised again, watching as Djarin swayed towards him like he’d been caught in a gravity well. Like he couldn’t stay away. 

Boba liked this part. His own heartbeat picked up, not as fast as Djarin’s, but fast enough. 

��Very good,” Boba repeated. “Don’t let go.” 

Djarin didn’t say anything. He’d heard Boba, Boba knew that he had. He applied just a bit of pressure to Djarin’s throat. Djarin’s breath caught again, a sweet little sound and a dark sort of satisfaction preened in Boba’s chest. 

Maybe I didn’t burn as much off with Theran as I thought. 

“I need to tell you that you understand,” Boba said. 

Djarin stirred again, heart hammering, but managed to say, voice thick, “Yes. Yes, I understand.” 

Boba made a pleased noise. “This is going to hurt,” he warned. He made sure that his grip on Djarin’s throat was loose, so that Djarin could breathe without trouble, and then returned his attention to the plate of armor across the top of Djarin’s thigh. 

Slowly and deliberately, Boba began to push. 

Djarin lasted three or four seconds before he made a sound, a low, thin noise of pain. It was as sweet as music. Djarin’s eyes met Boba’s again and his pupils were almost entirely blown, his eyes black in the dim light of the kitchen. Djarin’s mouth parted.

He wanted to collapse against Boba’s body, but he wasn’t letting himself. Djarin stayed straight as his spear, shoulders back, chin still tilted defiantly. That was alright. Boba had some time. 

He kept pushing. Pressure bruises weren’t really Boba’s specialty, but he understood the theory, and it’d be a good demonstration for Djarin, one that would show him what Boba meant about pain without scaring him or putting Djarin on his knees. 

I do want to put him on his knees, Boba thought, the desire flashing through him. He’d look good on his knees. 

This wasn’t about what Boba wanted, though. Djarin caught another thin sound of pain, gritting his teeth, and tried to pull away from Boba again, though he didn’t let go of the counter, so Boba was fairly confident that Djarin wasn’t really trying to get away. He watched Djarin’s mouth closely, ready to let go at the first sign of gev, but Djarin didn’t say it. 

“Easy,” Boba soothed, resisting the urge to lean in and nose at Djarin’s temple. Djarin kept fighting. Boba sighed. “You’re stubborn, you know that?” 

Djarin flashed his teeth again, snarling at Boba, and another wave of amusement rose and fell behind Boba’s ribs. 

He did like Djarin. Djarin was a fighter. 

“Easy, Djar’ika,” Boba said, the name falling off of his tongue before Boba could snatch it back. It wasn’t a conventional nickname, as far as Mandalorian nicknames went, but Boba liked the sound of it better than Din’ika, and he hadn’t yet called Djarin by his first name anyway. 

Djarin evidently felt otherwise, because he jerked again at the nickname and made a sound like an angry anooba. 

Boba couldn’t help but laugh. “Easy,” he said again, trying to help Djarin understand. He didn’t ease up on Djarin’s leg and he didn’t let go of Djarin’s throat, either. “Don’t fight me so hard. Lean into it. Let it happen.” 

Djarin showed no sign of listening, so Boba tried something else. For Theran, it was mostly about the pain. Theran didn’t care much for restraints, for being held down, for being made to take a flogging. 

But Djarin was Mandalorian, and Mandalorians were peculiar. Proud. Mando ossik, Boba thought. Maybe Djarin would only let himself enjoy this once he realized that he couldn’t get out of it. 

“It’s not like you have any other choice, yeah?” Boba asked, following the instinct. He’d made pretty good guesses so far, anyway, and decided that he might as well keep following his luck. “Unless you have something you want to say?” Boba loosened his grip, reminding Din that he could speak, if he wanted to. If Djarin didn’t like this – if he was really struggling, and not just putting up a token fight because he thought that he had to – he could stop it with a word. 

Uncertainty flickered across those dark eyes of Djarin’s. He panted against Boba’s hand. He was tense again, wound taut, and his breath came short with fear. 

But he didn’t say gev. He didn’t say gev. He looked Boba in the eye, his teeth half-bared in pain, and didn’t ask Boba to stop. 

Boba smiled at him. Stroked a thumb against the corner of Djarin’s jaw. 

Djar’ika, he thought. “I think,” Boba said. “That I can help.”

[elizaditton]

Too Small To Be Afraid (Chapter 2)

Links:

Cover / Master Post / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

- - - - - - - - - -

My lungs cry out for more air than I can give them with each step of my quickening pace. I clutch the strap on my overnight bag to keep it from falling off my shoulder.

"3:57," Dad says, glancing at his watch as we run through the undercity railway entrance. "We can make it!"

"What?!" I holler to him, nearly losing my footing as we move up the stairs. "We're not going to make it, are you crazy?!"

We dart across the station, weaving through crowds and passing numerous trains. I lose count of how many times I've had to say 'excuse me' after bumping into so many people along the way.

"Don't tell me you've already given up hope!" Dad's gaze shifts upward. "Now, which platform was it again?"

"It's platform 16B, and I gave up hope when the movers arrived while we were still packing! We're lucky they were willing to wait the extra fifteen minutes for us to finish!"

"There it is, platform 16B! And with one minute to spare! Hah!" Dad laughs triumphantly and glances down at his watch. "Uh-oh."

"No uh-ohs!" I sprint through the crowd to catch up with him and look down at his watch. "4:02?!"

Dad and I turn our gazes to platform 16B and behold its trainless track.

"Well... I guess we can wait for the next one," Dad says, scratching his chin.

"That's three hours away," I say, pressing my fingers to my temple.

"How do you know that?" Dad starts looking around. "Did you see it somewhere?"

"I looked it up earlier in case... well, this happened again."

"Again? What do you mean?"

"Well, for starters," I say, folding my arms. "When we visited Grandma two years ago? We missed the train and made her wait up late for us."

Dad shrugs. "Okay, but that was just one time."

"Alright, then what about the time we went to North Eris to visit Uncle Lewis?"

"That was ages ago! You were only twelve!"

"Okay, what about when we wanted to take a day trip to Ashani last year? Or when we nearly missed the train home from the university this morning?"

Dad raises his hands in defeat. "Okay, okay," he says. "So I'm not that great at catching trains."

A voice overhead interrupts our conversation, "The four o'clock train from Maedri to Chancelor is now approaching platform 16B. We apologize for the delay."

Dad turns to me with a big grin and finger guns ablazing. "Made it just in time!"

I roll my eyes and smile. I guess he wins this round.

Shortly after boarding the train and sitting in the old, worn leather seats, we begin to move away from the only city I've ever called home. I set down the bag I was holding onto so tightly and rub my legs in an attempt to relieve myself of goosebumps.

"Hey," Dad says, pointing upward. "This train has a series of real skylights along the track. Maybe you can get some good nature pictures."

I look up and see a window. Through the window is the dull, lifeless sea of gray that is the ceiling to the undercity. It stares back at me, almost taunting me as it selfishly conceals the beauty of the world hidden above the surface. I pull out my phone, my heart racing at the opportunity to see the nature scenes the skylights have to offer. I've grown tired of the same old videos that play on the artificial skylights in town and have been longing for something real. I sit and wait in restless anticipation for the skylights to appear.

All at once, the melancholy of the undercity is stripped away as I'm nearly blinded by a bright blue sky. Fallen blossoms adorn the glass above, in beautiful shades of pastel pink and white. Big, wide, sturdy trees reach high up into the heavens with no end in sight. The sight leaves me in such awe that I forget to take any pictures.

And then I see two pertheans tower over the glass.

Everything stops. I let out a gasp, my phone slipping through my fingers and onto the train floor. My insides flip completely upside-down, and my entire being trembles as I turn my widened eyes to the ground.

Something touches my left shoulder, causing me to flinch. I turn and see Dad's hand resting there.

"Breathe," Dad whispers. "It's okay."

I take in a shuddery breath and hold it in for a few seconds before letting it go. Shaking, I lean over and pick up my phone from the train floor. That's enough surface world for one day.

[anders-hawke]

mulder being a stay at home dad and actually raising william would have healed him

Literally! The heart of The X-Files was always family. Mulder’s whole journey in the show was accepting that Sam’s disappearance wasn’t his fault. Not that he ever believed that Sam being abducted was his fault, but he believed that he was guilty of not doing his duty as her older brother to protect her. He does the same thing with Scully’s abduction and the painful events thereafter, blaming himself for not saving her from Duane Barry, for not preventing her cancer, for not finding a cure for Emily.

Scully becomes his family, and he protects her with the same zeal as he does Sam: “Nothing else matters to me,” from the pilot when he’s saying it about uncovering government secrets to find Sam; and then, “Nothing else matters to me now,” from that deleted scene from “The Red and the Black” when he’s telling Scully that his priority is figuring out why abductees are being summoned places by their chips—to protect Scully.

He intended to spend his whole life looking for what happened to Sam, would martyr himself for the cause if he had to because the only thing that ever mattered to him after her abduction was being an older brother. He shifts his commitments to be tied between Sam and Scully, because they’re partners in the professional, platonic, and romantic sense of the word.

Becoming a father was the most natural conclusion of his character arc. I believe that’s why it works so well for Scully to end up wanting kids, too. In Mulder’s quest to “make up” for failing as an older brother, he punished himself with shallow relationships like with Diana, Phoebe, and Kristen. His parents were already wallowing in their own misery and self-pity/self-flagellation, so they were of no help. Scully was the first person to tell him that his wants and desires mattered, that he deserved happiness—getting out of the car. She doesn’t just say that because it’s what she wants, of course; she wouldn’t keep begging him if she didn’t understand that Mulder wanted it, too.

And when he finally accepts that he needs to let Sam go, stop focusing on walking into that room every day—let Scully hold his hand as she goes there with him and guide him back out—he’s free to enjoy the bond he’s forged with her. Free to want a family and want an end to their work, which by necessity requires self-sacrifice. Mulder was never really married to the work, he was sacrificing himself on the blade of it, waiting either for the truth to come to him through all the pain or to die first.

He doesn’t want a kid to come between them, doesn’t want them to forget each other and stop caring enough about each other, because he knows what it’s like to have a dysfunctional family—to have a mother that’s not there for you like you need them to be and a father that’s not there for you like you need them to be. He doesn’t want a baby to be the thing that finally breaks them, makes her leave him behind so he’s all alone again like he was at twelve in the room he spent so much of his life walking into over and over.

He would’ve loved to be a stay-at-home dad, reveling in the normalcy of domestic life. Staying up with Will to feed him at two in the morning with the TV on low, knowing that it wasn’t all in vain—that better things will come if you have the strength to believe in them. Strapping Will to his chest to surprise Scully at work, dressing him up as Spock for his first Halloween, celebrating New Year’s at the volume of a mouse with the TV all the way down so they don’t wake him up…

It’s so painful to watch him lose people over and over again because what is he if not a brother? A son? A father? A partner? Scully made him whole because she tells him that no matter how his life changes—no matter the people that he loses and the relationships that fall apart—he will always be his sister’s brother and his parents’ son and their son’s father and her partner. He will always matter. He doesn’t have to prove himself, he can just be.

When all the dressings of the show are stripped away, Fox Mulder is a family man. He would’ve been so happy to stay home with William and live a fulfilling life that way. Really fucking sucks that the show never so much as acknowledged that. But that’s what the fic is for!

[tetsunabouquet]

Heir To The Lands Chapter 45

Glitters and Splinters of Hope Masterpost

As Thais grew more calm, they discussed things out further. Dru decided to go for everyone's safety and to tell them Ash knew where Kit lived and that it should be safe to assume the entire Seelie Court and the Princes of Hell did. She promised to Thais not to treat Laura any differently, Laura had simply been under the influence just like Thais and hadn't meant to do what she did. It was frightening and scary to be honest to everyone, and whilst Dru had nearly succumbed to another panic attack, she managed to pull through and tell everyone the truth. Tessa had been horrified especially, and Kit with a heavy heart had pulled a gun out that belonged to James Herondale. Apparantly it was effective even to Princes of Hell as it had worked on Tessa's father. That gun seemed to be a glitter of hope, resting in Kit's hands.

Livvy and Jeroen walked through Brocelind Forrest. His face seemed even paler then it usually did and his wavy black hair drifted along his shoulders like threads of ink. "So you lived here for the past couple of years, right? How did the Cohort evolve?" Livvy asked, thinking asking for a bit more inside information and what the Cohort had been planning would be good before they would spy on what had happened to them after the massacre. Jeroen pursed his lips. "Not well, I suppose? The famine made many turn their backs on Zara. The people who stayed in Idris for their pride like my family still aren't loyal to their causes and have only been putting up with their rules to maintain the peace. Whereas most of those who are loyal to the cause do not equate it to loyalty for Zara. Most think she doesn't had her father's scheming abilities and blame the famine on Zara's bad planning." Livvy nodded, secretly glad to hear Zara wasn't a good leader in their eyes. She honestly hated her and wouldn't be sad to find out Zara had been killed. She stopped in her ghostly tracks as Jeroen placed his hand on her shoulder and she looked up with a frown. "Is something wrong?" "No, I just wanted to do a comforting gesture, you know, considering we're about to walk into the place we've both been killed." Jeroen fumled, retracting his hand. Livvy blinked in surprise, but it was true that they were both killed in the same spot. She nodded at his act of empathy and walked onwards. Jeroen seemed to be a very kind and thoughtful gentleman. When she left Ty and Kit after discussing her departure that morning, he was waiting outside for her in the trees, saying he had been patrolling around the home just to be certain they were safe. Livvy, if she were to be honest, actually rather liked having a friend all to herself that she didn't have to share with Ty or Kit. She had been so cut off from the group's conversations with most not being able to see or hear her that she felt it had been driving her insane. This was nice. The two of them snuck their way to the street where the Boomkikker family held residence, planning to check on wether there was anyone of the family left alive first. Livvy thought that Jeroen deserved to know wether they were alive before they would spy on the Cohort itself. Jeroen halted as they came across a scene, various Shadowhunters were walking out of a home, carrying two crates, filled mosrtly with tomatoes and apples. There were also a few carrying what looked like old antiques out of the house. As Jeroen crumbled onto the street, Livvy knew what she was looking at. None of the Boomkikkers had survived the massacre, and their home was getting ransacked by the people who did survive. Jeroen sobbed for his parents but most of all his sweet younger sister. "Ellie was twelve!" He roared at the people, tears falling down his face as he hiccuped, looking as if he wanted to snatch all the belongings away from their arms. But Jeroen could only watch, and Livvy sank down next to him. Thankful ghosts could touch each other, Livvy embraced him as the boy weeped out of helplessness in her arms.