kalbastion

[kalbastion]

Rainy Apartment and Crooked Furniture

Pair: Jason x US!South!Reader

Warnings: fluff, thin threads of soft angst, insinuations of sex

Word Count: 3732

A/N: This is my first time doing this. A reader x character thing. Just for me to kinda get back into writing. I based this on a writing idea I had for a while, I actually posted about it a bit ago, and I'm only now finally writing it. Let me know if I should make a series of these or not, I wanna know if people enjoy my writing.

The pattering of rain hitting the window filled the silence.

You stared out the window of your balcony, seeing the raindrop collect and race their way down the glass. A fresh cup of coffee sat in your hands, both hands wrapped around it to absorb its warmth. Whenever it rained in Gotham there was always a chill that accompanied it. You’ve never truly gotten used to that chill, unlike the people who have been born and raised here.

But even though you were cold, no matter the robe you have tightly wrapped around yourself and the fuzzy pajama pants with fuzzy socks, the sight of staring out the window panel was a morning ritual for you at this rate. The rain sometimes felt hypnotic, hearing the soft pattering and the quiet dings of it hitting the metal fire escape. You could even see the fog in the distance blanketing the city. Or maybe it was smog, you weren’t too sure.

You couldn’t help the sigh that softly escaped your lips, bringing up your cup of coffee to take a sip in an attempt to drown the sound. You weren’t native to the city of Gotham. A couple of years ago your home had been swept away from Mother Nature’s wrath, rendering you and your family homeless. Gotham wasn’t your first choice to choose from in your options to move to. But, you had extended family that was willing to house you guys to get back onto your feet. And you’ve been stuck here ever since.

It hasn’t been terrible living here. Hasn’t been the best, either. But you and your family have found a way to make it work. You had managed to get a job, saved enough money and bought an apartment. Took you three years to do it, but you did it nonetheless. Family still lived in the city, and you frequently visited. It wasn’t like you had a terrible relationship with them or anything. But having your own space away from them, your own solace and safe space with your own rules, just felt nice.

As you stared off at the city below, catching glimpses of car headlights and bobbing umbrellas in the streets, you could hear a noise coming from the room behind you. You turned around hearing feet shuffling and gave a smile.

“‘Mornin’, baby,” you couldn’t help but say.

You couldn’t hide the smile that immediately pulled to your lips, instead bringing your coffee up in an attempt to hide it.

A tall man emerged from the bedroom, bedhead prominent and grogginess still in their veins. His right hand was pulling up his shirt, scratching an itch from underneath while his left hand was rubbing his eyes. You couldn’t help your eyes flickering to his stomach, showing the abs or muscle peeking through. A big yawn escaped his mouth, not at all covering his mouth. His bleary eyes looked at you, causing you to look back up at him and pretend that you weren’t eyeing his stomach and faint happy trail of hair.

“...’Morning,” He sighed out after his yawn.

He took a moment to stare at you, blue eyes baring into your form, just taking the sight of you in. Seeing how the outside light seeped into the apartment, outlining your form. Even with the dreary weather it made you seem almost unreal. Like this was a cruel dream that he will wake up from, and all the time he’s spent with you hadn’t existed. You had no idea what was going through his head, just seeing him staring at you with a look in his eye you couldn’t quite decipher. Feeling under the spotlight of his gaze, you couldn’t help but gesture to the kitchen with your cup.

“Coffee’s fresh, if you want a mug,” you suggested, keeping an eye on him.

His eyes fluttered, then he glanced at the kitchen briefly before looking back at you. His left hand rubbed his eyes again before slowly rubbing down his face, sluggishly nodding his head.

“Yeah… Yeah, I’ll take a cup,” He turned away and headed to the kitchen. “Do you want me to make breakfast?”

You couldn’t help the slight chuckle that escaped your lips. “You gonna burn the eggs again? Or do I have to intervene like I did last time?”

His back was turned to you, but you could see his exaggerated back and forth head movement, hearing him put on a mocking tone as he muttered to himself. “”Intervene like last time?””

“Don’t ch’you sass me, mister,” you said as you narrowed your eyes at him. You gave a threatening tone, but the smile on your face betrayed how you really felt. “Is that how you think I sound?”

“You have a thick accent, babe, what can I tell ya?” The pale man shrugged, back still towards you as he pulled out a frying pan from the upper cabinet. “Say “bowl of boiling water,””

“Oh, hush you,” you scoffed at him, hearing him chuckle softly at your quick response.

As you rolled your eyes at him, not that he could see, you decided to take a seat at the small table you owned. It only had enough room for two chairs, small and tiny, as the stain from the wood was scratching off from age and use. Your mother somehow got it from off the street abandoned and broken. The two of you had fixed it as best as you could, finding something charming about the little table set. The right side was slightly lower than the left, causing a wobble that drove you mad, but it was yours. Somehow you found charm in it.

Quietly you sat at the table, taking a sip of your coffee, as you watched your significant other in the kitchen. How he fluidly moved from left to right, going into the fridge that was smaller than him back to the stove top, just going on making eggs. There was something about it.

How he knew where things were without double checking, or needing to ask.

How you could see what spices he was grabbing from the cabinet that you liked.

How he didn’t need to ask you how you liked your eggs or how many you wanted - you almost never changed how you liked your food.

It was so… domestic. Somehow soft in the way he did things. He was huge, hulking almost. Could almost be mistaken for a fridge himself if he stayed still enough. Yet here he was, cursing softly at how the hot oil slightly bit back his hand as he cracked a fresh egg into it. His dark hair smushed too far to the left from where he had laid his head. How he willingly had his back towards you, unafraid of having you in the area behind him. The trust he so freely gave, as you knew it had been so hard for him to do.

It made your chest feel warm, a fuzziness spreading as you watched him. A strange normality is a place that was full of strange oddities. It was a warmth that no amount of coffee or fuzzy robes could bring you.

“I can feel your eyes,” He spoke up after transferring eggs to a fresh plate he had set down. “Like little daggers getting stabbed into me. Just –” He made sound effects to the motions he made with his hand, using the spatula in the air as if it was a knife. “Gah, gah! “Ahh, no, don’t do it!” Gaaah!”

You couldn’t help how hard you rolled your eyes, not that he could see it, as you kissed your teeth at his dramatic actions. You set your cup of coffee down as you answered him.

“You play too much,” you couldn’t help but respond. A response that had been almost ingrained in you with how much you’ve heard it from your mother and parents alike.

“And you think too much,” he retorted and glanced over his shoulder, giving you a quick glance before resuming his new eggs. “...C’mon, it’s too early to be thinking so loudly. What’s on your mind?”

You couldn’t help but tap your mug, the noise being made by your nail helping with your thoughts. You watched how the coffee inside slightly shook from the force, but not enough to cause actual ripples. A distraction from his question, but only briefly. He patiently waited, knowing not to push too hard to get you to speak. Allowing you a chance to gather what raging storm might be going on inside of your head. But, he hadn’t expected to hear what you said.

“I was just… thinkin’ ‘bout how much I like seein’ you like this,” you answered softly, almost hesitating from saying the words.

It wasn’t hard to notice how his animated movements from earlier stilled, only to resume as he realized he was going to let his food burn. When you didn’t say anything else, he took this as a chance to speak.

“Yeah?” He asked softly, almost seeming unsure of himself to ask. “What, uh… what about it do you like?”

God, you could list a thousand things.

How warm it made you feel watching him do something as simple as eggs for breakfast, even though it was eleven o’clock. How he moved around your apartment like he’s known it just as long as you have. How even with the uneven furniture and mismatched cups, items that were all clearly hand-me-downs or picked up from the side of the road, he just seemed to make it all fit together in some way. Like he belonged in the apartment just as much as you did. How you’ve caught him putting on your bright, fuzzy bathrobe on mornings too cold and early, and how he almost looked better in it than you did.

“Just… How much you make this place feel like home, is all,” You dared to say it. A nervous flutter in your chest made you begin to tug on a loose thread that dangled from your robe, almost afraid to hear how he’d react.

But, he didn’t.

Not at first, at least.

His movements slowed, as if processing the words. It made the fluttering in your chest feel worse, your chest tightening as you waited to hear him say something. But you kept yourself calm. Patience, you reminded yourself. To give him the same patience that he so kindly will give you. And you know how hard that is for him.

He took his time to process the words, still slowly moving the pan around with his eggs. A part of you couldn’t decide what was worse, the silence or the fact that you couldn’t see his facial expression. Just when you thought it would be best to change the subject, your mouth opened to speak, when he finally placed his eggs on a separate plate.

“Well,” he said as he shut the stove off and opened the fridge door to grab whatever condiments that were on the door. “...I think the homiest part about this place is the person living in it.”

The tightness in your chest eased, a warmth now replacing it. You couldn’t hide the smile that curled on your lipids as you gazed at him, watching how he traveled with everything tucked under his arms and hands. He set your plate down in front of you, eggs and toast, just how you liked it, as he carefully put down your favorite toppings. He set his in the spot across from you, about to sit down, before you caught the way his mouth tilted upwards in that crooked smile he had.

“And… Maybe I like just how at home you make me feel when I’m in between your legs,” he spoke in almost a hushed tone.

Heat immediately ran up your neck and face, jaw dropping at his scandalous words.

“Jason Todd!” You couldn’t help but shriek at him as you went to swat at him.

He gave a devious chuckle, turning his hips in a way to dodge your attack. He laughed to himself, relishing in how your face darken with a blush and the face you gave him. Even though your voice sounded angry, there was no denying how your mouth was curled into a smile even when he drove you mad. He fixed himself a cup of coffee finally as you shook your head at him, finally grabbing your favorite toppings to place on your food. 

Jason came back to the table and you instinctively knew to pause your movements and lift your elbows as he settled down, feeling the table tilt to one side before it went back to the other as he settled into his spot across from you. You looked up at him through your eyebrows, seeing him sip his coffee as he still wore a smile. A part of you couldn’t help but think how boyish that smile made him, as if it could erase the striking whites in his hair and subtle wrinkles from stress.

“C’mooon, babe, you make it too easy!” Jason couldn’t help but say, not afraid to stare back at your light glare.

“Mhm,” you hummed at him before looking back to your toast as you put a spread on it. “Just like how easy it is to get you to say my name at night.”

He sputtered, followed by a choke.

You couldn’t help but let out your own chuckle, glancing at him as he set his coffee down and turned to the side to cough. His hand smacked his chest to dislodge whatever went down wrong, not expecting your fast response. You couldn’t help but find it adorable how red his pale ears got whenever you teased him. It was like a guarantee without fail. Jason finally looked back at you just as you took a bite of your toast, smugly taking the sight of him in as he pointed a crooked finger at you.

“Hey-” He turned his head quickly to cough before looking back again, trying to look mad. You know he wasn’t. “Now that, is uncalled for.”

You scoffed, quickly swallowing your food as you raised an arched brow at him. “”Uncalled for” my ass! May I remind you who started it, mister.”

“If I recall, it was actually you saying my name whenever we lay in bed,” he said before quickly following with, “or was it the couch?”

“Jason!” You quickly scolded him, your eyes snapping to his.

He smacked the table and pointed at you. “Just like that!”

You couldn’t help but slump back in your chair, dropping your toast back onto your plate as you stared at the ceiling. Jason’s laugh followed, knowing he one upped you as he could see your lips trying to fight the smile. Your shoulders shook as you tried not to laugh–you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction–but the way he sounded when he laughed just made you melt. And when you looked at his face, blue eyes shining with mirth as he stared intensely at you, eyes never leaving as he sipped his coffee. You were more mad that you couldn’t stay mad when he stared at you like that.

“...You got me there,” You relented, unable to hide your amusement.

He let out a small chuckle, the noise being enough to rumble his chest as you could almost feel the vibration of it through the table. As he set his cup down you pointed your finger at him this time.

“But you keep playin’ like that and I’ll start throwin’ eggs your way,” you threatened, trying to seem mad as you picked your fork back up.

“Noted,” Jason remarked as he finally grabbed the ketchup, a crooked smile still on his face as he stared at you for a second longer.

You watched him for a moment, half expecting some kind of retort, still eating your food as you watched him set up his. A mutual silence fell between you, the sound of you both eating and the occasional table rocking being heard as the rain from outside continued on. Just when you began to relax did Jason speak again.

“...Why were you thinking so hard about me earlier?” Jason asked.

Your movements slowed, looking up from your plate to him. The previous jokes and teases were gone now. That warmth of closeness felt just a little cold now by how he asked. He stared at you quietly, analyzing, waiting. Sometimes you hate that look. How guarded it is, and how sometimes you can’t read the expression on his face. But, you’ve been with him long enough to know why he’s giving you that look. It was just second nature for him at this point. A wall to separate himself from how he was really feeling. A part of you couldn’t blame him for it, knowing that him showing his true self was like finding gold through sifting sand. You still couldn’t help but think how much you hate that wall before carefully choosing your words.

“I like havin’ you here,” you confessed. You tried to ignore the nervous shiver in your chest, a part of you screaming to keep the words down, to not let him know how deeply you felt. But you pushed through, knowing how much he needed to hear it. “...Havin’ you here with me. It’s like the warmth of the place leaves with you when you aren’t here. Makes the place feel cold. And you know how much I hate the cold…”

Jason stared back at you for a moment, his eyes bouncing around your face and back to your eyes, trying to find the lie. Or maybe he was trying to hide the way his eyes softened at your words. How you could see his shoulders going to relax before he tightened them again. Just when he opened his mouth to say something, he looked into your eyes. His mouth closed, and his body slowly began to ease. It was like watching the roaring thoughts in his mind disappear as he finally gave in to allowing himself a chance to ease.

“...I know,” he spoke softly. As if speaking too loudly would break whatever fragile peace he had. “Sometimes I forget just how… how normal things can be. Like eggs and toast. A totally normal, simple breakfast. I don’t think about eating eggs and toast unless you’re with me. I don’t…”

He seemed to pause, his eyes darting a bit as he seemed to wrestle with his own thoughts. But you didn’t push. You quietly waited, letting him gather his thoughts before he decided against it. Then those blue eyes of his looked back at yours, making you still as you heard his soft voice.

“...I don’t know how to be normal,” Jason confessed as he stared into your eyes. “But you… When I’m with you, you make me want to remember. To relearn how. No amount of crooked furniture or chipped plates could make me feel that way. Just… you.”

There was a certain kind of irony you realized at this moment.

How soft he spoke, and how soft his eyes looked staring at you. It was a softness that you could only recount when your grandparents passed by each other or gave a kiss. This big, tank of a man, who you were sure could bench press twice the weight of your fridge, gazed at you with a softness that seemed so unlike him.

But, you know him.

Maybe too well. He’s always had a softness. Especially with you. Unrelenting when it came to you. No matter how much he teases you, how much he jokes around and pokes at you for fun, you always catch the soft look in his eyes when he thinks you can’t see. How he worries for your safety at even the simplest of tasks, like stepping on a stepping-stool to reach the cabinets. How his hands caress your skin gently as if you’d break under the slightest of pressure. This giant, tank of a man, hulking slouched at your rocky kitchen table, who has broken heads and could make a man bleed in seconds, was the softest teddy bear of a man when it came to you.

You didn’t even think about how your hand reached across the table, turning your palm over for him to take. It practically made you want to cry how he didn’t even think twice about putting his hand into yours. How his strong fingers curled around yours, your skin feeling the callouses scratch and rub against your hand. How you couldn’t ignore the ridges of scars that maimed his hand. But it was his, and you couldn’t help how instinctually your thumb rubbed against them as if to soothe all the damage in them. He didn’t squeeze enough to hurt–never to hurt you–as he just let the weight of his hand be in yours. It felt like he was putting the whole world in your hand.

“...I don’t really care about normal, really,” You spoke softly as you stared into those blue eyes. Sometimes you wondered if you could drown in them if you stared hard enough. “I just care about you. Just you. It’s… you, that makes it feel like home for me.”

Jason’s lips curled, thinning as he seemed to worry his bottom lip. His eyes were intense, staring at you, as if he could see into every inch of your soul. His hand tightened in yours, not enough to hurt–never to hurt–but enough to squeeze to show what emotions he couldn’t speak. You squeezed back, feeling as if you should reciprocate the response.

He didn’t say another word. Neither did you.

You both returned to your breakfast, holding each other’s hand, feeling warm in a way that layers of clothing and warm food couldn’t provide. Both of you taking in each other’s warm presence, finding peace in each other’s solace. Although it felt like the both of you had a thousand things to say, and yet none at all, neither of you addressed it. Not today. Maybe not this morning.

But you know that there will be another breakfast.

Another tease.

Another laugh.

And the warmth of being together, basking in each other’s presence.

It was all you could ask for, perfect on rainy days in Gotham

.

[kalbastion]

I'm Itching with a Story Idea

Idk if I'm a weirdo for this but I've been consuming Batman/DC comic media and I have such an urge to write about like, Jason Todd/Red Hood paired with a black!reader or character. Like Jason Todd is a menace but his sweetheart ain't taking any of his bs, and especially his family's. Like I'm imagining the "I'm sat" meme, specially with Todd being the one to sit. Like I want a romance fic but also a family healing fic, if that makes sense?

For instance, our MC moved from like Louisiana or the Mississippi, so they have a bit of that Southern drawl, and is huge about family and respect, and they're like tossed into the Gotham City because something convinced them to move. I'm thinking they're pretty much just a civilian, or maybe they have some sort of magical abilities that are inspired by Southern Culture, or maybe not. I can go for either one. But I can absolutely see them going "hell no" to any of the paranormal or super hero shit if they can help it. Maybe their family opened a small diner or pub, offering food and drink and a southern hospitality that is so foreign to Gotham.

And I don't really want that kind of stereotyped, Hollywood pushed "sassy black woman/man" shit. Like they can absolutely have some sass but they gotta be more dimensional. Maybe they're a bit brash, maybe they're a country bumpkin forced into the city slick. Or city slick getting tossed into a new city needing to make new ties or just lying low because no attention is better than any attention. None of that offensive crap. Granted this is me rambling and not putting every single detail forwards because this is already getting longer than expected, and I have so much more being planned and being created in my head rn.

Meets Jason Todd first, probably came for just a bite to eat or was scoping out the new diner that just opened up. Something new in the city that he now has to keep his eye on and he's been hearing more and more about it. He's probably thinking not much of it until he witnesses MC, being the bartender or host, kicking out some guy who thought he could get handsy or get mouthy. At first he's anticipating that he's going to have to step in with the volume of everything getting louder and louder, but instead is humored as he witness MC personally kick their ass out. Makes the claim that if they don't give respect, they get the boot up the ass. Jason Todd makes it a new favorite joint to visit, and it isn't just because the food actually is good and doesn't taste like shit.

Probably takes Jason a while before he gets the courage to actually have a conversation with MC. He's probably become a regular by face and order, but wasn't much for conversation. MC never pushed too much, but probably made a couple of attempts at conversation. Kinda the point of their job, to make their customers feel welcomed and friendly. Finally Todd caves and tries to talk, and ends up finding himself getting smitten.

Cue a midlife crisis from him, but goddamn he can't help it. He's seen all kinds of people but this MC is new and attractive and keeps finding himself staring at them more and more. The more time he spends around them the harder he keeps falling, noticing the little things and becoming attracted more and more. He purposely makes sure they're working otherwise he's taking a quick drink, outta respect of course 'cause he ain't out to cause trouble here, then dips because he can't chat up the bartender he wants. But he probably ends up caving and eating there anyways, 'cause MC's mama is the one who spotted him and just can't help but ask if he wants his usual. He swears it's the accent that makes him cave and not that softness of the eyes and the smiles that actually reach their eyes.

Never thought he'd find himself melting at the sweetness of that Southern Hospitality. At first it made him defensive and on edge and almost feeling revolted by it. Jaded tone when he spoke. It was to his horror that he actually finds himself relaxing inside of the joint. At one point he tried to stay away, worked for a month. But he ends up bumping into MC at the grocery store and he couldn't escape how they pointed out he's been gone for a while. He lied and said money was tight. MC believed it. Guiltily he finds himself visiting back there again and his usual is on the house, seeing MC wink at him from afar and he's now realizing he's sinking faster than expected.

The family own diner or pub slowly starts to feel like a safe haven. Not just to him but to any of their regulars. They make it an effort to keep it that way even with how Gotham can poison any sweetness there was. Jason's a bit shocked that it hasn't happened sooner. But the way that family greets each customer, by name even once they figure it out, and makes you feel at home. Like you're joining a family reunion or a dinner that you can't help but find yourself talking and opening up to them. Jason keeps his life as private as he can, but even he finds himself cracking with each taxing night of work he puts himself through. How he finds himself wishing to see that smile sent his way and hear that accent as it itches something in his brain that he's never felt before. Kicks himself in the ass for how soft they make him become.

Takes him a while to finally get the nerve to ask MC on a date. To his relief they agree. After dating a for a bit MC will pester to meet his family, or meeting his friends. Jason always avoiding, making up excuses and even getting into arguments about it. As abrasive as he was he never liked the fights with them. Made him feel like he didn't deserve any of the sweetness that was given to him freely, no need to be asked. A part of him is scared of showing MC the other side of his life. Scared to tell him about all the shit he's been through. He's hinted to having a rough life, that much he can do. But the details? No way. Not to mention the rockiness of his relationships of "home" that he had.

But finally he caves, not because of choice. Oh no. His family has found a way to weasel into his life one way or another, and when they discover that he had a significant other, the teasing and inquiry didn't stop. Even Bruce asked him if he was dating. He told him to fuck off and stay out of his business. Even Alfred asked when MC will be coming to dinner and that he will be making a roast. Now having pressure from both sides, it was hard to keep pushing both sides.

When he finally talks about his family he purposely tries to scare MC, hoping to keep them away from the fucked up mess of a family life he's apart of, not even touching upon the secret identities and hero/vigilante BS. A messy attempt to buy him time to keep MC away from meeting the Bat family. It might work for a little bit, but MC still insists on a meeting. They might even try asking him more about it, wondering if they need to change or save up to try to buy clothing a bit more expensive to match his family's taste. It sickened him. He didn't mean to make them want to change themselves. They were the last person that needed to be changed in his life, damnit!

Finally he relents and agrees to have MC meet his family. It feels like he's dating the angel and the devil with how their honeyed words with sweet intentions just need a change of tone and he's crumbling. It's the accent, he swears it!

Meeting the Wayne/Batfam was probably whiplashing. Jason tense and grumbling the whole time. MC isn't a fool, they know he has a hard time with them. At first they respected that. But the more Jason pushed against them about his family the more they wondered how much is possible misunderstanding or poor communication, trying to be opened minded. They can understand that being in a state of anger or irritation it can be blinding.

And oh boy.

Was it... interesting.

MC is sweet at first. They want to make a good impression. Nervous and overwhelmed by the vastness of wealth practically slapped in their face just knowing their names alone. Them seeing the mansion, entering it, seeing what everybody wore. It was like stepping onto a new planet. Like they were intruding in something that they shouldn't be apart of. And at first it's pleasantries and polite introductions, small talk and ice breakers. Jason even attempted to behavior, only because he didn't want to cause a scene with his sweetheart.

It didn't take long to see the family disfunction and cracks.

MC clocks all the passive aggressiveness. Even the verbal audacity that only a house filled with too many white men held. At first they were going to keep themselves quiet, watching, observing, just trying to get through the dinner. Jason's hand that had settled on their thigh kept flexing, irritation being felt through the repetitive motions. As tensions keep getting high finally MC is like "Aw hell nah, we ain't toleratin' this shit" whether it be the batsiblings of even Batman himself.

MC isn't gonna out right throw hands the first time. They've been taught to finish a fight, not make the first swing after all. But they ain't gonna sit back and watch Bruce be the emotionally constipated guy and will call him out. The Bat siblings all gape in the boldness. But they weren't done. MC will be spittin' facts, and if anyone dares to try to say they can't understand them because of how fast they were talking, manners be damned. They will be cursing people out. MC was out for blood at this rate, and Bruce Wayne will have to sit and listen, like the rest of them, until they are done explaining how much hurt has been done to Jason. Full story be told or not, they will not back down from defending their loved one.

After MC finishes, a pause of silence so thick and tense nobody is brave enough to break it. Even Jason is stunned to silence, flustered at the attention of his old wounds but in absolute awe over MC. Not realizing he could fall deeper for them than he's already feeling. Proud that, even though they've vocalized their nervousness, their fears were completely gone as they've verbally obliterated his family's disfunction.

Just when MC believed that they should take their leave, finally, Bruce speaks, and gives his respect. The Bat siblings are stunned again, Jason included, as they thought he'd blow up. Or turn and walk out the room. Instead, he had listened, contemplated the words, and spoke carefully. MC doesn't back down from the fury they feel. But they are careful. They had done their own digging, even to Jason's surprise, of how much good Bruce has done through Wayne Enterprises. The donations and clearly adopting what could be classified as an orphanage of kids at this rate. In some aspects that is admirable. They give respect only to what is required. But then they begin to break him down to what they have been told by Jason. That he didn't involve himself more. That Jason had gone through hell by his negligence.

They still don't know all the hero details, or all facts keep in mind, but MC is not backing down from their stance. They even bring up the fact that they are sure that there is more to it than "one day Jason got hurt and felt betrayed by his family for leaving him," as even to them it didn't make sense. But they are here for Jason, and only with Jason will they stand for.

It was quiet. Breathes were held and the atmosphere felt so dense that no one dared to move. Until, finally, Bruce spoke again. With a sigh, he agreed with MC.

Even MC was shocked, mouth opening to throw in a retort and ready to argue more, but stopped as they registered that Bruce agreed with them. They could tell Jason was itching to leave. He didn't want to face this. He wasn't ready to fully hear everything, no matter how much progress has been made at this point. He didn't want to relive all the repressed feelings he kept bottled up tight.

But it was MC that spoke up again, saying that in order for any of this to work, that MC and Jason will be apart of their lives, is for Bruce to change. To acknowledge the pain that has been dealt to him, and they were sure to the others that have been his "kids" for so long, and that amends had to be made. Bruce was quiet again before asking MC how they think he needed to do that. It was hard to tell if he was being sarcastic, or actually genuinely interested. If he was playing a game or being serious. Whether or not what he was thinking, MC gave their answer.

They were a rational person, after all. MC knew this wasn't something you can hug out and call everything solved and healed. So, with what they knew with what helped their family, and what they've been raised with, they suggested weekly visits. Dinners had to be bonding times or reconciliation. But it will not be Alfred alone to make everything, oh no. It will be the majority of everyone chipping in. Whether it's buying ingredients and bringing them, chopping, cleaning, sauteing, baking, cleaning the dishes and everything afterwards. A bonding exercise that seemed laughable.

But, much to everyone's surprise, Bruce agreed. Much to Jason's dismay. Again, an angel and devil. An angel for wanting to bridge amends and going about it in an almost too sweet of a way, and a devil for forcing him into coming around his family frequently.

It probably takes multiple visits, maybe even loud verbal fights, and a few storming out and slamming doors, before progress is made. Bruce is stubborn, MC can see where Jason can take a bit of it from. Sometimes it was Jason, not wanting the change and closeness. Pushing back and resisting the walk through his traumas. It takes time, a long time, but progress no matter how slow it may be is progress. Even with how impatient MC may feel, they began to see the changes themselves.

Visits start to not just be once a week. They start to become more frequent, almost to the point of familiarity. A pattern begins to arise, people taking respective spots and positions of work, as Alfred gets to rest for once and observe contently. At least now Jason speaks to Bruce without much contempt, but will still be his rather brash self. But Bruce begins to sigh less and less, even going as far to retort with him in a joking manner. So much so to the point that others will join in, MC included, with the lighter banter.

Speaking of food, MC will absolutely try to fatten up any and all of the bat-family.

MC isn't gonna let Tim go on another night without a goddamn proper meal and force that boy to bed. Might tease him for his meticulousness but they absolutely can respect how clever he is. They can respect the grind but goddamn they are concerned.

Damian's food preferences might throw them off but hey, they can respect it. They'll figure out a way to feed him. He would probably be one of the more hostile by their presence but when he witnesses or receives first hand their fast retorts with that southern creativity that he might need a moment to process what happened. Will probably cave more by their food and the more exposed to them he is.

Will probably tease back to Dick with his jokes, but will pull out some deep southern wisdom randomly that either has him rolling on the floor laughing or he's been stuck at the table with a midlife crisis for hours. It probably irritates Jason that Dick will sometimes try to be the first to greet MC, and get them stuck talking with him, until Jason is a pouting mess because he shouldn't pick fights with his family for pointless reasons. A thing his sweetheart probably nagged him for.

Jason Todd, might get into arguments every now and then but goddamn he's smitten with that sweet little accent and that fire that will spit through if you piss them off or cross a line. He absolutely would deck some creep for MC but will only do it once they either tell him to, 'cause he's already seen what hands they can throw and goddAWMN does it hurt.

I can see Steph and MC having a karaoke night or game night. MC having to explain the game Bones, ends up getting the whole family involved with Steph's encouragement.

I can see Barb and/or Cass experiencing MC's taste in music, or shown what soul music is. Barb now has a new playlist that sings in her background, and Cass might now try to collect some records that MC suggested.

Meets Duke and MC is like "thank god, not all of them are fucking pasty and white and don't get what I'm sayin'". Might share stories and experiences they share about their skin tones, and they both have some kind of one-worded inside joke that nobody else gets.

With Bruce it's rocky. Wanting to be respectful, but not wanting to back down from defending Jason. Granted, Jason is no saint, and he has his flaws. But even Bruce has begun to silently welcome MC into their lives more frequently. If Jason hasn't told them about their lives, it will be Bruce. Holds a family meeting to finally show themselves fully to MC. MC's reaction can vary, but after so much time, I find it hard to believe that after all that work they would walk away. Might take a bit getting used to and adjusting to the change, but they manage. Bruce is now tortured to terrible Bat nicknames and teases from MC, some in which they get creative that he's almost impressed.

Out of everyone in that household, Alfred is the one person that MC at first was most wary of, but once they get comfortable they absolutely love Alfred. Yes Alfred is the butler but job be damned, MC is gonna help him or offer a hand whether he likes it or not. He's the oldest of the house and does so much, he better be given some goddamn respect. Absolute sits down with tea and MC is the one that brings snacks and shared recipes. And don't get either them started on roasting the Bat Family members individually. Between Alfred's English accent and MC's Southern accent, they brutally bounce off each other if it means keeping someone's ego in check.

Like idk, maybe I'm just being a weirdo, but I really want to read a fic or something idk

[kalbastion]

I’m reblogging this because this is so fucking important rn. Fuck this AI bullshit.

This is the worst timeline. (x)

[kalbastion]

Just some Character concepts I'm making.

[kalbastion]

FF7 Y/N x Cloud Story?

Should I make a story and post it here on Tumblr?

I've been debating for a while, and I've had this story kind of in my head ever since FF7 Remake came out, and I fell in love with the game. I usually make OC's, but I'm realizing I could make this story a Reader Insert story instead. The vaguest I can be is that it would be a story about a Hitman Reader who was hired by Shinra to stop Cloud Strife and his team. Kind of an enemy to lovers type of story I was going for. Would anybody be interested in reading?

[kalbastion]

Of Tools and Blasters: Chapter 1

I wanted to try to get back to writing, so I decided to use my latest affixation for it. Which would be The Mandalorian series. And I'll admit, I stan the tin-can dad with his alien galactic son. Though, this story will be an OC x Din Djarin, but I hope you all can find some enjoyment in what I have to write.

Warnings: 18+, nudity, mentions of sex, slaves, slavery, curse words, brothel, hints of sexual assault, threats of death, spelling/grammar errors

Summary: When a Mandalorian has to go out of his way to find a bounty, he instead discovers that there was more to his target than he originally believed. What was originally a simple target turns out to be more than he bargained for. Now he finds himself teaming up with his bounty's prized slave; a twi'lek who knows a bit more than just flirting and sex.

Word Count: 5761

(Art above is mine. Gif above is not.)

Colorful lights were flashing and spinning around the vicinity.

Mostly purple, yellow, and blue colors could be seen spinning around the room. Only some lights were stabilized, hanging over some tables while leaving corner tables against the walls left in the dark. Music boomed throughout the entire establishment, speakers being implanted in almost all corners of the room. There was a verberation deep within people’s chests with how loud the music was, as if the music itself was grabbing people by their chests and shaking them. Its booming bass made it hard to think. The room was stuffy, heat radiating off of the warm bodies all around the room.

All sorts of patrons were around the establishment. Some seemed human. Others were colorful in their skin tones. Few had scales, or wrinkles, or even horns. All various beings with equally different backgrounds and histories. All here for different, or maybe even similar reasons. Most people either came for one of two things; to get drunk, or to get fucked. Sometimes for both, but not always in the pleasurably sort of way.

And stepping into the establishment was a man that seemed completely out of place.

A Mandalorian.

Covered head to toe in armor and layers of clothes, no skin to be seen, with a shiny beskar helmet reflects the colorful atmosphere the lights were making. The mandalorian stood at the doorway, moving his head left and right to survey his surroundings. Thankfully being covered head to toe in armor helped dim the sensory overload the club provided. Though not much could help him from the stuffy heat the club practically radiated. It was bad enough that the days were blistering hot. Thankfully some of the opened windows allowed the chilled air of the night in, but didn’t do too much to ventilate the place.

He cautiously walked into the club, steps calculated as he went deeper inside. Some heads turned to look his way, apprehensive of the sight of a mandalorian. Practically everybody heard their stories. And although a mandalorian was a rare sight, it didn’t mean that they were completely gone. With the sight of shining beskar was enough to set anybody on edge.

The walking armor walked deeper in, cape around his neck fluttering behind him as he slipped past the bodies around the place. In the center of the room was the circular bar, with at least three robotic bartenders at attendance to dish out and deliver drinks of all kinds to those who ordered. As the mandalorian got to the counter he was able to see a bit more to the club that the doorway couldn’t provide.

There were miniature stages around the club. Provocatively dressed women or men stood on each one, dancing and spinning on poles to entertain their patrons. Bare skin was revealed one way or another. Lots of straps and strings for clothing. Though with how hot it was inside they probably never get cold. Though, not all entertainers were on poles. Some walked around leisurely, taking patrons drinks to them, or even sitting beside them and talking. A few were in patrons' laps, too concentrated by hormones and hot bodies to care about who saw. In the very back seemed to be private rooms. Some of the entertainers brought their customers in, disappearing behind silk-like curtains. Sometimes a few came out, usually girls giggling as they walked their customers out, who were still seeming a little too grabby.

The mandalorian felt like there were too many people all around. Way too many bodies. Bodies that held blasters and weapons and anything hidden beneath. Though it was mostly the heat that was annoying him the most. Once at the counter he put both of his hands on the edge of the counter top, turning his head to his left as he eyed a rowdy customer. He was a little too cubby, face too flushed to signal that he was drunk, and the loud giggling of the man who was entertaining him was a little too close for the mandalorian’s comfort. Finally they moved on, giving him some room to breathe finally.

“What may I get you, sir?” Ask the robotic voice of the bartender.

The mandalorian paused before speaking, staring at the robot for a moment. He was reluctant to speak to it, but clearly had no other choice. A sigh escaped his lips, the helmet he wore modulated his voice, as he finally caved in.

“I’m looking for Zyran,” the mandalorian stated firmly. “Where can I find him?”

There were a few beeps from the droid, a few gears turning, and with the twist of its torso and a lift of it’s metallic arm it pointed in the direction for the mandalorian to follow.

Turning his head, the Mandalorian spotted the man he had been searching for. A nautolan, an alien with big black eyes and tentacles for hair. He sat in a booth in the very back, watching one of the main spotlight shows of two girls spinning around on the same pole. Standing behind the seat was what looked like two guards, both burly as they took their places behind him. Beside the aquatic alien were two girls, a twi’lek and a rodian, both hugging either arm as they watched the show with him.

Without another word the mandalorian pushed himself off of the counter, once again walking through the sea of people. He slipped past people easily, being rather used to needing to get through tight spaces. He was aware that eyes were on him the whole time. After all, it’s unusual to see a mandalorian. And with mandalorians meant trouble followed closely by. Without stopping his stride the mandalorian made it straight for the one known as Zyran, not even thinking twice about how a couple of women and men walked up to him to gain his attention. Entertainers, obviously trying to gain his attention so they could gain his credits. But the mandalorian ignored them, hearing a couple of curses thrown his way for brushing them off. He wasn’t there for pleasure, or to even drink.

He was here for business.

And that business meant a bounty.

Ignoring the temptation of busty girls and packed men, the mandalorian went straight for Zyran. The armored cladded man came right up to his table, not at all announcing himself or offering introductions, as he simply slipped into the seat that sat across from Zyran. The nautolan raised a brow, his attention and the girls looked at the mandalorian in question. And now that he was closer to the only nautolan in the club, he was no longer unsure that this was the man he had been after.

The nautolan had blue skin, red markings accenting his cheeks and across his tentacles. His clothes were black with a gold thread lining the stitches. On his fingers were multiple rings, and hanging from his neck were three thick necklaces, along with a single blue crystal. Even his tentacles had rings of jewelry. His very presence practically screamed to get mugged in a shady place like this. Which was why he had two very big besalisk guards standing behind him. It was very clear to anybody that the mandalorian had definitely left some type of impression. Whether it was good or not, he was thinking it was leaning towards the latter.

“My, my, my! What do we have here, girls?” Zyran, the nautolan, said with a grin as he stared at the bounty hunter. He tugged his girls closer to him, almost showing a child-like excitement in his face. “A mandalorian, huh? What an exciting turn of events…!”

The man in armor said nothing.

He stared at Zyran dead on, not like he could actually tell what he was doing. The bounty hunter knew better than to jump to conclusions about a person’s looks. The gold that he flaunted practically screamed that sitting across from him was a wealthy man. And in this world, wealth meant power. The bounty hunter’s had stayed close to his sides, hands itching close for his weapons that hung from his belt. Anything could go wrong in a matter of seconds. And if Zyran didn’t seem to be a cooperative man, then a single blaster shot should do the trick. For now, he decided to see where this conversation will go.

“You know, you’re not the first mandalorian to walk into my club,” Zyran said as he waved a hand around as he talked, tugging on the girl in his right arm every now and then. “A man who looks just like you comes in every now and then. Except, maybe a little bit bigger than you…”

As much as the mandalorian didn’t want to admit it, the nautolan had caught his attention. Meeting other mandalorians one a planet was very, very uncommon for him. He knows nobody from his clan would be here. After all, he was one of the only bounty hunters that would ever purposely drive so far away. Of course he isn't the only bounty hunter of his clan. But nobody from there should be here. He knows that for a fact. So, who exactly is this other mandalorian?

Just as questions surge through his mind, the nautolan pulls his arm away from the girls next to him. They both seemed to pout, seeming upset that his attention was off of them. The nautolan leaned forwards, elbows resting on his knees as he clasped his hands together. That smile still stuck to his face, an excitement seeming to rise within him as he stared at the mandalorian.

“Are you a bounty hunter, mandalorian?” Zyran asked, grinning as he flashed white pearly teeth at him.

“...What’s it to you?” The mandalorian asked, his tone flat and blunt. He ignored the unease that began to form in his shoulders. Had Zyran already caught on as to why he was here so soon?

“I need a bounty hunter. And you, my shiny headed friend, are exactly the skilled type of person I need!” Zyran said with an excited laced tone.

Well, that gives some relief. But not enough to make the bounty hunter remove his hand from his blaster.

“There’s a reason I brought up this other mandalorian, you see,” Zyran continued. “I’m the owner of this lovely establishment, you see. All types of people come and go, no surprise there. Except a common customer we’ve been getting lately is this mandalorian fellow. He seemed like a real good customer. Always paid, never complained about price, always comes back here and there. I liked him. Well, apparently, this mandalorian has some… anger issues.”

The bounty hunter couldn’t help but tilt his head to the side. What the hell does “anger issues” mean? They were hardened warriors. It was in their creed. Their wisdom and teachings. Battling day after day against obstacles that seemed impossible to win against was a common everyday wake for them. It was just how it was. As if sensing that he had insulted him, the nautolan quickly continued his blabbering.

“I mean no offense, truly!” He spoke quickly, afraid to make the mandalorian turn away. “You see, I just need you to take care of this mandalorian for me. You don’t have to kill him, as much as I’d appreciate it. I just need you to roughen him up a bit. Get a message across. Make sure that he understands that he isn’t welcomed to my club any longer…”

“I’m not interested in fighting against my own.” Bluntly stated the bounty hunter, his hand gentle resting against the handle of his blaster.

The more that nautolan talked, the more it sounded like crap to the mandalorian. He probably wants to pin two mandalorians against each other to make a pretty little credit off of it. Another show to have around. Plus, the mandalorian wasn’t here to get a job. He was here to finish one. And that meant taking the nautolan in.

“I can offer something very valuable in return,” Zyran said as his eyes were leveled with the visor of the mandalorian helmet, his smile never faltering once. There was a flash of smugness as he spoke his next words. “I can offer you pure beskar…”

The mandalorian’s hand pulled away from his blaster.

To be offered beskar, pure beskar, was almost enough to make him want to shoot the alien in disbelief. It’s not an easy metal for the everyday common man to get his hands on. It was incredibly hard to collect, especially since the Empire had seized reign. It was impossible to even find a semblance of a nugget of beskar. However, the more he stared at the gold around his neck and clothes, the more plausible that the nautolan’s offer seemed to be. So he pulled his hand away from the blaster, sitting a little straighter, as he was now a little more interested in the terms of this job offer. The grin on the nautolan’s face seemed to almost widen as he noticed the change in demeanor.

“It’s a very simple job, really.” Zyran said as he finally leaned back, putting his arms around the girls beside him and pulling them in close. “The mandalorian should be visiting tonight. When he comes, confront him. Tell him he isn’t welcomed here anymore, and kick him out. That’s all you really need to do. If things get a little rough and he resists, I don’t mind a couple of broken tables or bloodied floors. Just don’t hit my workers is all I ask…”

“...I’m going to need more information than that before I accept the job offer.” The mandalorian stated, not liking how vague Zyran was being. For someone who seemed to like to talk a lot, he was very uninformative.

“That’s not a problem,” chuckled Zyran. He tilted his head to his right and nodded. “Over there is one of my girls. You can call her Anna. Go up to her and tell her that Zyran sent you. Ask her about the mandalorian and she can give you the rest of the details. She knows the girls better than anybody else. She can give you the rest of the information that you need. Come back to me when you’ve decided to take the job or not…”

The bounty hunter paused.

Why was he sitting here being tempted by a job offer?

This was his bounty. The whole reason he had driven his ship over a week's worth of driving in space was to get this damned nautolan. He was supposed to shoot him down, drag his flailing body back to Navarro, and collect his rewards.

However… The offer of the beskar was too tempting.

His mind couldn’t help but wonder to his clan. If he collected more beskar, he could donate to their cause. To the foundlings, to the future of the clan. It could help him fix his armor, give him an upgrade and maybe even new weapons. He had to do this job whether he liked it or not. He needed that beskar. It would make him a disgrace if he turned his back and said no now. However, he still wanted more information about this job. He never liked walking into something blind if he could help it.

Finally following the nautolan’s head nod, he looked across the way and spotted a twi’lek. She stood by one of the silk-like curtains, arms crossed as her back leaned against the wall. She stared at her fellow dancer on stage, only sometimes gazing around the room. There was something in her posture that made her seem not like the other entertainers. He realized that she seemed to be actually standing guard by the curtain room. Why they would put a skinny twi’lek for guard duty was beyond him. It’s not like he doesn’t believe them to be strong. He’s met some crafty twi’leks in his time traveling. But looking at how thin her arms were made it hard to believe she could do much damage if it came down to it. No matter how she looked, he had to go up and talk to her if he wanted that beskar.

Without so much as another word, the mandalorian stood up from his seat. He made his trek to the twi’lek in the corner, making sure not to walk in front of the drunken and horny customers so as to not instigate a fight. The closer he got to her the more he noticed small details about her.

Like all the other entertainers she wore rather revealing clothes. It was a yellow bodysuit with open slits on her sides. It showed off her breasts, her sides, her hips--it practically left nothing to the imagination. She also wore heels as most of the women--and even some men--as to appeal more to the eye. As for her head, she had strings with beads all wrapped around her head tails, only having what seemed like smooth cloth on the very ends of her lekku. Even on her thighs did she have strings and beads wrapped around her. On her arms appeared to be gold bands, all twisted and curved in design. It almost felt like a statement with how different she looked compared to everyone else. Once he was finally in front of her did he find even finer details. Her skin was hard to tell from the flashing colored lights, but it appeared to be a light green, even lighter spots could be seen on her head tails. When she noticed him she turned her head in his direction, showing off the dark shade of makeup she wore.

��If you’re looking for entertainment, you can request it from the bartenders,” She stated automatically. She then pulled on a smile, the ends of her lips not meeting her eyes, as he spotted faint dimples on her cheeks. “We’re happy to be of service, but payment is due first…”

“Zyran sent me,” the bounty hunter got right to the point. The girl’s smile immediately fell. “Told me that you could tell me about another mandalorian that’s been walking around…”

She was quiet for a moment, her jaw tightening as she took in his words.

The twi’lek flicked her eyes up and down him as she tried to examine him. A hum came out of her as she pushed off of the wall, continuing to look the mandalorian up and down, as she began circling. He had to control his tensing body out of reflex when she put a hand on his chestplate, using her filed finger nail to trace his armor. Her finger traced from his left breast up to his shoulder pad, going around his back as she even grabbed his cape lightly. She gave it a feel, pulling it slightly before resuming to trace his armor. When she finally got in front of him again she pulled her eyes from his waist back to his visor, a smirk tugging on her lips.

“He was a little bigger than you,” she said playfully.

“If you’re done, I’d like that information about him.” The mandalorian repeated himself, a slight agitation in his voice as he didn’t appreciate her sizing him up. He wasn’t here for her games, he was here to get a job done.

A sigh and an eye roll was her response as she crossed her arms over her chest again. “Alright, tin can, I get it.” She said, reflecting his annoyed tone. “Zyran wants you for a job, right? It’s why he sent you to me?”

“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t,” The mandalorian stated roughly.

Genuinely, he was conflicted.

He should’ve already shot Zyran in the forehead or be taking him out in cuffs right now. But here he was, accepting a job from his own bounty target. That conflict was making him on edge. It was a line he hadn’t really crossed before. But, here he was, getting more job details from a slutty dressed twi’lek. Honestly, what was he doing with his life anymore?

“Straight to business I see,” She murmured more to herself. She then spoke up as she readjusted herself to lean a shoulder against the nearby wall. “The mandalorian that’s been visiting is a frequent patron. Pays a large amount of credits each time. We suspect that he goes out on bounties and comes back to blow all his money here. But, that’s none of our business. What is our business is what he does. Our club likes to host shows every night. Usually it’s a bunch of dancing and some singing. Nothing special.”

“Aren’t you and your coworkers already doing that?” The mandalorian stated more than asked, raising a brow at her words.

“It’s a lot different than what you’re seeing now,” she stated as she glanced at the nearest entertainer. “Our big shows involve very few dancers than all the dancers you’re seeing right now. Typically it’s more of a main event special. But this mandalorian loves them. He comes in, buys his typical hooch, and watches the show. Usually goes through a whole bottle just before the show ends. Once the show ends, he puts the highest price on renting the lead girl, and takes her to one of our private rooms. If there isn’t a girl, he goes after the closest one instead. He rents them for the whole night, never being disturbed, and leaves just five minutes before closing.”

“Your point…” The mandalorian urged, not really wanting a full blown out story from her.

“You wanted details,” she reminded him with a hiss, showing her own annoyance through her teeth. She raised her tone as she gave a cautious glance to the crowd. “Once he leaves the private room, our girls don’t come out right away. When they do, they’re covered head to toe in bruises. Part of our policy is to not really ask questions. So at first we didn’t say anything. Some patrons like it rough, after all. Bruises are just a part of the job. But two weeks back it started to get bad. The longer he took with one of our girls the more that they were coming out darker and bluer. His recent visit was real bad…”

Her voice got softer when she looked back at him, a sadness surfacing in them. “Poor Shallah… She was rodian. Beautiful voice. Was one of our popular shows. And, he happened to come by that day and get his usual. Not once did he change his routine visits. So he ordered Shallah right after, brought her into our private room, then left right before closing. But, Shallah didn’t come out of the room. One of us went to go check up on her, only to find her bloody and bleeding on the floor. He busted her up real bad. She’s been in a coma for three days.”

Now this was the information he was looking for. The motive for the job. The mandalorian gave a tilt of his head before he spoke. “Why do you think he hurt her so bad?”

“Not a kriffin’ clue,” the twi’lek murmured with a shrug of her shoulders. “It’s not all surprising that it escalated, to be honest. He would cause a couple of fights, but not enough to kick him out. Plus, it was a kriffing mandalorian. We all know the stories. Don’t need to be a part of the Empire to know how dangerous they are. Which is probably why Zyran enlisted you for the job…”

The mandalorian shifted in place, his hands hooking onto his belt and he thought about her words. He didn’t exactly like hearing the idea of one of his own beating up women. There was no pride in fighting a person who was not a threat. But, there was a heaviness in his chest--a reluctance. He didn’t want to fight his own. Granted, he was just a foundling. Not a true blooded mandalorian. But there were so few of them as it is. Was it really worth going after his own kind?

“You seem to know a lot about him,” The mandalorian observed through their conversation. “What more can you tell me?”

“What else…” The twi’lek murmured, blowing enough of a deep breath that made her cheeks puff out. Her finger tapped against her arm as she thought about his question. “Well, he’s about due for a visit. Very strict to a routine. Comes in, gets his usual hooch, goes to his usually table in the front row of our main stage over there, takes his helmet off and--”

“Takes it off?” The mandalorian interrupted her, making her give him a confused look. “He takes his helmet off here?”

“Uh, yeah, so he can drink…” The twi’lek said slowly, a painted brow arching up as confusion was written all over her face. “What does his helmet have to do with anything?”

There was a pregnant pause from the mandalorian, a mental debate going on through his head. Finally, he gave her a response. “...What else can you tell me.”

“Um, well…” She decided not to press the matter, her eyes wondering as she thought of other things. “He carries around three blasters. One on each hip, but I’ve caught sight of one on his back. Sneaky little thing, right under his right arm. His armor is painted white with blue stripes. But, definitely not as busted up as yours. And it’s…” She paused, her eyes seeming to cloud briefly before she shook her head. “No. Never mind. It’s pointless information.”

“I’ll take whatever information you have,” the mandalorian urged her. “Whatever it is, I’d like to know. The more I know about my opponent the better.”

“It’s not really known information, or even rumors. It’s just…” The twi’lek seemed conflicted, pushing away from the wall as she shifted between her feet. Finally she released a deep sigh and looked up to meet his tinted visor. “When I look at his armor, it doesn’t seem right to me. It’s not like yours.”

“Well, not all of our armor is the same,” The mandalorian stated as matter of fact.

“No, I know that,” The twi’lek said as she shook her head at him. “His armor doesn’t feel the same way as yours. Yours it more… dense. His feels too light. The texture is even different. It’s like… storm trooper armor. And everybody knows how shit that is. Which doesn’t make any sense…”

“You’re certain of this?” The mandalorian asked, surprised by her words.

“I can’t say for certain,” she sighed deeply. “It’s not like I saw it being crafted. But I know that it isn’t the same. It doesn’t at all feel like the armor you wear, much less look the same. You can mix metals all you want, but his armor isn’t at all the same as yours.”

An idea came to the mandalorian. One that he wasn’t so pleased with. But he wanted to make certain that if what she’s saying is true, it changed this job completely.

“Give me your hand,” he said.

“Excuse me?” Her brows furrowed, body tensing at his demand.

“Give me your hand,” he repeated himself, this time putting his own hand out to urge her to listen.

She eyed his warily, slowly pulling one hand away from her arm and placing it gently in his. Carefully, controlling her wrist, he brought her hand to his pure beskar helmet. It was cool under her touch, a complete contrast to the whole room, and it was very smooth.

“Does his armor feel like this?” The mandalorian asked with an urgent tone.

She was quiet for a moment. Her fingers gave it short strokes, trying to recall all the details. Then, she shook her head.

“No,” she finally said. “It’s not even remotely close.”

His stomach warmed in heat, and anger boiling in the depths of his stomach. He pulled her hand away, finally releasing her wrist, and he contemplated her answer. If what she said was true, then he had a fake mandalorian on his hands. Which made him want to accept the job all the more.

“You’re certain of it?” He asked her again. If she showed any signs of uncertainty, then he couldn’t truth anything she just told him.

“Yeah, I am now,” she nodded as she crossed her arms again. “His armor feels like galactic trash. No amount of mixed metals could ever make armor feel so shitty. Maker, I could make a better feeling of armor by melting credits!”

“You seem to know your armor well,” The mandalorian said as he noticed how she talked. “How do you know so much?”

“I… picked up on it, is all,” She deflected, not willing to give a straight answer. “Look, I know I don’t seem like I know much about it, but I do. You have to believe me…”

“...I think I do.” The mandalorian stated.

Her eyes widened as her head bobbed back in shock. She briefly shook her head to shake away her shock. “You’re… you’re serious?” She asked incredulously. “You believe me?”

“Yes, I do,” He gave a nod of reaffirmation. “And if you’re as keen as picking up on his armor, what else can you tell me about those blasters that he keeps on him?”

“I can go as far as saying what year those guns were made in,” the twi’lek spoke confidently as the edge of her lip quirked upwards. A smirk danced upon her lips as her eyes swelled in pride. “I can promise you that those blasters are probably the most expensive thing that he carries around. The armor isn’t even worth five credits. But with how he modified those blasters, I can promise they’re worth a pretty sack of credits.”

The twi’lek went on, speaking in detail about how this fake mandalorian was carrying high fire power. She spoke about their modifications, what type of energy the blasters wielded, what color paint they used, and even gave the year as promised.

The mandalorian was so entranced by how much she was talking about the mechanics of a simple blaster that he only now caught the color of her eyes, seeing that they were a bright yellow, shining every now and then when the lights decided to briefly dance over them. Or how she was so enthralled with talking that her hands began moving more, her body no longer crossed and guarded like before. She actually seemed excited to speak about it as a faint smile was on her lips, the dimples faintly surfacing when she talked.

Maker, he had a problem with twi’leks.

Just as she finished talking about how the end barrel of a gun’s modification mattered in its kick back, movement behind her caught his eye. The mandalorian lifted his head up and gazed past her, seeing Zyran emerge from the back room that she had been previously guarding. The bounty hunter doesn’t recall ever seeing him walk past them, making him wonder if there were multiple entrances to that room. The nautolan walked up to him, a smile still on his face as he came behind the twi’lek. She noticed the mandalorian not looking at her, causing her excited tone to drop as she didn’t even finish her sentence. The nautolan came right up behind her, an arm sliding right over her shoulder and coming right under her chin. Her hands shot up ready to pull the arm away, but when she saw the skin tone of the hand she froze, hands stilling on the dark black sleeve. Her words caught in her throat, her body getting pulled up right against him as he pulled her close.

“Anna, you’re talking too much agaaain!” Zyran said in a sing-song voice, his hand grabbing one of her lekku and began stroking it.

“I-I…” Her voice stammered, eyes keeping away from his face as if too afraid to look. Her body was tense. Whatever calm she had before was dripping away with each stroke he gave her lekku, making it hard for her to form words. A reluctant expression crawled on her face as she made sure to not meet his eyes.“I-I’m sorry, master…”

“I hope she hasn’t been boring you, my shiny friend,” Zyran said with a cold smile still on his lips. He continued with his meticulous stroking of her lekku without a care. “Anna has a fine attention to detail, but she has a very nasty habit of talking for a little too long. Don’t you, my little tool?”

“Y… Yes, master. I’m sorry, master…” The twi’lek, Anna, said quietly as she nervously gazed at the floor.

“I hope she’s given you enough information about the job I need taking care of.” Zyran said as he flashed a grin at the mandalorian. He noticed the coldness that came from it, the very ends of his lips never meeting his black eyes. “So, what do you say, mandalorian? Will you take care of my problem for me?”

The mandalorian was quiet for a moment.

He originally came to this planet to go after Zyran. The nautolan that was standing right in front of him, not even an arms length away. He could take out his blaster and shoot him in the head. His burly guards weren’t behind him, and certainly weren’t close enough to even try to stop him. His hand was literally hovering beside his blaster, his index finger twitching at the thought of pulling the trigger.

But then there were those yellow eyes.

Anna, the twi’lek he had been speaking to for a while, kept gazing up at him. She was clearly nervous, her eyes darting to the floor, to the wall, then to the visor of his helmet. But she didn’t dare look at the nautolan holding her against him. It then occurred to the mandalorian that lifting his blaster up wouldn’t be so easy as he thought. If he were to pull his blaster out now, the nautolan could certainly react by pulling Anna in front of him, and the blast that was meant for him would go straight through Anna instead. That thought in itself made the mandalorian feel a sour taste in his mouth. There was a hundred ways for it to go wrong the more he thought about it. Finally, after what seemed like minutes, over a hundred to the twi'lek, the mandalorian answered the Nautolan with a reluctance in his voice.

“I’ll be taking that job.”

.

.

[kalbastion]

Of Witches And Demons {Chapter 1}

(Just trying something new. Might as well try my hand at writing to see how people like it here. This is more of a Devil May Cry fanfic with an OC instead of a reader. It’ll be a Vergil X OC, but Vergil will appear at a much later date.)

Everything had been quiet in the Resident District of Red Grave City. 

Well, as quiet as the city could ever be. Especially near a rather small shop in a not-so small building. Outside with glowing red neon lights labeled the shop as “Devil May Cry.” Sitting inside Of the building was a man named Dante, owner of said shop, reclining on the back legs of his chair, his feet on the desk, while in his hands was a magazine. 

The man was clearly bored, not having had a job in a fairly long time. So the only way that he could occupy his time was with his magazines. Not even the pool table interested him, or any of the books on the shelf in the back. After all, most of those books weren’t his, but instead one of his partners. So to him they were even more boring. The weapons mantled on the wall behind him weren’t interesting either. The only thing really worthwhile was the music playing from his jukebox, but he was beginning to think he needed to buy some new songs, too, as even they were becoming a bore. 

So for now, the magazine with the pretty ladies inside will have to do. As he was flipping the page he heard a knock on his door, only for it to swing open before he even said a word. Peeking up from behind his magazine was a familiar face. The man strolled in, greeting Dante as he was already suited for business, accompanied with a cigar in hand. Dante couldn’t help but smile, quickly placing his magazine down as he was practically begging for something better to do. As much as the man enjoyed being lazy and having free time, he’s been dying for something to do.

“Greetings, Dante,” exclaimed the man as he walked in rather quickly. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Morrison, my man!” Dante exclaimed back, his legs folding off of the desk as he sat on all legs of his chair, resting an arm forward on the desk. “You know, I was just about to call you to see if you had any jobs for me.”

“Yeah, right,” Morrison gave Dante a look, knowing just how the man worked. He gave his cigar a puff before pulling it away from his lips, smoking coming out along with his speech. “But, I do have a job for you. And I think you should really pay attention to this one.”

“Really, now?” Dante raised a brow, his grin not faltering as he stared up at the man before him.

“I stumbled upon this client on the streets,” Morrison explained rather quickly. “Was in the middle of a match with demons before coming up to me and asking about the place. They explained to me the job, and well, I really do think you should have a listen yourself…”

Dante couldn’t help but furrow his brow together. As straightforward as Morrison was, he also had a talent for being vague all the same. Dante put his hands out in a sign of a shrug. After all, it’s been a while since he’s had a decent job, and from how Morrison was talking, it might just be worth his while.

“Alright,” Dante said before leaning forwards again, “Who’s this client, then?”

Morrison stepped to the side, silently gesturing his hand out towards the door. 

Needless to say, Dante’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Standing in the doorway was a very unfamiliar woman. She was leaning her back against the door, arms crossed, as she had her own brow quirked at Dante. A sly smile was on her dark red lips, her head tilted down as she was looking back at Dante through her own eyelashes. She practically radiated a sort of promiscuous aura, seeming ready to play in any and all ways. Immediately noticing her attire, the white haired man couldn’t help but wonder what her occupation was. She wore a rather tight fitting black suit, the top of it seeming to have drapes from her shoulders that had a golden trim at the ends. 

Dante couldn’t help but notice the shine of a red jewel on her chest, right above the slit open window of her chest. It was a large contrast to the dark clothing that she wore, which seemed to grab his attention. Dante genuinely couldn’t help but wonder if this woman was from the strip joint near his place, but he’s never seen this woman before, and a jewel like that on her chest seemed to suggest otherwise.

“Meet your client,” Morrison spoke up, snapping Dante’s attention away from the woman’s figure.

“You may call me Cecelia,” spoke the woman, finally pushing herself away from the door as she walked forwards, accompanied by the clicking of the heels she wore. “I’ve heard much about you, legendary demon hunter, Dante.”

“Oh really now?” Dante couldn’t help but lean towards her over his desk, his own smirk gracing his lips. “Are you sure you’re here for a job, or for a night of pleasure?”

The woman, Cecelia, huffed out a laugh as she glanced to the side. She gazed around the place as she spoke. “My apologies, but I’m not exactly here for pleasantries. I have more pressing matters, and I believe you’re the man to help me with it.”

“And what’s that?” Dante asked with a quirk of his brow, resting his chin against his left hand.

“You see, my circumstances are rather… strange,” Cecelia said as she brushed back her long raven hair, which Dante couldn’t help but let his eyes follow as it flowed through her hands and off of her shoulders. “But it shouldn't be a problem for you. To make a looong story short, there are demons being sent after me by a rather secret, but not exactly unknown, organization called “The Charmer Sanction.” Ever heard of it before?”

Dante’s smile finally faltered, the man leaning back in his seat as he kept a hand on his desk. He’s heard of this organization before. Hell, they’ve interfered in small jobs he’s had in the past. Needless to say, not every encounter he’s had with them was pleasant. So hearing about this woman before him being chased by this organization with demons definitely peaked his confusion.

“Yeah, I’ve heard of it,” Dante finally answered her question. “They've interrupted plenty of my jobs in the past. I still got my pay, but I can’t say we’re on “friendly” terms, to be exact.”

“Perfect!” Sang the woman as she firmly placed her hands on her hips. “Neither am I. Now, here’s where things get tricky.” The smile she had on before fell as her tone turned serious. “You see, I don’t exactly know why they’re after me. But the demons they keep sending after me keep getting harder, and harder to battle. I can hardly walk around in the cities anymore with those vermin on my tail! Not to mention that they don’t really care for the casualties in their wake.”

“Hold it right there,” Dante raised a hand up to her to signal for her to pause her story. “So, you’re being chased by demons sent by an organization full of magical beings, and you’ve got no idea why that is?” He couldn’t hold in a rather dry bark of laughter. “Haha! I feel like I’ve read this in a comic somewhere.”

“She’s being serious, Dante,” Morrison spoke up, flicking the ashes off of his cigar into an ashtray on Dante’s desk. “I was walking down the street and saw her fighting those things. She saved my life before I could be cut down by one of those bastards. Those demons don’t care about who’s around, and I was almost one of those casualties…”

“I don’t wish to be the fault of lives ending just because I decided to walk the streets,” Cecelia said, her voice rather somber unlike the aura she had been carrying before. “I need help, whether I like it or not. It was mere coincidence that I saved your employer, but I’m rather glad I did.”

“And I thank you kindly for saving my life again, Miss Cecelia,” Morrison with a genuine tone of gratitude in his voice.

“So that’s why you brought her here,” Dante sighed as he gazed at Morrison from the corner of his eye. “Look, you seem like a sweet woman and all, but I’ve got no influence on this “Charmer Sanction.” I can’t exactly stop them from sending demons after you.”

“No, perhaps not,” softly spoke Cecelia as a smirk curled upon her lips again. “But your aid would be very much appreciated. Think of it as more of an escort mission. I just need your help in killing demons, nothing more. After all the rumors that I’ve heard, you’re quite the man when fighting against demons…”

Dante had a smirk curled on his lips, but he couldn’t help but have a brow raised at her. He could see that she definitely was trying to rub up his ego, if not trying to borderline flirt with the man. It was rather hard for him to hold his tongue, remembering that Morrison was standing right next to him. But something just felt off about the woman before him. Something’s telling him that she’s not somebody to really be messed with.

“It’s good to know that my reputation precedes me,” Dante exclaimed as he pulled his legs back up into his chair, folding each ankle over the other. “But I got to wonder, what in the hell did you do to make such a powerful branch of power come after you.”

Cecelia sighed, her arms crossing again as she tilted her head to the floor. It was clear that she expected the question, but seemed to also be dreading it.

“That’s a bit of where the catch is,” Morrison spoke up for the lady as the cigar smoke left his nose. “You see, Miss Cecelia here has lost her memories, apparently. Says that she’s got no idea what she did, but all she really knows in her name.”

“You lost your memories?” Dante questioned, officially not sure how he feels about this job now. “How the hell did that happen?”

“What a funny question!” Cecelia said in jest, her voice dripping with a cheerful sound of sarcasm. “I would love to know myself, but you wouldn’t happen to know where my memories have gone, have you?”

“Alright, alright. I’ll admit, not my best question,” Dante said with his hands raised towards her as if to show surrender. “But how the hell am I supposed to help you when you don’t even have your own memories together?”

“That’s the thing,” Cecelia said as she moved her left hand as she spoke. “I wish I could say this was a recent incident, but I’ve lost my memories for almost five years now. During that time I was able to regain bits of it, but I’ve never been able to fully recover from my memory loss. All that I truly know is that I once was a part of The Charmer Sanction, but now they wish for my blood on their hands. As for why, I can’t say. The only thing I can make of it from my encounters with that is that I somehow broke their rules…”

Dante exhaled heavily, pulling his legs back off of his desk as he leaned away from the woman. “Yeah, uh, now that’s a bit of a problem. You see, I’ve seen what these guys do to “rule breakers,” and it ain’t pretty. No offense, sweetheart, but I don’t exactly want to be a part of that. I’m already on bad terms with them, and I don’t feel like having demons going after my head. I already have to deal with that.”

“Please! I promise that I’ll pay you a large sum of money!” Cecelia exclaimed, her hands hitting his desk as she leaned towards him. Her flirty demeanor was completely gone and replaced with desperation. “All that I ask is that you help me fend off these creatures so they don’t kill innocent civilians. I can only do so much with my powers, and even now I feel my powers waning from how much I’ve been fighting. I’ll pay in any way that you want me to. I just need your skill and your blade, that’s all I ask!”

Dante sighed again, now feeling rather annoyed by her insistence. The story he was being told felt a little far fetched, and it wouldn’t be the first time that somebody tried to use sob stories to get him into a job. There was also a bit of risk for him as well if he did accept this job. His eyes darted all over her expression to see just how genuine that whole story was.

Her blue eyes bored into his, her brows furrowed as she stared intensely at him. Not only was her desperation clear in her voice, but even her eyes conveyed the emotion. Now that he was looking at her, she did seem a bit wary. She was rather good at holding her composure, but even he could notice the slightest bouncing of her shoulders as her nose flared slightly from her heavy exhales. Dante couldn’t help but sigh, wondering how much he was going to regret this job.

“Tell me,” he said and he decided to humor her a bit, “what exactly is your plan here, and what are you trying to do?”

The woman became quiet for a moment. She recomposed herself and pushed off of his desk, standing up straighter as she gazed back at him. She took in a deep breath before speaking.

“I just wish to have my memories back,” Cecelia spoke quietly, but was loud enough for Dante to hear. “...To be truthful, I don’t wish to drag anybody into my burden. I want to figure out what I did to have The Charmer Sanction to be after me. I want to fix those wrongs, and… I don’t want to die before I recover what I lost… All that I ask is for an extra blade to help me along the way. I promise to pay you in any way you want afterwards. I just need help...”

Dante couldn’t help but pick up on the sincerity in her voice, seeing just how her shoulders were sagging as her hand was clutched against the open window of her chest. The smile was completely gone from Dante’s face as he stared at hers. She truly did seem desperate, and almost ashamed for even announcing her need for help. The white haired man sighed yet again, a small smirk returning on his face as he looked back up at her.

“Alright,” Dante grunted as he stood from his chair. “I was getting bored anyway. Tell me, just where do you plan on going?”

Cecelia seemed to be taken aback, not expecting him to finally say yes. Nonetheless, she finally spoke up. “...I was going to go to The Charmer Sanction’s city, Néma. I can only assume that my old home was there, so perhaps I can gain something from it.”

“Sounds good,” Dante said as he turned behind him, gripping his favored sword and strapping it to his back. “Morrison, I’ll be taking the job.”

“I knew you’d agree,” Morrison said with a bit of a chuckle. “Now, miss Cecelia, care to explain to my associate of how and where you can get to Néma city?”

“Of course,” Cecelia said as she recovered from her surprise. “Once we leave Red Grave City we—”

Before the mysterious woman could say another word, the sound of glass shattering rang in the air along with the door slamming open. Bursting into the Devil May Cry shop was dark, lanky demons as they seemed dead set on attacking what was inside. Their skin was a dark red, reminding Dante of flesh, as he picked up on the strange strands of what almost seemed like a black and whte collar wrapped around their necks.

Cecelia seemed to be still, her back still towards the mess as there seemed to be a smile on her face. Morrison exclaimed in shock and began gripping onto Dante’s desk, one hand clutching his hat while the other dropped his cigar so he could grab the desk.

“Not this shit again…!” Morrison exclaimed, already breaking into a nervous sweat.

Dante was in the middle of pulling out his sword, moving around his desk quickly. “Hey, princess, get out of the—”

BANG! BANG! BANG!

A distinct sound of gunshots cut Dante off, causing him to halt in his steps. Cecelia had pulled her hand behind her, her body still facing Dante’s desk, as she fired a gun right over her shoulder. How and where the gun came from, Dante had no idea, but he did notice that each shot hit right into the three targets that busted into his shop. 

Each demon fell and disappeared into a familiar glow of dust, only to which did Cecelia finally turn, but only to face Dante. He could now see the smirk on her face with narrowed eyes accompanying them. At first Dante assumed it was smugness, but only when he locked eyes with her did he realize that it radiated malice.

“Frankly, I’m not a fan of being so rudely interrupted,” Cecelia stated calmly to him. “And furthermore, I do not appreciate the nickname, “Princess.” You may call me Cecelia, or something along those lines, because I won’t hesitate to shoot you myself if you get upon my nerves.”

Dante couldn’t help but chuckle at her, feeling almost a mix between being impressed or feeling almost insulted by her words. Then again, with his luck with women, she probably wasn’t kidding. He’s had his full share of being shot at by women, he’ll say that much. He knew when to lay off.

“Alright then,” Dante said as he gazed at the disappearing bodies on his floor. “I thank you for responding so quickly to an attack on my shop. Frankly I’m not very happy about the broken windows and doors, but I can’t say that it’s the first time it’s happened. Honestly, I’m feeling more pumped to kick some demon ass!”

“I’m glad that we’re in agreement,” Cecelia said as she put her gun down. With a flick of her wrist the gun was enveloped into a bluish flame, disappeared right out of her hands and out of sight. “As I was saying, as soon as we exit Red Grave City we head east. After a bit of travel, we should easily get there within two to three days. But that all depends on how we travel, and how often the demons find us.”

“Sounds good,” Dante said and looked at the shaken broker, who was still clutching his desk in shock. “I’ll catch you around, Morrison. Think you can get a repairman for the windows and doors?”

“U-uh, yeah, sure,” Stuttered the man as he slowly began to collect himself, his eyes still on the placement of where the demons had been. “Just don’t expect me to sleep the night…”

“The only people I expect sleeping here are Trish and Lady, and even then that’s asking for too much,” Dante said as he began making his way to his broken door, Cecelia trailing right behind him. “By the way, Morrison, mind putting out that cigar? I’d rather not find out that my shop burned down while I was gone.”

“Ah, shit…!” Hissed Morrison as he began stopping out the cigar he had dropped.

Dante chuckled slightly as he exited his shop, Cecelia following right after him. They both started making their way down the streets, knowing that the nearest bus stop wasn’t exactly close to his working space. At first it was quiet between them, but not for long as Dante wasn’t one to really keep his mouth quiet.

“That’s a nice trick you did with that gun back there,” Dante said and he gazed down at the woman now beside him. “Tell me, something tells me you aren’t exactly as human as you look to be.”

Cecelia smirked in his direction, as if mirroring his expression, as she gazed at him with the slight tilt of her head. “How observant you are. But I’m sorry to say that I am, indeed, fully human. Being a part of The Charmer Sanction has a bit of a benefit of powers. I don’t precisely know just the full extent of my powers, but I know enough to have survived this long. Magic is quite handy, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Seems a bit suspicious to me,” Dante said as he eyed the woman strutting beside him. “Something tells me that there’s more to it than what you’re telling me.”

“What, do you expect every magician to tell their secrets?” Cecelia countered as she simply shrugged at him. “Sorry, but you’ll have to try harder to get the answer out of me. After all, I’ve got memory problems.”

“Uh-huh,” Dante eyed her as he nodded. “Playing hard to get, I see. Gotta say, I love that in a woman.”

Cecelia spun around, facing Dante as she walked backwards, one hand on her hip as her attention was on him. “Oh, I’m sure you do, Mr. Demon Slayer. I enjoy a good chase every now and then…”

With a brief wink at the taller man, the woman spun around again, facing forwards as they were nearing a bus stop sign. Dante couldn’t help but keep his eyes on the new companion next to him, watching how she strut as she seemed to hold an air of confidence. Or was it pride? Either way, even from their interactions he could tell she wasn’t like his other companions, Lady and Trish. 

Although sometimes the women would tease Dante a bit, they never tried to flirt with him. But Cecelia was a completely different story. Flirting just seemed to be in her nature, and it was obvious that she knew she had a charm over men like Dante. It really made the man wonder if she had been a sort of escort in the past, or some sort of job like that. Perhaps he was getting his hopes up? Probably. Either way, he couldn’t help but wonder about her situation instead of the way her clothes seemed a little too tight on her body.

Soon enough the two reached the bus stop, only having to wait for a short bit of time before the bus came. They both hopped on, each paying for their seat, as they both sat across from each other towards the back. Thankfully since it was late, not many people were on the bus. But that doesn’t mean that Dante was willing to sit with this client. After all, if she could summon a gun out of thin air, he had no doubt she could summon other things.

The bus ride was quiet for a while, nobody really seemed willing to talk, and thankfully anybody else on the bus didn’t seem too excited to make much noise. After all it was a bit late, which meant a quicker drive and less stops, hopefully. As they traveled Dante would look to Cecelia every now and then, just to see if she was doing anything. She sat as close as she could to the window, her legs crossed and her chin in the palm of her left hand. She was gazing out the window, her face stoic as she watched the scenery pass by them. Dante couldn’t deny the mysterious beauty she had, but he still couldn’t help but feel like something was off.

Unable to really put his finger on it, he decided to let it slide. Taking up two seats, leaning against the window with his hands intertwined behind his head, not really caring that part of him was taking up half the lane. After all this ride was going to be long, and Dante preferred to get as much shut eye as he could on missions like these. He glanced at Cecelia one last time, wondering just exactly who she was before he closed his eyes shut. He began to think of peaceful things, as much as he could, as it was the only way to coax himself to sleep.

But that sleep was interrupted by the loud sound of shattering glass.

[kalbastion]

I love this art omg

a happy dekusquad for good luck ✨

[kalbastion]

This is awesome

魔王・オブ・ザ・ワイルド

[kalbastion]

THE STRUGGLE IS REAL!!

do you ever just

completely forget what your OCs look like

[kalbastion]

.......

That’s indeed fucked up.

No

[kalbastion]

If you watch carefully you can see she was running while hugging the wall so she wouldn’t be crushed

Is Princess Daisy fucking indestructible?!?!