#and now he never can so he refuses to look away as penance and a reminder of his failings to his little brother

[nerdie-faerie]

I'm once again thinking about the missed opportunities to have Klaus and Kol bond more. Part of Klaus' whole motivation as a vampire is to get his werewolf part back and to finally be stronger than Mikael (sort of, I'm simplifying) both of which can be obtained by breaking his curse. But Kol? Kol is the only other original that can relate to having a fundamental part of themself ripped away from them. Klaus might not have known he was a werewolf until he killed, but he likely still had a connection he couldn't explain, as evident by him going to watch the wolves transform. And something he'd never been able to explain was now gone. He might only be able to realise the connection afterwards through its absence.

Kol though. Kol had grown up with magic, a connection to nature and the world around him in a way the rest of his siblings supposedly didn't have. And then he gets turned. And not only has his baby brother died, his father has just murdered him and the rest of his siblings after forcing them to drink human blood, which he'll later learn. Now, not only does he have to deal with the grief of Henrik's death and also his own but also the loss of his magic. A loss that's likely only worsened by Kol being a self-proclaimed child prodigy.

Kol is pretty much the only one who could understand what Klaus is going through with the binding of his wolf. We know Kol searched for ways to get his magic back/carry on practicing magic in the same way that Klaus was looking for ways to break his curse. While Klaus likely could still feel his wolf there despite being bound, Kol has no access to his magic anymore. I just think they should've been able to bond or connect over their shared loss of an intrinsic aspect of their selves at the hands of their parents

#TVD #The Mikaelsons #Kol Mikaelson #Klaus Mikaelson #briefly back on my the originals shouldve gotten to be a family goddammit and as someone from a big family im personally offended bs #i did right a lil snippet about them bonding over this that i havent posted yet for the joml verse but still think its an unexplored concep #need more witch!kol acknowledgement honestly. just need more content of my boy #anyway. klaus having a fascination with the moon and kol telling him about celestial events and how it affects his magic when theyre boys #klaus losing that connection to the moon feeling lost & extra tempermental feeling his wolf claw at its binds and vowing to break his curse #kol determined to get his magic back at any cost relating to that devasting loss and promising to help him find a loophole for his curse #kol who becomes extra reckless and determined when he learns that theres a way to break klaus' curse so maybe he can get his magic back too #that knowledge and recklessness combined with his loss of magic driving him to become the volatile vampire that we see #that leads to him being daggered repeatedly but that first time breaks something in that bond between him & klaus that never fully recovers #it makes him bitter and resentful only fueling his reckless behaviour particularly when there seems to be no leads on reclaiming his magic #that he becomes distant from his siblings in the process especially with finn still daggered but that distance only cements the idea #to his siblings that hes a danger and cant be trusted that he needs to be daggered if theyre to stay safe from mikael #the loss of his magic leading to his spiral as a vampire and him being ostracised by his family > actual tvdu kol canon #klaus being trapped in a room staring at the corpse of his little brother knowing he never repaired that relationship with him #and now he never can so he refuses to look away as penance and a reminder of his failings to his little brother #*edit: one of the reblogs on this post is the author of big bad wolf and honestly she does an amazing job at portraying the mikaelsons #as actual siblings if you havent read it its one of my favourites for characterisations but we need more 😭 i want it to be the norm

[stardustdreams-andcaffeine]

The Past That Haunts | Din Djarin

Din Djarin x fem!reader ✧ oneshot

Summary: It's been months since you stowed away on the Mandalorian's ship, running from the ghosts of a past you'd rather forget. You shouldn't have fallen in love, you knew better than to get close, and now you have to pay the penance for your sins. Your past has come back to haunt, and you're his next bounty.

A/N: Really really proud of this one. Should have been studying, but was doing this lol so you all better enjoy. As always, requests are open and I'll get to them when I can because college is insane. Love you all dearly, hope you have a great day wherever you are 🤍

Warnings: violence, sexual themes and suggestive content, mentions of blood, fem!reader, angst, fluff, happy ending I promise (i only like hurting you a little bit, not enough to take away the happy ending)

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No one can run from their past forever.

Lies, secrets, sins—they all have a nasty habit of breaking through the thin soil they've been buried beneath and rearing their heads. What was left behind never stays gone, but rather skitters behind in waiting for the right moment to revive. The past haunts, it stays connected to the essence of a soul and refuses death itself until its dues have been paid.

No one can run from their past forever, not even after you'd almost forgotten it was lurking right there.

And yet, the reason you'd nearly forgotten was laying unconscious in the midst of a hunt he'd dragged you along on.

"Mando, if you're done dreaming of me I could use some backup!" You shout, barely avoiding the clawed fist of the Trandoshan mercenary before you. The bounty was stronger and deadlier than you, but you were faster.

As you danced and weaved around his blows, your eyes slipped to your Mandalorian still unconscious from where the Trandoshan had snuck up on the two of you. This job was supposed to be simple, but even lower grade mercenaries like the one fighting you were still deadly.

With a breath of frustration slipping your lips, your mind quickly raced to try and work out how to get out of this situation. Mando clearly would be no help and while he often punched his way out of problems, you didn't have that luxury. That's why within seconds you whirled around to the mercenary with a nervous smile on your lips.

"My friend, I believe we got off on the wrong foot." Your smile was charismatic as you extended your arms out in welcome to the target. The mercenary snarled at the comment, and you both glanced down to the foot he'd just regrown after Din had managed to chop it off.

You look back up at the reptilian male, a sheepish smile on your lips, "Bad choice of words"

He hissed at you and lunged again, slashing a knife you hadn't even seen him pull. A yelp left your mouth as you dodged the hit, desperately trying to be diplomatic.

"Look, the Mandalorian is out cold," You placated, ducking out of a knife swing by a hair's breadth, "He's the bounty hunter, not me. You and I, we can work something out."

This caught his attention, his yellow-orange eyes tracking your every breath, "You're not a hunter, but you're with the Mandalorian. You wouldn't betray him."

"He doesn't have to know," You reason, shoving every ounce of honey-coated deception you have into your tone, "Look at him! One hit from you and he's out like a light, big guy. There's no way he'll even remember this happened."

The Trandoshan's knife was lowering now, and your heart skipped a beat with hope. This was going to work, and when it did you were going to give Mando hell. You nearly smiled at the thought, but remembered where you were.

"What are your terms?" He hissed, and you take a calculated step towards him.

"I let you go free, and you let me leave with my life." You were getting nearer to the bounty, and he seemed to be so caught up in pondering your bargain that he missed your hand slip to the beskar knife Din had made for you a few months back.

"That seems acceptable," The bounty finally admits, slipping his knife back into its place and surveying you, "I'll-"

With a war cry, you launch yourself at the Trandoshan and jump onto his back, one arm around his neck and the other trying to plunge the beskar knife into his thick, scaled skin. He roars in response, spinning wildly and clawing up at you.

"Just die!" You pant, slashing and seeming to miss every swing.

Din was right, you really did suck at this whole combat thing. It's a good thing you were one hell of a thief.

"Y/N!"

It took more effort than you'd like to admit to keep the relief you felt from crashing over your entire form. Your eyes flicked up mid-spin from your perch on the Trandoshan's back to see the Mandalorian stumbling to his feet.

"Morning, sleepy head! Wanna join the fun?" You breathlessly call out, a tired smile on your lips.

The target takes advantage of your split attention and slices his razor-sharp claws through the tender flesh of your forearm. You clench your teeth to grit through the pain, "Not cool!"

It was mere seconds after the minor blow had been landed that the wild spinning and thrashing of the bounty finally stopped. Your dizzy mind righted to see a gloved hand grab the reptilian male and rip him to a stop.

You slide off his back, groaning to find your balance severely off-kilter. You fall on your ass just as Mando fires a shot at him, slicing it through the target's shoulder and making him roar in pain. His cry is cut off when Mando fires another blast into his skull, making the silence following the thud of the body deafening.

"Cold it is," Mando grunts, holstering the blaster.

The beskar helmet he wears immediately snaps to you, and you've been around him long enough to tell by his body language what he's feeling. Anger, worry, guilt.

Against your better judgement, your heart stutters as Din crouches down in front of you and reaches out for your bleeding arm. The lightning that crackles under your skin as his gloved hands tenderly lift your forearm makes your already dizzy mind spin. It takes the strength you've built up over the last few months to ignore the effect he has on you.

"You waited for a grand entrance, can't say I'm mad," You quip. His shoulders are tight as he keeps his gaze down on your arm.

"I should've seen him coming," Is all he replies, his voice that same sugar-sweet gravel that makes your inhibitions crumble.

"You know, I had it under control until I accidentally made a joke about the foot you chopped off." You laugh, the sound light in comparison to the biting pain, and Din shakes his head.

"That's not funny." He tried to sound convincing, but you could tell he was loosening up now that he'd seen your injury was just a scratch.

"It's a little funny," You fire back, a smile growing on your lips. He looks up at you and that damn mask makes your heart race and your mind wander.

It's the almost imperceptible breathy laugh he lets out, though, that makes you remember how far gone you are when it comes to him.

"I like it when you laugh." Your words are soft, and they're out before you can even think to stop them. Mando goes still before you, your arm still in his grasp. It's then that the position you're in, with him crouched before you, seems much more intimate than it did a few minutes ago.

You go still as one of his hands lifts to your face, and you nearly forget how to breath when he almost absentmindedly brushes a gloved-knuckle against a light bruise forming on your cheek from the fight. His fingers leave fire where they touch, and you can only dream about how it would feel if it were his skin and not his gloves.

He catches himself too quickly for your liking and stands, extending a hand down to you, "Come on, we've got a bounty to cash in."

You take his hand and let him help you to your feet, "I think I deserve a larger cut on this one. I did take him on one-on-one, you know."

"And nearly got yourself killed."

You glance up at him, your brows lifted in a challenge, "I saved your ass, didn't I?"

Din doesn't move back an inch, but rather stays towering over you and cocks his head in response, "Is that so?"

Your heart stumbles yet again. The air is thick with tension and unspoken attraction, and the way he's looking down at you isn't helping. Din is usually as close to void of emotion as he can be, save for his temper and inability to keep from sassing you. It's moments like this though, moments where he's almost playful, that make you remember just how powerful the hold he has on you is.

"Can't deny it this time, Mandalorian." You try to sound cool and calm like he always does, but fail miserably. He just hums before stepping back and breaking the tension-corded air between you.

"Help me get him to the Crest."

And you do, but as you work in the comfortable silence you've grown used to, you can't help but think about how lucky you are. This life, it may seem dangerous and hectic, but it's a blessing to you. It's everything to you. He's everything to you, he has been since the first few moments he found you. There was a sudden tightness in your chest, and you can't help but think of that day—the day your life would never be the same.

||| Months Prior

Your breaths were labored, your legs burned, your vision was blurred with sweat and tears.

You had nowhere to go, nothing in the bustling port town on Corrida could shield you from your fate. Panic clawed up your throat, so thick it nearly choked you.

Not like this, you pleaded to yourself, it can't end like this.

Mind-racing and heart-pounding, you swiftly and nimbly darted in and out of shops and between buildings. You danced in the shadows, became one of them. It was your greatest strength, your stealth, and even though it was what had gotten you into this mess, it was now your only chance at survival.

The day was turning into night, and as light dwindled your hope flared and grew. Once darkness settled over the town shrouded by mountains, your pursuers would lose every chance of finding you. All you had to do was find a way onto a ship and ride it out of this forsaken planet. Then, you'd be-

"Hey, you!"

The voice that rang out sent tendrils of fear to your very bones. You knew that voice. You'd know that voice for as long as you'd live. While there were still thoughts in your brain, that voice would haunt you. You ducked around the alleyway between two shops, your heart racing at a painful speed as you chanced a look in the direction of your old Master.

"You seen a girl running through here?" He snarled, his tone boiling with anger that he thinly kept composed under his Imperial getup. The Empire was gone, but unfortunately the New Republic could not monitor every planet in every system when it fell. You just had the supreme misfortune of dwelling in the town of a group of Imperial officers that refused to back down.

"There's plenty of girls here, be more specific," The shopkeeper he'd asked grunted, going about his work.

Your Master spoke to him for a few more minutes before you forced yourself to slink away, melting into the shadows growing longer as the sky grew darker. As you snuck around the back of the buildings, you heard your Master's voice rise in volume.

"Anyone who finds an indentured woman in a green cloak is to bring her to me, immediately."

You froze, looking down at the cloak around your shoulders. With a pounding heart you shucked it off, cursing the Imperial scum for the clever tactic. Now if he saw you sneaking around, you'd have nothing to hide your face.

Indentured. You bristled at the word, anger flooding your mind. What a pretty way to say enslaved.

You had to get out of here and fast. The Empire might be gone, but this town was still pinned under their thumb. These people wouldn't think twice before turning you over. The satchel that was slung across your body was heavy with the reason why you couldn't let that happen.

With silent steps, you made it all the way to the ship port. There weren't many options present, and the choice would be paramount. Pick the wrong ship, and you'd be cast into the streets for your old Master and his troopers to find you and the item you stole from him that was nestled in the bag you bore.

As you surveyed the ship port, you noted three choices. First, the light freighter that sat loading its cargo near the middle of the port—too busy, too central. Second, the old Razor Crest sitting nearest you—low profile, but you could've sworn you'd just seen a Mandalorian walk into it. That was too risky, too dangerous. Third, and most appealing, the CR90 Corvette—no one dangerous was entering, enough cargo to hide in, it was perfect.

Making your mind, you begin to dart across the ship port, dodging past the Razor Crest and towards the Corvette. It would work, it would be perf-

You skidded to a stop so fast that you nearly tripped and fell. Walking up to the Corvette was your Master, and he'd just begun talking to the owner. Your eyes widened as he motioned to the three storm troopers with him, and they began to search the ship.

This wasn't good, you weren't going to make if off of this planet.

Your eyes wildly searched the port and landed on the Razor Crest just as its back hatch began to close. It wasn't ideal, but it was taking off soon, and that made it your only choice. Holding your breath, you surged towards the beat up ship and vaulted into the space between the closing hatch and the ship's interior. Luckily for you, the Mandalorian you'd seen was in the cockpit taking off when you clanged and rolled into the ship's belly. The engines started and the ship lifted, and before you could comprehend it, you were leaving Corrida.

You escaped. You stole from the Imperial guard Finon Kane, the man who'd enslaved and tortured you and hundreds of others, and escaped. You were free.

A laugh of pure and raw joy bubbled out of your chest as you clutched your satchel close to your chest. You'd done it, you'd actually done it. The other slaves had cheered you on as you made your grand escape, had laughed and whooped with you as you bested Master Kane. And now, you were free.

You barely felt the ship slip out of the atmosphere of the planet as you shoved to your feet. Now was the tricky part—you had to hide from the Mandalorian until he docked somewhere else, and then you could-

A strong, gloved hand closed around your shoulder and whirled you around with such strength and speed that you could only yelp as you were pressed into the cool metal of the Crest's walls. One massive arm barred your throat, and the other held a blaster to your head. The Mando's grip was strong and he oozed confidence, but he was silent.

Silent as death, silent as the reaper in beskar armor.

His shining helmet tilted at you, and your heart dropped to your feet. He hadn't killed you yet, he just kept looking at you, inspecting you, almost testing to see if you were a threat or not. So, he wasn't a cold-blooded killer then. There was a heart, whether it was flesh or beskar, somewhere underneath his armor. You needed to exploit it, and fast.

A shaking smile made it onto your lips and you tried your best to seem as calm as he was, "A Mandalorian, and one with fine armor too. What a pleasant surprise."

"What are you doing on my ship?" Was all he gritted out, his tone rough and smooth all at once. A walking and living dichotomy that, against your better judgement, made your heart trip over itself.

"Is this your ship?" You noted, humming to yourself as your pulse thrummed, "I must have boarded without even looking, it seems so much like mine that I-"

The blaster moved closer to your skin and your words died, your eyes widening as the Mandalorian stared you down through his mask, "The truth, stowaway."

It wasn't a question, but a demand. Flattery clearly wasn't getting you anywhere, so you needed to find a different way.

"I need safe passage," You honestly announced, your charming, hopeful smile still on your lips to persuade him you're not a threat, "And clearly, Mando, you need some help around here. I could be of service to you, I've got a great many skills!"

"Can you hunt?"

He didn't mean animals. That was when you realized this Mandalorian was a bounty hunter, and you cursed every star for crossing your fate into bad luck.

"No, but I-"

"Can you fight?" He interrupted, his voice a calm and collected drill.

"Well, not particularly, but if you'd just-"

"Can you fix the ship?"

You were getting frustrated now.

"Never really been good with mechanics, but-"

"Then you are of no use to me." He decided, letting go of you and holstering his blaster. He stepped back and shuffled through one wall of his ship, looking for something, "I'll dock at the next inhabited planet and turn you over to-"

It was his turn to be cut off, but not by you. Instead, the whooshing of a cabin door opening followed by a child's giggle makes his words die out. Surprise skittered through you at the site. A child. This large, rough Mandalorian Bounty Hunter was taking care of a...a child?

As he stormed over to the little thing, he muttered soft chiding to it before picking it up gently in the hands that just held your life. The child nestled into the crook of his arm, batting its massive eyes up at him lovingly.

And, against every warning and better judgement, your heart, your very soul, melted at the site.

"You're a bounty hunter with a kid?" You asked boldly, stepping forward towards the beskar-coated hunter that turned sharply around to you, the kid still in his strong arms, "And what do you do with it when you're on jobs?"

"He stays here or comes with me," he rasps out simply. You let out a short, unbelieving laugh.

"And you say you don't need my help," You chide, being bolder than you should be and stepping up to the pair. The Mandalorian freezes as you brazenly pluck the child out of his arms, cradling the little one into your torso.

The pure shock of what you've just done makes Mando stand awkwardly, unmoving and sputtering for a moment as he tries to respond. Whatever he's saying keeps dying on his tongue as he watches the child giggle and play with your hair, nuzzling into you the way he was just doing to him.

"I can take care of him while you're on hunts," You reason, looking up at the Mando with a bright, unwavering smile, "And, as I was going to say before you rudely interrupted,"

This shocked the bounty hunter even more. The audacity of this woman, who could neither kill nor fight, to be so bold with him? It struck him into an astonished silence.

"I may not have any of the skills you listed," You continued, looking up at the Mandalorian with his child in your arms, "But I'm amazing at sneaking into places. I'm not a killer, but I'm sure a bounty hunter like yourself could use a good thief."

He crosses his arms at this, cocking his head at you in a way that makes you imagine his face with risen brows and a taunting gaze, "Obviously the sneaking part isn't your strong suit."

"Hey, I got in here, didn't I?" You challenged, holding his gaze before looking down at cooing at the child, "Besides, your little one likes me, don't you sweetheart?"

"Could you give him back, please?"

"What was that?" You hummed, tilting your ear towards the child before smiling at it once more, "I couldn't agree more. Your father does need to lighten up."

The Mandalorian sputtered at her words, not understanding how a little thing like you could have rendered him completely speechless and without knowledge of what to do next. No hunt he's ever been on has ever done that to this extent, and yet here you were. A stowaway that, as much as Din wanted to ignore, needed help. You tried to hide it behind your smiles and remarks, but he could see the desperation in your eyes, the worry in your soul.

You needed help, and damn it all he was going to give it to you.

Din cursed himself beneath his breath, shaking his head at you. If the Guild members knew what a softie he was under this armor he'd lose his entire reputation. He could slaughter targets without faltering, but throw in a child and a smartass stowaway and his spine leaves him.

"I'm not his father," The Mandalorian rebuts, but you can hear the lie in his tone, "I'm just looking out for him"

You scoffed at that, "Leaving him alone, taking him on dangerous hunts? Not things a good father would do."

"Hey I'm a great father!" His temper snapped, and you smiled smugly. You glanced up at him, tilting your head the way he'd just done to you.

"So you are his father?" You challenged.

The Mandalorian started and stopped three different sentences before he let out a defeated grunt and walked towards a far wall of the Crest. He slammed his hand onto a button and the door whizzed open to reveal a spare bedroom with three cots. A hope-filled, bright smile lit up your lips.

He was going to let you stay.

"You can sleep here. You'll earn your keep how you promised, but what I say goes, is that clear?" He ordered, staring you down. Your smile widened, and you noted to your memory the soft side the Mandalorian had that you'd bet only a few people had seen.

"I can't thank you enough, Mando," You responded, and he could see that you meant it. You handed him the child and moved to set your satchel, all that was left of your life, in the room he'd opened.

"Don't mention it." His voice of gravel ordered, and you heard him walking away. You couldn't ignore the sense of safety that he radiated, especially because you hadn't felt safe like this in years.

Thinking he was gone, your smile dropped as you sank onto the cot and rested your head against the cool metal.

"I'm free," You whispered, almost to ensure it was real. A genuine, small smile worked its way onto your lips and into your soul, "I'm free."

The Mandalorian watched from the other side of the ship, and he couldn't help the way his heart tugged. He didn't understand why, but Din knew he cared more than he should have to make sure you stayed free, to make sure you'd smile like that again.

|||

You'd only meant to stay for a little while until you had enough credits and resources to make it on your own. And yet, here you were. It had been months and you still hadn't found a way to leave Din and the child.

He had found ways to make you stay. When he got used to your presence, he found that jobs often went easier with your expertise in stealth. The two of you became a team, and with the child it almost felt like...

Your mind stopped at the word that wanted to come next. Family. You hadn't had one in years, and it scared you because you knew you could do this forever. You'd begun to fall in love with Din Djarin the moment he'd picked up the child for the first time, and by now you were properly whipped.

Once the two of you had the bounty secured away, Din turned to you without leaving room for argument, "Sit down."

You did as he instructed, settling down on the cot in your room as Mando grabbed a med kit and walked back over to you. Even as he sat on the cot across from you, his massive frame shadowed your smaller one.

"Give me your arm," He said quietly, his voice sendings shivers racing down your spine that only worsened when he took your skin into his gloved hands.

He inspected it for a moment before humming, "It's not deep, it should heal quickly without bacta."

You were silent as he worked, something out of the ordinary for you and he knew it. As his skilled hands worked quickly, his modulated voice reached out to you, breaking the silence.

"What is it?"

You knew what he meant. Knowing that he could see through every lie you threw at him, you sighed and settled for the truth.

"Today...scared me."

The words surprised your Mandalorian as he went still before you, his hands faltering with the bandage for only a moment before he continued wrapping your cut.

"The hunt did?" He prodded. You shook your head.

"Seeing you lying there..." You began, and shook your head, the image stuck in your brain, "That's going to haunt me for a while, Din."

He tucked the end of the bandage in, and you kept your eyes down on his work. You couldn't stand to meet his masked-gaze, he'd see the emotion working its way through your eyes. One of his gloved hands hooks under your chin and tilts your head up softly to meet his gaze.

"You saved my life today," He said softly, his thumb brushing gently over your skin, "As much as I hate to admit it."

His words had their desired affect and you laughed softly, shaking your head at him as your soul lightened. Din was right, he was alive and well and it had a lot to do with you. The thought calmed you, but you couldn't hide the way it still scared the very depths of you.

"I should be apologizing to you," Mando started, but you cut him off.

"Din-"

"No, shut your mouth and listen to me for once." His voice was sharp, and it made you go silent with surprise. There wasn't cruelty or anger in that tone. Instead, you found it wavering with what you could have sworn was fear.

The Mandalorian moved his hand from your chin to hold more of your jaw, and with the movement you could hardly think straight, "I almost got you killed today. Had I woken up seconds later, you would have been that Trandoshan's target and not the other way around."

The words made your mouth go dry, and you tried to protest them but Din held you jaw with a gentle firmness and shook his head. It wasn't often that he preferred to do the talking, but you could see how bad he needed you to hear him.

"I'm sorry, cyar'ika. I'm so sorry"

You were stunned into silence. You'd never heard him say any of those words before, not sorry and certainly not cyar'ika. You knew what it meant, and it made your head spin. Slowly, so not to startle him, you lift your hands and rest them on the cool beskar of his helmet. He goes still and you can't help but smile softly at him

"There is nothing to forgive, Din."

His hand drops from your jaw and somehow finds its way absently resting on your waist. The touch sends fire shooting through you, and you have to blink a few times to focus.

"Besides, if I could count the number of times I almost got you killed..." You sentence ended naturally as you laughed softly, and he joined in. The sound was honey to your soul and it made you remember that you'd rather be here than anywhere else in the galaxy.

Much to your disappointment, he pulled away and stood surveying you through his mask, "I should go check on the kid. Get some rest."

And then he was gone, and you spent the rest of the night wondering what in the stars you were going to do.

|||

You docked at Tatooine soon after, the ship in dire need of a tune up.

The last few days had been strange. You'd thought the near death encounter would continue to keep the two of you close like it had that day in your room, but he seemed to be ignoring you at any and all costs. He only spoke to you when he needed to and even then it was clipped and short.

By the time you saw Peli, you were dying to slug him over the head with one of her wrenches.

"Well, well, if it isn't my favorite band of three," The mechanic greets, jogging out to meet you with a smile, "Where's my baby?"

Mirroring her smile, you handed the kid over to Peli who eagerly tucked him close, stroking his long ears and cooing to him softly, "I only tolerate you two for him, you know."

The two of you knew better.

"Can you watch over him for a few hours? We have business here." Mando gruffly stated. You furrowed your brows and glanced over at him.

Business? He hadn't mentioned that to you. Then again, he barely mentioned anything to you these last few days.

"Go, go," Peli shooed, already turning around and walking with the kid back to her lodgings, "He and I will make sure the Crest is all fixed up, won't we precious thing? He loves his favorite aunt, doesn't he?"

Aunt, which would make you and Mando his...You brushed away the thought, not letting it bring you hope or joy. You smiled once more at the mechanic before following Mando as he quickly exited the hangar.

"What business do we have?" You asked. He almost seemed like he was not going to reply before he did so without even glancing at you.

"You'll see."

Your patience was waning, but you went along with it nonetheless. You hadn't been walking long on the desert planet before Mando ushered you in a bar nearby. The business ended up being nothing more than a job hunt, leaving you confused as to why the Mandalorian was being so stand-offish. He'd collected a new round of pucks and then left you to spend your evening alone however you pleased. You didn't know where he went and you didn't quite care. He was being an asshole to you, so you could return the favor.

You returned rather quickly to the hangar and the Crest, finding there was nothing better to do. After a few hours of cards and gambling with Peli and her droids, Mando still hadn't returned and you decided to go ahead and tuck the child in for the night. Bidding you friends goodnight, you hoisted the kid into your arms and climbed the hatch to the Crest.

"What's going on with you father, hm?" You asked softly, bouncing him in your arms. He stared up at you with wide, dark eyes, drinking in every word you spoke.

You walked him over to his makeshift bed, sighing as you settled him in it. You spent a moment longer tracing a finger down his wrinkled skin, a saddened look flickering in your gaze.

"He's going to be the end of me," You whispered, and could've sworn the kid's eyes softened on you. You leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to his brow and walked out of his room, "Sweet dreams, little one."

When you shut the door, your eyes traveled to the bandage still tied securely around your wounded arm. Although Mando assured it would be alright, it hurt like hell. You made your way into your room, grabbing a med kit as you went. You set the kit down on your bed and opened it, about to tend to your would when you heard footsteps and then the hatch closing to the Crest.

Your heart leapt into your throat and you stepped away from the med kit and out of your room, your eyes traveling over the ship until you saw the flash of beskar in the dark, "Finally, you were starting to worry me."

"I'm sure I was," came Din's response, but his voice made you freeze.

You watched in shock for a moment as he turned and stumbled slightly as he walked towards where you stood. With wide eyes, you barely could speak, "Are you...drunk?"

The Mandalorian came closer to you, his massive body making you take a few steps back. He kept advancing until your back was pressed against the cool metal of the Crest's wall.

"Din," you whispered, your heart racing as he stopped before you, settling his forearms above your head and caging you in. You could hardly think straight with him like this.

"Close your eyes, cyar'ika." His voice came, low and rough and gentle and slurred.

"Din, what-"

"Close your eyes." He ordered again. With him this close to you, your inhibitions were all but gone and you did as he asked, shutting your eyes. Before you, you could hear him let out a long sigh.

"I was thinking," He started, followed by the moving of his arms away from the wall. You furrowed your brows at the absence of his presence, but before another thought could leave, you heard a sound that made your heart stop and your mind go blank.

You heard him take his helmet off.

"Din, you're drunk-" You couldn't make it past that before he was cutting in. He's never taken his helmet off around you, it was the creed. It was his life. He'd regret this in the morning.

"Shut up." He murmured, his body heat returning close to you. Your eyes stayed firmly shut as he told you too, that way it wouldn't break the code he lived by. You felt his hands touch your neck softly and jumped slightly in surprise at the absence of gloves, "I know what I'm doing. Just keep your eyes closed, mesh'la."

His skin. His skin was touching yours.

Your breathing hitched, and you knew when he settled those bare, rough hands onto your jaw that he did so in a manner to feel the thrum of your pulse in your neck. It was wildly racing, quicker than it ever had.

"I was thinking," He started again, running his thumbs over your skin and forever ruining you from contact with anyone else ever again, "That you almost died."

His low voice had taken on an edge of sadness and you nearly opened your eyes out of habit, but forced them to stay closed.

"You almost died, and I never got to know what those pretty lips of yours tasted like"

What in the stars was happening? Was this real? Were you going to wake up and find it was all a dream in a few moments? Or was this finally putting the last few days into context? Even after your talk, the hunt had messed him up and haunted him just as it had you. And now here he was, his breath fanning across your skin and his lips almost brushing against yours.

You never imagined this would happen, not in thirty lifetimes did you think you'd ever know what it would feel like to press your lips against Din Djarin's.

And yet, in the next second, you knew.

Without warning, he captured your lips with his and pressed his body against yours, keeping you against the wall. He grabbed your hands in one of his, pressing them together over your head to keep you from touching his face. As his lips worked desperately, hungrily, passionately against yours, your knees buckled and his free hand slipped around your waist, keeping you from falling.

This had to be a dream, it had to be. This couldn't be real, but it was. You knew that he was drunk and that he'd probably not remember this in the morning. You tried to pull away, tried to force yourself to stop but he held you fast, crushing your body against his and making you forget your own name with his tongue in your mouth.

You didn't want it to end, but you knew it would have to eventually. It would end and you would have to go back to pretending like you weren't in love with him.

As if you'd brought it about by just thinking it, Din's lips left yours. He wasn't kissing you, but he stayed so close that his nose touched yours.

"I'm sorry," He breathed, his lips brushing against yours.

And then he was gone.

You stood there with your eyes closed long after you heard his bedroom door shut. You cursed every star in the sky, because now that you knew what his skin felt like, every moment without it touching you was pure and unbridled torture. This torture was worse than any you'd felt under Master Finon Kane and his troopers.

When you slept that night, you dreamt of Din's lips on yours.

|||

In the morning, you didn't know whether or not Din was going to continue ignoring you, address what happened last night, or pretend like the last few days haven't even happened. When you greeted him in the belly of the ship and he he greeted you the same as he has for months before heading off to find bounties, you realized it would be the last option.

Anything was better than the blatant ignoring, but having him act normal around you was horrific in itself.

"Hey little guy," You greet the child, a smile on your lips as you reached down and stroked his ear. He giggled up at you just as the Mandalorian walked up the hatch and into the Crest.

"So," You began, watching him set down the bag of pucks he collected in town. He goes still for a moment, but keeps his helmet firmly away from you.

"So," He repeats, sounding utterly anxious but trying to play it cool. It makes humor curl in your gut and you decide to push you luck.

"What's the plan for today?" You ask, and from the sigh he lets out you can see he was expected something regarding last night.

"Picked up some pucks in town, we can go through 'em and see what we can do." He responds. You nod, reaching down a hand and letting the child play with you finger.

"So getting drunk isn't in the cards, then?"

The sharp intake of breath from the Mandalorian nearly makes you crack with laughter. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep your humor at just the smile on your lips.

"No." Din replies gruffly.

"That's a shame," You sigh, looking up at him finally to find him already facing you and the child, "I like drunk you. He's fun."

"I shouldn't have done that, I'm sorry." He states, making your humor dissipate in record speed. You hold his beskar-covered gaze for a moment, feeling the phantom scrape of his calloused hands on your skin and the touch of his lips to yours.

"Which part?" You ask, holding your breath in a way that made it clear whatever he said next would cement something between the two of you. He stays silent for a long while before walking up to you, the child between the two of you. He reaches down and strokes the kid's head lovingly before looking to you.

"Which part do you want to be the mistake?" Din whispers, the gravel of his tone silky smooth as it caresses you. He's playing with you, you suddenly realize. You played with him with the drunk comment and he's playing back, testing to see which of you will break first.

You have to smother your smile before it can make it to your face.

"Careful Mando," You respond, your tone barely stable, "You've got a clan of two to protect. I-"

"Three."

He interrupts you with such a sure, calm voice that you almost miss what he says, "What?" You whisper, your teasing gone.

"Three," Din repeats, "Clan of three."

Before you can respond, a nonsensical babble from below makes the two of you look down to see a confused and yet very aware child. His smalls hands are holding your fingers and Din's hand is on his ear, and for a moment it feels like the most natural thing in the world.

But then you and Din come to your senses, and you mutually decide to push off the game of testing the tension until it breaks again.

"We should go through those pucks," Din states, walking away and to the sack he set down earlier. With a smile that you're glad he doesn't see, you wonder how much longer you can go without telling him what he really is to you. You repeat what he said to you in your mind.

Clan of three.

Mando dumps out the bounty pucks, sorting through them as you lean against the wall, your arms crossed and giving your input with each one he clicks open.

"Another mercenary, set on Naboo." Mando announces, the picture of the target hovering over the puck. You click your tongue.

"After the Trandoshan, I think we should take a break from mercenaries," You advise, earning a nod of agreement from Din. He sets the puck aside and grabs another, clicking it on.

"This one's on Tatooine, but I think I'm ready to see something besides this desert planet," The Mandalorian notes, and you hum your agreement.

"Trees would be nice, like on Felucia" You add, an absentminded smile growing on your face, "Or maybe a nice water planet."

"Water and this armor don't go together, mesh'la"

You smirk at him from your spot at the wall, "All the more reason to go."

His sudden laugh is enough to make every sorrow remotely near your mind melt away. Everything is back to normal, everything is going well, everything is beautiful.

Until he clicks open the next puck.

That's when your world comes crashing down.

The silence that settles over the cabin is thick and unlike the comfortable one you are used to. Mando goes as still as death before you, his body taught under his armor. Horror, real and true, washes over every fiber of your being.

Because that's your picture on the bounty puck, and the one who put it out is Finon Kane.

No. No. This isn't real, this isn't happening.

Din says your name, slow and guarded.

No, not when everything was perfect. Not when you'd found your family, your clan.

You begin to shake your head, all of those years of torture and darkness roaring through your mind. You'd just begun to forget it all, truly forget it all.

But you guess it's true what they say, you really can't run from your past forever.

"Y/N, what-"

You're shoving through the Crest towards your room, leaving Din in stunned silence until he comes to his senses and follows.

"Where is it, where is it, where is it?" You mumble, blinding panic tearing you apart as you rummage wildly through your belongings. It only takes a few seconds before your hands close around your satchel, and your chest doesn't loosen even an inch when you lift it and find it still heavy with the item that is dooming you.

You clutch the satchel close and sling it across your body, standing to leave your room only to find Din blocking the path with his massive body.

"Cyar'ika, what's going on?" His voice is commanding as usual, but it holds an edge of panic that you can't deny.

You feel like a cornered animal, and your fingers clutch the strap of your bag tightly.

"Mando, move." You plead, moving to go around him only for him to grab your shoulders and pull you back.

"No, Mando move!' You beg, pulling against his hold, "Din please."

"Stop it!" He orders, holding you fast, his chest heaving with worried breaths. He stares at you for a moment before it seems to click in his mind, "What were you running from?"

You know what he refers to, you mind zipping back to that moment when you stowed away on his ship. Your silent for a long while, your panic not lowering an ounce. You've always felt safe with Din, always. You long to tell him everything, to let him help you because you know he'd never hunt you. You'd feel safe, but you wouldn't be safe.

The Mandalorian couldn't protect you from this, but you could protect him from it.

"I stole something," You whisper, your voice barely above a breath, "And my old master won't stop until he has it and me."

"What did you take?" Mando asks, his tone flooded with calculation as he tries to figure a way out of this, "If we hunt him down first, we can-"

"Din," Your voice breaks as you cut in, placing one hand on the beskar chest plate and longing for the feel of his skin again, "My reaper has come for me. And I can't let him take you too"

Before he can get out another sentence, you use your free hand to search in your satchel until your fingers close around the cool metal of what doesn't belong to you.

Then you pull out the lightsaber you stole and crack the butt of it so hard against the Mandalorian's helmet that he drops to the floor, unconscious.

He taught you that move with a blaster.

And now, you've saved his life with it.

You stand for a moment in silence, your heart slowly shattering in your chest as you look down at the love of your life. Tears cloud your vision, and you look up to see the child looking at you with confused eyes. You break, a sob wracking your body as you bend down to the Mandalorian's slumped body grip his gloved hand, pulling it up to place a kiss to his palm.

"I'm sorry," Your words mirror his from last night, and then you're pocketing the lightsaber that once belonged to the Empire and running out of the Razor Crest.

You're now his bounty, and if he knows what's good for him he'll let this one go.

Let you go.

||| Din Djarin

When the Mandalorian awoke, he was alone.

There was one heart-breaking moment of confusion as he sat up from his slumped position on the floor. It wasn't silent, but there was something missing in the array of noises. There was no laughter, no yelling. There was no light-hearted remarks, no sarcastic punches.

There was no her.

The thought jarred him so deeply from his newly-conscious muddled mind that he shoved himself to his feet, his heart pounding so loud in his chest that he could feel every thrum.

This wasn't happening. She wouldn't have just left, she wouldn't.

He stumbled out of her small room, his gaze wildly shooting around the Razor Crest. The child lay exactly where Din remembered, right before...

What the hell happened? How did he-

The memories came back in a rush—the hand on his chest that had distracted him as her other hand grabbed something from her satchel, something metal and cylindrical. She'd hit him with it, whipped it across his head like he'd taught her. She must've gotten the blaster...no, it wasn't a blaster. It was...it was...

Stars

A lightsaber. She'd stolen a lightsaber all those months ago.

The thought made his head spin and it took a great deal of effort to keep his knees from buckling. Whenever she'd spoken of her past, it had been vague. Mentions of an Imperial encampment even after the Empire's fall, the shoving of her city into slavery, the torture she endured at the hands of her master.

The very thought made him clench his jaw. The first time she'd spoken about this Finon Kane, he'd wanted to find him and slaughter him with his bare hands for ever laying a finger on her. And now...now he had a bounty on her and Din wasn't there to protect her.

The thought spurred him back into action. Din scooped up the child into his hands before rocketing down the hatch of the Crest and towards where Peli worked with her droids. The mechanic seemed slightly nervous, almost as if she was avoiding his gaze.

"Mando, off to do a hunt?" She asked, trying to sound casual and failing. Din didn't falter as he walked up and shoved the child into her arms. Peli startled as she took the kid, looking up at Din with wide eyes. She couldn't see the Mandalorian's face, but it was clear to anyone the pure, guttural rage tangling with a panic he's never known.

"What-"

"Where did she go?" He demanded. The mechanic sputtered for a moment, holding the child close.

"I don't know what you mean," Peli tried, and Din almost growled.

"Peli if you don't tell me where she went I will rip your tongue out," Din snarled. The woman looked at him desperately, her gaze torn.

"She told me not to tell you, Mando. How do I know you're not going to..." Her words died out and it took every ounce of Din's restraint to keep from yelling again.

"Hurt her?" He finished for the mechanic, his voice just as lethal when it was quiet, "She's in danger, Peli. Real danger, and if you don't tell me where she went someone else is going to find her first and she'll...she'll-"

He could't get the words out, couldn't hide the panic flooding his tone. Din didn't know what he'd do if someone else found her first, he couldn't even comprehend that she wasn't with him right now. He didn't think he'd ever have to know what it felt like for her to be absent. The mechanic softened immediately, letting out a long sigh.

"She didn't say exactly where she was going," Peli finally admitted, holding the kid tighter, "Just that she needed to get as far away as she could as fast as possible. When I asked, she said something remote, something green. She took the spare ship in the hangar an hour ago."

Mando didn't need an exact answer to know where she was going, he knew. With a brisk nod of his head, he gestured at the kid as he walked towards the Crest, "Watch him for me?"

Peli nodded, "Of course. Do you think she'll...do you think she'll be okay?"

The Mandalorian stopped, looking over his shoulder slightly so that the mechanic was in this peripheral vision.

"If she isn't, I'll burn the planet down."

With that he was getting on the Crest, his heart hammering in his chest and fear, real fear, flooding every part of his being. He shut the hatch and practically vaulted into the cockpit. Din threw himself into the captain's seat and swiveling to face the control panel. He didn't hesitate as he put in the coordinates. She mentioned trees earlier, and he knew the way she thought, knew she was smart enough to go somewhere with more jungles than cities right now.

Felucia.

He'd go, he'd find her, he'd knock her upside the head for running away from him, and he'd get her back.

And stars help anyone he’s found has so much as touched her.

||| You

It was strange, being on the run again.

Even though it hadn't even been a full year since you last were sprinting from your reaper, it has felt like a lifetime because of your company. Time slowed down with Din Djarin, and for a long while you felt safe, protected, home.

And now you were scrambling around, planet to planet, in the dark alleyways and through dense, uninhabited forests to put distance between you and...

You stopped for a moment, your back pressed up against a tree in the rich, winding forest of Felucia. Who were you trying to put distance between?

Finon Kane, his squadron of stormtroopers, and the only real family you've ever had.

That last one sent a spear of heart-wrenching pain racketing through you. Typical, so very typical, to find something so worth having and to think the galaxy would let you keep it. This galaxy was cold and cruel, it was a better thief than you'd ever be and you knew it, you knew it. And yet you let yourself get close anyways. It's a strange thing what love can do. It made you reckless enough to think that for once, just once, the galaxy would let you make it away with what you found.

It turns out you aren't as good of a thief as you thought, because the happiness you stole has been returned, and your time playing at a good life has run out.

You picked up your brutal pace again, trekking through the jungle and refusing to stop for even the barest of needs unless it was unavoidable. This would never end, this hunt. As you moved, the lightsaber in your bag banged against your hip, reminding you of what had gotten you into this mess in the first place.

You shouldn't have taken it, you really shouldn't have, but you couldn't stand to watch Master Kane take another slave's life with a weapon that didn't belong to him. He'd found it in the rubble of the fallen Empire and he thought he was entitled to it. It had been used as a weapon of terror during the Imperial rule and then after because of your master, and taking it? You'd not only done it so the weapon could be given back to the New Republic where it belonged, but because after everything he'd done to you, after all of the scars you bore because of Finon Kane, you'd wanted to hurt him. You had wanted him to feel every ounce of pain and desperation you had, and for that cause, you were willing to pay the price that was now due.

The jungle-covered planet would do well to hide you for a little while, give you time to gather up some credits in case you needed to run again. You walk around a grove of trees, the jungle beginning to thin the closer you get to a city. As you do, a sound you're all too familiar with makes you stop dead in your tracks.

A steady beeping, consistently increasing as it gets louder.

A tracking fob.

You barely have time to scramble around to the back of a thick tree when a blaster sounds out behind you, singing the side of the tree where you'd just been standing.

"Come on out, thief! I get more credits for bringing you in alive." The gruff voice of a bounty hunter wafts out to you, a hint of smugness in her tone.

Your mind is grappling for options as you sprint away from your tree and towards another thicket up ahead. Your feet are silent on the grassy floor and you deftly miss any roots in your path, so the bounty hunter doesn't notice you at first. When she does, it's made known by the firing of the blaster at your back.

Gratefully, the hunter has horrible aim.

Blast after blast burn into the trees around you, so you continue to stick close to them as you run. How the hunter found you is incomprehensible, but you don't waste time worrying about that matter and sprint for your life towards the city that thrives just outside the jungle's end. The only tricky thing would be making it across the large clearing between the end of the trees you were approaching and the city gates up ahead.

"Get back here!" The hunter shouts to you, falling further and further behind.

You allow the hint of a smile, but don't dare to slow down. The end of the jungle is growing nearer, and it's only a minute or so of sprinting before you're at the city g-

Another bounty hunter steps out from around the last tree in the clearing, a blaster held lazily in his hands. You skid to a stop so suddenly that your feet slip on the floor and you have to catch yourself with a hand to the jungle floor to keep from falling on your ass. You whirl around to go back the way you came only to come face to face with the other hunter ho had already been pursuing you approaching, her chest heaving with breath but her blaster lifted nonetheless.

"Nowhere to run, thief," The one behind you lilts, his voice heavy with experience and sounding almost bored, "Surrender now and I'll let you keep your life."

"I saw her first, the bounty's mine!" The first hunter grits, her eyes flicking from your face and to the hunter behind you. You turn halfway to keep them both in your vision, your heart pounding in your chest.

"You would've lost her if it wasn't for me," The other counters, both of their blasters lowered slightly. You would make a run for it, but you're directly in the middle of the quarrel, and they'd have you dead in seconds. So, you do the only thing that can save you, the thing you've wanted to do for months now.

You pull the lightsaber from your satchel, clutch it in both hands, and turn it on.

The argument between the hunters dies as a burning blade, as red as death and blood and anguish, ignites into the green of the forest. The two colors clash, one seeming wrong with the other, but you clutch it nonetheless and move before they can lift their weapons again.

"That's a..." The male hunter stands shell-shocked, his words dying as he watches you advance on the female hunter who has already begun firing at you.

You're clumsy with the foreign weapon, but her bad aim and you're mild understand of how to move the saber allows the blasts and blade of the same color to clash as they collide, saving you from the death her weapon assures.

Her weapon may bring death, but yours is death.

She nearly blasts your head off, but you manage to shove the lightsaber through her middle before she gets another shot out. Her strangled gasp followed by the thud of her body into the ground nearly makes you falter, but the sound of the other hunter approaching snaps you out of your own mind. It was you or them, you assure yourself.

You'd wounded the other hunter quickly, grounding him before turning the saber off and sprinting for the city ahead. As you did, you shoved the blade into your satchel and barreled through the open gates, the merchants and travelers bustling through gasping and yelping as you shoved through them. The second you were inside, you stopped running and allowed yourself to meld into the crowd, walking in their flow and moving in their manners. It was mere seconds before you were blended into their midst, the only difference between you and them being your heaving chest and singed clothes from a blast or two that got dangerously close.

You thought you'd made it out before a figure shot out of the alleyway you were passing.

A gasp left your lips as they grabbed you and tugged you inside faster than you could comprehend. Before you could reach for the saber in your satchel, the bag was ripped clean off your shoulder, nearly dislocating the limb in the process and making a cry of pain leave your lips. The sound couldn't even make it fully out before you were being pressed against the sand wall of a building with the steel edge of a blade at your throat.

Your eyes were wide and wild as they took in your surroundings—two hunters surrounded you expectantly, not counting the one holding you at knifepoint. They must have agreed to a split bounty and a temporary alliance.

"Check the bag," The one holding you grunts out. On command, one of the two standing around you searches the bag he'd ripped clean off, his hand rummaging through until a sickening smile lit up his lips. Slowly, he pulled the lightsaber out.

"It's here." His response was smug and nauseating. You knew this was going to happen, but you thought you'd have a least a bit more time before it did.

"Haven't seen a real lightsaber before," The other muses, the two of them in the back looking over the silver and gold-plated handle, "You're going to make us rich, girl"

"Give it-" You struggled against the hold of the hunter only for the knife to cut down into the tender skin of your neck, making your words collapse into a breathy cry of pain. He kept the knife embedded slightly into your skin, his eyes boring into yours as a smirk captured his lips, "Move again, and I'll knick an artery on accident. Then, we can see how long it will take for the life to drain out of your eyes."

The word accident rolled off his tongue with a promise, and you fought back a shiver of fear. The press of the burning steel in your flesh was agonizing, and you realized all at once that you were going to die. Whether it was here and now with this group of hunters or when they handed you off to Finon Kane, you were going to die.

The thought made your body grow suddenly cold.

You'd spent so many years thinking that you'd never have a family again, that you'd never know what it meant to love and be loved. It became your bleak reality, and then you quite literally stumbled into the two individuals that would become your entire world.

It was selfish of you to stay, so damn selfish. Deep down, you had known that Kane would put a bounty on your head, that he'd find you one day and make you pay for every bit of trouble he'd endured because of you. Yet you did it anyway. You stayed and you let yourself grow attached beyond hope.

You let yourself fall in love, and that was possibly the worst of the sins you'd committed.

And, just like the other sins, you had thought you could run from that one, thought its penance would never arrive. Now here you were, facing death at the hands of those in the very same profession as your Mandalorian while he was far away on Tatooine, probably wondering what had gone wrong. You knew you'd hurt both him and the child by leaving, but you would rather they be hurt and alive than dead.

"Now," The one holding you announces, stepping back and easing the knife out of your throat, "It's time to bring you to your master in top shape."

You barely had time to register the warm blood trickling down your neck from the cut of the hunter's knife before his fist was cracking against your cheek. The force of the unexpected blow slammed your head into the wall and brought you crashing to the ground. Your groan was just out of your mouth when the next blow came, this one to your ribs. A cry of pure agony slipped out as a loud crack resounded amongst your rib cage with the powerful kick, making tears collect in your eyes.

You felt utterly helpless as you desperately tried to lift yourself off of the ground, but you were so tired. You were utterly exhausted, and it took every ounce of your strength to pull out your beskar knife and slash the tendons along the back of one of the hunter's heels. Purple blood sprayed and he shouted, collapsing to the floor beside you.

"Get back here, you little bitch!" One seethed, grabbing you by your hair and yanking you up to your knees. Before your eyes could focus on where he was, you slashed with your knife. He must have seen it coming because he grabbed your wrist in a bruising grip.

"Drop the knife," He growled, one of his hunter companions still on the floor clutching his ankle and the other standing by the one who held you, the lightsaber handle in his hands.

"Give me the saber," You bargained breathlessly, your voice crutched with torment.

The hunters didn't like that very much, and the one holding the saber slammed it against your cheek. You took the hit with a groan, enough pain already crawling through you that you barely even felt it.

"This isn't a negotiation," The one holding you gritted, "Drop. The. Knife."

It was stupid, and you knew that you should just listen at this point, but you couldn't stop yourself from lifting your chin stubbornly and holding his gaze, "You'll have to break my hand."

"With pleasure," He snarled, his grip tightening on your wrist. Before he could snap it, a low, modulated voice rasped into the alley.

"Break her hand, and I'll make sure your death is the slowest."

You shut your eyes instantly, your shoulders loosening with both relief and agony. He'd come for you. Din had found you, and you couldn't stop the bittersweet feeling crashing through your soul. You wanted to hate him for it, wanted to scream at him and knock the sense of your desertion into his brain. But you knew you weren't capable of hating Din Djarin, not even if you wanted to. Especially not now as he stood like a dark angel in the entrance to the alleyway, glowering with rage wholly directed at the hunters left standing.

"This is our bounty, Mandalorian," The one holding the lightsaber sneered, "Find another-"

He was dead before his sentence could complete, his neck twisted at a wrong angle from where Mando had snapped it with his bare hands.

That made the one holding your wrist let go of you instantly.

"Y-You can have her, she's all y-yours Mandalorian." He stumbled back, running into his downed companion who had finally managed to limp to his feet.

Din didn't respond as he stooped slowly, grabbing the lightsaber and slipping it along his holster. He was as silent as death as he stalked up to you, his beskar clinking slightly in the tense silence. You were still on the floor, your skin bloody and your heart pounding so fast you thought it would burst. You wanted to crash into him and hold him, never letting go. You wanted to let him take you back to the Razor Crest and help you figure all of this out. You were safe with him. But he wasn't safe with you, and neither was the child. You had to protect the child, you had to protect Din.

The two remaining hunters were frozen in terror, trapped in the dead end alley like cornered prey. Din stopped in front of you, his mask peered down at you as his hand reached out. Much gentler than you could even imagine, his hand softly gripped your chin and tilted it upwards and to the side so he could see the blossoming, nasty bruise on your cheek.

His gentle fingers were in a fierce dichotomy with the rigid, furious posture of his body. Mando slid them down, leaving lightning where he touched as he lightly traced the cut in your neck. Your gaze locked with his mask, and he held it for a long minute. Then, he dropped his hand and cocked his head over at the two hunters.

"Which one cut you, cyar'ika?" His voice was dark and tender all at once, and it sent a shiver racing down your spine.

"The one limping," You responded without hesitation, your eyes up on him as he nodded once and began to stalk towards the two hunters.

Confusion rippled across their features, and the one who hadn't cut you was quick to shove his ally in front of him. Their loyalty only ran monetary, and even though you knew it wouldn't save his life he had to try.

"What are you doing? I t-thought you were a hunter!" The hunter who the Mandalorian had his sights on was shaking with terror, and it brought you a wicked sense of justice.

"I am."

The next few moments passed in a mess of beskar and knives and blood. The last remaining hunter could only watch in horror as Din ripped his colleague apart with a confidence that could make any skilled fighter wary. The man's pleas and cries were shrill, and the people on the main road were wise enough to keep walking as they passed.

Then, it was quiet. And Din turned to the last hunter pressed against the wall across from you.

"No, please. I'll tell you anything you want, I'll give you anything please!" He begged, but his hurried words were cut off by Din's hand on his throat. He tugged the hunter close, his beskar helmet splattered with blood.

"If you find anyone taking her bounty, tell them what happened here. Make sure they know they will suffer the same fate. Understand?" Din's tone was taught with thinly veiled anger, and you could tell that it was an effort to keep from killing the man.

The hunter nodded briskly, his eyes wide and his legs trembling. When the Mandalorian finally released him, he was sprinting out of the alley, leaving a tense silence to settle over the two of you that remained. Din turned towards where you still sat on the ground, and as he walked over you were suddenly aware of the conversation that was about to happen, the anger he was about to rain upon you.

Mando extended a hand down to you, which you took and gladly accepted his help as you stood. Your hand gingerly pressed against your cracked rib, every breath and every minuscule movement sending sharp, shooting pain through the area, "You alright?"

"I will be," You nearly whispered, you eyes locked onto his brooding, helmeted stare. There was only mere inches between the two of you, and you knew that if you stayed this close, you wouldn't be able to leave again. You went to step back, but he tightened his hold on your hand enough to keep you close.

"Let me go," You breathed, the words meaning more than just physically.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Din gritted out, his voice conveying the worry and hurt and anger that his mask hid. His voice broke your heart.

"Din, you have to let me go." You were almost begging now, and you could feel the tears welling in your eyes. He shifted his hold so that he was holding both of your hands, probably to keep you from reaching for the saber at his belt.

"Not again," He vowed, his usually collected voice portraying how barely bridled his emotions were, "Not until you tell me why the hell you left me."

You were silent for a moment, trying desperately to find a way to speak without showing just how deeply this was shattering your heart, your soul.

"Did you really think I would turn you in? That I would collect your bounty?" Din asked finally, his voice breaking.

"No," Your shaky voice finally began to work, growing stronger by the moment, "That's the thing, Mando. You wouldn't, which means when these hunters came looking for me, they'd find you and the child."

"You think I can't protect you?"

"Din, I have never known safety until I met you," You swore, the tears collecting in your eyes beginning to fall, "But the man who's hunting me, Finon Kane? He will stop at nothing until he has me and the lightsaber. If I had stayed, I would be giving you and the child a death sentence."

"Y/N, you're staying with me." The Mandalorian asserts, his voice trembling. You shake your head, your tears falling steadier now.

"Din please, you have to leave me here. Protect the child, it's your duty. You have to forget you ever knew me, forget I was ever with you, forget me."

"You think I could do that?" He cuts in abruptly, tugging you closer to show the urgency and truth of his words, "You think I could ever walk away and just forget you?"

His words were dangerous, and you tried to stop him, "DIn-"

"You have ruined me, ner cyar'ika. Every moment I spend away from you is torture, it's a moonless night that never ends."

His words leave you breathless, your eyes wide and your heart stumbling in your chest as you try and fail to find a response. He won't let you speak, though.

"The child and you? You are my clan, my family. You two are all that I have, and I am nothing without you," He's so close now that you can almost hear the unmodulated tone of his voice. Din lets go of one of your hands to rest at the base of your neck and bring your head close to his. What he does next...it's a moment that will forever be etched into your brain.

He brings his forehead to yours, and he leaves it there for a moment. The cool metal of his helmet bleeds into your skin, and you can't stop the soft gasp that leaves your lips. You grab onto his beskar-plated chest for support because you know what this is. On easy nights, Din would often sit and tell you stories of the Mandalorian culture. He spoke once or twice of the Keldabe kiss, a gesture meant to show love and affection. The meaning of this moment was not lost on you, and it nearly ripped out your heart to think that he could...that he could love you back. He possibly loved you and now you were about to die.

"I'm not leaving you," Din murmured, the cool beskar of his mask pulling away from your forehead. You felt the cool metal of something pressing into your hands and you look down to see him handing you the lightsaber, "We'll end this together."

You couldn't look away from him, couldn't bring yourself to walk away again. You were being selfish and stupid, but with what just happened, with what Din had just said, you couldn't leave him.

You simply nodded, "Okay."

Din nodded as well, stepping back from you, "Okay."

There was a moment of tension between the two of you, a moment where each was waiting for the other to say something more, to mention those three words that had yet to be spoken. You watched him walk towards the alley exit, following slowly behind. He'd begun to say some sort of strategy, but you weren't listening. You didn't know what was going to happen next, you didn't know how much time you had. You needed to say it, and you needed to say it now before you lost this chance.

"Mando?" You cut in, making him pause and look over at you as you entered the streets of Felucia, "I love you"

The Mandalorian froze, his muscles going taught. The bustling world around you seemed to dull for a moment, and all that was left was you and him. Your heart pounding in your chest and you felt your breaths getting shorter and shorter as you waited for his response.

You heard Din take in a breath to respond, but someone beat him to it.

"So this is what you've been doing all this time."

It was your turn to freeze, and your gaze was still locked on the Mandalorian's as your eyes went wide with fear, with terror. You knew that voice. You'd know that voice if the galaxy ended and then begun again a hundred times over.

Slowly, you turned to face Master Finon Kane and the six storm troopers that flanked him.

"I believe you have something of mine," Kane cut straight to the chase, his troopers making quick work of clearing the street while he stood not ten paces from you. Your fingers tightened around the handle of the lightsaber still in your grasp, and you saw Kane's eyes dart down to it.

"Hand it over now, and I might consider killing you. Your Mandalorian doesn't scare me."

There was no hiding the blatant horror inundating you. Those words, you knew what they meant. You preferred death to what you knew life with Kane would promise. Staring into his eyes, you were reliving every moment of pain you'd endured at his hands—every beating, execution, and humiliation, they haunted you.

You didn't know when Din had moved to your side, but you felt the nudge of his body next to yours, and it knocked you from your spiral. He was letting you know that he was there, that he wasn't going anywhere. And, looking at the odds, you could honestly say that the two of you had fared worse.

“Stand down and I’ll make your death quick,” you fire back, your voice surprisingly strong. Kane barked out a laugh as the six troopers fell into line behind him.

"You can't kill me, pet. You know it and so do I." With a flick of his fingers, his troopers were moving, two next to Kane and four fanning out in front of us.

"I know that," You responded quietly, but not weakly. Your fingers barely brushed against Din's hand, the movement so small it was imperceptible to those before you, but the way his fingers touched yours gave you the assurance that you were about to make the right move, "But he can."

The troopers couldn't even raise their blasters before Din and you moved on them. The next few moments were a blur, shining beskar and frantic blasts missing their targets as Din cut down the troopers with ease. You could hear feel the blast of the fire caster on his wrist as he incinerated two more.

He had four dead before you could even turn on the lightsaber.

Your eyes shot to Kane's, whose were wide with shock and a bleat of panic when he saw your hands move to grasp the lightsaber before you.

"Don't-"

His cry died in his throat when the red saber born of a bleeding, hate-filled kyber crystal ignited before you. You barely new how to use it, but it wasn't difficult to shove the burning side into the armor of the troopers.

Then, it was silent.

Din sauntered up beside you, standing tall and strong with his helmet cocked intimidatingly at Kane. You didn't turn off the lightsaber, but let its red light cast a vengeful glow across your features.

"You think you're so clever," Finon Kane spat, his desperation betraying him, "You think you could so easily b-"

His words were cut off by the hiss of a lightsaber meeting flesh, and something in your chest loosened as you looked up from where you had shoved the saber deep into his belly. Your old master's eyes were wide and his mouth gaping. He was shocked, he really hadn't thought you could do it.

"For every friend of mine you slaughtered," You grit out, shoving the lightsaber an inch deeper and making him cry out in pain, "Their souls are avenged."

He was dead before his body hit the ground, and you simply sheathed your lightsaber, looked to your Mandalorian, and walked away. You didn't realize that you were trembling until the two of you walked outside the city gates and Din's hand grabbed onto yours, large and warm and sure. The Razor Crest sat waiting ahead of you, and you nearly buckled and sobbed in relief.

"It's over," You whispered, you eyes dazed and your words no more than a breath as the gravity of what just happened crashed over you.

You stopped walking in front of your beloved ship, turning to face Din as he did you, "I'm...I'm free"

You let out a breathy, wild, joyous laugh and launched forward, wrapping your arms around the Mandalorian's neck. He paused only for a moment before you felt him melt into you, his hands slipping around your waist and holding you closer than life.

"Thank you, Din," You whispered, your words a vow and a prayer, "I am forever in your debt."

His hold on you tightened, one hand slipping up your back to hold more of you to him, "You owe me nothing. Your life is yours to hold, you are no longer in the service of any master."

Tears you hated to acknowledge slipped down your cheeks, and you were glad to be pressed so close to him so that he couldn't see them fall. He knew, though. He knew.

You didn't want to pull away, didn't want to know again what it felt like to be away from him. Eventually, it could not be avoided. You wanted to get on the Crest and fly away from this place, to bring your life back to the normal you'd fallen so deeply in love with, the one with the child and the bounties and the adventure and him. Especially him.

"Now," You announced, your tone light and jovial as you pulled away and looked up at Mando with a smile, "Where's the child? I'm sure he's been miserable without me,"

You began to walk up to the Crest, but you hadn't realized that the Mandalorian hadn't followed you until his voice called out and made you pause.

"He's with Peli, safe and sound."

You stopped in your step and turned around to see Din walking slowly up to where you stood. Something in his tone made your heart jolt. Your voice was no more than an unsure whisper when you spoke next, "That's good."

Din hummed, and the sound made every thought abandon your mind. He stopped in his gait when he was just in front of you, but not as close as you thought he'd be.

"Are we going to...get on the ship?" You asked, for the first time unaware of what he was going to do next.

"We will," He finally responded, taking one step closer to you and suddenly making you realize why he'd left the room that was quickly dissipating. He was torturing you, playing with you, and once again uncaged butterflies swarmed your insides, "But first, I want to talk about what you said earlier."

His voice was low and smooth and sure, in direct contrast to your trembling one as you tried to act cool. He was making you squirm and he loved it, "You'll have to be more specific, Mando."

Din took that last step closer to you, nearly closing the gap as he tilted his masked face down at you in a way that had your head spinning, "You know what I'm talking about, mesh'la."

You grappled for a response, you really did, but you didn't know what to say, didn't know how you could possibly respond cooly to that.

"Look at you, finally the speechless one." His voice was taunting and you could hear the smile in it. He grew more serious as he slowly pulled off one of his gloves and achingly slow brought his calloused hand to brush against your cheek. His skin on yours again almost had you buckling to the ground.

"Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, cyar'ika," Din's words blanketed over you with such a tenderness that your mind raced to understand what they meant. You didn't have to think long, because Din held your chin and brought his beskar-masked forehead to yours, "I love you too, sweetheart."

In all the years of captivity under the Imperial rule on Corrida, you never thought you'd hear those words again, I love you. They were sacred and seldom spoken, and you had stopped hearing them long before your family was taken from you. And now here you were, pressed close to Din Djarin, a Mandalorian whose ship you stowed away on in pure coincidence, and you were hearing those words be said to you in a way that no one had before.

His voice was quiet and playful as he leaned closer to your ear, "And I've got plenty of ways to show it once you get your ass on the damn ship."

Din stepped back from you and turned, walking to the Crest as if he hadn't just promised you everything you've been dreaming of for months. With your pulse thrumming wildly, you followed after him.

"What about the lightsaber? We need to return it to the New Republic," You called out.

The hatch opened to the crest and he walked in without looking back, "They can wait. I can't."

Your cheeks were warm with a blush as you followed him into the Crest, and you couldn't help but wonder how you'd gotten this lucky, what you had done to deserve this. You didn't know, but all you knew was that you'd waited for long, torturous years to have the freedom of forever, and here it was. Here he was. Din Djarin was your forever, no matter how long the breath was left in your lungs.

Your past had finally died, and the ghosts had stopped haunting you. Your present was now your future, and you'd never look back again.

#the mandalorian #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #din djarin #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin oneshot #din djarin angst #din djarin fluff #mandalorian oneshot #the mandalorian x reader #din x female reader #din x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader

[flowerandblood]

Wicked prayers, sweet penances (6)

[modern! priest • Aemond x Strong • female]

[warnings: sex content, domination, religious guilt, incest, fluff]

[description: Aemond, a deeply religious person, enters the seminary, wanting to fight the thoughts, that have been poisoning his mind for years at the sight of his niece. He returns home as a priest, but the desire he has been running away from returns to him again. A story full of incest, sexual tension and religious guilt.]

Previous and next parts: Masterlist

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

_____

After they confessed their love to each other, their case was already sealed. If either of them thought the other was seeing it as a fling and fun, their doubts were dispelled.

They faced a situation where every solution was bad. They decided that since they are doomed to suffer anyway, they prefer to suffer together and enjoy each other as much as possible.

For some inexplicable reason, this was a relief to Aemond. When he asked her honestly how she felt about everything that was going on between them, she told him that she was terrified, but at the same time she had never gotten up in the morning with such joy before in her life.

She told him, that she thought what she felt for him was worth whatever punishment she would receive. If at first she felt a little ashamed of her behavior, there was no trace of it now.

After that conversation, they started kissing again. Aemond didn't even pull his cock out of her, and after a few minutes he came inside her again, whispering in her ear that he couldn't live without her.

They realized that one mistake of theirs would cost them everything, so they were very careful not to meet in public. His niece did not approach him in church, even though his parish priest knew she was his family and often invited her for tea. She always refused.

Viserys's 70th birthday was approaching, which he organized at home, but grandly and with pomp. He invited his whole family. They both wondered how they should behave around the family. They wrote about it the evening before the event.

Persephone: Maybe it's best if we pretend you're still not talking to me? The sudden warming of the relationship can cause a lot of questions, and yet no one knows that we have been dating since my mother's wedding.

Aemond sighed softly as he stared at the screen of his phone, his back against the wall. He had to admit it sounded reasonable. He was afraid something in his eye would betray him.

He feared Aegon the most. At the wedding, he'd already noticed that he was watching her. He had to be very careful around him and refrain from any kind of glance in her direction.

Hades: You're right, that will be the best solution. Do you think we should say hello at the beginning?

He sent a message, and a moment later his phone showed that he had received a reply.

Persephone: I don't know. We can make it, so that I come to you and say hello, you answer me and we go our separate ways. That's probably the most natural thing to do. Will you stay home tomorrow for the night?

Aemond pursed his lips. He wondered what was on her mind.

Hades: I haven't thought about that yet. Maybe. And you?

Persephone: Me, Luke and Jace are definitely staying, because there won't be anyone to drive, while my mom and Daemon are drinking too. It's already arranged with grandpa.

Aemond had to admit that the idea of spending the night with her was tempting, but he feared they were putting themselves at risk. He thought hard, analyzing everything.

Hades: We'll see how it goes, my love.

***

The next day, Aemond arrived home in the afternoon before the party was scheduled, because his mother had asked him to bring a few things - wine, flowers and a cake ordered especially for the occasion. Even though he was nervous, he was also happy that he would be able to spend the whole day with his niece.

As he entered the house, he saw Jace greeting his mother. They just looked at each other, Jace said a quick "Hello", to which Aemond replied the same. He headed for the kitchen, to put the things Alicent had told him to bring. His mother followed him, thanking him for his sacrifice.

When he entered the room, he saw that his niece, Baela and Helaena, were standing at the counter, talking cheerfully about something. When they saw him, Beala and she fell silent, his sister looking at them uneasily. He tried to keep his usual cold expression, but he didn't seem to be able to hide the twinkle in his eye at the sight of her.

"Hi." She said with an uncertain smile, her gaze warm. Aemond was silent for a moment, looking away so as not to look at her.

"Children, when will you finally start talking to each other?" Alicent asked, looking from him to her, making them both give her a shocked look.

"After all, you were inseparable as children. Forgiveness is very important, Aemond, whatever happened between you two, you should know that." She said clearly impatient with their behavior, which had been going on for years.

His niece shifted uneasily at the counter, suppressing the smile that pushed across her face as she looked at him defiantly. He thought he'd gladly slap her ass for making those faces. He cleared his throat, unpacking the wine onto the counter.

"I know, mom." He said calmly.

"Please, clear it up in front of us. I want everyone to be happy at dinner, and no one to have any misunderstandings or arguments behind their backs." She said, folding her hands in front of her, looking at them expectantly.

Aemond pursed his lips, wondering what he should say, completely taken aback. He saw his niece staring at him in horror, wondering if he would be able to think of anything fast.

After all, he couldn't admit that he hadn't spoken to her all these years, because he had discovered that he had fallen in love with her. He thought for a long moment, but on the outside it looked like he couldn't articulate the thoughts, that were in his head.

"After the accident with Luke, I wanted to take it out on you, for what happened to me. For the fact that it was your brother's fault. I wanted you to choose me over him, and you didn't want to take sides." He said finally, his jaw clenched. He thought, surprised, that it was partly true. He loved her and felt betrayed.

He saw her blink, feeling that he hadn't completely lied. She pursed her lips, looking at him in pain, apparently not realizing until now that he felt that way. She swallowed loudly.

"I… had no idea what to do then. I was furious with Luke, I didn't speak to him, but he was crying so hard. He's my little brother. I couldn't leave him. Or you. But I understand your anger, and I'm sorry that I let you down in some way then." She spoke honestly, with a slightly trembling voice.

Everyone around them looked at them in surprise, wondering what to do next. They didn't know what to do either, they turned away, ashamed. From the side it looked surprisingly natural, as if such a confession left them at a loss as to what to do with themselves. Alicent squeezed her son's arm.

"I'm proud of you two. I hope you're both feeling a little better."

After this short exchange, slightly embarrassed, trying not to look at each other, they helped the rest to set up food and drink. There were two tables in the living room, joined together to form one long table. No one was assigned a seat, everyone could sit wherever they wanted.

Aemond decided to stay away from her as much as possible so as not to tempt himself or her. His niece sat down with Baela and Rhaena, they were chatting cheerfully about something, apparently something related to their University.

Everyone stood up and sang a loud "Happy Birthday" as Viserys entered the room. He already had trouble walking and was practically bald, but fortunately he was under the care of good doctors. He still had many years of life ahead of him, under the care of his devoted wife, who made sure he took his medication on time.

Jubilarian sat down in the middle of the table, next to him sat his wife. Everyone took their seats. The only person who was late was Aegon. Aemond saw his mother lean out, looking anxiously down the corridor.

Half an hour later, the door opened. Aegon entered the house, kicking off his boots, greeting loudly. Aemond squeezed his eye shut, hearing at once that he was drunk. He got up quickly and go out to meet him, to see what condition he was in. He staggered slightly, his eyes amused and misty. He smiled and stretched his arms out wide for a hug.

"Brother! I have returned as the Prodigal Son!" He called out and laughed.

Aemond stared at him in disgust. He prayed for him every day, but deep down he knew it would take a miracle for him to stop drinking. After a while their mother joined them, the voice of conversations from the living room could be heard in the background. She dropped her hands helplessly, shaking her head.

"Aegon. It's your father's birthday. You promised me!" She spoke softly, painfully, not wanting anyone to hear. Aegon shrugged.

"I feel good. I'm in a fantastic mood. I don't understand, where is the problem?" He asked, raising an eyebrow, wanting to enter the room, but his mother stopped him.

"Go upstairs, take a shower, take a quick nap and come downstairs. I'll tell your father you don't feel well." She said quickly. Aegon laughed.

"I said I felt great. Are you deaf or what?" He asked in frustration, yanking her hand away as he went to greet the guests. He congratulated his father loudly on his birthday and started hugging everyone in turn.

When it came time for his niece, he looked at her appreciatively as she stood up to hug him. He hugged her tightly and she laughed, saying it hurt.

"You look beautiful, niece! Are you talking to my stupid brother yet? He's been staring at you the whole wedding party. I think he wants you." He purred softly, but loud enough for everyone to hear.

Several people turned to face them, she and Aemond looked at each other in horror. They looked away quickly, red and humiliated. Alicent looked at her son enraged.

"Aegon! What kind of comment was that? What's wrong with you!" She asked, shaking her head.

"What? I know that in your eyes he is holy and I am divine punishment, mother. But the priest also has his needs, right?" He asked, clearly amused by the commotion he had created. Daemon watched him, he was stretched out in his chair.

"Careful now. One more word and we'll go to the kitchen and I'll cut your fucking tongue out." Her stepfather told him, looking at him calmly and menacingly at the same time. Aegon looked at him defiantly.

"He's been in the family for a few months now, and he thinks he's going to be in charge here. You're a guest in my house." He said pointing his finger at him.

"In my house." Viserys said, rising from his seat. "In my home, Aegon. Please, leave. I don't want to see you here tonight. Go to sleep in a brothel or some other place where you'd rather be, than with your family." He said tiredly.

Aegon pursed his lips, pale, furious.

"As you wish, father. I don't give a shit." He said, turning tensely, quickly putting on his shoes and leaving, closing the door with a loud slam.

Aemond felt his heart pounding hard. His mother was talking to him in a reassuring voice, but he was watching his niece, who was shaking all over, crying, Beala hugging her comfortingly. He sat down quickly in his seat, taking a sip of his wine.

He and she looked at each other quickly. He could see, that she was as scared and devastated just as he was. She sat down in her seat, still shivering slightly. He didn't know what was worse - that his brother said it out loud or that what he said was true.

Everyone returned to normal conversation, but the atmosphere was uneasy. Aemond watched as his niece got up, all pale, saying she was going to bed early.

She made her way up the stairs without giving him a single glance. He looked down, thoughtful. He stood up suddenly, his mother gave him a questioning look.

"I'll talk to her." He said calmly. She nodded understandingly and squeezed his arm.

Aemond climbed the stairs. He knew that she occupied the same room as when they were children, and she stayed with them during holidays and weekends. He knocked softly on her door.

There was no response, so he went inside. She jumped up, startled when she saw it was him. Her cheeks were still red from tears, she was crying again. He closed the door behind him, turning the key in the lock.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, scared.

He didn't answer, he just walked over and sat next to her on the bed. He pulled her to him, embracing her tightly. She immediately hugged him, pressing into him like a pillow, and cried into his chest. He stroked her head steadily, neither of them speaking for a long moment.

"You shouldn't be here." She said in a low, weak voice, sniffling. He kissed her hair tenderly at her words, pressing his nose into it.

"I told my mother I'd go talk to you." He said calmly, his thumb stroking her cheek. She looked up at him, their faces millimeters apart. His hand traced over her skin subtly and gently, making her shiver.

"Do you want to stop?" He asked softly, his voice trembling slightly. "Do you want to end it?"

She stared at him in horror, her mouth slightly parted, trembling. She sucked in a breath.

"And you?" She asked softly, her voice breaking slightly.

He looked at her in pain, not knowing what to say. His heart was constricting unpleasantly, he felt a stab in his chest. He had lied to her once before and hadn't seen her in years. He thought he was telling the truth this time.

"No." He said quietly, embarrassed and desperate for his attitude.

He moaned in pleasure, as her lips pressed against his in a greedy, desperate kiss. Their mouths caressed each other fast and hungry, with the wet, loud sound of their saliva.

He looked at her pleadingly, as he saw her quickly undo his pants. He couldn't say no, he needed it as much as she did. He helped her take off her panties.

She rose, straddling him and sat on him, pushed herself onto him slowly. They breathed into each other's mouths, their foreheads pressed together tightly, staring at each other helplessly.

She began to rise and fall on his cock, thrusting him into herself to the end, both of them gasped with delight, feeling this kind of closeness.

She started to move fast and aggressive on him, moaning softly, his hips responding brutally as they fucked, holding their faces together. They both panted quietly, trying not to make any loud noises.

"I love you." He whispered helplessly, looking at her beautiful face, red with tears. He knew it was all his fault. "I love you so much."

His niece kissed him deeply, passionately, squeezing his hair, pressing his face to hers.

"I love you too, uncle." She whispered into his mouth between loud, wet, dirty kisses. Her hips moved fast against him, his cock thrusted deep and hard into her, throbbing and swollen.

They flinched and stopped moving, when they heard someone come upstairs. After a second they heard a knock on the door. His niece wanted to get off him, but he wouldn't let her, holding her tight.

"Everything's all right?" Alicent asked in the hallway, obviously taken aback by the whole situation.

"Yes. We're talking." He said calmly, stroking her buttocks steadily. Her hazy eyes stared at him with horror and admiration at the same time. "Give us a moment."

"Yes... yes, of course." She said calmly. After a moment they heard her footsteps on the stairs.

It wasn't until they were sure she was gone, that Aemond turned her onto her back and began to fuck her with all his strenght, covering her mouth with his own hand.

They fucked like animals and their orgasm was animal too - hard and aggressive, flowing through their entire bodies. They stifled groans of pleasure, writhing beneath each other in fulfillment.

Aemond stared at her, panting softly. He knew that from now on, something would change between them.

"I want you for myself."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @avgdusterfan @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @random-ocity @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @snh96 @malfoytargaryen @letmeloveyouuuu

#ewan mitchell #aemond fanfiction #aemond fic #aemond targaryen #aemond x oc #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #hotd aemond #aemond x fem!reader #ewan mitchell fanfic #modern aemond #modern!aemond #modern aemond targaryen #modern aemond x reader #aemond fluff #aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen smut #modern aemond smut #aemond one eye #aemond smut #house of the dragon aemond #aemond x reader #prince aemond #aemond the kinslayer #aemond x original character #ewan mitchell x reader #hotd fanfic #hotd smut #hotd fluff

[cyberneticlagomorph]

Three days, gone in a flash.

The final grain of pitch black sand careens down the neck of the half empty hourglass to rest with its siblings at the bottom.

For a second, Zeb thinks about turning the whole thing over as if that could restart this whole thing, or otherwise postpone it. Another part of his heart wants to throw the hourglass against the wall and shatter it, but he's tried that before and he knows that the damned thing will just put itself back together the second he stops looking.

Dread sits heavy in Zeb's chest as he stares at the hourglass and feels his body refuse to move.

His bags are packed, leaning against the wall by the door.

His bed is made, neat military corners and sheets so tight you could bounce a quarter off of them.

The door is open, Sir Matthew stands at the threshold, his eyes burning holes into Zeb's face. The boy can taste the hate and disappointment in that gaze the same way he can taste the bile slowly seeping into his own mouth.

He... doesn't want to go.

Sir Matthew gets tired of waiting, lurching forward to grab Zeb by the arm or the neck, but is stopped by a soft hand on his shoulder.

The kind eyes of Sister Berenice fall on Zeb like a warm blanket fresh from the dyer, the crows feet at the corner of her eyes crinkling as she smiles at him. Sister Berenice is the closest thing to a mother Zeb has ever had, and even though he's supposed to be in the care of Sir Matthew now that he's a page she always goes out of her way to check up on the kid when she has the time.

Zeb's body finally moves, half stumbling into the nun's arms, burying his face in her shoulders as the tears he's choked back for 3 days finally spring loose.

He. Doesn't. Want. To. Go.

Sister Berenice leads Zeb out of his room in the basement of the tower and up the winding stairs to the foyer, his feet drag the entire time, the weight of his luggage holding him down and back like spectral chains tying him to this place.

Nobody looks at him when he passes.

The refuse to meet his eyes or flinch away like he's cursed or filthy, marked for death or exile.

Cold seeps deep into Zeb's guts, twisting there like a blade made of ice.

He doesn't want to go.

He can't stop crying.

The foyer is crowded, he is surrounded by Knights, by HIS people on all sides but he has never felt more alone in his life.

Lord Barnabas stands at the front gates, clad in polished armor carved from dragon bone, the sword Excalibur sheathed at his hip. For a moment Zeb thinks the Lord is here to execute him, and for that moment the thought is nothing but intense relief washing over him like the tears running down his face.

Then Lord Barnabas steps aside, eyes fixed on some point behind Zeb, refusing to look at him just like everyone else.

The Knights stand in straight and terrible rows, as sharp and perfect as so many teeth. They take Zeb's sword from him, and his book of miracles, they take and they take until Zeb is no longer a page.

Now just a boy.

Just a nothing.

He can feel Sir Matthew's eyes on him still and by God he tries to find comfort in that sliver of recognition, but when he fishes his mentor's face out of the crowd Sir Matthew looks away from him without a word.

The man that raised Zeb, broke him, bled him, made him scrub floors on knees raw from prayer and penance proved himself to be a coward with one gesture. He...

Zeb swallows back mucus and bile, salted by his tears, his mouth twisting into something sharp and ugly, he feels the miracle gathering on his tongue before his lips can even part. Something black and awful plants itself in Zeb's chest and takes root there, he can feel it twisting his power into something as ugly as his own crying face.

Blood rushes through Zeb's ears like thunder, hurt and anger kill the chill in his bones, sending beet red rage pulsating up his neck.

They could save him.

They could SAVE. HIM.

All they had to do was say no, and he could stay but nobody has the fucking balls to say no.

They're throwing him away, scraps left behind for the beast so the rest may flee.

Fuck them.

Fuck ALL of them.

Fuck Sir, fuck Sister, fuck Lord Barnabas and even fuck Mew. Zeb cannot see the other boy's face in the crowd, brown robed and shaven, and that hurts worse than anything else. Mew isn't here to say goodbye or to save him or to stop this, and he can get FUCKED with the rest of them.

The gates open and the fairy stands there on the other side, dressed in human clothes with its hair dyed an unnatural color, its nails long and clawlike. Its face still looks raw from the holy water, its paws still tender from the fire, but it looks at Zeb with eyes even kinder than Sister Berenice and he can't take it. Zeb stumbles again, one shaky step after the other, his face still twisted and ugly but oh so very Different now.

All kids cry ugly until some stupid adult tries to convince them that growing up means crying pretty or not crying at all, but by the grace of whatever God loved this boy he still cried like he was meant to. Face twisted and snot smeared, jerking with each sob that tried to bust its way through clenched teeth, eyes redder than the rage that was dying within him.

He stood in front of the fairy and he cried, he hiccuped and he sobbed, trying so hard not to flinch as its hand came to rest on his head. The weight of that hand still felt Wrong but it also felt like Being Seen and like Being Known. Zeb pressed into it, stretching up like a cat, eyes shut, body shaking.

He felt the magic take him away, felt it sweep the Tower grounds from under his feet and replace it with carpet over hardwood and hard packed earth. The fight left Zeb then, replaced by exhaustion that threatened to rock him down to his knees but he kept himself upright out of pure spite and anxiety.

"Welcome home Zeb."

#ic #long post #action post #ask to tag #child abuse #child soldiers

[formula1squids]

i just binge-watched the bear so have whatever this is (502w, piarles-ish)

Charles is squatting next to the shelves contemplating a cigarette when he feels someone’s shadow fall over him.

“I don’t wanna talk, Pierre,” he mumbles. He squeezes his knees to his chest and presses his forehead into the cradle of his arms. From his angle he can spot the jagged edges of a label, knowing damn well he had talked to Nyck about it the other day. 

At least it’s quiet here. 

“I didn’t come here for you,” is Pierre’s easy answer. “Yuki’s trying to talk the rest into peeling the potatoes for him again.”

Charles can’t help the bark of laughter that escapes. “How does he keep managing to skip out on prep?”

“That smooth fucker has everyone eating out of the palm of his hand. One cute look and they’re all falling for it.” 

Charles huffs, admiring. He smiles at the neat laces of his shoes. “Good for him if he can get away with it. Maybe you should learn.”

Pierre shifts, the racks squeaking as he leans more of his weight on them. “Yeah, yeah. You’re laughing now but you’re going to have to address this soon. You’re his boss, you know.”

That sobers Charles right up. He tries to keep the smile on his face but it’s a forced thing that Pierre can see right through. When Charles chances a look up, there’s a twist to Pierre’s lips, half knowing and half sorry. 

Some nights, Charles lies wide awake in the darkness, suffering Pierre’s snores through the thin wall that divides their rooms like it’s some kind of penance. For dropping the life he had painstakingly built and a prestigious position to jump headfirst into a restaurant that came with so much baggage he can only try his best to keep it and himself afloat. For deceiving himself into thinking that he had a shot in any way at sparking life back to the place. Worst of all, for dragging his best friend down into this hell hole with him. 

If Pierre could read Charles’ mind, he would tell Charles not to be stupid, that his decisions have always been his own to worry about. Judging by the considering look on Pierre’s face right now, he already knows and would be more than happy to do so. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve had that conversation. 

Charles closes his eyes now, not quite sure what else to say. Everything’s jumbled in a tangled ball of emotions he has avoided examining too closely so far. The importance of holding on to this tangible proof of his father’s legacy, the guilt over never having worked here back when it actually mattered, his own stubbornness and refusal to fail when he’s used to creating success stories. 

Pierre’s hand, when it lands on his shoulder, is warm and firm. Charles lets himself be pulled to his feet. If nothing else, at least he can always count on Pierre to keep him on track.

“Come on, calamar. We open in three hours.” 

#obviously they save the place using the power of LOVE! #lowkey obsessed with the idea of piarles being co-bosses together #they will have at least 2 failed business ventures together ngl #my fic #piarles

[sequinsmile-x]

ONE SHOTS (P-S)

A list of standalone one shots that do not form part of a series. Please check here for series you might be looking for

Painite - Painite: an incredibly rare gemstone of exceptional value. It symbolises spiritual, emotional, and physical healing. It was a close call. Too close.

Par - Emily and Aaron's day keeps going from bad to worse. And to think, when she woke up that morning her biggest fear was that the team would find out about their relationship.

Parallel - This was the one thing Emily had never wanted to have in common with her daughter. (Warning: major themes of abortion)

Penance - The worst part, she thinks, is that he believes he deserves it.

Per Aspera Ad Astra - After Foyet's attack Aaron tries to pull away from Emily, but she refuses to let him

Phantom - It’s involuntary, something she does without meaning to. A flash of a memory from another time in her life briefly taking over, taking control of her body and making her react in a way that had taken even her by surprise. During an argument Aaron raises his hand to push his hair out of his face, and Emily's reaction leads her to reveal something from her past that she's never told anyone.

Picture Perfect Memories - He places the photo back on top of the album, one of the many things that Elizabeth had given them when they bought their house. Emily didn’t like to look through the pictures too often. She didn’t like the image they portrayed, the family they never quite had been in permanent ink for anyone to see. 

Precarious - She wondered if this was what madness felt like.

Precipitous - In which Emily goes into labour, and Aaron ends up delivering his own baby.

Priority - Just this once, on her wedding day of all days, she wanted her mother to put her first.

Promises - They've been called away on a case just before Halloween, and Emily just hopes they get back home in time so she can see the costume her daughter has kept secret from her for weeks.

Protégé à Jamais - Aaron feels his blood boil, fury flooding his veins at the way the man in front of him dared to talk about the woman he loves.

Reality - Sleep was a rare commodity in the Hotchner household.

Rebuild - Emily gets hurt when chasing down a suspect, and it gives her and Aaron the chance to have a conversation they've been putting off for days.

Recurrence - It was always inevitable (Smut)

Reflecting Light - The first time they kiss, it’s an accident. aka: The one where Aaron Hotchner and Emily Prentiss go on their first date.

Remedy - Aaron has a nightmare, Emily knows how to make him feel better.

Reset - Emily gets hurt on a case and Aaron looks after her.

Reparation - The balance of acknowledging what had been lost against what they had gained, and what they would only continue to gain as their family expanded, was a fine line they walked every day.

Reverence - Emily loves Aaron, and it was obvious to everyone around them. Or so she thought.

Said She Knows She Lived Through It to Get to This Moment - Everything they’d been through, together and apart, led them here.AKA the one where Emily takes Jack wedding dress shopping with her.

Salt of the Earth - Emily had never known love like it.

Salut d'Amour - Emily has a long, very bad day. Luckily, her husband never fails to make her feel better.

Sanctuary - She didn't understand it. How could she miss something that she never knew she had this much? (TW: miscarriage)

Say it With Your Hands - She’d always loved his hands. 

Scorched - Emily struggles to concentrate at work after she and Aaron get back from their honeymoon. The beard, that she usually loves, only makes it worse. (Smut)

Screaming Underwater - Emily gets devastating news about an old friend. A Young Hotchniss fic.

Serendipity - It shouldn't have happened, but it did. And now they had to live with the consequences.

Serenity - She can take it. She knows her friend doesn’t know, and would never say anything if she did, so she says nothing. She can take it, until one night she can’t. (Warning: entirely about infertility)

Somewhere Else - Emily convinces Aaron to have a lazy day with her.

Start from Scratch - It had been years since they'd been back to the place they'd once called home, the place they once thought they'd raise their children, but it was time. Aaron and Emily and their family go back to DC years after being forced to leave by Peter Lewis and his obsession. My 250th Hotchniss Fic.

Storge - (ˈstɔːɡiː) Word origin: Greek NOUN - natural or instinctual affection, as of a parent for a child. In which Jack breaks his arm, and Emily is the only one who can go see him.

Stud - It's their first night together, and Emily notices something she's never seen before. AKA, the one where Emily spots that Aaron might have once had his ear pierced

Subtle - Aaron has a bad day and Emily looks after him.

Succour - It's Father's Day and Emily helps Jack buy Aaron a gift, changing everything between them forever.

Sugar and Spice - Emily has a new lotion. Aaron likes it. A lot. (Smut)

Sunshine - Everyone always told Emily that her little girl was exactly like her. It only ever sounded like a criticism when her own mother said it.

Symphony - Emily reflects on how much she loves Aaron's laugh.

#hotchniss #hotchniss fanfiction #hotchniss oneshots #a part 2 of this can you believe it #i'll never stop tho

[tickle-bugs]

Welcome back Bugs (my beloved)! For the writers warm-up request, how do you feel about brotp Dean & Charlie and "😤 That's cheating!"/"No, it's strategy 😌"

thank u beloved!!! hope u enjoy this i miss these goofballs <3

Charlie’s new year resolution had been to listen to Kevin more often. He’s usually right about most things. His success rate is high enough, in fact, that she usually would rather chance listening to Kevin instead of ignoring him, even when his thought process seems bogus. So when Kevin tells her with grave seriousness to never ever--with a concerning amount of excess evers--play games with Dean, it does give her some semblance of pause. 

Four hours into the most grueling Monopoly game of her life, Charlie sighs and accepts that she’s totally failed both Kevin and her resolution. 

The board is old and pretty beaten up—Sam picked it up in Mississippi somewhere and brought it back with a few other vintage games. Dean and Charlie are perched like goblins around the board, surrounded by the foil corpses of snacks they’d demolished while refusing to adjourn for a real meal. 

“Ah shit.” Dean furrows his brow and hikes his knee to his chest. 

“What?” Charlie narrows her eyes. Dean holds a finger up and mutters to himself, studying the card with grave attention. He looks at the board, then back at the card, counts on his fingers, and frowns.

“Ah. Shit.” Dean sighs, taking his thumb between his teeth. Charlie pinches his arm. 

“What does it say?” She hisses. He yelps and scowls at her. 

“‘Make general repairs on all your property. For each house pay $25. For each hotel pay $100’. Buncha bullshit.” 

Finally, a light at the end of the tunnel. Freedom. 

“Yes! Holy shit!” Charlie shrieks with joy, threading her fingers through her hair. “You only have, what? Like fifty bucks? Dude, you’re toast!”

Dean makes a thoughtful noise as he eyes the board, then his sparse money pile. He’d taken great delight in rubbing his wealth of houses and hotels in Charlie’s face. It was finally time for penance, for vindication--

Dean leans over, plucks the pile of fifties from the money tray, and counts out everything he owes. 

“No! Dean, that’s cheating!” Charlie squawks, swiping at him. He leans out of her grasp and continues counting. 

“No, it’s strategy. I’m the banker and now I’m borrowing a little somethin’.” Dean tips his head back into Cas’s lap. Cas huffs and leans down, pressing his book flat to his chest so he can kiss Dean sweetly. He squeezes Dean’s shoulder fondly before returning to his reading. 

“See? I’m even paying my taxes.” Dean grins, the sparkle in his eye not entirely from being a cheating bastard. 

“Cas,” Charlie whines, gesturing wildly at Dean. Cas’s eyebrow twitches minutely but he doesn’t look up from his book. 

“I am no longer on duty as your banker, Charlie. I’m not at fault if the bank is robbed.” He licks his thumb and turns the page, barely concealing his amused smile behind the worn cover. 

Charlie eyes the small metal cat pinched between her fingers and silently asks it if murder is okay. It does not answer. 

“Dean.” Charlie inhales sharply. “You cannot steal from the bank. It’s the bank. Not your pockets.”

“I’m not stealing. I’m borrowing…forever. Look, Red, if you throw in the towel we can both call it quits.” Dean stretches out a kink in his back and leans against the couch. 

“Sam!” Charlie yells. “Can I kill your brother?”

“Go nuts!” Sam’s reply floats upon distant laughter. 

Charlie considers the board with a twitching eye. Even with Dean’s cheating, they’re pretty evenly matched. They could go for another three hours or so in circles like this. With Dean cheating, she’ll be forced to cheat just to keep up with him. They’ll wither away here on the floor of the bunker l, and centuries later scientists will uncover their skeletons and the dust of the Monopoly board—

“Cas, we need a tiebreaker. Something fair.” Charlie crosses her arms and ignores Dean’s dramatic groans. 

“The first person to bring me a fresh cup of tea wins. Prepared to my specifications.” Cas hums, turning another page. Dean lights up, of course he does. He and Cas know each other inside and out.

Ew. 

“What are your specifications?” 

“A challenge should be worthy of its undertakers, Charlie. I have full faith that your intuition will guide you.” Cas shifts on the couch and dog-ears the page, humming at something he reads.  Charlie’s eyes snap to the empty mug sitting on the end table near Cas. There’s a small purple tag hanging out of the mug—chamomile. Bingo. 

“We’ll have to wait for the water to boil—“

There’s a distant click-click-woosh that Charlie knows to be the stove, then the brief piercing whistle of the kettle. 

“You’d better hurry. The water is already cooling.” Cas eyes them both over his book, then settles back into the couch. Silence falls thick over the room. 

Dean and Charlie lock eyes. 

With a yell, Charlie flings herself to her feet and starts running. She can hear Dean stomping behind her. She swerves a corner and keeps running, silently grateful that she never got up to put on socks. 

“Oh no you don’t! C’mere!” Two strong arms encircle Charlie’s waist and hoist her off the ground. She screeches in protest but Dean’s already dropping her—gently, what a sap—and taking off ahead of her. 

“You dick!” She swipes at the back of his t-shirt and misses. Dean spins by her and stumbles into the kitchen just seconds before she can. He flings open the cabinet and starts reaching for the spice shelf, but she can’t see what exactly he’s grabbing—

With her best battle cry, Charlie launches herself at Dean and clambers onto his back. 

“Wh—hey! Get off!” Dean starts prying her ankles off of him. She grips tighter and does the first thing she can think of: poking the hell out of him. The irritation seems to work in her favor when Dean sways close enough to the cabinets for her to make a swipe at the honey, but she catches him in the ribs and he yelps. 

Oh, yeah. Duh. 

Charlie cackles triumphantly and starts tickling his ribs properly. Dean’s knees buckle a bit but he keeps them both steady, swiping at Charlie’s hands like a madman. 

“This is cheating!” Dean grits out, trying valiantly to block her access to his ribs. She can feel him shaking with laughter already and tries to chase it. Dean slams his arms to his sides and Charlie doesn’t falter--she fits her fingers into the back of his ribs. The dam of his laughter shatters and giggles flow free, then full laughter--the kind that lights him from the inside out and seeps into Charlie too. 

“It’s not cheating, it’s strategy! What does Cas like in his tea? Talk!” Charlie squeezes his sides with vengeance. Dean alternates between clutching the counter and flailing wildly. She clings to him every way he bends and finds free skin to pinch and poke at. 

“Charlie!” 

“Talk!” She yells, burrowing her fingers into Dean’s stomach. Dean fully collapses and they both go down, but Charlie wastes no time launching herself back at him. Dean catches her--unfortunate for him, because she jams her hands right back under his arms. He screeches out an incoherent string of syllables and arches hard into the kitchen floor. 

“Just tell me and this is all over,” Charlie singsongs, wrenching one of her hands free to skitter along his now-pink neck. Dean scrunches and falls smoothly into giggles, each one tumbling over the next like rain pouring free to dance with the wind. 

“Bite me!” He twists and bucks her off, clutching his sides as he sucks in breath. Dean’s head turns towards her, unnaturally slow, and an evil grin spreads across his face. Charlie scrambles back. 

“Waitwait, Dean! H-Hold on!” She holds her hands out in surrender but he’s already reeling her in by the ankle. She kicks at him and he grabs her other leg with a grunt. 

“Cheaters pay the price!” Dean wiggles threatening fingers just over her knee. She squeals and tries to fling herself to freedom, but his grip is unshakeable. He scribbles over every inch of her legs and gives the worst evil laugh she’s ever heard, but it makes her laugh, then she can’t stop laughing. Dean coos at her and squeezes vigorously at her thigh. 

“You’re the one who chea—oh nohoho!” 

…

“Sam,” Cas calls, pulling a blanket over his lap. Sam peeks around the corner, hair damp and 

stringy from the shower. 

“Would you mind grabbing my tea from the kitchen?” Cas gestures in that direction. Sam tracks the movement, then absorbs the minefield of game pieces on the floor. 

“Dean robbed the bank, didn’t he?” Sam chuckles and shakes his head. 

“Mhm. My tea is unfortunately serving his penance.” Cas flips a page and gives Sam an amused smile. 

“Gotcha.” Sam chuckles and winces at a loud shriek from the kitchen. “Want anything in it?”

“Just a drop of honey, please. Thank you.” 

“Sure.” Sam squeezes his shoulder and trods off towards the kitchen. A moment of disconcerting quiet passes before Sam’s squeal ricochets off the walls, mingling with distant yells and demands for Cas’s tea order. 

Cas just chuckles, accepts his fate, and continues reading.

#my fics #ticklish!dean winchester #ticklish!charlie #spn #dean winchester #charlie bradbury #castiel #sam winchester

[raigash]

Just For The Day

[Inky Depths Masterlist]

Pascal and Rose content for the first time in a little while! Their story needs a bit of restructuring, but I wanted to write a new taste of them before I got to work editing the old. TWS for intimate whumper, victim blaming, and the most prominent- fever/illness whump! I hope you guys enjoy!

There are ghosts swimming in the shadows, and for the life of her, Rosalind cannot figure out what it is they want from her. Wispy clouds of pitch black dance along the baseboards of this haunted home, and she can hear their whispers. Can feel their frozen fingertips reaching ever closer to her heated skin.

Her world feels like it’s on fire, and freezing over, all at the same time. Everything hurts. Every breath she fights to take feels Sisyphean as her chest flutters and collapses within seconds of each inhale. The rough fibers of the study’s carpet dig into her exposed skin, reminding her just how exposed she truly is.

She doesn’t even remember when the bedroom melted away into the study. She barely remembers making it there from the dining room table before that. Time has been a fickle keeper these last few….days? Hours? Seconds?

She doesn’t know. And that, in and of itself, is a problem.

Her mouth is dry. It has been since that awful tasting liquid was held to her lips, and she was forced to swallow the bitterness down in shuddering gulps. The pressure behind her eyes has eased some since, but her shoulder still screams in agony that refuses to be quelled. Is it bleeding, still?

She shivers, unable to feel a difference between untouched skin, and that which has been carved by Pascal’s fury. Everything hurts, right now. Every old wound rising from the depths of her mind feels brand new as her body screams in pain that it cannot escape. For good reason, apparently.

That thought keeps surfacing as the waves of fever crash over her again and again. Keeps digging claws into her and forcing her to remain alert through the torment. She was here for a reason. This was all happening for a reason.

That reason does little to soothe the nausea, but it keeps her from giving into exhaustion’s pull. What right does she have to sleep? To rest? To reprieve? This was her doing.

This was her penance.

The Study door does not squeak when it opens- she has taken too much care in her duties to allow that. Still, though, she hears the change, and with Herculean effort, she lifts her head from the floor.

Save me. Heal me. Remake me.

Words bounce around her head in fervent spirals, cascading thoughts and pleas and condemnations all splintering into nonsense before dissolving back into the dark, and being given new form. She is lost in this darkness, in this sweltering abyss from which she cannot escape. And she looks to this artificial lamplight in the absence of the sun’s warmth.

There are words, but they are… garbled, at best. She squints to try to get a better view, and her world spins violently- so much so that she whimpers as her head drops back to the floor. Everything hurts.

The garbled sounds continue even as she feels icy fingers trailing up her back, touch gentle, but searing. Maybe these are her ghosts. Maybe that’s why they taunt her so. Maybe they are gifting her back the memory stolen from her by time.

Pascal draws closer to the shivering form on the floor, face set in a frown as she remains unresponsive. She is bare, save for a pair of tacky sweatpants that he keeps for times when things may get messy. The tepid wound festering on her shoulder blade certainly qualifies for the occasion.

She shivers, face burrowed into the carpet as though it’s a pillow. Her skin is soaked with sweat, and her breaths come in ragged puffs. This shouldn’t be happening. He has never had something like this happen before, in all his years. And this is far from the first time he’s done a carving in this manner.

He has a feeling it is more than a simple infection, but either way, he may have to procure a physician to assist in getting her back on her feet. He is not losing his prized paragon. Not like this.

Pascal crouches beside her, then, examining her closer as he brushes a hand through her sweat soaked hair. It needs combing, but he supposes it’s fine given the circumstances. A small noise of worry, followed by another attempt of lifting her head, is the response Rosalind is able to give.

He takes pity on her as he watches her neck begin to falter, and cups her cheek in his hand, supporting her head. Her foggy gaze falls just below his cheekbone, just as it should. Her skin is practically on fire, and his expression twists further into one of worry.

He’ll need to find someone fast

Without wasting time explaining, he scoops his little songbird up easily. The sudden change in elevation startles her, and she cries out, only to be shushed back into miserable silence. She is carried from the study, down the hallway, and into the master bedroom. The sheets feel prickly against her skin as she is laid atop them, but less so than the floor. It is a miracle she recognizes where she is enough to be utterly confused.

It must show on her face as she nestles deeper into the uncomfortable embrace of satin, because Pascal answers her with a hum, and a hand though her hair once more. “Just for the day. Don’t get used to it, little dove.”

He leaves her there, then, without another word, and closes the door behind him. Alone, Rosalind closes her eyes and drifts in the tumultuous sea of existence.

#raigash writing #original characters #original content #my ocs #rosalind #pascal #inky depths of bloodstained pages #intimate whumper #illness whump #fever whump #victim blaming

[thelordofgifs]

For the directors cut - would you be willing to talk about "in the breaking"? Particularly the hair-combing scene. I love it so much <3

(director's cut ask game)

aahhh you have Good Taste! in the breaking is undoubtedly my favourite fic of mine no it's not tfs. why would it be tfs.

Maedhros did not respond, though there was now too much tension in his shoulders for him to even feign sleep. Maglor continued to massage his scalp. Maedhros’ hair was silken-soft and very fine: it tangled easily and painfully, and could take long hours to brush out to smoothness again. As it slipped between his fingers, Maglor had to take care not to let it snarl.

They would not sing of this, after – nobody else would know that Fëanor’s fearsome eldest son had flinched from anyone pulling his hair even accidentally; and they would not believe that Maglor’s hands, which had dealt out so much death, could ever have been gentle. Maedhros was right. It was a terrible thing, in truth, to know yourself a monster.

The whole physical pose in this fic - Maedhros lying with his head in Maglor's lap, halfway to sleep - means a lot to me. They're so. they're so tender with each other ok. Even now, at the end of everything, they're still gentle with each other: an interpretation I tend to favour over the harsher version where they argue a lot and hate each other. There's so much complexity you can still work into a very loving relationship.

Anyway, that description of Maedhros' hair, "silken-soft and very fine: it tangled easily and painfully, and could take long hours to brush out to smoothness again" is very important. I wanted to get across an idea of lingering beauty - this is Maitimo, after all, named for his bodily comeliness. When he was young he had absolutely glorious silky red hair that everyone admired, and he still does. I love the idea that even at the very end of their awful fall from grace, they're still in some ways recognisably the same people they were once. Maglor can still sing very beautifully, and Maedhros still has this gorgeous soft hair, and also they're murderers. Something something juxtaposition something something the idea that your blessings aren't withdrawn just because you don't deserve them any more something something there is mercy for everyone if they only choose to accept it idk these are half-formed thoughts that I wanted to kind of glance off instead of exploring in too much detail.

But of course Maedhros' hair isn't just nice and silky, it's also very fine and prone to tangles. In this I wanted to get across the impression of an almost childlike vulnerability to Maedhros, one very much at odds with the ruthless Kinslayer image of him. Which is what Maglor realises: they've done so much evil that all the softer parts of them will be forgotten, his own gentle hands and Maedhros' trauma (his thing about hair-pulling is very much a product of Angband).

Some minutes passed.

In a voice barely above a whisper, Maedhros said, “I meant it. If – if there was ever any penance to be done, you have done it.”

Maglor looked down at him. There was nothing stopping him from clenching his hands and yanking out Maedhros’ hair by the fistful, but Maedhros had lain his head there anyway.

yeah the vulnerability and so on. The startling violence of Maglor's thought, the fact that he's never actually going to do that. The knowledge that Maedhros trusts him unconditionally - which is what leads him to refuse Maedhros' offer.

“There was,” he said. “You know there was.”

“And what of mine?” Maedhros asked. “You said it yourself: you begged me not to leave you, and I went anyway. I burned all our best and brightest hopes on the Field of Lamentation.” His voice faltered for a moment. This was as close to naming Fingon as he would ever come. “I led you into slaughter—”

“But I chose to follow you,” Maglor said. “I knew what it meant.”

Maedhros did not seem to have an answer to this; instead, after a moment, he said, “I made you send the children away.”

“You were right to do so,” Maglor said. Saying it should not have been as painful as it was.

“Káno,” Maedhros said. He turned his face towards Maglor again. “Dearest.” That was a name from long ago; once, it had meant something, to be the first person in Maedhros’ affections and not merely the only one left. “I know – I know how faithful you have been, long after I last deserved it.” When Maglor opened his mouth again he raised his fingers to his lips, shushing him. “Don’t argue. I only mean that – that if there is any penance you would ask of me, over-late – then ask it.”

The climactic moment! Maedhros acknowledges how unquestioningly loyal Maglor has been to him. He calls him dearest!! If I ever break out the word "dearest" in an M&M scene I am Feeling Things Intensely for the record. I can recite every occurrence of it in tfs by heart.

He could not say what he was offering in so many words; Maglor knew it anyway. Maedhros would listen to him, now, if he said, I will not go, and bloody my hands one last time. If he said, Do not go either, Nelyo, come away with me instead, we can find the children or we can just disappear together, there is so much of Middle-earth yet to be seen. This need not be an ending for us; I do not want there to be nobody left who remembers how easily your hair used to tangle. Or even if he said, Let us hearken to Eönwë, and go home to plead for succour in the Ring of Doom – I do believe there is mercy left in the world, Nelyo, if we only choose to accept it.

Maedhros had never thought he had a choice.

The question this fic is trying to answer is, Why did Maglor agree to go with Maedhros to steal the Silmarils? So here I try to give him some agency, to make the answer more complicated than "Maedhros bullied him into it". Maedhros offers him the choice, and Maglor, who is well aware that they are in a tragedy, refuses it, for Maedhros' sake: because Maedhros can't see a way out, and Maglor knows that Maedhros trusts him, and he can't bear to betray that trust by forcing Maedhros to do something he doesn't want to.

(Maedhros did have a choice, of course. You always have a choice. And Maglor knows it! But he isn't willing to try to convince Maedhros into it.)

Since we've been talking about the hair thing, the motif wraps up here: I do not want there to be nobody left who remembers how easily your hair used to tangle. This is why Maglor chooses to live, after it all. If nobody else is ever going to remember that there was more to Maedhros than the bloody-handed murderer, Maglor will. He is going to make himself the narrator, and he is not going to let everything that Maedhros was be forgotten.

“There is nothing, Nelyo,” he said. “Only let me follow you once again.”

sigh. bby you were so close there.

#asks #actual-bill-potts #ask game #thank you for the ask!! lots of Thoughts #maedhros #maglor

[anchanted-one]

"Is Tywin Lannister Evil?"

I saw this question as a poll on YouTube a fee hours ago. I should've taken a screenshot, or at least noted the number of votes, but I didn't think much of it, and now I can't find it.

But I was a little surprised by the ratio. 75% instead of 95+. It's been eating at me.

So I wanted to talk about it. TW: Song of Ice and Fire stuff below the cut.

So here are some of the evil things Tywin has done, with possible "justifications" that aren't really an excuse when you look at the crime.

The background.

Tywin's dad Tytos was an incurable people-pleaser who never said no to his vassals and peers. This led to a marked drop in prestige of House Lannister. Tywin grew up with everyone mocking the family to their faces, and being unable to do anything about it. It was his childhood trauma. Perhaps the biggest insult was the prostitute his father took as a lover once Tywin's mom died. She acted with the full confidence that she was Lady Lannister, with all the power and prestige that brought her. And Tytos got mocked for it. Savagely, and perhaps deservedly.

So this upbringing shaped Tywin's outlook on life, and made him obsessed with projecting power and punishing all offenses. Here are the best ones.

1. The destruction of the Tarbecks of Tarbeck Hall, and the Reynes of Castamere.

These were among the houses that took loans from his father, but refused to pay. Tywin and his brothers, fresh from the war if Ninepenny Kings, made one demand for the repayment, then ended both Houses so thoroughly that the most iconic song from the series was born: "the Rains of Castamere." But he didn't just punish the guilty ones. No, to quote Anakin, "Not just the men, but the women and children too!"

2. The penance of his father's mistress.

The mistress' name is unknown, but her deeds were recorded. Despite not even being married to the Lord, she didn't hesitate to act as Lady; ordering Knights, dismissing servants, sitting on his seat and handling affairs of Casterly Rock, wearing Lady Jeyne's jewelry (Tywin's mom). Naturally, when Tytos died and Tywin took the throne, her doom was sealed. She was paraded naked through the streets for a fortnight before being exiled.

She is the reason why Tywin keeps telling Tyrion to be discreet with his prostitutes, and not give them any power over him... though this is often interpreted as a warning to not have them at all. In A Dance with Dragons, his brother Kevan reflects that Tywin might never have guessed his daughter would suffer the same fate.

3. The Sacking of King's Landing.

The Lannisters stayed out of the war until the very end. Until Rhaegar was killed, and the Rebels were headed for the capital. Tywin appeared at the gates, saying he was going to help the king. Instead, his forces sacked it so badly, they're still hated by the small folk. His henchmen, led by the infamous Mountain, killed Rhaegar's wife Elia Martell of Dorne and their daughter, and probably their son too (conspiracy at work here), and Tywin claims he "forgot" about Elia, though many find this unlikely.

In his "defense" the king was mad as a hatter infected with the Joker toxin. He did a lot of highly cruel and stupid things that lost him all of his allies. Many Lords were clearly just waiting for him to die so his nice son Rhaegar could take the throne, but that ship was bashed in with a hammer. But was that a reason to sack the capital? And kill thousands? Nope.

3. The Red Wedding.

Unable to defeat Robb Stark in the field, Tywin Lannister approved of his murder at a wedding. His justification was, "Explain to me, how it's more noble to kill 1000 men on a battlefield, than 10 at a wedding." And while I see his point, it's the principle of escalation. He invited anarchy by behaving in a sleazy manner. All of his allies came under siege almost right away. There's a saying here in India, "Those who protect dharma (which can mean righteousness, duty, or the law) are protected by it." And while it's not always true that a righteous man is protected by the law, the unrighteous are definitely looked down upon. People are always waiting to take them down. And it happens. The moment Tywin dies, Jaime tells Cersei that the people aren't waiting outside to mourn their father, but make sure he's really gone. By contrast, Robb Stark is very much respected. People are still willing to die in his memory.

4. The treatment of Tyrion.

While not exactly a crime, Tywin has always treated his youngest son badly. He half-believes that Tyrion isn't his son, but is unable to prove it. Even if his suspicion is false, a lot of his hatred for his son actually stems from two facts: Tyrion is a dwarf, and Joanna Lannister (Tywin's wife, whom he did love) died giving birth to him. We see this trend a lot, where a family hates the child who "took their mother's life," and this is also the major reason Cersei cites for hating him, but it's really sad for poor Tyrion, who grew up feeling their resentment at every turn in his life.

5. The treatment of Tysha

Tysha was a girl whom Jaime and Tyrion saved on the road, about Tyrion's age. Tyrion quickly fell in love with her and married her in secret. But his dad found out the second the Septon sobered up. He instantly remembered his dad's second mistress.... maybe. His punishment of her was severe. He forced Jaime to lie that he'd hired her to make Tyrion happy, then ordered everyone in his barracks to gang-rape her, before forcing Tyrion to do so himself. He paid her a silver coin for each of his guards, and a gold one for Tyrion, then banished her. This incident was the main reason for Tyrion really flying off the rails and killing Tywin, and swearing the harshest of revenge on his family. They--Tysha and Tyrion--were no older than Sansa was in A Storm of Swords, and very innocent to boot, which makes this the worst crime in my eyes.

So why are 25% voting he wasn't evil? Probably because of his portrayal onscreen, which is a lot more sympathetic to most of the characters (except Stannis). And also, perhaps, because of the nuance in his character, his backstory. They might find it understandable. The ends justify the means. But that's really not so to me.

#a song of ice and fire #a clash of kings #a storm of swords #a dance with dragons #game of thrones #tywin lannister

[rudie-wr1tes]

Endless Passion- A Sandman Fan Fiction

VII. Somnolence

Synopsis: Sabine enters a period of mourning following her first meeting with Lord Morpheus. In his absence, her penance is expressed in self-destructive ways, until the Endless returns.

In Morpheus’s absence, Sabine wept. All doors were shut. The window remained obscured to the light and prosperity of the Dreaming. Patrons of the Dreaming quickly familiarized the sounds of her grief, many cultures fearing it to be an omen of impending death. Lucienne and Matthew quickly reassured frightened dreamers that the weeping was no cause for alarm. Lord Morpheus had not returned for almost six days, calculating longer in the Waking World. For these six days, she refused to eat. She refused to leave her room, even as Lord Morpheus attempted to coax her. 

Sabine layed on her side, fighting between stages of restlessness and awake. Her arms were sore from pinch mark pain, attempting to wake herself from this never ending nightmare. But it was too late to wake up now. 

She would remain here for god knows how long, beneath Morpheus and his glowing eyes. They burned into her vision, equally enchanting and frightening. She could not let his piercing gaze escape her. She resented herself for that, staring into nothing. 

Meanwhile- Lucienne, Matthew, and Mervyn stood in a half circle outside of the closed chamber door, observing yet another plate of untouched food.

“.... What do you think?” Matthew asked Lucienne. 

“I tried.” Lucienne’s response was short, “I try as I always do. To not be invasive.” 

“How long can humans survive without food and water?” Mervyn asked. 

“Three days without water.” Lucienne answered, “But she’s had some. But nothing to eat.” 

“Well, that’s better than nothing.” Mervyn said. 

“No, it isn’t.” Lucienne argued, “Not when she’s injured. It will only hinder her healing, and her quality of life.” 

“I think her quality of life isn’t something we should talk about while she’s in ear shot, guys.” Matthew observed, motioning his beak to the door. 

Lucienne sighed in disappointment as she picked up the cold, uneaten stew and biscuits. 

“She’s got to eat something.” She muttered, as they headed down the hall, “But Lord Morpheus will not be thrilled knowing this, either.” 

“She hasn’t eaten?” Morpheus’s voice reverberated  behind them. 

All but Lucienne flinched in the presence of their creator. Mervyn scratched his neck, not making eye contact with him.

“We didn’t think you’d be back so soon.” Mervyn admitted sheepishly, “Erm… Well, it appears that this lady friend of yours isn’t eating.” 

“He’s not my friend.” Sabine interjected from inside her chambers.

Matthew exchanged a glance with Lucienne, whose eyes were wide behind her glasses. 

“She’s hangry.” Matthew whispered to Morpheus, “It’s…. You know. A mix of hungry and angry, but she’s still too…. Stubborn to eat.” 

Morpheus let out a small chuckle, his brow raising upward at her attitude, “Bold to assume you’d bite the hand that feeds you.” 

“Why would I?” Sabine remarked, “When I’m not remotely hungry.” 

Mervyn awkwardly inched away at Lucienne’s silent signal. 

Matthew hopped to the doorframe’s edge and tapped it with his beak, “He’s right here, Sabine-” 

“Good.” Sabine thwarted, “So he can know just how much I resent him.”

Morpheus quietly pressed his head to the side of the door, while placing a hand on the doorknob. It was stiff to the touch, as if she placed an object under it. He shook his head slowly, looking at Lucienne. 

Lucienne spoke multitudes without uttering a word, as she crossed her arms and leaned against the other doorframe. Her hand motioned to the anger simmering from the guest chamber. She was perplexed still, at the growing annoyance in her creator’s smile. 

“I take it you are angry with me.” Morpheus observed, keeping his tone neutral. 

“Oh, really??” Sabine responded in an irritated tone, “It doesn’t take the genius of a anthropomorphic representation of a natural force to figure that out.” 

Morpheus scowled, looking at Lucienne again. 

“Has she been like this with you?” Morpheus asked softly. 

“Nothing but silence for me.” Lucienne answered flatly, “And given what kind of deal you both agreed to, I think she has every right.” 

“She’ll starve herself in there.” Morpheus murmured, looking down at the plate of cold food in her hand, “Regardless of how long her sentence is here, she cannot survive.” 

“I don’t have time for this.” Lucienne admitted, “I think this is only a matter that should be settled with you both. She’s clearly irrational from a lack of food.” 

“I heard that!” Sabine snapped. 

“That was the goal.” Lucienne said with a forced smile, “Maybe you should take my advice.” 

Morpheus inhaled deeply, “I will speak to her. You may return to your duties at the library.” 

“Thank you.” Lucienne turned to leave, “And my Lord…” Lucienne glanced at the door again, lowering her voice, “Please. Be gentle with her. She isn’t in the slightest with herself.” 

Morpheus waited until Lucienne left, before sitting down on the ground before her doorway. His fingertips grazed the surface, feeling it ebb and weave into waves of vapor before retracting his hand back. He had every power capable to walk through the door. Barriers meant nothing in this realm, but she didn’t know that. And he wasn’t intending on her finding out. With a wave of his hand, the stew disappeared into a dark wave of smoke. 

Sabine rose from the bed, taking tentative steps to the door. Her eyes and face were puffy from crying. Her throat curdled into a rasp as she spoke again. 

“What do you want?” Sabine asked aloud, annoyance growing in her voice. 

Morpheus crossed his lanky legs as he sat before the door, leaning into the frame, “I have come to relieve you of your penance, Sabine.” 

“That’s rich.” Sabine laughed bitterly, “Trying to be sweet on me now after I’m stuck here? Knowing I’m better off dead?” 

“Death has not changed her mind on taking you. She has made that clearest, of all things.” Morpheus spoke truthfully, eyeing the shadows of her feet beneath the doorframe, “And nor should you starve yourself as punishment for being away from your little sister, either.” 

A moment of silence hung in the air from the other end of Sabine’s door. Morpheus waited patiently. 

“I’m angry.” Sabine said, “I’m angry at everything. I’m angry at myself, at you, and I shouldn’t be.” 

“That is understandable.” Morpheus said in a low voice, tracing his finger across the etched doorframe, “And I will not argue with you on that. However…. It troubles everyone that you aren’t caring for yourself.” 

“I won’t eat.” Sabine protested, “I won’t sleep. I won’t do anything with anyone.” 

Morpheus failed to conceal the growing smile on his face, “You do not owe me theatrics, Sabine. Your sister is free from her coma.” 

He could feel the guilt come over her at his news. There was a low thud on the doorway, as her body slid back against it, her back facing to him. 

“Of course.” Sabine muttered, “Of course I’m angry and you say that. I’m sure you regret giving me that chance, huh?” 

“No.” Morpheus replied, tucking the small strip of blue silk from her robe that fell beneatht he doorway back in, “Not in the slightest. My concern now is making sure you are rested and recovering.” 

He waited for another response. 

“Is my cat okay?” She asked, “His name is Kimo. I’m sure you saw him.” 

Morpheus smiled at the growing softness in her voice, “Kimo is in excellent health and Kalea is caring for him.” 

Sabine’s head lightly began to tap ahgainst the doorframe. She was punishing herself yet again. 

“Thank you.” She said, “And… This is going to sound so stupid, bit I’ve pitched a fit already…” 

“Go on.” Morpheus reassured her. 

“... There isn’t anymore of those creeps like the Corinthian, right?” Sabine asked, “I shouldn’t worry about anything else trying to hurt Kalea. I know he’s your creation and all, but he put a knife to my throat.” 

“You have my word.” Morpheus said closer to the door, “You will always have my word.” 

Sabine sniffled from inside. 

“Can you just check on her again soon?” Sabine asked, “I don’t know what kind of errands you do… But I just need to know they’re okay. Please. I swore on no contact. But please, just to… Humor me, I guess. In another day or so.” 

“It will be done.” Morpheus accepted her request, “In this realm, I will leave every now and then to attend to business in the Waking World and with my siblings. If you would like to voice more of your concerns, you can always speak to me. If not me, Matthew.” 

Sabine held her knees tighter to her chest at his words, pressing her chin into them. 

“You don’t have to close the doors on any of us.” Morpheus said, “Your heart is aching. But please, now is no time to isolate.” 

“Is that all?” Sabine asked in a worn out voice. 

Morpheus rose to his feet, pausing longer, “I understand your protest still remains strong…. But I noticed some particular memories of yours in your apartment, of all the recipes your family gave to you…” 

“Yes, and?” 

“I would like to ask.” Morpheus pried, “Which, of all of them was your favorite?” 

On the other side of the door, Sabine bounced her leg in the a silk nightgown similar from days prior, as she shook her head. 

“Why do you want to know?” Sabine asked. 

“I like to know what brings joy to all dreamers here.” Morpheus was lying. It was so clear he was. But she took the bait anyways. 

“Kalua pork.” She uttered, “We cook it in the ground with banana leaves on it. With a side of lomi salmon, my aunt made the best. Poi, it’s a… I don’t know if you know what it is. I’m sure you do. It’s a starch. And a pot of white rice. For dessert we always had some sort of cake, but my favorite was mango mochi… That was always our Sunday meal.” 

“That sounds wonderful.” Morpheus marveled, “It must be a very special meal for you.” 

Sabine’s stomach betrayed her with a violent growl. 

“Stop tricking me into being hungry.” Sabine quipped. 

“I do not know what you mean by that.” Morpheus spoke innocentrly, “If you are to spend eternity here with me, I may as well know what brings you peace too.” 

The sound of his footsteps carried away from her doorway. Sabine waited until then to walk back to the unmade bed. Before she could fall face first into the covers, there was another knock at the door. 

“I swear to god.” Sabine muttered, “Lord Morpheus, I don’t wish to see you.” 

Silence. 

“Did you hear me or no?” She quipped, “I said I’m not in the mood.” 

She could picture it then- standing in her doorway with his bad, bad eyes. His stern finger waving in her face, darkening his gaze. Sabine grabbed one of her slippers firmly in hand, feeling it burn in her palm. If he was there, she was seconds away from walloping an immortal figure upside the head with it. She stormed to the doorway with a huff, checking for any feet imprints under the doorway, only to find a pair of wheels. She quickly opened the door to a large concealed tray of food. The trolly was unmanned, as it pushed its way into her room. Sabine stumbled back until it parked before her with a squeaky wheel. Suddenly the slipper had gone missing from her hand. 

“If it’s in here, I’m throwing his skinny butt out this window.” She muttered, opening the silver cover. Steam from the exact meal she described welcomed her with fragrances of home to the point of tears. Everything was freshly made, within an instant. She checked over her shoulder and threw the door shut, so at least the sound of her carnal devouring could be concealed to some degree. Between bites, her resentment towards Morpheus shrank…. Only slightly, but much more than she was willing to admit as the trolley pulled away.

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

Something Something.... Girl dinner. Something like that. LOL!

#dream of the endless #fan fiction #writeblr #my fanfiction #the sandman netflix #fic writing #lord morpheus #the sandman

[buttercuparry]

House Stark: day 5

AFFC: Arya I

The priest studied the coin, though he made no move to touch it. The waif with the big eyes was looking at it too. Finally, the cowled man said, "Tell me your name, child."

"Salty. I come from Saltpans, by the Trident."

Though she could not see his face, somehow she could feel him smiling. "No," he said. "Tell me your name."

"Squab," she answered this time.

"Your true name, child."

"My mother named me Nan, but they call me Weasel - "

"Your name."

She swallowed. "Arry. I'm Arry."

"Closer. And now the truth?"

Fear cuts deeper than swords, she told herself. "Arya." She whispered the word the first time. The second time she threw it at him. "I am Arya, of House Stark."

"You are," he said, "but the House of Black and White is no place for Arya, of House Stark."

I can't express just how much I am in love with thus interaction! The fact that the Kindly Old Man kept digging and digging, till Arya finally admits that yes! Yes she is a daughter of Winterfell- she is Arya Stark is just chef's kiss. Especially after ASoS, where she believed that she has lost all of her kin- save for Jon Snow. That she now has no identity after losing her family. That her name doesn't matter.

And this pattern, the repeated validation of her being from House Stark continues throughout AFFC, even when Arya herself grows morose:

AFFC: Arya II

Only the kindly man knew the Common Tongue. "Who are you?" he would ask her every day.

"No one," she would answer, she who had been Arya of House Stark, Arya Underfoot, Arya Horseface

But there is no "had been". For Arya, her connection to House Stark can never be in some past. It is true that she is in peril- she is in peril of losing her identity forever. This has been hinted at previously in AGoT when Jon said:

The longer you hide, the sterner the penance. You'll be sewing all through winter. When the spring thaw comes, they will find your body with a needle still locked tight between your frozen fingers.

Ever since she had run out into the streets of KL, Arya have been hiding. Taking aliases had been a necessity for surviving the war and finally now that she is in the HoBaW, it has become a requirement for her, should she wish to stay.

But as the Kindly Man so aptly puts it:

You play at being a servant, but in your heart you are a lord's daughter. You have taken other names, but you wore them as lightly as you might wear a gown. Under them was always Arya

Indeed what Arya is doing here is play acting because she believes that she has nowhere to go. And the only reason she came to the HoBaW was because the Titan's Daughter refused Arya, her passage to the Wall. But what ultimately shines through is her tether to the north. The tether which is symbolized through Needle

It is only natural that we would get this passage (this is after she forced herself to toss in the water every single of 'Arya's' trinkets)

She stood on the end of the dock, pale and goosefleshed and shivering in the fog. In her hand, Needle seemed to whisper to her. Stick them with the pointy end, it said, and, don't tell Sansa! Mikken's mark was on the blade. It's just a sword. If she needed a sword, there were a hundred under the temple. Needle was too small to be a proper sword, it was hardly more than a toy. She'd been a stupid little girl when Jon had it made for her. "It's just a sword," she said, aloud this time . . .

. . . but it wasn't.

Needle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. Needle was Winterfell's grey walls, and the laughter of its people. Needle was the summer snows, Old Nan's stories, the heart tree with its red leaves and scary face, the warm earthy smell of the glass gardens, the sound of the north wind rattling the shutters of her room. Needle was Jon Snow's smile. 

The girl who claims that she can "give up anything she wants", tucks away that which is most precious to her and this covert resistance at giving up her identity is celebrated in ADwD when the whole north unites under her name. When the wildlings, mountain clans and the "kneeler lords" alike are bent on rescuing Ned Stark's precious little girl.

They have united for none other than Arya of House Stark

#arya stark #aryastarkmonth2022 #I am extremely late and missed day 6! But I just had to write this for day 5

[commander-krios]

Snippet ask game time: 🌳 and 🍇

🌳 share a snippet featuring nature of any kind

Some Leo/Dash content that I've been thinking about for a while. Might finish it soon.

“Is there something you’re afraid of?” Leo rubbed the back of his neck, glancing away to look out the window at the beautiful mountains of Alderaan. He was quiet for a moment, trying to gather his thoughts, his feelings, into a coherent explanation. “I’m worried that I’m going to screw this up.” Dash sighed, trying not to smile at how even now, when they were a couple and had nothing to hide, Leo was still so worried about everything. Some things never changed. “Leo, if you haven’t messed this up yet, you’re not going to.” Leo laughed, brushing a hand through his hair, meeting his gaze with a sheepish grin. “I guess I deserve that.” Dash left the comfort of the couch to approach his boyfriend, wrapping his arms around his waist and pulling him close. Leo met his gaze, a smirk curling his lips. It was always a joy to behold when Leo was truly happy, each time Dash got to see him smile made all of the shit they went through worth it. And Dash would do anything to make sure Leo smiled every single day. “Hello.” “Hi.” Dash brushed his lips against Leo’s briefly, enjoying how he nearly melted at the touch. “I have an idea.” “I’m all ears.” “We should go out. Have some dinner. There is probably a nice restaurant out there that we can afford on my salary.” Leo’s eyes widened, smile fading slightly. “Dash-” Refusing to hear his protests this time, Dash continued as if he hadn’t spoken at all. “Somewhere with a view of the mountains. All I need is some good alcohol, food… and you.”  Dash squeezed Leo’s sides gently, enjoying how each touch relaxed him more and more. “What do you say?” Leo grinned stupidly, leaning closer to press his forehead against Dash’s. “I’m not going to argue with a man with brown eyes. Especially a man with your lips.” Dash chuckled, gliding those lips over Leo’s cheek. “Remember you said that the next time your lips start flapping.” A breathless laugh escaped him, and he turned his face to capture Dash’s mouth with his own.

🍇 share a snippet with food(or the palpable lack of food)

Astrea and Damon are now kitchen duty buddies and Damon has some feelings on the matter. It doesn't have food in it yet, I'm still writing the fic, but soon.

“Is this a fucking joke?” Calderon slanted his eyes in Damon’s direction, not even bothering to make nice at this point. “Care to elaborate?” “Kitchen duty? With her?” As if he wanted kitchen duty assigned to him to begin with. Damon usually had no issue cooking for the crew, he was fucking good at it, but to be forced into it… with a princess who didn’t even know how to hold a knife. Calderon was going to take a short trip out of the airlock if he kept subjecting him to this kind of shit.  “We all have sins to pay penance for.” Calderon muttered, glancing away and Damon swore there was a twitch of a grin on his lips.  “If this is because of me suggesting that we hand her to Zovack-” Calderon stood so fast that Damon almost took a step back. He’d seen the Captain pissed before, most days it was at him, but there was something dangerous about the way he looked at Damon now. As if he’d gladly shoot him in the head for one more wrong move. Better to get it over with then. “You honestly don’t think I was serious, do you?” Calderon’s jaw tensed. “Joke or not, Astrea thinks you meant it. Maybe you should try to act civil to her for five seconds.” “I’m not going to be nice just because she’s a fucking princess, Cal. You should know better than that.” Damon crossed his arms over his chest, fingers itching to close around the handle of one of his knives, for insurance.

#my writing #darth salem emperor of earth #snippet ask game #thanks for the ask #i put the second under a read more

[paradisecas]

i’ll love you or die trying

@midamoulweek day 4: So he says, “Well, what you’re doing is, there’s something bad happened. And you’re going back thinking that you can make it right. Something went wrong, and you keep going back to see if you can fix it, or somehow make it right.”

And I sat there, and I said, “That is what I’m doing.”

And he said, “Well, you can’t.”

shared body midamoul inspired by this post from @ckneal

The world is empty when Michael stands in Adam’s old neighborhood.

It’s eerily quiet; no children in the street, no cars on the road. Adam’s house has been boarded up; nobody sold it, nobody bought it. Inside is a relic of Adam’s past that he was too afraid to revisit while he had the chance. Michael wonders if the crime scene tape is still up, if Adam knew it’s not the house he left behind or the one they lived in together for so long. 

Storm clouds are brewing in the sky behind him and he can feel static electricity coursing through the veins that are not his. They’re his fault, just like everything else is.

This rapture that could have been prevented had he stepped up instead of running away. Adam’s millennia of suffering that could have been avoided if he hadn’t been so impatient. The Milligans’ brutal deaths that he merely sat by and watched happen. 

“I’ve never seen this place so dead,” a voice murmurs in the back of his mind. 

This creature that would have stayed dead had Michael not been so negligent in the days leading up to the apocalypse. 

“I mean, I know it’s dead because everyone’s gone, but it’s still weird,” the voice continues. 

Michael simmers with an exhausted rage. 

How is it that he was unable to save Adam, arguably the most important, wonderful, kind-hearted, and undeserving person in all of creation, but this creature in their mind stayed behind?

He’d been dormant through their time in the cage, thank—not Father, not anymore, thank someone else—but emerged into consciousness shortly after their release. Part of Michael is glad he’s not alone now; an eternity with his siblings in his mind and a thousand years with Adam in his grace, and he’s not used to hearing only his own thoughts. A bigger, much more heartbroken part of him is furious that the creature dares speak to him, here of all places. 

“I mean, I haven't seen this house in—do I say a thousand years or ten? I died a year before Adam came back so, eleven years for me?”

“You haven't seen this house since you slipped through the vents to steal, kill, and eat Adam,” Michael retorts. 

The thing pushes himself into an apparition—Michael was not happy with Adam for teaching it how to do that—and he turns away. He can’t bear to look at someone wearing Adam’s face who isn’t him. It’s not right, especially not now. 

“You’re throwing quite the temper tantrum, aren’t you?” it asks, and when Michael glances out of the corner of his eye he can see it staring at the clouds that have blown in and are now lingering above their heads, dark and heavy and flashing with lightning. 

“You would react differently?” Michael spits. “You’re okay with everything that has happened?”

“Of course not,” the creature says, like it should’ve been obvious. “I liked Adam a lot more than I like you.”

When the first raindrop hits, Michael lets it drip down his face—not his face—and the rest of them soak his jacket. 

It feels like penance. Michael deserves to serve penance. 

He knew that Adam would die, not just in the rapture, but here in this house too. The ghoul John Winchester killed had children who would grow up itching to avenge their father’s death, as it was written in Father’s story. They would kill the woman John slept with and the child that created and all it would do was serve to advance the stories of Sam and Dean who were, even back then, the most important humans in heaven’s—his—eyes. 

Michael knew what Adam’s fate would be long before it happened, and was even glad for it when Dean’s insistent refusal to agree to his part in the apocalypse grew too grating. It meant he had a backup vessel practically gift-wrapped and waiting for him to possess. 

If he had known then what he knows now, he’d change everything. He’d rip the story to shreds and create his own, one where Adam doesn’t have to suffer. One where Adam gets to live and be happy.

The angriest parts of him yearn to try even now, to fly into the past and stop this creature from ever laying a hand on his Adam. To not let his past self make the call for resurrection. To more carefully oversee said resurrection and make sure Adam’s soul was put into the right body. To stop Sam Winchester from dragging them all into the cage. 

There’s a lot he wants to change, and no time to do it. No chance to even try without Father noticing his power and putting a stop to his—to him. 

“Do you ever feel bad for what you did to him?” the creature asks softly. “I kinda do. Or I know I should.”

If it was possible, Michael would laugh. As it stands, no part of him is able to conjure up even an ironic semblance of humor.

“If I had known John was already dead…” it trails off. “I still would’ve killed him. I don’t think he deserved it, though.”

“You don’t think?” Michael doesn’t have the energy for the righteous fury he wants to exude. “He didn’t deserve any of it.”

“Since when do we get what we deserve?” the creature echoes, and something stabs through the core of Michael’s being. 

It hurts. It aches. He aches. He’s soaked to the bone. 

“Come on,” the creature says. “Shouldn’t we be in hiding? Adam would be pissed if you let your old man kill us just ‘cause you hung around his house too long.”

“What would you know about Adam’s wishes?” 

“Hey now, I’m the one with all his memories. You might live in his mind, but I know all about your little agreement, so you don’t know everything. Me? I do.” It shrugs. 

“You only have those memories because you stole his body.” 

“I stole his body and then you stole my body,” the creature points out. “I can’t help that I look like him, you know.”

So many things Michael’s done wrong. So many mistakes.

The creature sighs. “My point is, I have his memories, and they’re telling me that he loves you, dude. You know those Winchester idiots are probably cooking something up to fix this right about now, so it’s not like he’s gone forever.”

What the creature does not know is that Michael cannot see a future for himself. Any attempt at repairing the world is futile; Father is far more powerful than two humans. Than Michael, even. 

There is no timeline in which he survives this fight; Father will be furious and there will be nothing he can do. Michael is going to lead both of them into the end—the end of more than humanity. The end of the archangels. The end of heaven. It’s all inevitable. 

Wind whips through the trees around them as the storm picks up. The creature flinches. “Maybe you should calm down a little?” it suggests. “Like, this keeps up and your dad won’t be the one to kill us.”

Maybe that would be more poetic. Better to die at his own hands than those of the one who created him. Better to drown in his sorrow than face the truth of just how far he has fallen.

“Seriously. We can’t stay here forever.”

Why not?

“Maybe you don’t have any self preservation anymore, but this isn’t how I wanna go. Five seconds and I’m taking control again.”

Michael almost lets it, but he turns away from the house and flies them back to St. Michael’s, where they can do nothing but hide and wallow and wait.

—

“Why are we here again?” the ghoul asks the next day. “You’re being kinda pathetic.”

“You’re not as charming as you think you are,” Michael says. 

“Adam thought I was.”

He’s right. Adam’s world weary attitude meant that when the ghoul emerged from wherever he’d been hiding, the fact that he ate Adam alive didn’t mean so much to him anymore. The ghoul is admittedly—unfortunately—witty, which was helpful in the immediate aftermath of freedom that came with a sudden recalibration of belief, and he's more adaptable than Michael thinks he will ever manage to be. It’s no wonder Adam forged a bond with him, but that doesn’t mean Michael can do the same. 

There’s a lot he can’t do. 

The sky is darker than yesterday; not because it’s night, but because Michael cannot control how thick the clouds that follow him are becoming. Once, he could have willed them away with nothing but a thought, but there’s nothing to be done now. The clouds are inevitable, as so many things are. 

“Can we at least go inside?” the ghoul complains. “I’m tired of being wet.”

When Michael doesn’t answer, he seizes control of their legs and begins the trek up the broken concrete of the driveway. Michael couldn’t take back control even if he wanted to.

Power is hard to come by, these days. 

When they reach the door, the ghoul has to take control of the hands too; Michael just stands there, staring at peeling paint on old wood. Hinges creak after a decade unused, barely audible over the thundering of the rain. Inside, a thick layer of dust coats every surface. 

In the cage, Adam recreated this house for them to live in; for him, it was a comfort. For Michael, it was home in the interim between that role being taken by heaven or Adam himself. He’s never seen the real thing, and looking at how it’s fallen apart over the years makes him wish he never had. 

Pictures line the walls and bookshelves in a way Adam could never fully recreate. The moment Michael’s eyes land on a framed photo of Adam and Kate, young and laughing, he can’t take it anymore. 

The ghoul doesn’t even have time to startle before Michael flies away.

“What was that for?” he asks once they’re once again safely ensconced in stained glass and overturned books. A crack of lightning illuminates a page in pink and blue. 

These books—warped versions of the stories he spread—paint Lucifer as a devil with a silver tongue, able to slip into the minds of man and convince them to do the darkest of deeds in the name of evil. Since Castiel called them to that bunker, Michael has been learning that Lucifer was not the only one to take on that role. 

All the time he spent with Adam spoiled him. It feels impossible to internalize things the way he used to; thoughts weigh on his grace in a mirror of the storm cloud above. 

“I was foolish to care for Him,” Michael says into the echoing silence. 

“For Adam?”

“No—no.” Caring for Adam is one of the few things Michael has gotten right. “My Father.”

“Oh yeah, fuck that guy,” the ghoul says. 

“He never cared for me.”

“Yeah, well, he never cared for me either.” The ghoul shrugs. “That’s just how the cookie crumbles, I guess.”

Michael frowns. “He didn’t care about you because you’re—”

“A monster?” the ghoul finishes wryly. “Yeah, according to who, exactly?”

According to Father. According to Michael. 

According to hunters, Michael’s a monster too. With the knowledge of how he convinced generations of humans to believe in someone who never paid them any mind, Michael thinks they’re not that far off. 

And so the story goes. 

—

The third time Michael takes them to the house he—gives in. Everything he ever held dear is gone, everything in the world is gone, and he thinks he’s allowed a moment of weakness. 

Ghoul keeps his regular vigil to Michael’s left, a perfect recreation of all Michael wants. The first time he lost everything, he had Adam. This time—he’ll take what he can get. He can pretend if he has to.

Without leaving himself any time to second guess it, Michael lunges forward and pulls Ghoul into a tight hug, wrapping his wings around both of them to shield from the rain for good measure. Ghoul makes a startled oof as he collides with Michael’s chest, but doesn’t hesitate to return the embrace. 

This is Adam’s body he’s holding, he tells himself. He can protect Adam this time. Maybe he can toss his soul into heaven before it’s too late. Maybe he can reach out and actually try shielding him from the deadly wave rippling across the world. This is Adam’s hair tickling his nose and these are Adam’s fingers gripping the back of his jacket. 

Michael won’t—can’t—let go. Not this time. 

Ghoul tightens the hug, doesn’t even make a snarky remark about Michael being a wuss. Maybe he’s pretending that Michael is Adam too. 

Thunder rolls as lightning cracks, striking the tallest tree in Adam’s yard, and Ghoul jumps away. 

“I guess that didn’t help much,” he says awkwardly, scratching at the back of his neck. 

“No,” Michael agrees, suddenly thankful for the rain. 

Before now, he hadn’t been sure whether or not archangels could cry.

The tree catches fire. It only burns for a moment; the rain is coming down too hard to let the flames really take hold. 

“It’s a good thing nobody’s around to notice the freak weather,” Ghoul says. “We should get back.”

Just as the house remains the same, so does the past. There’s nothing Michael can do to change what has already happened, no way to save what he’s already lost. After one last look at what once was Adam’s home but is now something he can never return to, Michael flies them to the church for the last time.

The chapter ends, but the storm follows in his wake. 

—

When the Winchesters come calling, Michael has no choice but to follow. They ask about Adam, and grief clogs his throat so heavily that it has to be Ghoul who says, “Gone, I’m sorry to say.”

In the bunker when Lucifer—Lucifer, chosen by Father—asks, “Who’s in there with you?” Michael shrouds Ghoul in as much grace as he should have done for Adam. This is all he can do to fight the narrative; he cannot change the past but he can try to preserve the present and prevent the future. 

As the plan unspools and the storm above Michael finally breaks, he thinks of nothing but the half glimpse of a younger Adam coated in a decade’s worth of dust. 

And when Father finally raises his hand and begins taking Michael apart, piece by piece until he’s nothing but shards of grace scattered in the wind, he’s almost thankful for the respite. 

The dead are unable to grieve. 

(When he lands in the empty, awake and alone and unable to do anything but hide away in a memory of the house where nothing good ever happened, he learns that that is not quite true. For the dead, grief becomes eternity.)

—

Some time later, Ghoul finds himself standing in front of that old, boarded up house in Windom again. The sun shines so bright and so hot he almost misses the clouds. Children run through the streets. Cars cruise along dry roads. 

This time, he only has Adam at his side.  

#midamoulweek #midamoul #cw suicidal thoughts #:/ it’s michael when adams dead. so. #also oops um #cw character death #aaanyway #i had some delusions of grandeur abt this bc theres an image in my head. alas. i have negative ten billion artistic ability. #sad. #mine #my writing #lord these keep being angstier than i intended #(title cross ur mind by niall ooh we’re branching out)

[tracybirds]

Another ficlet for the Thunderbirds One Prompt challenge :D

Lady Penelope at Gordon’s bedside because he went and got himself shot... slightly angsty pen and ink, I should probably wait until tomorrow to reread before posting bc it’s inching ever closer to midnight but yolo I guess :P

---

Penelope’s eyes burned with the effort to keep them open, fighting against every instinct to creep away and curl up in a corner in restless sleep. Or, even worse, she could sleep fitfully, undisturbed by the notion that Gordon might not return to them after all.

She stroked the back of his hand with her thumb, a gentle reassurance that she was here, that she had never left. Perhaps that had been selfish, she reflected. She certainly hadn’t any kind of good reason to insist on staying, no claim of familial bond, no precise promise that tied them together. They’d wasted too much time dancing around each other, and now she sat and waited as she’d always sworn she’d never do for anyone ever again, ready to throw all caution to the wind.

If only Gordon would wake up.

If only he weren’t so ridiculously big-hearted, if only he weren’t so noble and brave, if only he possessed even a single ounce of the self-preservation that had been drummed into her since childhood.

If only he had thought about himself for a second, and not her.

But then, she might not love him at all.

A creaking footstep in the doorway drew her attention, but Penelope refused to take her eyes off Gordon’s, as though afraid that even blinking would cause him to slip through her fingers.

“Parker.”

“M’Lady,” he acknowledged.

She knew why he was here, which is why she ignored him.

“M’m, you need rest as much as he.”

“I’m fine.”

“Begging y’r pardon, but you’re not.”

“Parker, I don’t expect any arguments.”

“Neither should you, m’Lady,” said Parker, stepping up and resting a solid hand on her shoulder. “But you’d be foolish to expect no such persuasion.”

“I can’t leave him.”

“You can. You choose not to.”

The reminder was a challenge, and her eyes lifted at last to meet it.

“I do so choose. And Parker, you would do well to remember the choice has always been mine.”

“Yes, m’Lady.”

He’d never agreed, but Penelope knew he would stand behind her as he did now. It wasn’t for him to approve, she reminded herself, and she gripped Gordon’s hand tighter.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” she said, watching the slow rise and fall of Gordon’s chest.

“I do,” said Parker, his voice graver than she’d ever known it. “Master Gordon there, he has scores of people to worry over him. If you hadn’t stayed, someone else would have.”

“Your point?”

“You don’t pay me to worry over you, I know that well, m’m.”

“Then why?”

“Because somebody has to.”

Penelope pressed her lips together, biting back any betrayal of emotion.

Something must have flickered in her eyes because Parker nodded firmly and stepped away.

“M’Lady,” he said softly. “He won’t thank you for this penance. When did you last eat? Or sleep?”

“It’s not for him,” she answered, deliberately ignoring the question.

“He won’t see it that way. And he would never forgive himself for being the cause of any pain in your life.”

“He should have thought about that before he dived in front of a man wielding a gun,” snapped Penelope. “He should have thought about how I would feel with his blood on my hands.”

She hurriedly swiped at her eyes and allowed his hand to fall heavy from her grip.

“You needn’t stay, Parker,” she said, looking up at him with shining eyes. “You’ve said only what is required of you.”

He didn’t move.

“M’Lady–”

“You’re dismissed.”

He fell silent at once.

Penelope stood quickly, intending to see him to the door, and stumbled with a small gasp. Her head spun, Parker’s distinct silhouette blurring as she reached for a steadying handhold.

“I’ve got you, m’Lady,” said Parker, and he did.

She breathed heavily, the dizzying exertion of merely standing catching up with her.

“I won’t leave him,” she said, lamely.

“I expected nothing less,” he said gently. “And I won’t leave you.”

He drew her to the bed beside Gordon’s and coaxed her under the covers.

“Sleep first,” he said.

“It isn’t fair,” she said, petulant to the end, but Parker knew she wasn’t speaking about the way he tucked her into bed like she was five years old again.

“I know,” he murmured, “I know.”

#penelope creighton-ward #parker #thunderbirds are go #pen and ink #gordon tracy #i mean he's technically there :P #he's just like... unconscious #thunderbirdsoneprompt #sometimes i fic

[nellie-elizabeth]

What We Do in the Shadows: Sunrise, Sunset (4x10)

The finale already. This season zipped right by!

Cons:

I honestly felt pretty underwhelmed by this finale, I think because it was focused on the Colin plot, which was ultimately not super successful in my opinion. I get it, he's an angsty teenager now... and then he becomes a full adult and resumes being Colin Robinson, seemingly with no memory of his year being raised by Lazlo. I guess if I describe this scenario, it's kind of funny, but seeing it play out just didn't really make me smile all that much. I am happy to have adult Energy Vampire Colin Robinson back in our lives, though, he really is such a funny part of the show and I'm thinking I might enjoy him again in season five now that we're through the gauntlet.

The night club has officially failed, with Nadja's last terrible idea being to burn it to the ground to get the insurance money, only to discover she doesn't have insurance, and only her office, the room with her secret stash of embezzled money, has burned, the rest of the club untouched because of the blood sprinklers. There were some funny moments here that I'll get to, but again I felt a little underwhelmed.

Just, as an overall statement about this finale... at the end of last week's review I praised the fact that we'd left our characters in dire straights, each of them having lost something that had been their focus all season. This finale continued that, truly setting things back into the familiar patterns we saw all the way back in season one of the show. Nandor's not married, Lazlo's not trying to be a father, Nadja doesn't own a club, Guillermo is single and aimless. And this, of course, is the point. It's stated in the episode, Guillermo laments it.

But the thing is, a story about how things are stagnant is... still a stagnant story. I remember when this season started I had been looking forward to seeing Guillermo and Nadja's antics overseas, the gang split up, new settings and new faces. And then no, we pretty quickly reverted to the status quo, and this season has been about small developments starting to happen, and then all of those developments just going away. So I'm left feeling like this whole season was just treading water, after several of the characters specifically and actively wished for it to change. It's odd, because I think what I'm picking up on is exactly what the show was going for, but that doesn't mean I totally liked it.

The final beat for Guillermo being that he's finally going to become a vampire is great, and I hope we see that happen next season, or maybe it's temporary or he finds out his blood means he can't be changed, but I hope shenanigans ensue from that. At the same time, I worry that what we'll get will be another reset with no real forward motion. There's only so long a show like this can sustain itself under its own momentum, you know?

Pros:

Obviously there were still plenty of funny moments. I loved Guillermo and Lazlo's parenting scenes, especially when they were teamed up together as Colin's two dads. Colin finding the secret entrance and learning the truth of his original life from meticulous diaries was also a good bit. The insurance thing, Nadja literally burning money in her effort to get a payout she was never eligible for, I loved that. Also seeing how the nightclub went downhill, hosting bachelorette parties and kid's birthdays before the end. Nandor's ineffective methods of talking to surly teen Colin Robinson. Colin having a play date with the kids he'd comically outgrown. All very fun.

(And the singing of "Sunrise, Sunset" from Fiddler on the Roof was a nice touch, that did make me smile.)

Also, I do like this as an end point for Guillermo for the season, the way he's refusing to sit back and just let life keep happening to him. As an audience member, you want it to matter, that Nandor hurt Guillermo. You want him to pay penance, to apologize, to realize the depth of his wrong. But Nandor is a vampire. He's just going to spend a couple measly decades reading books, and it doesn't matter to him, because he doesn't conceive of time in the same way humans do. So yeah, I do love that Guillermo has finally had enough, even if I'm not sure how this will actually manifest in any meaningful dynamic shifts moving forward.

In all, I think last week's bonkers and very polarizing episode made this one feel tame by comparison. And tame isn't exactly the note I want to leave on with a season finale. Remember season three's ending, how wild it was, how everything was going to change? Well, here we are. I'm still excited to watch season five, this show still makes me smile every week in numerous ways big and small. But yeah, honestly, I found this finale pretty lackluster.

6.5/10 

#review #what we do in the shadows #what we do in the shadows review #wwdits #wwdits review