#which is like a blink of the eye in comparison to FOREVER

[thunder-shadow]

me when i remember that technically while mars + the giants are technically immortal, mercury, venus, and earth have a time limit and must be aware of it and i wonder what that does to their psyches knowing that they'll die eventually

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Stanley wasn't sure if he was supposed to be dead. He wasn't all too sure if he was supposed to be alive, either.

He was... somewhere. He didn't know where exactly, but it didn't matter. Nothing really seemed to matter all that much in this strange place. Compared to the unfathomable expanse of nothingness that surrounded him, everything else practically paled in comparison. Still, Stanley felt as though this all-consuming abyss that kept him prisoner within its dark maw deserved a name; at the very least, a title. Yet, it didn't feel right to call this place anything. Death too egregious, and Life too extroadinary; either terms felt far too extreme to his liking. There was nothing particularly hideous nor amazing about where he was. He was simply somewhere in-between.

For as long as he could remember, Stanley's world was just that. This somewhere; this in-between of not quite Death and not quite Life. This empty, greedy abyss that seemed to swallow him whole, stretched as far as the eye could see in every direction. There was no sky, no ground, no anything; only the daunting dakness engulfing his every senses and leaving him horribly, hopelessly blank.

That wasn't all there was to it, however. This... somewhere, it was more than just a lifeless void.

Stanley wasn't sure if he could find the right words to properly describe it. He didn't think he could ever come to fully understand the feeling himself, but. Somehow, the abyss felt... hungry. Unimaginably, insatiably, and unbearably hungry.

The hunger seemed to eat away at Stanley, tearing off pieces of him chunk by chunk, piece by piece. With every blink, another part of himself seemed to disappear into the ravenous darkness around him. The void never took much at once, only pieces; nigh imperceptible impossibly tiny crumbs of what made him- so little that they should have hardly mattered in the grand scheme of things. But Stanley noticed. He noticed every particle, every atom that was taken away from him by this greedy hunger. The darkness was eating him; digesting him.

It was as though hunger was all that mattered in this somewhere, this stomach; the world itself a single immense digestive system. He could practically feel the void's biting hunger pangs reverberate through his bones. It was so hungry, so hungry.

The dark ate him slowly, ripping him apart from inside out and outside in. It took his flesh first; stealing away the muscles and fat beneath the skin, leaving behind nothing but meager skin stretched over bone. Sometimes, not even his bones were given the luxury of being spared, and he would find himself with an odd dip in his side where the abyss had taken a rib or two; or with half his face lopsidedly sagging into a limp mess with no muscles, fat, nor eye socket to properly hold up the skin of his face onto his skull.

The hunger took without mercy, without order nor preference. It ate anything, everything, as long it helped abate the forever stabbing, starving desperation that painfully twisted and tore at its non-existent stomach. It never really was satisfied.

It got worse when it started eating his memories.

Stanley despised the thought of losing more of himself than simply his physical body to this greedy void. However, what terrified him far more than the notion that this insatiable hunger could breach even his mind, was the fact that he couldn't remember which memories it took.

Stanley couldn't remember much; before the darkness; before the endless hunger. He liked to imagine, though, of what he could have been before. He'd probably had a warm home, warmer than the cold, cold abyss. He'd probably had a loving family. Probably. He couldn't remember.

Everything turned unsure when his own mind started failing on him. Stanley tried to cling to what little he knew. He had his name held tight in his iron clad grip, repeating it to himself like a mantra. He would try and keep track of time, but it was all in vain. Time didn't seem to matter in the face of hunger. Perhaps it had been years since Stanley's arrival; hundred, maybe even thousands. Or, perhaps it had only been a few days, weeks, months. Stan once had a fleeting, terrifying thought that maybe Time too was already victim to the darkness' insatiable hunger.

However, as much as Stan could forget his past, his identity, and life, perhaps the most tragic loss to him greater than anything else was the memory of Him.

He was important to Stanley. He couldn't remember why, but he was. There was nothing of Him left in his memories. No face, no name; not even why He mattered to him in the first place. All he knew was that the loss of Him had struck him with such profound heartache and sorrow that it had left him weeping helplessly for so long, unable to move and rooted in one spot for days, weeks, years. He couldn't remember how long.

Stan was only snapped out of his comatose stupor by His hand.

It was all that was left of Him, other than the knowledge of His past existence. It was warm, a glowing red hand that pulsed almost reassuringly within Stanley's own, its long six digits curled tightly and firmly around his hand, never once faltering in its grip. He couldn't remember a time when he didn't have it. He's had it clutched within his own cold, rough palms like a lifeline since forever; every step he took and every move he made done hand in hand with Him.

Desperately, frantically, he held onto His hand, never once letting it go. Losing the hand meant losing Him for good, and he wasn't sure if he would be able to cope with the consequences of that all alone.

However, ocasionally, even the the comforting presence of His hand was unable to keep his mind anchroed for too long, and Stanley would lose track of his memories. Plagued by odd laspes of utter emptiness, Stanley would suddenly forget. His own name, his face, everything he knew and remembered would slip withut warning between his fingers like sand; streaming down, down, down and getting lost in the gaping mouth of the void below him. He would wander aimlessly with no real destination in mind, simply roaming somwhere, anywhere.

He would come across all sorts of sights during these odd episodes of his. He'd crossed paths with hundreds upon thousands of partically decomposed remnants of once living, breathing organisms; All of them endeniably, for the lack of better words: dead. He'd walked past entire forests; enormous clusters of tall pine trees completely uprooted and floating in a massive mass of rotting leaves and half digested bark. He'd walked past countless animals, big and small, all in various stages of digestion. Animals always seemed to rot away faster than anything else, and Stanley wasn't so sure what that meant for him.

Once, Stan had somehow even found his way before the destroyed remains of a universe.

It was dead. There was no other way to describe the state it was in. He hadn't even known it was possible for entire universes to simply... die. Stolen away from its rightful place in the starry night sky.

The scene was everything he'd thought impossible to take place in this all-consuming abyss. It was extroadinary. A veritable bursting cacophany of light and heat. It was as though the universe's explosion had been paused at just the right moment, frozen in time at the very moment of its heat death. Its particles flickered, undulating softly and shifting ever so slightly like looking through a warped window. If Stanley stood still enough, and listened closely, he thought he could even hear the softest sound of the shattered screams of the broken remains of the universe ringing silently in the air. It was as ethereal as it was haunting.

The thought of the unimaginable power required to be able annihilate entire universes just like that... It scared Stan.

Stanley may not be sure of anything anymore, but as he watched the debris swirl gently in the blinding epicenter of the shattered universe from afar, he knew with a certainty that he didn't think he possessed anymore, that he did not belong here.

Part 1/2

[reverie-starlight]

lucifer in love

in which the avatar of pride tries and fails to get you out of bed

gn!MC, no physical descriptions. fluff. fluff. fluff. lucifer is scared but it’s okay, he’s just not used to being in love yet, he’ll get there, he swears it. pet names (including little lamb once bc it’s canon). he’s literally so in love.

this has no bearing on the fic, but in my mind this is OG game a few months into your relationship, not NB setting. also I sprinkle in some of my own lore headcanons here.

lucifer was not a morning demon.

everyone in the house of lamentation knew it. his brothers would normally steer clear of him until breakfast (aside from the days that satan and belphie were feeling particularly confident), even diavolo and barbatos knew better than to start drowning him with work before a certain time of day.

coincidentally, you weren’t exactly built for mornings, either.

but still, lucifer had incredible resolve and far more years of discipline built up within him than you did. which obviously made the mornings you’d wake up in his bed difficult for both of you.

“my love, it’s time to wake up,” he leaned over your sleeping body placed a hand on your shoulder. he was already fully dressed and (somewhat) ready to brave the early morning hours. he wanted to let you sleep in as long as possible, and it pained him to rouse you from such serenity, but he also knew you’d miss breakfast if he let you rest any longer. and then you’d really be cranky.

his lips formed a small yet genuine, fond smile when he heard you grumbling. “nooo, just a bit longer…” your voice was muffled by his sheets, and you tried to turn away from him.

“little lamb…” he warned, but there was no real bite behind it and you knew it. lucifer knew well that you were as stubborn as he was, so it wasn’t surprising to him in the slightest when you kept pleading with him.

“pleaseee lucifer, come lay with me for a bit longer. I want you near me.”

he sighed. he dared not show any signs of how tempted he was by you. the irony of a human being the one to tempt a demon.

but he did not waiver. “MC, you’ll be late if you stay in bed any longer.”

“so what?” you whined indignantly. “I haven’t been late or even missed a class in weeks- in fact you showed me just last night how deserving I was of a reward for good behaviour. let’s just play hooky today.”

he rolled his eyes slightly. of course you would use his excuse for getting you into his room last night against him to sleep in longer.

you turned to him, laying on your back and staring up at his unamused face with a still-sleepy grin of your own. “come on, baby, just lay with me. we don’t have to skip if you insist on going, but being a little late won’t hurt, you know?”

he blinked and tried to keep his composure. he still wasn’t quite used to being on the receiving end of pet names, and human ones at that, but you had been growing quite comfortable with throwing them at him lately.

this was the third time you had called him that in the past week, and he still wasn’t sure if he liked it or not… he’d need it to be tested a few more times before he could make a final decision.

He didn’t feel the need to test out terms of endearment- he knew what he was comfortable saying and calling you, and you never seemed to complain with him sticking with some of the more… classic? is that how you put it? names. with the exception of little lamb. obviously.

if he was being honest, though, he had been holding back. human world terms of endearment felt so lacklustre in comparison to those in infernal. he would never admit this, but he was… hesitant to use devildom terms of endearment on you.

often times they couldn’t be translated into any human language, nor could the feelings they spoke of be conveyed differently. the things that lucifer wanted to call you were akin to that of a declaration of complete devotion forever and always. even by demon standards they were intense, because they basically promised that even after death, there would be no one else.

his hesitation was not because he was unsure if he felt the emotions they conveyed for you. not at all, he knew his feelings and yours as well.

but you’ve thrown him for a loop. even if he was sure… he wanted to wait a bit before showing you just how deep his feelings ran. because the intensity of it all was something he had never felt for anyone in all his millennia. the fact that he had someone he could even toss around the idea of using those names on… those feelings were just for him to get comfortable with, so that when he was truly ready, he could pull it off without a hitch.

he wondered if lilith had felt for her human anywhere close to what he felt for you, sometimes, but he always buried that thought away as quickly as it popped into his mind.

blame it on his pride getting in the way, or call it what it was- fear of what being in love was doing to him and what it would continue to do to him. and what it meant he would be willing to do for you…

“uh, lucifer? my love? you’re staring off into space, is everything okay?”

your voice brought him out of his thoughts and the concern within it made him warm inside.

he was still leaning over you, hand gently gripping your shoulder, and your face was wrinkled with worry. he loved you.

until he had it all worked out, he’d show you as much as he could through human declarations of love and lots of action.

he looked down at his wrist as if to check a non-existent watch. “fine, I suppose there’s time to spare.”

he let the sound of your victorious laughter wash all over him and bathed in the feeling of your arms around his neck after he crawled over you to reach his side of the bed.

your smile was radiant, and he felt another piece of the armour encasing his heart chip away. he had been feeling that a lot since you first started the exchange program, but even more so since you both began your relationship.

there was no stopping this, he was falling headfirst into unknown territory for the second time in his life, for a completely different reason this time.

but he’d never ask for anything else. because just like the first time, he figured that this could only result in changing his life for the better as well.

once again he had to shake himself out of his thoughts. you were smiling and talking about one thing or another- he missed the start of the conversation- and playing with his tie.

lucifer was not a morning demon. he woke up exhausted, he dreaded the pile of work forever thrown at him. but his resolve was insanely strong.

maybe he’d give in to you more often if it meant he got to have you like this, in his arms, laughing at his ruined resolve and how weak he is for you, for the rest of your life.

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

haha get it? rest of your life bc you’re mortal and he’s not?

anyway I hope you enjoyed!!

[gay-dorito-dust]

OMG for the opla requests if they r still open !! something with a jealous or protective buggy x reader would be perfect!!

My requests are always open! 🦦❤️💕

It’s not a stretch to say that when Buggy becomes jealous it’s purely because deep down he’s heavily insecure man, despite how cocky and confident he may come across as, whilst shit talking whoever opposes him with a shit eating grin.

But that grin never meets his eyes as the muscles in his jaw visibly tighten and whilst on the topic of his ever so beautiful eyes, they didn’t seem to twinkle nor gleam with their usual mischief whilst doing his routine theatrics; Instead they held a type of malice that acts to conceal the actual emotions running through him in real time.

While he prides himself in having someone that everyone else wanted -that person being you- in regards of how often he’d look away from you for one second, only to find you being chatted up by some stranger within the fraction of the time it took for him to blink! Buggy also couldn’t help but feel as though that his time spent with you was steadily inching towards it’s impending end. For each and every person that came up to you ended up being more beautiful or more handsome then the last, that it made Buggy very insecure in his own outward appearance as questions he’d had shoved down a while back beginning to resurface.

Things such as;

Were you happy with him?

Or did you like what you were seeing elsewhere?

Do you think him hideous?

Or were you biting your tongue out of pity for him and his glass heart?

But most importantly; did you still love him as much as the day you openly confessed to loving him?

Or had that love wavered over time as new temptations were brought in and out of your life?

These questions torment him well into the night the longer it went on, but not once did he think that he could tell you about any of this without you thinking that he’s lost trust in you. Which wasn’t the case; Buggy trusts you a whole lot more in comparison to the people who were openly trying to shoot their shot with you whilst he was right there to witness all of it happening.

And so naturally it pissed him off to the point where that no matter where it was that you went, you’d always be carrying something of his that boldly told anyone and everyone who it was that you belonged to. Whether that be hickies spanning the length of your neck and other visible places, his Sigil drawn on somewhere or smears of his makeup on your face from physically intensive activities.

This guy is like a peacock when threatened; he makes himself look as big as possible, makes loud threats or -when push comes to shove- going as far as to straight up challenge the person whom threatens to steal you away from the flashy fool; After all, nobody was aloud to take away his most precious and most priceless treasure. Hell Buggy even has you perched on his lap as he’s sits upon his throne, one hand propping up his head whilst the other hand rested against your waist, keeping you in a position where you were reliant on him.

You’re his just as much as he is yours and he’s not about to let some random person ruin all that.

All you need to do on your end is actually quite simple; reassure Buggy that he was everything you’ve ever needed in a partner and so much more, that it dashes the possibility of there ever being anyone else to smithereens, for no one else could come close to your beloved Buggy.

Gently hold his face in your hands as you kiss your love and adoration into his skin, making sure to give most of your attention towards that cute nose of his, knowing how it’s the main source of his insecurities, as he straight up falls apart in your hands. Literally. You have his head in his hands whilst the rest of his body was a pile of parts at your feet that you wished you could take a picture of this moment forever, but due to you being occupied for the rest of the day, so in the end you made an attempt to memorise this moment to memory as best as you could so that you could always go back to it when you’d fallen asleep in bed beside him.

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the obvious effect you have on this goof who fills your heart with so much love, that sometimes it made verbalising your feelings harder then necessary. And yet seeing your lovers eyes fall shut and hearing his breathing even out from just your touch alone made the honeyed words flow like water.

It didn’t take much to quell Buggy’s fear and his upset but don’t think you’ll be getting away anytime soon, I’m afraid your stuck there until Buggy feels like he’s had enough. It’s like the equivalent of having a cat fall fast asleep on you for the first time since bringing it home, you don’t wanna move in the instance of accidentally waking it up.

[verspia]

—starry night • ky10

( pairing ) kenan yildiz x reader

kenan sneaks you out for a date under the stars

Your heart thuds against your chest, the rapid beat sounds almost violent in your ears in comparison to the silence of the night.

The cool breeze makes you shiver, goosebumps lining your skin from a mix of adrenaline, fear and the wind.

You hesitate at the window, slight unease coloring your thoughts, as you ponder over the risk of seriously injuring yourself from falling, or worse, your parents hearing you try to sneak out.

You look down, and instantly, all rationale leaves your brain when you spot him, a mischievous grin on his face as he looks up at you.

The adoration in his eyes makes you blush, but you’re desperate now, to be in his warm arms as soon as possible.

You make it out somehow, and Kenan cradles you, strong arms helping you find your feet on the ground.

“You good?” His voice is quiet, concern lacing his tone as his eyes scan you over for anything harmful.

You nod at him, smiling shyly as you fiddle with the hem of the shirt that you’d stolen from him ages ago.

The fondness from his gaze makes you melt on the spot, and you bury your face in his chest, overwhelmed by the love in his eyes.

He laughs quietly, “Come on, I have something very special planned for us.”

You look at him inquisitively, “What is it?”

He doesn’t respond, rather he simply grabs your hands and leads you along, you trudge behind him curiously.

“What are you up to?” you whisper, although it’s not necessary, seeing as your house has long since disappeared behind, as well as the possibility of getting in trouble with your parents vanishing along with it.

He brings you to a spot, laden with blankets and snacks, “A date under the stars for my star girl.”

You can’t help the surprised look on your face, and you turn to him, unable to say anything.

He smiles at you a little sheepishly, “I noticed you reading about stargazing the other day,” he rubs the back of his neck, “so I thought..” He doesn’t say anything else, shrugging and you launch yourself at him.

You pepper his face with little kisses, “Oh kenan! How’d i get so lucky”

He shakes his head, smiling at you with affection, “come on, tell me all about the constellations you like.”

You both lay down, and Kenan wraps an arm around you, effortlessly pulling you closer.

You point up at the stars, diving into detail about each constellation and star.

“and this right here,” you point up, casting your eyes at the little diamonds that glimmer in the sky, “is the heart nebula, which ironically, lies in the Cassiopeia.”

Kenan listens to every word with rapt attention but his eyes wander from the night sky to your face, illuminated under the stars and the glow of the moonlight.

You turn your head as you finish explaining and your eyes connect with his green ones, staring at you with so much love, it’s dizzying.

You feel breathless as you look at him.

“I think out of every star ever, nothing compares to how beautiful your eyes are.” He whispers softly, his breath ghosting over your lips.

“You’re so cheesy” you reply yet your cheeks have coloured red from his words.

He smiles at you, and his eyes dart towards your lips, your own doing the same. You nod at him when he looks at you with question in his eyes, and then before you can blink, his lips connect with yours.

His lips feel like ambrosia, and you gasp into his mouth, his arms come to rest on your waist, pulling you closer.

“Hey you know, most of these constellations don’t have very happy endings,” he whispers against your lips, and you frown in confusion.

His next words, however, make your heart soar and your eyes twinkle brighter than stars.

“But you and i? we’re forever baby, written in the stars or not, i’m yours and you’re mine.”

fin.

im sorry idek what im doing but i cannot stop thinking about kenan so i had to write about him

[randonwilmonfan]

I'd love to talk more about the locker room scene in S2 E2 of Young Royals, where Wilhelm tries to convince Simon to get back together with him, in the process (sadly) demonstrating that he believes his mother's feeble offer to "talk" about him possibly coming out when he's 18. This takes place after his almost-removal from Hillerska.

Plenty of people have already pointed out how Henry snitched on Wille and Felice’s kiss, but apparently didn’t choose to tell anyone (as far as we’re aware) about Wilhelm almost pleading with Simon to get back together with him during that post-almost-dragged-out-of-Hillerska conversation. And that's definitely an interesting thing to chew on. But there's more...

Here are a few other things that stand out to me too:

First -

I think it’s worth pointing out the obvious — Wilhelm clearly sees Simon in his future long-term (possibly for the rest of his life). The way he casually says to Simon “So, we’d only have to keep it a secret for 2 years” implies three things very clearly.

a) He immediately and easily sees himself together with Simon in 2 years and beyond. Actually, specifically, definitely beyond. Because his eye is on the prize: coming out and living openly with Simon *after* he turns 18 — implying his focus is entirely on the intended afterwards period. He doesn’t even blink at that idea; it’s obvious to him.

b) He also really doesn’t seem to think 2 years is a big deal. For a teenager who’s only lived 16 years on this planet (only approximately ~11-ish of them in a state where they’re forming conscious memories) to think 2 years is just a drop in the bucket is kind of wild. Even 6 months feels like forever to a kid. So Wilhelm — a child — viewing time from this perspective suggests he’s likely balancing 2 years out against a much longer expanse of time; hence why those 24 months would look so minuscule and shrug-worthy by comparison. In other words: he sees himself with Simon in the LONG long term. Two years is nothing if you’re imagining growing old with someone and spending the rest of your many decades on this Earth with them. (All of this is pretty much confirmed later on in S2, when Wilhelm offers to abdicate the throne for Simon.)

c) He also doesn’t seem to think Simon should be appalled by the idea of waiting for 2 years. Yes, sure, we can chalk part of that up to selfishness and lack of mentalization / empathy for Simon’s point of view. But I’m going to suggest it’s more than that. My takeaway is that he assumes Simon also sees them as endgame, and so naturally wouldn’t be bothered by waiting a bit longer in order to spend forever together. (Sadly the conversation does not play out that way for him; ouch. Though no shade to Simon: what he said in response was realistic and fair.)

Second -

I think we have to rewatch his interactions with Simon as Henry slams a door and slowly walks past them with a raised eyebrow. Because, in S1, that Wilhelm would have immediately jumped away from Simon to create distance and try to pretend there’s plausible deniability about what their relationship has been and could be again. That’s (one) part of the whole point of S1: Wilhelm is not ready to be brave enough to face a homophobic aristocratic world and take a bold stance to stand by Simon.

Instead, in S2 E2, he sits still. He stays right next to Simon. In fact, he *leaves his hand resting directly on Simon’s thigh.* And he knows someone is coming their way! He heard the door slam inside the locker room. Obviously he knows someone else is here. But he doesn’t jump. He actually doesn’t really stir much at all.

He sits there like it’s of no importance, and he doesn’t care who sees. Or, even, who overheard this very intimate, vulnerable, and pleading conversation. A conversation in which the future King of their country is almost on the verge of begging his ex to please be his again… not just for now, but for multiple years’ time. I mean we’re like 2 steps away from Wille practically offering Simon a “promise ring” (not sure if that concept holds up in Europe, but it’s basically a very pre-engagement type thing in the US; it’s not common though). (Their convo also makes it very clear Simon was the one who dumped him and that he’s having trouble accepting that and moving on.)

Yet he doesn’t seem perturbed or disturbed by Henry’s presence and overhearing and seeing them. He doesn’t seem embarrassed at all. He’s not ashamed of his love for Simon. Even more specifically, he’s not afraid of people (Henry) seeing him put his heart out on the line, and of them knowing that he wants Simon back - not for just a hook-up, but for a very long-term, serious, committed relationship. And he doesn’t make any moves to emotionally or physically distance himself from Simon, despite Henry’s clear witnessing of this private moment.

This is a subtle way to show that, even though Wille hasn't yet gone through his full S2 journey of self-awareness and self-growth, he has still already begun changing and growing after the end of S1. So he’s at least started to learn some of his lessons about what he needs to do differently.

Anyhoo, the whole point I’m trying to make is… gosh there were so many fascinating things happening in that scene. And they rush right past us in the blink of an eye! But there is so much meaning built into every small interaction and non-interaction there, and into every nonchalant assumption the characters casually voice.

I’m sure there’s more meaning and are more details I missed, too! What did you think? I’d love to learn more from others’ perspectives, too. :)

[penvisions]

of beskar and kyber {chapter 10}

Paring: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive! Reader (the Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader)

Summary: Toro Callican using a sedative to capture you has many effects, some you were all to familair with and one that is completely unexpected.

Word Count: 6.5K

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical gore, mention of injuries, blood, mention of past injuries, description of self-inflicted scarring, mentions of past self harm, depression, mental illness, body high, head high, angst, reader is drugged, reader is under the influence of a sedative, body dysmorphia, body image issues, feelings of uselessness, feelings of weakness, altered mental state, ptsd, arousal, sexual themes, offer of sexual favors by reader, reader is tied up, reader is held captive, talk of past sexual encounters (not detailed), argumentative dialogue

A/N: there is a lot of angst and dialogue in this! it helps to set the tone for the budding relationship between din and our dear san. please let me know what y'all think? this was a rather hard chapter to outline and i wasn't sure if it was the right pacing but i feel comfortable enough to make it an official part of the story instead of abandoned scenes that sit in a document forever

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist

It was pitch black, when you began to come back to yourself.

Blinking your eyes open rapidly, you tried to adjust to where you were. Trying to take stock of your body and how everything felt but it was hard with so many senses taken away from you. Mind fuzzy and body feeling like your nerves were untethered. Drugged, the rational, subconscious part of your brain that was struggling to operate supplied you. It was jarring, to feel so disconnected from your body, too familiar in the way that it made you feel to weak and defeated. So much like the person you had been trying to overcome for weeks now, all of the progress you made vanished in the plunge of a needle breaking through your skin.

Weightlessness, untethered, dizzy.

Your head felt so heavy in comparison, it was hard to shift around in an attempt to piece where you were and how you got to where it was. Ropes that were knotted far too tight were around your wrists and ankles, maneuvered behind you to make the task of detangling them worse.

“Looks like you need another dose, Mando sure is taking his sweet time considering you and that thing are in danger.”

“Please,” You tried to hold your head up long enough to catch the young man’s eyes. The high of whatever he gave you all encompassing, overwhelming.

“You can’t offer me anything that’ll change my mind.”

“I’ll help you,” The words tumbled out of your mouth like you were just learning how to string sentences together, jumbled and full over your tongue that was dried out. But you needed to get them out, to convince him this was all so reckless. “I’ll help you make your name known.”

“Not interested in anything other than turning in Mando, he will make my name known.”

“He’s…strong.” The words pushed out your lungs on a harsh exhale, the ‘r’ rolling as a growl rumbled in your chest. The need to defend the man who treated you like an equal, gave you space in his ship, allowed you a way to maintain your freedom with his protection.

“He tarnished his reputation for you and that thing. Which means he’ll do anything to keep you both safe.”

Words failed you as your concentration waned, the weightlessness taking over and robbing you of all the languages you were fluent in, mind struggling as it drowned.

“See, the thing is, I think he’s going to do exactly that.” He stepped closer to you, something glinting in his hand. When you leaned your head back against the side paneling of the hold, your eyes narrowed as you tried to focus on his blurry visage. You spat the words out, trying to put as much behind them as you could.

“Or he’ll kill you.” His gloved hand descending on your cheek was loud, the force of the action whipping your head to the side and all you could do was groan and take it. Pain so dulled by the drugs in your vein that it barely registered beyond a prickling sensation.

“I’m sure he’ll want to, I know he’ll want to. But he’s got a weakness now and it’ll play out exactly like I want it to.”

There was a sharp sting that broke through the fog of the drugs, demanding attention on your exposed arm. A needle was plunged deep into the muscle in the same spot as before, Callican’s hand holding it there as he administered something into your system, the needle hurting as it moved underneath your skin. You tried to cry out, the pain troubling with how starkly you felt it but all you let out was a warbled sound before you slumped back against the wall.

The coolness of the floor was soothing on your heated skin, tears brimming in your eyes as you clawed at your arms. Trying and failing to dig out the foreign feeling that was cascading over you, your nails only succeeding in creating marks along your skin, delving no further for desperate relief. The ice-cold sensation of something traveling through your veins making you feel trapped in your own body, sweat dripping off of you as it tried to make itself feel like home again, like your own again.

You startled when a deep, modulated voice called your name. Wide eyes cast up to gauge the figure that was standing in front of you. It was vaguely familiar, your fogged up brain not able to make a definition of who it was aside from them not being a threat to you. Not caring much beyond that, you pressed your forehead flat to the ground again, the thud of it making contact reverberating all along your neck and shoulders. Groaning, you curled your legs and brought them up to your chest, hugging them close. Your arm brushed across a bandage wrapped around your thigh and you hissed as it sparked a sensation that should’ve been painful but only felt like tingles spreading across your skin.

Nerves responding to what should be pain but felt like a wave of cold prickles over your body, making you groan as they skittered all over. They didn’t do anything to combat the heat licking at your senses, if anything they made you realize how intense it felt all over again.

Vision wavering, you could hear a low buzz of something around you. Not paying it much mind, you dug your fingers into your thighs, trying to relieve the tingling that was coursing through your veins. The bandage wrinkled under your hands, pulling on the wound below and you felt the rush of blood as the cut reopened, allowing some of the intensity of the heat consuming you to wane. You signed in relief as the tingling ceased at least on that part of your body, replaced with something that was a dull throb.

Suddenly there was a weight, pulling your hands up, that insistent buzzing now louder and closer. You brought your hands up to grip at your temples, fingers digging into your hairline before you dragged them down the length of your face, over your cheeks. The action smeared a metallic tang that was too strong on your nose, and you felt your stomach lurch. Scrambling, from your side to push yourself on your knees and hang your head over the toilet basin beside you, fruitless dry heaving wracked your body.

A weight landed on your shoulders, pulling at your hair and bringing it to lay over your back away from your face. The action caused arousal to flare in the apex of your thighs, warming you even more so as you felt the need for touch so strongly, for relief from everything that was barrage on your senses, on your body. Panting with the effort it took to catch your breath, you cast a glance over your shoulder to see a shadow kneeling beside you. It was comforting, despite being so far under the fog that was occupying your mind. The thought crossed your mind that they would be able to help you, but your eyes wouldn’t focus.

Suddenly, you recalled the sensation of floating. Of being buoyant while you simply let small currents jostle your body in slow motions, swimming. The cool of salty water washing over you, surrounding you, smelling so comforting. The weightlessness of your real body intertwined with the recollection of it and you felt tears prick at your eyes as you yearned for something you had tried to forget.

“I want to go home.” You cried, voice broken and fragile, words barely spoken above a whisper. “But home doesn’t exist anymore.”

“You’re safe here, mesh’la.” He knew what you were talking about, not just the physical world you hailed from, but the feeling of childhood you both had been ripped from too soon. Things from the past that developed into complicated places and feelings, tainted by the world that was cruel to you both. He held your hair back as you cried for something that could never be again. “I’ve got you.”

As the nausea waned from you, he lifted your weak body and took you up to the space behind the control room he converted into a small room for you. A cot slotted against the right wall, the trunk he had given you up against the left, your bags and things placed atop it. As he settled you in the bed, your eyes barely opened when howling wind sounded outside the ship. The hush of sand and debris coursing through the air was loud, almost deafening and your hands gripped his arms tightly, preventing him from stepping away from you.

“Just a storm, mesh’la.” His voice was a soft display through the modulator, as he took in the wide eyes you were now looking at him with, your pupils blown out and your bottom lip caught between your teeth.

“I can’t stay with you, you’re still fighting off the sedative.”

His name sighed out on a long exhale was a good argument, but he stuck by his words.

It wouldn’t be right, to give into your request to lay beside you. He was only as strong as he could be, and he was realizing when it came to your distress he was unprepared. You were so far gone under the influence of what the medic at the small clinic had said was a sedative and muscle relaxer combination that you were most certainly high off the dose administered to you. They said it would take a few days to work out of your system, something that concerned him, but they said you should be fine. He hadn’t told them about the withdrawal you had already suffered through when he first brought you aboard. He worried for those long hours as they steadily neared.

“I’m comfortable with you, you make me feel safe.” Fingers tight around the part of his arm that didn’t don any armor, you could feel the way his muscles jumped at the contact through his shirt. It stirred arousal, to feel that underneath the armor was a person. The visage of him in nothing but his sacred helmet and sleep pants from a former time stoked flames in your lower abdomen. The broad expanse of his shoulders and chest, dark hair not a shocking but pleasant discovery that spanned across his pecs and trailed below his belly button. The way his biceps had moved as he carried you across the hold, the feel of his body against your own. The scent you had breathed deep from the crook of his neck, it was all so dizzying…so alluring, and you wanted it.  

“I know, mesh’la. But it’s for the best, I don’t want to overstep any boundaries.” His words came out even despite his muscles jumping underneath the wandering touch of your fingers as they carefully began to delve underneath the bottom of his pauldrons. He wasn’t strong enough to pry your fingers away from him despite his words saying he felt this was wrong, the play of something so pulling while you weren’t complete of mind.

“But there are none,” Your voice lilted, laughter in your tone as you smiled serenely up at him. There was something glinting in your eyes that he hadn’t seen since meeting you, something he recognized as dangerous should he ask after it. Your head knocked back, eyes roaming over his form from top to bottom as he stood beside the cot. But he didn’t need to, you gave it to him all the same in a sultry voice that he’d think about for days to come. Pitched low like it was for him and him alone. “I’d let you do anything you wanted.”

He grunted in response, feeling himself twitch below the waist. He was completely unprepared. Your eyes were so bright, your face so relaxed. Your words so earnest and alluring, the lines of your body long and enticing as you shifted atop the cot.

“I’d let you put your big, soft hands-“

“Enough!” He barked, his anxiety and worry getting the better of him. His guilt. He tore his arms out from your grasp and turned his back to the cot. Taking a deep breath to center himself, to collect himself, he could hear you shift behind him. He worried you were going to reach for him, play on his conflicting emotions in your altered state. The guilt he was feeling burned in him, to think such things of you when you had done nothing to suggest you would take from anyone in such a way. You weren’t wholly yourself right now, he was completely unprepared for who you were under the influence.

He spared one last look over his shoulder before he left and his resolve almost crumbled. Your bottom lip was trembling, your hands wrapped around yourself as you sat up, hunched over as your eyes shone with unshed tears. A complete shift from the energy you had just been using to entice him, an entire shift to your mood. Because of his reaction to it.

All he could picture for the rest of the evening as he busied himself setting up the ship to withstand a sandstorm was that last glance he had taken of you and the one of you sprawled on the bathroom floor with bloody handprints staining your face and legs as you fought against the drugs pumping through your system.  

Din could hear you stirring about, in the space of the ship beyond his personal quarters. The Child was asleep, exhausted from the unsettling events of the night. His quiet snores comforting Din in his agitated and anxious state. Sighing, he kicked the blanket from where it covered him. His armor was piled neatly beside the cot, some comfortable sleep he thought would help only resulted in him laying and staring into the darkness through the visor on his helmet.

It had been…alarming to see you ricochet back and forth between such extreme emotions. All of them amplified by the drugs in your system, something he felt tortured over, as if he had been the one to administer them to you. He sat with his legs over the edge of the cot, bare feet flat on the cool metal of the ship’s flooring. His mind replaying the events even as he tried his best to shove them out and move past them.

‘“Took you long enough, Mando.” Callican’s voice projected around the hangar.

“Looks like I’m calling the shots now.” The mechanic slowly walked out from the dark interior of the ship, steps light on the metal of the ramp. Callican behind her with a blaster shoved into her back and the Child in his arms. “Partner.”

“Drop your blaster and raise ‘em.” The younger man paused at the top of the ramp, not stepping further, with the threat aim of a blaster trained on him. Din didn’t make a sound as he tossed the blaster in his hand to the ground in front of him. It landed with a dull sound as he raised his arms out to show he was further unarmed. Slowly, he dragged his palms over his torso as he moved them up, grasping at a flare with his palm. He placed his hands on the back of his helmet, the Child cooing as if he could sense his caretaker.

“Cuff him.” He shoved the blaster into the mechanic’s back twice, urging her to move down the ramp and toward where he stood.

“You’re a Guild traitor, Mando.” Callican voiced the very thing that echoed in Din’s mind every time he was alone, but when faced with the soft coos of the Child, or a brightening of your face, it didn’t seem like such a tragic thing. “And I’m willing to bet that this here is the target you helped escape.”

“Fennec was right. Bringing you in won’t just make me a member of the Guild, it’ll make me legendary.”’

Anger at the overly confident actions of a younger man he had seen a glimpse of himself in had him shoving off from the cot. He had been fooled by the earnest attitude of Callican wanting to make something of himself, to prove to whoever had told him he would amount to nothing that he could be something, to make a difference in the world by bringing in trash that was sought after for their indiscretions with the Guild. The door of the small space hushed closed behind him as he padded toward the makeshift table.

Making sure that the ship was still locked down and there was no chance of anyone sneaking aboard or disengaging the settings, he moved about the space freely,

He hadn’t cleaned up the mess he came back to yet, so focused on getting you comfortable and making sure you were alright. That the Child was alright, not too worked up by seeing you taken down and not knowing where he had been must’ve been hard on such a young one. Ad’ika, you had begun to call him, the term holding endearment and care when it passed through your lips for the first time over the comm link. His chest had hurt at the call, the sounds of you moving about his ship comfortably, the sounds of ad’ika cooing in the background.

It had been so domestic, a feeling so foreign to him and yet….it had felt like it had always been as such. It had felt so normal, like a facet of his life that shone when spotted and simply was something his life was made of, that he was capable of. His chest had hurt… and for a fleeting moment he had thought of his parents. The fast beating of his heart had been loud in his ears as he tried to keep his voice even to a listening Callican, lest he pick too much up from the exchange. The lightweight feeling of the memory twisted into something darker as he recalled the way Callican spoke of you.

‘“But it is rather telling, which quarries you decided to keep all to yourself.” Toro smirked at him, overly confident with no reason to be. The deep scratch marks that were angry and bright on his neck displaying as much, that he could barely handle his own against a woman he ambushed and sedated.

“The one on the ship must keep your bed rather warm, seems like a good exchange for the bounty you’re missing out on.”

“She was so unsuspecting, said some really interesting stuff while the drugs were working through her system. Told me she would make it worth my while if I were to let you and this thing go.” Callican jostled the Child in his arms, causing louder sounds of distress to bounce into the tense air. 

Din seethed at the filth falling from the younger man’s mouth, baring his teeth underneath the helmet and he pictured tearing him limb from limb, pummeling him until he was nothing more than a collection of broken bones and bruises for even thinking of laying a hand you. He must’ve taken you completely off guard, to not get thrown about or struck down by your saber. The mental image had his hands fisting at his sides, of you just standing there busy with something only to be drugged and tied up all before you even knew what was happening, where he was.’

The helmet hissed as he disengaged it with a bare hand and the weight of it clunked as he set it atop the makeshift table. Running a hand through his thick locks that stretched to curl about his ears and the nape of his neck, he pressed the button that opened the panel storing the scant few kitchen wares he owned. He ignored the hotplate in favor of turning on the caf maker. It was already set up, the water full up to the line indicating it would make exactly one cup. The drawer he opened for a pod of the compressed caf was full as well, despite not being able to remember the last time he even thought of seeking them out in a marketplace or shop.

He tried to picture you flowing through an open marketplace, hair braided as it had been the last time he had seen you fully conscious and aware of your senses. Bringing the pod up to his nose to inhale the rich scent of the caf, he let his mind wander as he closed his eyes and thought of you.

Cautious but aware of your surroundings, polite but not overly talkative to vendors. Kind enough to warrant free samples and discounted prices, toting around a large collection of wares you deemed important. He wondered where you had even gotten the credits from, for the things still laid out on the makeshift table around his helmet. Smile soft and small as you tried out all the different fruits and felt the sun on your skin. But the image bled into the one he had come back to.

‘The metal rings you had been fastening into armor were scattered around the floor of the ship, crunching underneath Din’s boots as he slowly advanced inside. It was dark, all the lights and mechanisms shut off, the only light in the space was what sunlight could sneak in around his frame in the doorway. His steps faltered when he spotted your unconscious form by the ladder leading to the control room. Your hair loose and fanning around you, your hands and feet were bound with rope, the knots looking tight around them, you were on your side, arms pulled behind your back and legs bent at the knee.

Bruises could be seen up and down the length of your arms, visible without the cloak he had gotten you, it was shucked off and crumpled beside you. As if you had been fighting and someone had snatched it, pulling it from your frame forcefully. There was a prominent, irritated spot on the outside of your arm, indicative of someone stabbing a needle deep into the skin there.

Kneeling beside you, he turned started to untie the rope, but it seemed to make the knots wind tighter around your wrists. Growling low in his chest in frustration, he took the knife from inside his boot and cut it away, rubbing his fingers along the marks to sooth them as best he could. He did the same with the ties around your ankles before turning you gently onto your back with a soft call of your name.

Faint whimpering startled him, your body jostling beneath his hands as he removed the rope from around your limbs. You didn’t stir beyond that, lost to the world that the contents of the needle had plunged you into. It was then that he noticed the rip on your thigh, the deep cut already beginning to scab around blood-stained skin. It must’ve happened hours ago, but you didn’t wake.

He stayed beside you, stretching to reach over to pick up the syringe you that was discarded on the ground. It looked small in his hands, but the casing was empty, not even a stray drop rolling around inside. He gripped it tight in his palm, the leather of his gloves crinkling with the force. He pocketed it despite wanting to crush the glass in his hand, to hear the crunch of it as he destroyed the very reason you were unconscious beside him on the floor of the Crest.’

He had to concentrate on placing the pod into the machine before he activated the brew to begin, not wanting to wreck the one thing you had been comfortable enough to use as your own on the ship. He had to focus on not slamming the mug into the space below to catch it. As it began to sputter and drain the water from the storage reservoir, he leaned his hands on the lip of the small inlaid counter and hung his head. The action stretched out his shoulders, underneath his long sleeve shirt, popping where kinks had developed from his ride back into the city.

The wind howled outside of the ship and the caf dripped into the mug as he turned around and began to clean the metal rings scattered across the floor. There were hundreds of them, but he managed to get them all. The different sizes all found themselves in the same pouch, Din not having the energy to separate them. He contemplated just getting you a whole new collection when he spotted the sketches you had drawn up of what you were making. It was armor. A set of pauldrons made of chain mail you were creating yourself with the rings.

The detail and notes on the pages of a small book looked professional and it intrigued him. Is this what you had been raised to do? Or something you had taken up after leaving home, after the attack on the temple as a way to make credits? As he flipped through to the next page, he was greeted by sketches for a design that looked masculine. The top of the figure’s body only went so far as their chin, but it was dusted with scruff much like his own face was. The outline of the figure’s body an exact replica of how he would look without the bulk of the beskar armor.

He closed the book, not wanting to invade your privacy any further than he already had, but his heart was thumping rapidly in his chest as he realized you had been thinking about him.

His mind replayed the way you had been so unnervingly still even after he had untied you from your restraints. He had moved you atop his cot, hoping that you would wake and recognize that you were safe in his personal space. As he had been tending to ad’ika, talking over with the mechanic about waiting out the storm in the hangar, he had hated stepping away from where he could keep an eye and ear out for you. As he had trudged back up the ramp, it was closing and locking just as he heard your muffled cries in the fresher. He had quickly placed the small sleeping figure in the small hammock before going to you, only to find you having a fit on the floor. It had been…painful to see you so worked up and in such a state. Fingers digging into your own skin, over scars he hadn’t known you possessed, that you had carved into yourself…

He shook his head, not wanting to think about that and he began to move once again.

He gathered up all of the tools and metal pieces you had been working with and placed them in a crate, so it would all be in one place for you when you were feeling better. The caf warmed the mug he cupped with both his hands as he sat there and listened to the storm rage on.

Groaning, you stretched a handout to feel for the blanket that had fallen down by your feet. You had all but shoved it off during the night, too hot underneath its confines. You could hear ambient noise from down below, securely in your bed, in your space, in your room. All things Din had provided for you while you had been wrestling with reality while your body rode out the wave of drugs and subsequent withdrawals. You had shut yourself in the room as soon as you were alert enough to handle being on your own, embarrassment making your skin burn from the inside out and shame bubble up to join it.

Rain pelted down on the ship, pinging as thunder rumbled overhead. The sandstorm you vaguely remembered from two nights before delved into a thunderstorm in the early hours of the morning. It ate most of the day after and yesterday, allowing you an excuse to stay in your new room and keep to yourself as the ship needed to stay stationed there at the hangar. The thunder had woken you up some time ago, and you lay atop the cot trying to recall everything that had happened the last day and a half.

Your hands idly traced the scars along your thighs, the recent indents of your grappling nails, the bandage around the right one shielding a tender cut from the open air. You recalled digging your hands into the skin there, as you often did in moments of weakness, of needing to feel something other than the emotions storming inside. You recalled rubbing your hands over your face, of pressing it to the cool metal of the floor, of writhing around as fever and chills warred over the territory of your skin.

The white-hot pinpricks of anxiety could be felt over the entirety of your body, making you restless.

There was a sudden knock at the door to your space, but you turned around to face the wall your cot was pushed up against and curled up. You feigned sleep as the door opened, footsteps nearly silent as the Mandalorian entered. You could hear the rustling of his clothing as he kneeled down beside the cot, a hand resting on your shoulder.

“I know you’re awake.”

You shifted until his hand fell to the top of the blankets. You pulled the blanket up further, prompting him to stand up. You could feel his eyes roam over your form, hiding in the blankets and not daring to cut your eyes at him lest he see something you didn’t want him to in your current state. The motion caused your hair to fall over your forehead, some of it resting on your cheek.

“You’re not feeling well.” A feather light caress of bare fingers moved the fallen hair from your face, you tried not to startle too much, not having heard the man move behind you. They brushed over your forehead, feeling for something that you weren’t sure of. When he made a small remark about your temperature, you didn’t respond, continuing to stare at the wall in front of you.

“You…rejected me.” You whispered after a beat of somewhat tense silence.

“You were drugged, you were high on whatever Callican dosed you with.” His voice was even, as if he was trying to keep it from displaying too much of what was going through his own mind.

“I don’t know what you want from me. I don’t know how to tell you what I want. If I’m even allowed to…”

“I don’t want anything you aren’t willing to offer. If you wish to remain cordial, I will adhere to that. If you wish to allow casual touches, I will adhere to that. If you wish to…explore other parameters of touch, I will adhere to that.”

“You won’t. I’m tainted, I’m dirty, I’m used.”

“You are you, and I admire who that is.” He didn’t dismiss your words, the thoughts that plagued you every time you thought about the things that happened to you in your life. He took them and let them sit in the air, let you voice them even if he didn’t agree with them.

“Strength, abilities, weapons, Mandalorians put so much worth on those. Admiration on skills.”

“Listen to me and hear me,” Din’s hand reached for one of your own, bringing it up to clasp his ungloved hand with your own. His thumb brushed the back of your hand, sparking tingles down the line of your arm. He had sat himself on the edge of the cot, to reach out for you. His fingers were warm against yours, bringing forth a wash of heat up to your cheeks, coloring them for him to be witness to. That such a simple touch from him could stir such a response was dizzying. “Yes, my religion places importance on those things. But you are the most important factor. You are important to me, and I will show you in any way you wish for me to.”

“What if…I get scared…or nervous…self-conscious.”

“Then we will share the same sentiment. My body…is not perfect and I have never shared any part of myself with anyone. Well…” He trailed off, modulator relaying a deep exhale the told you of his trepidations and worries.

You shifted under the blankets, sitting up to face him. His armor was gleaming in the faint light, and you wondered if he had tended to it recently. It was a comforting image, of him sitting at the makeshift table, armor in hand as he gave it all his attention and meticulously buffed out any indentations or scratches, polishing it to make it shine. The love he had for the precious metal of his people, the adoration he placed on caring for it, the pride he took in wearing a full suit of it, of having been the one to return so much of it to his own people.

You mulled over his words, aware that it was a conversation that needed to happen. Some things that needed to be addressed, on both your parts. You lifted your eyes from the cuirass over his chest, to the visor with a slightly furrowed brow. He needed to speak plainly, as did you.

“Yes, you have.”

“Yes, that... I have, but only a handful of times. With consenting partners and with nothing in mind other than chasing a base need.” His words were expected, he was a grown man, free to be who and what he wanted within the parameters of his Creed. You didn’t fault him, but it just made all of your own feelings so much more complicated, jealously flaring at the idea of him with another person, touching another person, wanting another person. You pushed it down, not willing to delve into that just yet.

“This is new… for me…these feelings. These desires,” You ducked your head, bashful. His other hand reached up and tucked under your chin, bringing your head back up for him to rest the forehead of the helmet against your own. When he leaned back, the heat of his gaze through the visor was scorching, the direct attention making you flustered paired with your confession. “And I know that might be…daunting for you. A big…commitment…for you.”

“My life is about commitments, for my Creed, for my people, for my work.” His hand squeezed around yours, bringing them to hold to his chest. The armor was cool against your skin, but it was nice to combat the flush you were suddenly overcome with. You felt your breath get caught in your throat as he paused to gather his thoughts. “I would be honored to make one to you. If you’d allow me to.”

The tears were sudden, the feeling of being seen, of connecting with someone.

Two more days of the incessant storm brought thunder, pelting rain, and blinding washes of sand over the city before it lightened up. You had remained in your room most of the time, body still going through the motions working the drugs out. Din gave you the space you needed but had asked you each time he fed ad’ika if you wanted to join them for the meal. It brought a smile to your tired features to see the small child enjoy spending time surrounded by you both, safe and happy.

The tabac was soothing as you inhaled deeply, a thin cigarra held between two fingers. A bad habit, one that you had only picked up to stave off the feelings of loneliness, something to fill the void that had been your life on the run. Slipping to the market for a quick trip while there was a lull with the storm with a quick wave to Din had allowed you the opportunity to track some down. He had been busy, nodding at you as he held a large panel of metal for Pelli to weld to the side of the ship. A large piece of debris picked up by the strong winds had grated harshly and caused some damage.

“Don’t.” Was all you said as you felt a figure come around the side of the ship toward you.

“Wasn’t going to say anything.”

“It’s a bad habit, I know. But it’s helping,” You blew the smoke out with a long exhale, watching as it wafted in the still prevalent wind. “With the withdrawals.”

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, it was just a lull as you both mulled over things in your respective minds.

“I think I’m through the worst of it, might take ad’ika to the marketplace to get something hot for dinner.”

“He’d like that,”

“Maybe…you could come too?”

“He’d like that too.”

“And you?” A gentle, hesitant question.

“I’d like that.” His voice rumbled closer that it had just moments ago as he stepped toward you, one of his arms reaching. His gloved hand was a comfort as it brushed your bare arm, fingerless gloves and vambrace left atop the crate in your room. Warmth bloomed in your chest as you turned away from him to take a long pull of the cigarra.

“Hmm, but I’m paying.” Mouth lifted up at one corner as you smirked over at him, eyes taking in the shine of his armor in the dull light of the suns.

“Is that right?”

“You gave Pelli everything you had, everything you took off Callican, no?”

“The mechanic?”

“Please tell me you knew her name.” A stern edge to your voice had Din’s stomach jolting as he gazed at you through the visor. You had never used a tone like that with him and it was rather endearing to know you were comfortable enough to do so now.

“She didn’t introduce herself.” Was his flat response and you snorted at the way he worded it.

“Neither did you! You strutted down the ramp and fired on that poor droid as greeting.”

“That droid was going to mess something up, didn’t you notice how shifty it was?”

“Shifty? Kriff, Din, you’re…something.”

“So are you, mesh’la.” His hand that had been caressing you gripped and turned you. His other reaching out to knock the last bit of the cigarra from your hands to the ground where he scuffed it out with his boot. You let him move you, wanting to see what he was up to, how he played along with your harmless teasing. You let him pull you to him, chest to chest and he rested the forehead of the helmet against your own. “Something good.”

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taglist: @strawberri-blonde @js-favnanadoongi @moonknight-s-cumdump

dividers by the lovely @/saradika, saradika-graphics

[blainesebastian]

nothing, something, everything

words: 6,039 ship: austin butler x reader summary: (anon request) “reader and austin in a situationship. austin wants more but reader is scared” warnings: none notes: i’m really proud of this one and loved writing it :) thanks for the request tag list: @killerqueenfan, @karamelcoveredolicity, @elizabethrosecresswell, @gigisworldsstuff, @stylesmendeshearted, @rairaielv,

Staring down at your phone, you watch as the cursor blinks, almost taunting you to send a text that you know you shouldn’t. It’s nothing that you haven’t sent before but for a myriad of reasons, you should just delete it. So many thoughts are spinning in your head, things about…bottles of wine as a metaphor mixing with fears and insecurities and complacency, twirling with want and need and all just simmering directly under the surface.

This is the dance you do, with Austin specifically, because you’re somehow nothing and something all at once.

You’ve known Austin for years, in and out of film, in and out of the spotlight. Your families are close and despite dates you’ve been on, sex you’ve had, movies you’ve co-starred on, you’ve never exactly said that you’re exclusive. That’s part of the whole dance, this twisting and weaving of confusion, intimacy and passion all at the same time—it’s easy to get lost in it for a little.

Then you come to the stark realization that you can’t be doing this, you can’t actually be in a relationship with Austin. No matter how many times he hints towards doing just that, because…what would that mean if it didn’t work? It’s the wine metaphor, right? Just because you enjoy consistent merlots does not mean you never want to try a white zinfandel one day.

And even without the selfish comparison of variety, there are worries and concerns that run deeper, that cut you to the point where it feels like if it happens? It won’t heal properly. What if you just…lose one another forever because being in a relationship doesn’t work? Would you try to remain in that awkward friend-ish space? Have to work together in Hollywood and bump into one another at celebrity gatherings and try to remember how to breathe correctly?

No, that’s…just not something you’re willing to do or sacrifice.

You love Austin, he’s as much a part of you as you’re a part of him. The intimacies, fondness, protectiveness and adoration run deep. Which is why at the end of the dance you always find yourself pulling away, finding another tango partner, honing distance and creating ice that eventually melts anyways.

And the dance starts all over again.

Originally you thought throwing sex into the mix would just make everything far too messy, but of course that’s not the case. You’d be lying if you said that you weren’t physically attracted to Austin and that by being with him, it heightens all the emotions and feelings that you both already have for one another. It’s also fun, there’s no drama, no strings—there’s commitment to one another within that time between the sheets and there’s trust.

The only moments in which you can’t properly breathe is after your pulse has stopped pounding in your ears, sweat has dried on skin, and you’re resting in Austin’s arms or against his chest. Sometimes he looks at you in a way that reaches right into your chest and seizes your heart in a vice-like grip. Blue eyes are tender, warm…and you know without him confirming that you’re the only one he looks at like that. He’ll brush his lips over your temple and keep you close and there’s this squirming that makes you want to bolt.

You can’t explain it, nor do you want to.

And every time you end the cycle; you tell yourself it’ll be different the next time around. You promise that you won’t drag Austin back into this web of not addressing things that he obviously wants to talk about—that you’ll either remain very close friends, or you’ll become something more physical, to choose a line to cross and stay there. And yet it’s never that simple.

You promise yourself that something will change, that tomorrow will be different, yet it’s too often just a repetition of today.

Which is how you find yourself staring at your phone.

You and Austin have both been pretty busy lately, finding your own strides in film and personal agendas. You get lost in the chaos of it all sometimes, even though you love every moment of it, you often forget that it’s fine to take a moment to breathe. Within those moments, you realize that you miss Austin—someone you consider your best friend, your person, someone who you can talk to about anything. Doesn’t even have to be serious…there was once a very long discussion as you drove from New York to your small hometown two hours away about alien films (the best and the worst).

The point is, you definitely want to reach out to him, because he’s (hopefully) missing you in the same way. As far as you can remember, he should be between projects right now, so he has some time to himself.

Not only would it be great to catch up but there’s also this heat of anticipation building in your lower belly, seeping between your legs and making you squirm just a little as you think about it. Think about him and the way his body feels against your own.

Definitely wouldn’t mind blowing off some steam either.

So you finally pick up your phone and type out a text,

Y/N: hey stranger, feel like catching up?

You stand from your spot on the couch, not nervous per say, but eager. Chewing on your lower lip, you walk to the kitchen to get a glass of water, keeping your hands busy as you wait, that same fluttering sensation in your stomach blooming into your veins.

When your phone buzzes, you’ve got no shame in looking at the message quickly,

Austin: definitely. Starting to forget what you look like

You smirk a little and your heart begins to thump in your ears, echoing against your eardrums as you unbutton a few buttons of your cream-colored Henley shirt to show flashes of a maroon, lace bralette. Definitely not as scandalous as you could be, but Austin will get the message. You make sure to get your face in frame too, smiling prettily.

You send the photo along—

Y/N: jog your memory?

You can picture the look on Austin’s face, the smirk pulling at the edges of his mouth as the gray bubble pops up that he’s typing.

Austin: one subway ride, don’t start without me

Fidgeting just a little, you shake your head, taking your Henley off and tossing it towards the couch.

Y/N: no promises

It doesn’t take too long, or maybe it just feels like an eternity of fizzling heat curling underneath your skin. You at least don’t rush to the door (but definitely walk with a pace?) when your hear a set of knocks. Smiling, you check through the peep hole and open up. Austin is waiting, hands moving and touching you—one lands on your cheek while the other squeezes your waist. He leans down to kiss you, just a brush of his lips,

And then he speaks.

“You gonna run away again?”

Part of you wishes that those words have somehow killed the mood, but it doesn’t change how you feel about wanting him. You know where Austin stands, how he wants to be more than just this despite the fact that he folds right into bed with you. Takes two to tango…or maybe it’s too difficult for him to say ‘no’ to you. The other half of you wishes that he needed to explain that comment, that you didn’t know what he was talking about right off the bat. Unfortunately, you know all too well.

Your hand grips his shirt, tugging him into your apartment, “Does it matter?”

He doesn’t reply—mostly because he doesn’t have the chance to, pulling him down into a kiss that always leads to one place.

--

That same kind of quietness settles over the sheets once your bodies stop moving. Austin has the pillows propped up against the headboard, leaning on them, and you’re pressed into his side. One arm along his waist, fingers playing with the corner of the comforter as he threads his fingers through your hair. You memorize how it feels to have his breathing against your own, the scent of his skin and cologne, how a thin gold chain rests perfectly along his neck. You press a kiss to his shoulder, closing your eyes for a few moments.

Austin clears his throat, dipping his chin to brush his lips along your forehead.

“Startin’ up a movie next week,” He says, voice quiet, as if it’ll disrupt the bubble around you. “Will be a bit busier than I usually am.”

He means too busy for this.

You pout lightly anyways, tilting your chin up to him, “It’s my birthday next week.” And really, you don’t necessarily care about that but the sentence sounds a lot like I’ll miss you.

Austin smiles, playfully grasping your chin between his fingers and leans down to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth, “I know. M’sorry—my agent has me booked solid.”

You hum lightly and nod, your hand moving to trace shapes on his chest even though he shivers.

“Got plenty of interviews and events you could be my date to.” Austin points out, his hand moving to grasp yours on his chest. He runs his thumb along your knuckles.

You can sense that trapdoor, “Isn’t that something a girlfriend would do?”

Austin raises his eyebrows, shrugging his shoulder, but there’s a smile pulling at his mouth. “What?” He scoffs, his hand slipping down underneath the sheets to grab at your ass, “What an outlandish idea.”

You laugh lightly and push on his chest, shaking your head. You’re not about to touch that subject, would rather touch something else instead—your hand disappearing under the sheets too, between his legs.

Your fears supply helpfully that you can’t be nothing and something all at once, but the thoughts are pushed away when he kisses you.

--

It’s about a month later and the distance between you and Austin has grown as you expected it would—with him being busy and you pulling away just slightly at the edges, it causes this chasm of missed phone calls and unanswered texts. You know it’ll be alright, you and Austin always find your way back to one another, the universe just continually tying your red strings together until you cross paths.

Which is how you know he’s at this party tonight you got invited to.

It’s a shared friend of a friend, in a fancy New York loft that somehow feels like a mansion when you’re inside of it, floor to ceiling glass windows that expose the beautiful, glittering cityscape. You’re excited to drink a little too much and blow off some steam, currently dancing to an overly poppy song in a leather mini-skirt and white crop t-shirt. Causal, yet a black lace bralette underneath, hinting at more. Your favorite combination.

It's been a good time so far, even though you haven’t run into Austin—the loft isn’t very big, but decently sized enough that when it’s filled with people, it’s difficult to bump into the same person twice. Not like you’re trying to find him (yes, you kind of are), you’ve seen plenty of people tonight that you consider good friends.

At one point, you move towards the back hallway to use the restroom, your walking steady even though you’ve had a lot to drink. It’s one of those things where your consumption hasn’t quite caught up with your body yet. Your head is fuzzy but you’ve got your wits about you—you’ve always been kind of like the ‘mom’ drunk anyways, responsible for friends and brushing your teeth before passing out in bed.

Humming as you look at yourself in the mirror, you curl your hair around your ear. There’s something in the color of your eyes, a layer of emotion you’re afraid to address or give a name, and you quickly look away and decide to fix your lipstick before leaving. Maybe you’ll find Austin and he’ll kiss you…sounds like a good way to end your night.

Opening the door, a guy is waiting. You don’t recognize him, but he’s tall and muscular and kinda looks like he might be some sort of Versace model. You clear your throat,

“Excuse me.”

You attempt to walk past him but he shifts his weight, towering over you with a dazed smile. Definitely drunk then, “Where you headed? I was uh—I was watchin’ you dance a little earlier, you’ve got great moves.”

Great. You try not to roll your eyes, “Thanks but not interested.”

He is not taking that for an answer, blocking your path to moving down the hallway where most of the party is taking place. You could make a scene, maybe yell for someone? But a strong wave of timidness for whatever reason is preventing you from doing that, creating this lump in your throat that’s hard to swallow over.

“C’mon, you’re beautiful. You’re not here with anyone?”

And that’s when the warning bells start to blare—he’s asking if you’re alone. Not that it seems like it matters, because he’s not letting you move out of the bathroom.

“Yes, I’m here with someone, can you just—” You attempt to duck under his arm and pass him but he’s quick to wrap a stronger grip around your waist and tug, attempting to pull you into the bathroom and close the door.

“Stop,” You snap, hitting his arm, “Get off me! Let me go.”

“Hey,” Someone appears in the doorway and it takes you a long moment to realize it’s Austin, and he’s moving quickly into the bathroom and getting in-between you and whoever this fucking guy is. “Get your hands off her.”

The guy kind of stumbles back into the doorframe, Austin creating a wall between you, arm outstretched. You let out a short breath, your heart hammering in your chest and leftover adrenaline crawling up your throat. The guy scoffs, motioning towards you and you hate that you kinda flinch.

“Dude, she didn’t say she was with anyone.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Austin snaps, pushing this guy out of the bathroom, “She was pretty clear she was sayin’ no,” His voice is firm, dripped in a sharpness that makes you shiver, a slight rough twang along the edges. “Get the fuck outta here, I’m serious. I’m not just talkin’ about the bathroom, I mean the apartment.”

The guy glances between you and him, like he’s trying to gauge the venom behind his words. But when Austin takes another step forward, he backs up and nods, disappearing down the hallway.

Shaking your head, you close your eyes for a long moment as your body kinda shakes and jesus, can’t even just enjoy yourself at a party without some random guy ruining it?

“Hey,” Austin turns to look at you, closing the bathroom door for privacy. Luckily it’s an expansive space, all marble and beautiful tile, large windows and multiple tubs—you don’t feel suffocated in here even though it feels difficult to breathe. He reaches for you, gently putting his hand on your back.

He doesn’t move even though you recoil a bit. His palm slowly moves up and down your spine and eventually, your body relaxes under his touch.

“You okay?”

A scoff sounds out of your throat, embarrassment licking at raw nerve endings and causing tears to pool in your eyes, “No, I’m not okay.” You tell him, sniffling.

Austin’s one hand pauses on your shoulder, squeezing, “You want to get out of here?”

You feel something unpleasant curl under your skin and you pull back from him slightly, shaking your head as you run your fingers beneath your eyes. He doesn’t have to… “You’re not my boyfriend, Austin.”

Austin gives you a look but replies with a gentle, “Don’t do that.” He motions to the door, “C’mon, let’s just get out of here.”

You swallow over a lump in your throat, your eyes finally settling on his form, drinking him in. Black jeans, white t-shirt, black jean jacket and it’s…so funny because, you weren’t even sure if you were going to see him tonight and yet you’re kinda coordinating. Fitting together without even trying to.

Sighing and tipping your head back slightly, you annoyingly wipe away a few tears as they slip down your cheeks. You totally just try to blame the overemotional response from the alcohol, but you know better. Austin doesn’t wait for permission, he steps forward and wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into him. He presses a kiss to your forehead as you close your eyes, your arms eventually slipping underneath his jean jacket to squeeze around his waist.

You try not to think about how perfectly you fit against his chest.

--

Turns out, leaving that party is one of the best things you can do because it’s a beautiful night out for a walk. The weather is just starting to turn, so there’s a semi-cool breeze paired with the lingering smells of summer. Austin’s given you his black jean jacket to wear and the sleeves are a bit too long as you hold onto a chocolate milkshake and a bag of fries.

“Think I’m gonna drop these,” You frown, looking across the street for anywhere to sit.

Austin’s got his hands full too, strawberry milkshake and a bag of burgers. “Think there’s a park one block over.”

With a plan set, you both walk towards your destination, finding a park bench that’s well lit. You spread out the burgers and fries between both of you, a spontaneous picnic. You’re starting to feel a lot better, and sober, munching on a few French fries as Austin unwraps his burger to take a bite out of. This was his idea, of course, because he knows you. Not only is the grease a great pick-me up, you always want either burgers or pizza after drinking. Seems like a rite of passage that only Austin understands.

“This might be the best burger I’ve ever had,” You announce, in which Austin chuckles and reaches forward to brush a piece of shredded lettuce from your cheek.

“Wouldn’t disagree.” He grabs a few fries himself and leans back against the bench, bringing his ankle up to rest on top of his knee, arching his leg. “I think you make better milkshakes though.”

You grin, having another bite of your burger. “It’s the extra chocolate syrup, for one, and you never go strawberry.”

Austin smirks, shaking his head, picking up his milkshake to lick whipped cream off the straw. “Takin’ these mental notes as we speak.”

It’s quiet for a few minutes but it’s comfortable, as it always is with him, just enjoying food and milkshakes and trying not to get ketchup on his jean jacket. Regardless of how the night started, you’re definitely feeling more like yourself.

Seems like Austin is always in the equation when that happens.

You glance over at him once the food is finished, using a napkin to wipe at your mouth and then toss all the trash into a nearby garbage can. You pause in front of his legs, smiling down at him before offering your hands out so he can grab onto them and get up.

“Thanks for tonight.”

Austin latches onto your hands and squeezes as he stands. “Nothin’ to thank me for.”

And maybe it’s the remnants of the alcohol and the emotions that come with it, but there’s a few moments where you can’t help but wonder why Austin keeps running in these circles with you. It’s a series of waves, back and forth, friendship and more, sex and love, understanding and confusion. It can’t be what he wants—he could have anyone with his looks, personality, dedication and talent.

Yet here he is, curling your hair around your ear and running his thumb along your jawline.

Chewing on your lower lip, the words claw up and out of your throat, “What do you want from me?” You ask, almost a whisper.

Austin shakes his head, leaning down and pressing his forehead against yours for a long moment, “You know what I want.”

To be something more than this—something, everything.

--

After that night, you have to admit that you’ve been giving it a lot of thought. You consider yourself kind of a list person sometimes, and the pros here are definitely outweighing the cons (right?). You and Austin have known one another for a long time and with that comes love and trust and someone you can depend on. He’s been your best friend, a listening ear, a co-star, someone who knows how exactly to make you laugh and when you’re not doing your best, when you need someone to listen or vent to. And you’re not just saying this is one-sided, you know Austin too—you both see one another, maybe better than anyone else.

And you’re afraid because…what? You try and it doesn’t work out? How else are you going to know though for sure? You have to trust that even if a full-blown relationship isn’t the next step for you two, that your bond with Austin is strong enough to survive it, that it won’t completely crumble.

You let out a long sigh as you water a few plants in your apartment, on your balcony—all of this is easier said than done, though, right?

When a few knocks sound on your front door, your eyebrows draw together in confusion because you hadn’t been anticipating anyone, no plans that you remembered making. Pulling your phone out of the pocket in your leggings, you check your calendar and your messages in case you’re way off as you wander to answer it—nothing. Humming softly, you check the peep hole and then smile as you see it’s Austin.

Not expected but undeniably a nice surprise.

Or…maybe not. As you open the door and your gaze falls on him, you can instantly tell that something is wrong. Austin’s got a brightness to him, something that shines around him like an aura. It comes from genuinely being a nice guy, someone soft, warm and open…definitely a bit of heat underneath the surface once you get to know him. It radiates from him, you think it’s just one of those things as to why he attracts so much attention, other than the obvious boyish good looks and incredible talent.

That brightness is significantly dim right now.

There’s a curl to his shoulders, a tenseness to his form. When his gaze meets yours, any smile that you might have been wearing is wiped from your face—his blue eyes are a bit red, eyelashes wet. Your chest aches for him, automatically, even though you’re not sure what’s going on yet.

“Can I come in?” He asks and his voice is low, strained, like he’s fighting tears.

“Of course,” You whisper, opening your door a bit wider, “Yeah, of course, c’mon.”

Austin walks inside and makes a b-line for the couch, taking a seat. You give him a few minutes of comfortable silence, closing your door and wandering into the kitchen to grab him a glass of water. You’re not even sure if he needs it but you want to be able to offer him something—it’s rare that he’s like this. Austin’s always been very in touch with his emotions and you love that about him, he’s not afraid to show when he’s upset. But you also know that whatever’s going on must be bad enough for him to come here like this when he’s been busy filming a new movie. You also know that the anniversary of losing his mother is coming up and weighing heavily on his mind, as it always does, even though he might not outright say that.

You don’t force him to say anything, just sit down next to him and reach out to thread a few fingers through the big curls near his forehead. He knows that he can either talk when he’s ready or just sit here with you quietly until he’s feeling better. You’re worried, of course, can’t squash that but you’re not about to pressure him into talking either.

You lean back into the couch and bring up your legs to fold in the opposite direction of Austin, your knees bumping his as you inch closer so that your shoulders touch. Reaching for his hand, you place it between both of yours, absently running your thumb over his knuckles.

That movement seems to be what does it because he starts, “Ever since Elvis, all I feel is this insane amount of pressure,” Austin sniffles, shaking his head, “And I don’t want it to seem like—like I’m not grateful or proud of the work I’ve done.”

You nod softly, letting him sift through his thoughts, patient.

“But continuing to film things after that, it’s like—will I ever do anythin’ just as great?”

You feel your heart clench in your chest because…it seems like such an obvious answer to you. Of course he will, he’s so incredibly talented and dedicated that it feels like there could be no other response. But you also know what it’s like to get wrapped up in thoughts that feel like a black cloud hanging over you, all consuming, the weight of pressures and expectations mixing with wants and needs and passion, it’s so hard to swallow some days.

“Then I got people who won’t let go of this voice thing,” Austin snaps out and you know it’s not directed towards you but you can feel the frustration rolling off of him in waves. Your one hand moves to rest along his shoulders, rubbing gently.

You know all about that bullshit too. You do not get how people even obsess over something so stupid but it also just goes to show that they don’t think about or understand how dedicated Austin became in studying Elvis—two plus years of his life literally becoming someone else, and some speech patterns are now stuck. Which honestly, you barely even notice? It’s just Austin to you, some of the nuances in his voice were the same even before Elvis was a thought.

“Fuck them,” You mutter, causing Austin to let out a wet chuckle.

You swallow, wincing a little in empathy as a few tears slip past his eyes and down his cheeks. You inch closer and cup his cheek, running your thumb along the bone to brush away a few of them. Austin shakes his head and tries to pull away but you won’t let him, leaning forward to grab him a tissue instead.

“Just feels like I can’t win lately—I’m either gettin’ praised for the role or chastised that I ‘can’t leave it behind’ and I’m just pullin’ this stress onto set with me.”

“Austin,” You say gently, tipping his chin just slightly so that he looks at you. “You are one of the most dedicated people I know. You at fifty percent is more than most people’s hundreds.” You smile a little, “You’re gonna be incredible no matter what you do—so don’t these assholes who just want to focus on one little thing completely derail your passion and progress.”

There aren’t quite enough words to describe how protective you feel of him, how you wish you could just help brush away the things that are bothering him. The last thing you want is to see him hurt, you love him.

Austin nods softly, managing a small smile in your direction. “Pretty good speech.”

You hum, preening just a little by drawing your shoulders back. “I know—m’full of wisdom, I’m assuming this is why you came here.”

Austin laughs, wiping his face with the tissue and blowing his nose before tossing it into a small trashcan nearby. “Part of the reason, yeah.”

You don’t need to ask the other half of his reasoning, smiling as you wrap your arms around him. He leans into you, hugging you tightly, his face finding your shoulder. You sit like that for a long while, his nose and lips pressed into your shoulder, occasionally tucked into your neck.

Despite the number of times you’ve been in Austin’s arms and vice versa, something about this feels different.

--

This feeling stays with you a week later, and then a handful of weeks, and you can’t seem to name it or completely grasp it between your fingers. You want to talk to Austin about it but none of the words seem to fit, either.

Then one night when you’re asleep, a loud thunderclap wakes you up, a storm raging outside that has rain slamming against your windows. Disoriented, you go to turn the light on and end up knocking something over on your nightstand. Your heart is hammering in your ears from the fast wakeup call and you realize you’re reaching across the bed for—

For Austin.

And of course come up empty handed because he’s not there.

You sit there for a long moment, in the dark, your bedroom illuminated every so often from the lightning, the palm of your hand upturned against your mattress.

It’s not like it’s unusual for you to be sleeping alone—despite how many times you and Austin fool around or hang out and he sleeps over or you do the same at his place, it never feels weird to be alone.

Yet right now there’s this ache in your chest and this howling pit in your stomach and you attempt to blame it on the thunderstorm waking and frightening you but…it’s none of that.

You simply just want to wake up to Austin, not just tonight, but every night and you hate that it's taken you so long to come to this conclusion. Trying to tell yourself that this is a bit crazy, and failing, you yank the sheets off yourself and pull your body from bed to get dressed. A pair of leggings, an oversized tee, rainboots and your raincoat. You barely check to see what time it is or if you have your phone and wallet when you get down into the subway, two stops away from Austin’s place.

Coming up from under the ground, you push yourself back into the torrential downpour, the raincoat barely making a difference from you getting soaked. You don’t even know if he’s home, he could be on set somewhere for all you know and there’s these feverish thoughts about whether he’s in bed alone but…you have to trust that you believe what Austin’s been telling you for a long time. That he hasn’t given up wanting to be with you despite waiting for you to figure everything out.

Reaching his loft is a blur, taking the elevator up and knocking on his door and waiting is making your head spin. You let out a slow, nervous breath, listening for any movement inside.

And then the door opens, Austin blinking at you half asleep and in confusion. Your heart pangs inside your chest at the sight, slight guilt for waking him up but relief that he’s here.

“Y/N?” He asks, his voice a big groggy but attempting to wake himself up as he looks at you, “What’s goin’ on, you alright?”

Your mouth opens and closes as you take the hood off your head, attempting to put together coherent thoughts of all the emotions running through you at four AM. You stand there long enough that Austin’s eyebrows crinkle together and he doesn’t wait for a response but you can tell he’s concerned.

“C’mon,” He says gently, a bit more awake now as his hand rests on your shoulder to encourage you inside, “You’re soakin’ wet.”

Following him in, you take in a sharp breath—mostly from the chill in the apartment meeting your damp clothes and then there’s this…wall of emotions that are nearly impossible to label. You’re really attempting to sus out everything in your head before you came here, it felt so clear when you woke up in bed alone.

“You’re kinda freakin’ me out with the whole silent treatment.” Austin jokes, running a hand through his hair.

You blink at him—has he been talking this whole time while you screwed your head on straight? With his encouragement, you take your coat off, slipping it off your shoulders to hang up. It’s dripping, so Austin takes it towards his bathroom, laying over the shower rung. You follow him after toeing off your rain boots, wrapping your arms around yourself, cold in the oversized tee. At least the raincoat seemed to do its job.

“Here,” Austin disappears into his bedroom for a moment, bringing out a sweatshirt for you to slide on. Pulling it over your head, you’re enveloped in Austin’s scent, the sleeves too long and resting over the palms of your hands.

“I realized something.” You say after a moment, sniffling a little from the leftover dampness. “I woke up to this storm tonight and you know the first thing I did?”

Austin waits, listening, trying to follow your line of thought but coming up completely blank.

“I reached for you,” You hold his gaze for a long moment, which softens at your response. He starts to say something but you shake your head, needing to get this out, “And I realized we do that all the time, we reach for one another, even when you shouldn’t let me because I’m—I get scared and so in my head and I—I’ve probably let you down a hundred times over.”

He shakes his head, taking a step forward to take your hands into his. “Stop, you never let me down.”

You let out a small huff, rolling back onto your heels because you have no idea how Austin doesn’t think that. How many times has he made it clear that he’s wanted something more and you’ve been too afraid to take that next step? How is he still sticking around?

Luck, it has to be pure luck.

Despite the very bones in your body telling you not to unearth your fears, they come spilling out, “I can’t lose you.” You admit, looking up at him, hoping that’s enough of an explanation.

But of course Austin gets it, he always does, moving to keep hold on one of your hands as his other one cups your cheek. He runs his thumb along the bone and he seems so…calm about this, like it’s been something he’s been thinking about or considering for a long time. What he might say if you ever toed over the line of wanting to be more.

More than nothing—something.

“I got no idea if this is gonna work,” He says after a moment, “But what I do know is that no matter what? You’re stuck with me. I can promise that.”

And that’s the thing, isn’t it? You have to trust in believing that promise. For once? You don’t feel afraid or unsure in doing that, you don’t feel like you have to run out on this conversation or on him, away from emotions that are so deeply ingrained in you when it comes to him.

He might be right, there’s no guarantee that it’ll work out. But with Austin? He’s everything to you, so how can you not try?

Smiling, you nod your head, pressing yourself up on your toes to push a brief kiss to Austin’s lips. He doesn’t take one moment of that for granted, cupping both sides of your face to deepen the kiss. A soft laugh hums in your chest, excitement spinning warmly—somehow something completely new and familiar all at the same time. Austin quickly leans down and lifts you into his arms, causing you to laugh again. He slowly walks towards the bed to lie you down, following suit.

Thunder drums outside, echoing, the rain continuing to blow against the windows. And yet as Austin pulls the covers up and over you both, you can’t find yourself bothered. Inching a bit closer, your arm slides around his waist and his lips brush against your forehead as your eyes close.

Everything.

[the-guilty-writer]

It Can't Happen Here

Request From Anon: Hi! Could you write a Spencer x daughter!reader where she’s like really attached to him after being kidnapped by an unsub?

Spencer Reid x daughter!reader

Summary: After she was kidnapped, Spencer's daughter had extreme separation anxiety and he worries about her.

A/N: This is short and sweet angsty. This request was a challenge for me and I enjoyed it! I hope you enjoy it too! as always, feedback and constructive criticism is appreciated.

(I've only ever read the summary of the novel mentioned so it isn't a great comparison, but I'd imagine that Spencer's mind connects things in mysterious ways so I put it in anyways)

CW: talks of kidnapping, reader has sepratation anxiety, one metion of foyet, worried dad!spencer

---

Spencer Reid heard phrases like “this happens in other places, not here” or “this happens to other people, not us” at least once a month with his job, and every time he was reminded of the novel It Can’t Happen Here by Sinclair Lewis. The one and only time he had read the book was for one of his classes in high school. He had to write a paper on it, and Spencer, being Spencer, wrote about how it was foolish of the people in the book to think that they were invulnerable to life’s catastrophes- that horrible things happened to everyday people in everyday places all the time. Spencer knew that at eleven. Spence knew that now.

So why was he so unprepared when that everyday place was the library you studied at after school? Why was he so unprepared for him and his daughter to be those everyday people? Why was he so tempted to think that something he saw everyday couldn’t happen to him? That it couldn’t happen to you?

You had been kidnapped by an unsub who was recently released from prison. The guy was sloppy, wanting quick revenge, which led to a quick capture and the promise that the unsub would go away forever. The thing that wouldn’t go away forever was the damage that man had done to you in just a few hours.

The unsub had you for just a few hours and four weeks later you still wouldn’t let your dad leave your side.

Spencer looked over at you, sitting curled up on the couch with a blanket wrapped around you so the only thing visible was your head and the hand that he was holding. If you weren’t looking at him, you had to be touching him, and at the moment you were watching Doctor Who on the TV.

Without thinking, Spencer went to fix your rather disheveled hair, pulling his hand away from yours. As soon as there was no more physical contact between the two of you, your head snapped toward him as if you were startled by a loud noise. You shook as if you were freezing and the look in your eyes was feral- like that of an animal who was ready to flee for their life.

“I’m still here- I’m still here-” Your dad said softly, trying to calm your nerves. “I’m not going anywhere. Can I fix your hair?”

With the realization that he wasn’t leaving your body relaxed just a bit. “Okay,” you said quietly.

Spencer tidied up your hair, gently untangling it and tucking loose strands behind your ears. You leaned into his touch, but not in the way you used to- relaxed and happy to be with your dad. Now it was like you were afraid he wasn’t real, as if he would vanish into thin air if you blinked for too long.

“Sweetie, why don’t you take a nap?” Spencer cooed. You hadn’t been sleeping well, understandably, and he could tell you needed more rest than last night’s fitful sleep had provided to you.

“Will-” you started, your voice timid. “Will you stay with me?”

Spencer nodded. “Of course. Let’s go to my room.” That should have been a given, seeing as you hadn’t slept in your own bed since the kidnapping, but the reassurance seemed to help you relax. Your dad put his arm around you and ushered you to his room, tucking you underneath the covers and laying down next to you. You reach a hand out and Spencer took it gently.

The exhaustion caught up to you quickly, and before Spencer knew it you were out like a light. He sighed and looked at how relaxed your face was. It was the only expression you seemed to have now other than panic and it only happened when you were asleep.

He pulled his phone from his pocket using his free hand and quietly dialed a number.

“Hey Reid,” Garcia said, her tone somber with underlying concern. “How’s Little Wonder?”

“Sleeping,” Spencer said. “Garcia, if you have time can you pick up groceries? I feel bad asking again but (Y/N) is still… having separation issues.”

“Yeah,” Garcia said. “Of course. I’ll bring some after work, but it might not be till late. The rest of the team flew out this morning.”

“They have a case?” Spencer asked, careful to keep his voice down and his hand in yours so you wouldn’t wake. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“You’re on… medical leave.” Garcia chose her words carefully. Spencer wished she would crack a joke or use one of his many many nicknames. He could really have used some comedic relief, but nothing about the situation was comedic.

“I know,” Spencer sighed quietly. “I can still consult by phone if they need it.”

“I’ll let them know,” Garcia said. She paused. “Hotch said Jack did something similar after Foyet… it wasn’t nearly as bad, but it got better over time.”

“She went to the bathroom today without having me recite the state capitals aloud so she knew I was still in the apartment,” Spencer told her.

“That’s good.” Garcia’s tone lightened.

“I know.” Spencer looked down at you again, hoping you would sleep peacefully for just a little while longer before nightmares inevitably hijacked your rest. “We go to so many places and see so many terrible things. You think it’ll never happen to you until it does.”

“You did everything you could-”

“What if she doesn’t get to have a life, Garcia?” Spencer could feel tears building in his eyes. He tried to contain his voice, but it was cracking. “What happens if- if-”

“She’s strong, Reid,” Garcia said. “And she’s got you.” There was a ring on the other end of the line. “Sorry, that’s the team line I have to go. I’ll be by later.”

“Thanks,” Spencer said. He hung up and put his phone down before giving your hand a light squeeze. You didn’t stir.

Why? Spencer thought to himself. Why did it have to be you? Why did it have to be the library? Why did it happen here?

[getvalentined]

@skadren tumblr isn't letting me answer your ask no matter what I do so I'm just gonna put it here!

✄ DVD BONUS: pick a fic and I’ll describe or write a deleted scene!

So I actually have a probably-forever-unfinished interquel for Smoke and Mirrors that covers "the 'Vincent Valentine assassinating the board' thing" as it was referred to in the epilogue; the pacing on it is fifty shades of inconsistent, which just one of the reasons it will probably never be finished, but I think it applies in this context since it takes place between the final two installments of the fic!

This excerpt is quite long, so I'm gonna put it behind a cut!

[ for the fic ask game part 2 ]

———

Hojo went down fast.

It was honestly a surprise how quickly it happened, given the time and effort it had taken to arrange for the hit in the first place. He raised his head, blinked, something like recognition flickering across his deeply lined features—and then in a now-familiar quartet of gunshots, he was dead. Strange, that someone who was responsible for so much harm would go down so quickly. It almost seemed…merciful, if Cloud thought about it. Particularly considering what he’d done to the man from whom those gunshots originated.

Cloud holstered his own weapon—a newer model Quicksilver, descendant of the one responsible for today’s carnage—and straightened up from where he’d been lying in wait.

“Smooth,” he said plainly, making his way over and stopping just to one side of the body, putting his hands on his hips. “Almost think it was too fast, though.”

“Perhaps,” came the deep rumble of the aggressor, still standing less than a meter away, having morphed in from the dark in a swirl of scarlet to enact his revenge mere seconds before. “Unfortunately, the more time these things take, the more opportunity there is for mistakes.” He stepped over in one long stride to stand closer to Cloud, the professor’s corpse in a heap between them, and surveyed the body for a long moment. Slightly mismatched and brightly glowing eyes narrowed, tilting his head slightly to one side as he looked for something, Vincent eventually seemed to come away satisfied. He raised his head to look at Cloud, eyebrows arching slightly, expression more open and deep voice a note lighter when he spoke. “You should contact Lazard.”

Cloud made a low noise not unlike frustration. “Ugh, yeah. On it.”

He pulled the phone from the interior pocket of his jacket, flipping it open and typing the number in manually. The device was leagues behind his usual mobile with regard to functionality, but it didn’t need to be anything but a phone, and couldn’t be allowed to transmit any data that could facilitate identification or tracking of its owner.

Two rings before the other line picked up, and Cloud mentally counted down from three before speaking clearly to the empty air on the other side. “Hey, real quick, do you know what time the bar closes?”

Counting silently, Cloud measured exactly two seconds of silence. “If you’re good with a pick, it’s open all night,” came a smooth, familiar voice in response, deep in a way that didn’t even come close to Vincent’s lower register, upplate accent crisp enough to straddle the line of artificial as he flawlessly delivered the counter to Cloud’s own passphrase. With confirmation that both sides of the conversation were secure, Cloud let out a soft sigh of relief in spite of himself. Lazard chuckled in reply. “Relax. How did it go?”

“Smooth,” Cloud said, echoing his earlier assessment. “Quick.”

“Too bad,” Lazard lamented. “You’re professionals, so I shouldn’t have expected anything different, but it’s still a shame.”

Cloud gave a noncommittal hum, internally agreeing but externally leaving Lazard to his own opinions. The compliment to his presumed professionalism was nice, particularly given Cloud’s minimal experience in comparison to his partner. “He’s down, that’s what matters.”

“Of course.” The disappointment in his tone was palpable even from thousands of miles away. Cloud couldn’t blame him, knowing just how much Hojo had to answer for, but it wasn’t Lazard’s decision how much Hojo suffered any more than it was Cloud’s—if there was anyone on the planet who deserved to make that call, it was Vincent, and Vincent had chosen punctuality over pain. “You’ll be all right getting back?”

“Yep,” Cloud reassured, intentionally light on the details. Lazard was in charge of the operation, but it was far more secure for him to leave logistics and movements to Cloud and Vincent; just as Cloud wasn’t aware of exactly where Lazard was, Lazard didn’t know exactly how Cloud and Vincent had gotten into the Drum undetected. The success of this first decisive move in Lazard’s long game to demolish and rebuild Shinra from the inside proved the efficacy of their respective informational limitations and allowed them a level of succinctness that would have been impossible otherwise. “Vincent will debrief next time he sees you.”

“Tell him I’ll be at number eleven.”

“Eleven,” Cloud confirmed, raising his eyes at last in search of Vincent, checking to see if he’d overheard.

What he found was the older man kneeling over Hojo with his armored left hand hovering just over the bloom of crimson in the back of his lab coat; as Cloud watched, a glimmer of green flickered into being around the injury’s exit wound, little sparkles that turned lazy circles as a weak thread of light coiled up between them. The reflection danced up and down the metal of Vincent’s gauntlet as more delicate lines joined the first, coiling up over Vincent’s hand, between his long fingers, up the metal shell covering his forearm.

“Have a good night,” Lazard continued. “Both of you.” With a click, the line disconnected.

The lights playing their way up Vincent’s arm went still for a half-second, shivered in place, then flashed bright red and disappeared all at once.

Cloud flipped his phone shut, still staring at Vincent, who straightened back up as if he hadn’t done anything at all.

What was that?

———

Other issues with getting this written are that a lot of it is...boring? I mean I don't think it's boring, but I think pretty much everyone else would. I have the entire new board worked out, details on how everyone was recruited and brought on and how departments are split up and restructured—which is a big part of breaking Shinra's powerbase, and that's really the point of the story. However I am aware that most people in this fandom aren't really into that kind of stuff in a longform fic, so I figure it's best kept to myself. I'd be happy to answer more questions about if it anyone has them, even outside the context of an ask game, but I'm also pretty happy just chewing on it on my own.

If I did ever actually write it, it probably wouldn't be until after I've finished RTGT, so it'd be a long way out anyway.

[kiwiana-writes]

WIP Wednesday

Thanks for the "early" (by which I mean it was the middle of Wednesday for me but well before WIP Wednesday usually kicks off) tag, @getmehighonmagic, and to @suseagull04 for one at a slightly more expected time 🤣

I feel a little mean for sharing this? I am asking y'all to a) trust me; b) trust the process; c) trust that any stylistic quirks or inconsistencies, both within itself and in comparison to the rest of my back catalogue, are part of the process. I guess that's all I'll say for now 👀

There were a great many things Alex did not enjoy about waking up.  There was the act itself, of course; blinking his eyes open only to be momentarily blinded by the sun pouring in through a crack in the curtains no matter how tightly he shut them the night before. There was the way his dreams slipped away from him as he woke, trailing through his memory like snowflakes, impossible to catch for more than a moment before melting into nothing. There was the immediate caffeine craving his body inflicted upon him, despite it having only been eight or so hours since his evening cup of coffee. Seven hours, perhaps. Certainly at least five, most nights. Though worst of all was the way his phone would light up with notifications—no matter how early he set his alarm, politics was a nonstop calling, all day, every day.   Still. Perhaps if Alex had known how few opportunities he would have left to do so, he could have found it in himself to embrace the sensations of returning to consciousness a little more.

Forever feeling feral for whatever y'all are up to, so tags below the cut and, as always, anyone who wants to play! (If you take the open tag please tag me so I can see!!)

@affectionatelyrs @anincompletelist @celaestis1 @cha-melodius @clottedcreamfudge @cricketnationrise @cultofsappho @daisymae-12 @dumbpeachjuice @happiness-of-the-pursuit @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @hypnostheory @iboatedhere @indestructibleheart @indomitable-love @inexplicablymine @leaves-of-laurelin @lilythesilly @myheartalivewrites @nontoxic-writes @orchidscript @rmd-writes @roseapothecary @sherryvalli @ships-to-sail @smc-27 @sparklepocalypse @ssmtskw @stereopticons @tintagel-or-cockleshells @welcometololaland 

[versegm]

It’s a shock, to see Morgan’s sleeping face.

The queen may not emote much, but that doesn’t mean her face is normally relaxed. It’s blank, which is different- while Mash doubts Morgan thinks much about it, it takes active effort to repress one’s facial expressions.

This is not the case now. Morgan’s face looks… soft. There is none of the dignity of a queen, none of the harshness of winter, none of her cold demeanor. Just an ordinary woman, sleeping. At peace.

Mash allows herself five seconds to admire the sight. She has never looked more like Tonelico than right now; without either of their habitual masks, the two truly are the same person.

Then Mash turns back to the question at hand, namely:

Why is Morgan in her bed??

She rakes her brain, pressing her fingers against her temples. Try as she might, she can not for the life of her remember what happened last night. There was this party, and this really good virgin margarita, and…

Argh. Curse her weakness for non-alcoholic drinks. If only her poison immunity also worked against placebo effects…

Okay. Okay okay okay. One thing at  the time. Right now she should… probably get out of bed.

She’s as silent as she can possibly be. Unfortunately, Tonelico had always been a light sleeper- a lifetime on the run will do that to you- and that fact apparently extends to Morgan. The second Mash sits up, the mattress shifts, and that is enough to stir Morgan awake. The woman groans, turns to her side, then blinks up at Mash with glazed eyes. “You are up early.”

“Ah- yes. I, uh, usually get up at this hour.” God above. Morgan is beautiful like this, hair down, half-asleep. Vulnerable. Trusting. Mash’s heart is doing somersaults in her chest. “Erm, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but… why are you here?”

Morgan blinks. “Do you not remember?”

“Noooo…?” Mash really, really hopes that she hasn’t done anything embarrassing.

Morgan rises up on an elbow. People often compare king Arthur to a lion. Mash has always thought Morgan more similar to a tiger- just as noble, just as ferocious, if less of a team player. The comparison still stands; there is something definitely feline in the way Morgan moves, too sleepy to have all her guards back up. This is the absolute worst moment to be horny, but Mash’s hormones don’t seem to care.

“You and the other knights of the Rounds got rowdy last night.” Rounds, plural, meaning both fairy knights and human knights must have participated in the chaos. Mash winces. She should apologize to the kitchen staff on everyone’s behalf. “When you got tired, you requested I accompany you to your room, and I obliged. As I was getting drowsy myself, I decided to spend the night here.”

Ah. Aaah, that makes a lot of sense. Mash’s room is far from the dining room; it must have been much quieter here than anywhere else. Still, she has to ask: “Did I do anything, uhm… uncouth?”

“You have done nothing that could bring shame to your title of knight.”

Alright. Okay. Morgan gives a lot of importance to official titles. If she words it this way, that means Mash can’t have done anything too bad.

“Got it. Thank you.” Mash nods to herself. Then, after a short pause: “you can stay here, if you want? I didn’t mean to cut your sleep short.”

Morgan nods as well. “My thanks.” She closes her eyes and sets her head back on the pillow. The image is more precious than anything Mash has ever seen before. She hopes it will stay carved in her heart forever.

For now though, she should head out, or she she will do something uncouth now. She slips out of bed- only to discover with surprise that her legs feel quite weak. A quick glance down tells her that they are covered in bruises, peeking out from under her sleeping shorts. “Did I get into a fight?”

“Mmh?”

“My thighs are covered in bruises.” She clarifies.

“Ah.” Morgan rolls to the other side, turning her back to Mash. Her voice is slow and quiet; she’s soon to fall back asleep. “No, these would be from us having sex last night.”

[thebardisabird]

My contribution in celebrating the birth of six idiots who have changed my life in a number of ways forever.

-------

You wiped at your forehead, inspecting the very last touches you placed on the cake. It was a marvel that you managed to whip something up like this in such short notice - but for all of the effort, you knew the reward would be so much sweeter. In the midst of watching your hands, you heard the doorbell ring. 

“Right on time” you murmured to yourself. 

At your door were your neighbors, the Matsuno brothers, each personality more different than the next. 

“Oiii!” called the eldest, “Let us in already, it’s hot outside!” You were thankful you could control the roll in your eyes as you opened the front door. Osomatsu’s cheesy grin met you with a familiar brightness, “There you are! Thought you’d never show!” 

He laughed as you shook your head, “I’m not hearing that from the guy who left me waiting for thirty minutes in front of the konbini the other day, Osomatsu.” His response was a mere “Whoops!” before throwing himself on your couch.

“Forgive my buraza, he’s simply a scoundrel,” came showyh baritoned speech. Donning a blue romper with an embroidered, golden K on it was Karamatsu, the second eldest. His fingers took yours, placing a small kiss to the top of your hand. As soon as his eyes found yours, his recognizable sparkle began to show, a display that made you laugh. 

“That he is, Karamatsu, come inside, please” you gestured to your living room, which he followed suit. He hit you with a wink and a finger gun as he passed you, “Always a pleasure to see you, darling!” 

Next came the third eldest, whose face of annoyance was not missed. Upon seeing you however, he switched back to his normal, much gentler smile. He bowed briefly, “Thank you for having us over, we appreciate your time!” You tilted your head, the disbelieving laughter escaping you rather quickly, “Choromatsu, that’s so formal, we’re literally friends!” His hand came to the back of his head in slight embarrassment as he moved in the direction of his brothers, “Ah, I know, I know, but one should still be polite when they’re a guest in someone’s home.” You found yourself shaking your head far too much already. 

“Ah...hey. Thanks for having us.” Turning to Ichimatsu, the fourth brother, he met you with a small wave and an even smaller smile. Your warm smile and wave was much more animated in comparison, but you knew him well enough to know the sentiment was shared, “I’m glad you came, Ichimatsu”. His eyes caught something, a splotch of dusty white on your sleeve, “Oh. Hey is that flour-” “AHHH WE’RE HERE! WE’RE HERE!” 

Screaming at the top of his lungs was the fifth brother who, in all of his wildly energetic nature, twirled around you with delight. Within his sleeves he let loose a small wisp of tiny daisy flowers. The petals cascaded about you, some landing on your hands and sleeves, others sadly to the ground. You blinked, unsure of what all exactly just happened or why he even had those, but you giggled regardless. 

“Hi Jyushimatsu, it’s nice to see you too!” His extraordinary grin grew wider as your greeting, “Thank you for letting us come over! Now let’s play ball! Hustle, Hustle! Muscle Muscle!” 

Then came the final brother, who was sighing as he walked up, “How you deal with them is beyond me.” You gave him an incredulous look, “You literally do it every day, Todomatsu.” 

He whipped out his phone, using the front-facing camera to check his reflection, “I know and just look at me, I’ve never looked so exhausted in my life!” It was your turn to sigh before you finally smiled, “Glad you could make it regardless.” 

“Are you kidding? We wouldn’t miss this for the world!” Todomatsu replied, joining his brothers in your now full living room. 

“It’s true,” Choromatsu chimed in, “Though...we are curious as to why we’re here. Normally you just meet us outside.” His expression changed from thoughtful to puzzled as he spoke. Jyushimatsu tapped on the table, “Yeah! Yeah! What’s up with that?” 

You lifted your head with pride, “Well boys, I’m glad you’re curious. I have something for you, actually.” 

The sextuplets all looked at one another, confusion brewing between them all. They couldn’t remember asking you for anything...so what was the occasion? No sooner had they thought to discuss it amongst themselves did faint rolling sounds catch their attention. Back into the room you came, a small cart being pushed in their direction. Warmth spread throughout you as you eyed the cover below you fondly. You pinched the cloth and pulled it back carefully, revealing six delectable miniature cakes. 

“WOAHHH!” the group shouted in unison. You were crowded almost instantly. The small delicacies were each frosted with the respective brothers' signature color, from Osomatsu's brilliant red down to Todomatsu's rosy pink, and decorated with a whipped cream frosting that smelled so heavenly it took even you a substantial amount of discipline to not pipe the whole bag into your mouth. Though your grin was near ear splitting, your voice held a sentimental lilt to it, "Happy Birthday, guys." The six of them would scoop their cakes up in mere seconds, already digging away at them. "THANK YOUUUU!" they echoed together once more. You watched with a glowing amount of joy as your friends thoroughly enjoyed their birthday gifts from you. Osomatsu, who you always could count on to be the realest with you, even when it wasn't something you wanted to hear at the moment. He made it very easy to enjoy his company whenever you two hung out. Karamatsu, who reminded you that confidence and self love were key items to happiness, and that it didn't hurt to be kind either. And when he played guitar, you swore you could listen for hours. Choromatsu, who kept you level headed with his practicality - and who was particularly fun to go to karaoke with. You could always rely on him to be the friend that surprises you.

Ichimatsu, whose silence is a thing of comfort. Words weren't necessary with him all the time, and you appreciated that. His gentleness with animals has always left an impression on you.

Jyushimatsu, who lights your day up like the sun itself. His energy is infectious, his laughter contagious, and despite his aloofness, he's never been anything less than genuine with you.

Todomatsu, who was always the quickest to ease your worries. Incredibly sweet (to only just you) and your biggest cheerleader, he always made you feel so supported.

Six happy sighs in unison as the plates were finally cleared. "Y'know...did we even remember today was our birthday?" questioned Osomatsu. Karamatsu's pondered hum came next to him, "Come to think of it, I don't think we did...ah but is that not the curse of adulthood? To lose sight of simple pleasures?" "Jeez, Karamatsu-niisan, way to bring down the mood," Todomatsu chided, to which Karamatsu sunk his head. The youngest brother turned to you, "But seriously...we did forget." "I think it's nice though..." Ichimatsu chimed in, "To be reminded by someone who likes us enough to do this." "I agree!" Jyushimatsu exclaimed, his sleeves waving enthusiastically, "You make yummy cakes!" Choromatsu, took it upon himself to wear the sentimental expression now, "I think what all of us are trying to say is..." "Thank you so much for always thinking of us."

[just-1other-nerd]

While writing another meta, I looked up some clips and noticed something else that deserves a post: notice how Crowley says "but that's nothing" about 6000 years? And you might think, yeah, he's a celestial being and kinda immortal, so im the grand scheme of his life this will feel like nothing, and this is proven by him taking century long naps. But I came to the conclusion that those 6000 years aren't nothing, especially not to Crowley, instead they're everything.

I think that the passing of time in Heaven and Hell works the same way that it does on earth. Like, you know those stories where it's like character has entered this world their time there has felt like 5 years to them but in their world 500 years went by. And it would make sense for Heaven and Hell to function like this, like every time they're down on earth, their brains work faster to comprehend the earth in a human way and actually be able to interact with humans. (Whacky comparison, but like for us to communicate with a fly, we would have to get faster than we are now, otherwise it would seem to the fly like we're doing things in slow motion.) And it would have been easy to make that the rules, be faster while you're on earth to operate on a level earthly creatures can comprehend and understand but back when you're in Heaven/Hell your brain is back in celestial mode where you everything the humans do seems to happen in time laps so that they seem like ants. That would result in something like what feels like a second in Heaven/Hell is a year on earth.

But no, things in Heaven/Hell seem to happen in real time. The duration of Crowley infiltrating Heaven felt the same as the duration of the bookshop battle, and there are many more examples of this. But that means that celestial brains don't process time in a "6000 years really feel like nothing, like they pass in the blink of an eye" way but rather in a "in the grand scheme of my immortal life 6000 years will eventually lose meaning because looking back they will just seem like another short-lived episode of my life even though they didn't feel like that while I was experiencing them" way, you know like a human turned immortal.

This is important because that means that Crowley and Aziraphale experienced the passing of time in those 6000 years in a very human way, always kept in mind that they'll outlive everything around them but years that aren't slept through will still feel like years.

To have that much time means that you plan your life differently, like the next time the ineffable husbands will meet may be in two decades and looking back on a span of 6000 years that may not seem long but it will feel long, I mean in his diary entry after Edinburgh Aziraphale describes the 35 years he wouldn't see Crowley after that as a long time. But to have so much time also means that you have a lot of time questioning things, and it means that things will lose their meaning because oftentimes our own fatality gives things meaning, but if you've got forever maybe nothing will feel like it's got any purpose. And I think that this is where Crowley is mentally in the beginning of season two (see bench scene with Shax), because now that Armageddon, which was a form of fatality for Crowley and Aziraphale's way of life, has been prevented and he's out of constant survival mode because he no longer has to go along with Hell, he has to find meaning detatched from Heaven and Hell. And I believe he will ultimately realise that he already found it in humanity and in Aziraphale.

There are lots of brilliant metas discussing how Aziraphale and Crowley are more human than celestial and how their love is very human and how they love earth and humanity. And I think that living amongst humans who live so much shorter than they do and who experience so much more with so much more emotion really has given them a perspective that the other celestial beings lack. And loving earth and each other has also given them a perspective that other angels and demons don't have. Despite experiencing time the same way as Aziraphale and Crowley do, the other celestial beings don't have any attachment to those 6000 years because they are stuck in their respective corporate environments which don't spread any joy and it shows. They are stuck in their "great plan thinking" where they work towards the war between Heaven and Hell and know that they have to endure those 6000 years for the eternity that comes after. Looking back, all of those days will feel the same and blend in with one another (like all of our lockdown days) because nothing good nor bad happened. And that lack of experience is what will make it feel short looking back on it. Maybe if they hadn't spent those 6000 years like that, they wouldn't want to get rid of everything that has to do with those years. Meanwhile, Crowley and Aziraphale, who have experienced so much, will look back and see thousands of things that have happened, that they've witnessed and that they enjoyed, that's what makes it feel long.

Those 6000 years, despite being a short span for an immortal being, are everything because they are time spent with the humans they loves so much, and the person they adore, this love has given those years meaning, and meaning is something that the time in Heaven and Hell never had.

[blorbologist]

Cat’s Cradle, Chapter 15

Ch1 ... Ch14

Two more months.

Percy just has to survive two more months. Then the kittens will have homes and he can make a swift exit with what’s left of his heart. Or maybe even sooner: Vax’ildan and Keyleth will not be gone forever. And the kittens only need a few more weeks of care until Curio and Vex can handle themselves without him.

Finding excuses to stay is almost trivial, is the trouble. Namely Vex’s long hours - he’s not sure she’d remember to eat if not for Trinket whining at her heels. There’s some matzo ball soup from Pike waiting to be warmed on the stove once the animals - good gods, a dog and a cat and six kittens - are cared for.

She only just got home, not even taking the time to shuck her jacket before finding him, preparing a bottle of her own and coaxing one of the kittens to feed. 

(The turquoise dress and dark leather jacket is criminally good looking. Wow, legs.)

“There’s a good darling,” she murmurs, eyes a starlit darkness as Spanner latches and drinks obnoxiously loudly. Ratchet, by comparison, is quieter, pawing at the air in front of her with tiny talons.

Vex leans heavily into Percy’s side, the last rags of her perfume settling with the benign scents of a busy day. He has no idea how she can go from that to caring for something small, helpless - he would certainly need to sequester himself away from anything alive for an hour or three. 

She pokes his flank with an elbow. “Did I miss anything today?”

Percy hums. “Well,” he says, “I had a front-row seat to a gladiatorial battle today.”

The grin is infectious - her eyes fight to stay on task. “Oh?”

“Mmmmhm - I’d almost call it a fight club. Terribly unclouth ear-biting. Slow-motion rabbit-kicks.”

“And who were the little champions?” Vex’s finger draws over the tiny black spine - Spanner’s tail shoots up and she leans into the touch. “Was it you, darling? I bet it was you.”

His chuckle feels punched out of him, of its own accord. Gods. “Actually - it was the twins and Velcro.”

She loses some battle and glances at him sidelong. It feels like victory, until he realizes it’s a trap. “Nuts and Bolts?”

Percy groans. “We are not having this discussion again.”

“Why not?” He should freeze when Vex snickers, falling further into his side. Not relax into it, the warmth of her cheek so close. She blinks and he can feel it.

Ratchet - not Bolts - churrs, gumming the bottle’s nipple more lazily. Her little mouth is caked in formula, little head lolling back in contentment. Perfect timing - he owes her one.

Percy clears his throat. Pulls himself away. It’s like slowly submerging his head in cold water. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no - I’m -” Vex bites her lip. Percy studiously does not look at her as he wipes the kitten’s mouth, puts her back, refills the bottle for the next hellion. He swears he hears her voice quaver: “That’s on me. Friends, right?”

Weeks, months? How the hell is he going to survive another day?

--

“Curio, what am I going to do?”

The cat in question has nothing to say about it. Which is very fair - Percy is hardly expecting her to respond. He’s supposed to habituate her to human voices and proximity again. With his last few emails sent and laptop sitting closed on the tiles, and Vex not due home for another two hours, he figures Curio is as good a confidant as any.

It remains that he is sitting in the tub as though it’s a therapist’s couch (without his shoes on, he’s no monster) and going over his troubles to a cat. She’s already listened to him bemoan taxes and gush about her babies while devouring the plate of chicken he’d left nearby. Now she’s hiding somewhere - maybe in the shower curtains, or in her kennel, or behind the sink. Hard to tell from this angle. 

So Percy keeps talking, mapping cracks in the tile. “We agreed to keep it platonic. But it’s not, it’s very clearly not, and I refuse to overstep and make her uncomfortable.”

Fuck, it makes him uncomfortable - just how badly he wants to hold her and tell her a thousand juvenile, stupid things. 

(Maybe he wants to be out of his comfort zone. Sweat a little, because Vex is - Vex is worth it. And he can wait, and live with these scraps he steals if it all amounts to what they had before.)

“Regardless of my feelings.” He swallows hard. Digs his gaze into a missing corner of ceramic. “Regardless - she deserves better. You know I was a complete wreck the day you - when you and your littlest joined us? And I stay up late, too scared to close my eyes. That they - and you, and her - might all be gone or worse when I open them.”

Percy sighs. “Why can’t I just fix me? Work as intended? This - all this pinning - is so complicated.”

The rasp of carpet - so she was curled behind the toilet, then.

“I’m sure you never had to deal with this,” he grumbles. “Just find a tom or two and never think about the ordeal again. And never will, again, now that you’re spayed.”

Pat-pat-pat, and a soft thunk. Eyes bluer than he can imagine lock with his.

“Oh.” 

Curio stands awkwardly on the lip of the bath, three legs somewhat splayed for balance on the smooth surface. Her ears form delicate little wings, unsure but not scared. 

Slowly, hardly daring to breathe, Percy paws for the treats kept on hand for this miracle. And extends his open hand and offering to the molly. 

Only briefly does she sniff before dipping her head to - 

he was going to call it delicately nibble, but she absolutely scarfs down the treats with a mumbly growl. It’s hilarious, and dismisses his heavy heart with ease.

And then - and then she stretches her neck out, sniffing along his wrist. Tentatively, he walks his fingers under her chin.

She leans into it, eyes squinting.

“There’s a good girl,” Percy breathes, an open-mouthed smile robbing him of breath.

Curio purrs.

Vex finds him, later, in the bathtub with Curio in his lap. Unfortunately her appearance causes the cat to scrabble for cover, drawing clawmarks even through his pants - but it’s fine, it’s fine Vex, really -

really, it is.

--

“Hail to the returning hero,” Percy cheers. Vex has to take a moment to draw soak hair away from her eyes to see him properly, at which she cackles. 

“Percy! What did you do?”

Torn between an understatement and overexplaining, Percival settles instead for pilfering her coat, sauntering off to toss it in the dryer. On the way back he lobs a towel at her head - she loathes leaving her hair wet. 

He trusts Vex can deduce his schemes well enough by the evidence assembled: candles crowning surfaces out of Trinket-wagging range, nice linens and cutlery at the tiny table, his own pressed dress shirt and dark jacket, and the smell of roast vegetables, mashed potatoes and steak wafting from where they remain, warm and safe from the dog, in the kitchen

Cooking is just chemistry you can eat - or, that’s what his mother had told him to convince a young Percy to help out in the kitchen. After that it became a struggle to pry him away from the oven for seven months. Though the special interest had faded, much of the knowledge was baked in. Pun intended.

Today was her last long day before her hours returned to normal. Not that it was a given, but it was in writing, and from his understanding Vex had schmoozed and socialized well enough to potentially be looking at a more lucrative, less time-consuming, job offer. She could afford to say no, thankyou. And that was worth celebrating.

Percy grins sheepishly. “I might have cooked another, without any seasoning, for the four legged legion.”

She’s said it a thousand times before, and so she says it again: “You’re spoiling them, darling.” Which is true - it’s a welcome surprise, how often thoughts of simple joys to share with Trinket and the cats strike him. How easily he caves to the whims. 

No surprise, really. Spoiled, Vex says, of a steak divided eight ways to her feast, to her wine, to him. All for her.

“Besides - the kittens can’t eat solid food for some weeks yet, Percy.”

Well - shit.

[terrence-silver]

Terry’s (in all eras) reaction to him and Beloved seeing someone he used to fuck.

And also Terry’s reaction to seeing someone Beloved used to fuck too.

― Twig, or rather, a young Terry, is the only one who might feel he's done something wrong or somehow betrayed his devotion to his beloved simply by accidentally running into someone he previously slept with, and as a result, he might overexplain and end up being overly apologetic about it. Like he fears beloved might grow angry with him somehow. Magically fall out of love with him if he doesn't go above and beyond, borderline overcompensating with excuses. Might even go as far as vowing he only loves beloved. He swears it. He promises, in fact. Should he cut the palm of his hand and make an unbreakable oath to prove himself? Should he draw blood? Connect the palm of his hands to yours and promise to forever and ever and ever be true? Because, he can do that. He will do that, in fact. Twig fears losing his beloved past the point of all reasonable rationale. Fears missteping and making a mistake he cannot ever correct anymore --- a sensation only enhanced by the trauma he brought home from Vietnam. As a result, in the days after the encounter, he might just go overboard with presents, acts of service and material goods abound --- gifts given with the biggest puppy eyes imaginable --- to, as he feels, make up for something he deems his fault. Ironically, on the flip side, doing a 180 degree shift, he might just be infinitely more confident if he encounters someone beloved's been with intimately. He's richer. More loyal than anyone and he just about knows it. Nobody's competition, purely because Terry will do anything and everything for his beloved and that cannot always be said for others. Funny that. How Twig is capable of oscillating from absolute, borderline boyish insecurity from the most self-assured person ever at a blink of an eye.

― Terry in the 80's? He finds it hot. He finds the encounter between the love of his life and someone he used to fuck hot and he might lean close to beloved's ear and confess to it openly and pretty gleefully, not an ounce of shame involved, quite the contrary. Terry seems to be cocky and proud, in fact; might say, how yes, he used to have an entanglement with that person, going into salacious, risqué details while he squeezes beloved's waist tight, pulling them close, a free hand on their ass, describing what the sex was like, how much he wants beloved in comparison to them, how he could take beloved right now, in front of his ex-conquest (and everyone else present), if necessary, purely to prove the point of where all his desires lie, placing beloved's hand atop of the tent in his trousers and pretty much making himself horny just by default. The whole situation might quickly culminate in some backroom at the event, place or situation they ran into this ex at and it is pretty likely Terry might just take beloved right there and then and have a quickey purely for its own sake. Hey, if there's sounds involved during the tryst, all the better. Now there's visual-audio confirmation of who is his beloved of choice. If it's beloved's own past fuck-buddy they encounter? Then all the worse. Terry might just be outwardly a proper gentleman and a social butterfly, approach them, beloved in tow, introduce himself, behaving like the friendliest man that's ever lived and start talking about his and beloved's sex life pretty openly, purely because he can. Because he's won and he wants to flaunt it. Hey, if he feels generous, might just hand the ex his business card too and offer to be there for them for whatever they need, which honestly, is just another way for Terry to show off his upper hand over someone.

― Terry in his old age somehow circles back to the start and almost feels a tinge of regret running into his old bedwarmers, conquests, affairs, relationships and situationships --- which, trust and believe, he's undoubtedly had many. The Cheyennes of his past, as it were. Why? Because it reminds him of time he cannot get back and whether he likes it or not, when you're his age, every year, every month, every moment counts extra. Every second is a precious, priceless luxury. The time spent or misspent with certain individuals that were only a passing fling, as a result, stings in ways. Of course, none of this is ever visible behind Terry's veneer of charm and confidence upon the encounters, but it infuriates and hurts on the inside more than he can explain. It makes him angry. Sour. Bitter. Jealous. Regardless if it is him meeting someone he used to fuck or someone beloved used to fuck, he feels wasted time is still wasted time --- a force beyond his control, something that makes him feel helpless in the grand scheme of things, and that all these people were temporary obstacles that kept him and his beloved from meeting sooner to the degree that this accidental meeting with his or beloved's past lovers might just make Terry so depressed he could take to the bottle to drown the pain. That, or excessively training his body. Anything and everything that might give him an outlet, because if he doesn't have one, he'll go insane. Why couldn't he meet beloved before? Oh, that's right, because Terry Silver's power isn't infinite and he's limited by the same things everyone else is limited by and he's spent time he can never get back on all the wrong people, as he sees it, all while having so very little for the right one, which is a tragedy all by itself.