#maybe that's a scene I should write. just on its own outside of any larger story

[hum--hallelujah]

no what I think the thing is is there is so much very visceral violent imagery for Benze and Crab. a FOUNDATION of their relationship is that Benze unintentionally causes pain when he's checking out Crab's months-old injury. do you trust me. and Crab doesn't realize how difficult words and touch can be for Benze and unintentionally causes pain that way before they start to figure things out. I wish we could talk. I wish I'd known you before. they're so so drawn to each other from the get go but there are so many barriers they have to get through, of pain (physical and emotional) they have to work to try and ease, mistrust and miscommunication. it's like that blood transfusion post. it isn't compatible with how much the love each other. I'd give you my very blood but it would kill you. it's better to let it bleed out. you can only survive without me. there's so much capacity for pain and hurt, but they choose to love instead.

#sorry I'm just crying about the doctor and his nurse at the mo I need to write about them soon or I shall pass away #she speaks! #ddas #and the idea of ''I wish I'd known you before'' is coming from benze; but it isn't a ''i wish I knew you before you were disabled'' thing #(even though that's how crab initially takes it) #it's a ''i wish I had been there to help'' kind of thing bc benze only meets crab AFTER the injury. AFTER the chance of a full #recovery is gone. and as a doctor and as a friend that's REALLY REALLY FRUSTRATING #he could have done something!! he could have made it better!! but he didn't KNOW #maybe that's a scene I should write. just on its own outside of any larger story #just... that scene. idk

[the-great-elwisty]

NWN2 cut content: Qara

#7

Qara’s story had three components, which made it into the game to varying degrees.

Her hatemance with Sand

The animus elemental

Her father

All aspects are tied together of course. Qara’s father kicked Sand out of the Academy. Her unusual position as both rebel sorceress and daughter of the Academy’s head no doubt helped fire up the students who attack her outside the Sunken Flagon, sparking the anger of Johcris, who is then more than willing to conspire with Sydney Natale…  Lt. Danger gave a fantastic overview of much of the missing content in his Let’s Play, so I’m not going to spend time reiterating what he said much better.

Sand

Go read Lt. Danger. He included large chunks of cut dialogue in his chapter on the Act III ambush.

The Animus Elemental

I’m not even sure to what extent this is still in the game. I’ve seen the initial cutscene, where Johcris and Sydney Natale conspire to create it. I’ve seen the Elemental in Sydney’s Act III attack. However, I don’t think the random encounters with the Animus Elemental have ever triggered in any of my games. Pity, because the dialogue’s fun.

Grobnar: {A spectral assassin has just appeared} Why, it looks like we have a visitor! Hello there!

And when it returns for its next appearance:

Grobnar: {A spectral assassin has just appeared, oblivious to danger} It's the same elemental as before! Why, it must be tracking our party so it can kill us - how fascinating!

Lt. Danger thought that the Animus Elemental storyline might once have led into a thaw in relations between Sand and Qara. Maybe it would have, however, I don’t see it that much myself. I mean, you can imagine the PC nudging Qara towards either completely unleashing all her power to obliterate the Elemental, or else holding back and following Sand’s advice, and perhaps that leading to Qara and Sand both learning something from the experience. But looking at the surviving dialogue, what you have is:

Qara: So I kill it by not attacking it while it's weak? Seems to me Sand's setting us up to be its victims.

PC: I believe Sand, and I think you should, too.

Qara: (Scoffs) Whatever. He can keep his tomes... I can handle this elemental my own way.

You can get Qara to accept that reining in her power could be worth trying, but you have to be willing to lose influence with Sand to do so. I have a feeling that the influence see-saw mechanic that culminates in the final battle was decided on quite early in the writing of the two characters, and from then on ideas of a kind of mutual redemption took a back seat to conflict.

Desintis

One thing that does interest me that hasn’t been discussed all that much before (afaik, naturally) is the role of Qara’s father, the head of the Academy. His character actually exists in the toolset — he’s the older man standing next to Qara at the top of this entry. His description:

This is Qara's father, an aging man of considerable wealth and prestige amongst the mages of Neverwinter.

It seems clear he was intended to have a larger role in Qara’s arc (which was more of a meteor crash in the game-as-shipped). Quite what that was is hard to determine. One full conversation survives between, not Desintis and his daughter, but Desintis and Sand.

...................................................................................................................

SCRIPTER: This cut scene automatically fires as soon as the player enters the Moonstone Mask with Sand for the first time.

Sand: (Slight sarcasm, Desintis is in brothel) I didn't think to see you outside of the Academy, yet here you are in these opulent surroundings. Catching up on your privacy, no doubt?

Desintis: (Recognition, doesn't like Sand, thinks he's dangerous) Sand. Why are you here?

Sand: (Wry, this guy kicked him out of the Academy) Well, there are few places I can go since the Academy doors are closed to me. Upon your request, I recall.

Desintis: (Firm) Yes, it was my request. (Beat) Have you come to contest it? {

Sand: (Still a little pissed) Oh no, I know why you refused to grant me a post. And I know why I have been struggling for work in this foul-smelling city. (Makes his strike, coldly flippant) And I know why you are here, lingering in this place, without your daughter, seeking "privacy." (Mocking, talking down) And they are all very sad reasons.

Desintis: (Firm) You've had more than enough chances to prove yourself, Sand. And you have refused them all, except when pressured by the Nine. Change your path, prove yourself, and perhaps then we can have a conversation.

Sand: (Mocking) Oh, High Mage, we just did. (Beat) But like before, you weren't listening. | Turns to player |(To player) Are we done? This place has suddenly become quite tiresome.

“And they are all very sad reasons.” But what were they, Sand? What were they? This is no time to be discreet! Perhaps Desintis got the chop because the Obsidian writers realised they didn’t know what the reasons were either. In another snippet of dialogue, Sand just said that he and Qara’s father had “academic differences” which could include more or less anything from a lukewarm book review to murder and world domination. Obviously, Sand's Host Tower background is part of it, but there seems to be more implied as well.

There’s clearly a power struggle of some sort going on between Johcris and Desintis, but Johcris is clear that it’s his ‘house’ that are out of favour with Lord Nasher. Desintis should be on the winning side. So what’s Sand taunting Qara’s father about (apart from him being in a posh brothel)? (God, he’s not another desperate suitor of Ophala, is he?) Also, was the conversation cut because it wasn’t possible to ensure that Sand could talk to Desintis without Qara being present, since if she were then she’d definitely have something to say?

There is this tantalising fragment in dialog.tlk:

Set Flag for Qara/Desintis to have their chat on next enter of keep interior.

Would Desintis have been the key to getting Qara to look at herself and where she was going? By (probably inadvertently) giving the PC insight into why she is as she is? Even if the conversation ultimately lead to the same pile of rocks falling on her head, it would have been interesting to have it included, and made her less of a one-note character.

#nwn2 #neverwinter nights 2 #cut content #i want nwn3

[onestowatch]

19 LGBTQIA+ Artists You Need to Listen to This PRIDE

PRIDE is all about self-empowerment and self-determination. It’s about not just being comfortable with who you are but showing the world that there is pride to be found in being unapologetically you. And that’s why, this PRIDE, we wanted to shine a light on a small handful of our favorite LGBTQIA+ artists. Ranging from rapturous hyperpop, revelatory bossa nova meditations, romantic rave music, and everywhere in between, these are 19 LGBTQIA+ artists who deserve a spot on your PRIDE playlist and every playlist for that matter. 

girl in red

In her debut single, “i wanna be your girlfriend,” a teenage girl in red unapologetically sings of young queer love over a mesh of lofi production and jangly instrumentation that would come to define much of the bedroom pop genre. It is a standout moment of unrelenting honesty, and a serenely simple three-minute confession that would go on to strike a chord with millions who were afraid of what it meant to be something more than friends. Now, a few years later and following the release of her critically-acclaimed debut album, if i could make it go quiet, Ulven still writes with that same emotional honesty, putting forth every ounce of herself for the world to see. 

Meet Me @ The Altar

“the little lonely black alt girl i was in the 00s is living rn, she never even dared to hope she might see this 💖💖,” reads the top comment on Meet Me @ The Altar’s music video for their single “Garden.” It is a sentiment shared by much of the rising band’s fanbase, who are used to the mainstream alternative scene championing cis white males. Existing in the space between pop-punk and hardcore, Meet Me @ The Altar exists to challenge the notion that queer women of color don’t have a place in punk. And after penning a record deal with Fueled By Ramen, home to the likes of Paramore, Panic! at the Disco, and nearly every pop-punk band that made up your middle school playlist, chances are this is just the beginning for our new favorite punks.

THE BLOSSOM

For Lily Lizotte, better known as THE BLOSSOM, music exists as the synthesis and subsequent recontextualization of a host of past experiences. From the sound of their dad belting away in his home studio to stumbling upon niche Internet subgenres, THE BLOSSOM transforms all this and more into a sound that is instantly recognizable but impossible to perfectly place. The culmination of this host of influences takes sweeping sonic form on their debut EP, ‘97 BLOSSOM, a perfectly imperfect introduction to one of the most fascinating rising artists of recent memory.

BIMINI

You may recognize BIMINI as Bimini Bon-Boulash, the runner-up on the second season of RuPaul’s Drag Race UK. And now you should familiarize yourself with Bimini, brit-pop extraordinaire. Releasing their debut single “God Save This Queen” earlier this June, Bimini deftly channels late ‘90s brit-pop and punk to deliver a single that has us absolutely living for the ensuing chaos. Serving up multiple looks throughout its eye-catching music video, “God Save This Queen” is not just a non-binary anthem but a veritable 2021 lookbook.

Hope Tala

With a sound that falls somewhere between turn-of-the-century R&B and bossa nova, Hope Tala’s music is expectedly a dream given sonic form. Perhaps that’s why much of the UK singer, songwriter, and multi-instrumentalist’s music is able to so deftly weave imagery of love, heartache, and teenage fistfights into tightknit tracks that feel simultaneously transcendental and deeply personal. And with the release of her 2020 EP, Girl Eats the Sun, Hope Tala poses one all-important question, “Why have a life if you’re not going to do something crazy and make a difference in the world?” 

chloe moriondo

For much of chloe moriondo’s avid fanbase, watching her transform from budding ukulele sensation to pop-punk phenom very much meant watching her grow up. Getting her start on YouTube, moriondo's fanbase witnessed her evolve as both an artist and person. Coming out in the aptly titled “a ramble about self identity, growth, and being a lesbian,” to be a fan of the artist often feels like trading secrets with a close personal friend. It is a sentiment that rings all the more true upon delving into her debut album, Blood Bunny. Grappling with coming-of-age at the axis of empathic pop and euphoric pop-punk, Blood Bunny sees moriondo taking yet another impressive step forward.

Godford

Little is known about Godford beyond what can be garnered from a handful of interviews online and his succinct Spotify bio, and chances are he’s happier that way. The anonymous DJ and producer aims to make non-binary music that exists outside of the confines of genres, overly-simplified classifications, and even himself. What is important are the emotions his music hold and what his listeners take away. Fusing romanticism and rave in his debut album, Godford: Non Binary Place, the anonymous artist does just that. He provides a space that exists simultaneously everywhere and nowhere, like an ephemeral night spent out on the dancefloor with a stranger or close friend.

Joy Oladokun

Joy Oladokun is at the core of her music. It may at first glance appear to be a painfully obvious statement, but as her sincere songwriting seeps into every corner of your soul, it is a notion that becomes undeniable. In her major label debut, in defense of my own happiness, Oladokun writes with an unabashed authenticity, never turning a blind eye to the world around her. These shared reflections and recollections of life are often heartbreaking and uplifting in the same breath, but in their candidness, we can begin to piece together what it means to be human, imperfections and all.  

Allison Ponthier

Allison Ponthier may only have a handful of singles to her name, but her unmatched potential is clear as day. Raised in the outskirts of Dallas, Texas, Ponthier’s moving songwriting and emphatic vocal prowess speak to her country roots. Pair that country sensibility with some of the most pristine pop songwriting we have heard in quite some time, and you begin to understand just how exciting Ponthier is as a rising artist. With only two singles to date, there’s not much else we can say beyond do yourself a favor and play “Cowboy” on repeat.

Rina Sawayama

It feels like no hyperbole to call Rina Sawayama an inevitable pop icon. First garnering critical acclaim with singles like “Cherry” and her 2017 debut EP RINA, the Japanese-British singer-songwriter staked her name on her immaculate ability to capture all the glamour and larger-than-life appeal of early ‘00s pop. Building on what was a nostalgic yet forward-thinking vision, Sawayama returned with her 2020 eponymous full-length debut. From nu-metal, club beats, to veritable pop anthems, SAWAYAMA emerged as a genre-defying showcase of an avant-garde pop star.

Arlo Parks

Listening to Arlo Parks’ music is akin to sipping on a hot cup of chamomile tea as you watch the world slowly pass by your living room window. It is a testament to the British poet and singer-songwriter’s subtle yet beautiful way with words, the way in which each lyric serves as a glance into a tightly-held memory or passing observation. These poetic musings come to life in her debut album, Collapsed In Sunbeams, which layers lyrical revelations over some of the most tender R&B of recent memory. Parks’ is more than a must-listen; she feels like the birth of a new wave.

Claud

Claud has spent the past few years making a name for themselves in the indie pop world, and the culmination of it all arrives in their debut album, Super Monster. The acclaimed album sees Claud reckoning with coming-of-age and love with an irresistible charm. Pair that with a penchant for grounded, affective songwriting and infectious, dreamlike melodies and you have one of the best debuts of recent memory. In case you somehow need any further convincing that Claud is one to watch, Super Monster marks the debut release from Phoebe Bridgers’ Saddest Factory Records.

UMI

Equally as inspired by R&B and neo-soul as she is by her generation’s penchant for blurring genre lines, UMI and her music exist as a form of spiritual healing. Half-Black and half-Japanese, her work explores everything from identity to self-introspection, such as on the aptly-titled Introspection. It is a fondness for self-exploration that UMI delves headfirst into on her 2019 EP Love Language, a sublime blend of identity struggles, love, and anime that tackles the issue of always feeling like an other, never Black or Japanese enough.

Joesef

Sad boy summer. It’s the simplest way to being explaining Joesef’s serene albeit somber sound. Emerging out of Glasgow, the quickly rising star often wears his still bleeding heart on his sleeve, even when the underlying sonics seem to be moving onto greener pastures. It is an exquisite balancing act that comes to life on his 2020 EP, Does It Make You Feel Good?. Blending elements of soft-spoken R&B, jazz, and ethereal pop, Joesef sets himself apart as an artist whose influences and appeal know no bounds.

Serena Isioma

At the top of the year, we named Serena Isioma one of our top artists to watch in the year to come, and for good reason. The self-proclaimed “nonbinary rock star” experienced a breakout moment with “Sensitive,” a track that is difficult to perfectly encapsulate but think along the lines of fusing modern-day R&B and woozy indie-pop with reckless abandon, and you’ll be about halfway there. It was an impressive standout track that was only buoyed by a pair of EPs, Sensitive and The Leo Sun Sets, in 2020, officially cementing Isioma as an artist like no other.

Khai Dreams

Khai Dreams’ music is effortlessly easygoing. With its straightforward guitar lines and understated production, every track from the Pacific Northwest singer-songwriter flows out as naturally as breathing. Maybe it’s that laid-back approach that begins to explains Khai Dreams’ universal appeal and millions of monthly listeners, despite releasing most of his music independently. A hallmark of the DIY generation and its massive homebrewed potential, it would be a crying shame if you didn’t let Khai Dream’s serene meditations transport you somewhere far from here.

Frances Forever

Like much of their Gen Z cohorts, Frances Forever’s exponential rise was not the result of a well-executed marketing plan but by the pure chance of a single song finding a home online. The song in question, “Space Girl,” was originally part of NPR’s Tiny Desk Content before soon blowing up on TikTok, and it’s not hard to see why. Short, sweet, and to the point, “Space Girl” is a saccharine love letter to that bubbly feeling of floating on cloud nine. Now signed to Mom+Pop and with their debut EP, Paranoia Party, due out later this year, this is the perfect time to get familiar with Frances Forever.

Dorian Electra

Unapologetically playing with gender norms and stereotypes while seeing just how far they can push the limits of pop, Dorian Electra has long maintained a cult following in the world of experimental, highly addictive hyperpop. And it’s not hard to see why. Having collaborated with the likes of Charli XCX, 100 gecs, Village People, Pussy Riot, Rebecca Black, and more, Electra’s music ranges from off-the-rails hyperpop to introspective pop slow burns. All of this and more reaches a fever pitch in their 2020 album My Agenda, a devious showcasing of one of pop’s most explosive figures.

MAY-A

Maya Cumming, professionally known as MAY-A, is no stranger to the hustle it takes to make it in the music industry. The Australian artist got her start entering numerous singing competitions in her hometown of Byron Bay and started busking on the streets at the tender age of 11. Now, she has a breakout single under her belt in the form of “Apricots,” an anthemic indie-pop ode to queer love. And since that breakout moment, MAY-A has continued to release impressive single after single—the latest being the collaborative “American Dream.”

#pride #girl in red #meet me @ the altar #the blossom #bimini #hope tala #chloe moriondo #godford #joy oladokun #allison ponthier #Rina Sawayama #arlo parks #claud #umi #joesef #serena isioma #khai dreams #frances forever #doria electra #may-a

[joaquinwhorres]

Stitches & Blankets (Joaquin Torres x Reader)

SUMMARY ››››› You find Joaquin Torres after he tries to stop the bank robbery.

WORD COUNT ››››› 3,000-ish

WARNINGS ››››› language

A/N ››››› OK, why are there not more Torres fics? I'm legitimately confused about that. Also, I realized after writing half of this down, that a bank was robbed, so there were probably still police on the scene and the reader'd probably be speaking Swiss-German but uh...fan fiction.

There was a body in the street, which was not what you expected to see coming out to your car.

You'd heard the wailing sirens and shouting and the thunderous footsteps--they're what kept you pressed against the side of the building for the past ten minutes, avoiding the chaos as much as possible. It wasn't fear that kept you there though, it was experience. You'd become used to the quick riots and little skirmishes for resources over the past few months. You knew it was better to stay out of the way, wait out the storm, and then go about your life. They became nothing more than minor nuisances. Bits of unrest that were there and then gone in the next instance. They weren't supposed to leave a body behind.

"Meine Fresse," you murmured, racing forward to the person lying supine on the stones, arms out to their sides, the white of their sneakers reflecting the street lights. As you drew closer, you saw it was a man--about your age with blood around his eye and nose and lip. For a brief second, you wondered if he'd been trampled, but he definitely would have looked worse for wear based on how many people you'd heard.

"Bist du okay?" Your voice was loud as you checked over the rest of his body. He didn't seem to have any other injury, and there wasn't any blood under his head, so you decided it was safe enough to gently shake him.

He didn't rouse.

So, instead you knelt your ear down to his lips, laying your hand flat on his chest. You felt your hand rise before you heard the slow intake of breath, and you rocked back onto your knees. He was breathing. He was alive.

Still, something gnawed at the back of your mind, urging your fingers up under his jaw, gently pressing into his neck. It was only then that you felt a surge of relief. His pulse was there, and it was strong. He was really alive.

And then you remembered that you should probably call 112.

All things considered, it was a quick phone call--the operator seemed to know your exact location and vaguely what had happened as you explained where you were and how you found him. Instead, most of the conversation was spent listening to their instructions to roll him into a recovery position and check for any signs of life-threatening injuries. When they told you that you could hang up because they were close, you did so and found the man blinking at you.

"Hoi," you greeted soothingly. "Wie heisst du?"

He groaned, attempting to roll onto his back once more. You reached out a hand stopping him, and he looked up at you confused.

"Comment t'appelles tu?" You attempted, hoping he wasn't an Italian or Romansch speaker. You hardly knew enough of either language to tell him you couldn't speak it.

He winced and lifted his hand to his face. "Shit."

English. Good.

"What's your name?" you asked, and his eyes seemed to focus on you once more, this time a spark of recognition or maybe just awareness lighting up behind them.

"Joaquin," he informed, and you released an arm, allowing him to finally roll onto his back like he wanted. He had a strong American accent, even through the gravelly voice of barely regained consciousness. "Did they get away?"

"Ähm," you looked around at the empty street. "Yes?" you guessed.

He let out a heavy sigh. "I'm gonna have to call some people."

"I think you should wait for the ambulance."

"Yeah," he agreed, the word breathy and pained. "That's probably a good idea."

"What happened?" you asked, and he raised his eyebrows, looking back at you.

"Flag Smashers."

"I didn't think the Flag Smashers hurt people."

"I'm just lucky, I guess," he answered, and you smiled, letting out a small laugh. He offered a small smile as well.

You could hear the siren now, the faint sound winding its way through the curving streets of Zürich and towards the two of you. Your head turned towards the sound, as if you could trace it back to the ambulance, and gauging the distance. "They should be close," you said, returning your attention to Joaquin.

"What's your name?" he asked, and the question surprised you. Then again, if the two of you were stuck waiting for an ambulance at nine o'clock on a Sunday night, maybe a bit of small talk shouldn't have been so surprising.

"Y/N," you answered, and he repeated it.

"You're very pretty, Y/N."

The laugh escaped you on instinct, although to call it a laugh might not be the best descriptor. It was more of a surprised noise, partially exhale and a tinge of amusement added through the slight smile at the corner of your mouth.

"Thank you," you said. "You are very pretty too."

And he was, underneath the dark red and rapidly purpling injuries. He had a strong jaw and kind eyes, and even the hint of a smile he'd given earlier had made something in your chest constrict.

"I don't feel so pretty," he responded, and this time your laugh was more of a laugh, and he reached up to feel at his face. You took hold of his hand, bringing it back down and trapping it in yours.

"Pretty enough for me to hold your hand," you joked, hoping to distract him from continuing to poke and prod and break all of the rules and instructions the EMTs had given over the phone.

"Well, I got that goin' for me, I guess," he said, letting his hand relax into yours.

Headlights bathed you in a warm yellow light as flashing blue lights bounced off the surrounding buildings, illuminating the rest of the street.

There were some shouts as the doors of the ambulance opened and people poured out, running towards you and Torres. The paramedic crowded around quickly, a blonde bearded man asking  quick questions in German.

"Er spricht Englisch," you explained, and he nodded, switching languages.

It became apparent as police officers pulled up and flooded out of their cars that you were no longer needed. You stood up, backing away and letting Joaquin's hand slip through yours.

"You're not going to stay and hold my hand?" Joaquin called out to you, and you let a smile curl across your lips. Around you, people were starting to come out onto the street, lured by the sounds of the sirens and lack of shouting and general ruckus. Your eyes fell back on Joaquin who was still looking up at you, even as a paramedic flashed a light into his face.

"Maybe he can hold your hand," you said, gesturing to a paramedic who had slid into your place. Joaquin gave half a smile as you turned and left him in the hands of the professionals.

As you rounded the corner, arms full of blankets, the last person you expected to almost run into was Joaquin.

Part of the surprise was the kind that generally accompanied running into someone outside of the context you know them in. A larger part of the surprise was the fact that he was not in the hospital.

Instead, he stood before you, face swollen, bloodied and bruised, with the small white bandages of butterfly stitches above his right eye. He blinked at you, as if he was caught in the headlights.

"Pretty Joaquin," you said, surprise ringing through every part of your voice.

"Y/N."

At least his memory wasn't affected by whatever the Flag Smashers had done to him. His response time was also quicker than it had been two and a half hours ago, and he seemed all in all more present and less hazy. "What are you doing here?"

"I work here." Your own surprise and mild confusion had not quite worn off. "What are you doing here?"

For a variety of reasons, he was not the typical person who stumbled into the Zürich GRC Refugee Camp. He was both too young and too old and far more put together than a normal incomer. He didn't have that haunted look behind his eyes that made your heart wrench. He looked battered and bruised but ok.

"I need a place to stay."

Your eyes ran over his form, from his fluffy dark hair and banged up face to his bright white trainers. You lifted an eyebrow. "The hospital wouldn't take you?"

He shook his head with a sheepish grin. "It's just a broken orbital. Not much else they can do for it." Your eyebrows didn't lower and he gave half a laugh. "Trust me I'm as shocked as you are."

"I'll need you to fill out some paperwork."

He winced. "Any way that could wait until tomorrow? My head is killing me."

You stared intently at his face. Over the past four months of working at the GRC camp, you'd gotten good at reading people. You had an eye for knowing who was going to be trouble down the line and who would need some extra comfort and care. You knew who to push about their stories, and who to wait for--to be there as they slowly unraveled their tale.

So while there was a lot about pretty boy Joaquin that just didn't add up, you could see in his eyes that he could be trusted to stay the night. Just not here.

"You can't stay here without going through intake," you shook your head. "But if you really need a place to sleep, you can come with me."

"Really?" Joaquin asked, turning to follow you as you set back off towards your car, and you nodded.

"It's nothing special--just my couch. But I've been told it's very comfy."

Joaquin faltered a step, slowing down. "You're sure you want me coming and bloody-ing up your couch? I could just stay here and leave before--"

"I'll put down some papers," you said jokingly in an attempt to cut off the subject of him staying at the camp.

"Ok," he said, his voice distracted before there was a quick shuffle of footsteps and he caught back up with you. "Ok, thanks."

The two of you arrived at your car shortly thereafter, Joaquin moving to sit in the passenger seat as you dumped the blankets in the car. You came around to slip into the driver's seat, quickly backing out of the spot and setting off back home.

"So what's with all the blankets?" he asked, pulling his attention from the streets and buildings and back to you.

"We got a late donation tonight," you answered, flicking on your turn signal. "They needed someone here to help organize the drop off and then our washing machine broke, so I have to take work home with me." You smiled at the joke, but he just nodded, leaving you to wonder if maybe your English was off. The next few moments passed in quiet before you checked over at a traffic light to see if he was still awake. He was, but he looked dazed. Maybe he had been telling the truth about his head. You eyed his injuries which looked even worse in the red light. Like his entire right side of his face had been smashed.

"So what brought you to Switzerland?"

It wasn't the question you wanted to ask. You wanted to ask him what had happened with the Flag Smashers--why had they beaten him up so badly. But you weren't sure you were ready for that answer or if he'd even give it. So you asked a question you didn't care if he lied to you about.

"I was looking for someone," he said, and the light turned green, causing you to turn away and focus on your driving rather than him. Still the sentence seemed to end earlier than his thought as you could feel the weight of more words hovering between you. It was a familiar pressure in your ears and your chest, and you'd long grown accustomed to the discomfort.

Like many, Joaquin didn't give the thought words to escape on.

"A refugee?" you asked, and he wobbled his head.

"Yes and no. She survived the Snap."

"She?" A small feeling like a tight wire cord wound its way around your chest and a  warmth of embarrassment flooded the back of your neck. "Your sister? Your wife?"

"No," he shook his head. "My grandmother."

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him look at you for the first time.

"What's her name?  If she came to the camp I should know her."

"Mariana Torres," he answered, and you ran through the array of faces you'd met. There was a Mariana Böschl , but she was old enough to be his mother, not his grandmother.

You shook your head slowly. "I can check the registry tomorrow, but I don't think she's with us."

"Thanks," Joaquin said, looking back out the window at the passing city. "Were you Blipped?"

"No," you shook your head, pulling into your designated parking spot by your apartment. "I was lucky." The two of you climbed out of the car, and he met you by the trunk, pulling the blankets out before you could reach for them.

"Thank you," you said.  And he gave a small grin.

"Thanks for letting me stay with you."

You gestured with your head up the stairs, heading to your third floor apartment.

Joaquin trailed behind you, arms laden with the blankets, waiting patiently as you stopped and opened the door. "Welcome to my home," you greeted, allowing him to enter before you. Your small apartment was dark, and you flicked on the light so that Joaquin could walk further inside without running into a wall or your table. "You can put the blankets by the couch, I'll wash them tomorrow," you instructed, and he did as you suggested before wandering over to the couch.

"I think I have an extra pillow in the closet," you said.

"Great," he thanked, dropping down onto the couch.

It took a few minutes to find the pillow and put a pillowcase on top of it. By the time you walked back out to the living room, the light was still on, and so were his shoes, but he was passed out. You walked over to the sleeping boy, placing the pillow down next to the couch in case he woke up and pulling the blanket over his body, your eyes once more tracing over his injuries.

You would have to speak to Karli about the violence.

#joaquin torres x reader #torres x reader #joaquín torres x reader #joaquin torres #joaquín torres #lieutenant torres #lieutenant torres x reader #fatws #tfatws

[rebeccccccaaa]

𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝓂𝑒, 𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝓂𝑒 𝓃𝑜𝓉

________________________________

𝐵𝓊𝒸𝓀𝓎 𝐵𝒶𝓇𝓃𝑒𝓈 𝓍 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇

𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉𝑒𝒹: imagine-all-the-fandoms said:

Hey you 💕 I’m so in love with your imagines, you’re a great writer! I hope it’s okay to send smth in as well ☺️ a Bucky one for where you’re crushing each other and head to a mission together in the snowy mountains where you get trapped by a storm in a cute cabin. First he’s all shy around you but in the end it’s all cute as he makes a little fire and shares his clothes to keep you warm which also leads to cuddling and finally sharing a kiss and even some loving smut when you finally admit your feelings ?

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Smut, 18+, Fluff, friends to lovers, shy Bucky, fluff, did I mention fluff? Plant stuff? you’re kinda like that bitch from sky high lol

𝒜𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇’𝓈 𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒: this is too cute and I had so much writing this, i feel it radiates like huge cottage core energy but in the snow XD anyways hope you like it bug and thanks for the request!!

____________________________________________

You were walking from the greenhouse/garden room holding a small plant when you bumped into a much larger figure, accidentally dropping said plant.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” the voice said.

“It’s ok. I’m sorr-” you stopped.

The person was Bucky and under his big black boot was your little baby plant that you were taking to your room to nurse. You stared at him with a shocked and upset look on your face and Bucky stepped back to see the poor plant squished on the floor. 

Wanda was a bystander and rushed over to help clean up. She used her powers and mended the plant pot back together but the poor bud was still wilted. 

“Are you guys ok?” Wanda asked, handing you the pot with the wilted plant. 

“You squished my plant,” you said monotonously.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said, panicked.

You playfully shook your head in disappointment trying your hardest to burst into giggles. It was ok because it’s what you do. You did… plant stuff. You weren’t exactly sure what your abilities were but you did know that you worked with plants very well.

You looked down at the bud and softly blew. Sage green magic circled the plant and life went back into the little sprout. Bucky’s panicked expression softened as he watched you use your magic. The way you smiled when the plant came back to life. That proud smile you had on made him smile too.

“There. All better,” you looked back Bucky. 

“All better,” he repeated with a smile.

“Hey, Y/n. Bucky,” Steve called you from down the hall.

“What’s up?”

“Fury needs you two in the conference room, says he’s got a mission for you two,” Steve walked away after he informed you both.

“Lead the way darling,” Bucky gestured his hand forward.

“Ah, you’re here. Why do you have a plant in your hand?”

“Bucky squished my flower under his boot,” you said.

“It was an accident,” Bucky mumbled.

“Moving on. I have a mission for you both in the alps. Some thugs are trading alien plant life so I need you,” he pointed to you, “to collect some samples for Tony and Bruce and Bucky will be there to protect you. If any plants die or get frozen you know what to do.”

You were plenty capable to handle yourself but you’ve never had to do so in the snow. You generally stuck to warmer and sunnier places when it came to missions. Bucky was pretty used to the snow so he knows to survive better in case you get stuck; but that won’t happen obviously.

“Wheels up in 30.”

You got to hide out and you were sort of struggling considering you had maybe seven layers of clothes on. You felt like a big puffy marshmallow waddling your way to the crime scene. The mission was somewhat successful, Bucky had really done all the work fighting and you just ran around tying up bad guys with vines and holding little seedlings in your pockets.

All was going until it didn’t. The wind picked up quickly and snow started thrashing around you and the others. You were fighting on the side of a hill, well Bucky was. You were still running around trying not to get shot. There was rumbling and the ground shook under you. You looked at Bucky who had taken down someone and his face held fear and concern. 

“Run!” he yelled.

“Where!” you started running anyhow.

“Follow me, doll!” 

You tried your best to run through heavy snow and with many many layers of clothes on you but it was becoming a struggle. Especially running against the wind made it a challenge on its own. Bucky was far ahead of you but thankfully turned back to grab your hand effectively dragging you alongside him running from the tumbling snow chasing after you. 

“Think you get us above ground? Maybe a tree? Rock platforms?” Bucky shouted, still running with his arm up to prevent snow and ice from getting in his eyes.

“The snow’s too thick and the wind is too strong,” you shouted back.

“I’m sorry,” you shouted shakily.

Before Bucky could respond the snowfall did a hiccup before finally settling within feet of you and Bucky. You two were exhausted and if you had to run any further, you’d probably be consumed by snow because you barely had any energy left in you to keep running.  

The wind was still harsh and the snow fell rapidly making it almost impossible to see even 5 feet in front of you. 

“We should find shelter,” Bucky said close to your face. Your nose was nearly numb from the cold and the warmth from Bucky’s proximity made it almost feel like it was burning. 

“I’m just following you,” you said with tired eyes.

After what felt like hours of walking you were practically dragging your feet and legs across the thick snow. The blankets of snow  glistened beautiful and sparkled under the sun. despite the sun now being out the weather was still almost unbearably cold. Your body still shook from the chill.

“You know, I’ve never liked winter. It was always so plain and boring with all the snow. And it’s so fucking cold; I’d rather be laying in the sun in a meadow. But this,” you circled your arms and twirled, “This is beautiful.”

“You what’s even more beautiful?” Bucky held your hand.

“What?” you said shyly.

“That cabin up ahead,” he smirked, and you smacked his chest.

“Well then, come on. I’m still freezing my butt off, and surely the seedlings in my pocket are frozen too,” you started treading the snow, grunting every step.

You got inside after a few tugs because the lock was practically frozen shut. The cabin was seemingly abandoned, else the hosts would certainly be surprised. Nonetheless, Bucky searched the house for anything to give you warmth. You stood in the living room area of the cabin awaiting instructions from Bucky since he seemed to know what he was doing. 

“Hey, doll. It looks like this place’s got two fireplaces. One here and in the master bedroom. Take your pick.”

“How long will be here?” you asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve hardly got any signal to send an alert.”

“That means we’ll probably spend the night. We should use the bedroom.”

“You can use the bedroom. I set a fire in the fireplace there, and then I’ll set one up out here for me when you’re taken care of,” he said.

“I thought we were sharing the room,” you mumbled, feeling embarrassed. See you had this little, itty, bitty, tiny crush on the fellow. But how could you not? He was perfect! You certainly weren’t going to waste the opportunity to share a bed with the guy if you ‘had to’. 

“Let’s get you taken care of,” he smiled softly.

You walked to the back room where the master bedroom was and it was beautiful. The bed was disassembled, the mattress was leaning to the side on the wall and the bed frame was taken apart. Bucky moved the bedframe to the side and flopped the mattress down to the floor. 

“Let me check for any blankets in this place,” Bucky ran off. 

You looked around and walked into the connected bathroom. To your absolute surprise there were small plants, unfortunately dead, and pots filled with dried out and chalky dirt. You could work with that. 

You picked them up and took them to the bed. You sat on the mattress and placed the pots in front of you on the floor at your feet. You pulled out the frozen seedlings and plants and placed each one in their own pot. 

That same sage green magic circled your hands and traveled to the pots where the dirt grew damp and the seedlings grew into buds. You smiled to yourself before looking up, eyes meeting Bucky’s who watched you with a grin on his face.

“It’s amazing what you do,” he said holding a bunch of blankets.

“It’s nothing.”

“No-” he was interrupted from the branches of the trees right outside the room baniging against the window hard. 

“Oh no. storm’s picking up again,” Bucky mumbled.

“Are we gonna be ok?” you asked.

“”We’ll be fine. Now are you hurt?”

“Just cold,” you whispered.

“Ok if you feel uncomfortable let me know and I’ll leave you ok?” you nodded.

“I need you to take your layers off until you reach your thermal.”

You zipped down your snow jacket that was incredibly wet from all the snow from outside. Next was a layer of your snow pants after you took your snow boots off, which were also wet; both the pants and boots.

Bucky helped you with the rest of your layers under you simply wore a thermal and your undergarments underneath. Your body was shaking still and the fire still wasn’t on yet. 

“Here are all the blankets I could find. Warm yourself up while I turn on the fireplace,” Bucky walked outside to gather some stumps of wood that were conveniently stacked next to the front door. He came back with a rock and banged it against his metal hand to create sparks which thankfully successfully lit the fire. 

“Are you feeling ok?” he asked shyly.

“Sort of, but the fire’s going so I think I’ll feel better very soon,” you responded.

Bucky was about to leave you and make his own fire in the living room when you stopped him.

“Buck, you don’t have to leave,” you said.

“Thought I’d give you some privacy,” he responded.

“I don’t need privacy, besides the fire’s already made. Just stay here,” you scooted on the bed for him to sit.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Come sit,” you smiled and patted the spot next to you.

He sat with you very closely and you feel his body heat radiating off his body like a heater. He asked if it was ok if he got rid of wet clothes too and you let him. When he took his last layer off he accidentally lifted his thermal shirt with it exposing his lower stomach. The muscle of his abdominals surprised you and you couldn’t help but oogle.

Bucky’s cheeks grew red and not from the cold. You two sat in silence. Your body was still trembling slightly and bucky wanted to help you. He just didn’t know if you;d be comfortable with the particular survival tactic. 

“I don’t want to upset you or make you uncomfortable but body heat and skin to skin contact is the most effective way to warm the body.

“Bucky, are you making a move on me?” you giggled.

“Uh no- sorry I, uh I-”

“I’m just teasing,” you smiled.

“I want to help you,” he whispered.

“Ok.”

Bucky moved away slightly and reached for the bottom of your shirt hesitantly looking to you for permission of which you granted. Your arms came up and the thermal slowly peeled off of your cold body. You were simply left in a bra and your arms covered yourself in coldness and also slight insecurity. 

Bucky also took his thermal off and tossed it to the side. Your eyes trained on his torso littered with little scars and bruises that made you want to reach out and hold him. He leaned back on the mattress and lifted his hips to remove his thermal pants and then looked back to you to make sure you were still ok.

You stood up and quickly discarded your pants as well as seeing Bucky turn his away from seeing you undress; which made your heart warm at his manners. When you were done you sat back down much closer to Bucky this time.

His arms wrapped around you and both your legs hitched over his thighs as you curled into him. His body was so hot, figuratively and literally. Your body instantly warmed up against his hardened muscles. You stayed this way while the fire burned and Bucky told you stories about him and Steve back in the 40s before everything happened. 

There was a moment of silence that settled between you and you looked into Bucky’s eyes. His hand came up and softly brushed the air from your face. You leaned into hand and smiled faintly to him and he smiled back. 

Bukcy leaned his forehead down to press against your and you could feel the tip of his equally cold nose on yours. You looked at each other waiting for the other to say something, anything.

“Are you going to kiss me?” you whispered.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” he whispered back.

“Please.”

Bucky lips attached to yours ever so gently. Your body practically melted against him, chills raising on your skin but not from the cold. His hands caressed the skin of your stomach and ribs and you moved straddled his thighs.

You felt growing wet from the way he held you tenderly against him. You started grinding yourself against his crotch feeling his dick getting hard pressing up against your core. Small moans and breathy sighs emitted from you and Bucky and his hands roamed to your ass. 

Bucky’s lips went to neck and you threw your head back for him and threaded your fingers through his hair. Bucky nipped and bit down on the skin before soothing it over with his tongue and dragged it down to your collarbone. 

You reached around and unclipped your bra and Bucky tossed over to the pile of clothes you had discarded beforehand. Bucky looked down at your chest for a second but averted his eyes to prevent you from being uncomfortable. 

His hands however kneaded the flesh of your breasts; insanely warm against your skin. 

“You’re so pretty, darling,” Bucky whispered in your ear making you shudder.

He flipped you over; the blanket fell to the side making your nipples harden from the chilly air. He stood up to remove his boxers and ran his hands up your legs sensually playing with the hem of your panties you still had on. 

He looked at you with gentle eyes before you nodded eagerly for him to take them off. After he did he crawled up body before settling between your hips. His cock was settled against your pussy and it practically throbbed, aching for more. 

He pumped his cock with his hand a few times leaning down to capture your lips with his. When he slid inside, you moaned loudly taking a hold of his shoulders with your hands. Bucky was huge! Nothing like any of your past lovers, not that you really many. 

“Hold on, hold on. I just need a second,” you told Bucky. 

He leaned down and pressed kisses all over your face; your hands cupping his face and jaw giggling. You looked into eyes once again and nodded letting him know that it was alright to move again. 

Bucky was in absolute heaven right now.

Your walls felt so soft and velvety as he easily thrusted in and out of you. A thin layer of sweat formed on his forehead. His hand reached down your arm and he intertwined his fingers with yours resting by your head. 

Bucky had been dreaming of this moment longer than he’d like to admit. He never considered himself to be a shy person; and definitely not jealous either. But when he met you, he always stuttered and stumbled over his feet and words barely getting a working sentence out of his mouth. 

Whenever Steve or Sam spoke to you, and generally flirted a lot of the time, he envied them for being so relaxed around you. He’d wanted to ask you on a proper date and take you home to worship you like you deserve; wake up next to you and make love all over again. But he couldn’t say hi without turning bright red.

But here you were, a dream come true, squirming, whining and moaning beautifully under him. 

“You are so gorgeous, baby. God, I can’t believe you're here,” Bucky kissed you. 

“Oh, Bucky you feel so good,” you moaned.

“Fuck, baby you’re taking me so well,” he praised.

You both moaned feeling your orgasm approaching rapidly. Your legs wrapped around Bucky’s torso driving him deeper in making you practically scream in pleasure. Bucky’s hips snapped in and out of you wildly desperate for that release he knows is going to be the best he’s ever had. 

When the coil in the pit of your stomach burst your back arched into Bucky and his face buried into your neck as he practically growled in pleasure. 

“Fuck that was amazing,” he kissed your neck and chuckled.

“Why are you always so shy around me? We probably could’ve done this way sooner,” you patted his back. 

“I, uh-”

“There you go stuttering again,” you giggled.

“I’m sorry. Y/n, I really like you and I have since I’ve met you. I don’t know why I feel so brain dead whenever I’m around you. I used to have no problem asking a pretty dame on a date, but when I met you, I couldn’t even say hi let alone ‘Hey wanna go on a date because I think you’re the most beautiful angel I’ve ever met in my goddamn life?’ It felt impossible,” Bucky sat up and sat you on his legs still wrapped in the blanket. 

“Bucky, I- oh,” you gasped.

“What?” you pointed to the wooden floor of the cabin. There were small buds and patches of grass coming through the cracks of the floorboards. There were also vines and branches covering the walls coming from the floor as well.

“Oh! Did I do that?” you looked back at him and he nodded.

“Oopsies,” you giggled.

“What if we had sex in the garden?” Bucky asked.

“Oh my gosh, Bucky!” you laughed.

“What?” a smile grew on his face watching you laugh in pure delight.

“You’re so silly,” you shook your head before yawning.

“Come on, doll. Let’s go sleep and we’ll see what’s gonna happen after the storm passes,” Bucky kissed you goodnight and you fell asleep comfortably in his arms.

___________________________________________

@mathletemadison 

ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ:

ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ʙᴇ ᴀᴅᴅᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ᴘᴇʀᴍᴀɴᴇɴᴛ ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ ᴍᴇssᴀɢᴇ ᴍᴇ! ;)

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes smut #james buchanan barnes #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #marvel smut

[catxsnow]

BROKEN ROSES - DAMIJON

Summary: Damian hated Valentine’s day more than anything. Jon thought it was romantic, he wanted Damian to be able to appreciate the holiday just as much as him.

Warning: fluff, angst, mentions of blood and Damian beating up a thug while Jon’s a cutie. 

A/N: Happy Valentine’s Day everyone! I, much like Damian here, don’t like it very much but me and my mututals decided to do a little secret santa for Valentine’s day and I got Ms. @screennamealreadyused​ and went with a little Damijon 

I know it’s not my usual writing but I thought I would post it nonetheless, I hope you all enjoy! 

Word Count: 4k

Valentines Day had to be one of the silliest days of the year. 

It was simply an excuse for couples to get out for the night and go on a date or drop the kids off so parents could have a night to themselves. To put it lightly, it was just a day that forced pressure on boyfriends and girlfriends to waste money on chocolates and roses. Not to mention it left all those who were single feeling lonelier than ever. 

It wasn't like Christmas where you got to spend time with family or Halloween where you could dress up and go party. Even St. Patricks day was better than Valentine's Day. The holiday was something that was easy to dread as it rolled around each new year. Holiday, if you could even call it that. 

Maybe the reason that he hated it so much was because every couple he knew soaked up the twenty-four hours of pure romance. If they were truly in love, they'd spend every day of the year treating each other like they would on the fourteenth of February.

Single people everywhere found themselves alone in their room or making a desperate attempt at a bar to find someone for the night. It was pathetic, almost. Why should they feel the need to suffer just because they hadn't met their match yet? Why should those lucky enough to fall in love get to celebrate? Didn't they have enough already? 

The other reason he hated it so much was because he never had a reason to understand it. Never in love, never feeling loved by that one person that was supposed to mean everything to him. Never being brought flowers or gifts because someone was so head over heels in love that they wanted to express it in every way possible. 

Valentine's was just another day of crime-fighting and sore muscles. A night of saving couples from greedy thugs or saving young women who had the unfortunate of running into desperate men. A night of coming home with bruises and an empty room. A manor that was far larger for just three people. 

Selina was meant to drag Bruce out on some extravagant night in the town on Valentine's day. Dick and Kori had their own plans in San Francisco. Tim and Steph even wanted to go out on a date even if their relationship had been anything but stable at that point. Jason himself probably had some sort of plans to lounge around a bar until a woman joined his side. 

That left Damian home alone in a massive manor with no plans and a  heart filled with hatred. He'd spend another night of saving lives just to feel like something was missing in his own. There was always something missing. Something that kept him up at night wondering what the big deal about love really was. 

He dreaded the next day. 

"It's ridiculous! Why would anyone want to come up with such a silly way to spend your day?" Damian's cape snapped in the harsh winds. The cold winds felt as if it was cutting through his skin as he ran across rooftops. Another night of Gotham's winter, another night of taking down worthless thugs. 

His face burned with the cold. Joints sore as he jumped down the emergency stairs on the side of an old building when hearing screams. He could barely feel the hits on his knuckles when beating up the fool that tried to fight him instead of running. Only when he remained on the ground, blood pouring from his nose did Damian stop. 

"I think it's cute," Jon finally spoke up. The drastic change of Jon’s words and the scene before them nearly made Damian snicker. "Mom and Dad always go out on dates, he buys her flowers, makes breakfast. They've been doing it forever. How could you hate a day that's supposed to be filled with love?" 

"If true love really exists," Damian pulled his grappling gun from his belt and shot it up to the building ahead. He landed on top of the roof once more, waiting for his friend to join him. "Why does there need to be one day to express it? Why not every day?" 

"It is every day, Robin," Jon tried to explain. Trying to explain something like this to Damian was like talking to a brick wall. He refused to see the joy in it and wouldn’t admit that someone could love a little extra on a designated day. "When someone's in love every single day is dedicated to make them happy - even when you don't even realize that you're doing it. You don't get to see what someone's like when they're in love. Your parents..." 

Damian narrowed his eyes. There was love between Bruce and Talia, at one point in their loves. It was never true love - no, it was far from that. It was a love of power, strength. Nothing like how Clark and Lois were. If Bruce was lucky, he would finally have found that in Selina - or if he didn't fuck it up before he got the chance to find out. 

"It's idiotic." 

Damian would never admit that he was envious. There was no reason that he needed to waste time being in love, yet there were moments that he wondered what it would be like. The devotion that one had was something that wasn't forced or expected, it was gained over time willingly. 

Being in love was something that he wasn't trained for. His mother never taught him that growing old didn't have to be lonely. He didn't know what it was like to fall asleep next to someone he trusted or waking up just the same way. No one told him what it was like to be in love, and at that point, he didn't care. 

"It's romantic," Jon corrected. He should have known not to bring up the dya with Damian. If there was anyone in this world that was going to hate Valentine’s Day, it was him.  "You just don't want to agree because you've never been in love before." 

"And you have?" Damian scoffed. Jon might have been surrounded by love, but that didn't mean anything when it came to the real deal of it all. He hadn't experienced being in love just the same as Damian. Neither of them knew what it was like - so why did he feel the need to defend it so much? "What does a kid know about love?"

Jon's bottom lip curled into a pout. The cold air didn't seem to bite nearly as harshly as Damian's words. You didn't have to be old to experience love. Kids of all ages experience different kinds of love and all of them were just as valid. Damian, as badly as he didn't want to admit it, had experienced it too. 

It wasn't the same as true love - not like his parents or Dick and Kori or anyone else that he knew. True love didn't come from family, it came from finding yourself in another person. Sometimes, Jon wondered if he found that in Damian. 

><

The morning of the fourteenth, Damian woke up grumpy. He glared at the breakfast Alfred made for him and even more so at the red and pink scattered on every screen in Gotham city. The little sleep that he had gotten that night was poor, starting his day off bad enough as it was. It only got worse as it progressed. 

Surely the kids at his school would be excited throughout the entire day. He heard his classmates speak of their crushes or who they wanted to hand out cards to all week and it was beyond disgusting to hear about. He wanted no part of it, but by the giggles and gazes of most the girls in his class, he was bound to be. 

Damian scowled as he found yet another rose tucked away in his possessions. The entirety of the day he had found them. The first was in his locker at school. Just before the first period as he collected his books he had noticed it sitting on the top shelf. No note, no sign of breaking through the lock, just a singular rose. 

He saw the girls that fawned over him giggle at the sight of the flower. His guess that it had been from one of them and that they had asked a teacher to open it up to place it in. Loose petals fell through his books and his whole locker smelled of perfume. Without a word, he shoved it back in, hearing the crack of the stem from his aggression. 

The next had been in his desk at third-period class. He hadn't pulled it out, not wanting to give the satisfaction to whoever had put it there. They were going all in, he had to give them props for that. Nonetheless, he was still angered at the idea of someone falling into the scheme of Valentine's and putting its effects on him. 

Damian wasn't interested. At all. 

The third was one that had been tucked into his backpack. He wasn't sure how someone had gotten it there considering his bag had been with him for most of the day. It joined the rest of the broken flowers that were shoved in the back of his locker and not to be looked at again. 

Whoever had the silly idea that he had to be a pawn in this ridiculous holiday was going to suffer, greatly. Damian was not about to participate in the day's events of someone trying to either profess their love or admit a crush. He wanted no part of any of it - especially on that specific day. 

The ruined roses were scrunched up in his hand as he walked towards the car that Alfred was to drive him home in. Red petals trailed behind him. Alfred was standing just outside the car, waiting for Damian to arrive. His eyes were glued to the flowers, curious about where they had come from. 

"A secret admirer, Master Damain?" Alfred cocked an eyebrow. Damian said nothing, though the scowl on his face grew - even more so when the back door was opened for him only to reveal yet another. It rested on the leather interior, this time a small note attached to it as well. 

"What's this, Pennyworth? Who put that there?" 

"I'm afraid I don't know, I've been standing here this whole time," Alfred had been just as confused as Damian. How had someone managed to sneak into the car while he was standing right there? The young boy hesitated before snatching the note off the seat - likely it was from the same person who had scattered them around all day to find. 

However, the paranoid side of him was ready to believe that it was one of his enemies trying to forsake him. The note was typed, no clear sign of who could have left it. If Damian was weary enough, he could run it for fingerprints back at the cage, however, after reading it, he believed it to simply just be the same secret admirer he had all along. 

Happy Valentine's Day, Damian! I hope your day was filled with love <3 xx

Damian cringed at the typed heart. If someone wanted to tell him of their feelings, they should say it to his face rather than these cryptid roses - and most importantly on any other day of the year. He wouldn't accept it. 

><

Damian grumbled as he walked through his empty home. Just as expected, it had been cleared of all residents, leaving him by himself on the ever so blessed, Valentine's Day. His ribs were wrapped from his night of patrol, a bruise just under his eye, and his ankle was sore from a bad landing. 

The entirety of his night out he had been saving unfortunate couples, finding a plethora of flowers shoved in trash cans, and many retched window views. He was fine without Bruce for the night, though he would admit that activity was higher than usual. Damian's body ached from the extra hits he had gotten, even after his hot shower. 

A poorly made sandwich was held between his teeth as he scrolled through the tablet in his hands. Bruce's location was halfway across the city, just as it had been the whole night. Whatever he and Selina were up to that night, he wanted no part of knowing. 

Besides, his mind had been preoccupied with the roses that he had received that day. They were scattered on his desk, only one of them remaining fully intact. It wasn't that he was curious as to why they were sent to him - it was obvious being the Wayne heir and all. However, he hadn't talked to anyone at his school for them to put in this much effort for him. 

The whole night that he was out he was distracted by who had gotten him the roses. Damian had become even more annoyed at the secret admirer. 

A tapping came from his window. Damian took another bite of his sandwich and tossed the tablet onto his bed. The dimly lit room made it hard to see who was knocking on his window this late at night, though there were only so many people that could get into the manor's grounds anyway. 

Familiar blue eyes and a mop of black hair that didn't resemble his father's grinned at him. Damian rolled his eyes but opened the locked window for his friend to enter. 

"Isn't it past your bedtime, Kent?" Damian scoffed. It was already nearing dawn, whatever he showed up in Gotham for had to have been important. Usually, it was Damian making late-night trips to the Kent farm to drag Jon somewhere, this had been a strange turn of events that he had to admit he hadn't expected. 

Jon pulled himself into the room. He rubbed his hands together, cold after waiting outside for longer than he would like to admit. His eyes immediately met the broken roses on Damian's desk. A frown grew on his face at the thought of Damian ruining the flowers the moment they were in his palm. 

He picked up the broken roses as Damian threw on a sweater. The blast of air that had entered his room left him chilled. Besides, he didn’t need Jon to see the bruises that he had gotten that night. Whenever he saw Damian injured it always had him worried. 

"You broke them," Jon's jaw trembled. A beautiful piece of nature that had been wilted with death. Damian was just the same. A beautiful soul that had been raised in horrendous ways leaving him tainted with darkness. He deserved better, just as the roses had. 

"Some fool left them in my possessions," Damian rolled his eyes. He returned to the tablet, this time looking at the news that he had missed while he was out. Jon stared hopelessly at the roses. The once beautiful petals, now crushed and missing. Maybe broken flowers were a clear sign to a broken heart. 

Jon felt his own fall with the weight of Damian's grudge. He should have known better than to leave mysterious flowers on the one day of the year that Damian hated the most. Why would he believe that he would actually care - or even more so believe that it was him. There was no love in him on that day. 

Hell, it was hard to believe that there was any love in him on half the days. 

"Fool," Jon scoffed to himself. Nothing but a fool to Damian, even without knowing that it was him that left the roses. His eyes sealed shut, tears brimming against his lids but refusing to let them fall. He could have easily walked away from this. Jon could have not told Damian that it was him that left the flowers, that he was the helpless fool that had fallen in love with his best friend. 

Walk away and no one gets hurt. Walk away, and hide his feelings forever. Jon was tired of hiding everything about himself. He couldn't tell people that he was the son of Superman. He couldn't use his powers in front of people without them figuring out that he was Superboy. He couldn't even tell his best friend the nature of his true feelings. 

Maybe he was a fool. 

"Someone went through the time and effort to give you these and you couldn't even care less?" Jon set the roses back on the desk. His arms crossed over his chest as he stared down at Damian. He only shrugged. "How can your heart be so filled with hate when all people do is give you love?!" 

Damian's eyes narrowed. Jon might have been vocal about his spontaneous plans when out in the field, but not like this when they were stuck in civvies. Whatever got him upset like this must have been important. 

"Why do you care?" 

"Because you never accept when people want to care for you!" Jon threw his arms up. "You always try to make it out like you don't need anyone, there's nothing wrong with needing someone! Even Batman needs his friends and family so why can't you just admit that you don't want to be alone all the time?" 

"I'm perfectly capable of being on my own, clearly. Attachments are simply a way of holding me back," Damian got defensive. He stood up and jabbed a finger at Jon's chest. The last kind of lecture that he needed was one about love. Love was the last thing on his mind when he lived the life of Robin right alongside the Bat. "Attachments hold everyone back, it's a weakness." 

"Attachments, love, it's what gives people strength, Damian" Jon thought just like his own father. Love was what kept him human, love was what reminded him to never cross that line no matter what. It should have been the same that kept Damian from crossing that line once again. Instead, he took after his own father thinking that he could do everything on his own. 

"I'm tired of looking at you and only seeing a broken boy who's scared to love someone. I'm terrified that you're going to forget that there's people in this world that care for you and you're going to make a sacrifice that you can't come back from! You're more than just a mask Damian, you're a friend, a brother! You're a son.

"Stop thinking that you have to do it all on your own. You're not a grown-up, you don't need to grow up alone. You have Bruce, your brothers... you have me, Damian. You'll always have me, even if you don't want to admit it." 

Damian was silent. His thoughts were like a maze trying to figure out just the right path that would lead to the meaning behind all of Jon's words. The outburst, the sadness at his roses, the fear in his eyes that he had when mention the thought of losing Damian forever. 

Jon had left the roses. 

Jon Kent. His best friend, partner against crime, the one person outside his family that he could trust. He had left the roses for Damian throughout the day and was forced to listen to him bash the idea of it all. Horror struck his face, not for the fact that he had left him, but that he had completely insulted the idea of the broken roses. 

Why did Jon leave them to begin with? To try and prove a point about Valentine's day? Did he plan to do it before even knowing about Damian's opinions about the holiday? If he didn't, what was his motive? 

Damian felt like a fool. He was the son of the world's greatest detective, how did he not know that it was the one person he was closest to? He should have paid more attention at Gotham Academy, maybe then he would have seen Jon sneaking around. 

"Why did you leave them?" Damian asked in a quiet voice. The silence that had occurred between them was borderline painful. Jon had been anxious about what Damian was thinking about and he was right to. How could he expect that he wouldn't figure it out. 

Jon trembled. His hands shook at his sides, breath shaky. Everything could be ruined. A spontaneous idea that was brought to life out of love could be ruined with hate. He couldn't lose Damian, not now, not ever. He meant to0 much to him. 

"I wanted to give you a reason to feel loved on Valentine's Day." It was the partial truth. He did want Damian to see that the day wasn't a reason to hate, it was a reason to love, to feel love or to give it. Jon couldn't bring himself to say the words so desperate to escape his throat. 

"I wanted you to see that you didn't have to hate on a day that was meant to be filled with so much love. You deserve love just as much as anyone else Damian, I hate seeing you think otherwise. You're not broken, you're human. It's okay to feel things. Do you know how hard it is to know that the person you love doesn't want to be loved?"

Jon's voice cracked. Tears welled in his eyes as he watched Damian's emotionless face set in stone. Weak fists hit his chest. Damian grabbed his fists before they could hit his chest again. His grip wasn't rough, though his eyes still held no feeling. 

"I'm sorry," Jon whispered, head hung low. There was no reason for him to feel sorry, he had done nothing wrong. Yet, under the judging gaze of Robin, he felt the need to apologize for expressing himself. However, it wasn't just his own behavior. He felt the need to apologize that Damian had grown up without love, that he believed that he wasn't capable of such a primal emotion. 

Damian dropped Jon's fists. There was a moment that he thought that he was going to pull away. Damian threw his arms around Jon, pulling him tight against his chest. Though he was more confused than ever, he knew one thing: he cared for Jon, always. 

"Broken roses for a broken person." Damian had never seen himself as broken. He was born to be the best, to be undefeated. He was born to lead, to be the best warrior that the world had seen. Coming to Gotham, one of the worst cities in the county, he had found that maybe he was broken. 

Jon was right, he had been raised to see love as a weakness. Love was nothing but a hostage and he wasn't about to fall in a trap. Damian loved his mother, his father. He reluctantly loved his brothers, but it wasn't the same kind of love that Jon was talking about. 

One day he would understand what it was like to be in love. One day he would accept that love wasn't something to be scared of, it was something to embrace. Damian would know what it was like to be in love, just as his parents, his brothers, his friends. 

"You're not broken," Jon repeated. His fists gripped into Damian's shirt as he accepted the hug. Warm breath fanned against the older boy's neck that sent a chill down his spine. His instinct told him to move, to get away and remain safe. His heart told him that he was safe. 

He was broken. A hopeless boy that didn't know what love was. However, if there was one person that would show him the way, the right way, it was Jon. His roses that day were broken and missing petals. Thorns pricked anyone that decided to come near. 

Broken roses could be just as beautiful when the right person found a way to avoid the thorns. 

-

Taglist

@pricetagofficial @mora-miserium  @babymango-writes  @redrobin-yumm  @simp-is-what-i-am  @catsofsmoke  @subtleappreciation  @officiallydarkgeek @spiitfiires  @pinkdiamond1016  @childish-kiwi  @givetimdrakeacoffee  @gunnedrobin  @anythinggoesfandoms  @local-fandom-trashcan  @bikoncon​

Get on my taglist here

#damian wayne x jon kent #damijon #jondami #supersons #Damian wayne #jon kent #jonathan kent

[scaredyships]

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

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

word count:  14.5k (...help)

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not a fan of swamps?”

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

“How far away are we?”

“Not very, maybe an hour or two.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that was all it took.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would you like some soup?”

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

“Something wrong?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me, sir?”

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

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

“Uh… yeah… raiders.” “We have money.”

You raised an eyebrow at them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where do you live?”

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

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

“In the middle of nowhere.”

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

“You have lodging?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mando stopped his actions to turn and face you fully.

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

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

“…fine. But I’ll hold you to that.”

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get up, kiddo.”

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

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

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

“We’re there.”

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

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

And a lot of them were children.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is, uh, there anywhere else available—“

“This will be fine.”

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

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

“Are you sure?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

“Knock, knock.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yesterday.”

“I mean in front of someone else.”

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

“I wasn’t much older than they are.”

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

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

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

“This is the way.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

They were terrible.  

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 And then Omera appeared.

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

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

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

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

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

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

 Apparently, Cara Dune had some thoughts of her own.

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

 Your distaste turned to her next.

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

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

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

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

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

 Why did it bother you so much?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “I’m leaving him here.”

 You and Cara Dune stared at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

 “Mando-”

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

 Was he that ready to be rid of you …?

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

 You weren’t ready for that.

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

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

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

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

 “He’ll get over it. We all do.”

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

-

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

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

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

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

 They were here.

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

  "Mando!”  

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

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

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

 "I told him it wasn't safe here."

-

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

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

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

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

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

 “I’ll miss you so much.”

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

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

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

 “Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[raevenlywrites]

Ties That Bind 22 of ???

Of course the first person I encountered upon waking was Adelina.

Rei was long gone from the tent, if the chill of the bedroll was any indication. I’d expected to find him just outside the tent flap. Instead I was met by the long, lean body of Zane’s primary guard.

And lover.

My cheeks immediately flamed in spite of myself, knowing what she must think. My mouth worked uselessly as my mind offered no words to explain. I couldn’t exactly claim it wasn’t what it looked like, though Rei and I certainly hadn’t spent our time together in the way I knew a serpiente would assume.

But surprise followed surprise, as Adelina ushered me back into the tent with a conspiratorial air.

“We don’t have much time,” she whispered, nearly knocking me over in her rush to get us back under cover. “Our men will only keep each other busy for so long.”

“I-- what?”

I couldn’t begin to parse it. Adelina didn’t seem to mind my clueless state. She rushed on, eager to say her piece.

“I need to know how we’re meant to play this. Is Zane to be your lover or not?”

I could only blink.

“I know how the serpiente would read this, but I just want to be sure. You’ve taken his hand before you mother, you danced with him last night before the crowd. But when its just us, you’ve made no overtures. So I just want to know what role I—I mean he—is meant to play before you people. Are you two seriously planning to join our kingdoms?”

I stumbled to a seat, sitting before my wobbling legs made the choice for me. Did they really think--

“Danica, please. We don’t have much time.”

I felt like I was missing something, great swaths of something. I suddenly wished I’d stayed behind to walk and talk with them more as the serpiente had made their way here.

“I… honestly have no idea.”

It was the best I could give her. I felt this woman deserved the truth, but Zane and I hadn’t really discussed it. Mostly because I hadn’t thought either of us had taken the suggestion seriously. But looking back on all our conversations--

“What do you mean you have no idea?” Adelina snapped, but even without a serpent’s ability to read emotions I knew she wasn’t cross with me. The tense, pent up energy that so often drove me to pace was obvious in her posture, her tone, her entire being. I realized suddenly that if the serpiente could sense emotion anyways, there was no reason not to wear their hearts out on their sleeves. Or lack thereof, as was often the case.

I was getting side tracked. My mind was working furiously, but not in any useful direction. Adelina, like a dog among sheep, was not having it.

“Sweet Anhamirak, Danica are you listening to me? How will we be presenting Zane to your people?”

“I had wondered that myself.”

Adelina’s head whipped around as the man himself pulled back the flap of the tent. Rei scowled just over Zane’s shoulder. But amazingly, he didn’t pull the serpiente away from me to make sure I was unharmed. Adelina, at least, it seemed he trusted.

“Shall we have this conversation out in the open?”

The question was ostensibly for me, but his eyes remained locked with Adelina’s.

“You were never going to ask--” she began, tone pleading.

“I was biding my time,” her prince asserted. “Neither I nor Danica appreciate being rushed.”

“We’re at the bleeding gate!” she countered. “If not now, then when?”

“If we could maybe refrain from shouting?” Rei suggested. “And maybe come out of the tent? We’re making a scene.”

Zane nodded and backed up, holding the tent flap with a magnanimous sweep of his arm.

“Ladies.”

The last thing I wanted to do was face a mixed assemblage of curious serpiente and avians, but I didn’t think hiding in the bedroll with a blanket over my head was an option. I let Adelina help me to my feet, drawing the coolness of her hand into my demeanor. I hoped that maybe, some small of my reserve went to her as well. The shaken woman looked like she needed it.

The sun was well and truly risen, slanting sharply through the trees. It was mid, maybe late morning, but any sleepiness I might have felt was burned away by the singing of my nerves. Time to face the day.

Adelina, to my surprise, stayed on my far side, keeping myself between her and Zane. Rei fell into step on Zane’s other side, the four of us making the short walk to the main central fire and the breakfasts cooking there. Food suddenly sounded wonderful, and not just because it would present further delay. That was simply an added bonus.

Zane handed me down onto a log with as much grace and decorum as he would if it were a dining room chair. The absurdity of it made me smile, which I realized was the goal when he rewarded me with one of his own. I was learning to tell the difference between his pleasantly bland, haughtily mocking, and genuinely pleased smiled. I hoped I got to see the latter one more. It looked good on him, turning an inhumanly beautiful sculpture into something warm and soft and touchable.

And just like that I was blushing again, with merely the hint of thoughts of intimacy.

Zane laughed. It wasn’t a nice sound.

“And here I thought I was being on my best behavior. Courtly manners too forward for you, pretty Danica? You didn’t seem to mind my hands on yours last night.”

I scowled at the abrupt shift in his tone, the venomous suggestion I knew was meant to wound. Was he really mad at me for showing genuine emotion? Well, too bad. He was about to get even more.

“That’s petty, Zane. Don’t threaten my reputation just because you’re unhappy with something.”

Zane blinked, and Adelina laughed. She reached down and squeezed my shoulder, startling me, Zane, and Rei all. That only made her laugh harder.

“Well done, Dani. You’ll handle him just fine.”

“That’s Shardae, to you,” Rei bristled.

Zane opened his mouth, and whatever was going to come out of it was not going to be good. I gave a sharp pierce of a whistle, not thinking, just determined to cut this off before it got any worse.

“Alright! That’s enough.”

Adelina removed her hand, which I was surprised to find I missed, but it was time for me to take the reins while I could. I could invite her to be more informal with me later, if there was a later.

“Adelina brought up a valid point with me Zane; we need to sort out what kind of impression we intend to make.”

For a moment, Zane looked pained, almost like he would plead with me. But he straightened, put his feelings aside, and just like that, I was talking with the Arami of the serpiente, the man who would be king. Like Adelina’s hand, I missed seeing the genuine him, but appreciated his cooperation.

One ego down—and another immediately took its place. Rei fidgeted beside me, and without even making a sound, he was throwing just as much a fit as Zane had. I could ignore him—I should ignore him—but I’d had enough.

“Yes, Andreios?”

“Nothing, Shardae.”

“No, no. Speak your piece. You obviously disapprove of something.”

I watched him pull away from me, drawing his emotions deep inside--only to come rushing back in an even larger wave.

“I do. As your alastair, I take offense to serpents barging into your tent, and taking liberties with your person.”

My mouth dropped open, eyes as wide as the moon. I absolutely could not believe my ears. This was not my Rei. It was so utterly unlike him to be speaking of such personal things in front of company. Had one single evening of kissing really changed him so?

I was suddenly more glad than ever that I’d not let my mother bully me into an announcement last night. I had some reevaluating to do.

“The man I name as my alastair will have to be comfortable with the serpiente way of doing things. I don’t need a hoverhawk. I need a partner, who understands me.”

It pained me to have to speak so bluntly with others listening. I’d have much rather had this discussion in private—or better yet, not at all. This was not my Rei. Unfortunately, I did not have time to deal with him now. And if he really intended to be my alastair, he needed to understand that my people and this peace would have to come first.

Rei’s face went stony, then empty. This time, it was no retreating tide. It was a frozen glacier, his hurt feelings behind a wall of ice for good.

“Of course, Shardae. I don’t approve of it as a guard, either. But Adelina is hand picked by the Arami, and its not my place to question her.”

Just as my words were meant to subtly remind him that he was not yet my mate, his were intended to throw Zane and Adelina’s relationship in my face. It steeled me against pity I might have been feeling before. I had neither time nor patience for this.

“Quite right, Captain.”

I turned my back on him, and my own hurt, and gave all my attention to Zane.

“Please pardon our rudeness, Arami. Now, let’s discuss introducing you to my people.”

The Ties That Bind Tag list: @thehellinsideyourhead @therecouldbecolorsandlove @adventuresofacreesty @writing-with-melon @rainydaydarling @faithfire

Raev’s Gen Tag List (should I tag you guys in this? It IS a thing I wrote. I’m gonna say yes unless you guys are like “no of course not we’re sick of hearing about your stupid fic for a twenty year old book XD)

No one has complained yet so yall gonna keep getting tagged :P

List is currently: @lordkingsmith @writinglyra @drbibliophile @mperialscribe @adie-dee @lexiklecksi @theramwrites @writinginslowmotion @raenawrites @apollon-arium @anika-writes @faithfire @thehellinsideyourhead @adventuresofacreesty

#raev does fic #hawksong fic #ties that bind fic #hawksong #danica shardae #zane cobriana

[thejamesoldier]

A Single Frayed Rope

AO3 Link

Chapter 3

A/N: sorry for such a long gap between uploads, i’ve made this chapter extra long as an apology! with the pandemic and having to figure out a stable financial situation, its been super rough for me, but coming back to write this fic made me feel good for the first time in a long time :) I hope you enjoy!! xx

Chapter 4 - Horseshoe Overlook II

First order of business is to wash.

You've never been so soiled in your entire life, and you're pretty sure your stench could be picked up at least a mile off if the burn in your own nose whenever you take a breath is anything to go by. There are a million things you want to focus on besides bathing -- like finally getting some decent fucking hours of rest, but you work to pace yourself and not give in to the scattered anarchy your brain keeps descending into whenever you let it go blank for too long. Breaking off small pieces of a larger horror is the only way you're keeping yourself sane at the moment. The previous hold you had on your impulses is frayed down to nothing now that the ropes are gone and you have the freedom to do things as simple as itch your nose. It makes you twitchy, off-kilter in a way that sometimes yanks you out of your own mind. It's like pushing with all your might against a wall of stone that suddenly turns to air. It's a reaction you weren't expecting, and its exhausting.

One of the girls -- or women you should say, volunteers to take you down to a river near by to wash. Freckles. Pinned curls. Kind. Mary-Beth, your memory supplies as she leads you to a secluded spot away from what she warned was a more heavily traversed part of the bank.

You say nothing on the hike down the hill the gang has mounted itself atop of, though Mary-Beth doesn't attempt much conservation. Arthur, who at first had out right refused to let Mary-Beth go anywhere unescorted with a 'wild crazy woman', eventually relented after receiving a firm but undecipherable look from Hosea. It was an effort on your part to care even a little, all you wanted was to fucking clean yourself, rebuffing the disrespect of a man who had no high-horse to give any sort of morality speeches from was the least of your concerns.

"Watch your step here, the ground's a little loose," Mary-Beth warns as she lifts the front of her dress up a respectable amount in order to see where to place her feet.

Again you say nothing, only follow her example and lift the filthy hem of your own skirt and try to walk in her footprints across the patch of mud. You hug your change of clothes tighter to your side (those of which were donated by Mary-Beth this time) with your other hand as you both slowly make your way out of the slippery vat, and onto a shore of grey pebbles. Thick green growth encases you two in a private alcove where the river branches off in a tame half-circle detour before rejoining its main body down stream. The sound of the bubbling water, birds chirping in the canopy above you, and the sun splintering through gossamer emerald leaves would have made you smile in any other circumstance. Nature this untouched is rare and beautiful yet you can't find it in yourself to care, there is no room in you to feel joy right now. It's all instinct and survival, you feel so...rabid. Maybe feral is a better word for it. You simply don't feel all that in control of yourself, like if something unexpected were to happen, you'd react like a wild animal -- fight or flight and nothing inbetween.

In all honesty you feel a bit crazy. There is this buzz in your brain that peaks when you're nervous but never quite dies back down when you're not, it only returns to this constant unnerving hum that's begun to reveal itself as an opposing force to your effort towards a clear present mind.

"Um, Miss?"

It underlies everything you do, like you're getting constant shots of adrenaline every minute. This excess energy burns like poison in your veins and you know it'll sicken you eventually, but even if you wanted it to stop, you wouldn't know how to turn it off.

"Miss? Are, are you okay?"

It's a sign you're spiraling but hell if you have any mental space to pick at that particular ball of yarn on top of everything else. And holy fucking hell I time traveled --

"Y/n?" Mary-Beth's voice echoes a little over the noise of your turmoil, and you find yourself unsure if you turned to face her too fast or too slow as your vision swims.

Time violently warps then and you're grasp on sanity in turn takes a sharp slip -- the world is suddenly tipping itself upside down and you're falling, falling, falling...

You try to remember how to breathe because suddenly you can't.

"Wait," The word wheezes itself from your lungs as your mouth opens and closes in attempt to slog air down your throat, "Wait,"

Mary-Beth pales and you know you're scaring her, and if you could you would try to reassure her that you're fine but you honestly can't remember how to speak --

"Wait!"

-- so you continue to stand there and shake, repeating a sound that tastes like a word but you're not sure --

"Wait! Wait!"

Mary-Beth stands there another beat before making a run for it. She sprints by you the way you both came, and the second you're alone you collapse to the ground, knees digging into the pebble shore through the soiled fabric of your dress, fresh change of clothes forgotten as both of your hands start to claw at your throat, trying to breath -- why can't I breathe ?!

"Wait!"

As you gasp and hyperventilate, struggling to remember where you are and how you got here, it dawns on you that what you feel crawling under your skin and suffocating your throat is panic. You're...you're panicking. You thought you were taking this nightmare one horrible bite at a time why -- where did this tsunami wave of panic come from? You were doing so well holding it back, holding on, why --

Firm hands are suddenly gripping your shoulders and it takes you too long to realize that there is a small group of people standing around you, above you, closing you in, trapping you -- you're trapped who are they what do they want ?!

Your vision blacks out though you can still feel things, still hear things though it comes to you in disconnected pieces, out of order.

"WAIT!" You cry into the black, voice hoarse and broken as you try to breathe around the sound that won't stop coming from your mouth, your face feels wet, "WAIT!"

--

Kieran was shaken when Mary-Beth -- a complete worried mess -- discreetly came up to him at camp, whispering about Y/n being unwell by the river. And now as he slips through a patch of mud before forcefully parting thick shrubs into a small alcove, he sees her kneeling on the ground, hands at her own neck, struggling to breathe. Kieran's heart plummets down to drop out of the bottom of his feet.

"Y/n?!" He goes to his knees in front of her and grabs her shoulders, resisting the urge to shake her. Mary-Beth keeps her distance, covering her quivering mouth at the scene.

"WAIT!" Y/n yells, though it comes out as more of a hoarse whisper then a scream.

"Y/n! It's me! It's -- it's Kieran! You remember me?"

"What do you all want?! Who are you?! Why are there so many of you?!"

Kieran and Mary-Beth exchange a look, its only the two of them in the clearing. No one followed them down.

"Th-there's no one else but Mary-Beth an' me, see look! Just me right here in front of you -- there you go, see its just me, you see me? Then look, behind me, right there, see Mary-Beth?" Kieran coaxes gently, watching the logic he's laying out for her slowly collect the mania that scattered the sense in her eyes.

--

Realization dawns on you at the same time your sight returns. You let Kieran carefully take a hold of your wrists and pull them away from the red abused skin of your neck. You let him ground you, you let yourself acknowledge sensation one piece at a time: the pain in your knees from the pebbles digging in, the ache in your head, the raw skin of your back, the dryness of your throat, the burn in your tearducts -- and suddenly, before you can bottleneck it into a trickle, the whole world comes rushing in on you at once.

The smell of moist dirt, the sound of running water, the warmth of the sun, the caress of the wind against your wet cheeks, the privacy provided by all the surrounding vegetation. But even with all this reality, the figures remain. You're scared to look up, scared to stare at anything but their feet. Kieran's voice is getting more desperate though, you have to look up -- have to let him see you're recovering. With a shaky in take of breath you raise your gaze so it lands squarely on Kieran. In your peripherals these...figures, don't do anything but stand there. In fact they don't speak, don't move, don't even look like they're breathing. As Kieran fusses over you, his voice slightly muted as the ringing in your ears refuses to recede completely, you chance a glance over his left shoulder. As soon as you shift your eyes over to the figures they disappear, or more like blur, like its a trick of the light. You can still see them in your peripherals, just not the ones you're trying to look at directly. You slide your eyes back to Kieran, and notice that the figures you just tried to look at reappear.

Your breath struggles to find a comfortable rhythm as this new horror piles onto your fresh panic. Have you lost your mind? Is this part of time traveling? God, like time traveling wasn't enough to stop your heart, now you see ghosts?  

"Breathe, you're breathing that's good -- in through the nose out through the mouth, that's it," Kieran instructs, attempting to not to let you look away from him again, his hands gentle where they cup the outsides of your arms helping to dictate the pace in which your shoulders rise and fall.

You let out a shuttering breath and watch Kieran's own chest fill and empty, trying your best to match his movements. Eventually you do manage to wrangle your palpitating heart back down to a normal rhythm, and with this steadier beat comes your sense. The figures remain, though once you close your eyes to take one last large inhale to truly settle yourself, they're gone when your lashes lift again. Your hands are clutching the outsides of Kieran's forearms and you release them instantly, as if burned. A flush of embarrassment rises up to lick at the skin of your neck, it heats up your collar as you try to give Kieran a reassuring smile that ends up being more of a grimace than anything else. Kieran's face, previously pinched tight with worry, relaxes though so you figure you calmed him enough. The guilt hits you like a sledgehammer when you catch sight of Mary-Beth over Kieran's shoulder standing a few steps away, looking for all the world like she'd seen a ghost.

You wonder if that's what you looked like when you first saw the figures. You hope it was less alarming, though you figure having a full blown panic attack negated any possibility of that.  

"Y/n?" Kieran says softly, hands no longer touching you but still hovering just in case. The guilt guts you again.

"I'm fine," You murmur through a tight throat. At the doubtful look Kieran gives you, you add, "Now, I'm fine now."

You shift your gaze back to Mary-Beth and feel your cheeks heat at the realization that at your most vulnerable you were watched, made a spectacle.

"I'm sorry if I scared you, I-I didn't mean to, I, I haven't ever -- that's never happened to me before," Comes your wobbly explanation, all heart and no thought.

Mary-Beth hesitates a beat, taking a visible gulp to steady herself, before making her way closer only to kneel down beside Kieran in front of you. You flinch at the proximity, shame weighing your head down so much it lowers.

"I was only worried is all, didn't know what to do to help," She starts, voice shaky but kind, always kind, "I'm glad I went to get Kieran."

"Thank you, it -- I'm grateful for your, um, discretion."

"Sure thing, Miss," Mary-Beth nods, a soft smile lifting one corner of her mouth.

"Y/n, you can call me Y/n."

"Okay," She says with a breathy laugh, still a little shaken but being incredibly generous about it as she attempts to hide it.

There's a pause where you knot your fingers together, gathering the courage to face Kieran.

"Thank you Kieran, I --,"

"No thanks necessary," Your face jerks up at him at his words, his face goes soft at your surprise, "My Ma used to...worry, like that, after my Pa died."

"O-Oh." You mumble, utterly overwhelmed but you're not sure by what.

Silence throbs between you three for another moment before a twig cracking in the distance snaps all three of you out of your shared stillness.

'I-I best get cleaned up or the whole gang will think I murdered Mary-Beth," A nervous laugh catches in your throat, the muscle and delicate skin over it sore and red from all the scratching you did to it.

"Right," Kieran says, remaining kneeling with you as Mary-Beth rises to a stand.

You stare at Kieran for a moment, waiting for him to process what you said.

"Right!" Kieran's voice cracks as it finally sinks in and in a mad scramble that makes Mary-Beth giggle, he makes his way back through the brush leading back to camp.

He slips in the bit of mud on his way out of the alcove and this time, you join Mary-Beth in a timid laugh at Kieran's expense.

--

After washing yourself with a bar of crudely made soap Mary-Beth provided you, you slip into your shift and frock trying not to shiver. It takes you so long to figure out how to tie yourself in, guessing what layer goes under what, that Mary-Beth -- who had washed and dressed too -- approaches you to help.

"Still feeling...worried?" Mary-Beth uses the same term Kieran did when describing your panic attack as she steps up behind you to tie the strings of your skirt properly. You're grateful she attributes your lack of knowledge on how to properly dress in these period clothes to you still being a bit unsettled.

I mean you still feel quite shaken, but you have your nerves under control -- steady.

"I'm much better now, thank you," You assure as she gently turns you around to then adjust the frilly collar of the blouse that's been lent to you, "Thank you Mary-Beth, for everything."

She slows her ministrations for a moment and lets her gaze drops to yours, the weariness that sat in her eyes earlier fully evaporates, like mist under the high noon sun.

"You're a good woman, I think, at least no worse than the sort I'm familiar with. We shall be friends, Y/n."

"Okay," You allow, unsure what else you could say to that, though the sentiment does lighten the weight in your chest a little.

You guess she's okay to trust at least on some level, she was the one who regularly fed Kieran and you when you were still considered prisoners. Never tossed curses or insults at you either.

"Come," She urges as you both collect your soiled garments off the ground, "Let me introduce you to the other ladies, I promise they're much kinder than you might be expecting. Even the men, though a bit rough I admit, are mindful of us at the very least and quite sweet at their best."

You doubt you'll ever see them that way, in fact you'd bet your life on it, but you keep that to yourself as Mary-Beth leads you both out of the alcove and back up to camp.  

--

The other women aren't too bad.

Tilly is young and sparky, Karen is loud and lonely, Abigail is protective and torn, Susan is stubborn and proud, Molly is insecure and loyal, and Sadie is broken and hard. You match your personal interactions with them, with the impressions you had of them while tied up, reminding yourself to never forget everything they did or said to you while you were the enemy. They take to you easily enough you suppose, though Sadie keeps to herself and Susan -- or you should say Grimshaw, believes herself a level above them all. Not unlike Molly who hadn't even spared you a glance from the perch she'd claimed in Dutch's tent planted in the center of camp. Mary-Beth seems closest with Tilly, Karen, and Abigail, absolutely determined to pull you into their tight knit group and brush off any doubts they had about you being an O'Driscoll whore. You allowed her to do this but only to an extent and only out of respect for Mary-Beth, you didn't trust them -- barely trusted them to be civil like they are being now. In the end it was Kieran who you felt safest with, felt like you could really breathe around. The only ally you had in this place -- an equal.

You seek him out once the sun starts to set after kindly refusing Mary-Beth who offered a place for you to rest with the other women. Kieran is with the horses, though he's got his eyes on the tree line opposite of where he stands. With a twang of worry at how focused he is, you follow his line of sight but only see tree trunks and shadows cast by the setting sun.

"Kieran?" You call tentatively as you walk up to him. He jumps, completely startled, and whips around to face you.

"Oh! Y/n I, I didn't hear you,"

Your eyebrows knit at his expression, "Is something wrong?"

"No! No, I was just, uh, waiting for something."

"Waiting? Waiting for what?"

"Well, my - my horse, Branwen, she's -- well she's quite a loyal girl. Found me at Colter she did and followed us down from the mountains, saw her when we was walkin' behind the wagon. She hasn't had the nerve to approach the camp, what with all the noise and the unfamiliar herd of horses millin' about."

"I didn't know horses were that loyal," You say in quiet astonishment, you always thought that kind of stuff only happened in those cheesy horse flicks.

"Oh yes! If you treat them right and earn their trust and respect, they'll do almost anything for ya."

Your eyebrows jump lazily at this, "Go figure."

"What?" Kieran asks, confused at the term.

"Uh nevermind, so, have you a found a place to sleep?"

"Sleep?" His throat sounds dry all of a sudden.

You stay silent, waiting patiently for a response, wondering why he's become so skittish. He licks his lips, maybe a nervous habit, and can't seem to look you in eye.

"Well, yes I have, but surely Mary-Beth has found you somewhere suitable."

"I don't trust any of them to not kill me in my sleep."

Kieran backs up a step as if you'd struck him, "Mary-Beth wouldn't --,"

A harsh huff blows from your lips.

"No she wouldn't. I, I don't feel like I could sleep among so many...strangers." Comes your quiet admission.

Kieran observes your face for a moment, really takes in your expression.

"I know how you feel," He pauses, fiddling with his sleeve cuff, "How about you sleep while I watch?"

Your head snaps up and you eye him with potent suspicion, but before you can comment or become truly alarmed Kieran trips over himself to clarify.

"N-Not watch you! Not like that! Christ alive no, m-more like watch your back -- stand guard, that way you can sleep without havin' to worry."

Something very close to amused fondness rolls through your chest and clears out any doubts on Kieran's intentions. A giggle escapes your lips at how flustered he is at the notion of what you'd initially thought he meant.

"How about we take turns, I sleep for half the night, and then you for the rest? That way we both get sleep without having to freak out."

Kieran looks like he's about to argue, but he watches you place your hands on your hips very very deliberately, and relents with a sigh.

"Oh alright, but I have first watch!"

You break out a triumphant smile, a real one, and give his left shoulder a friendly punch.

"Deal!" You confirm.

Kieran rubs at the place where you punched him, a bit confused at the gesture but still finds himself laughing with you.

It turns out Kieran picked a sleeping spot near the outskirts of camp behind one of the wagons far from where anyone would disturb you. Some sort of campfire set up for whoever was on guard duty sits a couple paces away. The fact that there was a twenty-four hour patrol routine frayed on your nerves more than you wanted it to. It reminded you that these people were hunted, that if something were to happen you'd be caught up in it as well, even be killed because of it. The idea of dying for these people made you sick, but you never let yourself think about it too long or your anxiety rose to dangerous levels.

As you settle down on the bed of hay that serves as your bed, Kieran plops down cross legged behind you.

He gives a weary sounding sigh, "You know folk'll talk, with us sharing the same sleeping space an all. You sure you want to deal with that?"

You twist around, finding yourself staring at Kieran's hunched back as he picks at the grass near his ankles.

"I don't care what these people think of me. They can say whatever the fuck they want," Kieran jumps a bit when you curse, "I trust you, I only care what they say if you care Kieran."

A pregnant pause grows between you two then, something cold twinges in your chest.  

"Do you? Care?"

"I care only for what might be said about you, I know you say it don't matter, but we're already hated. The women at least seem to like you, you -- you could be one of them, be part of the gang I mean."

You sit up and put a hand on Kieran's shoulder, gently urging him to turn to face you.

"Kieran you have been my only ally since all this started, I could care less about being part of this," You wave your hand vaguely to the camp.

"Well you should care, what other option do we have? We know too much about them, we can't ever leave. You understand that don't you?"

Your face begins to drain of blood. For some reason you hadn't thought of it like that. These people weren't just hunted, but they hunted as well. You knew their faces, could identify them if asked to. You knew their names, their habits, their whereabouts. They'd never let you leave this gang, not alive.

"Oh my god," You say in quiet horror.

Kieran notices this but remains silent, sharing your sentiments. The need to travel back to your time becomes even more of a priority than before if that's even possible. You needed to find a way to escape, and hopefully you could help Kieran get free too.

"We'll find a way Kieran, I promise I'll get us out."

Kieran firmly shakes his head, turning back to face forward and away from the determination in your eyes.

"There's no where for me to go even if we did manage to escape without bullets in our backs. I have no money, no trade, no skills."

"You've said you're good with horses!" You try but Kieran only shakes his head again.

"You have to have some sort of reference or be known to be respectable to work at a stable, even one in a town and especially on one of them fancy ranches. Plus I'd wager that by the time we would have the means to escape, our faces'll be plastered up on wanted posters along with the rest of the gang's."

You try not to blanch further at this, not having considered that either.

"We have to try and work our way into this gang Y/n, its either that or die. I know this kinda life, done it before, I know our options and I'm tellin'em to ya now."

Kieran shifts to look at you over his shoulder, his gaze insisting things you don't want to hear.

"It's the only way."

There's a sting in your eye that you swiftly ignore by blinking hard against the feeling. Your breath shutters out through your nose, and without another word you lie back down. Kieran watches you do this, his mouth parting as if to speak but he shuts it and turns back around. Silence reigns once more, a gap stretching between you that's worrisome. Keeping the nerves out of your tone, you promptly break the quiet.

"What did you do when they took you to the O'Driscoll hideout to convince them to let you be part of the gang? What did you say to try and convince them of my innocence? You seemed so sure you could untie me when you came back." You ask in a murmur, having been wondering about this since Kieran came rushing back to you tied to the tree, whispering about being free now.  

Kieran shifts a bit and huffs, "Well I first swore I'd never seen you until you were being tied next to me behind that wagon in Colter, but they didn't believe me. So I then said that Colm didn't usually stick with one whor -- uh, lady of loose morals, that he liked, er, variety. They again said they didn't believe me, so I told them the truth. Any woman Colm spends a night with usually doesn't come out of it unmarred."

"Unmarred?" Something in your gut sinks in horror.

"They always leave pretty roughed up. He's not, he's not gentle with 'em. And I said that if you was his, if he had...acquainted himself with you and often enough for you to know some of his personal secrets, you'd have been in a much worse state than they originally found ya in."

"You mean besides being naked and freezing to death?" You scoff, disgusted with this Colm person and starting to understand why everyone in camp seemed to hate Kieran and you so much thinking you associated with that kind of man.  

Kieran clears his throat, "Besides that."

There's a pause, then, "Forgive my lack of delicacy, but you were found n-naked? Why? If you don't mind my askin' of course!"

You manage to choke out, "It's a long story."

"How did, how did they take you back to camp?"

"I don't know, all I know is that Arthur is the one who saved me. Though I wish he'd left me to die instead of bringing me here."

"Mr. Morgan saved you?" Kieran asked in disbelief.

"Yeah," You confirm rather sourly, "The one who doesn't seem to have a merciful bone in his body."

"Well I'm not dead because I shot an O'Driscoll and saved his life at Six Point."

You take a moment to consider this information.

"Owing a life debt is not the same as mercy." Comes your stubborn rebuff, refusing to give Arthur even an inch of sympathy in your mind.

The both of you quiet again, and this time the silence isn't heavy with unspoken words. Just before you're about to fall asleep, you find the extra fabric of Kieran's coat with your fingers, and twist the rough material into your closed hand. Your dreams consist of a warm chest pressed to your front and the worn fur lining of a coat wrapped around your back, a pocket of safety tucked between an arched neck and a stiff flipped up collar...

--

You wake to the noise of the camp, birds twittering high in the trees, and Kieran's jacket laying over your body that's curled tightly in on itself during the night.

With a sore grunt you sit up, body still aching from all the abuse its been through. Kieran hadn't woken you, he'd let you sleep through the whole night. You feel a flare of guilt and frustration rise in you, followed quickly though by begrudging fondness. You should have known he'd do something like that, the softie. Getting to your feet, you wipe the stray pieces of hay stuck to your skirts off and groan internally at how uncomfortable it is to sleep in these old fashion clothes (thank god they hadn't stuck you in a corset). Though its leagues better than nodding off tied to a tree. Once you make your way into camp proper, Mary-Beth bumbles up to you all smiles and simmering questions about how you slept last night while leading you to a wooden pail that she informs holds the water the women use for their personal hygiene.

"Heaven forbid we're made to share with the men!" She exclaims good-naturedly as you approach the mini bathing station set on a stool by the women's tents.

You watch Karen finish splashing water in her face before scrubbing and rinsing her teeth. She spits the water out onto the grass beside her and not back into the pail (which you are grateful to see), then scoots over with a mumbled good morning directed at you when Mary-Beth ushers you forward to do the same. You hope that you can get your hands on some soap that is possibly softer against your skin than what you used yesterday by the river. If you don't wash your face twice a day you know you'll break out, and though acne should be the least of your concerns right now, the familiar motion of splashing water on your face pushes the domestic thought to the forefront of your mind. As you dab your face dry with a clean cloth that Mary-Beth hands you, distractedly you wonder if the water you are using was cleaned or prepped in any way. Surely washing your face with river water wouldn't do your skin or your tastebuds any favors. Fighting a grimace, you scrub and then rinse your teeth but find that while the water doesn't taste like algae as you feared it might, it doesn't taste like the bottled water you have in your fridge at home either.  

Once you're done, you thank Mary-Beth for her guidance and are about to turn to go find Kieran, when Karen appears at your right and hooks her arm through yours, pulling you over to their tent where a small crude vanity is set up.

"Do you wear makeup Y/n?" Karen asks, "Only Mary-Beth, Tilly and I use this station, though Grimshaw likes to sometimes steal the face powder and pretend she's not wearing any, the old hag."

You don't know what to say, a bit shell-shocked at the familiarity they're employing, as you catch a glimpse of Molly across camp, just a step outside of Dutch's tent, carefully applying red lipstick. She brings the pretty little decorated hand held mirror she's using closer to her lips to inspect her work, turning her face slowly from side to side, utilizing the early morning sun's soft glow.

"Uh, sometimes," You start but quickly backtrack when you realize you know nothing about the makeup from whatever time period this is, "But not enough to really know how to do it myself, my --,"

"Yourself?" Karen interrupts, Mary-Beth and her both stilling in their fussing to face you, "You mean you had someone to do it for you? What, you some kind of heiress or somethin'?"

The questions make you nervous, but you school your features so as to not let that show.

"No, nothing like that. My older sister did it for me, she always liked to dress me up in things." You lie.

"Oh a sister? That must be nice, what's she like?" Mary-Beth asks, not unkindly.

Fuck.

"Like all older sisters I guess, she's nice until I borrow her stuff without asking." It's vague but believable, you hope it convinces them.

Karen lets out a snort and Mary-Beth shakes her head with a smile.

"Sounds about right," Karen says as she directs you to sit.

"I-I really don't think make-up is necessary," You warn as Karen begins to rummage through the little that's laid out in front of you.

"Lord's sake! We need to get into town, we've got barely nothin' left that didn't freeze to sludge up in Colter!" Karen grumps, completely ignoring you and continuing to search finger through the tiny bottles and tin trays.

Mary-Beth laments Karen's statement with a sigh, neatly pinning a curl up into the mass she'd collected into a bouquet near the crown of her head, using a corner of the mirror you've been sat in front of as a guide.

"Uncle was sayin' yesterday that he'd been meaning to go into town today, maybe we can catch a ride with him." Mary-Beth suggests.

Karen rolls her eyes, "Let's hope that out of us women, one of us can drive. I wouldn't trust that ol' geezer to steer a spoon into a bowl."

You're about to once again attempt to excuse yourself and look for Kieran, when Tilly walks up to the girls and you with a distinct scowl on her face. She plops down under the awning of the tent, pulls out some sort of sewing project and sets to work without a word.

"What's wrong Tilly?" Karen inquires almost as soon as Tilly had sat down, ignoring her show of clearly wanting to be left alone.

"Grimshaw." Is Tilly's only response though this seems to be explanation enough for both Karen and Mary-Beth, they both groan in sympathy.

"If you don't want to wear any make-up, let me at least do something with your hair," Mary-Beth pleads, turning back to you, as Karen elbows you off the stool when you duck away from her hand holding some sort of powder puff.

"Um,"

"Just a brush through then? Your hair is, well it's just a bit tangled." She furthers as Karen leans in close to the mirror and starts putting on what seems to be this era's version of eyeliner.

"A bit? It looks like rats have taken up occupation in there." Karen scoffs as she holds her eyelid taught with one finger and uses her other hand to drag a fine brush along her lash line.

"Karen!" Mary-Beth admonishes as Tilly giggles down into her sewing across the tent.

You only sigh, still uncomfortable with them pretending like they didn't all hate your guts a couple days ago. Except for Mary-Beth. You sigh.

"Okay." Your surrender is met with a wide grin from Mary-Beth.

"Mary-Beth loves to do hair," Karen explains unnecessarily as she moves onto her other eye.

You're then sat on a different stool facing out towards camp, and Mary-Beth begins the long grueling process of brushing out your hair that hasn't seen shampoo in over a week and a half.

--

It's around mid-morning when Mary-Beth finally finishes with your hair. You're a bit surprised she stuck with it, you thought after about twenty minutes with only a small portion of your hair untangled to show for it she'd give up. But she was oddly determined. Karen and Tilly had gone to ransack Pearson's wagon in search of breakfast and brought back a few loaves of bread with a can of peaches. They laid the pre-cut slices of fruit heaviest with juice over the loaves of soft bread they'd thumbed open. It was delicious. After a week of only eating crumbs it was comparable to heaven. Once you finish, you ask if there is any left that you could take to Kieran.

"The O'Driscoll?" Karen scoffs, licking her fingertips clean of peach juice.

All previous good will she'd been building with you disappears. They had all watched as Kieran and you suffered and did nothing. A fuzzy memory of Karen tossing a still lit cigarette bud in Kieran's face resurfaces and it sours your frown into a hateful scowl. These women are not your friends, a part of you feels ashamed you let them trick you into thinking that, even for a moment.

"He is not an O'Driscoll."

Karen, Mary-Beth, and Tilly freeze at your tone, Karen seeming at a loss for words at the look you're giving her. All previous levity dives into insufferable tension.

"Sorry," Karen apologizes in a voice very unlike the brash snark she'd been using all morning.  

You don't say another word, you only collect the last loaf of bread, the near empty can of peaches, and storm off in search of Kieran.

You find him coming out of the treeline near where the gang's horses graze, with a new horse in tow. Kieran has a smile on his face. As you make your way over to him, avoiding contact with anyone else, you realize you've never actually seen Kieran smile before. This time Kieran sees you coming and the grin on his face grows, it warms your heart, reminding you who your true friend is.

"Is that Branwen?" You ask through a smile of your own, walking around the herd to one of the hitching posts near the hay wagon Kieran is making his way over to.  

"It is!" Kieran replies as he gently guides his horse to stop before the post, giving her dirty mane a loving pat, "Been coaxin' her to me all morning."

"She's pretty," You offer as you come to stand next to him, being careful not to move too fast, unsure how to handle yourself so close to a horse.

"Oh she looks like a two cent nag with all the filth she's got collected in her coat."

"Well I can tell from the," You gesture with the peach can towards the mare, "Colorings, that she'll be super cute when she's all clean."

Kieran blinks furiously at the terms 'super' and 'cute', but you rush into another sentence in the hopes of distracting him from your odd terminology.

"I brought you breakfast," You present the bread and the peach can to him.

He looks down at your offerings and only stares, "That's kind of ya, but where did you get it? Did Pearson give it to you?"

You shake your head, "The women shared it with me."

Kieran stares at you for a moment, then blinks up at your hair, seeming to just know realize it isn't in knots anymore.

"Oh," He says dumbly, "Oh."

"So, breakfast?" You say again, trying not to laugh.

"I should really care for Branwen first," Kieran begins to say but trails off at the look on your face.

"Thanks for waking me up last night to switch guard shifts," You muse, rolling the peach can between your fingers. Kieran's eyes drop to watch the motion and he gulps, "Really appreciate waking up feeling like a worthless friend."

You know you're going hard on the guilt trip, but you can't help it. He's easy to tease but you are truly peeved he didn't wake you.

"We had an agreement Kieran," One more moment and --

"Okay I'm sorry!"

There it is.

"I knew you wanted me to wake you up to switch, but I couldn't help it! You looked so tired, I just couldn't do it." He whines.

You pretend to ponder on this, shifting your weight to sit in one hip.

"I'll only forgive you if you eat first, then you can care for Branwen."

Kieran looks so genuinely torn by this you almost relent, but he caves before he makes you feel guilty and grabs the food from you. You stay, wanting to make sure he eats it all.

"Wait!" You cry as he stuffs the entire loaf into his mouth.

He startles and stares wide eyed at your outstretched hands.

"You're supposed to put the peaches on top," You pout, "That way the juice sinks into the bread and it isn't too dry."

Kieran only shrugs at this, chews the bread for another moment before swallowing (though you feel like he should have chewed a mouthful that big a bit longer; seriously that must have hurt going down), before sticking his fingers into the can to scrape out the last few slices of peach. You roll your eyes at this.

I guess men will be men no matter the time period.

"Okay I'm done, can I wash Branwen now?" Kieran asks your permission, though you suspect this is done more out of fond spite than anything else.

You find yourself rolling your eyes yet again as you snatch the can from him, and answer him anyways, "Yes."

Kieran gives you a quick thanks before rushing back over to Branwen, cooing at her sweetly, before starting to remove the weather worn saddle from her back. You place the can by your feet, ready to sit down in the grass and watch Kieran for the rest of the afternoon, even offer to help though you don't the first thing about cleaning a horse, when someone clears their throat behind you. You swivel your head over your shoulder and find that its Mary-Beth. She looks sheepish at best, guilty at worst. The softness in you hardens.

"Um me and the girls were wonderin' if you wanted to ride into town with us," She waves a hand towards the main entrance of camp and you see a wagon hitched and ready to go. Karen and Tilly are sitting in the back looking at you across camp, while the elderly man they called Uncle and Arth --

"I'm fine." You decline automatically when you spot Arthur sitting on the driver's bench next to Uncle, fiddling with the reigns.

Mary-Beth pauses, her expression tensing like she had expected that response. You hear all the noise behind you quiet, you know Kieran has turned around to listen.

"And usually that'd be fine an' all but, we need to get you clothes of your own, seeing as you can't keep borrowin' ours." You must make some sort of face because she steps forward, voice thin with nerves, "We don't mind! It's just we don't have many outfits to spare, it'd be more laundry, more work. Plus we wanna put what money we have left together to get you something to wear of your own."

"I don't need your charity," You snarl before you can stop yourself. If they think a new dress is going to make up for almost two weeks of torture --

"That's not what this is! It's..." She sighs in frustration, though you have a feeling she's not frustrated with you.

"They're tryin'," Kieran murmurs behind you suddenly. Mary-Beth looks up at this and for a startling moment you think she might cry.

"Yes, we're tryin'," She says on an exhale, giving Kieran such a profound look of gratitude it makes you consider her offer, "An' we don't know your sizes, or we'd save ya the trouble of the trip. Though, we thought you might like an afternoon out of camp."

Before you can put the pieces together yourself, Kieran crouches down to get eye level with you and bumps your shoulder with his.

"This is good Y/n, it's a sign of trust. They're lettin' you outta camp." He tells you softly, meaning the words for your ears only. The look he had in his eyes last night reappears now, it makes you want to hit something.

Your gaze gravitates back to Arthur sitting in the driver's seat, smoking with his hat tilted low over his eyes and looking for all the world like a hero straight out of one of those old western movies. He resolutely doesn't look your way even though the entire rest of the wagon, including Uncle, are staring unabashedly at Mary-Beth and you.

"It's not a sign of trust," You whisper, turning your head towards Kieran so only he can hear you, "It's a test."

Without another word you rise to your feet, trying not to wince at the ache still present in your back.

"If I go then Kieran gets to come too." You state firmly -- nonnegotiable.

"Of course!" Mary-Beth agrees quickly.

Kieran makes his way back to Branwen though, who had been standing so patiently behind you this whole time, and begins to lead her towards the water pails kept by the herd.

"I'm staying," He says, and at your look of minor betrayal he adds, "Gotta clean up my girl, plus I'd have nothin' to do in town."

You know he's only saying that to avoid conflict, because no matter what Mary-Beth agrees to, you have a feeling Arthur wouldn't approve of both O'Driscolls coming along. Your bitterness grows distinctly more potent. Your heart clenches painfully in your chest when Kieran gives you an encouraging smile, nodding his head towards Mary-Beth urging you to go.

"I'll be fine, now go!" He says when you refuse to move still, unsure if you can.

This was in part about sticking with your ally yes, but also you didn't feel safe going with them if Kieran wasn't by your side. Who's to say Arthur wouldn't suddenly decide to beat you even though he'd chosen not to before? You didn't know him, didn't know them. You only trusted them to do what they'd always done, and that was be cruel and unfeeling towards you. Mary-Beth less so than the others but still. Arthur terrified you the most out of all of them. He had such anger in him, the kind that made a man destructive to himself and others. Whatever other complexities he might have, he is undoubtedly dangerous and that's the last thing you wanted to defend against right now.

"She'll go," Kieran says for you when you remain quiet.

Your eyes close as you struggle to contain the knot of emotion roiling in your gut.

"Okay," Mary-Beth murmurs, unsure.

"When I get back," You say, voice low, as you turn to face Kieran, "I'll want to see Branwen in all her glory."

Kieran gives you a ghost of the smile he'd had earlier, and nods in acquiesce.

Without another word you pivot on your heel and walk towards the wagon, brushing past Mary-Beth. You hear her scurry to catch up with you after a few beats, though you make sure to keep your eyes down at the ground as you approach the wagon, unable -- or more like unwilling, to let anyone see the riot of emotion wrecking havoc in your eyes. Once you reach the lip of the wagon Mary-Beth waits for you to climb up, before hauling herself up too. You sit on the right bench across from Karen and Tilly, Mary-Beth sliding in next to you.

"I can't believe we're going to see civilization," Tilly suddenly starts as Arthur snaps the reigns and the wagon jerks forward, "It feels like weeks since we did."

"Yeah, Valentine, the very embodiment of civilization," Uncle interjects with a wet sounding cackle, "You ladies are gonna love it!"

"Okay then," Arthur starts as he pulls the wagon out of the cluster of woods that hide the camp, "Let's go!"

Everything in you turns to stone at the sound of his voice, so many conflicting experiences with him -- with that voice, jamming themselves to the front of your brain all at once. You're so tense Mary-Beth tenses beside you too. Before awkward silence can settle over the group, Uncle twists to face the women in his seat.

"Ladies! Sing us a song!"

It seems to be the right thing to say because after a short chorus of giggles, Karen cues the girls in with a nasally but not unpleasant song about a girl in Berryville. They sing loudly, carelessly, and happily, relishing each other's company, the sun, the fresh air, and the views. Refusing to enjoy anything, you keep your gaze down on your hands that pick at the material of your skirt. Maybe this whole thing is a blessing in disguise. There are bound to be newspapers in a town right? They had books in camp so you know printing presses existed. You could possibly figure out where the hell you were and what time period you were in. It had occurred to you that asking Kieran for the date not just by day, but by year would come across as odd, even if he would tell you without many questions. The last thing you wanted to do was compromise the trust Kieran had in you, your only ally. You still have your eyes glued to your lap when you hear a panicked,

"Woah! Woah there!" A stagecoach comes barreling past the front of the wagon, Arthur having to pull the reigns up short to avoid a collision, kicking up huge clouds of dust that descend down around you.  

"Look at that coach! He's...he's all over the place," You hear Uncle mumble under his breath.

The women are still singing, though slightly distracted now as you all crane your necks to see what the commotion is about. Arthur encourages the wagon's horses left onto the main road where, just ahead, the horses of the runaway coach come to a reeling stop and with an audible snap, break free of the reigns.

--

"Oh goddammit! Oh shit, the horses!" Comes the cursing from the coach driver.

Arthur slows the horses to a walk as they come upon the stopped coach, one of the shires -- a big white stallion -- takes off in a fury towards a thin copse of trees on the other side of the road. Before he can grapple with shoving down the instinct to help the man, Tilly pipes up from the back.

"Is one of you gonna get that feller's horse?"

"Oh I got lumbago! It's very serious," Uncle immediately deflects without hesitation, like he had the excuse ready.

Arthur refrains from saying anything especially cruel to the old man in response, knowing he'd only make himself look like a fool. A part of him wants to push the wagon into a full gallop, leave this small choice behind him in the dust. He feels her eyes staring holes into his back though, and it makes him uncomfortable. Out of spite he wants to ignore the man, just to prove to her -- to himself that he can...that he's still cruel and angry enough to ignore a person in need. Arthur growls internally at himself. He has no idea what he's on about. With a sharp inhale and a quick clench and release of his jaw, he wordlessly hops out of the wagon, tossing the reigns at Uncle and getting the petty satisfaction of watching him fumble to catch them. Arthur lets himself do this despite feeling like he's chipping away at something important, something he needs to protect himself. Because if he's not angry he's empty...but she's staring --

"I'll see what's going on." He says through a tight jaw, promptly interrupting his own train of thought, "Lumbago, really," He mutters petulantly to himself as he makes his way over to the driver.

The stagecoach driver, catching sight of Arthur coming round to his side of the coach to help, hops down from the driver's bench and lands on shaky legs.

"You alright there friend?" Arthur inquires as the driver steadies himself against the side of the coach looking like a colt just learning to walk.

"Oh hey! You couldn't help me get my other horse back from over there, could you?" The driver says in leu of a response.

Arthur ignores the lack of manners, taking in how frazzled the fool truly is. Must be new.  

"Sure, no problem." Arthur says, briefly thinking of stealing the horse but waving the thought away as quickly as it appeared -- old habits.

"Thanks mister, its the white one over there." The driver instructs with a sigh of relief.

Arthur isn't sure how to feel about how simple -- how easy being kind is, it feels so foreign yet familiar, so natural and good that for a moment Arthur's heart stops. He actively ignores his thoughts and her watchful eyes from the wagon, following him as he makes his way across the road and into the smattering of trees where the white shire has taken refuge. Arthur coaxes the stallion to him easily enough, the beast coming up to him only after Arthur made him move his feet a little to earn his trust, show him he was the leader. He grabs hold of the dragging reigns and checks to make sure the horse didn't hurt his mouth by stepping on the reigns when fleeing or when he ripped clean away from the coach. The horse's soft mouth seems a little tender but no serious damage has been done, lucky beast. Arthur clicks at stallion to follow and leads them both back to the stagecoach driver currently wrangling the other shire back into the coach restraints.

"Here, here you go." Arthur announces himself and the returned horse.

The driver whips his attention over to him, stopping his fussing over the horse's tack, and exhales heavily in relief and gratitude.

"You're a gentlemen, sir, a gentlemen!" He exclaims as he takes the reigns from Arthur.

Arthur's chest aches at the praise, like acid in his stomach -- unworthy.

"No, not really...I was just," Arthur glances over his shoulder at the wagon, "Tryin' to impress the women."

He hears the girls giggling at this, though he knows which one of them remains silent.

The driver gives a hearty chuckle, "Well, anyway, thank you!"

Arthur nods at the man, biting back the warning about the shire's sensitive mouth and to go easy on the reigns next time, and heads swiftly back towards the wagon.

"C'mon!" Uncle urges as Arthur hauls himself up into the driver's seat.

"To Valentine!" Karen cries as Arthur snaps the reigns and the wagon lurches forward.

Arthur's grateful no one is bringing up --

"You're turnin' into a regular ol' fairy godmother there, Arthur!"

The urge to push Uncle out of the wagon takes a fierce hold of him. He only tightens his grip on the reigns instead.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Arthur grits out, delivering Uncle the most unfriendly glare in his arsenal.

"It means you've gotta heart!" Mary-Beth interjects from the back, "A small one perhaps, hidden deep inside, but a real one!"

Her words are a surprisingly odd comfort, but they mostly confirm his fear. Its simpler if he's just fury and hate. The idea that beneath all that is something truer than what he is now, that's something he absolutely does not want to deal with right now. Or ever.  

"And you haven't! You repulsive old lizard!" Mary-Beth crows at Uncle, the girls all murmuring their adamant agreement.

"Lizards have hearts!" Uncle argues weakly, though Mary-Beth doesn't dignify that with a response.  

"Well Arthur," It's Tilly this time that speaks up, "I'm proud of you."

God were all of them gonna praise him like he just saved a newborn child from certain death? He doesn't think he can take much more of this. Arthur attempts to remind them all who he really is.

"To be honest, if you lot hadn't been here, I probably woulda robbed 'im." He says, hoping to regain some semblance of the intimidating image he'd carefully curated over the years. A bit concerned it could be knocked so easily, and over an act as simple as helping a stranger.  

Uncle wheezes out a dark chuckle at that, Karen joining him, but Mary-Beth speaks up again strangely determined to drive her point home.

"Well, you didn't!"

Arthur wonders belatedly if this is Mary-Beth's way of trying to endear him to the her, who has remained silent this whole exchange and ever since she got in the damn wagon. Something twists suddenly in his gut but Arthur smothers it on reflex, dawning his armor of anger. Good, he thinks, let her fear me, and laughs along with Uncle and Karen as they cross the railroad that circles through the town and lumber past what looks to be the station and post office.

"Smell those sheep!" Tilly says as they pass by a couple sizable livestock pens at the same time Arthur hears Mary-Beth promptly snap out her fan, and begin beating it quickly against the smell of shit.

Karen gives a hearty scoff, "Or is that Uncle?"

"Oh very funny," Uncle grouses in a slump beside him.

Arthur can't help the grin that spreads across his face.

"This looks like a decent little town." Mary-Beth insists even as she continues to vigorously work her fan.

"Other people," Tilly groans, "Finally!"

"Look at all that snow on the mountains! Sure don't want to be back up there," Mary-Beth points out, everyone in the wagon turning to glance at the icy peaks in the distance and all sharing a collective shiver.  

"You think we should have asked Molly to come with us?" Tilly wonders after another moment of taking in the bustling town.

Arthur is quickly assaulted with the image of Molly walking past the livestock pens getting mud and shit and who knows what else on her shoes, most certainly ruining the hem of her dress, and almost lets out a bark of laughter. Molly O'Shea would rather die than be subjected to an afternoon in a town like this. Karen, as Arthur knew she would, jumps at the opportunity to tear into the Irish woman.

"Oh no, Miss O'Shea is far too high and mighty now for the likes of us, or to do any real work. She's a society lady now!" Her tone bleeds heavily with sarcasm and bitterness, Arthur wonders if Dutch is aware of how much animosity lies between some of the women of the gang. Sure they all bit chunks out of each other once in awhile, but this divide between Molly and the other ladies was far wider than Arthur felt was smart to ignore.

"Okay, take a look around ladies," Karen buffers on, not lingering on the negativity she created for too long, "Let's see what we got here."

They're all silent as they keep an eye out for possible opportunities. Arthur carefully navigates the wagon down the main road of Valentine, weathered wooden buildings sinking in mud line the path, paint chipping, signs swinging in the slight breeze, and folk coming and going. He catalogues a sheriff station, a general store, a hotel, a saloon, a gunsmith, and even a doctor's office. Not bad for a livestock town. The sounds of horses whinnying in a decent sized stable at the end of the street catches Arthur's particular attention. He perks up when he spots a good place to park the wagon near a building under construction adjacent to the stables. Maneuvering slowly to their destination, he stops the wagon with a gentle 'woah' to the horses once he's brought the bulk of the wagon out of the way of traffic.    

"Alright! Here we are, just like I said," Uncle boasts as everyone stands to unload, "The cultural center of civilization, man at its finest!"

Arthur only rolls his eyes at Uncle's attempt at humor and effortlessly hops down from the driver bench.

"Uncle, what're we doin'?" Arthur asks before the old fool spews anymore nonsense.

"Well, we're gonna do what any other self-respecting maniac does," Arthur signals a stable hand over to feed and water their horses as Uncle talks, pushing a few dollars into the boy's dirty hands, "Put the women to work."

Karen snorts, "With pleasure, we'll start at the saloon."

As Arthur comes around to the back of the wagon, he notices Tilly struggling to find her footing on the lip of the wagon under the layers of her dress. He quickly offers her a hand which she immediately takes.

"Thank you Arthur," She murmurs in gratitude as, with the help of his hand to steady her, she easily braves the large gap between the wagon and the mud below.

He nods at her once she's landed safely on the ground, but grunts as she thanks him again. She shouldn't waste her kindness on him. Arthur tries his best not to look at her as the women all gather together after unloading off of the wagon. He finds himself quite annoyed that the urge to is so insistent.

"Alright," He begins once Uncle finally makes his way over to stand beside Arthur who in planted firmly in front of the ladies, "Remember to stay outta trouble and don't get yourselves noticed."

Mary-Beth hooks arms with her as he talks, though he only makes eye contact with Tilly and Karen, avoiding her side of the group entirely. Karen rolls her eyes at him and when he's done, playfully pushing past him before motioning for the other women to follow.

"We know Arthur, you don't have to be such an over protective nag about it."

A noise of unfiltered indignation rips itself out of Arthur's mouth at her words, something embarrassing between a scoff and a squawk.

--

"See Arthur's not so bad," Mary-Beth murmurs in your ear as she leads you after Karen and Tilly who are striding confidently towards a building with literal swinging doors, "A right mother hen when given half the chance!"

You try not to let her words irritate you. She means well, you can acknowledge that, but her continuous attempts to humanize Arthur are more annoying than helpful. It feels like you are being forced to forgive a man that has purposefully tried to terrify you and while never having beat you, was okay with watching others do it. No amount of helping strangers or chivalry will convince you he wouldn't kill you dead without hesitation if he felt it was necessary.

You only hum at her claim, still largely uncomfortable with the physical familiarity the women keep attempting to engage you in. It takes all your strength to stop yourself from yanking your arm out from the loop of her's. Mary-Beth must sense your unease though, and wordlessly releases your arm. You're grateful she doesn't comment on it.

"C'mon ladies!" Karen exclaims, still leading you all up the street, "Imagine we're in Paris!"

"I imagine Paris and Valentine are easily confused," Tilly remarks rather sharply, her mouth twisting a little as mud squelches under their feet with each step.

You raise an eyebrow at the comment, sympathizing with her remark as you narrowly avoid stepping in a vat of what you assume is horse shit. It certainly smells foul enough, plus the flies are a dead give away. Eventually you all stop before the rickety steps of a saloon that looks like its come straight out of a movie or a high budget reenactment set. The swinging doors, the drunk piano playing wafting out from inside even though you dare say its only noon, completes the the full effect. You stand there a moment and just stare at it, stare at the people walking in and out, at their clothes, at the way they walk, at the way they talk, just everything. The town really cements the fact that you are no longer in the year 2020. An odd mixture of adrenaline and anxiety shoots through your veins then, and its difficult to process it all.  

"Newspaper," You hear yourself mutter as you continue to stare wide eyed at the saloon.

Mary-Beth hears you and turns to shoot you a questioning look.

Realizing you had just said that out loud, you blink back an embarrassed flush and clear your throat.

"I'd like to check out the newspaper that kid was selling, the one we passed on the way into town. I don't need to buy one, I just want to look."

"What are you checking for?" Mary-Beth asks, suddenly becoming very guarded, the most you've ever seen her in fact.

You panic a little, "Just the date and where exactly we are. I'm not from around here, not really familiar with this part of the country."  

Her eyes sharpen and proceed to methodically take apart your expression, examining every twitch and blink like it held a secret. You figure she's weighing whether or not this will be a threat to them -- to the gang. It further emphasizes the void between you. They would always be a them. It would never be a we.

"Alright, I'll come with you. Then we can go get you some new clothes." Mary-Beth eventually agrees, turning to wave at the other girls -- signaling your departure, before Tilly and Karen enter the saloon.

You both trudge along in silence, your anger flaring up at this blatant display of distrust despite all of her efforts so far to prove to you she's 'trying'. Once again you attempt to not to let all the emotion get to you. Trust goes both ways, and no way were you going to take the first step. If they wanted to earn your respect, it would have to be their necks they stick out first, not the other way around. You finally make your way to the boy holding up one of the newspapers he's selling, shouting today's headline. At your approach his eyes light up at the prospect of a customer,

"What will it be ladies? Two copies or one to share?"

You feel a little guilty at getting his hopes up, but you dust off one of your best customer service smiles and watch as he takes it in, a bit shocked at the easy generosity of it. Poor boy's probably used to getting snuffed all day, you can relate, having worked your fair share of minimum wage jobs.

"I'd like to check something actually, just a quick peak at the date if you wouldn't mind?" Comes your question dressed heavily in your matching costumer service voice -- tone smooth and low and friendly.

The boy blinks at you a moment -- stunned, then his cheeks promptly color a splotchy red. Thoroughly flustered he glances at Mary-Beth, but his blush only deepens as she hits him with a lovely smile of her own.

"W-Well I --," The boy begins to stutter.

"I don't even have to hold it," You interrupt before he can refuse, taking advantage of him being caught off guard, "But if I could just take a quick gander at the top right corner there..." You trail off as you do exactly what you're currently suggesting, and lean in slightly to squint at the date.

May 17, 1899, it reads.

1899?! You kick your customer service skills into overdrive, years of using it the only reason why your face doesn't crack into full panic as you force yourself to read a little more.  

The State of New Hanover, The Heart of the Heartlands

This is before they officialized the fifty states, the American civil war happened about three decades ago. Oh god.

"H-Hey are you gonna buy or not?" The boy attempts to assert himself, swinging the newspaper behind him, looking adorable with his face the color of a tomato.

"Unfortunately not, but your kindness is very much appreciated." You sooth, voice like honey, as you give him one last smile -- making it as stunning as possible, before turning away and heading back down the street.  

You make it a few strides out of the boy's ear shot before Mary-Beth elbows you gently in the side. Glancing up, you find her giving you a conspiratorial smirk.

"You never told us you could work a man," She remarks, raising one of her eyebrows in arch amusement.

You can't stop yourself from scoffing, "Man? He was barely thirteen."

"Well either way, I can tell you have a lot of experience handling people."

A shrug serves as your answer, you guess working a minimum wage job does leave you with a certain skill set. Though why Mary-Beth is hinting that it can be utilized in more unconventional ways is beyond you. Eventually you both make it to the general store. You stumble in your stride when you spot Arthur and Uncle sitting on a bench out in front of the store, sharing a large glass bottle of strong looking liquor you assume is whiskey. That's what all the cowboys in the movies drink right? It seems fate loves a good cliché.

For the first time since being tied to the tree, Arthur and you lock eyes. The two of you freeze, Arthur mid drink and you mid step. The whole world seems to grind to a halt as your gazes wrestle, the feeling in your stomach akin to the breath before the first drop of a roller coaster. The moment ends abruptly, before either of you are ready, and at the same time you step in a huge pile of shit, Arthur spills nearly the whole bottle of whiskey down the front of his shirt.

"Fuck!" You squeal in disgust.

"Goddammit!" Arthur curses loudly as he shoots to his feet so the alcohol doesn't splash onto his crotch.

Mary-Beth puts a scandalized hand over her heart at the fowl language, and Uncle coughs his way into a fit of laughter. In a squeamish panic you try in vain to wipe the shit off your shoe, though you only manage to make it worse as the mud proves to be even messier and smears the shit higher up the leather of your shoe. You can hear Arthur continuing to grouch and curse as he shoves the bottle at a wheezing Uncle and leans forward, plucking the fabric of his button-up off his chest in an attempt to stop it from sticking. Almost like an afterthought, Arthur begins flapping the shirt gently as if that'll help it dry faster.

"Better get you some new shoes as well," Mary-Beth suggests through a tight throat, trying her best not to laugh at your expense.

You level her with a very unimpressed glare (which does end up making her giggle) and squash your way to the stairs leading to the store. Once on solid ground you amble your way up onto the deck, trying your hardest not to stare at the sliver of exposed torso Arthur is revealing as he continues to hold his shirt off his stomach, the cotton completely soaked in alcohol.

Taught skin, a trail of hair, a muscled iliac furrow...

"Actually, Y/n?" Mary-Beth calls from behind you, you swivel around and realize belatedly that she hadn't followed you up, "I'm going to check on Karen an' Tilly in the saloon, why don't you an' Arthur go purchase some clothes together? Then we can all meet back up later!"

It shocks you that you feel slightly betrayed by her at the suggestion. You chance a glance at Arthur from the corner of your eye and find him staring at Mary-Beth much like a deer stares at headlights. Great. You valiantly reign in a groan and without another word, turn back around to push your way into the shop. Arthur is least likely to do anything harmful to you in front of a witness like a shopkeeper anyway, the sooner you get this over with the better.

--

Arthur spends another moment squinting suspiciously at Mary-Beth, who only smiles innocently at him before all but skipping off towards the saloon. Uncle has now devolved into slapping his knee in between taking swigs of what's left of the whiskey. Arthur wonders why the Almighty sees fit to test him so vehemently. After a moment of reflection he figures its the least he deserves considering the extent of his sins. Grumbling to himself, he tries not to stomp after her into the general store, mentally calculating how much money he has left on him as he shoulders open the stiff door. Upon entering the shop, the owner looks up and gives Arthur a polite if slightly confused wave -- probably recognizing him from when Arthur came in the shop earlier with Uncle. The shopkeeper promptly goes back to describing, with what sounds like great enthusiasm, various different outfits for...Y/n...to consider.

His heart reels at simply saying her name in the privacy of his own mind.

She's holding herself stiffly, probably as uncomfortable as Arthur is and for as many different reasons as Arthur is too. With the way her head is bent and her eyes track the movement of the shopkeeper's finger as he drags it across page after page, he can tell that despite her studious expression and how easily she nods along with what's being advertised to her, she's overwhelmed. Arthur isn't sure how he figures that exactly, but he does. Fighting with himself for a moment, he debates on whether or not he should insert himself into their conversation. He doesn't want her to misinterpret him and think he cares or anything, but she is taking forever and the slide of his wet shirt against his chest is growing more unbearable by the second.

"Just pick what you like best and get on with it," He grumbles at her, not too unpleasantly as to alarm the shop owner, but firm enough to encourage her to hurry the hell up.

Arthur had taken a few steps forward before speaking, it placed him very close to her side. Closer than he'd meant. He expects fear or hatred to color her expression as she turns to look up at him, but instead her face displays a confusing mix of gratitude, deep mistrust, and most hilariously the embodiment of the word: HELP. It honestly gives Arthur a headache to look at, not envious of the turmoil she's clearly experiencing right now in the slightest. He blinks at her for a moment before shifting his gaze down at the catalogue and flipping back a few pages.

"Do you prefer skirts, dresses, or pants?" Arthur bites out, not quite believing he's doing this, and stares pointedly at anything but her.

"Pants!" She answers in a rush, like she'd just been told she'd inherited a few grand from a dead relative.  

"Okay," Arthur drawls as he quickly finds the female pants section, the options limited to two different cuts, both of which look exactly the same to Arthur but he was never one for fashion (or so Dutch tells him).

"Pick," He instructs, sliding the catalogue back under her nose at the same time she leans in to take a look.

Arthur's temper rankles at how nice the warmth radiating off of her feels against the chilled skin of his chest, even through his soaked shirt. She takes a moment to consider the two different pants, and after what sounds like a defeated huff sheepishly points to the second one. The shop keeper nods and scribbles something down on a notebook he'd grabbed from a drawer behind the counter. Wordlessly Arthur then flips to the significantly more diverse selection of shirts and blouses, blushing furiously as he passes the women's undergarments.

Why in all hell had Mary-Beth not done this with her? She's a woman, surely that would make this more comfortable for Y/n?

But the woman in question seems unconcerned as she scans the options Arthur has displayed for her, nibbling half-heartedly on the fingernail of her right thumb as she appraises the many different tops. Arthur grits his teeth against the softness rising him. They need to hurry this up or he fears he'll...he'll...well he doesn't know, but he knows whatever it is, it's a final kind of feeling and god Arthur fears it. With the hand not pressed to her lips, she points to a plain looking button up, the cheapest one.

"Another." Arthur blurts.

He doesn't realize how that sounds until she shoots him a very indignant look.

"Pick one more for colder weather." He clarifies, mystified he had managed to say that without missing a beat and without stuttering.

Her temper relaxes back down to its usual simmer and she returns her gaze to the catalogue. After a few moments of silence she taps Arthur's hand that's spread wide over the upper edge of the book, calloused fingers holding the catalogue open flat on the counter for her. He snatches his hand back so fast it startles the shopkeeper. The owner gives the two of them an odd look but remains quiet, still wanting their money. She turns the page and points to the second least expensive shirt. It's of a similar cut to the first she'd chosen but the material is wool instead of cotton.

This process repeats for the coats, socks, shoes, gloves, and most embarrassingly -- undergarments. All the articles of clothing she chooses are the cheapest available. Something prickles in Arthur's chest when he realizes she's trying to be considerate. When the shopkeeper asks about her sizes though, she seems at a complete loss for what to say. It's like she's never shopped for clothes before. Though deeply curious, Arthur refrains from asking her anything, feeling like all the energy he had this morning has been thoroughly drained from him even though its only an hour past noon. He's exhausted and he doesn't quite know why.

The owner gives her a measuring look, eyeing her body proportions as best as he can from his spot behind the counter. The shopkeeper is not a proper tailor, so the wrinkle in the man's forehead isn't anything but confusion, and thus Arthur finds himself getting more and more agitated the longer the man stares at her. A breath before Arthur says something stupid, the owner turns and goes to retrieve the garments in the sizes he believes will fit her best. It only takes a couple moments, but its a couple moments too long to be left relatively alone with her. The tension between them is so palpable he could cut it with his hunting knife. The feeling worsens in intensity with each beat of his heart, nearly rising to insurmountable levels before it swiftly plateaus at the arrival of the shopkeeper, who returns with multiple garments draped over his forearm.

"Here Miss, go and try these on to make sure they fit." He instructs politely, nodding to a door down the hall just around the side of the counter.

With a quiet thanks, she collects the clothes and makes a beeline for the dressing room. Arthur doesn't realize his eyes follow her retreat, sticking to the dressing room door even after she disappears behind it, until the shopkeeper clears his throat. Arthur only scowls at him in response and orders a replacement shirt for the one he'd been wearing.

Thank god I didn't ruin my blue one, Arthur thinks as he pays for his new two toned muted grey and red button-up, and all the items Y/n had gotten.

Hosea and Dutch like to tease Arthur about his favorite blue and white striped button-up he's been hauling around for years now. It has holes, the seams are loose, the colors have faded, and it has permanent stains on it, but something about it feels...comfortable. More comfortable than anything else he's ever worn.

(Arthur refuses to acknowledge the fact that it's the first garment of clothing he bought for himself with money he'd earned all on his own, hence why it means so much to him.)

Arthur tries not to pace as he waits for Y/n to finish trying on all her various new clothes. He knows she has a lot to get through but --

"Oh," Arthur finds himself saying, easily gaining the shopkeeper's attention, "Her shoes?"

The shopkeeper raises a finger as his memory sparks and quickly goes to retrieve the humble looking pair she'd picked out earlier. When he brings them out, informing Arthur he'd given his best guess on the size, Arthur nods his thanks and takes the pair from him. Before he can second guess himself, he makes his way over to the dressing room door. Weary of the owner's eyes on his back, Arthur raps his knuckles in two deliberate consecutive knocks against the aging wood of the door. A series of sounds that suggest Y/n had been thoroughly startled puts a grin on Arthur's face without his permission.

"Your shoes," He starts, "I'm leaving them outside the door."

Arthur then demands himself to tell her to hurry up, but no words form, in fact his lips once again act against his will and gently press shut.

"Oh, okay," She replies tensely.

He hovers by the door another moment before the intimacy of talking to someone -- a woman no less -- like this really registers with him, then he thinks of how this probably seems to the shopkeeper and deep color promptly rises along his cheekbones. Arthur takes a shaky step back, then another, until he's in the front of the store pretending to browse the meager collection of pocket watches.

--

You wait until you hear Arthur's footsteps fully recede from the door before continuing to fumble with your undergarments. You have never so desperately wished for a simple modern bra in your life. The shopkeeper had suggested a corset of some sort, but with the clothes that you had picked -- pants, and a 'decidedly unfeminine looking' set of button ups according to the owner -- wearing a corset under all that seemed more of a hinderance than anything else. You'd ended up choosing a version of whatever shift thing you are currently wearing, as it provided enough support for the girls but didn't constrict you entirely like you figure a corset might. Most of the time spent in the dressing room has been you struggling to shuck off your current clothes without resorting to simply tearing them all off. Though you have been spending an equally egregious amount of time trying to correctly adjust all the little strings and ties and clips of your new shift. The slim bloomers you are wearing were made to be worn with the pants you'd ordered, and they were simple enough to slip on, though the extra fabric you'd have to get used to. You wonder idly if this is what it feels like to wear boxers as you finally finish securing your shift and pull the pants up the length of your legs. They fit surprisingly well, a little tight around the ass but in all honesty, at this point you don't care. You just want this torture over with.

The rest of your clothes you try on with more ease, everything fitting okay except for the coat that was about ten times too big but you find you kind of like it that way. Making sure to carefully remove your shit covered shoes without dirtying your hands, you gingerly place them by the door before replacing your used socks with your new ones. You gather your previous clothes up, hoping the shopkeeper has a bag of some kind you can use, and open the door. Infinitely grateful that no one else has walked into the shop, you quickly slip on the shoes Arthur has set neatly in front of the door like he'd said, and immediately find that they're too small. Ignoring your slight flush from all the changing and nerves from trying on so many foreign clothes, you approach the shopkeeper and politely request the next shoe size up. He nods and bumbles to the back again. When he brings you the next pair, you apologize for being such a hassle and quickly exchange shoes. You drop the new pair to the floor and lower to kneel as you stuff your feet in, praying these fit.

"Can we get something to wrap all this up?" Arthur's voice rumbles through you, like the bass notes of a song played at one of the clubs you used to frequent a lot your first year of college.

You clench hard against the urge to jump at how close he is, not having heard him come over as you'd been focused on figuring out how your new boots laced up. They reminded you a little of modern day men's work boots, comfortable and well suited for all the wilderness trudging you figure you'll be doing. The shop owner hands Arthur a few sheets of brown parcel paper, which Arthur immediately tosses down at you. You catch the squares of paper before it hits your face, ignoring his rudeness and weighing how helpful he's been to you in the shop against the desire to say something satisfyingly nasty.

Noticing your restraint Arthur wordlessly brushes past you, broad shoulders barely seeming to fit through the doorway of the dressing room, before closing the door firmly shut behind him. While he changes out of his wet shirt, you struggle to wrap up all your new clothes neatly, feeling bizarrely like you're wrapping a Christmas present when the shopkeeper hands you a rudimentary string to tie everything together. After you finally manage to wrangle all the clothes (save for your oversized coat and all that you're wearing out of the store) into a compact enough bundle, you take the second sheet of paper and repeat the process with your soiled clothes and ruined shoes. You feel bad about the shoes since you'd borrowed them, maybe you could scrub out the shit? Though you don't know how plausible that will be without the aid of stain remover and fabric softener.

You've just finished organizing all your belongings when Arthur emerges from the dressing room in his new shirt. The colors suit him, the fabric hugging him in all the right places too. With his dark hat, tan over coat, and heavy footfalls due to his boots, he almost --

Deeply alarmed at the direction that particular train of thought was going, you angrily remind yourself he's a bloodthirsty killer who would not hesitate to end your life if he thought it was necessary. Despite all that though, he did just pay for your clothing and help you navigate the shopping process with little to no complaints. Torn between saying nothing and thanking him, the habit to be courteous, ingrained in you by your mother, wins out.

"Arthur," It's the first time you've said his name, at least in direct address to him.

His name tastes dangerous on your tongue, a thrill not unlike taking a shot of something strong knowing you're already well over your alcohol limit. You'd stopped once you'd stepped out of the shop behind Arthur and he pauses with his back to you, going completely rigid, having just been about to wake up Uncle who lists precariously in a drunk stupor on the bench where you'd both left him.

"Thank you." That's the second time you've thanked this man, not fond of the fact that its slowly becoming a regular occurrence.

Arthur turns around after a moment and his eyes, shaded under the brim of his hat but very much visible now where they'd only been dark with violence before, are the first things your gaze is drawn to. They're really quite a stunning color, blue shot with green, like an ocean tide caught in a shallow tide pool. The brimming emotion in him blunders against the stiff wall of that anger you'd first caught a true glimpse of when you were tied to the tree, it holds an avalanche of sensation back. You marvel briefly at how it's held so much back for so long.

"You owe me thirty-two dollars and thirteen cents." He says in leu of accepting your gratitude with any sort of grace.  

You only glare, already having expected that he'd ask you to pay him back, though you figure it's the very least he could do after watching you suffer for nearly two weeks straight despite being completely innocent with no proof otherwise save their paranoid suspicions. Not to mention being wrongly accused of being an O'Driscoll and almost getting shot in the face by his gang leader for the apparent crime of being in the wrong place at the wrong time! Unlike Arthur, you let your emotions flow freely, righteous fury undisguised and plain to see rotting away the last traces of the odd domesticity you'd formed with him in the shop.

"You, are one of the most fucked up assholes I have ever met." You say in a tone of voice you had only ever used with your abusive ex.

Instead of being taken aback at your words, you watch something in him rise to meet your anger -- a broken kind of relief overtaking his features, like he's finally back in his comfort zone. Something he's familiar with, something he's good at. It simultaneously sickens you and breaks your heart. Everything only ever defined in extremes when it comes to him. Before you two can really tear into each other though, the call of your names by a familiar voice pauses the cataclysmic collision that is moments away from occurring.

"Arthur! Y/n!" Mary-Beth pants as she jogs up to meet you both on the shaded deck, "Oh, Uncle! I didn't see him from over there," She huffs out in a laugh as she closes the distance between the three of you.

It doesn't take long for Mary-Beth to pick up on the truly foul mood Arthur and you share. Her face falls.

"Did, did the shopping not go well? I see you've..." She trails off as she takes in your new clothes.

You suspect in an attempt to lighten the mood, she puts her hands on her hips in mock disappointment and shoots Arthur a significant look.

"What in the blazes have you dressed her in Mr. Morgan? She looks like a ranch hand!"

Arthur seems to struggle to swallow the worst of his temper, apparently not wanting to take it out on Mary-Beth.

Oh so Mary-Beth deserves to be spared but not you?

Your bitterness towards him promptly deepens and suddenly you're exhausted. You miss Kieran -- no, actually you miss your home. You miss your own time. You miss your friends and family.  

"Don't look at me, she picked it all out herself!" Arthur deflects, holding his hands up in surrender.

Mary-Beth purses her lips at this claim but does eventually shift her gaze over to you. She immediately notices that your energy has plummeted, but you can't summon the will to care.

"But if you like it Y/n, then that's all that matters!" Mary-Beth rushes to assure, worried her comment about your fashion sense but more so your previous conversation with Arthur is working against her efforts to find some middle ground with you, to start building some semblance of trust.

You let her search your eyes and put together the realization that she failed. In fact you imagine instead of taking one step forward, you've taken three leaps back. But why bother with them anyway? There's no need to deal with these people any more than strictly necessary. You will find a way to return to your own time, and you're determined to figure it out by any means necessary.

--

Thoughts? Share them if you’d like!! xx

Masterlist

#A Single Frayed Rope #thejamesoldier #my writing #arthur morgan x y/n #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #arthur morgan fanfic #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2

[oliviareviewsnasu]

Olivia Reads Fate/Stay Night ~Fate~ Route (Blind Readthrough) Part 1: Intro Sequence and Rin!

Before we begin with this readthrough I'd like to personally thank anyone and everyone who has come here to listen (or read I suppose) my maddened ramblings. You truly make it worth it. Now on to the readthrough. Intro Sequence By now this intro scene is engrained even into my mind and there’s not really much to say about it. As this is a blind review however here’s a basic summary of the events: Shirou, in a state of desperation, summons perhaps one of the most famous characters in the franchise to fend off an unknown attacker. The King of Knights stands before him and asks the iconic line: “I ask of you, are you my master?”. She then states that their fates (heh) are now entwined before the scene fades to white leading into the Rin prologue. On the more technical end; the music in the Realta Nua version is phenomenal. as is Ayako Kasumi’s performance as Saber even this early on in what would be a long career

What I think the anime (Unlimited Blade Works in particular) doesn’t quite convey is Shirou’s mystique and awe in the face of the King of Knights, nor his poetic heart. He’s clearly much much more intelligent and thoughtful than quite a few people give him credit for.

By all accounts this is true in a both a literal and meta-sense. 17 years later people are still discussing the franchise with nearly the same vigor as larger properties like One Piece or Dragon Ball. As for the literal, well, we all know Shirou’s dark fate. On the topic of darkness, I love how they portray Arturia. Awash in the light of the moon while Shirou is cowering in the dark. The contrast is beautiful and highlights just how important of a role she’d play in the would-be-hero’s future. What I find to be fascinating is how much imagery is loaded into these first few moments. That, coupled with Shirou’s prose, makes for a gorgeous introduction. My only issue with it is the whiplash bait-and-switch from Shirou’s perspective to Rin’s; especially with the knowledge that we’ll need to essentially re-read that part to begin with. It weakens some of the dramatic tension and choreography. Prologue: Day 1 (Part 1) And so the Rin prologue begins, in bed, with traumatic memories and regrets. So an ordinary morning for this reviewer. It’s also the first mention of the Holy Grail War that took place during the events of Fate/Zero. Rin’s final memories of her father do pull at my heart-strings however. Wanting to make someone laugh before you see them off is, in my opinion, a noble pursuit. Given what I know of Tokiomi from the events of Fate/Zero I can also agree that his character was perhaps one of the finer among the mages. At least compared to Kiritsugu “Sign a magical contract, can’t shoot, hire someone else to first for me” Emiya, Kirei “My religious views make my sadism and hedonism weird for me” Kotomine, and Lord El Melloi “Old Money, Old Magecraft” Archibald. Sound wise I’ve been listening to the flashback music for nearly ten minutes as I’ve been writing this up and I’m starting to see stars so we should probably move along- And so the Rin proloAnd so the Rin prologue begins, in bed, with traumatic memories and regrets. So an ordinary morning for this reviewer. It’s also the first mention of the Holy Grail War that took place during the events of Fate/Zero. Rin’s final memories of her father do pull at my heart-strings however. Wanting to make someone laugh before you see them off is, in my opinion, a noble pursuit. Given what I know of Tokiomi from the events of Fate/Zero I can also agree that his character was perhaps one of the finer among the mages. At least compared to Kiritsugu “Sign a magical contract, can’t shoot, hire someone else to first for me” Emiya, Kirei “My religious views make my sadism and hedonism weird for me” Kotomine, and Lord El Melloi “Old Money, Old Magecraft” Archibald. Sound wise I’ve been listening to the flashback music for nearly ten minutes as I’ve been writing this up and I’m starting to see stars so we should probably move along-gue begins, in bed, with traumatic memories and regrets. So an ordinary morning for this reviewer. It’s also the first mention of the Holy Grail War that took place during the events of Fate/Zero. Rin’s final memories of her father do pull at my heart-strings however. Wanting to make someone laugh before you see them off is, in my opinion, a noble pursuit. Given what I know of Tokiomi from the events of Fate/Zero I can also agree that his character was perhaps one of the finer among the mages. At least compared to Kiritsugu “Sign a magical contract, can’t shoot, hire someone else to first for me” Emiya, Kirei “My religious views make my sadism and hedonism weird for me” Kotomine, and Lord El Melloi “Old Money, Old Magecraft” Archibald. Sound wise I’ve been listening to the flashback music for nearly ten minutes as I’ve been writing this up and I’m starting to see stars so we should probably move along-

-Only for the lovely siren song of the world’s most annoying alarm clock to start ringing.

I agree with you there Rin, I feel like I’m being attacked as well. Terrible assault on the ears aside, we learn that Rin has been up late at night studying her Father’s will. A hobby that not even I would recommend. After struggling to get out of bed in time for class (Rin really is my spirit animal), she promptly complains about the coldness of her home. As someone who lives in Boston and has never heard of Central Air, this is painfully relatable. Have you had to sit on a toilet seat with ice in the bowl? I don’t recommend it. After the most uncomfortable scene of someone humble-bragging about their rich (literally in this case) background (likely because she can’t to anyone else), she explains that she is in fact a mage and what that entails. Persecution, isolation, and regular communion with forces beyond what most can comprehend. She also goes on to reference the 5 magics (familiar if you’ve played Melty Blood or read Tsukihime, something I’m sure to cover at some point).

What I find to be interesting here is that she fundamentally separates herself from the rest of humanity, treating herself as an outsider despite living what she’d consider ‘an ordinary life’. She shows longing and desire for the things that everyone else has access to and seems to disdain magic on it’s own. But to paraphrase Rin: “Let’s put off difficult discussions, they can wait till they’re old.” As Rin heads out she grabs a rather suspicious (and important) pendant that she managed to find after decoding Tokiomi’s will. It makes me wonder, did he lock up the Tohsaka family heirlooms in various vaults; hoping that someday his heir or maybe one of hers would be able to open them? Was he trolling his daughter? Or am I reading too much into this? Besides her finding the mystical cure-a-spear-to-the-heart jewel, Rin goes on to explain how Tohsaka family magic works. Essentially by slowly storing magic in jewels to draw upon at a later date. I’m reminded of Stormlight and its use of spheres, but that’s besides the point. There’s also a brief discussion of magic crests and how they’re essentially all the magical experiences of her predecessors engraved into her arm. Fun. Rin then goes on to finally leave her house after nearly thirty minutes of getting ready and shows a remarkable knowledge of German. Something that even I haven’t quite managed to master. There’s some brief world building with this area of Fuyuki being a blend of Eastern and Western architecture (as an architect myself this is fascinating to me) and draws a line of parallel between Rin and Shirou. Rin lives in a fancy Western-style mansion and longs for the future, while Shirou lives in the Eastern-style Emiya Residence and yearns for ideals that don’t quite exist anymore. As Rin hurries off to school, a sense of eeriness and unease washes over us, only for us to learn the most terrible and terrifying fact of all. She got up early and so her early morning panic was wasted. Oh and we also meet Ayako who is as exhaustingly energetic as usual. Somehow Rin’s clocks were all an hour fast. She suspects Tokiomi’s work, but I doubt the Tohsaka family Patriarch was one for pranks. Ayako drags Rin off the almost exorbitantly fancy Archery range and they begin to discuss their mutual search for a partner. Have I said that Rin is my spirit animal? I’m sure I must have by now.

This is the first glimpse we get at Rin’s competitive side. Ayako may have been the one to initiate the relationship, but any strong rivalry requires mutual input from both parties. A solid example of this can be seen in the relationship between Sanji and Zoro in One Piece. If I were less astute, I’d prop Ayako as up a potential antagonist later on during the route. As for the contest itself, it’s petty in the most realistic of ways. Attempting to get a boyfriend or girlfriend just to rub it in the face of your rival? I’ve definitely experienced that in my (admittedly brief) lifetime. Well we’ll have to find out another time as I’ve come to realize just how long this document is getting. Join me next week and we’ll continue along with the Rin prologue and hope we get to her summoning of Archer. This has been a fascinating look at the series I’ve adored for so long, just seeing the characters thoughts on the most simple of matters has been an eye-widening experience. This is Olivia Reviews and I can’t wait to see you next time.

#fate stay night #visual novel #blind reader #olivia reviews #part 1 #shirou emiya #rin tohsaka #nasuverse #the alarm clock won't stop ringing in my head several hours later

[legolaslovely]

Placeholder

A/N: Hello friends! Happy happy Fili Friday! I am very excited to share this story based on this ask that took on an insane life of its own! Thank you to the anon for sending the lovely idea in and for giving me permission to run with it! The Fili heart wants what the Fili heart wants.  This is based on this video = the dance scene from Tangled! I listened to this while writing if anyone wants to know! It’s fun!  Listen guys, my impatient ass is counting this as a slow burn because the end is just so comfortinggggggg and fluffffyyyyyy so I hope you guys enjoy! Thanks for reading!

Pairing: Fili x Reader

Word Count: 4,270

Warnings: ... none?

Summary: Based on an ask! I’m not telling any more!

Link to the photoset below

It was only after months of rough traveling that Thorin decided to stop and spend a full day and night in a village along the route of the quest to Erebor. This much needed break came just in time for you, and more specifically your pack, which had continued to wear with every step you took and at this point, started to look as though a warg’s teeth had got a hold of it. You had been waddling around with its one serviceable strap slung over your shoulder for days and if you didn’t buy at least a replacement strap soon, you were sure you’d end up shrinking- hunched to half your size by the journey’s end.

Luckily, though this village was quite small, it did have a rather extensive market. As soon as Thorin made clear the details of the company’s overnight plans, you set out to comb through the many tents in the square. Most of the crafters fawned over the princes and king, leaving you free to browse without distractions. It didn’t take long for you to find a leather shop that boasted gorgeous weaponry, armor and tools. 

You were running your fingers over a strong leather strap, enjoying the geometric designs so common in classic dwarvish craftsmanship, when Fíli spoke from just over your shoulder.

“Will this do? I know it’s a bit larger than the one you have, but I think it will serve you well.”

The pack he was holding was extremely fashionable and even from the outside, it was clearly quite handy. Though it was currently empty, the sturdy leather still held it’s strong boxy shape. From the top and sides fell straps and hooks for your bedroll, canteens, weapons, and tools and what’s more, the design almost perfectly matched the strap you’d been admiring. The leather was tastefully embroidered and stamped with sharp triangles that weaved and folded into one another to wrap all around the body of the pack. Such a commendable creation was overwhelming and left you silent. 

“I should have asked first,” he said. “I’m sure I can return this one and we-you can pick out one you’d like. I shouldn’t have-”

“Fíli,” you said, taking the pack from him. Despite its size, it was light in your hand. “It’s beautiful. But I’m sure it was expensive- I mean, not that you don’t have the... I just... you didn’t have to- oh! I’ll pay you back. Here.”

You wanted to crawl into a whole. Who were you to talk money with the prince of Durin’s Folk? All the same, you were sure he expected you to pay for it. Maybe he’d merely grabbed the best pack for you before it was gone, bought by someone else. He was simply doing you a favor, watching out for you as company members do. You dug into your ripped pack for your coin purse, though you knew you wouldn’t have enough money. Mortification was rolling through you and if you allowed it, tears could have gathered in your eyes.

Then a hand covered yours.

“No, (Y/N). I don’t want anything from you. This is a gift. Come over here, we’ll transfer your things.” He led you over to a bench on the edge of the square.

“I can’t accept such a thing,” you said, sputtering. “I- really, this is too much-”

He took your torn pack from your shoulder and set it open on the ground before he moved to the new, pristine one, holding it still for you. “(Y/N), you need a good pack. We still have a long journey ahead of us.”

“I can go buy one. Actually, I was just going to buy a new strap to mend this one-”

“(Y/N),” he said, lifting your fallen chin with gentle fingers. “Please accept my gift, hm? I want to do this for you.”

“Thank you,” you nodded, accidentally shaking away his touch. 

He hummed and gave you the soft smile he so often sent your way. As you transferred your belongings into your new pack, you marveled at the many pockets and layers you found inside. There was a place for everything you’d brought with you- food, bathing and eating utensils, blade sharpening and repair tools. Apparently, Fíli was entertained by your ogling and when you looked up to the sound of his low chuckle, he was shaking his head at you. But you knew it was fond.

“I suppose I’ll see you at the inn then,” he said. “I have a few more things to look for in the market, so-”

“May I come with you?” you asked. “Everyone else is driving me mad. Even your brother is haggling with the archery merchant! I can’t bear it.”

“Of course,” he said, holding a hand out to you and lifting you to your feet. “Did you hear Dwalin at the ax vendor earlier?”

“ ‘What am I meant to do with this blade? Do they think I have time to hack through a warg’s leg?’ ” you mocked.

“I said it would be a good challenge for him,” Fíli said, leading the way back to the tents. 

“What did he say to that?”

He leaned to your ear. “You don’t want to know.”

As Fíli studied the tables of the shops, running hardened fingers over knitted scarves, lifting bars of soap to his nose for a sniff, taking in the shine of intricately decorated blades, your attention was pulled to the other end of the market. A fiddle in the corner slowly creaked into tune before erupting into a jig that was wealthily accompanied by a lute, a whistle, and a cajon drum. The shoppers barely paid the musicians any attention, but your feet couldn’t help but tap to the deep thumping of the hand drum. 

The music reminded you of home, but instead of sending you into a bout of homesick blues, the tune lifted your spirits and brought back fond memories of dancing around a crackling fire during crisp summer nights. Even the dance steps that you hadn’t performed in years came flooding back to your mind and soon, your feet. Heel, toe, hop ‘n turn. Kick, ball change, circle round. Not a soul in the small village’s plaza around you seemed at all moved by the music and though you itched to dance, you turned your bopping head back to the tables.

It seemed your yearning to enjoy the music hadn’t gone unnoticed.

You let out a surprised noise when an arm wrapped around your waist and a hand yanked you to spin around. Only when the tents stopped revolving around you were you able to focus on a bright grin and messy, brown hair.

“Kíli!”

“I know you want to dance, lass. Come on.”

He led you, hopping in time with the speeding fiddle, to the center of the square. Together you circled through the gathering crowd with precision and speed like a pair of bumblebees through a lush garden.

“Kíli!” You heard Fíli’s voice. “Not so fast!”

But Kíli spun you around him, yelling, “She doesn’t need your protection all the time, brother!” 

You laughed- even now the brothers bickered! But it added to your amusement. However, as Kíli lost himself in the fun, he also led you too close to the market tables and captivated audience members and you soon wished Kíli would heed his brother’s advice. 

You squeaked his name in fear as the fabric of your trousers caught on the corner of a display table of glass trinkets. It was clear he paid your worries no mind. Instead of slowing his lead, he chuckled lowly in return and tightened his grip on you, balling your tunic in his fist before he whirled you around him once more.

“I gotcha, (Y/N),” he said. 

Then the music shifted. You raced out of his arms into the open, unobstructed space where he could stand across from you like an opponent ready to lunge. 

“I love this song!” you cried as the fiddle weaved into a familiar tune- one that filled your heart with melodies and memories of adolescence. Your nerves seemed to disappear, as did the years since you’d learned the traditional dance of the dwarvish culture, and every nuance of the jig came flooding back to your memory. 

“Kíli! Remember the steps?” you asked as you hopped around him, hands on your hips and head turning side to side. 

“Not a bit!” he said, attempting to keep up with you anyway. 

Your sight grew blurry with laughter as you watched his stuttering feet, but when you looked up, you saw you weren’t alone in the dance. Others from the village had joined in. You were now surrounded by a hive of hoofers, some forming graceful and evolving formations, others giggling and stepping on unsuspecting toes. All was just as it used to be when you celebrated feast days in your own home town.

The musicians played louder and faster, encouraged by the participation and indulgence they saw before them. The sound of echoing claps brought your attention to the edge of the crowd while you continued your dance with the well known steps. There, Gandalf was grinning at you, lifting his hands to applaud you. Beneath him stood Bilbo, hairy feet tapping, hopping, and stepping in place so as not to get trampled by the sturdy, and quite passionate dwarves. Even Thorin and Dwalin seemed a bit beguiled, but as your head swiveled round you couldn’t find the dwarf you were looking for. 

You leapt on top of the large stone fountain in the center of the square, skittering around its edge and looking for a golden head of hair. But it was nowhere to be found. Even your frolicing heart sank a bit at the thought of Fíli missing this fun. 

“Kíli!” you cried as he bounced past. “Where’s your brother?”

He gave no answer and instead knocked at the back of your knees, plucking your legs out from under you. You fell from the high fountain, too startled to scream, but not too surprised to give Kíli a good smack on the shoulder when he caught you. Through the village plaza he raced, carrying you in his arms like a dangerous bird through the whirlpool of bees. You hid your face in his vest as he narrowly missed a few of the villagers, only opening your eyes when he set you safely on the ground. Before you, Thorin and Dwalin shook their heads, sporting deep smirks and cocked brows. 

Lucky for Kíli, by the time you turned around to catch him, he had vanished, safely hidden in the crowd of dancing dwarves. A bright pat pat came to your ears, sounding just over the music and when realization of its origin dawned over you, you grinned. “Are those… tapping toes I see, Mister Dwalin?”

Dwalin shared a look with Thorin. “I see no such thing, little lass.”

“Come and dance,” you said. You took his hand, finding it before it could disappear behind his back, and pulled. He didn’t budge. 

“Find yourself a different dance partner, (Y/N). There are many here,” he said, sliding his hand from your grasp. 

“Come now, Mister Dwalin,” you said. There was a twinkle in your eye that he recognized. It seemed you had learned a few things from Kíli in your weeks of traveling together at the company’s caboose. “Don’t be boring.”

“Oh, I’m boring, am I?”

“Yes!”

You had no time to run from him. One moment you were standing firm on the ground, the next you were in his arms being spun like the wheel of a wagon. The sky reeled, puffy clouds blurring into long white circles and dancing dwarves into blears and blobs of color. You screwed your eyes shut to save your frenzied mind, but it plainly made the dizzying effect worse. 

“Dwalin!” 

You screamed over the music, but the sound seemed to evaporate into the swirling air around you. Even when your feet eventually touched the flat ground, you were still twirled by your hands, shoulders, and waist. Just when the tormentor had finally relented, a familiar, smooth voice distracted you just enough for one foot to trip over the other and send you hurdling to the ground. Luckily, someone caught you.

“Are you all right?”

You opened your eyes to a blur of gold. It was Fíli who had caught you and you now lay in his able arms, helpless to stand. 

“I called Dwalin boring.”

“Oh, not your smartest idea, lass,” Fíli said, slowly moving you upright. 

You held his shoulders as your head continued to spin. “I think I may need a moment,” you said.

Fíli chuckled. “Let’s go sit, hm?” He led you to the fountain, watching just one of your wobbly steps before deciding to lift you in his arms once more and carry you to the stone seat. It was a smooth wave of movement you didn’t at all mind enduring. Once sat, he smoothed your hair behind your ear, marveling at your lips that were still grinning, even as you rocked back and forth in the aftermath of Dwalin’s “dancing.”

“Where were you?” you asked him. 

“Why? Did you want a better dance partner than Kíli?” he asked. You just saw his wink.

“Your brother is a good dancer!” you said with a slap to his shoulder. “He just dances to his own beat.”

Presently, Kíli was arm in arm with Bofur, skipping and hopping through the other dancers with precious little grace. You waved as they passed. Bofur barely made it past the fountain with Kíli’s dangerous lead. You couldn’t help but laugh. 

“If you can call that dancing,” Fíli chuckled. His form had finally stopped swaying in your vision. “When you can stand on your own again, I’ll have to show you how it’s really done.”

You nudged his shoulder with yours. “Why do you think I was looking for you in the first place?”

As the afternoon passed, other members of the company shopped through the market with notably lifted spirits. However, as the sun slid through the sky, it stretched gangly shadows of the pair who still made their perch on the fountain in the middle of the village plaza. Though you protested, sure Fíli had many other things to do rather than sit and listen to the music with you, he remained by your side, clapping to the beat as his feet collided with your swaying boots every once in a while. 

It wasn’t until the sun had completely disappeared behind the horizon that Kíli ran back into the square calling for his brother.

“Fíli! Have either of you moved all afternoon? We’ve been waiting for you at the inn.”

Fíli sputtered and stood, pulling you to your feet. “No, I lost track of time.” He sandwiched you between him and his brother as you followed Kíli through the small streets to the inn. A heavy hand on your new pack kept you close when dwarves filled some especially crowded pathways. 

When the inn came into view on the far end of the lane Kíli turned over his shoulder and said, “There are taverns full of beer and food all over this village and you two spend the entire day sitting on a rock in the sun!”

You shook your head. “I would much rather spend the day outside in the sunshine than in a dark bar, getting a sore belly from too much ale and smelly dwarves.”

Kíli, of course, had something to say about your reaction but you didn’t hear his reply. You were too distracted by Fíli leaning to your ear and running his fingers past your hand. 

“And I’d much rather spend the day with you than anyone else,” Fíli said.

Before you could discern his exact meaning, his hand found your back and led you through the door to the tavern. The moment you stepped through the threshold of the bar, he seemed to disappear, joining his uncle and helping to make the arrangements for the company’s overnight stay.

He stood tall next to Thorin- shoulders back, hands on his belt before one rose to shake that of the inn owner as Thorin dropped a few coins on the counter. Despite the months of travel, his clothes and hair were neat, even shining in the low light of the dark tavern. He turned over his shoulder and immediately found you watching him, giving you a high browed look as if he caught you stealing a treat from the kitchens. 

“That’s a nice pack, (Y/N).” Kíli’s voice interrupted your long distance facial feature conversation with Fíli. 

You hummed. “Thank you.”

The first thing you did when you reached your private room was bathe. You were given a large tub full of steaming water and fresh soap- no fish, plants, sharp rocks or sweating dwarves in sight. It should have been the most soothing event to occur in the past weeks. However, instead of relaxing and sinking deep into warmth and peace, your mind whirred and your body remained tense. Before the water had even run cool, you leapt out of the tub and dressed to run across the hall.

The hair by your neck was still damp and curling by the time you knocked on Fíli’s door. But it was Kíli who answered. You should have known they’d be sharing a room.

“Is Fíli in here?”

“Yeah, he’s in the bath. You want him?”

“No,” you said, jealousy rising and peaking above even your frustration at your endless jitters. “Will you just tell him I wanted to speak with him?”

“It’s not about the pack, is it?” Kíli asked.

“What? No-”

“Because he just wanted to give you something he knew you needed. It doesn’t even really count! He’s told me how badly he wants to make your gift, but there aren’t exactly any forges he can take advantage of while-”

Fíli’s voice stopped him. “Kíli! Who are you talking to, brother?”

“(Y/N)!” Kíli answered.

“(Y/N), our (Y/N)?” On the other side of the open door, you could hear water slosh onto the floor accompanied by Fíli’s incomprehensible grumbling. Then he peeked around the door with a sheepish smile. You could just see the soaked ends of his hair sending streams of water down his bare chest. “What were you two talking about?”

“The pack-”

“I just wanted to speak with you,” you said over Kíli. “Not right now. Later. When you’re… ready. I’m across the hall.”

Fíli nodded, forcing a smile that looked more like a wince. It didn’t reach his now stormy eyes. “I’ll be over in a minute.”

“Take your time,” you got out as he slammed the door shut.

Before you stepped back into your own room you heard Kíli cry out, “What! What did I do?” 

You closed your own door quickly, not wanting to eavesdrop any more. But it didn’t stop you from thinking about what Kíli had said. Had Fíli wanted to make you a pack once Erebor was reclaimed? Why would you need it then? Maybe Thorin was planning to ask you to travel back to Ered Luin once it was safe to lead the people back to the mountain. Imagine a trip free of wargs and orcs, you thought. 

You jumped when the door vibrated with his knock. 

“Come in, Fíli.”

You had never seen his hair loose and untied before. Its waves fell around his face like sweet rays of sun and the dripping ends left sheer wet clouds on the chest of his tunic. Did Kíli usually braid his hair? Had their mother taught them the traditional styles? Or did Fíli do it himself, never needing to ask for help with something so trivial? You were sure you could manage it. The braids weren’t so intricate and they were similar to yours if you thought about it. Which you often did.

He was looking at you with that “caught ya” grin again. “What did you want to talk about, lass?”

You turned, digging through your pack that was laid out on the bed. “Not so much talk,” you said. “I wanted you to have these.” In your hands sat the strap you had been admiring from the market. While you were alone in the morning, you’d paid to have it fashioned into a scabbard and a matching pair of bracers. It was simply coincidence that the pattern on your new pack happened to match these gifts you’d picked for Fíli. “I saw the engraving and immediately thought you’d like it. I know your bracers were torn by the trolls a few weeks back.”

He looked at you before he took the gifts. You couldn’t quite place his expression, you were sure that even after months of traveling together you’d never seen it before. He flipped the bracers over and could have seen his reflection in the shine of the buckles. They were immaculate and new- obviously made this morning- however they seemed comfortably broken in as if they’d been worn for days previously. He could imagine what custom gifts like these would have cost you.

“I can’t take these.”

You waved his hands away. “Fíli, please accept my gift,” you said, repeating his words from earlier in the day.

He ran his rounded fingertips over the familiar triangular etchings and hummed. “Thank you, (Y/N). They’re perfect.”

“You like them?” you asked. Your nerves were starting to build again, as you took one of the bracers from him. “Are you sure? I was wondering if these straps were long enough. I can go back to the seller in the morning and get them adjusted-”

His hand covered yours. “They’ll fit fine.”

“And you like them? They’ll be of use?”

“I love them.” He set the leather pieces in the seat of a chair by the door. “However, I believe there is still one thing you owe me.” His eyes shined. Mischievous. He too had learned a few things from his little brother.

“Oh?”

You let him lace his fingers in yours and wrap an arm around you. “I never got my dance.”

“Ah,” you said, melting into his embrace. “And I suppose you’ll tell me we don’t need music?”

“You read my mind.” You could just feel his thumb waving back and forth against your tunic as he seemed to tuck you into the crook of his elbow. “And just for you, I’ll go very slow. Can’t have you getting dizzy again.”

“My hero.”

He hummed and held his cheek to yours. His skin was so warm- not from the bath, not from his soft, thick beard blanketing the side of your face, but just from Fíli. He glowed. Finally, you were close enough to feel the beams radiating from him and you couldn’t stop yourself from burrowing into the heat, eyelashes tickling his skin, nose nestling into silky, clean hair. You bathed in his sunlight, blinded to anything other than his arms around you and chest supporting you, his lips caressing the side of your head. 

“Dizzy?” he asked.

“A little.” 

“Me too.”

He only just rocked you back and forth, barely swaying as if to merely keep up the pretence of dancing. Safe in his arms, he led you along to the melodies of your beating hearts, steady breaths and unspoken confessions. You leaned your head on his shoulder and that tiny movement seemed to break a spell. Fíli’s voice, however, brought a new kind of magic.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what Kíli meant?”

You breathed out a laugh, sending cool air over his neck that made him shiver around you. “I was going to let you tell me when you were ready.”

“(Y/N), I’ve been ready.” You lifted your head, but he tightened his grip on you, keeping you close to him. “The pack was meant to be a courting gift- a proposal. But you deserve much more than that. I want to make something for you with my own hands. Something grand and gorgeous that you could love forever and would possibly begin the greatest adventure of our lives.” He swept tender fingers through your hair and held your cheek, feeling his own warmth still radiating from your skin. “But I don’t know how long it will be before I can do that for you and I don’t want to wait that long. I don’t want to wait another moment, so I’m asking you now. Will you allow me to court you?”

“Yes.” You nodded. “Yes.” You turned your face into his hand and kissed his palm. “But Fíli, of course I want to treasure something you’ve made for me and have it with me always, but what matters to me is being with you. I don’t need gifts. Only you.”

You saw his radiant smile before he pulled you close, pressing his forehead to yours. The tip of his nose nuzzled yours and then settled. The two of you shared the same air for long, peaceful moments, before he went digging into his trouser pocket. 

“Wait,” he said, drawing away. He pulled out a hair piece, the one he wore on the bottom of his backmost braid, and held it flat in his palm. “I have this. I can secure a courting braid with it, though it’s a tad unusual.” He took your chin in his fingers, running his thumb back and forth. “It can be a placeholder.”

Pride bubbled in your chest. You kissed him. “A placeholder.”

Taglist: @emrfangirl​ @misslongcep​ @raindancer2004​ @ladybugg1235​ @xxbyimm​ @burningcoffeetimetravel​ @fire-flv​ @nerdbirdsworld​ @dashesofink​ @teagarages​ @dreams-of-wander​ @winchesterandpie​ @bluebellcotton @tumblinglringlring @fxngsfogxarty @specialagentsnark @afeistyfairy12 @queenofmankind @karlthecat15722 @sagabriar @marymegger @daydreamer-in-training @aidan-kili-mitchell-forever

#fili friday #fili x reader #fili x dwarf!reader #the hobbit #the hobbit fanfic #the hobbit fanfiction #the hobbit fic #dean o'gorman x reader

[grandhotelabyss]

Via Wesley Yang, this is an interesting but ultimately unpersuasive conservative’s take on a subject that frequently interests us here at Grand Hotel Abyss: the dynamics of cultural change. Our author posits cultural hegemony to be generational hegemony and therefore to last for up to four decades. He intends this—to use the fashionable argot—both as a black pill and a white pill for his right-wing readers. The bad news (for them) is that they’ll be ruled by the woke until about 2050 or so; on the one hand, their time will come around again if they start manufacturing the red pill for Generation Alpha right now. 

Maybe this is a persuasive argument if confined to its own domain. The author claims “culture war” as his topic, but he soon starts talking about a generational shift in attitudes toward capitalism and socialism instead. Economic views, though, are tangential to culture war. Culture itself is more labile; semi-autonomous and molded by major and often histrionic or hysterical personalities (I include myself), its time-scale is shorter and more sensitive to ambient emotion. This essay gives no sense of how prominent liberal and then countercultural ideas became in the ’60s and ’70s, nor the inescapability of conservative ideology in pop and even high culture in the ’80s and ’90s. The oeuvre of an individual popular writer can offer a seismographic readout of these shifts: trace, for example, the transgender characters in John Irving’s fiction from heroic and laudable (The World According to Garp, 1978) to horrifying and dangerous (A Son of the Circus, 1994) and back again (In One Person, 2012)—if he lives long enough, he’ll probably write another trans serial killer.

“Ideas” and “ideologies” are the wrong words for these phenomena, though. Ideology manifests in art as style and sensibility, not open political claims; any given work of art’s stated politics are usually contradicted by what its form knows. It’s senseless to “correct” people, for example, when they identify the Watchmen graphic novel as right-wing, as I’ve often seen people do. What propositional content we can distill from the book does amount to a leftist critique of American empire, yes, but tonally the work is suffused through and through with a nihilism and an antinomianism that pair very well with “there is no such thing as society.” 

Cock your ear for the change in tone and ignore what’s said superficially. Wokeness will not be out-argued in a debate; rather, the agriculturalists who tend the culture will acidify the soil until it can’t grow anymore, a reverse of the earlier process by which the ground was prepared for “believe victims” as a universal mandate. Listen to the latest episode of that literary podcast I mentioned earlier. I only got a few minutes into this one myself because the schtick started to feel mean-spirited, not in an all-in-good-fun Anna-and-Dasha way but truly nasty, even if staged. Where that tone of absolutely knowing insincerity prevails even among hip left-lib literati, no claim to injury, serious or spurious, will even find its way to articulation. 

I am interested for just this reason in the synecdoche that is that tiny emergent literary and arts scene on the Lower East Side. It’s small and semi-obscure, but its members are hardly cultural or economic outsiders exclusively; we’ll be contending with their apparently “based” books and movies much sooner than 2050. Listen to their most promising and acclaimed writer, we’ve mentioned her work here before, on this podcast, as she expatiates on admiring Erwin Rommel, converting to Catholicism, avoiding the vaccine, enjoying Tucker, and so on. 

On the other side of the battlefield, yes, the woke have captured a series of commanding institutions—universities, mainstream media, public schools—but they’ve done so just as those institutions head into a possibly terminal decline, hence their vulnerability to capture in the first place. I doubt the start-up city-states of the future will be responsive to today’s bien-pensance.

How should the independent writer, artist, and intellectual answer these shifting tides? I write on Independence Day. Child of immigrants, I do not feel free to desist from the civic religion no matter the merely rational objections it invites. So, for an alternative view of cultural change, I conclude with the rhetorical fireworks of our most archetypally independent American mind:

The expansive nature of truth comes to our succor, elastic, not to be surrounded. Man helps himself by larger generalizations. The lesson of life is practically to generalize; to believe what the years and the centuries say, against the hours; to resist the usurpation of particulars; to penetrate to their catholic sense. Things seem to say one thing, and say the reverse. The appearance is immoral; the result is moral. Things seem to tend downward, to justify despondency, to promote rogues, to defeat the just; and by knaves as by martyrs the just cause is carried forward. Although knaves win in every political struggle, although society seems to be delivered over from the hands of one set of criminals into the hands of another set of criminals, as fast as the government is changed, and the march of civilization is a train of felonies,—yet, general ends are somehow answered. We see, now, events forced on which seem to retard or retrograde the civility of ages. But the world-spirit is a good swimmer, and storms and waves cannot drown him. He snaps his finger at laws: and so, throughout history, heaven seems to affect low and poor means. Through the years and the centuries, through evil agents, through toys and atoms, a great and beneficent tendency irresistibly streams.

—Emerson, “Montaigne; or, the Skeptic”

#ralph waldo emerson #cultural studies #cultural criticism

[septembercfawkes]

Scene vs. Sequence vs. Act

If you are like me, you've probably heard the terms "scene," and "act," and maybe even "sequence" at least a dozen (if not a hundred) times without anyone explaining what they actually are.

For most of my writerly life, I've heard about the 3-Act Structure, without anyone explaining to me what an act actually is. Sure, they may tell me what story parts go in which one, what happens, but they don't tell me what it actually is. Like, why is that stuff an act? What makes this a scene? And what is a sequence? 🤦‍♀️

So with this post, I'm hoping to help others with that, explaining what these things are, structurally, after all, they are structural terms.

(Though, as I've acknowledge before, much of story structure can get down to how you decide to slice and dice it, and people use different terminology, making writing terms a bit slippery, naturally.)

Scene

If you don't have an exact understanding of what a scene is, you probably at least have a vague one, thanks to the scene selection menu on movies or the high school play you saw being rehearsed in the auditorium as a teenager.

A scene is a unit of action that takes place in a single location and continuous time. When the location changes, or the time jumps, or in some cases (particularly in plays) when a new set of characters enter the location, it's a new scene.

In Guardians of the Galaxy, the opening scene is when Peter is a kid and his mom is lying in a hospital bed dying from cancer, and it ends as he runs outside and is abducted.

Then we jump to 26 years later on a different planet--a new scene.

Seems simple enough, right?

But here's the thing, for a scene to work structurally, it actually needs to do more than that. The scene is a structural unit, perhaps even more so than a setting unit (time or place), but often, people only define it using setting terms, like we have so far.

In reality, a scene follows the same basic structure of the overall story.

And it typically breaks down in similar ways (or usually should).

Open with a hook

Establish the setup (where and when we are and what characters are in the scene)

Have a rising action with complications

Hit a climax

Have a falling action or denouement

You can even break this down further (remember how I said it depends on how you want to slice and dice it?)

Hook

Setup

Inciting Incident (or what you may think of as "plot point 1")

Rising action with progressive complications

Crisis moment (or what you may think of as "plot point 2")

Climax

Falling action

You could even add a midpoint in there.

About a year ago, I broke down how I thought about scene structure.

Now, some people like to think of the climax as a "turning point."  In this sense, "climax" and "turning point" are simply different perspectives to view the same thing.

There are also other ways you can slice and dice it that I haven't yet added on my blog. A very popular one is often referred to as "scene and sequel" which goes like this:

Part 1 (Action):

- Goal

- Conflict

- Outcome

Part 2 (Reaction):

- Reaction

- Dilemma

- Decision

Some writers argue these are two different scenes, and others say they are two parts of one scene. Once again, it comes down to how you want to slice and dice it and how you define scene. Certainly these parts could be written to obtain the same shape, either together, or individually, which bring me to a point I talked about earlier this year: this story shape permeates everything.

Find which slicing and dicing method works best for you. Some click with me and others don't so much.

Just remember that a scene typically takes place in a single location and a continuous time and structurally has that shape.

If it does not have that shape in some way, it probably falls flat.

(For a full breakdown of how that shape works in a scene, go here.)

If you watch the opening scene of Guardians carefully, you will see it follows that shape.

However, keep in mind that like everything in writing, rules can be broken. This is generally how scenes work and how you get them to work consistently, but there are occasions where you can bend the rules.

Sequence

A sequence is a step up from a scene but smaller than an act.

A sequence is made up of scenes that are building up to a somewhat larger climactic moment or "turning point."

Because a sequence includes multiple scenes, it is not bound by a single location or time frame.

Let's say you are writing a story where at some point, the viewpoint character is kidnapped.

You might start with a scene where the kid is playing at the park and is approached by a predator who wrangles her into a moving van and ties her up. (Notice how that completes that story shape.)

The next scene jumps to the moving van slowing down, with the girl still tied up in the back. She's afraid of where she is going to go next, but as she listens, she realizes that her predator has actually been pulled over by police for speeding. She tries to bang around and cry for help, but she has a gag and isn't aided.

Next, we cut to her in the predator's dingy basement where two other girls are, every victim untied and ungagged. She talks and cries to them and tries to get out, but they are completely locked in. There is no way out.

Those three scenes make up a sequence, a "kidnapping" sequence. Notice how the sequence escalates, the viewpoint character going from being safe at a park to being kidnapped and locked in a basement.

It follows this same shape.

If you slice and dice it, it will have these same elements:

Hook

Setup

Rising Action

Climax

Falling Action

You can have more than three scenes in a sequence and you can have two.

Since I used Guardians of the Galaxy as an example earlier, let's grab a sequence from that as an example. At one point in the movie, Peter, Gamora, Rocket, and Groot are thrown into prison, where we will have multiple scenes. We have a scene about them getting "checked in," a scene about them interacting with the other inhabitants, and a scene where Peter wakes up in the night and saves Gamora (meeting Drax). You could call this the prison-initiation sequence.

Notice that it too follows that shape. Hook, setup, rising action, climax, falling action.

Act

An act is bigger than a sequence but smaller than the whole plot.

An act is made up of sequences that are building up to a larger climactic moment or "turning point."

It follows the same shape on a bigger scale.

Maybe in our story about the kidnapper, the kidnapping is plot point one of the whole story. So previous to that were sequences about the characters' ordinary lives and their smaller problems within that. That means from the beginning to the end of the kidnapping sequence is the first act.

If you slice and dice it, it will have these same elements:

Hook

Setup

Rising Action

Climax

Falling Action

You can have more than three sequences in an act and you can have two.

In Guardians of the Galaxy, I would say the first act ends just after the prison-initiation sequence. We've been introduced to the main characters and now have a new goal, which will start the next rising action.

Even though I think scenes are talked about ambiguously, I have to say that acts are talked about even more ambiguously. Most people just follow the 3-Act structure, with beginning, middle, and end. Sure, you can slice any story that way, I guess, but for me, that often doesn't tell me enough about what an act actually is. What it means, is that there should be a climactic moment near the end of the beginning, near the end of the middle, and near the end of the end.

If the midpoint is a big climactic moment in its own right (or at least, if not the midpoint, leading up to the midpoint), I would personally view it as having four acts. 

(By the way, I'm aware my images aren't necessarily in the right proportions 😅)

And you can actually have even five or six or possibly seven acts--if you are hyper-focused on a main plot with little or no subplots and lots of twists, turns, and climactic reveals. But that's a bit more intensive than I want to get into today.

I would recommend taking this concept of an act and using it to benefit your perspective of your story. If you want to stick to the 3-Act Structure, because viewing it that way works best for you, great. Just remember that you need this same shape for the beginning, middle, and end. If you have a big climactic moment that is or near the midpoint, you might want to view your story as having four acts, each with this structure.

The point is that each unit is rising, climaxing, and falling within bigger rising, climaxing, and falling units, as the story escalates overall.

If you have a part of your story that doesn't seem to be working, or seems to be flat, or bottoming out wrong, use this to troubleshoot the problem. Check that your scene follows this shape. Check that your sequence follows this shape. Check that you have multiple acts that follow this shape. These shapes need to be inside the overall plot shape.

Overall, each act should be more intense than the previous act.

Overall, each sequence should be more intense than the previous sequence.

Overall, within a sequence, each scene should be more intense than the previous scene.

Generally speaking.

Of course, if you have subplots or secondary plots (as most do), you may think of having multiple plot lines that do this. So if you have a scene introducing a subplot, it may not necessarily feel more intense than the scene literally before it, but rather, within each plot line, the intensity increases.

Confused? Hopefully not. Just remember the shapes and the units--the rest is all in how you want to slice and dice.  

#writing tips #writing tip #writing tips and tricks #nanowrimo #writeblr #fanfic #writing reference #plot structure #writing advice #writing help

[austarus]

HR Wells x Reader Hidden Among The Fairy Lights (Part 2 of 3)

**A/N: The picture/edit/gif does not belong to me. 

*There’s a hidden Easter Egg, lemme know your thoughts in the comments or in reblogs. Could be about my next one-shot or it could be about part 3, let’s discuss ;D

Word Count: 5271

Part 1 Part 3

“HR?” you gave his arm a little squeeze, concern flooding your eyes at the sudden shift in his body language. Tension replacing his usually sunshine-y disposition that you had been accustomed to seeing every day, even if it expertly masked how he truly felt at times around the others. Gradually realizing that you eagerly wanted to see him sincerely smile at the beginning of each day to know that he was doing ok. A part of you wanted to retract your question, but a bigger part wanted to know- to understand what had happened to him to cause such a change in his demeanor.

“Are you sure this is what you wish to know?”

You swallowed your saliva as your answer fell out of your mouth without a second thought, “Yes.”

HR rubbed his face with a firm hand, exhaling slowly through his nose. What he shouldn’t have expected was for you to back down, after all you were just trying to befriend him. He knows you weren’t trying to intentionally hurt him, especially with all the kindness you’d shown him. “The people in my life have always set high expectations for me.” HR reopened those crystal blue eyes that you’ve found yourself falling into more than once. Like a riptide. He held your gaze, rubbing the skin on his wrist. “I came from a well-off family of scientists. My father was a genius physicist and a mathematician while my mother contributed whatever time she had to her cancer research. Everyone in the science community knew of the Wells family. I was… different. I didn’t want to study science or math; I didn’t want to be stuck in labs making analysis and collecting data. I wanted to create worlds and write my own reality- adventures that I can only dream of going on.” Your hand soon found his, giving it a little squeeze to let him know that you were listening intently. “My mother had a weak heart after I was born, so her movement was limited, but she gave me all her time while balancing her research and my father. My father… indirectly had blamed me for her health complication, fueled by my failure to follow in the scientific field. I essentially besmirched our family name.” You can tell where that was going, heard similar stories shared by friends of the past. Your heart clenched tightly in your chest for HR. “One thing came after another and my mother passed away from her heart condition, all because she was defending my desire to write and my interests in traveling.”

“I’m sorry,” you looked down, now mentally scolding yourself. “I-I shouldn’t have asked.” I’m so stupid, of course with that reaction he… I’m an idiot for asking. After this he won’t want to talk to me. After this, he won’t want to be around me again. I’m so stupid. I didn’t mean to hurt him.

“You didn’t know,” HR chuckled mirthlessly, a somber smile crossed his face as the author waved off your apology. He hadn’t noticed your hand in his until now, how his larger hand had encased your smaller one as if complementing each other like puzzle pieces. HR swallowed whatever had gotten caught in his throat. “My father wasn’t a fan of me or I him. But my mother was the one that I held onto dearly. She always told me that it’s ok to be myself, that I’m worth something, so I should keep smiling and continue on with my work. Then I met Randolf Morgan in middle school, and well, here we are.” HR sheepishly scratched the back of his neck. You saw his eyes glistening so you couldn’t help yourself but wrap your arms around him. HR returned the hug, letting out a breath as he concluded in a low whisper, “I hadn’t… truly confided my story to anyone in a while.” The invisible chains of his past still hung onto him even after all these years. What else could I have done, but to lie as Randolf covered for me until we re-opened up STAR Labs.

“Well, I’m here for you,” you spoke softly into his chest with red cheeks, unbeknownst to you his own cheeks and ears were flushing a similar color, “whenever you need me.” When you both pulled away a heavy droplet from the heavens fell onto your nose, causing you to snap your neck back a bit. HR laughed at your reaction to which you pouted at him for until another drop hit him in the eye. You laughed at his demise. Not a second too soon, an army of rain drops cascaded down onto the city, pelting down you and HR. The clouds angrily rumbled in up above. Instantly, the Earth-19 novelist had taken off the backpack and shrugged his jacket off.

“What are you doing?” You loudly asked him as the noise of rainfall increased. “You’re going to get sick!”

With a determined look, HR was already wrapping his jacket around you, but you resisted. “You’re going to get sick too!” Your hair was already sticking to your forehead as was HR’s, your shirt clung to the skin of your back. This seemed vaguely similar to a scene in all those cheesy rom-coms that Caitlin and Iris watch, but instead of a kiss under the gentle flow of rain, the water’s unyieldingly merciless to you and HR. A kiss would have been nice though.

“We’re both going to get sick!”

“Put this on-” HR firmly spoke, taking a hold of your hand once you had your arms in the sleeves of his warm jacket, “-and get ready to run.”

“Huh?!”

“We’re only a few blocks away from the labs, we can make it back and dry off there,” he explained as HR adjusted the backpack on his person once more. You wordlessly followed him back to the labs with fast steps. His warm hand had tugged yours along. Way to ruin everything rain.

***

Once back to the empty labs, HR had ushered you to his room as you both left a trail of water droplets. You two were cold and soaked to the bone. I… think my bra’s wet too. The rainstorm ragged outside and boy where you were relieved to finally be inside the labs. Cisco’s stuff is surely damaged at this point from the amount of rain. I guess we might have to make another trip up to Star City. HR handed you a dry towel, to which you immediately began to dry your hair as he did his own. You giggle when he had finished, revealing a floofy mess. He looked at you quizzically before you shook your head at him. You had to reprimand yourself from having your eyes trail along with the droplets that had trickled down his neck and into his shirt. I have no idea how to get home and on top of that, HR’s looking unfairly sexy right now. More so than he already is on a day to day basis. You once again scolded yourself for such thirsty thoughts because there was no way someone like him would want someone like you. He was up there, and you were just… down there. Literally from two different worlds. You shifted your footing a bit as you continued to dry yourself off as best as you could.

You crinkled your nose at the way you smelled from the rain then you mentally facepalmed because you just did that in front of the cute novelist… whom you’re not crushing on because you’ve obviously got no chance with him. A shiver ran throughout your body as a small sneeze left you. HR didn’t know why, but he found your tiny sneeze to be cute as a puppy-like grin made its way on his lips.

“You can borrow my shower if you want. That way you can warm up and avoid getting sick.”

“I’m not-” you sneezed once more, holding the towel close to you for some warmth. “…” You remained silent, sheepishly and stubbornly looking at anything other than HR. A warm shower does sound really nice right about now, especially with the idea of getting out of these wet clothes. You still had his jacket on your body, you’d have to return that too.

“Uh huh, you were saying?”

“… HR.”

“Yes, little sick birdy?”

“I-I don’t have any extra clothes with m-me.”

You and HR just blinked at one another as water trickled down the back of your neck from your roots. “…” Clearing his throat, HR fumbled around his room to get clothes that would fit you. You saw his face had reddened and so your immediate thought was that he had gotten fever, but before you could ask HR had handed you a dark long-sleeve and some shorts with adjustable strings. “J-just leave your clothes in the basket by the door and I’ll put them in the dryer.”

HR sneezed after you had entered his bathroom, mind going to places he shouldn’t have let it go to, especially in this situation. The author sighed as he pushed the thought away of your undergarments also being among the wet clothes. Stop, you’re a gentlemen, not a hormonal teen with his crush over for a slumber party from kissing out in the rain like fools. HR shrugged his wet shirt off once he heard the shower start, his mind easing that you would no longer be cold. Pulling out some clothes to change into, he realized that it’s better to do so until after you’ve finished with your shower, he’d then take his turn and change into a new set, but at least he’d be dry for the moment. The laundry basket was placed by the entrance of the bathroom, but out of view from his bedroom. Picking it up, he accidentally caught sight of your bra among your clothes. Maybe I’m the fool… The dark-haired Wells nibbled on his bottom lip as he went to place the clothes in the dryer. Blue eyes took one final glance at his room before wandering to the brown bag of a purchase that he had bought a few days prior. I guess now’s the best time to set those up.

***

The entirety of your time in his shower, you had blamed the heat for your pink-flushed face and how fast your heart had been beating. The warmth of the water thawed your body as you berated your heart for running a thousand miles an hour. You’d rub your face multiple times to stop yourself from daydreaming any longer of how you’d want to spend the rest of your days in his arms, basking in his generous smile and sunny-like personality. I’m a fool for hoping. You made sure to take a quick shower as to not take all the hot water because… this isn’t your bathroom. Stepping out of the shower, you wrapped a spare towel around your form. You faced the fact that for the evening, you would smell like HR as your only shower options were limited to his own shampoo/conditioner and body wash. You played with your damp locks before fully drying off and putting the long-sleeve sweater on your body. The scent of his cologne as well as a forest-y musk hung to his shirt with the vague smell of old books and you swore it was making your head spin, intoxicating you. Get yourself together! He’s just being nice, that’s all.

You peered outside the window, finding that the rain relentlessly fell onto the city. Thankfully, your panties weren’t too wet, so you opted to have them on as you lamented your bralessness. The soft fabric scratched slightly against your nipples. Taking a glance at the mirror, the shirt hung on you a bit loosely as it reached past mid-thigh length while the sleeves needed to be rolled up to your wrists. Guess I don’t need the shorts. You re-folded the shorts he had given you. They weren’t going to fit me anyway, but I do appreciate the thought. You wrapped the towel around your head and padded out of the misty bathroom.

“HR, do you have a hairbrush that I could use?” You asked as you peered into his bedroom, mentally wondering if this is what it would be like to be his and sleeping over for the night. Sighing sadly, you pushed the idea to the depths of your mind.

“Should be back in the bathroom, first drawer on the right,” he had called out with his back turned to you. You weren’t able to see what he had been tinkering with. Hearing some shuffling behind him, HR assumed you had re-entered the bathroom for the brush. The Wells doppelganger had finished setting up his purchase and had already put your clothes in the dryer with his wet ones. He had gotten two mugs of hot chocolate, readily seated on the small counter. The Earth-19 being had remembered you telling him that you liked the warm beverage when you both were discussing drinks on a coffee run to Jitters for the team. Reasons beyond him, that was one of the details that had struck his memory 10 minutes or so ago. “Did you find it?” He turned around at the sound of the bathroom door clicking shut and HR swore that he felt his whole world stop.

HR swallowed thickly as you took your hair down from the towel up-do, messily tangled and awaiting to be brushed out. In his eyes he saw that his shirt had encased you perfectly, but also allowing his imagination to not wander too far. The novelist chewed on the inside of his cheek as he looked back into your eyes. He took a breath, knowing his self-control was what the stars were testing him on today.

You self-consciously smoothed out the soft fabric of the long-sleeve shirt as the towel hung over your forearm. “H-How do I look?” The words tumbled out of your mouth before your mind could even register what you had said. Your gaze finally locked onto his, not noticing that for a split second his eyes had looked you over.

“Good- you look good.” HR did his best not to stumble with his words when in reality he wanted to say so much more. But that would be inappropriate. He couldn’t deny that his heart had swelled with pride at how his clothes looked on you. The taller man had gathered his things for his own shower. “I- The rain doesn’t seem to be letting up now so- I mean only if you want to- you could make yourself at home until it calms down.”

“Yeah, yeah. That sounds like a plan.”

“I made hot chocolate for us- you- I think you like it?”

“I- I do yes! Um- sorry for imposing and everything.”

“Trust me, you’re not. It… gets lonely here sometimes,” he tilted his head as a laugh left him, having the gall to send you a wink before he entered the bathroom. Butterflies started a rave in your body at the wink. Shutting the door, HR leaned against it and released an audible sigh. It truly does get lonely every night. He closed his eyes as he felt various chemical hormones, adrenaline among them causing his body to feel nervous and tingly. Sensations that he hadn’t felt towards anyone in a really long time. What are you doing to me, little birdy? was the only thought left in HR’s mind as he started up the shower.

Smiling to yourself, you hummed out a little tune as you had set your hair into a French braid after getting all those pesky knots out. You checked your phone for any texts or missed calls only to find it at 5%. I should really carry a charger around with me. Placing the wet towel in the laundry basket, you turned around to observe your surroundings. You happily noticed that HR had remodeled the area to his liking, giving his temporary residency a home-y kind of vibe with the current decorum. What had really caught your attention was what appeared to be his work desk littered with books and spare papers messily put together along with glasses that were unfolded beside some candles.

Your feet had padded on the cool concrete floor as you approached the desk.I didn’t know he wore glasses. Picking them up, you analyzed them before putting them on for a few seconds. They look so much like Harry’s and Thawne’s, but they’re for reading instead. Slipping them off your face and settling the glasses back to their respective spot on the desk, your eyes wandered over to a slightly open manuscript paper set at the top of all the other case-covered books. A dark green bookmark and a pen was lodged in the midst of it, the bookmark tucking out from the top of the page. Curiosity picked and pulled at your brain, tempting you to take hold of the thick papers and unravel its contents. You pursed your lips. I’m sure he won’t mind… I’ll just put it back when I hear the water turn off… A little peek won’t hurt anyone.

Ethereal Beings was the title of the manuscript, printed with HR’s initials beneath. You settled at his desk, cracking the novel open and pulling out the pen as you wondered what kind of books HR had written. Running a hand through your hair, you began reading the prologue as you took sips from your hot chocolate-filled mug. Unbeknownst to you that you would become so engrossed in the plot of the Mermaid and the Pirate Gentleman (coincidentally meeting  and unknowingly searching for the Kjarni Flower) that you wouldn’t hear the sound of the shower shutting off.

HR turned the shower off after dealing with some… pesky thoughts. The fantasy author quickly styled his hair to his level of perfection and applied a spray of cologne onto his skin as he freshened up. HR took in a breath before exhaling slowly. Leaving the bathroom with a crisp white short-sleeve shirt and dark sweatpants, HR spotted your petite frame hunched over his desk. He raised an eyebrow at you.

“What are you doing?”

“Ah!” You felt a rush of electricity shock you as you dropped the manuscript, which landed with a dull thud. You quarter-filled cup of warm milky chocolate almost spilled over at the impact. Turning around, your blood rushed to your head as HR approach you. You awkwardly stumbled over your words. “I-I was totally not reading one of your books that just happened to be lying on your desk.” Please believe me… I’m so guilty, what the hell?

“Uh huh”

HR just shook his head at you, pulling the dropped three-hole bounded paper set from you. Out of every reading material he had published, you had chosen to crack open the one he had been revising. Taking a seat on the plush bed, his gentle baby blues scanned over the text.

“Would you be able to read to me your current work?”

“Is that what you wish your second question to be?”

He had raised a teasing eyebrow at you to which you nodded at his question in confirmation; HR smirked as he patted the space beside him on his bed. Sheepishly you stumbled onto his bed and scooted beside him but remained a respective distance apart.

“Two in one day, things must be getting really interesting in that head of yours.” HR joked as he reached over to shut off the main lights to the room, simultaneously flicking on another switch. And he said let there be light. Your eyes lit up at the spectacle dimly lighting the room, yet providing a good enough light in close proximity for reading.

“HR,” you whispered, slowly looking around the room at the twinkling fairy lights. How did I not notice them? The lights continued to sparkle around the both of you, an insightful truth hidden among them.

“I figured you’d like them. You mentioned a couple days ago that you’re fond of them, but never had time to actually go out to buy some. So, I thought…” HR trailed off once the fairy lights had illuminated. A soft and toothy grin graced his features as he saw stars twinkle brightly in your eyes. Your face held a smile of jubilee. HR held up the manuscript, regaining your attention, “Shall we continue your adventure with the Mermaid and Pirate Gentleman?”

“I thought that one was published since you seem to do things differently on your Earth.”

“So, you thought our books would be different?”

“Uh huh!”

“We have books with covers, your choice on the illustration of course, and coverless manuscripts too. This is essentially a drafting manuscript, I’m in need to revise it before submitting it in for further publication. That’s why I had it open.” HR had rubbed the back of his head as he explained, giving you a great view of his bicep unfairly and reflexing a flex. A firm vein popped along the strained muscle. You swore the universe was out to remind you of your everlasting singleness and infatuation with the Wells doppelganger. That’s really… an appealing piece of muscle.

HR didn’t grab his glasses, knowing after a while his eyes would strain a bit at the reading. But he didn’t want to look like Harry. As his handsome Earth-2 doppelganger had once said to the others “I’m my own man” and so was HR. And others may view the decision as selfish, but he didn’t want you to see Harry. Especially in this moment.

“Are you not going to drink your hot chocolate?” You pointed to his now cold beverage.

“I was, but it’s cold now.”

“Then I’ll go heat it up for you.”

“And you’ll come back?”

“Of course, you have to fulfill my second question after all.”

HR watched you perk up and off the bed with a mission to provide him a warm drink as he had done for you. Biting down on his lower lip he got under the covers. You returned with a warm mug of hot coco for your crush friend this time with a candy cane in it. HR only looked at you quizzically before you handed the cup over to him, telling him to try it. He took one sip, humming in delight and approval. You grinned taking a seat next to the author.

“Chapter 3: Of Pestilence and Mayhem,” HR had started with a low voice, unknowingly allowing your heart to jump at the tone. “The fates seemed to have decided to toy with Gerard today…” He continued on, expertly reading through each sentence that you hung on to. You fought with sleep that gradually clouded your vision as HR moved on to the next chapter. Midway through the chapter, you had subconsciously scooted closer to HR as he seemed to provide a pretty good source of heat. HR subtly noticed but voiced no rejection of it.

As the novelist moved from line to line, there was a growing battle between your mind and the cloudiness of dreams that threatened to take over. You yawned in audibly accidently causing HR to, but he kept on reading. I don’t want to go home, he’s so warm and his voice sounds so nice… Like velvety chocolate. The heaviness in your eyes won the battle against your resistance, causing them to flutter shut as a sleepy haze took over you. Simultaneously, your head had rocked to the side and fallen gently onto his shoulder as a pillow remained loosely clutched in your arms.

HR turned his head, watching your chest rise and fall as gentle breaths escaped you while you were in a world of dreams. Letting out a little breath, the corners of his lips turned up at the corners as HR shook his head at you. But his thoughts subtly stop him. Was I that boring? Maybe the plot needs to be reworked? HR decided that he’d ask you in the morning as he set aside the manuscript. For now, he pushed the covers away as he moved your gently in a better position to sleep. With one last look, HR had brushed a strand of hair out of your face. HR mused to himself that to anyone watching, they’d see hidden adoration and maybe something else within his blue iris. Maybe a dark and possessive quality he didn’t know he had. Who knows? HR analyzed your sleeping form before sweetly planting a kiss to your forehead, secretly wishing in the depths of his soul that you were willingly his to love. HR’s fallen in love before, it’s just the unfortunate fact that it was something that was never reciprocated to him in his life.

“Goodnight, my little songbird.”

***

Blood-curdling screams had greeted the multiversal author as he descended into sleep. HR’s eyes snapped open, finding himself standing ankle-length in a dark-colored substance. The acrid smell overwhelmed his senses as his eyes slowly focused. It took a few seconds for the taller man to register the foul and metallic smell of blood. He was standing in blood! HR yelped at first trying to move his legs away, feeling as if the fluid had nipped at his skin, almost burning him. But the gruesome fluid was everywhere. Trembling blue eyes looked all around the landscape, finding nothing but a void of black death.

“Pathetic,” the familiar voice sneered. HR’s gaze locked onto Harry, who continued to give him an annoyed look. HR furrowed his eyebrows.

“Excuse me?”

“Pathetic, you always were pathetic. Maybe that’s why your friend Randolf sent you here.” Harry’s cold laugh tuned to the dryness of the atmosphere. He unfolded his arms to pocket his hands, HR watched as a malicious smirk weaved its way onto his doppelganger’s features. “Booting you from Earth-19 to do away with your pitifulness. You can’t even use a computer correctly. How laughable. You crossed to a different earth. Congrats, dead man, so have many others. How could you ever deserve someone like her? She should be with me instead. After all, I was here with her first.”

In a blink of an eye, Harry’s lithe form had vanished in thin air. This is all in my head, I just need to breathe. I’ve dealt with worse; I’ve overcome many. I’m fine. I’ll be fine, I just need to breathe. He calmed his breathing for a moment, Finally turning around, HR found decaying bodies and corpses all around. His breathing hiked again at the scene, his stomach churning. Once more, HR turned to the side only to come face to face with you. You, who had blood spilling out of the corner of your mouth. HR felt his own mouth go dry.

“Why did you leave me?” You asked in a raspy voice. HR remained frozen in place, his body unable to move away from the image of you and all the carcasses. “Why did you run?”

“I-I didn’t run. From what?”

“You let him take me,” HR’s eyes widened as blood gradually stained your chest as if you had been impaled. “You let him use me and now he killed me. You were the reason he came after me.”

“N-no no no,” HR took a step back, your haunting image taking a step forward to him. “You’re safe. You’re asleep next to me. You’re fine. Nothing happened.” Hysterically, he ran a hand through his messy hair, just noticing the blood on his hands. Your blood. He tried to shake it off in fright as you closed in on him.

“Why didn’t you save me?”

“I-“

“Didn’t you promise me to stay?”

“You’ll always be a coward, HR Wells,” HR snapped his head towards the voice. Lo and behold, the one person he hoped to never crossroads with now stood in front of him in all her leathery glory. Gypsy, a legendary Collector. “You see what you did?” The brunette strode close to him. HR felt a million of pins and needles in his limbs. “You’re the reason she died. All because you kept running and running and running. Like a coward. All these corpses were your fault, if only you had learned your lesson the first time.” The author couldn’t move his legs, couldn’t feel them, as if someone had filled them up with lead. His chest felt tight, bile stuck in his throat causing him unable to retaliate. His head screamed at him achingly. He was utterly helpless. “One way or another, I will find you, HR Wells, and I will collect you.” She made a gun gesture, aiming it right at his heart. “Bang.”

HR’s eyes snapped open, feeling himself sticky with sweat. His breathing was rapid, closing his eyes once more he forced himself to calm down. That’s the third nightmare these past few weeks. HR tiredly sighed, reopening his eyes and focusing them in the dimness of the room. The sun was languidly climbing up the sky, yet it was still too early for even the birds to be out and about. HR had barely registered how close you were to him now, essentially tucking yourself close to his body for warmth. Adjusting his body, HR saw how your hair tie had left your braid, allowing your hair to half be settled in the braid and half gently untamed. Soft breathes escaped you, signaling that you were still asleep.

HR ran a hand over his face before he checked the time. The sight of you calmed him but remnants of his nightmare remained at the back of his mind. Women are usually the first ones to leave me in the morning, especially after realizing who they had slept with. He mused that thought to himself as he pulled the blankets over your shoulders. Looking over your peaceful expression, his gaze lingered on your lips before submitting to one wish of many within his being. The novelist gingerly placed a kiss to your lips, slowly backing away to gaze upon you like prince would do to a sleeping princess. But you remained asleep, unaware of his feelings and affections for you. If only you knew, what I would do-. He hated his nightmares, hated those dark thoughts that constantly plagued him from reaching higher. Consistently scaring him from doing things he never imagined of doing. HR with the lightest of touches threaded his fingers through the hair that had left the confines of the braid. I would try anything to be by your side and you at mine.

The emotion behind HR’s eyes suddenly shifted as a thought crossed him. Maybe… Randolf did want to get rid of me. He knows of the Inter-dimensional Travel Execution rule, yet… And here I am, on an Earth that’s not my own. With people who are not my own. And… Father did always favor Randolf since we were kids, even in his will. HR swallowed the bile in his throat as he pursed his lips. I guess the fates were really toying with me all along. A little noise had erupted from your throat as you snuggling closer into HR’s chest, but with sullen eyes he had to gently pull away from your welcoming warmth. The taller man decided a walk would be best to clear his head in order to face the trials and tribulations of today with Team Flash. HR tucked you in and left the room, sparing one last glance over his shoulder before shutting the door quietly.

Would that be her third?

#harrison wells x reader #harrison wells #hr wells x reader #hr wells imagine #hr x reader #hr wells #The Flash #the flash cw #the flash imagine #harrison wells fanfiction #the flash fanfiction #the flash x reader #team flash x reader #team flash #team flash imagine #DCTV #DC comics #dc #harrison wells imagine

[chattingwiththelightkeeper]

Alpha, A Red Flag (Part Two)

Since I have shared why I feel the use of the label alpha is a red flag when it is used by a submissive, it is only fair that I share my view on so-called alpha dominants (You can find that writing here). So if that sentence did not give you a clue, I believe that alpha when used by a d-type is a red flag and perhaps an even larger one than when employed by a submissive.

There are a lot of different descriptors when it comes to classifying dominants, so I want to walk through the majority of them along with some that I disagree with and then I will share more about why, for me, alpha, with one exception, is a red flag.

It is also important to keep in mind that lifestyle labels can and do mean different things to different people, so what I am sharing today is simply my opinion and I expect others to have differing opinions. So it is time to get this party of a post started with labels that point to those on the d-side of life.

The obvious place to start is the plain Jane dominant. I believe the best way to sum up a dominant, without writing a novella, is a person who finds soulful joy in leading another in a consensual relationship. A traditional dominant more often than other ‘styles’ I feel will be more service and/or protocol-driven. It is important to not confuse these traits as dominance, cockiness, domineering, and selfishness. I believe a dominant is self-assured, yet still possesses insecurities, they are not authoritarian and are selfless rather than selfish.

Some d-types will describe themselves as being gentleman or lady dominants. Typically these people prioritize being courteous and considerate to not only their submissive but to the world as well. This is in my opinion one of the ‘titles’ in the lifestyle where actions are truly more important than words.

Often but not always linked with the ladies and gentlemen of dominance is the title of daddy/mommy. It often feels like this is quickly becoming a very popular role for new d-types. There are often many assumptions about mommy/daddy dominants so this is a role where asking the question of what it means to a person is very important. Typically, a daddy or mommy dominant will wish more on guiding/caring for their submissive than the traditional dominant’s emphasis on service and protocol. Additionally, a mommy/daddy d-type may want and/or enjoy age regression play, however it is important to not assume this because many who embrace this title are not fans of it.

Now it is time to talk about those big M’s, that is right the mistresses and masters. The M & M’s of the lifestyle have taken this title because of two main reasons. No, it is not because like the Seinfeld episode, they are masters of their domains but rather they have invested a significant about of time ‘mastering’ a skill within the wizarding world of BDSM or they have, currently, in real-life a submissive partner who identifies as a slave. The M & M titles are honorifics that online need to be viewed very carefully. Many of the esteemed online twattwaffle community take these titles not because they have invested years learning a special lifestyle skill nor are they in a relationship with a slave but they have selected it because it sounds impressive. Online, I recommend being cautious of anyone who has taken one of the M’s as a title, unless of course, you are chatting with the M, head of MI-6 and your name is Bond, James Bond.

While often not as ‘strict’ as those who are legitimate mistresses or masters, but very much a ‘kissing cousin’ are those d-types who use owner in their description. An owner will typically think of their s-type as simply property. They may treat their s-type this way all of the time or perhaps just some of the time. If you are newer to the lifestyle this might sound shocking and maybe a bit disconcerting but there are submissive who enjoy behaving like a piece of furniture, a pet (role-playing a kitten/puppy are fairly common), and those who own or wish to own a person who identifies as a slave.

This one is going to hurt for sure because it is time to address those pains in the butt, and other places, known as sadists. Just in case anyone was not clear on what a sadist is, a simple way to define one is a person to takes pleasure, often in a sexual nature, from inflicting pain on another. A word of warning, this does not always equate to physical pain, say from a spanking, but there are emotional sadists out there who get their pleasure inflicting mental soreness. Please remember that a sadist in lifestyle does what they do with and only with the consent of their partner and those who engage in this without or after consent has been revoked are not sadists in my lifestyle dictionary but simply abusers.

There are ‘softer’ sadists out there and these d-types will often pick sensual sadist as a way to categorize the difference. These folks do enjoy the infliction of pain but they mix it with sensual/sexual pleasure. Many dominants will fall here as they may enjoy, for example, giving a hard and painful spanking but mixing it with erotic touching/caressing.

People today will often tell you that they can be coarse or perhaps unfiltered is a better wording and in the lifestyle, there is a place for these dominants. A d-type who calls themselves primal would typically mean that at times they are without filter or animalistic. Immediately, I believe that most will associate roughness or hardness with primal but I have learned that it can also be softer and surprisingly loving. Those unfiltered feelings can indeed be rough but they can also attach to animalistic expressions of love and affection.

I want to talk about a subset that I am very much undereducated about, and writing this post helped me learn and reminded me there is always more to learn about the lifestyle. This is the Leathermen. When I first was introduced to the lifestyle many years back, identifying as a Leathermen was similar to asking “Are you a friend of Dorothy?” as it was almost exclusively made up of gay men as this group had its roots in post-World War Two motorcycle clubs that catered to gay veterans. But it now includes all genders and sexualities and focuses on those who enjoy the sensuality of leather. It is also often thought of as “old guard” and high protocol but that has also evolved as well with groups that are very low protocol.

Now to talk about roles that may or may not indicate a person is dominant.

Starting with a role that I am sure most people have seen and this is a top. A top is a person who enjoys being in charge during a ‘play’ scene but they may not be dominant outside of play but they could be. I think a good way to look at a top are those who enjoy being dominant but just in the bedroom because a top is a person who enjoys being dominant during play but it is unknown if they embrace that role outside of this realm.

Some people identify as dominant but these people are what I call the lifestyle’s lifeguards. Now, this sounds pretty noble but I am left questioning if they are truly dominant. The reason I say this is these white knights are focused on rescuing endangered submissives. These people rush in to save a submissive who is drowning in a tough situation, lead them to shore, giving them first aid once they get them to shore but after that, there is nothing left for them. Their ‘fetish’ is the saving, so once that submissive is saved from the sea, they want to find their next sinking submissive rather than walk off into the sunset with the recently saved submissive. So I put a question mark if these individuals are truly d-types or just have a fetish for saving others.

When I say the word trainer, what do you think of it? Training wheels on a bike? Maybe a medical professional that runs onto a sports field when an athlete is injured? Perhaps the person at the gym who motivates you to do a few more reps? In the lifestyle, there is a group of people who love to get their hands on brand new submissives, to train them. My belief is no submissive needs to be trained. Educated, yes but training is a hard no. No matter what side of the slash a person is on, I believe they should seek out mentors who are that same side of the slash to learn from. So many of the trainers out there especially online are doing so to simply get their hands on ‘fresh meat’ rather than to educate. While this is not universal, my belief and advice is that this lifestyle has a trainer danger. If anyone reading this is newer, focus on learning from those who share your role rather than learning from the other side of the proverbial slash.

Show me the MONEY! Sorry for the Jerry McGuire moment, but next up is the ‘findom’. Findom is short for finical dominant. No this is not a dominant stockbroker who wants to lead a submissive to personal growth and an amazing portfolio but typically will require tribute, AKA money/presents, for attention. Give them X amount of cash or purchase them exotic/expensive gifts to receive/earn their attention. For me, this is not dominance in any form and should have no place in the lifestyle. However, if you believe otherwise, I have been eyeing a new Ferrari and a heli-skiing trip and in return, I will share lots of pictures of the car and the mountains.

This post is getting a little long, so long in fact that I am hungry. Since I am hankering for some nourishment, it brings me to feeders. Just like the financial dominant, I feel this is something that should not be part of the lifestyle. A feeder is a person who likes to ‘lead’ their partner to gain unhealthy amounts of weight and they take pleasure the larger the partner becomes. Here is my issue, I believe that a dominant leads their submissive to be the best they can be, and leading their submissive into unhealthy choices that may lead to long-term health challenges, and quite possibly an early death is not what a dominant does.

While this rhymes with feeder and in my view does not belong in the lifestyle either is the breeder. I truly wish I was talking horse racing and the Breeder’s Cup but sadly here in kinklandia, there is a group of supposed d-types who have a fetish for breeding or to sum it up as impregnating women. This is not, for example, a D/S couple in their 20’s, committed, and doing a role play about ‘making babies’ on their honeymoon but men who have the fetish of meeting a stranger, having unprotected sex with them in the hope that they will ‘knock them up’. Sadly, this could not exist if there were not those out there looking to ‘be bred’. I do not know how to say this but making babies and having babies should never be a kink or fetish. While there are many reasons people have children, this, for me, is not one of them and a kink for making babies should not part of the lifestyle.

Now, we come to those who save me a trip to Wal-Mart on a bad day. These are the oh-so-loveable instapots, oops sorry, insta d-types. Everyone who has explored the lifestyle online has run into these numskulls and when I see or hear their dribble, I thank my lucky stars I am not submissive. The malarkey they spout is jaw-dropping. So please, should a new dominant have read this post, rather than abandoning it to search for more porn, please work to educate yourself. The cow pies that come out of insta-doms mouths and keyboards give them away to new and not-so-new submissives. Learn, grow, and then look for love please, I beg of you. If you are wondering why the instapots of the lifestyle keep from Wal-Mart, well I joke that when I am having a bad day, I can go to Wal-Mart, people watch for a bit, masked and safely socially distanced, and quickly realize I am not doing so badly and life is good. The beauty of the instapots is thanks to the internet, I do not even need to leave my house to have that Wally World experience, just bop around looking for their posts.

While I know I have not crafted a complete list of styles or types of dominants, I feel I did a decent job covering many of the popular categories plus I wanted to shine my light on some of the types that might or might not be authentic d-types. Now, this brings me to why alpha dominant is a personal red flag. I spent quite a bit of time reading what many who identify as alphas have expressed as to why they are one and many of the how-to guides on how to become one. So much of this was just facepalming and strangely, the alphas reminded me of the jocks from the Revenge of the Nerds movies.

Just like over on the alpha submissive side of things, the label of alpha feels linked to gender and sexual orientation. Those who have taken to calling themselves alpha doms appeared to me to be all heterosexual men. I am sure there is an exception to this out there but I simply did not find them. I am a firm believer that gender and/or sexual orientation are not required for any lifestyle role or title

Next, we need to talk about kielbasa. I want to put the phony baloney pony myth to bed. Sorry to tell you Sir Richard from the house of Lancelot, the size of your broadsword has nothing to do with anything else. The size of a man’s wang does not determine their role in the lifestyle. If dominance was linked to ‘size’ it would make meetings at work a whole lot easier, just unzip, set the goods on the conference room table, and then dictate assignments but all that will do is cause termination, lawsuits, and possibly a Supreme Court nomination. In all sincerity, penis size has nothing to do with anything guys because you can have a penis that is mistaken as a third leg and be a horrid lover while Tiny Tim can make her scream with pleasure until the cock cackles in the morning. How much (or little) “God gave you” does not make you a good or bad lover plus it has nothing to do with BDSM!

One of the good doctors of this alpha myth proclaims that if one of his domly minions encounters a woman who is only mediocre, or worse, at giving oral sex it is because she has never been properly taught by an alpha d-type. If her artistry is just acceptable, she may have had some direction from a “pseudo dom”. Seriously, sexual savvy has zero to do with this lifestyle. Within the community, some people are amazing dominants and submissives who do not enjoy oral sex and it is a hard limit. Sexual acts, the desire for them or the proficiency they are performed with has zero to with whatever role in the lifestyle is your home. The D/S lifestyle is not about sex, sexual acts, or someone’s prowess in the bedroom, so please do not fall for the false prophets who purport this jabberwocky.

The alpha apostles also preach that wealth and power equal dominance as well as desirability. Now, I want you to remove your political glasses for this next statement, just look at it through a neutral lens. If wealth combined with power is the scale that determines a dominance ‘level’ as well as desirability, this would make Vladdy Putin one of the most admired and desired men with submissive women. I tried hard to take my politics out of that but it did make me throw up on my mouth just a bit, sorry about that. Wealth only creates desirability for those who crave what money can buy. Do any of you believe that Anna Nichole Smith truly loved her elderly husband, found him a turn on sexually, or was it a billion other reasons she married him? Additionally, what is the one thing we know about power? Power is the biggest corrupter of humans. Yes, some rare individuals handle power with dignity and grace but it is also used to bully, belittle, and bludgeon. Affluence and privilege are not prerequisites for dominance and these should never be used to determine role within the community. Besides what does that say to Joe the Plumber? Is he unable to be an alpha because he is not blessed with wealth or a prestigious career?

These same missionaries also evangelize that a dominant must be physically fit. I believe that a d-type needs to take care of themselves physically because in a position of leadership it is important to be healthy mentally as well as physically, however, the alpha proponents take things to the extreme here. The expectation is that abs of steel are coupled with Biff the bodybuilder’s over-the-top workout routine (please do not forget to grunt loudly every time you pick something up). As I am writing this I am having visions of Hans and Franz saying “we are here to spank you up” rather than pump you up (if you do not remember this SNL skit, let google be your guide for a nice laugh). The health of our minds and bodies is important and need not be overlooked or neglected however the lifestyle is not something that can be sculpted in a gym. The weights that a dominant must lift are in their mind as they learn, grow and educate themselves about the lifestyle. Just because you CrossFit ninety hours a week does not make you a dominant. The exchange of power is mental, so it is important both the mind and body are healthy but how much you can bench-press is immaterial.  

I also need to say that dominants are not perfect creatures. Dominants, and many amazing ones, struggle with physical or mental health issues. No one, no dominant, is exempt from facing medical challenges. Somehow the truth that d-types are human, and will be afflicted with the same struggles every person, even vanilla and submissives face.

Some of the alpha ministers will also preach a Yogi the Bear sermon to you. “Hey there Boo-Boo Submissive I’m smarter than the av-er-age dominant!” attempting to claim another alpha distinction. They say they are smarter than the av-er-age d-type and in fact, I have heard several submissives say many of these Yogis think that they are so intelligent they know what submissive women want. They do not need to invest time to get to know a submissive because they already know you better than you know yourself. Just do as they say and you will be amazed! Sorry to tell you Yogi the Alpha, while I certainly do not know what every submissive wants, you do not know what they want either. To know what someone wants needs and dreams of requires investing time and effort into getting to know them. There is not a one size fits all knowledge base out there and even if you have won a Golden Goose Award ten years running, the dominant who invests in a submissive will know what they want and need even if they consider an issue of Archie demanding reading. If someone is indeed more intelligent than the average bear, they need to use that brainpower to invest in a person rather than relying on Ranger’s Jellystone Park one size fits all guidebook. Submission is not a picnic basket you can steal but it must be earned and freely offered.

The alpha propagandist also puts forth a dominant must achieve success in their career. Not only must they be successful, but the career must also be prestigious and admired. There is nothing wrong if you are someone who finds one of those careers their purpose and passion but also has the lifestyle as part of who they are. Sadly the flip side of this is that it excludes masses of people based on something that has no connection to dominance. I also wonder how these views might influence a young man who is exploring the lifestyle as they work to construct their future. Will they feel compelled to pursue a career that is not a fit for them or would they possibly decide to abandon exploring the lifestyle because they know their choices in the working world will exclude them from deciding to find a place within the lifestyle? The choices we all make on how we are going to educate ourselves as well as the way we make a living can tell a lot about who we are people but the one thing it cannot be used is as a guide to who is or is not a dominant plus it should never be used as a method to exclude people from the lifestyle.

A quick trip over to the land of google reveals that the alpha world is filled with a zillion and one guides on how to become ‘the alpha’. The sad thing about this is being dominant is not something that can be taught, you are either one or you are not. The lifestyle requires everyone to learn about themselves plus delve into exploring kinks and fetishes to find each individual’s right fit. What happens when someone picks up a step-by-step guide, follows it, and does what is directed is that that person becomes someone they are not. They are spending each moment of each day acting as though their life was a movie and these magical gurus are their directors. Life is not a movie and when anyone tries to be something they are not, all that ends up happening is they end up hurting others as well as themselves. Being a dominant requires a journey of self-discovery, there is no pre-selected route to follow, and mistakes along the way will happen. Throughout the amazing journey, a d-type must stay true to who they are and the only right route for them is the one they plot and follow because there are no master charts or true way.  

There is a place where alpha dominant does make sense and has a place in the lifestyle is just like on the s-side of things is in a poly relationship. There are relationships within the lifestyle that may have more than one d-type and the alpha dominant is the person who is the leader among the leaders in those relationships. So in those relationships, alpha dominant fits and makes sense.

In my opinion, choosing to use alpha dom status in the lifestyle is nothing more than an attempt at marketing because it does not make anyone a domlier dominant or superior to others. Not only is it an attempt to reach a false exclusive status but vanilla attributes that are completely unrelated to the lifestyle are being used as measuring sticks. Following obnoxious how-to guides, career choice/success, being a Jelly Stone mastermind, building a banging body, portfolio value, sensual savvy, and least of all todger size have nothing to with being dominant. Remember even if you are the biggest fish in your pond there is always a lake or sea out there with another fish who is bigger, stronger, and faster. A D/S relationship is a connection of minds which means for me being dominant is about giving your partner the leadership they need so they can face their fears and live their dreams. I believe that a d-type should focus on being who they are, growing as a person as well as the lifestyle and if they do that then the right submissive will swim up the stream to join them to journey through life together.

As with all of my writings, please see this disclaimer.

©TLK2021

[black-streak]

Saturday night's alright for fighting (but Sundays are meant for rest) - Dangerous Game Indeed

Part 4

Changing gears here for a moment. This part has no fluff. More character building than anything to set up the beginning of the next part, which should go back to being fluffy. Pretty sure I'm going to write their date next, but I felt it important to establish a few things early on. I promise if this gets you confused, the next part will explain what happened here better

~---~

So here's the thing about being a secret hero in a place teeming with vigilantes and villains. 

Being a bright red flash across the horizon doesn't work. 

Not that Marinette wouldn't love to zip across the high rise buildings by her yoyo, but it just wasn't a feasible option unless she wished to announce her presence to every person in the city. Seriously, Tikki, who does she think she is, Robin? One traffic light bright hero was enough.

That's how this… possibly unwise team up came to fruition. 

See, Mari planned to stay within the shadows, outta sight from the many bat people that stalked the rooftops at night, but like hell would she stay idle and complacent while Gotham suffered. So she waited and watched for quite some time before selecting her new miraculouses, eventually settling on the cat and fox combined. After all, chaos, destruction, and deceit work well together.

With her mind made up, she proceeded to plan out the costume and discuss how their powers were likely to combine; what to expect from this merge. The end result was magnificent. The bottomless-pit black bottoms were looser than anything she'd had before, wrapping tight in fabric bands only at the ankles and waist before shifting into a long sleeve shirt, just as free in the arms with the same tight bands at the wrists. The soft fabric draped across her chest, the front coming up to cover the bottom half of her face, the sides and back lifting up into a hood that covered her all the way to the eyes. Her gloves and hidden boots were a soot gray, indistinguishable in the dead of night and only barely of note in the day, with black claw tips and touch sensitive paw pads. Under the hood, her hair took on a more soot gray tone as well, black fluffy ears with gray insides just barely hinting out. A fluffy black tail with gray tip swished behind her. The colors were all Plagg while the design took more to Trixx. Her eyes however went into catlike slits of silver sclera and icy blue irises with what appeared to be black kohl ringing her eyes. Lastly, twin daggers tucked into the seams on her inner arms.

The first thing she discovered upon merging was that she became undetectable. Her movements made no sound nor did her breathing. She blended seamlessly with shadows and the night sky alike. People who looked in her direction would blink and discover it to be a trick of the light or assume it to be a delusion if they even saw her at all. It took concentration to push off the magic and allow others to see past the illusion. But she feared once it was gone, it'd be lost on that person forever. Sure, maybe they wouldn't notice her due to her own skill, but the magic would no longer protect her from them. So she didn't test it out. The next thing she realized was that her transformation didn't have much of a timer to detransform. Having worked with different kwamis for so long had built up a resistance to the strain. 

Secondly, she found their abilities didn't end at cataclysm and mirage. Funny thing about being in control of illusions and deceit; you could spot it in others from a mile away. Making villainous plans easier to tear apart without a charm. 

Plagg's… well Plagg's was different. As it turned out, death is simply an extension of destruction and while she had always known a poorly placed cataclysm could potentially end a life, she never expected this ability to sense death itself. She could feel when a place had seen too much or where it lurked heaviest in her vicinity. 

She could also sense when someone had been brushed with its weighted touch. Which had led to many tragic, heartbroken nights of research to discover why so many of the Waynes were smothered in it. From Jason disappearing for so long and being exposed to Kwami knows what. The potentially abusive upbringing of Damian by his mother who he refused to speak of. Bruce and his parents, murdered before his eyes. Tim losing his own parents and being around to bare witness to the many brushes of his adoptive family. Add on their secondary occupations and what it entailed and well, it was enough to know not to pry.

The first few transformations, she stayed docile, never engaging, silently observing the inner workings of the city. The next few, she branched out, interfering minor crimes with quick distractions and carefully curated traps. The criminals themselves would wake up outside the police station with evidence scattered about them and no memory of how they ended up there. Then a race against the clock would commence while they tried to gather everything thrown about them and run before any officers could take note and capture them. Mari took great pleasure in watching this part, sometimes binding their wrists or feet to add an extra element to their struggle.

The two kwamis truly brought out her more sly, volatile side.

Eventually it led to foiling larger scale villains when Batman seemed to be taking his own sweet time arriving to the scene. By the time he or one of his.. partners? Pupils? Kids? She never knew what he called them in costume... Well to whoever showed up, it would look like the plan collapsed within itself as though a few variables were forgotten or fell out of hand. 

The problem with starting to take action in a place like Gotham though is that no matter how much they can't prove your existence, the bats are bound to take notice. Because if they aren't the ones taking down these people, who is? 

That's how Mari found herself narrowly avoiding encounters on a weekly basis. Sure, no one spotted her yet, but tracking her location through found thugs she'd taken down moments before made for some close calls of almost physically being ran in to. Not sure how convincing of a pipe on a roof she could be if that were to happen. 

Add on her own animalistic instinct to hunt that led to many nights of stalking different vigilantes for hours on end, holding back the urge to pounce and well… it made for a dangerous game of cat and mouse. 

'Or rather, catfox and bird,' she thought, slowly inching along an edge wall of the roof where Red Robin laid in wait. 

Mari couldn't be sure how, but he seemed to have some sixth sense for looming figures. Either that or heaps worth of paranoia. Multiple times she'd had to hold deadly still while he whipped his head in her direction, staring her down. If it hadn't been for the magic whispering across her skin, Marinette was sure he'd have had her pinned within the first night of her stalking. As it stood, Red only stared quietly, eyes roving the area she kept to, only relenting when it seemed nothing would appear. 

Tonight… felt ominous. Marinette knew how dumb it was to purposefully follow Red, even more so while cleaning up the dock she had just vacated, leaving an unconscious scarecrow tied amongst his goons by crates worth of chemicals. Normally she wouldn't tie them up, but instead misconstrue things until it looked like an accident, confused weaker pawns wandering about, trying to collect their bosses only for the bats to find and finish up the job. However, her need to remain an unknown figure lost against the need for entertainment, so she made everything of her interference obvious, but left no trace of herself for Batman to find. 

Now she watched as Red stayed still upon the roof, clean up done and nothing left to do but think. She waited for pacing, frustration, anything. She received silence. 

How boring.

Of course... he knew it was her. 

Robin, Red Robin, and Agent A had all either figured it out or had been informed by herself. It was the rest of the family they kept in the dark, her unwilling to trust them with this yet and the three recognizing it as not their secret to tell.

Doesn't mean Red didn't take every opportunity to try and catch her slipping up.

Marinette could almost hear Plagg goading her to toy with the bird, Trixx right behind telling Mari to trust in the illusion. It would only break where she wanted it to. With that reassurance and no Tikki to reason with, Mari moved forward a touch, still completely hidden, but testing how well he sensed her. 

Immediately, he turned. She froze. Then remembering herself, she carefully focused on the magic about her before cautiously letting a huff of air out her mouth, just loud enough to pick up, but quiet enough to not immediately draw attention to her exact location.

It was enough.

"You're here." 

She met him with only silence for a moment then clicked her claws gently to confirm.

Zeroing in further, he took a step forward.

Sliding to his side, Mari carefully scuffed a boot and watched him follow her.

He seemed to assess the situation before turning back to where she was, allowing her to creep behind him. The tension in his shoulders let on to him knowing her actual location though. 

Of course she chose that moment to channel her inner idiot and play along. Tapping his shoulder in a clear indication of permission to turn around, as that seemed to be what he was waiting for, she hopped back into the shadows. It was obvious he was only showing passiveness to lure her into a sense of security enough to reveal herself. 

She knew this and yet as he turned to face her again, she focused into the magic, peeling it back until she knew her eyes alone glowed out at him from the dark.

She let him meet her eyes for only a half second before taking off, quickly blending into the night once more to the sound of curses from the next building over where Hood had been waiting to step in.

Maybe next time she would stalk Jason and see how he liked being watched.

#maribat #timinette #trust me #this will make sense