#light is displeased (he is shorter now)

[wanderingstories]

L can stand up straight but only once every four years

[illbegottenfaith]

unadulterated loathing (a what is this feeling inspired fic)

yours and theo's feelings for each other evoke a deeply visceral physical reaction in both of you, for which there can be only one explanation (theo nott x reader)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

a/n - had this idea ever since I watched wicked and so I whipped smth light and fun up prettyyy quickly (I think this is the fastest I've ever writtena fic? then again it is on the shorter side) enjoyyy :)) p.s. im quite behind on my notifs etc cuz of college so if i havent responded to anything pls know its an accident!

tropes/warnings - enemies to lovers, quips/banter, fluff, mentions of injury

word count - 1.3k

taglist - @hzdhrtss @justaproudperson

"I'm afraid the rumours are true," you were saying to Penelope Skeeter, a budding journalist eager to follow in her aunt's footsteps. "Theodore Nott was just so taken by my looks this morning that he promptly passed out in the Hogwarts library, poor thing. The whole school is bereft, naturally, but Madam Pomfrey herself expects him to make a full recovery."

You paused as her reedy-looking assistant snapped a picture, putting on a breezy, winning smile with just a hint of oh-silly-me-for-putting-one-of-Slytherin's-star-Quidditch-players-in-the-Hospital-Wing-but-also-who-could-blame-this-pretty-face.

"You could say I, quite literally, stole his breath."

Your impromptu interview came to a crashing halt as a strained groan sounded from the hospital bed a short distance away. The three of you glanced over to see that Theo had woken up and was now very much alive and kicking.

"Oh," you said, abandoning that affected, simpering tone for one with a noticeable trace of disdain. You thought you'd have more time. "You're up."

"Lies," Theo rasped breathlessly, with all the menace of a kitten swaddled in a blanket, eyes darting mistrustfully between you and Penelope. "Liar."

You tilted your head, your expression as displeased as it always was when it came to Theo. "Aren't you supposed to be dizzy or something?"

"Don't listen to anything she says, especially if it's about me. Strike that all - hang on - "

You watched him flail uselessly in his attempts to sit up, unimpressed.

"I don't think you hit your head hard enough."

"Shut up," Theo wheezed under the stifling weight of the warm compresses laid across his chest, "and get out."

You pouted exaggeratedly. "But you're sickly, sweetheart."

His already pale face blanched at the pet name. "Out. Out!"

For as long as you could remember, you had never gotten along with Theodore Nott. Anything he said, you'd feel compelled to disagree with, and anything you did, he felt compelled to sneer at. The adverse physical symptoms that presented themselves within each other's proximity certainly didn't seem to help matters. One way or another, sparks were bound to fly if the two of you were in the same room.

"It's - it's her - " Theo had spat out at The Three Broomsticks on a Hogsmeade trip in your third year. "She's doing this to me and she's doing it on purpose."

Mattheo had creased his forehead.

"Like a...like a hex?"

"No," Theo had said, distractedly scratching the hive that had appeared on the back of his hand. "It's worse than a hex. My pulse is rushing, my head is reeling, my face is flushing..."

"...oh," Mattheo had said, realisation dawning upon him. "I get it. It's lo-"

"That's it, Mattheo." Theo had interjected. "You're absolutely right."

"I am?"

"Yes, exactly. Loathing is what this is. Loathing." He had swivelled around, hatefully fixing his gaze on where you were laughing over some undoubtedly inane subject matter over butterbeer with your friends. "Unadulterated loathing."

Mattheo had rolled his eyes over Theo's dramatics.

That was years ago. Now, the butterbeer was gone and the inane subject matter was long forgotten, but the two of you were still too abrasive to get along. It was as though you couldn't help but rub each other the wrong way, the way you brought out the worst in each other. The detestation that everyone had hoped you would grow out of seemed to have grown with you, with petty jabs and insults and below-the-belt undermining becoming a regular occurrence between the two of you.

Today was no different. You were spending your morning free period studying at the library with your friends, roaming the bookshelves for anything that could help you with your Defence Against the Dark Arts essay. You'd turned the corner of the aisle, a heavy tome in hand, only to find Theodore blocking your path, his long fingers leisurely tracing the spine of a book like he had all the time in the world.

"Figures," you muttered under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear. "Of all the dark, damp corners in the castle, you'd turn up in this one. Like a bad penny."

Theo's gaze flicked up to meet yours, his expression impassive save for the slight lift of his brow. "Charming as ever, I see," he drawled in his low voice, carrying that familiar bite. "I didn't realise the library was off-limits to people with half a brain."

You narrowed your eyes, stepping closer despite yourself. "Don’t flatter yourself, Nott. If brains were currency, you'd be bankrupt."

His lips twitched, and for a moment, you swore he was fighting back a smirk.

"And yet, here I am, managing just fine without the constant headache of your presence. Speaking of which—" he gestured vaguely at the aisle, "—you’re in my way."

There it was - that repulsive, three-sizes-too-big ego of his. Really, it was a wonder how he managed to fit that swollen head of his through the castle doors.

"I'm in your way?" you repeated incredulously. "You do realise the universe doesn't actually revolve around you, right?"

He quirked an eyebrow. "Could've fooled me," he said smoothly, effortlessly plucking your book out of your slack grip. "You always seem to be in my orbit."

You peered up at Theo from beneath your eyelashes. You tilted your head, your lips curling into an insidious, self-satisfied smile that Theo didn't quite understand.

"Please. You want to fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid."

Theo felt a pang in his chest. His pulse stuttered and there was this nauseating feeling in his stomach. His vision swam, and it was all a bit blurry after that. The next thing he knew, there was an awful lot of shrieking coming from the crowd standing over him. Over him? His hand twitched. The hand that was on the very same rock-hard floor he was lying on. When did he get down here?

He groaned softly as the voices around him grew louder. There was this awful pounding rattling his skull. With considerable difficulty, he cracked an eye open, trying to get a sense of his bearings. Some of the silhouettes seemed vaguely familiar. He could recognise some voices - his friends must have found him. Those looked like Mattheo's shoelaces right next to his face.

And in the middle of it all was you, ashen face with a panic-stricken expression, with a vice-like grip on his forearms.

And then everything went black again.

Madam Pomfrey had come along just then, shooing Penelope and her photographer away. You weren't quite as lucky in your attempt to slip out with them. So now here you were, stoically holding Theo's hand in your slightly clammy palm at his bedside while she checked him over.

She hadn't told you to hold his hand. Theo decided he'd pull away in a minute. Maybe two.

He cleared his throat ineffectively, dry from a lack of water. You glanced at him.

"Admit it. You were terrified for a minute there."

You pressed your lips into a thin line like you were holding back a smile, trying to give the impression of watching Madam Pomfrey.

"You wish," you mumbled out of the corner of your mouth.

Still, he didn't miss the way you squeezed his hand as part of you relaxed in what seemed like relief.

"I know."

You dragged your gaze back to him, shaking your head somewhat affectionately as you took in the colour returning to his cheeks.

"I see you're feeling better already."

"Something about you gets my blood pumping."

Madam Pomfrey stepped away for a moment, leaving the two of you alone behind the screen. You leaned in until your noses were almost touching.

"Are you saying I make your heart race, Nott?"

This close, he can see the faint freckles scattered across your nose, the way your lashes brush your cheeks when you blink, and the flicker of mischief in your eyes. And for the first time in all the years he's known you, he admits to himself that perhaps you might be more than a little easy on the eyes. Especially his eyes.

"Sure," he says quietly, his gaze almost lovingly lingering over every blemish along your nose. "Let's go with that."

Part 2

[samstree]

In New Light

post-canon obikin, 4k words, rated G. AO3 link here

The cat stares at Obi-Wan, blinking slowly with curious eyes.

“Well. Hello, there.”

Obi-Wan greets the creature at his door, staring back. The cat has sleek, black fur all over, except for the white streak on the side of his face. He is much smaller than a Loth-cat, with much shorter fur too. Possibly a less common sub-species of the tooka. He has blue eyes instead of yellow like most black cats, and oh—he’s missing a front leg.

A pang of sympathy swells in Obi-Wan chest. The poor thing. Where has he come from? Who is his owner? Did he wander all the way from the lower levels of Coruscant and into the Temple? Did he get injured because he’s a stray?

The cat sits on his tail, looking straight up as Obi-Wan crouches down before him.

��Hello, dear,” he greets the small creature again, this time in a much gentler tone. “Now, how have you wandered to my door?”

The cat meows, tilting his head, studying Obi-Wan for a moment before jumping right into his lap, making him let out a surprised sound. The missing leg does not hinder the little creature’s mobility, and he seems to have comfortably curled up against Obi-Wan’s stomach.

“Alright,” Obi-Wan says. When the cat meows in return, he answers, “I know, dear. I know.”

-

The cat follows him for the entire day.

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay here at the creche? The younglings will love you. I’m sure they already do.”

The small, dark creature hisses as a Togruta child attempts to pet him on the head, the rejection clear as day.

“Hmm.”

Obi-Wan cannot help but remember an equally grumpy padawan in the same situation. Anakin was fifteen when he was put on creche duty for the first time, and the boy all but jumped when the small children tried to hug him. The storm cloud remained on his face for a week despite the shower of affection from the younglings.

A smile comes to Obi-Wan’s face at the memory of Anakin’s teenage years, before it falls flat at the corners of his mouth.

There is no use thinking about it now.

Anakin already left.

He could never stay, not after what was revealed at the end of the war—Palpatine fooled everyone, and especially Anakin. The hurt ran too deep and too intertwined with the Order. It was a good thing that Anakin chose to resign after the Sith was destroyed, finding his independence, figuring out who he is outside of being a Jedi. He needed the distance, and it’s good he never looked back.

It’s a good thing, Obi-Wan tells himself again.

The cat has jumped to the top of Obi-Wan’s shoulder with a displeased sound, right before burrowing into his neck and rubbing his face against Obi-Wan’s skin. The motion makes it look like the small creature is trying to soothe him, which is ridiculous. It’s not like Obi-Wan is sad.

“Come on,” he says, petting the cat on the head and getting another quiet meow in answer. “You are not staying, are you? Well, then. Let’s get going.”

-

He dreams of Anakin that night. Again.

“Oh, dear heart. I’m so sorry,” Obi-Wan apologizes to the image of Anakin conjured up by his mind. “It must be from those thoughts of you during the day.”

Dream-Anakin sits cross-legged on what used to be his favorite futon, a bright, ethereal aura shimmering around him. That’s how Obi-Wan knows he’s dreaming.

It’s how he always knows.

The Anakin in his dreams always looks the same. With tousled hair and youthful features, a slight tightness around his eyes, worn down by war and grief. He also wears the same clothes every time, the dark Jedi robes that has become his staple, but singed at the hem from battle. He didn’t stay long enough at the Temple to change out of them after defeating the Sith.

It’s what Anakin looked like when they said goodbye for the last time. At the hangar bay, Obi-Wan watched this version of Anakin close the door of his shuttle.

He stayed there for hours afterwards.

“Why are you apologizing?” Anakin frowns.

Strange. Obi-Wan has never seen him frown in a dream.

Anakin has also never looked different. He seems…older, the lines of his face sharpened with maturity, those familiar curls cut short and parted to the other way. He is still the same man, but it’s almost like the years they spent apart are showing on his face.

Oh, how these dreams torment him.

“For this dream, of course,” Obi-Wan explains patiently, despite the well of sadness overflowing in his heart. He’ll always have patience for his former padawan, even when it’s only a figment of his imagination. “It’s a clear sign of attachment. Attachment I should have acknowledged and let go when you left.”

“When I left, of course,” Anakin murmurs, looking away. “A perfect Jedi like you must have gotten over it immediately. What was I thinking?”

Anakin’s voice trails into a quiet tremble, a crestfallen look written all over his face. It suddenly makes Obi-Wan unsure of himself—he never wants to make Anakin sad.

“No, Anakin… I—” Obi-Wan starts, “I merely meant that—I should have let go. It was… it would have been the right thing to do.”

“Was it really?”

Tears trail down Anakin’s cheek, glistening in the bright light of the dream.

When Obi-Wan wakes up to the shimmering morning light, he wipes away the wetness on his face. There is no peace to be found in the Force, so Obi-Wan gets up and pads towards the living room.

The cat is sound asleep, curled into a perfect ball on Anakin’s futon.

-

“Do you have an owner?”

Obi-Wan is mostly thinking out loud as the cat licks at the blue milk, pouring another serving into the plate when a whine prompts him.

“Possibly, but there is no collar.” He touches his beard, humming absently. “I still don’t understand how you got here. There’s a long way from the lower levels to my quarters.”

The cat stretches contently when he’s done eating, soon beginning to find anything and everything in Obi-Wan’s room to be the most interesting thing.

“Hey, not those drawers. That’s where Anakin kept his tools.”

He really should have cleared those out, but alas. A ball of electrical cords has become the cat’s new favorite toy.

“No, not the spanner—that’s too heavy for you! Stars, don’t leave a mess everywhere!”

Heedless of Obi-Wan’s warnings, the creature has spilled out all of Anakin’s old things across the floor and is having the time of his life. Obi-Wan can only sigh while cleaning after him. It is only when the cat starts to push his tea collection off the kitchen counter when he has to intervene.

“No, not those! Leave an old man with his favorite tea, will you?” From the scowl on the cat’s face, the little guy doesn’t seem to care. “You’re as frustrating as a certain padawan of mine, my new friend.”

With that, the cat stops in his tracks, jumps off the kitchen counter nimbly, and looks up at Obi-Wan with those big, rounded eyes.

“Perhaps I should name you Padawan, with the way you are behaving,” Obi-Wan huffs, but there is no real anger in his voice.

In truth, he doesn’t mind the little mess. His quarters have been immaculately clean for years, but it never looks right. The disarray somehow fills a part inside his chest that he didn’t know was missing.

“You think I’m jesting, but I assure you I am not,” Obi-Wan continues sternly, holding himself like the Jedi master he is. “It’s not like that role will be filled any time soon. You will do just fine.”

He doesn’t want to think about the perpetual void left in his life. Obi-Wan will never have another padawan again, not after the way he failed Anakin. He has made his peace with it.

He really has. He just needs to breathe through the ache that creeps into every fiber of his being on every lonely night.

A sad meow, as if in sympathy. Obi-Wan bends down to pick up the cat and sits himself on the floor by the window, letting the sunbeam warm the both of them.

“No, I won’t call you Padawan, then. I don’t think…” he swallows, smiling tightly at the creature as he gets comfortable. “I don’t think I can bear it.”

Those big blue feline eyes are so round, the irises are nearly disappearing. Somehow, the unusual blue eyes of the cat bring him a sense of unnamed reassurance. He would have found it disturbing, if they were yellow.

“Well then, I guess I’ll be the one to take care of you. Not as a master, but a friend. It’s a dangerous world out there if you’re alone. There is no one protecting you.” Obi-Wan strokes the sleek, black fur as the cat falls asleep in his lap. The creature doesn’t shy away when he touches the stump where the front leg should be. “Is that how you got hurt? Because you were out there by yourself?”

All the answer he gets is a gentle rub against his stomach.

“I wish I was there with you,” he murmurs to himself, the numb emptiness in his chest tinging with regret. “I wish I could have protected you.”

Obi-Wan falls asleep with the cat curled against his chest, the purring guiding him into a peaceful dream land.

-

Dream-Anakin sits by the window with the sunlight on his back, his expression inexplicably sad.

“Why won’t you take another padawan, master?”

They are so close together, the sun lining the tips of Anakin’s lashes gold. Obi-Wan could easily reach out and touch him. So he does.

It’s a dream, after all. There is no point in shaming himself for wanting.

The short curls feel good between Obi-Wan’s fingers, but he’s still getting used to the new look. He is spotting all the minute differences about this version of Anakin—the mature steadfastness, the lightness in his eyes, the stubble grown under his chin.

“I’m still not sure about the hair,” Obi-Wan tries to change the subject. If it’s his dream, he gets to be cheeky, he reckons. “Will you consider showing up in the long hair next time? Just for your old master’s sake.”

“Obi-Wan.”

A sigh, and Obi-Wan tries to retract his hand, but Anakin catches him gently. The warmth of his flesh hand is as real as the Force humming in the air.

“Why would they trust me with another small child?” Obi-Wan finally says. “I wouldn’t trust myself.”

The offence on Anakin’s face is palpable. “You are the best master out there. Anyone would be lucky to have you!”

Obi-Wan laughs self-deprecatingly. “I’m sure you’d disagree.”

“Well, I’m right here, and I say you’re perfect!”

It’s ironic that the Anakin from his subconscious would defend him so, when the real Anakin knows more than anyone of Obi-Wan’s failure.

“I lost you, Anakin,” he simply says.

It ends the argument. Anakin closes his mouth, the sadness returning to his blue eyes.

-

It isn’t too bad, having a feline friend in Obi-Wan’s life.

His quarters seem less empty with a cat in it, along with everything he has added to make his new friend comfortable. The toys are now laid out, along with a new shelf for climbing. The cat bed is placed by the window, but rarely used when the little guy prefers to sleep on either Anakin’s old futon or by the foot of Obi-Wan’s bed. His habit of making a mess quieted down after a period of adjustment, and now Obi-Wan has learned to leave his expensive teas in the cupboard.

The cat loves the house plants, though. Obi-Wan is not sure if he’s imagining it, but his plants have never looked better, growing lusher and greener by the day. He has never been the best at taking care of them. It was Anakin who had a stronger connection to the Living Force.

When the ferns start to droop, the dark fluffy creature would fall asleep under their shade. When he wakes up, the leaves seem to gain new life again.

Obi-Wan also talks to the cat more and more these days.

The dreams persist. Every time he closes his eyes, there is Anakin. Sitting in their living room, or cooking in the kitchen, sometimes even curled up against Obi-Wan’s side in his bed.

Those dreams are the hardest. Obi-Wan’s mind is cruel to let him look at Anakin so closely, only to wake up alone in the quiet dark. The only consolation is the gentle, inquisitive meows of his cat friend.

He lets the furry thing bury his face against his neck to soothe the heartbreak. The pain lets up enough at some point, and he can breathe again. And then, Obi-Wan begins to talk.

He misses Anakin so much that the ache fills all the space inside his chest. If he doesn’t tell someone about it, he fears he will burst from it, and a cat is a good enough listener.

He lets his tongue run freely, trusting his memories to lead them from one story to another, jumping between the years they shared together. The pain and regret have been laying on his heart so heavily that Obi-Wan has nearly forgotten the joy that came with Anakin’s name.

His laughter, his passion, his unrelenting curiosity.

Anakin was his sun, but now, he has no one to share that warmth but a small cat.

“Did you know he cried when I took him to see rain for the first time?” Obi-Wan chuckles at the memory. “He was trying to catch all the raindrops, and when he couldn’t, he started to panic about wasting the water. Poor boy… I should have thought of that and not chosen the rainforest for our first mission.”

Obi-Wan lets out all the love he has kept inside. With only a small creature knowing his worst secret, he has never loved Anakin more freely.

“Do you think he could be in trouble? Knowing Anakin, he must have gotten himself into some sort of conundrum. More than once over the years, I assume. I worry for him too much, I know,” he whispers, letting the cat perch around his shoulders. “He’s too headstrong, too stubborn, much to his own detriment. He always tries to protect everyone, and never learned that he needed protecting too. I… I would have, had he let me.”

He drifts off again, worrying, wondering.

The dream is so warm that Obi-Wan never wishes to leave. He curls around the weight of Anakin’s body, wraps an arm around his waist to pull him even closer.

It feels good to steal these moments, basking in Anakin’s presence, just so he can keep on going in the land of the walking.

“What if I really am in trouble?” Anakin asks with mirth in his eyes. “It’s a big galaxy. I could run into someone dangerous. Say… a witch! Like in those fairytales on the holonet. She cursed me to be trapped in the body of a small animal, and the only way to lift the curse—”

He stops himself, the implication hanging in the air.

Obi-Wan finishes the thought for him, knowing this ridiculous boy and his romantic tendencies.

“True love, is it? The only way to lift the curse,” Obi-Wan says, rubbing their noses together. “I’ll find you, save you from the curse, and we’ll get to live happily ever after.”

Anakin blushes, his lashes cast down. “Yes, just like that. It’s really simple, master.”

Hope shines in Anakin’s eyes, bright and sweet, but Obi-Wan’s heart sinks.

“If only it was, dear heart.”

-

“Can you believe them? Denied!”

Obi-Wan huffs, chest rising and falling from anger. He lets the datapad fall to the sofa. On the screen is his application to take leave from the Temple, big red letters showing Application Denied at the top.

“I’m not even asking for long. It’ll take two—alright, maybe three—months at most! I’m a war general, for Force’s sake. I infiltrated the separatist headquarters! How long is it going to take me to find one person? Just one!”

Artoo’s light flickers, letting out a quiet beep in answer. He doesn’t dare move his dome due to the dark, fluffy creature perched on top of him, tail tucked away cozily. Both droid and cat blink at Obi-Wan as his rant comes to a stop.

It’s almost disturbing how well they are getting along. Obi-Wan has not seen Artoo take a liking to someone, or something, this quickly since Anakin left.

“I just want to see him.” Obi-Wan’s shoulders slump, all the fight leaving his body with resignation. "They are right about me—it’s... it's a sign of attachment. I just…”

A lump forms in his throat, and Obi-Wan turns his head away. It would be embarrassing to cry in front of a droid and a cat, but it’s hard to care when the loneliness overwhelms him like a tide.

Obi-Wan may have been slowly drowning all this time. He’s only realizing now.

-

That night, Obi-Wan silently opens his blanket in silent invitation. Soon enough, a dark lump of fluff enters his bed.

It’s unbefitting of a Jedi of his age and experience to need the comfort of a creature as small and fragile, but when the warmth of the cat curls around his chest, Obi-Wan finds it a little easier to breathe.

When fitful sleep claims him, his fingers are still buried in soft fur, his nose pressed against a fluffy head. His breath hitches from time to time, but a gentle, careful nudge always soothes him.

Dream-Anakin appears from under Obi-Wan’s covers, those dark curls sticking out everywhere as if someone has been ruffling his hair.

“Oh, master… Hey, come here. What’s wrong?”

Anakin’s voice is full of concern. His flesh hand reaches out to cup Obi-Wan’s chin, a thumb running small circles as if he has been preparing to comfort Obi-Wan, and now he finally has the chance.

Wouldn’t that be a nice reality? Anakin being there, always, ready to defend Obi-Wan from the sadness within him.

“They won’t let me come to you,” is Obi-Wan’s answer.

“Oh?”

Their bodies tangle up under the bedcover, fitting into each other like puzzle pieces. The warmth of Anakin gives Obi-Wan strength, so he lets out all the frustration.

“I thought I could see you, just this once. Just to make sure you’re alright. And I know, Anakin, when you left, you wanted nothing to do with the Order. With…” He lets the ache linger, lets Anakin see his hurt. “You wanted nothing to do with me.”

“Not you. Never you.”

A protest, so quiet it’s almost not there.

“Still, I was being selfish,” Obi-Wan continues. “I should not try to bother you again. Not after everything that happened. You must loathe to see an old man from your past, reminding you of all that hurt you.”

“You didn’t hurt me,” Anakin insists, desperate. He pulls their bodies impossibly close, rubbing his forehead against Obi-Wan’s temple. “You were the kindest thing in my life. I just couldn’t see it until I left, and I—I never thought you’d still want to find me again, not after all this time.”

“How could I not? The thought of you being out there by yourself—” Obi-Wan’s voice shakes. “I thought I could bear it, Anakin, give it to the Force. I’m failing even that.”

It’s more than Obi-Wan has ever been willing to admit even to himself, alone in the quiet dark. Grief and foolishness have made him brave.

Anakin observes him with meaning in his eyes, remaining silent for a moment longer as if gathering courage himself. When he speaks next, his words are steady and patient.

“If you could see me now—the real me, right here with you, would you want to?”

Something about Anakin is different, beyond the shorter hair and the lines of his face. The warmth around him intensifies, the bright aura hums with anticipation. There is hope, so much hope rising from the ashes of the lost years between them, and Obi-Wan will not fail that again.

“I do. I want more than anything to be with you again, you must know,” he answers honestly.

“And why is that?”

“Because… I…”

“Say it, Obi-Wan. I just need you to say it.” A smile curls at Anakin’s lips. “I just need you.”

Oh, and how can Obi-Wan ever refuse that? He wasn’t there when Anakin needed him most, and it was already the biggest mistake of his life, but now…

Anakin is asking him of something again, and it’s something so simple. Only Obi-Wan himself, laying his heart bare.

He gives away his heart. Easily.

“It’s because I love you,” Obi-Wan says, plain and true. “I love you, Anakin.”

Light and warmth fills the dream, but nothing is brighter than the smile on Anakin’s face, his happiness almost from a fairytale.

-

Obi-Wan nearly chokes on a mess of curls when consciousness returns to him.

Long limbs tangle around him, weighing heavily in the small bed. Naked skin presses against his torse, the warmth bursting like a sun. The morning light slips through the curtains, casting layers of silver in the room.

The body around him stirs, taking in a long breath. The dark curls lift up, and then, blue eyes are meeting Obi-Wan’s gaze, blinking slowly.

Obi-Wan went to bed with a small cat curled against his chest, but wakes up with a full-sized, naked Anakin right between his arms.

“Oh,” he says dumbly. “Was that you this whole time?”

He hardly cares about the answer when Anakin stares at him for a beat, and then bursts out laughing. It’s so beautiful that the experience of hearing it for the first time in years nearly steals all the breath out of Obi-Wan’s lungs.

“Anakin.”

With a flip of his body, Anakin has straddled across Obi-Wan’s hips, pinning him down. He managed that too easily—how has he gotten so much stronger? What happened to Anakin when Obi-Wan is not there?

When Obi-Wan looks up, he’s now seeing Anakin in a new light. He looks the same as in those dreams, the hair still tragically short, but dream could never compare to the sight before Obi-Wan’s eyes. The years have only made Anakin more beautiful, adding sharp angles to his jaw, elegant lines at the corners of his eyes.

Obi-Wan reaches out to touch, and lets out a breath of relief when skin connects with skin.

This is real. Anakin has come back to him.

“Did you mean it?”

Anakin can barely hide the smile with Obi-Wan cradling his cheek, tracing the lines of his chin. He turns to rub against Obi-Wan’s palm, tickling his skin. It seems something remains the same, even when he’s no longer trapped in a cat’s body.

“Between us, you are the believer of fairytales,” Obi-Wan answers, patiently. “The curse wouldn’t have broken otherwise. But you know I did, Anakin. How could I not? Though I have a question for you too.”

There will be no more lost years, Obi-Wan vows to himself. He’d fight another war before he lets himself lose Anakin again. They have all the time ahead to grow closer again, to share stories. To heal.

“I love you too,” Anakin answers cheekily, “if that’s your question. Of course I do, and it didn’t take being cursed into a blasted cat for me to realize.”

The insolence on Anakin’s face looks exactly the same as old memories, with a pout on his lips and defiance in his eyes. Obi-Wan can’t help his own laughter.

His fingers tug at the short curls at Anakin’s nape, schooling his expression back to something resembling displeasure.

“I meant to ask if you will grow the hair out again, dear heart.”

And from the looks of it, his request will be fulfilled easily enough. They have all the time in the world, after all, in their own happily ever after.

[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 97)

A plan was formulated, perhaps it was risky-but when a horde of infected wandered within visual range of the workshop before being burned to crisp by N and V. Some risks needed to be taken.

V would lead a group to pick up one pod and Khan would lead another, Thankfully two more seemed to be the last they need for parts. All that would be left would be wiring the guts and... taking off.

Of course taking off implied that there was somewhere to go, and so Uzi and N went on their own mission, a mission deep within territory already claimed by the eldritch growth consuming the planet. Into a satellite hub that tracked the coordinates of human colonies likely once used to send a receive transmissions between them, though at this point had fallen silent for over a decade.

So while the last of the materials were being salvaged from the pods, N carried Uzi on his back, flying high and fast through the soured air, the atmosphere of Copper-9 itself becoming stained with the scent of rotten flesh, following his navigation system almost mindlessly. Tera was being babysat by none other then Delilah, who had offered as an apology for their last playdate going so wrong.

The wind bit at his visor and through his wings as he pierced through it, Uzi shuffling slightly in her sleep- she'd begun to get far more sluggish as of late, sleeping the moment it was quiet enough and calm enough for her to relax. He was expecting her to go into labor any day now; part of what made this mission so risky.

But waiting any longer would make it more and more dangerous.

Uzi made a noise in her sleep. Something between a whimper and a sigh, her visor glitching from purple to yellow and back to purple again.

Uzi was... somewhere familiar, but not.

The walls were ancient, well kept hardwood, the windows so clean you could convince yourself there was simply no glass; and silhouetted by velvet curtains the spilled lusciously onto red, satin carpet. She felt taller then usual, every step making a light click on the floor as her hair bounced off her shoulders and back. It was a different color too- black, long.

She was wearing a dress that felt a little too tight on her skin- and her wrists were raw and sore.

She was also looking for something; though quietly as if she was scared about what would happen if she was heard. In a voice that wasn't hers, but achingly familiar, she called out a name. "J! J!... Where are you? Where did everybody go?"

The only response was the pitter-patter of rain falling outside.

"Master... [Error- Not Found]"

She whipped around, coming face to face with a much shorter, much kinder looking J. Though whatever the worker had called her had merely sounded like static to her ears.

"J!" Joy instead of rage filled her, and she wrapped the worker into a tight embrace. "Oh thank god. I couldn't find anyone! Whats going on?"

The worker blushed briefly, it was yellow; it had always been yellow.

Then why did she think it should be white?

"You shouldn't be awake, Master will be... displeased" J replied, ignoring the question, this was weird, everything felt... off.

"I can't even find them! it's like everyone's dissapeared!"

J's visor remained exactly the same, cold, though Uzi could have sworn she saw her mouth twitch as if she was trying to say something other then what came out of her mouth.

"I can take you to them, they're waiting for you downstairs."

Uzi blinked in confusion. "This is the ground floor... you mean the basement?"

J nodded, it was stiff, robotic, not like her at all.

"What are they doing in the basement?"

J didn't respond, just took her hand and lead her away.

The next moment there was darkness, she couldn't see herself, feel herself, like her consciousness and her body had disconnected...

And then;

Pain.

It was searing, all consuming, paired with an intense bright yellow light that seemed to bind with her very being, she screamed louder and harder then she ever had in her life. It was unrelenting, coming from inside as it felt like she was being ripped apart piece by piece.

And there was laughing- disjointed, glitchy, monotone.

"Laughter. Don't Worry. I will help you."

She snapped awake with a yelp, nearly letting go of N's back and plummeting to the ground, but he gripped her tighter, flipping his flying position so that she laid on his chest instead. His tail resting on her back. "Everything okay?"

It took her a moment to resettle into her conscious, robotic body, the pain slowly ebbing away into a dull ache in the back of her head. She sighed.

"Weird Dream" was the only explanation given as she nuzzled into N's coat, content to try and sleep again as her processors demanded she conserve as much energy as possible. She heard N sigh and move some hair out of her face. "Were here, can't go back to sleep honey, sorry." He hummed, and that's when she realized he had begun just hovering. She grumbled, everything telling her to stay snuggled up on his chest until... something.

She looked up, eyes focusing on the huge satellite dishes below them... though in worse shape then what she would have liked. One dish had crumbled to nothing, only jagged pieces being visible poking out from the infestation of gently pulsating ground, another was tangled in vine after vine of organic black, pulling the dish inside of a sinkhole that had opened up, in a few days- it would likely be gone.

The third and final dish was mostly untouched, baring some growths at it's base. Thankfully, the building that housed the control panel was mostly fine as well, a hole was torn in the side, and tendrils were making their way inside, but the roof and most of the walls were flesh free.

N landed on the flat, concrete roof as softly as possible, taking care to not disturb the still inert- sentient flesh.

"Right... Lets do this."

Next ->

[unknownsprings]

Jealousy

(An unfinished fic that is still on going)

Pairing: Raiden/Liu Kang

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 1,139

_______

“Alright, so let me get this straight.” Johnny says, pressing his palms together and pointing directly at him. “Basically Shang Tsung, in your universe, managed to lure you into a trap and used some sort of magical crystal to transport you into a different realm, but somehow accidentally transported you into our timeline and now you have no way back home?”

Raiden, well Rayden as he calls himself to prevent any confusion, shrugs his shoulders. “That’s pretty much the gist of it, but yeah.”

“Can’t you just use your powers to transport back to where you’re from.” Kung Lao suggested and Rayden shook his head.

“Doesn’t work that way. I teleport to places, not jumping into unfamiliar timelines.”

Raiden crossed his arms, “But why this specific timeline?” he asks.

“Beats me,” Rayden shrugs. Much to Raiden’s irritation of the lack of a direct answer. “All I know is that the crystal Shang Tsung used, which may I add, the Kung Lao in my own timeline was supposed to be strictly protected. Is capable of opening doors to other realms, I never expect it to hold this much power to blast me into a different timeline.”

Kung Lao winces at the mention of his name of his counterpart, and Rayden notices as he quickly added, “No offense.”

“Speaking of timelines,” Johnny starts, almost shoving Kung Lao out the way, much to the monk’s displeasement as he grimaces. “Dude, you gotta let me know if I’m still a movie star where you’re from!”

Raiden frowns as the rest of the group gathers around his alternate self. Whom he doesn’t seem to mind answering questions as his friend’s chatter around him, intrigue at how different this Rayden is, besides the name, is compared to theirs.

The two look similar in appearance and height. But different in personality and clothing, his counterpart's personality is rather too nonchalantly with a hint of mischief in his counterpart's not-so-blazing blue eyes. His long white hair goes past his shoulder, added with a straw hat hanging behind his back. He wears baggy white clothes, a light blue vest with a similar colour of his sash wrapped around his waist. He looked like a normal commoner who doesn’t exude an aura of raw power that shows he was a divine being, a god, but rather a harmless looking human being.

His counterpart didn’t seem to show much of a threat with a rather low-key and approachable personality.

‘For now at least,’ Raiden thought and joined the group.

“So wait, in your timeline I don’t exist where you’re from?” Johnny asks and Rayden shakes his head.

“I wouldn’t say you don’t exist, I just haven’t met you yet and that includes you three.” Rayden points at Sonya, Jax, and Kenshi. 

Johnny’s face droops, “Oh man, I was going to be super stoked to learn about what my counterpart is like.” he whines.

“Well who knows, maybe further in my immortal years as time passes I might meet your counterparts. Although I did mention Kung Lao is in my timeline and then there’s Taja, Siro...” Rayden informs and then his blue eyes land on Liu Kang. “And then there’s you.”

Liu Kang who had been silent in the whole group blinks at the mention of his name. The rest of the group turn to face him and Liu Kang ducks his head, feeling a little embarrassed and shy at the attention.

“Me?”

“Mhm.”

Rayden approaches and circles around him, like a predator examining his prey. For a thunder god of another timeline whose personality is a polar opposite of Raiden’s and seems to be a little more approachable. The closeness of his counterpart circling around Raiden’s disciple makes Liu Kang squirm on the spot as he closes in.

Raiden’s eyes harden.

A little too close, he thinks.

“Hm.. it’s weird to see how similar you two are.” Rayden mentioned, stroking his chin as he stands at his side. “Same height, same eye colour and same build. Although the difference is that your hair is much shorter than his. Kind of reminds me of one of those karen hair cuts.” he says, touching a strand of Liu Kang’s hair and lifting up to examine the colour. Liu Kang’s brows furrow when hears Johnny and Kung Lao snicker.

Irritated, the red ribbon monk scowls as he slaps his hand and Rayden brings his hand back with a yelp.

“Lord Rayden, kindly please keep your hands to yourself.” Liu Kang hisses, cheeks tinted red.

The counterpart winces and shakes his hand as if in pain, “Ow, both respectful and feisty too.” he adds and continues making his way behind him. 

“Although you wear a little more modestly, I can tell that waist and those legs,” Rayden implies heavily. He bows a little low sideways as his blue eye trails up from his legs to his backside. Liu Kang hurriedly brings his hand behind him as he twists around to avoid the other thunder god’s prying eyes as he sees the older man straighten himself. “Still looks as fantastic as ever.”

Raiden makes a strangled noise in his throat that almost sounded like a choke, Liu Kang’s face flushes red with a horrified look, and Rayden’s blue eyes twinkle.

Raiden always knew there are possible and countless timelines with different versions of himself and his friends, his amulet proves that. But he never expected to meet this version of himself to be so- so shameless!

Raiden swears he’s going to strangle him.

Johnny elbows Kung Lao’s bicep and whispers, “I’ll bet a 100 bucks Raiden is going to kill him.”

Kung Lao whispers back, “200 if Liu Kang will be the first to beat him up.”

Sonya crosses her arms and smirks, “250 that Raiden is going to defend Liu’s honour.”

Kenshi sighs, “Guys…”

Jax jabs his thumb at Sonya’s direction, “I’m with Sonya on this one.”

Raiden quickly steps in front of his counterpart, shielding his eyes from Liu Kang’s figure as he glares. 

“Are you done examining my student?” Raiden asks coldly.

Liu Kang quickly comforts his mentor by giving him a slight squeeze of his bicep in his hand. “Lord Raiden, please calm down. I’m sure he’s just joking around.” Liu Kang reasoned, trying to de-escalate the  tense situation. 

Feeling the reassuring warm hand of his student through the fabric of his arm, Raiden breathes out and forces himself to relax for the sake of his student. And Liu Kang feels Raiden's tense figure relax under his grip. 

Rayden pulls his hands up in surrender and chuckles. “Apologies, just seeing a familiar face makes me feel a little homesick so I tend to get a little carried away.” he says and drops his hands.

“Rest assured, you will return home,” Raiden promises. 

‘And I’ll make sure it stays that way.’ he adds.

(To be Continued)

_______

Apologies if the character's seem to out of character. I'm pretty much new to the MK Fandom so I'm still learning 😭.

[melanieph321]

Ruben Dias x Reader - Top Spies Part 1/8

Ruben and Reader are super spies, who have to pretend to be a married couple on vacation as a co-signed mission. A enemies to lovers fic, very sweet and funny!

Enjoy!

"Listen up team. We have a big one!"

Captain Harlow order everyone to join him in the meeting lounge. It was more of a den, with black leather couches and dimmed lighting. You were the last one in, leaving you stand as there was nowhere left for you to sit.

"What's up captain?" Asked a man. He was an agent like you.

"Drugs Franklin, that's what's up." Captain tossed a bundle of files on the coffee table before them. "Alejandro Martinez, Portugals most infamous druglord. Last year he managed to import nearly 700 kilos of cocaine into the country."

"How?" The team of agents questioned in unison.

Captain shrugged. "That's for you to find out. Is he using drug mules, an underground railroad..."

"A submarine...." Another agent muttered. His name was Ruben. Although his remark was followed by laughter, knowing Ruben,  he probably meant what he said. He always seemed so serious, never cracking jokes intentionally.

"All we know for sure..." Captain put an end to the chuckles. "...is that we can't have a warrant for his arrest without this information."

Like your fellow agents your brows were furrowed with your mind in deep thought. Importing 700 kilos of cocaine into a country was highly impressive, but also impossible to do, at least in one go.

"Dias, Y/N!"

You raised your head with the calling of your name, so did Ruben.

"My office, now!"

You left the meeting lounge, follwing Captain Harlow towards his office. A giant shadow was casted after you as Ruben walked slowly behind.

"Please have a seat." The captain said, shutting his office door, gesturing for you and Ruben to take the seats before his desk.

"All agents will be on this case in some type of way, but I'm going to need you two to go undercover for this one."

"Understood." Ruben nodded.

"For how long?" You questioned.

"A month, but depending on the progress of the case the period might be longer or shorter."

You nodded.

"Glad you're all aboard. It will be demanding but I see you two as the perfect fit for this job."

"What's the mission Cap?" Ruben said, leaning forward in his chair.

"I need you two to pose as husband and wife on a exclusive vacation to Madeira."

"What?" You and Ruben exclaimed. It was the first time he turned to look at you today. Although it was a brief look, a displeased look.

"You can't be serious Captain? I thought you were assigning us solo missions?" He protested.

"Well I'm not. From now on you'll be Mr and Mrs Moreno, a knewly wed couple enjoying a month at Resort de la Martinez. Alejandro Martinez owns a private vacation resort on the Island. We suspect that some of his illegal shipping trades happens there. The resort is a great way for him to keep an eye on his operations. Which is now your jobs."

"To keep an eye on the merchendis?" You said, eager to get on with the the mission. Ruben however looked to have a headache coming on, impulsively rubbing the side of his scalp.

"Exactly. Any suspicious activity you see reports back to me. Enjoy the mission agents."

"This is unbelievable."

You followed Ruben with quick steps as he stormed out of Captain Harlows office. You followed him all the way back to his desk.

"Well, you better believe it." You said. "Captain has us on a plane to Madeira tonight. "

Ruben turned to look at you, arms crossed before him. "What's your name again Rose?"

You rolled your eyes "It's Y/N."

"Right, Y/N. Look, I know you're new here and all, but you must know that I don't do co-signed missions."

"Oh, I know." You snorted. It had only gone three months since you switch agencies, however it didn't take you to long to figure out the hierchy around here. For example, Ruben was considered to be one of the top agents. You, as a woman and a newbie, considered to be at the bottom.

"There is a first for everything, Ruben." You said.

His eyes widen in surprise. He took a good look at you, considering that it was the first time that he actually looked at you twice.

"Anything else you wish for me to know about you?" You asked.

Ruben grunted in response, turning his back on you to sort out the many files on his desk.

You shook your head, returning to your own desk.

It was going to be a long month.

[whipitgod]

Thinking About Birds

Hannibal lecter x Will Graham

oneshot - wc: 2.7k

summary: post fall hannigram, will wishes he had thought about all of the little things that come with living with hannibal, and hannibal tap dances on wills last nerve!

warnings: language, mentions of canon typical murder stuff, somewhat crack-ish while also being serious at parts, tooth rotting domestic sweetness

a/n: Thank you for the continued support you are all so amazing!!! per usual this was supposed to be shorter than it turned out but i just can’t help my self apparently lol. If you like this remember to leave a like/reblog! maybe even follow me :D! Happy reading!!

Will blinked awake slowly, shifting slightly to glance at the small digital clock on the nightstand; the numbers on the display reading 4:30. The red glow of the numbers feels almost taunting as he pauses to wonder what had even woken him up, he hasn't had a nightmare in months, at least not a real one. A thought crosses his mind that leaves a taste of bitter irony in his mouth, he hadn’t had a real nightmare since he had begun sharing a bed with Hannibal.

Will quells a laugh that bubbles up inside him and threatens to escape at the thought; the very cause of the nightmares that had plagued him for years, now being the thing that keeps them at bay. Will turns to look at where Hannibal sleeps, finding his side of the bed empty; Will can hear Hannibal clattering around in the bathroom in a failed attempt to be quiet so as to not wake the ex-profiler.

Will lets out a harsh breath through his nose in irritation as he hears what he believes to be, based on the sound of the bottle hitting the vanity in their shared bathroom, step 9 of Hannibal's outrageously long skincare routine. He reaches blindly for the lamp on the nightstand, making note of the fact that the sun has yet to even begin to rise. The lamp turns on with a soft click as he finally grabs ahold of the chain he had been reaching for, the room flooding with a warm yellow light that still manages to grate on Will's nerves.

He pushes himself up so he's sitting with his back against the ornately carved wooden headboard Hannibal had insisted on purchasing for their new shared bedroom, grumbling quietly to himself as he does, “Who the hell wakes up this early,” he swats at the nightstand in an attempt to find his phone, “and who needs a 15 step skincare routine,” finally managing to grasp his phone, but only after knocking a few of the random things he keeps piled on his nightstand, much to Hannibal's dismay, to the ground, “I mean jesus christ Hannibal, just get some damn botox.”

Almost as if summoned by Will’s quiet words of discontent, the door to the bathroom opens and Hannibal steps back out into the room, seeming shocked to have woken Will when he spots the younger man awake and reading something on his phone. The shock on the cannibal’s face stirs up another bout of irritation inside Will; why is he acting surprised? Hannibal's morning routine has woken Will more times than he can count in the few months that they had been living together in the small home. Hannibal makes slow strides over to the bed where Will is now looking at him with poorly masked annoyance, “I’m sorry if I woke you,” the man says, entirely too chipper and awake sounding for Will’s taste, “I was trying to be quiet.”

Will lets out a displeased huff at this, choosing to forgo a response. He spares Hannibal a short glance before focusing back on the article he had been reading on his phone, the older man sighs at this before moving to the closet to retrieve his clothes for the day. Will was glad the man’s fashion taste had become significantly more tame since they had settled into the home in argentina, he supposes it's probably due in part to Hannibal not having anywhere to get the clothes near where they’re staying, but Will wouldn’t put it past the man to have the clothes shipped in from somewhere else, and if anyone could find a tailor near where they reside it would be Hannibal.

Honestly Will isn’t a hundred percent sure why the change in Hannibal's choice in garment had occurred, Will is almost certain that he hadn't seen the cannibal wear a tie in the entire time they've been living together, let alone his previous daily attire of carefully tailored three piece suits. Hannibal now opting to wear a wardrobe of mostly linen, the flowy material good for staying cool in the warm environment they now reside in; Will supposes the temperature of the country they've been staying in might have something to do with the change, he would imagine that the humidity might make a polyester blend a bit impractical.

He watches the man dress as his thoughts unfold, he had never anticipated his life turning out this way, but he isn’t upset about it, even though sometimes he feels like he should be. The guilt that used to haunt his every waking moment now only graces him on rare occasions. He’s always able to stamp the guilt down as quickly as it arrives now with a silent acknowledgement that his guilt will not purify him; guilt does not make you innocent. Is the man that sobs out apologies at his trial any less of a murderer than the man that doesnt?

He’s broken from his thoughts by the sound of Hannibal shutting the closet door with a gentle thud, the man pausing to look in the floor length mirror he had insisted on having in the room momentarily, the same mirror that Will had only agreed to have in the room so long as it was not facing the bed in any way. Seemingly satisfied with his appearance he turns and faces the bed where Will sits watching him.

When he spots the look Will is giving him his features soften slightly, “I’m going to make some coffee dear,” the pet names were also a new addition that had seemed to come with the shared house, “I will start on a light breakfast in an hour or so.”

Will meets his eyes then, offering a small smile despite the irritation of being woken up this early that still simmered gently within him, “I’ll be out in a bit.”

the response seems to satisfy the older man because he nods at this before leaving the room to begin making what is no doubt a very overly complicated pot of coffee. Will misses shitty coffee every once in a while, don't get him wrong the stuff Hannibal makes is amazing, but Will still occasionally craves the bitter watered down coffee that you’d find in small diners and gas stations. Hannibal would probably have an aneurysm if he were to catch Will drinking the stuff now, he muses silently, the thought causing a small huff of laughter to escape him before he can stop it.

There were a lot of things that Will hadn't considered when he had thrown them over the cliff. He wasn't trying to kill them, at least he doesn't think he was, he honestly still wasn’t quite sure what his plan was when he had pulled Hannibal into the water with him. He doesn't dwell on this line of thinking for long, choosing not to rehash an internal conversation that he’s had on many occasions in the months they had been living in the home together.

Will hadn't really considered what it would be like to live with the cannibal before he had plunged them into that freezing water; he finds himself wishing that he had quite frequently though, especially when Hannibal wakes him up with the noise of his excessive morning routine.

Will had never really given much thought of what living with the cannibal would be like prior to their dive, at least not in any practical way. He had imagined what it would be like to wake up next to Hannibal, he’d found himself fantasizing frequently about drifting to sleep tangled with the man.

Funnily enough, his fantasies never included the way the cannibal lived his day to day life when Will wasn't present, they never included how Hannibal would go about mundane everyday tasks. He really wishes he had; he’s always known, at least on some level, that the man was eccentric and particular, he just hadn’t anticipated all of his quirks.

He regrets not considering all of the little things, like the man's obsession with his morning and night routines, or the way he mutters quietly to himself when he reads at night next to Will in bed, that one Will finds particularly frustrating; he remembers confronting Hannibal about it one night as they lied in bed one evening about a month into their stay. He lets out a soft puff of air as he recalls the memory.

-——————————

Will had been growing increasingly more and more frustrated with the sounds of Hannibal reading; prior to living with the man, he had considered reading to be an almost silent activity, yet here Hannibal was disproving that notion in a way that made Will want to tear the book from his hands.

Hannibal let out a please hum at what he was reading, drumming his fingers against the back cover of the book, “How interesting,” the sound of a page turning grated against Will's nerves and added to the growing irritation he had been feeling; Hannibal made a noise that sounded curious, continuing to drum his fingers against the back. Will wanted to stab him with one of the pens that sat on his cluttered nightstand. Hannibal let out another pleased noise, this one sounding satisfied like he satiated the momentary curiosity that had occurred from the last page before muttering a soft, “Very interesting.”

Will was gonna strangle him. He had never been able to find the strength to go through with it but he reasons he had never had to sit and listen to Hannibal read while he was trying to fall asleep next to him. The sound of another page turning doing nothing to calm the frustration bubbling up inside him; he doesn’t often allow himself to indulge in the fantasies of killing the irritating man but every once in a while Hannibal will do something that annoys Will to the point where he no longer feels any guilt about picturing the man's demise. Hannibal lets out another inquisitive noise and Will fights the urge to reach over and punch him, he’s too angry to even want to kill him at this point, he just wants to get one good lick in.

Hannibal breaths out a contented noise before muttering again, “Very, very interesting.” Will sits up with a speed he didn't know he was capable of, Hannibal jumping slightly as he had assumed the younger man was asleep. Hannibal had never been a very expressive man but in that moment as he stares at a borderline manic looking Will, his expression is that of a deer in headlights.

“Reading is a silent activity!” It comes out as more of a yell than he had intended but Will finds it hard to care, all of the anger that has been steadily building for the last hour reaching a boiling point, “How interesting can a book about-” Will stops quickly, eyes scanning over the cover of the book in Hannibal's hands before letting out a laugh that bordered on hysterical. Will finally noticing that the other man had been reading a book about the migration patterns of different birds in the region; not even attempting to finish the sentence he had started he plows on, “are you fucking kidding me?!”

Hannibal chose not to say anything, his expression now contrite as he closes the book with a soft thud, setting it gently down onto his lap not breaking eye contact with Will, a little afraid that the man might lunge at him if he looks away.

The fight leaves Will almost immediately, huffing out an exacerbated, “un-fucking-believable.” before laying back down with more aggression than Hannibal had thought possible. It’s quiet for a couple minutes, save for the sound of Will’s agitated breathing and the occasional disgruntled mutters emanating from where Will lays facing away from Hannibal. The cannibal can’t pick up on everything that Will is grumbling, the quiet words of anger somewhat muffled against his pillow but he picks up on some of it; a quiet disbelieving, “fucking birds.” Hannibal misses the rest of what he says but the cannibal understands the message, finally moving to set the book on the nightstand. The older man sits motionless for a few moments after setting the book down until Will snaps out an angered, “Go the hell to bed Hannibal.”

Normally Hannibal would push back, abhorring the rudeness of Will’s statement but in that moment he decides not to argue with the empath; He decides to simply flick off the lamp and lay down against his pillow. He reaches out to pull Will to his chest but as soon as Will feels the man's hand touching his arm he lets out a harsh, “Don’t.”

Hannibal feeling properly scolded in a way that he had rarely felt before decides not to make things worse by pushing, he rolls onto his back and drifts off to the sound of Will’s breath evening out as he finally falls asleep.

————————————

Will is pulled out of the memory by the sound of hannibal calling his name announcing that the coffee was done; He isn't quite sure how long he had been sat there thinking about that night but given how long it takes Hannibal to make coffee with the ridiculous contraption he insists on using Will would wager that its been at least twenty minutes; Will had suggested buying a keurig one morning and he swears to this day that the cannibals eye had started twitching, Will had conceding quickly, worried that the knife Hannibal was using to make breakfast might find its way into his stomach.

Standing up from the bed with a sigh as he stretches his sore muscles; He’s had a back ache since they had taken their tumble, having been on the bottom when they hit the water his back had taken a majority of the damage, the raging water unforgiving as they crashed into it.

Stretching his back one more time with a pained groan, he strides leisurely out of the bedroom and into the kitchen where Hannibal was sat reading something on his tablet, the older man looking up to greet him as he crosses the threshold into the room, “Good morning dear,” Hannibal gestures to the second mug sitting on the table, “I already poured you a cup.” Will offers him a soft smile in return, pulling out the chair closest to the other man before sitting down and pulling the mug towards him.

They sit in a comfortable silence for a bit, the only sounds between them being the gentle clank of mugs being picked up and sat down as they drink their coffee, the domesticity of the act never failing to stir up complicated emotions in will; the empath had never considered how much hannibal would behave like a housewife once they had began living together.

He stares at the Hannibal while he gets lost in thought, his mind filled with memories of multiple events that had taken place in the last couple weeks alone; Some of Hannibal’s behavior and habits seemed more fitting for a forty year old suburban housewife, not a serial killer with a penchant for cannibalism. This thought makes him let out a small chuckle, Hannibal's head snapping towards him at the sound. Hannibal gives an inquisitive hum, his gaze expectant as he locks eyes with Will; Will simply waves a hand at the man's curiosity, deciding to take another sip of his coffee instead of responding.

Will startles at the realization of how domestic they've become, from their frequent bickering to their habit of sitting in comfortable silences simply enjoying the others presence. This realization doesn't scare him the way he thinks it should; something about it feels right, like this is just what was supposed to happen. Will can't help but let out another laugh at the thought, the idea of this outcome being fated is humorous to him in ways he can't quite pinpoint.

At the noise Hannibal looks at him again, watching him for a moment before asking a gentle, “Is something funny?” In response to the question Will gives a gentle shake of his head, a small smile playing on his lips. Hannibal quirks a brow at his reaction, before speaking again, “It sure seems like something is funny,” he sets his tablet down, giving his full attention to Will, “Care to share?”

the empath huffs out another gentle laugh, he shakes his head softly once more before answering, “I’ve just been thinking about birds.”

[applepiesupreme]

American Apple Pie

Pairing: Low/Mid Honor Arthur Morgan and female OC.

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Savigne Ricci is a temporary guest at the Van der Linde camp. Her path crosses with the enforcer of the gang, Arthur Morgan, and despite their differences, a relationship develops between them. Whole lot of smut and fluff, slow burn-ish.

Chapter 30

AOC link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54945853/chapters/149566579

She was growing to like Shady Belle, or rather, disliking it less. If she were given a choice, she would have gladly returned to the former two spots, but the ride to work was considerably shorter and work was getting busier, so there was at least that.

Ecco hadn’t acknowledged her since the last incident. She had been on edge for a long time, but as he continued to ignore her day after day, her wariness had passed. Just as she was getting lulled by safety, thinking whatever happened had been it and that wasn’t so bad after all, he showed up at her station as if he could read her mind.

“Go to my office, Savigne.”

She froze and broke out in cold sweat. Several moments she lingered, unable to make her feet move. Even though nobody was paying attention, she felt like everyone knew, that all of Saint Denis knew and talked behind her back. She felt deep shame despite not having done anything at all as she slowly walked up the stairs. When she arrived at his office, it was empty. There was only one chair. So she waited, standing across from his desk. 

A minute passed. Then two. Then ten. After twenty minutes she checked her pocket watch and wondered if she was going crazy, if she had dreamed up the entire thing. She watched the slow, tedious crawl of the hands of the watch. Thirty minutes. She vacillated between going back down and waiting on. Maybe he had forgotten? Maybe he was sidetracked? She remained rooted, too afraid to go against his word. Her feet hurt from standing all day but there was nowhere to sit down, so she stood on. The days were shorter now, she watched the window darken and looked at her watch again. Forty-two minutes. He must have forgotten she told herself. I’ll wait five more minutes and then I’ll leave. 

Five minutes later she thought what's another five minutes. She shuffled on her feet and timidly eyed the desk. The temptation to lean against it was overwhelming. The pain on her feet moved up to her lower back. Next time she checked the time, it was an hour. She went to the door and looked out. Chef Ecco was nowhere to be seen. Again she thought she should leave. It was getting late and she was tired. And yet, she returned to the room and stood around. The fear of offending Chef Ecco even more than she had and inviting his ire intimidated her. He was already clearly displeased with her and he could fire her. Then she would eat into her savings and her savings were for the cabin. 

The notion of the cabin gave her strength and she ignored the pain pulsing in her lower back by going over recipes in her head. When she ran out of those she wanted to check the time again but didn’t, afraid to see how late it was. The room got dark. She didn’t know if she should turn on the gas lamp so she stood there in the dark for what felt like hours as the pain in her legs became unbearable. She felt shamefully weak and small, debating how she could allow herself to be treated like this and counter-debating that after all the waiting she had done, it would be foolish to leave now.

Saint Denis transformed outside the window as the arc lights in the streets flickered on. She started to fall into a dreamy state of mind where she hung in limbo, separate from everything. She thought about her childhood and all the orphanages she'd been through and the friends she had lost contact with one way or another and Sister Rodriguez and Sister DuBois and her ex flames, her ex bosses - the entire arc of her life that had started with her carried off the ship with only a tattered book and a photo pressed between the pages, cared for and fed by strangers to now: the chapter where she had somehow, some way managed to find her own family. Sometimes, when she was tense like she was now, she liked to construct imaginary moments in her head. Like introducing Arthur to her parents. Who - because she conveniently could 'remember' them however she wanted - were funny and mischivieous and warm. She imagined helping her mom in the kitchen but her mom would be the superior cook, teaching Savigne the best tricks while her dad opened the door and there was Arthur, with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Scratch that, that didn't look right at all. Maybe a box of sweets? No, not right either. More like with a deer slung over his shoulder? God, that sounded absurd. 

When she heard the door close behind her she jumped and broke out of her reverie. She looked over her shoulder and saw his silhouette standing by the door, a shadow against other shadows. He didn’t light the lamp and he didn’t move. There was a long silence.

He didn’t apologize, but simply said “Good.”

She turned back to stare at the window. “I need to go home,” she said finally, a tad irritated. “My boyfriend…”

“I want to talk about your future prospects,” was the smooth interjection.

She heard the rustle of clothes behind her and for a moment panicked, thinking he was undressing. She was terrified to look, and so she didn’t. Her heart was thumping in her chest. When he glided to stand right behind her she felt herself start to tremble.

“You’re a good cook Savigne,” was the sigh in her ear. “But that’s not enough. Good cooks are a dime a dozen.”

She cleared her throat but when she tried to speak, her voice was gone.

She flinched when she felt his hand on her upper left arm, light and ephemeral, crawling up to her neckline to casually tuck loose strands of hair behind her ear.

“Don’t move!” he ordered when she tried to shift away and she froze with the low command. She hated the idea that he could feel her tremble.

“Do you like it here?” was the same mild question he had asked her the first time and it triggered something in her, as if she was a lab rat, conditioned for it.

Not anymore, she thought but what she said was “I’m learning a lot, Chef.” 

He chuckled at her answer, fingers brushing over the shell of her ear as she resisted the urge to slap his hand away.

“Have you learned that everything has a price?”

She wasn't sure how to answer this loaded question and for long moments just watched the dust motes lazily dance in the beam of light that was coming from the streetlamp.

“I need to go home,” she droned again finally, feeling short of breath. “My partner will be worried.”

She couldn't see his face as he stood behind her left shoulder but sensed the flare up of his anger. A huff of disappointment as he shifted to her right. She held very still as fingers spidered down her chest, lightly circled a breast. Suddenly a flash of the Murfree incident sparked in her mind and it was like a gut punch. These two men touching her against her will overlapped and for a moment a sense of dislocation and confusion washed over her and she wasn’t sure where she stood in space and time. 

“When you’re here, be here,” he snarled and the feeling passed as the present solidified. 

She felt his palm ghost down her breast and bile rose in her throat as her shuddering intensified. The slow, deep intake of a breath behind her right ear told her that he enjoyed her discomfort. 

“I have an excellent job for you,” he muttered as he came around to stand before her. His hands, deceptively strong after years of kneading and scrunching and molding, held her waist, before they traveled up. His breath smelled of peppermint as he puffed in her face and she had a distant thought that she would hate the scent from here on throughout her life.

Then something very strange happened - Savigne felt herself fracture into two.

She stood there as he gently palmed her breasts, sensitive and swollen with her expected period, revolted at herself for letting it happen but too hypnotized to act. 

But she was also outside the window, screaming mutely and beating on the glass to wake herself up. 

His lips moved but she didn't hear him. What she heard was the smack of the palms on the window pane - tha thump, tha thump, tha thump - a deep, primal sound she heard whooshing and beating in her ears.

Only when the hands on her breasts clenched and a needle sharp pain jolted through her, did she manage to whimper and take in a shuddering breath and the cotton in her ears fell off. The world became louder, sharper, warmer.

“…good,” she caught the last bit of the sentence cooed softly in her ear.

She stood swaying on her feet, trying to gather her thoughts when he idly stepped around her and disappeared behind her back.

A match was struck and the light that flicked on in the room startled her and hurt her eyes.

Footsteps approached, then passed her as Ecco walked around his desk and sat in his chair. 

He huffed at the paperwork piled on his desk and casually checked the folders, stacking them up in their proper order. She watched him, marveling how she had thought him handsome and charming. He looked slimy and dirty, beads of sweat lined up on his greasy mustache; hair caked stiff with pomade, littered with specks of dandruff.

“This job I have for you…” he sighed, distracted by the folder in his hand. “There is this ball coming up. I was invited to cook for it. And I’m going to pick a few people to come along…” His dark eyes turned up to her, dull and lifeless. “Interested?”

She felt incapable of speech but someone did it for her and she heard herself stupidly say “A ball?”

He nodded. “Extra money.”

She blinked at him. The speed with which he entered and left his moods intimidated and unbalanced her because she never knew what he would do a moment later, and she suspected that this was intentional. Very little with Chef Ecco, after all, was accidental. The precision and mastery of his meals, of his plating, of the set up of his menu - all things practiced and perfected through years of observation and mastery. This was no different to him than cooking she realized - something to be done with excellence and unsentimental perfection.

“Good money,” he pushed, taking her silence as hesitation.

Whoever was working her vocal cords, did it again:

“I never cooked for a ball before.”

He waved her argument away, all amicable smiles and easy banter. “Same thing. Easier if you ask me. Lots of cold hors d’ouvres and whatnot, so a lot of the cooking happens ahead of time. Lots of pastries. You’re good at those.”

“If you say so, chef,” she droned listlessly.

“I know you are,” he said warmly. “I actually have something particular in mind. Something…more traditional. Something a bit more Italian. Anyone can make a pie,” he said with mild disdain, “I want a desert that’s more unique.”

“Like what?” It was a surreal experience - hearing herself speak but not doing the talking. Like listening to her own voice on a gramophone but having no memory of the recording.

“How is your frutta martorana game?”

“I haven’t made that…in ages,” she heard herself concede.

“You’ll be great, I know it,” he waved her discomfort away. “You’re great at anything you set your mind to.” The warmth of his voice bolstered the idea that she was dreaming because surely this couldn't be the same man from minutes ago?

She felt her facial muscles strain as her mouth was pulled into a smile. “Where is this ball?”

“Mr. Bronte’s mansion.” The panes of her face moved and whatever expression that resulted in, made him ask “You know him?”

“I know of him.” She heard the tone of wariness in her own voice but he didn’t. 

“Important man,” he said and she noticed his nod of approval. “Anyhow, I mean to surprise him with something from the motherland. What do you think?”

“I think it’ll hit the mark,” Savigne said and her voice sounded muffled to her ears, like it was coming from the bottom of a well. “Especially if he’s Sicilian.”

He smiled conspiratorially when he replied: “I think so too.”

Then a jolt of her inner voice: Refuse.

“I…” she cleared her throat, “I’m not sure if I’m the right choice for the job, chef.”

“Don’t be silly,” he said dismissively, thumbing through the folder again.

Don’t take this as payment for what he did.

“Why, what did he do?” she thought morosely and the memory of minutes ago flared up in her. She was alarmed by how efficiently and quickly she had managed to rugsweep it.

Refuse!

“I don’t want to embarrass myself.”

He blinked up at her. 

“But what about the cabin?” she thought helplessly. “He said good money.”

Her inner voice was sharp like barbwire she had curled a fist on: REFUSE!

“I’m not a good fit,” she said with more determination.

His eyes hardened at her rejection and her breath caught in her throat. “Nonsense,” he said, giving her a weighed look, “You’re perfect. You will accept. I don’t do charity, you earned it.” He looked her a long moment, eyes boring into her, daring her to argue and to her own horror, proud as she imagined herself to be, she wilted under that stare like a child. Not that long ago she had believed Dutch to be intimidating, but when the moment came, she had easily stood up to, spoken back at Dutch. Ecco, not so much.

“Yes, chef,” she whispered at last.

He nodded curtly. “I stocked up marzipan. Practice until the ball. Now go.”

She dreamily marched out of the room on stiff legs and found herself in the street. Then she walked around for a while, her mind blank and dim, turning random corners, brushing against strangers. When she found a deserted alley she doubled over and threw up. One half was horrified to be vomiting in public like some drunkard, but the other half felt relieved as if she had thrown up all the dirt and ugliness and she was clean again. She stumbled away in shame and found a fountain and washed her mouth and her face. Then she walked some more and as she walked, like the focus of a pair of binoculars being adjusted until the image became crisp, her shattered halves glided over one another and solidified into one person again. 

When she looked up, she was surprised that she was standing across the door of the steakhouse. She stood there for a long time, watching the door, unsure what to do. 

Go home, said her inner voice eventually. It’s late.

She knew it to be true but still hesitated with indecision.

It was nothing. You're fine. Go home to your family.

The word mushroomed a deep feeling of warmth and safety in her gut and she turned around towards the stables to pick up Cricket.

Whenever she was late, he would sit by the main camp fire because it was right across the horses and today was no different. He jumped up and strode over when she rode in. 

"Was 'bout to ride out for ya," he said when he arrived. "Yer late."

She turned around and hugged him tightly and he stiffened a little with surprise. Embracing him all the way out by their distant tent used to make him uncomfortable, now he merely tensed up here in full view of the gang and it made her inexplicably but also immeasurably happy.

"Woman, yer drunk again?"

"No," she chuckled into his chest.

He gripped her shoulders and held her out to look at her face. He must have smelled the droplets of vomit on her clothes. "Ya got sick?"

“Threw up,” she sighed. “Did a lot of tasting today. Something I ate must have been off.” If he heard her lie, he didn't push. Instead he pulled the saddle off Cricket as she fed him an apple. Then he took the basket from her and strolled alongside her to their tent.

She thought about telling him about the ball but she knew he wasn't going to like it and she didn't have the energy to fight him about it tonight. “How was your day?” she asked instead.

“Fine,” was his typical stoic retort.

"My back is hurting something fierce," she sighed, giving him a side eye. "A massage would be nice."

"That so?" he grinned.

"But someone has to clean me up first."

He hummed with amusement. 

"Think you can help me with that?"

"I can try, ma'am."

The next day Chef Ecco was gone out of town and Savigne burst with so much joy at the news, she got into a work frenzy. It was as if she had twice the energy to spare as she chopped and whisked and shucked, food appearing in front of her like magic. One of the plates she prepared as a suggestion for the upcoming winter menu was so brilliant, the sous chef came over and inspected it from all angles and praised her until she turned red. She grinned self consciously, shy but proud and Sarah gave her a ‘well done’ smile from her station which boosted her spirits further.

Then she left Antoine’s and headed right to the market and shopped until her basket grew heavy. She saw a little dirty kitten in a corner and cried a little, then almost lost her head in a heated argument with the butcher, then went to pick up Cricket and found herself prattling to Jebediah about how to make remoulade, all the while ignoring the deep confusion and disinterest in his face.

That evening she cooked Arthur meatloaf and sat watching him eat with gusto after her own meal was done.

“Do you chew? Like, at all?” she said with a mixture of concern and disgust. 

He grunted and nodded in confirmation, her sarcasm lost on him.

She sighed and watched the gang idle about, feeling antsy and restless and brimming. In her mind, she was gearing up to have a fight with him because she knew he wasn't going to like her cooking for Bronte and just then the universe decided to trip her:

“Bronte’s gonna have a ball in a few days.” he said around his food. “‘M tellin’ ya so you don’ spin tales in that head o’yours when ya see me all fancy.”

She blinked at him, stupefied. “W-what?” was all she managed a long while later.

He ran his tongue along his teeth and took a sip from his whiskey before he clarified: “‘M goin’ to some silly ball. Don’ want ya to think 'm meetin' a woman or some other nonsense cause I cleaned up.”

“First of all..." she said coolly "...I don't have a single jealous bone in my body." She ignored the dry side eye he gave her. "And second, I guess I'll see you there!"

"How d'ya mean?"

“I have been asked to cook for the ball," she gloated and sat back in her chair. He gave her a sharp look and swallowed his food. “What?” she said with unease when he remained quiet.

“Waitin’ for ya to say you refused.”

“What!? I can’t refuse.”

His eyebrows rose. “Said you was asked, didn’ ya?”

“It’s not that kind of asking,” was her annoyed answer. “I was politely told.” When he didn’t divert his gaze: “What now?”

“Aint��� a good idea.”

She huffed in disbelief. “You just told me you’re going yourself!”

He completely breezed over that point. “Ya don’ wanna mingle with these folks, Savigne.”

“Who’s mingling? I’m just going to be in the kitchen, cooking food.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yer excused,” he said around his food after he stuffed an enormous piece of meatloaf into his mouth.

There was a long silence as she watched him chew with disbelief. “You know, it’s sort of amazing, your hypocrisy.” She enjoyed his startled pause. “Are you seriously telling me you’re going but I can’t?” Her anger sizzled.

His eyes flicked at her. “This man took Jack.”

“You think I hit my head or something? I know he took Jack.”

He continued his dinner for a few moments. “Then ya know it ain’t safe.”

“How come you’re going, anyway?”

“Was invited. With Dutch and others.”

She blinked again and almost laughed because he had to be joking. When he ate on as if it was perfectly normal, she said “Are you serious?”

He did his ‘sure, why wouldn’t I be?’ shrug. 

“The man who took Jack invited you guys to a ball?”

He hummed in affirmation. Still maddeningly eating. Her temper flared up properly.

“And you accepted?”

“Dutch wants to go,” he said, taking a sip from his whiskey. “Thinks we can…find something for us there.”

She gaped at him as he refilled his bowl.

First of all, that meatloaf was heavy and rich and a third bowl was obscene.

Second, and more importantly, he actually had the audacity to ask her not to attend while he himself was going to…what were the words he used… ‘mingle with these folks’.

A few moments later he did a double take at her face. 

“Y’alright?”

“Actually no,” she sputtered, feeling the heat rising to her cheeks.

“What’s the ma-”

“The matter is that you’ve been lecturing me on not getting mixed up with these people and you’re actually going to the damn ball!”

“Woman, I ain’t goin’ cause I wanna,” was his exasperated response.

“Same,” she quipped and crossed her arms.

“Ain’t the same.”

“Why?”

He opened his mouth but she was faster: 

“I tell you why,” she spoke over him. “You’re a damn hypocrite, that’s why!” she hissed. She hated how hot it was here. How stifling. She unbuttoned the top button of her blouse.

He seemed surprised at the fervor of her reaction and slowly put down his fork. 

“Now listen here…” He cleared his throat and took a moment to grab the napkin to wipe his beard. 

“No! Who cares what your explanation is? You’re a hypocrite. You’ll say this and then you’ll turn around and say that!” She glared at the campfire. People still lighting fires in this heat was also obscene.

He looked at her a long moment. Eyed his meatloaf with longing and then looked at her again. She wanted to strangle him for that alone. 

“I don’ like doin’ it,” he said, softer, with a timbre of appeasement as if she was a horse he was trying to calm down. It flared the fire in her hotter. 

“Who said I was?! It’s my damn job!”

“Fair. But...”

“But what?” God she wished he would say something outrageous. That fork was tempting her to grab it and stick it in his hand.

He gave out a frustrated sigh and tried a different angle: “Savigne. Darlin’…”

“Oh this should be good.”

“…don’ wanna worry ‘bout ya when ‘m on a job.”

“Sounds like a you problem to me.”

“Sure,” he said patiently. “But yer my woman and-”

“Arthur Morgan,” she growled as she felt the pulse starting to beat behind her eyes, “Do you actually think that means you can tell me what to do?”

“Course not,” he scoffed. A moment later: “Kinda.” He sighed at the glare he gave her. “Yer safety is my job, ‘member?”

“This is not a treasure hunt,” she hissed. “Or living alone in a cabin. I’m going to a god damn ball as a cook.”

“This man as dangerous as them Murfrees,” he growled. “More!”

“I’m around a dangerous man all day every day!” she said with some heat.

There was a moment of silence. “The hell that mean?”

She quickly looked away.

“Savigne?”

“I was talking about the gang. I mean you. Technically.” she mumbled a while later.

He leaned back in his chair. “Was you now?” was his narrow eyed question. Given the circumstances, that save was nothing but spectacular and yet Arthur Morgan didn’t buy it. He sat there like a bloodhound who had caught a whiff and was about to put his nose down to track it.

“You know what,” she flustered and rose up. “You go on and eat your meatloaf.” She turned towards the trees.

“The hell ya goin’?”

“Going for a walk,” she yelled over her shoulder and ran off before he could sink his teeth into the problem and shake it out of her.

"God damn hypocrite," she seethed, stalking through the dark forest, working herself up. "The problem", she mumbled as she pushed branches out of the way and tripped on roots, "is men." The more she thought on it, the more apparent it seemed. At the root of all her problems: men. Infuriating, despicable, outrageous men. Mr. Rochester? Man. Murfrees? Men. Bronte? Man. Dutch? Man.

Ecco her mind whispered and she flinched at the thought, then quickly stuffed it away.

She fanned herself, feeling all hot and bothered. Her head swam and there was an odd pulse between her legs. She wished her period would finally come so she could be done with it. For weeks now she had been stuck on this ridiculous Ferris wheel, going round and round from angry to aroused to anxious to elevated.

"Men are the problem,” she muttered. “They’re not good for anything.”

An image flashed in her mind of Arthur thrusting into her, his eyes devouring her as the table under her creaked furiously.

She halted and cleared her throat. "Okay now," she mumbled, "pull yourself together, what the hell? 

"The problem is men", she started again but then she remembered the feeling of his trigger finger inside her, brushing her sensitive spot and making her shiver.

She stopped, panting with confusion and a little horrified at the coiling in her gut.

"No, no, no, no," she hissed. "The problem is…"

The way he had moaned her name when she was on her knees, pleasuring him on his birthday.

She felt herself get wet and gasped with disbelief.

Suddenly she heard his running foot falls behind her. 

"Savigne!"

She dived into the thicket, slowly so the bushes won't shiver and crawled around as carefully as she could. 

"Ya gonna make me hunt you down?" he called, amused, and he already sounded closer. “Ain’t gonna take long, tell ya that.”

Silence. She stood stock still. The ego of this man, she thought, incensed.

"Last chance, Savigne," he drawled, closer still.

Even from here she could hear the grin in his voice and it did make the coil in her gut shiver. She listened to the crunching of his steps draw near and softened her breath. Moments later his boots appeared in her sights.

"So be it," he chuckled darkly.

He dropped down to his haunches, back turned to her and inspected the ground. This made her very uneasy and she almost jumped up to protest that it’s unfair. She hadn't taken tracks into consideration!

A moment later he rose up and walked off her field of vision. She took a silent breath of relief. She was about to move on but then thought that he was way too quiet. Maybe he was waiting for her to pop out? So she sat there, listening with utmost attention to the deep silence. Her hands closed on a thick stick and she carefully hefted it, rose just a little and threw it far to her right. The crunch of steps heading in that direction made her grin and she slowly slithered through the undergrowth in the opposite direction.

Idiot, she thought and shook her head. That was the thing about men, they always pranced around like they ruled the world but…She stopped in her tracks. Men did actually rule the world. Whatever, she thought, that’s not the point.

She emerged a while later and peeked up carefully to look behind her. Nothing. She smugly brushed her skirts and turned around with a grin on her face and almost screamed with surprise. He was standing right there, one shoulder pressed against the tree, arms crossed, hips angled away. She gawked at him then morosely turned to the direction she came from in disbelief, then turned back to him again.

“Ya know,” he drawled, eyes locking to hers, “that was kinda embarrassingly easy.”

“You cheated!” she yelped.

“That so?”

“Yeah, you tracked me! Doesn’t fucking count!”

He chuckled and bounced off the tree. “Next time,” he said lowly, “maybe don’ stomp so hard ya leave tracks.”

“You god damn…” she hissed as she marched towards him. The fact that he was utterly unfazed by her menacing approach irritated her to no end. “…smug…cocky…conceited…” He merely straightened to loom over her, rolling his shoulders, visibly amused by her fury. “…man!” she spat.

It was hard to say which one of them was more shocked when she found herself gripping the lapels of his shirt to pull him down and crushing her lips against his. He froze with surprise for a moment, then - always a man who never rebuked her advances - swung his arms around her and kissed her back just as aggressively, lips and tongue moving ferociously against hers.

“I’m going to that ball,” she hissed and grabbed his hair and jerked his head lower as she kissed him again. He grunted with the pain but followed her command, hands grasping her waist to crush her against him.

“The hell y’are,” he grunted as he walked her backwards and threw her against the tree.

She felt a shudder run through her from head to toe as her hands flew to his gun belt. “You don’t give a damn about what I want, do you?” she growled as she reached for his trousers next and almost yanked the buttons off in her haste to undo them while his hands hungrily clutched her breasts and his mouth descended on hers.

“Course I care,” he snarled but his breath hitched as she fell to her knees in front of him and immediately took him in her mouth. He flinched with surprise and couldn’t avoid the loud moan that escaped his lips. His cock stiffened in her mouth and she hummed with pleasure, gliding her lips up the shaft to take him deeper. One of his hands flew to the tree to support himself as a shiver went down his legs while the other tangled with her hair, undecided between drawing her closer and pushing her away. The decision was made for him when her nails raked the back of his thighs as she twirled her tongue around his swelling head and then proceeded to swallow him to the hilt while he moaned again and hissed a Christsakes above her. She moaned too, feeling the burn of the fire between her legs and the wetness soaking her bloomers. 

She sucked harder, setting a ruthless pace as he squirmed above her and his moans grew louder than he usually allowed himself to be. “Christ!…woman…oh…jeeeesus…ah…Savigne…damn”. It was like music to her ears, especially the soft cry that he let loose every time the tip of her tongue touched under his swollen head. She felt besotted with lust, absolutely drenched in it, she felt like she could fuck him till morning and then some. Her head was swimming and her cunt was aflame. Arthur was writhing above her, stunned and reduced to a blabbering mess and she felt like she would come just by listening to the sounds he was making. The power she held over him at that moment was like fiery whiskey, going straight to her head.

She gasped with surprise and disappointment when he pushed her off and roughly grabbed her arm to pull her up. She was turned around and shoved against the tree. “Lies! You don’t fucking care,” she stammered as hands pulled up her skirt and ripped off her bloomers.

“Woman…” he growled into her ear as his fingers found her dripping folds. Her ass was pulled back harshly and she tried to steady herself, gripping the bark as he groaned and immediately pushed into her. She was so wet, he glided in smoothly despite his size. He gasped her name and swelled bigger in her with excitement.

“…would burn the world for ya,” he sighed in her ear, kissing her neck as he pulled out almost completely before the next sharp thrust that made her whimper.

This rendered her speechless for a moment and when she flustered and tried to come up with something witty, his hands pulled up her thighs, lifting her to the tip of her toes as he fucked the breath out of her lungs. She merely managed a raspy cry of ecstasy as he gently bit her neck and increased his pace. In the back of her mind there was a certain pride to have driven him this wild because even at his neediest, Arthur had never taken her rough like this. She bit into her lip to muffle herself and mewled with the pleasure, feeling every nerve in her body light up with fire. Just when she thought it couldn’t get any better he angled her slightly, making her eyes roll back and her toes curl and a few more smacks later she was undone as her mind turned white with the force of her orgasm. 

He whispered a curse as his motions became more vigorous and desperate and soon followed her, the pitch of his gasps rising as he emptied himself into her. Her eyelids fluttered and the sharp sensation of rapture spread through her before it slowly dulled like a forest fire that had run out of trees to burn. She listened to the drumming of her heartbeat in her ears, her head still swimming in ecstasy. He carefully lowered her back on her feet, then steadied her with a light grip on her hips as she almost toppled, her legs still shaking. His panting behind her was loud in the hushed forest. 

A few moments later he asked her if she was okay and she gasped a ‘yes’ as her hands crawled up the tree to straighten herself. He pulled his trousers back up and buttoned them, still breathing hard before he turned her around to look at her face. His thumb glided over her lower lip that she had punctured with her bite and his eyes, still churning and stormy, locked on hers before he lowered his forehead on hers. His harsh exhalations plumed down her face as he pressed her against himself with his hand on her lower back. 

“Savigne…” he managed between the puffs, “...ya possessed?”

“I think so,” she whispered, struggling to catch her breath, too. “Sorry.”

He scoffed, then kissed her temple. “Aint…complainin’…but…hate it when ya…run off.”

“Didn’t look…like you…hated it,” she wheezed. 

He chuckled lowly and retrieved his gun belt from the ground with a grunt. She looked around, suddenly anxious if they had been far enough away from camp. The forest looked dark and empty. She couldn’t hear the camp either but that meant little as her pulse was beating in her ears. She wiped her hands over her face, moist from the humidity and the sweat and tried to push her hair back into shape. Then she gathered her torn bloomers, gave him a pointed look that earned her a shrug and a grin and stuffed them into the pocket of her skirt. 

“You owe me…underwear.” she panted. 

“Me?” he said, running his fingers through his wild hair. “This is all…on you.”

She groaned, now feeling abashed as she was coming down from that insane lust spike.

He chuckled at her state and took her hand, kissed her palm as he led her back. Their walk back was understandably a lot slower and calmer and went on for longer than she expected. They had managed to get pretty far with their furious chase so that was good at least. She beat her skirts to free any dust and debris. She saw the gated entrance of Shady Belle and wasn’t pleased that they had returned this way.

“You think they’ll know when they see us?”

He gave her a look. “I would.”

She groaned again, tried to tame her hair once more as he grinned wider at her discomfort.

“This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t followed me,” she hissed, annoyed by his nonchalance. 

“Course I followed,” he scoffed. “Ya ran like a wild beast. Sides…you know ya would have got lost.”

That much was true. 

“Ya cookin’ somethin’ in the food or what?” he asked, the grin on his face broadening. 

“Funny,” she said drily, then couldn’t help but click her tongue at his expression. He looked like the cat that ate the canary. “Don’t look so pleased with yourself.”

He just smirked. His eyes were warm and she was somewhat taken aback to see unmistakable love in them. Of course by now, having gotten to know him as well as she did, she knew Arthur loved her. But he loved her in his own way – he never said it, nor did he show it in the usual ways people do. The expression of his affection for her was a lot more subtle, more reserved and complicated. 

If she had been asked to explain it, she would have said that she knew he loved her because at times it felt supernatural how well he read her and it wasn’t hard to follow that he only read her as well as he did because he paid attention to her. Nobody paid this much attention to someone if they didn’t care enough about them. 

But rarely did she see it in his gaze as obviously as she did at that moment. It set her heart aflame.

They were close to the camp now. She retrieved her hand and smacked him on the forearm. “Stop. Grinning. Like. A. Fool!” she hissed. 

“Am a fool,” he shrugged, still grinning.

She clicked her tongue again in distaste and dared a glance at the gang as they turned to stroll towards their tent. They seemed to be occupied but you couldn’t trust this lot – they saw more than they let on and had way too much idle time on their hands to share the things between each other that they had missed. 

He was sauntering as if he had returned from some gallant deed and she couldn’t help but roll her eyes at his silliness. When they arrived at the table, his third meatloaf bowl was empty.

She glanced at his face and the stupefied vexation she found there made her erupt in chortles. She clamped her hand over her mouth when he gave her a baleful glance but the chortles devolved into cackles behind her palm.  

“Thought you was done with that,” John called from a distance. 

“You a stray or somethin’?” Arthur barked. “Eatin’ other people’s food?”

Savigne felt the sting of tears in the corner of her eyes.

John just shrugged and scratched the back of his neck, shifting on his feet. “Came to look for ya…food was just sittin’ there.”

Arthur gave her another side eye as she stood there, laughing and dabbing the tears off her eyes with her sleeves. He grabbed the back of the chair and slammed it to the ground hard before he sat down to pull his whiskey in front of him. 

“How come ya didn’ steal the whiskey too, ya mooch!” he yelled, his eyes hard on John. 

“I got whiskey,” John said dismissively.

“Unbelievable!” Arthur hissed.

“Was getting’ cold and all,” John tried and was cut off by Arthur’s sharp gaze. “You was gone,” he tried again, flustered.

“I like it cold, why I left it ya fool!” Savigne had just gained control over her cackling and almost broke into laughter again at that blatant lie.

“Sorry Savigne,” the other man called over. “It was delicious.”

She nodded in acceptance of the compliment as Arthur’s withering gaze made him finally scurry away. 

She fell into her chair, exhausted from bickering and running and fucking and laughing and this time it was him who clicked his tongue at her amusement. 

“This here your fault,” he said, annoyed.

“What!? Why?”

“Yer feedin’ these sponges and now we can’t leave food out no more. Too many god damn coons about.” 

She chuckled at that. “All I did was give them an extra pizza pie. Also, stop crying - that was your third bowl. I’ll make you more tomorrow,” she said, wiping the remnant of tears off her face.

He grumbled something incomprehensible as she sank on the other chair. In the distance, Javier strummed his guitar.

“I’m still going,” she said a while later.

“Guess ‘m gonna have to keep an eye on ya,”  he huffed. Then: “I want lazan ya.”

She grinned at the way he said it. “Okay.”

He seemed mollified as he drank his whiskey and she sat with him, placed a hand on his and watched the Moon rise.

[enormities-writes]

Meeting Him  | Simon Bellamy x GN! Reader

Summary: Reminiscing over reader's progression of a relationship with Simon.

Warnings: Swearing, staring, mutual pinning, kissing, cuddling, basically a bunch of fluff.

Words: 1,423

AN: This is my first ever fanfiction so sorry if it's rough or needs any work. I hope you enjoy :)

Masterlist

Please do not copy, translate, or repost any of my work. Thank you.

________________________

When I started my community service, I was kinda pissed, to say the least.

Tires strain to a stop as a silver car stops at the curb in front of a boring gray community building. A shoe creeps out of the vehicle and onto the asphalt with a slight pitter-patter. The car's shining doors meet the frame with a resounding slam.

Dark semi-circles reside underneath Y/n’s eyes, which roll after the conversation with the person driving. The tires give a loud screeeeech, and the car skids down the drop-off area and out of the parking lot.

The person stumbles up the scratchy concrete and yanks the cold metal handle to the building open with their fist.

The building is empty and unremarkable. Some bland colors through the chilly halls include a dull orange of uncomfortable chairs, printed “motivational” posters hanging up on the white walls as if anyone gave a shit about the people there, and not to mention the washed-out unflattering lighting the whole building has.

After changing into the paper-like orange jumpsuit, they go outside and join the other six delinquents.

I had just gotten there, and this kid with big, bright blue eyes could not stop staring at me.

They sit, crisscrossed on the concrete outside, beside a big reflective pond. A wooden paintbrush in their hands, leisurely dragging the coated bristles along the withered, metal bench. 

Y/n’s brain was practically melting from the constant burn of Simon's gaze on the side of their head.

The vibrant blue eyes glance up again from their occupied place of the covered graffiti on the park bench. 

Unlike the last fifteen times, a sigh comes from the now-opened mouth of the observee. Their head swiftly turns, the expression of their face less than enthusiastic. Lips planted in a firm line and eyes, although a little more energized than that morning, still tired. This time more than just physically.

The anxiety-ridden boy quickly moves his eyes back to the bench and the task at hand, as if he had never been gazing at the interesting person at all. Feeling the weight of the person’s gaze, he swallows the saliva in his mouth in a big gulp, trying to breathe with even, controlled breaths.

After Y/n looks off to their chore once more, Simon takes a second to smooth out the hair on his forehead with a rigid aggressive hand, a nervous tick of his.

Even though I felt slightly bad for him because of Nathans instigating comments, I still felt that he was a bit weird but could kind of tolerate him.

That was, until we were all slightly having fun. 

Y/n was carrying a chair over to its designated place as Nathan was rambling on and on about his step dad the man who lives with his mom.

Words flew out of the Irish boy's mouth for a time far too long to count. The second he slowed down to a stop and they would think it was finally over, he would just start back up again. But it’s better than the stuffy silence of the empty, echoey, hallways.

Placing down the plastic of a burnt orange chair, they look over and see Nathan's arm around Simon, his warm hand resting on the curve of the shorter man's shoulder.

A passerby would have guessed them to be great friends. However, they would most definitely pull a displeased face at the language that was spewing from their mouths. 

“Cock, anus, ballsack. Yeah?” The green-eyed guy asked, referencing the pixels that formed a raunchy picture on his flip phone.

Simons's mouth pulled up at the corners and created indents on the sides of his face. His ears lifted slightly and his full cheeks were rounded with the movement. His eyes were shiny and glistened with the happiness of being included and regarded as a friend.

Almost forgetting to let go of the chair, Y/n gazed at the boy with a twinkle in their eyes.

Admiring his boyish, crooked smile, the breath was stolen from their lungs. From his rosy cheeks to plump, delicate lips, Y/n had no power to not get sucked into the display of joy.

They were almost completely lost in the floaty space of their mind until Simons's icy blue eyes drifted over to them, this time Y/n being the one caught staring.

They cleared their throat and ducked their head, continuing to work, pretending their cheeks don't feel like they're burning. This just made his smile brighter than it already had been.

To say I tolerated him was an understatement. 

Then, there had been this weird stage of us admiring each other from afar, too scared or unsure of ourselves to do anything about it.

After being caught so many times staring, a person over time, doesn't care to look away anymore.

There is no embarrassment, that having died out a long time ago. Instead, one continues to openly gaze at the person, hoping that they will be there forever, just to examine the details of that person's face.

Nathan would loudly argue at the pair that they were giving each other “fuck me eyes”, but instead, they were simply admiring the beauty of the other. 

Light blue eyes swept across Y/n's face. Taking in all the details and perfectly placed imperfections. The indented pores or lightly shaded wrinkles. Light rays sprinkled past the clouds and rained down on their body.

If someone had asked him at that moment, he would have uttered truthfully that they looked like an angel. Ethereal. That's the only word that would come to his head.

A gust of air brushed past them on the windy day on top of the roof of the community service building.

The eyelashes of Y/n fluttered as they opened their eyes and immediately darted them in Simon's direction as if hearing his thoughts. 

He didn’t blush this time. Didn’t become embarrassed anymore. No anxious assumptions even crossed his mind. Instead, he continued to stare.

Y/n smiled lightly, taking the staring as a compliment. No inkling of judgment tracing their kind features.

All of a sudden, the button-up collar of Simons's uncomfortable orange jumpsuit seemed a little too tight.

I eventually got fed up with it.

The rubber of Converse tapping away on the linoleum floor is what caught Simon's attention. Glancing up with his beautiful blue eyes, he sees Y/n, the person he had been crushing on, determinedly strutting in his direction. Hair that made up his eyebrows came together in a furrow, a line indenting his skin in between them.

Y/n stopped in front of him, chest puffed out in faux confidence. “Go on a date with me.” Came from their mouth. It wasn’t a question. It was a demand. 

Simon openly gaped up at them from his sitting position. His mouth opened, jaw dropping in shock at the situation in front of him. “Y- yes.” He uttered once his brain caught up with his mouth, blinking way more than necessary. “Good.”

Y/n seemed to lose their mojo, figure relaxing from their rigid posture, and handed him their phone, waiting for him to put in his number. Simons is now the one who straightens up and accepts the piece of metal, quickly pressing digits into it with the pads of his fingers.

The time I first started my community service, I was annoyed, to say the least. But I’m glad it happened. Because I had the privilege of meeting him.

I roll over in the soft blankets, scooting closer to the figure radiating warmth. Blankets jostle with my tired but lax movements. The heavy weight of his arm over my waist is comforting as I nuzzle into the side of his neck. I pucker my lips and leave a sloppy, chaste, sleep-filled kiss there. 

The limbs caging me tug me impossibly closer to the muscly body. “I love you, darling.” His voice is deep with sleep as he whispers the affection in my ear.

I run my hand underneath his shirt and on the silky soft skin of his waist before feeling around the curve of his back, resting it there. “I love you too, baby,” I utter out of my scratchy throat. “Now go back to bed, it's too early,” I groan. A puff of air against my shoulder lets me know he’s laughing. 

I place one more kiss on the warm skin in front of my face before I let the peaceful darkness of sleep overtake me once again.

AN: Hi everyone! Thank you so much if you read all of that. I wanted to create this because Simon fics are so scarce. If you like it please let me know or reblog it or comment or something, it would mean the absolute world to me. Any and all tips for my writing are greatly appreciated.

[acrossthewavesoftime]

top five things YOU have written 🫵🫵 that you're ok with sharing ofc :3

That's a very difficult and interesting question, thank you! :) I don't really know if I can pick five and rate them in a set hierarchy. I like many things I write, shorter and longer, finished and unfinished, so here are 5 that come to mind:

I don't write for it very often, but what I write, I enjoy writing a lot. The early 19th century AU which I came up with for @nordleuchten in which a few generations ago the Stuarts managed to produce some sort of heir, making the Hannovarians bog standard German provincial rulers instead of British monarchs. The man you know as George III and his heir, Prinz Georg stand to inherit the throne as it is expected that the Stuart line will come to an end in their lifetime. Georg is pretty much good old Prinny, who however decides to take drastic measures when he finds that being patronised by his dad as a grown man has become insufferable. He decides to take an alias and join the British navy, because what else cries freedom so much as watching romantic sunsets at sea? In the act of leaving clandestinely, he is caught by one Karoline von Braunschweig, a beloathed cousin acting as his mother's lady-in-waiting. Georg takes to life at sea like a duck to water despite the fact that it turns out to be nothing like what he imagined, and becomes a celebrated hero of the Napoleonic Wars. Hijinks ensue when his cover is blown, his brother Ernst tries to take over the succession, and he realises he doesn't actually loathe Karoline, quite on the contrary, really. Karoline meanwhile has to explain a big belly away, and George sails for a place called Trafalgar... It's all delightfully off and the real George and Caroline would probably disapprove, but sometimes, certain AUs are not meant to be very accurate, just a little silly.

Less silly and as far as my research goes, as close to history as possible, my story on Henry Clinton and Mary Baddeley. I have written so much about the two already, it's almost a novel. I am fascinated by the mutual respect, suppressed affection and surprisingly good documentation there is. Theoretically, their relationship is a communist party meeting worth of red flags; a power dynamic between employer and employee, a substantial age gap, Mary being very much reliant on Clinton's protection from beng sexually harrassed by an officer in her husband's regiment and him falling in love with her while she was pregnant with her husband's child are just the most obvious ones. Regardless of all these things, both, given time, found love. Let's hope I will finish it one day so we can have the big budget adaptation i'm dreaming of ever since learning about the two...

I have a similar thing going for the Graveses, which is a little more light-hearted in that both Mrs and Mr Admiral were two very outspoken people, with Margaret in particular passing judgements on people in her letters worthy of Jane Austen novels. There is some tragedy in that they met at a point in their lives where they both seem to have still been processing the death of a beloved loved one, and both helped raise a child that was not their own. Given their eventful lives, bubbly family and their very loud personalities, however, I think this one writes itself a little easier.

A Stuart AU in which Maria Beatrice d'Este, now Queen of England, has had enough. Identifying, in her mind, her husband's unchanging licentious ways as the reason why God takes all her children from her young, she decides to commit regicide when she realises she is pregnant once more, in order to protect this child at least; because if James is dead, he can no longer commits acts displeasing God, right? The flaws in her logic aside, she makes this last desperate attempt to suffocate James, the husband who has abused her for so long, both physically and mentally, in his sleep with a cushion, but fails as he wakes up. Fleeing England in the middle of the night, Maria Beatrice manages to find a passage to the continent and makes it to The Hague, where the Prince and Princess of Orange now have a political scandal on their hands. What ensues is an intense triangular situation in which everyone is faced with ghosts of the past; Maria Beatrice, who never wanted to get married and have children, is faced by the involuntarily childless Mary who would do everything to be a mother; William by his own conduct towards Mary when they were newly-wed, which he finds himself reminded of by some things Maria Beatrice recounts of her marriage, fearing he may have mistreated Mary, and all three of them by the question of who will one day be James' heir, Mary, or the baby, if it turns out to be a boy, Maria Beatrice is about to have? Includes such memorable scenes as the one in which William feeds a toddler potential pretender a waffle while engineering his ascension to the throne during a council meeting (hey, the waffle-thing at least is based on an event and person during his own childhood, so).

I'm currently writing a little something quite light-hearted featuring Louise de Kérouaille and exploring her perspective on her relationship with Charles II, which I find quite delightful.

If any of you want to know something else about the stories (since I don't post them to AO3), feel free to ask. :)

[its-jaytothemee]

Until I Met You - Chapter 8

Chapter 8: The Path Forward

Pairings: Halsin x Tav

Word count: 3,627

Rating: Currently M, will be Explicit in later chapters.

Read on AO3

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Summary: The party makes their way back into the Underdark, discouraged and down on their luck after their time at the Creche. Now, they have to decide how they can move forward and find a new lead to cure their tadpoles. Part 8 of the slow burn fic. Halsin and Tav POVs

Tags: Slow burn, hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff, eventual love confessions, eventual smut, light angst, implied past rape/non-con and abuse, graphic description of injuries.

A/N: Sorry for the wait between updates here! Life got a bit hectic for a couple of weeks. I ended up needing to split the Underdark chapters up so they wouldn't get too long. The next one should be a much shorter wait :) Thanks for continuing to read!!

Tav led her dejected group of adventurers back through the wilderness, making their way down to the Underdark again. While she was still unconscious, the others had found another entrance to the Underdark in the Zhentarim hideout. Given that it was a little closer, they opted to go this way rather than march all the way back to the goblin camp.

Last night, just as everyone was beginning to turn in for the evening, an unexpected visitor had shown up at their camp. Kith’rak Voss, knight supreme, and a fellow traitor in Vlaakith’s eyes. He came to recruit Lae’zel to his cause, to overthrow Vlaakith’s unrightful rule. Apparently, the prism they carried held the key to her demise. He explained that the purification process githyanki boasted about was nothing but a bold-faced lie. The zaith’isk does not extract, it only kills. They had promised to meet him in Baldur’s Gate, should they survive that long. Lae’zel had been strangely quiet about the ordeal, likely still coming to terms with the fact she wasn’t welcome with the majority of her kin. So now, not only were they still hosting mind flayer parasites, but they had been branded enemies of Vlaakith herself, doomed to be hunted across the Sword Coast by her faithful. Fighting their way out of the Creche was difficult enough, she wasn’t looking forward to the lich queen sending her best warriors to pursue them.

Tav’s disappointment was plain to see in her slumped shoulders and shuffling footsteps. The past two days were a detour they could scarcely afford, and she was the one who pushed them in that direction. Even Karlach seemed subdued, merely chuckling at any half-assed quips Astarion let out rather than her normal cackle. He was the only one who was relatively content with keeping his tadpole, allowing him to walk in the sun a little while longer.

Halsin jogged his way up to her at the front of the group. He slowed his pace to walk alongside her.

“I can’t help but notice you’re looking a tad displeased.” He said.

“I think I’ve earned the right to feel a little upset right now, Halsin.” Tav knew he meant well, she just didn’t have the energy to joke right now.

“Of course, I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise.” His voice lowered a bit, sending a stab of guilt into Tav’s gut. She let out a heavy sigh.

“I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to do next. They followed me to the Creche, which was a dead end. Almost literally.” She remembered their bruised and battered bodies stumbling into camp last night. Her shoulder still ached slightly from falling off of a ladder during one of the fights.

“I know. I can see the uncertainty in your eyes. You think you’ve wasted precious time following false hopes. I can’t imagine my sulking helped with that guilt.” He looked away from her for a moment.

“First and foremost, your priority has been to remove the tadpoles lodged in your heads. You had no way of knowing where Lae’zel’s hunch would lead, at the time it seemed like the most rational path. And you are not the only one here who chose that path.”

“That’s kind of you to say.” Tav responded, her eyes still stuck on the dirt road in front of her.

“I know something of doubting your choices as a leader, my friend. As I told you, I’m here to lend my counsel whenever needed. I’ve met many people who have claimed to be leaders in my life, few have had the heart and compassion that you do. It’s obvious how you care for those in your company, you make decisions with great respect and consideration.” He kept his voice low so only they could hear.

She stayed silent for a while longer, thinking on his words. When their group had decided to band together, she hadn’t exactly meant to be their leader. At some point everyone just started to defer to her for all major decisions.

“I know that this is quite the setback, but please do not doubt yourself so heavily, Tav. Everyone trusts you a great deal – myself included. I doubt that anyone here is a stranger to disappointment and defeat. Except perhaps Shadowheart, but that is only because she is missing so many of her memories.” His last quip did make her chuckle a little.

“I am confident that you will all recover swiftly.”

“What makes you so sure?” She asked, finally looking up at him.

“Because you have no other choice, I’m afraid.” He had a sad smile on his face. They continued walking together, Halsin had grabbed one of her packs from her injured shoulder to carry. Lunari trotted around them, every now and then bumping her head into their legs to get them to pet her.

“I truly am sorry that you weren’t able to be cured of the tadpole yet.” Halsin broke their silence. “But if it is any consolation, I am grateful to have a few more days in your company.” He briefly rested a hand on her shoulder as they walked.

“As am I.” She replied. “Except…you know…about you.” A familiar warmth covered her cheeks at her awkward rambling.

Come on, Tav. I thought we were past this now.

As they approached Waukeen’s Rest, she let some of the others take the lead. They took her and Halsin down through the hideout, the smell of ash and decaying bodies filled her nose. As she looked over the ledge just inside the secret entrance, she saw that almost everything, and everyone, had been burnt to a crisp

“What in the hells did you guys do here?” Tav asked, covering her nose with the back of her hand.

“What? Like it’s our fault that they had the entire area laced with explosives? Karlach is literally a walking flame, darling. Accidents happen.” Astarion waved his hand dismissively.

“Hey now, Karlach didn’t touch the explosives at all. Gale was the one with speedy spell fingers.” Karlach had run up to join them.

“To be fair,” Gale started, pointing one index finger up in the air, “the fire bolt wasn’t aimed at the explosives, it was aimed at one of the Zhentarim. Who caught on fire. And then wandered too close to an oil barrel.” The little bout of banter brought a smile to Tav’s face. She was relieved to see they hadn’t completely lost their sense of humor.

Towards the back of the hideout, there was a concealed elevator of sorts. It looked old, Tav was skeptical about all of them piling onto this at the same time.

“I think we should probably go in groups. This seems a little…dated.”  She gulped as she inspected the ropes and pulleys attached to the platform. Everything at least seemed in good working order.

“Who wants to go first?” She asked.

“After you, darling.” Astarion teased.

“I uh, I can wait for the second group.” Tav said quickly as she took a step away from the platform.

Everyone looked at her curiously. Astarion and Karlach started to giggle a little bit.

“Are you…are you afraid of heights?” Astarion pointed an accusing finger at her.

“I’m not afraid! I have a healthy skepticism of old wooden machinery that happens to dangle a mile above the ground.” She could feel her cheeks getting warm at the teasing.

“I’m sorry, you can slaughter a camp of goblins, a hag, an entire Creche filled with githyanki warriors, and a fully grown owlbear. But you draw the line at a little elevator ride?” Astarion was laughing harder now.

“Well, if you’re so confident why don’t you hop on?” Tav shot back.

“Fine if it’ll help you get over your fears.” He waved his hand in the air again and strode over to the platform, jumping on it lightly to show how sturdy it was.

“See? Nothing to be worried about.” He crossed his arms and stared her down.

She flared her nostrils at him and pressed her lips into a hard line. With everyone staring at her, she took a few tentative steps toward the wooden platform. Her heart felt like it was going to burst out of her chest. The first step she took onto the elevator caused it to wobble slightly and she recoiled away from it, slamming into Halsin behind her. He smiled down at her and stepped to the side to walk onto the platform next to Astarion. He turned around and held his arm out to her. Tav quickly dug a scroll of Feather Fall out of her pack and held it against her chest...just in case. She nervously reached out with her other hand to grab Halsin’s arm and pulled herself tight against him. Wyll walked on behind her as well and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. Lunari trotted over to lay down at her feet, giving a soft whine. Tav continued clinging to Halsin as the winch began to turn and slowly lower them back into the Underdark.

***

Halsin was grateful for the lower light to hide his blush and grin. Tav was breathing heavily and grasping the Feather Fall scroll in one hand, turning her knuckles white. She had her face buried in his shoulder and both of her arms wrapped around his arm tightly. Her free hand had his in an iron grip, digging her nails into his knuckles. She must have been terrified based on the fact she didn’t seem to be blushing or embarrassed as she held onto him like her life depended on it.

“Perhaps we shouldn’t call you our ‘fearless’ leader anymore.” Astarion giggled.

“Fuck off.” Tav’s voice was muffled by Halsin’s shoulder.

Tav let out another shaky breath as the platform swayed in an unnerving manner. He watched as they slowly descended through the ground, the environment around them gradually shifting to the strange flora of the Underdark. After a long ride, he could finally start to make out the ground beneath them. The glowing crystals and mushrooms lit the area below, giving them just a little more light to see by.

“We’re almost there, Tav. I can see the ground now.” He whispered as he briefly placed his other hand on one of her arms. She nodded against him in response, still maintaining her death grip.

“You know, Tav, you really are missing a splendid view.” Astarion mocked from the other side of him. “Just open your eyes, face your fe–”

Halsin cut Astarion off with a small nudge, just enough to make him think that he could go tumbling over the edge of the elevator. Of course he wouldn’t let that happen, he had a hold of the back of his shirt. The small squeal that escaped Astarion’s throat was worth it though. Wyll was stifling a laugh on the other side of Tav.

“How clumsy of me.” Halsin said with a smirk. Astarion glared at him over his shoulder.

“Oh gods…why are we shaking?” Tav somehow managed to squeeze him even tighter, causing him to grunt in pain.

Worth it.

After a few more minutes, the elevator hit the ground below. Tav remained stuck to his side even after they stopped moving.

“Tav? We made it.” Halsin urged her gently. She slowly rotated her head to peek at their new surroundings, releasing a relieved sigh when she saw they were once again on solid ground. Right on cue, she realized she was still clinging to Halsin’s arm and jumped to the side like he had shocked her; her cheeks turned that endearing shade of pink.

“Oh! Ha, thanks.” She laughed awkwardly and looked down at his hand spotting the small nail marks she left there. “Oh shit…I’m sorry about that.”

“Nothing to worry about, you didn’t even draw blood. I’m sure the marks will fade within the hour.” He smiled at her reassuringly, trying and failing to keep his mind from wandering. He found himself imagining the marks lined up and down his body.

No, stop it. Get ahold of yourself, Halsin.

He shook his head to force himself back to his current conversation. Astarion had a smug grin stretched across his face.

“Yes, no worries, Tav. I’m sure he’s used to the feel of your nails digging into him, what with your recent late-night excursions and all.” He teased, batting his eyelashes as his eyes shifted between her and Halsin.

His breath caught in his throat and Tav’s eyes went wide, her skin now turning a shade that matched Karlach’s. Wyll looked between all three of them, obviously confused and scared to ask for clarification. The elevator behind them started the ascent back up to the Zhentarim hideout.

“No that’s…it’s not what…we haven’t even…I don’t…” Tav was sputtering nonsensically. “Argh! You are so annoying, you know that?” She yelled at him as she stormed off in a huff.

Halsin thought she’d scour the entire Underdark easily at the pace she was setting. But a strange voice called out to them, stopping her in her tracks.

***

“They are coming.” The voice calling out to Tav in her mind was gruff, yet somehow melodic and charming as well.

“Please tell me I’m not the only one hearing that voice.” She said quietly.

“No, no I heard it too.” Halsin sounded concerned.

Wait…Halsin?

“You can hear it?” Tav asked, shocked. She assumed it was something to do with the tadpole. Wyll and Astarion must have shared her theory because they whipped around to stare at him as well.

“More are coming. You are coming.” The strange voice glided out of her thoughts.

“What the fuck.” She mumbled under her breath.

“Please tell me we aren’t going to look for the source of that voice.” Astarion pleaded.

“Something tells me we won’t have much of a choice.” She sighed. “We’ll wait for the others before moving on just in case.”

Astarion dramatically threw himself onto a pile of crates.

“For fucks’ sake…” Tav muttered. “Here, you big baby.” She reached into her pack and fished out a couple of lockpicks and some tools for disarming traps.

“Why don’t you keep busy and start looking through some of these chests, huh? That one looks expensive.” She held the small tools out in her palm, trying to entice him out of his tantrum. He looked up and gave her a brooding look. “You can keep the gold you find.” She pumped her eyebrows up and down a couple of times.

“You have to ask nicely.” He pouted. She flared her nostrils at him and fought off an eye roll.

“Oh, Astarion…your hands are so slight and nimble. Your fingers dance around locks like silvery rays of the purest moonlight. None of us could compare with that level of finesse.” She said the words in the most monotone way possible, gesturing her hands lazily at the chests and boxes around them.

“And…?”

“You are such…an…” She gritted her teeth, not wanting to finish.

“Say it.” Astarion coaxed.

“Inspiration.” She growled.

“Oh, stop it, darling. You’re embarrassing yourself.” He slid over to her and snatched the tools out of her hand before running off with a giggle.

Whatever, it’s better than him sulking until the others arrive.

Tav and Wyll went through some of the unlocked crates to look for any supplies. Halsin seemed distracted as he took in the Underdark surroundings, he had a distant look on his face that worried her.

“Halsin? You okay?” She asked quietly as he blankly stared over the Underdark landscape ahead of them.

“Hm? Oh, of course. My eyes are still just adjusting to the darkness here.” He smiled lightly, but there was a nervous undertone to his voice. Before she could press the matter further, Karlach’s voice called out to her.

“Hey, soldier! You made it down in one piece. No big deal, right?” Her giant smile shone easily through the darkness.

“Outside of clawing Halsin’s arm to shreds? Yeah, no big deal.” She rolled her eyes slightly. “Listen, we have a situation.” Tav explained the voice they heard.

“More voices? My mind is full enough of those as is.” Gale complained.

“I have a feeling we need to go towards it. When it entered my mind, it felt…scared. Like it was a cry for help.”

“The last time you had a feeling, we ended up fighting dozens of githyanki warriors for our life. Besides, we can hardly afford another detour.” Astarion had come back over to join the group and draped an arm over Gale’s shoulder. He was wearing noticeably more jewelry than before, a golden chain adorned with tiny sapphires dangled from his hand.

His words caused Tav to withdraw slightly, her earlier guilt returning tenfold. She looked around the group of tired faces, suddenly feeling paralyzed. What if she made the wrong decision again, delaying them further? Her eyes fell on Halsin who gave her a reassuring nod.

“And what if the help they need is related to the Absolute?” She finally said. “What if they can help us find our way to Moonrise? We have no idea where this secret stronghold is.”

“Which is why we should have just taken the route from the Mountain Pass. We have to deal with the shadow cursed lands eventually, we might as well just get it over with.” Wyll countered. He had suggested the route before – he was anxious to find his father.

“Perhaps, but the area just past the Mountain Pass is heavy with the curse. I fear if we went that way we would not long survive before the shadows would overtake us.” Halsin spoke up.

“Halsin’s right, the shadows there are a wicked, terrible presence. Some types of light will protect us for a short time, but it won’t be enough. We’ll be lucky if we can make it to Moonrise Towers before it consumes us.” Tav shuddered at the thought.

“No…we need to find out how the cultists are able to traverse the land safely. If we can find this secret passage, we’ll likely find out how they’ve made it that far.” She insisted.

“How bad could it be? We’ve got Shadowheart to cast some handy light spells, we can scrounge up some torches, not to mention that nifty glowing mace we found. So long as we stick together, I’m sure we’ll be fine!” Karlach’s peppy tone did little to calm the anxiety gripping Tav.

“Well spoken, Karlach. I agree, we haven’t gone too far yet…” Wyll continued talking, but Tav couldn’t listen anymore.

The darkness around her swirled like smoke, choking her, trying to bring back memories of those cursed shadows. She forced them down, refusing to let them overtake her now. They didn’t understand, how could they? There was no way to explain to them the horrific magic that awaited them at Moonrise. Her vision swam, her chest burned with anxiety and dread. She felt the phantom claws of shadows and wraiths reaching for her arms, struggling to pull her into the wicked darkness around her, beckoning her to follow.

“No!” She bellowed, startling everyone as they whipped around to face her again. “I’m not spending any longer in that cursed land than I have to. None of you understand, you weren’t there!”

Involuntary tears started streaming down her face, dripping off of her chin and soaking the collar of her shirt. She wrapped her arms tightly around her body and squeezed her eyes shut to try and force her tears to stop. It didn’t help, she continued to sniffle as dark memories tried to drag her down into their abyss. Her knees buckled, and she fell to the ground, still tightly clutching her own chest.

“You weren’t there…” She whispered between sobs.

The others simply stared at her in stunned silence. She hung her head and tried to gain some semblance of composure.

“If you won’t follow me on this path, feel free to go back on your own. I’ll continue through the Underdark alone if I must. Perhaps we’ll be able to meet again at Moonrise.” She barely choked the words out. “Just don’t ask me to go back there yet. I can’t. Not until I know that I can protect us.” It hurt her to offer the ultimatum, she was really starting to consider them friends. She couldn't stand the thought of them facing the curse without her guiding them, but she couldn't go yet. She knew exactly what was waiting for them and she was terrified of going back. No, she needed more time to prepare.

Everyone exchanged uneasy glances with one another but said nothing. Tav slowly stood up and turned away from them, ready to continue on by herself. A large hand gently grabbed her arm and pulled her back. She glanced over her shoulder to see Halsin standing behind her.

“You won’t be alone, Tav.” He assured her. She turned around to face him as the others walked up to stand with them as well.

“Of course you won’t be. We’re with you, soldier.” Karlach added. “If you say this is the way, I’ll follow you.”

The rest of the party walked up behind her, all nodding and murmuring their agreement. They would stay and follow her, hopefully to find a way through the shadows.

“Lead on, friend.” Wyll patted her shoulder.

Tav nodded and took a shaky breath. She knew that their path was leading back to Moonrise Towers, it was unavoidable now. But she at least had a few more days to prepare for it. As she moved to start leading them further into the Underdark, Halsin’s hand briefly passed over hers, his fingers lingering against hers for just a moment longer than expected.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Big problems

Ah, another Bagginshield before the month is out. This time for @sunnyrosewritesstuff...

Part II of Irvel's magic! -> Part I

AU Prompt: Shrunken (Tiny)

Dialogue Prompt: Everything went according to plan

Words: 1310

Characters: Thorin x Bilbo

Warnings: A potion gone wrong right!

Trembling with trepidation, Ori led the king and his consort into the secluded, hidden cave in which the elusive sorceress abided.

“Irvel?” he called tentatively, wondering whether it was naïve of him to expect her to be in the same exact spot as the last time he had sought her out. “I have brought you new petitioners.”

A subtle chiming noise resounded, and then a hazy being—all wreathed in light—stepped out from behind a boulder.

“Ori, the ever-beautiful,” she cried joyously and rushed towards him. “I had barely dared hope that you’d come back. After all, you seemed rather displeased with my services the last time we’ve spoken.”

Grimacing, Ori waved a trembling hand at his companions. “This is Thorin II, the king of the Longbeards, and his consort, Bilbo Baggins from the Shire.”

Looming over them, Irvel bent at the hip to inspect her curious visitors more closely. “Indeed,” she hummed with vivid interest. “What can I do for you then?”

“I—we have come to ask you for a feat of magic,” Bilbo piped up bravely before any of the others could say anything. “As you can easily see, I am considerably shorter than my husband.”

“And that is problematic? Why?” Irvel inquired, her eyes drifting back to Ori pensively—apparently, she had never considered height differences to be a reason for strife or dissatisfaction. The thought seemed to intrigue and fascinate her, though, for she cocked her head and waved her hand, inviting Bilbo to continue his exposé.

“Yes,” the valiant Hobbit murmured, somewhat shamefaced. “In certain situations, it can be quite tedious! Anyway, if it is within your powers, I’d beseech you to make me grow beyond the natural size of my people so that I may be a worthy and imposing consort to my beloved king.”

For a while, Irvel merely regarded Ori dreamily as she was lost in deep thought.

“So be it,” she finally declared. “As you can imagine, there will be tasks and challenges for you to fulfil before I can—in good conscience—bend my mind and powers to your peculiar problem.”

Thorin nodded tersely—Ori had warned him that the services of the sorceress would not be free and that all the gold under the Mountain could not buy the favour of one who did not want for any material possession.

Thus, they all listened spell-bound to Irvel’s demands—Thorin and Bilbo were asked to ferret out old friends of Irvel’s who had been scared underground by the encroaching darkness, to find a hidden cave on the other side of the hill and depose a beautiful gem on a natural dais, and to root out an infestation of huge hornets in the nearby woods.

As soon as they tackled the first of their trials, they realised that they would have to work together to succeed—thankfully, they were by now so bonded in trust and love that they did not hesitate one moment before meeting the ambitious challenge head-on.

Undaunted by danger and potential death, they put their experience and their combined wits to good use.

When they finally returned to Irvel’s cave, they found the lady entertaining Ori with fascinating stories. Neither Bilbo nor Thorin truly appreciated the fact that their friend was being served sparkling wine and fed golden berries while they were covered in grime and hornet goo.

“My King,” Ori squeaked and sprang to his feet to bow, feeling instinctively that he had not made the best impression, idling around, and enjoying the enchanting company of a woman who didn’t stop telling him how utterly gorgeous he was.

“I see you have not failed,” Irvel purred, visibly pleased. “Come, sit and relax. I shall have the potion ready promptly.”

Without further ado, she retired into the bowels of the cave.

As Bilbo and Thorin partook in the lavish feast that had been laid before Ori, they heard distant rumbling and smelled the occasional whiff of something spicy and sweet filling the air.

Before long, Irvel returned, holding two tall glasses which she handed to her new guests. “Drink,” she encouraged.

Wary, Thorin gave the ominously bubbling beverage a sniff; as he looked over though, he saw that Bilbo was already throwing back his glass and—not wanting to be called a coward—the king promptly joined him.

Unlike after Ori’s wish, there was now a definite and rather immediate change—the air seemed to thrum and sing around them, and then, there was a loud rumble swelling into a sonorous bang.

When the dense fog of magic that had suddenly filled the cave cleared, Ori’s eyes bulged out of their sockets.

“Oh Irvel!” he cried in dismay. “You’ve made both of them smaller. This is not what we agreed upon!”

“Everything went according to plan,” Irvel replied calmly, a cryptical smile hovering on her sensual lips. “They’ve successfully—and rather quickly, if I may add—fulfilled tasks that might have stumped a giant. It seems to me that the change they need is entirely in their minds rather than in their bodies.”

The outraged exclamations of protest and anger from her customers were, unfortunately for them, changed into barely audible, irritated chirps on account of Thorin and Bilbo not being much bigger than young bunnies.

“Thorin?” a worried, flustered voice resounded from the mouth of the cave, far above them. “I do not think that this was such a good idea, and you have been gone for so long!”

“That is Balin,” Ori whispered nervously. “He’s certainly come to retrieve his king. How are we to explain this?”

By this time, he was seriously distressed. As a matter of fact, he was afraid that—as he had been the one to lead his king into this disastrous magical catastrophe—he would be held accountable for the results.

“Worry not,” Irvel smiled placidly. “The spell will only last until the next full moon. It seems to me that these two are highly strung and under a lot of pressure. Maybe, spending some time worrying about all the minute things they master so easily in their daily life will teach them more appreciation for the blessings they’ve got, instead of hankering after irrelevant alterations.”

Seeing the wisdom in her words, Ori bowed his head reverently, but his spine still tingled with discomfort and guilt as Balin burst into the inner chamber.

His eyes were wide and wild, and his hair was in total disarray.

“What has happened here?” he asked explosively as he took in the unusual scene. “What did you do to our king, witch?”

Shrugging, Irvel scooped up the two shrunken royals and handed them over to the old dwarf as if they were coins. “I’ve made sure that they got…a change of perspective, so to say.”

Seeing how distraught the newcomer was, her smile mellowed. “It’s not for long, I promise. Just keep them safe and warm. Give them a puzzle or something.”

“A puzzle? They are the rulers of our people…” Balin tore at his hair in despair. “What are we to do now?”

Letting her luminous, wise gaze sweep from Ori to Balin, Irvel let her head drop to the side in a quizzical expression of mild amusement. “They are not dead,” she commented dryly. “I am sure there are many competent dwarrows to convey their meaning and will to their people—moreover, this might teach you to truly listen to the words they speak rather than to be cowed or amused by their physical presence.”

“Witch!” Balin grunted, but his voice held a distinct undertone of humour and begrudging admiration. “Very well. May I remove them from your esteemed presence then?”

Nodding ponderously, Irvel rose to her feet and gave Thorin and Bilbo a fond pat on the head. “Be good,” she warned, “and do come visit me very soon!”

@fellowshipofthefics: Here's the second to last for this month!!!

Thank you, @sunnyrosewritesstuff for trusting me with these 2`!!!

[saltyladynightmare]

Jiliu AU Part 9.4

Beginning, Previous, Next, Masterlist

Hello again. I yet live. I could give a million reasons for why this took me so long to write, and some of them would even be true. However, I wont give you any of them, as it makes me feel silly.

Have some Action as a reward for your patience.

Warnings:

Violence against animals, Anakin being slightly self destructive,

~~~~~~

Anakin scowled down at the new third IV needle in his arm; his right, thankfully. Having more than two IV bags draining in the same arm was unpleasant at the best of times.

Kix, eyes politely directed at the 'pad in front of him, sat in the chair next to him, radiating the kind of watchfulness medics often did with those they deemed to be 'difficult' patients.

Rex and Jesse stood at rest behind him against the wall, speaking quietly.

Neither Kix nor Rex had left since before the new IV needle had been jabbed into Anakin's arm. Hovering.

Anakin scowled harder.

He didn't need hovering.

Sure he'd fainted earlier because apparently even his current excessive meal plan wasn't enough for whatever his body was doing, and he'd scared the latest squad of Vod'e, but the new IV was doing its job, his nutrient intake had been adjusted yet again, and he was fine now. Crisis averted. They could go back to whatever it was they were supposed to be doing.

Unfortunately, it wasn't either of their days off so Anakin couldn't even kick them out of the room under the pretense of them needing to relax, and do something not work related.

Jesse grumbled moodily. "Don't laugh at me. My men are getting restless, and the only reason it hasn't gotten to you before now is because its only been nine days."

Oh. Well, this will solve that problem, then. If Jesse accepts, anyway.

Anakin twisted in his seat, noting absently the stiffness in his sides he'd definitely need to stretch out later. "I have a project they can do, if you want to give them something productive to burn their energy."

Both men turned to him, surprised. He smiled mischievously in hopes it would hide the way his pulse sped up in anticipation. At worst, they would simply turn him down.

"What do you know about the Army of Light?"

Kix looked up, datapad lowering to his lap. Jesse and Rex exchange a look, before focussing entirely on Anakin.

Thus, on the third day after Anakin had bonded with the Command Staff, the scouts of Torrent were sentenced to prowl the lower levels of the Jedi Temple in search of the long lost armory of the Army of Light that may or may not have been dismantled along with the forces it had served.

If Jesse's grumbling as he marched out of Anakin's room was anything to go by, he was both displeased to be assigned a task while on leave and glad he had something to occupy his scouts with.

~~~~~~

The elevator slowed to a grinding halt.

Jesse and the two best shots of his men, Heatattack and Flint, readied their blasters as the three vod'e crammed behind them did a quick equipment check of their own.

A beat, then the door dinged cheerfully, and opened as smoothly as it had closed so many floors above them, mist pouring in.

A green dot blinked in the lower left corner of Jesse's HUD three times before blipping out.

Hmm. The General'd had them prepare for the worst case scenario for this conditions of this floor. Seemed the air was more than breathable.

As the door opened completely, he could see why.

Plants, everywhere. Knee high at a minimum, and taller near the edges of the halls, with thick leafy vines curtaining the walls. A thick layer of fog swirled just below the tops of the shorter plants, and obscured everything further than twenty feet. Insects chirped and buzzed out of sight. Soft blue lights filtered through seemingly random sections of the fog and vines.

Low visibility, near limitless ambush possibilities, and far too many tripping hazards.

Horrible trade off for breathable air, really.

Heatattack swore softly, and Flint grumbled his agreement.

They were right. This was going to be a nightmare.

Thankfully, the General had directed then to a lesser used elevator, so Jesse had no problem commandeering it until further notice.

"Spine, jam the door open," he ordered.

From his corner, Spine acknowledged the order, "Sir."

The door had been open long enough for something to jump out at them. As that has not happened... Jesse signaled to advance. The silent comms buzzed quietly in the all to natural night-quiet of the long abandoned floor.

Jesse's first step out of the elevator sent his boot directly into something that squished and squelched with moisture.

Great. Fantastic. So much for not needing to scrub his shell again so soon after that muddy cesspool they'd just come from. There was only supposed to be dust.

At least it doesn't feel like decaying animals, he soothed himself, moving forward. Just very wet, ankle deep moss.

Heatattack and Flint followed after him closely. Licken and Skippy stepped out after them. Pausing to give Spine time to jam the door, Jesse clicked his back teeth together to flick through the infra red, low light vision, and standard setting on his HUD.

Visibility low. The high humidity was definitely an issue. Hopefully, and oh did Jesse hate thinking that word, anything moving would disturb the fog enough to be noticeable.

Metal shrieked as Spine wedged a vibro knife into the gap between the elevator doors and the floor's doors. The hair on the back of Jesse's neck stood on end, alarms blaring.

"Heads up!" He barked, snatching a flash bang from his utility belt. Can't use a shrapnel grenade in enclosed spaces like this without at least knowing the dimensions of the place, and a droid popper would just fry their own gear without the benefit of zapping their opponents. Their HUDs would protect them from the effects of a flash bang, though.

Other organic targets? Not so much.

Yanking out the pin with the edge of his cuisse, Jesse tossed the flash bang underhanded at the mist moving the most, straight ahead. It arched neatly through the air, then disappeared in the swirling mist.

A beat, then the the fog flashed, Jesse's HUD filtering the burst of light to bearable levels, bucket speakers crackling with a muffled bang.

In the next instant, a wall of fog crashed into the ceiling and rushed straight for Jesse and his men.

Ah. Probably should have seen that coming.

The fog washed over them, an almost physical force, before blasting past in one heart pounding eternity.

Once his visor cleared, Jesse immediately dropped his eyes to the ground.

Guh!

"This wasn't part of the brief!" Skippy yelped, blaster powering up.

Rats. A literal carpet of them, more than ankle deep, all dark fur and flashing teeth.

"Shut up and shoot!" Licken spat, nailing a rodent that had taken a daring leap for his leg.

Swearing, Jesse yanked another grenade off his belt, this one a shrapnel spitter. If he throws it far enough they should be able to avoid injury, while also taking out a chunk of the little pests. He barked out orders, yanking out the pin with his cuisse again. "Defend yourselves!" He flung the grenade down the hall, and started shooting even before his off hand returned to the muzzle of his blaster.

Jesse ground his teeth as his vod'e sprayed the mob of rats with blaster bolts even as the fog rolled back in to hide them from sight.

This was going to suck.

~~~~~~

The first few hours of the scouts' first attempt at scouting the lower levels of the temple did not go well. The levels of near panic and manic glee Anakin got from the bonds he'd been carefully monitoring both for his own wellbeing, but also Rex's and Kix's, had been...concerning.

When they had calmed down, and the danger passed, Anakin commed Jesse to check on them. Jesse grumbled something about ambushes and rodents, before speaking up. Apparently they'd been ambushed be local rodents, but they've figured out a method of operation to eliminate the threat.

If Jesse intended to send Anakin a very strong impression of blaster-burned pests left in their wake or not, Anakin didn't know, but he kept it to himself.

No need to scare off the man in the Staff who'd made and kept his position solely based on knowing when to run. Anakin would like a chance for them to get to know him as a person, before giving them reason to high tail it.

Besides. The rats were hardly Anakin's concern. The rodents didn't respond to his long distance mind tricks, pressed through his bonds with the scouts, so the only option left was lethal action. Admittedly, he had no practice with mind tricks, but all this power should have some uses, right? In any case, such things were often the price of progress.

If the scouts became even more efficient in their handling of the rats after Anakin's comm, it was probably not because Jaded, who had been assisting Anakin in wrangling on his newest squad, stole his comm mid report to tell Jesse in no uncertain terms exactly what he would do to them if they got themselves bitten by vermin. If it was, well, that was between the scouts and Jaded.

The scouts chose violence. Anakin could respect it.

Meanwhile, Anakin and whichever squad he was forming bonds with in that shift, spent most of his time researching, compiled all of the information they could find on the Army of Light and the Jedi Temple itself in hopes of discovering even a hint of what might be waiting for them down there.

So far, all they had managed to confirm was the existence of the armor the Army of Light used. It was heavily implied to be made by the Army for the Army, in their very own Armor and Weapon factory, located in the lower levels somewhere. As Anakin had already known.

Thankfully, '57, the shiny Anakin had been calling DC Shiny while they raced through the catacombs, had managed to find a passage in a daily log of a Jedi long dead, that hinted at the Factory being twenty-four floors away from floor 536.

Unfortunately, floor numbers change every time a new one is added, so this fact was slightly less helpful than anticipated. It took several shifts to finally dig up the numbers to calculate what that particular floor's current number might be from the construction archives. Burning through a thousand years of building documents, notes and permits was no small task, but if their calculations were correct, then the referenced floor is now called floor 824. The diary said the Armory was twenty-four floors away, so the Armory is either on floor 801, or 848, as the single sentence '57 found didn't specify with direction the Armory was, only the number of floors.

If nothing else, they had a place to start, which is more than they had a day and a half ago. Two floors was infinitely better than over a thousand. The fifty floors it might be on if their math was wrong was significantly better than over a thousand too.

When not in Anakin's room, completing the To Do lists or aiding the scouts in their Quest, the men accepted tours of the lived in portions of the Jedi Temple, curtesy of various Temple Bound Padawans and older Initiates. The younger Initiates helped too, but Anakin's understanding lead him to believe they were more like...assistants, than true tour guides.

The tours were very popular with all involved.

Which—would the other battalions appreciate the tours as well? At the very least, Anakin could name a few troopers from the 212th, and a number of the Guard who would appreciate a tour. Fox would have a serious scheduling nightmare to make that happen for his men, but they would probably love the tours all the more for it.

Besides, someone needs to appreciate the Archives. Its not like the public takes advantage of the free, public knowledge hub. 

Anakin added a note to maybe talk to Obi-Wan and Fox about the idea to his personal short term To Do list while he still remembered. While he was at it, he sends a text comm to Aayla, suggesting she make similar arrangements for her men when she came to Coruscant for leave again.

The men like it, the Initiates and Padawans like it, and it ensures the two groups are introduced to each other. After all, the Initiates have a chance of being picked as Padawans eventually. Best to get them as acclimatized to the Vod'e as possible, even if the Masters wouldn't see this as a step for the continued well being of the children in their care.

Of course some younglings, such as Ahsoka, were using this opportunity to terrorize the men. By all reports, they loved it. One vod, one of Denal's favorites if memory served, asked shyly if they would be getting a commander soon.

Anakin didn't know how to explain he wasn't planning on staying in the Order past the end of the war. Certainly not long enough to train a Padawan to Knighthood the way the child would require. The way they would deserve.

He didn't know how to explain his choices anymore than he ever had.

So he just smiled crookedly, like he had a secret, and changed the subject to something safer.

[aravelxi]

Chapter 1

The Heily Town prison was a large, old, unused storehouse that had been repurposed. What had once been a wide room comprised of a dirt floor and stone walls was now separated into two smaller areas, one for the prisoners and one for the soldiers guarding them.

The side for prisoners, consisting of three small cells with iron bars and a tiny window that allowed little sunlight, offered nothing of interest. The soldiers, however, enjoyed their side. They used a table in the corner to keep a record of arrests. They dedicated the rest of the space in the room for what they called "disciplinary action," which roughly translated to "beating up prisoners until they got bored."

Edward was intimately familiar with both sides.

He fell to his knees as another fist swung into his stomach. The soldier standing over him sneered as he shoved Edward's face down into the dirt.

He pulled at the chains on his wrists as he tried to get back on his feet, but the more he squirmed, the harder the soldier pinned him down.

"Give it up, Valisis. If you stay down and apologize, you can still make it home in time for dinner," suggested a soldier leaning against the wall. His name was Euric, and he had been the one who arrested Edward this time and many times before.

Euric walked over to the young man and pulled him up by his hair, staring at him with his cold, icy blue eyes. "Let's call it a day, don't you think?"

The very idea of showing repentance towards Enasdurg made Edward's blood boil. He looked Euric in the eye and then spit in his face. A strong blow to the side of his head sent him right back down to the floor. He closed his eyes to stop the world from spinning.

Euric bent down, looking at the young man with a mix of amusement and disgust. "It's a pity that you can't take orders. You'd make a good soldier." He rose and gestured to two other men. "Take him back to his cell. He'll get bored and give up eventually."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun had set by the time the soldiers returned to Edward's cell.

"Get up," one of them barked, gripping Edward's shirt and jerking him to his feet. "Someone's come to ask for your release."

He shoved Edward through the open cell door, displeased to be releasing him. Another guard pulled out a key and unlocked the chains on his wrists. Edward let out a sigh of relief as he rubbed his shoulders, which had long gone stiff.

"You won't get so lucky next time," the first soldier told Edward as he escorted him out of the building, slamming the door.

Edward would have remarked that the beating he received was not what he considered "lucky," but realizing there was no point, he turned around and faced his savior.

She was a young woman of 21 years of age, a few months younger than Edward and half a head shorter. She wore her long, sandy blond hair in a braided half up style, and she wore a black dress with gold accents. In her left hand, she carried a lantern, and from its light he could see the relief on her face.

"Sophie!" Edward closed the distance between the two of them, unable to hide the smile that crossed his face at the sight of his beloved. He would've pulled her into his arms, but remembered the grime and blood on his face and clothes, he instead took her free hand and pressed his lips against it.

"Your mother told me you were here," Sophie said, letting Edward take the lantern from her before lacing her fingers into his.

As they started the walk from the jail to Sophie's house, she let out a small sigh. "Want to tell me why you were arrested this time?"

When the soldiers had arrived 10 years ago, the people had been required to quarter them while their own lodgings were built. While housing the troops was no longer necessary, they still had the right to take a percentage of the people's crops and products for themselves.

That morning, Edward had been tilling the fields when he'd witnessed an older lady buying her necessities. Like a hawk, a soldier had swooped over and snatched a sack of grain from her, tossing it over his shoulder.

"Your king thanks you for your service!" He'd called out as he'd walked away.

The Heily Town people were by no means rich, and with the arrival of the soldiers, their means of feeding themselves had decreased significantly. That bag of grain could have fed the woman's family for months, and as the soldiers walked away, Edward saw red.

Dropping his hoe, Edward had stormed over to the grain thief and blocked his path.

"Give that back. She paid for it, it's rightfully hers."

His efforts were rewarded by a backhanded slap. As Edward hit the ground, he noticed the woman and several other bystanders flee the scene immediately, unwilling to be dragged into this, lest they suffer the same fate.

Carelessly tossing aside the grain, the soldier crossed over to Edward, who was sure he would've received an even more brutal beating had Euric not arrived.

Sophie sighed again as he finished recounting the events. "Edward, you know that I love that you help people, but you also need to take care of yourself." She furrowed her brows as she took in the sight of him; his swollen cheek, already discolored by a large bruise, his blond curls disheveled where they'd been grabbed, a new limp.

His green eyes, however, were bright and full of life. Sophie loved Edward, and she knew Edward loved the people of Heily Town. He was willing to take the beatings, to be arrested over and over, if it meant the people were safe.

"Just don't go anywhere I can't follow," Sophie said quietly as they reached her house.

As the daughter of the mayor appointed by the king of Enasdurg, Sophie's house was a manor. Two stories high, it could fit at least four of the townspeople's houses and furnishings with room to spare. Edward had never been allowed in.

The balcony door was open, and the lights shifted as someone moved inside.

"Your father's still awake," Edward whispered, handing Sophie back her lantern.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then," Sophie whispered back, kissing his uninjured cheek and walking into the house. Edward stood outside for a few seconds, then turned on his heel and started the short walk back to his home.

[sany-wave]

I did it. Context under cut. Might continue.

Whoever was on the PR team of that alien lizard was a genius. Mettaton had enough computing power to join into the language decryption project, well, of one of their languages, and could say that "Tailrise" would be a more accurate translation than "Scorpius", but it worked so well with their attitude and manners. His own team had to change only some writing and hues to fit perception.

For some reason Scorpius was a hit among reptilian monsters. Alphys came to one of their concerts in person, and claimed that Earthen cameras don't quite capture their colour, but also couldn't name what was different, except "they are not black", and that she felt like if she had been basking in the sun for a whole day.

And now they have met face to face.

Isohil could only praise whoever did the MTA merchendising. Or, he guessed, MTT, just localised to their languages, and Isohil was just a linguistic "major" (well, that would be the closest translation) before becoming a star. His (again, a close enough translation) team had to make a significant change in their branding, and swap out several colours so they would appear on screens at all.

MTA was making rounds among more polar vievers, that was curious. His sister Layve checked out a concert live and was purring a little bit on return. The only complaint of hers was that the light was way too [red] for her liking, and barely any [violet]. Interacting with beings made of different magic was rather curious, too.

And now they have met nose to nose.

The xenos was shorter than most dragons and even their younger sibling (coloured nice lilac), but still a bit taller than Mettaton, with an iridescent sheen on the scales of an... Interesting colour. They reflected pretty much only ultraviolet. Mettaton discovered he could see it nearly accidentally, but now he was happy that he could. And so, apparently, saw Alphys.

The xenos was rather tall as far as their species got, and smelled like electricity, but their magic didn't feel electric, or at least not mostly electric and not his own brand of electricity for sure. With them was a small [orange] humanoid... Well, on the same truncated body plan, but at least with a tail. They did smell of more electric magic, almost purely so, and of machinery.

"Let's talk the general ideas, shall we?" started the xenos.

Mettaton was displeased to know that the heart symbol, or it's very close likeness, was used among these aliens for mated pairs and mating in general. Isohil was displeased to know that his mostly naked scale wasn't considered family friendly for human TV either (although absolutely fine by monster standards).

They have concocted two designs, based on the clothes that Isohil did appear in, and using previous version of Mettaton's frame. Then came the plans, the plot, the action and drama. Isohil's concert was scheduled first and they were going to mock Mettaton at some point. MTT would play up their rivalry, and retaliate with mockery of his own. They would escalate, moving closer and closer one concert hall at a time. Lunar Hall, Yishil Arena, Exoearth Scene, Arrista Hall, Paradise, Sualar.

And it all ended at a hall made by a completely different species, A56-DV-05-XV. Most of the audience wore masks due to different oxygen and pressure requirements, but Isohil tolerated this difference better than most, and Mettaton didn't need air completely. Now... It was time to rise and greet the audience.

Their actual battle was partially scripted. Trading solitary bursts of magic, interrupting each other's singing, with escalating retaliations, then a proper wave of mini-ttons and explosions (Isohil would be projecting a faux SOUL to compensate for natural differences), an artistic salto and a series of elemental waves, closing in and a hand to hand (draconic fights were way more physical). Then it would end in a smokescreen and scenic blood and busted plating. A short walk forward and a handshake -- two hand changes were totally expexted -- for peace.

"Yea, my cousin plays the hero of the Enknown... I think it's like Earthen Dr Who."

"One of my cousins composes most of my music nowadays. They just barely appear on most cameras."

I wanted to draw this and a companion piece to that for #MettatonMay , but I'm afraid that I can't finish even this today.

But hey, I have a lizzer.

[writeshite]

Can you write homelander x male reader?

Lay All Your Love On Me

Summary:

“You interest me; besides, wouldn’t you like to be on the arm of the world’s best superhero?” he offers, “Anywhere you want - Rome, Paris, Sydney - you name it.” “Wow, not even a first date, and you’re already pulling out the stops,” you quip. He leans close and offers his arm; you take it, “Alright then, flyboy, surprise me.”

Pairings:

Homelander x Male!Reader

Tags:

Supe!Reader | Fluff |

Words: 1398

Author's Note:

I think it'd be funny if Homelander dated Stan Edgar's son, don't ask me why, I just think it'd be. Reader Has Psionic Powers - telepathy, telekinesis, teleportation, precognition, etc. I didn't flesh it out much lmao.

The overhead lights are practically buzzing, and you can feel the headache coming on from a mile away, but Vought’s little mixer is just getting started. Taking a three-day all-nighter was probably the cause of your headache, and it doesn’t help that most of the people here are buzzed enough to have their thoughts up at a high volume. 

“Get back upstairs.” Stan Edgar may be cold, but he’s still a good father, “Your eyes are shining again, and you look five seconds away from passing out.”

You shake your head, “I can handle a few hours of socializing.” He stares you down with concern, but you wave him off, a small smile on your face, “I’ll be fine,” you reassure him. He reluctantly leaves you when he’s called away by Madelyn, “Three more hours,” you whisper to yourself. You’ve opted out of drinking wine, but the water’s not doing much to help. Your vision’s not hazy yet, but you have a hard time with it; you're clenching your eyes tightly, lightly smacking the side of your head to drown out the minds around you. One of them is louder than the others, and it comes corralling right into you. Your glass gets caught by the other person, and you take a moment to ground yourself, holding onto the other person’s arms.

You hear the annoyance and confusion in their voice before you feel it, “Sorry, I…uh…I didn’t see you there…” you apologize, and glancing up, you find yourself looking into the Homelander’s eyes. He looks confused as if trying to place you. You back away but keep a hold on him when your vision swims again.

“No problem,” he says, with a dashing smile, “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”

You put on a weak smile, “I come around every now and then, my father works for Vought…and I help out…with a few things sometimes.”

He hmmed, then a worried look crossed his face; unfortunately, you didn’t get a chance to ask why before you lost consciousness. Not exactly the best conversation starter. When you came to the first time, it was to loud buzzing; you’d curled into yourself, the arms around you held you close, but the voices just muffled into one another. The next time was shorter and ten times louder; the third time was really the charm. A doctor was chatting away with your father; Homelander was far off to the side, hands behind his back; thankfully, the lights in the room were dimmer, and you were no doubt far enough from the party. When you sit up, you get the others’ attention; Stan's the first to approach you, kneeling by the couch with his infamous I told you so look. 

“Yeah, yeah, you were right,” you say, pulling a face at him when he shakes his head.

“Hopefully, this will teach you the importance of sleep,” he lectures you, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but thank you, John.” You snicker at how displeased he sounds to be thanking Homelander, “I’m grateful someone of your caliber was around to help my son.”

“Of course, no problem,” he replies, “I never did catch your name,” Homelander points out, looking over to you.

“You don’t need to,” Stan cut the conversation, dismissing Homelander.

“You could’ve been nicer; he did help me out,” you comment, watching the hero walk away.

“I’d rather take out my tongue and strangle myself with it,” he remarks.

“Dramatic, aren’t we?”

“You don’t have to clean up his messes,” he states, “he and the rest of the seven aren’t as pleasant as the public loves to think.”

“Oh? But he is cute, in a murderous puppy sort of way,” you say, laying back again.

Stan shakes his head, “Your taste in men concerns me at times.”

In all seriousness, Homelander was interesting; even having returned to the party, you could still hear his thoughts from your place on the couch. They were mostly loud and unpleasant, directed towards the people around him as they did nothing more than bore him - or in the case of the poor Vought employee who he’s currently speaking to, annoy him. You could practically feel the god-complex, but on another level, he was attractive, in his own murderous way, which really must say something about you.

Between bed rest and everything else, you don’t have Homelander at the forefront of your mind; aside from your meeting, you don’t see him again until the next Vought party. A Sidekick Extravaganza - the Seven and all of Vought’s other assets get a chance to meet and inspire their younger fans - unlike the previous party, this one takes place during the day and is held in the nearby parks, with each supe getting their own section. You mingle between the Seven, watching the events from afar, it’s not terribly boring, but you find more fun in the thoughts of the others around you. 

When you’re not eavesdropping on minds, you’re setting off harmless little pranks - a bench topples over here and there - nothing major. “Nice trick.”

You turn to find Homelander standing by you, arms behind his back; you shrug, “It’s better than watching the Deep try and stop kids from eating his fishy friends.” He snickers, “I never got a chance to thank you,” you say, “for the other night, sorry about my father.”

“Father…Stan Edgar, is…your father?” He runs through the question a few times as his mind takes the time to process the information. ‘Edgar has children?’

“Yes, two, in fact, though really we’re adopted.”

He steps back, ‘How did he—no, can he read minds?’ 

You nod, a grin on your face, “Yes, I can read minds.” He leans forward, slightly intrigued.

‘Can you actually read minds, or are you just fucking with me?’ 

‘I can do a whole lot more than that,’ you say in mind; his eyes widen at hearing your voice inside his head.

“Ok, not bad,” he commends, stepping close. There’s a crash then as one of his sidekicks knocks something over, “Excuse me, be right back,” he says. 

You go back to watching the events all around; by noon, the sun is out in full force, and you sigh in relief when it all ends. You’re almost out of the park when Homelander finds you again, landing beside you; his arm comes around your shoulder, “Where are you going? Our conversation’s not over yet,” he states.

“It’s hot, it’s noon, and I’m hungry–”

“I’ll buy you lunch then,” he cuts in.

“All for a conversation?” you tease.

“You interest me; besides, wouldn’t you like to be on the arm of the world’s best superhero?” he asks, “Anywhere you want - Rome, Paris, Sydney - you name it.”

“Wow, not even a first date, and you’re already pulling out the stops,” you quip. He leans close and offers his arm; you take it, “Alright then, flyboy, surprise me.”

He takes you to Lucerne, Switzerland, nestled between the alps; it’s almost like a hideaway, flourishing with medieval charm. Though it’s early evening when you get there, lunch turned dinner is still lovely, and Homelander grills you with questions on your powers. “See that waiter over there,” you point out; he nods, leaning over the table, “he’s thinking about stealing from the register tomorrow night.”

“The lady over by the back,” you say, “she’s been staring at you since you sat down,” you take a bite of your dessert, “and…oh, well, that’s not a PG-rated thought.”

“How far’s your range?” he asks, but you shrug; you’ve never gone as far as testing something like that, “Doesn’t Edgar make you train or something?”

“Not really; I don’t do combat like you or the rest of the Seven,” you respond, “I’m a therapist, but I’m on a break; seeing into people’s heads tends to get overwhelming in the profession.” You leave the restaurant and walk along the bridge; it’s well past regular hours in Switzerland; when you return home, the sun is nearly set. “Thanks for the food and the not date,” you say. The park may be emptier now, but you can feel the glare Stan is no doubt sending Homelander from the entrance.

“Any chance I can charm an actual date out of you?”

“Why Homelander—” you gawk in mock surprise.

“John,” he corrects, “Call me John.”

“Alright then, John, you’ve got yourself a date.”

End Note:

One day I will write something darker for Homelander, until then, stay hydrated.