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scaredyships · 4 years ago

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Renegades (Din Djarin x gn!Reader) | pt. III

summary: Mando picks out the planet Sorgan for the three of you to lie low on. Things get complicated, Reader gets a glimpse of how hectic Mando's life can be as a bounty for hire, and everybody is confused about feelings.

word count: 14.5k (...help)

author’s notes: Good LORD I was stuck on this for way too long. Between my creative focus being elsewhere and just being completely stuck as to how I wanted some scenes to play out, it took a lot for me to do more than a sentence or two at a time and then forget about it for days or weeks at a time.

This was also hard to write bc I am very uhhh put off by Omera and her original role as the possible love interest and I was trying very hard to remain believable/respectful about her. Cara Dune was also hard to write because of certain actions by her actor, so she's got a little bit of a lesser role.

I'm saying this now, with future chapters I am not going to be going episode-by-episode like I originally intended. I might jump around and have some "filler" things, I may completely skip over some episode happenings, I may diverge from canon here and there, but generally the outcomes will be the same as the show. I cut out the actual battle of Sorgan too bc this is already too long and I am terrible at writing action scenes. :v

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 (you are here) // ao3 link

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It had been a couple days since you’d set yourself up a space in the hold. At least, it felt like a couple days. You weren’t accustomed to space travel and dealing with the lack of solar cycles to indicate the passage of time, so it was difficult to tell exactly. It didn’t really matter, in the end, but it was still a little annoying.

In that time, you spent most of your time getting to know your way around the Razor Crest’s small layout, what panels and buttons did what, and making sure the child on board was cared for and didn’t get into anything he shouldn’t. Easier said than done, as that kid was surprisingly sneaky and far too curious. He seemed well-behaved, right up until you weren’t looking, and the next thing you knew he was doing something like rooting around in a pile of netting and getting hopelessly tangled, or trying to put things in his mouth to teethe on.

Right now, the kid was up in the cockpit with Mando. Even though you were on board to help out, Mando still seemed to feel better when he was in the same room as the kid versus you being the one supervising, and to be honest it was nice to have a break from babysitting. You had never wanted kids of your own to begin with, and though this kid wasn’t exactly your standard child, it reinforced that at the end of the day, the factor of being able to give the child back to their actual caregiver played a large role in just how tolerant you were of them.

The entire ship suddenly jerked to the side and sent you crashing into the hull wall, your shins narrowly avoiding smashing against the edge of one of the crates lying around. To say you were shaken was a bit of an understatement, despite not a moment later, the normal smooth flight pattern returning and the ship righting itself. Did Mando hit something? Was some part of the ship on the verge of breaking down completely? You did a quick sweep to make sure none of the weapons lockers were damaged and that nothing was in danger of going ogg. You swore, this man had far too much firepower on board and one day it was going to come back and bite him.

Fortunately, everything was where it should be and the only things really out of place was your now-askew space, and your frazzled self. Huffing, you sped over to the ladder and clambered up to the cockpit to see if you could find out what was going on. On your way up, you could hear the low, modulated voice of Mando speaking, very likely to the child with the tone you could pick up.

“Ready to lay low and stretch your legs for a couple months, you little womp rat? Nobody’s gonna find us there.”

“Nobody’s gonna find us where?” Your head and shoulders were poking out of the ladder hatch, arms folding over the edge as you gave the pair a pointed look. You weren’t about to let Mando decide where you were going to camp out for months without you giving some input.

The Mandalorian turning to face you with the child in his lap was almost comical, like they’d been caught doing something they weren’t expecting to be called out on. You didn’t see any sign of concern over whatever had shaken you down below, so you figured you could bring that up later.

You could see a holomap beyond Mando, though it was too far for you to make out any of the text on it. You dragged yourself the rest of the way into the cockpit, righting yourself and coming to a halt just far enough that you could read the screen.

“An outer rim planet.” He leaned aside and let you read the screen’s details. Sorgan, huh. You vaguely remember that name from when you were compiling planets for Mando back when this whole mess started. The details past that escaped you, though. You squinted as you read on. No populations outside of small settlements to speak of, no starports or anything industrial… and it was one of those planets made up of a single biome - swamp.

To be honest, you weren’t thrilled at the idea of actually camping out for so long in such a place. You were so accustomed to being in places that had somewhat larger settlements, and absolutely more tech than this planet likely had, not just for business but simple things like staying entertained. But you were even less thrilled at the fact that this was a swamp planet. You knew not all swamp planets were the same, but the simple holomap readout didn’t indicate any further details about what kind of swamps it was made up of.

You hope above all things it’s not a bog planet like Nal Hutta. Gaseous atmosphere, skies choked by sickly green clouds, brown water, hardly any land to speak of.

You turned and gave Mando a look. “No information about the biome past ‘swamp’?”

He shook his head in that slow, deliberate way of his. You exhaled through your nose.

“Not a fan of swamps?”

“You could say that.” You turned back to the screen, like staring at it might make it give up more information. Maker , you missed your database.

“How far away are we?”

“Not very, maybe an hour or two.”

You stepped back and fell unceremoniously into one of the passenger seats further back in the cockpit. The child, who had been watching you through this whole exchange, seemed to lose his interest once you sat down and went back to looking curiously around at the controls laid out in front of Mando. You could almost see the cogs turning in his head, and you started to suspect he had something to do with the ship going sideways earlier. Probably got a hold of the controls somehow.

“I guess I’ll have a better idea of where we’re going once we get a look at the planet.”

The Mandalorian nodded, and turned back to the controls to pilot you all there.

You had been closer than you anticipated, though it was still not a very short journey. Instead of going back down to the hull, you opted to stay in the passenger seat and simply wait. Jumping to hyperspace was something you had yet to get used to, but after so long of the smooth traveling with the smears of light streaking past the windscreens, you found you could relax a little and rest your eyes.

A jolt in the ship as you exited hyperspace shook you awake. Blinking and sitting up in your chair, you peered out the window at the planet taking up the view.

Deep green. Streaks of blue. White cloud cover. You breathed a sigh of relief and slumped back against the chair back.

“Acceptable?” There was a hint of amusement in Mando’s voice. You smirked at him.

“Yeah, I’m fine with it.” You actually were looking forward a little to seeing just what kind of plant life was on this planet. You could see a fair amount of tree coverage, which meant forests. It had been far too long since you’d seen proper forests, let alone been out in one. You had tried to replicate it with your plant corner back home, but it was never the same. Some time amongst real trees would do you good.

The descent had you watching out the window the whole time, surveying the landscape as its features came into view. It had its marshes and rivers, but equal amounts of coniferous forests and solid land. This place could almost pass for an arboreal biome planet in places. You spotted very few settlements on the way in, too, and what you did see looked to be the most basic of small villages.

Mando landed the Razor Crest some ways away from a small market, hidden amongst ample tree coverage. He locked down the controls and lifted the kid with one arm, removing a small silver ball from his clutches to attach to one of the levers in the array.

“I’m going to go out and find us some lodging. Wait here with the kid. Don’t let him touch anything. I’ll be back.”

He passed the child off to you, with such surety that you’d take him that he nearly dropped the little one on you before you could respond. You grabbed him with both hands in a slight panic, thinking he was about to fall, and in doing so your fingers gripped into the gloved ones already supporting his weight. Even with the barrier between skin-to-skin contact, it was awkward and had your face heating with embarrassment that you’d accidentally touched the bounty hunter. He, however, made no indication of any such reaction, damn that helmet making him unreadable. His hands withdrew once it was certain the child was in your grasp safely.

You and the child stared at each other as you held him out before you, like you weren’t sure what to do with him now. He looked back at you with a similar expression, and you swore there was a hint of some sort of mischief underneath it. Oh, he had definitely been the one to make the ship go off-kilter, no doubt now. And knowing your luck, he was going to do more of the same once Mando left. You’d already experienced him trying to eat trash despite you actively watching him, you knew he was capable of more.

Mando descended the ladder into the hold, and the sound of the ramp opening up reached the cockpit. You looked out the windscreen, watching as the Mandalorian appeared in your field of view just as the sound of the ramp closing itself back up sounded.

And that was all it took.

The child turned into a complete nightmare the instant it was clear Mando was gone. It didn’t matter what you did - first he fussed and squirmed to be let down, so you did, and the second you turned your head he had somehow managed to get into the pilot’s seat and was attempting to mess with the controls. Every time you picked him up, he fussed again, wriggling and whining loudly, and whenever you set him back down he went straight for whatever he knew he could get in trouble for. You tried to keep this up as long as you could, which proved to be a pathetic five minutes or so. It was like having an extra-smart, extra-naughty loth cat with thumbs on board.

“Okay, kid. We’re going down to the hold. You can’t accidentally start the ship up down there.” You snatched the kid up under his armpits, and though he continued fussing, it was much less, like perhaps he wanted to be in the hold. You knew that the hold had just as much, if not more, for him to get into trouble with, what with the armory down there, but it was better than possibly starting up the engines and taking off.

You awkwardly climbed down the ladder with one arm latched around the child, and once you reached the floor you set him down, hoping he’d behave a little more. How wrong you were. It was like the kid instinctively knew where the controls for the ramp were, because he made a beeline for that panel - knocking whatever he could out of the way just to accentuate his point - and reached his-far-too-short arms into the air like he could possibly reach it if he just tried hard enough. No amount of you trying to redirect his attention or picking him up to set him down elsewhere worked, he would cry and go straight back to the panel and give you repeated looks with big, desperate eyes, like you were a monster for not understanding he wanted to open the door.

“Mando told us to stay here. So we’re going to stay here until he gets back.”

It was when the loud crying started that you knew you had lost the battle.

That alone was one of your top reasons for not desiring children - you couldn’t handle the noise that came with an upset child. Not for any good parental reason like not wanting to see them sad. You genuinely couldn’t stand the screaming, it set you on edge and made you want to scream in turn. And here one was, cries bouncing off the hull walls and drilling into your eardrums with far more force than you could have imagined possible for something so small.

You rushed as fast as you could towards the control panel and slammed the button to open the ramp.

“OKAY! Okay, okay, you win, we’ll go find him.” You glared down at the kid, whose clear face and perked ears indicated the crying had all been an act. You sighed heavily. He’d only known you for maybe a few days and he already knew how to get you to do what he wanted.

“He’s not going to be happy, you know that, right.” The child just tilted his head at you, smug little face seeming to say “no, he can’t get mad at me”.

You wandered back to your area not too far off to get some of your outerwear on - your belt, your ear piece, your blaster, whatever you might need in the immediate future. The neck gaiter you loosely wore got pulled up to securely cover the lower half of your face - it made you feel more secure, somehow, when you were venturing out into strange places. You picked the kid up and awkwardly shifted him to one arm, making your way down the ramp, and hoping you wouldn’t get into too much trouble with the bounty hunter. The kid, meanwhile, happily burbled in your grasp.

With a deep sigh and a roll of your eyes, you marched out onto the planet’s surface in the direction you had seen Mando go.

You were right. Mando wasn’t happy at all.

He had been trudging along, lost in his thoughts about what kind of lodging he should be looking for now that there wasn’t just him, but you and a child to account for, but still attentive enough to his surroundings that when he heard what sounded like distant footsteps crunching through the undergrowth he paused.

It was when he heard the sounds of the child babbling and you calling out to him to wait that his wariness turned to mild panic, and he rushed towards where he could hear your voices, hand staying within reaching range of his blaster. What had happened? He told you to stay back at the Crest and yet here you were, with the child. Had you been discovered, and just barely escaped? Was the Razor Crest captured?

He came to a halt just a few feet from you, surveying you and the child for any signs of distress or damage, stance wary and ready for a fight.

“What happened?” His tone was terse, apprehensive.

You looked wryly down at the bright-eyed child in your grasp, and back up at the bounty hunter. Or rather, somewhere in the general vicinity of him, as you found you couldn’t look directly at him.

“He, uh. Was very upset at you leaving without him.”

Mando’s defensive posture deflated and he tilted his head in a way that you knew he was giving you a disbelieving look.

“I told you to stay put, and the kid throwing a fit is all it took for you to leave?” He didn’t miss the way your mouth tightened into a thin line and your brow furrowed.

“He wouldn’t stop trying to be destructive, and when I tried to move him he’d just scream and go for the ramp! Look, I told you I wasn’t the best out there with kids.” You snapped, glaring into the blank visor.

Honestly, he could tell you were disappointed in yourself for caving so easily, and he probably wouldn’t have fared much better with his own lack of experience with children. But you could have been followed, and now the ship was unattended. The child, however, looked content as ever, his plan having worked. He sighed. It was what it was at this point. At least he was still in range that could lock the ship up remotely with his vambrace controls, which he set to doing immediately.

“Come on, then.” He motioned with a hand as he turned back to the direction he had come from, cape swirling around his form dramatically. You exchanged a tired glance with the smug kid, having half a mind to set him down and make him walk the rest of the way to wherever you were going.

“You’re lucky you’re at least a little cute.”

By the time you get to civilization, you’d let the kid down to walk - just beside Mando, and you just behind the child. Two unlikely bodyguards for an equally unlikely “dignitary”. The towering trees thinned out on the edge of the small market center, man-made structures beginning to appear. The buildings were small, mostly made of wicker and wood, with very little in the way of tech. The people were equally simple, their dress and presentation reflecting their rural occupations.

With the interest of the child in mind, Mando led the three of you into a common house, the busy sounds of kitchen work and the smell of grilling food easily reaching you before you even got to the entrance. It would have been more welcoming, if it wasn’t also accompanied by nearly everyone turning their eyes to your odd trio and whispering amongst themselves. On one hand, you couldn’t completely blame them, as the three of you were like the lead-up to a bad joke come to life. But it still made you very uncomfortable, knowing without a doubt that you were being watched and discussed. You hated the feeling. You self-consciously adjusted the fabric masking your face and furrowed your brow to try and give off the most “do not approach” energy you could, glancing around at the tenants. Not many of them returned your gaze, save a few, including one woman who didn’t at all look like she was from there. Strong, wearing armor and weapons - not to the extent of the Mandalorian, of course. But you could still feel that she wasn’t to be messed with. You averted your gaze quickly.

The child, meanwhile, was bright as ever with this new place he was in. He looked around the establishment, taking in the new scenery and the light filtering in through the gaps of the woodwork with his big eyes. You in turn watched him, as Mando located a table for the three of you. You followed suit and sat at the table, and as you turned to see what the kid was up to, you noticed the little one had locked eyes with a tooka cat beneath the chair of a nearby tenant. The child was curious, but you knew enough about tooka cats to know that the way it was looking back meant it was interpreting the child’s staring as threatening to its peace. Very few animals took maintaining eye contact as anything but a challenge, and this was no different.

“Leave it alone, kid.” You murmured just loud enough that you hoped he’d hear. Your words were too late, as the cat’s lips pulled back and revealed its enormous maw of teeth in a menacing hiss. The child flinched back with a frightened noise, and next thing you knew you were snatching him up by the ruff of his oversized coat and plopping him in the seat beside you.

There was barely any time for any of you to exchange glances when a proprietor approached the table, face weathered but welcoming.

“Welcome, travelers. Can I interest you in anything?”

“Bone broth, for the little one.” Mando motioned with his hand towards the child. You suppressed giving the armored man a skeptical look for ordering the most basic of things for the kid, when it was obvious they had more substantial food in this establishment. It was fine, you told yourself, he had the final say and this wasn’t the place to call him out on his decisions.

“Oh, well, you’re in luck. I just took down a grinjer, so there’s plenty. Can I interest you in a porringer of broth as well?” Mando shook his head. The proprietor turned her gaze to you expectantly.

“No, thank you.” You put your palm out in a placating gesture. Even though the aroma of food filtered through your face covering and had a tempting quality to it, somewhere as public as this was absolutely not somewhere you’d be comfortable trying to eat at. If you could take it to go, maybe. But you had no idea where you’d even be staying at this point, or how much longer you’d be looking for such a place. No, you could wait.

The proprietor nearly began to speak again when Mando cut her off. “That one over there, when did she arrive?”

So, you hadn’t been the only one to notice the intimidating woman across the room. Well, it wasn’t that difficult, with how much she stuck out amongst the residents of the planet. You three were equally as noticeable, and you didn’t miss how the woman was still watching you, though she was trying to be discreet about it. There was wariness coming off of her, you could feel that much.

The proprietor glanced towards where Mando had indicated the strange woman to be, seemingly confused. “Uh, I’ve seen her here for the last week or so.”

Mando continued pressing her for answers she didn’t have. “What’s her business here?”

“Business?” The proprietor looked as confused as ever. “Well, there’s not much business on Sorgan, so I can’t say…” The sound of credits clinking onto the countertop reached in your ears as Mando casually tossed some onto the tabletop. You were too busy watching the woman out of your peripheral vision to pay too much attention to what he was up to. The proprietor mentioned the woman not being a log runner, and offered complimentary spotchka before she left to retrieve the order.

The moment the woman stood and moved to leave the common house, you discreetly rapped your knuckle against Mando’s vambrace. The black T of his visor turned towards you, and you vaguely twitched your fingers in the direction the woman had been moments before. “She’s leaving.” You murmured as lowly as you could so Mando could hear but others couldn’t. You didn’t get any impression of real danger or malice from her, but knowing that the three of you had prices on your heads, you had a feeling the bounty hunter would try to follow her and make sure she wasn’t about to report on your whereabouts to anyone.

Mando stood from his seat, gaze trained on the doorway to the establishment. “Stay here with the kid. I’ll be back.”

And there it was. You exhaled through your nose and looked down at the kid, comically small in his chair and watching as the beskar-clad man made his way to the exit and out of sight.

You wondered how often he went out of his way to pick possible fights like this.

The proprietor returned to the table and placed a small bowl in front of the child, breaking you from your thoughts. The complimentary bottle of spotchka made an appearance, too, but you didn’t pay much mind to it. Alcohol was never something you liked, between it being an acquired taste and dulling your thoughts. You still nodded appreciatively at her before she left to tend to the next table.

Before the kid could finish picking up his bowl, the faintest of sounds reached your ears. While you normally wouldn’t pay much mind to such things in a public place, there was some notion in your mind that it was the buckethead getting into a fight with the woman from earlier. You looked over at your tiny companion, who looked up at you over the brim of his bowl and towards the doorway Mando had left through moments earlier.

“He doesn’t need our help, we’ll just get in the way.”

The kid seemed to take that as a challenge, and hopped down from his seat and began to toddle off.

“Hey, no, we are not going out there-” You jumped up and tried to herd him back towards the table, and you almost succeeded, but the little green thing was surprisingly determined and avoided your awkward movements, both of you caught up in a ridiculous dance. The tenants were watching you and your face heated with embarrassment. You finally scooped up the rapscallion with one arm, narrowly avoiding some of the broth sloshing from his bowl and onto the floor.

“Fine, we’ll go see what’s going on. Just stop trying to run off on me.” You pointed meaningfully at the kid with your index finger, peering into those big dark eyes and hoping he actually listened. He looked back at you with those big bright eyes and perked ears in a way that somehow told you he understood.

You carefully set him back on the ground. “Stay close.”

Exiting the establishment and turning the corner was as far as you needed to go to see just what you suspected - Mando and the woman scrabbling to get the upper hand against the other. It was almost comical, in a way, even though blasters were involved and the situation could very well turn dangerous.

And it nearly did just that when the two fell on the ground with blasters pointed at each other’s heads - causing you to pull your own blaster from its holster - except everything was interrupted by a very loud slurp from the child as he watched from beside you, bowl of broth clutched tightly. The slow turns of their heads and prolonged look from both of them was enough of an announcement of a stalemate as any. You snorted and shook your head slightly at the scene.

“I take it you don’t actually want to kill each other, then.” You slightly lowered your blaster from where it was aimed at the woman. You didn’t miss the way Mando paused in a way that you imagined he was rolling his eyes under his helmet. He turned his attention back to the woman he was still vaguely pointing his blaster at.

“Would you like some soup?”

You all returned to the table you’d had back in the common house. The woman - named Cara Dune, you learned - told you her story. She was a former shock trooper for the former Rebel Alliance working on Endor, with no additional support, and as soon as the ex-Imperials were gone the politics got out of hand and she found herself working to “keep the peace”. Beating rioters and favoring delegates wasn’t what she’d signed up for, so she left, and now had a price of her own for desertion. She recognized Mando as being part of the Guild and suspected he’d come looking for her. She kept glancing curiously at you throughout her explanation, like she wasn’t sure what to make of you tagging around with a Mandalorian bounty hunter and why he was even letting it happen. Sure, the child was an equally puzzling factor, but she seemed to sense he was a touchy subject.

She eventually turned to you after her explanation was finished. “So what’s your story?”

You shrugged, idly adjusting one of your wrist pieces. “He got my house blown up and put me on a wanted list, so this is his way of dealing with the guilt.”

Cara visibly bites back a laugh and tries to hide behind her own cup of broth. You glance over at your companion, whose stiff posture tells you he’s not sure how to react, but he’s definitely embarrassed to some degree.

The ex-trooper downs the last of her broth, and stands from the table. “Well, this has been a real treat. But unless you wanna go another round, one of us is gonna have to move on, and I was here first.” She gives you all a curt nod, and walks away.

Mando leans back in his own chair and looks between you and the kid, who’s working on his second helping of broth. “Well, looks like this planet’s taken.”

The walk back to the Razor Crest was a somber one for you. Now that you had spent some time on the surface, you’d actually taken a bit of a liking to the place. But Mando was right - as remote as this planet was, it could likely only handle one fugitive at a time. Looked like it was back to the ship directory to root through whatever systems it could access. You tried not to let your mind wander off to mourn your lost database again. This was exactly why you compiled lists of multiple options, in case something like this happened and one of those choices fell through.

A tug on your pant leg dragged you from your mulling. You looked down and were met with the concerned face of the child looking back up at you.

“I’m okay, don’t worry about me.” The kid burbled quietly at you in response. That seemed to catch Mando’s attention, as he was now looking questioningly back at you.

“Something wrong?”

You exhaled through your nose, trying to come up with a brief answer that wasn’t too revealing. You weren’t big on talking about your feelings, and you got the impression that neither was Mando, so between the two of you it would be better if it was kept to a minimum.

“Feeling a little useless on the front of hunting for a planet, that’s all.” It was the first time you’d felt this useless in a very long time, to be honest, but you weren’t about to let that part out.

Mando turned back to continue the trek back to the Razor Crest. “We’ll figure something out.” His tone was superficially dull, but you could tell he was trying in his own way to sound reassuring. That counted for something.

Once you made it back to the Crest, which was safe and sound amongst the trees, the two of you got to work - the Mandalorian using the dying daylight to look over the ship for maintenance, while you took up the task of sifting through the planetary database for your next options. Originally Mando wanted you to take the child up with you so he’d be better contained, but after a pitiful look from those big, dark eyes, it was over and decided that he’d watch him. The “watching” very quickly turned into “put the kid to bed”, thank the maker.

It felt like you’d had barely any time to really start your search when you saw what looked like lights on the ground from your view in the cockpit. You slowly stood, watching the lights as they drew nearer. That couldn’t be anything good.

You clambered your way down the ladder and into the hold just as whoever it was pulled up. It was a small cargo sled, one that barely seemed to be holding itself together, with two men of seemingly modest origins on it. Mando wasn’t the least bit concerned about it, as he continued his repairs and ignore them as they tried to get his attention.

“Excuse me, sir?”

Mando didn’t stop working. “There something I can help you with?”

You slowly made your way towards the ramp, taking care to accentuate the sound of your boots hitting the floor and make your presence known, Mando could take care of himself, but if they knew you were here they were less likely to try anything than if he were alone. You shot them a warning glare when they glanced at you, but watching their already-anxious expressions deepen almost made you regret doing so.

“Uh… yeah… raiders.” “We have money.”

You raised an eyebrow at them.

“You think I’m some kind of mercenary?” Mando still made no indication he was going to stop his work for them.

That was enough to get them stammering. First about how they’d read about Mandalorians, and how they thought he was one based on his armor, and if half of what they read was true then they could recruit him for help. One emphasized again, that they had money.

“How much?” Mando had paused his working, turning more attention to these strangers.

“Everything we have, sir. Our whole harvest was stolen.”

“Krill… We’re… krill farmers.” “We brew spotchka. Our whole village chipped in.”

You don’t know what else you were expecting from locals of the planet, but the coin purse one of the men held up as proof of payment was sad to say the least. Krill farming and spotchka brewing didn’t strike you as a very lucrative business anyways, but if that was all they could muster…?

“It’s not enough.” And there was Mando, confirming your suspicions about what his rates were. You didn’t recall him being picky about his bounty, but thinking back, he did go for higher bounties more often than not. It looked like he still held onto that standard despite no longer being part of the Guild. Hell, if you were going by your own rates, what they appeared to have on hand wouldn’t even cover half of your cheapest services.

Mando finished what he’d been doing and made his way up the ramp towards you. The men following him up the ramp was unexpected, but not frightening. They were desperate, and you were getting a better sense of just how much.

“Are you sure? You don’t even know what the job is.” One of them tried to look to you for support. You stared back apprehensively.

“I know it’s not enough. Good luck.” Mando brushed past you, using your form as a barrier between him and the strangers as he retreated further into the hold.

“This is everything we have! We’ll give you more after the next harvest!” You stayed where you were, crossing your arms and staring the men down. You knew you should feel bad for them and try to convince Mando to do something, but with the last time you extended help ending with your entire life up to that point being destroyed, you were too wary to do so.

The two men looked between each other and your standoffish presence. Defeated, they slowly turned to return to their sled, talking to each other as they did.

“Took us the whole day to get here. Now we have to ride back with no protection to the middle of nowhere.”

Mando had only made it a few feet past you by then, so he was definitely within earshot of their conversation. He stopped and turned on his heel, coming up behind you and stopping just behind your shoulder. It took everything in your power to appear unbothered by just how close he stood.

“Where do you live?”

The men paused, turning back to look at the man that had just dismissed them.

“A farm, weren’t you listening? We’re farmers.” The hurt was apparent in the man’s voice.

“In the middle of nowhere.”

“…yes?” The confusion was palpable. You knew where this was going and you weren’t sure you liked it.

“You have lodging?”

The men started to realize where this was going, too, and jumped to provide answers he wanted to hear.

“Yes, absolutely.” Mando briefly glanced at you, as if he was about to ask what you thought. Unfortunately for you, that never happened and he made the decision on his own.

“Good.” Mando motioned to them. “Come up and help.” He motioned to you as well, and began pulling out cargo crates to have them start loading.

You approached the man, once the other men had carried one of the crates far enough that they’re out of hearing range.

“Mando, I don’t know about this. Middle of nowhere or not, Dune’s right, this planet can’t handle more than one fugitive at a time.”

Mando continued moving crates to the ramp. “If it took them all day to get here, they’ll be isolated enough.”

“That kind of distance from civilization, however small, hasn’t stopped bounty hunters before. You of all people know that.” You glared into the T-shape of his visor. You also knew that all it took was enough time for word to get out about sighting a certain beskar-clad Mandalorian traveling with a green child to reach interested ears. For all you knew, it could be happening right now.

Mando stopped his actions to turn and face you fully.

“We can always move on after the job if it doesn’t seem right.”

You sighed heavily through your nose. That seemed to be him trying to tell you he wasn’t about to change his mind. He had been doing this longer than you, you supposed. You glanced towards the closed door of his bunk, where the child was sleeping.

“…fine. But I’ll hold you to that.”

You briskly moved to where your makeshift corner was and started gathering up your own things for whatever sort of stay you were in for. Behind you, you heard Mando exchange a few more words with the men as they loaded the last of the cargo he’d pushed on them onto the sled.

His heavy footsteps approached you. “I’m going back into town for a while.” You turned, and noticed the pouch of credits that one of the men had shown you earlier clutched in his hand. “Stay here to keep an eye on them and the kid. I’ll be back.”

You stared at him for a moment, then nodded slightly. “At least he’s not awake to make me come chasing after you this time.”

You swore you heard a slight snort from beneath that helmet.

He’d returned some time later with Cara Dune in tow, and after rousing the kid the four of you joined the two men on their journey back to their village. The cargo sled, thank the maker, was the only part of the ride, no connections made with another transport like a boat like you were fearing. You didn’t like boats much, the swaying made you anxious. Five people made it a little crowded and awkward, and try as you might to sit as far as you could on some strapped-down cargo, to try and preserve some sense of personal space, you found yourself nearly falling off one too many times.

“That’s a good way to fall off and get left behind.”

You narrowed your eyes as you stared at the beskar-clad man that had basically just talked to you like a parent.

“It’s fine. I don’t want to get in anyone’s way.”

The way he tilted his head was enough for you to practically see the skeptical look he was no doubt wearing on his hidden face. The kid, sitting beside him, watched you intently.

“Nobody’s doing anything but waiting out the ride.” He pointed to a spot on the cargo just in front of him, where there was definitely enough room for you to fit, though it meant if you tried to stretch your legs out they’d be right alongside his. Clearly, he didn’t care about that if he was doing this.

You stared at the spot like it was a trap. Almost as if to prove a point, the sled went over a particularly pronounced piece of terrain and jostled you. You very nearly fell just like Mando had said you would. The only thing that kept you from going completely overboard was your grip on the cargo’s ties, but you still flopped embarrassingly around. You saw the man’s head tilt to the side as if to say “see?”

Defeated and embarrassed, you clambered down into the open area. Thank the maker Cara Dune had decided to try and get some sleep earlier, and the two farmers transporting you were busy navigating. You didn’t think you could handle having them involved in this, admittedly silly, exchange. You kept your gaze down, not daring to even look up at the Mandalorian. The kid, however, earned himself something between a glare and a smirk when you heard a small giggle come from his direction.

You drew your legs up into your new space, both to keep from invading even more of Mando’s space, and to keep out of the child’s space as well. Mando could handle an accidental kick if you absent-mindedly shuffled; the little green one probably wouldn’t fare so well.

Once you’d settled, you leaned back onto the cargo packed behind you and tried to get as comfortable as you could manage. Which wasn’t much. Mando, however, seemed capable of doing it, as he slowly fell backwards and folded his arms behind his head. You didn’t realize how broad he was until now, seeing up close how much space he took up just by doing that. And all over again, you felt like you were in his space, and needed to get out of it out of respect. But there was nowhere to go.

You had to snort to yourself when the child mimicked the bounty hunter and tipped backwards onto his much-softer surroundings, peering up at the dark sky with equally dark eyes. At least he was content to do that.

The sled ride stretched on for the duration of the night and into the morning, the farmers switching shifts partway through. You’d never really fallen asleep all the way, just dozed in the same position you took when you initially settled in. Your eyes had closed, and you became somewhat less aware of your surroundings, but the slightest of unusual sounds or movements still drew enough attention that you’d crack an eye open to see what was happening. All through the hours of darkness and through the light breaking over the land. So when the sled began to approach the village, you could hear it. The sounds of people working, distant voices. Opening your eyes and pushing yourself upright, you turned to look up ahead. In the distance you could see the beginnings of some sort of settlement.

You shifted your attention to the others on the sled. Cara Dune was still sleeping, though you didn’t know how. Mando and the child seemed to be out, as well. It was harder to tell with the bounty hunter because of his helmet, but the way he laid there was convincing.

Reaching over, you lightly grabbed one of the child’s clawed feet and shook it to get his attention.

“Get up, kiddo.”

He blinked awake, eyes squinting in the morning light and mouth working to remedy having gone dry while he slept with it open the night before. His big eyes shifted around to look for his Mandalorian guardian, body relaxing once he located him.

You weren’t going to try and use touch to see if he was awake, though. That could get you stabbed or shot, what with the combination of his reflexes and waking up in a strange place.

“Mando.” You raised your voice, hoping volume alone would do the trick. Fortunately for you, it did. The man shifted and groaned like he had just come alive, his helmet shifted ever so slightly and you could tell he was looking at you.

“We’re there.”

The armored man slowly drew himself upright into a sitting position. As much as he’d tried to get comfortable, he knew he’d be fighting with a back ache for a while after sleeping like he had. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t already dealt with before, with his longer bounty hunts taking him far from his ship and civilization and requiring him to put comfort to the wayside. You, however, had probably not had to relegate yourself to such circumstances. You looked like you hadn’t actually slept, bags present beneath your eyes and a subtle, narrow-eyed scowl he hadn’t seen before on your face. You probably didn’t even know it was there.

The approach to the village was quickly noticed by the villagers, and before you knew it there was a crowd forming to welcome you.

And a lot of them were children.

You could see and hear them immediately. You squeezed your eyes shut and exhaled through your nose for a moment to steel yourself, both for the crowd and the large percentage of it being so young. You hadn’t even had a chance to really get used to the green child you were tasked with helping out with. And these kids could talk .

The sled came to a stop, the slight jarring motion shaking Cara Dune awake. She looked around, mind working to remember the circumstances that landed her in a strange vehicle with equally strange company.

The first thing the children of the crowd did, was fixate on the child companion of yours in the sled. They were all murmuring and giggling amongst themselves, and the kid looked back at them with equally curious intent. None of you had any idea when he was last around anyone of his mentation.

“Looks like they’re happy to see us.” You heard Mando’s voice crackle through his voice modulator. Cara Dune smiled, but all you could do was blink tiredly. You weren’t ready for this.

One of the children, a girl, broke away from the crowd and got closer to the smaller, green child, greeting him personally. You watched the interaction carefully. She seemed to notice, as she quickly made eye contact and ducked away back into the safety of the other village children.

With that, everyone disembarked the sled and began unloading cargo. You slowly rose from your spot, knees protesting from staying folded for so long and making you grit your teeth. You grabbed the pack you’d brought with you, slinging it over your shoulder and hobbling off of the sled to join the others, who were carrying their respective luggage. The child had been surrounded by the village kids, the curiosity on both sides still strong and outweighing the apprehension of the strangers with him.

It was time to be shown where you’d be staying, though. Without any words exchanged, Mando shuffled over to gather up the child, kids scattering, and you, Cara Dune, and he were led to your accommodations.

The village was modest, but cozy. The huts all had a distinct charm to them, with the same woven look as the common house, and reminding you of fishing baskets. Smoke rose from some, and in the distance you could make out man-made ponds where they likely farmed their krill.

You were all led to what appeared to be a building other than a hut. There’s a woman there, apparently putting the last touches on preparing it for guests. When she sees you approaching, she stops fussing with the blinds and turns to face you. You don’t miss how she’s focused in on the Mandalorian, with some sense of hesitation, like she wasn’t anticipating how meeting a Mandalorian in person would be. You couldn’t blame her, honestly.

“Please, come in.” You let Mando lead, watching him walk in and put his cargo down onto the floor. The woman turned and seemed mildly surprised when you entered as well, like she hadn’t really seen you before when you made your approach. Again, you couldn’t blame her - if you’d never met a Mandalorian before, it would be hard to notice anything else. That, and it made sense that should word get out in the village about a Mandalorian arriving, the last thing anyone would talk about would be his companions.

“I apologize… I didn’t realize how many guests there would be.” She glances briefly at you and the child individually. You began to feel guilty about being there at all. Of the adults that were there, you were by far the least useful for the job involving the raiders, and of the resources available for guests you felt like it would be better to distribute them amongst the others before you. The child, too, you felt deserved things before you did. You didn’t miss him looking up at you with his big dark eyes, as if he could sense your discomfort.

“Is, uh, there anywhere else available—“

“This will be fine.”

You give the beskar-clad man a perplexed look when he cuts you off. You were attempting to give the man his space back, surely he would like that better than having you hole up in the same small building?

“It’s not any different from the ship. We’ll make do.” He was looking back at you through that dark visor as if he had heard your thoughts. You blinked.

“Are you sure?”

The curt nod he gave you told you the conversation was over. Well… as long as he was okay with it.

The woman took that as her cue that she could speak again. “I’ve stacked some blankets over there, I can get more should you need them.” She indicated the area she meant. You nodded appreciatively at her.

There’s a very slight sound from the doorway, and both you and Mando turn to see the girl from before that had been talking to the child. She attempted to hide behind the doorframe, bashful about being noticed, but the woman goes to gently pull her back into sight and gently hold her to her side.

“This is my daughter Winta. We don’t get a lot of visitors around here, she’s not used to strangers.” That explains the extra feeling of being watched you’d felt on top of the village at large watching you, this girl must’ve followed along. The woman turned to face her daughter. “This nice man and his friends are going to help protect us from the bad ones.”

Winta looked shyly at you and Mando, and politely whispered a thank you. The woman took her daughter by the hand, leading her outside. “Come on, Winta, let’s give our guests some space.”

Just like that, you were left alone with your usual companions.

You glanced around, seeing that it was essentially just one open room. That wouldn’t do. Whatever Mando told you, you knew he would appreciate having a space to himself. You, also, would appreciate some semblance of privacy.

Speaking of Mando, he hadn’t moved to unpack at all, he continued to stand in place as he tried to process what he’d gotten himself into. He’d done plenty of jobs, with plenty of clients, but he wasn’t at all used to being treated like a “nice man”, as the woman had put it. He didn’t know how he was supposed to fee about it.

His buffering was briefly interrupted when you pushed past him into the barn, and began to root through the blankets that had been left and other supplies that had been pushed off to the side to make space.

“I’m going to build some sort of divide for the room. To at least make it feel like there are two rooms instead of one.” You began draping things over your shoulders and arms as you found them, and looking up at the ceiling and the walls to see what you had to work with. Part of him wanted to tell you to just sit down for now, since he could tell you weren't rested at all from the night before. But he also felt like he wouldn’t be able to stop you from your current activity until you’d finished it. He resigned himself to getting his cargo unpacked.

What he doesn’t know, is you were also trying to distract yourself from your own thoughts. You had noticed how the woman had briefly paused in the doorway as she left to look back - at Mando, and only Mando. You didn’t know why, but something about it bothered you. Was it a look of apprehension and were you offended on his behalf? No, that wasn’t it. It was some other expression that was subtle and layered and happened too fast for you to read. But it still bothered you. You tried to brush it aside and get to working on your new project instead.

Before long you had constructed a simple set of walls from various things you’d found around - you’d taken some sheets from the pile of blankets, and used them in conjunction with some netting and poles to fix them to the walls and ceilings similar to what you had done with your space back on the Razor Crest. A crib had been provided for the child, and you moved that onto the “half” that you’d designated Mando’s space - the larger section, and the one with the window. Your “half” was more like your “third” of the bar’s interior. Really, you didn’t mind. Mando had been busy unpacking and reconvening with Cara Dune to offer any input until it was done, anyways.

Later in the day, you’d more or less finished unpacking what little you’d brought, and Mando was tending to his rifle. You sat on a crate, idly fussing with the settings on your blaster, musing to yourself if you could possibly bother the bounty hunter in the future for something more substantial.

“Knock, knock.”

The woman from earlier stood at the door with a tray of a few plates of food in hand, her daughter in tow. You could see them, but their attention was turned to Mando and the child, who was standing in his crib. “Come in.” Mando’s voice sounded from beyond the divide in the room.

The woman entered, setting the tray down on a nearby surface and picking up a plate from it. Winta stepped forwards shyly, asking if she could feed the child. Mando wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, but he didn’t see a problem with it. “Sure.”

You watched from just around the edge of the divide, as the girl first knelt to feed the child, and then asked if she could play with him. Mando seemed just as fond of dealing with kids as you, hearing his sigh and flat “sure” in response. You smirked at that.

Once Mando had set the child on the ground, Winta immediately darted out the doorway with the child in tow. Mando started to protest, but the woman held him back. You didn’t know why, it was such a simple thing and she was coming from a place of experience where he had none, but for some reason… it made you bristle slightly. You felt like she was overstepping her bounds somehow. You shook your head briefly. She didn’t know any better, it was fine.

The woman then reached for one of the plates of food, to set on a surface closer to where Mando had been maintaining his rifle. “I brought you some food, I noticed you didn’t eat out there. I’ll leave it here for when I go.” Mando awkwardly thanked her, and moved to turn away.

You were hoping she would leave, then, but she didn’t. Instead, she asked if she could ask Mando a question. With his approval, she continued.

“How long has it been since you’ve taken that off?”

Oh, the helmet question. That was bound to happen sooner or later, honestly. You hoped she didn’t say anything too intrusive or insensitive.

“Yesterday.”

“I mean in front of someone else.”

The air felt heavy. You couldn’t quite see from your position where he was looking, but you saw him motion through the window towards what might have been the child and Winta, and other children based on the sounds of play you could hear.

“I wasn’t much older than they are.”

The woman sounded almost horrified that he hadn’t shown his face to anyone since then. The bounty hunter protested, saying that after his parents had been killed, the Mandalorians had taken him in and cared for him as their own.

It’s not like you knew what his past was, or what you expected it to be, but hearing it like this was like a punch to the gut. It was a horrible thing for him to have gone through at all, let alone as a child. You arguably had only just been getting to know him, but the fact that this woman he had never met before was able to get this fact out of him at all, let alone such a personal fact, stung. He had told you earlier that he’d trusted you. That should’ve been enough, and should’ve stopped you from having your thoughts run loose like they were.

“...I’m sorry.” The woman sounded genuinely sad.

“This is the way.”

“Let us know if there’s anything you need.”

Finally, she left. It did not escape you, though, that she hadn’t stopped to see if you had been there to let you know that she had brought you some food, as well, as you also had not left to go get food since arriving. That hurt a little bit, but with the way the prior exchange had gone it probably just slipped her mind. It wasn’t her fault. She was being a good host, she still brought it, didn’t she? You could swear, though, that she seemed to feel some sort of draw towards the bounty hunter and was acting on it in small ways. And you could not figure out why it bothered you.

Once she had left completely, you quietly crept out from behind the divide to retrieve your own plate. Mando was still standing before the window, watching the kids playing with the child. The woman now approached the crowd, no doubt to supervise and make sure they weren’t being too rough. You felt his eyes turn to you slightly.

“I uh… I’m sorry. About what happened in your past. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t not hear that part.”

Mando inclined his head for a moment, and then looked back up at you. “It wasn’t anything I wouldn’t have told you if it had come up.”

That lifted your mood a bit. Plate in hand, you wandered over to stand before the window, not too close but beside where Mando stood, to watch the kids.

“Looks like he’s having fun.” Mando hummed in agreement, arms folded.

You don’t notice, but the Mandalorian had turned his head ever so slightly to look at you without giving away that that’s what he was doing. He’s usually not the best at reading people, but he could tell that something about the interaction he had just had with the woman had upset you somehow - he also had not missed how she had left after speaking with him and hadn’t tried to see if you were around to speak to you, as well. This was a different kind of upset than what he had seen when you were first on his ship, after your home had been destroyed. He didn’t like it then, and he didn’t like this now. He realized didn’t like seeing you upset, or to be linked to the reason you were upset.

The two of you stood there for a few more moments, watching the villagers and the child play. You cleared your throat.

“Well, I still don’t like eating around others. I’m going to my ‘room’.” Mando felt a small smile flicker on his face at that, as you left and went back to your area.

Once you were there, you had been about to pick up a piece of the food when you heard the tell-tale sound of Mando’s helmet being removed. You didn’t know if it was the closer proximity or the conversation that had just happened, but you retreated even further into your area until you were as far away as possible, like somehow even being too close while his helmet was off was just as bad as seeing his face.

The job turned out to be much more complicated than any of you had thought. Surveying the woods showed that the raiders were in possession of an Imperial AT-ST, a formidable weapon to have even against trained troops, let alone a defenseless krill farm. Cara Dune was especially off-put by it, having seen the mech in action and barely escaping to tell the tale. Mando, blunt as ever, tried to tell the village’s occupants to just leave and find another place on the planet to farm, but that went over horribly - everyone was angry, saying that he’d agreed to the job and that he should keep to it, that they had lived there for generations and it took so long to even get the farm established, and so on. They insisted they could be taught to fight and help take on the raiders, stubborn in not wanting to leave their homes. Somehow, their desperation won over the bounty hunter and ex-shock trooper, and it was decided that the entire village of twenty-odd people would follow Cara Dune’s instructions to modify the village grounds into a battleground to take down the machine, and the raiders in turn.

The biggest hurdle was teaching the villagers how to fight to begin with. Nobody knew how to deal with hand-to-hand combat. None of them - except the woman, whose name was Omera - knew how to fire a blaster.

That also meant that Mando’s entire arsenal he’d brought along with him would be put to use arming everyone.

While Cara Dune was working with melee training her half of the adults, Mando was overseeing the target practice. You were more familiar with firing a blaster than you were with physical fighting, so you were attempting to help in that department, as well. You had certainly fired off your fair share of one-in-a-million hits in the times you’d even had to use your blaster, but you had no idea how you were able to do it. It was just… an instinct, somehow, that kicked in right at the moment it was needed, and would vanish just as quickly before you could even try to comprehend it. Still, though, you could try.

They were terrible.

Shots were flying and only a small fraction were landing anywhere, and of those, even less were hitting their intended targets. Except for Omera. Every shot she fired landed square in the middle of her target, one after the other. You could see Mando watching her closely, nodding when she turned to look expectantly at him with a slight smile.

It makes you grit your teeth and you don’t know why. He’s allowed to be impressed by someone from a backwater planet being good with a blaster. He was allowed to be impressed by her tenacity to defend her village. He was allowed… and whatever this strange feeling was that you had, wasn’t allowed to get in the way. That was up to him.

You had been walking between the villagers, giving them pointers on how to better aim, but once you’d noticed what you had with the widow and Mando, something shifted in you. And unbeknownst to you, Mando was watching you, probably more than he had been watching Omera. Your eerie accuracy with your own blaster when you fired off and hit the targets, the way you went from person to person to curtly correct their poise, the way your eyes flashed as you stood back and looked from trainee to trainee with a calculating, concentrated look to determine who needed fixing where. This was a new side of you he hadn’t seen. It was intimidating… but in a good way. He caught himself being confused by his own thoughts, and reminded himself sternly that he needed to concentrate on training everyone and getting things ready.

That night, the plan would be executed. Luring the raiders out, having the villagers go hand-to-hand with the raiders while Mando and Cara Dune took care of downing the AT-ST. You hoped it would work.

In the weeks following the successful defeat of the raiders and destruction of their AT-ST, you stayed put in the village. You and Mando and the kid didn't have anywhere better to be, and Mando still stood by it being a good place for waiting out the hunt going on for the kid. Unlike Mando, though, you didn't feel completely safe. You still felt like it was only a matter of time before someone came looking. The raiders didn't all get killed, and though they probably hadn't laid eyes on the child, let alone the village's children in general, it would have been difficult for them to miss the beskar-clad man that they went up against. Word was going to get out.

Mando wasn't convinced. There was nothing besides your sense of unease to indicate that sort of thing would happen, and he needed more substance than that to act. And so, you were stuck there for the time being.

So you tried to make do with living during that time.

Mando spent his time being the quiet watchman of the village, keeping his weapons he'd brought along in top condition just in case. It couldn't hurt to stay vigilant. And it helped you be more at ease to know he hadn't completely shrugged off the possibility of danger.

And when he wasn't cleaning his weapons for the millionth time, or making sure the child wasn't getting into too much trouble with the village children, he was watching you.

He noticed the way you'd go sit out at the far edge of the village clearing, by the edge of the water beneath the shade of the trees, scribbling things in the odd flimsiplast book you'd brought along with you. He got curious one day and wandered over to where you were, making the excuse that he was patrolling the perimeter and just happened to be passing by you on his way. He got to see what it was you were doing - you were sketching the huts and ponds, as well as the trees and animals, making notes beside them. You didn't limit your note-taking to sitting out on the edge of the village, either, sometimes you stayed amongst the buildings and watched the locals and made notes about them.

There were more than a few times that the child would break away from the village kids and watch you, too, and there were times you'd tear a page out and let him scribble on it alongside you. It was endearing to watch, though he'd never admit it, how intensely focused the little one would be on mimicking you during those times. He saw you do your best to be social when the rest of the kids would inevitably crowd around the two of you and watch what you were doing, and begin asking questions. They did that to him, too, with his weapons, and he would try to tell them stories he remembered hearing as a child himself. You didn't seem to tell them stories, so much as just facts about how this or that worked, or how things are different on other planets in this or that way. They still seemed to take it in just as well.

When you weren't note-taking, or trying to avoid being swarmed by curious children, you'd be in the village kitchens, taking advantage of having proper cooking facilities outside of the makeshift space on the Razor Crest and trying out local ingredients and recipes. The child was frequently your taste-tester, and he loved every bit of it. There were times that he'd take a bite of something you'd made, and instead of downing the rest of it, he'd look around for Mando, and upon spotting him he'd hurry over with the food in hand, waving it up at him as if to say "try it". He would, of course, wait until he was in the privacy of his own space, but he'd always try it. He had to admit, though he knew the locals had been working with the ingredients for generations and were by no means bad cooks, there was something about your cooking that he liked better. He knew you'd brought along some of your own spices and that you put your own spin on things, but it was deeper than that and he didn't know why.

He notices that though you try to converse with the locals when appropriate, you frequently retreat to be in his presence and just sit quietly. It starts as you just going back to the barn and him happening to also be there, but over time it evolved into you actively seeking him out in moments where he was apart from the others, wherever that may have been. It was… nice.

It was also nice that, on some nights where neither of you could sleep, you would wind up quietly talking about this or that through the makeshift wall in the barn that divided your sleeping areas. The conversations were about mundane things, never lasted long, and were always quiet because of the sleeping child nearby. But it was a new thing for him that he found he liked. For so long he had traveled alone and in complete silence, and while there was still a degree of silence and separation between the two of you, it was different.

The villagers seemed to act like you would just stay there forever. Names were learned, bits and pieces of life stories were swapped, some degree of familiarity was established.

There was absolutely no way anyone could miss how attentive Omera had become to ensuring you all were still tended to, but especially in regards to Mando. He was civil in return, and you swear he had started to open up to her and go beyond just being polite. You, also, did your best to be civil towards her, but it was difficult for some reason. It was not your place to decide who was allowed to be friends with who, or how they responded to such actions. Not your place to feel put off by another person getting close to arguably the only person you knew beyond vague acquaintance-ship.

And this didn’t just feel like someone building a friendship, either. You did not know why it bothered you as much as it did. But here you were.

One day, you, Mando, and Cara Dune were all on the porch of the barn, lounging for lack of a better word. Cara Dune sat reclined in a chair, you on the edge of the porch, and Mando casually leaned back against the wall of the barn. He looked very relaxed and it took you a little more effort than normal not to just stare at the rare sight.

And then Omera appeared.

She had been in the barn doing some tidying up, as hosts do. As she exited, she handed a cup of spotchka to Cara Dune, who thanked her, and then she turned to Mando.

“Can I set you something in the house?” She briefly turned her vision towards you, to indicate the offer was extended to you as well, but it went right back to the bounty hunter before you could answer.

“Uh… thank you. Maybe later.” He mumbled his answer, awkward as ever. The woman looked back at you, and you shook your head to her offer, not daring to try and open your mouth. She seemed satisfied with that, and turned to watch the village children playing with the child. He’d captured a frog, and wasted no time in stuffing it into his mouth and trying to swallow it like a vine snake. The children laughed and groaned in amused disgust. The frog turned out to be too big for the little one and he spat it out, and everyone cackled as the frog hopped away, no doubt startled by nearly being eaten.

“He’s very happy here.” Omera’s voice broke the silence on the porch.

“He is.” The bounty hunter’s voice responded.

“Fits right in.” And with that, the widow walked away. You watched her leave with narrowly-disguised distaste on your face. The kid was still a target for all you knew, and that little comment implying he should continue to stay just made you realize how little they understood about the consequences that could come their way should the hunters find him. Being able to actually be a child was good, yes, but not at the expense of having another event similar to the raiders, one they wouldn’t have time to plan for.

Apparently, Cara Dune had some thoughts of her own.

“So what happens if you take that thing off?” She nodded at Mando, indicating his helmet. “They come after you and kill you?”

Your distaste turned to her next.

“No, you just can’t ever put it back on again.” Cara scoffed at his answer. She looked at you to see if you thought it was as ridiculous as she did, a smirk on her face. You narrowed your eyes at her, and her smirk faded a bit. You’d known, and you respected his cultural beliefs not to badger him like she was trying to do.

“I was gonna say, if that’s it, it wouldn’t be any trouble at all for you to just slip it off and take up living here, raising the kid and sipping spotchka.” She motioned in the direction Omera had left with her glass.

“The beautiful young widow would be more than happy to help with that.” She looked back at you. “Am I right?”

Your skin felt like it would scramble right off your body.

Somehow, hearing Cara Dune confirm that she, too, had seen Omera’s interest in Mando made it all too real in your mind. And she wouldn’t be making such comments if she didn’t think Mando had similar feelings, either.

Why did it bother you so much?

You heard your name, realizing she was actually waiting for an answer from you.

“Yeah, sure.” Your voice was quiet and clipped, a poor attempt to keep your feelings veiled. Cara Dune finally noticed your tense posture, the discomfort very apparent in the line of conversation she’d started up.

She immediately regretted her teasing about the widow. Unlike you and Mando, she was actually able to read people. Mando may have been oblivious to it, but she could see now that you were more fond of the bounty hunter than she initially thought. She’d sensed some sort of dislike towards Omera from you, with how brief you kept your interactions with her, but this made it make sense. Kriff, you were probably oblivious to it, too.

Mando’s modulated voice brought her back to the present. “You know, we raised some hell here a few weeks ago. It’s too much action for a backwater town like this. Word travels fast. You might wanna cycle the charts and move on.”

You leaned your head back, rolling your eyes. “Finally.” You’d only been trying to convince him to do that the moment you’d chased the raiders off. “I thought it was going to take bounty hunters actually showing up to get you to make that decision.”

You swiveled where you sat to look at the man pointedly. He shook his head lightly. You could almost hear the good-natured smirk under his helmet. You couldn’t help but quirk the corner of your mouth yourself.

As forward as Omera was with hinting her interest towards Mando, Cara Dune thought, you weren’t too bad of a companion choice for him, either. You might not be the worse of the two, either, as far as the dynamic between you. As long as the buckethead wasn’t alone.

She looked back to where the kids were all playing. “I wouldn’t want to be the one who’s gotta tell him that it’s time to leave.”

“I’m leaving him here.”

You and Cara Dune stared at him.

“Traveling with me… that’s no life for a kid. I did my job, he’s safe. Better chance at a life here.”

No. You weren’t going to let him decide that easily.

“Mando. Do I need to remind you that the kid is being hunted as much as you are?” He started to protest, but you continued, standing up from your seat to face him fully, crossing your arms. “And, like you said, the fight with the raiders will have drawn attention. We sure didn’t kill them all, some got away. ‘Word travels fast’.”

Mando stared back, at a loss for words, and looked to Cara Dune for backup. She only shrugged, indicating you had a point.

“...if anyone was going to come, they would have done so by now.”

You dropped your arms to your sides, an incredulous expression on your face. Really? Really?

“Mando-”

He held up his hand to stop you. Such a simple motion shocked you enough to derail your thoughts. He really wasn’t changing his mind, was he…? Was he that ready to leave the kid behind?

Was he that ready to be rid of you …?

Leaving the child here meant your current “job” would no longer exist. It meant having to figure out where to go next, how to start next.

You weren’t ready for that.

You looked down at the wood flooring of the porch. You couldn’t figure out how to argue back in a way that didn’t sound selfish. Defeated, you turned away from the beskar-clad man and faced away, looking at the children playing again.

Mando truly felt like this was the best option for the child at this point. He wasn’t anywhere near an acceptable parental figure, and per your own admission you didn’t do well with kids, either. The kid needed other kids to be around, adults that were willing and happy to raise him. You needed to be able to actually settle down somewhere you could rebuild. This tiny village, with its lack of technology, wasn’t it, and it wasn’t on his cramped ship with his stubborn self, either. You deserved better. He didn’t want to say goodbye to the kid, or to you, but it wasn’t about what he wanted.

The three of you solemnly watched the child play with the other village children.

“It’s gonna break his little heart.” Cara Dune muttered.

“He’ll get over it. We all do.”

You didn’t want to agree with him, on that last line. But he was right.

Everyone had finished packing, all that was needed was for it to be loaded onto the cargo sled. The air felt weighted, and it wasn’t from the humidity of the surrounding swamp.

For you, the air got even more oppressive when you saw Mando approach Omera and lead her slightly away from the others to speak to her. You knew he was just asking her to watch after the child. But you could see the way she was looking at him. You could see Mando fidgeting, almost shyly. You could feel your face get tingly. Why was this so hard for you? It wasn’t about you.

You couldn’t hear the exchange, but you could tell Omera was saying something back at him, and the way her expression changed, you almost felt like she was asking him to stay, too.

But then, pulling you from your wallowing in self-pity, you felt the same thing you’d felt back at your old home, just before the bounty hunters broke through and your life as you knew it ended. The intense, physical feeling of wrong, of something in your head thrashing about telling you to run. Telling you to grab the kid and run.

They were here.

You sprinted towards where the village kids were, focusing in on the child, drawing your blaster.

"Mando!”

Whatever had been happening between Mando and Omera was forgotten, the widow spinning around to see what the shouting was, and Mando falling into a defensive stance, hand going to his blaster handle.

Your timing couldn't have been better. As you skidded to your knees to grab the frightened child, the village children scattering in confusion and fear, blaster fire rang out and a scorched blast marked the earth right where he had been sitting. You ran in a crouch to hide behind the nearest barrier you could get to, in this case some of the cargo that had yet to be loaded. The child whimpered and clutched at your clothing, and you clutched him closer, blaster raised in your other hand in case you needed to peek around and return fire.

You heard chatter from the other adults, and peering around the corner of the cargo, you see Cara Dune and Mando rush off int the trees. Omera is quickly herding the children to safety. You stay where you are, slumping against the back of the cargo, knowing Mando won't let whoever's out there get away. You look down at the kid in your grasp, who is looking back up at you with those dark eyes you'd gotten used to.

"I told him it wasn't safe here."

Just as you had warned him, the shots had come from someone carrying a tracking fob for the child. Cara Dune had seen to the demise of the hunter, and the tracking fob was destroyed. If it had been a different situation, you would have been more smug about being right.

But as it currently stood, you needed to get out of there as soon as you could.

The cargo sled was fully loaded, with additional supplies beyond what you’d brought with you, and the child was seated up where he could see out. You sat close by, not wanting to chance having to make a dive for him again. You hadn’t anticipated being so protective, but here you were. The village gathered around to see you off. Cara Dune offered to escort you back, but the decision was made to completely bypass going through town and just go straight to the Razor Crest. For once, you agreed with this decision.

“Well then, until our paths cross.” the two exchanged a firm handshake. She looked back and nodded at you, and you returned it with a raised hand. It was good to know you had an ally out there now.

You’d anticipated leaving by then, but when Winta rushed forward you had to suppress a groan. You were so ready to leave behind the other kids and yet here they were again, prolonging the goodbye process. With little regard for any sense of personal space, she wrapped her arms around the child in a hug. You leaned away a little to give them room. You didn’t expect her to release the child and give you a hug, too.

“I’ll miss you so much.”

You were frozen, your mind having drawn a blank and your body unsure of what to do. It took you a few moments to regain your senses, and you awkwardly put your hands on her shoulders.

“Uh… us too.” She pulled back and gave you both a shy smile, and scampered away back to stand by her mother.

Omera smiled and nodded at you in farewell. You tried to do the same, but you couldn’t guarantee your smile looked anything other than awkward and forced. You were terrible at this.

“Thank you.”

Mando nodded at her as well, and finally, he boarded the sled, and you left the small village.

It was strange, you’d only been on the Razor Crest for a few days before the stay on Sorgan happened and took up the following few weeks of your life, but somehow the ship felt more like home than the village had.

The three of you all sat in the cockpit area of the ship, Mando at the controls, you sitting in one of the chairs with the child in your lap, you idly letting him mess with your hands.

Now that it was just you three, your curiosity was getting the better of you.

“So, Mando… what was Omera saying to you before the bounty hunter attacked?”

Mando flipped a few more switches and dials on the controls and sat back in his chair. “She was suggesting we stay, too.” You mean she was suggesting you stay, you thought to yourself.

“...if the hunter didn’t show, would you have?”

He turned to look at you. “Would you?”

You huffed. “I liked being in the trees, but… too remote for my taste. Too closely packed. Too many kids trying to see what I was doing.” Too much of Omera trying to be friendly with the Mandalorian. You didn’t say that part, though.

He turned back to face the windscreen. “If I had wanted to settle down somewhere, I would have done it years ago.” He folded his hands over his stomach. “I’m not interested in living the sedentary family life.”

Somehow hearing him say that took a huge weight off your mind. But that still didn’t answer the selfish, nagging question you still had.

“Did you like her?” You still didn’t know why you cared so much. But while your courage was up and you were on this train, you had to get it out. Mando’s head tilted in your direction slightly.

“She was… nice. But I don’t think I liked her at all the way she liked me.” He turned back to look at the expanse of space before the ship. He didn’t want to say it out loud, but he was glad that you all got out of there before he had to tell her that. He wasn’t as oblivious as some thought, he could definitely tell that the widow was harboring some kind of affection towards him. He just didn’t feel the same way back, though. He never did. Besides, even if he did, his idea of how to live was so different from hers that it just wouldn’t work. Living on a farm, having and raising kids, staying in one place? Absolutely not.

You looked down at the child in your lap, tugging on his claws that clutched your fingers, trying to hide the little smile of relief on your face. He perked his ears at you and babbled, seeming to sense you weren’t as weighed down as before.

“You could’ve been free to go start your infochanting back up somewhere, though.” You looked up, a little surprised at the slightly quieter tone to Mando’s voice.

He had come to appreciate your company, but he wasn’t about to directly admit it.

You shook your head and huffed. “Honestly? I don’t mind.”

You looked back down at the kid, gently grabbing the ends of his long ears and fussing with them, making him squeal.

“I’m kind of glad to be back on this bucket of bolts with you.”

You hadn’t made any indication of it, but Mando liked to think you were talking to him just then, and not just the child. Hearing those words stirred something in his chest, and though he couldn’t pin down what it was, he wouldn’t mind feeling it again.

#the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #mando x reader #gender neutral reader #din djarin #mando #reader insert

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tatertotthethot · 5 years ago

Text

The Doms Next Door 2.0

THIS IS A TEMPORARY REUPLOAD FOR THIS CHAPTER CUZ TUMBLR IS RAN BY A BUNCH OF BOTS. 2.1 HERE

Warnings/AN: frequent, casually cursing; comical, gay Jimin; insecure reader; steamy flirting; tattoo/sexualized Tae 🙃. Enjoy~ (TAEKOOK EDIT ABOVE IS ARTKOOK DONE BY NONCONMAN ON INSTAGRAM)

_________________________________

Your tires came to a stop outside of the tattoo shop you've seen online— a brick building, covered in spray paint and street-style art. A sign buzzed over the awning of the entrance doors, with the built-in UV lights and graffiti-styled font displaying the name of the place in neon-red letters. Kink For Ink! The name alone was what first caught your attention last week, when you Googled "Tattoo shops near me" and it pulled up a list, with "Kink For Ink" being the first option. It just seemed so uncanny and fitting at the time, considering the previous run-in you just had with the sex-crazed neighbors a couple nights before. You couldn't help but to click the link to their Instagram.

A profile came up with 53.4k followers, which immediately blew your mind... but you quickly saw why. Every tattoo and piercing, no matter the body-placement, skin-type, or quirky design, was vividly appealing— certainly done by the articulate hands of certified experts. Even in the comments of the piercings that were posted, people were praising them for the "minimal" amount of pain they experienced, despite the fact that some of piercings were done in places you couldn't even fathom the thought of having a needle jammed through.

It said in the bio that the shop is owned by the two artists that work there— Kim Taehyung and Jeon Jungkook. You couldn't find out much about them, all their pictures showed was their work. You even went back to search for a personal account of their own, but nothing came up. You then went back to the bio and clicked a link to the official website, hoping to find out something, but you were met with a disclaimer rule at the top that automatically deemed your chances of even getting your piece done by them, slim-to-none.

• No walk-ins allowed.

• Every request/idea must be sent in through the DMs of our Instagram page. You will only be accepted only if it spikes our personal interests.

Yikes; You were instantly discouraged by this. The piece you wanted was something so common and cliché, that you actually got the image out of a child's coloring book.... It was the cartoon layout of the glass vase and enchanted rose, from the Beauty and the Beast movie. Cheesy, yes. But it was something of personal, nostalgic value. You remember when you were little— roughly around 3 or 4 years of age— when your parents started fighting and would spend all day screaming and throwing things at each other, putting you in a constant state of anxiety. But then you'd go to bed at night and pop the VHS tape, and the movie never failed to put you in a peaceful state of mind— a hopeful one. It's remained as your all-time favorite love story throughout the years. Which, is ironic, considering that the relationship itself was different, but almost as dysfunctional as your parent's. However, the fact that even the Beast was capable of change, and everything wound up so perfect and happy in the end, makes your heart happy. And even now, at age 19, it still puts you in your feelings. The previous remake of a movie is what actually inspired you to get the enchanted rose as a tattoo, after seeing it in 3D not too long ago. But you're only willing to shell out up to $200 for it, at most. You've just started college, and even though Jimin's parents own the house and let the two of you live there, rent free, you're still responsible for half the utility bills from month to month. Blowing every bit of money you have saved up, right at the start of the semester, would just be irresponsible. But $200 was manageable, and you're looking for anything that'll give you a little extra "oomph" to break you out of this introverted shell you've always known. Pushing it off would just delay it, and you were ready for change. The nose piercing you want is just a small little thing that'll hopefully add a bit of flare to the features of your face. These two guys could probably do the piercing/tattoo with a blindfold on and a hand tied behind their back. So, if it meant that you'd be able to get these things done in confidence, without having to worry about the outcome, you figured it wouldn't hurt for you to at least ask, even if they straight-up ignore you. So, after spending an unnecessary amount of time overthinking the wording of your text, you finally constructed a message in your notes and DM'd it to business page, after sending them a small, simple outline of the cartoony rose, and pressed send.

• You: Hello! I've been wanting to get this tattoo done for a very while now, and was hoping one of you will be willing to do it for me... along with piercing my nose? I know it's a very mediocre and cliché piece, and a nose piercing can be done anywhere. But I'm new to the area and I've never gotten a tattoo/piercing done before and I haven't really checked out any other places either because I found this page first. And from what I can see, you guys are pretty efficient and CRAZY talented. So, I trust it'll get done right.... only if you want to! I'm willing to pay $200 for this, but if it costs that much for just the outline I've sent then that's fine as well. But I understand if neither of you want to do it cuz that is really cheap compared to the ones I've seen lol. But either way, thx for ur time 😁

A few minutes went by and you had just unlocked your phone to check the message again, when the word "seen" popped below the message. You held your breath for a second— but seconds turned to minutes, and time went by with no reply, what-so-ever. You figured maybe you sounded a little too immature to take seriously; kind of like a prepubescent 12-year-old asking someone out for a dance... and you blew it. Which was disappointing, but predictable. So fuck it. Maybe it's a sign; you shouldn't get it after all.

11pm rolled around, many hours later. You were now hiding beneath your covers, beginning your "amateur threesome" exploration on PornHub. You were ready to see what this whole "2 guys, 1 girl" thing was all about. But just when you were about to type it into the search bar, you were interrupted by an Instagram notification dropping down from the top of your screen.

"KinkForInk sent you a message."

You audibly gasped, eyes turning to saucers as you clicked on the notif and switched over to the Instagram app.

• KinkForInk: Hi (Y/N). This is Tae, one of the artists of the shop. The tattoo you sent in is worth roughly $100... but I want to run an offer by you in hopes that you'll be interested.

— Your brows scrunched in oddity, stomach fluttering. An offer? For you?

• You: Okay, sure. What's that?

• KinkForInk: I've been looking for someone willing to showcase the custom design I've come up with, specifically for a much more... exclusive version of the Beauty and the Beast tattoo you sent. And if you'd be down for letting me and my partner put it on you, it'll be free. No charge. BUT you'll also have to sign a contract saying that you'll do a little bit of modeling for us once it's done. You think you'd be in to doing something like that, even if you get it?

— Your head spun for a second, reading the message over and over again until you could fully wrap your mind around what he was saying.

• You: Hold on... YOU wanna put a tattoo on ME so that I model for you? And it's FREE? Are you sure about this? I'm not even model material lol.

• KinkForInk: Yes, yes, and yes, you are. You'd be perfect for this.

• You: How do know that? Is it a face tattoo? Cuz I only have 6 selfies on here and you can't see anything past my shoulders.

—"Seen" came up as soon as you hit send, but a couple of minutes rolled by with no reply to the message, nor was he even typing. Maybe you came off a little rude. But it was already sketchy and it was a logical question.

— An image suddenly popped up: a screenshot of your Facebook profile. Then another— and much to your horror, it was the photo Jimin tagged you in last week, when the two of you were swimming at a local community pool. You were wearing a simple two piece, sitting at the foot of the lawn chair Jimin was also sitting in, as his legs were visible on either side of you and his lap was practically framing your ass. The photo was at an upward angle and looked so scandalous— but really, you had just asked Jimin to put sun screen on your back and he didn't want to stand up because the pavement was too hot against his bare feet. But you actually liked the picture at the time; it was just a silly joke and your ass actually looked quite nice from that angle. Plus, everyone knows nothing sexual actually goes on between the two of you, for obvious reasons. But Taehyung doesn't, so you couldn't help but dreadfully cringe when you saw the caption of the screen shot.

"Babymama 💦🍆"

• KinkForInk: Is this you??

• You: Yes, that's me. The caption is a joke tho... pay no mind to that. But this is like, really happening? You really think it'd look good on me?

— Why that picture though? You couldn't help but wonder.

• KinkForInk: Yes. Like I said, you're perfect for this piece. Are you down to at least see what the tattoo will look like? We don't expect you to be experienced with modeling or anything, but if you listen to us and cooperate, you'll do just fine.

• You: Yes I wanna see, and I'll do the best I can if I decide to get it... I'm just a bit shy, is all.

• KinkForInk: You'll be in good hands. I promise.

• You: Okay... are you going to show me??

• KinkForInk: Can't send it over a message, I don't want it plagiarized or the concept stolen. But the piece itself isn't necessarily crazy or anything, just more creative. I'd be more than happy to show you at my shop some day this week, if you'd be willing to swing by.

• You: Yeah, I can do that. When should I come?

• KinkForInk: Are you available after 5 tomorrow?

• You: I am, I get off at 4:30.

• KinkForInk: Great. Be here by 5:30, and make sure you've eaten in case you like the piece and wanna get started. It's pretty big for a first timer and gonna take a lot of time and patience. It'll have to be done in sessions but I hope you have a fair enough pain tolerance to at least get the outline of it done first.

— It can't be any worse than a bikini wax, you thought, shivering at the memory. That a story for another time. You decided on an alternative scenario.

• You: I give blood from time to time... but that's easy and doesn't really hurt that much. I think I can handle it though... maybe. I honestly don't know lol, I'm sorry 😣. But I can try my best. Can I ask where it's supposed to go?

• KinkForInk: That's okay, I'll work with you. It's supposed to go down the middle of your back. Starts between the center of your shoulder blades, and trails down the length of your spine to your lower lumbar. You'll see how it looks once we transfer a template on your back. But if you don't like it, there will be no hard feelings from my end. I can still do the tattoo you want if that's the case, free of charge just for your time.

• You: Oh no, you don't have to do that! I'd still pay!

• KinkForInk: Not if I don't accept your money. Trust me, I'm not worried about it. The nose piercing is gonna be $30 regardless, though. JK isn't so lenient.

• You: Of course. Will I have to take my shirt and bra off for the tattoo?

• KinkForInk: Yes, and for the pictures once it's done.

— Your mind blanked at that; thumbs froze over the keypad. He was typing again.

• KinkForInk: Don't let that discourage you. Again, you're in good hands. You can bring something to cover your chest. And the pics will be if your back as well.

• You: Okay, I can handle that. So 5:30 tomorrow?

• KinkForInk: Yes, please don't flake on us!

• You: Lol, I won't. I'll be there.

"They're gonna knock us the fuck out and sell our organs to the black market," Jimin declared. He had parked next to you outside of the shop, and was now sitting in the driver seat of his car with his door locked and windows all the way up, refusing to get out. You were standing right outside his door, still having to talk on the phone. "And is this Tae-guy an AllState representative or something?"

Jimin is petty. You wanted him here for moral support— which he's usually reliable for— but this time, he's just plain salty right and doing everything he can to remind you of that. Reason is, he's been begging you to get a matching tattoo with him ever since your 18th birthday, and you've always refused because of what he wanted to get.

Cupcakes. Jimin wanted to get matching cupcake tattoos... in honor of Cupcakke the legend. Sorry, but H E L L no.

You rolled your eyes, growing frustrated. He only has enough time to pop in and confirm that these two aren't gonna kill you, and then he's gotta head home to get ready for work. You were already supposed to be in there. It was 5:33pm, 3 minutes past the time.

"Jimin, you're the one that insisted on coming along! And now you're making me late!" you ranted. "I'm going in without you."

"Hold your horses, hoe! I'm finishing my blueberry slushie," He retorted, sassily bringing the straw to his mouth and loudly slurping it into the phone. He then abruptly flinched away from the straw with a disgusted expression, nostrils flared, body locking up; lips drawing into an air-tight knot that was so extreme and unnatural, it caused an ugly snort to break out of your nose.

He smacked his lips in exaggeration to the taste, face falling back into stone as an eyebrow arched over the top of his aviators; unamused and saltier than before... Like you were at fault for that, too.

"Or... Blueberry-ass, I should say."

That forced another giggle out of you as Jimin stiffly rolled his window down, phone still pressed to his ear and eyes still scowling at you behind the inspector shades. He bit down on the straw and withdrew it with his teeth before dumping the dark-blue contents of the drink out of the window, making it a point to shake the styrofoam cup empty of every drop before tossing it over his shoulder and into back seat. He then spat the straw out of his mouth with an audible "PLUUUUH!" of a French accent, and waited until the window rolled all the way up again, just so he could hang up the phone. You scoffed at this as you shoved your phone back into your pocket, scornfully watching Jimin exit the car and slam the door behind him. He snatched his glasses off his face as his cotton-candy hair swayed in the breeze, revealing his scornful eyes right back at you as he gestured for you to lead the way in exasperated manner— as if you were the one wasting his time now.

"Go on, lead us to the grave," He shooed, a snippy little shit. You sauntered away, walking up the side of the shop, then paused just before reaching the glass entrance door, when you remembered how much of a coward you are. You've never even stepped into a parlor before, and supposedly, this was a famous one. Which makes it more and more surreal when you think about it.

"Are we doing the mannequin challenge now? Is that what we're doing?" Jimin sardonically inquired.

"You go first, I'm nervous!" You whisper-hissed.

"You don't want me to go in there first— I'll show out," he reasoned, simply stating a fact.

"Please don't," you whined.

"Then, again, I'll show out?" He reiterated, as if to say duh. "How else am I supposed to break the ice? I look like Timmy Turner's Fairy-Gay- Parent."

You gave him a wary look... he's right. You sighed, slightly kicking your foot in distracted defeat. Fuck, you hated making an entrance to new places—

"Hold up— is that Drake?" Jimin suddenly blurted, holding his hand up to silence you. You honed in on the muffled track playing from behind the glass door, and Jimin's face soon light up like a Christmas tree before he spun around you, unstoppable.

"Jimin, NO—!"

"KIKI, DO YOU LOVE ME—?!"

It was already too late. The door was flying back behind him as he Milly-Rocked his way into the shop, leaving you no choice but the chase in behind him.

"—ARE YOU RIDING? SAY YOU'LL NEVA-EVA LEAVE FROM BESIDE ME— hello there."

You were panting, coming to a stop right behind Jimin, where you instantly latched on to the back of his shirt as you met the face of the man behind the studio counter. And, as corny as this is gonna sound: the world actually stilled for a solid beat... or maybe you were in the verge of cardiac arrest.

A pair of glossy-Black eyes looked up at the two of you; A series of silver-studded earrings trailed along the outer cartilages, peaking out beneath a head of soft, layer-swept hair. It was a Carmel-tinted blonde in color— thick and shaggy, and neatly spilling in waves around a headband that proudly sported a high-dollar brand-name you've never seen anyone wear in person before. G U C C I, it read— Meaning that the headband alone was probably worth more than some of your college text books, put together. It sat just a few inches above a pair of dark brows, that oddly brought out the shape of his cat-like eyes— irises like polished marbles. His ample lips had a sharp, well-defined Cupid's-bow, and a natural shade of pink that fit the porcelain appearance of his melanin-kissed complexion, to the finest degree.

And here you are, looking like an actual bum. You had just enough time to clock out of work and head straight over here to make it in time. You didn't even have any makeup on, and the only thing hiding your raggedy hair from those captivating eyes is your old baseball cap from high school. It took a second for him to take the bold presence that was Park Jimin— who was also frozen to the spot as he openly checked the guy out. He was hunched over the counter, a v-neck hoodie covering the rest of him with a thin, loose-fitting material. It was Black and allowed a full visual of his tan neck, and prominent collar bones. And it certainly didn't hide the fact that he had a pair of wide-set shoulders, either. A pencil sat in his hand— one that was laced with masculine veins, and lot of decorative ink. There was a silver ring on his thumb.. and a very heavy-looking Rolex watch.

The man cracked a grin at Jimin— a boxy one that dimpled in at the corners.

"Love the hair," he humorously began, twisting a quirky eyebrow at Jimin. You subconsciously snagged the bill of your hat as your eyes went a little wide at how mature the man's voice was.

"Love the watch," Jimin retorted, then reached around and gripped you by the wrist before pulling you into full view beside him. "You wouldn't happen to be Taehyung...?"

"Mhm," the man hummed, absentmindedly moving his wrist at the mention of his watch. His eyes cut over to you, and you swore you could see a minuscule reflection of yourself in his eyes, before they flashed back at Jimin and blinked. "You must be the babydaddy?"

Blood rushes to your ears. It's really him... a guy who looks like a high-dollar model himself, asking you to be his canvas model. Your own conscious didn't even know what to say right now. So you stayed quiet and still as Jimin took charge... which was a mistake.

"She wishes, but no. I'm the best-friend— and a gay one, at that," Jimin replied, and you knew he did that for his benefit. Thot. "I'm just here to make sure you're not gonna sacrifice her to Satan, or anything of that nature. I need her around in case I ever forget the Netflix password."

Taehyung chuckled at that, mouth opening to reveal a row of teeth shinier than Chip Skylark's. But then, you caught something behind his teeth that caused your gut to leap. A silver ball... a tongue ring. Your thoughts clouded over for a second.

"Well, I can assure you, she's safe with me," he said, looking over at you again. You blinked, nothing more. His brow arched at your lack of response, but this time, it was done more handsomely as he was still smirking at you. "Still, you don't look too thrilled to be here... You sure you wanna do this?"

"She's just nervous because you're really fucking hot," Jimin announced, unyielding. "You should feel how sweaty her hand is."

"Don't listen to him— I'm gay too," You lied in panic, trying to defend yourself from the absolute truth Jimin spoke just then. You snatched your hand away from him and jutted a finger at the door, eyes beading and lid twitching as your nerves ran amuck. "Goodbye, Jimin."

"She's a lonesome hetero," Jimin told Taehyung, assuring him with a face that showed no bluff. "One look at her camera roll, and you'd see for yourself—" You were yanking him away by the arm now, in a tug-of-war game that Jimin obviously could've won if he really wanted to. But he figured you suffered enough and eventually let you drag him out of the shop, waving bye to Taehyung before turning to look at you with beading eyes.

"I think he wants to fuck you— text me as soon as you can," Jimin uttered with unmoving lips as before he walked to his car. You stopped for a second, noticing he was actually being serious. How could he possibly think that he wants to fuck you, just from that small encounter? And what is the odd sensation currently coiling in your stomach? Things grew awkward again when you re-entered the shop, coming to a stand at the same spot... only alone now. He was still amused, it seemed. And so calm and cool despite this odd, intense look in his eyes. It gave him a Casanova effect, where all he had to do was give you that look and it'd instantly make you blush.

"He seems like a fun person to be around," he noted, somewhat honestly, but more so making fun of the red-hot appearance of your face.

"He's a pain in the ass," you muttered, trying to conjure up a smirk but hardly even able to speak properly from how dry your mouth was. It felt like there was a white-hot iron expanding in your throat. "I'm really sorry about him."

"Don't be. I'm just glad you're here— thought you'd chicken out." You nervously wiped your clammy palms over the back pockets of your jeans as Taehyung got up from the barstool behind the counter and approached you on the other side of it, a whole head-and-a-half taller than you. He was wearing black cardigan jeans and matching combat boots.. his headband and jewelry the only thing not black on him. And oddly enough, he made it look fucking fantastic.

"Mh-mm," You hummed, not trusting your voice. You've never needed a sip of water so bad in your life— he even smelled expensive.

"Well, It's very nice to meet you," he formerly began, and you mustered up the normality of placing your (dried) hand into his much larger one, as he held his out to you in greeting. And boy, was he close. So close that the heels of your spine itches to lean back from the proximity.

"It's nice to meet you, too. I'm really sorry if I'm acting weird. I'm just nervous." — Your mind struggled to stay focused on your words, arm tensing at the skin-to-skin contact. You were extra-effected by the firmness in his grip. You really wanted to look down at all the bold ink you saw dashing across the veiny surface of his tanned hand, or see if those were images or scripted letters on the knuckles of lengthy fingers... But you were held captive by those God-blessed eyes... And that fucking tongue ring. It was infecting your head in ways that weren't necessarily healthy for your current state of mind, as you saw it peering in and out at certain words.

"And physically shaking," Taehyung pointed out, brows twitching down at your trembling hand in his as if he was concerned for it. But his smirk gave off an odd sense of fascination to the involuntary symptom, like it was cute or something? Hm. He glanced back up at you, causing your dehydrated throat to bob as his other hand came to clasp over the rest of yours, swallowing it completely from the wrist down. "Intimidated?"

"V-Very," you spluttered, a small slither of saliva copulating down your throat as you looked back up at him. He absentmindedly rolled his tongue ring over the button row of his teeth as he watched you with tainted eyes— undoubtably getting cocky with that damn grin of his and proudly teasing you about your reaction to him. It gratified the effortless sex-appeal he had. You were even beginning to imagine that tongue ring elsewhere, and you literally just met him. Then, as you felt the band of a ring move along with the pad of his thumb as gently ran it across your trembly knuckles, chills shot up all the way to your shoulder. Oh... oh wow. You glanced down at his knuckles on reflex this time, and saw a four-letter word scripted in black ink across the bottom row of his knuckles, and another word scripted on the middle section of his fingers. A silver band on his naked thumb. STAY TRUE, it said.

"And why's that?"

"I.. feel like you're a celebrity," you sheepishly admitted, your other hand wedging into your back pocket as you had to stop yourself from reaching for the bill of your hat again. Is he flirting? The words seem too innocent for the way he was making you feel. It was getting so hot in the oven of his massive palms, and he wasn't even squeezing you hard enough to cut off any circulation, but yet your fingers were beginning to tingle.

"Mm, no. Just a little popular, really," he granted, teetering his head a little as he pondered the thought. You could see his vocal chords contract in his sleek neck as they project his smooth, pungent voice. "You still trust me?"

"Mhm," was all you could muster. He'd gotten even closer, to where his hand had gone into a prayer stance around yours. You were aware of how wide your eyes had gone from the awe you... you knew this was just the beginning. He was going to be very handsy throughout this whole process. But in a very twisted way, you were more than okay with that. Even if it meant you were at risk of fainting from actual dehydration. Maybe you were in over your head. But you couldn't will yourself away from this now. And then, just as a wide, heart-stopping smile edged out on that mind-numbingly handsome face, the door at that back of the room swung open, and heavy-metal rock blasted through the quiet vibe of the scenery and caused you to jump a little at the disturbance. Taehyung shot a wicked smile over his shoulder, and his next words nearly knocked you out right then and there as you beheld yet another, breathtaking sight.

"Oh, there you are," Tae eagerly acknowledged, one hand still holding yours as he walked around to grab your with the other, presenting you to the.. hulking presence in the room. "This is (Y/N), our next little experiment."

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rpmemesbyarat · 4 years ago

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RP meme from "Chapter One: A World of Darkness" in Changeling: The Dreaming (20th anniversary edition)

Dreamers are taught that they won’t amount to much, that their creativity is a pale imitation of what came before.

Well-meaning, or envious, parents and friends consistently suppress talent in their loved ones, secure in the knowledge that they’re saving them from a huge mistake.

Repeated altercations eviscerate creativity until all that remains is overwhelming self-doubt and insecurity.

Every day is a struggle.

It’s not that they don’t care, they are just unable to grasp circumstances beyond their own social circle.

Old legends define a changeling as the offspring of mortals and faeries, or a faerie child switched out for a human one.

Ancient curses affect entire landscapes, monsters hide in withered forests, roads made of stardust allows travelers to visit vistas hidden among clouds, and ancient dragons and bygone beasts still roam the skies.

In order to survive this onslaught on their very essence, the fae turned to an ancient ritual which locked their immortal souls in human bodies.

The child talking to her teddy is, in fact, discussing courtly politics with her chimerical bear companion.

The most common means of learning about the past, then, is through the traditional art of storytelling.

Despite the thrill and excitement of hearing legends brought to life by storytellers, academic history is an extremely important factor in the pursuit of lost faerie knowledge, turning myth into truth.

Ancient texts are written in several, often pictographic, faerie languages, and quite often the words seemingly come alive, constantly realigning, rotating, and shifting locations to avoid being decoded.

Even when enough common denominators exist for a decent decoding, the end results often cause further questions, rather than providing answers.

Events become history. History becomes legends. Legends become myths, and myths are forgotten.

Religions told mortals to worship new gods and to turn away from old traditions and rules.

As scientific methods began to explain what mortals previously considered magic, the common folk took to the church’s teachings, foreswearing their old ways in exchange for salvation and a steadfast faith on which to cling in the darkest days.

On July 20, 1969, humanity witnessed the moon landing live on television, and all of the hope, fear, and wonder of the previous decade burst forth.

Mortal witnesses describe friends or family collapsing for a brief moment, then rising, confused for a short time, but brimming with confidence and an aura of regal quality.

However, no matter the chosen human body, they all belonged to someone wealthy and influential, or were members of highly-valued and powerful families in society.

Despite conflicts, both parties openly declared their intent to find peaceful solutions, regardless of acts of violence intended to derail such hopes.

However, this decree didn’t prevent individual members of the houses to cast their allegiance with the side for which they felt an affinity.

The time for discussions ended with blood on the walls, and only war remained.

Theirs was a passionate, whirlwind romance, but one that ended in tragedy.

Without warning, the sky seemingly ripped open and, to those with faerie sight, a red sun appeared, bathing the world in a sinister scarlet light reminiscent of blood.

Behold! Your true king returns!

Better a nightmare than dreamless sleep

Nonetheless, the nobility is not immune to the changes in the world.

No matter how well hidden, however, the child’s true nature marks her as different.

It may start small, with a mortal witnessing strange occurrences no one else sees.

Those that are found are the lucky ones.

The term fosterage comes from the medieval practice, where nobles would take on the children of another family to cement alliances or to build connections between noble children for the next generation.

She will take the lessons from her mentor forward, spending the rest of her days honing what she has learned.

Banality seeks to explain away the fantastic and categorize, empiricize, contain, and render mundane anything outside of the scope of accepted mortal understanding.

This process doesn’t happen all at once.

Many legends and epic stories came from the search for extended life, with outcomes ranging from sad hilarity to outright horror.

Legends speak about treasures that can extend youth or grant immortality once more, like the fabled Fountain of Youth, but so far none have been recovered.

The adventure might be worth it, though.

It is a place woven into the fabric of the mortal world, hidden behind and without, though its magic and influence can affect the physical world and those that live in it.

The land responds to the thoughts and deeds of the creatures that live there and adapts to their every whim.

The shifting landscape is so unpredictable as to throw off any seasoned traveler.

Only a few trods lead to this wholly unpredictable and constantly-shifting landscape.

The space is influenced by the strong dreams of mortals and the expression of powerful mortal feelings and creativity.

They held nothing but hatred and contempt for one another.

History has taught them through many a hard-earned lesson that they are able to accomplish these tasks much more effectively when they work together than when they’re at each other’s throats.

The pageantry and rituals serve as thread that runs through the ages, tying the generations together.

Their customs and lore serve as the glue that binds each individual to one another.

Everyone, from the lofty noble on his throne to the lowly chambermaid, has their duties in a well-organized society.

Without everyone working together, doing what’s expected of them, society would not be able to support itself.

Even a lifetime of tragedy and loss has its own poignancy.

The act of creation holds an inherent beauty.

Each new work of art, new performance, and new thought is a unique manifestation of creativity undreamed of in the world before.

Beauty must be preserved because it is the basis for all life.

Society cannot operate effectively without an inherent fairness.

A favor is always paid back with a reciprocating favor.

An object or service given is returned with something of equal value.

Loyalty deserves fidelity, and acrimony deserves hatred.

The self comes from within. It is the basis of being, granting the ability to reason, to question, to strive for improvement.

To know oneself is to make life worth living.

Identity requires freedom — the freedom to buck trends, to say no, and to try new things.

The only things that remain eternally unchanged are those that are dead.

The alternative is nothing but stasis.

Even at its most benign, stagnation leaves people woefully unprepared when everything they know eventually gets upended.

Once outside rewards are involved, whether tangible or simply accolades, the concept of honor twists people, making them do monstrous things.

Honor is nothing more than an ugly little lie told by tyrants designed to keep their slaves docile and obedient.

No one can follow his dream when an overlord is standing above him, micromanaging his life.

Everyone has responsibilities, but if given the freedom to be themselves, people will find ways to do the necessary things in their own way that doesn’t prevent them from doing the things that make life worth living.

Pranks were played, sometimes in jest and at other times scathing, at the expense of those in power.

A merry time was had by all while allowing the disenfranchised a chance to air grievances and have an outlet for their frustrations.

Their only goal is to force a response from those capable of alleviating some of the suffering.

To fit in as part of the mundane world they became traveling circuses, freak shows, or other transient groups.

Those of higher rank are respected by those of lower rank and are also expected to meet their obligations to the less fortunate.

Many nobles see their main business to be that of gaining — or retaining — power.

Alliances may shift between the nobles and circumstances may change, but all try to expand their holdings and rise higher up the social ladder.

Something has to give.

A noble expects obedience from his vassals and respect from all others. In return, the noble respects those superior to him.

Whether they like it or not, the nobility has had to concede that modern ideas of democracy and popular rule are realities now.

Still, most nobles rule through force, cunning, personal magnetism, and custom.

They must never reveal their true natures to humanity.

Some battles are fought to first blood.

#rp meme #rp memes #rp starters #roleplay meme #roleplay starters #roleplay memes #changeling the dreaming #owod #World Of Darkness

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p---ink · 5 years ago

Text

Stark Contrasts: Chapter Two

Author’s Note: Hey guys, an anon asked for angst, so I gave them a bunch of drama with this chapter. Though I personally wouldn’t classify this as angst, im gonna tag it that way. I think angst is more like a story with a depressing tone, but this is more so dramatic if anything. But don’t worry I sprinkled in a bit of fluff and some smut to lighten it up a bit. This is a sequel to Stark Contrasts, which I recommend reading first in order to get a background of what led to this chapter. Caution, I used google translate, to add in some French. If any French readers find it offensive or wrong, let me know so I can take it out or edit it. I really hope you enjoy reading this chapter, it took me over a week to write due to writer’s block, but I am pretty happy with the outcome. Once again PLEASE DON’T REPOST MY WORK!

Summary: Edward Stark realizes the errors of his ways towards the reader, and tries to woo her in order to save their relationship.

Warnings: Smut, Angst, cheating, age gap, daddy kink, etc.

Song: From Eden by Hozier for the first half, and Run by Hozier for the second.

Word Count: 11.2k.

Parts: one | two | three | four | five

Chapter Title: Daddy Issues.

So much had changed since your night with Tony. For one, the entire dynamics of your relationship. Long gone were the unsure lovers with unresolved sexual tension. You two were more confident in your affections now, and this made you reach a new level of comfort within each other and within yourselves. Through the eyes of a stranger, the description would be that of an old—in love, married couple.

Though he was much older, you were the more mature one. Tony enjoyed doing things just to annoy you. He found your irritation both adorable and sexy. You would get so pouty, and your voice would go up at least three octaves. If he really did his job right, you would end up banging your small fists against his chest, which he thought was the cutest shit in the world. He took pleasure in poking the sides of your stomach, when you were performing tasks that took your attention away from him. “Kitten,” he’d whine when you were entranced in a book, “put that down, and come and play with me.” Then he would lay his head in your lap and talk about absolutely nothing until you noticed him. He only ever drew the line in his endeavors when you were studying. He preferred his head attached to his neck, rather than rolling on the ground.

Besides always trying to piss you off, he religiously spoiled you rotten. That extravagant lace pale blue body con dress that you saw in your favorite shop? Better believe you’d find it on your bed the next day after Edward left for work and you were getting ready for classes. He would place expensive Cartier bracelets around your breakfast muffins, and bvlgari necklaces around the necks of gifted stuffed animals. He loved buying you luxurious gifts, ranging from earrings to bags. But besides your pleading for him to stop, he knew you struggled to find ways to hide it. If he happened to notice it, explaining to Edward where you got the money to pay for diamond encrusted rings would prove difficult. You were only able to wear your shiny new gifts when you were out with Tony; he found other ways to spoil you however. There were many days, where you had nothing planned, and he’d surprise you with a day at the spa, or a night on the sky in his private helicopter. If it had been up to him, everyone in the world would know you were his, but he just couldn’t risk being seen with you. Because of this fact, he had to become creative with the ways he treated you. From the rooftop dates in secluded towns to the lavish wine tastings alone in Napa, you had experienced more with Tony than you had in your entire life. When he could arrange bullshit business events for Edward to attend, he gave you bullshit reasons to fly with him to Paris, Italy, Greece, and everywhere in between. While Edward had his trips, the two of you had your own.

Of course you always felt it was too much when he would do all of this. However, no matter how much you begged him to stop spending money on you, he never listened; it was like second nature for him to give you the world and more. He felt it necessary for someone he believed created the moon and stars.

Most who knew him closely thought he was an asshole. He would often over-talk, dismiss, and challenge others. They always pinpointed on his shortcomings, forgetting that he was a good man in the process. He was a genius billionaire philanthropist, for fuck-sake, who many a time sacrificed his own desires for the wellbeing of others. This is why he always felt guilty. The one thing he kept to himself, the one thing he was not willing to give up, was you, even though you belonged to someone else.

He just wouldn’t give you up though. Tony adored you. When the rest of the world felt like pollution in his lungs, you were his breath of fresh air. He was intoxicated by you. Enamored in your existence. He saw you as perfect which he knew was impossible in a world full of imperfections.

He became obsessed with your hair, curious as to how it could defy gravity some days, then dance on your shoulders the next. He needed to know the secret on why the sun resided in your skin, giving it a mahogany glow, with golden undertones. Your soft full lips, coffee-colored with a tint of pink, were his eternal bliss. It didn’t matter if you smelled of his sex the morning after or if your tired eyes were baggy from a night of studying, he knew you were the most beautiful person he laid eyes on. It was just as simple as that.

Tony wasn’t the only one to change. One could argue you became more bold. Where he showed his love through gifts and adoration, you showed yours through care and touch. “Tony, you’re working too hard. Come to bed now," you’d urge when you’d find him in his study hunched over a stack of papers at his desk. If he had too much on his hands, you would happily take over to help him get done sooner. You were surprisingly stubborn, and would stand firm in your attempts to get him to take care of himself. Though Tony loved annoying you, he hated when you were worried. If he was sick, you’d drop everything to tend to his needs. Whether it was making homemade soup, or driving halfway across town to get a specific type of medicine; you would do it for him no hesitation. It got the point that whenever he wasn’t feeling well, he tried to hide it. In a way being ill made him feel insecure and old. You couldn’t give a shit about those silly worries of his though, because if he needed to be taken care of, that’s what would happen. When nameless idiots over the internet spoke bad on his name, you were the first to draw your sword to defend him. You could never tell him that, but the screen name Tonysbitch99 wasn’t really fooling anyone; how could it when the anonymous face behind the name would say exactly what you would? To you, your love felt minuscule in comparison to his. It’s the reason you hated when he spoiled you. Tony however, appreciated your gestures, and felt that he was the one that was lacking. In reality your love language complemented each other perfectly. His love for you was loud and vocal, whereas yours moved silently. He needed you to ground him, while you needed him to drown out any shadow of a doubt that his actions were genuine. Besides, what could you possibly do for a man that had everything in the world?

Among other things that were now different was the constant sex. You two fucked like rabbits. He once cleared out an entire store just so he could fuck you in your dressing room. Your favorite times were when he didn’t clear the store at all. “Daddy, someone might hear us” you’d moan into his skin while he thrusted into you against a wall. “I want them to.” He would counter, before picking up the pace to build your reaction. On the way home from dining out, you would often ride him in the backseat of his car, the two of you clawing at each others skin desperate to get closer. When you just couldn’t wait to get home from your outings, he would start fingering you underneath the restaurant table while whispering sweet-nothings into your ear; this usually resulted into you getting dragged to the nearest bathroom stall. On nights where Edward was home, he would come up with any excuse to get you alone so he could bury himself into you. The two of you were playing a dangerous game, but Tony was an addict and he didn’t plan on stopping any time soon.

Perhaps the person to change the most though, was Edward. Whether it was because he learned to work hard for the things he desired in life, or the fact that said things could be taken away from him in an instant, he was changing. Most importantly, he saw that you were changing. Tony and you may have thought him to be a self-absorbed idiot, but he saw the fading love marks that littered your neck. He saw the expensive shopping bags filled with shoes and high-end lace, carefully tucked away in your shared closet as if it was meant to be hidden. The new housekeeper bought your hand-stitched lingerie in with the laundry, smiling to him relishing in how lucky he was. But you didn’t wear that for him. He saw the way you bounced around without a care in the world, even though he had not done right by you for the entirety of your relationship. Who was all of this for? Whose texts were you chuckling at while you laid in bed so late at night? Whose scent was embedded in your bedroom sheets? Whose hickeys bruised the surface of your skin? Who was all of this for?

It was true that he was somewhat of a different man now. Edward in the past would have accused you of being the biggest slut in the world. This Edward however, knew that he had no room for anger. He had absolutely no room for judgement. He had cheated on you since the genesis of it all. That didn’t change the fact that he loved you. He meant it when he said you were his forever girl, and that you were the best thing to ever happen to him. How could he be so foolish and let you give his love away?

“Dad,” he started, looking up to observe the older man. He and Tony were currently sitting opposite in their breakfast nook. Tony with his legs folded, newspaper in hand, orange juice in the other, hadn’t even looked up to acknowledge him. All that could be heard was a barely audible “Hmm?”

“I think maybe I need some time off from the company” He stated.

Expecting his father to just be okay with that, he was slightly taken aback when Tony replied, “Why is that?” briefly meeting his eyes before returning to the words on his paper.

“Well, its actually about Y/N” at this, he had his full attention.

“What’s wrong with Y/N? Is she sick?” Slight panic dripping in his words.

“Well no but…” he began, trying to find the words to say.

“But what Edward? Use your words, kid!” He demanded, tone a few notes away from a shout. He saw the surprise in his son’s face, so he straightened himself and said “Sorry. It's just you know how close we are. She’s my best friend.” He wanted to say you were his girlfriend, but best friend reigned true as well.

“Well,” Edward began again “Our relationship is in shambles. I’m pretty sure she’s cheating on me and I don’t want to lose her. She might be the only woman who’s gonna put up with my shit. And I know she’s genuine because she doesn’t ask for my money. I feel like if I’m here more, I have a chance of rekindling our connection” Edward stated, confiding in his father, hoping to find some sense of relief. He hadn’t realized how hurt he was. Is this how he made you feel? Tony almost felt guilty. But protectiveness over you soon clouded his sense of remorse. Who was he to try and take you away from him?

He examined his son. The younger boy looked like he hit copy paste on his mother’s genes. They shared the same facial features, down to her high cheek bones, only Edward had raven black hair and dark brown eyes. He was more compared to Robert Pattinson than he was to his own father, even though he looked nothing like either of them. Man, genes were a funny thing.

Tony thought about his words. It was true that you were humble and any other woman with an ounce of self-respect would have hit the door running the minute they found out how sleazy Edward had been. You almost did, until you met his father.

He put down his newspaper, turned to Edward and took in a sharp breath before saying, “She is taken care of, so you have nothing to worry about. There isn’t any unknown man coming in from off the street sniffing around your woman.” Tony chose his words carefully. They were cautiously crafted so that he technically told the truth. He was many things, but he hated to be called a liar.

He read the uncertainty in Edward’s face, then continued his case. “In all honesty, Ed, you know I need you at your desk. You wanted this, are you really gonna let your insecurities get in the way of that? If so, maybe I should find someone better to take your—”

Quickly interrupting his rambles, “No dad, listen. I don’t want to give up my seat. I’ll just have to find some other way to solve our issues.”

“Exactly what issues do you have?” Tony pressed, eyebrows knitting together.

“Don’t ask me how I know, but she’s cheating on me. I’m sure of it.” He confirmed, staring blankly into his father’s eyes. What does know? Tony thought to himself. Does he know it’s me? “Besides why are you getting so defensive?” Edward challenged. “It almost sounds as if you’re mad.”

“It’s just I know what kind of girl she is.” He defended, throwing his hands up and sitting back in his seat a bit. “She wouldn’t cheat on the man she loves. And I’m sure she cares about what you think.” Taking in his words after a moment, Edward chuckled to himself. His dad was right, you had to care about him. Why else would you still be here despite how much he had put you through.

“Thanks dad. I think I was worried about nothing for a second there.” In the back of his mind, he still knew you were sleeping around, but now he was certain that it was all done as a cry for help. You just wanted his attention. He felt silly. He smiled to himself, then to his father. Tony returned a weak smile; the rest of his face couldn’t fake the empty sentiment. Fortunately, or rather unfortunately, you came in to distract them. You came bounding down the staircase on your way to make some breakfast before your trek to school. Both of the men instantly averted their attention away from each other, to instead lay it onto you.

It was a cool fall day, so you were wearing a cropped white turtleneck that you paired with a pleated floral skirt. Long tan thigh high boots hugged your brown legs in just the right way, and you wore a simple (but expensive) necklace that Tony purchased for you. You used to care, but now you thought nothing of it since you knew Edward never paid any attention to you. Today happened to be one of those days that you were wrong. While Edward silently fumed over your choice of jewelry, Tony thought of new ways to violate you. With your consent, of course.

Focused on the iPad in your hands, you failed to notice anyone else in the room until you heard the creak of a wooden chair. Looking up from your device, you were greeted by the men of the house eyeing you meticulously. “Oh sorry. Good morning” you smile, shy from the sudden attention.

“Good morning sweetheart” “–Morning babe.” Tony and Edward say simultaneously, surprising each other, and surprising you. As they say it, their necks snap towards each other for just a second and their expressions match; furrowed brows and clenched jaws. Your eyes widen for a second before you continue on with your business.

Before swallowing the awkward silence, Tony begins, “You’re down here pretty early. Do you have something important to do?”

“I don’t have anything planned, I just wanted to wake up early to get some things done before class.” You returned, searching the cupboards.

Upon hearing your plans to do nothing, Edward sparked up an idea. He cleared his throat, and rose from his seat to hesitantly trudge over to you. At the moment, you were standing on your toes trying to reach your favorite coffee mug in the top of the cupboard. Tony always placed it there to watch you struggle, just like he was doing right now. While taking pleasure in how cute you looked bouncing up and down, he hadn’t noticed Edward leave from his seat until he blocked his view. He shadowed your form to place a hand over yours bringing down your mug. Slightly startled, by his touch, you dropped it. It fell into his hand before it could shatter on the floor. “I’m sorry for scaring you.” He chortled, turning his lips into his famous sexy grin. It did nothing but repulse you.

“Its fine.” As you take your mug and turn away from him to pour your coffee, Edward wraps his hands around your hips to turn your body towards him. You were now facing Tony, but even if you weren’t you would be able to sense the daggers he was throwing into Edward’s back. His orange juice glass was on the verge of shattering, and the wood on the table threatened to splinter his fingers, from the grip he had on it. He wasn’t supposed to touch you.

“So I was thinking” Edward began, dragging his thoughts out. “Since you don’t have any plans, I’m taking you out tonight.” You mentally cursed yourself for going into detail about your day in front of him. Mouth agape in utter disgust, you were at a loss for words. Tony could think of a few he wanted to say; however, but he stayed silent. Edward took your silence as surprise. In his eyes, you were happy to finally be spending some time with him. Everyone just stared at each other. Edward at you, you at Edward, and Tony back and forth between the both of you. “I can tell you’re happy.” His hands began to roam up and down your sides as he spoke. He drew a line up your spine, and pressed his lips to your ear before whispering, “Make sure to wear something sexy—”

“Edward sweetie, as the boss, don’t you think you should be at work bright and early.” Tony advised. Saving both you, and Edward. He worked very hard to ensure his words didn’t fall through gritted teeth.

Without taking his eyes off of you, Edward rolled them and smirked at you, as if you too were frustrated with Tony for cock-blocking. He quickly pecked your lips and went to grab his workbag. Your eyes followed his movement about the room. Just before exiting the house, he turned back to you to say “Be ready at seven” and then he turned the knob to leave.

You, Tony, and silence were all alone together. You didn’t dare look at him, but the side of your face was burning from the glare he had on it. Acting as if nothing happened, you turn back around to prepare your day.

Still staring in your direction, it was now Tony’s turn to get up. He leaped from his seat to take long strides towards you. He stopped just short of where you were standing, waiting for you to acknowledge him. You tried to busy your hands with your current task, cracking eggs into a bowl, waiting for him to break the silence; he was waiting for you to do the same. The sound of egg yolks hitting the surface of the bowl, followed by the stirring of a whisk were the only noises to be heard in the kitchen.

“Yes, my love?” You ask after a few moments, the quiet becoming too unbearable.

“Why aren’t you looking at me?” He replied, eyes boring into the side of your head.

“Tony what are you talking about. I’m busy.” You sigh, growing annoyed.

“Well fine, if you won’t look me in the eyes, can you at least answer me this? What. The Fuck. Was That?” He asked, soaking his words in drama. He placed his hand flat onto the counter awaiting an answer.

“I honestly don’t know.” You answer truthfully, still whisking your eggs.

“Well did you two make up?” Tony pressed.

“No, I guess—”

“Well then why did he kiss you?”

“Tony, I don’t know wh—”

“Well then why don’t you know?”

“Could you let me finish!” You shouted before giving him your undivided attention. Your outburst both surprised and shut him up. “I don’t know why he kissed me. I don’t know why he asked me out on a date. We did not make up, because as usual we don’t say a word to each other. Fucking hell, this has been the first time in a year since we’ve been in the same room for longer than a minute, besides when we’re asleep.” You end your rant with this “All that I know is this, I don’t care. I’m not going on that date because I would rather spend the night with you. To be completely frank, I think I’d rather spend the night in a closet with murderous clowns, than go on a date with your shitty son.” With that, you walk away to aggressively click on the stove to begin cooking your breakfast.

“Well,” Tony began, only slightly taken aback. “I know he’s shitty, but you didn’t have to say it. He is still my son, so I’m the only one who reserves the right to call him a shitty.” He chuckled, leaning opposite to you against the counter, looking down to observe your actions.

“And to that I say, when you do a piss-poor job at raising a man to respect women, then anyone reserves the right to call them shitty.” You comment, meeting his eyes with a small smile before turning back to your cooking.

Tony smirked at your remark. “Blame his mom, because I’m a total feminist.” He grasped your chin to turn it towards him, bringing his face down to kiss yours before abruptly stopping. He took a paper towel from the bar, and began wiping your lips, earning a glare from you, that soon turned into a fit of laughter. His smirk only grew wider at his successful attempt to diminish your anger.

“You make me sick.” You roared, calming down from your fit, before wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him in for a deep kiss. When you were ready to let go, Tony wasn’t. Ignoring his needy looks, you turned back around to your task at hand. Like that, the mood changed from light-hearted, to serious in an instant. Unsatisfied, Tony moved from his spot at the counter to wrap his arms around your middle, pulling you flush against his chest.

“You know I could get used to you yelling at me. It really turns me on” he said, rocking from side to side which made you sway in his arms.

“Babe.”

“Hmm.” He hummed, rubbing a finger down your spine the same way Edward did earlier, only this time instead of chills and shivers, you felt warm tingles.

Not now.” You warned, already knowing where this was going. He pushed a bang behind your ear to admire your neck.

“Why not. Can’t you skip school for just one day?” Tony responds, fanning his lips over your ear.

“ No. No I cannot.” You reply, trying to overlook the kisses he planted against your neckline, and the traveling hands against your curves.

“Then just be a little late.” He said, palming your chest, taking his time to massage the fleshy mounds. You lose your composure as he brings a hand down your sternum to dip underneath your skirt. You both groaned, him at how wet you were, and you at how good his hands felt. “Besides I know you wanna stay a little longer.” His voice was shaky and husky, and he was about to snap, which made your knees like jelly.

“Tony, please.” You were going for stern, but your demands came out in labored pants. You felt his hardened member pressed against your ass and back, and you knew if you didn’t stop him now, there was no way you were leaving the house any time soon. You unfastened his hands from your waist, and pushed him away from you before continuing your cooking. You cleared your throat to say “Maybe later.”

Seemingly defeated, Tony started with a sigh “Fine. No more teasing. But I’m hungry.”

“I have time to make you some French toast or pancakes.” You respond, placing your cooked breakfast on a plate and turning the stove off.

“I think I’ll have you instead.” He says, before planting one more kiss beneath your ear.

“No thanks love.” You chuckle.

“I wasn’t asking,” he retorted, before hoisting you up by your knees and placing you on the island away from the stove. You laugh in the process, knowing that this was inevitable. Upon sitting you down, his lips were on yours in an instant. Hurried sloppy kisses, covered your mouth and jaw as he explored your body with his fingers. As he traced his the index along your collarbone he realized he found new things to worship every time. His lips were hot and wet on your skin, both burning and soothing everything in their path. Breaking the kiss for just a moment, he brushed passed your shoulder to push everything that was on the kitchen-top’s surface to the ground.

“You’re cleaning that up this time.” You exhaled, before grabbing his face to bite his bottom lip, something you knew drove him crazy.

“Fuck it princess, it’s worth it.” He groaned, before roughly pushing you down, while being careful enough to not injure your head. He reached up your thighs and under your skirt, to pull your panties down your legs and over your boots.

“Let me take these off” you suggest, lifting the band to your shoes, but he raised his hand up to stop you, eyeing you through his tousled brown locks.

“I like them on.” He pressed a gentle kiss against your exposed skin, before saying “I’m keeping these by the way.” in reference to your lacy black underwear, before stuffing them in his back pocket. He bent down to pepper love-marks along each leg before lifting your skirt to place a soft kiss against your entrance. There was no time for him to be a tease, so he quickly dived his tongue between your folds, and he began writing his full name into your lips. The name Anthony Edward Stark felt both long and short, as it was being etched into your core. Shocks of what felt like electricity rippled through your spine, as your pussy purred to his beckoning. You were a fucking mess. He let a string of spit fall from his lips and onto yours, before flattening his tongue to gather the mixture, slurping and suckling in the process . Your eyes started to roll to the back of your head, until Tony pinched your clit. This became his favorite signal for you to give him your attention, the jolt always conflicted your pain and pleasure receptors. You loved and hated eye contact. That feeling of vulnerability sent your mind into a frenzy. But Tony refused to let you look away; he was obsessed with the way your face looked when you came undone. He began making the lewdest sounds against your cunt, tonguing it in the same way he’d do your mouth. You made a mess of his face. Your juices were dripping down your folds and in between your cheeks; what his tongue didn’t catch spilled onto the island. With his face buried in your box, his nose would lightly brush your clit, sending you straight into ecstasy.

You slightly squeezed around his head, only to have him pry your legs open. His tongue fucked your hole, making you clench around it. You were already so close, but Tony wanted this to last—that way, you’d be bursting at the seems by the time he was finished with you. “Someone wants to be fucked senseless, doesn’t she?” He asked as he raised up, licking his lips. Smirking down at you, he lifted your sweater up to your chin, in order reveal your happy breasts. He then pulled your bra under them to get a full view of the spread.

Dragging you closer to the edge, he massaged his fingers into your pussy, running them through your lips, while watching you squirm underneath his touch. He placed a hand between your thigh, kneading the immediate area with his thumb. He was enjoying the view, but knew that he only had a few minutes left; so, he pulled his pants down, coated his length with the hand he previously used to massage you with, and sunk into you no warning.

You took in a sharp breath, tears welling in your eyes and chest rising and falling. As many times as you had been with him, you still weren’t used to his size. “Shit, kitten. I’m sorry, I thought you were ready for me” he swore, grunting at the feel of you. Despite the overwhelming pleasure, he wouldn’t move until you said it was okay.

When the pain subsided pleasure quickly took over. You looked him in his eyes to say “Please wreck me baby.” He crooked his neck to look at you sideways for a second as if to ask ‘are you sure?’, dick twitching inside of it. You were more than sure. Then, before you were able to comprehend he snapped his hips forward, drilling into you at a brutal pace. Your moans and pants turned into screams, and you braced your hands against his abs. He grabbed your wrists to steady himself, so that he could thrust deeper into you. He loved this shit. The way your chest bounced. Your broken moans and cries. Even the expressions you wore, were enough to spur him on.

“I can do this all day!” He growled, relentlessly hammering into you. He thought your tight little cunt was euphoria. At this point you felt like he was in your stomach, threatening to go further. You felt your dam about to break once more, but he was a step ahead of you.

He sat you up and pulled you off the counter, quickly turning you around, ridding you of your orgasm again. Frustrated, you wiggled your ass, and pressed it against him, desperate for his touch. This earned you a harsh slap against the cheek. “Don’t play that game with me, unless you don’t wanna walk for a week” he warned before digging his nails into your skin. Within a second after that, his cock vanished behind your walls, instantly hitting your g-spot. You yelped throwing your hands back to cushion the slaps between his thighs and your own. Tony grabbed them, and like before, used them to pull you back onto him. “No, no princess. Take all of me baby. I want you to feel it all.” He growled, slamming his frustrations into you. The cabinet doors below you were shaking from the impact of your thighs. Your nipples, slid across the cool countertops as Tony stroked in and out you. You laid your head down on the counter, strength leaving you as he rocked you back and forth.

To reach a better angle, he grabbed one of your knees, lifting it to lay beside your hip against the counter. He then leaned over, so that your back was against his chest. “This pussy is mine, do you understand?”

“Yes daddy.” You whimper.

“I’m sorry what was that?” He challenges, grabbing a fistful of curls to yank, lifting you both back up.

“I said yes daddy” you shout, approaching your orgasm once more.

Tony roughly grabs your chin to turn it towards him, pressing his forehead against yours. “I can tell you’re close princess. I can feel you getting tighter around me. But good girls always ask before they cum. Beg for it.” He whispered.

You knew he wasn’t joking, but you wore your worried expression on your face. “Don’t be shy kitten. It’s just you and me.” He assured, lightly kissing your lips as he spoke.

“Please let me cum Tony.”

“Do you think you deserve to?” He questioned, suddenly ticked off from Edward’s bold gestures earlier. His lips ghosted over yours and he began slowing his moments, to really pound himself into your core. “You’re a filthy little slut for letting another man touch you.” On any other occasion, his words would have pissed you off, but in this moment they just made you wetter.

“I only want you to touch me daddy, I’m sorry” You whine, throwing your ass back onto his cock, determined to take your orgasm, but wary of the consequences if you do.

He gripped your neck with one hand, and grabbed a tit with the other. He fondled and massaged the breast, while applying pressure with the hand on your neck. He places his face to the side of yours, chin hairs tickling your cheek.“Do you promise to never let that happen again? Hmm?’” He presses, squeezing your breast and tweaking your nipple. All of this was happening while he was continuing his movements in and out of you.

“I promise baby, please just let me cum.” You screamed. You were losing your composure, and your vision was becoming blurry from tears. He had denied you one too many times, and you didn’t know if you could hang on any longer. You were pleading with him at this point.

“Cum” was all he said, as you coated his dick in your juices. Tony followed you not a second after, shooting his load up, feeling it come oozing down his member. He bit into your shoulder-blade to suppress his moans. You however lets yours come out in an almost embarrassing shriek. You had no shame though, Tony had brung you out of your shell many, many orgasms ago.

Now a sweaty mess, he unsheathed himself, and leaned down to place a kiss on your back before readjusting your sweater and skirt. He then turned to readjust himself.

“I know you’re gonna hate what I am about to say,” he warned, buckling his belt and bracing himself for your reaction, “but you should go on the date.”

“What, why?” You questioned, turning to face him, confused by his suggestion. Was he tired of this? Was he tired of you?

“I just don’t want this to end. So…to not raise any suspicion, you should go out, and have fun.” He stated before averting his gaze. He clearly didn’t want you to, but he knew you needed to.

“Tony I’m not going.” You stated, fixing your hair and walking away to collect your items for school. “He didn’t even ask me, he told me. So I don’t want to do this.” You pout.

Trailing behind you slowly, he asked this question “So if he had asked you, would you have been more willing to go.” You were kneeling down to adjust the straps on your school bag at the moment, but you stopped to survey him. His hands were buried in his pockets, and his shoulders were squared. He wasn’t the usual sure of himself cocky man you’d come to know, for a minute he seemed insecure.

“Tony, I wouldn’t want to go period.” You confirmed, raising up to stand at his level. You unplanted his hands from his pockets, and clasped them to your own, stroking his knuckles.

“Sweetheart,” he started. He let go of your hands to so that he could cup your cheeks. “I think you have to baby.”

“Ugh.” You loudly scoffed, letting his hands go to walk back into the kitchen and grab your breakfast. Your eggs were cold now, so you searched for an apple and a granola bar instead, as Tony continued his case.

“Listen, Edward knows about us. Well, not us specifically, but he knows you’re with someone. Without him, there is relatively no reason for us to continue…us. It would look bad if we still remained close with each other if your relationship with him ended.”

“Tony I’ve been living here for over a year now. I think it would be even weirder if I just cut off ties with you completely” you sneered, violently flinging the refrigerator door open in search for the string cheese. Tony mirrored your movements, and slammed the door back.

“Sweetpea, could you just think about it.” He pleaded, while talking with his hands and peering down at you with his chocolate orbs. Butterflies started to flutter in your stomach, at the new pet name he assigned you. He always tried out different ones for different situations, and this one just happened to fit this one. “We always knew this was a difficult relationship. Even if you guys ended on good terms, dating me right after would not be the greatest idea. At least if you’re with Eddy, we have more time to figure things out. Please.”

Contemplating his words, you knew he was right. But that didn’t change the fact that you hated it. “Fine. I’ll go on this stupid ass date.” As you said it, the word date was laced in venom, venom that you wished to reserve for Edward’s veins. “How are you okay with all of this though? Whats your secret?”

He thought about it for a moment, and then replied, “I’m not” before pursing his lips and looking down at his feet. Weirdly enough, you needed to hear that. Knowing that you both were going through this dread together oddly made you feel better. You grabbed his chin to lean in for a passionate kiss. Your taste from earlier still lingered on his tongue.

“Everything is going to be fine.” You assured, gazing up at him.

“Ya, I know.” He smiled, before looking down at his watch. “Well not everything, because you’re late for class again.”

“Shit!” You screeched. He watched as you sprinted through the door after scrambling to grab your stuff, all before he could even blink.

“I love you, Y/N.” He said to himself, as he waved at your fleeting car.

——————————————————

“How does this one look?”

“No. No. No. That slit is entirely too high!”

“Tony, it’s literally below the knee. And you’re the one that chose it!”

“Too much skin. Next.”

“Yea well he has seen me naked before so.” You mumbled.

“What was that? Yea maybe this whole thing was a bad idea. You were right kid, take it off and we’ll come up with an excuse as to why you couldn’t go.” He was worried. He became worried after the first dress. Though he would never admit it, you knew when he was upset. He would place his glasses on his face and get to talking faster than normal.

“Baby, like I said earlier, everything is going to be fine. Trust me.” You assured, as you went to get changed into the 7th dress of the night. 7:00 o’clock was approaching faster than normal. You had been home for a few hours now, so you and Tony mentally prepared yourself. He drew you both a hot bubble bath to calm your nerves, but it didn’t do much for them. As the time got closer, it got harder to convince each other, that this was fine. At the moment, it was your turn to persuade Tony.

You came back into the room, in a flirty fit and flare dress. Though the dress was less than a foot away from your ankles, it hugged your curves perfectly. “Hell no. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” He shouted. He had crossed and uncrossed his legs so many times at this point, you thought he’d pull a muscle. He got up to pace the room. You had never seen him worry this much.

You met him from across the room, skipping to stand behind him. As you hugged his back, you stood on your tippy toes to press your chin on his shoulder. “Honey,” you cooed, “it might help if you told me exactly what you were afraid of.”

“I’m a grown ass man Y/N, there isn’t much that I’m afraid of.” He retorted.

Aware of the sudden attitude, you reply “Fine, maybe afraid is the wrong word. Let’s say nervous. What’s got you so anxious?”

He placed his hands on top of yours before sighing, “I don’t want him to steal your heart. But I also don’t want my son to be hurt. I really don’t want to lose you, but I also feel like I am being selfish towards you both.” He turned around after making his last point, entangling your fingers together. “Most of all, I don’t wanna lose you.”

You placed your head on his chest and chuckled, the gesture sending small vibrations through him.“You said ‘I don’t wanna lose you’ like three times already.”

“Well I don’t. And you know what, who gives a fuck about me being selfish. I am that way when it comes to you. And don’t I get to be?” He asked the question more to himself than to you.

“Yes pumpkin.”

“I know. I mean, I’ve failed him as a parent you know? If he doesn’t have the decency to appreciate someone as wonderful as you, then I have failed him. I don’t know what to do. I usually do, but I just don’t this time.” You had never seen Tony be so vulnerable before. Over the past year, he had seen you in so many compromising situations that would have made any other man run straight for the heels. But you seldom saw him in those same compromising situations. This was new, and while you always liked new, this was scary. You feared, that he saw an end to this before you could.

“It is going to be okay.” That was all you could say. He sighed, and placed a kiss against your forehead before speaking.

“Y/N, I’ve been wanting to tell you,—”

“Dad! Y/N!” You heard Edward yell. You two quickly removed yourself from each other, just before he could make the room. You ran back into your bathroom to slip into another gown. When Edward came in, he was surprised to find his father in his room. “I was looking for you, but I didn’t expect to find you in here.” He began changing out of his work clothes, to freshen up.

“Well yea, she asked me to help her pick a dress.”

“I hope you helped me out here. I am trying to get laid tonight.” He admitted, winking at his dad. Tony just stared at him blankly. Taking his expression as disapproval for his choice of word, he awkwardly laughed, “Oh come on dad, don’t get stiff on me now, you know you taught me everything I know.” He began changing into his date attire, before realizing something was missing. He went to look in your shared bathroom.

Attempting to walk in, the door was immediately slammed back into his face. He was embarrassed that it happened in front of Tony, who was currently chuckling on your bedroom couch. Regaining his cool, he knocked on the door. “Babe, I need to get in for a sec.”

“I’m in here.” You replied, with short words and short tones.

“Yea babe, I know you’re in there, the thing is I need to be in there too.” He was annoyed, but you were already pissed about going out with him. Especially since he interrupted his dad from earlier. What was he gonna say? You thought.

“Well you’re gonna have to fucking wait Edward.”

“Listen, if this is about your dress, I’m gonna be happy with whatever you put on for me okay?” He assured.

“No, Edward. This is about me not wanting you to see me naked.” You corrected. “Now you could either wait, or forget about the entire date.”

“Well, I guess that means you’re not getting laid tonight.” Tony teased, fighting the shit-eating grin, that threatened to plaster his face. It got harder when Edward looked at him with the biggest death-glare .

Why does the bastard seem happy about that? he thought to himself. “Whatever. There’s always next time.” He stated matter-of-factly, not noticing the joy that left his father’s eyes. “Do you have any cologne that I can borrow?” He was still annoyed but it was fleeting. You two were not going to ruin his night. He would have you by the end of it.

“Uh, yea I left it in the downstairs bathroom, follow me.” Edward found it hard to read Tony at the moment. As mentioned before, the older man rarely lost his composure. Those closest to him, knew his ticks, but by no means were Tony and Edward close. Father and son, maybe, but they would never be friends. Edward always took to his mother, listening to the poison she spewed in his ears from the time he was old enough to understand. To him, Tony was a terrifying, self-entitled, know-it-all, who never granted mercy tho anyone, even those he loved.

Up until recently, he saw that that wasn’t true, or if it had been it was in the past now. As he followed him down the staircase, they reached the bathroom where the cologne resided. Tony, trying to play nice, handed Edward a tiny glass bottle. The bottle itself probably cost over a thousand dollars, what did that say about the tawny brown liquid inside. “Thanks man.” Was all he said, as he carelessly took it.

“Hey, you be careful with that! It cost more than your entire outfit.”

He spritzed the liquid onto his collar and wrists before speaking “This smells really good. What is this again? I feel like I’ve smelled this before.”

“Forget about the damn cologne Edward. We need to talk about Y/N.” His demeanor turned serious, as he addressed you.

“What is there to talk about?” He questioned, tousling with his hair in the mirror.

“She’s fragile right now, and I just don’t think you should force yourself onto her.”

“Woah, woah, woah. I’m not a rapist.”

“That’t not what I’m saying at all. The very fact that that’s the first thing your mind jumped to is alarming to say the least. Whatever, anyway, I’m saying that you can be a little aggressive with your approach. She doesn’t appreciate your selfish nature.”

“Selfish? Did she tell you that?” He stopped with his hair and eyed him through the mirror.

“All that I am saying is that you may win more points with her, if you ask her about what she wants.” Tony didn't even know why he bothered trying to help him. In all honesty, he was just trying to to help you.

“Dad, you just let her call me selfish? I am your son, shouldn’t you care more about what I think?”

“You literally just proved her point. And shouldn’t you want to be more attentive to your girlfriend’s needs?”

“Why are you two so close? Don’t you think that’s a little weird?” He inspected his father skeptically. He turned around to slowly look him up and down before continuing “Whose side are you on?”

Tony stood firm. He made sure to show no sign of weakness. “I’m on her’s.” His eyes burned a hole through Edward, and the younger boy bit back his anger to cower his head away from his father’s menacing look.

“Let’s go, before I change my mind.” They both perked their heads up to look at you standing through the bathroom’s doorway.

You were wearing a silk mauve spaghetti-string top, paired with pearl colored high-waisted wide-leg dress pants; those were held together by a simple Gucci belt. A chic baggy blazer that matched the pants graced your arms, and three-tier pearl earrings dangled from your lobes. Your perfectly manicured cream colored nails clutched a large white wristlet against your person. You sported a curly shoulder-length bob, and your makeup was done to look natural. On your feet were a pair of costly looking suede heels whose color resembled your top; their points were so sharp they could puncture skin. You looked more ready for a business meeting, than a date.

“Wow babe” Edward started, eyeing you in detail. “You look great, but I thought you were gonna wear something a bit more comfortable.”

“Well Edward, you said you would be happy with whatever I chose.”

“I mean I am but—”

“You look amazing.” Tony interjected, eyeing you a little too long for Edward’s liking.

“I mean don’t act so surprised, I am a boss ass bitch” You respond feeling shy all of a sudden. You broke eye contact to bite your bottom lip and examine your feet. How could your stomach still swarm and your face still heat up after all this time.

He cleared his throat before saying, “Right well, you guys have a date to attend. I hope you have fun” He turned to Edward to adjust his collar, “But not too much fun.” He left it at that for a moment before adding, “Because ya know, I’m too pretty to be a granddad right now.” He patted his chest and turned him so that he could push him out of the door.

He stopped you before you could follow, to say in a hushed tone, “You look beautiful. Hurry back please.”

“I’ll try. Don’t worry.” You gave him a small smile, before turning to leave.

He grabbed your hand to whip you around and slam the door. He pressed you against it, hands on either side of your head.

“Tony what the fuc—”

“Say the word and we can call it off.”

“Honey, at this point it’s too late. He’d know something is up if we did that.”

“Do you think I give a flying fuck what he thinks. Come on just say the word.”

“Tony, I am going. We won’t be long. So don’t worry.” You grabbed his cheeks to peck his lips.

He released his hands from their spot on the door and reopened it to a confused Edward. “Sorry.” He directed towards him. “It looked like she had a gaping hole in her pant leg. Couldn’t let it ruin your date.” He was always a terrible liar, and as he said it, he watched your retreating movements to the vehicle.

“Thanks for looking out,” Edward said sarcastically before following your steps. He tried to open it for you, but you ensured that you could open the door yourself in a cold manner.

When you got into the car, you prepped yourself for the long night before you. If you had looked back at Tony’s expression, you may have never left with Eddy.

———————————————————————

Shit. You thought, as you pulled up to the restaurant. Of course it had to be one that you and Tony frequented a lot. Every time they saw him, they called you both by name. You should have known something was up when the drive took an hour outside the city.

“Eddy, why don’t we go somewhere else.” You say as you slide down in your seat. “This place looks expensive.”

“I want to try this. I’ll take care of the bill.” He was being short with you now. It was due to the lack of communication during the entire drive. No matter how hard he tried he just couldn’t get more than two words out of you. You almost felt bad, but that diminished when you saw him shamelessly checking out a girl who was passing by your car. You didn’t even care about it, you were just annoyed that he did it in your presence even though it was his idea to take you out.

“Fine.” You retort, unbuckling your seatbelt to beat him inside. You felt that if you got in before him, you could warn the staff not to mention Tony, or your being there before. Too bad Edward’s legs were way longer than yours.

“Slow down, I’m the one who made the reservations.” He ran up to walk beside you. He sensed you sense him checking the other woman out, and took your sudden mood shift as jealousy. “Don’t worry baby, she wasn’t even that pretty.” He snaked an arm around your waist, which made you recoil away. He opened the glass doors for you, and you were immediately embraced with the familiar smell of French cuisine. The ambiance was soft and warm, and the lights were dim as golds and yellows lay in the scenery. Being here without Tony wasn’t the best, but at least you felt somewhat at home.

As the two of you approached the maître d’s desk, the jolly man lit up at the sight of you. Samuel was the sweetest, and sassiest person you had ever come to know. The fact that he could be both was why you loved him.

“Aww ma cherré! C'est si gentil à vous de nous rejoindre ce soir!” Samuel exclaimed. He was elated to see you since it had been a while.

“Tu m'as manqué Samuel!” You were happy to see him as well and expressed how much you missed him.

“You two know each other?” Edward inserted, causing Samuel to focus his attention on him.

“Well no. I just read his name tag.” You said nervously.

“Qui est-ce?” Samuel asked, trying to figure out who Edward was. He was currently sizing him up. This wasn’t his precious Tony.

“What did he say? I knew I should have gone somewhere, where they speak English” Edward complained.

Samuel mumbled something about Edward being an entitled prick, which made it hard for you to suppress a smile. “He asked what was the reservation name under.”

“Ahh, it’s under Stark! I am the one who called ahead 3 hours ago!” Edward shouted, like the asshat he was.

“Monsieur, I understand English. I’m from New York.” Samuel stated with an attitude. “However speaking French helps set the tone for this environment. Also, if you yell at a person who you presume to speak a different language, it makes you look like an obnoxious prick.” You couldn’t suppress your smile this time.

“Is it customary to speak like that to your guests too?” Edward challenged, making both you and Samuel’s smile falter.

“Non monsieur.” He replied, the confidence from before had left now.

“Yea I didn’t think so. I would like you and your staff to speak English to me for the rest of the night.” He informed, a menacing smirk playing on his face. “I should see that you take care of those who give you service.”

“Yes sir. Allow me to lead you to your table.” You tugged on the cuffs of his jacket to look at him with sorry eyes. “ Ahh Mrs. Y/L/N, will you be taking your usual spot on the roof—”

You looked at him with wide eyes before you said “Monsieur!” You shouted. You guys had stopped, “Could you show me to the restroom! I am sorry I cannot hold my bladder any longer.”

“But you already know—” Samuel you idiot! You thought to yourself.

“Restroom please!”

“Okay okay, just a minute!” Your outbursts were out of character, so he was just now realizing something was wrong. “You can sit here sir. Right this way ma’am.”

When you two got out of earshot, that’s when you tackled him with a hug. “I am so sorry he treated you like that.”

“It’s not your fault, my dear. But who is that son-of-a-bitch.”

You rolled your eyes and scoffed before saying, “That’s Tony’s son. We are dating.”

“Wait! No what happened with you and Tony!”

“Nothing, we are fine…we just met at the wrong time.”

“Ahh, does he know that you are dating his son?” You basically just told Samuel that you were dating two people who were blood-related, and he didn’t bat an eye-lash.

“Of course he knows! Edward doesn’t though, so if it isn’t too much to ask, please tell everyone to act as if they never met me. I would really appreciate it.”

“Anything for my favorite girl! You stupid bitch, I can't believe you didn't tell me all this juicy gossip.” He winked at you before leading you back to your table.

You sat down in the booth and let your blazer fall from your arms. All of a sudden you felt nervous, but determined to play nice. Edward’s irritation took on a new level, and you forgot that you were supposed to be “rekindling” your relationship. All you had done this entire evening was make it worse. You almost forgot how to talk to him, being alone only made things worse. He was sitting opposite to you, examining his menu. And when he spoke it was cold.

“I took the liberty to order us some drinks while you were off talking with that server.” So he knew you had lied about the bathroom, yet his eyes hadn’t left his menu. Maybe he was trying to decipher the French, and wasn't really worried about you.

“I don’t drink anymore.” You declared.

“So much has changed about you. Like you speak French now, when did that happen.” His voice was like liquid turned into stone. Hard but smooth at the same time.

“I took an online class.” You lied. Tony was the one to teach you. “I have an internship in Paris that requires me to learn it.” That part was true though

“Does that internship pay you ahead of time?” He glanced up from his menu to meet your gaze.

“It doesn’t pay me at all.” Your brows furrowed. Where was he going with this?

“Oh. You know I just thought it did, since you can afford Gucci, and what is that?” He asked referring to your wristlet “That’s a Valentino right? Oh and let’s not forget the Louboutin’s on your feet!” He was losing his cool now.

“Eddy you’re gonna cause a scene. Lower your voice.” You hiss.

Fortunately your waitress came over to distract him for a second. “Bonjour, je m'appelle Elise. Je serais heureux de te servir ce soir.” You knew Elise, but you had to act as if you didn’t. You hoped that when she looked away from her notepad, she wouldn’t recognize you.

“English please. I already told your host this.” He was already an ass, but now he was being plain rude.

The peppy red-head looked up from her notes to examine him. Her doe-like eyes wide in terror that quickly turned into joy upon noticing you.

“Y/N! It’s so nice to see you!” She looked around for a second before looking back to you, “Where is Mr Stark?” You held your breath at the mention of Tony. I guess Samual hadn’t warned Elise yet.

“I am Mr. Stark.” Edward rudely inserted. You were relieved he didn’t realize the error, until he spoke again “Look. We’re not ready to order yet. So why don’t you come back later. Fuck off” He waved his hand in a dismissive behavior, before turning back to you.

You watched the girl bow her head before quickly retreating.“Why do you have to be such a fucking dick?”

“What? Do you think I hurt your little friend’s feelings? Why did you act like you’ve never been here before.” His nostrils began to flare, as he sat up from his seat.

“I haven’t—.”

“Don’t fucking bullshit me Y/N. I heard him ask you about your usual spot on the roof. You must think I am an idiot.” He snarled. “I asked about it before reserving the restaurant. My point is that I know it costs more than your tiny bank account could hold. So what, did you plan on freeloading off of me and my dad, while your sugar daddy takes care of you too?”

“Don’t speak to me like this.” You state through gritted teeth. Your eyes were starting to water from his interrogation, but you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry.

“Who pays for it? Hmm? Is it the same person who put those hickeys on your chest? Or is it the person who bought you that cheap ass bracelet.” Before you knew it, he grabbed your wrist to snatch off the Cartier bracelet Tony got you for valentine’s day. It meant the world to you, since he had the words ‘My heart belongs to you, T.S.’ engraved inside it. You watched the jewels bounce and clatter on to the hard-wood floor. Rolling under feet and nearby tables. People were starting to look over, but you didn’t care. You also didn’t care about the tears that spilled from your eyes.

Edward sat back in his chair, and rubbed a hand through his hair while acknowledging your tears. He coldly mocked these next words “What’s wrong. Can’t he afford to buy you a new one?”

“Yea.” You said, voice shaking, while your eyes remained on the floor. You turned back to him to say, “Maybe if I fuck him good enough, he’ll get me an even prettier one.” His hands began to shake as you watched him go red in the face. He balled his palms into fists, knuckles turning white; a sharp contrast to his crimson fingers. He unexpectedly slammed them on the table, causing you to jump, and the conversations around you to cease.

“Well maybe he should give you a ride back home while he’s at it, you fucking bitch!” He shouted, spit flying from his mouth. He got up to storm out of the door, pushing passed Elise who was coming back with your drinks. He left you embarrassed, without a way home, and alone. Oddly enough, you weren’t crying because of Edward. You were crying because you felt like you failed Tony.

————————————————————

You arrived home over four hours later, after hailing a taxi. You would have been home sooner, if you didn’t spend the night with Elise, Samuel, and the rest of the staff, insisting on helping them close. You partly helped to make up for the scene you and Edward had caused, and you also wanted to give Edward enough time to get home and go to bed. From the looks of it, he had made it there in just a little under an hour, because that’s when Tony started lighting your phone up. That’s why you stayed longer to wait for him to fall asleep as well. You were an even bigger idiot than Edward if you thought he would be asleep before you made it home.

He was sitting on the staircase when you unlocked the door to come in. “Are you okay?” He asked, leaping up to stand before you.

“Yea I’m good.” You respond, tiredly.

“Good. Because I am fucking livid.” He said in a frantic tone. “What’s wrong with your phone?”

“Nothing. Where’s Edward?”

“He’s asleep. So why didn’t you answer you phone?”

“It died.”

“Was that before, or after you turned it off? Because I know for a fact that’s what you did. That’s always your excuse when you don’t want to talk to someone.”

“Can we not do this tonight.” He grabbed your shoulders and bent down so that he could look you in your eyes.

“I would prefer it if we did this now.”

“Well it’s not about what you fucking want all the time,” You snapped.

“Hey. That’s not fair.” Hurt was plastered on every inch of his face. You saw it, so you began to apologize.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice cracked, and you were about to cry again. “Tony I can’t do this anymore. I can’t live in this house with him anymore. I can’t live this lie any. more.” The tears spilled, and you couldn’t tell who was more hurt at this point, you or Tony.

He pulled you into his chest, which muffled your sobs. “What am I supposed to say, when you get like this? I can’t bear seeing you cry, princess. What do I do?”

“Please just hold me. Don’t let me go.” You mewled.

He pulled back to wipe away your tears with the backs of his thumb. “Now when have you ever known me to do something stupid.”

“Everyday.” You laugh. He tapped your nose and gave it a quick kiss, while still cupping your cheeks.

“Yeah, well besides then.”

“Never.” You whispered. He stared into your eyes lovingly. You two stayed mesmerized in each other for longer than usual.

“I love you, Y/N. I guess that goes without saying, but I thought you should know.” He confessed. Believe it or not, it was the first time. The two of you never had to say it, because you just felt it. Just knowing it, still wouldn’t beat hearing the actual words though. He had just made it fact in your heart.

Speaking of your heart, it was beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings, threatening to leap from your chest at any second. The butterflies he gifted you quickly turned into elephants, that threatened to trample your insides, and replace the remains with Peruvian lilies. Your cheeks were now hot to the touch, and your mouth searched for words that came out in random incoherent spouts.

Tony, suddenly overcome with unsureness started with, “Maybe this wasn’t the right time to—”

“No!” You shouted, “I love you too.” You cried, smiling before you stood on your toes to wrap your arms around him. His arms dropped to your sides, and he pulled you in by your shirt, latching his mouth on yours. This kiss was different from the rest. They all felt good, but this one felt better than them all combined. Taking in all of you, your scent, your taste, your feel, he felt spoiled. He grabbed at the sides of your face to deepen it, while you grabbed at the back of his neck. You both tried your hardest to get closer, but it may have not even been possible, since there was no space left between you.

You were the first to pull back for air, while Tony still pecked at your lips, stealing wet kisses, that trailed from your mouth to your forehead. He peppered them over your eyelids, nose, and cheeks, desperate to cover every perimeter of the skin.

You fluttered your eyes open when he was done, smiling up at him though your lashes. His chocolate brown orbs danced with more joy, than you had ever seen, and his pearly whites peered through his goofy grin. He eskimo kissed you, and rest his forehead against yours. You were happier than you had ever been.

You both snapped your necks towards the sound behind you before you heard Edward say “I should have known it was you.” He, like his dad before, sat at the bottom of the staircase watching the both of you. You two were so wrapped up in each other, you didn’t even hear him walk down.

And just like that, your happiness left the chat.

A/N: Sooo... tell me what you think? Also, I proofread, but please let me know if you see any errors. Please like comment and share. To @swaggysposts @scarletsoldierrr I am so sorry for posting so late, but I really hope you are still interested. Please tell me what you think! PART 3 here

#tony stark smut #Tony stark angst #black reader #Marvel Smut #Tony Stark x reader

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squeeneyart · 4 years ago

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Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 20

AO3

Beta reader as always is @thesnadger!

Simon and Martin have a chat.

Martin accepts some advice.

When Martin passed the front gate the world behind him disappeared, replaced by cold, grey mist and stone.

Staring back the way he came only made it harder to remember what had been before, and his head felt the pressure of distance with no point of reference. Something deep inside him knew the perils of walking anywhere but the path leading him to the Fairchild house; to step anywhere else would see him tumbling out and away from the only landmark he had left.

Waiting for him at the front door was the woman who’d taken the sketchbook from him, this time without the veneer of professional courtesy. The hooded jumper, worn jeans, and disinterested wave announced to the world an interrupted day off. If his damp, miserable self was an affront to her sensibilities, she wasn’t showing it, so the wet jacket stayed on.

In his nerves he hadn’t really registered her appearance during their first meeting, too focused on getting rid of the evidence of his crime. She was older, maybe in her 60s, with long grey hair tied back into a low ponytail. He hadn’t seen her about town before, had he?

They walked inside without any chitchat, so Martin glanced about in silence. The interior felt right if his memory served, the same skinny halls and windows stretching from floor to ceiling. The most striking aspect still was the mural at the top of the central staircase. The rest of the house was dwarfed by it, as if the grand building was no greater than his hometown’s silhouette tucked into the corner of the canvas.

Approaching it, the colors were more. More intense, more bold, all the brightness stolen from the world outside siphoned into an impossible sky. Maybe anything would look that much more when contrasted with where he’d been. He was at the top of the stairs standing at its center wondering if there was any distance that could give him a proper view of the whole.

From behind him the woman cleared her throat, though she didn’t seem irritated. He pulled himself away from the spot where he’d stopped to stare, leaving slippery footprints in his wake.

Glancing up at the mural, she only said, “Some things demand attention.”

She led him to the same room from his first visit with its outward wall of glass. Across the room sat Simon, his back facing those large, unbelievably clear windows that now overlooked the fog-covered landscape. Martin heard the woman’s retreating footsteps and the click of the door.

Martin breathed out, keeping a few feet between himself and the old man. He waved stiffly at the windows. “It’s a bit late. I was expecting this to happen last week.”

With that pleasant smile unmoving, Simon motioned for Martin to sit in the chair across from him. “Don’t be ridiculous. That event will be much more exciting. I wanted to put this meeting together, and needed a good mix of quick and fun.”

“Starting to question my understanding of ‘fun’,” Martin mumbled. He took the seat offered to him and crossed his arms over his chest, the rainwater he carried in seeping into the plush fabric. “It seems like I’m always on the losing side of someone else’s.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Simon hummed, leaning back comfortably in his chair. “So you’d prefer something more exciting in your invitations, so you’re not left out? Did my little errand turn you into a thrill-seeker already?”

“No.” A shiver ran through him, not of fear but of an awful, biting cold. The wet of his hair sapped the heat right out of him and pulled his ponytail down heavy onto his neck. “What do you want?”

“Oh, a bit moody today, aren’t we?” The smile was still sitting idly on Simon’s face. “Peter’s been around more often, I can tell. He does that to people, sucks all patience and goodwill out until they’re… well.” He flicked his eyes over Martin with something like pity.

Martin pressed his arms tighter into himself. “So what, you push people into the sky, and he does that?”

Simon laughed without a hint of shame. “Goodness, no. Peter is just like that, no strangeness needed. I’ve often left his company feeling completely drained and irritable, though I’ve found ways to ensure the feeling is mutual.”

“Good friends, then.”

“As much as he can have them.” Simon leaned forward, no hint of bitterness in his voice or expression. “A very close-to-the-chest type, I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

With a sharp exhale, Martin said, “Look, if you’re going to ask me for a favor I’m not-”

“Now, now, I’m not one to drag on a favor forever, and you’ve paid in full. Besides, Peter is much too jumpy right now for anything to be done.” Simon turned his gaze toward the window. “I’m afraid all any of us can do now is wait.”

A jolt of disappointment shocked Martin to silence. All of this dramatic nonsense just to be told to wait and see? He hadn’t had any specific expectations, but deep down he’d believed Simon to be plotting something soon. That even if it was a horrible outcome Martin wouldn’t be left in suspense from every angle of his life.

Whatever shoe was meant to drop, it hadn’t, and it wouldn’t for some unspecified amount of time.

Simon regained his easy tone and continued, “And I greatly dislike this weather, all of these things clouding my view. Soon I’ll be going weeks without a clear day, and it can feel so… so claustrophobic. So little to work with on a day like this.”

He wasn’t the one who needed to walk in it. “You’re not going to explain anything, are you?”

“No, I’m not. You know how these things are. Business.” Reaching into his pocket, Simon pulled out a small envelope. “Speaking of, like a pouting child Peter has been avoiding me, and as far as I can tell you’re the only person who actually sees him.”

With a deep sigh Martin leaned forward, elbows resting on knees. Not only was he getting nothing out of Simon, but- “This is all so I can be a messenger boy?”

“Just the one time, if Peter can be reasonable.”

“I don’t- Wait. Why not trap him like you did me? Just force him to your door.”

With a sudden laugh that made Martin jump, Simon replied, “Not everyone is as easy to find as you. And anyway, it’s not wise to do that to friends, is it?”

It wasn’t a way to keep friends, no, and he took the message from Simon without further comment. On the other side of the room, the door opened to reveal that woman. Not needing prompting he stood, looking back one more time at the other man.

Simon remained seated and swung one more friendly smile in Martin’s direction. “You’ll be seen out, then. I must thank you for your previous help, Martin. The personal significance alone can’t be overstated. It’s not my only sketchbook, of course, but several of my best works had their beginnings in it.” Was that glint in his eye one of creative pride, or was there some joke Martin was missing?

The tiniest desire to stay and hear more itched at the back of his mind, but the dismissal was clear and he let the woman lead him back through the house. Once outside he saw the weather had taken a turn for the worse into a complete downpour. The high wind would certainly blow his hood down, making for a wretched walk ahead of him.

“Ah.” He’d been taken to the Fairchild house on an impossible route, but the way home was entirely real. “I have a long way to walk.”

“Inconveniences all around,” the woman said, shutting the door behind him.

Once he was alone he ripped the phone from his pocket and and bent over it to delete his dramatic messages before they could be seen, replacing it with:

Martin: talked with simon (didnt really have a choice), dont think anything will happen with him for a while

Martin: said all we can do is wait? really cryptic

Then he pocketed it once more and walked out the front gate into the reinstated town.

The greatest relief was finding other unlucky pedestrians doing their best to stay dry along with him. Even without the ability to stop and talk he felt the silent commiseration. It wasn’t joy in the suffering of others but rather the knowledge that other people were there at all to share in the cruddy weather. He could see where a person ahead of him was avoiding puddles, and found residual warmth in the lights of nearby shop fronts. It was the kind of melancholy atmosphere that could make rain a little more bearable.

The walk down the cliff however was designed to kill him, the slope slick with mud and abandoned by an early setting sun. No waterproof phone, glasses blurred and splattered with droplets, Martin made his slow way home in the cold, in the dark. More than once he stopped to make sure he hadn’t gotten turned around by forces supernatural or otherwise, but then the ground flattened and he could finally hear the sea over the rain beating against the ground.

He was late of course, but besides some comments about tracking water into the house and forgetting his umbrella his mother had left him well alone, and even took his word when he described the weather as unsuitable for her health. He was grateful. After the last few days anything worse might’ve sent them into a screaming match to surpass any bouts they’d had in years. Maybe the day had taken as much out of her as it had from him.

Instead, after a necessary change of clothes on his part, they ate dinner and watched television, her in her chair and him on the couch. It was some old game show he vaguely remembered, not something that aired in his childhood but that he’d experienced first as reruns, the saturated colors and fuzzy image granting it a multilayered nostalgia. Someone on the screen had just answered a question and was hoping their spouse would come up with the same response.

In his pyjama pants and old t-shirt he felt little, his feet tucked under him because he hadn’t wanted to waste another pair of socks. It was as if he’d just come out of the bath with his wet hair and drooping eyes and was waiting to be told he was up too late. As if he wasn’t responsible for watching the clock himself.

His phone vibrated in the middle of the program, but if his mother noticed she chose to ignore it. Tapping the phone awake, Martin saw a notification from the group message.

Tim: ok check-in time what the hell

Tim: just saw this

So they hadn’t seen his initial messages. He breathed out in relief and typed out a reply.

Martin: some weird stuff, but everythings fine. simon made it so i had to go talk to him

Martin: whatever simon mentioned before its not coming yet. seems like he isnt in control of when whatever it is happens? also peter is avoiding him so i need to give him this letter

Tim: weird but

Tim: good? more time for us

Sasha: one less thing to worry about. glad it went okay.

Tim: ^^

He’d successfully avoided any panic or weirdness that his original messages most definitely would’ve caused and patted himself on the back for a job well done. No one needed that as a distraction.

Martin: oh right weird topic change but jon mentioned it, do you really all use a cot at work

Tim: oh yeah lol love that thing

Tim: jon is on it right now actually will pass on simon info when hes awake

Martin: youre all still there??

Tim: oh martin dont you know weve Never Left

Tim: we should get going soon tho now that you mention, will drag jon out of the archives while passing on simon info

Martin: good idea

Tim: and keep those eyes down!

Martin bit his cheek and looked past his phone at the television screen. No doubt it was karma for his rash behavior at the lighthouse, having “just wait!” shouted at him from all corners. The universe was making itself very clear. Simon could’ve just been telling him to let something terrible happen, but even if that was true Martin wasn’t in a place to stop anything.

But it was a great quality of Tim’s, rounding them all up and trying to save them from regrettable decisions. The least Martin could do was make that job easier and stay out of trouble. It was also the most he could do, as much as it irked him.

Martin: dont need to tell me twice!

And with that Martin pocketed his phone, accepting his fate of inaction.

When he finally put his mother to bed the goodnight between them was not warm, but it was closer to normal. If he’d been told that one of the most pleasant parts of his day would’ve been watching the telly after dinner with his mum, he would’ve… well, it wasn’t that strange. Really it emphasized how bad the rest of his day had been.

Meanwhile the most pleasant event felt fake, even when he checked his call logs to confirm it. What a strange start to a day, he thought as he laid in bed. At least it made up for Jon not being around that evening, that and knowing Jon was getting some sleep. The man clearly needed some prompting during an intense work period to take care of himself, and Martin silently thanked Tim for doing something about it when he couldn’t bring himself to initiate a phone conversation. He knew it was ridiculous for him to be so nervous about the idea, but…

But.

Hopefully Jon didn’t think he was rude. It was one thing to chat in person, but calling without a specific topic to discuss while the others were hard at work? Because he was bored? Best to let Jon reach out when he felt it necessary, even if it meant being woken up at odd hours on a work day and otherwise sitting on his hands. Eventually this would all be behind them and he could stop being racked with guilt over the thought of making a social call.

Martin’s stomach twisted. Yes, things would be dealt with, and he would move on from this strange period in his life.

He moved to place the phone down for the night when it buzzed in his hand, with a message in another, private chat.

Sasha: we should talk more later about what simon told you specifically. if something big is coming having someone on the inside of things might not be the worst. not saying you should seek him out, he seems perfectly of capable of contacting you, but if it happens again it could be an opportunity

Martin: you think he could be on our side?

Sasha: i think letting people say their piece can lead to understanding, even if the other person is the worst. something is going on between him and peter lukas and the more we know the better

Martin: right…

Sasha: again not saying to run into anything. wait for us etc etc but trust your gut

Martin: so your opinion on staying put?

Sasha: sometimes you cant, thats all im saying

Martin: okay, i think i get it

Sasha: good. now get some sleep, weird things tend to drain you

Martin: goodnight

Sasha: night

Well, she wasn’t wrong. He didn’t believe that Simon was a good person, not with how he’d treated Martin thus far, but that didn’t make him evil, either. And his advice was the same as what everyone else had already been saying: stay out of trouble as best he could and wait for the right moment. Even Sasha still conceded to it being the best option for the present. If Peter told him to wait as well, then Martin would be truly lost on what to do, but until then he would follow the advice of all the people who knew more than he did.

And if Simon called him to his home again, he would try to be less… difficult. And he would buy a better jacket, just in case.

The next morning, he listened to a voice message left shortly after he’d fallen into a blissfully dreamless sleep.

Jon’s groggy voice drifted from the mobile. “Hi, sorry I missed things. Wasn’t expecting Fairchild to be so forward, and my sleep schedule has never been- anyway, Tim convinced me to go back to my flat, but since I slept at the institute earlier I’m currently following a few threads to see if they lead anywhere helpful. I think I’ve reached something, but time will tell.”

He continued after a brief pause. “Seems you’re already asleep, as you should be, so I’ll let you go. Let me know if you have any questions about our other… shared interest. Good night. I hope things stay quiet.”

#tma #the magnus archives #breathe in the salt #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #sasha james #timothy stoker #peter lukas #simon fairchild #fanfic #au fanfic #selkie au #i swear to god theres selkie content its just very slowburn selkie content #jonmartin

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wouldpollyapprove · 5 years ago

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She’s Not Yours: Part Two

Summary: Y/n and Finn have been friends for a few years, meeting when he let a few men know that she was no longer theirs to catcall. They were the best of friends, but Y/n wasn’t as honest with him as she wanted to be. But how could she be when she involved with his brother. Life couldn’t get any easier for her when she found out that Finn had developed feelings for her. What a rough position she’d found herself in.

Thomas Shelby x Reader / Finn Shelby x Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Violence, lanugae

A/N: I wrote this while writing Legend, which has Tom Hardy in it, and I fucking loved it. It was amazing and he did an amazing job portraying Reggie and Ronnie. And I loved the whole cast. It was like two hours but totally worth it. I’m also pleased with how this turned out. I was unsure how I would make a second part of this but here it is.

Part One

Masterlist

With Y/n’s quick departure, the Garrison was a war zone, Tommy and Finn at each other’s throats. One angered over what he felt had slipped between his fingers, the other outraged that he may not be the first choice. Neither were willing to back down. As foolish as it was, they were both willing to die for their cause.

Arthur and John shared a look, one that told the other it would be a long night, as their brothers’ rage spilled out into the main room. They were there to drink, but from the looks of it, they were there to break up a fight.

“Fuck you, Tommy!” Finn spat as his fist connects with his brother’s jaw. Tommy staggered back, hitting the door frame of the private room. “Fuck you!”

The older man was at a loss for words. Most of the time, his youngest brother was all bark and no bite, but it seemed the dog had come out in him. His punches were clean and movements swift. Finn was no longer a blinder, dependent on his blade and pistol. Instead, a boxer with iron fists and feather feet. This was not his brother, not the one he knew.

“You fucker.” Tommy composed himself and wiped a bit of blood from his lip. “You think you’re tough now, don’t you?”

The two brothers that watched from the sidelines did nothing to intervene. Tommy and Finn would fight no matter what they did. So, there they stood, leaning against the bar, as they watched their brothers throw glasses at each other and dodge punches, waiting for them to grow tired.

Those wanting to enjoy their evening in the pub found that it was time to go home when Tommy landed on a table, its legs gave way from the force. People finished off their drinks, some left them half have empty and escaped through the door. As much as everyone wanted to stay and watch, putting money on a certain outcome, they knew it best to leave. Peaky business was meant to be just that: Peaky business. No one wanted to stay just to be grabbed by the collar and thrown out the door by John or Arthur.

Harry, though, he wanted to have a pub left by morning and did what should have been done when glasses shattered against the wood floor. With a heavy sigh, he reached for the telephone and dialed the one person that would end the violence.

“What the fuck is going on here?” Polly’s stern voice filled the empty pub as her eyes landed on her nephews that were trying to kill each other. Nothing else had to be said for John and Arthur to finally come between the men. John grabbed a bottle from Finn’s raised hand with one hand and held him back with another. Tommy huffed when Arthur stood between him and John, his muscles relaxed a tad as he wiped the sweat from his brow. When all was calm, their aunt asked again, “What the fuck is going on here?”

The tap of her foot echoed through the room, all her nephews afraid to answer. Of course, John and Arthur weren’t exactly sure what the fight was over, more impressed with the fact Finn decked Tommy. “Well?”

“Finn here is mad that someone desires me more than him,” Tommy pointed at his youngest brother.

He rolled his eyes. “You’ll only get her killed.”

“You shut your fucking mouth!”

“That’s enough, Thomas,” Polly said through gritted teeth. “Who are you two blockheads fighting over? Tell me it’s not Y/n.” Silence fell over them once more, answering her question. She groaned, “You idiots! I assume you scared her off too.”

“Well, it seems I’m the only one that knows how to treat a woman right,” John laughed before his aunt told him to shut up.

“You two better figure this out before I do,” Polly warned. “She deserves better than this.” She gestured to the broken table, shattered glass, and bruised men. “Y/n deserves to be happy, not miserable.”

While the Shelby brothers sorted there shit out, Y/n was a miserable mess. Coming home with puffy red eyes, her mother begged her to explain what had happened. The woman was as loving as she could be but couldn’t find it in her heart to understand her daughter. She cared, but never enough. Between sobs, her mother did nothing but scold her when the name ‘Shelby’ rolled off her tongue. Shouts could be heard down the street as Y/n’s mother told her that she’d gotten what she deserved.

“They’re no good gypsy gangsters! I thought I raised you better than this! Better than to be a fucking whore!” Her mother screamed behind her, watching her daughter run up the stairs to the sanctuary that was her room.

With the bedroom door shut and locked behind her, Y/n slide down the hardwood onto the floor and pulled her knees close to her chest. She shouldn’t have said anything, nothing would help anyway.

Her mother never minded Finn, he was a fine boy as long as he never entered the house and his name never spoken around the table. The Shelby family, though, was a different story. They were the enemy in her mother’s eye. The ones out to ruin their lives. Y/n wasn’t allowed to be around the family, but that never stopped her. What her mother didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

But now she knew.

She knew that her daughter did more than run around with Finn. She did more than just have a drink at the Garrison. Her daughter was a fucking whore in her eyes now.

As the night dragged on, the tears never stopped but Y/n decided to push herself off the floor and try to get some sleep. After what felt like hours of tossing and turning, sleep finally caught up with her and she let peace overtake her. There were no tears behind her eyelids, no fights, no brothers, no unloving mother. There was nothing but fields of green and pure white daisies.

Like all things, that came to an end.

Y/n batted her eyes, letting them adjust to the light that peaked through the window. A groan escaped her lips when her door rattled, her mother on the other side.

“Open the fucking door, Y/n! I need you to go to the market!”

The girl sighed and sat up. The market was better than home, so she couldn’t complain. Quickly, she changed her clothes and smoothed down her hair. Moments later, the door opened, her mother’s furious face staring right at her.

“About fucking time!” she spat and shoved a piece of paper in her hands. “These are what I need.” Y/n nodded and went to move past her mother, but the woman grabbed hold of her wrist and pulled her back. “Don’t you fucking think of going to see those Shelby boys,” she whispered in her ear. “Or I’ll tell your father what you’ve done.”

Y/n nodded and turned for the stairs before her mother could see her paling face.

The streets were packed as men set off to work at the factories and women to the shops. Y/n kept her head down, afraid of how fast word traveled in Small Heath. Few knew what had actually taken place at the Garrison the night before, but people had creative minds and loved spinning stories out of nothing. It wasn’t ridiculous to fear gossip.

Marking off things from her mother’s list, she did her best to move as quickly as possible. Even if there was a crowd, her mother would simply believe she’d stopped to speak with Finn or Tommy and tell her father. Y/n couldn’t have that. Not when she knew the temper that man possessed.

She wasn’t even halfway through the list when a paper was dropped in her basket. She turned to see the delivery man but caught nothing but the sight of other women looking at the selection of fruit. Y/n glanced back at the note before picking it up. Once open, her eyes scanned the ink along the page. In unfamiliar writing, it requested her presence at the Shelby residence.

“Fuck,” she swore, turning her back to the tomatoes in front of her. Moving through the crowd she sighed. That was the one thing she’d been told not to do. But her feet carried her there anyway. It was an accident, really. Walking cleared her mind and that’s what she did once she was away from the market. She walked and walked and walked, ending up closer to the Shelbsys’ house than she would have liked.

It was too late to turn back once she realized. So close, it wouldn’t be right to turn away now. One foot in front of the other, she bit back her fear and went up to the front door. With shaking hands, her knuckles hit the door, waiting for a response. Shuffling behind the door made Y/n wish she’d headed home. Then the door opened.

Polly gave the girl a sympathetic smile and opened the door wider. She entered the house, the smell of biscuits wafted through the air. Polly led her to the kitchen, where Tommy and Finn sat opposite of each other at the table. Y/n stopped in the doorway when their eyes landed on her, unsure of what to do.

They were going to make her choose, weren’t they? The thought made her breakfast want to reappear. She could n’t do that, she couldn’t choose. Finn was her best friend, she would be lost without him. He was the brother she’d never had, the friend that would stay up all night to help soothe a broken heart. Y/n couldn’t lose that. Then there was Tommy. He made her heart flutter and treated her like adult she was. He made her feel safe and gave her the stability she lacked at home.

“I’ll leave you three be,” Polly stated and grabbed a cup of tea. “Any fighting-” She pointed at Tommy and Fin. “-and I’ll kill you both.”

With her exit, Y/n shifted her weight from one foot to another, her nerves getting the best of her. She couldn’t stand to look at the two men, who’s eyes were trained on her. Shame was all she felt, that she’d put them in such a position.

“I’m sorry, I really am,” she shook her head, eyes on the ground. “I should have never put you both in this position.” She wanted them to be mad, it’s what she deserved. But neither of them seemed angry, their eyes soft.

“Tommy told me you didn’t want to hurt me with your relationship,” his words were soft, bitter at the end. “I shouldn’t have gotten angry, not when you cared so much. You shouldn’t be sorry, I should.”

A soft smile from her friend coaxed her closer to the table. Finn was probably still angry, but at least he understood, that’s all she could ask for. She knew, though, that Polly had a part to play in this. Probably threatening the boys to kiss and make up. It was times like this she was glad they were a tight-knit family.

“You’re okay with it?” she asked, close enough for Tommy to pull her onto his lap.

“Are you okay with it Finn?” He flashed his brother a smug smile, content that he was getting what he wanted as usual.

Finn groaned, rolling his eyes. “Just give me some time to get used to it.”

*~~*~~*

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calzona-ga · 4 years ago

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[Spoiler's] departure marks only the fifth time (and first since Patrick Dempsey) that the ABC medical drama has said farewell to a series regular via character death.

[This story contains spoilers from the March 11, "Helplessly Hoping," episode of Grey's Anatomy.]

Grey's Anatomy said parted ways with a beloved member of its cast during Thursday's midseason premiere and it did so in a relatively rare fashion for the ABC medical drama: with a character death.

Giacomo Gianniotti's Dr. Andrew DeLuca was killed off following a heroic battle to stop a sex trafficker in a storyline that stretched back to last season and ultimately capped the actor's seven-season run on the Shondaland favorite. DeLuca, who was stabbed and ultimately died in surgery, became only the fifth series regular in Grey's Anatomy history to have their storyline end in a fatality and the first since Patrick Dempsey's shocking exit nearly six years ago.

In a fitting end to his storyline, DeLuca winds up on Meredith's (Ellen Pompeo) magical beach and is able to have a farewell with his former love interest before walking into the sunset. DeLuca joins George (T.R. Knight), Derek (Dempsey), Mark (Eric Dane) and Lexie (Chyler Leigh) as series regulars (per Wikipedia) to leave the show in death. Of the 33 total series regulars in 17 seasons of Grey's, 13 characters have left alive. And it's of course worth noting that several other characters have been killed off of Grey's, though those actors have either been guest stars or recurring players.

Below, showrunner Krista Vernoff and star Gianniotti talk with The Hollywood Reporter about how DeLuca's death factors into a season that has put COVID-19 at the top of the show's call sheet and what's next.

Meredith is on a vent and that was the last beat until the show's return tonight. Why was it important for that to be the image viewers had of this iconic character for three months? She's still on the vent in the midseason return.

Vernoff: That happened to be the midseason finale. Sometimes stories tell themselves and things happen in very powerful ways. As an image, that works on people's psyche and helps them understand that this pandemic is ongoing and profound and impacting communities in really painful ways. It's a powerful image to help people remember why staying they're home. If this thing can hit Meredith Grey, it can hit anybody.

This season has put COVID-19 at the top of the call sheet, with realistic portrayals of everything from infected doctors, others struggling with the emotional gravity and, in the midseason finale, hospitals reached capacity. When it aired, that episode was sadly prescient. How does the rest of the season play out in terms of how close it has been to what's happening in the world now?

Vernoff: What's so interesting about it being prescient is that we were telling the truth in that episode of what was happening in May 2020 in Washington state and it was happening again in Los Angeles in December, when the episode aired. We weren't prescient; we were telling a story that happened in the early stage of the pandemic. It's been amazing how when we thought when we were breaking the show, we thought we were going home for two weeks and now it's a year later and we're looking at this in this way. It's still staggering to me. We are not jumping forward to some imaginary future where covid is a thing of the past. We are still set in the past in the back half of the season. That was one of the decisions when we decided that Meredith has covid and that that would span a fair amount of the season. We didn't want Meredith in a bed with covid for 11 months. We are still in like May/June of 2020 creatively. We're not jumping forward so we don't have to try and keep up with what's happening now; we're looking at what was happening then.

In a season exploring covid, why was the first major character death of the season unrelated? Was this supposed to be the season finale last year?

Vernoff: There was no plan to kill him at the end of last season. I very much did not want to kill DeLuca last season because he'd been through a mental health crisis and he'd come through it. I wanted to show that a person can go through a mental health crisis and come out the other side and be a functional, contributing member of the hospital staff. This story of DeLuca seeing that sex trafficker again and following her out of the hospital and refusing to let up and it becoming a part of Station 19 and following it and right when you think he's got her, somebody punches him. You think he's been punched but you come back and realize he's been stabbed and then he's on the beach with Meredith. My reaction to [the story idea] was, What?! Fuck! No! Really!? This is what I'm doing?! No! Many times after I pitched it to the writers and we designed the season around this story, I started to chicken out and second-guess myself. Can we save him?! Can he live?! He can't. We've done a lot of near-deaths and saved them since I took over the show. So now people are expecting that. This was the story. It was as shocking to me as it was to you.

Giacomo, what was your reaction when you got the call that Andrew was being killed off?

Gianniotti: Krista and Debbie Allen, our exec producer, called me into an office said they've tried it different ways and keep coming back to the trafficking storyline from last season. The storyline was so highly received, and because of that, they knew they had to continue to explore it. They saw an opportunity to tell a beautiful story that highlighted human trafficking and for DeLuca to go down as a hero and make this really noble act to stop this perpetrator but would unfortunately cost him his life. I've been on the show for seven seasons thought it was a great way to exit. Krista running Station 19 as well had the idea to make it a crossover so we could tell it over two episodes and spend time with DeLuca. I'm a storyteller and the best story always wins and I thought this was the best story.

What was the larger point you wanted to make with DeLuca's storyline? He dies a hero, which is a bit of the ultimate for a Grey's death.

Vernoff: I was processing [grief] myself when this story came. As we were going through this shared trauma of covid together and quarantine and being away from the people we loved, I wanted all the other tragedies in the world to just stop. It didn't seem fair. The Alexandria House, a charity I support in L.A. that shelters battered women and their children — so people who have already been traumatized — the first week of the shutdown, the Alexandria House caught on fire. It was like, What?! Isn't covid enough? But everything else didn't stop because of covid and we were all having to process other things, too, and horrible tragedies that come with life. That's part of where this story was born. All these people are going to die of covid but also sometimes other people just die. And it's f—ing awful. Part of DeLuca dying in this way … watching this episode, watching his mom greet him on the beach and feeling that grief, I cried harder watching this episode than I cried since George O'Malley died. I thank Giacomo for playing this character so beautifully and powerfully that through the death of DeLuca I believe there is an opportunity for us all to release our collective grief.

Will DeLuca re-appear on that beach again this season?

Vernoff: No. I thought him walking away with his mom was the most powerful closure for that character. But you will see him again, just not on the beach.

Gianniotti: Even though his life has come to an end, there's many ways to show our characters who have passed. I look forward to tell some other stories in those ways. Maybe there's flashbacks or other scenarios where we can see DeLuca. That's about all I can say. But it's not a drill; he's definitely died.

What was filming on that beach like given how much those scenes have meant to viewers?

Gianniotti: Ellen and I kept pinching ourselves. To be able to shoot on a beach was amazing. It was nice to be a part of that and have DeLuca have his moment and say his piece with Meredith. There was a lot of unfinished business between them. Maybe if Meredith hadn't gotten covid, the first part of this season could have been them picking up the pieces of where they left off in their romances. But circumstances didn't allow for that. It was nice that DeLuca got to at least thank her for everything she'd given him.

How do you think Meredith will respond to DeLuca's death?

Gianniotti: It's tough to say because you think of the dream and what happened at the end of the episode and wonder if Meredith would correlate that with the metaphor: if he's joining his mother that must mean he's leaving me and passing on. Maybe that would translate to her waking up? Who knows? Or it will be a massive surprise when she wakes up. There is a very obvious, glaring comparison with reality in that so many health care professionals have lost their own due to covid. It's a direct representation and reflection of that. It's helping people in the industry feel seen as well. It hits different and it's going to send a shockwave through all the characters at the hospital — and maybe Meredith the most.

Knowing Meredith is battling covid, it feels like there's one of two outcomes there. How does the covid story that you're telling impact the different finales that you're crafting considering the show's uncertain future?

Vernoff: More will be revealed as you watch the show. (Laughs)

Without spoiling anything, how would you describe who else will visit Meredith on that magical beach?

Vernoff: There are some really fun surprises coming up. It's one of the things that I have enjoyed as rays of light in the darkness of the storytelling necessitated by covid. That beach is a ray of light and the surprises of who you see there are rays of light. And I don't want to take that away.

Can you confirm there will be others who appear on that beach who viewers haven't seen there yet this season?

Vernoff: Yes.

Giacomo, you got to make your directorial debut on Grey's this season. After seven seasons, was there anything you wanted to do on the show but never had the chance?

Gianniotti: This felt like a gift. They rolled everything I wanted to do into two episodes, they wrote my dream exit storyline. I got to have an action movie told on Station 19 chasing a perpetrator and not wearing scrubs. That was fun and not something I'd gotten to do on Grey's for obvious reasons. All the scenes where we got to take our time and be together with Ellen and Meredith on the beach was a good way to tie up the loose ends. As far as the mental health storyline, it was an honor and privilege to tell that story. Ultimately, it's about representation and for people to see someone who is bipolar can be an attending and command a whole department at a hospital is huge.

Did you keep anything from set?

Gianniotti: I didn't! Maybe I'll go steal my stethoscope next time I'm there!

What's next for you? Any plans on returning to Grey's as a director?

Gianniotti: Definitely investing a ton of time in directing and hoping to continue to do that here and abroad. I'm seeking a lot of opportunities in Italy and Canada as a director and actor and have a few things coming on the horizon that I'm excited to share

#grey's anatomy #krista vernoff #17x07 #andrew deluca #giacomo gianniotti #spoilers #THR

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bella-in-a-bag · 4 years ago

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Day 5 - Any intense emotions your soulmate feels you will also experience

Maybe that was worse, because he was just broken and no one was to blame, just himself. Maybe he had repressed his feelings to the limit and they were retaliating, unlike, but he wasn't human after all. Maybe he deserves this and there is no reason, it just is and he has to accept that.

Where Logan gets someone elses feelings.

Tags and triggers under cut

Hurt/Comfort, Unsympathetic Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, more or less, he's just mean and never actually in the story, just mentioned, it's implied that he's just stressed, mention of violence, Swearing, Remus doesn't get gross, , tw panic attacks implied

Logan didn't know how his chest had suddenly gotten so tight, his eyes watery and his gut twisted in a way that made him want to throw up. Feeling such an intense array of emotions left him unable to think, let alone reason his way out of something he didn't know the cause for. Just a minute ago, he was fixing Thomas's schedule to include his meeting with Joan, an action that he deemed deeply satisfactory, when a wave crashed into his train of thought. Anger for something he didn't know the motive but knew was wrong, as well as many other things he could only identify as a mixture of pride, guilt, grief and sadness.

Well, no use in trying to get something done now.

Logan was used to these impulses, as he liked to call them, but every time he suffered them he felt like the world was figuratively trying to crush him into a pile of dust, so maybe the appropriate term should be awareness of the situation. He didn't freak out when they happened, which was good, but the unpleasantness still stuck all the way through the episodes. Surprising no one, he hated them more than he hated Thomas pursuing theater and YouTube instead of a stable career, but unlike the latter, these problems only affected him. Maybe that was worse, because he was just broken and no one was to blame, just himself. Maybe he had repressed his feelings to the limit and they were retaliating, unlike, but he wasn't human after all. Maybe he deserves this and there is no reason, it just is and he has to accept that.

Logan realized that if Janus heard that he was going to get lectured, but he didn't really mind, not when his brain was spiraling back and forth between a decision he wasn't sure he was making himself. The pros and cons, the possible outcomes, the whole problem laid out to him in a way he could only watch someone from afar look at a map he couldn't see. It reminded him of the courtroom scenario, but at the same time the problem felt more trivial and more important. The stakes were high, he guessed while trying to assume the best decision based on the pieces he could get, but then a choice was made and anxiety filled his mind to the brim.

He almost didn't answer when he heard a knock on the door, too many things happening at once, but he pushed himself up his chair and answered with the loudest voice he could manage. "Who is it?" It still sounded too emotionally charged, or maybe it didn't and his ears were playing tricks on him. "Can I come in?" Still no answer to his question, but if he ignored them maybe they would go away. The three seconds he stood in the middle of his room waiting for an answer felt like an eternity, but to his dismay, that someone finally decided to reveal their identity.

"I'm Remus, Logan" he sounded far too broken for the Duke, and Logan deduced that wasn't good. "Can I come in?" The desperation in the voice pushed Logan to open the door and let him in, trying to look collected.

"How may I assist you?" He wanted to add that he couldn't even assist himself, but the thought remained in his head.

"I need you to coach me through Virgil's breathing exercises" it still felt wrong the way his voice broke when he said Virgil and why would he need them in the first place? Remus was becoming a decent distraction from his own problems, he realized as he tried to make sense of the situation. Logan gestured at the foot of his bed before beginning to speak.

"Ok, I want you to breathe in for four, hold for seven and exhale for eight" Remus simply nodded and Logan began the exercise, counting with his fingers when he saw the creative side struggling to follow his instructions. After 15 minutes and 23 seconds, Remus seemed to look more like himself and Logan stopped counting, finding comfort in the way his mind had started to function as well. Remus was looking at the ground while biting his nail and it didn't look like he was going to speak any time soon, but Logan needed to know what happened in order to help Remus. He might be also teeny tiny bit interested, but that is besides the point.

"If you are not comfortable you do not have to answer" Remus's finger was out of his mouth, good. "But may I ask what is bothering you, you seemed troubled. And by previous experiences, I assume you do not get easily troubled." Remus snorted, Logan wasn't sure why but that is a problem for another day.

"I might have fought with good ol' Virgin again, which might not have ended so good ol' ok" That usually didn't end up well, Logan remembered trying to comfort Virgil with Patton making cookies and Roman swearing revenge on the background.

"If you were in his room that would explain your distress"

"We were on common territory, so my bullshit comes exclusively from me."

"I wouldn't consider your stress fake, but did anything he said upset you into this state or was it the whole situation in general."

"Well, there were some things said." He paused for a moment, looking down weighting if it was worth it or not. Logan was beginning to think he would just get up and leave when he resumed talking, startling him just enough to make him flinch but improbable that the other side had noticed.

"I had this extremely good idea, you see. It was good, so good I was going to show it to Thomas. Not an intrusive thought, you don't need to worry legged dictionary, but an actual real plot for an episode." Logan nodded along, listening carefully to the side's words. "I made the mistake of telling Virgil, cause he was the only one around and I needed to tell somebody. He's still pissed that jay-nus got sort of accepted, hypocrite coming from him," Logan bit the urge to correct him, shifting a bit on the spot." so he didn't take well the idea of me making something useful. Or he was afraid that I wasn't going to make anything and kill Thomathy on the spot, but hey, same difference. He also called me something a bit ugly." Remus's voice shifted into Virgil's like second nature, which would make sense given Janus's history. "Yeah, well maybe you are better off trapped in the subconscious, no one wants you around anyway. I'm sure your brother won't miss you."

This time Remus didn't continue speaking and Logan understood that he wasn't getting more info right now.

"I am sorry Remus, Virgil has been a little over the edge lately with Janus up in the primary mindscape." Bad wording Logic, now he looks more sad. "I am in no way trying to excuse his actions, perhaps I could talk to him later. Make him see the error in his thinking, possibly getting him to apologize."

"Thanks Logan." Satisfactory, he isn't even using a nickname.

"If I’m not intruding too much, why didn't you go to Janus for help?"

"Intruding is my thing logical meat bag" That one's creative "but he's busy and you seemed good at comforting V-movie, so I guessed you could comfort me too. Well fuck me gently with a chainsaw, I sound like Roman."

"I guess you do not want anything to do with chainsaws, but I appreciate that you would come to me for help. I am not in any way qualified in dealing with emotions, but I am suitable for providing physical help, techniques do not depend in whether you are very sad or mad at someone eating your last crofter jar." Remus smiled, which was good.

"Well that was fun." Remus stretched and half laid on the bed, his legs dangling on the edge. "But you seemed pretty out of it Wikipedia, when I came in" So much for looking collected, then.

"I was not doing well, but I am fine now"

"You can't just not tell me what bothered you, I need to know what to hit." That was nice, in its own way.

"I am afraid you cannot hit my problems, Remus"

"If you don't tell me I'll have to disagree, Logan”

"Well, why would I lie to you if it doesn't benefit me?" A short idea dashed through Logan's head, and he followed it. "Remus"

"Janus lies without reason, Logan"

"I am sure he has his reasons, Remus"

"You don't know that, Logan"

"You don't know that either, Remus"

"Logan?"

"Remus?"

"You're good at avoiding issues, glasses." Maybe Logan laughed a bit, not that he would admit it.

"I like you, but if you don't tell me I won't leave your room till eternity." Logan did not appreciate the idea of Remus in his room for an eternity, whatever that meant given that Thomas, and per se his sides, won't live an eternity.

"It is difficult to explain, but let's just say that nothing caused my distress." Remus launched himself forward to sit down properly, one of his hands playing with his mustache.

"I belive I am feeling and experiencing things that haven't happened to me. I am unsure of the cause but I know for certain that it is not an emotional response to something that happened to my person."

"Do you know when it started?" Serious Remus voice, that is definitely scary.

"I do not remember"

"So you had a crisis but you didn't know why it happened."

"Yes and I did not tell you anything about a crisis, how do you- nmg" A hand pressed his lips together, making him unable to speak.

"I think I figured out and I am not smarter than you, probably." The hands off now, that's good.

"Well then, what is it?"

"I do not know how this happens, but I know why it does. Still no clue?"

"No, I am afraid I do not know. Emotions are not my expertise."

"I don't think this has anything to do with emotions. Ok, I'm going to give you the data and see if you can complete the puzzle, live up to your title Sherlock." That nickname made Logic all warm inside, not because he was being called Sherlock but because Remus meant it as a compliment and not an insult.

"You were feeling bad emotions but they weren't yours. I was feeling bad emotions. At the same time." Logan could almost physically feel the click his brain made while connected the dots, every time he had seen Remus sad or angry after he had had an episode, but as they have also happened without seeing him, there was no need to make a connection before. But it was obvious, of course it was. Obvious as it was, it still left option for a lot of questions, like for example, why?

“Ah, well.” Logan had to stop talking, the realization dawning on him. If this is what Remus was feeling, maybe that wasn’t so good. Because he knew what he had gone through, and if he had a reason, it had probably been worse. “Well, that is a lot to take in. Remus, you have gone through a lot.” A pause for air, so he wouldn’t drown in all the weird feelings he was having now. It was probably Remus, or him, or both. “You don’t need to deal with this alone anymore.”

“I wouldn’t want to drag you more into hell with me.” Sadness, and this time Logan knew it wasn’t his, even if Remus’s smile tried to convince him otherwise.

“You are not dragging me anywhere, because we are sitting on my bed and you did not choose your feelings to go to me.” Another beat of silence, this time less dense.

“I think it happens both ways.”

“Oh. That would make sense.” Logan did not want to think of what that implied, had the other side felt the anger he couldn’t control when it escaped its grasp and flooded his senses, or was he safe. No, he probably knows now, think clearly Logic.

“Don't worry dicktective, I’m not going to judge you. I don’t do that, not even kink shaming! Unless that is your kink, then maybe I’d make an exception for you.” Logan figured he tried to sound suggestive, but in all honesty he just sounded tired. He was tired too, so tired he could jawn. So he did, at the same time as Remus. Remus smiled afterwards, less maniacal, more soft. Logan smiled back.

“We are soulmates, Logan.” The logical side was taken aback. He barely knew Remus and he was sure that soulmates meant a declaration of love so good it was as if it was chosen by the universe.

“No?” Yes, appropriate response Logan, five stars would recommend.

“I mean, that’s the drill right?. We share emotions, we share a soul. Isn’t that soulmate 101.”

“Soulmates aren’t real, those are just fairy tales.”

“Maybe Thomas wanted them to be real, so he made them real in his messed up mind.”

“That, that actually makes sense.”

“Look, it’s even making me intelligent. I should hang around your room more often.” An offer perhaps, to see where this goes. Logan is very dense right now, but he nods unsure of everything.

“Why me? I’m the least emotional side.”

“That might be what you think, but you don’t know everything.”

“It’s terrifying.”

“Not knowing or soulmates?”

“Both.”

“I figured. I am pretty scary.” A feeling of discomfort, but this time is his own.

“Not you, emotions. I would react the same way if it was any other side. Maybe not Patton, as he insists on calling me his kiddo and that would be uncomfortable.”

“I’m morally depraved and it would still feel weird.”

“Yes.”

“Yeah.” Silence, this time they are just lost in thought. A minute passes, maybe ten. Logan isn’t keeping track of time. It doesn’t matter anymore, not when his world just tilted a bit to the side.

“Logan?”

“Remus?”

“How the fuck are we going to tell the others?”

“We'll figure it out, let's worry about ourselves now.”

"Thanks Lolo."

"You're welcome Remus."

He wasn’t really sure of anything. But with Remus by his side, sounding so confident and yet so scared, maybe things would turn out ok. He was greeted with happiness, a feeling that wasn’t his but still belonged, somehow. And somehow, he knew Remus was receiving happiness as well.

@tsshipmonth2020

#logan sanders #remus sanders #intrulogical #virgil sanders #sanders sides #soulmate september #bella's soulmate september #tsshipmonth2020 #bella writes

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spasmsofthought · 5 years ago

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silver. (loki x reader)

I would say that this isn’t my best piece of writing, but honestly I just needed to write a creative piece and get myself out of this funk, and Thor: 2011 just has so many possibilities. I hope you all are practicing care for others, especially the most vulnerable and high-risk among us, and are staying mentally and emotionally healthy as you navigate this pandemic in your country/own personal circumstances! (I’m thinking this reader may have a small gift of The Sight, though she does not know it.) Let me know what you think; predictions of the relationship, possibilities and outcomes. I want to know what people think (though keep it kind)!

Like, comment, reblog, & enjoy!

There are tales that are whispered by other servants, moments where they relay their amusement or annoyance as the two princes go about their daily schedules.

The servant girls worship the moments they witness of family supper, wondering what it would be like to be noticed by a prince as a commoner. Wondering what it would be like if either prince found his true love waiting on them during the day or happening upon them while mending clothes or using the very little free time they have to read in the library as the evening light fades.

They wonder what it would be like to be a princess, or even better, the future Queen of Asgard.

You have no such ambitions, even in the most fanciful parts of your heart. Not anymore.

Born to a small noble family with sequestered funds, due to your uncle’s bad gambling luck, your position as a head lady’s maid keeps your immediate family afloat and your days busy and as mundane as you want them to be. You do not have time to wonder about your distant future when you are in charge of keeping charge of the maids beneath you and making sure the Queen of Asgard’s needs are met and satisfied.

Your duties and chores do not leave much time for a journey into your imagination or thoughts of what things would be like if they were different. You are as much a prisoner to your fate as everyone else is.

The day of Thor’s coronation beings about many different things, but it does not give Asgard, the shining beacon of the Nine Realms, a Crown Prince. You are not present in the Hall of Asgard when The Allfather pauses in the middle of the coronation speech to proclaim the arrival of a band of rebels come from Jotunheim.

You meet the Queen halfway to her quarters, surrounded by guards keeping watch in case this is more than just a merry band of dissidents seeking to cause terror. You stay by her side for the remainder of the afternoon, even after it is proclaimed that Asgard is safe and the Jotuns were killed before they could even leave Odin’s Vault with the prized Casket of Ancient Winters.

“What do you think of my sons?” Her Majesty asks almost listlessly as you comb through the part of her hair hanging down while the rest of it remains braided upon her head, trying to bring a sense of normalcy to an otherwise very unusual day.

Her gaze pierces yours and you wonder what to say. Many notice the contrasts between the two brothers. One golden-haired and boisterous while the other retains hair like night and a silence that borders on the edge of muteness concerning most company beyond his immediate family. They are opposites in almost every way, except all know they both love Asgard.

Frigga continues, “You have my full permission to speak your mind. I would expect nothing less from you, especially after how this day has played out.”

“I only know your sons through very limited moments of observation and the whispers of court and other servants, my Queen, so my opinion is most likely inaccurate and partial.” She shrugs her shoulders and motions with her hand for you to continue anyway. You take a deep breath, trying to choose your words wisely. “I think Thor will make a great King of Asgard one day. And Loki will, of course, make his own path within the Nine Realms, though many of us know little where it will lead him.”

“You do not think Thor is ready to take the throne, nor Loki?”

You cannot tell if she asks a trick question, but you answer honestly, nonetheless.

You are thankful there is no one else in the room to whisper that you may be practicing treason as you open your mouth.

“I think Thor carries compassion and kindness, wise leadership, all great qualities of a king, but his impulsiveness and temper rule him far more than probably anyone would like to admit. And Loki, though I know him even less, seems more suited to play many parts instead of just one.” You release a breath and avoid her sight as you wonder where this conversation will lead your friendship with the Queen of the Eternal Realm.

Though she is wise and kind, she is always like a snake ready to strike an enemy or someone who speaks treasonously. There has been much she has invested in the wellbeing of her family, including that of her own reputation and life.

Queen Frigga is one of the key figures holding all of Asgard together.

“I think you are wise, if a bit cautious, in your estimate of my sons,” she says as you lay the comb down and glance in the eyes of her mirrored reflection. “There will always be ways in which they can grow, but they both have their flaws. Do not let them know I said such a thing.”

Your lips quirk into a small smile as your brush your hands down the sides of your simple gown, scuffed with marks of the day’s labor and worries.

The evening light fades, and the room grows quieter by each hour Frigga waits for news from her husband and the Ruler of Asgard. She relieves you of your duties and dismisses you as the constellations make their way into the night sky, and even your pleas are forgotten as the Queen of Asgard asks for time and space of her own.

You nod to the palace guards posted outside the Queen’s doors and make your way down a branched hallway leading to an unpopular balcony seated on the far side of the castle.

The night air brings a sense of familiarity but also unease. It brings back memories you have been trying to keep at bay all day, among the excitement of the coronation and the expansion of your duties.

He stands a foot away from you and glances from the corner of his eye as you laugh as he whispers under his breath. It seems to be another day where he suffered long in the presence of his older brother.

You give no biased remarks and simply listen as he complains.

There have been many meetings like this of late, both of you together under the cover of night seeing each other only by light of the stars and the glimmer of the city below. But they are moments you will most likely cherish for years to come, whatever may come after this night.

He does not smile much, but when he does it almost takes your breath away.

You sigh and look back out to the constellations, trying to make some out by tracing connecting lines with your index finger. You give up after some moments, your desire for something else quite evident.

He gives a rare smile and leans towards you, the space between you decreasing to as minimal as it could possibly be.

“There are times I wish circumstances were different,” you breathe to him.

“Maybe in time they will be.” He says to you in return, pressing his forehead against yours. You furrow your brows but brush off the remark for the night. There will always be time to analyze later.

He may be mischievous and a smith of lies, but there is something in his tone that tells you what he is saying is more than a romantic idea.

He is promising something to you as much as he is himself.

Loki has not been to your shared balcony under the light of the stars in many months. You know this because you return to the very same balcony every night, waiting for him to show or even whisper something to you as he hides in the shadows.

Nothing comes, it remains silent, and the hope brimming in your heart becomes smaller every night you subject yourself to silence and spaces so quiet that all you can hear are your own thoughts.

Loki has grown distant and cold in your relationship, and due to your position, you dare not seek him out, lest you risk a wrath you are not prepared for.

He has become more of a stranger to you than he was before the nightly meetings. And as you remember your clandestine moments with him as you spoke of the things you both said you spoke to no other, your heart grows heavy.

As you make your way to your own small room, the palace whispers of the exile of Thor and the fall of Odin to Odinsleep.

The realm seems to wait on bated breath for what will come next.

A sense of foreboding sinks into your stomach like a rock, and you wonder if Loki has been as silver-tongued as people have claimed this entire time or if you were just as naïve as he wanted you to be.

#thor #loki imagine #loki oneshot #loki x you #loki x reader #loki x oc #thor 2011 #marvel imagine #Thor Marvel #marvel one shot #The Avengers #avengers one shot #Avengers #loki laufeyson #asgard #loki x ofc #fanfic #loki fanfic

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darth-el · 5 years ago

Text

Special

Pairing: Jonathan x Nancy x You Warnings: I don’t think there are any warnings, maybe a bit of angst Song Request: Special - Georgi Kay A/N: This was the first time I wrote about a poly relationship so I’m pleased with the outcome. The song is actually beautiful as well and I would fully recommend you all listening to it. I hope you enjoy it and feedback is always welcome.

Masterlist

Part 2

You had known Nancy and Jonathan since you were young. Nancy was your best friend and Jonathan was your unrequited love. It made your heart simultaneously soar and break when they started dating because it meant Nancy was happy but it also meant Jonathan couldn't be yours. Deep down you knew it was going to last, you don't go through the things they went through and not come out the other side without some feelings. You just wished it was you. Your friendship remained strong though with both of them, you would end up going to the movies together. You would grab dinner together, or just hang out at each others houses and watch classic movies. Instead of hanging out with them individually you got to hang out with the both of them at the same time.

You remember the night vividly. They were both acting very weird, you all settled down to continue your classic movie marathon. You bought in the popcorn and made yourself comfortable on the floor as you usually did for your marathons. “Um, Y/N...” Nancy paused and ran her tongue across her lips and bit them.

“Yeah?” Your eyes darted between the two of them as they shifted in their seats unsure of what to say as they were worried about your judgement.

“We're not sure how to ask this,” Jonathan said gently moving down onto the floor next to you.

“We've been thinking a lot,” Nancy put her hand on your shoulder. You were starting to really worry. You were thinking the worst case scenario, they never wanted to see you again and they wanted to carry on their lives without you.

“And, well...you're...um really special to us,” Jonathan stumbled over his words and you took a deep breath preparing for your heart to be chewed out within the next five seconds.

“We don't want this relationship to be just us,” Nancy finally said after what felt like forever. You swung your head round so quickly your hit Jonathan in the face. He didn't realise anyone could move their head that fast. “We want you to be part of it as well, if you were comfortable with it of course.” Nancy finished. You couldn't believe what you were hearing, you felt a wave of relief come over you. You realised that you had stopped breathing the entire time Nancy was talking and had to regain your breath. They both looked at each other hoping they didn't ruin the relationships they had with you.

“I...” You have trouble trying to get your words where you are still trying to catch your breath. “Was not expecting this.” You finally utter with a small chuckle and a nod, your breathing is finally normal which was good timing as you thought you were going to pass out. They both laugh out of relief.

The next few months were slightly surreal as you decided to keep it somewhat secret, a small town like Hawkins meant you would have potentially been a target. To outsiders it wasn't much different as you would continue to hang out with them like normal, but on the inside there were small affectionate moments between you all. It was when you were in the comfort of your own homes that you were able to be yourselves. You would all be cuddling on the sofa watching a classic movie, messing about to see who could get the most popcorn into their mouth by throwing it in the air. You were currently the reigning champion with a streak of eight pieces. You discovered Nancy had terrible aim and Jonathan was bit of a cheat. If you had to bet you would have thought it would have been the other way round. Jonathan also enjoyed taking photos of you both. You were his muses. Wherever you all went out together he bought his camera with him to capture photos of the intimate moments between you two when you thought no one was watching or the way one of you was looking at him. He loved you both in a way he in a way he never thought he could love. You would write poetry to accompany the photos as well. Your favourite being “Special” which was about the night they asked you. The photo was of you both walking down the street with your little fingers linked and you both looking at Jonathan with loving smiles on your faces. Nancy's hair was pinned up and had loose bit hanging down gently on her face perfectly framing her features perfectly. Yours was ruffled and messy. A look both Jonathan and Nancy liked. You all bought out the strengths in each other and pushed each other creatively. It never felt like it was going to end.

The “secret” was only discovered when you and Nancy were on a date by yourselves having ice cream at Scoops Ahoy. It probably looked like two affectionate best friends feeding each other ice cream and messing about. It wasn't until you both forgot yourselves for split second and gave each other a kiss. Nancy tasted like butterscotch and you tasted like strawberry. The mixture of flavours lingered on lips for a while. Robin clocked what happened and was in shock, she asked Steve why his ex-girlfriend was making out with her best friend, despite dating Jonathan Byers. You both jumped when you heard a thud on the chair opposite both of you and Steve was looking at you with visible confusion on his face. “What's going on?” The corners of his mouth turned up into a smile as he said this. You both look at each other trying to figure out to explain what was happening.

“We're dating,” Nancy said very slowly not tearing her eyes off you.

“What about Jonathan?” Steve started stroking his chin, he somewhat reminded you of a detective in a sailors uniform.

“We're also dating,” You say just as slowly as Nancy watching Steve continue to stroke his chin.

“Does he know?” He asked leaning his chin on his hand watching you both.

“We're all in a relationship, everyone knows and it's all consensual.” You try to explain it in layman terms and Steve nods trying his wrap his head around this new concept.

“Okay, good.” Steve hit the table with the palm of his hands smiling and got up and walked saluting you two goodbye.

Leading up to 4th July Nancy and Jonathan were distance and you didn't understand it because you were all planning to go on a road trip to nowhere in particular and see where you'd end up for it. They cancelled at the last minute which was unlike them. You figured it must have been something to do with work as you know it must have been getting busy, and you know Nancy was chasing a big story too with the help of Jonathan. You felt like they were keeping you in the dark about something, but you didn't keep secrets from one another. You felt yourself becoming paranoid and scared. It wasn't until July 3rd when you were getting ready to go to bed when you heard a knock on your door. You weren't expecting any visitors. You swung the door open and they were both standing there with a look of pity on their faces. Your heart sank immediately as you let them in. You sat down in what was your dad's seat as they sat down on the sofa opposite.

“We need to talk,” Nancy sighed. You could see neither of them wanted to do this. You closed your eyes and prepared to have your heart chewed out.

“You are really special to us Y/N,” Jonathan sounded pained saying this. He was avoiding eye contact and looking at his hands.

“We know this sounds harsh, but we can't see you any more.” Nancy had tears running down her cheeks. You felt like they had ripped out your heart and stood on it. The words “You are really special.” rang in your head over and over again as the tears streamed down your cheeks.

#Stranger Things #Stranger Things 3 #Stranger Things Imagine #Nancy Wheeler x Reader #Jonathan Byers x Reader #Nancy Wheeler x Jonathan Byers x Reader #ST3 #Nancy Wheeler One Shot #Jonathan Byers One Shot #Stranger Things One Shot

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kannra21 · 5 years ago

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DaiSuzu headcanons

♛ Suzue is an independent woman and takes pride in doing whatever she wants without worrying about authorities bc her husband is the authority and people have no other choice but to reconcile with the fact. She'd always have everything she needed shipped to her without paying for anything because Daisuke did the transaction in advance, and there were her butlers who helped her in accomplishing ordinary tasks.

Sounds spoiled? False. Suzue knows how it is to live an ordinary life because she belonged in one herself. She was married into a royal family but her old habits never died down. She's still helping the servants even though she doesn't have to.

♛ However, she's sweet and emphatic. Wealthy life didn't get to her head and she's taking care of people she's associating with. And people she's associating with are Haru and Daisuke. They didn't get along pretty well at first, but she made their teamwork at least a little bit bearable. She cared, bc she wanted her husband to be comfortable with his new colleague.

Despite Haru's constant mocking of Daisuke's inappropriate money use and Daisuke ignoring his every suggestion, Suzue invited Haru on all kinds of events in order to pursue a better partnership between the two.

Haru had so much fun but Daisuke was a killjoy. Moreover, he was jealous of Suzue smiling more around Haru which he showed through various gestures such as hand holding and walking closer to her. Suzue noticed that and comforted him by stroking his hand with her thumb. Daisuke rarely showed this side of him but it was also adorable.

When they arrived home, Daisuke needed to apologize. He didn't blame her for having a good time, but he also needed to admit that his jealousy was clearly unnecessary considering that they're actually married. Suzue didn't blame him either but she needed him to promise to get on better terms with Haru.

He shouldn't be doing this for her, but for himself because she cared about how he felt. It seemed like he agreed to all of this just to please her but she didn't want him to feel uncomfortable during the whole thing. She suggested that they better talk things through than pretending for the sake of a mission. He did, and he was v grateful for her.

♛ Her favorite thing to do is laying in a luxurious bath tub with her husband. It wasn't sexual at all. They'd mostly lay together and talk about things or enjoy the comfortable silence. And share a kiss here and there which would come quite unexpected.

Daisuke would always smile on their silent form of affection they held for each other. They enjoyed the warmth of their bodies and Suzue loved to lay her hand on his chest to feel his heartbeat, it was calming. Daisuke loved to hug her like this and put his nose in her hair, it smelled nice.

♛ Despite the fact that Daisuke was often busy with the job of a detective while Suzue's working on her own tasks, she still managed to persuade him to leave that little bit of work they had in order to take a breather.

They didn't go on fancy dates since they’ve been on enough of them already, so now everything they want to do is to lay down in a cozy sofa and watch something entertaining. They craved domestic lifestyle. Daisuke no longer had any need for showing off since he's old money and Suzue felt more comfortable this way so he had no other choice.

Because of their busy schedule, Daisuke looked forward to things like this, he wished he could spend more time with her and forget about this melancholic world they're living in, filled with murders and mysteries.

Moments like this lasted for hour or so because rich people don't spend time on trivial things. They want to make the most of it, so dedicating it is to some closure was one way to brighten things up and enjoying the comfort of each other's company.

Daisuke couldn't share something like this in the past. Sure, there was his grandmother and their butlers, but it wasn't the same. They were caring for his psychological needs but never for that physical part. He couldn't remember the last time he experienced any form of physical affection with anyone. It wasn't that necessary but still, it made him feel more human. And Suzue gave him a sense of security and belonging, something he hasn't felt for a long time.

Suzue felt finally appreciated in a way. She always did things for someone else's benefit and her ideals were mostly exploited and used against her. But now she had someone who respected her in all sense of the word, and she loved him so much. Suzue was aware of Kambe popularity among citizens, people knew what happened to Daisuke's family, but she decided to give it a brighter, more lovable note. This family won't be seen as unfortunate as long as she's here.

♛ Daisuke sometimes felt like he didn't deserve her. She was so persistent with him, so loving, and his cold-hearted royalty never taught him not to be an awkward entity he identified with since birth. For Pete's sake, he wasn't really the greatest at this whole relationship thing. But Suzue knew that, deep inside, he tried to show her somehow and she understood. He didn't know how but she did. Maybe they were soulmates? Who knows.

Daisuke knew of sweet talk but didn't know how to word it properly, and being reserved the way he was made the situation so much more hilarious. He initiated it on one occasion, with his deep baritone voice, and Suzue laughed. He thought he made a mistake until she commented that this was the softest she's ever seen him, it looked adorable on him, she loved it. Since then he never stopped, he got more creative with each day.

♛ She loved having his head on her lap and caressing his face and hair, he never felt happier than being in her arms. How could someone so rational, so serious and dedicated to her work be so mindful, so attentive to others? Her soft hands would sometimes trail around his mouth and he'd kiss her palm and tell her how much she meant to him.

♛ There are times when he brings her breakfast to bed and she's surprised, it was something she'd do for him when she woke up bc she was always the first one to get out of the bed, but not this time. Daisuke was usually the one who slept longer so beating each other to it seemed like a challenge, and a funny one to that. But unlike Suzue, Daisuke let the butlers cook everything bc he was afraid he'd mess up. Daisuke always claimed for himself that he wasn't much of a romantic but Suzue thought he was the best thing that happened to her.

♛ He once dreamed that Suzue was in a serious danger, even HEUSC wasn't able to calculate the probability of survival and he woke up, tearing up a little. She asked him if he was ok and he just hugged her. After some time until he was calm enough, he described her the dream.

She replied that something like this would never happen since he's taking such a good care of her, that she's always safe as long as she's with him, and then he kissed her. It wasn't gentle like any other times, this one was full of longing, it was earnest and determined. He promised that he'd never let something like this happen, this whole time it was left unspoken between them but now he wanted to lay it out, he wanted to let her know. And she appreciated it.

♛ Although they're living a royal life, Suzue has cravings for normal so she took Daisuke to an old restaurant she used to visit often with her parents. The staff was so excited to see them there but Daisuke felt oddly uncomfortable. He suggested beforehand that they better put on some ordinary clothes, carry a gun and a police badge with them.

The less attention they attract the better, he didn't want them to end up like his parents who were too open about their wealth. He became extra careful since Suzue entered his life. And even though it was a local restaurant, he liked the food there. He could see why Suzue was so happy to arrive to that place. This was also the first time Suzue taught him not to judge local food.

♛ Even though Suzue loves diamond jewelry, she still felt a twinge of guilt and asked Daisuke if he should spend the money on something smarter, to which he replied that she was the only smart thing.

♛ Daisuke would often spend his time exercising in his personalized gym. He once offered Suzue to try out some of the equipment, she did as a joke and it made them laugh.

♛ Suzue wanted to feed him one day during their breakfast in bed and he made the most confused face. Why would she do that if he's capable of doing it himself? Suzue tried to explain but his face made her laugh so much she needed to take some time to calm down.

♛ Ah yea and rich people always eat ice-cream with a dessert spoon bc they think it's rude to stick the tongue out. Suzue tried to show him the basic way of eating it and she couldn't expect a more convenient outcome. Some ice-cream ended up on his nose and she needed to take a picture. She's keeping it as her lock screen.

♛ Before her camouflage mission Daisuke is always nervous. He isn't showing it but he's concerned. Well he's not worried about her loyalty, more about her safety and if everything will work out well. He's helping her with simple things such as pulling the zipper of her dress up. And while he's at it, he'd hug her from behind and tell her to be careful. She'd kiss him and tell that everything's going to be ok. It's the only thing he needs to hear.

♛ There are times when he doesn't want to talk about things so he couldn't make her worry. When Suzue notices something and asks him, he'd brush it off, tell her it's nothing and she'd become angry. She hates that the most about him. If he continues to pile up these thoughts, he'd end up doing something stupid. She's always persistent with him and he eventually gives up, telling her about what's bothering him. After a nice talk he realizes that this is better for both of them.

♛ They know what makes the other get goosebumps. Suzue likes lighter touches on her forearms while Daisuke likes the caressing behind his neck. And something simple like sweet words before bedtime makes them happy. It's nice to know that, at the end of the day, they don't grow tired of each other on top of everything else they need to deal with.

Sometimes there's that crippling anxiety of not being too good for the other, but when they return their kindness in the most beautiful of ways, ways that can't be shown through something material, then they know it's worth it.

#fugou keiji balance unlimited #fugou keiji balance: unlimited #the millionaire detective balance unlimited #the millionaire detective balance: unlimited #daisuke kambe #suzue kambe #scenarios #headcanons #thoughts #ideas #hc

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snappedsky · 4 years ago

Text

Fanatics 76

Squee takes a break.

*Links to previous and next chapters in reblog*

Spring Breaking

Squee: Nny and I are gonna stay with Granny Cammie for a while. We’re taking Nugget with us too

Pepito: starting spring break early! Sounds nice

Gaz: Yeah who cares about skool anyway

Dib: Take all the time you need Squee

Tak: Yeah, you deserve a break.

Zim: We’ll keep things handled here. Leave it to Zim!

Squee cracks a weak smile at the messages from his friends. Then he drops his phone into his bag, slips it onto his shoulders, and grabs his suitcase before leaving his room.

“I’m ready,” he says to Johnny as he enters the living room.

“Good. Granny’s already in the car,” he replies, “let’s go.”

They leave the house and get into the car. Cammie’s in the passenger seat and Squee sits in the back with Nugget while Nny drives. And they head out.

The drive is pretty quiet, with just the radio to break the silence. Squee watches the scenery go by, his head resting against the window. Sometimes he’ll catch himself reaching for his lap, where something- or someone- used to sit and his chest will tighten. So he tries to keep himself distracted by stroking Nugget’s fur.

They arrive to Cammie’s house in a few hours and park the car in her ridiculously large driveway next to her other vehicles that are never used. After grabbing their luggage, she lets them into the house.

“Welcome home, Cammie,” Thomas- her caretaker- nods respectfully as they enter.

“Thanks, Thomas,” she replies as they walk by to the hallway of bedrooms. “Your rooms from the summer you stayed here are still the same,” she says to Nny and Squee. “But they’re pretty plain. Maybe we can go to the city later and pick up some décor for you, Squee. Maybe some posters or uh…lava lamps…um…glow-in-the-dark stickers…I-I don’t know what kids like.” “Glow-in-the-dark stickers sound nice,” Squee remarks as they reach his room. “But can we go another day?”

“Sure, hon, we can go whenever you want,” Cammie replies, “you just relax and make yourself comfortable.”

Squee smiles weakly before going into his room and closing the door behind him. Cammie and Nny both sigh and continue down the hall.

“He seems to have gotten a little better these last couple days,” she comments.

“Yeah, he’s trying really hard to pick up his pieces,” he agrees, “but I’m still worried. I hope he takes a break from everything while we’re here. He really needs it.”

In his room, Squee drops his bags onto the floor and flops onto the bed. He stares at the ceiling, his mind numb and blank. He could just lie here all day but he won’t let himself do that. So he gets up, grabs a pen and notebook from his bag, and flips open to a blank page.

Squee presses the pen to the paper and waits. And he waits. And waits. He starts impatiently tapping the page as the minutes tick by and the words refuse to flow. Finally, having lost his patience, he tosses the book to the side and stands up.

“Whatever,” he grumbles as he leaves his room. “Maybe I’ll get some inspiration from TV.” The hours tick by lazily as Squee and Nny spend them watching cartoons. Late into the evening, everyone retires to their rooms for the night. But Squee doesn’t try to sleep. He’s been too scared to after what happened when he stayed with the Night Terrors a couple days ago. So he grabs his notebook and tries to take another crack at writing.

This time is no more successful and twice as frustrating. If it were just normal writer’s block, then Squee could handle it. But this doesn’t feel like a normal blockage. He can clearly see the words he wants to write in his head, but for some reason they can’t pass onto the paper like they used to. Once his pen would flow like a rushing river; now it’s like a clogged toilet.

His frustration boils into a rage. Rage towards his head for not releasing those words; rage towards his hand for not moving; rage towards his pen for not writing. And suddenly he snaps and throws the pen across the room.

The rage doesn’t last long though and is quickly replaced with an exhausted guilt. Squee stands up and goes to where his pen landed by the window. Sitting on the floor, he cradles it gently in his hand. It’s the fountain pen Johnny gave him for his thirteenth birthday- the first of his birthdays they spent together. That seems so long ago now.

Sighing heavily, Squee rests his head against the window and looks outside. The stars are so bright and clear out here, even through the glass. His focus lands on two perpendicular ones peeking out at him over the treeline. They seem bigger than all the others.

And then they blink.

Squee leaps up, opens the window, and throws his head out. He looks around frantically but the two…stars?...are gone.

Confused, Squee leans against the windowsill and stares at the sky. Did he really see that? Was it just a trick of the light? Or something else?

The next day is just as lazy and quiet. Squee spends it either watching cartoons or chilling on the porch swing, Johnny and Nugget always by his side. It’s so peaceful and relaxing. Or at least it should be.

Squee loves it out here. But his nerves are shot. He feels like there’s something hiding behind every corner or in every shadow, and he can’t be sure what’s real and what’s his paranoia. They haven’t been attacked by anything yet, so is it safe to assume it’s all his paranoia?

Having Nny by his side helps him feel a little safer, but it’s not the same as…well, it’s not the same as before.

Squee tries writing a couple more times throughout the day, but the outcome remains the same: frustrating, disappointing nothingness.

That afternoon he’s curled up on the couch, tapping his pen against the paper with annoyance. Nny watches him for a second before asking, “can’t think of what to write?”

“Not exactly,” Squee sighs, “I know what I want to write. The words just won’t…come, you know?”

“Not really,” he shrugs, “I don’t know anything about writer’s block.”

“No, this is…different.”

Johnny watches as Squee closes his notebook and walks away. He stares after him, curious and a bit concerned.

Squee spends that night just like the last: mostly staring at the sky. When his eyelids get too heavy, he’ll lie down in bed and let himself sleep for a couple hours, but until then, the stars are a lovely show.

He’s still thinking about the two stars he saw blink last night. He actually wanted to write a story about them today, but of course that didn’t happen.

Resting his chin on the window’s ledge, Squee continues to stare at the sky while his eyelids get heavier and heavier.

Meanwhile in his room, Johnny is also avoiding sleep. He lies on his bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind deliberating. Finally, he makes up his mind and goes to the living room. He picks up the phone and quickly dials a number before he can change his mind. It’s late, but he’s sure this person is awake.

“Al’s Assmeats. How may we serve you today?” an obnoxiously loud voice answers.

“Devi, it’s Nny,” Johnny says.

“Oh, hey,” she replies in her normal voice. “Something wrong? You never call me.”

“No-ah, well…no, not really,” he stammers with uncertainty.

“Then…why are you calling me?”

“Uh it’s um mmmm.” Pressing his palm into his forehead, Johnny takes a second to collect his thoughts. “Do you remember when the Nightmare tried to control you?”

“Yeah…?” Devi replies, somewhat uncertain.

“How did it feel when you tried to paint?”

“Um…well, I was working that shitty painting job at the time so I didn’t have time to paint for myself. And anything I painted for them was just following the instructions they gave me- which fucking sucked by the way. So…I don’t know. It sure didn’t feel the same as before, when I painted for me. It felt like…nothing. Like a void, you know?”

“No,” Nny replies as he sits on the floor and leans up against the end table. “I don’t remember much from back when it was happening to me. But I feel like…like whenever I tried to draw…there was a clog.”

“A clog?” Devi questions.

“Yeah. Like something was blocking my creativity from leaving my mind.”

“That’s interesting,” she comments, “I guess because I was doing that job, I wasn’t really using my creativity.”

“Like it was being clogged from the outside,” he muses.

“Yeah. I never thought of it that way before,” she remarks, “why are you asking about this?” “Mmm,” Johnny merely groans in reply.

“Is it about Squee? Is he okay?”

“I think so. For now at least,” he replies, “but…he said he’s having trouble writing. Like he’s feeling blocked.”

“Hmmm,” Devi hums curiously, “well…he’s going through a lot right now. He could just be mentally exhausted. Maybe he just needs a break.”

“That is why we came out here,” Nny replies, “but I think he’s trying too hard to, like, beat his depression.” “Fuck, I know how that feels,” she sighs.

“Yeah.”

They both sigh heavily.

“Well,” Johnny grunts, scratching his head. “I’m sure he’ll get through this. He’s tougher than he thinks he is.” “He really is,” Devi agrees, “oh, hey! I finally got my business cards done!”

“Oh, yeah?” he replies with half-interest.

“Yeah, Dib helped me design them. They’re pretty fucking sick. I’m gonna go around tomorrow and hand them out. I’m gonna start with small businesses first- you know, spread the indie love. But if I have to, I’ll try bigger businesses.”

Johnny rubs his forehead as Devi continues to babble on. He doesn’t really care, but he can’t just hang up on her. He’s the one who called her in the middle of the night, so this is the price he has to pay.

Back in his room, Squee is slowly starting to pass out in his window. His eyelids are drooping but he can’t be bothered to pick himself up and go to bed. So he keeps blinking heavily as he stares at the sky.

Between each blink, everything appears the same. The silhouettes of the trees and all the stars remain stagnant.

And then two more stars appear.

Squee’s eyes fly open and he leans out the window. This time, the new stars don’t disappear. They stay poking over the treeline, seemingly staring back at him.

With his eyes used to the darkness, he can barely make out the outline of what appears to be a head surrounding the new stars.

Squee cocks his head curiously. The other head cocks back.

Squee blinks with surprise before leaping out the window. His bare feet land on the soft, chilly grass surrounding the house but he doesn’t want to get his shoes. What if the new stars disappear again?

He quickly loses sight of them as he goes into the trees but he keeps moving forward. He trips and stumbles on roots and branches but he doesn’t stop. Not until he reaches a small clearing.

It’s so sudden he almost runs into it, but he stops just in time. Just in front of him is a giant foot, the big toe alone almost taller than Squee. Swallowing hard, he looks up in awe at the rest of the creature towering over him and the surrounding trees.

Their body is humanoid and androgynous, but their skin almost looks like tree bark. They’re so tall, Squee can’t make out their face; just their two eyes, glowing like stars in the darkness.

The giant stares at him before slowing kneeling down just enough to rest one of their hands at Squee’s feet. Squee glances at it with uncertainty before climbing aboard.

“Whoa!” he exclaims as the giant lifts him at the same velocity as a speeding car, all the way up to their face.

This close Squee can see the giant’s eyes really are just two glowing white orbs. They have no nose or ears, just nostrils, and a massive mouth filled with browned, chipped teeth. While the creature doesn’t have eyebrows, Squee can still tell their expression is quizzical.

“Why have you sought me out, little one?” they ask, their voice booming but somehow still gentle, like a wise, old man.

“I-I wanted to see if you were real,” Squee replies, wonderstruck.

“You are the first of your kind to notice me in thousands of years,” they muse, “I admit, I wasn’t sure you were real either last night. Rather spooked me.” He cracks an amused smile at that. “I scared you?”

“At first. Why? Do I frighten you?”

“Lots of things do, some more than others. But I’m not afraid of you now.” “Yet you were before. And you still came for me.” “Like I said, I needed to be sure you were real,” Squee says, “I…I’m worried I might start losing the ability to tell the difference.”

“Hmm,” the giant hums in response. “You are young, even for your species. But I see ages of stress on your face. Care to join me on a nightly walk? I find they always help me clear my head.”

“Uh, well, I…” Squee stammers with uncertainty as he looks back towards the house. Then he realizes just how high he really is.

Not only can he see the house, the few lights on glimmering in the darkness, but the highway as well and the surrounding trees and fields, stretching on and on endlessly towards the darkened horizon where it all connects with the sky, its countless stars and the moon shining overhead.

“Sure,” Squee sighs, “why not.”

“Wonderful,” the giant comments and carefully moves their hand to their shoulder. Squee climbs on and sits in the crook of their neck.

“Uh, my name’s Squee, by the way,” he says.

“My kind do not use names,” they reply.

“Oh. Um can I give you a nickname?” “You may.”

“I’m gonna call you…Celestial, cause your eyes remind me of the stars,” Squee says.

“Hm, I like that,” Celestial comments.

They walk in silence for a couple minutes. Celestial moves quickly, one step covering several feet. The chilly, night air breezes through Squee’s hair as he watches the world pass by.

“This is nice,” he comments blissfully, “it reminds me of when I was in space. Like right now, nothing matters.”

“Yes, your kind spend so much time scurrying around,” Celestial says, “but your lives are short. You do not have much time to do the things you want to do, so it’s understandable. But you must remember to take a break once in a while.”

“Yeah, that’s why I came out here,” he agrees, “to take a break. But…I can’t write. That was always my escape. And now something’s stopping me, keeping me from it. It’s so…frustrating.”

All of Squee’s anger erupts to the surface in a sudden blow. It would surprise him if he wasn’t so aggravated.

“Writing is important to you,” Celestial observes.

“I…I lost something not long ago,” Squee explains, “a big part of myself. I can’t lose writing too.” He glares angrily at his hands when Celestial suddenly stops. Squee looks up and quickly rises to his feet in awe.

In the distance they can see Los Angeles, its countless lights glowing bright enough to blot out the stars. Even this far away, the city’s noises can be heard; vehicles, muffled voices, and miscellaneous clamoring.

“Look at your people,” Celestial says, “even this late at night, they don’t stop. Always moving, working for something, even if they don’t know what it is.”

“You say you came here to take a break, but perhaps it is not just a break from your everyday life you require,” they suggest, “perhaps it is a break from yourself.”

“My…self?” Squee questions.

“Take a break from writing, from your worries. Try something new. Or do nothing at all.”

“But I’m trying to do the exact opposite,” he insists, “I don’t want to lose myself.” “You are fighting a tremendous battle that no one could possibly understand,” Celestial points out, “taking a break from it does not mean you have lost.”

Squee stares at them, his eyes welling up. He swallows a sob as he sits back down.

“I will take you back home,” Celestial says as they turn around.

The walk back is quiet. Tears drip down Squee’s cheeks the entire way, suddenly overwhelmed by his emotions. When they make it back, he wipes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

“Thank you, Celestial,” he says as he stands up. “This was really nice.”

“Indeed,” they agree as they hold up their hand for Squee to step on. “It has been many decades since I’ve had a conversation with someone. Perhaps someday I will see you again.”

“I would like that,” Squee smiles.

Celestial carefully lowers Squee to ground in front of Cammie’s house. They wave goodbye to each other before turning away and Squee goes in through the front door.

“Hey.” Squee looks over to the living room, where Johnny is sitting on the floor holding the phone receiver, Nugget curled up in his lap. “Where did you go?” he asks.

“I…had a very enlightening conversation with a giant,” Squee replies.

“Huh. Cool.” “Who are you talking to?” Squee asks.

“Devi,” Nny replies and covers the receiver. “She gets really talkative when she’s overtired. Wanna talk?”

He smiles gently. “Yeah.”

Squee sits next to him and takes the phone. “Devi?”

“Squee!” she exclaims excitedly. “It’s good to hear you. You uh…you doing okay?” A lump forms in Squee’s throat but he quickly swallows it and takes a deep breath. “No. Not really. But I’ll get there.” Johnny smiles warmly and drapes his arm across Squee’s shoulders. He smiles back as they lean against each other. Nugget mews and moves over into Squee’s lap.

“So uh how are you doing?” Squee asks.

“Pretty good,” Devi replies, “I finally got my business cards and they’re pretty fucking awesome. I’ve been thinking about getting a haircut; it’s been a while and my hair’s getting too long. But I’m not sure what to do with it. I need it to be different, you know. Maybe I should get some like hairstyle magazines, look for inspiration.”

Squee smiles wearily as he covers the receiver and whispers to Nny, “she really does get talkative.” “I know,” he whispers back.

They both smile and lean back, relaxed as they listen to Devi’s babbling.

#invader zim #invader zim fanfiction #johnny the homicidal maniac #johnny the homicidal maniac fanfiction #iz jthm crossover #myart #myocs

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inspirationdivine · 5 years ago

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Trouble in Faeradise || Lydia and Deirdre

Timing: Shortly after Lydia and Simon got unstuck

Parties: @deathduty, @inspirationdivine

Summary: Lydia and Deirdre entice a human into a fairy ring. Things happen. As Deirdre puts it, it was not a mushroom vibe.

Content Warnings: Compulsion (Fairy ring magic), emotional manipulation

Simon was darling and pleasant and very amenable, but if Lydia had had to be stuck to someone for so long, it would have rather been Deirdre. They hadn’t had enough opportunity to spend time together recently - for so many reasons, all of them understandable - but Lydia was desperate to bond more with the banshee. Especially now that Morgan had used the word love. So when she saw the banshee, Lydia gave her a hug in greeting. “Ready for some fun?”

The hug in greeting was a surprise, though one Deirdre prized. Perhaps she was right in thinking Lydia was warming up to her (it was very hard to tell when she still half-expected the other fae to turn around and yell “TRAITOR” at any moment). But there was no greater act of bonding between two fae than grabbing a human and taking them to the nearest fairy ring (Deirdre had spotted one in the woods earlier this week and her first thought about it was to tell Lydia). “As a fae, I think I was born ready for fun...and bones. Which I do consider to be fun.” She glanced around the irregularly busy street, filled with drunks stumbling from one bar to the next to cram their pathetic Friday nights with more excitement. “Speaking of, did you bring your big, white, windowless van or is this one of those tasteful kidnappings?”

“Deirdre, I swear to god, please do not bring us to some mangled corpse,” Lydia replied, but with a soft nudge and wink that belied the gentle teasing of it all. “Or at least, not this time.” She eyed them too. To the left, three girls sipped seruptitiously at a bottle of water, or at least so they claimed, before joining the queue to a local club. Their skirts curled around their asses, matching in silver sequens. To their right, a man stumbled down a dark alley, whisper yelling his need to urinate to his friends. Lydia’s lip curled a little. “Totally tasteful, my dear. I suspect all we need to do is offer one of these fellows an irresistable night with two beautiful woman and they would follow us right into a dragon’s den. No kiss needed. Although I tend to prefer them high over drunk. Oh! What about that one over there?” Lydia asked, curling her hand around Deirdre’s arm, pointing at a girl with faded blue hair who was flipping off some guy as she texted at her phone.

What were the best humans to torture? Deirdre had often pondered the question. Some could be unsatisfying, like when they prattled on about children and wives and how their sick mother in the hospital was expecting someone to leave her roses. Most fae did not listen, or care, but Deirdre---always watching---was decidedly more observant. Ther fun humans were the drunk ones, too intoxicated to understand what was happening, and more likely to play off their strange fae encounter as some kind of by product of drugs. But then there were different types of drunks, weren’t they? And some were so sad. Deirdre’s eyes surveyed the crowd just as Lydia’s did. “But I love a good mangled corpse,” she pouted, scoping out a target. The men would be easy, and if they were good--which they were--they could snag a few of them for their purposes. Then her eyes fell to the girl. “She looks...angry.” Like she might realize in the middle of getting a mushroom shaved into her hair that she had a lot to live for and needed to follow her passion in creative writing instead of staying in the nursing program she hated. Which was...an outcome of undecided amounts of fun. This was easier in the past, when she cared less about what the lives of these humans looked like. Which was increasingly hard to ignore as she continued to human-watch. “I--you know what? Let’s go with the girl. She looks like she’s having a terrible night and isn’t it our duty to show her some fun?” Of course, fun for them, mushroom mind-control for her.

“I know you do, but I don’t subject you to the local amatuer open mic nights, do I?”She does look angry. I like a challenge,” Lydia replied. Not that kind of challenge in her long term hunts, which were also in progress as they spoke, but for dancing around naked in the moonlight? Completely so. She waited for Deirdre’s indecision, her eyes flicking around to other options lazily - a man adjusting his crop top as he waited for a date, a woman staring back at them with glowing green eyes. The latter, Lydia thought, was definitely not human, and looked a wholly different kind of fun, but not for tonight. “It is definitely our duty,” Lydia replied with a smile. Arm hooked through Deirdre’s arm, they walked over to the woman side by side over to the woman with the white hair. “I hope those men aren’t giving you a hard time?” Lydia asked, voice as smooth as syrup.

“You could--” Deirdre leaned in with a smirk, “maybe I’d like some entertainment with my wine next time.” Not that Lydia wasn’t entertaining alone, but as on a serious note, as friends, she assumed they’d share at least a little in each other’s interests. And so, just like that, they approached the girl. And she, shocked to see two irrefutably attractive women, turned to them abruptly and with wide-eyes. She stopped texting, but her screen remained illuminating her face against the bars and clubs’ neon signs.

“Yeah…” Emma said hesitantly, as if agreeing with them was a defeat on its own, “look, I don’t wanna be like, a part of your threesome or whatever, okay?” But the stutter around the words meant that, just for the brief second she used to take in their appearance, she had thought about it. She was sharp, and adjusted herself and her body to angle away from them, arms crossed over her chest. “What do you want?”

“We just wanted to help you,” Deirdre started softly, “we know how it can be, alone at night. We just wanted to make sure you were safe.” A pang of guilt rang through her. How safe would she be once they’d lead her into a fairy ring? The girl eyed them suspiciously, she offered no thanks or apologies for her harsh tone. Her body remained closed-off.

Lydia matched Deirdre’s smirk with a more genuine smile. “Alright. Next time we’ll listen to some talentless hacks perform in the hope of finding some diamond in the rough, and then we’ll go on a walk to find something dead and pretty.” She had been teasing, but now she wasn’t. Not that it mattered for tonight, as they walked over to their evening’s entertainment. A threesome with a human? Lydia had her cringe well, and let Deirdre do the talking, soft and lily sweet. She could imagine it, Lydia thought. Being a human and looking at Deirdre and being entranced. Not aware that your death might be around the corner. But the girl was not impressed, her eyes distrustful. Perhaps she had grown up here, watching her friends disappear and die over time. Perhaps she had heard of magical threats and knew the risks. Perhaps she was merely sensible.

“Do you at least have friends coming to meet you?” Lydia asked softly, after a moments beat.

A deep, long suffering sigh. “No. They bailed, so I guess I’m headed home.”

“It sounds like you don’t want to do that.” Lydia replied, running her finger over her lips idly. “You know, we’re headed to an exclusive party. No creeps invited, very tightly vetted. If you don’t want to head into a club like that by yourself.” Lydia gestured to a queue for one of the clubs nearby. The girl pursed her lips, but she was looking at them more intently now, as if weighing it up. Tempted, even with her arms closed.

“I’m not doing an orgy either, for the record.” The girl replied.

Was it softness that made her too weak? Did caring about humans force her into the kind of awareness that made it hard to abduct people? Hearing Lydia talk about an ‘exclusive party’ was ingenious, the kind of plan Deirdre should have been thinking about, but couldn’t. Instead she noticed how lost the girl seemed, how she’d perked up at the idea of something exclusive, as if she were special enough to be included, as if she mattered enough. A place where friends wouldn’t leave her. She wondered what her life must have been like to stir these feelings, if she’d ever had a true friend or if they’d just caught her on an off-night. Her deliberations did not show on her face, Deirdre’s soft smile didn’t falter. She was thinking too much about this. This was fae mischief; harmless. It was what fae did. “It’s not an orgy,” Deirdre laughed easily, as if it was some amusing thought. “I mean it could be if---I’m joking! I’m joking.” Deirdre took the moment to recover from her joke to assess the girl. What kind of an exclusive party would they paint this as? Upscale? Intimate? What did she seem more interested in? She watched the girls eyes dart around, observing where she lingered. The groups seemed to catch her eyes. Maybe she didn’t really like clubs, she just went because her friends did, what she really wanted was---”it’s just a small thing, really. Just some friends sitting around a fire, smoking, drinking, talking. It’s just---it’s hard to get to know people when the clubs and bars are so loud, right? And it always seems like everyone just wants something out of you and it’s---I don’t like it. So, an exclusive gathering. You don’t have to waste your night.” The girl’s arms slowly uncrossed. Bingo. She never would have noticed her loneliness if she didn’t have an empathetic eye---she might have stuck with clubbing angle, pitched it as something upscale (the humans did love the idea of fancy). She felt terrible for a moment, and then the girl spoke, and she felt worse. “How do I know I can trust you guys? And, like, if it’s your friends I don’t want to--” she caught her insecurity in her throat, swallowing it down and standing up a little straighter to cover it, “like, you know. It’s whatever, but how do I know this isn’t some weird like sex party thing? ‘Cause I told you, I’m not interested. How can I trust you?”

Lydia’s gaze didn’t flicker as Deirdre continued describing it, although she was caught off guard. It was a risky proposition, after all. The idea of being outsiders at an insider event was off putting to most people. Something high end with an open bar was usually the safest bet. It was interesting too, to hear Deirdre describe what they were doing, how she crafted her half truths to suit this girl’s need. Yet here, the girl opened up, melting like butter into Deirdre’s words. Lydia gave Deirdre the slightest squeeze. “I promise, we’re not inviting you to take part in a sex party. I take my word very seriously.”

The girl eyed her suspiciously, because of course it wasn’t enough. Instead, Lydia took a slightly different approach, leaning into one of this identity’s greatest uses. “My name’s Lydia Griffin. You can google me. I am the author of the Eyes to the Sky series. You can find a frankly terrifying amount of information about me in the blink of the eye. What’s your name?”

“You wrote that?” The girl replied, her eyes widening. “I started reading the first one a few weeks ago.” She realised, quickly, that she looked a little too eager, and tried to shutter her excitement as she did just what Lydia asked - googling her to find Lydia’s authorial portrait. “Holy shit. I’m Emma. Not, that, uh. I don’t know if I fit in with that kind of crowd.”

“That’s alright,” Lydia said, “It’s not that kind of party. Everyone is very welcoming and lovely. We’re always looking for new friends.” Emma’s eyes widened, like she couldn’t quite believe it, trying to play it cool. She looked to Deirdre, as if for a final reassurance.

Deirdre tried her best to hide her shock at hearing Lydia reveal her identity. Now they really had to ensure to bind her into keeping their identities a secret or...did Lydia plan on killing her after? It wouldn’t be unheard of, and at the whim of the mushrooms, who knew which part of them would emerge dominant. But as she watched the girl’s eyes grow wide, a smile finally threatening to pull at her lips, she could see why. And now they had a name. Great. Now she’d know exactly who she was making hold her mushrooms, probably. And then Emma turned to her. Deirdre hid her hesitation well, but her voice dropped into a newfound gentleness. “It’s nice to meet you, Emma. I’m Deirdre, no fancy job or anything. I actually just met Lydia about a week ago,” she smiled at the other fae warmly to sell her point, “and most of her friends too. Some people there are strangers to me too, but they’ve been so kind and welcoming to me, especially being new in town.” She gestured to her throat, pointing out her accent. “Am I right in guessing you’re interested in literature?” Emma nodded slowly, nearly ashamed to admit it. “Well then, you just have to come. Lydia would love someone whose brain she could pick, right?” She smiled, “and there’ll be a lot of people there with similar interests. I wouldn’t really know, but there’s---uh, other authors, right?” She kept turning to Lydia, as if she needed clarification, reeling Emma in with her feigned hesitation. If one of them was less sure, it made the reluctant Emma more comfortable knowing her fears were shared. And unsurprisingly, she shrugged, biting her cheek to stop a smile. “Okay,” she said finally, “I’ll come.”

Lydia suppressed the way she bristled at Deirdre’s lie, but the other fae might have just felt the shift of her wings. Not her problem, especially as she watched Deirdre sink the final hooks into Emma, one word at a time. It was almost word perfect too, creating the most perfectly relatable personality. Making herself seem human, even though Lydia knew Deirdre was anything but. She nodded along to Deirdre’s speech, and that in itself twisted Lydia’s belly a little. The moment Emma nodded, tucking her hair behind her ears, Lydia smiled, the ache dissipating. I’ll come, she said, and Lydia turned it into a promise, a thread to pull their prey along by. “Great,” Lydia said, warm and inviting in tone. “It isn’t far. Walk with us?” She invited Emma, who after another moment rocked off the wall and began to walk with them. Although Deirdre had pitched it as Lydia’s party and Lydia’s crowd, it was Deirdre who had found the fairy ring - Lydia had no idea where it was. Deirdre had to lead them there.

Emma seemed excited, all hidden the best she could under a stubborn wall. And in the same way, Deirdre felt guilty for what would come, hidden under walls she covered better. She hadn’t expected to feel this poorly about some mischief, but there she was, nearly shaking with reluctance. Was it stronger to swallow this feeling? Or to admit it, end the night, apologize to Lydia and move on? To quell the feeling, she reached out and looped her arm around Emma’s, though the hooks had been set and the promise made, she maintained the act of reeling the woman in--in some way, as an apology for what would come. With her feigned excitement, she led the way for the three of them, out of the well-lit bars, into dimmer streets, then where the forest began. All the while, she made sure to ask Emma questions about herself---superficial at best, lest she dare feel even worse than she already did---and boast about their upcoming party. “It’s just over here, I think?” She led them into the clearing, giddy from the nearby mushrooms, “oh shoot! Did I get us lost again?” She laughed, unable to help herself. The mushrooms were right there. And some part of her, that still maintained any bit of sense, thought it might be good to pretend like they were lost instead of the party not existing. “I swear it was by the mushroom-shaped tree around the mushroom bush into the mushroom?” Deirdre quivered with excitement. Emma looked between the two of them, smiling still from their previous conversation. “Oh, that’s cool, I can just look it up how to get back on my phone and---” As Emma tried to explain, Deirdre reached out and swatted the phone down to the ground, screeching. “Mushro--I mean, spider! Oh, sorry, I thought there was a spider on your phone.” To Lydia, she gestured with her head to the fairy ring, hidden by some long grass.

Lydia chimed in on the conversation occasionally, with small delicate tidbits or questions to supplement Deirdre’s. The closer they got to the mushrooms, the more Lydia’s inside felt like champagne. Light and fizzy and delicate, sweet and soothing. If she listened carefully, she could already feel that silent, magical music, thrumming through her in complete harmony. Her black dress felt itchy, her boots to encumbering. Lydia wanted to feel mulch and worms beneath her toes, to spread her wings and glow. The moon was just right too. Deirdre smacked the phone out of Emma’s hand, and Lydia made a show of typing something into google on hers before Emma picked her up again. “I’ve got it! Lydia called, holding up her own phone. “This way,” Lydia called, her voice like bells as she pulled Emma deeper into the woods. One, two, three - Lydia nearly moaned as they stepped inside the fairy ring, the magic pure excstacy, “We’re here!”

“I… don’t see a party,” Emma said, looking uncertainly at Deirdre once again, Lydia noticed. And again. Humans were not subtle with their favourites. Lydia laughed.

“Don’t you? Can’t you hear the mushroom music? See all our friends below?” There were gnomes in the circles too, that Lydia pointed to, already kicking off one shoe. “We’re going to have so much fun my dear,” she promised, and smiled against Emma’s cheek, eerily close. ‘Now, my dear, dance for me here.”

Something felt bad in the pit of Deirdre's stomach, like she ate spoiled yogurt. Something about the mushrooms didn't seem right, and with the last of her sense, she opened her mouth to apologize or stop this or—"MUSHROOOOMS!!" she jumped up and down on Emma's phone, cracking the screen before she skipped over to Lydia and joined in the glorious mushroom song. She found the ring with ease, stepping in and feeling all at once the only thing that ever mattered: mushrooms. Here, nothing was wrong. Nothing was ever wrong with mushrooms. "You can't have all the fun without me!" Deirdre laughed giddily, bouncing from one foot to the other. Deirdre kicked her shoes off, peeling off her top with another fluid motion (mushrooms were always better enjoyed in the nude). Emma, on the other hand, was filled with less glee. She moved to dance clunkily, almost as if she didn't want to. "No, No!" Deirdre groaned, grabbing Emma's hands. "You humans dance all bad! Like this!" She demonstrated, pulling her this way or that, light on her feet and expert enough to avoid crushing any gnomes. "These are our friends! Play us some music, Emma!" Emma's eyes grew wide as her lips pursed, she tried to whistle a song, maintaining her pathetic dance routine, but the sound kept cracking as she sobbed silently. "Okay, no more music; your music is sad. You're supposed to be happy! Lydia, why isn't she happy? Is it because she's human?" She turned to her friend, who understood the joy of mushrooms just as she did.

The first boot off, Lydia quickly kicked it out of the ring, and into the dark. The rhythm thrumed through her, and she laughed at Deirdre, with Deirdre, dancing to the rhythm of the music as she kicked off her next boot. Slide her arms down the length of her body, like she might for a lover, to ruck up her dress and pull it over her head. She giggled, left just in bra and her underwear as she watched Deirdre pull the human into dance, tried to get her to make the music. “Oh my god, she can’t sing or dance? What kind of fucking human did we pick up. Next time, we’ve gotta pick up a group. Still, I guess we can figure something out.” Emma sobbed, and Lydia smiled as she wiped those ugly tears away. “Don’t cry.” Emma stopped with a strangled gulp, her eyes widening and drying up at once. “Ugh, what a fucking eyesore. C’mon, let’s find you something to do to entertain us. Can you juggle?” Emma shook her head. “Can you try?” A small nod. “Sweet. Here, try with these!” Lydia grinned again, picking up some very conveniently sharp rocks.

Deirdre tried to pull off her pants, but they were too tight. Why were her pants so tight? And why couldn't she disrobe and dance at the same time? And why did the mushroom music sound like bones being tapped together when there were no bones? Why were there no bones? These questions plagued Deirdre's mind. So she hopped from one foot to the other in her bra and leather pants, insecure about her abundance of clothing. She would have shed the bra if it didn't mean she couldn't wav her arms to the mushroom beat. And then there was Emma, poor, sweet disgustingly human Emma. She tried to juggle, but she was so bad at it. Just like she was bad at dancing and whistling and she was trying so hard not to cry that her face was ugly red and blotchy. She dropped a rock on her foot, wiched and picked it up to juggle again. She dropped it again. Picked it up. Dropped it. Cut her finger on the sharp edge of one of the rocks, spilling blood into their fairy ring. She bit her lip and tried to juggle again. She wanted to cry so badly that she was blubbering now, but her tears wouldn't come. Her cut seemed to grow wider, the rocks were stained with blood as she tossed them around in a mockery of juggling. Deirdre dropped her hands, she didn't like this. The mushrooms didn't like this. "Stop that," she commanded, and Emma dropped her rocks to the floor, causing gnomes to scramble away. She picked up her shirt and wrapped it around Emma's bleeding finger. "Lydia," she whined, "I don't like this human. She makes me feel bad. Like bad on the inside. I can't enjoy the dancing like this! We should have went with the group. Should we get rid of her? I-I'm so sorry, Lydia. I'm so bad at doing things. I'm so sorry. I wanna be good. I try to be good. Why isn't this fun for me? Do I need—maybe I need to be more naked." And now she was crying as she blabbered on.

Lydia, on the other hand, couldn’t stop laughing, throwing a leaf or twig at Emma every time she dropped it with an inelegant woop. The blood didn’t bother her, humans bled so very easily, and cried and whined and whimpered so very easily. They always did at these things, unless you kissed them or drugged them, or were just really, really not very risk aware at all, which was common in humans too. She thrust her hips and swung her arms in a wave like shape, the traditional Leanan summer dance. When she glanced at Deirdre through, her movements slowed, and she stepped over her bra to the banshee in some concern. Her leaves mulched between her toes as she walked over to Deirdre, bandaging the human up and stopping it like that. “Oh for fuck’s sake, Deirdre, we can’t go back for the group now. Is it because she’s sad? They’re freaking always sad, Deirdre, they don’t want to be here. That’s half the fun, they’re prey! Is this because of Morgan? Do you want me to take off your bra to make you feel better?”

"Well, I know that but..." Deirdre trailed off, blinking, waiting for Lydia to understand it. "I wish Morgan was here," she mumbled. Things were better with Morgan; she would explain why she was sad, she would understand. Deirdre wished she was dancing the mushroom tune with her. But she wasn't. She was here with Lydia and sad, un-fun Emma. "I don't want them to be sad! It ruins the mushrooms!" Morgan would get it. Deirdre frowned, looking between Emma and her pleading eyes and Lydia and her steady ones. "You're right. I'm just not naked enough for this. Can you take my bra off? I can't reach it right." And her pants too, but she wasn't going to push her luck and ask for that. She spared one last look at sad Emma. "Smile, Emma! Be happy!" She told her, and Emma's red face sported a wide but thin and unnatural smile. "There! See! All better! The mushrooms are pleased! You're so smart, Lydia."

All the air rushed out of Lydia. The fairy ring cloud was thick in her mind, but now she wasn’t floating above it in a giddy rush so much as stuck beneath it, wondering where the sun had gone. She looked down at the gnomes, swaying and dancing between their ankles. The odd one looked up and gave them a sharp look, as if telling to get with the program. She smiled, snaking her arms around Deirdre to catch the clasp and unfasten it, pulling the straps down Deirdre’s arms and letting that fall to the ground too. “Yeppers, great. Now she’s all happy, so you can take her home and woo her and fall in love with her and adopt a cat with her.” Lydia turned away, her elytra raising sharply, her skin glowing harsh gold under the moonlight. “All I want to do is celebrate not being stuck to someone anymore and all you want is to be back with your barely non-human girlfriend. In a fairy ring! That kinda sucks, Deirdre! Ugh. Let’s just send her into the woods to be eaten by an alghoul and dance, okay? I said, don’t cry!” That was directed at Emma, who had sniffled around her strangely twisted mouth.

Nudity had finally been achieved...well, half-achieved, as her stubborn, tight pants remained. But Deirdre could work with this now. And Emma was smiling, and everything was okay if she just didn’t look too hard or think too hard or focus on anything that wasn’t dancing. Everything was the way it should be in a fairy ring! Happy and naked and--- “Lydia?” Deirdre reached out for her friend, a hand hovering above her shoulder--pausing as she regarded the wings. “I don’t wanna do any of that. I wanna dance with you.” But it was hard to dance when Lydia wasn’t looking at her. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “I won’t talk about Morgan anymore.” Even though, among bones and mushrooms, Morgan was the only thing she really wanted to talk about it. And she couldn’t understand what was wrong. Did Lydia want to adopt a cat with her too? “Let’s dance! Let’s dance!” She reached for her hand, trying to rope her back into some dancing. “You’re so pretty, Lydia. You’re the most beautiful woman---” second to Morgan, and herself, and that mushroom over there and that skeleton she saw a few days ago. “---you have wings! You’re so cool! I look like a stupid human. I look like an Emma!” She gestured to their dumb, useless entertainment meat sack. “I’m sorry I wasn’t dancing. I’m dancing now! Emma, turn around so I can’t look at you.” And Emma did, just as Deirdre tactfully avoided the idea of killing her. Something about that didn’t vibe with the mushrooms, deep inside. “Do you want a cat, Lydia?”

“Hmph!” Lydia replied. “Don’t say things that can be turned into promises you can’t keep. It’s not that you’re even talking about your girlfriend. Its- whatever. Whatever!” Lydia threw her hands up in the air, but turned when Deirdre reached for her hand, into the touch. She didn’t immediately begin to dance, she didn’t want to, not when Deirdre would rather have a zombie in the ring than her, not when she saw the signs of - Lydia swallowed. Nope. Nep. Níl. This was fairy ring magic soaking into her bones, she could let go of such worries. Especially with Deirdre feeding right into her vanity like this, filling her heart with butterflies. “Darling, you never look stupid. I’ve seen your eyes go black and all death predicty, and you’re more beautiful than any of them could ever be.” So why would you date one? Lydia bit the inside of her cheek hard to hold that question back. “No. My pets are already a handful. But you know, I met Beans the other day, he was a real cutie.” She couldn’t help it - the desire to bubble up again was overreaching. Mushrooms broke things down, but brought life too, and it overflowed in her despite the sting she couldn’t repress in the moment. She let Deirdre pull her into dance, squeezing her hand briefly. Lydia spun and turned to Emma, already over the slight from the moment before. “Hey, can you-” No, Deirdre didn’t want that. Lydia rolled her eyes, and turned her attention back to the dance. Waste of a good human.

“Please don’t make me promise to stop talking about my girlfriend! I like my girlfriend. I like talking about her. She dances really good by the way, and--” Deirdre trailed off, embarrassed. For some reason (Deirdre suspected cat jealousy), Lydia didn’t like hearing about Morgan. Or was it...did Lydia not like Morgan? “Do you have a problem with my girlfriend? ‘Cause you’re being a real H-word right now.” The H-word being human, naturally. “Which means like, you’re confusing me. If you have something to say, you should say it! The mushrooms would want that.” And though this was supposed to be some confessional moment, Deirdre continued her dancing. There was no greater balm for the soul than the mushroom music, after all. “No, you’re really pretty! Like the prettiest! You’re my favorite fae in town. The rest are all so...not cool like you. I love you, and mushrooms, and bones, and pie and---Not you, Emma! I said turn around!” She paused, “we’re doing sooo much talking and not enough dancing, I feel.” Which clearly meant they needed more dancing, and more and more and...what was that? “What?” She giggled her curiosity to Lydia, “what did you want Emma to do?“

“I’m not, obviously, but if you weren’t going to you shouldn’t have said you would!” Lydia retorted. The opportunity to make it a promise would have been as easy as catching a fly in a fridge, but she watched it sail past all the same, until it was much too late to do anything, like any good friend would. The next words out of Deirdre’s mouth made Lydia’s nose flare, her wings flashing brightly and aggressively. “I’M AN H WORD? You’re the one who won’t let me have fun with the human RIGHT here! You’re the one who fell in love with a human! You’re the one who let me find that out from your girlfriend instead of you! We’re standing in a FUCKING FAIRY RING, which are so rare this time of year we probably won’t see another until August, and all you want is to be with your zombie girlfriend! I don’t have a problem with her, I have a problem with you!” Lydia stomped her foot, squelching on some kind of decaying fruit or dead animal remains or probably even human remains in a place like this. She bopped her chest and spun in the music of the mushrooms, and yep, the gnomes were definitely judging them now. “You just told me to say what I feel! I was happy being a fae in a fairy circle, make the human pull out her own hair lock by lock, or dance until she inevitable collapsed of exhaustion and then make her dance more anyway or see whether she can climb a tree without breaking her neck but if you don’t want to see her cry then we won’t freaking do any of that!”

Deirdre crumpled, taking each sentence Lydia flung at her with a wince and a whimper. This was not the mushroom vibe. “I just---” She deflated, curling into herself. “I just wanted to spend time with you, and do something fun. I know you didn’t like people attached to Simon, and I want to get to know you better because you’ve been such a good friend and I just wanna dance naked and--” she sniffled. “It’s weird for me. Humans used to not be people but now they kind of feel like people and I don’t like it and Emma cries really ugly and I don’t want to look at it but I also want to spend time with you and have fun and I want you to have fun and---” she blubbered on, catching a glimpse of the gnomes below, scowling at them the way gnomes did. “Of course I wish Morgan was here, I always wish she was. I like spending time with her. She doesn’t make me feel---” scared, but the word caught in her throat. It wasn’t Lydia’s fault Deirdre was terrified, and she did like spending time with the other fae. But she couldn’t help that something in her had changed, and whatever that was, it was making something about this whole affair very unpleasant. But Lydia’s problem was with her. She was the problem. She didn’t like that. She didn’t like being problems. The desire for approval flared deep within her, and she pulled a knife from her boot and sunk it easily into Emma’s shoulder---garnering a yelp and cry. “We can play with her! I’m sorry. I’ll be good! We can play! Emma, turn around and dance, and don’t say a word unless spoken to.” And Emma, the dutiful entertainment source, did as commanded.

In normal circumstances, Lydia would have regretted the words the moment the words left her mouth. Normally, she would have never been so extremely honest. Watching Deirdre crumple into herself, shrinking up the way Simon had, made Lydia’s heart ache. Her small hands had curled into fists, hurt and stung by being called the worst thing you could be. People slang words like murderer and evil and manipulative at her from time to time, but no one had ever accused her of being human. No one ever could, not with how she dealt with her diet. “Humans always feel like people. They think like people, too. That doesn’t change what they are, ever.” Her voice was quieter, but still simmering with heat in it. “No shit you like spending time with her, you love her, but this is fae. This belongs to us, no other species! She makes you feel what?” Deirdre bent down as Lydia swivelled her hips in rhythm, her eyes widening when she saw the glint of sharpened metal, reflecting in gold glow. She gasped as Deirdre thrust it into Emma’s shoulder, covering her mouth. A giggle surprised her, followed by another and another, until she was laughing at the sad human’s pain, the grief look of betrayal in Emma’s eyes. Oh, she’d hoped that Deirdre was a nice one. Poor lost Emma. Lydia laughed and took Deirdre’s hands, ignoring the blood, and pulled her into a twisting, spinning dance. Emma didn’t speak, as she… did the Macarena, but the longer she danced, the more her top stuck to her skin and grew shiny as blood trickled out of the wound, worsened by every move of her arm. Her face grew even paler, her movements becoming sluggish. The injured arm dropped to her side, even as Lydia tasked. “Dance faster, girl.”

“But if you think they’re people, how can you---” Deirdre frowned, though she left the topic where it laid. She was too high for this. Too focused on being naked and dancing. She knew the logic well. Humans were inferior, inherently. And they lacked the innocent, simple minds of the animals. And so, they were okay to torture and degrade. Fae were superior, in all regards. But she’d loved a human as her equal, and in doing so, cursed herself with the thought that more humans could be seen that way---even if Morgan was just special. She hadn’t pieced it together completely, and she certainly wasn’t going to try when the mushrooms were singing. “I want to share fae things with her too,” she mumbled, though her words were lost under Lydia’s laughter. That was good, she was laughing. All was forgotten. Deirdre kept her eyes away from the human, laughing along into her spin and dance. Emma struggled, though forced to dance fast, her movements were clunky like a puppet’s strings being haphazardly tossed around. Deirdre couldn’t watch, but didn’t want Lydia to see her remorseful, and so she kept her eyes on the grass under Emma. But these weren’t fae things, she wanted to say, these weren’t the things she wanted to share with Morgan. They were just...cruel. Was this all fae were? The mushroom song seemed to ebb and flow as her mind resisted what was happening around her. For the sake of her sanity, she focused on dancing. Dancing was fun. “Sorry I said you were acting like an H-word, Lydia. I didn’t mean it!” She said, happily enough. “I was just a little sad you weren’t being honest with me. Friends should be honest, right?” Spoken by the liar, as she danced and ignored the pained human. “But we should have fun! Are you having fun now?” Would conversation distract Lydia from torturing Emma? Would it save her pathetic, inherently inferior, human life?

“I don’t think they’re people. They aren’t.” Lydia replied curtly. Fortunately, all that dissipated with Deirdre in her arms. Even if she was still in those cursed leather jeans which… did make her ass look great, sure, but Lydia was a betting woman. Deirdre’s ass would look great regardless. She spun Deirdre under her arms, shimmying her chest and beating her wings to the beat. Her elytra moved too, an intricate dance only those with beetle like wings could do. God, she was proud of her wings, especially glowing under the moonlight. Unlike Deirdre, she watched Emma keenly, grinning at the absurd obscenity of it all. She wouldn’t have stabbed the girl, far too gross for her liking, but it did add a delightfully macabre element to it, didn’t it? “Friends should be honest, but you weren’t being honest with me, either.” Lydia didn’t point out that she still wasn’t being honest, that Lydia could see how Deirdre turned her head away from Emma, over and over and over. With the mushrooms on her mind, though, Lydia couldn’t bring herself to care, giggling once more as Emma stumbled. And the She fell, clutching her shoulder, her face contorted in fresh waves of pain, but even on the floor, she wriggled like a worm, her body determined to dance even as her strength was failing. “Oh no, I think you broke her.” Lydia said with a laugh.

They were like people, right. Deirdre hid another frown. She had hoped, maybe, that Lydia would see it the way she did. How did she begin to reconcile these things together? And did it matter, in the face of mushrooms? Probably not. And how could they when Lydia looked radiant? “You’re beautiful,” she gasped and then giggled, watching her wings with awe, tinged by envy. She wanted to touch them. She lifted her hand and opened her mouth to ask when Emma fell over. That was bad, right? That was probably bad. But if she went over there, Lydia wouldn’t think she was cool, and that was worse, right? Her morals lost their legs under the mushroom’s influence, she tried to make some part of her stand, but all that was left was the girl who craved to be the kind of fae that Lydia was. But--- “No! She can’t do that! We have to get her to promise not to say anything first!” Deirdre shimmied to her, falling to the floor beside her and groping around for some discarded clothing. She could not remember how medical care worked in her state, but she knew blood was bad. Immobility was bad. “Emma? Stop dancing, Emma.” She couldn’t help while she was writhing. “Listen to the mushrooms, Emma. You need to stay awake to dance and entertain us.” And live, and go home, and pretend like none of this had happened. Deirdre pulled the knife out of her, quickly pressing the discarded shirt to the gushing wound. “What are the promises, Lydia?” She turned to the other fae, “what do we usually make them say? No telling anyone about what happened? No talking about who we are or what we look like? No--D-do we make her forget?”

Lydia rolled her eyes as Deirdre’s will gave, and she watched her friend rush over to help the writhing, wriggling human. No matter, the mushrooms called and Lydia was more than thrilled to solo with the tiny gnomes. These dances were as old as time itself, which was why she grunted as she jumped from leg to leg, raising each knee to her chest and simultaneously clapping her hands against her other knee. But she stilled with a sigh as Deirdre called to her. Lydia knelt in the decomposing leaves, her hand cupping Emma’s face. The true terror there wasn’t as fun without another fae to share. “I don’t have the magic to make her forget. Oh well. I’ll do this, you focus on her shoulder. Hey, Emma, pet, you did so well. Would you prefer it if we killed you now, or got you back to town?” Without realising, Lydia had turned to the soft lilting way she spoke to her own humans at some times, gently smoothing down Emma’s blue hair as she smiled at the human. “Darling, I can’t hear you. A little louder, please.”

“T-town.”

“Oh, there we go, that wasn’t so hard, was it. And all we need is three little promises.” Lydia gently wiped the grime off her face, wiping away those nearly dried tears. “Can you do that for me?” A small nod. “I want you to promise that you’ll never tell anyone anything that happened tonight.”

“I promise.”

“I want you to promise that you’ll never describe Deirdre nor I to anyone in any way, not even via drawing, nor reveal our whereabouts, or indicate anything about us to anyone”

“I-I promise.”

“There. Last one, and this is the hardest. We have complete control of you for the rest of the week if we want it, you know. So what I really want you to do? Is continue as if nothing happened. Go to class, church, book club, whatever it is you usually. Do. Go home like you would after a night in the club, and sleep it off. Do you promise that?”

Emma groaned in pain, and met Lydia’s eyes for the first time that night. They were an unyielding blue. As impersonal as a statue. “Y-Yes.”

Lydia pat Emma’s hair. “Good girl. Try and stand up, and we’ll walk you back. Right, Deirdre?”

How was Lydia so collected right now? The more Deirdre looked at Emma, the more her head started to swirl into a mushroom. Her foot began to tap a rhythm nervously as Lydia went on. She couldn’t focus, she didn’t want to focus. She wanted to be home, where things were gentle. “You don’t have to---” she croaked, though her sentence did not end. If only she had more sense, she could focus on getting the promises out so Lydia wouldn’t have to. She wanted to have fun, this wasn’t fun. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, her apology directed at both women. “No!” She stood up abruptly, “no, we have to dance! I’m going to make this fun for you! She can walk back, and if she dies on the way, who cares, right? I wanna dance with you. I wanna have fun with you. You’re my friend. She’s not. I don’t want to walk her anywhere!” She pouted, crossing her arms over her bare chest. “It’s dance time! That’s what the mushrooms want.”

It was a relief to hear Deirdre’s protest, that the night wasn’t completely lost. That they wouldn’t have to leave these fine pastures for Deirdre’s bleeding heart. Lydia stood, and so did Emma, clutching at her shoulder. “You heard her, it’s that way, roughly. Don’t follow any dancing light and it you hear something growl, run. Have fun.” Lydia replied with a sharp smile. Emma stared at Deirdre, her lip wobbling. “Now.” As if dragged on a lead, Emma turned and walked away. No, as Lydia watched her, walking was far too generous a word. She stumbled and yelled as she tripped on a branch here, but staggered back up, swaying as she moved forward. Lydia grew bored quickly of watching. Despite all her moods this evening, one was universal. Lydia turned back to Deirdre with a broad smile. “C’mon. It’s time to get you out of those leather pants.”

#wickedswriting #para #chatzy #deirdre #this is a wild time with a LOT going on #lydia is evil

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legobiwan · 5 years ago

Note

could you do 18 and 100 for the trope mash up thing? (And if you want two characters, Obi-wan and Hondo?- I got a little confused with your added instructions to the trope mashup)

Circus AU / Accidentally Saving the Day (Hondo & Obi-wan)

Anon, I had to WORK for this one and even did a little research into circus history since I am woefully undereducated about the topic. I think I’ve found an interesting way of weaving these all together and giving a little bonus at the end. Stick with me here, I need to do a bit of an introduction to get this whole idea going.

For the purposes of this AU, please assume that the Clone War and all the events surrounding it happened directly after Naboo, meaning everyone is about 10 years younger than they are in canon. Also assume that Qui-gon was not killed on Naboo, although that has little bearing on this particular story.

THIS GOT OUT OF CONTROL. I was expecting to write a fun little 1,000 word thing, not a whole AU concept. But here we are, so….uh…

We’ll see what everyone thinks? Enjoy. And good luck :D

—-

“How are they doing?” Szimon Tesdak asked, thin, long mustache bobbing up and down at the ends.

The other man patted the Pamaradian prancer’s neck, running his fingers through the thick mane of her hair. The prancer shivered, eyes darting back and forth, hooves tapping nervously on the durasteel floor. The man known as Whisp spoke softly in the creature’s ear, the words foreign to even Szimon’s cosmopolitan ears. A few moments later, the prancer settled, nuzzling her snout into Whisp’s shoulder.

Whisp turned to face Szimon. “They’re restless,” he said. “Fourteen hours in a cruiser is a bit much for anyone to take.”

Szimon waved the veiled criticism away with a flick of his wrist. Yes, it had been a long journey, but the payoff would - hopefully - be worth it. And they needed the credits - or whatever these people were going to pay.

“An hour more and we’ll be there,” Szimon said with false confidence.

Whisp stood, crossing his arms tight against his chest, the black-and-crimson fabric of his worn travel tunic wrinkling with the gesture. There was a hint of beard on the young man’s chin, something that, when it grew in, would likely age him a good ten years. The man peered at Szimon with grey-blue eyes like he was trying to ace one of those vision tests at a local spaceport agency. Always looking for hidden meaning, he is.

And sometimes he finds it.

At least with the creatures, that had been the case. Two years Whisp had been working for Szimon and never had the older circus master figured out the man’s trick. Szimon had spent his life in the circus, from his childhood on Thybaar right up the grand days of the bright Coruscant lights to his now-ramshackle operation held together by thread, petty theft, and the occasional cashing in on favors owed.

Szimon had seen it all - and more, but nothing like Whisp and his ability to communicate with the creatures, like he was reading their minds. “The Whisperer,” the other members had taken to calling him. The moniker had stuck, albeit in shortened form, Whisp’s real name - whatever it had been - long forgotten.

“Remind me again why we’re flying out to the Outer Rim for a show? Seems a bit of an expense when we could just as easily round up a few smaller venues for far less hassle,” Whisp said.

“Ah, Whisp, ever the cynic,” Szimon clapped a meaty hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Don’t think of it as a hassle,” he waved a dramatic hand, as if unveiling something from a behind a curtain. “But as an expansion of our operations.”

Whisp cocked an eyebrow. “Hardly difficult seeing as our operations comprised of three planets the past month, two of which we never actually got to land on.”

Szimon snorted. Well, yes, business had been down because of the war. Szimon himself cared little for the politics of the Republic or the Separatists. A government was a government, with all its little games and corruptions, mazes of betrayal, and endless mountains of datawork. No, Szimon Tesdak would never be chained behind one of those desks.

But many others were, shackled to unfulfilling jobs and lives, stuck in a desert of mediocrity and boredom. That was where Szimon came in. Unhappy citizens tended to breed unhappy revolts. But give them a nice circus, something to laugh at, a little magic that was absent from their day-to-day existence?

It didn’t really matter who was in power. The problems, the outcomes -they were always the same in the end.

Still, the war had been disruptive to his business and over the past few months, the “Great Thybaarian Traveling Show” had been forced into semi-refugee status as planet after planet was devastated by the conflict between a mechanical and clone army. Circuses were part of avoiding war, not conducting it.

Szimon shook off the dark thoughts with a wide smile. “Come on now, Whisp. We’re going to make great friends on the Outer Rim. My benefactor has promised a large sum, maybe even a sponsorship if we play our cards right.”

“I thought they were pirates,” Whisp retorted, half-smile playing on his face.

Szimon made an airy gesture, chuckling. “Pirates, embezzlers, Hutts. As long as we get paid, I’ll work for the Sith themselves.”

Whisp tightened under Szimon’s arm, which was wrapped around the thin man’s shoulders. Some unreadable emotion passed over his face, a premonition of a storm. After a moment, he spoke, hesitant.

“I suppose.”

“That’s the spirit!” Szimon exclaimed, shaking Whisp. “Come on, we have to make preparations for landing and I’m not letting Battlebuzz near those controls again.“

—–

“That was a very impressive show, my friend,” the pirate known as Hondo Ohnaka sidled up to Whisp, unceremoniously dropping into the seat next to him, tankard full of green ale.

Whisp looked up from his own mug, half-consumed, eyeing the pirate warily. “Thank you,” he replied, adding, “I think,” after a moment’s hesitation. It never hurt to be too cautious around pirates.

“All those acrobats, all the flips and whooshes.” Hondo made an extravagant gesture with his arm, nearly taking Whisp’s head off. “And the beautiful women dancing to such music, it shouldn’t be allowed!” he grinned, giving Whisp a knowing look. ”My men, they enjoy that - some of my women, too!” Hondo cackled, downing the entirety of his pint in one go, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

“But you, my friend - with the creatures.” The pirate’s voice turned a shade serious and several parsecs more calculating. Whisp bit his lip, steeling himself to steer another drunken conversation away from this dangerous territory. “Yes, the creatures,” Hondo continued, nearly singing. “Now that was something I’ve never seen before. Most beast tamers use weapons.” The pirate made a few motions mimicking a whip. “They use fear and intimidation but you!” He pointed a finger that almost went up Whisp’s nose. “Ah, it was almost like you talked to them with your mind.”

Whisp gave a forced shrug, his pulse starting to race. He needed to stay calm. Needed to focus on the present, not his anxieties. He laughed to himself, bitter, wholly aware of the gross irony of that statement. “Just an ability I’ve had since my youth,” he said, voice flat. “Better me in the circus than those brutish weapons-wielding tamers you mentioned.” Whisp scowled. That much was the truth. Whisp couldn’t abide by their methods, couldn’t stand the way the pain and fear radiated from the abused creatures. He knew he couldn’t save them all, but if he could give a second chance to even a single Borcatu, if he could find a home for those who had been cast out -

Anger trilled at the back Whisp’s brain, a sensuous, lush melody more tempting than any of the ribald pirate ballads in the background.

Hondo beckoned at another Weequay, grabbing two pints from a serving tray, setting one in front of Whisp in an unspoken command. “Yes, your youth. Tell me about that. Your accent is polished, very posh, very Core World.” Very monied. If only, Whisp rued.

It had been too much effort to try and tame his accent, which stood out amongst Szimon’s motley crew of performers like a neon bell weed in the desert.

Whisp took a long sip of his beverage, smacking his lips together. The new alcohol was a step higher in quality than the dredge he had been drinking before. He peered to Ohnaka on his right, wondering if he was about to be drugged, kidnapped, or worse. Oh well, he thought, drinking some more of the beverage. Might as well enjoy while I can.

“I was brought up in the Core,” Whisp recited, setting his glass down, not even needing to think about the words he had said them so many times. “My family, unfortunately, abandoned me, so I took to farming in the Mid-Rim as a means of sustaining myself. It was there I discovered I had an affinity for creatures and then did some work in healing clinics before the war broke out. The Republic Army took over all the planetary clinics so I was forced into finding…” Whisp bobbed his head, “more creative ways to apply my talents.”

“Interesting,” Hondo noted, his gaze greedy as he looked Whisp up and down. Whisp’s other hand moved to his waist. So much for enjoying. He fingered the blaster he had hidden under his red and silver vest, neatly tucked away in a shoulder holster.

Hondo held out a hand. “I don’t mean to cause you alarm, my young friend,” he said with a laugh, sitting back in his chair, kicking both feet up on the table. “You can put your blaster away, I only want to talk business.”

Whisp’s hand tightened for a moment before he raised an open palm in a universal gesture of surrender, his brow furrowed.

“What type of business?”

“What type indeed?” Hondo hummed, rocking his feet back and forth in time to the bawdy, clangorous music. Somewhere on the other side of the room, Tergallian and Lopisa had gotten into a knife-throwing contest with some of the pirates. Whisp had a feeling the Weequay had bet on it and that the pirates were about to lose their shirts, pants, shoes, and who knew what else in the deal. Might have to make a quick getaway if there’s enough of a ruckus, Whisp thought, eyeing the locations of the exits and the best strategies to get there without being shot.

Again, he winced.

“Oh, you won’t make it out, I promise” Hondo commented, his expression still jovial. “All the exits are under full guard and I guarantee there’s no other way out unless it’s by my command.” He pressed a finger into the table, all traces of humor gone from his voice. “Unless,” he began after a moment, “you are a Jedi.”

Whisp was off his stool in an instant, blaster in hand. Not wanting a direct confrontation, he pointed it towards the ground, the table hiding the weapon from the view of most of the other pirates and circus members. Off in the corner, Szimon’s eyes grew wide as he made a series of furious movements in Whisp’s driection.

“I’m fine,” Whisp signed back in the strange language of gestures known only to those in this particular circus, an easy way to communicate on stage while looking artistic and also a not bad method of either avoiding trouble or sometimes finding it - if their pockets and stomachs were empty enough.

Hondo clasped his hands behind his head, looking unconcerned. “I did not mean to upset you,” he said, lips quirking upwards as if he had just figured out some baffling puzzle. “Only warn you about my security system. But let us not talk of such things, as they disturb you and as my dear mother always said - “ Hondo raised a finger. “Son! You catch more apidactyls with honey. And if that doesn’t work, you can still catch them with a blaster.”

Not worth the fight. Not even sure I’d win this fight, Whisp sighed inwardly. Knowing when he was outmatched, or at least when to choose his battles, Whisp retook his seat with a muttered curse.

“Fine, then. What do you want from me?”

Hondo smiled. “Ah, now we talk business,” he shrugged. “Nothing much, my friend. And nothing - mostly - to do with your little traveling show. But the circus isn’t going to pay you forever and a man of your many talents - ” Hondo leaned forward, putting both forearms on the table. “Could fetch a pretty hefty payday if he found himself aligned with the right people.”

Whisp’s eyebrows rose. “Are you offering me a job?”

Hondo raised both arms. “Maybe, if you are willing to - “

“Hondo!” A large, burly man came barreling into the room. At once, the music stopped with a zippered rip of a holodisc jarred from its needle, pirates and circus members alike turning to the wide-eyed, heaving pirate.

“We got trouble out there!”

Immediately, Hondo came to his feet, blaster in hand. “What kind of trouble?”

“I think it’s the Republic! Looks like them, at least. They’re tryin’ a fall back to our compound!”

“We’ll see about that,” Hondo growled, raising his weapon. “No one takes over Hondo Ohnaka’s compound without my permission!”

—-

Blaster fire rang out from all sides, a multicolored lattice of deadly energy. To Whisp’s surprise, Hondo was near the vanguard of the pirates, shooting at the incoming wave of bright, white uniforms with terrifying precision. The pirates were good, Whisp had to give them that, the transition from unruly drunkards to semi-disciplined guerrilla fighters more seamless than Whisp thought possible.

“Any ideas?” Szimon asked next to him, the pair huddled behind a large boulder, just out of range of the real fighting. Whisp knew Szimon didn’t care one way or another about who won this particular battle - one of thousands Szimon had witnessed over the years. But their ship - their livelihood and home, not to mention only asset - lay just beyond the front line of what Whisp was pretty sure were the infamous clones. If their ship was damaged, or, even worse, destroyed - they were all done for.

Whisp took in the scene, applying his natural affinity for tactics that had been first discovered early in his tenure with Szimon, an awkward encounter with the Ruuthian mafia, a highly successful performance, and a jar of…requisitioned heeble eggs belonging to Ruuthian mob boss. It had been his quick thinking that had gotten them out of that mess, a plan so crazy it couldn’t do anything but work. From that point on, Whisp had earned the nickname, “The General,” much to his dismay.

Carefully, Whisp extended his senses, not only his eyes and ears but his other senses, the ones he kept locked away from everyone else - everyone else except his creatures. The creatures didn’t care what his status or title was, if he had succeeded or not, if he occasionally broke some moral law that had been branded into his mind as a child. The creatures didn’t judge - they had never judged and found him wanting.

It wasn’t good. For all of Hondo’s firepower, they were still in the bottom of a cereal bowl in the sandy crevasse, the clone troopers above holding higher ground as they advanced on the compound. It didn’t escape Whisp’s notice that the troopers’ blaster bolts were consistently going wide, aimed to injure or impede, but not kill. Some strange long-buried instinct rose in Whisp’s chest as he watched the men, sensing their similarities, down to a genetic level. Was he was supposed to be on their side? Supposed to be fighting with them, supposed to -

An explosion rocked the compound, bringing down metal, stone, and all kinds of debris on the pirates. Hondo barked out more orders, a line of men running to set up what looked like a short-range missile while the rest of the pirates resumed their firefight.

I’m supposed to be getting us out alive, Whisp fumed at himself. No more distractions. Szimon’s face was covered in dust and sand and for a moment Whisp almost laughed. The circus master looked the spitting image of the Great Lady Devonna in her full makeup.

“Are you alright, Szimon?” Whisp asked, helping the other man to a seat.

“I’ve seen worse,” he growled, swiping debris from tassled gold epaulettes perched on bright red shoulders like two Felucian retrine sparrows. “Just do something, Whisp, I’m not getting any younger here.”

Right. Whisp looked again at the fight, the positioning of the men, their ship. The pirates weren’t going to win an all-out firefight, not like this and Whisp had to assume there would be reinforcements coming sooner than later. It was now or…

Whisp frowned. They could wait for the clones to take over the compound and beg for lenience. But knowing the Republic, they’d probably confiscate the ship. And send them to prison. Besides, Whisp’s own presence might raise too many uncomfortable questions, ones he had no desire whatsoever to revisit.

So much for that idea, he rued, while surveying the scene. The clones were all faced towards the fighting, Hondo’s forces feisty enough to keep them fully engaged. There weren’t that many of them, not a full battalion, for certain, which meant it was likely Szimon’s ship was wholly unguarded and not even considered a threat, as it had no visible weaponry. If he could just…

Whisp closed his eyes, feeling for the familiar energies, the outlines of the creatures he cared for, from the smallest snitmouse to the largest morak. Yes, he thought, connecting his mind with the stampede creatures. They would never see it coming.

A moment later the earth rumbled, the fighting slowing to a small drizzle of blaster fire as the line of clones turned to the oncoming dust storm that hid the three moraks, now prodded on by Whisp, feeding off of his repressed frustration and anger with the representatives of the institution that had driven him to this life in the first place. Of the people who were trying, again, to deprive him of a home, of a place where he belonged.

Unaware the opaque cloud hid anything living, no less animals whose shells repelled most blaster fire - a well-kept secret known not even in the fancy universities on Coruscant - the clones fired to no avail as the moraks descended, sending bodies flying in every direction with desperate shrieks, the remainder of the forces too startled to return fire efficiently. Three bloody minutes later, the remaining clones ran, retreating, leaving the bodies of their fallen comrades as the only evidence of the failed ambush.

Cheers rose the pirates as they lifted their weapons in glee, somehow manifesting mugs of ale in their hands only a scant minute after they had been involved in a full-bore battle. Whisp slowly climbed from behind the rock, pulling Szimon up with him. The Thybaarian looked at Whisp as if it was the first time he had ever seen him.

“Was that you?” he asked, eyes trying to pierce through years of layers, of hidden secrets that were the only true skin of the man known as Whisp.

Whisp laughed, uncomfortable. “What? No, I mean - “

Szimon shook his head, still dazed. “I always had my suspicions, you know. Not just the creatures, although I’ll grant you that’s one hell of a trick.” He paused, his expression unreadable. “I figured there was some reason you weren’t up with them in that fancy tower, figured it was none of my business, but now - “ Szimon’s eyes turned calculating. “This isn’t just some parlor trick, is it, it’s - “

Whisp backed away, palms splayed in front of him, as if trying to stop the words from entering his space. “No, I’m not. I - “ he looked around, wild, feeling just like one of his creatures, feral and trapped. He was going to lose his home again, once they found out, it was all going to be over. “I never - “ Something snapped, then crackled with inside of Whisp, like the breaking of an invisible, electric bone, sparking flying everywhere.

“I never was one, okay!” he yelled, stomping his foot. “Never was, never will be! That man - that child - died over ten years ago. This -” Whisp gestured angrily at himself. “Is what I am. Nothing. More.”

They had been certain leave Whisp with that message. Nothing more. Just nothing.

“A fascinating story, my young friend,” a low, baritone voice intoned from behind them. “I would be curious to hear more of it.”

Whisp spun around. The man was - there was no other word for it - regal, imperious, commanding the attention of every being in the valley, as he moved towards Whisp and Szimon, long brown cape billowing in the wind, deep violet outfit a perfect fit on his broad chest. Hondo’s troops paused mid-swig, ale running down their necks, and even Hondo himself craned his head forward to get a better look at the newcomer.

Fifty blaster rifles rose at once.

The man stopped, surveying the ends of the weapons pointed at him with a disaffected gaze. The compound held its breath, sinews tightening around triggers as an unworldly clarity came over the canyon, as if each atom, each sound wave could be made manifest as a physical, tangible reality. And then the man smirked, wholly unconcerned with his vast disadvantage in the situation as the world returned to its customary blur. Whisp and the others exhaled, noisy phlegm crackling up their lungs, dust tingling in their throats.

The stranger took an unhurried step forward raising one hand.

“You may lower your weapons,” he addressed the pirates, voice betraying nothing but absolute confidence. It occurred to Whisp then that the man had never been at any disadvantage at all. “I intend no harm,” he added in his deep, patrician voice.

Hondo took an equal, ambling step forward, hands clasped behind his back. He circled the newcomer, a hound sniffing for possible quarry, gazing him up and down, as if he were a incoming shipment of contraband. Then, after a moment, Hondo gave a nod, and the blasters summarily disappeared.

“My, my we are popular today,” the pirate began amiably. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Mister…” Hondo gestured at the other man in question.

“I am here for three reasons,” the stranger announced, ignoring Hondo’s unspoken inquiry. “The first was unwelcome, but unsurprising. My ships were caught unaware, en route from a trade post in the Outer Rim to Jybosti. I carry the identification cards and manifest if you desire proof of my claim. The Republic forced our hand, causing us to land here and engage in an unwanted ground battle which regrettably involved your forces.” The man turned to Hondo, giving an apologetic gesture. Hondo answered with cool regard, his skepticism echoing through the enclosure. Whisp had to agree. No one just happened to go by a place like Florrum without reason. Especially someone like this.

Still, it wasn’t the stranger that had been one shooting at them. Maybe he was telling the truth. Or at least a part of it.

“Secondly,” the man continued, opening his arms, “I would like to thank you all for, how shall I say - “ He paused for dramatic effect, lifting his chin slightly. Whoever this man was, he knew how to hold a crowd, perhaps even better than Szimon. “Saving the day, however unexpected your heroics may have been.”

“Yeah, heroes!” One of the pirates bellowed, raising both his blaster and ale mug, several others echoing his enthusiasm with chants of “Heroes!” which quickly devolved into far less elevated rhetoric.

“And thirdly?” Hondo asked, after the raucous had died down.

“Thirdly,” the man drawled, turning his full attention on Whisp. “I would like to know further details regarding this young man’s story.”

Whisp’s eyes went wide as he took an involuntary step back. “There’s not much more to tell, I’m afraid,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. The words were automatic, a defense mechanism so perfectly tuned, it was nearly instinct. But the strange pressure that had been growing at the back of Whisp’s brain spiked with the lie, leaving a dark, velvet shadow in its wake, something immensely powerful yet a balm to his frayed emotions. It was something…

Whisp gasped, eyes locking with the other man.

It was something familiar.

The stranger smiled, all edges as he clasped his hands behind his back, addressing Szimon. “This young man is in your employ?” he asked, brusque, nodding towards Whisp.

Szimon straightened his jacket and his posture, already sensing a deal in the making as he slipped into tell-tale ringmaster persona. “Yes, sir, best creature tamer I’ve ever seen.”

“Interesting,” the man commented, drawing out the word. “And if he were to leave your employ, how would that affect your operations?”

“Well, I daresay it would be quite the inconvenience,” Szimon began, his confidence building as he fell into the familiar patter of a sales pitch. Whisp barely heard the words, disbelief rising like an angry, red ocean. Would Szimon really do this to him? Now? After everything?

“…so you see, unless I would be suitably compensated for my losses…”

The grey-haired man leaned forward and whispered something in Szimon’s ear. Szimon’s eyes went moon-wide, his mouth dropping open, words tripping from his mouth.

“I trust that would be satisfactory?” the man asked.

“I - ah - “ Szimon sent a half-apologetic glance over to Whisp, eyes gleaming with barely-contained avarice. “I think that would be more than fair.”

“Excellent,” the man articulated, ignoring Szimon’s half-gasped ‘thank yous,’ now directing his full attention back to Whisp, drawing himself up to full height. “And you, who are about to enter my employ. What is your name?”

So that was it. No offer, not even a perfunctory question, Whisp’s future once again dictated by the whims of others. Whisp clenched his teeth agains the injustice of his very existence. “Whisp,” he answered, barely keeping the venom from his voice, fists tightening into balls, nails digging into his palms.

“Your real name,” the man growled. Behind him, Szimon gaped, now looking on with unabashed curiosity, a faint patina of guilt oozing from his sweat-beaded forehead.

Long-buried memories, banished ghosts relegated to an afterlife he had not yet experienced rose in Whisp. He squeezed his eyes shut against the assault of emotions, of the sharp knives of betrayal, the deep pools of loss that threatened to overwhelm him. Had it been so long since he had uttered his own name?

Forcing a noisy breath between his teeth, he steeled himself, meeting the icy gaze of the other man, who considered him with keen, intense interest.

“My name is Obi-wan Kenobi.”

For a brief second, the Force surged in a strange, dark elation as the stranger’s eyes glimmered with satisfaction.

“And I am Yan Dooku of Serenno. Come, Obi-wan,” he said, putting an arm around Whisp’s shoulders, leading him away from the confused and quiet scene of pirates, of the doe-eyed stares of what had - for a brief, happy moment - been his family.

From one family to the next, always a visitor. First the Jedi and Qui-gon Jinn, then Bandomeer. Then clinics, then circuses, and now this.

With Dooku.

Something settled in Obi-wan’s gut, not unpleasant. For the first time in years, he allowed himself to open to the Force, wholly and without constraint. This felt right, more right than anything else had in Obi-wan’s life.

“Come,” Dooku repeated, voice warming ever so slightly. “We have much to do.”

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