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elletheactualmenace · 3 months

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You Would do That for Me? - Pt. 2

Pairing: MCU!Peter Parker x Stark!fem!reader

Summary: Todays the day. You and Peter are going to confess your “secret relationship”. How will your best friends take it?

Warnings: swearing, Not in this part but is present in other parts -Verbal assault, Little but some physical assault, Catcalling, Bullying,

Word Count: 3.5k

a/n: Sorry this took so long, lifes been crazy recently. Sorry in advance to any star war lovers. Let me know if I missed any warnings. And also @kaleidoscopewritings19 you asked me to put you on my tag list so here! Im glad I could be of some help, and thanks for being interested in my writing! Anyways enjoy this part!

Thoughts = “Italicized dialogue”

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

“Peter!” Someone calls and Peter turns from his place at his open locker. He sees Ned walking over with a tired smile on his face.

“Hey,” Peter waves before turning back to his locked to pull books out and put them in.

“Guess what?” Ned asks spinning the lock on his locker, which was right next to Peters.

“What?”

“I found it.” Peter stops his movements. And he turns his head slowly to Ned with wide eyes.

“You found it? Like actually found it?” Peter asks in disbelief.

“Yeah.” Ned nods slowly so Peter catches it.

“How? Where?” Peter asks quickly. And Ned pauses, like he’s been caught. Peters brows scrunch in confusion.

“Okay, now, hear me out,” Ned starts chuckling nervously. “It wasn’t the official site, but-“

“You didn’t order it from a legitimate, original site?” Peter asks face palming. Ned really wants a Lego set that has been sold out for weeks, and desperate times call for desperate measures.

“I never said it was illegal.” Ned argues, opening his locker and quickly stuffing some of his textbooks in.

“So it was a scam?” Peter asks as Ned shuts his locker, slinging his backpack over his shoulder.

“Not a scam.” Ned counters.

“Definitely a scam.”

“No, no, no, Peter, listen to me, I know it isn't a scam, because my cousins, best friends, little brother also ordered from the website and it came." Ned says like he is trying to convince himself.

"I don't think that's a credible source, dude. Have you even met your cousins, aunts, friends, brother?" Peter asks skeptically, raising a brow.

"It was my cousins, best friends, little brother." Ned grumbled out with an eye roll. And Peter puts his hands up in defense.

“The fact that you have to correct him just proves the point more.” Peter hears your voice and before his eyes even meet you butterflies erupt in his stomach. He tries to push away the nervousness and act normal.

“See exactly!” Peter exclamins in your dereliction. Ned leans in close to Peter's ear.

“She’s only agreeing with you because she likes you.” Ned whispers in an annoyed voice. Immediately Peter's face goes bright pink in embarrassment. He hits Ned's arm and steps away from him so he can rub the back of his neck. Peter begs anything that may be listening that you didn’t hear Ned.

You couldn’t like him. He isn’t your type. You deserve someone who’s confident, handsome and in your league. All the things Peter doesn’t excel in.

“My point proven,” Ned says quietly. Peter begs anything that may be listening that you didn’t hear Ned.

Before Peter can form a rebuttal the bell rings. He sighs still embarrassed trying to look anywhere but your face.

“Okay come on you five year olds, let's stop arguing about credible sources, and whose brother said what.” You put your hands on both Peter and Ned's backs, pushing them to their first period. The second your hand meets the fabric of Peter sweatshirt his whole body stiffens. Peter tries to ignore the fact that you’re touching him, and focus on walking.

——

“You would- do that for me?” Peter's heart is pounding, he can’t believe this is happening. There is no way that you are asking him if you can be his girlfriend.

When the words fall from his mouth he really wants you to reply with something romantic like “I’d do anything for you,” and then kiss him till he feels dizzy, but he knows his wishful thinking is only that, a wish.

“Well, I mean, sure. And anyways, you’d keep the creepy guys away from me.” His eyes grow impossibly wider.

What is happening? Did he do something? Are you messing with him? Why in the world would you, Y/n Stark, be asking little nobody Peter Parker to be your boyfriend?

Peter’s mouth is agape and he's trying to figure out how to speak. He can’t form a sentence with everything running through his head.

“God, Peter stop being an idiot for once and say something to her! She's waiting.”

“I- I-“

“Just spit it out, Peter.”

“I would love- to be your boyfriend Y/n.” Peter sees your shoulders untense and drop before a smile is plastered on your face.

“Really?” You ask him and he nods so fast it gives him whiplash. Of course he wants to, how could he not. He wants to pour his heart and soul out to you right now, for fucks sake.

“Yeah.” He replies with such a big smile it hurts his face.

“I can’t believe you said yes,” You blurt out. Peter hesitates before asking, not wanting this beautiful moment to so quickly fade.

“Why would I say no?”

“Well- umm- i don’t know.” You shrug awkwardly. Peter blinks waiting for an answer.

“I donno, I thought maybe you would think it would ruin our friendship.” Peter nods in understanding.

“But- but I want you to know that this is strictly pretend. And for the benefit of both of us.” You comment quickly, trying to explain the rules of the agreement.

Peter's heart is hit with a pang of sadness. He wishes it was real with all of his heart. But for now, he has to be happy at the opportunity to even pretend to date you. After all, you asked him. Not Ned, not some random guy, him. And god, did that make his heart swell.

“Yeah, of course.” He says, nodding quickly.

“Okay good.” You say, “Glad we’re on the same page.”

Peter only nods with a smile. His face may be calm and collected but his heart is doing flips.

“When- when will this,” he pauses, not sure if he can use the word he wants to use. “Relationship being? Or sorry- when will we- you know, start?” Peter asks in a jumble of words.

Your brows furrow. You didn’t get that far, unfortunately. You tap your chin in thought.

“Umm…not sure. Tomorrow maybe?” You say, still thinking.

“Tomorrow!?”

Peter thinks as panic, excitement and horror sets in. He’s happy but nervous, everything is happening so fast.

“Yeah um-“ his voice cracks and he curses the puberty gods for being so cruel.

“Sounds good.” He says more calmly this time.

You outstretch your hand to shake his, he does the same.

“Okay. Tomorrow it is.” You say with a smile. “But before that, I think we need to clear a few more things up. Just to make it convincing.”

Peter nods in agreement, trying to look as smart and put together as you are right now. But in reality he’s just happy you haven’t stopped shaking his hand.

——

Peter's day has been crazy. When he woke up this morning he hadn’t and couldn’t have thought or dreamed up anything that’s happened.

First, almost missing the train, second getting humiliated in front of the whole class, he could’ve thought that up, but, you being there to hear it and then standing up for him? He couldn’t believe it. And second, which happened to be more unbelievable, you asked him the question he’s been trying to find the courage to ask you. But even better, you skipped right to boyfriend and Girlfriend. You skipped the awkward dating and testing the water straight to holding hands and cuddling.

Obviously he didn’t mean that that’s what was going to happen, but one could only hope. And even if the hand holding wouldn’t happen at least he could call himself your boyfriend.

He always tries to stay level headed whenever Flash is like that. He doesn’t want it to get to his head, that could affect his productivity and performance in both school and as Spiderman. It also helped to know that Flash looked up to Spiderman and thought he was cool, that made the tension in his fist easy up whenever Flash said something dickish.

Overall, Peter has had a great day. Now he is laying in bed after patrol, his mind is racing with a million thoughts a second. He still needed to process everything that happened that day.

You and Peter had discussed and decided to keep the bid up around Ned and MJ. You both concluded it would be more convenient and convincing if they believed it too.

You also talked about the backstory. You would go to school and pretend like you were both coming clean about your hidden ‘relationship’ after a couple months of not telling them. You’d confessed to ‘falling in love’ with each other over Summer break. And after a while decided to ‘try it out’. And here you were.

It was a perfect plan. You and Peter had in fact spent a portion on summer break together at your Dads beach house. Ned couldn’t go and a family emergency kept MJ from coming. So you and Peter were alone. It’s the perfect setting for a fake love story.

Peter knew that Ned would be so mad that he wasn’t in on the secret relationship. He needed a good cover for that. After all, Peter told Ned he was Spiderman, and you still don’t know. Hopefully he could also make sure Ned didn’t tell you any secrets that didn’t need to be shared. Like the fact that Peter has a big fat crush on you. And has been crushing for quite some time now.

If Ned slips that piece of information to you, you’ll know he actually likes you. It would be awkward. And obviously Ned will think you guys or together so it doesn't matter, because you both like each other. While, in fact you are only doing this for the mutual benefit of the both of you, not because you like him like that.

God. He had so much to prepare for. And you stayed late, making his patrol rounds run later. He's exhausted, but he can’t sleep until he comes up with a way to protect his fragile ego.

You on the other hand aren’t as anxious, you have a plan. Kind of, it's more like a detailed outline with missing chunks. But a plan nonetheless. You know what you’ll say to MJ when she gets pissed at you for not telling her. And you know what you’ll say when she eventually forgives you for not telling her and then asks about all the details of your relationship.

You know what you’ll say, and you are prepared. You just hope it won’t come to her asking if you two have gone farther than a kiss.

——

“We got this.” Peter whispers to himself as he waits for you at the school’s entrance. His head is down in thought. Mind and body both anxious.

“Definitely got this.” Peter jumps at the sound of your voice. He didn’t sense you at all. Not that it would trigger his Peter tingle, like aunt May liked to call it, because you weren’t dangerous.

“Sorry,” you apologize “didn't mean to spook you. But we do got this. We’ll be fine.” You say reaching up to rub his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him.

Peter's body stiffens and you pull away, not trying to make him more uncomfortable. But in reality he was just nervous around you.

You pause, a little worried about him.

“You know we don’t have to do this Pete.” You smile softly.

“No, no, no, no, no.” He rambles out quickly, “We do- I mean we should.” He stumbles over his words.

“I'm good.” confirms, and he takes a quick breath and nods to you. You nod back smiling at him.

“Okay then,” You say, sheepishly offering your hand to him. “Let's do this.”

Peter’s hand slips into yours and his heart beats so loud he can hear it. From the looks of it, you aren’t as in awe as he is with the two of you holding hands. But why would you? You’re not really together or anything.

You and Peter walk down the hall in silence, both anxious of the awkward conversation that's going to take place. Peter's head spins and he keeps his eyes down avoiding any human interactions, trying to think. He thought about this all last night, sure, but one night to think about something this big isn’t a lot of time. You probably just want the help you need as soon as possible.

“Wait,” the thoughts in his head stop for a second as something dawns on him. “What is Y/n getting out of this fake relationship?”

He felt so stupid for not thinking about it before now, and he felt like an asshole even more for not asking you. What was going on in your life, that you needed a boyfriend to fix? Were you getting made fun of too? Or was it worse than that?

He tries to think back to last night, when you asked him to be your fake boyfriend. What had you said? His mind is scavenging through everything from last night.

“Okay, calm down Peter. Just think. What did she say? How did the conversation start? She had to have said the reason at some point.

She said:

‘I could pretend to be your girlfriend at school and stuff. Then no one would ever give you a hard time,’

Then I said:

‘You would do that for me?’

Then she said:

…

What did she say after that? Oh god, what did she say?”

Peter panics. He has been so wrapped up in his own gain, that he forgot he was supposed to be helping you too. There was something you needed him for. But he couldn’t remember.

Peter opened his mouth to ask you, worry and guilt, replacing the previous anxiety. There was a pit so deep in his stomach he swore he could throw a rock in and it would take an hour for it to hit the bottom.

He lips part ready to ask, but he doesn’t get to, because his eyes catch sight of MJs worn down Converse All-stars. He lifts his gaze to meet MJs. He can’t bring it up right now.

“Peter?” She asks, “You good? You look like you did when you first found out Y/n doesn’t like Star Wars.” MJ informs.

You laugh at MJs comment and it makes him turn to look at you. He’ll have to ask you about it later. Right now you both have to “come clean” to your two best friends.

“Yeah, umm” He clears his throat, “I'm good, sorry, just thinking.” MJ keeps her eyebrow raised as Ned walks over butting into the conversation.

“Also, why are you and Y/n holding hands like you're on a date?” You again laugh, but this time awkwardly.

“Well,” You smile shyly, Peter squeezes your hand lightly, letting you know he's here for you. You give him a soft smile and a nod of appreciation. “We have something to tell you guys.”

“Yeah,” Peter adds on with a smile. Ned and MJ give each other looks before turning their focus on your and Peters intertwined hands. MJ squints, deep in thought, and Ned looks between the two of you quickly.

“Don’t tell me,” MJ eventually sighs, she's come to the conclusion after “close” inspection.

“We’re dating.” Peter confirms, anxiously looking at his two friends and then to you.

“We have been for a couple months now,” You add, “We’ve just been waiting for the right time to tell you.” You say stepping closer to Peter.

“WHAT?!?!” Ned screams. You flinch slightly, as does MJ and Peter. “And you didn’t think to tell your bestfriend?!” Ned lowers his voice when he notices all the eyes on him from people in the hallway. But the anger in his voice doesn’t waver.

“I-“ Petter stutters, not knowing what to say.

“How did it happen?” MJ asks, tapping her foot. She looks a little annoyed. Peter guesses, it's because Y/n hadn’t told her about their secret relationship. “Or what happened?”

“To sum it up real fast for everyone,” Y/n started, “And I can explain it better later, we started dating over summer break when we were at my dads beach house.” Ned and MJ look at you waiting for you to continue.

“We were alone, and I guess it provoked our confessions and, well here we are.” You say blankly, hoping for a good reaction.

“Why didn’t you tell me Peter? I'm your best friend.” Ned asks sadly.

“We just didn’t want to say anything because we were testing it out, in case it didn’t work, we didn’t want to break up the friend group. We wanted to be sure we were serious.” Peter quickly adds on quickly to try to explain the situation. Ned nods, understanding a bit more now.

“So, you too are serious?” MJ asks. You just shrug with a smile, and a smirk grows on her lips “I knew it. I knew something was going on-”

“What are you talking about?” You cut her off, your eyes wide and voice anxious. Peter notices for a second before Ned speaks up.

“Ohh,” Ned says in realization, “So, this is why you-“ Peter rips his hand from yours to cover Ned's mouth, not wanting him to say something embarrassing. Peter's eyes get big and he slowly shakes his head.

“I- Can we talk about this at our lockers please?” Peter asks nervously. Peter quickly nods to you and MJ before walking off.

You are too focused on MJ to see him walk off, but he does see your flustered face. He's too preoccupied to dwell on that right now.

“Oh my god, Ned no.” Peter scolds as they get to their lockers.

“What?” Ned asks, confused. “It's not like it's a secret now, you like her and she likes you.”

“Yeah but,” He pauses and sighs, twisting the lock on his locker. “You can’t tell her anything I’ve told you.”

“Why not? You're together now, what does it matter?” Peter's face flushes, “Ohh, you haven’t told her everything, have you?” Ned realizes.

Peter shakes his head confirming Ned's words.

“And I don’t need her to find them out. So please for my dignity and sanity don’t.” Peter pleads, finishing moving his books from his locker to his bag and vice-versa.

“Yeah, yeah, fine.” Ned nods, reluctantly understanding. Ned pauses, as Peter shuts his locker and turns to him.

“What?” Peter wonders aloud his eyebrows scrunched.

“I can’t even tell her how long you’ve been crushing? It's not like it matters or anything.” Ned begs with a whine, he wants to tell you so bad, it's so funny, and it was cute to see him so fond of you.

“No Ned, no.” Peter says seriously. Ned grumbles angrily, but eventually nods in agreement.

“Listen, she doesn’t even know about-“ Peter starts before leaning in to whisper to Ned, “Spiderman.” He leans back and continues to talk normally.

“So you can’t tell her anything. At all. I don’t need her freaking out.” Peter sighs, rubbing his temples. Ned nods again.

“Okay. I promise I won’t say anything.” Ned says a little disappointed.

“I'm being serious, Ned. You can’t say anything. Not about him, or about my-“ Peter pauses to blush.

“My crush,” utters quietly. “Nothing at all. I mean it.” Peter continues.

“I know.” Ned rolls his eyes, “My mouth is shut.” Peter nods thanking him. And they both just stand there for a second. After a minute Ned speaks up.

“I can still talk to her though, right?”

“What?” Peter asks, confused at the question.

“Like, Y/n, I mean. You and I are friends and I don’t want to cross any lines or anything.” Ned responds sheepishly.

“Oh my god,” Peter laughs, less anxious now, “Yeah, goodness. I'm not going to make you stop talking to her.”

“You guys are friends, and I'm not a crazy boyfriend.” Peter comments laughing again. Ned starts laughing with him. Peter smiles softly thinking about how much he liked to word boyfriend coming out of his mouth, it rolled off his tongue perfectly, he was a boyfriend. Not just that, he was your boyfriend.

“Right, just making sure.” Ned chuckles, pulling Peter from his thoughts, now feeling less stressed about the whole situation. “You never know.” Ned adds with a smile..

“I'm also sorry for not telling you sooner, Ned.” Peter quickly apologizes. “You are my best friend, so you should have known sooner, I just-“

“It's alright Peter. I get it. It's hard, at least I know now.” Ned responds.

“Plus, now you can tell me about all the stuff you two have been up to.” Ned smirks at Peter who is blushing profusely.

“Ned- we didn’t- I mean haven’t-“ Ned rolls his eyes with a smile.

“Sure you haven’t,” Ned chuckles, “I understand if you don’t feel uncomfortable with-“

“Ned! Oh my god, stop!” Peter stuffs his hands into his face embarrassed. And Ned just laughs as he drags Peter to their first period.

Peter wants to be present and happy with Ned, but he can’t get his mind off of you, and what you said. Or, what you said that he can’t remember. Why did you need to fake a relationship? What did he need to protect you from?

Tag List:

@riordanness

@princess-ofthe-pages

@sunnyx07

@hollandweather

#peter parker #x reader #peter parker x reader #mcu peter parker #mcu peter x reader #Spiderman #peter parker x you

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veryace-ficrecs · 5 months

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Percy jackson fic recs

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

In a Field of Dandelions by mrthology - Rated T

"You okay there?" she asked once she was closer, smiling in what she hoped was a welcoming manner. The man smiled back, still looking a bit confused. Nicky's breath caught in her chest when he met her eyes. His gaze was a little too vivid, his bone structure a little too perfect. He seemed a little too much more than human. Part of her wanted to run, while another part wanted to follow him to the ends of the earth and beyond. "I think so," he replied, breaking the spell. "Just trying to figure out day one, I suppose. I'm Percy!" ----- Percy and Annabeth's eldest child starts school. Percy inadvertently causes a bit of a stir, and Annabeth isn't jealous, not at all.

good does not equal Goode by vani_em - Rated G

One thing was clear: Percy Jackson was not Goode High School material.

The Overwhelming Specter of Your Mothers Book Club by 60sec400 - Not Rated

Martha Blofis stared at her son in shock. “What do you mean,” she said slowly, “that you’re married?” Her son fidgeted nervously. First, he ran a hand through his peppered hair, and then his eyes flickered down and away. Then he lifted them again and smiled meekly at her. “Paul,” she said, “I need you to tell me what in gods name you were thinking.” “Her name is Sally Jackson?” Paul said, his voice lifting as he weren’t quite sure what the name of his wife was. AKA Paul tells his mother he hasn't seen in four years that he's married. Really, the only thing she can think about is what she's going to tell her boook club.

Good Enough for Someone by bouquetofwhoopsiedaisies - Rated T

Paul was quiet for a minute on the other side of the bathroom door. Percy expected him to walk away, but he didn’t. “Percy?” There was something in his voice that Percy couldn’t identify. Something like concern, mixed with something like fear… something that let Percy know he had truly and royally fucked up. He felt hyper-aware of every sound, from the dripping of the facet to the shifting weight of the person outside the door, his mind spinning as he tried to map Paul’s position like he was in battle. He heard the tiny, barely perceivable sound of fingertips brushing the doorknob, and it made him want to throw himself out the window and flee to the fire escape. Especially at Paul’s next words: “Can I open the door?” Percy bit his already-split lip, not even caring at the pain the action brought. He stared up at the fluorescent light above him. He scrubbed at his eyes, ignoring the dull flare of pain from the bruise there. He didn’t realize he was crying until the salt stung his wounds. “Percy?” Paul called his name again. “Yeah,” Percy sucked in a deep breath, even as a broken rib made his chest feel tight. “I… I guess I could use some help."

Stars on the Water by liketolaugh - Rated T

"I dunno, I just think it would make a lot of things easier for a lot of people," Percy said to Thalia, when she just stared at him. His cheek rested in his hand, a rare pensive look leaving his eyes distant and unfocused. "Mom has Paul now, so it’ll be easier on her if she doesn’t have to worry about me mucking things up. Dad won’t have to keep threatening war every time Zeus gets his toga twisted. The prophecy’s done, so I won’t be bringing it down on Nico. And no one will have to worry about me blowing up another volcano."

Oh Sugar Sugar by mrthology - Rated T

After the Titan War Percy starts feeling under the weather - he’s always tired, losing weight he doesn't have to lose, is constantly freezing, and just generally feeling lousy. But he’s kidnapped by Hera before he can see a doctor like his mom wants. Then there’s the Quest to Alaska, sailing to the Ancient Lands, falling into Tartarus, fighting the Giants in Athens, fighting Gaea herself… Needless to say, he had too much on his mind to notice a few annoying symptoms that can mostly be ignored. It turns out Type-1 Diabetes can be incredibly dangerous, especially when you don’t know you have it in the first place. Now three chapters, and featuring a much needed Percy and Nico heart to heart.

Red Ink Checkmarks by liketolaugh - Rated T

Paul joins their family a year and a half after Smelly Gabe leaves it. Percy, to his own irritation, is still sensitive about a lot of things at that point.

he ain't heavy, he's my brother by mrthology - Rated G

Percy doesn’t get migraines very often, thank the Gods, but when he does they tend to knock him on his ass for days, regardless of drugs, ocean water, sleep, ambrosia, or anything else he’d tried. He just had to wait (suffer) it out. It was just his luck that his first migraine in literally years would hit when he was visiting his father in Atlantis for the first time after the war with Gaea. And instead of waking up with one and being able to hide in his rooms, he’d have to collapse in public, right after talking to his half brother Triton. If it didn’t hurt so damn much he’d be embarrassed.

To Sir, With Love by writergirl8 - Rated T

"Here's how the game works: Because I'm one of the lucky teachers that gets to have you from seventh grade to twelfth grade, I get to watch all you grow up. When I toss this ball in your direction, I want you to say your name, your favorite color, and what you hope to accomplish in the next six years of your life."

We Hitch an Awesome Ride by ariadnes_string - Rated G

Percy and his friends get a lift from some guys who might know as much about monsters as they do.

Five Times Percy Jackson Cheated At School by lammermoorian - Rated T

...And One Time Someone Cheated Him The story of how Percy chooses a major, gets a family, and accidentally becomes a superstar in the world of classical studies. Turns out, being able to read ancient Greek and instinctively knowing how to sail every ship ever invented is actually pretty useful in some fields.

percy jackson and the scrutiny of his coworkers by pqrker - Rated G

Jim turned back to the tank and looked at Marcie the seal, who was now staring at the spot his coworker had been standing just moments before with that same strange look of reverence in her eyes. Percy Jackson truly was the oddest person Jim Elpool had ever worked with. or 5 times percy's coworkers were confounded by his fish magic, plus 1 time they try to figure it out

The Boyfriend by Roselightfairy - Rated G

The cliche: Annabeth's private-school friend finds out that Annabeth has a boyfriend. The twist: This mortal already knows Percy Jackson, from long ago.

Not So Shore by bananannabeth - Rated G

Percy Jackson just transferred to AHS on a swimming scholarship, and Olivia is convinced that there's something weird about him. In order to get to the bottom of it, she decides to befriend him and his girlfriend, Annabeth, and drags her best friend Kelly along for the ride.

Gratuity At Twenty Percent by inkncoffee - Rated T

Amphitrite was no fool and she wouldn't be played for one. Not even by the lord of the sea himself. When Poseidon starts disappearing at night, Amphitrite investigates. She's not entirely sure if what she finds is better or worse than what she expected.

Deprivation by inkncoffee - Rated G

"Percy are you drunk?" Poseidon asked with a frown Or in which Percy hasn't slept in 72 hours and is surviving solely on Red Bull and blue M&Ms when Poseidon comes calling. Which is probably important, but Percy's brain stopped working twenty hours and seven Red Bulls ago so.

I hear babies cry by Eat0crow - Rated T

Percy's not adjusting well after the war. No matter what he tries, Camp Half-Blood just feels wrong. So, he decides to take off. Nico goes along for the ride.

Big Black Jelly Beans by Darkanny - Not Rated

Percy glared at him, pouting. He looked back at his dog as she chased after a bee. She was kinda bigger, he had to admit, but that didn’t mean anything, right? Granted, he didn’t really know where she went to most of the time, what with her shadow-travelling all the time. But when she was around he was very careful on feeding her healthy stuff…or the healthiest part of what was left on his plate anyway. She was not fat.

"the illegal stash of candy I'd been selling out of my dorm room" by r1ptides - Rated G

“all I could think of was that the teachers must've found the illegal stash of candy I'd been selling out of my dorm room”

the jackson files by Ideasofmarch - Not Rated

Summary

Makin’ pancakes @makinbaconpancakes Does anyone know who the fuck Percy Jackson is??? Oranges are spicy @ronaldmcd Whomst? Makin’ pancakes @makinbaconpancakes Check rachel dares insta story Oranges are spicy @ronaldmcd k Oranges are spicy @ronaldmcd Okay somebody find out who this kid is right damn now. - Rachel Elizabeth Dare posts a video of Percy on her instagram story. it all just spirals from there.

family tree by r1ptides - Rated G

it's a goode tradition for freshmen to make a family tree for english class. percy struggles.

Please insert your (sand) dollar here by Sugarplume02 - Rated G

Percy just wants to pay for his Chips Ahoy with the sea dollar he got from his dad. Too bad it doesn't fit in vending machines.

The guy in line behind him just wants to pay for his Cheez-its.

The Problem With Field Trips by HopeLions13 - Rated T

Percy just knows things are going to go wrong when his eighth grade class takes a field trip to a dude ranch. They always do. OR How Percy got expelled from MS-54.

#veryace recs #percy jackson #annabeth chase #percabeth #percy jackon and the olympians #ao3 fic recs #fanfic recs #ao3

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tinyboxxtink · 2 years

Text

"Spring Break '86" {Eddie Munson/Reader}

Part 2 is here!

Yeah, I did it. I started a series about Eddie Munson.

This one should go really well because I actually have an outline/timeline to go by. [Stranger Things Season 4, Part 1. Maybe going into Part 2?]

Basically, you are Dustin Henderson's older sister, with a secret "history" with Eddie Munson. And that history is slowly being uncovered when you come home from college for spring break, and find that Eddie is best buds with your little brother.

You get caught into the events of S4, and the truth becomes more and more clear.

I have a full, thought-out plot and story with this, regardless of how S4 ends. Meaning if Eddie dies. But Eddie will NOT DIE. NO. HE WON'T. I LOVE HIM AND WON'T LET IT HAPPEN.

I have a tag list, but it's for Rafael Barba fans so I will not include them here. If you would like to be added to a tag list for this story, please let me know!

I hope you guys like it!

===================

“Ughh where are you, you little worm…”

You grumbled under your breath as you stomped out of the still cheering gymnasium of Hawkins Highschool. You had just driven back home to Hawkins Indiana from Chicago, and you weren’t in the best mood.

It was the Spring Break of your freshman year at college, and rather than head to the coast with your new college gal pals, you had stupidly opted to come back home for the week instead. Truth be told you weren’t exactly the “beach babe” type, and you would never admit it but you missed your mom, Mews, and your little brother Dustin.

However, at this exact moment you were in fact not missing him in the least. Here you had driven all night to surprise him at his best friend’s basketball game, and he wasn’t there. How could he not be there? This was the very first time in any history you knew that Hawkins had made it to a tournament, and you knew for a fact that one of Dustin’s best friends Lucas Sinclair was on the team. How could Dustin and his little “party” not be there cheering him on?

Before you reached your car in the parking lot, you heard cheering come from inside the school. Which was odd, because you were pretty sure anybody who was supposed to be there was in the gymnasium. Then a thought occurred to you:

Your brother wasn’t exactly the “normal” high schooler, like his friend Lucas. No star athlete, not really Mr. Popular. He liked really weird things like sci-fi and nerd stuff, Star Wars, shit like that. But the one thing he loved above it all was his stupid Dungeons and Dragons group he had, which included his only friends. Obviously.

If you were being absolutely honest with yourself, the whole “Satanic Panic” about D&D had started running rampant through your school newspapers, and you’d never admit it but it actually started to freak you out. As far as you knew, those games were harmless. Stupid, but harmless.

But whether or not it was true, you knew your small town was easily poisoned. Some whiff of any kind of controversy, a threat, a rumor, could roll into that town and the people would be burning people at the stake by the end of the day. You couldn’t let them try to “save” your brother from the “devil’s game’.

All of these thoughts ran through your head long enough to stall you from walking into the school before a group of teens came bursting out in cheers and joyous chants. Among them was your little brother, who stopped dead when he saw you standing there in the parking lot.

“....Y/N? What are you doing here?” Dustin asked warily, totally confused on why you would be in his High School parking lot at 10 o'clock at night.

“Jesus Dusty,” You let out a soft laugh of disbelief. “I drove all the way down here to surprise you and all–”

You were just starting to chastise your brother when the last person you ever expected to see came strolling out of the dark school halls.

Eddie Munson.

Your nose scrunched as you watched him saunter over to your brother giving him and the others high fives. He quickly stopped and changed his demeanor once he saw you standing behind the group.

“Henderson, you didn’t tell me your mom was such a babe,” Eddie eyed you up and down devilishly.

“Shut up,” You narrowed your eyes on the long-haired man.

“Dude that’s my sister, not my–” Dustin started to explain to Eddie who you were.

“He knows who I am, Dust,” you cut him off, still glaring at Eddie.

“What?” Dustin blinked in confusion. “Why? How is that–”

“Didn’t expect to see you hare, princess,” Eddie smirked back at your daggered eyes, while Dustin and his friends looked between the two of you in shock.

“Come to cheer on your good ol’ alma mater, cheer captain?” he teased.

“You sure are cocky for a grown man hanging out with children at night, Munson,” You didn’t bat an eye at his insult as you retorted with your own.

“Damn,” you heard some girl you’d never seen before laugh under her breath at your line.

“Hey, Eddie’s my friend Y/N,” Dustin defended him. “We’re in school together,”

“Excuse me?” You laughed harder as you stared at Eddie with amusement. “Eddie, you still haven’t graduated?”

“Shut up,” Eddie said in a low, guttural voice.

“What are you, collecting a punch card?” you went on taunting him.

“Shut, your mouth,” you could see Eddie clenching his fists as you continued to laugh.

“One more senior year and they give you a plaque for ‘biggest moron ever’?” you lost yourself in giggles at the last statement, imagining it.

“SHUT UP!!!!!!” Eddie bellowed in the parking lot, making everyone jump back a foot and a half. None of the kids had ever seen Eddie mad before. Annoyed, sure. Aggravated by the “sheeples” at school, all the time. But this was different. This was rage.

“What the fuck, Y/N?!” Dustin yelled at you angrily, as you looked back at him with an innocent confusion.

“Henderson I have never hit a girl in my life, and I really would like to keep it that way,” Eddie grunted through gritted teeth.

“Yeah don’t worry, I’ll hit her for you,” Dustin said without thinking.

“Dustin!” you gasped.

“No, you won’t either!” Eddie suddenly raised his voice at the boy, making both of you look back at him in stunned confusion.

“What?” Dustin looked between the two of you suspiciously. “...What is happening here?”

“Dustin, get your friends in the car. I’ll take them home,” you quickly changed the subject.

“But Eddie was–” Dustin protested.

“Nah man, forget it,” Eddie waved him off. “I’ve got a date anyway,”

“Sure you do,” you laughed under your breath as you helped the girl you’d never seen before into the backseat of your Mustang.

Once the kids were squished into your car, you closed the door enough so they couldn’t hear you and Eddie’s conversation.

“Seriously Eddie,” You said in a low but concerned tone.

“Seriously Y/N, you need to leave. Before I do something I regret,”

“You’d never hit me,” You looked at him with the smallest of a sad smile. He looked down at the ground, confirming the statement.

“Okay but seriously, what is this?” you shook off the sentiment crawling out of you.

“What is what?” Eddie asked you in annoyance.

“This,” you gestured between the kids in the car and him. “Why are you hanging out with my little brother? Why are you even still here?!”

“You said it yourself, I’m waiting for my official ‘dumbass’ plaque,” He half laughed sadly, playing with the rings on his fingers while still staring at the pavement.

“Eddie,” your voice softened. “You know I didn’t–”

“No, I actually think you did, Y/N,” Eddie started walking away backwards from your car.

“Eddie come on, I–” you tried to walk after him.

“Just, fuck off and leave me alone, okay?” Eddie yelled back angrily, throwing both of his middle fingers up at you while he faded away into the distance of the parking lot.

You waited several seconds before giving up on him coming back and got into the driver’s seat, starting the car and driving out of the parking lot.

“What the fuck was that, Y/N?” Dustin immediately started berating you again. “Why did you have to be such a bitch to him? How do you even know him?!”

“Not now, Dustin,” You warned him as you drove towards Mike Wheeler’s house.

His friends looked up to the sky, praying to be thrown from the car rather than sit in the car for this awkward sibling fight.

-----------

After dropping off his friends, Dustin started his interrogation on you.

“Alright now you wanna explain to me why you were such a bitch to my friend, Y/N?” he snapped.

“Dusty!” You gasped. “Jesus, language. And you do NOT call women bitches, especially your loving sister,”

“Sorry,” he huffed reluctantly. “It’s just, Eddie–”

“Dustin, Eddie’s a big boy. I’m sure his hurt feelings will–”

“No, don't do that,” Dustin interjected. “Don’t start acting all high and mighty just because you came home from a fancy college, and Eddie–”

“I know Eddie Munson a hell of a lot more than you Dustin, I think I know what he can and cannot handle,”

“How is that possible?!” Dusty threw his hands up at the conspiracy.

“Just— just leave it alone, Dusty, okay? I’m sorry I bitched out your friend,” You sighed, unwilling to get into the ‘history’ of you and Eddie Munson in that exact moment.

“For NO reason,” he added.

“...For no reason,” You rolled your eyes.

“Now tell him that,” He crossed his arms with a smile as you pulled onto your street.

“What, now?” you gave him a look.

“Yes, NOW,” he nodded forcefully.

“He’s on a date,” you protested innocently.

“You and I both know he’s full of shit,” Dustin rolled his eyes. “He’s just gonna go home, and–”

“And get stoned, and feel sorry for himself all night,” you finished his thought.

“Wha—?” Dustin’s eyes widened at the accuracy of your statement. “I mean, I wouldn’t put it that way but, yeah…”

“Alright fine, fine,” you pulled into your driveway as you spoke. “You go inside, and I’ll go talk to Eddie,”

“You’ll APOLOGIZE to Eddie,” he clarified.

“Fine I will apologize to Eddie,” you begrudgingly replied.

“Okay, he lives–” Dustin started.

“I know where he lives, Dustin,” you shook your head.

“Wha– seriously?!” Dustin continued to be thrown by your words.

“WHEN did you have time to get all this intel on Eddie? When have you EVER hung out with him?”

“In case you haven’t noticed Dustin, you’ve been pretty preoccupied by your own friends these last few years,” you reminded him. “I can’t remember the last time we actually had one of our “Dustbusters,”

You saw him sadly smile at the mention of your “sibling dates” you two would have when you were younger. You weren’t terribly older than him so when you were kids you were kind of inseparable. But then puberty hit, and you both gravitated towards other things and people. The truth was you really had no idea what had gone on with him in the last few years.

You knew he had a friend that got abducted, or went missing, or something of the matter. It had really shaken him to his core. And after that, he grew more and more isolated from you and your mom, and closer to his “party”. A “party” that apparently included Eddie Munson of all people.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Dustin rubbed the back of his neck as he thought about what had really gone on in his life in the past three years. Things you would never even dream of. Things he would never dream of telling you. You and your mom worried enough about him.

“Just…go easy on him, please?” he asked you earnestly. “I know you think he’s a moron, but–”

“I know he’s not a moron, Dustin,” you assured him.

“Then what was the–”

“Too long of a story, Dusty. Just go inside, I promise I’ll be nice to Eddie,”

“Alright fine,” he grumbled as he shut the door. The window was still down, so he stuck his head in once more.

“Hey, sis?”

“Yeah, Dusty?” you asked in growing annoyance.

“...Thanks for coming home this week,” He smiled at you. “I missed you,”

“Oh you little—” your annoyance melted away as you jumped out of the driver’s seat and ran over to where he was standing beside the car, throwing your arms around him. This was all you had wanted to do since you left Chicago.

“I missed you too, you doof,” You ruffled his hair and placed an over exaggerated sloppy kiss to his forehead.

“Gross,” Dustin pulled away from you, making a huge display of disgust as he ran back inside and you got back into your car with an amused laugh.

—---------

It took a little longer than you expected to make it to the trailer park. You hadn’t been out there in such a long time, you didn’t remember how to get there as well as you thought. After a few U-Turns and cursing, you finally found the field of glowing trailers.

You drove down a row or two, looking for Eddie’s car. It wasn’t long before you saw it parked in front of a trailer almost off by itself in the park. You turned off your lights and edged slowly towards the trailer, parking on the other side of it where no windows could see you. If you were going to do this, you’d need a minute to prepare.

Okay, apologize. Apologize to Eddie Munson. For what? A hell of a lot more than you promised Dustin, that’s for sure. You were actually kind of surprised he didn’t even have the slightest memory of you two ever hanging out.

Well, Eddie looked really different when the two of you were in junior high. That was for damn sure. The cute little cow-licked boy with the coke bottle glasses was a far cry from the hairy, volatile beast he was now.

You got out of your car, still unsure of what to say. You were going over so many things in your head, lost in your own thoughts and worries, you didn’t even notice the lights flickering through the windows.

“Eddie, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that stuff in front of my brother,” you spoke out loud in your best sincere voice as you were still pacing in front of the front door.

“But you haven’t exactly been the nicest to me since–”

Before you could say another word of your personal monologue, a bright light came shooting out from every window and door of the trailer as it shook violently. It surprised you so much that you fell back in awe, your eyes darting every which way. The light continued to beam through the trailer for several seconds before completely evaporating, leaving a loud THUMP in its wake coming from inside.

Then you heard the screaming.

Before you could register what was going on, a panicked Eddie who was still screaming came bolting out the front door, heading for his car. He practically tripped over your still stunned self-sitting in front of his home.

“Oof!” He tumbled to the ground, momentarily stopping his screams. He turned to see you sitting there, his eyes were wide with fear. His face was paler than your night time face cream. He didn’t know whether to jump up and run or collapse into your arms. He did the latter.

“Y/N, I didn’t do it,” He immediately began to sob as he pulled himself tightly into your arms. “I swear to God, I didn’t do it,”

“W-Wha—did what?” You were still reeling from the light show when Eddie had death gripped himself to your waist. You tried stringing together thoughts as he sobbed harder into your chest.

“I didn’t do it, I didn’t do it, I didn’t do it to her I swear to God I didn’t,” he whimpered over and over into your chest.

“Wha…Eddie, what are you on?” You furrowed your eyebrows as he quickly dropped his arms.

“What? Nothing!” Eddie suddenly became very defensive. “I am completely sober, that’s why I KNOW I didn’t do anything–”

“Bullshit,” you rolled your eyes as you peeled him off you, standing up and dusting yourself off. “You’re clearly having hallucinations,”

“Babe, I swear I’m not–” He started to protest.

“No,” you stopped him dead in his words. “NOT babe. Not your babe, not anybody’s babe,”

“....Y/N,” He momentarily rolled his eyes. “Look I swear to God, it’s real. But I don’t want you to—”

“Look?” you finished for him in a snarky tone. “Right, because there won’t be anything there, and then I’ll know you’re full of shit, and are just having a really bad K trip,”

“I am NOT tripping on anything, Y/N,” Eddie grabbed your shoulders with both of his hands. “But I— you— I can’t– if you see that girl, you’re gonna think I’m–”

“Eddie, I really can’t see thinking any less of you than I already do, so I think I’m good,” You laughed sarcastically.

“No, but–”

Before he could stop you, you were opening the front door and walking inside the trailer. And you were not prepared in the least for what greeted you.

A girl, not much younger than you, laid on the floor in front of you. Not really laying, sprawled. Her legs and arms were broken, her neck was crooked. Her eyes had been inverted inside her head.

You didn’t scream, surprisingly. You didn’t freak out, or burst into tears. You simply just stared at the girl for what seemed like forever, studying her disfigured corpse.

“...Y-Y-Y/N?” You heard Eddie’s feeble cries from outside the trailer. He sounded so much different than he had just a few hours ago.

You stepped out of the trailer slowly, almost as if in a trance. You looked at Eddie who was now shivering in fear next to his car. He looked so broken, so small. Not the Eddie Munson you were so used to, with his brazen tone and that 100-watt smile that you’d never admit in a million years you missed while looking out a rainy University window in Chicago.

“I didn’t do that to her Y/N, you have to believe me. She–” His blubbering was stifled by your hand over his mouth.

“I believe you, Eddie,” You said in a soft, calming voice.

“Y-You do?” He whimpered from under your hand, causing you to remove it.

“Yes, but we can’t stay here. There’s no way nobody didn’t hear any of that,” you warned him, looking around in every direction.

“But where are we gonna go? What are we gonna do? What am I gonna do? Chrissy, she was just here trying to–” Eddie began to unravel once more, his words falling back into heavy breaths and choked sobs.

“Eddie, get in my car,” you said very strictly.

“Your car? What about my car? I can’t–” He whined.

“Eddie,” you shook him furiously, trying to snap him out of it. “You live here. There’s a logical reason for your car to be here. Besides, if they, and they will, think you did this, they’ll be looking for your car. They won’t be looking for mine. So again, GO GET IN MY CAR, okay?”

“......O-Okay,” Eddie nodded feebishly, wiping sniffling tears into his jacket as he scurried towards your car and got in the passenger's side.

You took one last long moment thinking about Chrissy the pretzel just lying in there, bleeding all over Eddie’s carpet. There was something absolutely insane, and yet weirdly familiar about all of this.

You finally shook the feeling off of your shoulders and followed Eddie’s trail back to your car, getting in the driver’s seat and slamming the door shut. You looked over at Eddie who was continuing to shake and sob, clearly traumatized from the events of the last few minutes.

You’d never seen him like this, ever. Not at any point in however long you had known him. And you hated every second of it.

“Eddie,” you placed a hand on the back of his quivering mane, stroking it gently. You just wanted him to stop crying, for even a minute.

“Just drive,” Eddie pleaded, jerking away from your hand. He didn’t feel worthy of being comforted right now, especially not by you.

“Okay,” you shrugged unnervingly, starting the car and peeling out of the trailer park into the night.

This was certainly not how you wanted your Spring Break to start.

Support me on Ko-Fi if you like what you read! https://ko-fi.com/tinyboxtink

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #stranger things 4 #stranger things 4 spoilers #stranger things

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im-overstimulated-and-im-sad · 2 months

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WIP Wednesday

Thank you for the tag, @lemonlyman-dotcom @thisbuildinghasfeelings @paperstorm @sznofthesticks @carlos-in-glasses @sugdenlovesdingle @birdclowns @heartstringsduet @actualalligator 💝

This is the beginning of a very self-indulgent fic that I have no idea if this will go anywhere-

“You want us to help?” TK asked.

His dad shook his head. “That’s okay. I think we got it between the two of us”. He lightly punched Judd on the shoulder. “Let’s punch it, Chewie”.

“I did not agree to that!” Judd called as he got up to follow Owen. “And this doesn’t make you Han!”

TK rolled his eyes- his dad could be such a dork- when he noticed the look on his boyfriend’s face. “Babe, you okay?” TK asked. “Does your lemonade taste alright?”

Carlos nodded. “It’s fine. I was just trying to decipher why your dad called Judd ‘Chewie’”.

“Chewie like Chewbacca,” TK told him. “It works cause Judd is so big, but my dad will call anyone that who’s taller than him- he wants to be Han Solo so bad”. This made TK chuckle, but the look on his boyfriend’s face told him that he had no idea what TK was talking about.

“What’s a Chewbacca?” Carlos asked, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

TK bit down on the inside of his cheek. He didn’t want Carlos to think he was laughing at him, but the way he asked that was the cutest thing TK had ever heard.

“Chewbacca, like from Star Wars, babe,” TK explained. “Big tall furry creature that walks on two legs”.

“Oh”. Carlos nodded. “Gotcha. I don’t really have a lot of Star Wars knowledge”.

“Thats okay, baby” TK said as something else occurred tk him. “Hey Carlos, what’s your favorite movie?”

“Ummm….” Carlos thought about it for a minute. “I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it”.

“Really?” TK asked. “Is there anything you’ve seen a lot?”

“Not really”. Carlos shrugged. “I guess I don’t have one”.

It’s late- but open tag if you haven’t posted something and still want to 🫶

#911 lone star #wip wednesday

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stellar-constellations · 8 months

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An Alliance (Part 6)

Fem! Spy! (Y/N) x Yuri Briar

Parts: One, two, three, four, five, current part, seven, eight, nine, ten (to be continued when Spy x Family has more Yuri content!)

(Y/N) is given her own backstory that is important for the story!

The setting for this story is based off West and East Germany's (because Spy x Family is heavily based off Germany in the 1940-1950) laws (or at least replicated to the best of my abilities since it's unknown what time period Spy x Family is exactly in, we'll go with 1950 for the sake of this story).

Historically-accurate women misogyny and mistreatment! Only small comments and historically-accurate laws (replicated to the best of my ability).

The story, plot, and settings might not match up to the Spy x Family manga as it's not completed and the manga is still being crafted.

This series contains spoilers for the manga and anime!

My dad read the Westalis newspaper where the headline was: “Ostania Threatens Westalis with Nuclear Warfare!” as me and my siblings played outside. He was outside on the porch watching us play in the sun. It was springtime, a nice and warm day where there were lots of clouds in the sky that helped with shade. My mom's nowhere to be seen, she's been gone for a while now. She left us when we were young so we didn't have a two income household, it made it hard to pay bills or cook dinners; but it taught me a lot about the real world, so I'm a glad I can see the bright side of it.

I had the rest of the day off from working at the bakery. The lady owning it told me to enjoy myself since things were really starting to look bright for us ever since Westalis and Ostania made that peace pact with us. I agreed, taking my paycheck and running home to go play outside with my siblings.

My two younger brothers both chased my older sister around, playing tag and enjoying their youth. My older brother sat in the background (he wasn't much for socializing with us).

My older sister had a pure heart and loved to spoil me as I was her only little sister. My two younger brothers were both troublemakers that very often got away with stuff (somehow nobody ever looked their way when things went south). My older brother never liked to hang out with us much, but I know he cares about us (he's just in his "I'm independent and don't need no family" phase).

I don’t know why, but I decided to look up at the sky that day. Maybe because I wanted to see how long it'd be until sunset, but I found myself looking at something else. The clouds parted a path for a weird yellow thing in the sky. I gawked at it in amazement, before smiling and running to my dad in uneven zig-zags as any child does when they've not properly mastered balancing.

“Dad! Dad!” I called out. “Is that a shooting star?” I questioned, pointing up to the sky.

He looked up at the sky, trying to see what I was talking about before his eyes widened.

“Oh no.” He muttered, utter fear in his eyes and voice. “Everyone, get inside now!” he shouted.

I looked at him confused, looking up at the sky in curiosity.

“Why?” I questioned.

“That’s a nuke!” he exclaimed, grabbing my arm as everyone ran inside due to his panicked voice.

I quickly squirmed out of his grasp, scared of his sudden change of attitude. I didn't understand what war was; if anything, I thought it was good! Why else would neighboring kids be running around and playing games such as "cops and robbers" or "army"? Why would kids be playing a game that glamorizes the death and suffering of others?

“N-no! I have to make a wish, otherwise it won’t come true! That’s what sissy said.” I spoke, making a dumb excuse.

“We don’t have time, come here!” he spoke, lunging for my arm.

I quickly retracted, turning and running away with the excuse of “at least let me get my chalk!”

I was scared and confused of his sudden change of attitude. It won’t hurt me, I’ve never heard of shooting stars crashing into Earth. I was set it was a star, not a nuke (not that I was even aware of what nukes were at the time). Besides, the star will be tiny! When it falls, I can pick it up and keep it in my pocket as a pet. That's how naive I was as a child.

“(Y/N)!” my father screamed, frustrated.

I turned around, seeing how the star went from over my to hitting something I couldn’t see from far behind the house. I looked at it, shocked at the sky flashed red for a second, before it returned normal. A blackish gray mushroom cloud appeared behind the house, growing big by the second.

“Woah.” I spoke, shocked.

It took a second, staring amazed at it, before I was hit with powerful winds as the sound of glass broke and the sound of trees getting ripped from their weakened roots. I barley heard the screaming of people before I was taken in the powerful wave of wind as my ears started to hurt. My body slammed against a tree, knocking the wind out of me as I hit my head.

The wind stopped and I fell to the ground, not defying gravity anymore as I cried, covering my ears. I could barely even hear my own cries, just the sound of a church bell that hurt the headache I was immediately forming. I smelt something awful as I realized my vision was completely gone.

I held my ears, desperate to hear the ringing stop, and cried, curling myself into a ball from the pain. I don’t know how long I sat there before I tried standing up, swaying side to side as I took a blind step forward, only to trip on something thick and fall onto my knees. I crawled around, desperate to find a sense of familarity, before feeling a sharp pain stab into my hands. I wept louder, not knowing what hurt me as my vision didn't approve.

I stayed on the ground longer, waiting for something, anything, to happen. Eventually, I regained my vision from this light, but darkness. It was black and white, I really can't explain it in words. It's just not something you can explain.

I looked down at my hands and noticed blood that came from my ears. I ran to go tell my dad, but saw my house crushed, barely standing. I looked around in the rubble, trying to see if my dad or any of my siblings were alright.

I saw a hand from the rubble and notice it was my dad’s from the size and skin tone. I tried to move the bricks and debris but couldn’t. I tried to tug his hand but to no avail. I gave up, sitting down on the ground next to the hand and resulted to screaming and crying, hoping somebody would hear and save my family and I.

I don’t know how long I was there, crying as my ears rang miserably and how my body ached, but I eventually heard shouts and the sounds of heavy tires and machinery, and looked up. People in green and huge, huge tanks came around.

I realized it was the military and cried, standing up and running to them.

“Oh, shit. A kid’s alive!” someone shouted.

They had a terrifying gas mask on their face as they looked at me.

“My dad! My family! They’re trapped under the house!” I cried, pointing. "You gotta help them. I can't do it on my own!"

The man looked over and sighed, kneeling down.

“I’m sorry, kid, but we can’t save them. You can't be there, the Ostanian army is here.” He spoke as another man came up with a gas mask in his hand and on his face. “Here, wear this. It’ll help you breathe.” He spoke, taking the mask.

“It’s a miracle we got here when we did. Ten minutes more out here in this radiation and you could’ve died, that, or the Ostanians...” The other man spoke, muttering that last part to himself.

Even though I was seven at the time, I knew what death was; however, I didn’t know how gruesome it was. I didn’t know how cruel people could be. When I thought of death, I thought of old people with gray hair dying peaceful in bed, not young people robbed of their lives and lying in their childhood home's bricks and their own blood surrounding them.

“W-what’s gonna happen now?” I questioned.

“The military has a shelter going on right now. We’ll bring you there. After that, the state government is gonna take care of you. Probably put you in an orphanage.” The first man spoke.

And yet, even though I was seven, I had no idea how kids could live without a parental figure. I had no idea how someone could live in a house full of strangers. I had no idea how to accept their death, or my own that would probably be nearby.

The tank’s hatch opened up, revealing another guy in a gas mask.

“Then after we’re going to go kill those Ostanian fuckers for this!” he bellowed loudly, obviously angry.

"Rancher, could you shut the hell up?! A kid is present!” the second man yelled back at the third one.

A white van pulled up, their windows tinted, iron prison bars covering them as the door opened.

“Hurry up and get into the van. Keep your gas mask on too while you’re in there for extra safety.” The first man spoke, pushing me into the van.

I entered with my head racing and my heart pounding. There wasn’t many survivors they’ve found. Five people out of the sixty seated bus must’ve been here. Some napped while others cried, and some stared outside of the window with disappoint and rage to see their homes and families gone.

I sat down alone, deciding to be another one of those people who bottle up their emotions and stare out the window as their head bangs against it from the bus’ movements.

I’m going to destroy Ostania for everything they’ve done to us. I thought to myself. They'll atone for what they've done. . . It wasn’t long after that nuke dropping that I found myself in a large shelter where alive civilians and the military were huddled down. I saw those guys once and thanked them for saving me, to which they said it was their jobs.

I was still mad at losing everything I had in just thirty seconds, so I decided to try and find a way into the military to help Ostanias downfall. Despite my many attempts to get into the military, they declined me each time for being under 18 and for being a girl.

I slammed my head on the metal table, ignoring the sting on my forehead as a military officer came up to me.

“Hey, Net.” I sighed, lifting my head.

“You keep doing that every time you don’t get in you’re gonna kill yourself before even getting your application accepted.” He spoke, taking a bite from his food.

“It’s no use. I’m a girl” I groaned.

“You’re still trying to get in?” he questioned.

“Not try, I am gonna get in.” I stated defensively.

“Here.” Net spoke, sliding me a piece of paper.

“What is it?” I questioned, picking up the paper.

I recognized the form instantly from stealing it so many damn times.

“Woah. Dude, why are you giving me this? You could be in serious trouble!” I whispered.

“Instead of remaining calm and peaceful like how you'd normally fill the form out, just fucking obliterate the thing.” Nat spoke.

�� “Oh.” I muttered. “Thanks?”

“No problem. Hurry up and get to Gerald. But if anyone asks, then you stole it…again.” Nat ordered.

“Yes, sir!” I chuckled, standing up from my chair and stealing a pen from Nat’s pocket.

I ran to the military counselor’s tent, sitting down and quickly filling out the form with the most unprofessional and colorful vocabulary I never even dared to utter alone to myself. I reread it proudly, determined to get that position in the Westalis military. I opened the tent and sat down, seeing the military counselor was there with one of the squad captains.

"Excuse me, sir and sir." I acknowledged, bowing to show my respect.

I handed the paper to the counselor as he groaned, already knowing why I'm here and what this paper meant.

"Yet again, you show up in my office like the stubborn little brat you are. I told you, children, and especially girls, aren't welcome in the Westalis mil–" Gerald gasped loudly, his face going pale as he stared at the paper with white-shot eyes.

He quickly flipped the page, and the next page, rereading the papers over and over again.

"Y-you..." he spluttered. "The audacity of you!" he shouted, grabbing a nearby yard stick and slapping my wrist with it.

"Oi! You fucking wad of earwax!" I yelp, retracting my hand back as his face went even paler.

"In front of the recruiter too?! Brats like you have no chance into the Westalis military!" Gerald spoke.

"You bet! I'm done with your fucking shenanigans! You better count all your lucky pennies because if I don't get that position in the military, I'm gonna sneak my way into them tanks and rapid fire your tent to match my hometown!" I shouted, slamming my hands on his desk and taking his yard stick, slapping it against his wrists instead of mine.

I ripped the paper out of Gerald's hands, giving it to the recruiter instead.

"Take it. You read it instead, you're the boss; not this leprechaun." I spat.

The recruiter kept a straight face before taking the paper. He read it, unamused and blank faced as I impatiently tapped my foot.

"Twenty-six times I've entered this tent within two months, and no results. I'm not going to stop until I join your squad." I stated, standing my ground as I stood straight and tall, hoping to seem determined enough to make up for all my weak strength and sour attitude. "I know that I don't look like much, nor do I act it. I'm seven and a quarter. I'm not very strong or tall, and I've barely lived long enough to even be a pre-teen, but I'm smart enough to understand the government and give advice of a seventy-year old, and I swear to whatever God there is that there's no fucker in Ostania that going to want to cross me after they see what I'll do with their soldiers." I spoke. "So if you could give me a chance and prove myself to you, that'd be really fucking fantastic." I spoke, allowing the colorful word to brighten my sentence.

"You're seven?" the recruiter spoke.

"And a quarter." I spoke. "I can be useful! I'm fast and stealthy and my size helps me hide good. Ostania would never expect a girl to fight in the military, let alone a kid." I smiled.

"You realize you'll most certainly die within two days, maximum?" the recruiter questioned.

"Sometimes you just gotta jump to know what's there." I replied, determination filling every ounce of my soul and body.

The recruiter stared at me for a second, before looking at Gerald.

"Do you have this kid's other application forms?" he questioned.

"You're not seriously going to allow this brat? Out of everyone?!" Gerald questioned.

"Shut the hell up, Gerald." I snapped, slapping his wrist with the ruler. "Ain't nobody gonna join; everyone's too afraid to die or they're suffering from some major PTSD. You aren't gonna find a gal as determined as me to get this job."

"Give me her recent form." The recruiter demanded.

Gerald mumbled alienated words under his breath as he searched through his desk, pulling out a paper packet I gave him last week. The recruiter scanned through the papers for a good three minutes, before setting the papers down.

"You're recruited. Welcome, (Y/N) (L/N), to the Westalis Military." The recruiter spoke, a small smile on his face as he held out his hand.

I shook it proudly, cackling as Gerald tried his best not to break down to tears in the background.

A month went by with me in the military. It felt longer than it was, and it was absolutely exhausting. Just because I was a kid doesn't mean that the recruiter took any mercy on me.

("You've got the body of a crazy kid, and the mind of an even crazier adult.") The recruiter once told me. ("If you give up now, I'll kill you myself for making me look like a fool to have you join us.")

I experienced many bombings, tank firings, gunshots, and many comrades die. Nat and Hujo (that second man that helped me when Nat found me in Luwen, Eastern Westalis) both died in combat, their bulletproof vests being false advertising. I saw ####, a boy from my hometown, here.

I feel like I should’ve been happy to see someone I know alive, but me and #### never really got along well, even before the war. While he was seven years older and a quiet kid, he was a total pushover and aimed to please people. I was the rowdy and opinionated kid, ready to kick someone in the stomach and shout insults if they decided to pick on me.

We both lived in the small poor town of Luwen, the more poorer side of Westalis, but we made it work. And despite our many differences, we both had one common goal: to appease our parents. It amazed me how I never once saw him cry despite everything we've been through. He was older, taller, and stronger than me—something I was extremely envious of—and he became a squad commander after too many deaths, of my damn squad!

I hated him for being tough. I hated him for being an amazing liar. And I despised that he knew how to keep his emotions to himself, while I frequently lashed out and cried. I was predictable; and he was a closed-book, and it pissed me off beyond belief.

Rations were getting smaller and smaller, but it wasn’t too much of a problem for soldiers since they kept falling like dominoes, but it was a problem for the survivors we kept finding. The survivors came with missing fingers, broken limbs, and charred faces, it was almost like Ostania wanted the civilians of Westalis to suffer, and that just pissed us off further.

I sighed, resting my head on the cool metal table. My body ached from the training I’m out to before having to be dispatched out for another rescue mission.

“You should eat that shit. You’re getting glares.”

I sighed, lifting my head.

“Sup, Rancher?” I spoke.

Rancher was off-duty for a few days after Nat and Hujo died. Rancher was best friends with the two of them for years, so he really took it to heart when they died. He was the loud and rowdy guy in the tank when Nat and Hujo found me. He looks like total shit too. His tanned skin got paler and his brown eyes seemed dull and darker then before, the death of his two buddies really took a toll on him.

“You look like shit.” I admitted.

“Not like you look any better.” He chuckled.

“I’m still growing, so I have a chance at being tall and pretty; you’re too old to keep growing and you still look like a rat’s ass, just worse.” I laughed.

“The bigger the bark, the smaller the dog is.” He smiled, causing me to glare at him.

“Yeah? W-well…the stupider you are…the uglier!” I retorted, having no idea what I said as he laughed.

“Alright. Well, hurry up eating. I’m going to join the rescue mission before I get kicked out.” Rancher spoke.

“You sure, dude? I can come up with something for you. Like, something you ate went bad and you have food poisoning or some shit like that.” I suggested.

“Nah. I figured Hujo would be pissed off and Nat would be scolding me if I stayed in bed any longer.” Rancher smiled sadly.

“Take it easy, man. I’ll look out for you during the mission.” I spoke, patting his hand on the table before quickly shoveling my food down my throat, ignoring the plain and slightly repulsive taste it had.

I took a large sip of water to drown out the taste, then stood up.

“Rightie-oh!” I spoke, faking a British accent to cheer Rancher up. “Shall we go?”

“Yeah, sure.” He stood up—stretching and complaining about back problems—and walked out of the shelter’s roof to join the other soldiers.

The squad was—unfortunately—led by ####, who took the fake name “Roland” from Luwen to join the military. I was already in a sour mood thanks to #### and we haven’t even left! . . A total fail. That’s what the mission was. Rancher was down, clutching his arm as he looked down at the wound. He had a hole in his chest and another in his forearm. The gun must’ve not been sighted since they missed all vital organs.

What an amateur… I thought, stuffing the wound in his chest with gauze.

“The bullet is stuck deep in there. It’s not something I can remove, but the nurses at camp will get it. Show me your arm.” I demanded.

I grabbed his arm, slapping his other hand that tried to stop me.

“Kid, you gotta get out of here. They’ll find you soon.” Rancher spoke, taking heavy breaths.

“Shut the hell up, Rancher. You and your big ass mouth. I know they’ll come here!” I snapped.

“Then fucking abort the mission. You shouldn’t even be in this whole mess.” Rancher sighed.

“Don’t try and give me final words like you’re dying; you’re going to live and I’ll make sure of it.” I spoke, determined as I stuff gauze into his arm, causing him to hiss at the pain.

“You need to live and do whatever you can to complete that goal you decided to join the military for.” Rancher argued.

I heard a branch snapped and quickly grabbed my gun, listening and shooting into the trees, as someone screamed and fell onto the ground not to far from here.

“Shit. I’m low on ammo.” I sighed.

“Just get out of here.” Rancher ordered.

“No.” I defied. “If I die, then I die. But I won’t. That mission can be postponed 'cause we’re both going to live. Now stop bitching.” I spoke, wrapping his arm with bandages to hold the gauze.

“You’re stubborn.” He growled.

“You’re stupid.” I retorted. “Can you stand?” I questioned.

“If I stand, I’ll pass out.” He spoke.

I nodded, grabbing his walkie-talkie from his belt and switching it to the channel our military agreed on using.

“I need medical assistance. Soldier was shot twice and I’m low on ammo. His wounds have been caused and wrapped but he needs professional assistance. Over.” I spoke, repeating the line over and over until I heard a voice.

“Affirmative. What’s the coordinates? Over.” The voice questioned.

“Uh. Shit, probably...” I pulled out the map I had, fumbling with it. “Like... like 50°46'46.8" North 10°00'09.1" East? Over.” I spoke into the walkie-talkie.

(Author note: These are random coordinates I found in Germany and are no means accurate.)

“Negative. We can’t send anyone there, over.” He spoke.

“Well why the fuck not? Over!” I questioned.

“Enemy territory. Abort the premises with or without the soldier. Over.” They spoke.

“We’re in enemy territory because you fucking sent us in this mess, fucker! Over!” I hissed.

The line went silent before speaking: “Abort the mission with or without the solider. Over.”

“This is (Y/N) (L/N)! I can’t carry him! Rancher is down, over!” I informed.

“Oh, shit. You’re the kid? The seven-year-old kid?” the radio spoke, surprised that he didn’t even say “over”.

“Yes! And I can’t get Rancher to a safe place with my size and strength. I need either back up or medical assistance! Over.” I hissed.

“…Leave Rancher and get the hell out of there. War isn’t something a kid like yourself should be in. Over.” The man spoke.

“I'm sick of everything telling me what I should be doing! I chose this path. And I’m choosing to save Rancher, and I swear to god if you don’t help us I’ll haunt you when I’m dead because mine and Rancher’s blood will be on your hands. Over.” I spat.

The line went silent for a bit, before it picked up: “We’ll see what we can do. Over.”

I sighed, grabbing my gun and unloading the magazine chamber to check how much ammo I have.

Five bullets. As long as I don’t run into any trouble, I can make it. I thought to myself.

I grabbed Rancher’s gun to see how much ammo he has, not too surprised when I saw he had blew through it all. He's always been unsparing in our resources, whether it was food or ammo.

“You can leave. They said they’ll probably do something, so I’ll be fine.” Rancher sighed, his face pale as sweat ran down it, whether from the heavy uniform we’re wearing in this heat or the blood loss.

“Probably." I shrugged. "However, I told you I ain’t leaving. I told you I got your back, man.”

There’s no way I can turn back and leave, that’s how Nat and Hujo died.

“And do you have an off switch? Can you just shut up before the enemy finds us?” I sighed.

“Can you not be so stubborn?” Rancher retorted. “And I’m not the one that was yelling in the walkie-talkie two minutes ago.”

“And?” I dared, causing Rancher to roll his eyes.

I heard a branch snap and immediately raised up my gun.

“Wait! It’s Roland! I’m on your side.”

#### stepped out of the bushes, causing me to groan and roll my eyes.

#### looked like shit. He had a small stubble and had large eyeballs, obviously his sanity has deployed ever since the war officially set off, but so has mine, I supposed.

“You’re so damn lucky I didn’t shoot you.” I sighed, placing my gun down on the dirt.

“Yeah…” #### sighed, relieved that I actually didn’t. “Is Rancher okay?”

“He got shot twice; in his chest and arm. The bullets are too deep to get by hand, we need medical assistance. I’m afraid if we don’t get help, either he’d die from blood loss.” I sighed.

“Smart thinking. Good job.” #### spoke.

I ignored the praise and the fluffy feeling in my chest, glad to have been seen as useful and smart, but I don’t want to here praise from that prick.

“Yeah. I know from the med class I had to take to join...” I muttered.

Not like you didn’t take that class too. I thought, sarcastic.

Gun fire broke out nearby as you can hear stomping from not to far off.

“Crap…” #### muttered.

“Pick him up and let’s go!” I whispered harshly.

“I’m not going to be able to carry him with the heavy uniform and run and shoot.” #### stated.

“Of course you can, you have to save him. That’s why you’re here!” I whispered, ignoring the tears that started to build up in my eyes from the hopeless feeling in my chest.

“We have to go.” #### spoke, calm and collected despite the gunfire and steps getting louder.

“No.” I hissed.

“(Y/N)!” Rancher hissed. “Fucking go. I would never forgive myself if I’m the cause of your death; not when you have so much left to do.”

“B-but… I can’t abandon you…” I whimpered.

“I want you to listen to me. Leave and go do whatever you want with your life. Please. Do something I’ve never done and continue your legacy.” He chuckled.

“No….” I muttered, unsure of my words.

“We have to go!” #### whispered harsh.

“No!” I hissed back.

#### stared at me for a good second, our eyes rivaling each other before he swiftly scooping me up, balancing me on his shoulder, and running.

“Hey! Let go!” I squirmed. “We have to go back and get Rancher.” By now, the panic and hopelessly fully took over, causing the dam in my eyes to break. “Please. We have to go back…” I whispered, my bottom lip trembling as more tears fell.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” #### spoke, his voice shaking.

I could tell it was hard for him to leave Rancher too. Despite not knowing Rancher well, he was ####’s teammate, an ally, an amazing tanker with an amazing sense of humor, and a human. But for me, most importantly, he was my friend, and he reminded me of myself; stubborn and ready to fight no matter what. It’s hard to trade one’s life, even if they asked for it.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N).” He repeated. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything for Rancher, or our families. I can’t change the past to where I was stronger or where this war never happened, but I can at least change the present. And I want us to live.”

“I hate you.” I whimpered. “I hate how tough you are. How calm you are. And how you always know what to do and say. You stupid pushover and golden goose. I hate how you’re always Hercules.” I whined softly as more tears came down my face as I listened to the gunshots and yelling fading away as #### ran.

“I’m not as perfect as you think.” He chuckled poorly.

His tone surprised me, and I turned around to see his face. His blue eyes crying out their own sorrow as he focused his eyes ahead. I focused my attention back to the blurry ground as I allowed myself to cry some more.

Sometimes. Me and #### are different people; stubborn and smart, strong and weak. Other times, we’re the same person with the same goal; trying to appease our parents, or just trying to survive.

He stopped, placing me down and catching his breath as I sat on the ground, tears still in my eyes.

“You’re not injured, right?” he questioned.

“No.” I muttered. “Why’d you join the military?” I questioned.

The question came out of nowhere, yes. But I wanted to know why #### joined. What could his reason be?

“When Ostania crossed the border. In just 60 seconds, everything I cared about was taken away from me. All that was left, was thing I despised. And that’s more than enough for me to pick up a gun and destroy Ostania.” He admitted.

“We’re pretty similar…. Same reason I’m here.” I chuckled, wiping the tears out of my eyes.

“How’d you even get in?” he questioned. "You're too young. I had to fake my age and name."

“I had to do a lot of pestering and cussing.” I laughed.

A shuffle in the bushes was heard, causing me to stand up and #### to draw his gun as someone appeared out of the brushes. It was a man with curly brown hair and circular glasses and a piercing on his left ear.

“Bwah! Time-out! Time-out! Stop! Don’t shoot!”

Did that grown-ass man really just “time out?”

Surprisingly, #### held his fire, sizing up the man.

“You’re Ostanian Infantry, yeah?” #### spoke.

“Gah! Westalis soldiers—is that a kid...?” he muttered the last part confused as he held his hands in the air.

I glared at him and pulled my own gun out, causing him to begin freaking out again.

“Where is your gun?” #### asked.

“I don’t have one! I’m unarmed! I surrender!” he quickly spoke, then sighed. “I… look, I deserted. I just couldn’t take it anymore. But I got lost and have been wandering around in these mountains for two whole days… so please can you give me something to eat?!” he shouted, putting his hands together and begging.

“I don’t have rations to spare on dead men. Say goodbye.” #### spoke calmly.

“Wait! Please! I’m begging you! I don’t wanna die having never been with a woman!” he screamed loudly.

Men are so simple minded… I thought to myself, yet chuckled as #### did.

“All right. I can give you one cigarette.” #### spoke.

“Oh, thanks.” The man spoke, taking a cigarette has #### lit it.

“I didn’t know you smoked.” I spoke up.

“There‘a a lot of things I do that you don’t know.” #### commented.

“Oh, okay, creep. Like that wasn’t weird.” I commented myself.

“What’s with the kid?” the man asked.

“Are you the one holding the gun? No? Don’t question it.” I huffed, holding up my gun.

“Sorry, sorry!” he quickly wailed.

Soon enough, #### and the man started to click together, a weird combination in this war.

If I go back now, I wonder if Rancher would still be alive, if unspotted from the Ostanian military, that is. I thought to myself, sighing as I drew my focus back to the conversation.

“But you know, they actually do some interesting research at that university!” the man spoke. “Like, they got all these test subjects and showed ‘em a film of a guy getting slapped, right? And they showed signs of discomfort ‘cause their brains emphasized with the guy’s pain. And that means its human nature to avoid violence.”

“But the thing is they ran the experiment again, and this time they told the subjects that the guy gets slapped by his lover because he cheated on her. So what do you think happened? When they watched it, the subjects brains showed signs of pleasure!” he explained.

I think if I saw someone get slapped, I’d laugh without even knowing the reason. I thought to myself. Maybe if I convince #### to slap this guy, we can see. I thought impulsively.

“I mean, doesn’t it freak you out? They have no idea if they’re being told the truth, but once the idea’s in their head, they do a complete 180°. Weird, right?” the man spoke.

I feel like this is going somewhere. But I can understand what he’s saying. I thought to myself. I looked at my gun, feeling the weight in my hands and the heavy burden it was to carry it.

It’s be easier to drop it and walk away. I can barely hold this weight on my own. Someone else can; someone stronger and less sensitive.

I looked at ####, who seemed slightly frustrated.

“Just say what you’re trying to say!” he ordered.

“I’m just saying, isn’t it stupid? This whole war between East and West, it’s all the result of some diplomatic fiasco. So why is it that all of us worthless peona gotta be the ones to clean us their mess?” he sighed. “They tell us to hate each other. So we fight. And then we die. It’s the most pointless thing in the world.”

I didn’t know it at the time, but I was playing as a small cog in the machine—we all were. But the things with machines, is that they’re specially designed and assigned certain tasks. But once a cog is lost, the machine cannot perform its chores unless another cog takes the place of the previous one. It's easy to replace an old, broken cog with a new, naive one.

To put it in simple terms, the government, the war, needs us in order to win, and when we die, we’re easily replaced by another solider.

I’m surprised I’m not dead yet. I thought to myself. I have no major injuries and I still have a comrade with me—I doubt most of our soldiers have that.

All of the soldiers sent on this rescue mission are probably dead (with the exception of me and ####).

“Yeah, except it’s you Ostanians that started this war.” #### pointed out.

“In the East, they say it was the West that started it.” The man stated. “They say that first bombing of Luwen was a false flag operation. They’re even rumors Westalis got operatives from some other country to incite the Ostanian Army was doing it.”

I turned my head to ####, curious of his reaction.

I’m an open-minded person when it comes to politics or law as long as it doesn’t go against my moral code. I’d rather research to the ends of the Earth for the truth rather than believe in a simple lie. I’ll take this man’s words and place it on the back burner for when the time is right, to where I can find the truth, whether it’d be today or tomorrow or years from now.

Some Shakesphere I am, I thought to myself, watching has #### held his gun to the man.

“That’s just blatant propaganda to get your country off the hook!” #### shouted.

“Yeah! Yeah, right, of course it is! I’m just saying, how could a bunch of foot soldiers like us know the truth about anything?” the man immediately spoke, putting his hands in the air to prove no threat as I groaned.

#### isn’t really all that open-minded, though.

“That day! That bombing! Those bombs killed every last one of my friends! There’s your truth!” #### spoke.

“Our families died in that bombing. Whether Westalis or Ostania started it, it’s no way for anyone to die.” I spoke, closely eyeing ####’s finger as he held it on the trigger.

“Well, I’m in the exact same boat!” he spoke.

#### gritted his teeth and kicked the man down to the ground, his glasses getting knocked off his face. Just then, gunfire from the bushes danced in the wind, causing me to yelp and duck to the ground, helpless as a I felt a searing pain in my side and leg. A bullet hit ####’s helmet, but luckily it didn’t pierce it.

“Gah! The Ostanian army squad that’s been chasing me! You just had to try and shoot me and give our position away!” the man complained. “Well, no way in hell I’m letting them catch me! See ya! Thanks for the cigarettes, I guess.” He yelled, running away.

I crawled to #### using my body to protect his down body.

His ears are probably ringing since the metal helmet just got hit. I thought.

“If you can run, go away. I’ll be fine.” I spoke through the gunfire.

#### huffed, getting up on his knees and picking me and his gun up.

“I’m not gonna abandon you! Not when I have the power to save you!” #### yelled through the bullets.

I sighed.

He’s just as stubborn as me. But he should really let me die. It’s not like there’s anyone alive who’d miss me, and ####’s using me as a replacement for the friends he couldn’t save. So there’s no point for me to live, and all I’ve been is useless and problematic. I couldn’t save any of my friends, family, comrades, or even myself.

“Thanks for being such a suck-up.” I spoke, wincing at each step he took since it threw my body around like a rag doll, hurting my wounds.

“Let’s save the tears for when we get back alive.” He gruffed. . .

What am I doing? Getting emotional like this? I hate getting emotional. I thought, snapping out of my thoughts and rubbing the tears from my eyes. I guess that's another reason I quit being a spy. I thought.

I don't really like to use violence anymore. I'll fight and shoot if I have to, but I don't like turning to it unless it's necessary. I'm afraid if I pick up a gun again, then all of my anger and sadness would return and control my actions just like it did before.

...That's stupid. I can't believe I just lied to myself in my own head.

The real reason I don't want to fight is because it hurts more than anyone can imagine. When people see war movies or read the books, they always think "yeah, I can do that." But once the first bullet flies, they all follow. When the sky has turn gray from tank smoke and fires from the bombings. When the bullets fall from the sky like rain and you're ordered to engage in battle; you don't want to. Who would want to?

Nobody wants to actually die. When they're in the face of danger, they're looking for a way to fight or a way to flee. When you're actually experiencing something as stressful and traumatic as that, you realize that every plan you've been brainstorming inside that little head of yours had ran away with your bravery and rationality. The only thing you'll be thinking of is a way out, a way away from the men in guns, a place to hide or a weapon to protect yourself with. Humans are made with fear; it's how we survive.

Fear is a human's best friend and worst nemesis. Fear navigates you away from danger, and it also forces you to think unclear. Fear is one of the human's survival instincts, so when you find it hard to breathe or your chest starts racing; don't ignore it.

I sighed, turning my body to Yuri and observing his face.

He's seriously so annoying. He's always so focused on work and how I'll betray him. He's probably always thinking about his sister, I wouldn't be surprised if he was dreaming about her. I thought, reaching my hand up and letting my intrusive thoughts win as I poked his injured forehead lightly, just barley any touch.

"You. Are. Stupid." I spoke, believing the words I said with every poke. "But..." I paused, thinking of what to say to the unconscious Yuri. "I don't think I'd want to be anyone else's wife." I admitted. "Don't think it's a compliment though, jerk." I huffed, going back to poking his forehead until I got bored.

I sighed again, trying to close my eyes and sleep, but the silence and the dark really started to bother me. I could hear the steps of the neighbor's above us, or is there something crawling on the ceiling and watching me. I could hear the air conditioning, or is it a monster breathing? Or the neighbor's opening their doors, or is that our front door?

The bedroom door creaked open and I froze, my arms immediately latching onto Yuri as I kept quiet, my heart in my throat as I could hear it beat loudly.

Wait? What the hell am I doing?! I should be protecting Yuri since he's unconscious!

I gathered my nerves and opened my eyes, almost screaming once I saw a face staring down at me. They quickly covered my mouth, then spoke.

"Don't scream. It's me." They spoke.

I recognized the voice as Twilight's and immediately felt angry and relieved. I carefully got out of the bed, gripping Twilight's sleeve and dragging him out to the living room, delicately closing the door as to not disturb Yuri.

"I almost pissed myself, asshole!" I hissed, slapping his arm.

"Sorry..." he whispered, then cleared his throat. "I just wanted to know why you're quitting the spy industry." He spoke.

"Oh ho ho! Is the ever so great Twilight actually caring about me?" I teased, then cleared my own throat. "In actuality. I don't like risking my life all the time. It's not fun to get hurt and worry about if you'll ever see the people you love again." I sighed.

"What are you talking about? You don't have a lover—" His eyes widen, voice silently before he looked at me, mouth gaping open and shut like a fish. "Y-you actually love Yuri?! I thought you were kidding!" he questioned.

"Tsk! Of course not!" I exclaimed, slapping his hand. "I want to be able to live long enough to have a lover, and in this case, Yuri is my 'lover!'" I spoke with quotation marks on my fingers.

"How'd you meet him?" he questioned.

"Oh yeah. Some mole ratted me out like a little bitch to the SSS when he got caught, then they caught me after a long chase that lasted a few weeks, next thing you know, I'm being interviewed and signed a contract to work with the SSS in order to keep my life—" the words came out of my mouth before I could think of the consequences from them.

I started to open and close my mouth like a fish (and like what Twilight did earlier).

"So, you're leaving because they've got you hostage?" Twilight spoke.

"No! No!" I quickly shut down the idea. "Well. I mean, I don't want to work with the SSS, and I don't want to work with Westalian Intelligence either. I just want to live a normal life, but then this happened." I sighed.

"So there's nothing between you and Yuri?" he questioned.

"Nope." I spoke, popping the p.

"And you're sure?" Twilight questioned.

"Of course I'm sure, why do you care so much?" I questioned.

"Because he's the enemy!" Twilight hissed. "That, and he's the one killing off our spies. You don't care about that?" he spoke.

"Of course I care." I snapped, offended that he would think I wouldn't. "But I'm not going to mope about the past and get myself killed. Besides, it's not like the Westalian Intelligence cares about if I ditch or not." I sighed. "But they'll kill me if they know I'm in the SSS, so you better not spill it. I told them absolutely nothing about the people in charge or even you, Twilight. So you better keep your mouth shut because I don't care if we've known each other for years or if you're the greatest spy, you cross me and I'll find a way to make you regret it." I threatened, pointing my nail to his throat.

"Alright. I understand." Twilight spoke calmly. "But you're sure there's no feelings attached?"

"Yeah. I don't need to be worrying about that stuff. I'm only here so I can live, and trust me, he doesn't care about if I live or die either." I smiled.

"I don't know, you two were quite something today." Twilight spoke, causing my face to heat up.

"W-well, of course! I didn't just work on hacking into databases or gathering information inside forces, you know. So, you're not the only one who can lie and disguise themselves. Remember, I trained alongside you, so I know almost everything you know." I spoke, turning my head away to hide my face. "Besides, he's more of a jerk behind closed doors."

I sighed, remembering his douche personality.

("Just so you know, I'm not looking for this to be a real thing. When we're in public and at work, we'll act close—but don't expect anything kind of special treatment behind closed doors. Our 'marriage' is just a piece of paper that can easily be destroyed. The only thing that we have in common is work; nothing else." The second-lieutenant spat harshly as he walked closer to me, standing tall as he looked down at me in more ways than one.)

Yeah, he's a mega douche. I thought. I still wanna know his damn problem...

"Alright. Good." Twilight spoke.

"What about you and Yor. I don't know about you, but I almost facepalmed eight different times in five minutes. You need to get Yor to work on her acting skills." I pointed out.

"I know." He sighed. "But she's just so..." he paused, thinking. "She's a little...simple-minded, I guess."

"It runs in the Briar family." I laughed. "Now, you should leave before Yuri wakes up and freaks out. He doesn't really like you, if you haven't noticed."

"Yeah." He spoke, fixing his coat. "Thanks for your hard work at the Westalian Intelligence. I hope we'll meet again."

"Don't think because I'm leaving the force that you're never going to see me again. You've been a close friend of mine for years now, so I consider you my family. Besides, we're in-laws." I teased. "And even if we never see each other, I'll just haunt your ass from beyond the grave." I joked.

Twilight chuckled. "I wouldn't expect anything less. Goodbye, (Y/N)." He spoke.

"Bye, ####." I responded.

He stood there for a second, shocked to hear his birth name after so long of using Twilight, before smiling and parting.

I'm not too sure why they gave #### the codename "Twilight" but I know they gave me the codename "Vixen" because I usually went undercover, disguising myself in the night and manipulating others to get information out of them (I'm not too fond of it either, but I convinced myself that business is business).

When we got our codenames, we were told that our old names meant nothing and that our old lives don't matter anymore. I agreed to the terms, but there was no way I was gonna forget my past, not when it's made me the person I am today.

Twilight left, closing the front door as I locked it. I looked at the time, noticing it was 1 A.M.

Damn. Tonight's been a long one. I thought, sighing as I stretched and walked back to the bedroom.

Yuri was still dead asleep. I carefully observed his face to make sure he wasn't faking it in case he heard the conversation. I grabbed Flower and dangled it over his head, seeing for a reaction, but none. I poked his cheek, making sure his eyes didn't twitch before concluding he wasn't faking it.

Good. It must be the alcohol that made him pass out. I thought.

I crawled back into bed, placing Flower in my arms and lying on my side to face away from Yuri. I concluded I didn't like the position, and switched to facing Yuri. He was still in the same spot as earlier, still facing me. I grabbed his hand and held it, believing that his position was comfortable enough before sleeping.

Parts: One, two, three, four, five, current part, seven, eight, nine, ten (to be continued when Spy x Family has more Yuri content!)

Want more Yuri content? Check out these headcannons and one shots!

Yuri Briar x Sick! Fem! Reader

Slightly mean! Yuri Briar x Fem! Reader

Yuri Briar x Fem! Reader headcannons + other fandoms!

Have any requests? Check my masterlist to see the characters I write for: Masterlist (Please request, I have too much free time and too little fics).

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lacontroller1991 · 1 year

Text

Watchful Eyes (Poe Dameron x F!Reader)

Main Master List || Star Wars Master List

Requested by @simpforbritgents : Can you do Poe and the prompt “Stop dancing like that or I’m going to cum right here.”?

Author’s Note: SOOOO I think this is the first time I wrote for Poe (someone correct me if I’m wrong) and I’ve only seen the sequels once so if my interpretation sucks, I am sorry about it!!! BUT GOD HES SO PRETTYYYYYYY

Warnings: 18+, drinking, sensual dancing, Poe is horny for reader, talk of male erection

Word Count: 564

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He knows that he shouldn’t be watching you. He knows that as your commanding officer any relationship should be strictly professional. But it doesn’t change the fact that as you dance on the table, he’s rock solid in his pants.

It’s not often when the rebels have a chance to relax and let loose, and when they do, they go hard. Drinks are passed around, music is blaring, lights off (save for the disco ball that shines in many colors) and people chatting. When he wasn’t a general, he would’ve been partying like there was no tomorrow (which was often the case), but now he sulks in the back corner, glass of bourbon in his hand as his eyes narrow on your form, not going unnoticed by Finn who smirks to himself.

“You should probably go for her. She’s not seeing anyone you know.” Finn comments, taking a sip of his Ardees, causing Poe to look at Finn in question. “What? It’s very obvious you like her.” He walks away, leaving Poe by himself - brown eyes flicking back to your form only to see you pretend to go down on another person. Slamming his drink down, he stalks over to where you are, people moving out of the general’s way before he grabs your bicep, causing you to jump as he leans down, lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

“Stop dancing like that or I’m going to cum right here.” The words have the blood rushing under your cheeks and you’re thankful that it’s dark in the room.

“What?”

“Come on.” He expertly guides you out of the room, not really caring about the pairs of eyes on him or you as he leads you down the numerous halls. Taking a quick look down, your eyes bulge at the sight of his erection, creating a tent in his pants as everything becomes clear. He wants you.

Wasting no time, Poe gently shoves you into his room, stripping down from his clothes while you watch in curiosity. Sure, you’ve had a crush on him for years but he’s your commanding officer. Any kind of fraternization would be frowned upon. “Poe?”

Poe stops what he’s doing as he looks you over, still dressed in your clothes, confusion on your face. His face drops as realization crosses his mind. “You don’t want me, do you?”

You lightly chuckle, moving over to him and taking his cheeks in your hands. “I do, it’s just I don’t want to be a one night stand. If you want me, maybe we can try a date first? Take it slow?” Poe smirks, standing to his full height and looking down at you, caressing your cheek while you lean into his touch.

“Is this your way of asking me out?”

“Yes, I suppose it is. What do you think?”

“I think I’ll pick you up tomorrow at 7.” You nod with a smile before making your way to the door before his arm shoots out and grabs onto you, causing you to look at him. “Can you still stay the night though?”

“Yeah, I can do that.” You strip yourself of your clothes while he turns off the lights, dragging you to the bed and wrapping his arms around you while you cuddle into his side, the both of you falling asleep relatively quickly, excited for the next day together.

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Author’s Note 2.0 - I hope you enjoyed!!!!

General Tag List: @marvelousmermaid @himbovillain-anon @babblydrabbly @a-reader-and-a-writer @fairchildflag @infatuatedjanes @tavners

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x you #poe dameron #oscar issac #star wars sequels #finn #requests #general poe dameron #female reader #star wars #lacontroller1991

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prolix-yuy · 8 months

Note

Hello honey 💕 As promised, here I am submitting my request for the 500 follower celebration!

The list of prompts is amazing. I truly had a hard time choosing one, but after Chapter 2 of Both Side of the Door I need to know what happened between Mando and X'ian or I'll will never be at peace again. So I'll go for Heartbreak of betrayal with the two of them, hoping that you'll give us an insight into their relationship.

Ren's crew sees Mando as a sort of traitor, but I really can't see him act like that (as leaving Quinn behind) out of the blue. So who betrayed who? Who betrayed first? How? Why? And most importantly, what the hell happened on Alzoc III? S1E5 left us with so many questions. I need answers 🤯

Ma Chérie! My wonderful @amban-rifle! I have to start this off with an apology. I have held onto this ask for SO GOSH DARN LONG. This is from my 500 Followers Celebration OVER A YEAR AGO. I'm so sorry have kept you waiting but holy heck, what an ask! The drama! The complications! The holes in canon we all struggle with! Plus addressing one of the most confusing and complicated off-screen "relationships" many of us x Reader writers ignore. I wanted to do it justice, and it took a bunch of research, gorging myself on other Star Wars content, and staring off into space while that Spongebob meme of my brain being on fire danced in my noggin. But! It is here, finally. And for being so patient, it's an absolute monster.

Interlude: Burn in My Bloodstream

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader, Din Djarin x Xi'an

Summary: The Mandalorian has shared many secrets, but his greatest one is buried in shame and blood.

Word Count: 11.8k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, canonical-type violence, allusions to sex work, rough sex throughout, oral sex (m receiving), gagging, voyeurism, fingering (f receiving), PiV sex (don't be a fool, wrap your tool), anal sex, creampie, choking, degradation, threesomes, semi-public sex, cuckolding, blood and descriptive gore, character death, genocide (what a tag that was to write), suicidal thoughts, a fuckton of angst, The Helmet Stays On and it's a Big Deal, a very toxic relationship dynamic.

Notes: This one was an exercise in researching and complicated storytelling, but now that it's done I am over the moon with how it came out. I know that the Din x Xi'an pairing is not many people's cup of tea, but if you want my take on how it came about and what I think happened to give us The Prisoner, here's it all as best as I can surmise. I'm staying as canon compliant as possible because it's fun to connect a bunch of dots, but obviously this is all speculation with some liberal fudging of timelines.

Takes place after Both Sides of the Door, with much of the story set pre-S1 and spoilers for S1 Ep6 The Prisoner. Our Reader character makes an appearance at the beginning and end, so she'll still have a place in this interlude. The title is taken from Ed Sheeran's "Bloodstream" and if you want to know where my mood was for most of this, that song is a good place to start.

Cross-posted on AO3

I Think of You Series Masterlist

After you retire for the night, Din contemplates telling you about the other woman who left marks on his life. Omera was easy; wrong place, wrong time, and no right time on the horizon. And if he was truthful with himself, maybe no right time ever. He could have loved her, loved the way she cared for him and allowed a softer life for himself. There are times when he lies in bed and wonders what a world like that might look like for him.

It’s…difficult.

Even thinking of a little plot of land, a space all his own tied to the earth of a planet, makes him yearn for the skies and space that surround you three on the Crest. He could never truly root in soil, so used to being a seed on the wind. There would always be bounties to chase, duties to fulfill, missions to complete.

Right?

And if he digs even deeper, he might find the clearest truth hidden among the memories.

His heart belonged to you longer than even he knew.

There were times when he let others touch it. Omera’s hands held it gently, too kindly for him to accept. And to keep it, she would need him to lift the helmet, the one thing he could not give her. Being a Mandalorian is all he knows. So he took his heart with him, and he’s sure she’s better off without it.

But there was another who reached into his chest with claws and teeth and left him bloody from her affections. One he tries not to dwell on as long as he can. A time in his life that brought more shame than any other, misted in blood and sex and credits.

He wants to share more of his world with you. You deserve to understand exactly why he is the man he is today.

But he does not think he can tell you about Xi’an.

“Got something special for you, Mando,” Karga says when he settles across the table. “You’ve been requested by name.”

Din cocks his head, one hand drumming restlessly.

“That’s new,” he says. He likes playing mysterious for Karga, embodying all that a Mandalorian is supposed to be, even when some days he feels like a small child wearing his buir’s armor. At least it hides the worst of his apprehension, impassive helmet masking how his eyes constantly dart around the room, legs tense and ready to spring.

“Ranzar Malk. Leads a small team of mercenaries.”

Din tips his head back, folding his arms over his durasteel cuirass.

“Didn’t think you liked sharing the spoils,” he drawls, watching Karga carefully. The man laughs, sipping back some spotchka and winking at a woman sitting at his bar.

“I don’t. I like my work without middle men. But they bring in very, very good credits. A percentage is more for both of us than the handful of riff-raff I could offer you.” Karga leans forward, elbow coming down and speaking lower. “They want the reputation a Mando can give their team. Help them get some bigger and better jobs. You lend them your striking silhouette, and you’ll be in enough credits to buy a whole suit of beskar. And my cut will be…barely noticeable.” The sly smile Karga schools off his face lets Din know it’s a lot more than unnoticeable, but the job intrigues him.

“What kind of work is it?” he asks. Flashes of memories play at the corner of his mind - Mandalorians coming down from on high to save him, droids shredded in their wake.

“Malk and I have a strict ‘no questions asked’ policy. You do the work, you get paid.”

Din rolls his shoulders, fingers itching to grab onto something solid and deadly.

“How long do they need my…reputation?”

Karga leans back and sweeps his hands wide.

“As long as you want. Open contract.”

Din considers the offer. Mercenary work has never been too lowly for a beroya, but he’d never done any. Mostly small-time criminals and shakedowns in return for credits. But if the money is as good as Karga makes it sound, it could help the covert ten times over.

“Deal.”

“You must be the Mando.”

The voice is snarly, raked over a steel timbre. Din turns to see a barrel-chested, long haired man with a thick salt and pepper beard to match. His face is folded into a smile but the light of it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Extending a short-fingered hand, he pumps Din’s gloved one vigorously.

“Karga said you were in need of reputation,” Din says, cooly delivering the lines he practiced on the flight to this no-name hangar in Outer Rim rubble.

“And what are you in need of, Mando?” Malk says, eyeing him with blatant curiosity. Din had planned for this question during his supply run. The covert wasn’t to be named, the last of a culture eradicated. So why was he still traveling, wearing the helmet if he’s not of an unseen world?

“Target practice,” is the dry answer he gives, leveling the helmet at the shorter man. Malk raises an eyebrow before a conspiratorial smile splits his lips.

“I like you, Mando. Man of few words. You’ll get along with the other chatterboxes I run with.”

Malk leads him to a hangar pad, small ships in various levels of disrepair scattered across the peeling floor. A sharp whistle brings three people into view, two purple Twi’leks and a human man.

“My crew,” Malk says proudly, gesturing for them to come closer. The female Twi’lek saunters over with a swing in her hip, the heavy forehead-first stride of her companion close behind. The human throws a grease-spotted towel onto a box of tools and comes to an exasperated stop in front of Malk.

“Can’t believe you shelled out credits for a tin man. I could have put a bucket on and we’d be just as well off,” the man says. His face is Malk claps him on the shoulder.

“Varlo,” Malk says, nodding to Din. He gives a polite tip of his head back. Varlo rolls his cold blue eyes and turns on his heel. His jaw is sharp and squared, matching his lithe frame as he climbs back into an open access hatch. The male Twi’lek approaches Din, soft footwork with his hands in his pockets.

“Qin,” he offers before Malk’s introduction, nodding his head at the amban rifle slung across Din’s chest. “Is it true weapons are part of your religion? Or is that all bedtime stories?” His smirk is condescending, not even veiled. A simmer of annoyance bubbles in Din’s veins but he tamps it out.

“Among other things,” he says instead, earning a sardonic smile and a handshake from Qin.

“All weapons?” the female Twi’lek says at Din’s elbow, running her fingers up the length of the rifle’s barrel. Din twists away, visor meeting the sparkling challenge in the Twi’s eyes.

“My sister, Xi’an,” Qin interjects as she circles Din with roaming eyes. She hisses at him, raising Din’s eyebrows under the helmet, before sharply switching to high-pitched giggles, like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever done.

“Ohhhh, Mando, we’re going to have fun,” she says, finally coming to rest at her brother’s side.

Din should have walked away in this moment, saved himself a lot of pain and heartache and blood. They were volatile, waiting for a spark to burn everything around them, and Din was only more kindling.

The jobs were easy to start. Wealthy benefactors needing a little extra muscle to get their way. A handful of runaways returned home. One exceptionally smooth jailbreak. Din’s presence gave them a leg up on jobs, but his skills were where he became integral. Combat all done with the efficiency and proficiency of a Mandalorian, but flying was where he excelled. The Razor Crest, in her infancy when he first shook Malk’s hand, was a deadly bird under Din’s touch. Scrambling signatures aside, with Din piloting it was a ghost on the astral winds.

It also became a strange cramped home to the five of them while they traveled. After complaints of too many credits spent on lodging, Malk casually inferred that the Crest could be a better home base. “We’re in it more than out most days,” was his dry reasoning, and with four people staring him down Din agreed, pangs of discomfort pushed to the back of his mind. It made sense, after all. The Crest was a cargo ship. Might as well fill it with cargo.

So between jobs and screaming dogfights in the sky, the mercenaries found themselves within the durasteel walls. Hammocks strung along the hold allowed for sleep, belongings mixing and melding to become communal. There was comfort in that for Din. Individuality beaten out of him in training, he preferred not knowing who liked what ration bar or whose ‘fresher items littered the floor.

In that crush of company, however, he did learn about his family in arms. Not enough to urge him to reveal more of his own past. All of them lived in the present, their histories an inky shadow they let drag behind and paid no mind. He learned instead of their present, trial and error and observation his best tools.

Malk’s connections were far-reaching and unsavory, most bounties questionable in nature but not enough to turn down. He would choose jobs no one wanted, ones that were especially difficult or carried the highest price. A name for himself was the greatest goal, clawing for prestige in how fast, how deadly, how accurate the team could be. Din sometimes caught a feral glint in his eye when they returned, deed done. The crazier the escapade, the more he gloated in cantinas or to his associates. Rarely lifting a finger himself, he worked logistics and timing, connections and credits. And when the job was done, it was only his name that ever hung in the air as they walked away richer.

Varlo was quiet, calculating and cruel. Din thought the standoffishness was a front until he watched the man more closely and realized it was born of a distinct lack of empathy. He could not be bribed, or swayed, or bewitched. While Malk made connections and laid the groundwork, Varlo was the front man on foot. He could talk his way in, execute the seven councilmen sitting at a table full of secrets, and wipe the blood from a particularly valuable one before taking it as insurance. His carefully crafted armor of failsafes and blackmail let him sleep easy every night, no matter the strain Din might feel at the events of the day.

Qin was the strength of the operation. Not bulky like a Devaronian, but leagues stronger and more agile than his body could betray. With enough blaster cover he could incapacitate, maim, and kill anything in his path with his two hands. That surety in his body extended to his place in the world. His smile was always knowing, always scheming something behind the fangs. Time spent across from him could pass pleasantly - Qin could spin you a tale from thin air, wrestle someone into gasping submission, or share silence all in turn - but once he left there was the distinct feeling that he gained more than you meant to give.

And then there was Xi’an. Qin and her relationship was manic on a good day, volcanic on a bad one. They snapped at each other constantly, enough that Din stopped trying to understand if they were mad at each other or simply passing the time. Where Qin was strength, Xi’an was stealth. Her steps made no sound, the silvery whistle of her knives the precursor to bodies on the floor. The delight she took in her own prowess turned Din’s stomach more than once. Brutal hisses and snarls giving way to raucous laughter and almost childish giggles raised the hair on the back of his neck. She was competent and brash, and Maker help anyone who said no to her.

Behind all of them was Din, standing silent and glorious. His helmet parted crowds, murmurs and rumors following the swish of his cape. They wondered why he was running with this bloodthirsty lot, a member of one of the greatest warrior cultures. He let them guess. With his contributions his covert would grow, and one day the children - maybe even his children - would be able to stand in the sun on a world that they called home.

Until then, he hunts.

Din manages to maneuver the delicate balance of this crew living on his ship for over a month before tensions rise. A week without work has made everyone snappish and riled. Malk is hidden away in the cockpit making calls so Din has to remain with them, arms folded as Xi’an needles at Qin. His lip curls into a snarl, and Din braces for a brawl.

“Treating me like your baby sister isn’t going to make the men think you’re tough,” she hisses, sauntering by Qin and circling Varlo. “They don’t care about blood when it comes to close quarters, long hours, pent-up frustration.” She walks her fingers up Varlo’s chest, stroking her pointer along his leather jacket. “Care to blow off some steam?”

Varlo skirts around her touch, dropping down on a crate and leaning back.

“Hard pass, I don’t dip into crazy,” he spits out, Xi’an’s mocking smile chased by a wink of his own. For someone who barely experiences emotion beyond curiosity and satisfaction, he’s good at faking it. With a turn on her heel, she approaches Din instead.

“Ever felt the touch of a woman, Mando? Let someone polish your beskar?” she trills. Din keeps his posture loose, tilts his helmet and sighs.

“Quit dicking around, I’ve got something,” Malk says as he drops down the ladder. “Decommissioning factory has had some thefts. We’re doing short-term security until we catch the guilty party.”

Xi’an backs off, slumping down across from her brother as Din moves to set the Crest’s course. Out of the thick air of the cargo hold he can finally breathe.

He’d wanted to rebuff her, brag about the women he’s brought to the heights of pleasure with just his fingers, but it’s a dangerous path to wander in the barrel of rocket fuel the Crest has become. Shifting his hips in the pilot seat, he thinks back to the last time he fucked his frustrations into another person.

A Togruta, maybe? Or was it that sassy brothel worker?

(a girl on a desert planet that stopped time)

A shiver climbs his spine but he bats it down. In any event it’s been too long since he’s indulged in a soft body. He’ll take care of that after this job, ease some of the stress buried between his shoulder blades. It might make all of this strange arrangement more palatable.

Droids. It had to be droids.

Not the fact that the factory was decommissioning battle droids but that some were going missing, not turning up in the junk pile to be scrapped. The workers didn’t give two shits about it, but because the battle droids were so powerful and dangerous they had to have their chips pulled out and documented for the New Republic. Too many missing chips led to this group striding in like conquering forces.

The first night is uneventful, Din passing patrols with Varlo and Xi’an. Varlo looks at him like another droid, the cold boredom on his face inexplicably boiling Din’s blood. Xi’an’s constant prowling only makes it worse, still determined to crack his stoic demeanor. He’s tired the next day, body running on too little sleep and too much adrenaline. Malk offers him caf that he refuses. He doesn’t like lifting the helmet in front of them.

The second night the issue comes into sharp focus. Not theft, but escape. A droid spray painted in yellow stripes enters the facility to reactivate its brethren. For what purpose they don’t know, and Din doesn’t care. Putting the droid in his sight, muscles tight around the amban rifle, Din squeezes a lifetime of pain behind the trigger.

A cloud of dust. No more droid.

He thought that would satisfy the roar in his chest, but back in the Crest he’s more of a caged animal than before. Malk tells them to enjoy a day on-world, and Varlo and Qin follow him out to the industrial maze of the city. Din knows he needs something tonight, a fight or a fuck or both, so he gathers enough credits to cover his proclivities and makes to leave the ship.

“Where are you biding your time, Mando?” Xi’an’s voice purrs in the low light of the cargo hold. She’s draped over a storage crate, inspecting her nails and flashing a devious look at him when his visor turns. “Going to finally lose your virginity?”

He doesn’t know what compels him to say it. Maybe the constant pressure on all sides, or the neverending sniping at his expense. He knows it’s a mistake the moment he opens his mouth.

“Been a long time since I called myself that.”

Xi’an’s eyes flash up to the visor. It spikes in his stomach.

“I find that hard to believe, Mando, with all the…” She waves her hands around her head, pulling a serious face that she can barely keep on. He should stalk off, leave her to pouting and him to pounding into something softer and sweeter than whatever this was.

But it’s been too long, and he’s itching for confrontation in a way he’s never desired before.

“I’m good with my hands,” he says, one coming up to rest on his belt buckle, tilting his head to the side. Xi’an lifts off the crate, circling him with the serpentine swish of her gait.

“Oh I can believe that. Seen you with those weapons, your ‘religion.’ Man who keeps them that well cared for must be attentive in…other ways.” She slinks around to stand in front of him, dragging her eyes over the broad expanse of durasteel on his chest, flaking paint and silvered scratches. She walks her fingers down his chest, stopping at his trim waist. “But that doesn’t mean you know how to use this.” Her hand flashes out to grope at his crotch but he snatches her wrist, jerking her hands up as she squeals. For a moment he thinks it’s in pain, but the glint in her eyes and the flash of tongue between her fangs reveals it’s excitement. Releasing her, he moves to exit the cargo hold and find something, anything, to calm the rushing of his blood.

“Oh Mando, come on, wait,” Xi’an pleads, skipping back in front of him and adopting an apologetic expression. “We’ve all been cooped up here too long, rubbing each other the wrong way.” This time her hands glances down his side, nails lightly scraping along his hips before she drifts them feather-light over his cock. The electricity of her touch burns in his groin, filling him quickly. “Let me make it up to you, Mando. Rub you the right way this time.”

“This is…not a good idea,” he grits through his teeth, common sense screaming at him to leave, but the many-toothed monster that lurks in the back of his mind drools at the feeling of her fingers getting bolder, now stroking her palm over his stiffening cock. The helmet tips back a fraction as Din’s eyes flutter, excuses melting back into the delicious heat of her touch.

“The best ideas are the bad ones,” she teases, sidling closer to him. Her breath is hot on the edge of his cowl, soft little sighs zinging down his spine as she swipes her thumb over the clothed head of his cock. He tries to suppress the groan but it comes out a whine instead, spurring her on more. “You could use some release. Let me suck your cock, Mando. I’ll trade you for a kiss.”

This is a monumentally bad idea and his survival instinct kicks in just before the monster waiting in the darkness claws his way to the forefront.

“The helmet…stays on,” he grunts, backing up a half step. She rolls her eyes but triumph lives there now.

“Fine, fine, your precious Creed. Then how about I give you a hand, and next time I’m in need of one you return the favor?”

He struggles to take in a full breath, her fingers now wrapped around him and adding just enough pressure to spark in his pelvis and surge into his chest. He nods, fists clenching, as Xi’an’s smile breaks across her face.

“Oh Mando, how long have you been wanting this?” she purrs, sliding down his body to rest on her knees. Alarm bells sound in his mind. It’s too out in the open, too vulnerable. If Varlo or Malk or Qin, Maker forbid, came back he’d be caught and probably gutted. But the lap of her tongue along his waist as she opens the plaquet of his pants dissolves the worries into heady arousal as the monster he’s suppressed so long rears to life.

“Kriff,” he curses, tilting the helmet down to watch her pull his flushed cock out of his pants, thighs flexing when she coos over it.

“So you’ve got the goods to back up all that swagger,” she sing-songs, looking up at him through her lashes as blood pumps loud in his ears. The arousal he’s feeling is unlike his usual encounters. In those he’s simmering even when his frustration is at an all time high, his pleasure delayed in favor of watching them writhe and gasp with the force of the orgasms he pulls out of them. It gets him harder than anything else. But now, looking down at someone who makes his blood boil at any given moment, his libido is at a roar screaming at him to fuck and bruise and take. The force of it makes his heart pound, unfamiliar and exciting.

“If you’re only going to look at it, I’ll go somewhere else,” he growls, keeping his voice as level as possible. It does the trick, her smile sly before she licks a long path from base to tip. The shudder is involuntary, a hot wet mouth not something he usually seeks out. He prefers a dripping pussy to bury his frustrations in but the power this position yields makes all the lewd cantina talk he’s scoffed at come into focus.

“Patience, Mando,” Xi’an lightly scolds, but the thin wire of restraint he was still holding onto snaps. One large hand palms the back of her head, fingers digging into the edge of her head wrap for leverage. Her eyebrows lift in surprise just before Din presses his hips forward, breaching her lips with the head of his cock. He groans at the slick heat and the brush of her teeth over the ridge as he thrusts shallowly against her tongue. He thinks he sees a wrinkle of anger in her brow before her eyes flash with vengeance. She wraps her lips around him, sucking his head.

“I’ve had enough of waiting,” he grits out, pulling back a fraction before sliding in deeper, pressing her further down his shaft. Her hands come up to his hips, fingernails digging in as a warning. The sharp points of pain focus his arousal, the mix with pleasure intoxicating. “You wanted it so karking badly, you….take it,” he growls, his thrusts deepening again as she takes him even further. Hissing around his intrusion, teeth come down enough to scrape along his cock just shy of unpleasant.

“Oh no you don’t,” he punches out, his other hand pinching her jaw to force her mouth wide. The lack of resistance drives him down her throat, a loud gag heaving her chest. The sound shocks his system, pulling back quickly as drool drips down her chin with her gasps. Uncertainty falls heavy over his libido now.

“Are you…?” he starts to ask, but Xi’an yanks him back to her face, pumping his cock quickly with the thick saliva she’s left on it.

“What’s the matter, Mando? Afraid of a little mess?” she taunts before swallowing him down again, the rough gags of her throat beginning in earnest. He can feel her spit dripping down his length, sliding over his balls as she rolls them roughly in her hand. It’s nothing he’s ever felt fucking a woman before, frustration and anger burning him inside out. He palms her head again, thrusting with her own bobbing rhythm as she hums around his cock. His hips pump, thighs clenching, stomach quivering at the onslaught of sensations driving him closer and closer to his high. Hazarding another look at her, she laughs around his cock before pulling off.

“If I’d have known it would be this easy to make you fall apart…” she begins to say, but Din shoves his cock roughly back into her mouth.

“Shut up,” he pants, fucking into her face in earnest. His orgasm is on the brink, body convulsing around her prone form as the monster ruts and chases his end selfishly. His teeth are clenched so hard he tastes blood, puffing air through his nose and snarling behind the visor. Vision red around the edges, his control is long gone as he fights her sharp nails and encroaching teeth and wild eyes. The tiniest voice begs him to stop, to look at what he’s doing, but when he sees her kneading at her mound over her pants, bucking her own hips in time with his punishing thrusts, everything lets go. He cums with a bellow, holding her there as his spend empties into her mouth. He gasps, sweat rolling down his neck and spine, the helmet almost suffocating with the heat trapped inside.

When he pulls out Xi’an gasps and the gravity of the moment makes him stumble back. Tucking himself away he watches her cough on her knees, white streaks of his cum dribbling down her face to drip onto the durasteel floor. Once she catches her breath she looks up at him, and in her flashing eyes and feral smile he realizes something dark and devastating.

He wants to do it again.

Striding past to slam open the cargo bay doors, her roughened voice calls after him.

“That’s one on the books for me, Mando. I’ll come calling soon enough.”

His hands don’t stop shaking for hours.

Xi’an is right. It doesn’t take long for her to come to him.

A simple job gone bad, the target fleeing into hyperspace too quickly to follow. Xi’an had been seducing him in a flashy racetrack before he fled. Din had followed as her backup, watching her writhe on the target’s lap and whisper in his ear. Every now and then her eyes would flash to Din, holding the expressionless gaze of the visor as she guided another man’s hand to knead her breast.

He told himself it wasn’t supposed to affect him. He didn’t care what she did, or who touched her. The scene from that night played in his head wrapped in nausea and regret. No partner he’d ever laid with drew out that much uncertainty and self-loathing, and he wasn’t keen to return to it.

But her curves still called to him, now straddling the mark’s waist. Familiar stirrings pulled up hard against disgust as he pushed the ravenous monster back down. It had gotten louder, fiercer after taking his pleasure so brutally. It screamed to take her again.

All of her work led to nothing. The target caught Varlo stalking up to apprehend him and make a quick exit. Even with four highly skilled mercs after him his resources won out. A faster ship, quicker access to his speeder. He was just within their grasp when he blasted off and into the atmosphere.

Xi’an shrieked her frustration into the air as the team re-entered the Crest. Malk confirmed there was no point following. They’d try again when he showed up at whatever gambling circuit he fancied next. She couldn’t stop prowling the ship, head down, glaring through her lashes. Varlo got a few sharp swipes for giving away their plan, but he threw up his hands and moved into the engine bay to let her cool off. Qin reclined in his hammock, watching bemused as she tried to self-soothe with no luck.

“Mando!” she finally hisses, jerking her head sharply as she strides past him and out of the Crest. His shoulders stiffen instantly, her brother’s hot stare branding his back. Hazarding a look back, Qin’s raised eyebrow and smirk make his face burn. But he still follows.

Xi’an is around the front of the Crest, leaning against the landing gear and seething. Din comes close, waiting for her to acknowledge his presence. Her eyes rake over the helmet, snarl less playful and more agitated.

“I’m cashing in your debt, Mando,” she says, whipping her belt out of the loops so quickly it cracks. Din’s hands tighten on his, stance faltering.

“Not sure that’s a good idea,�� he murmurs, bracing for the impact of his words. They land hard on her skin, quick steps bringing them chest to chest.

“I don’t give a flying kark what you think. I gave you my throat to cum in, it’s your turn. Give me your cock.”

Din balks, trying to disentangle from the swirling vortex of rage, but her hands are small and quick to grab at the fabric around his neck.

“Or you can give me something else, Mandalorian. Show me your face if you won’t fuck me,” she snarls, grabbing for the edge of his helmet. He yanks her arm away, but the other tries just the same. He snags it in his fist, whipping his head back when she tries to knock the helmet off. Both wrists captured he pushes her back, pinning her against the landing gear. Her hips jerk against his own, legs kicking at his shins. Some blows land, leaving dark reminders for days to come. Her bared teeth and hissing finally push him to pin both of her hands with one of his, the other coming to firmly wrap around her throat.

That finally stops her, eyes fluttering as he puts just enough pressure on her windpipe to quiet her. Hips rolling against his hardening cock, he leans in to crowd her against the durasteel mechanics.

“Is this what you want?” he husks, removing his hand from her throat to shove into her pants. The fit is tight, his thick forearm and vambrace stretching the waistband, but his skilled fingers cup her hot cunt. Even with the gloves on he can find her clit, roughly circling as she gasps and rocks against him. “Needed this attitude fucked out of you?”

“Mmm-hmmm,” she moans, hooking a leg behind his thigh to pull him closer. He yanks his hand out of her pants and pushes slick-soaked leather between her lips.

“Take them off, or I won’t,” he growls, waiting for her teeth to tug his gloves off his fingers. She stares at the tawny skin, all the silvery lines cross-crossing his knuckles and fingers. He tries not to dwell on this, on how she’s already pushed him past what he knows he shouldn’t do. Jamming his hand back into her pants he buries two fingers in her wet cunt, setting a fast and firm pace that has her crying out against his overwhelming hold. The monster snarls inside him, salivating at the prospect of rucking her pants down and…

“Mando, need your cock, need you to fuck me,” she whines, just short of begging. It knots his stomach that she knows how much she’s making him lose control. The rhythmic slap of his palm on her intimate flesh has him full and hard, grip tightening as he feels her walls spasm around his flexing fingers.

“Cum like this first and I’ll see if you deserve my cock,” he rasps, buying himself enough time to calm his raging libido a fraction. He shouldn’t fuck her, shouldn’t let this go on any longer than it already has, but his body is thrumming, snapping and snarling into her as she beckons him to let go, to find something blinding in her soaked cunt.

Her orgasm clamps down on his fingers suddenly, the raw shriek making him clap his hand over her mouth. The loss of his hands pinning her wrists gives ample opportunity to rush open his pants and find his weeping cock. A few well-placed strokes has his rational mind dissolving into the single-minded concept of fucking.

He bends her over the landing gear, tearing her pants down over her ass to expose her glistening pussy. Normally that sight makes his mouth water. Instead he tugs on his cock a couple times to prepare.

“Hurry up, Mando,” Xi’an whines, arching her back higher to present her hole to him. He pushes her chest down hard, a whoosh of air escaping before he sheaths his cock in her tight pussy. The momentary ecstasy of his slick entrance washes over him, planting both hands on either side of her head. His first thrust punches a moan from her lips, followed by a litany of curses and whines as he snaps his hips fast and hard. The loud smack of skin pulls out a thin moan of his own.

“Karking Maker, Mando, you feel so good,” Xi’an croons, a momentary lapse in vitriol. It makes Din chuckle as he grunts at her wet clutch.

“This all you needed? A cock to make you bearable?” he teases, angling his hips to drill into a spot inside he knows will make her scream. She gathers air before he shoves his sticky fingers into her mouth, pinching her jaw open as he penetrates her here too. Everything is dripping and liquid and hard and soft at the same time. His own orgasm is fast approaching, a roar in his ears that he chases with fervor.

“Gonna cum again,” Xi’an gasps around his fingers, slamming back against Din’s thrusts as she chases her own end. Two people so far inside but so far apart.

Din dutifully reaches between her legs and pinches her clit, sending her toppling over into a shuddering orgasm that clenches his cock so hard he has to pull out and cum all over her other tight hole. Lightheaded and heavy-limbed, Din tries to regain a semblance of control over the situation.

This is just returning the favor.

This won’t happen again.

He doesn’t want this to happen again.

Shuffling back, he uses his bare hand to scrape his cum off her ass and flick it on the ground. Xi’an pulls her pants back up as Din tucks himself away and turns to stride back into the Crest.

Stepping outside looking to be without a care in the world is Qin, licking Jogan fruit juice off his fingers as he discards the peel on the ground. Din’s whole body locks up, fight or flight response screaming at him to get away.

“Get a good eyeful brother?” Xi’an singsongs behind Din, walking past him to re-enter the ship. Qin mock-glares at her as she passes and saunters away. When his eyes land back on Din he waits for a fist or a blade to connect with his flesh. Instead Qin just shakes his head with an amused expression and follows his sister.

Dread lands heavy in Din’s belly. His grip is slipping and he’s not sure whether he’ll hang on or fall into something even harder to climb out of.

That was the last time, he says to himself as he leaves a freshly fucked Xi’an in the ‘fresher.

This time it’s over, he says as he splatters his cum on her tits.

Never again, he promises after he spills his load into her tight asshole, cursing to the Maker about how good she feels choking his dick.

He tries over and over to stop it, to tell her no, but every time she whines and needles and baits until he can’t help but bury his frustrations in her body.

It’s been months since he joined Malk’s crew, and the spoils of their missions were fat in his pocket. He knows he should sneak off to the covert, give them the credits needed to keep them safe. Or to Karga, pay him his cut of whoring out his Mandalorian. It itches in the back of his brain, the duties he’s supposed to be performing.

Instead, he ignores Karga’s messages on his holo. He spends the credits on upgrades to the Crest and Corellian whiskey and brothels. The last is in a desperate hope to rid him of his addiction to the purple Twi’lek plaguing his bed.

She stalks his days and haunts his nights, rarely away from each other. It makes it easy to let her straddle his waist in the tiny cubby of a bed and ride him until he’s dripping out of her. Sometimes she follows him when they’re on-world to the places where he spends his credits. The first time he caught her he made her watch as he fucked a plain but skilled prostitute. The following times, she joined him in his debauchery.

He tells himself it’s the last time every time, but the fire always returns. The itch under his skin. The monster that roars under Xi’an’s sharp nails and sharper tongue batters the inside of its cage and howls until Din can leave more marks on her skin. It’s feral and bloodthirsty. Definitely unhealthy.

He still can’t stop.

The bounty they lost finally turns up in a swanky hotel on Coruscant. Xi’an goes to complete the job, her cover not blown enough to approach the target again. Words and drinks pass between them before his hands are groping her beneath the table. They slink away together, Din’s helmet following their heat signatures. The man’s crotch is white fire, but Xi’an’s registers no hotter than her body temp.

Couldn’t even get her wet. He’d have her blazing by now.

Din waits for the signal to apprehend the target outside the closed hotel room. Long minutes tick by, Din’s imagination spinning wildly as he imagines the man’s fingers in her pussy, licking her clit like he can never do, spitting in her mouth like he sometimes imagines with a frightening tightness in his groin.

A trill sounds. Time for action.

Din bursts in, blaster pointed ahead of him to take in the lewd scene. Xi’an is naked on the bed, the target thrusting into her from behind. Her face is bored until she sees Din enter, lax posture trading for silky and sexy.

“What the kark-!” the target shouts, hands shooting up in surrender.

“Took you long enough, Mando, I had to put up with this paltry cock for much too long,” she sighs, arching her back and presenting her heavy tits between her arms.

“I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold,” he rasps, modulator hiding the strain in his voice. Xi’an tuts, shaking her head.

“This is my mission, Mando, and I get to decide that.” She cocks her head at him, backing up against the target.

“Does it make you jealous, knowing he’s inside me right now?” she purrs, circling her hips to elicit a choked gasp. Din’s hand tightens on the blaster, forcing his posture to be neutral.

“You did what you had to,” he grits out. Xi’an shrieks out a laugh.

“I didn’t have to fuck him. I wanted to, because I wanted to see what you’d do when another man tries to cum inside me.”

Din’s arm begins to shake, and the monster snarls inside him. Mine, it roars. My fucked up little thing to break.

“What are you going to do, Mando?” she taunts, rolling her hips on the terrified man’s cock.

“What you want.”

Xi’an’s eyes flash in triumph.

“I want to bring him in cold.”

Din shoots a blaster bolt between the man’s eyes, toppling him over and onto the bedroom floor. Xi’an wastes no time crawling to the end of the bed and turning around, round ass in the air.

“Fuck him out of me, Mando.”

They pull orgasm after orgasm out of each other with a dead man on the floor. His blood stains one corner of the bedding, crimson as regret. When Din has her splayed out below him, tits bouncing at the force of his thrusts into her abused pussy, she croaks out a request.

“Take it off.”

He stills inside her, fire in his veins replaced by ice cold clarity.

“No.”

Xi’an snarls at him.

“Show me the face of the man that’s fucking me, Mandalorian.”

His hand comes up around her throat, a warning squeeze rougher than the ones he normally doles out. She quiets, but he has to flip her over to drill out his last orgasm. The disdain on her face is too much.

Seventeen missed holos from Karga. Shadows that follow him when he strides through town. And yet Din can’t pull his head above water. The light get fainter every time. During one mission he freezes in front of a snarling attack massiff and for a blissful moment wonders if its bite would kill him if he bared his throat. Varlo fells it instead, giving Din a confused look as they return to the Crest.

“You been sleeping, Mando? You seem off.”

Din bristles, stride widening.

“Don’t pretend that matters to you.”

Varlo shrugs, veering off to speak to Ranzar. The anger masks the anguish until later that night, when Din begs for the thoughlessness of sleep.

“Need some company, Mando?” Xi’an asks, like she does most nights.

It’s better than guilt, at least.

It’s not long after Xi’an’s hunt that Qin climbs up into the cockpit while Din is piloting. They just entered hyperspace, the streaks of light soothing Din. The quiet sinks into his bones, contrasted against the dread of re-entering the cargo hold. The air is thick with boredom and potential energy waiting for a spark.

He’s turning to leave, find somewhere to escape for a few more moments of peace, when Qin clears his throat. He stands in the doorway, leaning against it with folded arms. Din stills, a standoff between the two men. He was wondering when he might have to endure this conversation.

“Whatever is going on between you and my sister,” Qin starts, right to the meat of the matter. Din respects that he doesn’t pull punches. “You need to figure it out soon. You may be having the time of your life fighting…and fucking.” He sneers at this, making Din’s face scorch under the helmet. “But the longer she thinks something is going to come out of it, the worse it will be when you tell her no.” Qin shifts to stand chest to chest with Din. They’re close in height but in this moment Din feels small and sacrificial.

“She doesn’t like being told no. I’m sure you’ve seen that.”

He has. The helmet is the symbol of his refusal, and Xi’an seethes at it. More than once he’s had to pin her hands down, too bold in her touches. Some days she playfully grabs at the lip, pulling him down to her level, but doesn’t let go quick enough for Din’s liking. Other times she lays her hands on either side and it feels tender. Her eyes soften, and Din wonders if there’s a hurt girl under all the posturing that wants proof that he cares for her.

He’d told her once, as they laid in a post-coital tangle. The Creed, the helmet, why it meant so much to him. He didn’t speak of the covert, or of any other Mandalorians. They both have their own secrets.

“It’s a symbol of my fidelity,” he said. Xi’an lifted up on one elbow and studied the sharp lines and curves of the helmet, fingers tracing the impressive profile.

“How beautiful it must be, to have someone so devoted,” she murmured. “What a gift.”

It’s one he can never give her, and she can never forget it.

“If you aren’t planning on giving her what she wants,” Qin husks, leaning in with a steely gaze. “Don’t drag it out. Make it professional.”

He leaves as quickly as he arrived, the weight of his words now on Mando’s shoulders. Qin has never been kind, but his ultimatum is a balm to Din’s anguish. He needs to end it. If he believes her to have any gentleness underneath her posturing it would be cruel to continue. There is no room in his devotions for her.

The monster inside his chest finally soothes, curls into a ball and sleeps.

She doesn’t take it well.

“You want this to stop?” she laughs, lounging against a tree. Din had deigned to tell her away from the others, wanting privacy and space for her anger to hit a flash point.

“We’re professionals. This is too messy,” Din says, keeping his voice as even and calm as he can. Her face changes from incredulity to anger.

“This isn’t over just because you get a crisis of conscience.” She pushes off the tree and stalks towards him, suspicion coloring her demeanor. “Did my brother say something to you?”

That’s a trap he’s not going to walk into.

“I can’t give you what you want,” Din says, holding his ground as she comes chest to chest, much like her sibling. How alike they are in their ruthlessness.

“Of course you can. You’ve got a perfectly good cock and talented fingers and some Maker-blessed stamina. Plus you’re filthy,” she purrs, raising goosebumps on Din’s neck. “What else does a girl need?”

Din tilts his head, watching her closely as he sees the shroud of the lie settle.

“The helmet,” he sighs, exasperated. His words hit the target. Xi’an’s features twist, shocked out of her feigned nonchalance.

“You’re ending this over a stupid little symbol?” she spits out, circling him like a prowling loth-cat. Din tenses, tempted to follow her path but knowing she’ll take advantage of it. He prepares for a blade.

“I won’t remove it for you. And I’m done fighting you trying to do it yourself.”

There’s a moment where he sees the hurt girl he’s trying to spare. It’s quickly raked back with fury. She hisses, digging her fingers into his cowl and yanking him backwards. He stumbles to his knees, his cape now wrapped around her forearms as she cuts off his air .

“All your morals and high ground as you’re spilling as much blood as we are, Mando. Defiling my body as you pray to your Creed. You’ll be crawling back to my cunt in no time, and I’ll slit your throat before I let you make a fool out of me.” Just as his vision begins to darken she releases her hold, letting painful lungfuls of air back into his chest. One boot kicks him square in the back, and he topples forward into the dirt.

“You’ll regret this, Mandalorian.”

She storms off to the Crest, leaving him gasping and coughing. He wishes, not for the first time, that he never shook Malk’s hand, never let them onto the Crest, never let Karga talk him into this.

He wishes for time to stop, to take back everything the last months had carved out of his soul. For a bed, and a soothing touch.

(where is she now? Could she ever look at him the same way, after all he’s done?)

“New assignment,” Malk calls down, a groan of relief lifting the mood in the hold. “Big yield, and even bigger hush money.”

Qin grins, jostling his sister as Malk descends to them. She nods, listless since their argument. Din prefers that to the rage. It still pulls at a confusing feeling in his chest, something akin to regret.

“Where we off to? I’ve been itching to get out of this karking morgue,” Varlo gripes, taking the holopad from Malk.

“Cleanup effort on Alzoc III. There’s some mines infested with a local species the mining company needs cleared out. Not sentient, but territorial. Mando, need you in the air. Varlo, running logistics. Qin, Xi’an, you’re with me doing ground work.”

Din rolls his shoulders and cracks his knuckles. A big haul should set everyone up for a good while. Improve spirits, and maybe give him the boost to break away from this group that only becomes more hostile by the day. His silence will cost him, but with enough credits he may be able to buy himself back into the covert, and the Guild’s good favor.

Alzoc III it is.

The planet is icy and hostile, vast snow-swept tundras and sharp peaks slicing up into the permanently gray skies. The harsh weather eats up heat from the outside in, the Crest’s life support systems working overtime to keep the interior above freezing. Din had to pull out a heavier flight suit, the other crew members donning furs and goggles in preparation for the mission. Xi’an had taken to glaring at Mando any time he was in the room, so he’d stayed in the cockpit for most of the trip. Malk had scoffed at him, standing behind the pilot’s chair as Din maneuvered them out of hyperspace.

“Women problems, Mando?”

Din did not deign to give him an answer, but Malk persisted.

“Not a good idea to mix business and pleasure. A man of your experience should be more careful,” he says, clapping a hand on Din’s paudron. He tenses, but Malk releases him quickly after and heads into the tense hold with a snicker under his breath.

Din can’t wait to have the Crest to himself. Months of close quarters were making him itchy with tension, a constant frenetic thrum under his skin that he can’t even fuck out now. Varlo’s company would be silent at least. Plus a simple point-and-shoot mission has its appeal. The rest of the dossier states that the mines are overrun to the point that they can’t send in crews to extract the planet’s precious commodities.

Varlo plots a multi-stage assault; Malk, Xi’an and Qin would place bombs at mine entrances and pick off anything that could tip off the plan. Once at their sniper posts, Din would aerial attack the mines from above, detonating the bombs and dropping his own payloads to collapse strategic parts of the tunnels. The mining company provided blueprints, and designated the choke points that would create the least amount of cleanup effort for them after the fact.

In retrospect, when Din’s nightmares push into this shadowy period of his life, it was so well thought out it should have made him pause. They didn’t need highly skilled mercenaries, they needed bodies to carry out this plan. What the company really bought was silence, and anonymity.

Din circles the Crest just out of range of the mines, waiting for the go signal from Malk. Varlo lounges in the jump seat, occasionally speaking through his communicator. Din doesn’t much enjoy conversing with Varlo, so of course this is the time he decides to be chatty.

“So, was she purple like…all over?” Varlo says, raising the hackles on Din’s back.

“You can ask her yourself. I’m sure she’d love to tell you,” Din replies calmly, banking a little harder to the left than he means to. Varlo chuckles low in his throat, his gaze burning into Din’s back.

“I mean I could, but it’s more professional curiosity. I’m surprised she hasn’t gutted you in your sleep yet.”

“Mando, time to shine!” Malk’s voice rings from the Crest’s holocomm.

“Roger,” Din murmurs, the muscle memory of his training kicking in as the Crest dives into the valley. Everything that’s plagued him for months - the loss of control, the cloying atmosphere, Xi’an’s magnetic push and pull - all fades into the background when he’s flying. His shoulders loosen, grip on the controls firm but relaxed. The lift and dip of the Crest is a familiar dance, lapping waves on a beach he’s never visited but somehow always knows.

Then the first explosion appears through the transparisteel, and he dives into action.

The entire assault lasts maybe a quarter hour. Each explosion triggered by Malk is timed with another bomb Varlo releases out the cargo doors. The more powerful weapons hit their mark, miles of tunnels collapsing with shifting snow to fill in the depressions. Sometimes a small group of moving creatures - barely perceptible - burst from an entry, and the on-ground team quickly eradicates them. Din isn’t even sure he feels the cold creeping into the ship, too wrapped up in the warmth of a skill he’s honed for decades being used to its utmost ability.

“That’s it, Mando, we’ll bring her down to pick up the rest at the hanger pad.” Varlo indicates a vast stretch of buildings, no doubt some shipping operation, with a generous landing zone. Din wonders how much trade must happen on this desolate planet, and how pitiful their price must be compared to the credits the company rakes in.

Once landed, Varlo leaves to speak with their contact and provide a final report. Malk gets the payment, but he’ll be a little while traipsing across the frozen grounds. Din takes the lack of anyone on his ship as a brief moment of respite, checking for any potential damage and wandering through the cluttered living space. His annoyance at the mess is less than usual, the silence after a job well done vastly improving his mood.

Deeper in the ship checking on engine function, Din hears a clatter. His shoulders slump again. He’d hoped for a little more peace and quiet before they returned. Trudging out to the cargo bay, he’s met with an even stranger sight.

Varlo left the cargo door open, the windbreak from the surrounding buildings keeping the elements at a minimum. Instead of the crew ascending the ramp, two furred creatures freeze just inside the warmth of the Crest. The larger one puts its body between Din and the smaller one, four black pearl eyes locked on him. His hand itches to grab his blaster, absolutely certain these are the creatures infesting the mines. They’re supposed to be hostile, ferocious and powerfully strong. He might be able to take one, but two could be a problem. He steels himself for a charge, but the larger one holds up one long-clawed hand, three fingers spread in the universal symbol for wait.

Din stops, confusion and a cold pit of dread opening in his stomach. The larger creature looks back at the smaller one, stroking its face as they make high pitched chirps and buzzes at each other through strange tubular mouths. Their fur is matted white and gray, easy to blend in on the tundra, as they tower taller than most bipedal creatures Din has encountered. The brief conference concluded, the larger creature rummages in its fur.

Din snaps his hand to his blaster, unholstering it in a flash to point at the creatures. The smaller one squeals - Din swears it’s in terror - and the larger one whips its head up to look at Din. It stills, one hand now held out overflowing with baubles. Din’s blaster falters as the creature takes a tentative step forward, offering lustrous milky pearls. His throat closes up, but his training keeps his weapon on them. At his lack of movement the creature looks back at the smaller one, urging it forward. It holds their faces together, foreheads touching as plaintive whines cut through the air. The pearls transfer, and the larger of the two urges the smaller forward.

Din can’t breathe, chest banded with horror. The littler creature holds out the offering, clicking and chirping as the larger one waits back. It’s all too clear to a man who lost his family in a war he did not understand what this transaction is, and what the consequences of his actions means. He drops the blaster, stepping towards the creatures. They shrink back in fear, but the little one still holds out shaking hands, pearls dropping to clink on the durasteel floor.

“I…” he says, heart hammering in his throat. The larger one - the mother, he thinks - raises its head with something like hope.

“What the kark?!” Varlo shouts, ascending the ramp. Din tries to speak, to explain that everything has gone so wrong in a handful of moments, but Varlo’s blaster is already out.

Three bolts, loosed with deadly efficiency, and the smaller creature falls, pearls scattering on the floor and rolling away. The shriek of the larger creature will haunt Din for years, as clear as the day he heard it when he finds another pearl lost in the ship.

“No!” Din screams, but Varlo is already turning to the charging creature. Three powerful swipes knock him down, blood spurting into snow, before he fells the creature with another series of blaster bolts. Then it’s just Din, gasping amongst the gore. Sobs wrench his throat, hot tears running down his cheeks as he shakes on his feet.

“Fuck, Mando…need…kit,” Varlo gasps. The creature cut him deep, flashes of white bone peeking through the layers of flesh. Blood dribbles from his lips, teeth stained red as he struggles to breathe. His voice is faraway and tinny, but Din’s body answers. He walks numbly to Varlo’s side, kneeling beside the man’s mutilated body.

“They were sentient,” he says, and the horror blends into anger, one hotter and more encompassing than any he’s ever felt.

“Get me a Maker-damned bacta shot!” Varlo burbles, a rough cough spraying blood on Din’s chestplate. He’s not sure when he decided to slit Varlo’s throat, but one moment he’s alive, the next he’s laid out with unseeing eyes, the messy slash of a vibroblade mimicking the brutal claw marks.

He doesn’t remember moving the creatures’ bodies, laying them down on the icy ground outside the Crest.

He doesn’t remember what he tells the others when they return. Xi’an and Qin stalk by, barely affected. Malk chews the inside of his cheek, staring at Varlo’s corpse for a few moments before entering the Crest.

“Split is four ways now. First come first serve to his things. We take off in 5.”

Din doesn’t recall where his body was during takeoff, or once they got into hyperspace. The events play like a holovid missing an actor, feelings and sensations eerily absent. He thinks he piloted them off world, attributed to muscle memory. He remembers a conversation, but not with who, or why it began.

“The species was sentient. They tried to barter to get on the ship.”

“Mando….”

“One attempted to sacrifice itself for the other. An animal can’t do that.”

“We got paid not to ask questions.”

“That wasn’t a mission. That was genocide.”

“You’ve done worse, Mando. We all have.”

Except that wasn’t true. In the song of Din Djarin, this would always be his greatest sin.

One tip to the New Republic was all it took. A set of coordinates and a date and time. Malk wanted to gamble and whore after Alzoc III, and Qin and Xi’an had no qualms. Din only sat silently, the days since the genocide bleeding into one another. Xi’an had tried to tease him about it - seems like you lucked out against those claws - but his cold turn of the head and quick exit quieted her tongue.

He waited for them to leave, credits in hand, before reporting their whereabouts to the New Republic garrison. He conveniently left himself and the Crest out, detailing his crewmates’ crimes and exactly where they would be. Then he laid low, waiting for enough time to pass so as to not arouse suspicion.

He would not see Qin or Malk for many more years, though he’d hear of their escape from some Guild contacts. Not much could hold either of them for long. Xi’an didn’t leave him so quietly.

“Karking traitor!” she screams, leaping on his back outside of the Crest. A blade sinks into his shoulder, ripping a cry from his lips. She pulls it out and drives it back in his bicep, his hands scrabbling to throw her off. She gets him two more times before he crushes her against the Crest’s hull, knocking her grip loose. His left arm is screaming, blood pouring down his fingers.

“After all we did for you, you turned us in?!” Her knife hits home again, swinging to stab into his calf and the meat of his thigh in quick succession. Din disarms her, skittering the knife away, before landing a blow in the center of her chest that, with a little more force, could have stopped her cruel heart. She lies gasping on the ground, eyes wide and wild as they look at him towering over her. For a moment that uncomfortable feeling pulls at him again, something like regret and remorse and a mourning of what could have been. It weakens him enough to kneel down, body screaming.

“I’m sorry…” he tries to say, the next words lost in his turmoil. Sorry for starting whatever fucked-up thing they had between them? Sorry for not being able to give her what she wanted? Sorry for how it was destined to end?

Another blade sinks into his side, ripping down as she screeches.

“You are nothing but a traitor, Mandalorian. Betrayer of your allies, of your Creed. I hope your Maker-damned helmet ends up in the gutter with your corpse.”

He yanks the blade free, head dizzy at the realization that much of his blood is on the ground instead of inside him. He puts one hand around Xi’an’s neck and squeezes down. She’s out in seconds, dragged to the hangar entrance for the New Republic guards to find. Safe or not, he takes off with the Crest and manages to close up enough of his wounds with the cauterizer to stop the bleeding, burnt flesh singing his nostrils. He blindly dials in coordinates for Nevarro, barely staying conscious through the jump. Once autopilot kicks in he dips into darkness.

The Guild takes him back. Begrudgingly. He pays his dues and offers them the pearls the creature spilled across the hold. Their value surprises him, almost annoyed he didn’t save some for himself, but the thought of his own pockets lined with treasures given by the dead chills his blood. He leaves them all with Karga, and waits for the distrust to fade from his face.

The covert welcomes him back with disapproval. His wounds spare him for a few weeks, sequestered from the rest of his people. It makes him ache, the obvious disappointment of his alor and the wariness of his fellow Mandalorians. The rumors swirl about where and why he was gone so long, why their beroya would betray them. He takes his penance, every blow and setback and humiliation. It is no worse than how he punishes himself.

When he returns to the Crest, tucked in the back of a trusted hangar, the mess strewn about the hold claws at his throat. He removes every memory of those months, setting belongings and refuse outside the cargo doors for scavengers to pick through. Even his own personal items make it into the pile, the memories attached to them too painful.

He cleans the ship top to bottom. No more hammocks strung from every corner. No more constant noise. No more ever-mounting tension. Just durasteel and silence.

It takes a full day to bring the Crest back to pre-Malk condition. The darkness surrounds Din, and after weighing the pros and cons of returning in the night he closes the cargo door. Shuttling open the small cubby sleeping space, he crawls in and settles on his side. The door slides shut with the lights dimming soon after.

Din lies there as his body slowly quiets, his armor digging into his sore shoulder, tender ribs and neck. Piece by piece he removes it, laying the shining examples of his honor beside him. The helmet is last, and it’s the first time in months he’s been able to breathe without it inside his own ship. The pillow is measly under his head, but he sinks down with a sigh. Arms tucked into his chest, knees pulled up to his stomach, surrounded by the walls of his ship and nothing else, he lets himself mourn the deeds he’d done. It will be far from the last time, but this is the rawest, the most painful as he let the shame grip him. Once exhaustion wins the hums and whirrs of the Crest lull him to sleep.

Din doesn’t tell you about Xi’an. It’s a lie of omission - you never prod him on his past, and he rarely asks about yours. There’s no reason to dredge up pain. If you want to offer something you do, and if you truly ask him he’ll offer pieces of his own. But you’re not swapping stories around the fire. So he sees no reason to tell you.

Until one day, he does.

It was the perfect sandstorm of triggers. A child snarling at her brother, then squealing out a laugh that cuts through his head. The singing of blades through the air as some men toss them at a target. A purple Twi’lek between you and Din, reaching out a hand to clap your shoulder. Din’s hurried steps bring him to your side in record time, helmet tilted down in challenge but the Twi just looks at him curiously and takes a step back. Your own brow knits, a bag of supplies in hand.

He tries to center himself back on the Crest, busying his racing thoughts with jump calculations and messages to contacts about the Jedi. It works until you climb up to the cockpit, leaning against the console as he turns his attention to you.

“Bean found something in the ship, I thought it might be important,” you say, holding out your upturned palm.

A pearl.

He thought he’d found them all, but the child’s nosiness unearthed one last bloody memory. He freezes, hands tight on the console.

“Been holding onto some treasure?” you tease, but your face is uneasy as you sense the tension in the air. “I’ll put it somewhere safe, maybe we can barter it…”

“No,” Din rebukes sharply, snapping the visor to you. Your eyes widen, chest curling in on yourself.

“Okay,” you say quietly, hand closing around the painful object. Din slumps, leaning forward and hanging his head.

“I’m sorry, it’s…nothing good will come of that. It was bought with blood,” he says quietly.

“So are most things on the Crest,” you say, wrapping your arms around your middle. Din heaves in a breath.

“Not the same kind.”

And so he tells you the story of Ranzar Malk and his employment, of the acidic crew and the six cloying months he spent with them. Of Xi’an and her allure, and the pain it caused. Of Alzoc III. Of the pearls.

You listen in silence, watching as Din relates his darkest story. The shame burns his skin, eats at his stomach, sours his tongue. How can he possibly redeem himself in your eyes after this? Would you ever look at him the same again?

Once he finishes, and the quiet of the ship pervades, you move to stand between his parted knees. Two hands settle on his shoulders, and without reservation he wraps his arms around and lays his head just below your breasts. The rhythmic inhale-exhale of your breathing cools his pain.

“Have you seen any of them since?” you ask. Din huffs out a sigh.

“Malk hired me for a job a few months back. Didn’t tell me the mission, just relied on a debt being repaid and the Crest still flying.” Din shifts against you, considering leaning away, but your firm hands keep him held to your chest.

“Was it bad?”

“We were rescuing Qin from a prison ship. Xi’an was there, set me up to be killed by the new team. I left them there.” After the draining retelling, he can’t bring himself to extrapolate on the tense reunion.

Tell me why I shouldn’t cut you down where you stand.

I did what I had to.

Oh, but you liked it.

You were hired to do a job, so do it.

Isn’t that your code?

Aren’t you a man of honor?

“Thank you for telling me,” you finally say, stroking your thumbs along the line of his shoulders. “That was…difficult. To tell, I’m sure. It was hard to hear.” Din fists your shirt, squeezing his eyes closed at what will surely come.

“You made decisions and you’ve suffered the consequences of them.” You cup the back of his neck through his cowl. “And if you think I haven’t made a terrible decision about who to trust, I have stories I can share. Later,” you say, lightness in your voice. It makes Din lean back to look at your face. If you could see his, you would know his mouth is dropped open, eyes wide and wet, as you stroke the sharp lines of his helmet. You’re the only one he trusts to touch.

“Did you think I would hate you for this?” you ask, and Din’s nod is barely perceptible but you feel it. “You’ll surprise me, and terrify me many more times Mando, but you’ll never drive me away. The galaxy is only shades of gray.”

He lets you hold him for a time, hands soothing on his worn body. Your acceptance doesn’t heal him. By now he’s not sure anything will. But it balms the wound enough to breathe easier.

It’s the beginning of letting himself know you, and be known by you. When you say that your best friend taught you how to skip rocks, he asks how you met her. When you look on in wonder as he dresses a piece of game, he explains how his buir taught him survival hunting. And when the child wraps his tiny claw around Din’s thumb and he strokes it gently, you ask him if he has a son somewhere.

“No,” Din answers, the child warm in his arm and your body close enough to coax into his, if he would dare let himself want it. “But the Creed states the importance of caring for foundlings, and raising warriors.”

You hum and smile, turning back to your task, and for a moment much longer than fleeting, Din lets himself wonder if this is what a clan is supposed to feel like, and when it grew from two to three.

END

Interlude 2 of the I Think of You series

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yae-energy · 8 months

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤ╰┈─✩ ˚ ‧ random thoughts ‧ ˚

✧˖° synopsis : random headcanons i have pertaining to jjk

✧˖° cast and crew : yuji itadori, megumi fushiguro, nobara kugisaki

.ᐟ content warnings : cursing, me just rambling

⤑ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ authors note : just smth to post ! some of these i’ve probably posted about on here? but y’all will be seeing them again just cause i wanna expand on some of them 😝

yuji <3

- he’s allergic to animal dander but still pets dogs and cats and stuff cause he simply just doesn’t care. but because of this, he forgets that he needs to wash his hands after playing with them, so if he ends up toughing his face his eyes get all swollen and he’s all itchy

- he listens to britney spears when he cleans ! sorry, i don’t make the rules. he also blasts it really loud and megumi is absolutely sick of it LMAO

- his favorite way to pass time is play thumb wars with megumi. he never wins but he genuinely finds joy in it cause no one else wants to play since he beats everyone else

- he uses inside jokes he made with someone else on other people who don’t know the context and thinks its funny. cause ultimately they end up confused and just kinda smile and nod

- hates any “fresh linen” scents cause it gives him a headache

- has a peanut allergy and will still try to eat shit containing said allergen

- calls nobara’s hair a “fuck ass bob”

megumi <3

- keeps the volume on all his devices on at an even number. yes he gets irritated if it’s not

- he loves apple juice, like bro will actually down a whole gallon and still want another

- his favorite snack is apples and peanut butter

- he is allergic to most seafood

- he loves doing crossword puzzles ! like he’ll knock them shits out so fast it’s insane. he’s great at finding all the bigger words too

- prefers overhead headphones and has like 6 different pairs to go with different outfits (he also let nobara and yuji put stickers on them)

- he is a plain milk drinker

- he prefers savory over sweet, and loves to snack on crunchy foods

- he skips every other step when he goes up the stairs

nobara <3

- she was a movie star planet player

- her favorite food changes every few weeks so she never has had an actual “favorite food” , and that’s the same reason why she doesn’t have a favorite color

- she is an apple juice hater and loves orange juice. her and megumi argue over this constantly

- she cant cut her nails properly and always has maki do it for her

- she sleeps with socks on and is trying to get megumi and yuji to see her vision, she has yet to succeed though

- she doesn’t like mustard or mayonnaise

- she’s allergic to pollen and grass

- she hates jello

- loves coffee but doesn’t drink it much cause she’s worried about it staining her teeth

- doesn’t like cake icing

⤑ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ ysl production credits : inspired by a conversation i had with @romiantic

⤑ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ tags : @morosis-haze @jogeto @mypimpademia @ivanari @planetlunaa @cosmiles @milesmolasses @chinieh @romiantic @stqrriichiigo

if you wish to be tagged in any future works, here’s my tag form to fill out <33

if you wish to submit a request, here’s my ask box :)

⤑ .𖥔 ݁ ˖ closing notes : def making a part 2 to this cause i need EVERYONE to hear my thoughts 😋. anyhow, love y’all, and drink some water cause it’s still hot as a bitch outside.

- xoxo, yves

#saint laurent productions #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen season 2 #jjk headcanons #jjk hcs #megumi fushiguro #megumi fushiguro headcanons #nobara kugisaki #nobara kugisaki headcanons #yuji itadori #yuji itadori headcanons

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dathomirdumpsterfire · 4 months

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Chat writes the plot! Time for more 👑🐲🐟 KotD!

🔥🔥 don't forget to reblog tysm! 🔥🔥

Want to be on the tag list? -> Comment with 'tag me!' Have an idea for next chapter or clicked the wrong option? -> Reblog about it! Check the bottom for the Ao3 link. Latest chapter is below the cut!🔥

~King of the Dragonfish: Chapter 18~

Obi-Wan wakes himself up with a powerful sneeze. He groans, long and low. The sudden jerk of it sends a flash headache searing through his skull like a forest fire. As the pain fades, he realizes that everything aches, and his respiratory system feels scratchy from the back of his throat down into his chest.

Oh bother. He's caught a bug, one potent enough to overcome a jedi's natural immunity to illness. Or, equally likely, he's just that worn down.

The only good part of waking, relatively speaking, is that he's alone and somehow… on a mattress..?

Obi-Wan rolls his head to look at the situation. His vision lags behind the turn of his eyes, making him nauseous, and moving makes his scalp flare in warning. He closes his eyes and breathes for a moment, drawing the force to him in the same way a weaver might run their fingers through freshly sheared wool. It flows through him, and begins bolstering his body against the sickness.

Settled a bit, the jedi opens his eyes to try again. Carefully.

He is still in Maul's private chambers, but that doesn't change the fact that beneath him is a futon mattress, like he'd seen on daybeds in fancy guest rooms. It was thicker than his own pallet in the temple, and zipped up in a soft, removable cover. This is what he lays on.

Obi-Wan has the stray thought that it really needed proper sheets. He sets a hand on his face, and sighs at himself. No, wrong, what it needed was to go back where it came from, just like him.

Cautious, slowly, the jedi master sits up and looks around. He is nonplussed to see his clothes are gone, and confused but interested to notice a literal bottle of water set beside the bed. What he does not see is a sith lord turned deep sea creature.

The memory of claws comes to him, deadly sharpness trailing down his back in the gentle touch of a prospective lover. Obi-Wan droops where he sits. Unfair. This is all utterly unfair.

Maul had become something out of a fantasy. The idea of him, deep under the sea, pining for years to take his revenge, only to change his mind at the sight of his mortal enemy, and instead kidnap them away to be lovers? It was a the plot of a one credit bodice ripper novella, and the force hasn't even seen fit to give him a bodice to wear while, apparently, living it.

Blast it, where are his clothes?

Obi-Wan stares down at his calloused fingers, each digit a little paler than usual. They're dry and cracked from repeated dunks in salt water. The texture of his own fingertips distracts him.

‘I might be disassociating a bit,’ the stewjoni thinks to himself while rubbing his thumbs and forefingers together. ‘I’ve stumbled into somewhere between nightmares and dreams, and my options to deal with it are so few.’

He sighs softly, being open and forgiving with himself.

‘I want to have sex with the man that killed Qui-Gon,’ he mulls wryly, ‘if I make it out of here alive, I think that merits a trip to the mind healers for a guided deep dive of my psyche.’

Obi-Wan chuckles a little, but stops quickly when even that makes a flash headache shred at his brain.

‘Indeed, a good long look. In the meantime… I…’

The jedi draws his knees up, feeling them tremble with fatigue, until he can set his head against the sailcloth over his thighs. He leans there, bonelessly.

Obi-Wan feels cold, but is he actually? Is it emotional cold, fever cold, brisk air on naked skin, or true chill?

Blast it, but he wants Maul to come back. And that is a terrible sign.

Obi-Wan shivers a bit where he sloughs against his legs, just accepting the fact that he wants to be held and petted and treasured and doted on by his own personal monster. It is, most likely, a completely normal reaction to being ill, to want those things. Yes, it really is, isn't it? He exhales heavily, and just lets the truth of it be.

Obi-Wan refuses to cross that line, to consummate this foolhardy preoccupation with his own jailor, but, these feelings are still valid and reasonable.

He feels better for acknowledging it.

Now onto matters of the physical.

Gingerly, the sick jedi eases himself over to get a hold on the water bottle, drawing back and cracking it open. He sniffs it, questioning the water's potability. It's stale, but clean tasting. To his scratchy throat it's a little painful, and a little soothing. He dearly wishes it was tea with honey and lemon.

The jedi drinks half, then recaps the bottle and sets it aside in favor of lowering himself back down onto the futon. If asked, Obi-Wan would swear that he merely closes his eyes for but a moment…

He blinks muzzily, and comes around to fingers carding through his hair. Claw tips slide back over his scalp, so gently it almost tickles.

“Kenobi,” the sith calls, soft and singsong, “Keno… bi~.”

“Mmnnnh,” he replies, feeling the length of Maul's tail pressed against him under the covers. He is dry, sleek scales like rounded glass. One of his pelvic fins rests on Obi-Wan's hip, lightly holding on to him, while the silky upper caudal fins that trail the sith are draped over his legs under the sail cloth and tarp. They're soft. Smooth. When Maul shifts they flutter against the skin of his ankles pleasantly.

Obi-Wan is, once again, wrapped up in the arms and fins of the very same ‘dragonfish king’ he was sent to kill. With an incredible amount of ‘fuck it’ energy, he noses forward under Maul's chin.

“I'm a bit sick,” he admits.

“Hnnn… your flushed cheeks and reddened eyes told me so already,” the other man says, still toying with his hair.

“I want tea,” he sighs, “with honey and lemon. My throat hurts.”

Maul makes this… incomprehensible noise. Not human, not zebrak. In the force he feels… pleased?

“Making wishes of me now?” the sith murmurs, “I suppose I could share one or two, seeing as I have three but do not need any of them.”

...what?

Obi-Wan pulls away to look at him with all the skepticism his dizzy self can muster. Maul smiles back, a cruel twist of lips framed by the most charming dimples imaginable.

He is stunned. This is Obi-Wan's excuse for why he doesn't move away when the sith captures his lips, biting oh so gently at him with his needle-like teeth, then licking his way across and inside.

Obi-Wan lets it happen, eyes drifting closed as he reciprocates slowly. Oh. Kissing makes his head feel better. Whatever chemistry that's about, it's working.

“That's it, jedi mine,” the sith croons to him, “taste me in return, and I will bring you tea.”

Well if it's for a good cause.

Tentatively, Obi-Wan licks at Maul's lips. They're thin but plush, utterly normal if wider than before his transformation. The other man hums, encouraging, the tip of that long pink tongue flicking playfully against his.

Obi-Wan chases it as the slick muscle recedes, finding the pointed tips of Maul's new teeth. He explores them with care, finding out which of his experiences with making out can and cannot apply.

He finds a good angle and pumps his tongue into that wet heat, slickness sliding against slickness. Obi-Wan's head twinges with the movement, but he's a bit too enthralled to care.

Maul makes, just, the sweetest little noise. Begging. Needful. Obi-Wan feels himself stiffening, his cock pressed to Maul's belly where skin fades to scale.

Oh dear. Now that is quite enough of that indulgence.

With one light kiss of the traditional sort, Obi-Wan pulls back and relaxes onto the mattress with a sigh. He watches yellow-green eyes blink open, pupils blown and slow to focus.

“Very good,” the sith tells him, trailing the backs of his fingers down Obi-Wan's face. “You will learn that I keep my promises, Kenobi.”

“If you bring me bread of some kind that hasn't been drowned in salt water, I'll do that again.”

Maul chuckles, sliding out from under the makeshift covers. “You see? Gifts are a good way to show favor.

The jedi would roll his eyes if he wasn't a hundred percent certain it would feel like an icepick in his brain to do so.

To be continued...

-Tag list- (Comment if you want added!)

@obimaulartfire @savageopressbignaturals @icequeen8043 @moonsickvampire @maulish @obi1-kenobae @milkcioccolato @cyborg0109 @krazykupid @messy-sunbeam

New? Start from Chapter 1! 👇🏽

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marbled-polecat · 20 days

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20 Questions for Writers

Thanks for the tag @cacodaemonia I think I've done this one too, but some things have changed because I've written more. :D

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

I have 97 works posted on ao3. About 15 of them are fics and the rest are art, ficlets, drabbles, or combinations.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

My total count is 257,934 with nearly 100k for this year already!

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Star Wars, mostly The Clone Wars, but also The Bad Batch, SW Legends, and combinations.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

the longest klick (TBB, Mayday&/Crosshair)

say you feel the same way too (TCW, Echo/Fives)

cabin fever (Star Wars, Cody/Obi-Wan)

codpiece chaos (TCW, Echo/Fives)

nearly a skywalker (TCW, Gen, lots of Rex!)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes! Sometimes it just takes me a while.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Hmmm, I tend to not write fics that end angsty. I usually like to have my angst with a happy ending. I honestly can't think of any... *shurg*

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Ummm, most of them???Maybe the longest klick because Mayday deserves so much better? I mean, they all do, but he just pulls at my heart strings so heavily.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

No yet! *crosses fingers*

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Heh, heh, heh, I doooo! It's mostly clone/clone and I give them a hard time *snickering*, but I did write Ahsoka and an OC, a while back. I've never posted it and I'm not sure I ever will. I've got to get everything else out of my hear first.

10. Do you write crossovers?

Other than within Star Wars? Nope, not yet.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

*knocks on wood again* Not yet!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope, but that would be really cool!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have and it was a hoot to write. <3

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Probably Echo/Fives, but Codywan was my gateway drug to tcw. I think Finn/Poe was the first Star Wars ship though.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Want to finish? Uhhh, all of them, but the 'want to finish' and the 'probably never will' are two separate piles.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Not my wrists. XP Ummm, I really like to do research and try to make Star Wars things seem more plausible. Is that a strength? *shrug*

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Writing in the wrong tense for paragraphs or even pages without realizing it. Typing.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I like to write bits and pieces of Mando'a and other Star Wars languages (some I make up), but unless I have the other person confused and then the whole thing translated, I feel like it's harder to read.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Pacific Rim (never published) ... although, now that I think about it, I could just post it anonymously? *thinky face*

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

A toss up between the longest klick and in the wake of darkness

Tagging!

No pressure tagging for @seascribbling @flowerparrish @frostbitebakery @insertmeaningfulusername @spiritofthenortheners and anyone else who wants to take a crack it it.

The template is under the cut.

20 Questions for Writers

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

3. What fandoms do you write for?

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

5. Do you respond to comments?

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

8. Do you get hate on fics?

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

10. Do you write crossovers?

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

16. What are your writing strengths?

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

19. First fandom you wrote for?

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

#tag game #20 questions for writers

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cassieuncaged · 5 months

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WIP Wednesday on a Monday

Hey everyone! So I’m officially back from my hiatus and decided to start a WIP tag chain early since I’ve got some new/different things I’m working on (including old stories I’ve neglected for more than year). Anyways, my current focus is on Baldur’s Gate, Fallout 4, Far Cry 4, and Mortal Kombat.

Also, thanks for the tag, @bardic-inspo , to share some of my writing 🤗

No pressure tags: @emotionalcadaver, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @captastra, @firstaidspray, @snowyarts, @reriart, @elfinbloodbag, @euryalex @adelaidedrubman, @chadillacboseman, @inafieldofdaisies, @carlosoliveiraa, @spacestephh, @galaxycunt, @unholymilf, @quantum-lover, @voidika, @illiana-mystery, @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky and anyone else who wants to share writing, drawing etc. If it’s not your thing please ignore, but I wanted to go on a tagging spree since I’ve finally returned to this hellsite! Honestly really excited to see what everyone is working on :)

King of War - Chapter 2 (Pagan Min x OC)

TW: dictators, mentions of war, non-explicit injuries, language, etc.

Her head throbs as eyes slowly open, the blur of the vibrant world quickly coming into view. A flamboyant man sits across from her, picking at food she doesn’t recognize. Though the stranger in his teal suit isn’t what captivates her. No, it’s the panoramic view of the Himalayas, seemingly stretching to the ends of the planet from wherever they’re nestled.

“Good!” a booming baritone startles her, heavily accented as the man addresses her. Meg knows all too well who he is but hopes that it’s an intricate illusion or this whole ordeal is a dream. “You’re awake.”

“Barely,” she’s groggy, trying to ignore the pain radiating at the back of her skull and reaching for the knife kept holstered in her boots. Instead, he eyes widen to saucers as she realizes that her clothing has been changed as she sports a silk cheongsam dress with matching shoes. She nods bitterly. “You’ve taken my things.”

“Sorry,” he examines his finger nails before meeting her gaze, “I don’t like the idea of my guests being armed.”

“What decent dictator would?” she forces out a dark chuckle, hoping he’ll bury a bullet in her brain and end this nightmare. Instead, a brow arches quizzically.”

“King,” Pagan corrects her tersely, “It’ll do you well to remember that, Meg.”

“How do-”

“Please,” he laughs deeply, genuinely entertained by her confusion, “One of the biggest tech innovators from Silicon Valley disappears and just happens to reappear in my country. You think I wouldn’t know who you were?”

“What do you want?” she spits with all the vitriol she can muster, feeling the tension of sore muscles in her face. Nothing is said as he steeples his hands, mouth splitting into a mischievous grin, but he doesn’t need to say it because she already knows.

Everything.

Exploration - Chapter 1 of 2 (Astarion x OC)

TW: slightly suggestive, allusions to past trauma, dissociation, language, etc.

Memories were complicated, often tainting how one viewed many facets of present life.

At least that was how Astarion regarded his own. Two hundred years had soured his outlook on many things as life was slowly reclaimed. Autonomy, individuality, sex. All were concepts he’d attempted to relearn in the months after the brain fell yet struggled with greatly.

He was grateful to not navigate the unknowns alone, his sorceress lover still firmly planted by his side. Ilwyn was understanding in many ways others wouldn’t be, a flower emerging from the muddiness of her own past trauma. Not to mention how young she was for an elf, still learning many things about herself.

“I’ll be right here, my sweet star.”

She’d cooed into his ear one night after a particularly bad nightmare had destroyed his trance. Her body was warm, the scent of honeysuckle permeating her skin and bed clothes after a soothing bath. No one had ever held him like that, soothing and sweet until his rigid body began to relax against her. To be loved was to be seen, or so he had learned.

Wynnie was endlessly patient and understanding, allowing him to make choices for himself and to allow space when it was needed. Sometimes, the vampire spawn needed to clear his head, to feel the cool kiss of night tickle his cheeks and tousle his curls. If blood still pulsed beneath his skin. He was positive he’d be red as the fruit of a sun melon. How their innocent touches quickly became heated, motions filled with unbridled passion. How he felt himself drift away as Ilwyn lay spread out in nothing but slinky small clothes, her hand drifting to his breeches…

He deigned to be filled thoughts of his lover, to drown in her visage for hours, molding her body against in his own in a passionate exchange, kissing and licking and nipping. Yet, the young elf carefully rolled them over so he lay with his back upon the down feathered mattress. Dismounting herself, Wynnie rubbed firm circles into a broad shoulder as Astarion’s ashen brows knit in confusion.

They were together, melding into one another so naturally and deliciously. Yet allowing ruby eyes to shutter once had transported him into the hallows of the Szarr palace, stretched across crushed satin as sure lips collided with curve of a stranger’s neck. A blonde woman, a man with bronzed skin, it never mattered who was shared that damned bed.

Sex was a means to an end. Always.

Ghoulish Intentions - Chapter 1 (John Hancock x OC)

TW: none! (other than radiation i suppose!)

A gnarled arm stretches across the mattress as the ghoul wakes. Sunlight spills into the room, Daphne’s room. Though Hancock is shocked to find she isn’t plastered to his side, likely having awoken early to tend to mutfruit and tato sapling’s. Sanctuary is teeming with residents now, cul-de-sac walled in like a cookie cutter Goodneighbor. Yet, she enjoys playing her part in all sanctions of the town: agriculture, defense, even entrepreneurship.

But he’s happy that his mayoral duties are paused momentarily, enjoying life after the Institute’s fall. Besides, he rather likes watching his other half scuttle about under the sun that gently freckles soft skin beneath the fumes of radiation that never completely dissipate. Then he hears the rattle of an old storm door, booted feet clomping forward as he begins to dress.

“Hey, handsome.” Blonde hair hidden by the trifold hat that matches his own, Daphne rests her head against the doorjamb. “Nick’s back with a new job. Sounds like we’ve got a job playing detective again.”

“Taking names and kicking some ass involved?” he rasps out a chuckle, enjoying how the loving gaze that falls upon him like a spotlight.

“Likely, at least with Piper and Cait tagging along with us and the gumshoe.” She stifles a yawn, adjusting her general’s garb.

“Well how and the hell could I say no to that?” a grin spreads across his scarred face, inky eyes sparkling beneath dawn’s light. “When do we leave?”

Uneasy Alliance - Chapter 3 (Cassie Cage x OC)

TW: rampant sexual tension, language, etc.

“A truce?” Lavender eyes are unblinking, sharp jaw set hard as steel. “What the hell are talking about?”

Blue eyes rolled dramatically as Commander Cage strode into the meager set up. Her mouth, however, was shut for the longest amount of time since they’d met. Of course, when the turncoat actually wanted to hear the proposition. Instead, the blonde turned gracefully on the toe of her boot, not unlike a ballerina.

Under the right circumstances, Nyx could even imagine herself slipping her a phone number hastily scrawled across a sticky note. Right now, she had to resist the urge to cave Cassie’s skull in.

“Nice place you got here,” a quick nod of her head sent those pink aviators gracefully falling upon that round little nose, “Suppose you’ll be plastering some Echo and the Bunnymen posters up while you watch Eraserhead.”

“What’s your dorm look like, Barbie? Bubblegum pink with a closet full of Betsey Johnson rejects?” Nyx shot back without missing a beat, enjoying how Cage junior was bristling beneath the quick retort. It was clearly a long time since she’d had someone to engage in verbal sparring.

“Point taken,” Cassie grits, arms crossed tightly across her uniform. “You want to hear what I’ve got up my sleeve or not.”

Mirroring her stance, the pallid woman responded with a sharp:

“I’m listening.”

#wips #wip wednesday #on a monday #tag games

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underacalicosky · 6 months

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20 Question Fic Writer Tag

Yayyy! Thanks for tagging me @grapenehifics 😁 And thanks to @ineffable-snowman for tagging me too! ❤️

How many works do you have on ao3?

I only have six Obikin fics on AO3, which isn’t a lot, but I’m hoping to write more! I’ve posted fics for a different fandom that I’m no longer active in, but that was a lifetime ago and I don’t monitor those fics anymore.

2.) What's your ao3 word count?

AO3 says 107,086. I know that’s not a lot compared to some folks, but it’s more than I thought I’d get to when I started writing again a few months ago.

3.) What fandoms do you write for?

Right now, only Prequels/Clone Wars Star Wars, and only Obikin because they’ve taken over my brain. And mainly modern AUs, but I have couple ideas that are in the Star Wars universe.

4.) What are your top five fics by kudos?

Cruel Summer (Intern AU) - 175

Edge of Greatness (Figure skating AU) - 132

The Next Model (Top Model AU) - 125

Heartbreak Prince (Same age HS AU) - 70

In Good Hands (Hairstylist AU) - 69

5.) Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes, I always respond to comments! I try to respond within a few days. But yes, I love comments. I’m grateful that someone would take the time to not only read my fics, but to also leave a note or an emoji or wall of text 😭 so I try to show my appreciation by responding. Sometimes I’ll get a comment that’s really touching and I’ll reread it when I’m having a bad day. I love when I get into little side convos or hearing about headcanons in the comments!

6.) What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I’m incapable of writing anything but a happy ending for Obikin. I want so badly for them to find peace and joy together, whether that’s through lots of cuddles and sex or a platonic life-long friendship.

7.) What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

All of them? 😁 I like to end my fics in a way where they’re at a good place, and afterward they run off and have more adventures and I might not know exactly what they’re up to, but I know they’re happy.

8.) Do you get hate on fics?

Not since I’ve written for the SW and Obikin fandom. Everyone here has been wonderful and encouraging and kind of feral in the most amazing way. I can’t tell you how much I love love love the positive vibes.

It wasn’t always like that in my previous fandom and I eventually left. Although, it wasn’t really hate. I started getting comments about how I wasn’t incorporating certain extreme kinks (which I didn’t know how to write), sort of suggesting that what I wrote wasn’t interesting. And there were plenty of writers who did write those kinks so it was a little baffling. I’m a firm believer that everyone should be able to read or write whatever they like without judgment or shame, but it got to the point where my confidence took a huge hit and I wasn’t having fun anymore.

9.) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I do write smut! Soft, fluffy, vanilla smut where they look at each other with hearts in their eyes. If my smut were a cake, it would be funfetti.

10.) Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

No, but I like putting them modern AUs so maybe the Top Model fic is kind of a crossover?

11.) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I didn’t realize this was a thing. How do I know if a fic has been stolen?

12.) Have you ever had a fic translated?

A couple years after I left my previous fandom, someone reached out and asked if they could translate one of my fics into a different language. It was really heartwarming and humbling to hear that something I wrote resonated with someone enough to make them want to translate it and share it. I said yes, but I’m not sure I ever got the link to the translated version.

13.) Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

I co-wrote a big bang with another author for my previous fandom. It was a lot of fun and someone made a playlist to go with our fic. We had similar writing styles, to the point that our betas got confused over who wrote which chapters.

14.) What's your all time favorite ship?

Probably Obikin. Their dynamic is so intriguing to me. There’s endless possibilities. Plus, the authors in this fandom are so freaking talented and creative and that fuels my love for them.

15.) What's a WIP you'd like to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I don’t have too many WIP at the moment. I only have two that have actual words, the rest are ideas that haven’t solidified yet. But I plan to finish the ones I’ve started writing.

16.) What are your writing strengths?

I’m terrible at self-assessments. I like to think that I can create a feeling of longing or pining. I love a slow burn, especially a friends to lovers type relationship, and that’s where I like to live with the things I write. There’s that phase where they’re both too afraid to tell the other how they feel. But they stare longingly and wonder if the other’s thinking of them too. And maybe there’s miscommunication or an ill-conceived reason for why they can’t be together that leads to some mild angst before they confess their love and fuck all gentle and sweet.

17.) What are your writing weaknesses?

Writing anything that has a complex plot or interwoven side plots. I’m very linear and simplistic. I’m always so impressed when I read something and the plot has been intricately planned and the little details tie together in the end. These are truly talented writers. Like, you should be publishing novels and getting paid. If I had more time and brain space, I’d love to try planning something more complex someday.

18.) Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I’m not against it, but I can barely post anything without typos in English so I wouldn’t trust myself to include dialogue in another language.

19.) First fandom you wrote for?

X-files, Mulder/Scully. I didn’t post it to gossamer. I just had it on my computer and was too scared to show it to anyone.

20.) Favorite fic you've ever written?

This is tough, and it’s going to be a long and rambly answer.

Definitely the fics I’ve written for Obikin are my favorites. And if I had to pick one of them, it would probably be Edge of Greatness, only because it was the first thing I posted to AO3 in about 12 years.

I started writing fics again a few months ago as a way to do something for myself because most of my life revolves around taking care of my family. I had the idea in my head for about a month before I finally dusted off my old 2008 Macbook and wrote the whole thing in about three weeks. It was such a freeing feeling to be writing again, but I still had that criticism in my head. At that time, I wasn’t sure I wanted to share it once I finished it, but I also was trying to challenge myself.

I took baby steps. I got a new AO3 account and sat on it for a week before I began uploading the first few chapters. It was exciting and terrifying at the same time. My hands were shaking when I posted the first four chapters knowing that they would be out there in the world. I was convinced that no one would read them and I was okay with that because the goal I set for myself was to post and not care what other people thought. But the next morning I saw that I had kudos and comments and had a nice little cry. Some people, like @grapenehifics left comments in every chapter and I can’t put into words what that meant to me. So I’m not sure that it’s my best fic, but it holds special meaning to me and I’ll always love it for that reason.

I’m tagging anyone who writes fics and wants to share! I love reading these types of responses! ❤️

#thanks for the tag!

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harper-collins · 10 days

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[Scarian - Desert Duo] The Love and Hardship of Living - I Hear a Symphony

Rated: Teen and Up Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death (not really, he's fine, it's just 3rd life) Fandom(s): Hermitcraft SMP, 3rd Life/Double Life Categories: M/M Relationship: Grian / Scar Characters: Grian, Scar, Mumbo mentioned Additional Tags: Timeline of their time together, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Grian is Not Okay, Protective Scar, Cactus Ring, Grian's fishing obsession, this compiles from the beginning of Hermitcraft S6 to Recent Hermitcraft S10, Slow Burn, A lot of this is taken from the canon of slightly fanon moments and slowly degrades into my own writing, I mean its all my own writing and I've rewritten a lot of stuff, but I mean there are canon moments that have been rewritten and fun ideas that I thought were canon or wanted to include in this fic. Summary: Grian always thought something was interesting about Scar. Scar had always liked Grian. Will they ever go through and get to know each other properly? What would happen?

Grian and Scar's relationship from HC S6 through the life series (at least two anyway) and up to HC S10. SONG FIC Warning that this fic is like 11k words.

I used to hear a simple song.

Joining Hermitcraft had been interesting to start, Grian had quietly told himself. Meeting many new people and being near his best friend. He and Mumbo hadn’t been on a server regularly before, so it was a nice change of pace for the feathered individual. Finding new ways to annoy people and getting to know the people around him had been quite fun so far.

Yet, not everyone could be there for the launch of season six. He’d been told they would meet soon, leaving Grian almost anxious. He wasn’t someone who craved the acceptance of others by far. He was usually okay with not knowing others. After all, he didn’t know the majority of the hermits personally. He just knew their faces, so it confused him that he seemed to want the late-comer’s attention so much.

Even when he’d finally joined the server, he was so busy trying to make up for his late arrival that the thought of going over to see a new hermit had utterly escaped his mind, and Grian was far too nervous to see him himself, especially with how stressed he’d sounded over the group chat for the server. Mumbo merely laughed at him and told him to see Mr. Goodtimes, but it didn’t feel that simple.

Maybe he’d meet the other sometime? Perhaps he'd see him at the shopping district and have a pleasant conversation with the other? Probably while he was building his pickle shop? After the thought had occurred to the other, however, he began actively avoiding the shopping district, letting his nerves get the better of him. It wasn’t too late, of course! He just needed to push himself. Why did this seem like such a difficult task?

That was until you came along.

Meeting Scar had been an experience. The other was clumsy, very interesting, and quite loud. It had taken Grian a little bit of time to adjust, but soon enough, he was enjoying the company of the other. They didn’t meet often—the feathery male was sticking close to Mumbo after all—but that didn’t stop the two from meeting occasionally, especially while they were shopping in the shopping district.

When the war came around, they weren’t actively against one another. No, Scar hadn’t joined team STAR; he was ConCorp… So technically, they weren’t against each other… Yet, Grian couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed that the male hadn’t joined him in the Prank War. It was silly fun, even if it did look like it was being taken seriously sometimes.

Scar just seemed like this remarkable individual that Grian wanted to know more about, wanted to understand and see on a more regular basis… Yet, he didn’t make any effort. He was too nervous. He didn’t know him! Why would Scar want to get to know him? He was just your crazy feathered pranker. People both tolerated and despised him. It was how he was! Grian couldn’t fathom sometimes why Mumbo still stuck around despite everything.

Still… Something about GoodTimeWithScar seemed captivating…

Now, in its place, is something new.

He felt pretty excited when he realised Scar’s base was close to his starter base at the beginning of season seven. The other was living in what would be a snail, but it wasn’t quite finished yet. Grian could practically feel the excitement coursing through his veins as he set his starter base up, knowing how many pranks he could pull on the other without it looking too weird. They were neighbours, after all.

When he found the zombie spawner near their bases, he knew how to introduce Scar to how it would be this season, with the two being so close. It may have taken hours and lots of lost sleep, but he couldn’t have been prouder for such a pleasing prank when it was finally finished. With the zombies set up to come from the jungle bushes, it would take some time for Scar to find the bubble elevator bringing them up.

Grian watched from the bushes as they began to slowly appear, causing Scar to get attacked by them in the middle of his building. The feathered hermit began to chuckle before quickly putting his hand over his mouth. He wanted to watch Scar figure it out alone, not catch him in the act! It took the other half an hour before he began looking for the source of the zombies, and he knew exactly who was at fault when he found the source.

“Grian!” He called, knowing the other would be near. He couldn’t help but giggle as he finally made his entrance. He tried to act like he’d heard the call from his base, but he knew Scar wouldn’t believe him no matter how much of a show he’d put on. When he arrived, he noticed that the other was quite the mess, his items everywhere from his repeated deaths as he struggled to go against the several zombies that had found themselves chasing Scar.

“Well, well, what’s happened here?” He asked, faking innocence. However, Scar didn’t seem to care for the play he was putting on as he began to get attacked once more. “Kill them, please! Just kill them,” he pleaded, close to death for the third time in the last few minutes. Grian quickly took his sword out and killed the rest of them, letting Scar promptly grab all his items as he huffed in a high-pitched voice, trying to calm himself down from the attack.

Grian began to feel concerned as the other caught his breath. “Are you alright, Scar?” He asked, getting a little closer to the other. The Elf merely looked in his direction with a smile on his face. He was sweating and stressed from the situation but could already see the prank was supposed to be a harmless joke. The avian could already feel the relief pouring through his body as he helped the other calm himself down and grab all of his items before safely storing them away.

After that, the two stayed around one another for a while, with Grian ensuring the other was perfectly fine and that he hadn’t lost any items through the whole debacle. They had settled on Scar’s makeshift couch, which was secretly just a couple of chests tightly packed together with some carpet over them to make it a little comfortable. They were mostly silent as Scar recounted the footage he’d been trying to record.

“You know,” Scar suddenly spoke softly, turning to Grian as he put his communicator in his pocket. “I was expecting something like this, but not quite a zombie spawner!” He joked, smiling at the other. Grian awkwardly laughed back, feeling quite guilty for what he’d done, even if the relief that his friend was all right was still fresh in his mind. “Well, as I said, I’ll make it into an XP farm now that the prank’s over,” he affirmed to the other, nodding as if confirming that this wouldn’t be a problem anymore.

Scar smirked at the other. “Never thought this pretty bird would ever feel sorry for a prank! Brighten up, G! No harm’s been done! I can confirm that all items on my person have been retrieved without them de-spawning,” Scar spoke, his bright and positive attitude practically engulfing Grian as his cheeks reddened. He ignored the little comment and tried to feel glad that no harm had occurred.

“Alright, alright. Just let me know if you need anything. All right?” He asked, observing the other as he stood up, preparing to leave. Scar beamed, looking at him with the happiest expression Grian had seen in a while. “Of course, G! You’re welcome anytime,” he said, waving at the other. The avian smiled back before turning and leaving; they were still on foot.

I hear it when I look at you.

Grian enjoyed making a little bit of war on the server, and despite last time, he thoroughly enjoyed the Mycelium War even more than anything else he’d done before. Maybe it was the fact that there was such a visible difference between the grass and the mycelium, but it didn’t feel like just that, not when Scar, one of his best friends, was on the other side of this silly war.

The two had grown quite close whilst living close to one another, and then the whole Mumbo for Mayor campaign that Grian had started and Scar going for himself had caused quite a bit of commotion on the server. It didn't feel right with the Shopping District going green, not to Grian either way. Yet, having Scar missing in his antics felt a little odd. Yes, he was on the other side of things, but he wouldn’t get his company being on the opposite side.

Even during the mayoral campaign, he went over and regularly hung out with his good friends and did some pranks with and against one another. Now, the only time he saw Scar was when he was working as Mayor at the Shopping District, and the only time he went near the other’s base was when he was stealing doors— No, he meant looking around to embrace its beauty. The enchanted area that the Elf had made sometimes overnight was magnificent, and Grian felt his lungs empty each time he saw it and looked around at the details.

Being Motherspore meant he had even less time for home-base things, though the Mycelium Resistance was also growing in size, and it was taking up most of his time and restocking the barge. In this instance, Grian saw a fellow hermit coming around to buy a few things from his shop. While restocking, he ignored the other’s presence for the moment—not many hermits tended to interact much while they saw him adding more things to the barge.

Only when he heard someone clear their throat behind him did he turn to look towards the individual, who turned out to be Mr GoodTimeWithScar. He forgot to breathe as he took in the Mayor, and his outfit paired with his sly smirk. He could see the other was trying to speak to him. His mouth was moving, but after not seeing Scar for two weeks, the sudden appearance just short-circuited his brain.

When he realized he’d been looking without talking for too long, he briefly noticed Scar’s face turned from excitement to concern. Grian wanted out of the situation quickly after having messed up like that. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t get away that easily, no matter how hard he tried.

“G? Are you alright?” he asked, stepping back from the other. The smaller felt himself breathe shakily after stopping himself for quite a while. “Y-yeah, I’m fine! I should probably get going, Resistance stuff and all—” he mumbled, diverting his eyes from the green eyes that were staring back at him. He tried to move away, completely forgetting about his current task at the barge, when Scar grabbed his arm softly.

“I didn’t want you to just walk away, G; we haven’t seen each other for a while! I just wanted to know if we could come to an agreement. You know, finally decide that grass is better—”

“Scar, Mycelium has always been here. It lives here, Grass doesn’t—”

“But Grass is so much better!” he whined, returning to the groove of their playful arguments. Grian couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the statement. “No, Scar, until you submit to the mycelium resistance, I won’t be stopping,” he snarked back, his tone colder than it had meant. Scar let go of the other, more to the pure shock of how aggressive the other seemingly was.

“I’m sorry— I didn’t mean—”

“It’s alright, G. Is it getting a bit intense for you?” he asked, frowning at the other. We could call it off or take a break! We aren’t being serious after all—” Scar stopped, sighing. Watching his friend was making him feel a little uncomfortable. He looked spooked and apologetic, emotions that didn’t look right on the avian’s features.

“No, it’s fine. I'm just sorry for snapping at you,” he mumbled, looking back at the open shulker box filled with sand to put on the shelves. “You don’t have to apologise, as long as you’re doing alright, that’s what matters,” the other replied, smiling at Grian. He couldn’t help but smile back at his good friend. He awkwardly shuffled back to the shulker box in question and began getting more sand out of the box.

“How are you doing anyway? Is everything alright with you?” he asked, glancing briefly at Scar, who was observing him. “Oh, I’m fine! Just so many mayor things to do! Who knew that there was so much to do? Sometimes I do think Mumbo would’ve been better at this than me,” he grinned, trying to appeal to the other’s previous campaign that had unfortunately lost.

“Nah, despite what’s going on at the moment, I do think you’ve done brilliantly being a Mayor Scar; I’m glad you won,” he said, smiling at the other. Scar’s smile and heart softened at his friend's admission, and he laughed a little. “Oh, well, that’s very nice of you, G! Whenever I see Mumbo, I’ll bet to tell him that myself,” he said, giggling a little more.

Grian just shrugged as he watched Scar, studying his friend’s beautiful—err, lovely-looking face with its mayor additions. “I’m sure he won’t mind; I’m the one who set it up in the first place!” he replied, giving the other a grin, too. It felt good to talk to him again, even if they were still on opposing sides. Something about Scar set his heart going a million miles a minute.

He was perfect.

With simple songs, I wanted more.

A new series of sorts was upon them, and Scar couldn’t be more excited. He was nervous; it was tough, with only three lives before you were out. Still, he was determined to make it through as long as possible, sticking close to his friends. He just hadn’t teamed with anyone in particular yet. They were all sticking close together, especially since it was a new experience. Hardcore was a thing, just not on the Hermitcraft server, nor on the other servers other old friends seemed to be in before they’d been moved here.

It had all happened so suddenly, with Grian barely warning them out of nowhere before they’d been brought over. He hadn’t given context on how he knew either, making the other extremely suspicious. He’d also left alone but returned now that they were all around a small village. It was relatively light and the whole group was in a circle, par from Grian. He’d been dipping around the village occasionally but not genuinely paying attention to any conversation.

Scar noticed that the avian was moving to his left, coming in and out of his view before he heard a slight sizzling noise behind him. Before he could realise what was about to happen, he’d already died, leaving him in his yellow life. He respawned in one of the village beds and started breathing heavily, his heart beating far too fast for the death that had just occurred. There was a commotion outside, but he felt more hurt; everything had happened so fast, and he didn’t feel like trying to speak to the smaller one that had just killed him.

When he finally managed to get out of bed, he saw tons of people staring at the creeper hole, some shouting at Grian. He looked panicked, the moment that the messy blonde’s eyes latched onto his own, he moved away from everyone in favour of going towards him with one of the more guiltiest looks Scar had ever seen on his best friend.

“I am SO sorry Scar, I’ll do anything to make it up to you, I genuinely didn’t think it would kill you,” he said apologetically, the others quietening down at such an offer. Some were still arguing, but hearing someone make such a sincere and deadly offer during a death game… Well, Grian had balls, that’s for sure. Scar didn’t know how to feel. A part of him wanted Grian to throw himself off a cliff just so they were both yellow lives, but that was a tiny part of him.

The other, the entrepreneur, saw potential, deviousness, and a best friend willing to make amends. Scar thought about it whilst the others watched them in silence. “I’ll give my life,” Grian quietly murmured, just so the two of them could hear. This was beginning to get interesting. “Oh?” Scar replied, urging the other to go on and try to give the offer to its fullest. He wanted to know.

“My entire green life, I’ll follow you, do what you ask; it’s all I can do to repay you unless you have another idea,” Grian said, his voice confident now, although it had soured at the end. Some of the players behind them gasped whilst Scar raised his eyebrows. “Deal,” he said, putting his hand out. Grian took it and shook quietly, the two staring at one another quietly.

From there, it didn’t take the two of them much longer to leave the small band in the village in favour of finding their land to live in. They’d taken the Llama there and began wandering around the small perimeter they would temporarily call home outside Hermitcraft. They would do it together, as best friends.

“TRAITOR!!” The scream rang high in his ears as he felt the sword plunge into his side. Bdubs had just been killed, and Grian was angry. Why wouldn’t he be angry? He’d been betrayed, betrayed by Scar. “Traitor Scar!” he shouted again to emphasize his point, but he was quieter this time. He was getting ready to swing again in the water but feeling more hesitant now that it was just the two of them together. Alone in the world, with everyone dead.

Scar watched his partner’s facial expression, one of hesitance but hurt, one that he’d made. Scar watched Grian quietly for a moment, taking him in. He’d been so helpful and loving this entire season. Sure, he may have gotten in the way of some deals he’d made with other people, but he’d helped Scar the whole way, keeping him alive despite his first death being at his hands. Scar loved how they’d gotten so close during this death game, and although he didn’t want it to end, he knew he’d already gone too far, been too bloodthirsty, just like the male was in front of him now.

“You can kill me,” he said, his voice set and firm. He hadn’t meant to blurt it out, but every word was accurate. If he had to die in this death game, he wanted it to be by the man he’d gotten the closest to, the person whom he’d shared everything with, including the bed on some nights when it had been too cold for both of them to be separate.

“What? No,” Grian replied, confused. What was he thinking? Didn’t he just want to kill him just moments ago? Maybe it had been the willingness to give his life for the other that had stopped his thirst for blood so quickly… Scar couldn’t be sure. “For everything you did to me to keep me alive this long… You may slay me and take the enchanter,” he said, bowing his head down and crouching in front of Grian in the water.

It was uncomfortable. Everything was wet. There was something everywhere, whether it was Bdubs’ blood, his own or the water. It felt disgusting, and it didn’t feel right at all to get so deep in the water, to submit to the one who’d been submitting to him for so long, but there was one big part of Scar that felt so loved that trusted Grian more than he could have ever trusted anyone. It was finally time for Grian to take back his independence.

“No, I can’t,” Grian replied, his heart breaking as he stepped back, going deeper into the waters. “No, I literally can’t, I can’t do it,” he continued, bringing Scar his head up as he watched Grian. He looked as though he was grieving for Scar despite him standing right in front of him. He’d been so close to killing the other in anger. Why was this so different? Scar would never think badly for Grian killing him, especially after all they’d been through together.

The two got out of the water, trying to rid themselves of what they could that was wet beyond belief; this was the end anyway; they didn’t need everything on their person. Grian moved away for a moment, going completely silent. Scar left him to his own devices, thinking the other wanted some space after a terrible amount of bloodshed all around the server.

He sighed, turning back to Scar. “No, these spectators want a fight,” he murmured, glancing nervously at Scar. The brunette-haired male didn’t know what the other was talking about, but he took it in stride as if he knew fully what the other meant. “No, no, no, no, we got this! We have a friendship, don’t let them break—”

“They want blood, they want blood,” Grian replied, his voice scared and nervous.

Scar sighed, sorting out his tools as he used the crafting table as a desk. “Okay, can we at least do the duel if we have to at Pizza’s grave?” He asked, keeping his eyes away from Grian. The other was being pushy over what these spectators wanted, even after they declared they wouldn’t hurt one another; it was getting unnerving.

“All right, let’s get—”

“Get in the boat!” Scar barked, getting tense. The other got in quickly.

“Alright, this is the last bro moment we have—why are we in a boat in a pond?!” he shouted, feeling bamboozled by his best friend. Scar glanced over at him with a quizzical expression, not having figured it out just yet. “What?” He replied.

“Step into the ring,” he boomed, having just put the new cactus next to Pizza’s grave. It was a ring. Most of the cacti only had one instead of the typical three as they’d just been put down, but as long as they didn’t jump around, it would be plenty to keep them in a boxing ring-like situation. He’d already gotten rid of everything apart from the last bit of cacti; he was only waiting on Grian, who confirmed to Scar he was getting rid of everything as he emptied the rest of his pockets.

Grian stepped in, getting to the other side of the ring, and the two stared at each other for a long moment as Scar sealed them in, quietly watching one another with bated breath. They gave one another a moment before they went in… Grian spoke first.

“Scar… I don’t feel good about this,” he admitted, staring the other down. Scar nodded, feeling a little nervous about this entire ordeal himself. The ‘spectators’ had ordered them to sheath their armour and use their fists against one another, which was bound to leave one another bloody, no matter who won. It made the hairs on Scar’s back stand up just at the thought of something so degrading.

“No matter what happens, we can call this a double victory, right?” He said softly, keeping still as he watched Scar fiddle around a little with his fingers. The brunette nodded vigorously, moving around in his little area. “Yes! We’re good, we’re good,” he confirmed, trying to inwardly hype himself up for something he didn’t want to do. He didn’t want to hurt Grian; it was why he had allowed himself to be killed by Grian in the water; he’d waited for the other to use his sword and cut him down…

Did they have to do this?

“Let’s let the ghosts count us in then,” Grian replied, moving around as he prepared for the fight. Scar had no idea who the ghosts were, probably the ghosts of his past friends, the ones who’d been slain, whom he’d killed. He couldn’t hear them, though, giving Grian a slight edge. Scar remembered to close the ring as he turned around, ignoring the inward counting the other was doing.

When he realised what was happening, the other was urging him to begin, approaching him at a terrifying pace. From there, it was a mess; punches were thrown left and right, up and down, with some thrown with a jump to add more weight. Scar’s head, sides, stomach and body hurt, but a small part of him couldn’t be happier. He inwardly wanted Grian to win the game, he’d been so good after all, so loyal. He couldn’t have asked for anyone else to kill him and pledge their life for him on their first day.

Scar was throwing punches, too, but they weren’t as strong, and he kept getting stuck by the cacti. He watched Grian’s expression. He was remorseful, he was hurting, and he didn’t want to do this, but there were no other options; they both knew that… Even if Scar didn’t quite understand why. They gradually and somehow moved out of the ring, moving towards Pizza’s grave; he was close to death now; he could feel it. He hadn’t been punching or hurting the other enough to have him anywhere close to death.

“I’m so sorry,” Scar blurted, his heavy breathing making the statement gaspy. There were so many other emotions, so much hurt, pain, love, and trust filling his heart, soul, and body, but there wasn’t enough time, not when the punches kept coming, and he kept trying to throw them. “I’m sorry too,” Grian blurted back, far less breathless than Scar himself. He had a sad expression covering his face, but the brunette couldn’t help but feel it was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.

He repeated his apologies as they got closer and closer to Pizza’s grave until suddenly, nothing was beneath his feet. As he began to panic, he shouted, “No!” Out before he felt the final punch from his best friend, killing him in midair before he could hit the floor. It went dark, and the moment was over. His burning passion ceased, and his body replenished as he was sent home.

Yet, no matter how far Scar would get from the moment, away from the Cactus Ring, he knew secretly, he’d never, ever leave it.

Perfection is so quick to bore.

“Get away, Scar, get away from me,” he shouted angrily at the other, shaking from the pain and anguish he’d experienced less than an hour ago. Scar stood his ground, refusing to leave, but he didn’t come closer to granting his wishes. “We said, didn’t we? It was a double victory. We did it, Grian—” he told the other, trying to comfort him.

“No, no, you don’t get it! I used my fists against you, killed you in cold blood… You didn’t even try!” he shouted back at the brunette. Scar felt a little taken aback by Grian’s attitude but understood. He was seeing it in his mind. He was seeing the pain. It might’ve been different for Scar, whose memory had faded from death to Hermitcraft, but for Grian, it had been all too much.

“It’s okay! G, no matter what, I forgive you, okay? You had to do it. Those spectator ma jigs told you to, didn’t they?” He assured, taking a step closer. Grian was tearing up, and my god, Scar just wanted to hold him close and keep him tight until the other was okay. He knew the mental scars would be there for far too long, maybe never leave… But he wanted to take care of the other and assure him he was okay.

“But I still—” He broke himself off, trying to hold in a sob as he desperately tried to curl in on himself, his feathers puffing up as he tried to hide. Scar ran over, taking Grian in his arms and hugging him tightly, quietly whispering comforting words. The dirty blonde was quick to latch on, sobbing into his shoulder as the two quietly digested the obscenities the other server had brought them.

How close they were to one another, but how hurt they’d been from such an experience. Scar doubted they’d be the same again.

You are more beautiful by far.

“Scar?” Grian shouted, nearing the Swaggon with speed. Scar quickly whisked himself to the door and opened it, seeing the dirty blonde at the door. He was so irrevocably different this season. They’d only been together a handful of times since they’d moved into Boatem with everyone, but Scar felt he couldn’t keep his eyes away from the avian every time.

His face was so full of colour, his emotions full of energy and positivity, his wings so beautiful and delicate. It caught the other off-guard every time, but he tried to take it in his stride. After all, he couldn’t just admit to the other he liked him. Once he realised that the other was waving his hand in front of his face, he couldn’t help but blush as he finally paid attention.

“Earth to Scar! God, what’s gotten into you lately?” He asked, laughing a little as he smiled at the terraformer. “Sorry, G! Miles away,” he laughed awkwardly as he let the other in. Grian walked into his home and began to look around, almost like a child curiously going on a new walk and wanting to look at every nook and cranny around.

“It’s fine, Scar. I want to make sure you’re alright… I love your build; it’s so beautiful…” he muttered, admiring the interior despite its work-in-progress. Beautiful like you… Scar found himself thinking. With a smile, he quickly shook his head and joined Grian on his adventure through the Swaggon.

“I’m glad you like it. It's a shame it’s not closer to you!” He replied, snickering and giving a classical grin to the avian. Grian could only huff and turn away at the comment. “It’s not like I can walk to your base without going through a portal or using my wings…” He began listing, making it sound a little ridiculous that the brunette still didn’t find it close enough.

Scar huffed, crossing his arms. “Well, if you think it’s that easy, maybe I should move away!” He replied, shaking his head for effect. Grian could only giggle as he turned back to look at his friend. “Don’t be silly, Scar; I like having you close! Anyway, you can’t leave Boatem now; we’re a team; we will all be working together, staying close,” he explained, watching the other’s expression closely.

Sounds like a dream… “As long as you don’t blow anything up, it’ll be fine,” he chuckled, going into a shulker box nearby to look for food. Do you want any tea, pies, or cookies?” he asked, trying to be polite. “Oh, I’m fine. I just wanted to check up on the build and you, but you seem to be doing just fine,” he replied with a grin.

Realistically, Scar knew the other had just come over to procrastinate on something he had to do on his build. However, having a smaller base to make this season (as the other had proclaimed) should help alleviate just how much procrastination he was due to do this season. He was looking forward to it. He ignored his brain’s inward monologue in favour of staring at Grian’s pretty face—or something like that.

“Alright, well, you know you’re always welcome here, G!” he replied, grinning at the other. Grian only smiled back at the other, enjoying his company a little more before he had to leave.

Our flaws are who we really are.

“Annnd finally! We got it in Grian! After all that time, the creeper is finally in,” Scar cheered, pleased that after so long, they’d finally been able to do it, finally been able to sort out the creeper and put it in Grian’s menagerie. “Thank goodness, I was beginning to think it would take all day,” he sighed appreciatively, getting close to the glass cage. It was surprising that a layer this thin would stop a creeper from blowing up someone, but he was glad for it nonetheless.

Then Grian remembered something. “Oh, Scar, did we name it?” He asked, turning to the brunette in question. He laughed nervously before looking at his inventory, clearly seeing the name tag. He was silent for a long moment, enough for Grian to know exactly what his friend had done. “Scar! We’ll need to break into that and put it on now,” he whined, looking nervous.

The brunette turned to look at his friend, who seemed quite nervous. They’d already blown a charged creeper or two, so getting another in a building named to ensure it didn’t despawn was going to be a task… But it was ultimately Scar’s fault. It was his business, and he had to ensure everything was right with the other’s order, even if he wouldn’t do this for anyone else.

“I’ll do it, not to worry!” He said, grabbing the name tag and getting close to the glass to open it up. “Oh hey hey, dude, is it such a smart idea? I don’t mind doing it—” Grian tried to protest, foreseeing what Scar was about to do, but it was far too late because by the time the dirty blonde was cutting himself off, Scar had already opened the glass and he was trying to get the creeper to come closer for the name tag.

“Come here, Boo… That’s it…” He quietly baby-spoke to the creeper. As soon as it was close enough, he name-tagged the creeper and celebrated, but it was too late. Instead of closing the small window, the celebration gave ‘Boo’ enough time to blow up, destroying the bottom floor of the menagerie and Scar along with it.

He woke with a start at the bed not too far from the disaster, and he heard Grian panic as he went over to see the collateral damage to his little shop. Scar felt his stomach churn. He’d been so sure he could fix the issue for him. Now he needed to fix the shop before they could get another creeper… He’d have to make this right, somehow.

Scar had been away from the Swaggon for a few days to gather resources. This wasn’t unusual by far; it helped him calm down and relax occasionally, especially if things back at the base were getting too much for the hermit. He was not expecting the mess that would be there when he returned.

When Scar closed the door and went up a level, he quickly realised he couldn’t go further into the Swaggon. He frowned, using his elytra, which were still strapped onto his back, to get up and inspect the damage. It wasn’t anything significant; a minor fix would have sorted the issue out just fine, but the ladder was broken and one of the more essential parts of the whole Swaggon.

When he came to inspect the area, he noticed a little note had been left via a sign in the middle of the area, which he quickly saw was one from Grian. Scar had trouble reading the sign; he tended to struggle to read many things, but this was more due to the context of the words than the words themselves.

“Creepers can climb ladders?” He asked himself quietly, shaking his head. Well, at least he knew Grian had been looking for him, even if it was only because of the mess left behind. “Better go and check on G later… He’d probably be quite nervous,” Scar muttered further to himself, taking the sign down as he pondered on what used to be there and what he could do to fix the small hole that a creeper had made.

It took Scar twenty minutes at most to fix the little issue before things were back to normal, and he could continue as he was before. He would have to check on Grian later, though. He strangely got scared or nervous when issues with Scar happened. He knew about third life… Scar mentally shuddered at the reminder, but he’d always done it, even before the death game they’d had.

Scar began to unload his items from his trip, trying to shrug it off as a friend being concerned for another friend. There was no point in overthinking now.

I used to hear a simple song.

It was always Scar. For some reason, the Watchers always wanted him and Scar to be paired. At least, it seemed that way. Even though he’d screamed when he’d found out he and Scar were soulmates, the rush of panic had been all that had pushed him. He was just thankful that the other had no idea. He’d been able to finally come to terms with his emotions by the time it was necessary for Scar to figure it out, and the other had been thrilled for the most part.

He’d been more preoccupied by the Jelly Panda’s, but the other had been delighted when he’d found out. He’d said, “If we are the final two again, we won’t have to kill each other!” And other such lines, but the past was all he could think about. It was fine being with Scar on Hermitcraft; it wasn’t as though anything was indeed on the line, but it felt like making bonds on the life series made things all the more realistic in a hurtful way.

The day he’d beaten Scar in the Cactus Ring was when he lost a part of himself and never wanted to do it again. Scar was far too precious. He should never be put anywhere near death. So that is what he’d do this season, just as he’d done before. Ensure they stay alive and avoid getting close to Scar.

It worked at first. Scar would get confused about their time in separate beds on cold nights. Other times, he'd push him away when Scar wanted to do something that Grian would consider intimate or close. However, whenever he was in danger, he’d step in to avoid the other getting hurt, to the point that Scar had barely touched a sword during the season.

Then he began to see BigB. At first, he makes a silly joke to try to take the edge off of constantly being on guard and cautious around Scar and their relationship. It escalated far too quickly, however, as he began to go there more often to take the edge off of his anxiety. It got to the point that he knew Scar was suspicious, but he didn’t want to admit weakness to his soulmate.

He knew he’d have to face his actions at some point. He just hadn’t realised it would be so soon. After a few hours of ‘disappearing’, he returned to see BigB and Scar waiting at the entrance. He looked unhappy and a little distressed. It raised his anxiety right back to where it had been before he’d even left, making the past few hours almost meaningless.

“Where have you been, G? I thought you said you’d go see the ranchers, but I went over to check up on them, and they said they hadn’t seen you all day! You can’t be lying to me, G… We’re soulmates…” He said, his voice breaking a little as he watched him with a hurt expression. Grian turned away, disliking the look on his face. It broke his heart to see him so upset. Yet, he knew it was all his fault.

“I-I’m sorry,” He stammered, avoiding eye contact as he began to play with a bit of his red jumper. Scar was just too precious. He couldn’t get hurt. He couldn’t know… He had to get out of this… Somehow. “Don’t you dare; I know that look from anywhere, G, and I don’t want to hear lies,” Scar spat, taking a step closer, a step too close in Grian’s opinion.

He felt the other breathing against his hair before a rough hand clutched his jaw and gently brought the other’s head up so the two could look one another in their eyes. They were close, closer than Grian had ever remembered them. Suddenly, he felt his body hot, his cheeks lighting up with red as he watched Scar’s upset and tightly constricted face watch him. He was trying to decipher what was happening in the other’s mind, but it was only filled with Scar.

He momentarily forgot to breathe, but the other had used his soft words to keep him taking slow, deep breaths. He must’ve thought Grian was having a panic attack to react so gently with him. The dirty blonde tried to look away, but Scar’s hand was firm and unwilling to move. He was trapped, stuck in a consequence of his actions. Of course, he should’ve seen this coming; he had, in a way… Just not in such a close situation.

“I’m sorry,” he quietly repeated, staring into Scar’s eyes and seeing sorrow staring back at him. Scar didn’t try to reply to him this time. The male had set out the rules of this conversation, and he held his thoughts, unable to make words of them. How could he tell Scar about his insecurities? His worries, him going off to see BigB to alleviate the stress in the only way he’d learnt how: running away from his problems.

The silence between them left Grian awkwardly, trying to fill it with something. He just didn’t want to admit it just yet. “I-I just, it’s difficult, okay? That doesn’t mean I don’t care about you because I do—” he cut himself off, groaning at his stupidity as he watched Scar’s eyebrow quirk in amusement. Of course, of course, Scar would find this amusing. It wasn’t as if he was still holding Grian’s face, and they were mere centimetres apart. Of course, that wouldn’t be mind-melting to the other male.

“I’ve been going over to see BigB, just to relax over with him, nothing else,” he blurted, avoiding the other’s eyes as much as possible. The two were silent for a long moment, with Scar’s breath hitting the entire him before he finally sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want you to see your friends, but why would you hide it from me, G?” he quietly complained, trying to keep the whine out of his tone. It worked, mostly.

“I would rather not hurt you, that’s all,” Grian finalised, shaking his way out of the other’s grip. The brunette didn’t try to get close again; he looked genuinely hurt by the other’s behaviour. “Has this all been about—”

“Don’t mention it,” Grian stated coldly, turning away from the other, and Scar knew he’d hit the bullseye. He quietly moved to stand next to the avian, not quite looking at him and not making the other stare at him either. The best of both worlds from Scar’s perspective. It had comforted Grian a little, too; not having to look the other in the eye made things a lot easier on himself.

“We’re together this time; it’s either us or nothing,” Scar quietly spoke, glancing at the other nervously. He flinched but tried not to make a big deal, although the brunette had seemed to notice somewhat. “We might not even make it to the end. G, will you throw this because you’re scared of a repeat?” Scar asked, his face clearly showing a look of disappointment. A feeling of guilt began to bubble up in the other’s chest, but he wouldn’t let it slide.

“You’re far too precious, Scar; I’m not letting you get hurt just because we decided to get close again. I hurt you last time, and I don’t want to repeat that same mistake,” he snapped, avoiding the other’s eye contact. Scar laughed a little at the irony of what the other had said. “ Hurting me? Grian, you’re already doing that by staying away from me! We do things as a team. That’s what this season is supposed to be about… You actively pushing me away is only hurting the both of us,” Scar pleaded, feeling upset as he watched the other’s face morph into one of guilt.

“I…” Grian tried at that moment to find a way out of the situation, an excuse to tell that would further go with the idea that he’d been subjecting himself throughout the entire season…

But it was empty. His brain was empty of ideas.

That’s what broke the dam. As he began to tear up, Scar took notice almost instantly and moved to comfort the other, bringing him in a hug. Grian latched onto him with an urgent need as the waterworks properly began, and he continued to sob loudly into Scar’s shirt. The only change that bringing Scar close made was that his sobs were muffled, and he had someone else to lean on.

He’d been hopelessly lying to himself this entire time, wishing that there was some way to avoid the same pain and hurt that he’d previously been subjected to. Maybe, if he listened to his partner, the rest of this series would be enjoyable. All he had to do was let go.

That was until you came along.

Grian was majestic to Scar. The way he flew made trouble for many people around him, and the way he built was so beautiful. He almost wanted to live there, be by his side, and love—errr. Maybe his thoughts were getting away with him a little there. The point was that Scar adored Grian, and seeing him in such pain felt inhumane.

Mumbo had left to go on holiday, which initially felt like a bit of a hiatus but now felt a little more permanent than many people on the server, especially Grian, liked to admit. Their moustached friend had given him special permission to do what he wanted with the vault and its contents (however minor they were). Still, it was obvious to Scar that Grian would never be capable of doing such a thing, especially with how much he treasured its small contents.

The whole area was almost biblical to the other, even where a new version of Grumbot was somewhat under Mumbo’s base, away from his builds on the ground. Watching the other constantly pour over the cave, the rift, and the machinery almost made Scar feel sick. It was a sad obsession, and he knew the other wouldn’t normally do anything like this.

More often than not, the scarred male found himself dragging Grian out there for some self-care while avoiding making any progress on his base. It was one of the places that Scar had become most accustomed to during this season, and it was also starting to become concerning. He also left his wings on more often than not these days. Grian may have the natural wings of an avian, but his Elytra was not made for 24/7 usage.

Scar’s efforts were appreciated. However, Grian had made that very clear, especially with how he had previously been quite combative with coming out of the dreary cave, where now he would follow the other’s directions rather than fight. The other would sometimes even follow Scar throughout Scarland for more company. It partially felt like he was babysitting the other, but he didn’t mind.

He wouldn’t ever say that he enjoyed the other being clingy, even if it was a little evident. Grian may not have picked up on it yet, but clearly, the others had. He’d been teased quite a bit about how he’d take care of the other, including being teased that the two were together in a relationship, but he’d only deny them and never mention any of it to his already hurting friend.

He continued to explain why he shouldn’t tell the other when he got a ping from his communicator. It briefly took him out of his element, and he realized he’d been outwardly ranting to a piece of Scarland he’d been making. He shuffled to bring it out and sat down to read everything. There was no doubt that he’d missed a few pieces of conversation.

He quickly read through the main chat from all the hermits, but nothing was too attractive for him before he realised he’d been whispered by no one other than Grian himself. ‘Can I come over? Movie night, maybe?’ he asked, raising Scar’s eyebrows. He knew what suggesting a movie night would become, which only concerned him. Grian never brought up those fearing Star Wars talk, but it seemed they were a little more interested today.

He shrugged, telling himself he’d mentally check on Grian when he arrived. ‘Sure! When are you thinking?’ he quickly replied, ignoring the further message the dirty blonde had sent to ask Scar whether he was awake. He got a very quick reply, which indicated to the other that he’d been waiting for Scar to reply and watching the conversation.

‘I’ll be coming over now. If you’re busy, I don’t mind just watching you for a little,’ he explained over messages. Scar shut the communicator off quickly, knowing there would be no point in replying when the other was already coming over. He was in a part of the park that was a little more difficult to find than being out in the open. This meant that although Scar had heard him enter the park, Grian wouldn’t see him for several minutes.

The brunette took the opportunity to finish his build a little early, complete the small part he’d been working on, and move swiftly into Grian’s vision, where the avian came up to him reasonably quickly.

“Scar! I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” he whined, speeding into the other’s personal space. The other only laughed as he watched Grian with an adoring look. " I just had to finish something; you are doing okay, G?” he asked, inspecting his friend with too much precision. Maybe he’d just gotten good at doing it so recently, but it was almost scary how he could pick up the small details of Grian’s well-being from his looks.

In all fairness to him, it looked as though he’d showered not long after messaging him. His hair was mostly dry now, but there were still little bits that were damp in his hair, which was nice to know. The other took care of himself minimally to the point Scar had once had to drag him into the bathroom and lock the door until the other had showered and dressed himself in new clothing that wasn’t his dirty ones.

It had been unpleasant for all involved, but they’d made the most of it. Returning to the present, he noticed that the other smelled like a mixture of fresh scents, and his wings were pretty much preened. The brunette was pleased to see the other in such good condition without his help. His smile got a little wider than before when he listened to him.

“Yeah, feeling a little better today, but I just wanted to see if I could treat Mr Goodtimes to a movie night of his choice! You’ve been doing so much for me lately that I thought you’d enjoy doing what you want a little more,” he replied shyly, giving him a big smile. Scar beamed at the other, feeling extremely pleased with the other’s thoughtfulness.

This may not be quite the turning point that Scar would hope that lasts long-term, but it was something that the other would cherish for a long, long time.

You took my broken melody.

“So I was wondering,” Grian warily started, watching the other as he went through the training course he’d made in Scarland. “Hmm?” The other replied, trying to concentrate as he kept hitting the targets. “I was wondering if Hotguy had a sidekick,” he blurted, looking away from the other. The question made Scar turn around and stop, staring at him with an empty expression as he processed the words.

“You’re asking if I have a sidekick?” he asked to confirm, looking a little confused with the other. Grian nodded a little, shifting uncomfortably with the other’s eyes on him. “…I don’t. Why do you ask?” he questioned, looking suspicious. Grian felt a little self-conscious as he had the other’s eyes on him.

He promised himself it would be fine; he’d spent a lot of time practising and making his outfit… All he needed to do was tell the other. “I was just wondering if that position was available?” he asked, keenly aware of Scar staring at him with a look of curiosity and pure joy. “Yes! Yes!! Oh my god, G! That sounds wonderful!… You’re talking about yourself, right?” He asked, realising he’d assumed without questioning the other.

Grian chuckled a little to play off his nerves whilst he nodded. “Yup, advocating for myself,” he warily replied, his hands itching to place down the shulker box with his outfit. “Oooh, ooh! What’s your name going to be?” He asked, using his Elytra to float down and stand beside Grian. The dirty blonde smirked, pleased that he seemed to be so excited.

“Well, since you’re Hotguy, I thought I’d be Cuteguy! Y’know, because I’m so cute?” He suggested, faking an excited grin to the other as he felt the anxiety create a pit in his stomach. Scar whistled, winking at him. “That is a perfect name Grian, I wholly agree, you are such a cutie that it feels like it’s the only name that fits,” he replied quickly, as if he’d been preparing the line for years.

The words made Grian blush a little. He turned away a little to try and avoid Scar seeing him light up like a Christmas tree. “W-well, I’ll be needing an outfit for this—” he tried, trying to prevent the redness of his cheeks as a topic of conversation. Yet, the suggested topic had only made Scar gasp as he excitedly began to think of ideas.

“Oh, I’ll make one for you right now, Grian! Oh how cute you’ll be in the outfit I’ll make you, oh we can do so much super stuff together! Hotguy-ing and Cuteguy-ing anyone we see! We’ll be an amazing duo,” He began to chatter, not allowing Grian time to speak as he moved towards one of the back areas of Scarland to make an outfit.

The other shook his head fondly. He may have an outfit, but perhaps Scar’s would be made more out of love and far more worth his time. Before he followed the other, he took out the shulker box and took out the black outfit, mixed with red and orange lines. It looked a little similar to Hotguy’s outfit, but he shook his head, binning it in some fire before closing the shulker box, taking it, and putting it back in his inventory.

He shortly followed after Scar, wondering what kind of ideas he had for his first proper outfit.

And now I hear a symphony.

It was… Concerning, to say the least. To say Scar wasn’t worried for his friend would be an understatement. The whole shebang to do with Mumbo had grown to extreme levels, so Scar had stopped seeing the other as much. Even though there had been good moments, such as everything with Cuteguy (which did still happen on occasion, just not nearly as much as Scar liked), there were still bad moments, this being one of those moments.

Grian had been hanging around him less overall recently. Usually, they’d have movie nights, or the other would follow him to avoid working on his base, but now it was as if he’d disappeared. He knew that sometimes he didn’t leave his abode, but it was growing more than concerning now.

Scar decided to go see him. The other wasn’t replying to his messages on the communicator, so he had to stage an intervention in person. It was the only way around it. He brought his Elytra back on and moved toward Grian’s home. Thankfully, it wasn’t too far away, but there was a reasonable distance.

Once he got to the front, he immediately noticed that the door was open and that the house was empty, at least in the area visible from the door. Scar hesitantly went into the house and looked around; he saw nothing. There was no sign of Grian being there, at least in the last few hours. It made Scar nervous, but he knew he’d find the other.

After checking the house, he checked the rest of the base, including the storage area, the small farms, and even Mumbo’s base. He discovered only one place he hadn’t checked: the hole where Grumbot lived. Hesitantly, he went inside and briefly looked at the closed rift before turning around and checking the rest of the area.

He almost left before finding a small crevice he’d never realised existed. He moved past the rock around and found a small, dimly lit room. The dirty blonde was there, around a circle of candles and under a drawing… What that Mumbo’s face? He quietly sneaked in to not alert the other; he noticed the other sniffling, and his heart quietly broke.

“Grian?” he quietly asked, looking at the other with heavy concern. The avian swiftly turned to look at Scar, his face tight and wet with tears. His cheeks were red, and his eyes were puffy. He looked like a mess, his hands covered with a black substance, probably the chalk he’d used for the floor of the small area and its Mumbo Summoning circle.

“S-scar?” He whispered, his voice breaking as he stared at the other in shock. The other nodded, trying to stay quiet in case that set the other off. It seemed that Grian stood up shakily without much thought, his legs not supporting him as much as they should’ve as he ran towards Scar, hugging him tightly. Scar clutched and held him close, giving Grian the exact thing he needed: compassion and comfort.

It took Grian a while to calm down after that. From all the crying and struggling to breathe as he desperately tried to calm down as Scar told him it was okay to cry, it took at least half an hour to have Grian back on the floor, sitting next to Scar as they stared at the Mumbo summoning circle that Grian had made when he was desperate.

When he’d stopped clinging, Scar had got them both to retreat for the floor in the worry that Grian would’ve toppled over at the slightest movement; he seemed strangely weak. Now that things had calmed down, however, Grian was silent, avoiding any semblance of a conversation.

“I’m glad I caught you. I was worried about you… I’m not sure what you were doing, but it seemed like you needed the hug,” Scar mumbled, trying to talk to the other but seemingly talking to himself as Grian mostly spaced out next to him. It was unnerving, but he understood it was the other’s way of comprehending the events and what had happened.

“Why… Why do you look after me, Scar?” the dirty blonde asked, looking miserably up to him. The other hesitated; he didn’t want to admit his true feelings to the other. As well as being friends, he loved the other; that was why he cared about Grian so much. He was just so beautiful, so funny, idiotic, and explosive… But Scar loved every part of it.

“You’re my best friend,” Scar simply replied. It wasn’t quite a lie, but it wasn’t the truth. It comforted the brunette a little that he’d said some semblance of reality. Grian didn’t look as if he’d believed it, though. “No, come on, that excuse wore out the moment you let me sleep in your bed three times in one week; we both know that’s not the only reason you’ve stayed. Do you think you’ll get something from keeping me around? Did Mumbo ask you to make sure I didn’t hur—”

“He did not ask such a thing, and honestly, I’m a bit hurt that you seem to think that,” Scar interrupted, looking like a hurt animal with a slightly blanched face. Grian threw his arms up in frustration. “Well, what is it then? Because I sure as hell have no clue,” he scathingly replied, crossing his arms. Scar gulped, looking away as his cheeks began to redden. He supposed he’d have to say it.

Well, Scar inwardly reasoned, he didn’t have to. He could keep trying to fool the other into thinking that he just wanted the other to be okay and that they were best friends. Although it was true, it didn’t feel right to have that as the simple excuse for his behaviour. He gulped. For it all to end at this moment felt odd, but he knew it was better to do it now or never.

“I love you… I don’t mean in the way of ‘oh, you’re my friend, and I love you and wouldn’t want you to be hurt, no no, no, my dear sir, I mean, I love you. I want to kiss you the type of love, and I’d love to keep you close and hold you kind of love,” Scar admitted, playing with his hands shyly as he kept his eyes away from the other’s face. It was silent, and it was making Scar squirm.

“I m-mean, if all that makes you feel uncorf- uncomp— weird, then I can go, but I just want you to be okay, and we can just ignore all this if—”

Scar’s chin was quickly taken hold of, and his lips were shoved against Grian’s. They were kissing, but the whole ordeal was messy. Being a little shocked at first, Scar couldn’t take in what was happening until it was too late and Grian had already moved back, his face looking so cute and puffy, a mess, but Scar’s mess.

With enough confidence, Scar goes in for the next kiss, capturing the other’s lips as he softly and simply kisses him, holding the other securely as they get comfortable against one another. It wasn’t heated nor messy; it was just them, their lips, and their silent confession. They love one another, always and forever.

Moving away almost felt like a crime to Scar. Still, he knew they’d both have to have proper breaths of air eventually, especially Grian, who’d had trouble breathing not longer than ten minutes ago. Once separate, Grian watched the other for a long moment before giving a small smile at him. It wasn’t a big smile; the other was still mentally recovering and had dry tear marks on his cheeks, but it was a smile nonetheless.

“I love you, Mr GoodtimeswithScar,” Grian whispered, watching the other with a look of fondness that he’d only been a handful of times before. A smile pulled at his lips as he lifted his hand to stroke the other’s cheek. “I love you too, Grian,” he whispered back.

And now I hear a symphony.

Scar was getting impatient. Grian could tell. It was a little amusing to him, but he couldn’t help but feel the love from the other as he kept close to him, supporting him through the trouble he’d had with the sea recently. Was it the sea? It felt more like a deep river… Alas, the water, with its fishing rewards, wasn’t treating him well.

Being Grian’s partner, Scar swore off mending himself until Grian also got the mending book from pure fishing. It was heartwarming that the other would do something both sacrificial and painful. It reminded Grian of the bond the two had made together through the love, the pain and the difficult times.

They hadn’t decided to live together just yet, with Grian being at the dock and slowly making progress on his own house whilst Scar became a zoo keeper in a train for the tenth season of Hermitcraft. The two were living life, and it was peaceful, other than Grian’s continuous shouts of anguish.

Speaking of anguish, the dirty blonde felt a tug at the line. Scratching his new beard, he began to pull in, and Scar began to whistle, letting go of Grian’s side to focus on the catch. With little pushback, he managed to bring whatever he’d fished up easily. It was a book. He held his breath as he took it off the line.

He opened the page, showing that the book was just another Depth Strider rendition. Grian angrily groaned and threw it toward his not-mending book chest. Scar made a noise of sympathy for him before gently tapping on the wood, letting Grian grumpily sit back down. Scar got close to him and began to cuddle up as Grian put another line out and held it, hoping he’d catch another book soon.

“It’s alright, G. We’ll get you that book one of these days,” he softly murmured, taking the avian’s hand as he tried to comfort the other. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll just find it next week, like we said last week, that we’d find it this week,” Grian angrily mumbled, stroking the back of Scar’s hand to comfort the other and himself.

Scar lightly laughed. “Yeah, something like that. We’ll get through this together,” he replied, giving a slight smirk to the other, who wasn’t paying attention to his face. “You make it sound like someone’s died,” Grian muttered, keeping a tight watch on the line and where it lay in the water. The other gave a light chuckle.

“Your hope and dreams have died, haven’t they?” He asked, his grin widening as he watched the other move away from him and look amused and fakely hurt. “Scar! You rude git,” he replied, snorting as he shook his head and got comfortable beside him again. Scar hummed back, relaxing next to the other until he got another tug on that damned fishing line.

#timeline of their time together #angst #fluff #hurt/comfort #grian is not okay #protective gtwscar #cactus ring #3rd life #grians fishing obsession #timeline from HC S6 to HC S10 #slow burn #grian #gtwscar #mentioned mumbo jumbo #i hope everyone enjoys!!

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