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havin-fun-imagining-twd · 10 months

Text

Still beating

What - dealing with grief as the dust finally starts to settle. Dealing with grief regarding one specific character's death in particular. You know the one.

Genre - heavier, but we get devoted husband/father Daryl out of the mix. And we don't end the chapter on a bummer, never fear. This ain't a French movie, slowpokes

Relationships - wife Reader and husband Daryl as well as your baby. Familial affection with Rick, and that balance between friend and clergy for Father Gabriel.

Perspective - 3rd POV Daryl, and 2nd POV You

Pronouns - she/her

When - time jump! we've briefly hopped to post season 8, pre season 9 (but before The best kind of damn weird). This chapter takes place during the earlier phases of recovery and rebuilding after the war. The previous chapter, Scary as a sleepy kitten, took place during season 2.

TWs - grief, PTSD (including after SA), depression, self-loathing, and some cussing. This chapter is also kinda lengthy, friends, and had to have exposition. (Might should've sliced the chapter in half, but then we'd have another two-parter on our hands :P)

But how long though? - ...20 minutes or so?

Story references and Masterlist link? - under the cut

And is there a pic at the end as a prize for finishing? - yes :D

Have fun and happy reading!

References to other chapters - what we learned in The Interview. There is also grieving/anger as seen in The first Christmas 'without' Part 2 and its conclusion in I don't hate you, a happy reference to Happy 8th of July!, reference to those lovely tugging strings as found in Invisible Tugging Strings, Part 1 and Part 2 (Part 2 I reckon is still glitched and showing as labeled mature, the poor thing's been cleared about 7ish times via help ticket XD ).

There are a lot more details you might recognize, pop on by to the Official Masterlist here, or for those who prefer linear over non-linear, the Chronological Slowpoke Masterlist here

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Still beating

She was doing real bad. The past few days had been especially bad. Grief has nasty ways of settling in and rearing its ugly head.

He didn’t know too much about what to do to help her, he’d never been good at that stuff. And there was no fixing all that happened, especially not when the last thing that happened was the worst thing that could’ve.

Other than if TJ or Judith died, it was the worst thing. And part of his wife died right alongside Carl.

Hell, she’d been the one to wait after Carl died, then turned, to pull the trigger.

Now, she felt dead, too.

Gabe had to suggest that she check her pulse when it got bad enough.

Just then, TJ started to wriggle and hum in an attempt to root at Daryl's bicep, which pulled him out of his worry for a second.

Gently, he began to bounce to try and keep his baby lulled. He knows Y/N wanted to breastfeed only to get her production up (and so TJ’s suckle could get stronger after the surgery), but Y/N was finally asleep.

Beginning with when Denise was killed, Y/N hadn’t been making as much as she first had. Then, the Saviors stopped the RV and surrounded them, and Negan did what he did. Then Daryl himself got taken away, then there was all the fighting.

And then Carl died.

Getting her milk to come back had been proving damned hard.

A handful of not-very-good times, they’d supplemented what milk she did make with watered-down formula and/or watered-down goat's milk.

One very bad time, they’d used sugar water to fill the babies’ bellies until Jesus got back with goat's milk. Just the one time they had to use sugar water, everybody made damn sure of that.

For now, Daryl could crack into what was still left of the goat's milk in the cooler, right? The two women in the Kingdom who had little guys had sent over actual breast milk with Carol a few days ago, but it was used up yesterday. That stuff had been a God-send, he couldn’t thank the ladies enough.

Between the two babies in Alexandria, TJ and Gracie, everyone had to be smart about using what formula was left. And given that the power got cut, keeping the goat's milk fresh was another problem, hence the cooler.

There was still a shit ton of clean-up had since the Saviors nabbed Alexandria’s storage, then firebombed the town. To make things worse, those assholes had their own compound destroyed, and Hilltop and the Kingdom got screwed, too. Even the beach women took another beating. Hell, and them junkyard people were literally all fucking gone except their leader chick.

So, Y/N breastfed the two babies as much she was physically able because there was no other option right now, all while working as the only other doc left standing in all five communities; she was running herself into the ground.

And with Carl gone…

It ain’t fair that she couldn’t make enough — it was Negan’s goddamned fault.

Which leads to what just went on: so Mich had told him, Y/N’d lashed out at Negan and the new doctor kid with the facial hair, what was his name, Sidney?

Daryl hadn’t been at the infirmary when it happened, but, according to Mich, she’d had to pull her out of the room. Once out, Y/N asked her about TJ, Judith, and Gracie to make sure they were safe, then disappeared after Mich had turned around. Straight up and bolted.

Daryl had checked the escape-closet first, but she wasn’t in there or the attic it connected to, wasn't on the roof that lead to.

He’d then checked the burned church. She’d been there, he recognized her boot prints, but she'd moved on. From there, he was able to follow her sooty tracks in the direction of the place he should’ve known to check first.

Sure enough, Y/N'd been at Carl’s grave.

His wife could barely look at him when he approached. He'd simply kissed her on the head and quietly walked her back home. Once home, he'd cleaned and bandaged her hand while she, again, tried to pump enough for TJ and Gracie.

Mich had told Daryl she’d get Rick for her, so he’d be here soon.

Daryl wracked his brain, he even prayed to learn what do to try to help carry Y/N through this shit.

At first, Y/N’d been pacing around the room, crying but trying not to, arms wrapped around her picture frame with a photo of Carl in it as if it was the only thing keeping her afloat.

He'd been able to persuade her to lay down, and ended up laying in bed with her and holding her tight, TJ next to them in little bassinet.

Initially, him holding her and pressing kisses to her neck had made her feel worse. More guilty, that is. A handful of days ago, something got into her head that she needed to give him a damn "annulment."

Nah, for real, she’d even said (to Gabe) that the two of them not having ever done the deed yet was "grounds" to give him one. “Grounds to free him,” were her exact words. It was a whole thing, and the couple of failed attempts at trying to do the deed after getting hitched some months back probably made her feel worse.

Father Gabriel had Daryl's back the whole time during the conversation, though, decent dude.

And no, Daryl wasn’t angry or even real hurt that she’d thought she had to ‘free him’ and shit, he knows it was the grief and physical exhaustion that got her to that point. His woman had full-on blacked out and hurt herself that day, which is why he'd brought her to Gabe in the first place.

But the, um, the walls were thinner than Daryl had expected, which is how he overheard from the person that he was gonna love and stay with and stay faithful to until he dropped dead softly confess that she was “selfish” to keep him “stuck” with a “batshit m-mess” like her and “a baby that ain’t his.”

The fact that Y/N kept maintaining how much she loved him and how she didn’t want no annulment helped it hurt less when she’d sounded just about convinced that it was “loyalty to me ’cause we’re close, loyalty to Rick,” and because of “he’s got so much shame. He feels responsible for what the Claimers did,” that made him marry her those months ago. "He loves our ch—my child, and might love me, but it's not fair to him. He deserves better, h-he needs better, the man's been trapped all his life. I-I don't want him trapped, I want him happy!"

Gabe never played into her fears. He been no nonsense about all of it, told Y/N that she needed a damn rest, and asked her to tell him what she thought about it when she woke up.

The good thing was that after a 5 hour period of uninterrupted sleep (during which they used some of the goat's milk for TJ and Gracie), she woke up in a daze at why she’d thought an annulment was something Daryl needed or wanted.

The bad thing was, she was then socked in the gut with more unearned guilt for it, then with worry that she was too far gone, or crazy, all that.

Been a bad, bad few days.

Been a lot of Daryl showing her love that she felt not worth being shown. So that she fell asleep in his arms today was such a damn win!

After getting up to take a leak and finding that Y/N was miraculously still asleep, he thanked whoever was up there, then tried to figure out what else he could do to help her get through today…and right at that moment, TJ started to rouse, so he got his answer: keep their baby comforted. More shut-eye could only do his woman well.

Deftly lifting the little bundle into his arms, he'd kissed the scar above the baby’s upper lip and tiptoed out to the hall, where he was now.

Lightly he bounced, softly he shushed. He held TJ like a football and moved back and forth, back and forth. Babies smell so damn good, and make the cutest damn noises!

After a couple minutes, through the open door, he peeked at his Y/N.

Shit. She was already sitting up and blinking off the sleep.

Whatever it was she did and said today, she felt low as hell about it, that much was clear. Without looking, she grabbed the now-broken picture frame and clutched it to her middle.

"You're supposed to be asleep, slowpoke," he tried to tease.

Her clothes had ashes from where it looked like she’d knelt down then sat down in the burned church. There was some dirt on them, too, from when she’d been at Carl’s grave. Daryl made a note to shake the sheets out later and pick the tissues up off the floor.

That's when the front door opened downstairs.

Was that Ri—good, that was Rick’s voice, he was finally there. There was a second voice, too, was that Father Gabriel’s? It was soft like Gabe's voice was.

Daryl looked downstairs.

Yup, it was Rick with the rev.

He waved them upstairs, but it must’ve been the clunking of the Gabriel’s new cane that got Y/N stumbling out of the room.

“Rev! I would’ve come to you, y-you need to be takin’ it easy.” She hugged the picture frame in one hand, gripped the banister in the other and started to go downstairs, asking Gabe how he felt, urging him to sit down, had his vision worsened, all that stuff.

“Y/N, more rest won’t stop me from losing sight in this eye,” Gabriel responded in his quiet way, remaining on the second step, not going up or down the stairs. He smiled. “You could say I’m the one making a house call to a patient this time."

She held back a sob and bowed her head. Then, she subtly slipped two fingers around the inside of her wrist…

Rick stepped the rest of the way up the stairs and put his hands on her shoulders. “What's going on, weirdo?”

“Ricky, I'm s-sorry."

He leaned closer and took her in for a hug. “Heart still beating?” he murmured.

Her inhale was shaky. “Mmhm. Yours?”

“Beating strong.”

TJ perked up and began to whimper upon hearing her voice. Y/N unzipped her hoodie to—she still had a gun on her?

Okay, that'd been stealth as fuck, it hadn't even been printing. He'd been literally holding her, how had he not noticed?

Daryl shared a glance with Gabe. Minus her screwdriver, she'd turned in her weapons after what happened the other day.

Y/N handed the small gun to Rick, who looked wary, but accepted it without question. She hesitated before reaching into her boot to hand over her screwdriver, too.

Daryl slid his hand around his wife’s waist to guide her back to the room. Without looking him in the eyes, she cupped his cheek and told him he was a good father. Then, frame still gripped under one arm, she took the baby into the other.

“Let’s try havin’ a snack before I go with Uncle Ricky awhile, okay, chickpea?” she murmured, then unbuttoned the top of her shirt.

Daryl took off his vest to give her some more coverage. When he draped the vest around her, she turned her head to kiss his hand. He felt his cheeks warm when she did that.

Walking into the room again, she softly told Daryl that he and Rick could sit on the beds. First, she placed the picture frame on one of the mattresses. Next, she took TJ and went beside the end table at the window to sit down on the floor beside it. The way she sat, it was kinda as if she were using it as a shield.

“Rev, please take the chair,” she mumbled to Gabriel with a glance at the only piece of furniture in the room at the time, other than the bassinet, a nightstand, and the end table. Negan had specifically left the rocking chair as a 'gift' for her. The piece of shit...

Anyway, Daryl had got them their two twin mattresses back (hey, squish them together and you get a big-ass bed) the first trip to and from the Savior’s compound after the war ended, once the Alexandrians had begun to move back from the Hilltop. Only, no bed frames yet.

“And sweetheart, I’ll-I’ll take the pumps with me for while I’m in there. Wanna make sure you and Aaron have enough for them,” she said to him, voice still raw. Y/N turned to him and gave him a wobbly smile. “Sorry I used up so much of the tissue supply,” she tried making light, but got close to tears again, so stumbled through asking “Can I, um, Rick, m-might can I bring my pillow? Is that okay?”

Go with Rick where, and take the breast pumps and her pillow, why? He made eye contact with Gabriel, who looked just as puzzled. So, he turned to Rick.

Rick lowered his eyebrows as if he didn’t know what she meant, either. He squatted to sit down on the mattress beside Daryl, and looked at his sister. “Y/N, where are we headed?”

Glancing up from the baby to him then to Daryl, she adjusted TJ’s position on her breast while she figured out how to answer, by the looks of it. Another glance at her husband as if she were worried about his reaction...

“Rick, I thought you was here to…escort me?”

Daryl had no clear idea what she meant, it was the rev who understood first.

“No,” Father Gabriel told her gently. “Y/N, you aren’t under arrest.”

Under arrest? Daryl fought between the urge to get angry or dead-ass laugh. 'Under arrest??'

It was for real, though. His wife’s tears started flowing again as she turned her attention to Rick and began to stress, “There can’t be no special treatment—”

“—Is this why you handed me your weapons? Why would you be under arrest?” Rick cut her off to question.

She stared as if he’d grown antlers. “I s-struck a patient, and, and—”

“—And I slit his throat open, which is why that 'patient' is in there in the first place,” he cut her off again, firm.

Thankfully, TJ let out a wail the same time mama wailed, “Ricky, y-you weren’t his medic!” pausing any further arguing.

Y/N gulped, pressed down on one breast, then the other. “I know there’s not much in ’em, Teddy-bear, but it-it’ll get better. It’ll come back,” she shushed, lifting him up and tucking herself back in. With a few kisses, she shushed, “You’ve gotten so much faster at drinking, babycakes”

Daryl got on the floor with her and took TJ back.

She avoided eye-contact again, and her lip wobbled again as she pulled the top of her shirt higher. That told him there’d been not much milk in there. And he could see all over her face that it was switching her on the legs with more false-ass, unearned guilt.

The familiar string in his chest suddenly tugged in her direction—next thing, he was resting his forehead on hers. “Hey. You’re makin’ more every day, angel,” he whispered in her ear. "And you're a damn good ma."

The way her expression softened and her body relaxed toward his felt better than fireworks going off on the Fourth 8th of July.

And as if he were back in that Georgia-in-July heat, Daryl just about melted right there on the floor when he saw his TJ, neck lifted high, making a face-scrunching, gummy smile at him. "Look how strong your neck is getting, ’lil badass, you’re rockin’ it!”

Shit, their kid was the best damn thing.

Y/N leaned against him and reached to lightly fluff their baby’s hair and rub their baby's teeny feet.

Gabriel sat in the rocking chair quietly, hands resting on his cane. He caught eyes with Daryl and nodded his head toward Y/N, glad to see her no longer convinced she needed to ‘free’ her husband.

Absorbed in the photo, Rick exhaled, then spoke up. “Y/N, how about we start from the beginning? What happened at the infirmary?”

She pressed tighter against Daryl as a pained noise left her throat. “Did you talk to Siddiq yet?” sounded very small.

“I want to talk to both of you.”

“And Michonne?”

He nodded. “She told me some.”

The big watch she’d kept from Dale tick-tick-ticked on her wrist. Then came the sound of light metallic clinking. Daryl didn’t have to look to see that she must’ve pulled out her brother’s necklace and was tugging on it.

“What I did ain’t excusable,” came out raspy and thick.

“It is," Rick answered.

“It’s not, especially not what I said to Sid—” a sob choked her response. She used Daryl's leather vest to hide her face before hugging it around herself like a blanket.

“Walk me through what happened first, kiddo, before you hit Negan with this?” Rick subtly gestured to the broken picture frame.

So she had smacked Negan in the face? Hot damn, Daryl was more in love with her already.

Y/N swallowed and shook her head. “They’d been lookin’ at it, the both of 'em.”

“At the picture?”

A tiny nod. “I’d left the room, and when I got back, they was looking at it. Siddiq brought it over to him. Tried to make like Negan was sad, too. Fuck that!”

TJ started rooting on his bicep again, but Daryl was on it. “Sorry, pipsqueak, I don’t got the right parts for that.” He started to massage the baby’s belly, and TJ quieted.

“It’s okay to let ’em cry a little, it-it helps restock these,” his wife tried joking, nodding down at her chest.

“Y/N.” Rick was delicate about coaxing her for more details. “You got back into the room, Siddiq and Negan were looking at the picture.”

“Negan’s filthy hands were on it,” she grit. "Lookin' at Carl and me, you with Shaney." The sounds of the pendant being pulled across the chain filled the room along with TJ’s soft cooing.

“Is that when you hit him with the frame?” Rick asked.

“No. I told him not to look at it again or touch it, and if he did, I’d hurt him.”

“Angel, slow your breathin’,” Daryl interjected at the same time that he figured out why those words sounded familiar: it was similar to how she'd warned the last Claimer fuckhead, the one who’d had Carl pinned down and was gon——Daryl shut down this brain for a sec, it was best not to think about that night.

He turned his head to see Rick, red-eyed, tracing his thumb along the photo of Carl, Y/N, Shane and him. Seems as if Rick had recognized her words, too.

“And when was it that you did hurt him?” Rick pressed on.

Y/N swallowed. “About half a minute later when he tried to act like it wasn’t his fault.”

Rick’s composure staggered and collapsed. His voice was hoarse when he managed to say, “It’s not his fault.”

But Y/N was fast to shut it down. “Don’t for one more second make like it’s yours, Ricky, you get that monkey off your back,” she comforted and somehow scolded both at once. “Negan was doing what Negan does when he, when he told you that. It was manipulation, nothin’ real. How C-Carl—” another choked-down sob, more tears.

Daryl noticed her press her fingertips to the spot under her chin, beside her jaw, checking her pulse to prove it was still beating.

“Negan had nothing to do with how Carl got bit,” Rick whispered. “You know it’s true, kiddo.”

“No—our boy wouldna ended up out there, w-with-with Siddiq, if it hadn’t been for Negan.” Her tone got louder and angry, her stress stutter became more noticeable, the way she tugged the necklace turned rougher. “He and his followers was why we weren’t able to trust no n-newcomers like Sid, which is why Sid was still out there alone, and, and, and why Carl went to him! It, it was because of Negan and his, and his, his-his cult!”

TJ seemed freaked out by the louder voice, the baby’s dark, blue-black eyes grown big.

Daryl spoke Y/N’s name to try and bring her back to herself, but she seemed to have very suddenly calmed.

She was blinking at her hand.

Daryl looked, and then saw the two halves of her brother Shane’s chain, broken.

“How many times did Carol warn me that this would happen when I tugged it,” she muttered to herself. "Good thing I didn't decide to tug on the rosary, huh?"

Inhaling, she leaned her head against the wall behind her, staring into space, fingers to her wrist to check her pulse again.

From beside her, he covered her hand in his. Then, pressing his lips to her fist, Daryl took the necklace from it. He could fix it.

“I lost my temper again, I’m sorry,” she spoke to all in the room, her hand cupping Daryl's cheek a moment. Then, more quietly, she looked at Rick. “How many days’ll I be in there?”

Which sent Daryl straight back to disbelief he was hearing those words, what absolute bullshit. “Y/N, you ain’t going nowhere.”

“You’re not going to a cell, Y/N,” Rick echoed.

“No special treatment,” she softly repeated. “If I were anybody else—”

Rick interrupted her “—It’s not about who you are.”

Father Gabriel had gotten up and was making his way to Y/N by then.

Y/N shook her head at the conversation, tired. “If I were anybody else or had any other orle, and if he were anybody else,” she caught her breath, “there’d be reper-re-rep—” a few more tries, and she had to choose a different word, “consequences. Assault and battery on an un-unarmed person—a patient—from their medical provider, that’s serious.” Her hand was back to covering her face. She sat pressed against the wall, knees at her chest.

“You and Siddiq are the only doctors left. We couldn’t just put you in a cell even if you had earned it.”

“I ain't a doctor, at best, I’m a medic,” she grunted. “And I did earn it, just ask him and Michonne. As for my,” she made a shaky inhale, “my duties, I can be escorted out.”

“And TJ? Gracie?” Daryl put out there, hoping to guilt her out of insisting she get jail time, like, what the fuck. What kind of conversation was this?

Screw this, he couldn't even sit. He stood, shaking his head and pacing around the room, still holding TJ.

The expression on Y/N's face should’ve been enough to calm him down, along the defeated, quiet way she reasoned, “I’ll pump and y’all will visit. It’s—no, sweetheart—it’s only for a few days,” when he started to dead-ass leave. As if her being in there ‘only for a few days’ would help this bullshit make sense.

But that’s when he ended up snapping, “This is goddamn bullshit! You bopped a sick fuck on the nose with a picture frame, who the fuck will care? Rick, why you even entertainin' this shit?” and he regretted doing so as soon as he barked it out.

The old, invisible knee rammed him in the nards harder when Rick cautioned, "Brother," and Gabe finally opened his mouth, and louder than Daryl had ever heard him speak. “She cares, Daryl. So do I.”

And to make it all worse, their baby had given a start in fear when he’d shouted, and now the poor kid was screaming—and TJ doesn’t scream, shit, shit, he blew up while holding his child?

“M’sorry! M’sorry," he hushed to his baby, "I love you so much, kid, I’m so sorry I scared ya. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.” With a kiss on TJ’s wild head of hair, he murmured, “Pipsqueak, your old man is an idiot.”

Y/N rushed over when TJ screamed, but she didn’t take the baby away from Daryl. Instead, she caressed her husband’s forearm and the tricep and spoke to their child. “Your daddy’s got you safe,” she soothed.

He knew she was trying to look him in the eyes, but he couldn’t return it. He’d just scared an infant because he couldn’t check his temper. Their infant.

His wife’s quiet assurance cut through the rushing in his head. “Daryl? TJ ain’t hurt, sugar, and you’re not a bad father. Do some skin to skin, okay?” She pecked a kiss on his cheek. “And that's a dollar for cussing, pay up later.”

She then sat back down on the floor next to where the rev had made his new seat. Daryl took the now-empty rocking chair, unbuttoned his and TJ’s shirts, then nestled the kid on his chest.

Y/N then told the room the rest of what happened, how after Negan croaked out with what voice he had left, saying it 'wasn’t his fault Carl was dead', that she’d turned around and whacked him across the face with the frame.

Siddiq had reacted by grabbing her shoulders from behind to pull her away from Negan — so she had shoved back and kneed him in the dick plus rammed her head against his, dropping the frame in the process. The frame broke as a result—and when it broke, she'd lost her cool, said some shit, and threw some shit. Mich heard the hubbub and intervened, then Y/N hid herself away cause she 'knew' she was 'gone crazy.'

As far as Daryl was concerned, the new doc was lucky all he got was a shove, a knee to jewels, a clunk on the head, and some words and maybe a clipboard thrown at him, because Y/N could fight damned well. She'd had it drilled into her how and when to do it. Freely taught others moves, too.

When she’d showed Carol some techniques, way back, it was one of the things that sent him falling for her.

And…Y/N might’ve not said it out loud, but when she described how Siddiq grabbed her from behind to pull her away, everyone in that room got why it caused her to react strong.

What she described herself as doing would’ve been instinct.

Siddiq wouldn’t know why. Negan might, the fucker had watched the tape of her Deanna interview.

“See?” Y/N blew her nose again, sniffed, and stared at the floorboards. “It’s not right to Sid or the community to, to have what I did go unchecked. And what I said to Siddiq was so cruel. What’s worse is I meant it. Fuck, I still do.”

What she'd said was basically that she wished he’d gotten bit instead of Carl, and that it was just as much Siddiq's fault that the boy was dead as it was Negan’s. That 'he should be dead.'

She grimaced, then caressed the watch on her wrist. Must’ve been thinking of Dale. “Ain’t fair to…Negan, neither. If there’s anything Carl taught us, it’s that,” she whispered.

Rick lifted the frame to kiss his son’s picture, wiped a couple tears away. “When I talked with Sid, he was…alarmed. Worried. He thought it was off-character.”

Y/N went rigid where she sat. “Siddiq wasn’t there two years ago.”

Daryl lifted the baby higher on his chest and snuggled closer.

Rick shook his head. “You wishing someone dead, or, dead instead of another, is very off-character, it’s not you. No—don’t shake your head, Y/N.” Her brother maintained, “Even back then, after what happened, you didn’t wish me dead. You wished that Shane was still alive, not that I was dead instead. Even if you did say those things, it wouldn't have been the truth, just the hurt speaking.”

“I attacked you and told you I would kill you. And I-I meant it at the time, you know that.”

“And for a couple days, you left, because you didn’t actually want that. You knew it was wrong.”

“Which is why I need to get put away for a couple days. I decided to hurt a patient and his doctor, my own fr—” She wasn’t able to say what was probably the word ‘friend.’ Y/N bit her lip, and continued, “Then hurled words at him what nobody should get hurled at them.” She swallowed a cuss and grabbed another tissue.

“You’re exhausted, Siddiq knows that.” Rick pointed out. “We’re not ourselves when we’re—”

Y/N wasn’t having it. Probably too exhausted, to tell the truth.

“We’re all exhausted. C’mon, man, you just lost your son!” A sob left her and she tried to breathe through her nose. Checked her pulse again.

“You were also reacting to how he yanked you back, kiddo. That's not nothing.”

Daryl gave Rick a warning glance.

Rick saw, nodded, and held up a hand, which made Y/N turn to see what Daryl was doing. But Daryl simply kissed TJ on the head, not saying nothing.

She wasn’t fooled. When Y/N looked back at Rick after giving her husband a look of it’s okay, Daryl gave Rick another warning glare, then a nod.

“You didn’t react like that without reason, Y/N. There’s no shame to admit it was a trigger.”

She grumbled at the word. “Trauma ain’t an excuse to traumatize others.” After exhaling, she ran her hands over her face and took a moment. Hardly louder than a whisper, she challenged, “Ricky, not all my problems stem from the rapes. I’ve always been too hot-headed.”

At that moment, Daryl wanted to scoop her and TJ up and drive them away from everything, keep the two of them safe and unbothered for a month or two or four.

“Getting grabbed like that m-might, y’know, might could’ve reminded me of it—when they—" She ran a hand through her hair. "Okay, it did get me going. But, I,” she paused. “It wasn’t that I saw red or blacked out, I chose to keep goin’ once I’d started. I threw stuff because I was raging, I didn't want to stop because I thought he deserved it.”

Y/N fiddled with Dale’s watch, and turned to Father Gabriel beside her and almost smiled at him, close to the way she used to smile at Glenn, as if he were in on a joke. “Here I’d hoped I was re-domesticated by now.”

“Let us give thanks that you’re still housebroken,” he responded, taking Daryl by surprise. "You're...still housebroken, are you not?"

The way Y/N then cracked up and grinned woke up the butterflies in his stomach.

“Y/N, you’ve come miles since I first met you,” Gabriel told her softly, smiling back.

“All the way from Georgia,” she joked back, then grew more serious. “You’ve grown a whole lot, too.” She wiped her eyes, and Gabe closed his.

“And Y/N,” he shook his head. “You aren’t losing your humanity. I know you’re frightened of that, after what you told me happened to your other brother.”

It hadn’t even registered in Daryl’s mind that Shane’s memory would be scaring her. She loved her brother like hell, but she was always terrified of going down the same path he did.

He looked to Rick to see what his reaction was. His reaction was tear-rimmed eyes and a nod of his head toward TJ, silently asking if he could hold the baby awhile. Daryl nodded, Rick stood, and returned Y/N the frame as he walked by to pick up the little one.

Hands empty, Daryl took out his army knife and the broken chain from his pocket so he could fix his woman’s necklace. Wasn’t gonna be hard.

He heard Y/N whisper, “Hey, punk. Miss you. Miss you, too, loser.” He let his eyes travel to where she sat under the window, and watched her kiss the picture and well up. It was the old one of her and preschool-age Carl photobombing Rick and Shane, after one of them got some kind of cop award.

Clutching it once more to her belly, she and Father Gabriel then started to talk in low voices with one another.

“The red haze in your right sclera is so close to begin' clear. Did you talk to Rosie today? She’s been seeming less depressed.”

“I thought this was me visiting my patient, not the other way around,” Gabe gently hinted. “Y/N, please talk to me.”

Daryl heard her sniffle. “Rev, but I don’t want to have meant those words. I’ve been workin’ on it. It-it might be his fault, but I know he’s innocent, he’s humane—Sid even counts walkers like I do, man, yet still, I—” her breathing shuddered. “After whatever this mess is kicked in, every time I see him now, I hate him. Why do I hate a decent person?”

“Grief,” he offered simply. He gave her another shrug and small smile. “Keep doing what you have been. It will get easier every day, the same way your, um,” he was careful about his wording regarding her tits, “that you have more for the little ones every day.”

She huffed but didn’t raise her voice again, she stayed quiet as could be. “It don’t feel like none of that’s happening.”

“Our perception of things doesn’t always equal the truth, Y/N.” Gabe seemed to take a moment. Maybe he was praying.

Y/N’s fingers found her pulse again.

“We are all healing,” Gabriel next said, and smiled again. “Your heart is still beating, is it not?”

Y/N stared for a few moments, caught in the act. Eyes meeting Daryl’s for a moments, she removed her fingers from her neck, and inclined her head at the reverend. “What about yours?” she asked softly.

“Still beating. And that’s the proof,” he assured her just as softly. “Y/N, as for the way you understand your actions and your emotions toward him as not being right, I would like you to take it as a comforting sign. And, you just handed over a weapon you plainly wanted to keep concealed, you didn’t use said weapon to hurt Negan, either,” he pointed out, for which Daryl was grateful. “Perhaps, if you begin to make excuses, begin to feel no sense of having done wrong when you have, I will worry.”

Weirdly enough, he next grinned up at the ceiling. “But I am not, because you are simply broken and in need of healing. You’ll get there, as will I,” he held his hand out to the room. “As will your brother, your husband. All of us.” He sighed. “So long as our hearts are still beating.”

Daryl looked back at his wife in time to see her bit her wobbling lip and nod. Her gaze turned to Rick with the baby. He was kissing TJ’s scrawny little feet.

Her face softened seeing them, and as Daryl’s stomach fluttered again, she turned to look at him. His stomach full-on did a happy flip (and, yeah, he lost his grip on the necklace’s broken link and dropped it).

Y/N said to Rick, “Well, we still need to show ’em that Alexandria—that you—are accountable and fair. How many nights will do, you think?”

Rick shook his head. “Zero. But, because you have a point and won't take 'zero' as an answer,” he quickly added, “how about one?”

“For a piggy, you’re actin’ awful chicken.”

He was unmoved by the cop joke. “Bawk, bawk.”

And Y/N laughed, for what it was worth. And it was worth everything, hot damn was that laugh the best sound.

Daryl figured he might as well check, “What about bail, that still a thing?”

“Not with you owing a whole dollar. That’ll take weeks to pay off,” she said, back to doing her best to lighten up things. He loved her so fucking much, goddamn.

“Supervision when outside the cell,” she stated to Rick.

He shook his head again. “I have a better sentence in mind. When I saw you wearing Lori’s belt earlier today, it reminded me of it. See, and you left this at the infirmary.” He reached into his jacket pocket.

Recognition swept across her face when he held it out. “Do you think he’ll feel safe?”

“The headphone cord is too thin to choke him with, it’d snap.”

“Ricky, that joke was very dark,” she lightly chided.

He squinted, kissing TJ’s feet one more time first. “I hereby sentence you to one night—”

“—Three.”

“One in lock-up,” he spoke over her, then was fast to tack on, “with Daryl and this one as guards.” He motioned to the baby.

"Women shouldn't have male guards," she dryly droned.

"Overruled. You'll also get supervised outings for your duties tomorrow and the day after, including the trip to the Hilltop for Maggie’s prenatal visit. And,” he held up the music player, “you’ll need to listen to music with Siddiq on this. We know it works.” He cocked his head. “Let’s start with 20 minutes per day, like you and I had.”

Some tears slipped out even though she was smiling. She mouthed I love you to him, then asked out loud, “How many days?”

Rick squinted. “Fourteen.”

---------------------------

You

“You pick the songs. Whatever you like,” you told him, staring at the photo and rubbing the ‘22’ pendant over your lips. Daryl fixed the chain for you shortly after you’d broken it. You really love him.

Sid accepted the mp3 player out of your hand.

You and he each had one earbud in, one apple beside you, and Michonne sat nearby with Judith. Supervision was your stipulation, yet being proactive about ensuring it had done nothing for how humiliating it was.

Still, you took an objective look and figured Siddiq should know that his safety mattered, that your people were fair and held themselves to standards.

Just looking around the place, it looked as if standards were a given here. That Alexandria’s power grid and some panels were already repaired within three weeks of Negan’s razing was almost unbelievable.

Sucks for the Saviors Cult that the community had been built to withstand up to magnitude 4.1 earthquakes and be fairly fire-safe as part of its self-sustaining (and for-politicians) model, so in the least, a good number of the homes were still standing.

Carl's gazebo was another story, as were other similar structures, like the church, but the ash had been washed off by the rain, and the communities' walls were back up.

Next to you, Siddiq asked you how to work the mp3, citing, “Carl had been the one to…”

Had been the one to work it when he borrowed it to visit you out there, in order to show you some kindness. Before he got himself bit because of you.

The words festered inside of you. Whatever. Let them fester, you felt dead anyway.

As you went to point to show him, the picture hung from your outstretched, bandaged hand. The pic you'd chosen this time was another older one from the before-times, not one of the newer polaroids. You'd been the one to take it, actually, using a disposable camera about five and a half, maybe six years ago.

It was blurry, Lori and Carl had been being silly and stopped posing, Rick was mid-comment. You loved this one.

It felt so unreal now, felt fake.

Felt dead.

You checked your pulse. Still beating.

“The, um, just use-use those two buttons there for up and down to search,” you mumbled, tucking the photograph into your shirt pocket. “That one is for back, that one for options. Press down on the middle to click.”

He went huh. “Here’s the Indian music playlist,” he chuckled. Appears he’d found the Desi Party! playlist. Carl told you he’d played it for him.

Before he’d gotten fucking bitten.

How could your heart rage and ache so much if you were dead?

“It’s got all sorts on it,” you replied blankly to Siddiq. Remembering your oldest sister who’d made all the playlists before handing her mp3 down to you, it felt like she was made up. Felt like everyone was made up, fake. Dead.

“My mother was a big filmi fan,” he shared.

But you simply repeated, “Pick to whatever you like, you’re in charge of the songs.”

There was no emotion in your voice. You didn’t want to chat with him, didn’t want to nerd out about Bollywood music, and also didn’t want to face him after saying such awful things to him early today.

Hating him felt right. It felt "deserved," which is a word you'd learned to not use, thanks to Dale.

Granted, hating Siddiq felt wrong, too, which invited shame to take a seat on your lap.

So, you followed the rev’s advice and took comfort in the shame because it meant your conscience was still ordered in a good direction. It meant you weren’t fully dead yet.

You checked your pulse again to remind yourself that it was still beating. Life was still going.

Father Gabriel had also told you that feeling dead didn’t make you a bad mother or a bad wife or bad person, it simply meant you were broken and grieving.

“Y/N?”

“What?” you growled — and immediately wished it hadn’t come out that way. In your head, you told Carl you were sorry, you’d do better next time. Then, you prayed to stop hating the sight of Siddiq, the sound of his voice. Wished Dale or Hershel or T-Dog or Deanna or Denise or Sasha were there for, for—advice, support, you don’t know…

And because the rev has enough on his plate and needs to rest, maybe later you’d risk everyone’s ire and sneak away to visit Mr. Jones at the junkyard. At least he wasn’t dead yet, too. Maybe visiting him would convince him to move back to Alexandria.

“I never apologized for pulling you backward like that,” Siddiq said to you, a little short. Couldn’t blame him.

In truth, you had done all you were going to do to Negan after smacking him the once, but Sid wouldn’t have known that. Wouldn’t have known how grabbing you like that would flip an alarm, either.

No use moping, if your positions were reversed, you’d have wrangled him back, too.

And yet, you just caught yourself licking your teeth and sneering in response to his apology.

But it wasn’t out of anger or hatred so much as…you still aren’t certain what the emotion was. Grief, depression, shame, all three. You supposed it didn’t make a difference. Didn’t feel like much of anything.

Briefly, you put two fingers to your neck to check your pulse again. Still beating. Still alive.

Alive, and needing to eat some crow, as it were.

“Don’t apologize, you were protectin’ our patient. What I did was wrong,” you recited. “I-I threatened a patient and then whacked him across the face.” Your conscience then prompted you to apologize again for what you’d said to him. “And, just—Siddiq, what I said to you was bullshit and lies and m'sorry I said it. Cruel bullshit, naught else. Don’t go believing a word of it.”

He wasn’t clicking through the playlists and songs anymore.

Appearing uncomfortable, he peeked at you before he put his attention back on the mp3. “Michonne said pulling you like that was a trigger, which is why you, um…I’m sorry,” he said again. “I didn’t know.”

First, you relaxed your jaw. “Ain’t your job to know. It’s mine to learn past it.” Next, you spackled on something of a smile and added quietly, “It’s good that you, that you stepped in. Thank you.” You did mean it, for what it was worth.

How many minutes until the twenty was up, you wondered, and tried to not be obvious about checking the time on your wrist. Eyeing Michonne, she seemed more preoccupied with Judith than with being punctual regarding your penance/sentence.

“PTSD is serious. That’s why I’m sorry, I, um,” Siddiq faltered. He went back to clicking through the music choices.

“We all have at least a little PTSD, bud.” With a light nudge to try and convey camaraderie or something, you attempted to tease, “C'mon, you chosen at least one song, yet?”

“Sorry, let me just, uh…” and with a few more clicks, the first song started. It was Bohemian Rhapsody.

“You chose the playlist ‘Songs Everyone Likes.’”

He chuckled awkwardly. “Yeah, figured I couldn’t go wrong with that one.”

The memory of belting out this song with Carl, Glenn, Beth, and Maggie before your group even found the prison whooshed back and you started to smile—until you remembered that Carl was gone now. He was dead.

You’d forgotten all of that for hot second, but your Carl was dead. So was Glenn. So was Beth. So was Lori, who'd joined, so was T-Dog, so was...

Maybe you were dead, too. You felt dead—so, you pressed your fingers to your neck to feel for a pulse.

Still beating.

The lyrics of the song began to register. You know, the early parts like ‘I don’t wanna die,’ and ‘carry on, as if nothing really matters.’ Sounded a little too personal, tell you the truth.

And just like that, the song was skipped. You glanced at Siddiq.

He shook his head. “Not the right mood for it.”

“Mm.”

The intro to the next song in the shuffle was very bouncy, and ‘Dance to the Music’ started to jive through the earbuds. You didn’t sway along like you naturally would have. No urge to.

The song played, finished.

“First time I heard this was in Shrek,” Siddiq made small talk while munching on his apple. “Love that movie.”

You might’ve hummed in acknowledgment, you aren’t sure. He handed your apple to you, you took it. Held it.

The next song started, ‘Young Hearts Run Free.’

The song played, finished.

Siddiq made more small talk. “I remember that one in Romeo + Juliet, the one with, um, Leo DiCaprio. We watched that version in high school after we finished reading it.”

You hummed again. Pressed your fingers to your wrist, just in case. But no, your heart was still beating.

The next song started, ‘Jumpin’ Jack Flash.’

“A lot of oldies,” he commented once the singing began. He took the final nibble off his apple.

“But goodies,” you responded, willing yourself to sound less stiff and monotone. “Modern stuff is on this playlist, too, don’t worry.”

The song played. Finished.

The next song started. ‘Another One Bites the Dust.’ Siddiq promptly skipped it once the refrain started and the lyrics sank in.

“Good call,” you grunted.

The next song started. ‘Ain’t No Mountain High Enough.’

“Oh n—please skip this one, too." You loved that one, but you’d queued it up for Glenn at his and Maggie’s wedding, and it was not the time to go reminiscing. You swallowed the lump in your throat. Checked your pulse. Still beating. "Please skip 'Thunderstruck' if it comes on, too?”

The mp3 player clicked as Siddiq skipped the song. Next on the shuffle was ‘Under Pressure.’

He adjusted his seat and coughed. “This one fits.”

A combination sigh/groan was your contribution, because he was right. The two of you were the only doctors major medical personnel left standing.

The song played. Siddiq’s knees and wrists bounced to the rhythm where he sat beside you. You stared at your boots. Where’d all the soot and dirt on them and your clothes come from, you couldn’t remember…

…

It was when a strong gust of cold wind blew that you noticed that the music had stopped, your earbud was out, and the sky wasn’t as cloudy anymore.

When did that happen?

You sat up and blinked a few times, your apple still in one hand, Shane’s necklace in the other.

“Hey,” you heard Siddiq call.

What, why were your cheeks wet? “S-sorry, I,” you dropped the necklace, wiped your eyes with your sleeve, and put the apple down, “must’ve, um, checked out.”

“I’m not sure how long it was after it began when I noticed the change,” he let you know. “Is…this what happened earlier?”

You closed your eyes and shook your head. “Earlier was somethin’ else. This was just—” ‘Dissociation,’ was a misunderstood word, so Denise taught you. And you didn’t want to use the word for that reason.

You really wanted to keep a shred of dignity for yourself in the eyes of that guy. He didn’t even know that you’d hurt yourself when you’d ‘blacked out’ the other day…so, you decided upon a white lie highly euphemistic layman's term. “I spaced out.”

He nodded, but his brows sunk, as if he weren’t buying it.

And when he did that thing where someone slightly opens their mouth because they’ve put together a response, you changed the subject. “Listen to anythin’ good while I was in space?”

Siddiq wasn’t swayed. “Do you still feel detached?”

“A little,” you answered truthfully, breathing deep and checking your watch to try gauging how long you’d been out. Except, you had no recollection of what time it had been earlier, so it was a bust. God save you, you were a mess.

“Sid. I’m sorry you’re trapped dealin’ with this shit, it ain’t fair to you. If, if you wanna bounce early, don’t feel obligated to stay, and, and—like, if you don’t wanna do this whole music thing, it’s fine. W-we don’t want you feelin’ unsafe.”

“Unsafe? Y/N, I…” he paused. “I forgive you for what you said earlier. And I’m not scared of you. Hitting Negan wasn’t okay, but…” another pause. “Compared to the way most others are baying for his blood and how you defended saving his life, I mean—you helped me save him, Y/N—” He lifted his hands, palms to the sky. “You’re my friend, we work together, it’s not like I can’t see that you’re drowning.”

Nothing prepared you to hear that.

He was calling you a friend and was still trying to be understanding, after all that…

You wanted to slam your head on a hard, rough surface and cry from the shame and simultaneous relief. You also didn’t want to accept it, and so pushed back: “You were alone out there too long. Friends d-don’t tell friends they wish they were dead.” And mean it, you did not confess.

But of all things, he merely raised one shoulder and snorted. “I’m a really good friend?”

Tears spilled at the same time that you almost laughed. No, it's true, you almost laughed. Things felt a little unreal again, but in not a bad way. The most you could do right then was send up thanks for the mercy that came out of the mess. You pinched your wrist first, then felt for your pulse.

“Compared to a few minutes ago, do you feel more like yourself now?” Siddiq made sure.

Huh. You used to ask Shane a very similar question, when he was forgetting his goodness.

You kept feeling the small beats at your wrist, reminding you that you were indeed alive, therefore capable of healing and growth.

“Heart’s still beating,” you sniffled, making yourself smile at him. The hatred and disgust you’d felt earlier seemed to you less like a fact and more like a bad dream.

Then, from the far right of the oak tree, you heard Aaron’s voice saying, “Not yet, man, they’ve got four minutes left.”

Aaron and Daryl then came into view. They waved to you as they walked by with the babies, another reminder that you that you weren’t fully dead inside. Gracie was in a stroller, TJ was bundled in Daryl’s arms. Your husband lingered behind, eyes on you as he absently pecked a kiss to your baby’s covered head.

Something stirred, and your chest fluttered and tugged in their direction, reminding you again that your heart was still beating. So was Maggie’s, so was her and Glenn’s baby’s, so was Rick’s, so was Aaron’s. Life was still going. You had a child, a husband; lifelines. Their hearts were still beating, too.

The unexpected wink and the way Daryl’s gaze softened as he looked at you made you feel as if you’d been freezing and someone just handed you a cup of cocoa with mini marshmallows. The way he next moved his lips to pronounce ‘troublemaker,’ however, you ought to have seen coming a mile away.

The heaviness in your body eased a bit. A smile started prodding the corners of your mouth. Shyly, you returned the wave and mouthed ‘mangy hick,’ your wrist bumping against the photograph sticking from your shirt pocket.

Aaron noticed him acting like a dope lagging and gestured for him to keep up. “Four more minutes and we’ll come back to get her.”

Daryl called out "slowpoke," and waved your baby’s little arm to the two of you as they walked away. He kept peeking behind him, too, it warmed you. When they reached far enough, you once again took the photograph out from your pocket.

With a final peek at Carl’s picture, you sent up a prayer and reaffirmed the promise that you’d made to him. That you’d live for him, do him proud.

So long as your heart was still beating, you’d try to do him proud. “Seems you and I got four more minutes, Sid. What’ll we pick?”

-------------------------

> Masterlist link here

and our teeny tiny taglist :D

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---------------------------

And here's the picture prize for getting through the long chapter!

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curio-queries · 3 months

Text

Run BTS: 033 | BTS and Manito part 1

Original Air Date: 28 DEC 2017 Episode Length: 25:17 Total Parts: 2 YouTube English Subtitles: Yes Title Song: Blood Sweat & Tears

Synopsis: The members brought gifts to exchange after playing some games. they are assigned another member and a mission to carry out to earn their gift.

Production: The Infamous photo zone game! The production team did such a good job preparing this one game. It was one of my top ten episodes from early on.

Endearment: Slam dunk with this episode. I'm not sure if they were originally planningbon having this be a two parter or if they had to split it due to the sheer quantity of excellent material but it is easily one of the top episodes in all of Run BTS history.

Winner/Loser: see final part

Best Cheater: JK. Poor unsuspecting Hobi getting pushed out of the Rabbit pic. There can only be one! lol

Member Moments:

RM: It took him a few tries to get it but he did well once he figured it out.

JN/YG: Best duo for this game! Hands down! i love how after the first jump, everyone assumed Suga purposefully misled Jin by jumping early...no, they're both just that bad at it!

JH/JK: What a fun combo! Not a pairing we often see in Run. They both did great though!

JM/V: The 95's squabbling was so wonderful and hilarious. it seems like it's going to easily be the highlight of the show but then it just keeps getting better. Honesty, i think the rest of the guys recognized they had to bring out their best entertainer skills to have a chance at any screentime after seeing these two!

Bonus Content: Great little moments that give a little slice of what it must be like to be on set with the members

CQ Rank: 5

youtube

(CQ Eval Date: 07 DEC 2023)

Check out this post for my Masterlist of all episodes and descriptions of how I'm evaluating these.

Previous Episode: 032

Next Episode: 034

#Youtube #bangtan sonyeondan #bts #run bts #ep.033 #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook

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ak-vintage · 12 days

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Quarry - Chapter 9 (Part 1)

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x f!reader

Summary: Din Djarin is on what he expects to be his last bounty hunt for Greef Karga. After all, Nevarro is swiftly moving away from its previous reputation as a Guild member’s paradise, and Din has more important concerns now, like finding a Jedi to train his mysterious foundling. However, after capturing a wanted starship engineer who would rather go anywhere other than “home,” the Mandalorian is forced to reassess his priorities.

Your taste of freedom had been brief but glorious. Now you are a prisoner of the most infamous bounty hunter in the Outer Rim – it’s only a matter of time before he turns you in. There isn’t much you would not do to keep from being sent home, but as you find yourself growing closer to your captor and his strange little companion, you start to wonder whether escape is really what you want.

Set after Chapter 13: The Jedi but before Chapter 14: The Tragedy.

Chapter Tags & Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Reader is Mando's live-in starship engineer, second-person POV, Din Djarin POV, no use of Y/N, minimal descriptors of reader character, unresolved sexual tension, pining, light angst, implications of nudity

Series Masterlist | Read on AO3

A/N: I see this chapter as the first half of a two-parter. I split it in half for ease of consumption and because when I originally wrote it, I hadn't been able to post in ages. Enjoy these two little vignettes! You will get two more in the next "half."

___

The Refresher

After your conversation in the cockpit on your way to Trandosha, life aboard the Razor Crest returned to normal almost startlingly quickly. Mando permitted the ship to travel on autopilot for once, allowing the flight computer to calculate your path, and spent hours researching the last known locations, backgrounds, and crimes of the newest batch of bounties he had received from Karga. You fell right back into your routine of splitting your time between ship maintenance and occupying Grogu; the boy seemed positively thrilled to be back in his leather carrier strapped to your back as you puttered around the cargo hold. He was full of chatter, cooing and babbling and squealing more than you had ever heard. Not for the first time, you wondered whether he might eventually speak Basic or if perhaps his species simply didn’t communicate that way, but you decided that regardless, you liked the extra noise. You could almost imagine what he might be saying, and you found yourself filling in his half of your conversations in your mind as you went about your work. It passed the time, and it made you smile.

Now that you felt confident that you would be spending the foreseeable future in this way, with the Razor Crest as your home, it took you less than a week to come up with a draft for your largest improvement project to date.

“Hey, Mando – do you have a minute?” you asked, poking your head into the cockpit where the Mandalorian sat, bent over one of the computer consoles in concentration.

“What is it?” he replied distractedly. He did not meet your gaze and instead remained focused on the screen before him, which appeared to be a topical map of a dense, verdant forest.

You tucked the datapad you were holding close to your chest, rubbing your thumbs over the edge nervously. Stepping fully into the cockpit, you said, “I have a proposition for you. I’d like your support to start on…kind of a big project in the cargo hold.”

That was enough to get his attention. Pausing his perusal of the map, he turned in his chair to face you, planting his hands on his widespread knees. “What kind of project?”

His voice sounded cautious, and you could understand why. Most of the work you had done on the Razor Crest up until this point you had done without his involvement. He had purchased supplies for you when you requested, and he was always happy to review the reports you generated to demonstrate any efficiency gains you had achieved, but otherwise, you each had kept to your own activities. This was the first time you were asking for his blessing on something before simply doing it.

You took a steadying breath and explained, “With both of us living here for the long term, I really think we should invest in installing a fully functioning refresher.” You paused for a moment then added, “And an additional bunk, if I can figure out how to make one fit in the space we have.”

Mando was silent at first, appearing to consider the idea. “Is that possible?” he asked, his helmet cocked to the side skeptically. “The water storage and recycling systems on ST-70s weren’t designed to support full ‘freshers.”

You nodded in agreement. You had thought of this. “Yes. With the size of the water tank we have right now, you’re right – we could maybe support a running water sink and a privy, but never a shower. But I’ve been taking a look at the schematics, and I feel like there’s a better way to organize the forward space in the cargo hold.” You tapped through a few controls on your datapad and pulled up your sketch of the design, which you had laid over a copy of the Razor Crest’s blueprints. You held it out to him to examine. “It would be tight,” you added, “but I think, if you’re comfortable with it, I should be able to rearrange the hardware that is currently there in such a way that would allow us just enough space for a water tank one size larger than our current one and a ‘fresher.”

You watched, your lower lip between your teeth, as Mando zoomed in on your sketch, silently making note of all of the proposed changes. “Sounds…cramped,” he said after a moment.

You shrugged reluctantly. “It would be, a bit. But it would have a fully functioning door, instead of a curtain,” you argued. “We’d have somewhere to actually brush our teeth instead of using those chalky cleaning tabs. We’d have somewhere to store our toiletries. And we could take showers.” You almost groaned aloud at the thought. How long had it been since you had experienced such a luxury? “Actual, real, hot showers.”

On the space station that orbited Chardaan where the workers’ barracks resided, rows of sonic showers in communal bathrooms had been the norm. Sonic showers were efficient and generally more practical for space living, as they required very few resources to power, and at the very least, they removed dirt and oil and kept everyone from smelling like they had been living in a metal sphere with recycled air for months at a time. However, to you, something about sonic showers never left you feeling fully clean, and after months without access to even that, you were starting to feel truly uncomfortable in your own body. You yearned for the sensation of hot, soapy water sluicing down your skin and foaming up your hair, and if that was your experience, you could hardly imagine how Mando felt, wearing that suit of armor all day every day.

The bounty hunter nodded slowly as he silently reviewed your plans. “And the bunk?” he asked.

You grimaced. “That one I haven’t quite figured out yet,” you replied hesitantly. “I’m still sketching some ideas. I feel much more confident about the ‘fresher.”

“Hm,” he hummed, passing the datapad back to you. “Well, I approve of the refresher idea. Your design looks sound. Make a list of the materials you’ll need. I’ll see what I can do about getting them during our next stop.”

“Ugh, thank you, Mando!” You sighed heavily with relief, excitement buzzing in your chest. “You won’t regret it!”

A week later, after a successful first hunt, the Mandalorian returned to the Razor Crest with a large, male Trandoshan in binder cuffs and a repulsorlift sled laden with bins of supplies dragging behind him. It was all you could do not to fly down the gangplank and fling your arms around him at the sight. Instead, you managed to funnel that energy into just bouncing in place on your tiptoes as you began unloading the sled, your fingers positively itching to wrap themselves around your new toys.

You could have sworn you heard a rasping chuckle filter through your companion’s helmet as he watched your unbridled enthusiasm, and although it made your cheeks burn, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

From the time you took your plasma torch to the first piece of durasteel bulkhead to the time the refresher was complete and ready for use ended up being about two weeks of constant labor. But Maker, if it wasn’t a labor of love.

Piece by piece, inch by painstaking inch, you systematically disassembled everything to the left of the bunk, starting with that heinous multi-species vacuum ship head (which you had despised since your first day on board) and going all the way to the forward end of the hull. Water filtration? Enhanced. Clean water tank? Replaced entirely with one of a larger size. Scanners, jamming devices, antennae, even the ship’s headlights – all of it got taken apart down to its components, condensed, rewired, and fit back together to make room for the new space. Aside from the work you had done with Peli on the carbonite unit, it was easily the most challenging work you had ever done on a ship of this age, and you relished every second of it. You had always enjoyed puzzles, ever since you were a small child, and fitting each one of these systems back into the reduced space while still ensuring that everything functioned as it was designed was an especially rewarding puzzle.

Once you felt confident with your modifications, you began installing the refresher itself. Mando had been correct in his assessment when he evaluated your plans – the space was cramped, and due to budget constraints, it was almost excessively utilitarian. You had selected plain durasteel for the walls, privy, and running water sink. A single pane of transparisteel separated the shower from the rest of the room, left open on the far end to allow for easy entry without needing the space to accommodate a swinging door. You had managed to convince Mando to spring for a box of tiles of industrial, anti-slip flooring that would keep you both from sliding around in there, particularly when you were in flight, but other than that minor upgrade, everything you requested was about as economical as you could find.

It was far from glamorous, but by the time you finished waterproofing all of your seals and stepped back to admire your handiwork, you felt a rush of satisfaction at the sight. The Razor Crest was Mando’s ship, Mando’s home, but for the first time, you thought that perhaps one day, she might feel like yours, too.

When you finally felt ready to give everything a true test, Mando was out on a hunt. He had landed the Razor Crest on a remote planet in the middle of a humid forest, well-hidden by a copse of trees hung heavily with vines and moss, and you had neither seen nor heard from him in several days. You and Grogu had just finished your dinner for the evening, and the boy’s wide, dark eyes were heavy with fatigue. Seizing the opportunity, you tucked your little green charge into his hammock above the bunk, gave him a couple of gentle rocks until he began to nod off, and then eagerly dove into the newly-finished ‘fresher.

It was even better than you had expected.

The water from the shower was hot on your skin, almost shockingly so, and steam collected quickly in the cramped space, the fan you had fabricated working overtime to draw the excess moisture out of the room and into the exhaust vents. You had come across a lone bar of soap and a singular bottle of shampoo at the bottom of a storage bin one afternoon, and you used them both liberally. With how long it had been since you had last done so, it took multiple washes of both your hair and your body before you felt fully clean, but you couldn’t say you minded the extra time. It was an unspeakable luxury, to be able to stand under running water like this in a pre-Empire gunship that spent most of her time in hyperspace, and you found you couldn’t begrudge yourself the opportunity to bask in it.

Besides, the soap was clearly Mando’s. It was rich with the warm, spicy, masculine fragrance that you had first smelled in his bunk, and surrounding yourself with it like this had your skin flushing and your nerve endings buzzing. Perhaps you ought to have been embarrassed by your body’s reaction to nothing but a scent, but something about being tucked away in this tiny, little room, with its close walls and its own door that locked, knowing that Grogu was fast asleep and Mando wasn’t on board, had you feeling a bit bold. A bit shameless.

So caught up were you in your own enjoyment that you completely missed the sound of your comm link going off in your jumpsuit pocket, left crumpled in a pile on the bunk. On the other side of the door.

It was several more minutes before you found the motivation to turn off the water and step out of the shower. The prolonged heat (and perhaps also the arousal burning between your legs) had left you feeling a bit light-headed, so you toweled yourself off only briefly before wrapping the soft black material around your body and sliding open the door to get some cooler air.

However, to your great surprise, rather than being greeted by an empty cargo hold, you instead immediately met the impassive gaze of the Mandalorian.

His beskar was caked with mud, though he appeared uninjured, and he was in the process of freezing what looked to be an unconscious female Zabrack in carbonite. The gases were just beginning to dissipate and reveal her serene face outlined in matte gray, and although his body was facing her, his visor was fixed intently on you.

“Mando!” you gasped, your hands flying to your chest to grip your towel.

Silence, dense and significant, hovered between you. The bounty hunter continued to stare in your direction, and you could feel your throat begin to dry out and your heart speed up as you suddenly became acutely aware of your state of undress. Your towel was a little thing, a maintenance rag hardly meant for this purpose, and although it managed to cover from your breasts to the very tops of your thighs, that was hardly comparable to your typical boilersuit. And you had barely taken the time to dry yourself off. Your exposed skin shone in the dim cargo hold lighting; your long, unbound hair dripped a puddle onto the deck near your bare feet.

You felt strangely caught out, almost ashamed, as though the Mandalorian had discovered you in some compromising position.

A familiar, ill-timed wave of arousal flashed through you, raising goosebumps across your body and tightening your nipples as you caught a whiff of the scent that now clung to your damp skin. His scent.

Perhaps he had caught you.

Just when you thought you couldn’t bear the weight of this silence anymore, Mando replied simply, “Apologies.” Even through his vocoder, his voice sounded dry and deep, as though he had pulled the word from the depths of his chest, as though it had been a struggle to do so.

You swallowed thickly and shifted on your feet. “The, uh…” You cleared your throat, awkward and positively burning up from the inside. “The ‘fresher’s done. And the shower’s perfect. You should, uh…you should really give it a try.”

He offered you a single nod. “I will.”

You nodded, too. Your head felt loose on your neck, your mind spinning. “Okay. Good.”

Another silence, and you chewed on your lower lip as you cast your eyes around the room, searching for something, anything to look at that wasn’t Mando’s piercing gaze. Eventually, you landed upon your work boots, stacked neatly at the foot of the bunk, and the rumpled mess of your clothes spilling out of recess in the wall.

“Um. If…if I could just – ” you began, gesturing toward the pile of clothing with a little jerk of your head.

That, it seemed, was finally enough to pull the bounty hunter out of whatever shocked trance your appearance had seemed to inspire. He physically startled, turning away from the bounty in the carbonite chamber and drawing himself up straighter, and he dropped his satchel to the floor with a thud.

“Of course. Yes,” he said curtly, already moving toward the ladder up to the cockpit. “I’ll…start the take-off sequence. Let me know when you’re – ”

You found yourself nodding again. “Yeah, for sure. I’ll meet you up there in a bit,” you replied. Your voice sounded overly bright and forced even to your own ears, desperately eager to move past the heart-racing, thigh-clenching self-consciousness of the last few minutes.

You watched then as Mando retreated up the ladder with a speed that you had never seen before. Tightening your hold on your towel, you slumped back against the ‘fresher doorframe, weak-kneed, and let the durasteel cool your flushed skin.

You weren’t ignorant to the tension that had been building between you and the Mandalorian over the last weeks, but it had never felt like…that. Like his gaze had been a physical touch on your skin, like your core had melted into liquid heat.

Like the delicious, warm slickness now coating the insides of your thighs.

Nothing had ever felt like that.

___

The Bazaar

Din supposed he ought to have known the question was coming sooner or later, but he still found himself somewhat taken aback the first time you asked to leave the Razor Crest during a hunt.

He had been guiding the ship in a steady descent through the atmosphere of Trevi IV, aiming for the spaceport port outside of Trevi City, when you broached the subject.

“I…really desperately need of some new clothes. And hygiene things. Now that we have the ‘fresher, you know,” you had explained haltingly, a charming flush burning high on your cheeks at the mention of your most recent project. “If you’d be willing to give me an advance on my pay, that is. I won’t need much – promise.”

The Mandalorian had found himself almost needing to bite back a groan at the mention of the ‘fresher. You had been correct, of course – the addition of that space had been a marked improvement to the quality of life on the Razor Crest since its completion, but no matter how many times either of you managed to use it without incident, he couldn’t help but recall the sight of you standing in the doorway – cloaked in steam, clothed in nothing but the mere suggestion of a towel, miles of soaking wet skin on display, and smelling unmistakably of him. The vision had nearly unmanned him in the moment, and still it continued to haunt him, even many days later.

It was entirely unprecedented, the way you had come to affect him. The lilt of your laughter at Grogu’s antics, the scent of your hair on the pillow in his bunk, the strong, capable grip of your hands on your hydrospanner, the dark, glossy shine of your eyes as you ran your gaze over his body when you thought he wasn’t looking. All of it had burrowed into the very depths of him, nestled itself near his heart, immoveable. He had never experienced anything like it in his life.

However, rather than confessing any of that, Din had instead simply nodded.

“Sure,” he had agreed. “I need to go to the bazaar district first on a lead anyway. You and the child can join me when we land, get what you need.”

The grateful smile you had sent his way had the Mandalorian feeling his face heat up even under his helmet.

It looked to be around midday local time when the Razor Crest finally landed, and by the time Din was ready to depart, he found you already waiting by the rear blast doors, Grogu strapped to your back in his favorite leather carrier and an eager expression on your face. You had dug an old satchel of his, threadbare and dusty, out of one of the storage compartments, and it hung limply across your body, empty and ready to be put to use. With a wordless nod and a hidden smile, he gestured in the direction of the doors. After you.

It occurred to him as he watched you descend the gangplank that this would be the first opportunity you had had to explore any of the planets he had taken you to thus far. Of course, your time with Peli had certainly been a change of pace from daily life aboard the Razor Crest, but that had been months ago now, and you hadn’t been permitted to leave the hangar at the time. And since then, he had all but insisted that you stay on the ship when he left to hunt. For your safety, and for the child’s, but regardless of how well-intentioned the reason, it wasn’t lost on him how little of the galaxy you had been allowed to see in your life.

Din resolved himself then that although today you would only be visiting a market, only purchasing some necessities, and although he was technically in Trevi City on a hunt, he would not allow you to return to the Crest until you had had your fill of the experience. He was on your timetable today. He would ensure you made the most of it.

It had been some time since the bounty hunter had made his way to Trevi City, but he found it mostly unchanged as he led you and Grogu out of the spaceport’s docking yards and into the city proper. Trevi IV was a desert world, featuring miles of dusty plains and dramatic plateaus, but Trevi City was an oasis. Nestled against the craggy shores of the largest body of water on the planet, cooling, salty breezes wound their way through flagstone streets and buffeted against sundried brick buildings. Shops, stalls, carts, and tents of all shapes and sizes stretched in every direction, around every corner, and the crush of people was truly remarkable. Merchants – both local and traveling, customers of every age and walk of life, street performers in bright costumes, children and small animals darting in and out of the throng. At first glance, it seemed incomprehensible – the epitome of chaos.

And although Din had never been particularly fond of crowds, he couldn’t help but feel a small surge of satisfaction at the look of pure joy that spread across your face as you took in the bazaar.

First on your list, he knew, was clothing, so with a gentle nudge to your lower back, the Mandalorian steered you in the direction of the textile district – a few blocks down and to the left. The stalls there were draped in sumptuous fabrics, decorated with gold tassels, and staffed by women with sun-worn skin and friendly, welcoming smiles. You looked back at him then, uncertain, but Din gave you a wordless nod and scooped Grogu up and out of his carrier without preamble.

“Go on. I’ll keep an eye on the child. Just explain to one of them what you need, and they will help you,” he said, inclining his helmet toward the line of vendors. He wanted you to feel free to browse, to mingle unencumbered.

After a few halting introductions and some hesitant questions on your part, you did just that. From several yards away, the bounty hunter listened to you describe your needs to one of the women. He watched you tug self-consciously on the collar of your well-worn boilersuit, the olive green fabric now heavily stained with blood and engine oil and Maker knew what else, and he watched as the merchant woman nodded along, kindness in her eyes. Before long, she was looping your arm through hers and leading you deeper into the line of covered stalls, pulling items from racks and tables as she went.

Din kept his distance as you shopped, tracking the top of your head as you wound through the merchandise but never following. Only when you ducked behind a heavily embroidered curtain with an armload of items to try on did he look away, instead finding his attention captured by a display of colorful scarves and handkerchiefs fluttering in the ocean breeze. Before he could consider it further, he found himself in front of the display, running his gloved fingers over assortments of linen, cotton, and silk.

Mere moments later, he left the booth, a cotton scarf decorated with a delicate floral pattern in his pocket and a few credits less in his purse.

By the time you were ready to move on to the next items on your list, your borrowed, threadbare satchel was nearly full to bursting. Your face glowed with pride as you showed him your selections – a brand-new boilersuit (this one in a fetching deep blue), a pair of brown cargo pants and a matching jacket, a stack of undershirts, and two sets of soft, black sleep clothes. Din also tried desperately not to notice the new sets of undergarments hidden at the bottom of your bag as he dutifully handed the total payment over to the vendor.

He, of course, was unsuccessful. The images of those scraps of fabric, revealed accidentally as you dug through your sack, were now burned onto the backs of his eyelids, ever-present whenever he closed his eyes.

“Hygiene next?” you asked eagerly, rocking back and forth on your feet like a small child. Grogu giggled from his perch in the bounty hunter’s arms, and the latter nodded, clearing his throat.

“Hygiene is this way,” he replied with a gesture to the east.

His voice sounded suspiciously strained even to his own ears.

Your time perusing the toiletry stalls was much briefer than your time with the textiles, but it left Din perhaps even more disquieted. Your first purchase was a pair of full-sized terry cloth towels, which in turn called to mind the image of the miniscule one you had clutched over your breasts in the doorway of the ‘fresher and caused his brain to short-circuit. You also picked up a wide-toothed, wooden comb for your hair, saying casually, “I don’t know if you have hair under that helmet, Mando, but if you do, you’re welcome to borrow it if you need to! You must get awful tangles,” which left him utterly speechless.

However, perhaps the most taxing of all was the booth boasting hand-made soaps and haircare products. The Mandalorian watched, his throat dry, as your capable, calloused fingers floated gently over the many colorful bars and bottles, occasionally picking one up and lifting it to your nose to give a delicate sniff. Without fail, you would always then extend the item to him, placing it directly below the edge of his helmet.

“What do you think of this one?” you asked. “Or how about this? Too fruity? That one’s too much for me, I think. Oh, this one smells like nightblossoms!”

And on and on.

It wasn’t really that he minded being asked for his opinion. On the contrary, he found your enthusiastic chatter pleasant, and something inside him warmed at the idea that you might actually care about his preferences when it came to your body products. However, there was a singular thought that refused to leave him alone every time you asked for his input, one he dared not voice.

On perhaps the tenth bottle of shampoo that provoked a noncommittal response, you sighed heavily.

“Come on, Mando, give me something here,” you whined, clearly exasperated. “You’re the one who has to be cooped up with me on the Crest every day, the one who has to share a ‘fresher with me. I’d think you might care about whether the shampoo I buy gives you a headache or not.”

Din cocked his head, considering. He thought of the dark, blown-pupil looks you sent his way when you thought he wasn’t paying attention, the burning flush that extended down your chest coming out of the ‘fresher, the way you leaned into his touch the few times he had dared run the back of his fingers across your cheek.

Perhaps…perhaps you might welcome him being a bit more candid with you than he had been previously.

“Well?” you pressed. Irritation crept into the edge of your voice then, and the Mandalorian found himself nodding.

“Very well,” he murmured, soft and gruff through his vocoder. “Follow me.”

Without another word, he led you to another stall, this one carrying similar products as the previous but with an aesthetic that clearly intended to be marketed toward men. The stall was draped in tactical netting with wares hanging from the ropes, and the tables were dressed with simple black cloths. The various bars and bottles were fashioned in more neutral colors, earthy and cool, and the merchant manning the till was dressed in an austere black suit. He nodded in your direction once but said nothing.

It did not matter. Din knew precisely what he was looking for.

Barely a moment later, before you could give voice to the questions that were clearly in your eyes, the bounty hunter plucked a single bar of soap and single bottle of hair wash off the table and extended them both to you.

You glanced from the proffered toiletries to Din’s face and then back again, your eyebrows raised quizzically. “These? You think I should buy these?” you asked dubiously.

He inclined his helmet in the affirmative. “Yes.”

Your eyes narrowed. “What are they?”

He simply continued to stare at you, silent, willing you to reach out and take them. Eventually, you did. Your fingers brushed his as you took the bar and the bottle into your hands, and if Din did not know better, he would have been certain that he could feel the warmth of your skin through his gloves.

Skepticism still apparent in your expression, you raised the bar of soap to your nose and sniffed lightly. Instantly, your eyes widened, and Din watched with liquid heat in his gut as your pupils expanded.

“This – ” you started, then paused and cleared your throat loudly. “This is your soap.” Your cheeks darkened, your lower lip disappearing between your teeth.

“Yes,” the Mandalorian confirmed.

“You – you think I should buy the same thing? The same as you?” You were stammering, seemingly struggling to maintain eye contact.

“It suits you,” he said. And it wasn’t a lie. As much as he enjoyed the scent on himself, it somehow was only enhanced on your skin, your hair. It was comforting, warm and inviting.

It spoke to a primeval part of his psyche, something that purred at the thought of you being marked as belonging to him. Only him.

“Well, it’s all I’ve had ‘til now. You don’t think it makes me smell like a man?” you asked with a forced chuckle, a clear attempt to inject some levity into what had suddenly become a very weighted conversation.

At that, Din could not stop himself from taking a step closer, invading your space, forcing you to tilt your head back on your neck to keep looking in his eyes. His breath came short in his chest at the proximity, and his voice crackled through his helmet modulator as he replied, “Trust me. There is nothing about you that could be mistaken for a man.”

An almost bashful expression came over you then, and you dropped your gaze. “That a good thing?” you murmured.

The bounty hunter could only manage a nod in response.

You left the booth with three new bars of soap and three bottles of hair wash in his favorite scent, the haul quickly added to your satchel with a secret smile and a heavy blush.

At that point, Grogu began to fuss in Din’s arms, whining softly and smacking his lips in the way that you both had learned meant that he was getting hungry, so the three of you ended the afternoon hopping from vendor to vendor sampling a variety of Trevi street foods. Well, perhaps more accurately, the Mandalorian watched as you and Grogu enjoyed the local fare – he packaged up his own to take back to the Razor Crest.

First, you selected an almost comically large wrap from a stall run by a male Bith – a pillow-soft flatbread wrapped around some variety of savory meat, a relish of pickled vegetables, and a bright orange sauce with a heavily spiced aroma. The sauce left broad, messy streaks across your nose and cheeks as you ate, but you paid it no mind. Instead, you simply laughed and plucked a few choice bits of meat out of the flatbread and passed them over your shoulder to Grogu, who was once again strapped to your back in his carrier. The boy babbled and munched happily, and Din took it upon himself to go back to the stall and request a handful of napkins.

Next, you followed the unctuous scent of fry oil to a tiny cart staffed by a Truishii woman. This one was peddling small paper bags filled to the brim with an assortment of deep-fried vegetables, coated in a thin golden batter and soaking the bag with grease. You groaned under your breath at the first bite, and Din immediately purchased a second bag.

Finally, after a bit of leisurely meandering and browsing, you stumbled across an open-air cantina just as the sun was beginning to set. A hired band played a lively tune from one corner of the cantina’s patio, and barmaids wove gracefully between rickety tables carrying trays laden with tankards. The Mandalorian looked on as you watched the band, a soft smile playing at the corners of your lips, your body swaying unconsciously to the beat.

Before he could think better of it, he placed a gentle hand at the base of your spine to get your attention. “Would you like to sit down? Have a drink?” he asked, bringing his helmet down close so you could hear him better over the music.

You startled slightly under his touch, but Din could not ignore the way you seemed to lean into it, or the deep breath you took at the sound of his vocoder in your ear. You nodded silently in response, and the Mandalorian took that as his cue to lead you a table, flagging down a barmaid on the way.

He ordered you a tankard and Grogu a cup of bone broth as you settled into your seat, and the wide-eyed look of overwhelm as you took in the tankard’s contents made Din laugh out loud.

“What is it?” you asked, your voice tinged with awe.

He smirked. “I’m not sure what it’s called. It’s a local brew, made with honey.”

You swallowed heavily, giving the cup one more once-over before taking it in both hands. “Well. Bottoms up!” You inclined the tankard in his direction then brought it to your lips, drinking deeply.

In mere minutes, it was empty, and you were ordering a second, eyes glossy and cheeks flushed.

It was well past sundown by the time Din helped you stand from your seat at the cantina and led you back through the winding flagstone streets to the spaceport. Grogu had long since fallen asleep in his carrier, his little head resting on the back of your shoulder as he snored gently, and you had polished off nearly three full tankards of that honeyed beverage, leaving you giggly and wobbling on your feet. You were singing softly to yourself, humming one of the songs the band had been playing and grinning from ear to ear, and the effect was so charming, it was all the Mandalorian could do to keep himself from joining in.

When you arrived back at the Razor Crest, however, you seemed to have finally burned out all of your energy. You stumbled and lurched up the gangplank the moment it touched the ground, pausing only briefly once inside the ship to drop the bag full of your purchases unceremoniously onto the deck floor. Din called out your name like a question, but rather than answering, you simply removed Grogu’s carrier from your back, still holding the sleeping child, and passed it into the Mandalorian’s waiting arms.

“I have to lay down,” you said softly, almost to yourself.

Din nodded and gently steered you in the direction of the bunk. “This way,” he replied, just as softly.

At the entrance to the bunk alcove, you toed off your boots and then, to Din’s great surprise, stripped off your boilersuit, leaving you clad in nothing but a black breast band, a worn pair of gray undershorts, and a pair of crew-length socks. Everything else was left haphazardly piled on the deck, sure to be a tripping hazard when you woke, but you clearly couldn’t be bothered. Muttering to yourself, eyes half closed, you clambered into the bunk.

“Are you going to be all right?” he asked after a moment.

“‘M fine,” you murmured, your voice thick and muffled by the pillow. “Never drank that much before. Not allowed in the barracks. Couldn’t afford it when I ran away.”

Din nodded even though he knew you couldn’t really see it. “I understand. Alcohol was discouraged during my training in the Fighting Corps. It…takes some getting used to.”

You hummed in response, snuggling deeper into the bunk’s barren mattress. Something inside him warmed, and he smiled softly at the sight.

The bounty hunter took a moment then to carefully extract the sleeping Grogu from his carrier, settling him in the little hammock he had fashioned for the boy that stretched across the bunk alcove. It was only when he was preparing to walk away and settle himself in the cockpit for the night that he heard you speak again.

“Mando?” you called softly.

“Yes?”

“Thank you. For today,” you whispered. You were nearly asleep, your words slurred and slow. “It was wonderful. You’re wonderful. Best day of my life.”

#din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal characters fanfiction

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fourseasonsfigs · 4 months

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Building Block Figs - Basking in the Sun

Following up on yesterday's Beautiful Fight Scene in the Middle of the Lake Part One and Two, we have another building block set!

I won't go into all the backstory on these sets (please refer to Part One for a lengthy story), if only to keep this at one post instead of another two-parter.

The name of this set is actually just "Tavern". This inspiration for this scene is actually my favorite scene in the show. It's the Basking in the Sun scene from Episode 12, where they are drinking in front of the tavern and talking about good and bad people. Wen Kexing has my favorite line: "I just feel, that to be alive, to have the sun shining, and having someone’s name for me to call, is so good".

Both A-Xu and I agree, he's right.

Before we get started, a few specs: this set is 1,726 pieces, measures 8.4 x 16.8 x 12.8 cm, and is rated 11 hours of assembly time. This is the longest rating out of any of them, with two others clocking in at 10 hours each. I will say that I have found their assembly times to be extremely accurate.

Here's what the finished model is expected to look like, along with the directions for each piece. As you can see, we have both figs, the tavern table, the (open) door behind A-Xu, and a lantern.

Once more into the breach! The kit looks so small and innocent there in it's box, doesn't it? It doesn't look like 11 hours at all.

Like yesterday's set, this comes with the small black utility tool, the sticker with the tiny image of the finished set, and the QR code for the directions.

You'll notice there's already quite a few bricks sorted behind the unopened box. Those are all the left overs from my previous projects in this line. I didn't want to waste all the time I had put into sorting the bricks, and since the color palette is so limited, I end up using the same ones over and over again.

It really doesn't look that bad, huh?

In order to encourage myself and give myself a sense of satisfaction from completing a piece, I skipped over the figs and went straight to the easiest component - the lantern.

It was indeed quite satisfying to finish this up and put it to the side.

Next up is the tavern door. I admit when I saw this I was a little confused - I know A-Xu was leaning up against a pole kind of thingy, but the background with the flags didn't really register to me. So, I went back and watched the scene again, this time for the background:

It looks pretty good!

It was a lot of building up. As I mentioned in the last post, they don't have thicker bricks, so it's all 1-ply bricks here.

Looks good! I like how they have one of the doors open.

Well, at this point I could no longer put off the main part of the set. Nor did I want to - I was excited to get into it.

Onwards and upwards!

I'll save you the bulk of the gory assembly details, but here's a shot of my counter with all the sorted bricks all lined up, along with the base that I have just started working on. You can see what I mean about the limited size and color palette. By limited I don't mean as a criticism, it's just what we have available to work with. 3 different colors of blue, 3 different colors of grey, and then pretty much just one of each other color.

As you may recall from the last post, here's a sample of the directions from one of the sets. It looks flat and 2-D here, but I can pinch and swipe my phone's screen to rotate completely around to see from all angles. You can also see the step's bricks listed there, along with the left arrow to go back if you need to check your previous work, and the circle with the number of how many steps you have left. As you can see, I'm pretty far from the end.

Here's my progress that matches the corresponding direction. I haven't gotten very far, here!

It's been funny for me to watch the progress of light and shadow across these pics - you can literally see time passing with the day going into the night!

At this point, I had finished the base, was well as the bottom robes of A-Xu and Lao Wen. You can see the steps behind A-Xu, and the table they are both leaning on.

Last progress pic (a couple days later). Now you can really start to see the figs take shape!

Here's a little bit of a better illustration of how I can rotate the instructional image to see different areas. Only 46 more steps here to go!

And here's the final assembled piece. I love it!

The way they modeled the poses are just excellent. We have Lao Wen's relaxed sprawl here, and A-Xu's equally relaxed pose on the stairs.

A little peek through the open door.

You'll notice that A-Xu's drinking gourd here is a pretty neon shade of orange, and that one of the dishes on the table is a similarly neon shade of green. This is again due to the limited color palette - there's no light brown or light green in this world.

Their hair is not as dramatic in this scene as it is in the fight scene from yesterday, but that makes sense, they're just basking in the sun. I still love it - we have A-Xu's multicolored guan and Lao Wen's silver guan rendered in tiny brick form.

They decided to show exactly how happy A-Xu is here by giving him a big smile! The same neon orange color as the gourd, unfortunately.

You can see here the way they have rendered the robe's drapery. And Lao Wen's little black boot there.

A full view of A-Xu's big orange smile! I could remove it if I wanted - as you saw, I have plenty of leftover bricks. I could take the orange off all together (which I think I will) or just leave on a little bit for his cheeks.

Here's the official Basking in the Sun figs to show the size up against these figs. This set is quite a bit bigger, but still not too bad, space wise.

Let's get a couple close-ups of our main stars...

A-Xu's smile is so funny! You can also see his bangs here, which I really like, and a little more detail on his robe. I think they did a fantastic job on the robes in general. Very evocative of the show.

Here's a top down view, with a particularly nice view of the hair crowns.

Ah ha! I was able to squeeze in one last picture before I hit the 30-pic limit. Here's our bottoms up pic - not very good I know. It's hard to do these ones with the bases.

In closing, I will say that when I told my husband I was putting together the "Tavern" scene set of building blocks, he got a puzzled look on his face and said, "which tavern? weren't they at taverns for like half the show?"

Fair. Very fair!

Material: Plastic building blocks

Fig Count: 504

Scene Count: 34

Rating: Let's drink!

[link to the Master Post Index]

#word of honor #word of honor merch #wen kexing #zhou zishu #wenzhou #figthusiast

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somedaylazysomeday · 3 months

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Guess what's happening soon?

Fanfic February 2024 starts in under three weeks!

For everyone unfamiliar, I post a fic every day of February. All have explicit content. Some fics are two-parters, and the first part is (mostly) SFW, but all are meant to be read by readers over the age of 18.

The fics feature a variety of characters and reader characters. The reader characters have female body parts for the sake of simplicity. (Though I may try writing gn spice fics at some point.) A lot of these fics are follow-ups from previous years, but there are a few new stories this year! Fics that are follow-ups will contain links to previous chapters.

Everything will be tagged as #FanficFebruary2024 and #FanficFebruary, so feel free to block either tag if you're not interested in seeing these posts.

Finally, as I stated in an announcement a few months ago, this will be my last Fanfic February. Three seems like a good number to end on, and I had always intended to stop after a leap year. I've enjoyed posting for all of you, but writing 28/29 fics every year was definitely overwhelming. I still have stories I intend to pick up now that I'll have time for other projects.

I'm looking forward to sharing everything I've been working on!

#fanficfebruary #fanficfebruary2024 #fanfic february #reader insert fanfiction #reader insert fic #minors dni

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twistedtummies2 · 4 months

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The Scarlet Pirate - Chapter 3

This is the third of a six-part "Chapter Story" for my OC for Twisted Wonderland, James Killian - based on Captain Hook from Disney's Peter Pan. (Also featured are Smitty McCarthy, based on Smee, and Matthew Satyr, based on Peter himself...oh, and Nakoda - my Kaa OC - also has a role here.) The basic premise of this story has been in my mind for almost as long as James has, but for numerous reasons, it wasn't till just within the past few weeks I finally got a chance to develop and write it out.

The result is, I think, the single longest "Chapter Story" for any of my OCs for TW I've created so far. Take that information however you will. So long as this tale, that it went from a planned three-parter, to a planned five-parter, to now being a six-parter, standing at approximately 150 pages in total! Hopefully, all the work and length will be for the best. XD

As is typical for my Chapter Stories, I will be posting this one chapter at a time per day over the course of this week. For future reference, you can find the previous chapter here.

You can find the next chapter here.

WARNING: While this story, throughout all six parts, does not FOCUS on my kinks, there are instances of very mild stuffing/belching related content sprinkled throughout, as well as various instances of implied or near vore situations. If you're into these things, good on ya. If you aren't, just be warned they will show up here and there, although not with any degree of spectacle.

With that said...I hope you enjoy.

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Once you and your friends decided to join in the skirmish, the ambush at the Dwarf’s Cottage became a real battle. Azul raced to Sebek’s side, the octopus and the crocodile holding out their Magic Pens like wands. The Royal Sword students had their own magical equipment at the ready. Two of them - one dressed in a rabbit-skin hood, the other in a similar garment resembling a red fox - stepped forward, and thrust out their Pens, sending sparkling white shots of Cosmic energy at the Night Raven pair. Azul and Sebek swiped their pens through the air, summoning protective barriers to parried the shots, then each thrust out their own magic conduits. From Azul’s side, a pillar of water suddenly burst out of the ground, soaking the Fox and knocking the sputtering RSA member over. He floundered as he loosened his grip on his Magic Pen; it fell to the ground as he toppled, drenched to bone. He began scrambling in the mud to try and find it…only to yelp sharply and begin to “dance” as Azul began to send icy darts shooting his way, aiming at his feet with a sinister smile. Meanwhile, Sebek used Leaf Shot, over and over again, launching bundles of floral power towards his enemy. The Rabbit, however, guarded against each shot, and then raised their own Pen, summoning a bolt of light energy to try and strike Zigvolt down. The crocodile-fairy, however, was quick to dodge the strike, leaping to the side. He smirked as he twirled his pen tauntingly. “Is that how you want to play?” he grinned with a sort of eager growl. “Then let me show you THE TRUE POWER OF DIASOMNIA!” What looked like a stormcloud formed over Sebek’s head; the Rabbit stepped back worriedly as vibrant green sparks of electrical power seemed to surround the half-fae. Sebek’s eyes began to glow brighter, till they were pools of neon-green light, as he crouched into an almost predatory stance.“Strike through the stormy heavens, O Lightning!” Sebek intoned, in a strange incantation, then roared with victorious intensity: “LIVING BOLT!” ZOOM! Sebek darted forward, his whole body shrouded in electricity, and slammed into the Rabbit. The RSA student yelped and flew backwards from the mixture of speed and strength combined. Another pair of RSA students saw the attack on their compatriot - the ones dressed as a Bear and a Skunk, respectively - and hurried to their aid, Pens at the ready. They hardly had time to even think up a spell, however, before Sebek thrust out his hands and sent volleys of lightning shooting towards them. The pair yowled as they were shocked violently, then fell to the ground, knocked unconscious by the power of the spell. Sebek snarled and cracked his neck, his eyes returning to normal as he breathed heavily, letting his power die down. Azul had paused in his torment of the Fox, clearly quite startled. “Goodness me,” he murmured, and slowly smiled. “Most impressive, Sebek, I must confess! I can see why you’re so proud of your abilities!” Sebek smirked over his shoulder. “Ha!” he barked out, jabbing a thumb at himself. “Such ability pales in comparison to the Great Malleus, but no proper guardsman of his worth should have any less skill!”

“Indeed!” Azul agreed, a hint of greed in his eyes (which Sebek did not catch). “You know, perhaps there’s another way to use your power, provided the expenditure of energy isn’t too great. There ARE a lot of people worried about overusing electrical-” “ASHENGROTTO, BEWARE!” Sebek suddenly shouted in warning, pointing towards the Fox. Azul had barely enough time to whip around before the Fox pounced on him bodily, knocking the octopus-man’s Magic Pen out of his hand as he tackled him to the ground.Sebek worriedly shuffled as he watched the pair roll about on the forest floor, kicking up dust; the Fox had spotted the edge of the paper clue in Azul’s pocket, and was trying to snag hold of it, while Azul was trying to keep him from doing that. Sebek knew he should do something…but with the pair tousling around the way he were, he was afraid any offense or defense offered might affect Azul instead of his opponent.

While the crocodile and the octopus were dealing with those four, Smitty McCarthy was not idle. He’d tried to slip away from the direct line of combat…but he hadn’t gone far before a golden spark suddenly flashed in his face, nearly blinding him. The spark was a yellow pixie. She hovered in front of Smitty’s face and blew a raspberry at him, tauntingly twitching her wings. “K-Kes!” squeaked McCarthy, and suddenly frowned as he clapped his palms together to try and catch her. “C-Come here, you little…!” Kes thankfully darted out of the way. Smitty, not fully realizing this, opened his palm to see if he’d gotten her. Which gave Kes a chance to shoot forward and force the cap over Smitty’s eyes. The small man squealed and blindly staggered around, trying to grab hold of the pixie, who easily avoided his grabbing fingers. Finally, Smitty gained better balance, and tore the hat off his head and away from his eyes. “Hey!” he snapped. “That’s not very nice!” Smitty swung his red cap around and around his head as he tried to catch Kes inside of it. The sprite (being, appropriately, spritely) darted about his head with astonishing speed, swifter than any buzzing insect as she flitted about, jingling her pixie bells teasingly. She swooped down between Smitty’s legs, and as he tried to catch her, he twisted himself about and yelped as he caused himself to trip over his own feet and fall onto his bunce. Kes came swooping back again…but Smitty - now QUITE irritated - successfully swept his hat up and caught her inside it. “Gotcha!” he grinned…but his amusement was short lived as, suddenly, Kes jerked inside the hat and - WHAP! - ended up smacking Smitty in the face with his own headgear as she flew about inside the small cloth prison. Smitty yipped and yapped like a puppy, stumbling and staggering as his own headgear seemed to cartoonishly attack him, the pixie dragging him around with uncommon strength for a creature so small. “S-Stop moving!” yelped Smitty. “Come on, Kes, I’ve already…YIKES!” The pixie dragged Smitty clean off his feet and into the bushes nearby, where he tripped a second time, and went rolling down a small incline on the other side. As he lay at the bottom - clothes dusty, glasses askew, empty hat in his lap. Kes zipped into the air with a smug smile, crossing her arms boldly as she looked down at him. Smitty just pouted and fixed his glasses. “Kes,” he said, with darkness that would have sounded threatening if ANYONE who WASN’T Smitty McCarthy had used it, “This means war.” Kes giggled in reply, and zoomed away, with Smitty scrambling to his feet, slapping his hat back onto his head as he gave chase. Of course, yourself and Grim could not be left out of the picture. You weren’t sure what you could do on your own terms, in magical combat…but you hadn’t gotten this far by being totally helpless. You still had your wits, for a start. You hurried to stand beside Grim. The cat-like creature hissed, fur rustling and bristling, as the Twin Raccoons approached you both, wielding their Magic Pens. “Aim for the one on the right,” you suggested. “Nya! On it!” grinned Grim, and took a deep breath before sending a jet of cerulean flame in their direction.

The First Raccoon wasted no time, and jumped into the air, flipping over his twin as they swapped places. The Second then somersaulted towards you, decreasing the distance; as he landed on his feet, he aimed his pen, and shot a bolt of cosmic light your way. You ducked the attack, while Grim yelped and bounced out of the way of a similar strike from the First Twin. The pair of Royal Sword students giggled mischievously, and - seemingly just to show off, they both cartwheeled in opposite directions, passing each other in parallel patterns and then bouncing off the trees, flying through the air as they shot at the same time, each aiming for one of you. Once again, you both only barely managed to sidestep the magic shots. “Wh-where do I aim now?!” Grim exclaimed, rather puzzled by the movements. “Keep your aim on the right,” you said through your teeth, as you both backed up, the pair of Twins nimbly landing and beginning to creep towards you. “It doesn’t matter which one is which; what matters is beating them. Don’t fire till I tell you to.” Grim nodded to show he understood. Moments later, the Twins in the Raccoon hoods threw themselves back to back. They each aimed again and fired once more. Once again, you and your feline-esque friend managed to dodge the magical strikes…and the pair began to somersault, one spinning so that they somersaulted at the same time, with one’s legs in the air each time the other’s made contact with the ground. “Nya! Now they’re both together!” whined Grim. “That’s perfect!” you insisted, and pointed, perhaps more dramatically than you meant to. “FIRE NOW!” Grim grinned and once again breathed out a jet of blue flame. The one in the air at that moment yowled, as sparks of fire ignited the seat of their pants. Alarmed, their Twin stalled; knees buckled and they both tumbled to the ground, the one with their pants on fire rolling to try and put out the flame. “Hit the other one!” you shouted. “Right!” yapped Grim, and sent a second volley of fire towards the untouched Twin…who soon was left in the exact same position as his brother, the pair comically rolling about about in the dirt. You and Grim smirked at each other, and the little demon jumped up as you gave each other a high-five.

All the while, as this was going on, Matthew Satyr and James Killian continued to duel. Thrick-thrack-thrick-thrack! The cane and the metal baton clipped against one another in quick, precise motions from either side. Satyr grinned all the while, while James glared back, his own expression damnably serious. Finally, Satyr swiped at Killian…but instead of blocking or parrying, the man in red skipped back, before thrusting in a powerful lunge.

Nakoda Spivak watched all of this action, unsure of what to do. It seemed like everyone else was managing quite well without him. He looked up towards one of the nearby trees and smirked…perhaps there was still a way he could contribute. Hissing in his usual snickering way to himself (or perhaps snickering in his usual hissing way, take your pick), the naga ran over to the tree and began to climb. Matthew - who was still hovering a small way above the ground, having not touched down once at all - flew up higher into the air, and flipped over James’ head. He spun back to face Killian, just in time, as James whirled about and swung at him harshly with his chosen staff. Satyr ducked out of the way, and as he came up, swung his baton in an uppercutting motion. James blocked it readily, and the two weapons scraped against each other as each backed up and circled the other. “Sure you don’t wanna throw in the towel, James?” teased Matthew. “Not today, Satyr,” sneered his opponent. “I awoke this morning with a tune in my soul: ‘Yo-Ho, Yo-Ho, I’m going to win today!’” “Nicely sung! Shame it’s a lie,” giggled Matthew. James just narrowed his eyes. “Your tongue is as unimpressive as your abilities, half-fairy,” he responded. “My victory is inevitable. If I were you, I’d just give up.” “If you were me, James, I’d need a haircut.” “BAH!” exclaimed James, and whipped out his cane again. Satyr blocked the strike, and then another as James spun around and swiped in a wide arc with his “blade.” The crimson battler then swung the weapon in a low arc, as if to try and smack against Satyr’s knees. Matthew, however, lifted his legs, and hovered upside-down in mid-air, before parrying another strike. Seemingly surprised by this skillful defense, James stepped back, hesitating for just a moment… …And at the same time that hesitation took place - “AHA!” - a shrill cry came from the Fox, who leapt off of Azul, holding up the rolled-up piece of paper in one hand as Azul tried to scramble to his feet. “MATTHEW!” the Royal Sword Student called out. “I’VE GOT IT! I’VE GOT IT!”

All froze and looked towards the source of the sound. The fallen RSA students sat up, alerted and awakened. You and Grim halted your cheers, while Kes and Smitty - who had been running around in circles - paused in their merry little chase. All were focused on the boy in the Rabbit’s hood, holding the paper aloft. Only James and Sebek moved. Sebek lifted his Magic Pen, ready to attack the Rabbit. At the same time, with Matthew’s back to him, James finally saw a chance, and prepared to hammer the heavy end of his cane - the golden topper - onto Satyr’s skull, intending to conk him out. Matthew Satyr must have sensed something, though, because he rocketed out of the way. James spun around clumsily, thrown off-balance by his own momentum. Satyr then shot forward and reached for his ally. “Grab hold!” he called out, and the fellow in the Rabbit hood reached up and took hold of his captain’s arms. Matthew managed to pull Rabbit out of the way and into the air…at the exact same time Sebek sent a ball of fire flying forwards. FWOOSH! “WHA-A-AGH!” screamed James, as he wound up getting hit by the fireball instead. When the flames finally stopped pulsing, James stood there, clothes and face humorously blackened and scorched. He coughed out smoke, eyes crossed… “S-Smitty…” he wheezed out…and promptly collapsed flat on his back. “AH! JAMES!” Smitty yelped, and jogged over to see to his friend. At the same time, Matthew set Rabbit down, and made a gesture to his team. The RSA students all went scampering into the woods, disappearing from view. Satyr grinned and tauntingly waved the clue around in the air like a flag, well over all of your heads. “Looks like the game’s gonna go to me!” he teased. “Anybody wanna try and stop me?” “Ssspeaking.” WHAPP! Matthew Satyr cried out in surprise as, without warning, what looked like the end of a large, fat snake’s tail wrapped around one of his legs. He looked to see Nakoda Spivak - in his true form - finally make his presence known. He grinned smugly at Satyr, even as the Royal Sword captain tried to kick free. “H-Hey! HEY! LET ME GO!” Matthew yelled. “Sss-sss-sss-sss! I sssussspected you might try to essscape through the air!” taunted Nakoda, and then looked down. “Sssomebody, quick! Take a shot!”

Sebek responded to Nako’s call by reeling back, ready to send another spell towards Satyr. James, however, was sitting up at that moment - Smitty had cast a spell to mend his outfit and clean him up - and when he saw what Sebek was doing, an almost feral look came to his eyes. “LEAVE HIM, YOU CURSED CROCODILE!” he roared at the top of his lungs, and suddenly sprang to his feet and charged forward. “HE’S MINE!” Sebek let out a grunting snarl of confusion, as James crashed into him shoulder-first. The attack wasn’t enough to knock Sebek over, but it did throw off his aim. A shot of dark magical energy went flying from his Pen, not towards Satyr…but right into Nakoda’s face. “SSSYAGH!” screeched Nako, clutching said face as the energy exploded against him. “MY EYES!” Matthew took the initiative to whip out his baton once more. Using it and Nako’s distracted state to his advantage, he managed to not only work his ankle free of the snake’s grasp, but knocked the end of Nako’s thick tail off the tree entirely. Thrown off by all of this, Nakoda suddenly let out a scream as his whole body lost control, and he went falling, tail-first, from the tree. He was sent spinning around the a thick branch some of his sales rested upon, then smacked his face against another on the way down, before finally collapsing into a bundled heap of coils on the ground, his humanoid form laying senseless atop the pile. “Oooooogh,” groaned Nakoda, his eyes spinning not with hypnotic power, but with pure dizziness. Matthew laughed so hard he had to clutch his stomach, then winked down at James. “Thanks for the help, old pal!” he taunted, and saluted with the hand that held the paper. “See ya when we get the chest!” So saying, Satyr let out a shrill crowing sound - like a rooster’s call - and flew off, disappearing into the treetops. “Nako!” you cried out, and ran over to check on the naga. “Are you alright?” “Not even the ssslightessst amount,” moaned Nakoda, slowly unwinding himself and massaging his jaw where he’d struck one of the branches. “Ssso much for that plan…” The naga began to unwind himself…and suddenly blinked as he heard Grim giggling at your side. “And what is ssso funny, pray tell?” he sniffed. “You've got a knot in your tail!” Grim answered, and pointed it out. Sure enough, somehow or other, during the fall, the end of the naga’s thick, fat tail had gotten twisted into what looked like a figure-eight knot. Nako glared, baring his fangs. “‘Oh, ha ha ha, you’ve got a knot in your tail!’” he babbled, mocking Grim’s words and voice. He then sighed before returning to his usual tone as he worked to try and tug the knot open again. “Urgh…keep sssniggering at that, and I’ll make you PART of my tail, ya sssilly little…!” “BUFFOON!”

Sebek’s shout startled you and Grim, making you turn around. You saw James and Smitty backing away as Sebek advanced on them both angrily. “I HAD A CLEAR SHOT! THE SERPENT HAD HIM IN HIS GRIP!” roared Zigvolt. “WE JUST LOST OUR BEST CHANCE AT THE TREASURE THANKS TO YOU!” “L-Leave him alone!” Smitty squeaked, trying to block his way. Sebek snorted and shoved him aside, before grabbing hold of James by his lapels. James gulped nervously, eyes very side, as Sebek’s fanged teeth were now dangerously close to him. “Give me one good reason not to eat you alive right now!” snarled the crocodile. James opened his mouth and closed it a few times, taken aback and unsure of what to say. His face was red again, this time you knew not with anger. “S-Smitty!” he finally coughed out. “Do something intelligent!” Smitty responded by running in a circle, like a chicken with its head cut off…before rather humorously trying to pull on Sebek’s coat in a vain attempt to pry him off. “S-Stop! Hey!” Smitty exclaimed. “Let him go!” Both Sebek and James watched this sorry sight before looking at each other with matching, bland expressions. “You need to get better friends,” Sebek droned. “I don’t have friends!” James spat back, angrily. “You won’t have much of anything soon enough,” Sebek said darkly, licking his lips with a vicious sort of smile. Before Sebek could - if he even planned to - make good on his threat, Smitty stopped tugging at his coattails. This was due to approaching footsteps, which, in turn, heralded a hand falling onto Sebek’s shoulder. Zigvolt looked back and slightly downward, soon spotting the rather stern face of Azul Ashengrotto. “That’s quite enough,” the octopus said to the crocodile. “Let me handle this, Sebek. I’m the team captain.” Sebek narrowed his eyes…but obliged, releasing James and stepping back to give Azul the proverbial floor. Smitty stepped aside in turn, even removing his cap and bowing his head.

Azul smirked, seemingly pleased with these shows of obligatory supplication, then frowned anew, hands on his hips as he looked at James with one eyebrow arched. “Well?” was all he said. James looked at Azul for a few moments. His expression had become blank. Finally, he bowed in his usual over-the-top, particularly courtly and elegant fashion, so low that his nose practically seemed ready to touch his toes. “A thousand pardons, Captain,” he apologized, in an effusive sort of tone. “I allowed my emotions to get the better of me. It will not happen again.” Azul huffed through his nostrils, tilting his head down and adjusting his spectacles in a way he frequently did when he was displeased. “Is that all you have to say for yourself?” he demanded to know. “I am afraid so,” admitted James, rather morosely. There was an awkward pause. The two looked into each other’s eyes…then Azul’s expression softened. He sighed through his nose. “Under other circumstances,” he said, at last. “I’d have you sitting out the rest of this hunt. As it stands, you’re lucky, James.” “How?” Nakoda asked, as he returned to his human form, coils reverting to legs, scales and claws receding as he dusted off his magically-reformed trousers. “Those Royal Sssword morons have the clue!” “Of course they do,” snorted Azul. “Then why are we lucky?” you asked, as you and Grim approached curiously, your whole team gathering in a semi-circle around Azul and James. “Because they aren’t the only ones,” replied Azul, and smirked, tapping his temple with two fingers. “I hope none of you were so foolish as to think I wouldn’t have MEMORIZED what was on the paper.” “Nya-ha! Then we still have a chance!” Grim exclaimed. “A very good chance,” Azul nodded, then looked up towards the sky, peering through the treetops above. “But for now, I think we’d better call it a day. That battle has already exhausted us all, I’m sure, and I’m pretty certain the Royal Sword students are feeling the same. There won’t be much more hunting today. Our best option is to find a place to camp, and then work from there.” “Can’t we just camp out here?” suggested Nakoda, indicating the cottage. “If we could, we would, but I suspect that would come to bite us in our proverbial rears later,” snorted Azul. “The point of this is to outmatch the opponent and prove one’s survival techniques. I don’t want to be the one Coach Vargas punishes for utilizing the cottage as a presumed loophole.” Everyone shuddered in agreement.

“We’ll need to find a place to set up, then we’ll split our group up,” Azul went on. He then turned towards James. “As for you…be on your best behavior, James. I can only be so lenient after something like that.” James bowed his head. “Me ears shall remain eternally open to thy admonition, sirrah.” Azul narrowed his eyes. “Remember who you are talking to, James,” he warned, somewhat darkly. “Don’t sell me anything. Just say yes or no.” James seemed to twitch before finally uttering a drab sort of, “Yes.” Azul smirked and nodded, then beckoned for you all to follow him. Nakoda and Sebek stepped into line quickly behind him. Grim soon trotted after them on all fours. You were about to follow, but paused when you noticed James and Smitty lingering behind. James was looking down towards the ground, his expression grim and sour. Smitty stood beside him and gave him a nudge. When James looked his way, the smaller man gave him an encouraging smile and a thumbs-up. James smirked for a moment, but the smile didn’t quite meet his eyes. You approached. “Hey,” you said, catching Killian’s attention as you gave him an encouraging look as well. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. And…just remember, it’s only a game, alright?” James chuckled in a sort of humorless fashion. “A trite sort of sentiment,” he replied, then smiled back in a benevolent, grateful sort of way. “Thank you, all the same.” “No problem,” you nodded, and then gave Smitty a smile. “You take care of him, okay?” “I always do,” giggled Smitty. You smiled wider, and then turned to catch up with the others. You had no idea, as you turned away, the way both Smitty and James’ expressions turned cold as frostbite itself. “They’re upset with us now, James,” Smitty observed. “Indeed. Normally, I would be bothered by that,” James nodded. “This time, however, I suspect it will prove most fortuitous.” “Then the plan is still going the way it should?” “Oh, most assuredly, Smitty. If things tonight go the way I hope, then all these hiccups will be minor bumps in the road.” “I don’t think I like it, James…” “Nobody is asking you to like it, Smitty. Just do what you’re told. When we split up, you know what to do, don’t you?” “Aye, James. That I do.” “Good boy, Smitty. Then let’s get moving…we’re not getting any younger, you know…”

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Night had fallen over Sage’s Island. You stepped out of the tent you’d made for yourself and Grim, one of four made at your team’s site. All but one tent was meant to house two students at the same time, the odd one out being Nakoda’s. He preferred to sleep in his naga form, which meant, under the circumstances, there wouldn’t be much room for anybody else. “Unlessssss,” he had suggested flirtatiously, “Anybody wantsss to join me in my coils tonight.” No one had been either desperate or foolish enough to agree…but you’d come close to saying yes, you were almost ashamed to admit. Your group had selected one of the open areas of the forest typically used for Camp Vargas events. It was familiar to all of you, and close in proximity to both the cottage and the mines, which seemed to make it a wise choice. You looked around at the site briefly. Sebek, Nakoda, and Grim were seated around the campfire, all toasting marshmallows and munching on s’mores. Azul you could see seated on a tree stump nearby, holding a piece of paper: he’d taken some time to write down the clue from his memory earlier, and was trying to puzzle it out. You approached Ashengrotto and knelt down beside him. “Need some help?” you offered. Azul smiled at you, the firelight glittering off of his glasses. “Ah, good evening, Prefect,” he greeted warmly, then tilted the paper. “I still haven’t figured this mess out. Can you make heads or tails of it?” You peered closely at the coded message. At least, you presumed it was a code. Otherwise what you read aloud was total nonsense… “Up the Yours…Two Tens in Three Feet…Stay Left…Ten Fours Increasing. No, sorry. I don’t have any idea.” “Neither do I,” admitted Azul. “I have many skills, but secret codes aren’t typically among them.” “Well, look on the bright side,” you said, patting Azul’s shoulder. “At least the Royal Sword team probably doesn’t know, either.” “We can only hope,” Azul replied with a slight sigh. GRRRLLLB… Azul winced as his stomach suddenly let out a deep, whining gurgle. He flushed with embarrassment as you chuckled. “Trying to solve it on an empty stomach won’t help,” you teased. “I ate enough earlier,” Ashengrotto lied. “Your belly says otherwise,” you teased.

Just then, chortling laughter and the sound of music caught both of your attentions. James and Smitty had just sat down beside the campfire. Smitty was holding a mandolin, strumming on it as he and James led the others in a song… “Hey! We’ll heave ‘im up and away we’ll go! ‘Way me Susianah! Aye, we’ll heave ‘im up and away we’ll go! We’re all bound o’er the mountain…!” You smiled and stood up, offering a hand to Azul. “Come on,” you said, tossing your head towards the rest of the group. “Let’s get something in your stomach. Take a break.” “I’ve had more than enough calories and carbs for the day,” insisted Azul, looking a little more flushed. You rolled your eyes. An appetite three times bigger than any human being’s, and yet Azul was one of the few at NRC who even CONSIDERED curbing that hunger. Criminy, you said! “Come on!” you urged again, not taking no for an answer, and forced the cecaelia-in-disguise onto his feet. He stumbled slightly before walking with you as you led him towards the campfire. “No one’s out here to judge you.” “Except for our other classmates,” grumbled Azul, adjusting his spectacles, as they nearly fell off his face from your forceful ministrations. “Our classmates,” you reminded him, “Include Sebek, Nakoda, and Grim. You really think any of THEM are gonna make fun of you if you eat a little more than usual?” Azul gave a weak smile and chuckled. “Touche,” he returned with a nod, then frowned. “But if I need new pants when this Event is done, I’m blaming you.” “You know better than to threaten me with a good time,” you returned crisply. Azul gave a sly smile in return. “Ah! Prefect!” James greeted, waving a hand theatrically through the air as the two of you approached. “And Azul! Please, sit down by the fire!” “That’s exactly what we plan to do,” you said, and the two of you took a spot beside James. Earlier, while setting up, you’d all brought four large, hollow logs and arranged them like makeshift benches around the fire in a vaguely diamond-shaped pattern. The arrangement of seating, in clockwise order from your point, was the following: yourself, Azul, James, Smitty, Sebek, Grim, Nakoda. “Mmmmm…didn’t think the sssnacks ssserved around thisss camp would be good eye candy, too,” teased Nakoda, his expression typically sultry as he addressed you once you sidled beside him. You blushed and just nudged his side with a grumble. He answered with his usual snicker.

“Where have you two been?” you asked James and Smitty. “We saw you both leave camp a while ago.” “Oh, I was out practicing my fencing, in case of another attack,” said James, then looked at his partner. “Smitty? What about you?” “What? M-Me?” Smitty squeaked and laughed a bit nervously. “I-I was just, um…looking to make sure we weren’t anywhere near the other team’s campsite. I-I didn’t want things to get messy, y’know? I was r-really happy when I saw the s’mores!” “Indeed!” said James, munching on one himself. “A simple but forever attractive staple of campground feasting!” “Well, aside from indulging in sugary confections, what else are you all up to?” Azul ventured to inquire, addressing the entire camp. “We heard music.” “Oh!” Grim chirruped, between bites of his s’more, “Smitty was teachin’ us a few scene chantings!” Azul blinked. “...Scene chantings?” he repeated, greatly puzzled. “Sea shanties,” giggled Smitty in correction, fiddling with his spectacles before showing off his mandolin. “They’re old songs that sailors used to sing when out on the open ocean. Kind of helped them to have something to sing when they were either working or out for long, long periods with not much to do.” “Smitty and I grew up along the docks in our hometown,” James said. “His father is a fisherman, and my father was a merchant sailor. So we both learned a few, as a result.” “Hmph. I hate to admit it, but the one you were just sharing was quite catchy,” huffed Sebek, and stuffed a s’more into his mouth. He chewed it up and swallowed it, before thumping his chest and belching thickly. “UUURRRP! Oof…I had no idea so many humans were so musical.” You blushed. He hadn’t even excused himself… “Rude crocodile,” you heard James mumble, but when you looked towards him, you suddenly noticed that, for the fifty-millionth time in the time you’d known him, his face had turned almost as red as your own. “Oh, that one was nothing!” grinned Smitty, who seemingly noticed neither of your reactions to Sebek’s eructation. “Here, this one’s sort of spooky, but it’s got a nice beat, listen…” So saying, Smitty took a breath, then strummed a few opening strings on the mandolin, before beginning to play it in earnest. His voice turned playfully “rough” as he began to sing the song…

“Dark and quiet are the devils in the deep! So slow and silent, so you’re swallowed in your sleep! With a tail and a tooth, an’ I’m tellin’ ye the truth: you’ll be boilin’ in the belly of Behemooth!” As Smitty paused to see how the rest were liking, his eager smile fell as he noticed how Nako, Azul, and Grim were all grinning in your direction. “Uh…what’s going on?” he asked, innocently. “N-Nothing,” you peeped, trying to avoid looking any of the teasing, grinning fellows in the face. “Is there more?” Grim asked, innocently. You gave the cat-like critter a look of pure betrayal. “Oh, a bit more,” nodded Smitty, and played his mandolin before singing again: “Ship set sail with their sights abroad! Suddenly, the suction of a cephalopod has ye thinkin’ twice! Well, take my advice: a mutineer should also fear a firin’ squad!” “Goodness, that’s a dark one,” you laughed nervously, noticing that not a single person present had looked away from you once. In fact, at the mention of the word “cephalopod,” Azul was licking his lips. “Well, that IS a catchy one,” Ashengrotto practically purred. “Hmph. I don’t see what all of you are giving the Prefect so much attention for,” harrumphed Sebek. “Their fear is to be expected with such topics, there’s no need to mock them for it.” “It’s not fear they’re mocking me for,” you mumbled under your breath, but you were secretly somewhat glad Sebek was perhaps a bit too meatheaded to realize your flustered, blushing, heavy-breathing, heart-racing reactions were NOT due to deep terror. “If you think their reaction is worth noting,” Sebek went on with a smirk, and gestured towards James. “You should see how the Codfish is reacting.” Eyes now turned away from you towards James, who was blushing more than ever, and suddenly seemed very interested in the light of the fire in front of him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, in a shaky sort of way. “Awww, come now, James,” crooned Azul, and scooted closer. “There’s no need to be embarrassed. Why don’t you tell us YOUR thoughts on that shanty?” “My thoughts are that we should hear a different one,” was the bland reply. “Okay!” Smitty said cheerfully. “Let me see, I could try-” “No, no, one more time!” Azul insisted. “Yesss,” agreed Nakoda, a gleam in his golden eyes as he grinned till his face seemed to split. “In fact, why don’t we sssing it all together?”

James went from bright red to pale as a sheet. “Oh, please, no,” he almost seemed to whimper. “Ha! Thy cowardice only gives incentive to me, human!” boomed Sebek, with a vengeful smirk. “McCarthy, strike the tune again!” Smitty seemed a bit befuddled, but shrugged and obligingly began to play the same song again. This time, everybody began to sing…everybody except yourself and James, that was… …But as the singing went on, so did other things. Nakoda Spivak suddenly slung his arm around your shoulders, and tugged you closer to him. “Dark and quiet are the devils in the deep…” He turned your face towards his own, causing you to freeze up. He was so close, you could kiss him, if you wanted. “So slow and silent, so you’re swallowed in your sleep…” You nudged him back with a very faint “meep” sound, and he just laughed between lyrics, rising to his feet as he did so, swinging his hips to the beat of the music as he began to slink his way around you. “With a tail and a tooth, and I’m tellin’ you the truth…” He bumped you with his hip. “...You’ll be boilin’ in the belly of a Behemooth!” You let out a louder meep from that, nearly toppling off the log and headlong into the fire…then stiffened as Nakoda pulled you back with his arms, hugging you from behind, and thus preventing you from falling into the flames. You looked at his face nervously as he nestled himself into the crook of your neck with a serpentine sort of nuzzle, and an equally slippery, supercilious smile. Hoping to pry your attention away from the sensual serpent, you checked on James’ reactions. Azul was being no less coy with him. The octopus had picked up a pre-made s’more and was inspecting it as he sang… “Ship set sail with their sights abroad…” He popped the s’more into his mouth, and swallowed the entire thing whole in a single gulp. His fingers flashed across his neck, tracing the lump in his throat as it went down. “Suddenly the suction of a cephalopod…” Azul smirked in a sideline sort of way towards James. The crimson-coated cavalier had been watching everything with rapt attention, his eyes following the path of the s’more as it fell into Azul’s trim belly, behind his costume. “Has ye thinkin’ twice. Well, take my advice…” Azul patted his stomach and licked his lips, winking at James behind his glasses. “A mutineer should also fear a firin’ squad.”

You weren’t sure what part of this whole exchange you’d witnessed impressed you most: the look of James almost sputtering and steaming, clearly flustered beyond belief; seeing Azul being so uncharacteristically seductive with his own appetite; the fact that nearly everyone else seemed oblivious… …Or the fact you could somehow focus on that with Nakoda nuzzling your neck and holding you close and tight in his arms. “S-Smitty!” James finally squeaked out, in a voice that cracked more than a Nutcracker. “Please, PLEASE play a different tune!” “Oh! Okay, James,” Smitty said, spritely, and tuned up his mandolin. “How about…‘The Song of Captain Sham’? Oh, I guess he shouldn’t have oughter, but he threw her in the water! And then a flounder downed her; that’s why they never found her!” “No! No, d-different than that!” eeped James, who was looking into Azul’s unblinking eyes, his face increasingly rosy while Azul’s was increasingly sly. “Um…alright, then let’s try ‘Fish in the Sea,’ eh?” suggested Smitty. “Then up jumps the shark, with his fine rows of teeth! He says, ‘You eat the dough, boys, and I’ll eat the beef…!’” “I would like to say not that one either!” you piped up, whimpering a little as Nakoda licked his own fine teeth. Smitty looked disappointed…then grinned broadly. “Oh! I know! ‘Ode to the Falling!’ That’s one of James’ favorites: And as we suggested, you’re slowly digested…!” “NO!” both you and James yelped at the same time. Smitty squeaked and jolted back. “Uh…s-sorry,” he peeped in apology, looking a little hurt at the shout. You and James sighed, while Azul, Nakoda, and Grim all sniggered. Sebek just rolled his eyes. “You humans are scared of the strangest things,” he mumbled, eternally oblivious. You and James gave him equally dry looks. “I think I’m going to take a walk to clear my head,” said James at last, easing himself away from Azul as he stood up. “Do be back in time for dessert,” crooned the half-cephalopod, with a slightly sinister smile that quirked his beauty mark. James gave him a sort of blushing, bashful look, and then marched away. You watched him go, and felt a sudden urge to follow. “I’m, uh…I’m gonna join him,” you said to the others. You started to stand…only to sit down again as Nakoda kept a grip on you. “Ah…Nako, could you please let go?” you asked, quite nervously. Nakoda’s smile was truly ravenous. “What if I want you to ssstay?” he teased. “Serpent!” snapped Sebek. “The human may be weak and feeble, but they have the right to go and stretch their legs if they so wish!”

“Your respect for me is touching,” you drawled, sarcastically. “Oh, you’re welcome!” grinned Sebek, clearly not picking up on said sarcasm. Nakoda pouted. “Aww…but I don’t think those sss’mores were enough to sssatisssfy me,” he keened, and grinned anew. “Perhapsss you could help there, hmmm?” “Nako,” Azul spoke up, strictly. “None of us will be eating the Prefect tonight. We need them, for a start.” “Nya! I know I need my minion!” Grim meowed. “Who else is gonna buy me tuna cans?” “I continue to be astounded by how much my classmates care for me,” you droned. Nakoda pouted more…but finally sighed and relented, releasing you from his grip. “Ssspoilsssportsss,” he hissed, in a long, languid, languorous sort of way, emphasizing each ‘s’ most deliberately. You blushed and stood up quickly, straightening up your clothes before you began to walk away from the campsite. You paused just a moment to look back. “Will you four make sure Azul actually eats enough tonight?” you asked the others. “Can’t have our captain leading without proper nutrition.” The other three all agreed (much to Azul’s embarrassment), and with that little victory assured, you followed the same path James had taken.You could hear Smitty striking up another song behind you, but you didn’t stick around to pay much attention to the lyrics. James Killian did not go far from the campsite. He paused just a few yards out of proper earshot from the rest of the party, the light from the fire visible like a beacon through the darkened greenery. He removed his bandana as he sighed, leaning back against a tree. He fanned his flushed face, sweat beading on his brow, as he pressed his free hand to his chest. A quiver went through him from how fast his heart was beating… “Odds, Bobs, Hammer and Tongs,” he muttered to himself, and shivered as he seemed to hear some of the lyrics echoing in his mind…as, even with his eyes closed, he could recall the looks and the actions. “They’ll be the death of me…” “I’m pretty sure, someday, one way or another, someone in this school will be the death of me, too.” James opened one eye at your greeting. When he saw you approach, he stepped away from the tree. You could see his fingers trembling slightly as he put his bandana back on. “Prefect…did I worry you?” he asked. “I-I assure you, coming after me was…hardly necessary, I…I just…” “Needed to get away from gorgeous guys who could swallow you in just a few bites and turn you into part of their hips, if they REALLY wanted to?” you guessed. James looked at you. He seemed simply stunned, as if you had tapped upon some long-hidden, dark, diabolical secret. “You didn’t make it that hard to figure out,” you chuckled, and offered a bashful look of your own, similar to the one he’d shown to Azul. “I…feel the same way. A lot.” James’ expression shifted. He laughed nervously, hands fiddling with the frills of his shirt. “Heh heh…I…suppose I CAN be…quite obvious, c-can’t I?” he conceded. “It’s a weakness, but…I suppose it’s my only weakness…” You decided not to comment on that, instead cocking your head to the side.

“Is that why they call you ‘Codfish’?” you checked. James blushed more and nodded. “I…supposedly taste quite similar,” he admitted, mumbling with embarrassment. He coughed, clearing his throat. “I imagine that I hardly have to tell you this, but…I’d prefer to keep this matter to myself as much as possible. Not everyone at the school knows…yet…” “Well, most people know about MY, ah…interests,” you chuckled. “Trust me, it’s not gonna take long.” “Oh, joy,” James drawled sarcastically. His tone made you giggle. A moment later, and he was chuckling alongside you. Then it was his turn to tilt his head. “Is this the only reason you came after me?” he asked. “Not exactly, but it was a big part of it. I wanted to be sure my observations were correct,” you confessed. You paused, then added: “It’s…honestly comforting.” “Comforting? What is?” “To know I have a friend who shares these…fascinations,” you said. “For a long time I felt like a lone sheep among wolves. It’s…kind of neat to know I’m not alone now.” James’ expression shifted. His blush began to recede slightly. He looked you up and down. “Is that so?” he murmured, then spoke aloud: “In that event, could I trouble you for a favor, as a kindred spirit?” “That depends on what you have in mind,” you shrugged. James paused, then took a deep breath, and spoke frankly. “I know where the treasure is.” You gaped. “What?” “I saw the clue, and I figured it out,” said James. “The secret to the code is that you have to be looking at the opposite in every other line, and to use simple replacements in the lines between and after.” That sounded very confusing, and your face must have shown it, because James laughed. “Honestly, it’s much easier than it sounds.” “I think you’d better explain, anyway.”

“Well, first of all, ‘Up the Yours.’ That almost sounds like an insult…” “Take out ‘the’ and it IS an insult…” “Right. But it’s not, it’s a code: what is the opposite of up?” “Well…down, right?” “Right. And what is the opposite of yours?” “Mine,” you said, then your eyes widened as it clicked in your head. ‘“Down the Mine!’ They’ve hidden the money chest somewhere in the mines!” “That’s it! Good form, Prefect!” James congratulated. “The next line is one where I mentioned math and replacements: ‘Two Tens in Three Feet.’” “Two Tens equals twenty,” you said. “But what does it mean by Three Feet?” “How much is three feet?” “A yard,” you said, then realized it with a snap of your fingers: “We have to walk twenty yards! That’s so simple!” James nodded, clearly pleased you were getting it. “Now you’re catching on!” he winked. “Okay, so, two lines left… ‘Stay Left.’ The opposite of ‘Stay’ is ‘Go,’ so we Go Left.” “Correct.” “And Ten Fours Increasing…that’s Forty More!” “Correct again!” “So, if you put it all together, the clue means: ‘Go twenty yards down the mine, turn left, and in forty more yards you’ll find the treasure!” “Exactly!” James said, with a sharp clap of his hands. “Bravo, my dear Prefect!” “James, that’s genius! I’m amazed you figured it out so simply!” you laughed, then your smile began to fade. “But…wait…what does this have to do with a favor? And why haven’t you told Azul?”

“Because after today’s fiasco, I think Azul may be hesitant to listen to me on this treasure hunt,” said James, honestly. His eyes turned soulful as he approached you. “I need someone he WILL listen to, who will give him the answer. And I know Smitty well enough to know he’ll bungle the riddle and give a wrong direction somewhere.” “That’s fair enough,” you murmured, and narrowed your eyes. “But…are you sure? I mean…I hate to take credit for you solving this, and I’m sure Azul would listen if you really had valuable info…” “I’d rather not take the chance,” said James, holding up his left hand placatingly. He then placed it upon your shoulder, looking at you closely. “Prefect. Can I trust you to keep my findings secret and give Azul the answer tomorrow? I think for now we should all rest.” You looked James up and down…then nodded. “If you’re sure, I’ll tell him. Every word you told me,” you promised. “But I have to check once more: you really don’t want any credit at all?” “Credit is nothing,” James said, seriously. “I’ve already caused enough trouble through my ego. The least I can do is make sure my team - my crew - wins in the end.” You smiled slightly. “That’s…a surprising amount of humility, James,” you praised. “Alright. I’ll do what you say.” James grinned back, gratefully, and patted your shoulder. “Thank you, my friend,” he said softly. “You’ve been most helpful.” “Oh, so now I’m your friend?” you teased. “And I thought you said friendship was an illusion.” “We all make mistakes,” James shrugged. You laughed, and brushed James’ hand away. “Whatever. I’m gonna head back to camp. Don’t stay out here too long,” you suggested. James answered with a salute, and watched as you marched back towards the glow of the campfire. Once again, you had no idea of the menacing, cruel look that suddenly fell across his face once you’d turned around. He looked at his left hand - the hand that had touched your shoulder - and chuckled sadistically to himself. “So easy,” James Killian cackled to himself.

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Sometime later, James returned to camp. The fire had been put out, and nearly everyone at camp was asleep. The only light still shining came from the tent he and Smitty shared. James crept into the same tent. He found Smitty McCarthy already asleep, snoring in an almost musical way in the sleeping bag he had set up. The light came from a lantern in the corner of the tent. James nudged Smitty with his boot. “Wake up,” he grunted. Smitty mumbled - “Five more minutes, Mom…” - and James sighed, nudging him a little harder. “Smitty, wake up!” he snapped. Smitty snorted in the midst of a cough and finally opened his eyes. He fished his glasses out from somewhere and put them on, then smiled widely. “James! You’re back!” he cheered exuberantly. “I was getting a little-MPH?!” James glared coldly as he clapped his right hand over Smitty’s mouth. “If you yell so loudly again,” he warned, “I’ll use my left.” He lifted it, indicating the tattoo upon it. “You don’t want that, do you, Smitty?” Smitty paled and shook his head. “Good man,” James chuckled, and removed his palm before turning serious. “Did you find them, when the others were out looking for food and firewood?” “Aye, James,” said Smitty McCarthy. “That I did.” “And did you achieve your other goal, earlier this evening? Before we all gathered at the fire?” “Aye, James,” Smitty said again, this time almost sounding sad. “I…I took her, and…and I left a message, like you said. They were all asleep already. They never saw me. I-I guess the Royal Sword guys go to sleep sooner than we do…” James just bit his lip, holding back his excitement. “Where is she?” he asked, like a small child. Smitty seemed to hesitate, conflicted. Then sighed and pointed towards the lantern. “She’s been watching this whole time,” he admitted, very quietly. James looked at the lantern, squinted…then his face lit up with evil glee. He lifted the lamp and peered into it with a greedy, eager sort of expression. “Perfect,” he almost growled to himself. “Hello, my little lady. I think you’re going to be of great use to me very soon…” James Killian had to hold back his laughter as Kes the pixie desperately banged at the walls of the lantern, face pleading and bells muted by the soundproof glass. Smitty McCarthy watched the scene with great worry, eyes flitting between the pair. He wasn’t sure whom he felt worse for.

To Be Continued in Part 4…

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