#“EVEN THOUGH I AM CANONICALLY AWKWARD AND UNCOMFORTABLE AND I NEED TO STAY AWAY FROM YOU BC I’M A FUCKIN PRIEST”

[thepunkmuppet]

I love this plot development because I feel like I’ve spent the whole of part 3 so far doing this and now my feelings have been validated

[summercourtship]

stay to burn (only to drown instead): chapter three: all that for this? [part I]

masterpost | ao3 link

jonathan crane x reader; bruce wayne x reader; edward nashton x reader | warnings: canon typical violence, sexual content | word count: 8244 words

DISCLAIMER: these chapters are not meant to be read alone. not every chapter has content for one of the three pairings listed. this is an ongoing fanfiction that I am cross-posting here on tumblr, not a series of one-shots.

chapter one

A black dress with the tag still on was draped over the back of your couch, a pair of heels thrown haphazardly on one of the cushions. You were sitting at the tiny kitchen table squeezed into your space, a desk mirror in front of you propped up with a stack of books. Your hair was, for all intents and purposes, cooperating with you tonight as you pinned and placed it exactly as the smiling woman on your phone screen was showing you- the tutorial had been labeled as easy although you were finding it anything but. Turning your head to the side, you tried to view your profile but the mirror simply wasn’t big enough. Sighing, you swiped the video off, deciding to just wing the rest of your hairstyle.

But your attention was soon drawn away from your hair to the TV you had playing in the background even though you weren’t watching it. You turned to look back at it from your chair. You had put the news on even though you wanted to cultivate better vibes for the night than the depressing 24/7 news cycle of Gotham City. Putting it on must’ve been a force of habit, you supposed.

“...new reports of the criminal dubbed the Scarecrow by the Gotham Gazette have been coming in after an alleged robbery at a pharmaceutical warehouse last night where the criminal was spotted on CCTV. He was allegedly first spotted in November, although his actions have escalated from small break-ins to terrorizing city officials…”

As you watched the news broadcast, eyes roaming over the grainy figure of the Scarecrow, something lit up in a back corner of your brain, an itch that you couldn’t locate and couldn’t scratch. But maybe you were just uncomfortable with the idea of another masked criminal running around the city. Your experience with the last one was enough to put you off of them for the rest of your life.

Breaking yourself out of the trance-like state you’d been staring at the TV with, you got up and turned it off. You didn’t need any of that tonight. You could learn all about Gotham’s newest villain tomorrow. Tonight your only job was to enjoy yourself. Maybe even have fun.

Scoffing, you plopped back onto your seat, resisting the urge to run a hand through your half-done hair. You turned back to your mirror to continue working on your appearance, opting to listen to music instead of the news. Queueing up a playlist of party jams, you skipped every song until you found one you knew, immediately bouncing your head as you began to dance along in your seat.

You decided then to make a quick promise to yourself, a mantra to get you through the night without losing your mind: this is going to be a fun night out and I will not spend any time worrying about silly little things.

When your hair is complete, you moved to pick up the dress you’d bought two days ago. It had, admittedly, cost more than you had been expecting to spend for the night but it had looked good on you and when were you going to have the opportunity to attend a gala again? You might as well go all out.

Zipping the back of the dress up, you cringed when you realized that you couldn’t get the last stretch closed, even with the awkward angle you had your arms at.

Well. You could just ask Dr. Crane to finish zipping it up for you.

You imagined the way his hands would caress your back, holding you steady as he slowly closed the dress. And then you started to imagine his hands moving the other way, unzipping and pulling the dress off of your body-

Your face burned at the thought, the skin of your back tingling in anticipation for his imagined touch. You cursed yourself for thinking about this ten minutes before he was due to arrive because of course, he’s driving you to the event.

Contorting yourself, you managed to zip the dress up. See? You don’t need to embarrass yourself. You don’t need Dr. Crane.

You were stepping into the pair of heels (that were maybe a bit too tall for you to comfortably exist in but you’d apparently been feeling yourself on that shopping trip) when a text lit up your phone.

Here.

Stomach swooping, you stood up a bit too fast causing your legs to wobble slightly on your heels (which you were now certain were definitely too tall for you). You’d given Dr. Crane your phone number a week ago, in between classes where you’d done your best to minimize the amount of contact you’d had with him as you had still been reeling from your earlier conversation in his car. You’d had a lingering bout of anxiety that had lasted the entire weekend, simmering low in your stomach and you naturally connected it to the nerves from being in the car with him.

But this was the first time he had texted you since you’d given it to him and seeing his name show up on your phone was like a straight shot of caffeine into your heart, more effective at energizing you than any early 2010’s club hit. Even if the text itself was lacking in any personality (who uses periods in a text when they aren’t pissed off? Dr. Crane, apparently) it was still an overwhelming reminder that Dr. Crane had pulled his phone out, found your name, typed out a message, and sent it.

And also that he was currently outside your building, waiting.

Checking yourself one last time in the tiny mirror, squinting to make out your form in the small glass, you nodded in affirmation that yes, you looked as good as you were going to tonight. You grabbed the tiny purse you’d bought just for this event and after making sure your keys and pepper gel were in the bag you left your apartment.

The light flickered as you briskly walked down the hallway to the stairwell, building your confidence with each step. You passed the old elevator that no one used even though it was technically in working order. But anything that dusty wasn’t being used for a reason and at least the stairs won’t break down on you.

As you opened the door to the stairs, you caught a glimpse of yourself in a stained hallway mirror. Seeing yourself outside of the tiny mirror that seemed to hone in on your biggest insecurities squashed any lingering doubts you had about your dress or your hair or your body. You looked good.

And damn it, you were determined to have fun tonight.

With renewed vigor, you hurried down the steps, purse swinging behind you as you circled around the switchbacks. Your heels clicked satisfyingly against the tile flooring, loud enough that anyone else in the stairwell must have known you were rapidly approaching.

Taking a deep breath you pushed your building's door open, stepping into the cold February night. Luckily for you, the forecast said it would be a clear night, a decidedly rare occurrence in Gotham. And sure enough, the stars were out and the moon was bright and full in the sky. Not a cloud in sight.

And there he was, waiting outside his slick black car like he said he would be, leaning against the driver’s side door. His normal clothes had been replaced by a formal three-piece suit, tailored to accentuate his frame. He’d forgone the glasses for the night, leaving no barriers for you to see how his gaze swept over your body.

“You look lovely.” Dr. Crane pushed off the car, taking a step forward to meet you.

“Thank you.” You were aware that you had, perhaps, gone a bit overboard with your appearance and you were honestly afraid that you would arrive at the gala and see knee-length skirts and khakis. But with the way Dr. Crane was looking at you right now, you decided that you couldn’t care less if people thought you were overdressed for the event.

You moved to walk over to the passenger side, wanting to get all of the awkward pleasantries out of the way as soon as possible. Maybe it would make you seem more confident to not linger too long outside his car, to get straight to the punch and take control of the night.

“Wait-” He stopped you as you turned away from him, pulling something on the back of your dress. “The tag is still on.”

“What?!” You turned your head back to look at him and sure enough, he was holding the price tag between his thumb and index finger. There goes any chance of seeming cool and confident tonight. “Oh. That’s embarrassing.”

And it was even more embarrassing when you realized that meant he saw how much you’d spent on your dress- and it wasn’t cheap. After all, all you had thought about when purchasing it was the way it had hugged your curves and hid the parts of you that you were insecure about. The price, at that moment, hadn’t mattered. But it was still frivolous and you didn’t want him thinking that you normally spent your money so recklessly.

“Don’t worry.” He put a hand on your bare shoulder, steadying you before he cleanly ripped the tag off. “It’s taken care of.”

“Thanks.” God, you were trying your best to not cringe yourself into oblivion.

Wordlessly, he moved past you to get into the car and you took another moment to follow suit.

The same style of music was playing in his car, the warmth still as inviting as before. You sighed in relief, already starting to regret not bringing a jacket with you. It was a stupid decision but you’d thought your dress looked better without it and you’d wanted Dr. Crane to see you for the first time without any barriers to your complete outfit. Certainly not a worn out rain jacket.

But still.

You could have at least bought something that matched to go on your arms because they were bare and shivering, covered in goosebumps. Who would have thought that February would be cold? Now you were starting to think that maybe your desperation for Dr. Crane to notice you in a very specific way was going to get you killed.

“You look nice tonight, too.” Your voice was quiet, like you hadn’t been sure if you were allowed to speak to him yet. His face turned to you, quick, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly. He blinked once at you before a soft smile graced his features. Though he didn’t say anything in response, you knew that your compliment had meant something to him.

“I appreciate you coming with me tonight.” He didn’t speak until he had started driving, merging into the traffic hell that was Gotham on a Saturday night. The gala was held at one of the university’s fanciest buildings, right next to the bay and across the city from the main campus. With this traffic, it could take thirty minutes to get there.

“I’ve always wanted to go to a gala.”

“They’re not very exciting.”

“For you, maybe.” You laughed, your carefree attitude toward the night apparently extending to your conversation with Dr. Crane. It was like you had decided to not be intimidated by him for one night and miraculously you were actually doing it. “I like an excuse to get dressed up.”

He hummed, switching lanes. It was like he was saying “Oh, I noticed.”

“Anyway, there’ll be free food and-” You gasped, remembering the best part. “Alcohol!”

“Right, the college student’s two motivations. Free food and alcohol.” You scoffed in response to his incredulous tone.

“What, you aren’t excited that it’s free? And readily available for you?”

“I am financially secure enough for free food to mean less.” He paused. “And I’m not much of a drinker. I prefer to be fully aware of what’s happening around me.”

“You’re no fun.” You laughed. “Don’t you like to just… let go?”

He gave you another look, equal parts surprised and amused. You were a bit surprised at yourself, too. It seemed that the confidence you felt tonight had indeed extended to your conversation. You weren’t normally this outgoing or talkative with him (sure, you talked but not in this… casual, bubbly way). It was like you were a completely different person, like you were one of the girls who had no fear about the city’s crime rate as she went to parties and clubs for a good time.

“I can be fun.” He said, his eyes focused back on the road.

“Oh yeah? How?” Your question was pointed, and you didn’t miss how he worked his jaw back and forth slightly. Thinking. Again, you got the feeling that he was debating whether or not to say something before he ultimately decided not to, keeping his mouth shut and his eyes away from yours.

You weren’t really one to talk about having fun. This was the first night in months- if not a year- where you were allowing yourself to go out for no reason but pleasure and it was all because he invited you. You opened your mouth to apologize for teasing him when he cut you off.

“I’m a busy man. Between the university, the asylum, attending court cases, I barely have time for my research. Let alone fun.” He sighed. “I’m lucky enough I’m able to come to this tonight.”

You looked down at your hands, now unsure of how to respond.

“I’ve really been looking forward to tonight, thank you for inviting me along.” You felt like you had been going through the same few comments about how excited you were for the night but it was all you could think of to talk about. Your attempt at asking him what he did for leisure backfired, so it seemed any small talk would need to be initiated by him.

Was it frustrating to be aware that he knew significantly more about you than you knew about him? Very. But when he shot down every attempt you made to change that, there was little else you could do but allow it to happen.

He didn’t respond, and the only thing you could think about now was that you had ruined the night with your unintentional prying.

You watched his hands as they moved on the steering wheel, guiding his car into the driveway for the venue. The street was lined with trees adorned with fairy lights, creating a magical glow over the damp road, their light dully reflected.

As soon as the building was in sight- the exterior lit up with spotlights, valets waiting outside, the whole nine yards- Dr. Crane turned to you.

“You won’t be expected to talk to anyone tonight. I, however, as someone whose research is partly funded by the school which is in turn funded by the donors, will be speaking to some of the wealthy sponsors there tonight.”

You nodded, even though he probably couldn’t tell. You could grin and bear it through some boring conversations as long as you were able to enjoy a few drinks and the aesthetics of it all. Though you were interested to know how Dr. Crane would describe his research because he’s never talked about it with you, or rarely mentioned it in his classes. You knew it had something to do with fear and the human psyche but that was it, really.

He pulled up to the valet, climbing out of the car. You were just opening the door when he appeared, offering his hand to help you out. You almost refused him on some sort of half-formed principle (something about being independent) but then you remembered your heels and decided that you could abandon your principles for one night. More so, you saw it as a reassurance that no, you hadn’t ruined the night by being awkward in the car. After all, he was notorious at the university as being hard to get along with and it was a miracle you managed for as long as you had.

Really, you should be giving yourself a pat on the back for even getting this far with him.

Gently resting your hand on his own, you placed one heel out onto the pavement which was still glistening from the rain earlier in the day. You looked up at the building, smiling at how picturesque everything was now that you were sure Dr. Crane wasn’t upset.

The Martha Wayne Memorial Hall was the most ornate building on campus and it was the one that was used the least by the school. Conferences, career conventions, and this, apparently, were the only things it was used for. You’d been inside once before during your college orientation’s tour of campus and it had been a very brief visit. Unlike a lot of formal event venues, it was styled like an old opera house, fitting the Gothic style favored by most of Gotham’s architects. There were even some gargoyles hanging out on the eaves.

As soon as you were steady on your feet, Dr. Crane let go of your hand, handing his keys to one of the valets who had come up to the pair of you.

Inside the building it was no less ornate, with marble floors and small chandeliers lining the ceiling. The atrium had three rooms off of it, a large ballroom, the banquet room, and the theatre. Occasionally, touring Broadway shows would come here for a few nights but you’d never been able to afford tickets, even with a student discount. In the center of the room was a grand glass staircase, leading to the upper levels of the building.

However, even more impressive than the interior was the people. Any fears you had about being overdressed were wiped away when you saw what the other guests were wearing. You were surrounded by Gotham’s elite, wearing their best jewlery and furs, things they would never dare wear out on the town. You could also tell who the people from the university were from the way their skin seemed more lived in, the way their hair wasn’t completely perfect. They had more important things to do than sit in front of their mirror making sure they were perfect before leaving the house.

“Somehow, I feel underdressed,” You were staring at a young woman in a sequin-covered floor length gown, tiny pearls woven into her complex hairstyle. You made brief eye contact with her before she looked away, her facial expression blank.

“Then don’t concern yourself with other people.” You looked over at him, but he wasn’t looking at you. He was right, though. What did it matter if people spent a thousand dollars on a dress for this event (which made the two hundred you spent on your own seem like nothing) if you were here to have a good time?

Before you could respond, a voice came over the loudspeaker, effectively drowning out the mindless chatter of the guests. The lights flashed once in the lobby, slow enough that you knew it was deliberate and not them simply flickering. The universal theatre signal for ”get in here, the show’s about to start.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, if you would please make your way into the auditorium for tonight’s presentation. Thank you.”

Like one being, the crowd began shuffling towards the theater.

“Looks like we arrived just in time.” Dr. Crane hadn’t started moving yet, watching the crowd amble away. You turned to him when you started walking, raising your eyebrows.

“Did you plan it so we’d be here right as the presentation began?”

He smiled, his eyes sliding to you. “Yes.” You caught me, his face seemed to say. But I wanted you to.

And you smiled back, more from relief at seeing him relaxed again than what he’d actually said. You knew you had a bad habit of overanalyzing every encounter you had with him, searching for clues of his true feelings in the minimal amount of words he used to communicate with you. But just because you knew you had a habit of doing it didn’t mean you were going to stop anytime soon.

Ushers- who were definitely students making a maximum of eight dollars an hour- stood by the double doors leading to the orchestra level seats, making sure everyone got one of the programs outlining the order of events for the presentation as well as informing them that there were no assigned seats (with a few exceptions for some of the extremely wealthy guests in the boxes. Of which you were not so it didn’t matter to you).

Dr. Crane walked close to your side, and as you passed through the double doors into the auditorium, the back of his hand brushed yours, just for a quick second. Though your heart skipped a beat at the sudden contact, you quickly told yourself it was an accident on his part, born from your close proximity as you moved into the theater.

Which was huge and you racked your brain trying to think of the last time you were there. Maybe freshman orientation? Either way it had been a long time since you stepped into the theater and it was even more ostentatious than you remembered it being.

Red carpet ran down the length of every aisle, the seats upholstered with a matching color of crushed velvet. The house went up three tiers, gold filigree covering the black walls, hiding the lighting fixtures in their details. And at the very top of the painted, domed ceiling was a large glittering chandelier.

“How much money do you think they spent on this?” You whispered to Dr. Crane as your gaze roamed around, who chuckled low in his chest.

“A couple million, at least.” He responded, his voice matching yours in its volume.

“I feel like I’m at an opera.” You were staring at the chandelier,

“The presentation-” his voice was dripping in sarcasm and you hid your smile by ducking your chin- “will kill that, don’t worry.”

You liked this side of him. Humorous, not worried about his classes or what was happening down at the asylum (you assumed that’s what he worried about, he didn’t disclose that sort of thing to you). He seemed so much more at ease here in his well-pressed suit than he ever was giving a lecture. You would almost think he was in his element, if you didn’t know him better.

He placed a hand on the small of your back as he pointed to a row of seats that had two empty and wasn’t too close to the stage (the fronts and center rows were reserved for potential donors) and gently guided you over to it. You could feel the texture of his hand through your dress, surprisingly rough fingers separated from your own skin by a single layer of thin fabric. It was an innocent gesture, you told yourself, just to make sure you knew where he was going.

Either way, you followed his guidance, shuffling into the row after him. You sat in the seat, the plush cushion as comfortable as it had looked from the aisle. You allowed yourself to sink into it, so much more comfortable than the wooden lecture hall seats you were used to. It wasn’t comparable, honestly.

“How long will this last, anyway?” You turned to Dr. Crane, the program unopened on your lap.

“It will feel like forever but-” He paused when you laughed, throwing another curious look your way. Maybe he hadn’t meant it as a joke, but you were amused by his blunt delivery. “It should only be thirty or forty minutes.”

Internally, you groaned. You never were good at sitting through boring programs.

Opening the program, you scanned past the thank yous and ads for shows that were coming to the theater and local businesses, looking for the order of events.

Yeah, it looked pretty boring.

The lights dimmed and the President of Gotham University stepped on stage, her hand raised in a still wave to the crowd, who was clapping politely at her entrance. There was no cheering, no whooping. This was a civilized event. She had one of those obnoxiously big TED-talk style microphones taped to her cheek and you knew you only had a few more seconds to steel yourself before the masturbatory worship of the university began.

You loved your school, of course. But you didn’t know how anyone bought into the blind loyalty that colleges demanded from their students, alumni, and donors. From the tone that Dr. Crane had used when he mentioned talking to potential sponsors or the presentation, you would hazard a guess that he at least somewhat agreed with you. Maybe you could make fun of this after, laugh about it during the ride home.

Once the applause (quickly) died down, the President began speaking, outlining why it was so important to support the school. She highlighted some of the professors’ specific research topics (Dr. Crane’s was not included and you wondered if he was upset about that but you couldn't bring yourself to peer over at him, not so soon at least), emphasizing all of the good the university was doing. You could barely keep yourself from rolling your eyes, knowing that most of the money given to the school tonight would probably end up in someone’s pocket and not anywhere near the students.

The bitter thought surprised you, but it was hard to believe that the millions of dollars people gave to the university were used for good when your own department was severely underfunded and wasn’t even unpopular.

You wondered how much Dr. Crane received for his research.

You were trying your best to focus on the presentation but he was so close to you, your thigh just barely touching his own. (Couldn’t they have made these seats a bit farther apart, with the millions of dollars they spent on furnishings?) You shuffled your feet, slowly starting to pull your leg away from his, shrinking in on yourself slightly to give him more space.

Only for his leg to just take up the space you had created, your bodies once again connected at a single point on your thighs.

You told yourself it was a subconscious action on his part. That he somehow didn’t realize he was chasing you.

You peered over at him from the corner of your eye, watching as he seemed to concentrate on the President’s speech. Then his eyes flicked over to you and back to the stage, a small smile ghosting across his mouth.

He knew what he was doing.

But what did he mean by it?

On your other side was an older man, engrossed in the presentation. You didn’t want to be close to him at all, didn’t want to give him any funny ideas about what you were doing. So there was only one option for your legs.

You squeezed your legs together, moving them once again next to Dr. Crane’s. At the same moment, he moved his hand from the armrest to his thigh. You stared for a moment at how close his hand was to your leg- on which the slit of your dress was laying in such a way that your bare skin was exposed.

Wrenching your gaze away from your legs, you forced yourself to watch the presentation again. Which, honestly, had to be at least halfway done by now. It wasn’t dragging on as much as you had feared, but it was still not how you wanted to be spending your time.

You wished you had at least gotten a drink before you’d been corralled into the auditorium.

You closed your eyes, leaning your head back against the seat for a moment. The presentation wasn’t even for you, who would care if you weren’t paying attention?

Then you felt it, and your head snapped back up.

A small brush against your exposed skin. And without even looking down, you know exactly what it was.

Dr. Crane’s fingers were warm on your thigh, not moving, just resting against you. When he doesn’t move his hand away, when he doesn’t do anything to suggest that this action of his was an accident, your heart rate goes into overdrive because you had fantasized about him touching you since your first class with him three semesters ago and now, in a darkened theater, he was. It didn’t feel real- it couldn’t be real.

But more importantly, what did this small action of his mean for your relationship? Because this had thrust it far beyond professional, or even the platonic relationship that you had resigned yourself to.

His hand remained there for the rest of the presentation, a grounding presence that did little to actually ground you to the present because you were occupied with worrying about how to go forward from this moment. (There you go again, overanalyzing and worrying about everything.)

And then the lights came back on.

He stood up and pretended like he hadn’t just kept his hand on your bare thigh for the last fifteen minutes. You remained in your seat, barely registering that the crowd was leaving or even that the presentation was over.

“You look hungry.” He stated, pulling you out of your mind. He looked down at you and you jumped up, smiling tersely at him.

“Sure, that’s fine.” Your response wasn’t quite aligned with his statement but you didn’t care as you led the way out of the auditorium and back into the atrium. If he wasn’t going to bring up what he did, neither were you.

Being back in the crowd woke you up, bringing you out of the stupor that his touch had induced.

The chatter was louder than it had been before the presentation, the guests clearly ready to finally enjoy the refreshments and music- you could faintly hear a string quartet from the ballroom and a piano from the banquet hall. Peering into the latter, you saw crowds of people around the buffet tables and decided that you would wait until it died down to try and get any real food.

Sighing, you turned back to Dr. Crane.

“Is there anyone specifically that you want to talk to tonight?”

Then you realized that Dr. Crane was looking past you and you followed his gaze behind you. A young man, only a few years older than you, was walking through the crowd. A bit awkward, smiling tersely at everyone trying to speak with him. And people were clambering to speak with him, smiling and laughing when they saw him. He looked over at you briefly, then seemed to do a double take as he looked back.

Leaving his current conversation, a bit unceremoniously if the looks his previous conversations partners gave each other was anything to go by, he came over to the pair of you.

“Mr. Wayne.”

Dr. Crane was the first to speak, reaching across you to shake Bruce Wayne’s hand. You watched as they exchanged greetings and introductions, content to stay silent while they talked. After all, Dr. Crane said you could and you’re not even sure what you would say to Bruce Wayne, of all people.

“Nice to see you out tonight.”

“I needed some fresh air.” You couldn’t help but notice how tense the younger man was holding his shoulders. Dr. Crane, in comparison, was relaxed, not even batting an eye at the sudden conversation with the Prince of Gotham.

“I’m sure.”

There was a brief, awkward moment of silence as you looked between the pair. Bruce Wayne, though he was certainly better looking in person than in his pictures, was clearly out of his comfort zone, and you couldn’t blame him. He’d been a reclusive figure for many years, really only becoming social (which, for him, meant leaving his house every few weeks to attend an event) in the past year. Without him saying it, everyone knew it was because of the Riddler’s attempt on his life.

It was almost funny how the Riddler made the once anti-social Bruce Wayne social and you, someone who used to enjoy going out at night, into a shut-in who only left the house for school and work.

“My teaching assistant.” Dr. Crane gestured to you, and you nodded. Until you remembered that you could actually speak. You held out your hand to Mr. Wayne, giving him your name, and he grasped your palm with a firm handshake that he must have learned before he could even attend events like these. But there’s something else that his touch reminds you of, the roughness of his palm inviting and grounding, but you can’t place what it is aside from a lingering sensation of safety.

“It’s very nice to meet you.” He smiled at you, his eyes crinkling. You didn’t know if you’d ever seen a picture of him smiling like that. Not a polite smile, reserved for business partners or cameras. But a genuine smile. You couldn’t help but return it, beaming at him as you continued holding his hand.

Dr. Crane cleared his throat and you dropped Mr. Wayne’s hand, smiling nervously over at the professor. He’s looking at you strangely, in a way you’ve never seen him look at you before (and there are many strange looks he has given you). It wasn’t angry, per se, but there was certainly some unpleasant emotion simmering in his chest.

“Have a nice evening, Mr. Wayne.” He said curtly before guiding you into the other room, his hand on your shoulder, his pace quick.

“It was nice meeting you!” You spoke over your shoulder to Bruce Wayne, still smiling despite Dr. Crane’s odd behaviour.

As you walked, you resisted the urge to ask him what the hell that was all about, reminding yourself about the promise you’d made. This is going to be a fun night out and I will not spend any time worrying about silly little things.

Starting a fight with Dr. Crane would certainly ruin the evening. And besides, his answer would most likely be mundane, right? He probably hadn’t even realized that he was coming across as possessive- or dare you say, jealous- with his sudden dismissal of the younger man. Even if you were in a weird gray area relationship wise now, he didn’t own you.

You could shake other men’s hands.

He led you into the ballroom, stopping once or twice on the way to talk with colleagues that he came across. Those conversations were always short and stilted, his desire to be anywhere else clear on his face and in his language. If the other professors acknowledged you, it was with a simple nod. But they never spoke to you which was fine. Considering how Dr. Crane had acted with Bruce Wayne, you didn’t exactly relish the thought of speaking with more men, especially ones he knew professionally.

They always asked the same questions- how his classes were doing, how his research was going, how his work at the asylum was coming along, if he met any new “crazies” that he could gossip about. His answers were always good, good, and good. He declined to answer any questions about patients at the asylum, and you bristled at the language the other men used to describe them.

They’re still people, you wanted to say. Even if they killed and maimed others. But you weren’t in the mood to be accused of defending them and their actions (which you weren’t), so you kept your mouth shut.

Finally, he had no one else to speak to and you reached the ballroom.

The large windows that had covered the walls in the atrium continued in here, the ballroom overlooking the garden. You could faintly make out some people walking down the well-lit walkways outside. The string quartet that you’d heard playing earlier was set up on a small platform in the corner and quite a few couples were swaying to the music in the center of the room.

On the other side of the room was a cluster of small tables, most of them occupied. A few caterers walked around with plates of fingerfoods and trays of drinks, and you were about to grab something when Dr. Crane spoke up from beside you.

“Dance with me.”

You whipped around, staring at Dr. Crane, afraid you hadn’t heard him correctly.

“What?”

“Dance with me.” He repeated, smiling at you. “I’m bored.”

You looked down at his offered hand.

“Okay.” You returned his smile, allowing yourself to be swept onto the dancefloor. It wasn’t ballroom dancing, certainly not something out of a period piece at all. Dancing with him was really just a glorified verison of swaying back and forth. But you didn’t care because all you could focus on was his hand on your hip, your hand on his shoulder- the points where your bodies were connected.

Even though there were layers of fabric between the two of you, you could swear you felt vibrant electricity from his touch, sparks coursing through your veins as you tried to focus on everything at once. You didn’t want to forget how it all looked and felt when the morning came. You wanted to keep it in its own little bubble in your memory, preserved for all time.

“I’ve never really slow danced before.” Sure, you’d gone to school dances growing up. But you never went with anyone and slow dances were the perfect time to escape to the bathroom.

“Neither have I.” He smiled and your heart fluttered.

Maybe this would be a good moment to ask him just what his intentions were for the night, to pinpoint exactly what he wanted from you. It was forward, yes, but you were slow dancing together. It warranted questioning, especially if any prying eyes from the university saw and recognized the two of you.

He was playing a very dangerous game and you had no choice but to play with him.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you-”

“May I cut in?” A newly familiar voice broke the spell that had fallen between you and Dr. Crane, the isolated bubble you had been dancing in popping. You turned to look over your shoulder, smiling politely at Bruce Wayne.

“Of course.” You let go of Dr. Crane’s hands, speaking before he could. For a moment, the hand on your waist flexed and tightened against you like he wasn’t going to let you go but then he let go, releasing you to take Bruce Wayne’s outstretched hand. You spared one more glance at Dr. Crane, smiling as reassuringly as you could. “We can talk about it later.”

You placed your other hand on Bruce’s shoulder and he swayed you in a different direction, leading you away from Dr. Crane.

You were, admittedly, a bit starstruck. Sure, you had spoken to him earlier, but this was intimate, not something he had to do for pleasantries or to maintain face (not that he had to introduce himself to you for that. You weren’t important enough to need to meet the richest man in the city. Or for him to care how he came across to you).

The string quartet transitioned smoothly into their next song, the tempo the only thing changing. A few couples left with the change, and a few more walked onto the dancefloor. Once you were in rhythm with one another, you took the opportunity to speak with him.

“Well, Mr. Wayne, it’s nice seeing you again.”

“Please, call me Bruce.”

It had felt a bit odd to call a man who was only a handful of years older than you ‘Mr. Wayne.’ You smiled, nodding your ascent.

“Alright. Bruce. How are you enjoying your night so far?” In your ears, your voice didn’t sound like yours. It sounded too much like the other socialites there tonight and you cringed internally.

“Well, one of the last times I was at a public event like this a car almost hit me, so I think comparatively, it’s going good.”

Heart sinking, you realize he’s talking about the former Mayor’s funeral. So suddenly too and you’re not sure if he’s poking fun at it until he smiles softly. You smiled back but it faded quickly as you worried your lip between your teeth. You waited for another moment before bracing yourself to resond. “I was there, too. At the funeral.”

Well. At least the fake-socialite intonation was gone from your voice.

Genuine surprise flickers across his face before smoothing out into an empathetic but distanced frown. He doesn’t say anything, which you’re grateful for. You’re so tired of people apologizing as if they had anything to do with what happened. There was only one man who could do that and he was currently locked away in an asylum.

“Mhm, I was writing a stupid paper and when all that started happening it was… Well, it felt important to document it.” You chuckled. “As if a paper like that would be important to the historical record.”

“You never know.”

“Anyway, I had just managed to make it through the crowd of normal people-” You flashed a quick smile at Bruce, trying to show him that your comment was just a playful jab- “to the upper balcony above the main chapel when the car came crashing through, so…” You sucked your teeth, trailing off. What an absolute downer of a conversation. “Not as bad as you know… almost being hit.” Oh god, please stop talking.

His hand on your hip moves to your lower back, pressing you closer.

“So, why are you here tonight?”

“Enjoying the scenery.” You don’t miss how his eyes remained on you, and you certainly don’t miss how your cheeks heat up.

“And here I thought you were a shut-in with no social skills.” Like me.

“A lot has changed over the past year.”

The song you were swaying to ended, scattered applause moving throughout the room from those who were even aware that music was being played. The violinist of the quartet announced they were going on a break.

“What do you m-” You started to ask, but another well dressed man came up to Bruce, murmuring something to him. You overheard a snippet about donations and sighed. This event was not about you and certainly not being held so you could have a lengthy chat with the Prince of Gotham. When the man looks at you, raising an eyebrow like you were something he found on the bottom of your shoe, you sighed. “Thank you for the dance, Mr. Wayne. I’ll leave you to it.”

You turned and began walking from the dance floor, not looking back at Bruce as you began scanning the crowd for Dr. Crane. You weren’t really sure how long you and Bruce had been dancing but it couldn’t have been long enough for Dr. Crane to completely disappear, right?

You took a full wine glass off a tray from a passing waiter, taking a sip of the dark liquid as you continued walking through the crowd in search of Dr. Crane. The wine was just okay (you’re sure they could’ve afforded something better for this event, but you were also the farthest thing from a wine connossiuer) but drinking it gave you a purpose. Or at least, something to do with your hands as you weaved between well-dressed couple after well-dressed couple, searching for the man who was the reason you were here tonight. You had no one else to talk to, no goals to achieve for the night. You weren’t even sure you knew anyone else at the event.

Instead of letting your anxious thoughts take control, you took a deep gulp of the wine.

And another.

And when you realized the glass was empty, you just grabbed another one off of a different waiter, not even blinking when you took a sip and found that the drink was a different one from before. Maybe champagne.

You shrugged it off. You weren’t driving tonight, you could drink as much as you wanted.

Halfway through your current drink, you felt (or at least, acknowledged for the first time) the tell-tale twinge in your core that meant the alcohol had really started to seep into your bloodstream. And, combining your lowered inhibitions from the drinks and this sudden bout of horniness, you decided you really should look for Dr. Crane so you could do or say something you would definitely regret in the morning.

With renewed vigor in your search, you entered the large banquet hall off the side of the ballroom, tables lined with snacks that you knew wouldn’t crave your hunger. Still, you wandered closer to the food, remembering that free food was also good, if not better than free alcohol.

It was amazing, actually.

Because now you had a small plate with finger foods and desserts and a new drink and your search for Dr. Crane had morphed into a search for a place to sit. After wandering the room, you finally found a small empty table tucked away in the corner, perfectly secluded for you to enjoy your food.

And you did. But then you realized that you got too much food and you didn’t want to eat anymore, so you got up and searched for the trashcan and boy, were you wobbly on your feet now. Taking a gentle step forward like a newborn fawn, you made your way to the trash cans lined against the wall. Maybe you were more tipsy than you had realized before.

With a flourish, you dropped your half-eaten plate into the garbage. And grabbed another wine from a different waiter. (This will be my last of the night.)

A voice by your side said your name. You turned, unable to immediately place the voice to a name, finding an old professor and your previous advisor by your side. Her gray hair was pulled into a tight updo pinned to the crown of her head and her outfit was simply an upgraded version of the suit she normally wore to work. You smiled, a bit too wide. You’d always liked her- had even aced her class and had been sad when it was announced that she would no longer be the advisor for your major.

“Hi Dr. Hall!” At least you weren’t slurring.

“What in the world are you doing here, and looking so pretty?” She was smiling, her thin lips painted red and stretching over her teeth. You couldn’t help but think of a skeleton, and then immediately felt bad that you had made such an unflattering comparison in your mind.

“I’m here with Dr. Crane! I’m his assistant.” You took another sip of your wine. The more you drank, the better it tasted.

“You’re a TA? For Dr. Crane? The Dr. Crane from the Psychology department?” You were too tipsy to pick up on the disbelieving- almost incredulous- tone to her voice, the way her smile was slowly fading from her face.

“Yeah!” You winced when you heard how loud you were being, taking a moment to pull yourself back. At least you could try to seem sober around your professors. You cleared your throat before beginning to speak again, intentionally lowering your voice (probably too much). “Yes, I am. For his class on the psychology of fear.”

“I didn’t know you studied psychology.”

You nodded, a bit too enthusiastically, but you were already at your maximum focus in controlling your vocal level so you couldn’t be expected to also control your physical movements. Really, you should just be grateful that you didn’t also move your hands and spill your drink at the same time.

“Mhmm, I have a minor. Dr. Crane’s been very helpful.” Amongst other things, you barely stopped yourself from tacking on to the end of your statement. Or winking, which would have been worse. You didn’t need allegations leveled against you and Dr. Crane’s relationship, which was strictly professional.

Right?

You thought back to all of your encounters with Dr. Crane that had left your heart racing, the number of which was steadily increasing. You thought about his hand on your thigh. About the look in his eyes when you’d danced together, the possessiveness when you’d spoken to Bruce Wayne.

Your cheeks grew hot and it certainly wasn’t from the wine.

As you were pondering the true nature of your relationship, Dr. Hall gave you a concerned look and pat on the back, leaving you to your thoughts. It took you a few more moments to realize that she had left you in the first place, but then you shrugged and moved on.

You walked through the crowd, smiling at everyone you saw. It was so different from your normal behavior in Gotham’s crowds (which was to duck your head and ignore everyone) but it felt right. Like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders and thrown into the sun, far away from you.

Looking down, you saw that your glass was empty, and instead of getting another you kept your promise to yourself and put the glass down on a nearby table. And you had the sudden undeniable urge to pee.

Next item on the to-do list: Go to bathroom.

part II

[rodismancave]

A reminder to new folks because I feel I need to say this. It's a few specific rules and more of a 'this is how i roleplay' thing. It kinda got away from me fast but alas, I don't want to make anyone uncomfortable for any reason so I just said what I feel i need to say to make that happen.

My muse is mean. It's usually nothing personal but he is Mean if provoked. There is a line and it is Thin.

This extends to his friends, mostly as a show of ease around them and as jokes, its just how he is. a little jokey joke. he says things without thinking and sometimes that leads to misunderstanding or an otherwise "cruel" comment. He normally doesnt mean it like that (unless he does)

this account is like 80% crack. i am here to have fun and be silly. if you take me seriously and get offended by it then I'm sorry but frankly, I have stated this many, many times. I do roleplay serious stuff, I do focus on a little bit of storytelling every once in a while, but for the most part I am silly and quirky. My portrayal won't always be 100% ic, sometimes a little ooc is healthy, for the bit. I stay committed to the bit, always.

Of course. if he's mean to your muse and you don't like it then you can let me know and I'll tone it down. I'll never be an asshole to people I dont know are 100% down to it or who aren't familiar with how my muse acts. However, sometimes being mean is in character with my muse and theres no other way around it. But the more intense, "i want to cause psychic damage" convos I will always ask if its okay for my muse to go hard on yours.

Rodimus is aware of the multiverse. This does not mean he's aware of the history of each multiverse. He may be aware of them, briefly, but he is really not going to dwell on it much and if you expect him to know it he just. wont. He doesn't really care all that much. This is also to say that he may confuse your muse for someone in his crew because of looking alike, and will treat you as such unless proven otherwise.

There are no people who are "canon" to Rodimus' crew, not at the moment. The only ones who I can say with confidence who are in his crew are @weavingmemoir and @stealthfeline, who are also my muses. This is for practicality. If your muse is part of the Lost Light crew in general, though (brainstorm, whirl, megatron, etc) you can respond to my lost light posts as if you were a member of his crew, I dont really mind. Like I said: commitment to the bit, always. The bit is always funnier when more people join.

Don't pretend like your muse knows mine and vice versa without talking to me first. This is mostly about muses outside G1 and IDW, or even people in IDW that Rodimus never really met, as well as OCs. It isn't really towards muses who HAVE interacted with Rodimus at least a few times. It is Awkward having to figure that out, and I'm not particularly a fan of having to dig around for people's relationships to understand what's going on between your muse and mine.

I don't really care if your muse is banging another Rodimus, or anyone else from his crew. Like I genuinely do not care, and neither does he.

I'll always make adjustments if you ask me to. I'll create new verses to fit with your muse, but that requires communication first and foremost. This also goes for events, if you want in on an event just talk to me and we'll see about it together. My events are never 100% thought out because I like leaving space for other participants to have a say in what happens. I just think its fun, like a group project (but less stressful)

When interacting with me I ask to lay off on the quirky colors and varying different fonts in one single reply. I have a lot of difficulty reading things like that and it strains my vision and it gives me a headache. Just, always have the same font throughout, and if there are different fonts, please let them be at least readable. The standard tumblr fonts are fine, except 'lucille', and the small font tends to me specially frustrating sometimes.

This is a g1/idw based blog. I take stuff i like from g1 and stuff i like from idw and i slam it together until I have something I like. Rodimus does not like the prime title, he does not miss being a prime, and he absolutely does not appreciate being called one, unless its doing things for his ego or to make himself look greater than he is. He is an Ass.

[roscgcld]

HEADCANON + FUSHIGURO MEGUMI || relationship things

request: Can you do sfw and nsfw relationship hcs for Fushiguro

note: hello love! i wouldn’t mind doing some hcs for our little shy bean! tbh, i am not going to lie, this did not take me long to thing lmao - this is my first nsfw work on this blog tho! so this was definitely fun.

pronouns: them/they

note: aged-up!fushiguro! x reader, nsfw content below - please skip if you’re uncomfortable

other than that, enjoy~

sfw

if you two ever share a home together, i feel like he’s the kind of guy who would string fairy lights around your home because it’s cozy to him? 

definitely have dog themed couple items - matching dog themed slippers, mugs, even decorative plates if you allow him to

bet you they are both modelled after his shikigami dogs - since they were the first shikigami to submit to him. so they always hold a special place in his heart

i feel like even though he trains hard, he still likes to keep his hands in good condition. so there is tubes of hand lotion scattered everywhere, at the most random of places by the way

speaking to that - you two might have manicure weekends at home; where he’d spend some time just trimming and caring for his hands and fingernails. he’d do yours if you ask him to

sometimes he’d come home dead tired and just collapses on you wordlessly - wrapping his arms around you tightly whilst burying his face into your neck 

would sigh in content when you wrap your arms around him and hold him close, just running your fingers through his hair gently and tracing your fingers down the back of his neck

if you try to ask him about work, he’d either tell you everything in detail or nothing at all - there is no in between 

most times it’s just him grumbling about gojo and yuji, who he’d once said they both ‘shave so many years off my life just by breathing’

when he’s away on missions, he’ll call you just so you two can go about your day. no words are needed, but he just wants to hear you go about your day. it calms him down, and reminds himself that you’re going to be there for him

weekend visits to his sister - who survived the Shibuya incident and is now recovering slowly under the care of Ieiri (this is not canon by the way - in the manga we still have no idea how things are gonna turn out for her after the whole Geto thing)

having random members of the zen’in clan coming to your shared home asking if you’d talk to them about trying to convince fushiguro to become a zen’in

if fushiguro is home at the time, he’d send his devine dog on them; listening to their terrified screams with a pleased smile as they ran away from your home

“that’s not really nice, gumi.” 

“yeah, yeah - wanna go grab some bingsu?”

honey, you are set for life by the way - mans can cook a bomb ass meal. and from what we know, learns quick too. so if you want to try something new, just give him a few minutes to google and watch a tutorial on it and i bet your ass he can recreate it down to a t

feel like he gives the best massages - don’t tell me otherwise. his hands are definitely made for more then just battles

enjoys it when you would whisper sweet nothings to him after a long week of work - getting more and more cuddly the longer you shower him in praises

he’s more talkative around you compared to others, more willing to share his emotions and how he’s feeling - even though sometimes he finds it hard to find the right words

he lets you wear his clothes - shirts, sweaters, hoodies, sweats. you name it, he’d just gives it to you. finds it cute how you’re drowned in the fabric

enjoys blow drying your hair; idk, i just see him with a peaceful expression on his face, carefully blow drying your hair for you after a warm shower together

would give you actual advice on your outfit - i feel like he’s the one who helps yuji and nobara put together their outfits together whenever they go out of town

nothing is out of place in your home - there is always a compartment for it, or a space on the shelf, or in a drawer

cooking dates together - if you can’t cook, he’ll teach you. if you can cook, you two will try something new together

feel like he’s a dark chocolate fanatic - so you guys will always have a shit ton of chocolate in your home

on some days you’ll come home and just have nue stretched out over your living room, your boyfriend just watching the tv before him whilst petting the owl-like shikigami like it’s a domesticated cat

“oh, hey babe.” he’d greet with a casual nod at you whilst you stand in the hallway, blinking in confusion

idk, i feel like you two have a chilled but lowkey chaotic relationship - since he is friends with gojo, yuji and nobara. but it’s still really loving, with more physical instead of verbal shows of affection. you’ll be treated like a queen/king, and as long as megumi has it, he will make sure you know how much he loves you, even if he’s not by your side due to work

nsfw

okay, i get he’s all innocent and is dense in everything else besides jujutsu - but you have to remember this dude’s dad is fushiguro fucking togi

don’t tell me this man is kink-less - there is no fucking way 

i mean yeah, when you two first get down and dirty together, i feel like he’s all awkward and unsure at first, since he didn’t want to hurt you 

but i get this vibe that he knows exactly what he wants - but let’s remember he’s still a shy bean that refuses to do anything with you until he is 100% comfortable

stress sex happens often - i can bet you that this man will probably come home with a dark look on his face, push you onto the nearest flat surface and just grinds against your ass

people keep saying that he’s a boobs man - and i can see that. doubt he really gives a shit about the size, he just enjoys how he can play with your nipples and have you squirm underneath him 

he enjoys tugging your hair - there is just something about wrapping your soft strands between his fingers whilst he fucks you hard; hearing your voice loud and clear

feel like he’s a doggy man; enjoys running his large hand down your back and gripping the back of your neck. how he can shove your face into the mattress whilst fucking you silly from the back

lowkey has a dumbification kink - enjoys whenever you fucked so good by him that you’re basically drooling and babbling absolute nonsense at him

enjoys leaving hickeys on places you’d never notice at first - on your back, back of your hip, small of your back, shoulder blades. he enjoys you coming up to him with a blush on your face and smacking his shoulder, whining to him that nobara and maki saw the hickeys he left all over to you

bruises on your hips are also a common thing too - he’s hands are so strong and rough that sometimes he just forgets that your skin is delicate and you can bruise easily. he’ll apologise, then add new ones on top of the old ones 

enjoys choking you as well - loves to feel your racing pulse under his fingertips and how you tighten around him whenever he tightens his old around you more

dacryphilia - definitely feels a thrill go through him when you’d look up at him with tear soaked lashes and stained cheeks. makes him take you harder 

doesn’t always enjoy a blowjob - idk why, i feel like he’s more into giving that receiving. goes with his dacryphilia kink too - will stay with his head between your thighs until you’re crying and shaking whilst you try to push him away

definitely enjoys pinning you down, either with his hands or with ropes and handcuffs, but he’s not interested in the entire bdsm thing

enjoys buying you lacy lingerie, regardless of what gender you are, and just have you put them on to show him; only to then rip it off of you as he pins you down on the sofa

he’s somewhat of a soft dom, he wants to protect you and always make sure you’re going to be enjoying yourself. but he’s not above using your body for his own pleasure

he’s not a loud man - a loud grunt from time to time, low groans and growls. but he’s not loud in bed. but enjoys it when you’re loud

man loves the aftercare process - cleans you up gently with a towel, making sure you’re hydrated, getting you snacks if you’re hungry, rubbing your sore muscles. he views it as intimate and cherishes those moments when you lean on him the most

© roscgcld — all rights reserved to me, rose, the author and creator of these works. do not repost/translate/claim my work as yours on any platform

[chaoticevilbean]

Another Star Wars AU, TBN*

*To-Be-Named

I love time travel. A lot. So here is a time-travel au, with the CW trio.

Somehow, perhaps by touching a Sith artifact, perhaps by the Force deciding they should, perhaps from some sort of weird ritual the locals were performing that the trio didn't know about, Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, Anakin, Rex, and Cody travel aback in time.

[Please keep in mind that Canon Timeline has died tragically in a fire, and I am but the weeping widow with an inheritance.]

Due to whatever happened, they all also end up (technically) deaging. They still have their memories and their knowledge and skills, just stuck in smaller bodies. They can think and act like adults, but they also have to struggle a bit more to implement Older Skills in Younger Bodies.

Ahsoka is 2. She's nubby. She's emotional. She's tired and sore from her deaging.

She wakes up in someone's office. She's in a spinny chair, a big one with leather padding. It's kind-of chilly in the room.

She's not thinking, because all her brain is putting together is that she's still tired. She grabs the jacket off the back of the chair and pulls it over herself. She goes back to sleep.

Rex and Cody wake up together.

They are their actual age, which is to say they're both about eleven.

They find themselves on Mandalore. In the more wild areas.

(let me believe that there are parts of the planet that aren't covered in city)

(also, this is the Mandalore in the cartoons)

They find a teen trying to wake them both up. Rex has absolutely no clue what's going on. Cody has a vague idea, because this girl looks very similar to a picture he once saw...

Obi-Wan does not fare as well. He is 3.

He wakes up in someone's arms. He's just as tired and sore as the other three. However, he's also got more awareness because he's in someone's arms.

He looks up to see who's carrying him.

He looks around at the people walking with them.

He starts crying. He cannot help this, as he is suddenly flooded with Emotions, and he is Smol. Smol = harder to handle Emotions.

Because Qui-Gon is walking right next to him, tapping away on a holopad as they go. Dooku is on his other side, on a comm call where both parties sound very tired.

And Obi-Wan is being held... by Obi-Wan.

So, yeah, not that great for a suddenly Smol Obi.

Now, Anakin is 8, so he's better off in that perspective.

But he wakes up on some remote planet without anyone around. He just was in the middle of a group, so he ends up kinda panicking.

Then he hears something coming towards him, and he panics more.

He's Tiny! He's Smol! He's massively at a disadvantage against attacks! He can't fight off whatever is on a planet like this!

It's Mace (and Depa).

Anakin, however, doesn't realize this. He has gone Feral.

Back to the beginning

Jango Fett has been very busy w/Important Mand'alor Paperwork all day. He finally has time to go and relax a little, and he makes it all the way down to the exit before he realizes:

It is really cold outside. He is not in armor bc he was planning to only do paperwork today (though he still has many weapons). When one plans to stay in the same room for almost the entire day, one does not wear normal garb.

That said, he has no protection from the cold. He forgot his jacket upstairs. He rushes back up to his office.

He distinctly remembers that he left the jacket on the back of his chair, not on the seat.

He also is wondering what that lump is.

He arms himself, grabs some of his "emergency" armor plating, and walks over to the chair.

He lifts his jacket up, expecting a bomb or some paperwork that fell off the desk, or something logical.

He does not expect to find a tiny Togruta child clinging onto the fabric, whining as they're woken up by his yanking of the jacket.

Jango's brain stutters for a moment, then he kicks into action.

First things first, he wraps the jacket around the Togruta. They thankfully stay asleep. Then he turns up the heat, because he knows the office has gotten colder in the twenty minutes or so he's been gone, and Togruta are from warm temperate zones.

He decides to call, in this order, a guard who can help him watch the Togruta (they did break in, after all), a medic to check the Togruta’s health, and the first person he can find in his contacts that might know an adult Togruta.

Next group

Rex and Cody manage to get the teen to stop fussing over them for long enough to ask for her name.

Her, clearly lying, but that’s understandable: My name is Ine.

Cody, who knows exactly who this is now: Oh, kriff. You’re Duchess Satine, aren’t you? Kriff.

Rex: Wait, Satine? As in the General’s Satine?

Satine, now very suspicious and reaching for her stunner: I think you need proper medical attention.

Cody, looking down at their eleven-year-old selves: Yeah, I think so, too.

They agree on one thing, at least.

Next

Obi-Wan is crying. Loudly, uncontrollably, w/too many Emotions to even care that he’s supposed to be an adult rn.

Other Obi-Wan is very uncomfortable, bc he doesn’t know how to handle children too well.

They found this kid unconscious in the middle of a ruined, abandoned town.

Obi-Wan was meant to hold this kid while Qui-Gon did research and Master Dooku tried to convince the Council that it was entirely necessary to bring the kid back to Coruscant. Granted, they can still give the child to the locals at any time before they make it back to their ship, but apparently the Force is Being Loud.

The Force was Being Loud when it told Master Dooku to come along.

The Force was Being Loud when it led them to that town.

Qui-Gon and Dooku have argued fifteen and a half times on this mission, and an additional six times on the flight here. Obi-Wan is trying to mediate but also doesn’t want to overstep. The Force is Being Loud, sure, but the kid is also Force-sensitive so it might be something off that.

He didn’t argue with holding the kid bc he thought that it was better than being caught between the Masters.

Holding a crying child and trying to get two adults to stop arguing bc they can’t decide how to comfort the kid is not better.

Obi-Wan keeps walking past them to the ship with this baby. He does what he’s seen some crechemasters do to the younglings. The kid eventually calms a little, and he belatedly realizes that both Masters are still behind him, not with him.

NEXT

Anakin is panakin.

He is currently in a state of Feralness. His instincts have kicked into overdrive, full-on Survival Mode.

Depa and Mace do not know this. All they know is that there was suddenly an extremely powerful Force presence that started fading quickly (bc Anakin started shielding).

They burst into sight of Anakin and are suddenly attacked by all four feet and some of Feral Force Child.

It’s all they can do for a good minute or so to avoid losing their fingers, eyes, or untorn clothes.

Mace puts a few things together very quickly.

This planet is uninhabited by any sapient life. Therefore, this child is utterly alone. This child also is clearly strong in the Force, and knows how to hide their presence, for whatever reasons. Mace is a Jedi, and therefore is bound by certain duties.

He decides it is his Duty to get this kid back to Coruscant safely.

Back to the beginning

Ahsoka wakes up to find a familiar face looking down at her. She’s still tired, but not as much. She’s very aware of her size, and does a few quick observations.

She does not fully know who Jango Fett is. She does know that some clones run off bc they hate war and weren’t given a choice an- no. Not going down that path yet.

Ahsoka assumes, semi-incorrectly, that she was shrunk or deaged and somehow found by a rogue clone.

She knows it’s a rogue clone bc they’ve got weird armor.

So she does the logical thing and tries to comfort this clone bc he looks really worried and kinda panicked. She stands up on the spinny chair and tries to balance and he practically lunges to help her and she can’t help but giggle, but it comes out in a bunch of chirps instead.

The clone picks her up and looks really awkward so she pats his face bc that’s the best she can do bc she doesn’t want to disprove the fact she’s two yet.

For all she knows, this rogue clone has no idea she’s actually a Commander in the GAR.

He doesn’t, but for different reasons than she thinks.

NEXT

Rex and Cody go with Satine to the city. They have introduced themselves and said that they were separated from their aliit. They don't know where said aliit is.

Satine is highly suspicious by this point, bc these two kids recognized her with only part of her name, and they were alone, and they speak Basic with Mando'a thrown in.

Basically, she thinks that they're children of people like Death Watch, but she's too young to know that Death Watch isn't really into children.

Rex and Cody get checked over by a medic, but also start trying to get access to some working comms. They are refused on account of being suspicious children (which makes them a little upset bc they're not children)(Well, they are, but not those types of children)

They have not yet figured out that they are in the past, bc Cody and Rex only know that General Kenobi talks about Duchess Satine, and they know about Padme Amidala from General Skywalker, so clearly this Duchess is really young and the General simply viewed her as someone he wants to protect.

They are very very very wrong.

NEXT

Obi-Wan manages to calm himself somewhat now that it's just him and... him.

He is three, and he knows roughly what's happening, so he knows he should probably act like a 3yo.

Unfortunately, he has very little understanding of how child ages work. 3 is smart enough to go up the stairs and communicate with adults, but def. not old enough to speak sentences that are 15 words long with at least 2 5-syllable words.

Fortunately, his older (younger?) self doesn't know children either.

So when this 3yo starts telling him that he needs to leave the two Masters on the planet and head to Tatooine really fast, Obi-Wan is more concerned about the idea than the strangeness of "this is a 3yo suggesting this".

Obi-Wan is really good at convincing people. Including himself. He manages to get Padawan Kenobi to leave supplies where the ship is supposed to be and head towards Tatooine.

He says that the Masters will be fine, they know how to survive, and they need to be alone together in order to work through all the tension. Plus, it gives them plenty of time to talk to the Council.

Toddler Kenobi also tells himself that he'll take the blow and say he used a mind-trick.

Padawan Kenobi doesn't believe him yet, but Toddler Kenobi smiles like a very smug adult and says "you'll get there eventually". What he truly means is up in the air.

NEXT

Anakin, since waking up, knows much less than everyone else. Which is saying something.

He knows he's Smol. He knows he's Alone. He knows Someone has come and they are Strangers.

One thing about Anakin's instincts is that they are very much Survival Based. He was Feral when he joined the Jedi, only he had to hold those instincts back for most of his life bc of being a slave.

A slave cannot bite someone who approaches and Vibes Wrong.

By the time he felt okay with being Feral Out Loud, he also felt safe enough that he didn't need to activate his Survival Mode.

What I'm trying to say is that Anakin does not realize how strong his Feral Instincts are. He has absolutely no control over them rn.

When Mace decides to Help this child, this child is trying to Maul them.

Mace makes a small ruckus to draw Anakin's attention to him so Depa can move back. Depa pulls out her saber now that she won't hit the kid. The kid notices Purple and Bright and Lightsaber.

Lorge Jedi Mind says this is Good. Safe. Jedi.

Smol Feral Brain says this is Dangerous. Mean.

Anakin freezes on sight and just starts tracking Depa's saber. She does one of those things where a snake or something is focused and the person waves the fire or the food slowly to make sure the wolf is watching it and usually they toss the thing away so the snake follows it.

Mace instead takes this opportunity to wrap Anakin in his cloak. And Depa's cloak. And the spare ones in their bags.

Feral Child is not happy with this. Feral Child is also unable to scratch or Maul or do things other than bite and snarl.

Depa carries Feral Child while Mace comms the Temple and they walk back to their ship.

The Temple is having a field day.

First, one of their Shadows reports that a well-known bounty hunter got an emergency message from a pal of theirs that said Jango Fett needs help learning Togruta childcare.

Then they get a call from Dooku, which is not the mission report they wanted.

Yoda: Mission report, you have?

Dooku: Of a sort. We successfully spoke with the locals, then went to investigate a rather large disturbance.

Mundi: A disturbance?

Dooku: We found the source to be a Force-sensitive child.

Mundi: So you are here to ask for more time on the planet?

Dooku:...

Yoda: Bring the child back, you wish to?

Dooku, unapologetic: He is of an acceptable age to be admitted into the Temple, and no other beings were around at the time to entertain the idea of there being guardians.

The Council is sighing and muttering bc this is a Disaster Lineage (and they haven't even met the other two yet). Their call is interrupted by the sound of crying and Dooku saying the child's woken up.

Then there's another Shadow who sends a message saying a set of twins that seem like Death Watch were found by the heir of Clan Kryze.

Finally, to top everything off, they get a call from Mace Windu and Depa Billaba. Two very dignified, not-at-all chaotic Jedi from a perfectly respectable lineage.

Yeah, most of the Council and the Order itself forgets that Yoda had a hand in raising Windu. Yoda "Feral Grandpa" who throws children at every problem. Grandson isn't doing too well? Throw a child his way. Other grandchild is struggling to cope with grief? Throw another child their way. Oh, there's a war going on and newest grandchild is angry a lot? Here's a child!

The entire lineage has a soft spot for children.

Anyways...

Mace: Our mission was a success. We found the artifact and both specimens.

Koth: How long until your return?

Mace:...

Yoda: Found a child, you did?

Gallia: Master Yoda, that's a rather illogical guess. Once is unusual, twice is-

Mace: Oh, did Qui-Gon find a child as well?

Yoda, smugly: Bringing the child back, are you?

Depa, from the background, after a rather loud snarl is heard: We do not bite things, young one.

*more snarling*

Mace: We have no reason to believe he was not alone.

Tiin: *deep sighing*

Mundi: *mild confusion noises*

Koon, eagerly: Please send photos of this youngling. For the archives, of course.

Mace, nodding sagely: Of course.

*extremely loud yowl* *sounds of Mace turning*

Mace: DEPA!

Depa: He nearly bit off my finger!

Mace: That doesn’t mean you pinch him!

Depa: What else am I supposed to do?!

*sudden exclamation filled solely of Mando’a, Huttese and Twi’leki curses*

Mace: So, I don’t know if he speaks Basic, but Master Che should be able to talk him through a check-up.

Yeah, several Council members are experiencing headaches now. Normally, they would have some empathy for Mace and his own stress-induced migraines. They currently do not.

Right after that call, Dooku calls back to say that Obi-Wan has left without them.

Mundi: He left the child with you, right?

Dooku:

Mundi: He left the child with you, right?

Obi-Wan did not leave himself with the Masters. Obi-Wan has listened to Mini-Obi and is off on some wild space adventure to a criminal-run planet.

The toddler won’t stop staring at him. He asks for a name. The kid says to call him Ben.

OW: Is that your name?

“Ben”: It is a name I am called :)

OW: That isn’t what I meant.

“Ben”: I know :)

Ben also keeps staring at OW’s lightsaber. OW decides to make sure the kid doesn’t start playing with it when he isn’t looking.

MEANWHILE

Ahsoka has figured out that she was really very oh-so wrong. She’s on Mandalore. As in, the Mandalore that is under Jango Fett. Bc she’s with Jango Fett. He’s holding her hand bc she was nervous about the strange looking medic (who was just wearing armor, but not clone armor and civies don’t wear armor.)

Ahsoka knows very little about Jango Fett. Clone Buir, Mandalorian leader, tried to kill Master Kenobi. Also dead.

He asks how she got in. She shrugs. She is too small to fight back so she can’t let him know anything. Whatever everything is right now. But also, he doesn’t seem mean or evil or anything.

Oh yeah. Skyguy said that Mandos love children. That's why the clones were so protective of her, even with Skyguy on her side of the argument.

She decides to use this to her advantage. She can probably get herself a comm, and enough time to call the Temple. If she can convince them she at least knows a Jedi, then they can come get her and she'll work from there.

ELSEWHERE

Rex and Cody are getting really upset. This Duchess is really nice, but she's acting really weird and keeps insisting she's not actually called Duchess. No one will give them a comm, they keep getting weird looks for speaking Mando'a even though they're on Mandalore, and Satine's father keeps mentioning a Fett. Maybe Boba's set a bad example again.

Rex starts to fall asleep, to his chagrin. He's too bored, sitting and getting some abnormally extensive check-up. Cody is fine, but he's used to the calm that is General Kenobi. Rex usually has a Togruta teen in the vents and a Human that is never where he's supposed to be.

Rex does, in fact, fall asleep. His "twin" starts glaring when a doctor goes to wake him up. Cody makes it clear that his brother is like Cat: once asleep, you do not wake.

Satine is giggling, but trying not to let the others hear. Cody does. Cody looks at her. They have a stare-off.

Cody goes back to glaring at the doctors. He will not admit to any emotions besides Protect™.

BACK TO

Obi-Wan and Ben have made it to Tatooine.

[the-scandalorian]

Tempered Glass: Chapter 7

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: M (will become explicit) Word Count: 5.5k Warnings: slow burn, canon-typical violence, cursing, pining, Din in suspenders, fluff Summary: Din takes a job with his old crew, and you and the kid wait for him on Arvala-7. Notes: Sorry this took me forever!

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Image from The Art of Star Wars: The Mandalorian

After you left the atmosphere of Tatooine and jumped into hyperspace, Din swiveled his chair around to face you in the copilot’s seat.

“I should take a job. Everything we made went to Peli, and I don’t like being low on credits. There’s a crew I used to run with...I can reach out to them...” he hesitated then added, “but you and the kid can’t come with me.”

“What do you mean I can’t come with you?”

He sighed, shoulders dropping. “I mean, I don’t trust them enough for you and the kid to come.”

“If you don’t trust them, wouldn’t it be better to have backup?”

“I just—,” he looked away, “I don’t want them to know either of you exist.”

“If you don’t trust them, should you be taking a job with them?”

“We don’t have a lot of options.”

“I could get work somewhere. We could go somewhere safe enough for a few weeks. There are some places where I have contacts, and non-bounty hunting work is usually less conspicuous.”

“I don’t think we should stay anywhere that long right now.”

“But—”

“I’ll feel better if you and the kid are safe together.”

“I—”

When he bowed his head in a silent appeal, your determination crumbled.

“Ugh, fine.”

He sighed in relief, reaching out to rest his hand on your knee briefly. His touch was reassuring.

“But, just so you know, this is only going to work once, so don’t think that my staying back with the kid is going to be a regular thing.”

He removed his hand and turned back around to face the viewport.

“I am taking your silence as tacit agreement,” you said to the back of his helmet.

He chose to ignore that, fiddling with the controls instead.

***

Now that you’d both admitted you wanted to stay together, abandoning the pretense of strategy and convenience all together, things were a little off between you and Din. Neither of you were used to being vulnerable, so conversations were slightly stunted again. You found yourself being overly polite, and Din was doing the same.

That first night back on the Crest, he offered you his bunk.

“I’m not taking your bed. You need it to take off your helmet.”

Besides the unshakable lingering chill of the hull, sleeping there wasn’t that bad. You usually slept with every sweater you owned on and that kept you warm enough.

“Use it when I’m not. You shouldn't have to sleep on the floor.”

“Sure, thanks,” you agreed, knowing you’d never take him up on that. You didn’t want to be on a different sleep schedule than he and the kid.

You did try to nap with the kid in Din’s bunk the next day because there wasn’t all that much to do in hyperspace. As soon as you lay down, though, you knew it was a mistake. First of all, it was crazy uncomfortable (somehow not better than the literal floor and the close walls made it slightly claustrophobic), and second—and far more importantly—it smelled overwhelmingly like Din. It smelled like his pine-y soap and beskar and blaster residue and leather and whatever else made up his infuriatingly good scent. It conjured images of crackling fires and golden skin and warm embraces and taut muscles.

Shit.

There was no chance you were going to be able to fall sleep when all you could think about was him.

The kid, on the other hand, was snoozing contentedly beside you. When you’d fully given up on napping, you edged your way out the bunk carefully, doing your best not to wake him.

Din was sitting in the hull on a long crate against the wall, cleaning his blaster, the pieces spread out next to him. Usually, when you were in the hull at the same time, you’d find a place across from him. Instead, you purposefully sat next to him, drawing your knees up to your chest and leaning against the wall.

You decided you were going to push through this awkward phase and make things not weird right there, right then. And you were going to do that the best way you knew how.

He tilted his helmet toward you momentarily then refocused on the blaster in his hand.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yes,” he said, running a rag along the barrel.

“How does one develop a catchphrase? Does it happen organically or is there an iterative brainstorming process?”

Din paused, sighing dramatically, set his blaster and the rag down next to him, and pushed himself back until he was also leaning against the metal wall. His helmet clunked slightly as he relaxed it back. “This is the way is not a catchphrase. It’s a tenet of the Creed.”

“And ‘I can bring you in warm or I can bring you in cold’ is also a tenet of the Creed?”

He lolled his helmet to the side, looking down at you. “Okay, fine, that one isn’t,” he conceded.

“So you admit it—you have at least one catchphrase that you regularly use on bounties.” You smirked up at him.

Without missing a beat, Din fixed you with that unreadable visor and quipped: “I’ve been told I have a sexy voice. I’m just giving the people what they want.”

Your jaw dropped, a shocked laugh echoing through the hull. You had planned on teasing him and had not expected him to turn it around on you so smoothly.

“Uh... I was sort of hoping we’d stick to our unspoken agreement to not bring up the stupid things I said when I was drunk.” You looked down at your hands, suddenly unable to meet his gaze.

“Oh, definitely not.”

You looked back up. “Alright, well then in the name of fairness, we’re going to have to get you really drunk the next time the opportunity presents itself, so we can see what embarrassing things you say.”

He paused for a moment, considering, then said, “Does that mean you’ll carry me home?”

You cracked a smile, nodding vigorously. “Of course. That would only be fair.”

A warm laugh rasped through the modulator. You crossed your ankles in front of you, letting your knee rest against the cold beskar on this thigh.

“I feel skeptical of that promise.” He dropped a gloved hand to your knee.

“Okay, okay I can’t promise to carry you home, but I can promise to tie your shoe if needed.”

“My boots don’t have laces.” He lifted a foot off the ground to show you.

You shrugged playfully: “Well, that’s not my fault.”

“This doesn’t sound like a very good deal for me. I tied your shoe and carried you home.”

“To be fair, both were against my will.”

“But necessary.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Okay, okay, I can’t carry you, and I can’t tie your shoe... so I’ll...,” you bit your lip as you fished around for something else to offer, “...hold your hand? And not let anyone tickle you.”

He huffed and rubbed his thumb over your knee: “I’m not ticklish.”

You pursed your lips. “Right, sure, of course not. My mistake.”

He harrumphed. “Can I ask you something now?”

“I’ll allow it,” you intoned seriously.

“Where are you actually from?”

“Naboo. Most of my back story was true—I just left out the one major detail.”

“Your favorite color?” he deadpanned.

You laughed. “Yes, exactly. What about you? Where are you from?”

“Aq Vetina.”

You waited, hoping he’d elaborate.

“When my parents died there, I was rescued by the Mandalorians and raised in the Fighting Corps.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, placing your hand over his and squeezing gently. “That sounds like a tough life for a child.”

“It was all I knew,” he explained, shifting slightly.

“Still, that can’t have been easy. It makes sense that you couldn’t leave the kid.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, solemnly. There was a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there moments ago.

“Less serious question,” you replied, changing the subject to something lighter.

“Okay.” He relaxed a little.

“Why don’t you ever use a straw to drink with your helmet on?”

“These are the things you think about?” he laughed. His laugh was usually a quiet, muffled sound through the modulator, but it was getting easier to pick up on it. “There’s a seal on the helmet, otherwise the filters wouldn’t work,” he tapped the release on the side of his head. “So a straw isn’t a possibility, unfortunately.”

“Mmm,” you responded, “that is disappointing.”

He gripped your thigh lightly, turning toward you. “I, uh, heard back about the job... while you were asleep. It’s a go.”

“Ah... great. I was kind of hoping you wouldn’t hear back.”

“I know. It will be fine.”

“Okay... So, any ideas for where the kid and I should stay?”

To your surprise, Din explained that he had a trusted friend on Arvala-7. When you agreed to the plan, he disappeared to the cockpit to set the nav—a two-day trip.

***

That same evening, you discovered a new favorite activity on the Crest. Before bed, the kid was being particularly fussy, so you pulled out your data pad and downloaded the first children’s book you could find. It worked liked a charm.

From then on, it became a daily routine: you’d read to him until his eyelids drooped before his nap and before bedtime. Regardless of his mood, listening to you read seemed to soothe him. You’d pull him into your lap and settle onto your stack of blankets against the wall. He’d watch your face, enraptured, as you relayed story after story to him. His favorite—the story that elicited the most chirps and grabby motions and ear wiggles—centered on a family of frogs. You revisited that one at least once a day, sometimes more if he was grouchy.

You weren’t sure how to feel about his hyperfixation on that particular story given his appetite for frogs.

At this rate, your digital library was going to be largely children’s books. You didn’t mind.

You noticed that Din would find something to do in the hull while you read. The first couple times, he sat and cleaned one of his many weapons or sewed a hole in his flight suit. Very quickly, he stopped bothering with an ostensible task and would just sit and listen.

When you were still 15 hours out from Arvala-7, Din was seated on his usual crate in the hull, the one next to the weapons cabinet, as you finished the final page of a particularly thrilling story about a snail. The kid was snoring softly in your arms, so you clicked off your datapad, and got up to settle him in his hammock for his mid-day nap.

“You’re good with him.” Din was leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.

“I guess,” you shrugged, snapping the door to Din’s bunk shut and turning back to him. “I just think about what I liked as a kid. I loved when my parents would read to me.”

He nodded, helmet trained on the floor between his boots.

“I’m sorry—” you started, realizing how that must have sounded to Din.

He looked up and cut you off. “Don’t be. It’s nice for him to have some normal kid experiences.”

“You know what he’d really love?”

“What?”

“If you read to him.”

He dipped his helmet slightly in acknowledgement, rolling his shoulders back at the same time like he was uncomfortable agreeing with that.

Several hours later, you pulled Din down next to you in your normal pre-bedtime story time spot. He had the kid in his arms. You switched on your datapad and toggled through the catalog of books you’d downloaded, all of which had colorful covers and silly, whimsical titles, until you found the frog book.

“Here,” you offered, passing it over to him.

You leaned your head back against the wall and closed your eyes, listening to Din’s serious, even voice narrate the heartwarming hijinks of a family of frogs. The kid cooed and babbled along.

To your (and the kid’s) utter delight, Din’s rendition slowly evolved into a full-on dramatic reading, complete with sound effects and slightly different voices for each character, as he leaned into whatever prompted the most enthusiastic responses from the kid. You kept your eyes closed and said nothing, worried that if you drew attention to this new development, he’d get self-conscious and stop. You couldn’t help from smiling a little though.

When the story came to its conclusion, you opened your eyes. Din was scrolling through the library of options, browsing for the next book. “What do you think? Which one next?” You looked at him, but he wasn’t asking you. The kid let out a string of gibberish, pointing with a teeny finger. Din read out the titles of several options, selecting the one that triggered the most animated trill.

As Din began the story, he shifted until his body was flush with yours. The places where his beskar made contact with you were cold, even through the fabric of your clothes, but you didn’t mind.

By the time Din finished the second book, the kid was displaying the telltale signs—drooping ears and unfocused eyes—that bedtime had arrived.

Din handed you the datapad and stood to tuck the kid into bed.

As he shut the door to his bunk, you said, “I think you just put me out of a job.”

He scoffed, but you could tell he was pleased.

***

As you got more comfortable around each other, Din took to walking around without his armor—beside his helmet—on. Most of the time, he’d even leave his gloves off. He wore either a flight suit that zipped up the middle or a black shirt and pants...with suspenders. The first few times, it was jarring to see him like that, without his armor. He looked wrong. It was like seeing a turtle without its shell... but if turtles were sexy.

The first time he emerged from his bunk with the suspenders hanging loosely by his sides, you stopped dead, mouth hanging open. He tilted his helmet sharply at you: “What?”

“You sometimes wear suspenders under your armor?”

“...Yes?”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you and the goofy grin that spread across your face.

“What?” he prompted again, shoulders pulling up toward his neck.

“I just really wasn’t expecting that,” you laughed.

“What were you expecting?” The playful note in his voice left you flustered. He took a step closer, much more relaxed now that he was the one doing the teasing. He was getting too good at flipping things on you.

Instead of answering—because you were not about to address the fact that you had absolutely thought about what he wore under his armor—you strode up to him and pulled the suspenders over his shoulders. He stood uncomfortably still, arms hanging awkwardly by his sides.

“What are you doing?” He looked down at his shirt then back up at you.

“I just want to get the full picture.” You looked him up and down.

“Thought about this a lot, have you?” He quirked his helmet down at you suggestively. It was only the second time you’d gotten that particular flavor of head tilt, and you...didn’t hate it. It made your neck feel hot. You disregarded the intense desire to grab him by the suspenders and jerk him toward you.

Instead, you narrowed your eyes at him, enjoying this new bold flirtation. Without looking away from his visor, you hooked a finger through one of the suspenders and pulled it out a couple inches, letting it snap back against him.

“Ow.” He stated it so matter-of-factly that it obviously hadn’t hurt, but for dramatic effect, he rubbed the spot on his chest where it hit him.

“You’ll survive,” you assured him, patting his shoulder and brushing past him to climb the ladder to the cockpit. When you sat down in the pilot’s seat and kicked your feet up to rest on the console, you still had a smile on your face.

***

A few hours later, you were seated in the copilot seat with the child held tightly in your lap as the Razor Crest descended through the atmosphere of Arvala-7. On the way, Din shared how he’d met this friend—he had helped Din when he was originally tracking down the child months ago.

However, when you asked what his friend’s name was, Din said he didn’t know. Honestly, you weren’t even that surprised. Just exasperated.

Din told you the details of when he tracked down the child, including the assassin droid he'd crossed paths with. He explained how he’d teamed up with IG-11, but in the end, he had to destroy the droid to protect the kid. The anger in his voice was raw when he described watching IG-11 point his blaster at the child.

As the dusty, cracked surface of the planet came into view, you asked, “Is that what caused your thing with droids?”

“What thing?”

“Din.”

He was silent for a long moment.

“Droids destroyed my home planet, killed my parents. They’re the reason I was a foundling as a child.”

His words washed over you, and your heart dropped. You leaned forward in your seat to put a hand on his shoulder. He stayed perfectly still, helmet trained on the controls in front of him.

“I’m sorry.”

He nodded stiffly and reached up to squeeze your hand briefly.

“We’re about to land.”

You took that as a cue to drop the subject for now.

***

You and Din, the kid in his arms, approached a small collection of low structures. You swept your eyes across the uniform landscape—all was dry and sienna and flat. The Ugnaught’s homestead was the only sign of habitation in sight. The buildings were brown and domed, and windmills creaked slowly in the warm breeze. Three blurrgs in a large corral watched you balefully.

“Mandalorian!” the Ugnaught greeted, emerging from the door of his low home.

“Ugnaught,” Din replied with a nod.

“I did not think I would see you here again. What business brings you back to Arvala-7?”

“I was hoping that my friends could stay with you for a couple nights—I’ll pay you for the lodging.”

Of course he'd refer to me and a literal infant as his "friends."

You introduced yourself, offering your hand.

The Ugnaught bowed his head slightly as he clasped your hand: “It is nice to make your acquaintance. I am Kuill.”

At least Din knows his name now.

Kuill turned back to Din. “The child remains in your care,” he observed.

“Yes,” said Din, offering no explanation. He set the child down on the ground, and he toddled his way slowly over to Kuill.

Kuill scooped up the baby, and he chirruped happily, reaching toward his whiskery mustache.

“It hasn’t grown much.”

“I think it might be a Strand-Cast.”

You shot Din a skeptical look. He’d never shared this particular theory of his with you.

“I don’t think it was engineered. I’ve worked in the gene farms. This one looks evolved. Too ugly,” mused Kuill.

You raised your eyebrows at the frankness of his statement. He is not ugly.

“Your friends are welcome to stay with me. No payment will be necessary. I have spoken.” Kuill turned and headed back inside without so much as a backward glance.

“I insist,” Din said to his back.

Kuill disappeared into his home.

Din turned to you: “He does that. Just ends a conversation like that.”

“I understand why the two of you get along so well. Men of few words.” You raised an eyebrow at him.

Din nodded, reinforcing your point inadvertently.

You and Din stepped closer to each other at the same time. For the first time, you let the concern you were feeling color your features.

“I’ll be back in three days, if not sooner.”

He was padding his timeline in response to the worry that was etched across your face. You knew Din could defend himself—that wasn’t your fear. It was that, whether he liked to admit it or not, he occasionally let trust blind him. The irony of that wasn’t lost on you, considering how long it had taken for him to trust you. This was the trademark paradox of Din. He was loath to fully let people in, but he had a tendency to take people at face value and assume they would keep their word—because he always kept his word. He had a surprisingly generous worldview for someone with such a violent profession and brutal past.

Din reached down to grab something small that was tucked in his belt—the metal ball from one of the controls in the cockpit that the kid loved to play with. He occasionally pretended to be irritated whenever he wanted to play with it, but you knew he found it endearing.

He handed it to you. “He’ll want that.”

You smiled and nodded, looking at the sphere in your palm. Din raised a hand to your chin and tilted your face back up to his.

Do we... hug? He doesn’t seem like a hugger.

So instead, you offered, “Be careful, okay?”

“I will,” he promised. He stayed there for a moment longer, looking at you and rubbing his thumb along your cheek. Before you could decide if you should also try to hug him, he turned abruptly to walk back to the Crest.

You stayed and watched him as he walked the distance back to the ship and disappeared up the ramp. You stayed and watched as the Razor Crest rumbled to life and took off. You stayed and watched as it ascended through the atmosphere and vanished from view.

***

It was a relief to be off the ship for a few days—even if Arvala-7 wasn’t exactly your ideal planet. It would be a treat to eat real food, instead of shelf-stable ration packs, and to have more than the limited space of the ship to move around in... not to mention an actual bed.

Kuill was a kind and welcoming host. He offered you his spare room, where you placed your things, and you sat down for tea together in his small kitchen.

“How did you come to be in the company of the Mandalorian and the child?”

“I guess he has a soft spot for people who are wanted by the Empire?” you chuckled, and Kuill nodded somberly. “Now, we’re just helping each other out.” You weren’t really sure how else to explain it.

Kuill didn’t press you anymore than that, nodding sagely. Instead, while you sipped your tea with the kid on your lap, he told you about his background—decades of indentured servitude to the Empire before he worked off his debt and bought his freedom—in the solemn, frugal way that was clearly characteristic of the Ugnaught. You understood why Din trusted him: he was forthright, calm, wise.

“What can I help you with while I’m here?” you asked, already anxious to find something to occupy your time.

“You are my guest. You do not need to do any work.”

“I would be happy to,” you insisted. “I would rather be busy. I can help with cleaning or repairs—whatever you need. My formal training was in programming, but I’ve picked up general skills along the way.”

Kuill nodded and said, “Come.”

He turned and walked out of his house. You set down your tea on the table and followed him, the child tucked in the crook of your elbow, happily clutching the silver ball. Kuill stopped in front of the workstation that was a short distance from his doorway. Tools and wiring and various speeder parts were arranged on and around a long workbench and a collection of smaller tables and shelves. The circular backdrop of the workbench was the repurposed window of a TIE fighter.

An assassin droid was laid across the tabletop.

“Is this the droid that Mando shot?”

“I believe so, yes. It was left behind, in the Mandalorian’s wake of destruction. I found it lying where it fell—devoid of all life. I recovered the flotsam and staked it as my own in accordance with the Charter of the New Republic. Little remains of its neural harness. Reconstruction will be quite difficult.”

“What are your plans for it?”

“To convert it from an assassin droid to something more useful: a protocol and nurse droid.”

You nodded. “Handy.”

“I will have to reconstruct the neural harness, and then it will have to relearn every function from scratch. It will be a blank slate on which to program something nurturing instead of destructive. You may help me restore him if you would like.”

“Of course.”

The two of you got to work.

***

That night, when you lay down to sleep, you tossed and turned. The child was snuggled in a makeshift crib next to your bed. You found yourself sitting up periodically to check on him. Every time you checked on him, he was sleeping soundly.

Eventually, you slipped out of your bed, tiptoed quietly through the house, and walked out into the cold, clear night. You walked aimlessly for a while, circling the corral of blurrgs. They were asleep, eyes shut tight, standing in a close clump. Then you turned to head out across the open plain and watch the stars through the thin veil of clouds that dusted the sky.

You were starting to regret that you hadn’t pushed harder to go with Din. He was with a whole team of people who sounded untrustworthy at best, malicious at worst. You couldn’t help but think of all the things you should have said to him before he left. You hadn’t even hugged him.

It was freaking you out a little just how attached you were to a man who you’d known for a couple months.

You walked until the chill of the night air became too much, then turned back.

In the morning, you sat at Kuill’s kitchen table again, feeding the child. Kuill moved around the small food prep area, pulling together breakfast and making tea.

You followed Kuill as he went about his daily jobs, caring for the blurrgs, doing routine maintenance, and continuing the work on IG-11.

You were sweating in the sun, hands covered in grease, concentrating on refitting a damaged arm joint when Kuill’s calm voice brought you out of your train of thought.

“It is curious that the Mandalorian elected to keep the child.”

You looked up at him. “He secretly has a soft heart,” you said, smiling to yourself.

“Yes, that much is clear, but he is also set in his beliefs, and this choice went against the Guild Code. What is curious is that such a small being could inspire a change of heart in such a rigid person.”

You considered his words.

“I... think he was just waiting to find a greater purpose than hunting, to find someone to love, you know? It comes naturally to him, but I don’t think he’d ever had the chance.”

Kuill hummed thoughtfully. “Is that not what we are all doing—looking for a greater purpose?”

“I guess?” You shrugged.

“And have you?”

“Have I what?” you asked, wiping a bead of sweat off your forehead.

“Have you found the greater purpose you were looking for?”

You considered for a moment then said, “Well... I found a purpose a long time ago, when I joined the Alliance, and since then, I’ve been too busy trying to escape the wrath of the Empire to really think about what’s next in the larger sense... Staying alive has been the main priority.”

Kuill hummed again, glancing over at the kid. “You weren’t looking for something greater, but it appears to have found you.”

“I...,” you started. You watched the child, who was siting on the hard ground admiring the silver ball clutched in his hand. “I’m not sure.”

“I have spoken,” said Kuill, bowing his head, and he lapsed back into silence.

You watched the kid as he dropped the ball and staggered to his feet, squealing excitedly as he chased a lizard that darted past him. You wondered where Din was at this exact moment, and your heart squeezed in a familiar way.

***

The second night was much like the first. You walked outside for some time, thinking of all the awful things that could be happening to Din.

What if they turn on him?

What if another hunter finds him?

What if he doesn’t come back?

It wasn't a crazy thought. You were used to people not coming back.

Until that moment, you hadn't considered that you'd be the sole guardian of the kid if Din didn't return. For a split second, you felt the crushing weight of responsibility for the life and safety and happiness of the tiny green child that Din must feel at all times.

Eventually you fell into a fitful sleep, waking early, and the day dawned bright and cold. As the sun climbed, the chill rapidly dissipated, making way for a dry heat that seemed to be the only weather condition on Arvala-7.

You spent the morning helping Kuill continue the repairs on IG-11. You did your best to not count the hours that slipped by. He’d said it could take three days, so there was no reason to be concerned yet.

But... did he mean he would return ON the third day? Or the fourth day?

And for that matter... did the day he left count as day one? Or was yesterday day one?

Did he mean seventy-two hours from the time he left? Or that he’d be back at the start of the third day?

How did I not clarify this before he left??

That evening, you were in deep in discussion about artificial intelligence when Kuill said, “I believe your Mandalorian has returned to you.” He pointed behind you, and you whipped around to see the Crest touching down in a cloud of dust in the distance.

“Will you—?” you asked, turning back to Kuill.

“I will watch the child.” He seemed vaguely amused by your enthusiasm.

You sprang to your feet and walked as fast as you could toward the Crest. You briefly considered running, but that felt dramatic. He’d only been gone a couple days.

Why did he land so fucking far away?

You’d made it about half the distance when the ramp of the Crest finally began to lower with a hiss. Your resolve snapped, and you started to jog. Din descended the ramp, and you were so relieved to see him that you weren’t even embarrassed anymore that you were literally running to him.

Din cocked his head—a curious head tilt—when he saw you sprinting at him across the dusty ground. He paused at the bottom of the ramp.

“Are you—?” he started to say as you crashed into his chest and wrapped your arms around him. He barely budged upon impact.

His shoulders relaxed immediately, and he pulled you tight against him.

Well, if he wasn’t a hugger before, he is now.

“I’m okay,” he reassured you.

“Good,” you said into the fabric bunched around his neck.

After a moment, you released him and stepped back, the steadying weight of his hands remaining on your arms. He looked like he was in one piece, but the slight heaviness in his shoulders told you that the job had taken a toll on him.

“I, uh, missed you too,” he said, a little awkwardly.

You smiled at him and took his gloved hand in yours to walk back towards Kuill’s home. You felt slightly giddy that you were casually holding the Mandalorian’s hand. He seemed taken by it too, his helmet tilted down to where your fingers were intertwined.

“The kid?” he asked, looking up to your face.

“He’s good. Misses you, I think. Ate several frogs. And one lizard. The usual. He is disgusting,” you laughed.

Din made a sound that you would almost swear was a snort. “Yeah, he is,” he agreed fondly.

Kuill was waiting outside his home, the child in his arms. When you and Din were close, Kuill set him down, and the baby tottered over to wrap his tiny arms around Din’s calf.

You watched as Din bent stiffly, slowly to pick up the kid.

“You’re hurt,” you realized.

“I'm fine,” he said.

You felt sure that wasn’t true, but you let it be for the moment.

“Thank you,” Din addressed Kuill. He reached into the pouch of his belt for credits.

“I will not accept payment,” Kuill insisted, shaking his head. “In fact, your friend here helped me make great progress on my current project.” Kuill raised his eyebrows at you.

“Very well,” Din acquiesced.

You gathered your things and said your thank yous and goodbyes, returning to the Crest, which—with a jolt—you realized was already starting to feel like home.

***

Chapter 8

***

Taglist: @bbdoyouloveme @beskarhearts @bookloverfilmoholic @elinedjarin @eury-dice3 @dincrypt @dunderr @honey-hi @jagi-yaaa @just-me-and-my-obsessions00 @mbpokemonrulez @red-leaders @speakerforthedead0 @tuskens-mando @spideysimpossiblegirl @theflightytemptressadventure @ubri812 @zoemariefit

If you want to be added or removed, let me know!

[tortilla-of-courage]

I am removing the onceler thing by asking this:

Which links are cuddlers, which links like their space, which ones are in between *cough* Legend and how would you rate/head-canon their hugs to be like?

Alright i've been thinking abuot this one for a while let's see.

Cuddlers: Sky, Wind

In between: Legend, Twilight, Warriors, Hyrule, Wild

Likes their space: Time, Four

I'll put the rest under a read more since it got a bit long

Sky's probably the cuddliest in the group - physical affection is a big thing for him (yes even with the other hc i posted about a bit ago about Sky not liking sudden touch. they can coexist). I like to think he like, radiates warmth - you need it when you live so high up in the sky, it gets cold up there - so that combined with him usually wrapping the person he's hugging/cuddling with his sailcloth makes for big, warm and soft hugs

Wind is basically tied up with Sky for most cuddly, but since he's the youngest he's usually the one getting hugs. That doesn't stop him from giving some of the best hugs the chain's had the pleasure of getting though. They're usually a bit short - he'll give you a tight squeeze and pull you close for a few seconds then let you go. At night he'll cuddle the first thing that comes nearby, be it Wolfie, a stray pillow, or any of the chain that happened to be next to him.

Legend... good old Legend. He'll insist he doesn't like hugs and the alike, but if he's alone with a Link that really needs a hug he'll give it to them. He prefers to have his space most of the time but he slowly opens up to physical affection with the chain as they travel. He probably gets more hugs than he gives. He only really gives them to Hyrule every once in a while: they're quick but you can feel he really cares and appreciates the person he's giving it to.

Twilight's usually really okay with hugs and the alike, both giving and receiving them. The kids in Ordon always hug him when they see him and cuddle up to him whenever he's free from farm job, so hugging whoever cuddles up to him is almost automatic to him - he'll just pass an arm around the person's shoulders and pull them close. It's the type of hug where you feel completely safe and calm. As Wolfie, he's the perfect cuddling material, and while he doesn't really like being pet he'll accept any cuddles from tired Links.

Warriors is kind of in between all of them - he's not the first one to initiate a hug or cuddle, but he'll gladly accept them. Whenever he does initiate them its more like, an arm around the shoulders, or ruffle the person's hair - tiny and quick shows of affection. Couldn't waste too much time back in his adventure, so whenever he expressed affection towards his friends it was in those quick touches. He really likes to do the Shoulder Touch too (to Sky's dismay)

Hyrule's not used to hugs. At all. He didn't grow up with them, and never got any from the people around him until he met Dawn, probably. He respects the others' space as much as possible, because while he does enjoy hugs he gets from them he's still a bit awkward about them. Like Legend, he's growing used to them with the chain. His hugs are really light, and he never fully closes his arms around the person to give them a chance to break away whenver they want to.

Wild i think... really depends? Like, he strikes me as the type to not like much physical attention unless it's from people he completely trusts. So in the chain, at first he only really cuddled Twilight/Wolfie and sometimes would let Time give him a back pat, but he's been more open to hugs and the alike from the others as he's gotten to know them. If he hugs you you should feel really happy because he doesn't hug just anyone. They're probably really tight hugs - and if he's happy and is able to he'll pick the person up a few inches off the floor.

Time would rather stay in his own little bubble. He won't reject a hug from the youngest of the group, but he won't really go and hug the boys out of nowhere. Like Wars, he prefers to give pats on the shoulders and back (which can sometimes get a bit heavy if he's happy/excited, sending the Link flying off sometimes) along with a Dad Smile. Whenever he does hug someone however they're those rib-crushing hugs that last a good minute or two.

Four strikes me as the most... skittish? one when it comes to touch, at least combined. He'll accept shoulder pats and the alike but will usually shy away from hugs and cuddle piles (unless it's Wolfie). Out of the colors, I think Red's THE cuddler, with Green liking hugs more or less, Blue being neutral about it all and Vio not liking them that much unless it's from one of the colors. Four's hugs, which are mostly Red's influence, are a bit on the tight side but not uncomfortable. It's like when you hug a plushie or a pillow

[avionvadion]

The Rumor Mill: What-If

If Diasomnia spread some concerning rumors about Malleus and El after the events of Chapter 36, and Cater found out about said rumors. Not canon to the main fic. Read at own discretion, as there are uncomfortable topics. 

“Oh, look at the time…” Riddle frowned, glancing at the nearby wall clock. “I should get going. Thank you again for letting me eat with you all; I’ll see you later at the dorm.” 

He bowed his head politely, awkward as ever with trying to be friendly, and stood- taking his tray and wandering off to put it away. Unfortunately, the second he vanished from sight, the very thing I had been dreading happened. Cater took a deep breath, stood up from his seat, and then opened his olive green eyes- slamming his hands down on the table and leaning over to stare me down, causing me to lean back instinctively while letting out a tiny squeak of alarm. 

I barely grabbed onto Deuce’s sleeve to stop myself from falling, and Ace’s hand reached out almost habitually to rest against my back. I wasn’t sure whether to be happy or upset about it. The boys reacting so quickly just meant they were used to me getting hurt, after all, which probably explained how Ace was able to catch me so fast the other day when I fell through the floor. 

Trey raised his eyebrows at Cater, surprised by his behavior, while Grim looked confused at the sudden disturbance. 

“Ellie,” The strawberry blond third-year said, voice low and very much serious, “we need to talk.” 

Frick. Oh gods. My voice wavered a little, warm rising to my cheeks as I thought about all the new and incredibly disturbing rumors that he must have heard. It’s only been two days, yet rumors travel ridiculously fast here. I blame magic. Is there a way to escape from this conversation? Can I just get up and leave? 

No. No, calm down. Whatever the rumors are, they’re just rumors. There’s nothing to worry about, though I still don’t particularly like the idea of having my dignity questioned. “I-I don’t know what there is to talk about?” 

“Cater...” Trey started, voice taking on a warning tone, believing the teen was up to another one of his flirtatious antics. “Sit back down.”

Cater held a hand up, silencing the surprised vice dorm head, his intense gaze never once looking away from my alarmed one. “Hold on. This is super important. I need to know the truth.” 

“Truth of what?” Ace demanded, starting to stand up himself, sitting on one knee. “Don’t get so close to her-” 

“Quiet, Ace!” Cater snapped. The entire table was stunned quiet. The strawberry blond let out an aggravated, shaky sigh, and ran a hand through his bangs, taking a deep breath. “Sorry. I’m not- I don’t want to be mean. I’m not trying to be uncool or anything, but- I meant it when I said this is important.” 

Ace didn’t say anything in response at first, not knowing what he should say, and hesitantly sat back down. “O-Okay…” 

“Ellie.” Cater began, fingers digging into the tabletop as he pressed his hands against it once more. He bit his lip, before shaking his head and focusing on me once more. “Have you heard the new rumors about you? Any of them? Like, at all?” 

“N-No…” 

“Ellie, you… you have friends in Diasomnia. I’m a little jealous, admittedly, but I’m okay with that.” He inhaled sharply and retreated, pressing his palms together and then grasping at his arms, seeming to retreat inwards to himself. “You need protection in a place like this, and powerful friends are a good way to get it. The stronger, the better. I don’t mind you using me either if you need help.” 

Where is… this going? I wasn’t expecting this kind of speech at all. 

“But…” Cater’s face twisted into something uncharacteristically grim, his brows furrowing as a few strands of hair fell against his cheeks, the boy seeming to have gone a bit pale. “But if they’re hurting you or… doing something you’re not okay with, then you need to tell us. Okay?” 

“Wh-What are you… I don’t… huh?” I’m so lost. “I have zero idea as to what you’re talking about. I mean, I appreciate the gesture, and I’ll definitely ask for help now after everything that’s happened, but… I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

All his self control seemed to vanish, a single word bursting out from his lips, olive green eyes wide in a panic. He slammed his hands on the table again, a knee on the bench. “Malleus!” 

...Oh. 

“You- with him- the two of you… you know!” 

Wait, what? 

“He-! Ugh!” Cater let out a noise of frustration before leaning over even further, cupping a hand over his mouth, everyone else at the table moving closer to hear what he was saying, practically hunching over, intrigued and concerned all at once as the teen whispered. “Did you…” 

Hm? 

“Did you fuck Malleus Draconia?” 

I blinked, utterly dumbfounded. At first I thought I heard wrong, but the reactions of the other boys told me otherwise, and a very strong mixture of indignation, horror, embarrassment, and alarm washed over me. I reeled back, greatly disturbed.  “W-What!? No! I-I don’t even know what he looks like!” 

That clearly didn’t matter, though, as Ace’s red eyes whirled around to look at me. “Is that what happened!? Is that why he gave you those clothes!?” 

“No! Nothing happened! I already told you, I don’t know why he did!” 

“Wait, Malleus gave you clothes?” Cater was even more scared now, and Trey wore a near identical expression. “Why did he give you clothes!? Are you two actually- Ellie, when was this!? Since when were you two a thing!? Is this from when you went to his class the one day? I told you not to talk to him! Now you’re actually… with him of all people-!” 

Grim stopped eating his chicken and glanced up, swallowing his food, and flicked his tail. “What does “fuck” mean? I thought it was just another curse word...” 

“No!” I let out an indignant screech, hunching over and clamping my hands over my ears. “I-I never spoke with him! I… I didn’t do anything with him! I’ve only met his bodyguards, I swear! I don’t know why he gave me clothes, he just did! How many times do I have to say it!?”

“Great Seven, please help us.” Cater pressed a hand to his face, sweat beading down his forehead. “Ellie, just tell us the truth. We need to know.” 

“I am telling you the truth!” 

Cater suddenly jolted, as if a realization occurred to him. He became serious again, leaning over and gripping the edge of the table tightly. “Did he force you? Were you threatened? I already sort of figured that was the case, given what you said before about relationships. I-I don’t think that we can do anything against him, but if we talk to the headmaster or the teachers then maybe-” 

“Cater!” He tensed, startled by the sharpness of my tone. Everyone at the table froze as well, stunned by the glare I wore on my face. Tears were stinging my eyes at this point. “I. Am. Fine. I didn’t do anything. I don’t even know Malleus. I only know Lilia, and Silver, and Sebek. One of them told Malleus about my situation, and he gifted me the clothes! It was literally just a set of pajamas. That’s seriously all I know.” 

Please, just stop with this. I don’t even know how the rumors escalated to that point in such a short amount of time. They were far from what I was expecting. If anything, I would have thought the rumors would have been about Mr. Horns and not his prince of a friend. Jeez. Give a girl a break. 

Cater hesitated, staring deep into my eyes for several long and suffocating seconds, before letting out a sigh and relaxing his shoulders. “Okay… I believe you. I just- I have a lot of friends from all the different dorms, and word gets around quick here. Especially when it’s about you. I wanted to find you earlier to ask about it, but I… I wanted to make sure that I understood the rumors correctly.” 

“I’m fine.” I awkwardly reached out to pat him on the shoulder, having to stand up to do so. “I… I didn’t… do anything with anyone, either. Sorry for freaking you out.”

“El.” Trey spoke up. “You know you can talk to us, right?” 

“Yeah, I know.” I flashed a small grin. “Thanks. But I swear- nothing happened. For the last time, I don’t even know what Malleus looks like.” 

A hand suddenly clamped down on my head from above and I squeaked, being forcibly shoved into a headlock by Ace as he noogied my skull. “You freaking little-! You stress us out more than anyone else I’ve ever known!” 

“I’m sorry-! I-It’s not intentional, I swear!” 

“Is no one going to explain what “fuck” means?” Grim grumbled, glaring at everyone. “I’m the only one confused about this conversations! What does it mean? What happened with Malleus?” 

Trey settled for patting the cat monster on the head, an exasperated and exhausted grin upon his lips. “Don’t worry about it. Nothing happened. It was just one great big misunderstanding. Go back to eating.” 

Grim clicked his tongue irritably, but did as told. Deuce, meanwhile, was completely frozen- and I think the majority of the conversation flew over his head. When he finally could move again, he blanked and asked what just happened, as if having completely erased the entire accusation from memory. 

Cater slumped down in his seat, head collapsing against Trey’s shoulder, and he let out a sigh of relief. “I’ve been stressing all day over that… ugh, I hate it.” 

“That’s why you should stay away from the rumor mill.” Trey informed, bonking him lightly upside the head with the handle of his spoon. “Now move; I gotta put my tray away.” 

“At least give me a few comforting headpats first! Or a sweet little kiss on the cheek, you know- for being so concerned about our new freshie?” 

“No.” 

“Trey~ you’re so mean to me~!” 

The third year rolled his eyes and stood, shaking Cater off of him with a small smirk, and wandering off. After that, things returned mostly to normal- if not for Ace practically glaring at anyone who so much as looked my way. I was just accompanying the boys to their classes at this point, too anxious to wander off and take photos now after that awful conversation.

[misterghostfrog]

39 FOR THE PROMPTS PLEASE AAAAA

LOOK OK, i’m going to start by saying this one... got away from me a little bit. And I didn’t originally mean to combine the prompts, and neither are technically correct. BUT consider you can’t stop me

39. Kissing tears from the other’s face.

30. Pulling away from a kiss, whispering words of love against each other’s lips.

Cw; This takes place after the unknowing but before Jon wakes up in canon, and Martin starts in a rough headspace. Also accidental compulsion.

(This is actually a sorta part-2 to the pre-unknowing ficlet I did! Tho u don’t gotta read it to understand it works as a standalone too. Anyway welcome to the AU ZONE)

EDIT: fixed a typo

Martin usually visits Jon on Thursday.

He used to visit every day. But the nurses began to give him looks after the first month, and it was hard to balance checking on Jon with regular life things like groceries, laundry, and work. So he’s cut back. If only to preserve his sanity.

He considered Sunday. But Sunday is the day he visits his mum, another thing that has been hard to balance with- well. Everything. Besides, it’s hard to stack that much heartbreak into one day.

The receptionist gives him a funny look. He would give himself a funny look too, he looks a wreck, he knows it. She knows him, so seeing him on a wednesday looking like he crawled out of the back end of hell. Or maybe just hasn’t done any laundry for a few days. Or showered. And got in a fight and lost.

He’s already waited too long though, he thinks. He... well. It’s his last chance, he supposes. If Jon isn’t coming back, then...

Yeah.

It’ll be for the best.

He turns the knob on the door, he knows what he’ll say. Even if he’s talking to a dead man he needs a speech apparently. And-

He bounces off of something- or someone. Who trips back a step in turn.

“Oh god- I’m so sorry-” He says almost automatically.

“No, don’t worry about it I wasn’t-”

“I wasn’t even looking where I was going a-and-”

“Really it’s fine-”

The man isn’t a nurse, Martin’s sees that much. He’s tall-ish. Handsome, certainly. Definitely no-one he’s ever met. And certainly no-one he thinks might have a reason to visit Jon. Not that Jon shouldn't get handsome visitors, but- well. He doesn’t- didn’t? Have many people outside of the institute he ever talked about. And so this guy turning up out of the blue is... well.

“Er- I’m sorry, but who... who are you?”  He’s not- he’s not upset. that this random stranger is visiting Jon. It’s just weird is all. Yeah. Really weird, actually.

“Oh! I- I’m- I’m a friend of Jons.” The man says with an awkward smile, his eyes darting down to his shoes for a moment as he says it. “Er- Antonio.” He tacks the name on like an afterthought. This time his gaze flicks somewhere around Martin's shoulder, he shuffles on his feet.

Martin’s never been an expert at picking up on lies, not to say he’s bad at it. He just doesn’t find it something to worry about generally. But it’s hard not to notice when ‘Antonio’ is basically holding an imaginary blinking neon sign that says ‘I AM LYING’ with accompanying metaphorical Morse code with the same message.

He swears he’s heard that name before though.

“Oh. Er- he’s never um, talked about you?” he says carefully.

“Oh, yeah. Very old friends. Haven’t um- talked in a while.” ‘Antonio’ waves a hand awkwardly. And casting consistent looks towards the elevator.

“Uh-huh.”

“Anyway! I’m uh- I’ll be going now. Visits over stuff to do y’know.” He’s already walking away as he says it, backing up for a moment and casting a quick wave before trotting away down the hall.

“Oh, y-yeah. Sure, bye?” Martin waves- though ‘Antonio’ isn’t looking. Watching as he basically runs down the hall.

“Bye!” ‘Antonio’ throws over his shoulder as he turns the corner to the elevators.

Well then.

“Huh.”

That’s not how he thought this visit was going to start.

He pauses for a moment. He’d been working off of something of a momentum. Check in with the nurse, make his speech. And be ready to say his goodbyes. But that... whatever just happened. Well, it threw him off.

He sighs.

It doesn’t matter. Weirdo visiting Jon. Seems about right, actually. If he thinks about it. Probably left a statement somewhere too, just to complete the weird weird picture.

The word ‘weird’ is starting to sound less like the a word the more he thinks about it.

He pushes the door to the hospital room open, he knows he’s imagining it. But the air feels heavier. The dread of the situation. The finality. Jon is still there, unmoving in his hospital bed. There's several machines tucked into the corner, they’d unhooked him from everything after the first month when it became clear that this is simply his state of being. That’s also about the time the nurses started telling him Jon probably wasn’t waking up.

He’s not going to wake up. Martin knows he’s not going to wake up. He’s been fooling himself for so long but now with the flesh attack he needs to do something. Or at the very least stop feeling like he’s doing nothing. But being miserable isn’t a solution either. 

Maybe there is no solution. Maybe it’s just, problems. Stuff he can’t fix or deal with and just- has to let it follow him until he dies.

He shifts, and his ankle twinges.

He’d tripped. It’s so stupid, it wasn’t even the monsters. He’d just- fallen and ended up hiding in a side room while everyone else dealt with meaty things crawling out of the floorboards. Just sat and hid and did nothing.

He’s tired of doing nothing.

Jon snores, interrupting his train of thought.

Martin smiles, god he’d forgotten Jon did that. Those little snorting snores- he’d only heard them a few times, back at the institute. It had scared the hell out of him the first time he’d been living-

Wait.

What?

Martin blinks. And watches as Jon scrunches his nose, making a small irritated noise- and turns over.

What.

His head skips, rewinds. Plays what he just saw back. Jon is breathing, how long has he been breathing? Doesn’t matter, he’s breathing which means he’s alive but what-

That weird guy. “Antonio”

He’s gone, Martin knows he’s gone. But he checks anyway. Even running all the way to the elevators. But he’s gone.

And Jon...

Jon is alive.

The thought hits his brain, and then slips away like a wet fish. There’s no guarantees. This could be a fluke, this could be a trap. It might not even be Jon. Just... something that looks like him, and snores like him. And-

A nurse taps him on the shoulder. And he realizes he’s been staring at the elevators for, well, he doesn’t know how long. Long enough to catch several concerned glances from passers-by though.

“Are you alright sir?” She asks, politely. He recognizes her, he chatted with her once when visiting Jon. She’s nice. She does the check ups a lot of the time, one of the few who’ll actually do it.

“He’s alive.” He says flatly, instead of answering. Because he’s not sure what the answer to the question is anyway.

The doctors do tests, though not many. According to them he’s fine. Fit as a fiddle aside from some fatigue and a little confusion. Which clearly makes them uncomfortable. Which he understands. A man wakes up from a three-month coma like he’d just rolled out of bed on a Monday morning? It makes him uncomfortable too, he thinks.

Basira drops off a statement. ‘Just felt like I should’ she’d said when he asked why. And neither of them felt particularly good about that answer.

After the statement he’s fine, not even fatigued. He’s alive.

He keeps looking at Martin.

Martin isn’t sure why he doesn’t want to look back.

Maybe it’s because it still feels like a trap, all of a sudden he comes back with no- no fanfare no effort. Right as rain and just... there.

Nobody else wants to deal with him right now- not after he just pulled a Lazarus like that. Jon wants to go to the institute. But Martin isn’t having it. He just woke up from a three-month coma. He’s going home. And yes- his lease apparently expired before the unknowing, so he doesn’t have a place to stay. And yes the only person willing to give him a place to stay is Martin. And Martin... well, it’s Jon. and even if it wasn’t, in the wake of losing three months of his life- and a friend. Or someone who had been a friend at a point before this all went to hell. He wouldn’t leave him alone for anything.

Martin tries to force himself to come to terms with it as they both climb into his car- this is what he wanted. He should be overjoyed. But it feels... it feels like if he looks at Jon for too long he’ll just... disappear. Or stop breathing again. Or stop being Jon.

“Good to see not too much has changed while I was gone.” Jon says wryly as he wrestles with the seatbelt. Which squeaks as he struggles to pull it out far enough to actually fasten it.

Martin just hums in response. Not trusting his voice not to betray whatever it is he’s feeling right now.

The drive to his flat is mostly quiet, aside from a few awkward attempts at conversation from Jon that all fall miserably flat. Eventually he gives up, and the rest of the drive is spent in silence. 

It’s not too far from the hospital to his flat. So before he knows it he’s leading Jon up the steps to his home.

It’s not much, he knows. Can’t afford anything truly fancy when carrying medical bills around. But it’s nice, homey. He hopes.

“Home sweet home.” He says, dropping his keys on the table by the door and hoping he sounds cheery. Because he doesn’t know what else to be right now. He’s figured out what emotion he’s feeling, though he’s not sure it counts as an emotion honestly.

Numb. 

Stupid, isn’t it? 

“The bathrooms down the hall- I think your stuff’s all in storage at the moment,” his voice wobbles at that, he swallows “so we’ll have to go get that soon. You can help yourself to anything in the fridge-” He’s stopped by a hand on his wrist. Familiar, too-thin, and cool.

“Martin.” Jon says. “Did I... did I do something to upset you?” It’s a question, small and helpless. Martin just wants to brush it off, he’s fine. He just needs time-

“You died, Jon.” He says instead. The words coming out unbidden.

“I- I came back.” He tightens his grip on Martins wrist for a moment before loosening  “In one piece even. I believe that was a part of our agreement” There’s a note of teasing in that last part, Martin wishes it was funny.

“I said come back safe Jon, not ‘come back from the dead’” Jon's hand drops from his wrist.

“Do you not... Are you not glad I’m back?” He sounds- sad. Of course he sounds sad Martin basically just said he wished he'd died.

“Of course I’m glad your back, I just-”

“Then what’s wrong?” The words are just- they’re just words. But Martin feels something pull in his chest.

Martin looks at Jon for the first time since the hospital.

“I’m scared, Jon! I You were dead for three months, Y-you didn’t even have a heartbeat and I-” He brings a hand upland runs it through his hair, Jon doesn’t need to hear this. He should be resting not listening to Martin dump his issues like this- “you were dead and I was the only one left. A-and yeah you came back, but- god what even is this! You’re just, fine. A-and I’m- I don’t want you to not be fine but I- I can’t even prove to myself that you’re real and not- I-I don’t-” He forces himself to stop. clamping his jaw shut around the words that suddenly feel like they’re pushing at the back of his throat like bile. Jon stares back at him, eyes wide and confused and hurt. He’s disheveled and still wearing the pajamas Martin had brought for him in the first week. Small and tired and maybe even real. He looks at Jon until he can’t because his vision begins to blur and his eyes begin to burn.

“Martin, I- I’m- I’m sorry I-” Jon's blurry form moves, and Martin shuts his eyes. Shaking his head. He should be the one apologizing, Jon didn’t need to hear that and he just- threw it at him.

“I’m-” Martin tries to apologize, but it comes out as little more than a croak. Cool hands cup his cheeks, and he opens his eyes. Jon's face is closer now, eyes scanning desperately over Martin's face.

“I- I’m not- I don’t know what I am but I’m- I-I’m me. I-I promise, I don’t know how to prove it to you but I-” Jon starts, and Martin can see his lips move to form the words-

Jon is here, he’s alive. He’s awake. His hands are on Martin's cheeks and he’s running his thumb through the tear tracks, fumbling over awkward reassurances. and looking so, so earnest. Hell, he made a joke about a conversation nobody else heard. Something just between the two of them, nobody else. And to fear entities, maybe that doesn’t matter. But for now, with Jon so close and acting so perfectly imperfectly Jon. Martin can let- no. Make himself believe. Jon’s not dead, it’s not a trap. Not right now, not yet. Just for right now, Martin isn’t alone anymore.

It doesn’t take much to lean forward, pressing their lips together. Jon makes a small, cut-off sound of surprise before melting into it, letting a hand move to the back of Martin's hair and the other fall to his shoulder. Martin's arms wrapping around Jon's waist.

Eventually they have to part for air. Martin doesn’t open his eyes, but he can feel Jon's breath on his face, and his hand in his hair and it’s all just another reminder he’s alive. And so wonderfully real.

He feels Jon move after a moment, using the hand he’s left on the back of Martin's head to guide him down. Pressing now-warm lips to the wet patches on his cheeks. Martin tries to laugh, he’s not sure why. It all just seems a little absurd all of a sudden. but it comes out as sort of a wet hiccup. Prompting Jon to tilt his head, and lock their lips together again.

Martin doesn’t know how long they stand in his entryway, trading kisses and just... being in each other's arms. But it’s long enough he’s run out of tears for Jon to try to kiss away, and the strange wired feeling has faded. Leaving him tired and heavy and in desperate need of a lie-down.

He pulls back, though not far. He can still feel Jon's lips against his as he speaks.

“Please don’t die again.” He says softly.

Jon sighs, pressing a small, chaste kiss against his lips.

“I’ll do my best,” he says, and Martin can feel the words as Jon's mouth brushes his as much as he hears them. And then he kisses Martin again, like he’s trying to seal the words there with his lips.

And, Martin supposes that promise was enough last time. It might be more than enough for him now.

[kiara-carrera]

permanent ink

note: this is set the day after this drabble i did, but also set in that quick little sad montage in s2e1 when jj gives himself a stick and poke. this is probably gonna be reworked once i actually get to season 2 just for any context issues i run into later on, but the bulk of this is canon for them, my tiny lil babies. none of this is really season 2 spoilers tbfh, but also just know this is set in s2e1. also v unedited.

pairing: leah thompson x jj maybank

cruel summer, season two

When Leah woke up, it was to the sounds of chickens clucking somewhere in the distance and to the dull throbbing of her side against an uncomfortable surface. Even before she could adjust to being awake, even before her eyes could flutter open to assess her surroundings, there was no doubt in her mind that she was at the Chateau, on John’s uncomfortable ass pullout couch.

And then there was that pang in her chest at the thought of even just his name. None of this was right. None of it made sense. It seemed as if everyone around her had just accepted the fact that the Phantom had gone down and wrecked, that John B and Sarah had been lost to the sea. That they weren’t just gone for a bit of time, but forever. 

And yet something in her just wouldn’t let the information click, wouldn’t let the all too apparent truth win the battle with the denial warring through her mind. Grief was something that Leah was slowly realizing she wasn’t capable of stomaching, her brain reverting back to the denial stage like a broken record.

It didn’t make sense. The truth was too much to handle, too much to rationalize. To Leah, it didn’t make sense that the same fate that had befell the father had occurred again for the son, like some sick and twisted tragedy. These were the things that existed only the the thoughts that she shoved down and down, deep where she hoped they would never resurface.

They always did.

She let a groan escape her, an annoyed and frustrated little noise, as she rolled onto her back, eyes still squeezed shut as she considered praying to a god she didn’t believe in to let sleep take her. If not for refuge from all thoughts of John Booker Routledge for another moment, but to get away from the sounds of those fucking chickens.

“Sleeping Beauty finally awakes,” someone said from beside her, a snarky yet somewhat joking tone laced into the words.

Her eyes snapped open as she flailed a bit against the couch, heart jolting in her chest. She managed to sit up a bit before her eyes landed on the source of the voice. A somewhat amused JJ was sitting across the room, legs crossed and his foot in his lap, a pencil dangling precariously from his fingers. 

Memories of the night before slowly came crawling through her mind, sitting on the dock, silent tears streaming down her face under JJ’s arm. They’d sat there until at least two am, mostly in silence while passing a beer between them. She wasn’t sure what had happened after they came back in the house, laying back on John B’s couch the last thing she could remember before she must have fell asleep.

“Jesus Christ, JJ,” Leah breathed out, hand running over her face, her heart galloping in her chest. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

JJ snorted. “Geez, good morning to you too, sunshine.”

“Fuck off,” she groaned, letting herself flop back onto the couch. She could hear him laughing as she pulled the pillow out from under her head to shove it over her face — it was way too fucking early to be dealing with this.

Look, she wasn’t saying that being around her best friend was awkward, because it wasn’t. At least, she was doing her best to make sure it wasn’t. But there was always that little nudge at the back of her mind, always trying to get her to work through whatever the fuck she was feeling, because it sure as hell wasn’t normal friendship shit.

She spent an inordinate amount of time trying to convince herself that nothing had changed, another round of denial in her life, but really, what was she going to do? Have feelings for JJ? Her best friend? And do what with that, exactly? Dig herself into a friendship ruining hole? Tell him? Hope he’d, in some fucking weird twist of fate, feel the same? The same JJ who’d never had an actual relationship and flirted with basically anyone, including her, even though with her it was always jokey?

Yeah, fuck that.

But that didn’t make this any less awkward in her mind. Last night had been a bit easier, despite the influx of grieving, but she’d been able to ignore that and just be with JJ without wanting to completely bury herself in a hole and never come out.

And there was also the fact that she told him she’d go to Yucátan with him, that she’d pretty much go anywhere with him, regardless of anything. Yeah, that wasn’t something they were skirting around lately. Well, she figured they’d be if she had completely just left that conversation in the back of her mind. 

And it was clear he’d more than likely taken it as a friendly yeah, I’m totally down for just fucking leaving my entire life to go somewhere with you thing considering he hadn’t brought it up once. Which was kind of shocking because while some people tended to write him off as an idiot, he was oddly perceptive when he needed to be. And yet somehow he hadn’t noticed her speech leaned more on the side of weird, cringey, cliche teen rom-com movie bullshit rather than friendship.

God, she hated her brain.

Leah let out another groan, deciding to take initiative to not be a complete fucking weirdo around JJ because fuck, they all needed to stick together now more than ever, and so she promptly chucked the pillow off of her.

Normal, she could do that. And then she truly focused on him as she turned onto her side again, picking up on how he’d fallen silent. The pencil was now held tightly between his fingers, a crease between his eyebrows that was born of pure concentration as he poked at the skin of his lower calf with the needle he’d fastened to the writing utensil.

Oh, great, he’d set up an impromptu tattoo parlor while she was sleeping, that wasn’t concerning at all. And — was he wearing fucking overalls?

Christ, of course he looked good in overalls. Just fucking spectacular. 

“Stare any harder and I’m gonna start charging you by the minute, Lee Lee.”

Leah’s eyes snapped up to meet his once again amused expression, not having noticed how her gaze had seemingly just zoned out at the sight of him. She could feel heat coursing up the back of her neck at the embarrassment at being caught, not even caring at the use of that god awful nickname 

“Nice overalls,” she told him, sarcasm all over her tone. Inside, she was cringing. Nice job, Leah, draw attention to another thing you don’t want to think about, fucking brilliant job, she thought to herself, but her mouth was already going again before she could just, y’know, shut the fuck up. “Is there a barn raising I don’t know about?”

JJ narrowed his eyes at her, playfully brandishing his pencil at her. “For all you know these overalls could have gotten me the best handy of my life once.”

She couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her, rolling her eyes at his cocky grin. “Please, no one gets laid wearing overalls. And what the fuck are you even doing right now?”

“Stick and poke,” JJ said matter-of-factly, raising his eyebrows before promptly sticking himself again as if to prove his point. He barely so much as hissed at the stab of needle, tugging his teeth between his lips for a moment as he focused back in on his work. “Kie showed me how to do it.”

“Please tell me you at least sterilized the needle.”

Not even looking up from his leg, he gestured the pencil in the direction of the table beside him. “What do you think the lighter is for?”

Sure enough, his light was discarded beside him. That didn’t do much to make her feel better, though, and she raised an eyebrow at him. “Considering it’s you? Anything from smoking a J to arson, probably.”

“Haha, real funny, Lee,” he deadpanned, rolling his eyes as he continued to stab at his skin. JJ was silent for a moment before asking, “Want one when I’m done?”

If you had told her she’d be waking up to her best friend wearing overalls and offering to give her a tattoo in John B’s living room, she probably would have just stayed asleep. She wasn’t really sure how to tell him she didn’t exactly trust him to stab her multiple times with a questionable looking needle ... and dear God, she didn’t even want to consider what he was possibly using as ink. So she opted to go for the slightly less scathing remark.

Leah sat up a bit, supporting herself on her elbows. “Do you have another needle?”

“Uh...” JJ paused, glancing around the table. “That’s a negative.”

“Then at the risk of getting an infection, I’m gonna pass.”

“I could just do the lighter thing again,” he offered.

Leah sighed, running a hand through her hair as she sat up fully, legs swinging to hang off the edge of the couch. “J, I’m gonna be honest, I don’t even know if I trust that you sterilized it right the first time.”

“Ye of little faith,” JJ cried out in offense, once again brandishing his pencil at her. He jokingly narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re wounding me here, Lee. Total lack of respect.”

“I’m sure your big ass ego will get over it,” Leah retorted, shaking her head at him with a laugh.

They lapsed into silence again, JJ continuing to prick his calf with a steady hand and an oddly intense air of concentration. Leah reverted back to just watching him quietly, resting her elbows on her knees and dropping her head into her waiting hands. This was probably the most still she’d ever seen him as long as she’d known him, bar when he was passed out asleep.

Compared to last night, the JJ she was seeing now was doing a pretty bang up job at holding it together. Or, at least, pretending that he was. They hadn’t said a whole ton last night, but Leah knew as well as she knew the sky was blue that JJ wasn’t doing okay. 

The open (and most likely empty) can of beer on the table beside him only solidified that thought.

She wanted to comment that giving yourself a tattoo after drinking was very much not recommended, a know-it-all tone ready to join the factoid on her tongue, but she wasn’t sure how many buttons she’d be able to push before it’d turn into an actual argument.

And fuck, if there was one person she didn’t want to be on the outs with any time soon, it was him.

So instead, she kept her mouth shut, letting her eyes trail across his furrowed brow and the tongue poking out from between his lips in thought. From where she sat, she couldn’t see what he was etching into his skin and while she wasn’t really supporting the impromptu DIY tat, the suspense was starting gnaw at her insides.

Before she even realized what she was doing, she was up and crossing the room. JJ didn’t even bother looking up as she approached him, his attention only being hooked when Leah pushed a few of the things on the table aside before boosting herself up to sit on it.

He looked between her and the table a few times, before a laugh escaped him. “Sure, just make yourself at home, why don’t ya? You’re lucky I’m done,” he told her, setting his pencil on a bit of the table not occupied by her.

She shrugged, taking the opportunity to look down at his skin. Turning her head to the side so that she was actually viewing the tattoo the right way, she couldn’t help but feel a tug in her chest once it clicked for her.

P4L was scribbled into the skin in JJ’s all too familiar handwriting, thin and somewhat crooked lines formed into a tiny brand of Pogue status. More than that, it was a sign of friendship, of family. In a world of haves and have nots, they had each other. 

A soft smile pulled at her lips, corners turning upward as she looked at it with an equally soft gaze. “It looks good.”

JJ flashed a weak smile. He cleared his throat and the words he spoke were joking, a clear shift for the conversation to go somewhere less somber, less intense. “You jealous you’re not a true Pogue, Lee?”

Leah’s brow knitted together in confusion. “Excuse me?”

“No tattoo, fake Pogue.”

“I don’t remember that in the Pogue friendship rulebook.”

“Just added it,” JJ shot back, a smug little look in his eyes.

She couldn’t help but snort. “Great, I’ll be sure to tell Pope about the new mandate so he can promptly shit his pants at the thought of getting a tattoo with a needle duct taped to a pencil.”

“Nah, Pope’s got guts,” JJ countered but all it took was one raised eyebrow from Leah for his statement to fold like a cheap suit. “Okay, yeah, he’d freak.”

“Ya think?” Leah asked with a laugh, her eyes bright with amusement. She took another glance at his new tattoo. “It really does look good, though. If I actually trusted you to permanently alter my body with a needle, I might’ve reconsidered.”

She expected JJ to scoff and go on another rant of how she was insulting his honor or something, but all she was met with was JJ staring intently at her, lost in thought as he mulled something over. That creeping feeling filled her chest as he looked her over and she had about nine thousand guesses for what could possibly be going through his head as she grew a bit nervous under his gaze.

None of those things were JJ going, “Got an idea,” while reaching around her for something on the table.

She watched on in quiet confusion as he retrieved a Sharpie from behind her, waving it around a bit like he’d just won a prize. There was a devilish grin on his lips as his eyes trailed over her before zeroing in on her arm. JJ didn’t bother with niceties as he pulled her arm from her lap, tugging it towards him and flipping it palm side up.

“What are you ... ?” Leah asked, trailing off as she let him all but manhandle her arm.

“Shh, genius at work,” he told her, pointing yet another writing utensil at her in a mock threat. He took her wrist in his hand, using the other one to push up the array of beaded and string bracelets crowding her arm. 

Pulling the Sharpie’s cap off with his teeth and spitting it out to the side, JJ’s brow furrowed in concentration as he put the marker to her skin, leaving black ink in his wake. Leah already knew what he’d be writing, but still she found herself watching intently as his chicken scratch scribbled across her skin, as if he’d suddenly depart from being sentimental and draw a dick on her arm or something.

He pulled back after a moment, gently rubbing his thumb just under his masterpiece, and he grinned at her, the first real smile she’d seen from him in days. It reached his eyes, the blue of them clear and bright and just ... happy. He looked happy, even if this exchange would only last for another few moments, and it made Leah’s heart do a funny little flip in her chest.

At the risk of making eye contact with her best friend for longer than necessary, the kind of extended look that would risk awkwardness and things Leah was far too sober to think about, she averted her gaze.

Written in what honestly looked like some of JJ’s best handwriting, P4L inked her skin, a small and semi permanent declaration of her Pogue status. A tiny laugh escaped her, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she looked it over.

“There, now we match,” JJ told her. 

She looked back up, eyes locking with his. Dimples showing, JJ was still giving her that smile, that goddamn smile that only ever worked to make hers grow wider. The same smile that had, as of late, made her feel slightly dizzy, like her once perfectly structured world had gone just a hair off-kilter and metamorphosed into something else. And it wasn’t helped by the fact that, though there was no reason for it, he was still holding onto her wrist, callused fingers hot against her skin.

Her heart did that funny little flip again, just once more with feeling. Leah out a breath, nodding just a bit. “Yeah, I guess we do.”

[spaceskam]

Hello! For Title Tuesday, how about 33 and wangxian, since I recently fell into this ship and am still swooning and desperate for more! Thank you, love everything you do!

thank you! and thank you for waiting a week too! I’ll add the ao3 link whenever I get the chance to post it over there, I hope you like it!

title tuesday instructions

tags: cql canon, post-canon, a bit of sad and lonely WWX 

33. an uncomfortable month [ao3]

When Wei Wuxian came back to Cloud Recesses, he’d been excited.

He missed Sizhui and Wen Ning and having a reliable place to sleep and bathe, but mainly he missed Lan Zhan. He’d been so excited to hang on him again, to trick him into staying up past curfew by talking for hours and it was simply rude to fall asleep while someone was talking, to catch those moments when he smiled. He missed them together, whatever that meant and in whatever capacity he was allowed to have it in.

However, he hadn’t expected it to be so… weird. Awkward, maybe, was a better word. Lan Zhan was, for the most part, the same, but he was always so busy and so Wei Wuxian had to entertain himself. To make matters worse, apparently, people thought he was the great Hanguang-Jun’s ward. At first it’d been funny, but now it was simply annoying.

“Lan Zhan,” he whined, pouting and squishing his face against Lan Zhan’s arm. He didn’t slow down his pace or even accommodate Wei Wuxian’s affections, so he took the hint and stood up straight. He rolled his shoulders, shaking away that little bud that was beginning to blossom inside him that did nothing but remind him that he was unwanted. He was hoping to get rid of it before he couldn’t ignore it. “Lan Zhan, what did you tell them? I’ve told three separate people that I’m not your ward and not a single one of them believed me.”

“Mn.”

“Mn,” Wei Wuxian mimicked, rolling his eyes, “What does that mean?”

“I have said nothing to anyone about my relationship to Wei Ying,” he said.

“Yeah, including me,” Wei Wuxian grumbled softly. Lan Wangji tilted his head slightly in his direction as if listening and Wei Wuxian managed a laugh, petting his arm. “I’m teasing, Lan Zhan. So, what, do I just let them think that? What if rumors start about my age, though? Aren’t wards much younger?”

“Let them come to their own conclusion,” Lan Zhan said firmly. Wei Wuxian’s face felt warm at the implication. Though, maybe there were no implications and his mind was just a bit naughty.

His mind had definitely been awfully naughty these days.

“So, you won’t mind what they say when I stay in the Jingshi long past curfew?” Wei Wuxian asked. Lan Zhan didn’t answer which meant he didn’t mind. Wei Wuxian leaned closer. “But what will they say if I don’t leave at all?”

Lan Zhan came to a halt, turning to him. Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened a bit, shocked he was getting that much of a reaction. Lan Zhan hadn’t really given him much of a reaction since he came back. It was all very cordial. Plain. Wei Wuxian never overstayed his welcome at the Jingshi because of it, regardless of how much he wanted to take a nap in his bed again. It was much warmer than the guest rooms.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said, staring at him. His eyes slowly grazed over his face and then further down and Wei Wuxian felt a bit lightheaded. “Are your rooms not satisfactory?”

“No,” he said. Lan Zhan blinked and then nodded before Wei Wuxian’s brain processed anything at all. “No! I mean, yes, I mean, they’re fine. Fine.”

Lan Zhan took a slow, even breath. “Wei Ying.”

“I suppose I was under the impression that I would be staying in the Jingshi,” Wei Wuxian said slowly, stupidly, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t know how long Lan Zhan planned to let him stay here, but it couldn’t be too much longer. “You know, like we did last time.”

“Wei Ying was here under pressing circumstances last time,” Lan Zhan pointed out, his eyebrows pulled together just enough to show his confusion. It was such a small change from his normal expression that Wei Wuxian barely caught it. “Wei Ying deserves a space of his own for however long he will be here.”

And it was so sweet that Wei Wuxian didn’t have the heart to tell him that he didn’t really mind sharing if it meant sharing with Lan Zhan. In fact, he’d much rather that. If they were in the same room, then they would at least see each other every day without Wei Wuxian having to hunt him down.

But Lan Zhan had been very thoughtful and Wei Wuxian smiled.

“Oh. I suppose I misunderstood,” he said. Lan Zhan blinked slowly and he took a step forward.

“Wei Ying can stay as long as he desires. And he can have whatever he desires. If he wishes to stay in the Jingshi, he is welcome,” Lan Zhan said. Wei Wuxian nodded slowly in understanding, but his cheeks just started to grow warm and he found himself laughing for no reason. It wasn’t funny. He did it anyway.

“Silly Lan Zhan, you don’t want to give me your house! I am just a ward, don’t you remember?” Wei Wuxian laughed. Lan Zhan blinked, but then nodded his head once.

Lan Zhan continued to walk and Wei Wuxian followed as they made their way to the open courtyard where young disciples were practicing sword forms. They were all around 13 or 14 and greeted Lan Zhan with a warm ‘Hanguang-Jun’ and then quickly averted their eyes from Wei Wuxian. They hadn’t done that before he left, even when they knew he was the Yiling Laozu. He put a little more space between him and Lan Zhan, just to be safe.

The days continued on like this, Lan disciples averting their eyes and Lan Zhan just being eerily calm. Not to say he wasn’t always calm, but he seemed almost sedated. Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure how to handle that. He would press his luck and stay later in the Jingshi, but he was never told to leave even as Lan Wangji went about his business to prepare for bed. It was like he didn’t care about anything but work. Wei Wuxian felt like he’d missed a step.

“A-Yuan!” Wei Wuxian called, walking a bit faster than was Lan appropriate to catch up with him. He was the only one who’s behavior made sense. Sweet and righteous and adorable. 

“Wei-qianbei,” Lan Sizhui said warmly, bowing politely. Then he stood up, paused a moment, and went in for a short hug. That was another thing that made sense. He always gave him hugs when no one else was around. Wei Wuxian gave them freely right back.

“A-Yuan, could I ask you something? Between you and I, of course,” Wei Wuxian said, trying to keep his voice diplomatic as they continued to walk. It made him smile so big his eyes turned into little crescents. Adorable, truly.

“Yes, Wei-qianbei, anything.”

“Did something happen while I was gone? The Lans have never been exactly fond of me, but viewing me as Hanguang-Jun’s ward and being too awkward to even look my way is definitely new. Did a rumor about me spread? I haven’t heard any,” Wei Wuxian said, tapping his nose thoughtfully. He’d tried to come up with reasons and failed each time. “Even your Hanguang-Jun has been weird.”

“Ah,” Lan Sizhui said, giving a tense little smile and looking away quickly as his cheeks began to burn red. Wei Wuxian stopped walking, putting his hand on his arm.

“A-Yuan,” he said, using the same tone of voice he’d used when he would tell him to spit out whatever he’d shoved in his mouth 16 years ago now. It was enough to make him tilt his head back in Wei Wuxian’s direction.

“Hanguang-Jun just… made it very clear that you were not to be disrespected,” he said carefully. Wei Wuxian’s eyebrows furrowed.

“What does that mean?”

Lan Sizhui pushed his hair off his neck and looked around. Wei Wuxian put his hands on his hips and waited for an explanation. Hanguang-Jun had been acting strange as well. What the hell could he have possibly done?

“Have you been to the Jingshi?” Lan Sizhui asked quietly.

“Of course I have.”

“Then have you not… noticed?”

“Noticed what?” 

Lan Sizhui’s face flushed again and he shyly looked at Wei Wuxian which only furthered his confusion. He went to the Jingshi nearly every day. Had he missed something that obvious?

“Perhaps you should ask Hanguang-Jun. It doesn’t feel like my place to say,” Sizhui said. Wei Wuxian scrunched up his nose and sighed.

“Everything is so difficult around here,” he said, earning a small smile from Sizhui. Wei Wuxian reached out to smooth his forehead ribbon carefully. “Fine, I suppose I’ll ask.”

“Alright, Wei-qianbei.”

“Once I straighten that, we’ll address this Wei-qianbei nonsense. Am I not worthy enough to be your Xian-gege anymore?” Wei Wuxian asked, enjoying the sound of his laughter. That made sense. If A-Yuan was laughing and smiling with him, then things couldn’t be that bad. He was sure of it.

“Alright, Xian-gege.”

Wei Wuxian spent his day as normal as he could, though he was already prepared to pack up if need be. He would ask Lan Zhan what he’d missed and see what he said, but he didn’t want to be in a place where everyone wouldn’t even look his way anymore. It was too uncomfortable.

He didn’t want to leave Lan Zhan and he wouldn’t if he didn’t have to, but it was beginning to feel like he had to.

As the day began to wind to an end and it was around the time that Lan Wangji would be retiring to the Jingshi, Wei Wuxian made a point to beat him there. He let himself in and took a look around, trying to notice if there was anything amiss. Nothing stood out.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said as he entered in complete silence. Wei Wuxian spun around to face him, smiling as innocent as he could. 

Lan Zhan eyed him skeptically, not buying it for a moment and yet not calling him out either. It was little things like that that reminded him that Lan Zhan was a grown man now and not a hot-headed teenager. Not that he’d ever admit he was hot-headed, but still.

“Lan Zhan! I was waiting for you, let’s eat,” Wei Wuxian said, coming close and plucking the tray of food out of Lan Zhan’s hands. He brought it to the table and knelt on one side. Lan Zhan was still watching him closely as he placed Bichen on its stand and came closer.

Lan Zhan knelt at the other side of the table and poured tea for the both of them. Wei Wuxian smiled in his gratitude and downed it. They ate in silence which seemed to be an immediate warning flag for Lan Zhan if the way he was staring said anything. Granted, Wei Wuxian never listened to that particular Lan rule before.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan said softly as their meal ended. It was around the time he usually started moving around the room to prepare for bed. And it was the night he usually took a bath, so typically he would go to the other side of the privacy screen and disrobe while Wei Wuxian talked through his body lighting on fire from the inside. “Is there something wrong?”

“Ah, why would something be wrong?” Wei Wuxian laughed. Really, he just wasn’t quite ready to ask what happened after he left to travel last time. What had made all the Lan disciples look away and spread rumors that he was a ward. He still couldn’t get over that. A ward! How could they possibly think he was a ward? 

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan repeated.

Wei Wuxian sighed and let his shoulders sink a bit, his eyes going anywhere but in Lan Zhan’s direction as he fiddled with his robes. It shouldn’t be so hard to ask.

“Lan Zhan,” he said, “What changed while I was gone? I asked A-Yuan, but, you know, just like his Hanguang-Jun, he’s all too respectful to tell me what is yours to say. So all I ask is what happened to make everyone avoid me. More than they avoided me when they knew I was just the Yiling Laozu which, honestly, is impressive.”

Lan Zhan stared at him for a long moment and Wei Wuxian would’ve thought he was just annoyed by the question if not for the way his ears were slowly burning brighter and brighter with each breath. Wei Wuxian tilted his head.

“Lan-er-gege, what did you do?” Wei Wuxian asked, a bit of teasing in his voice if only to lighten the tension.

“My sect will be ordered to stop avoiding you. I apologize for their lack of respect,” Lan Zhan said. Wei Wuxian rolled his eyes.

“Aiya, Lan Zhan! You know that isn’t it! Now, tell me,” Wei Wuxian said. Lan Zhan took a deep breath and stared at him. Wei Wuxian pushed himself up on his knees and walked on them over to him. He sat down right beside him, their knees nearly touching. “Is it something bad? Would it be easier for me to leave?”

That got his attention and Lan Zhan looked at him quickly, his eyes sharp and determined. They both knew Lan Zhan wouldn’t keep him here if he didn’t want to, but Wei Wuxian felt a rush of warmth at the idea that Lan Zhan would still give a lot to make him want to be here. To feel welcome in his home. That was nice.

“Alright,” Lan Zhan said, his hands clutching his robes, “I had a larger bed constructed.”

“Ah?” Wei Wuxian breathed, eyebrows coming together in confusion. He looked over his shoulder to the bed and, yes, maybe it was a bit larger than when he slept in it last, but it wasn’t that much larger. Just… big enough for two. “You’re… getting married?” Wei Wuxian asked slowly, dread poking at his gut and against those quiet sounds of ‘you’re not welcome, no one wants you here’ pried into his mind.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan breathed, looking some mix of fond and exasperated. Wei Wuxian could hear his heart in his ears.

“What does a larger bed have to do with me?” he asked. Lan Zhan slowly closed his eyes. Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened when he realized what the Lans were thinking, what they must be assuming he and their brilliant Chief Cultivator were doing in that large bed. “Ah! And they’re calling me a ward? Is that to save their own thoughts? How shameless of them, Lan Zhan.”

“And not shameless of me?” he asked, tilting his head. Wei Wuxian blinked and then nearly melted.

“Oh. Lan Zhan,” he teased, gently pushing his shoulder. Wei Wuxian’s insides were similar to the way he felt when he knew he was naked behind a privacy screen‒entirely on fire to the point he was almost dizzy. “Were your disciples not just assuming, Lan Zhan? Well, that would explain why A-Yuan got so flustered when I asked. Ah! You are shameless. But, don’t worry, shamelessness looks very nice on you.”

Lan Zhan’s smile slowly appeared and that was nice. Similar to A-Yuan’s, if Lan Zhan was smiling then nothing could ever really be wrong.

“Then why would you give me my own quarters? And why would you act so scandalized when I asked why I wasn’t living in the Jingshi? Lan Zhan, you’re terrible at courting!” Wei Wuxian pointed out. However, saying the word courting out loud when he was speaking about the two of them made a little too obvious what was going on and he leaned closer to Lan Zhan to keep his mind busy. “And still your disciples were thinking things that hadn’t even happened yet.”

“Yet?” Lan Zhan asked, ignoring his questions that were honestly rather important. But, well, he could get those answers later he supposed.

“Yet,” Wei Wuxian repeated, eyes scanning his face. He was so handsome. All of those naughty thoughts that Wei Wuxian had shoved away out of respect came back to the surface very quickly. “Lan Zhan.”

When Wei Wuxian found himself sprawled half-naked on the bed within the Jingshi, he didn’t finally notice the size difference.

[notallthosewho-wanderarelost]

Since it’s Tuesday and we get Loki 1x05 tomorrow and then I’m seeing Black Widow the day after, and I guess I’m doing these now, some thoughts on Loki 1x04.

Hopefully this will be a shorter post due to me not knowing wtf is going on. This show is so chaotic and it’s perfect but that makes trying to predict it impossible. How VERY LOKI OF IT.

NOPE, NOPE THIS IS NOT A SHORTER POST, I have no idea what is going on plot wise but this episode gave me a lot of character stuff to talk about apparently.

Alright, let me get the big one out of the way. I’ve already said this in various places, mostly tags, but if I’m gonna make this post it’s gotta be here. I’m uncomfortable with Loki/Sylvie being romantic. Would prefer for Marvel to stay away from selfcest. PLEASE. I’m kind of hoping and wondering if it’s a fakeout for a reveal that Loki has finally learned to love or at least accept himself through his care of and admiration for Sylvie, which would be VERY Agent of Asgard-esque and I can see it being very probable.

I think giving Loki a love interest of any kind was always going to be difficult to pull off, but especially Loki as he is at the point in time when the show finds him- fresh off his attempted takeover of Earth and probably still deeply reeling from the revelation of his adoption and also likely mentally affected by any torture and/or mental manipulation Thanos might have done on him. Loki’s self-loathing is probably still close to an all-time high here and he’s questioning who he even is. I’m not saying that you have to love yourself before you can love someone else- I don’t think that at all; in fact I think loving someone else would probably encourage someone to value themselves more- but Loki as he is here I think would need to work through some of his own issues before he could get involved with anyone else. I think that Loki would need to learn to love himself first, to accept that he’s worthy of love, before he could genuinely fall in love with anyone else. (Remember this, I’ll come back to it.)

I got major sibling vibes from Loki and Sylvie on Lamentis. Like I said last post, they felt like alternate universe twins to me. They’re the same person from different universe, but also very much not the same- I feel like twins is the closest description? I can admittedly be pretty awful at picking up romantic vibes when I’m not expecting them, but I did not get romance vibes at all.

I also feel kind of annoyed that we would never be having this conversation or having this as a canonical ship option if Sylvie hadn’t been female. Loki is now officially canonically bi, (which means Sylvie is too btw) but in comics Loki is both bi and also genderfluid. Lady Loki is just Loki when Loki is identifying as female. So having Loki fall in love with a female version of himself feels both unnecessarily heteronormative and kind of...awkward in terms of 616!Loki’s genderfluidity, to put it lightly. (Note: I am not genderfluid, this is just my opinion, please prioritize actual genderfluid people’s opinions on the subject over mine.)

That said, after I finished the episode I was genuinely confused if they were actually going there and had to go look up interviews to see what the Loki team was saying about it. I found this interview with head writer Michael Waldron, also featuring quotes from director Kate Herron and from Tom Hiddleston. Relevant quotes below:

“That was one of the cruxes of my pitch [for the series], that there was going to be a love story,” head writer Michael Waldron explains to Marvel.com. “We went back and forth for a little bit about, like do we really want to have this guy fall in love with another version of himself? Is that too crazy? But in a series that, to me, is ultimately about self-love, self-reflection, and forgiving yourself, it just felt right that that would be Loki's first real love story.”

Loki reassures her that while they might lose, they don’t die — they survive. He goes on to call Sylvie “amazing” for how she almost took down the TVA on her own, and it’s clear from the look on his face that even though they’ve only been together a short while, Loki’s already come to admire and respect her. As the moon literally crumbles around them, Sylvie places a hand on Loki’s arm, and that’s when it happens: A branch on the Sacred Timeline. These two Lokis are having a moment they were never supposed to have, which as Mobius puts it, is “pure chaos.”

“The look that they share, that moment, [it started as] a blossoming friendship,” continues Waldron. “Then for the first time, they both feel that twinge of, ‘Oh, could this be something more? What is this I'm feeling?’ These are two beings of pure chaos that are the same person falling in love with one another. That's a straight-up and down branch, and exactly the sort of thing that would terrify the TVA.”

...

“Who’s a better match for Loki than himself?” director Kate Herron chimes in. “The whole show is about identity. It's about him, and he is on a very different path, and he is on a different journey. He sees things in Sylvie that he is like, ‘Oh, I've been there. I know what you feel.’ But she's like, ‘Well, I don't feel that way.’ And I think that was the kind of fun thing about it. She is him, but she's not him. They've had such different life experiences. So just from an identity perspective, it was interesting to dig into that.”

“When Loki meets Sylvie, he's inspired solely by curiosity,” reveals Hiddleston. “He wants to talk to her and understand her and try to discern what was similar about their experiences, and what was different. He keeps asking her questions because he wants to see if his experience was also her experience. I think he realizes, and she realizes, that while they're the same, they're not the same.”

Aside from the parts where Michael Waldron says “...have this guy fall in love with another version of himself...” and “the same person falling in with another version of one another,” everything they talk about in this article could be read as Loki and Sylvie caring for each other in a way that’s not necessarily romantic. Waldron even says that the series is specifically about self-love and forgiving yourself.

(Coming back to the thing from earlier about Loki needing to love himself now.) The way I’d read Loki and Sylvie’s relationship, especially from Loki’s side since we know more of his history, is that this is the first time that either of them actually cares about themselves. Because of their trust in and their love for each other, they’re each able to see themselves as a person worthy of love. I think that’s what the Nexus Event was. I think that’s why Loki and Sylvie’s moment of connection destabilized the timeline. Because Loki’s self-loathing is a deep root of his villainy, and the sacred timeline needs Loki to be a villain, two versions of Loki feeling self-worth, at the same time and place, created a HUGE nexus event. Loki even says it himself in the first episode: he doesn’t enjoy hurting people, he does it because (he feels) he has to, in a desperate play for control. He lashes out and hurts people because he thinks it’s the only way for him to have some control over things.

What Loki starts to speak to Sylvie at the end, he says, “This is new for me,” and references the nexus event on Lamentis. We never get to hear what it is that’s new for him. The episode sets it up to make us think that Loki’s about to tell Sylvie that he’s in love with her. But I think (or hope) that he was about to say something more along the lines of how the time he spent getting to know Sylvie on Lamentis helped him learn to care about himself and see his own self worth. That’s certainly a new feeling for him, since Loki seems to have always been an outsider and been looked down upon. And actually saying out loud that he’s starting to gain a sense of self worth would definitely be new for him. Loki knows that he and Sylvie will figure this out because he’s figured out the nexus event on Lamentis- that when they accept themselves and their own self worth, they can do pretty much anything.

I think it’s also worth mentioning that we never actually hear from Loki himself that he’s in love with Sylvie. We only hear it from Mobius, who’s feeling pretty betrayed by Loki and uses the entire concept to write Loki off as a huge narcissist. That way, he won’t feel as bad about Loki betraying him, or about sticking Loki in a time loop jail. Not that Loki would be the type to shout any romantic feelings to the world, especially in this situation, but the way he kept denying it didn’t seem like it was something he had to lie about.

This episode also called Loki a narcissist a lot; I assume to set up the “reveal” of his feelings for Sylvie and explain why he would fall in love with an alternate version of himself. But while Loki is many things and sure has a lot of issues, I do NOT think narcissism is one of them. When the time loops really start to get to him, he says to Sif: “I crave attention, because I’m a narcissist. And I suppose it’s because I’m scared of being alone.” But that second sentence completely contradicts the whole idea of narcissism! According to a quick google, the definition of “narcissist” is “a person who has an excessive interest in or admiration of themselves.” But Loki is the exact opposite. He has such a low opinion of himself that he acts out to get attention, because he’s so used to being overshadowed, overlooked and alone that he’s afraid that if he doesn’t do things for attention then nobody will give him any. He can be arrogant, yes, but even a lot of that stems from well-earned confidence. Loki is very talented magically and is used to being the smartest person in the room. He knows what he’s good at. But he sure isn’t attention-seeking just for its own sake. Any narcissism he’s displayed, he’s done since becoming a “villain” in Thor, and it’s actually been a mask to cover up his massive inferiority complex.

I also think it’s definitely worth mentioning that when Loki calls himself a narcissist, he’s repeating what Mobius said to him earlier. Loki clearly does care about Mobius and his opinion of him and feels bad about how things have fallen out with him. He’s also been through the time loop dozens of times now, and there’s a reason the TVA picked that memory. Because what Sif says to Loki really reflects his deepest fear. He doesn’t want to be alone, but he has such little love for himself that he might very well think he deserves to be. Loki’s emotionally exhausted at that point and just wants things to stop.

Okay. I think that covered most of my character analysis of the episode. I have some theories about Sylvie and the Time Keepers/TVA, etc, but they won’t be anywhere near as long as THAT^ was.

To start at the beginning of the episode: Sylvie’s backstory is SO SAD. I want to hug her. She spent almost her entire life on the run, growing up and living in apocalypses so the TVA wouldn’t catch her again. She didn’t deserve any of that and I’m so upset on her behalf.

Especially because as I said in another post, I think that the reason Sylvie got taken by the TVA was because she was never going to be a villain. Sylvie was kind and wanted to be heroic in the clip we see of her as a child, and she knew she was adopted. She was never going to be the Loki the TVA needed her to be for the Sacred Timeline because nothing would have ever pushed her to do what our Loki did.

The scene with Sylvie and B-15 was so good. Sylvie was kind to B-15, because her natural instinct is to be kind, and I have so many feelings about that. I love Sylvie. And then B-15 coming to the rescue to uncollar Sylvie and Loki and give Sylvie her sword was EPIC. She’s so cool.

Small aside, I got emotional seeing Asgard again in Sylvie’s flashback. I miss Asgard. :(

Also, if a kid can escape the TVA just by biting the agent holding her, the TVA have really got to step up their game. That’s kind of pathetic. Good for Sylvie though, that was very clever of her. The most juvenile yet effective tactic.

The Time Keepers being fake robots was an excellent twist, and one that I kind of saw coming as soon as they didn’t show Ravonna’s conversation with them earlier in the episode. It immediately made me feel like there were no Time Keepers at all. (And I was wondering if the no-robots rule from episode 1 would be plot relevant! I wonder if it has anything to do with the Time Keepers actually being robots?) It was also really clear that Ravonna was lying about what happened to C-20. As of now I think that Ravonna might actually be the real power behind the TVA. Or possibly a designated lieutenant to the real power behind the TVA:

When I was looking up interviews about Loki/Sylvie in this episode, I stumbled across an article about Ravonna’s comic counterpart and started kicking myself so hard for not recognizing her. In comics, Ravonna Renslayer is Kang the Conqueror’s wife. (Now, in my defense, my previous exposure to Ravonna was in Avengers: Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, in which she spends most of her screentime in a coma.) For anyone who doesn’t know, Kang the Conqueror is a time traveling classic Avengers villain. His whole thing is that he time travels, and wants to take over all of time. So it’s possible that Ravonna runs the TVA to benefit Kang somehow (maybe because Kang needs a certain sequence of events to assure a future victory over the Avengers?) or even does it on his orders. Kang the Conqueror is also set to be in Antman and the Wasp: Quantumania. (Aka Antman 3.)

(I don’t know if it’s relevant, but Kang the Conqueror also happens to be the reason the Young Avengers form. The very first member, Iron Lad aka Nate Richards, is a teenage Kang who meets his future self and decides he doesn’t want to be evil, so he travels back in time to get the help of Kang’s nemeses, the Avengers. However, he lands when the Avengers have disbanded and winds up putting together a team of Avengers-affiliated teenagers instead. The team gets bigger over time and a later version of it notably includes Kid Loki. I’m not going to go off on a Young Avengers tangent here but I LOVE the Young Avengers, please read Young Avengers volume 1 by Allan Heinberg and Jim Cheung and all of its associated tie-ins. It’s fantastic. Unfortunately Kid Loki is only in volume 2, which gets a very solid “no thank you” from me but ymmv. Imo if you want Loki, read Agent of Asgard instead; I keep bringing it up for a reason and that’s because it’s amazing. Kid Loki is also in Journey into Mystery prior to his appearance in Young Avengers, and I haven’t read that yet but it looks very good.)

I’m VERY curious as to what the deal is behind the TVA. This could go a lot of different ways but they all seem exciting.

This show is definitely gearing up for a finale in which the TVA no longer exists or at least no longer decides everyone’s fates, which is exactly what I predicted back in episode 1.

Final thoughts on the episode: I was just wondering after Mobius was pruned if maybe the pruning sticks are actually teleporters of some kind, instead of time tasers, and then we got THAT CREDITS SCENE. I am so confused but also VERY EXCITED. I almost screamed when I saw Kid Loki. MY CHILD. I just had this thought but oh, I would kill for a Thori reference. Best murder dog. Classic Loki’s costume looks so terrible, it’s absolutely on purpose, and I love it.

THIS SHOW HAD BETTER END WITH MOBIUS GETTING A JETSKI. AND BOTH SYLVIE AND LOKI HAPPY.

I’ve been wondering since the show was announced if this show would somehow end with a version of the comics Kid Loki + AoA Loki storyline, where this Loki gets reborn into the main MCU as Kid/Teen Loki so he can join the Young Avengers, and I still don’t know how I feel about that, but with how things are going I can still see it happening.

LET EVERYONE WE LOVE BE HAPPY AT THE END MARVEL.

[galli-writes]

(Click here to read on Ao3!)

fandom: Teen Titans

pairing: BBRae

genre/warnings: AU - Canon Divergence; Implied/Referenced Abuse, Abusive Parents, Childhood Trauma, Graphic Depictions of Violence

additional tags: Angst, Family Issues, Friendship/Love, Protectiveness, Slow Burn, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions

summary:

There are a few things that Beast Boy knows for certain:

He’s 21….and a total lightweight. He’s a vegan (but not like…a pretentious vegan). He’s not going to be single forever.

And the Teen Titans are the only family he’ll ever need.

a/n: Hello! I am bad at updating. Please forgive my sins.

Chapter 6: The Invitation (words 5,129)

The TV buzzed in the background, images flashing against the rising sun. Beast Boy stared at the screen without really looking at it as he poured some orange juice into a glass at the kitchen counter. His hand shook ever so slightly as he took a sip, and he tried to convince himself it was purely from a lack of sleep. But he knew that was only part of the problem at best. As he looked around the room, he locked eyes with the eerie monkey statue, still on display, and put his glass down with a hard swallow.

Beast Boy never brought up Galtry. Raven hadn’t mentioned him either, though that was probably less intentional. Even so, with each day that passed, his conviction only grew stronger. It had to have been Galtry. It just made sense. Didn’t it?

Beast Boy set his glass back down on the counter--and it was a good thing too, because if he had still been holding onto it when the doorbell rang, it definitely would have shattered on the floor.

Everything in the room went still for a moment. At the other end of the counter, Robin suddenly looked up from his phone, finishing off a bite of french toast. Cyborg had turned away from the TV, looking toward the door and then down at a screen on his arm in mild confusion.

“Uh...Well damn.”

“What is it?” Robin asked, already starting to get up to answer the door.

“I’m looking at the cam now,” Cyborg continued. “Whoever that was, they sure left in a hell of a hurry.”

Beast Boy tried to turn his attention to the TV again, and was able to do so with some effort. Above him, men and women wearing either red or blue aprons dashed around a kitchen at full speed. Pumpkins and fall leaves decorated the scene. A smiling scarecrow was pegged in the corner next to one woman’s prep station. At that moment, the host was asking a contestant about her pumpkin spice cinnamon rolls, which were already in the oven. It wasn’t the most creative approach to the challenge, but it was only the first round. So playing it safe was still acceptable.

Then the screen cut to commercial. Beast Boy looked back down at the counter, suddenly shoved back into reality. A reality that became all the more treacherous when he heard Robin returning--and heading his direction.

“Who was it?” Cyborg asked casually, turning back to the TV.

“I’m...not sure,” Robin said slowly. “But they left this. Beast Boy--”

“Huh?” Beast Boy nearly jumped, feeling Robin next to him now.

“It’s...for you.”

“Me? ”

Robin handed him a small card, which he took willingly despite himself. His name was unmistakably clear on the front flap. Well, not his name, but the name of someone he knew was supposed to be him. Galtry’s name wasn’t present, but it was clearly his handwriting--an elegant cursive Beast Boy had regrettably memorized by now. Even so, he had to squint to make out the words on the front of the card. He flipped it over. In slightly more legible text, there was a time and address. The lack of a date could only imply today.

“Any idea what it is?” Robin asked.

Beast Boy knew his curiosity was well warranted, but he froze under Robin’s expectant gaze.

“I mean....it kinda looks like an invitation or something,” Beast Boy said, trying to avoid eye contact. “But I’m not sure how we’re supposed to RSVP.” He managed a small, unconvincing laugh.

“Do you know who it’s from?” Robin continued, in the same awfully unassuming tone.

“No.” Beast Boy shrugged, pocketing the card. “I don’t.”

And that wasn’t technically a lie.

***

The forecast for the night showed more rain—this time enough to warrant a flood watch. Residents of certain parts of the city were advised to stay inside and avoid driving altogether.  Unfortunately, this didn’t apply to the restaurant they were to meet Galtry at. Of course it had been decided that Beast Boy wouldn’t be going alone, and for that he was grateful. In truth, he didn’t really want to go at all. But given the circumstances, Robin had decided the matter was ‘probably worth looking into.’ And Beast Boy knew better than to disagree.

In his room, Beast Boy knelt before a pile of clothes, rummaging through them without a clear goal. He didn’t know what he was going to wear--what he was supposed to wear for something like this. Probably something pretty nice if he was going off of Galtry’s handwriting alone.

Eventually, he came to the decision that the clothes on the floor were too wrinkled anyway. And when he couldn’t find anything reasonable in the closet, he turned to the dresser in desperation. He barely kept any clothes in there, but there had to be something . He yanked open the bottom drawer with some effort, finding nothing but a collection of mismatched socks, useless knick knacks--and a picture frame he’d intended to keep buried.

The picture was of course the same as it had been the last time he’d seen it. His own dark, disheveled hair contrasting with his mother’s blond waves. His father’s tight smile and focused gaze. When he was younger, people had always told him he ‘had his father’s eyes’. So dark they were nearly black. Beast Boy caught a flash of his reflection in the glass frame. His eyes were still quite dark, but in the light they betrayed a subtle green glint.

He frowned. With a new sense of purpose, Beast Boy got up, the frame tight in his grip as he turned his back on the mess surrounding him.

In the common room, he quickly found a small box of trinkets with ample space to house the frame. Using some discarded bubble wrap, he neatly repacked the picture, tucking it away next to some old books. Beast Boy glanced around the room, searching for something he could use to seal the box up for good. With a few carelessly ripped off pieces of packing tape, he folded the box shut and shoved it back with the rest of them.

And immediately afterward, a stream of guilt flooded over him.

One curse at a time, he ripped off more and more tape to finish off the rest of the packages before he changed his mind. With some effort, he pushed them into a neat pile at one end of the room. He would have to ask Dr. Galtry—whoever he was—to come have them picked up as soon as possible.

“What’re you doing?”

Beast Boy jumped slightly, taken off guard by the sound of someone’s voice. He took a breath to steady himself and turned around.

It was only Raven.

“Oh, uh, nothing,” he said, scrambling to his feet. “Just...cleaning.”

Raven simply raised an eyebrow in uninterested disbelief. She was standing next to the fridge with a can of ginger ale in one hand and a hefty book in the other. Neither of those things were particularly remarkable for Raven.

But what was strange was the way she was dressed. Opposed to her usual baggy sweaters and leggings, she was wearing jeans and a cardigan over a blouse he’d never seen before. It even looked like she might be wearing makeup. Real makeup that had clearly taken more effort than her everyday eyeliner.

“So I guess you heard about dinner tonight, right?” he asked only now realizing he was staring.  

“Yeah. Sucks for you guys,” Raven said plainly, taking a sip of her soda.

“What do you mean?” Beast Boy said, genuinely puzzled for a moment. “You ’re not coming with us?”

“I have...plans.”  

Beast Boy eyed the book in her hand. “Sitting in your room reading doesn’t count as plans.”

“ Real plans,” she said defiantly, tossing the now empty can in the recycling.

“Well you’ll have to reschedule,” another voice said suddenly, short and stern.

Beast Boy and Raven both turned around to find the rest of their friends approaching from the nearest hallway, Robin at the lead.

“I can’t,” Raven replied, her tone just as sharp and uncompromising.

But Robin didn’t budge. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, arms crossed against his chest. “But this is official Titans business, and you know what takes precedence. That’s all I’m gonna say about it.”

Raven frowned, but she didn’t put her book down. She merely stuffed it into her purse, which was much too small to properly contain it.

“Uh...car’s all ready out back,” Cyborg said, gesturing to the garage with some hesitation.

Raven sulked past them without a word, not even bothering to try and call shotgun.

The drive was awkward and uncomfortable. At least for Beast Boy.

At some point he realized Starfire was talking to him about the latest Netflix series she’d been binging. It was a clear effort to distract from the all consuming depressive aura of the back row. Beast Boy nodded at the appropriate moments, but couldn’t even remember the name of the show two minutes into the conversation.  

Raven didn���t look up from her book once during the entire trip. But it was obvious she was only pretending. Beast Boy couldn’t help but notice that she never once turned the page--and Raven was a fast reader. He didn’t mean to notice the slip of paper tucked between the pages--didn’t mean to see what was scribbled on it. The messy, half-cursive script was almost illegible, but it was clearly a reminder of some sort. A date, a place, a time--the last of which was circled aggressively in dark ink.  Beast Boy made a conscious effort to try and stare straight ahead. He didn’t want to be caught staring again. But of course, it was hard not to notice things like that when you were sitting right next to someone.

What plans did Raven have? ...Not that it mattered to him, of course. Whatever Raven did in her free time wasn’t any of his business, really. Even still, it was hard not to wonder what could be important enough to pull the world’s biggest introvert out of her room. In an actual put-together outfit no less. Then, for a brief moment, a disarming thought flitted through his mind. Hypothetically, in a world where Raven actually dated people, it would probably be safe to assume that she would never tell any of them about it. And why should she? But more importantly why should any of them care ? He didn’t.

Of course, the thought was utter nonsense to begin with. Raven had always made it abundantly clear that she had no interest in being in a relationship. Unless of course she’s been lying.  

Beast Boy began to feel a pit forming in his stomach for the millionth time that week. Just letting his mind wander as far as it had made him feel guilty--like he was prying into things that were none of his business. He tried to shift his train of thought to something-- anything --else beyond the uncomfortable terrain he’d stumbled into. And he didn’t know why it was so uncomfortable. Maybe it was because now he couldn’t stop thinking about the state of his own love life. At least Raven had the angsty brooding down pat. Any time he felt bad for himself--which was a little too often for his liking--he imagined he looked less like the lead singer of a pop punk band and more like a toddler who’d spilled their cheerios in the backseat of mom’s minivan. Right now he would have leaned up against the window and stared into the coming downpour like someone in an early 2000s music video...had he not been stuck in the middle seat again.

As they drove, Robin talked briefly of a ‘plan’ he’d been constructing in the event that things went south. Starfire and Cyborg seemed engaged enough, hyping themselves up for what they’d decided was going to either be a five star meal or an equally satisfying smackdown. But Beast Boy couldn’t find it in him to join them. Outside, the rain was picking up fast. The gray clouds above had brought on the night of their own accord, and even the thousands of city lights couldn’t entirely pierce through the darkness. Beast Boy slunk down further in his seat, sticking his hands deep in his pockets. In doing so, he realized abruptly that he had never actually changed clothes, and a familiar card was still tucked away in his pocket. Unfortunately, no amount of fiddling would make it disappear.

It was easy to recognize when they’d arrived at their destination. The traffic came to a complete stop, as cars—and even a limo or two—fought for a spot on the narrow strip of asphalt in front of the shimmering building before them. People poured out of the vehicles like liquid gold, as men in suits and women with designer handbags scrambled for the attention of the underpaid valet workers.

“Well this looks like...fun,” Cyborg said, hands gripping the wheel tighter, despite the utter standstill.

“I think we might be a little under dressed,” Robin said, peeking out the window and then down at his jeans and flannel. He sounded much less like a boy about to embarrass his family at the yacht club and much more like a detective who was going to blow his cover.

“Well I guess it’s too late for that now,” Cyborg said, automatically pulling up in line next to a man dressed in valet attire weilding a crisp black umbrella.

“Good evening, sir. May I have the name of your party?”

“Uh...” Cyborg hesitated.

Without thinking, Beast Boy reached for the card in his pocket. In a matter of seconds it had acquired some impressively deep folds and a slight tear in one corner, but it was still easily readable and recognizable. He leaned forward and silently passed it to the man like he’d been rehearsing the action for months.

The man’s eyes widened instantly. “Oh, of course. Dr. Galtry has been expecting you.”

A brief moment of silence hung in the air between them as Cyborg continued to grip the wheel.

Beast Boy stared straight ahead. The tension was palpable. For everyone else, the sound of Galtry’s name must have conjured some form of excitement. Good or bad. Some sense of progress in unearthing a mystery. For Beast Boy it only stirred up the guilt surrounding how much he’d withheld.

“If you would—“ the man said, clearing his throat slightly. He nodded toward the driver’s seat as he spoke. “I would be happy to take care of your vehicle.”

“I...uh,” Cyborg hesitated again, his hands gripping the steering wheel even tighter.

“That would be great, thanks,” Robin interjected from the other side. Cyborg shot him a quick look of doubt, but it was quickly followed by a sigh of resignation as he let go of the wheel.

From the safety of the covered curb, Beast Boy watched with his friends as the man stepped into the driver’s seat and fumbled for a moment with the controls.

“Be safe, baby,” Cyborg half whispered as the car disappeared into the fray. And despite all of the nerves clouding his mind, Beast Boy couldn’t help holding back a smile, patting his friend on the shoulder in consolation.

The inside of the restaurant was just as extravagant as the exterior suggested, even more so as the former had certainly been dulled by the weather. Immediately upon entering through the crystal double doors, Beast Boy found himself brushing shoulders with men and women who looked like attendees of a red carpet after party. The entire building—which was completely packed beyond any sense of personal space—was littered with dark wooden tables, velvet curtains, and chandeliers. Light bounced around the room off silver plates and platters carried around by elegantly dressed waitstaff. Even from the distance of the foyer, the scene was simultaneously beautiful and nauseating.

“The party for Dr. Galtry?” A young woman’s voice rang out from behind a tall podium in the corner of the entryway. “We have you in our private dining--” the woman started, pausing as she looked up to meet the group before her. Her eyes grew wide and a clearly unscripted smile came across her face. She had to be in her late teens or early twenties--and was one of the youngest people in the room.

“Sorry,” she said, the smile still on her face. Her brilliant emerald jewelry sparkled as she began to move. “Um...If you’ll just follow me right this way.”

Weaving through the tables turned out to be even more dizzying than just looking at them. And with every step, Beast Boy felt more and more like he was walking straight back into the cave of a hungry beast hoarding its jewels. When they finally came to a halt, it was in front of a large wooden door at the back end of the restaurant. Like the den of a sleeping dragon, this area of the restaurant boasted an even greater number of precious gems and wrinkle lines.

“Dr. Galtry will be waiting for you all inside,” the young woman said, nodding her head slightly.

An awkward beat of silence passed as she continued to stand there without turning to leave, her eyes darting down to her feet.

“Sorry, I know this is like, super unprofessional, and I know you guys are busy, but I was just wondering...if I could maybe get an autograph?” she said quietly, the words spilling out a million miles an hour. She was looking up now, and despite referring to the entire group, it was clear her attention rested on Starfire.

“Certainly!” Starfire smiled.

As if by magic, a small receipt notepad and chewed up pen had already appeared in the young woman’s hands.

“I love your bracelet by the way,” Starfire beamed, taking the pad of paper and beginning to doodle on it.

“Oh, this?” the girl laughed nervously. “Thanks. I mean, it’s nothing really.”

Starfire handed the paper back with a smile, the pad now feverishly adorned with hearts and stars surrounding her signature.

The young woman seemed to be beside herself with joy. She managed another clumsy string of thank yous before disappearing into the crowd again.

There was another long silence.

“I hate it here,” Raven said abruptly, shattering any lingering sentiments of the preceding interaction.

The look on Starfire’s face was more than enough of a response.

“I’m not talking about the girl,” Raven huffed.

Beast Boy looked around. It was true. The suspicious glares were more than enough to tell that the rest of the diners weren’t fans. Maybe coming here had been a mistake.

“Is it really--? Oh, yes, finally!”

Beast Boy blinked hard, a smooth but animated voice bringing him back into the room.

“I’m so glad that you all agreed to meet me here,” a man said, approaching them eagerly.

Suddenly everything seemed to blur. The motion of the restaurant became nothing more than a swirling backdrop of light. For the third time that night, Beast Boy caught himself staring. He looked just like his picture. Too perfect to be real--and yet there he was. Black hair, dark eyes, perfect smiling complexion. The only indicator of his age was the shadow of graying stubble around his chin--and even that looked somehow manicured and intentional. But he walked and talked and was standing right before them just like any other human being. It felt like being in a dream. Or a nightmare.  

“I’m so sorry. I had to step outside to make a phone call,” the man continued. “Galtry. Dr. Nicholas Galtry,” he said, proceeding to shake each of their hands with an unprecedented force. “Really, it is an honor meeting the rest of you.”

“The...rest of us?” Robin asked, wiping his palm on his pant leg.

The man stopped short, a look of pure bewilderment washing over his face. “Oh...don’t tell me you didn’t get my letter?” As he spoke, he turned to look at Beast Boy directly.

“So you’re the letter guy?” Cyborg said, with a somewhat forced laugh.

“I had hoped Garfield might at least mention my name,” Galtry said, slowly.

For a moment, Beast Boy felt the same sense of crippling guilt returning, coupled with the discomfort of hearing his ‘name’ spoken aloud by someone he didn’t know. Or didn’t know well . He was still deciding.

“Well, I’m sure you all must be tired, called out like this on such short notice,” Galtry continued. “Again, all of my apologies, but I just couldn’t wait any longer to speak to you. Here, let’s go inside, shall we?”

The private dining room certainly was private. Almost to the point of being soundproof, which Beast Boy found to be more of a concern than a comfort. Robin automatically sat the closest to Galtry, which was unsurprising but still a relief. Beat Boy opted for a spot in the middle of the long table, where he reasoned he would be least likely to garner extra attention from their host.

Just then, the door swung open again, and another member of the wait staff entered to pour water into the intricate crystal glasses before them. He then proceeded to take drink orders—a cherry coke for Beast Boy and pinot grigio for Dr. Galtry.

“So,” Galtry said, swirling his wine like he was on the cover of a food magazine. “I understand you all have been on Arsenal’s trail for some time now.”

The room went still. Until, of course, Robin eventually broke the silence.

“Arsenal?”

The question would have sounded redundant on anyone else’s lips. But Robin said it with such confidence that it was Galtry who looked embarrassed.

“Oh. Of course. I’m sorry. I had assumed you were familiar with them.”

As one waiter exited, two more replaced him, setting various cutting boards piled high with expensive cheeses and sausages down the center of the table. Galtry sliced a piece of smooth white cheese off the cutting board, spreading it on a piece of toast without even looking down. “They’ve been causing me trouble ever since I first got here.”

“You sound like you know ‘em,” Cyborg said, his eyes resting on Galtry as he skewered his own kebab of sausage rounds.

“Unfortunately,” Galtry grumbled, mostly to himself. “They’ve been after some research of mine for some time now. I don’t pretend to know why. I’m not sure they would even know what to do with it if they were to get a hold of it.”

“What exactly are you researching?” Robin asked tentatively.

Galtry looked up at him suddenly, an expression akin to embarrassment flashing once more across his face. He was clearly not the type of man accustomed to having to introduce himself.

“I’m sorry. I’m getting a bit ahead of myself, aren’t I?” he cleared his throat. “I haven’t even properly introduced myself. That’s what happens when you frequent limited social circles your entire adult life,” he said with a short laugh. “Right now I hold a position as Research Chair for the department of Genomics at the University of Pretoria. I primarily conduct research regarding the development of new gene therapy technologies.”

“Why would the genes need therapy?” Starfire asked, already on her second round of charcuterie.  

Galtry fought back a bemused smile. “It’s not literal. Though that would be something, wouldn’t it? It’s a type of medical procedure,” he explained. “The sort of thing that would help us treat genetic disorders like cystic fibrosis or even reverse the production of cancer cells. The details are a bit...complicated,” he said thoughtfully, looking into his glass.

“As for my being here in Jump City, I admit it’s a bit of a surprise even to me. The U.S. Northeastern Scientific Board regularly invites me to present my work at their annual symposium, which is usually held in Gotham. But I understand there’s been somewhat of a crime spike there recently. And criminals do love the smell of science they don’t understand,” he said with a sardonic smile.

“You’ll have to excuse me for being so blunt,” Robin interjected. “But what does this have to do with us exactly?”

“Well that's a simple question with a rather complicated answer,” Galtry said, a slight frown coming across his face. “The less complicated aspect has to do with Arsenal themself. When I learned that they had found some opposition after following me to the states, I knew I would have to meet with whoever was tracking them. Lucky for me it turns out you all are pretty famous around here.”

“Well I wouldn’t say famous ,” Cyborg said, barely pulling off airs of humility.  

The doors swung open a third time as if on cue, this time letting loose a small string of waiters, each steering a cart laden with different shapes and sizes of covered plates. One was placed in front of each person at the table with expert precision and lifted dramatically to reveal the contents. Beast Boy was more than surprised to find that his dish was completely different than everyone else’s—stuffed mushrooms that looked like they’d been specially prepared. He didn’t remember mentioning that he was a vegan, and had the harrowing thought that maybe he had reached a stage where people knew without asking.

“So how do you know Beast Boy?” Starfire asked, head tilting slightly to one side like a puppy.

It was the question Beast Boy had been dying to hear the answer to--though he knew he would have been incapable of asking it.

“Of course. That’s the other half of the matter. And a bit more complicated,” Galtry said, rubbing his hands together meditatively. “The simple answer is that I was a friend of his parents’. Back during their tenure at the University of Pretoria.” There was a soft smile on his face, but it didn’t seem to exude any kind of joy. “Small world, isn’t it?”

“But all of those artifacts...all of their belongings--you sent those?” Robin tried to clarify.

Galtry nodded. “After their unfortunate passing, I was designated Garfield’s legal guardian by the court that sorted their affairs. They were always very private people, and I was the closest acquaintance they had. Their son was supposed to inherit their entire fortune--the only problem being...well...no one knew where you were,” he said, looking directly at Beast Boy now. “Seeing as you had still been under close medical watch at the time of your disappearance, it was the general belief that you had died somewhere in the jungle shortly afterward. But because there was never any actual proof of that being the case, the money was never dispersed by the government or anyone else. Instead it’s in a bit of a state of limbo held by those same officials—where it’s been utterly useless given the circumstances.”

Galtry looked down at the table, shaking his head. “I had just about given up hopes of ever finding Garfield—you wouldn’t believe how difficult it is to find someone once they’ve essentially erased their given name from their identity. Even through legal means. Surprisingly, the small detail of him being green didn’t help very much either,” Galtry said with a small laugh. “I only recently learned it was even an aspect of his...condition. The side effect hadn’t quite developed completely before he disappeared.”

Galtry spoke to his friends as if this was knowledge Beast Boy had always possessed and merely neglected to share with them, which, as far as he knew, was not the case. Though the historic tirade made him wonder just how much of his life he had forced himself to forget.  

Galtry shook his head once more. “There were always flitting rumors of what had really happened to the Logans’ son, but I was always too stubborn to believe them.” A small ironic smile crept over his face as he looked directly at Beast Boy. “You have to understand. I’ve dedicated my entire life to the sciences. And, quite frankly, your very existence seems to defy its most basic principles.”

The silence that followed was unlike any other that had filled the air that night. There was a certain quality to it that went beyond discomfort. Beast Boy felt himself instinctively clench the sides of his chair as he struggled to keep his expression neutral. Galtry’s words felt eerily like a compliment, and somehow that made things worse.

Robin cleared his throat suddenly, making a point to stand from his seat. “Thanks for the meal, it was really delicious. But this is all a lot to take in. We’ll need a little more time as a team to consider whether or not we can help you.”

“I completely understand,” Galtry said with a smile. “Especially considering we’ve only just met.” He folded his hands in front of him, like a compassionate leader about to make a compromise with some of his disheveled citizens. “If you all would like to know more about what it is I do, I would be more than happy to show you around my lab this weekend. Perhaps a better understanding of my work would convince you?”

“We’ll have to think about it,” Robin repeated in the same definitive tone.

“Of course,” Galtry said automatically. As if this were a dance he’d done many times before. “Here,” he rose from his seat. “For now the least I can do is see you off.”

The man known to them as Nicholas Galtry made his way through the door, exiting the restaurant the way they’d come in. But this time, Beast Boy noticed that it wasn’t the green skin and glowing eyes or robotic arms and legs that captured everyone’s attention. It was Galtry. The doors were opened for them as if on cue, valets and restaurant staff trailing behind them without Galtry so much as lifting a finger. When they got to the outside of the restaurant, Cyborg’s car was already there, running and ready to go.

“I could really use your help,” Galtry said, passing the keys from the valet’s hand to Cyborg’s. “I hope I’ll be hearing from you soon.”  

The second they were in the car, the doors shut tight behind them and a quiet voice broke the heavy silence.

“Did I mention I hate it here?” Raven mumbled, the first words she’d said since they’d met Galtry. The only words she’d said all night.

Beast Boy didn’t say it, but he had been thinking the same thing. Though maybe hate wasn’t the right word. Not exactly.

He turned to look out the back seat window, and watched as Galtry watched them drive away.

[aineirisha]

What I confessed while daydreaming

THE MEETING

He started paying you visits more often, especially after hard missions or bad days. 

He would take a night walk and end up on your tree branch with a not admitted hope of finding you there. Some nights he did, some nights he didn't. Most of the time you were either cooking, reading, or dancing. Usually dancing while cooking.

 It became his guilty pleasure. He'd sit on the branch and watch you enjoy whatever activity you were doing, letting that feeling of lightness brush over his much-wounded heart. He once caught you sleeping on the couch so peacefully it made him envious but at the same time, it was like he could feel that same peace. He stayed there for hours.

That night you were playing the duduk you brought from home. He heard the music before getting on his usual branch already pleased with the sound. He was even more pleased when he discovered it was you playing. He stayed there letting himself be carried away by the notes and closed his eyes. It was like listening to the wind blowing through the mountains and the cup of the trees. 

And there it was, that same chakra again. Spying on you from the same branch as always. It had almost become a routine at that point and you tried to keep it cool ever since you figured you were being watched over. You didn't want to give the Hokage any reasons to think wrong of you, but it started making you feel a little (annoyed) uncomfortable, it was your privacy after all.  You lowered your chakra as much as you could to make it imperceptible, left the duduk on the couch, and got out of your house.

"Instead of spying on me, you should just come in" you said standing next to him on the tree with your arms crossed. You caught Kakashi with his guard down, he opened his eyes and jumped out of fright and embarrassment almost falling off the tree. You stretched your arm to grab his hand and pulled him back to prevent him from falling (not that he needed it, though).

He took off his shoes before coming in, feeling completely awkward.

 "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you" you said. He didn't reply, the stupor dominating him. "Want something to eat?" you opened the fridge. 

He stared at you, "You can sit down if you like" he stared at your couch. He didn't know what to say. You caught him spying on you. He'd thought he was being careful, turns out he wasn't being careful enough, apparently. What was he supposed to say in this situation?!... 

"Sorry" was all he came up with. You smirked and sighed.

 "For what? spying on me?" Hearing you say that stung him, he blushed in shame. 

Earth please eat me whole!! 

How could he be so careless? Him, the copy Nin, getting caught spying on someone. That definitely wouldn't look good on his record. You took your head out of the fridge along with something to eat. 

"No worries, I just hoped the Hokage had a little more faith in me, but it's understandable, I guess" So the influence of my power in him hadn't been enough. Great. 

He stayed silent trying to get over the shame. You put the plate in the microwave and sat down. 

"You are not from here" He concluded, your accent giving you away.

"Nope"

"Where are you from?."

You looked at him suspiciously. You had figured the Hokage would have him informed. But meh, better you telling him whatever you want him to know than him making wrong conclusions. You had nothing to hide. 

"Wind country, southern coast". The microwave beeped, you took out the food and offered him. He shook his head. 

"What brings you all the way to Konoha?" What the hell, southern wind country? that's like a month away from here!! He was trying to keep it cool on the outside and pretty much succeeding at it but he was really surprised and really confused. 

"Adventure" you smiled. He stared at the wall.

...

...

...

Kakashi’ brain went on loading mode.

"Wait, Sunagakure isn't south" Nothing was making sense.

"That's 'cause I'm not coming from Sunagakure" you replyed while you fixed your dinner and smiled mischievously.

"Aren't you shinobi?"

"Nope" Well you sure as hell have great control of your chakra. He thought.

"Then what are you doing in a Shinobi village?"

"Learning"

"And the Hokage let you stay here...?" What could you possibly be learning and why the hell are you hanging around in a SHINOBI VILLAGE?!!! Aren't we supposed to have restrictions for outsiders?

"Shouldn't you know?" You were convinced that man right there was spying you under Sarutobi's orders buuuuuut he actually wasn't, and he wasn't getting that you were thinking that, and he was even more confused now, so he just stared at the bookshelf. 

His gaze stumbled upon Icha Icha and his thoughts focused on it. He stood up and grabbed the book from the shelf. You laughed ironically. Of course, from all the books I have there, he had to pick THAT one. You rolled your eyes and smirked. 

"You like Icha Icha?" he asked. 

"I'm liking it, yes" you answered carelessly. 

"Mmhh." 

"What?"

"Nothing it's just... weird, a girl reading this book"

"Why would it be weird?"

"Girls don't read erotic literature... I guess" He scratched the back of his head and shrunk his shoulders, thinking of all the times he had been called a pervert.

"Who told you that?" you gave him a judging smile.  

...

...

...

"So, you like erotic literature" He tried to break the awkward silence. 

"Not really. I mean... It's not what I usually read but a friend of mine wrote it so I just thought I'd give it a chance, you know." 

He didn't pay much attention to your answer, trying to organize his thoughts. So you were an outsider, living there, or so he assumed since he had been spying on you for over a month now. You claimed to be there on... an adventure? to... learn? learn what?... He took his eyes off of Icha Icha and put the book back on the shelf, seeing the other books you had. They were mainly Shinobi theory. History, Chakra, minerals, Jutsus, weapons, combat styles... So you were learning about the Shinobi world... Just like that?!

 Who are you and why are you so freely learning about things that are not meant to be of popular knowledge?! Is the Hokage ok with this?!. 

He grabbed the book on chakra and browsed through it. It was the book they used at the academy. One of the most basic ones, probably one of the first ones they teach with, even. 

You stared at him while you ate. The whole situation seemed a little surreal. You looked at his gloved hands holding the book. He moved with a kind of delicacy that caught your attention. He was delicate but he was also firm. He looked graceful and masculine at the same time. It was very pleasing. You smiled enjoying the sight. He put the book back and turned his head to look at you. 

"Sure you don't want anything to eat?" You asked kindly. 

"Thanks, I'm fine. Where did you get these books?" He was trying to understand.

"Well, the library" Duh!

"I mean... Why these books?"

"Iruka-sensei gave me a list of what I needed and those were the books" you answered carelessly (again) as if it was obvious.

Sooo... Iruka-san is teaching you things that aren't supposed to be of popular knowledge. Right... What?!? Nothing was making sense and he was just feeling awkward and ashamed. And a little bit worried. He awkwardly stared at you and at the bookshelf back and forth. His brain wasn't really working. How could you be so calmed?!. His paranoia started kicking in. You stared at him (awkwardly) in silence. 

...

...

...

"Well, it's pretty late. I should go back home. Sorry for the intrusion." You saw him leave your house with... hurry?. 

Hell! did I do wrong inviting him in?! What if he tells the Hokage? oh c'mon what's he gonna say to the Hokage? It's not like I said things Hiruzen doesn't know already. But maybe I screwed up. Maybe I shouldn't have been impulsive. Oh gosh! I don't wanna get in trouble. Maybe I should go after him and try to explain, but what am I gonna explain anyways?... CRAP!. You didn't move from your chair, not knowing what to do but still considering your options, thinking about his face. Why does he keep his face covered? And his hands... they seemed soft. Long fingers caressing the pages... Those gloves look good on him... 

He closed the door and sighed. What the hell just happened?! Him?! getting caught spying on someone?! His own pride couldn't believe it. Luckily no one was there to see and no one had to find out. He walked back to his apartment trying to understand... 

______________________________

Ch 1    Ch 3

Masterlist

@spnningtop Here it is :) hope you like it ;)

A/N: This is the begining of a (probably long) fic I have in mind. It mainly follows canon but with a charachter insert and is also the very first thing I ever write so I’m nervous and excited. 

Btw the duduk is a music instrument, kind of like a flute. It sounds very beautiful and soothing in case you want to check it out. I imagined her playing something like this (ir goes from 0:40 to  2:10) enjoy :) it is really a piece of art 

[the-darklings]

i raise you needy!v

well raised and highkey!canon

timeline: post-Prague, pre-Naples by a few months

. 

.

The call comes just past midnight.

Most of the time—correction, all of the time—he would ignore such a call. If someone is stupid enough to try and reach him at this hour, that's their business and mistake to make. Why should he care for stupidity of others?

Especially when he has urgent reports to read and prepare for a meeting tomorrow. He is to attend this meeting on his father's behalf due to his...slipping health. 

There is a change in the air, Santino can detect it and taste it. He knows Gianna is the same. She's pulling her own strings and making her own preparations. 

Camorra is on a brink of a revolution once again and he and his sister are at the helm of it.

However, only one name could ever distract him from his family—only one and he lowers his wine glass for upon spotting it. 

(Name)

Dropping his pen on the documents carelessly, Santino picks up the phone at the second ring. 

"Cara mia," he greets with a slight twitch of his lips and leans back in his leather seat. "So lovely to hear from you."

He tries to imagine you—wherever the Russian might have sent you away—and wonders what horizon you are observing. Outside, the bay of Naples glows in the pale moonlight through the partially opened balcony doors. 

Silence greets him. 

"Bella?"

A rattling, shallow breath echoes in his ear and his slight smile crumbles as he sits up, pressing the phone closer. 

"Where are you?" he demands softly. "Are you injured?"

"I'm...fine."

You don't sound fine. 

You're not fine. 

But you were. You've been doing well. No relapses, slow but steady progress since Chicago. Fewer nightmares, more genuine smiles. He barely checks in with Winston anymore, and the last time he did has been as awkward and as stilted as all the times before it but necessary.  

She's doing well. There was the Casablanca incident but it was harmless. She's stronger now. I think she's finally starting to let it go. 

You are. 

Casablanca has been a small setback—more worry that it was worth because you were fine. When he tracked you down, you had clung to him, arms around his shoulder and soft pants against his neck.

He had chewed out the manager who sat through it all with gritted teeth and pinched expression—apparently your newest friend, and he couldn't help but wonder how you always win loyalty so damn easily in a world where none is given.

Still, he's Camorra heir and she was a newly appointed manager who did not need an enemy. A smart woman if not a highly unpleasant one. 

You had needed him though. 

Didn't allow anyone else to touch you or help you, and through the uncomfortable roll of something he didn't dare to acknowledge as worry in his chest, shone something close to...happiness.

He's been hated, cursed, scorned. 

Never needed—not genuinely. Not without deals or favours or expectations. Not with a sleepy smile and crinkling of eyes as he helped you to bed. 

A vast difference to what he witnessed in Chicago. 

An emptiness still but softer this time. More bearable. 

Now though—

"Water?" he guesses, tense. "Is it getting bad again, cara?"

"Yes."

Santino is not quite sure which question you're responding to but it doesn't matter. 

"Where are you?" he urges, trying to keep his tone calm. Patience, as you always remind him with a judicious grin, is not his strong point. "Tell me where you and I'll send Ares with the jet, amore. She can pick you up and you can stay with me for a few days, hm? Or New York, whichever you prefer."

Somewhere safe. Somewhere where this won't be used against you. 

He feels like punching something. He should call the old man now, warn him. Winston has...something with you that Santino doesn't quite understand. It's an odd bond but you trust the man and Winston has proven that he...cares. 

"No. Can you..." you breathe and he steps from behind the desk, marching towards the balcony. He needs fresh air—your voice— "Could you...just...stay on the phone with me, Santi?"

Santi.

He hates the fact that even now you calling him that makes lightness bloom in his chest. 

Fuck, fuck. 

He has a mountain of work to get through but your voice—

Tiny and scratchy with pain. He doesn't hear tears and feels selfishly grateful for it because he can't imagine not tearing the world apart to find you if he did. See with his own eyes that you will be fine. It's only been three weeks since he's last seen you but it feels like an eternity now. 

"Of course, amore," he reassures and steps into the warm Italian night air, running his hand through his hair. He swallows, listening to your unsteady, slow breaths through the line. "Are you counting?"

A pause. "Yes."

"Ah, that's my girl," it slips out before he can control it, and he rushes ahead before you can comment, "Keep doing that, bella. Would you like me to talk?"

Another breath, steadier this time. "Please."

He's imagined plenty of scenarios in which you may use that word with him but none of them involving this damned pain. 

He fucking hates it.

"My birthday is in a few months," he says conversationally, forcing the loftiness into his words, but his fingers keep flexing against the railing. He stares out towards the sea and wonders where in this wide, wicked world you are. How long it may take to reach you. After Tokyo, every time something goes wrong, he's always intimately aware of the particular disadvantage that is you still being on Tarasov's chain. "I am planning a party. Would you care to come? As my honour guest, of course. Perhaps my plus one as well, yes?"

He wants it. 

That dream of you beside him. 

One day soon you will be free of Tarasov and after that—

Oh, after that. He has every intention of offering you a place in his family, beside him.  

His father's reign is coming to an end and one day he will sit at the very top. 

The Camorra crown will sit on his head and he will spill all the blood needed to get it. 

And when he's Head you will be free. 

Even if it means shredding Viggo Tarasov and his family to pieces. Slowly. For all he's done. 

Blood for blood. 

"I would like that."

He leans over the railing, his fingers rubbing against his temple. 

"Good, amore. How are you? Do you need anything?"

Because he never knows what to expect or what he can do to help with this. 

It's uncomfortable and pitiful to admit his lack of know-how when it comes to these matters. He doesn't understand your demons, not really. He tries but fails most of the time.

Caring is exhausting. But it's you. 

A muffled rustling, and then he hears your voice clearer like you're speaking right into the receiver, "Would you stay with me?" you half-ask and half-plead and it's like a kick to the chest. One of your blade between his ribs. Sinking deeper, deeper, deeper— "On the phone till I fall asleep. Please, Santi."

Fuck.

You are so very, very dangerous. 

Special. Dear.

"You don't need to ask, (Name)."

He's only returning the favour, he reasons, for back when you stayed with him on the phone as he rang you drunk and in need of company. He's never had someone before he could trust with grief. 

He's only returning the favour, he forces himself to repeat.

Over and over.

Like that might change the fact that you could ask him anything with that subdued need in your voice and he would give you everything. 

[monaownsmyass]

Nice Meeting You

Requested fic by anon. (If you have any fic ideas or requests you'd like me to write, you can leave me an ask!)

Book: Perfect Match

Pairing: Alana Kusuma x f!MC (Kai Park)

Genre: Fluff

Rating: G, none

Word Count: 3,641

A/N: MC meets Alana’s dad for the first time. For the sake of this fic, Alana’s dad moved back to his home country after he finally retired. I used some Bahasa Indonesia phrases and I feel the need to apologise to native speakers if I messed up lmao I’ll put the translation at the end of the fic. I also apologise if anyone is ooc or if some facts/parts contradict the canon work, it’s been some time since I’ve read PM and my memory is foggy 😩

Tag list: @ineedskyecrandall @kamilahsayeet2063 @avalawrencefl @lovekamilahsayeed @thequeenkamilahsayeed @heygmicheelle @djtjsmith14 @jjlover01 @soft-for-drake @dopeyouth @alexroyard (lmk if anyone would like to be included or removed in my next fics and if you only want to be tagged for certain pairings.)

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, the anxiety I've been feeling for the past few days amplified.

"Babe?" I felt a warm familiar hand greet mine on the armrest between us. "Are you alright? You're not scared of flying, are you?"

I gave my girlfriend a nervous laugh. "Not at all, after everything that went down and all the travelling we did, I might as well call flying my second home," I joked.

She didn't laugh though, her brows were knit in worry. "Then what is it?"

"Alana, it's nothing. It's just that, well, I'm a little nervous to meet your dad." I paused and bit my lip. "Okay, maybe I'm terrified of meeting your dad."

That was when she let out a laugh. "Oh, Kai, just relax! He may be a little uptight but he's really nice and he’s been looking forward to meeting you ever since I told him about you."

"You've mentioned. But I'm still so tensed and I can't help it! What if he doesn't like me?"

"Alright, come here," she put up the armrest between us and motioned for me to move in closer to her. I scooched over as she wrapped a comforting arm around my shoulder. I rested my head on her shoulder and I instantly relaxed into her embrace, feeling some of the nervousness ebb away. "Do you want me to tell you another story?"

I looked up at her gave her an involuntary smile. She always did this whenever I was feeling scared or nervous or down. It was her way of taking things off my mind and putting me at ease.

"Yes, please."

"What would you like to hear about? Work? Family?"

"Tell me something about your family. I wanna know more about your dad."

"I know exactly which story to tell you," she said with a fond smile, reminiscing.

She jumped right into it, her soothing voice was like music to my ears, calming me and easing my worries. She explained the things her dad would do to cheer her and her sister up if they were crying when they were younger. How he'd make silly faces and tell them jokes. And if that didn't work, he'd pretend to be clumsy and hurt himself. And if that didn't work, he'd act upset himself and that always seemed to do the trick. When he pretended to be sad and crying, his daughters would forget their own sorrows and tend to his needs.

"Aww, that's so adorable," I commented as she told me the story.

"It was," she laughed. "There was once where even that didn't work on my sister so he thought he'd surprise her. He painted his face white with his nose and mouth red. He said he was supposed to be a clown but when he came out of the room, my sister got even more upset and started crying harder 'cuz she thought she saw a ghost!"

I laughed along with her. "Oh no! Your poor sister!"

"My dad learnt his lesson after that," she chuckled and continued to tell me more stories about him.

When Alana invited me to follow her on her trip to Indonesia a few weeks ago, my heart melted.

With her career, we could barely see each other and even when we did get the chance, we were lucky if she could spend the week with me. I spent days and nights longing to be by her side and I knew she felt the same. We would video call as often as possible but it still wasn't the same as being able to hold her in my arms and kiss her and tell her how much I loved her.

So when she invited me along saying she wanted me to meet her father, the thrill that coursed through my body was enough to make me bounce off the walls of my room even though I was anxious to meet her dad. I was also excited that she was sharing a part of her with me. When I told Damien I was going on a trip with Alana, his brows shot up so high and fast I thought they were gonna leave his face.

"As far as I knew, she's never invited anyone she was seeing on a trip with her, let alone to Indonesia!"

I could still hear his words clearly in my mind. They made me blush when I first heard them and they still did now. The thought that I was the only one she was willing and comfortable enough to share this personal part of her life with made my heart swell.

I knew Alana wasn't one for outright verbal affection. She still wasn't used to being romantically involved with someone who was in it for the long run but everything she did told me everything I needed to know and I thought it was really sweet that she had her own way of expressing her love. From the way she would hold my hand tighter when we were walking down a dark street to the way she would sigh and relax in my arms as we hugged after finally seeing each other after months in the airport. I could tell what she meant behind every action.  And now to this; sitting beside Alana with her arms wrapped around me on a flight with her, telling me stories from when she was younger.

I smiled at the thought and snuggled in closer to her, enjoying her warmth as we settled in for the rest of the flight. Eventually, her stories turned into lullabies and I fell asleep in her comforting embrace.

I was awakened by Alana's gentle voice cooing in my ear. "Wake up sleepyhead, we're here."

I opened my eyes to discover our entangled bodies covered by a blanket. She must have thrown it over us when I was sleeping.

"Good morning," I yawned.

"It's almost 4 p.m. but yeah, good morning to you too," she replied with a laugh.

We got off the plane and from the airport, we took a cab straight to Alana's dad's house. We were supposed to be staying at Alana's aunt's beach house again but I could tell Alana missed her dad sorely and wanted to see him as soon as possible.

When we reached his doorsteps, my palms felt clammy and a million thoughts were running through my head. What if we didn't get along? What if he didn't approve of me seeing his daughter?

Alana took my hand from beside me and gave me a kiss on the cheek. She whispered into my ear, "You've got this, sayang." I shiver ran down my spine from her warm breath tickling my ear and warmth spread through my body from the term of endearment.

She unlocked the door and we walked into the house, hand-in-hand. The house was dark and quiet.

"Ayah? Aku dah pulang!" She called out into the silence.

Suddenly, the lights turned on and we were greeted to the sight of balloons and streamers everywhere. In the middle of the colourful display was a man who looked to be in his 60's. He had the hugest grin I'd ever seen and his arms we stretched open.

"Selamat pulang, putriku!" he exclaimed and Alana immediately rushed into his arms.

"Ayah! I've missed you so much," she muttered and held him onto him tight.

"I've missed you too," he said and reciprocated his daughter's gesture.

When Alana finally pulled back, she took his right hand in hers and bent down as she brought it to her forehead. I recognised this as a respectful greeting to one’s elders. She returned to my side and intertwined our fingers once again.

"Ayah, this is Kai. Kai, my dad," she introduced and stuck my hand out to shake his hand.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Kusuma," I said, trying to sound confident but I even I could hear the slight tremble in my voice.

He probably did too 'cuz he laughed while accepting my hand and I hoped my palms weren't too sweaty.

"So you're the woman that's got my Alana wrapped around your finger!" He pulled his hand away and touched his chest over his heart.

"Ayah," she groaned. "Please, no."

Mr. Kusuma just laughed and carried on, ignoring his daughter's plead. "Whenever we talk, she just goes on and on about you"

"She does?" I croaked.

"Of course! If that isn't proof enough, she's never brought anyone to meet me. I always ask her if she's seeing anyone but she always says it's nothing important."

"Oh!" was all I could muster to get out but my insides went haywire. My heart slammed against my chest in love and affection. Words could not explained how touched and grateful I was to be the one that Alana brought home to her dad.

I was still trying to process my overwhelming feelings when I turned to look at Alana only to find her face buried in her hand in embarrassment.

"Ugh!"

I giggled and placed my hand on her back. "No need to be shy, I think it's really sweet."

"I am not sweet," she said, glaring at me which only made me laugh harder.

"Sure you aren't."

I was gonna give her a kiss when I remembered her dad was still watching us. Would it be weird? Uncomfortable? Disrespectful? So I settled for a hug instead at the last minute.

Nothing missed pass Mr. Kusuma's attention 'cuz I saw him chuckle at my awkwardness.

"I appreciate the effort," he said. "But I don't mind you kissing my daughter. I just want to know she's loved."

"She is," I replied immediately without hesitation and saw Alana's face soften.

"Then that's all I ask for."

He motioned for us to sit at his dining table and as we took our seats, he started placing different dishes on dishes on the table from the kitchen. "You both must be hungry after that long trip."

"Ayah! Did you cook all of this?"

"Of course I did! You said you missed my cooking so I cooked your favourite."

"But they're all my favourite."

"Exactly!"

"You really didn't have to, this is too much!" she protested but I could tell she was excited to dig into her dad's homemade meals.

"Ah!" He shook his hand and head at her. "Putri, you complain too much! Just eat!"

Alana served me a little of everything on the table, explaining what each dish was. Every bite I took exploded with flavour.

"This is amazing, Mr. Kusuma!"

"Oh I know," he agreed playfully. "But thank you anyway."

After a couple of minutes, the part I was dreading the most arrived. Alana's dad cleared his throat and opened his mouth to say, "I hope you really impress me by the end of the day. I want to know what Alana sees in you."

"Ayah!" she exclaimed. "Don't be rude!"

"It's fine," I reassured in a nervous chuckle even though my stomach was a rollercoaster. I placed my hand on her thigh to reassure her. "I can't blame a father for wanting the best for his daughter."

Mr. Kusuma raised his brows. "So you know how to play your cards right, hmm? You get a point."

I couldn't help but let out a genuine laugh. As intimidating as this whole situation was, he definitely lightened the mood despite him being the one making me nervous.

"So, Alana has never told me and I'm curious to know, how did you both meet?"

I looked at Alana and Alana looked at me. She cleared her throat. We could tell the other was thinking of all the trouble and danger we got into when we first met.

And there's no way in hell we could tell him that.

"Well, we met... on a flight..." I started, a little unsure. We didn't discuss the details of how we 'met'.

"Right, cuz I was working on her flight," Alana added on.

"Ah, I see. Where were you going?"

From the corner of my eye, I could see Alana looking at me. We were both unsure how to answer.

"Mexico."

"Canada."

We said simultaneously, causing him to give us a puzzled look.

"It was a flight from Mexico to Canada," Alana quickly explained.

"What were you doing on a flight from Mexico to Canada, if you don't mind me asking," he directed to me.

"Oh, uh, I was in Mexico for a holiday."

"And she was on her way to Canada to visit her family," Alana said to help me out.

"Yes, right, 'cuz I have family in Canada."

I think I was being a little obvious 'cuz I felt Alana kick me a bit too hard under the table which caused me to whimper and I clutched my leg.

"Ow!"

"What's wrong? Her dad asked.

"Oh, nothing, nothing, I just... had a sudden leg cramp."

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, don't worry about me," I shot Alana a quick glare and I saw her mouth 'Sorry!'. Her hand shot to my leg, massaging the sore area.

"Who talked to who first?"

"I did!" I quickly responded in case Alana had a different answer in mind. "I saw this gorgeous air stewardess on my flight and I thought I'd be a fool to not at least try to talk to her."

"I knew there was something special when I first saw Kai. And maybe it was 'cuz she was being extremely nice to me compared to the rest of her fr-" she caught herself before she could say it. "Fellow passengers, but I knew I had to get to know her better."

He looked at us, hard and long as we held out breaths, wondering if he bought our lie. Alana's hand searched for mine and gripped it.

After what felt like ages, he broke into a grin and we exhaled in relief.

"I'm glad you found each other," he said honestly.

"Me too," I heard Alana respond and stroked my hand with her thumb, leaving goosebumps in it's wake.

"Speaking of, how is work, putri?"

"It's good."

"You always say that, tell me more! I need to have something to brag about the next time I see my friends," he joked, laughing.

Alana laughed along but I could he was unsure how to respond so I chimed in, trying to bend the truth as much as possible.

"Alana is really passionate about her job," I helped her out. "She's always so excited to go on her next... trips."

She nodded. "I am, but I always miss you too," she said in a soft voice and I knew that was the complete truth, not a show we were putting on for her father.

I felt my cheeks heat up. "I miss you so much too, but I love getting small souvenirs and postcards from you." I turned my attention back to Mr. Kusuma. "Alana always sends me letters and postcards telling me about all the crazy things that happens on her trips."

That was true too. A few days or weeks after her leaving, I'd always get mail from her without fail. It was sweet of her to keep sending me stuff and I really appreciated and looked forward to them. Text messages just weren't the same as getting a physical note from her that she’s held and written on. It also brought me an immense amount of comfort during her missions where she isn't allowed to carry a phone on her. It was the only way I knew she was safe and I knew it was her way of letting me know she was alright to ease my worries.

"I always start worrying as she steps foot on any plane," I admitted earnestly. Her hand was already in mine but I brought my other hand to cover our interlocked ones, cradling her hand on my lap, remembering my promise to her years ago when I said goodbye to her for the first time at the airport. "But at the end of the day, I'm so proud of my airline stewardess girlfriend and I wouldn't change a thing."

I looked at Alana and grinned an honest, sincere smile. She glanced at me fondly, her brown eyes soft and tender.

"Thank you, babe."

"I have to know," Mr. Kusuma started again and I stared at him intently. "You love my daughter, yes?"

"Definitely! More than anything in the world," I nodded profusely.

"Why?"

I looked at him perplexed. "Why I love Alana?"

He simply just gave me a single nod.

I let out a snow breath. "I don't even know where to begin." I looked at her and she gave me a small smile which was all the encouragement I needed to carry on.

I smiled back and continued. "I love that she's always got my back even if she's not with me. That she always finds a way to cheer me up when I'm upset. I love the way her eyes light up with excitement when she's talking about something she's passionate about. I love seeing her face first thing in the morning and the last thing I see before I go to bed."

I subconsciously I turned to face her, no longer speaking to her father.

"I love how she's the most caring and affectionate person I know even though she doesn't always say it or wants to admit it." I smiled, gazing into her eyes, trying to convey the how honest every word I said was. I've never told her any of this but I meant it. And what better time to confess it than now, in front of her dad. I wanted to show her I wasn't embarrass to love her 'cuz I wasn't. And if I could shout it from the rooftops, I would.

"She's the most amazing person I've ever met and I've always admired how she's do anything to protect the people she loves. And above all, I love how happy she makes me. Seeing a message from her makes me feel invincible, as if nothing could ruin my day. I just want to be able to return that feeling for her and make her happy because I love her."

I kissed her hand. "I love you, Alana Kusuma."

Her eyes were shining with tears. I knew she was trying to hold them back. I brought my hand to cup the side of her face and ran my thumb under her eyes, wiping them away.

"I love you too, sayang," she whispered and leaned into my touch.

I turned back to her dad to find him beaming.

"Well, Kai, you won me over."

Alana laughers, wiping her own tears. "That was quick."

"I can tell she means it," he replied. "What kind of father would I be to scrutinise someone who loves my daughter?"

Alana stood up abruptly and walked over to her father and gave him a big hug.

"Terima kasih," I could hear her whisper.

For the rest of the evening, we ate as Alana's dad told me embarrassing stories about his daughters, Alana especially, of course. We would laugh and she'd groan and protest, hiding her face behind her hands but I saw her fighting a smile ever so often.

By the time we were done, it was late and as we headed out the door, Mr. Kusuma stopped me.

"Go on, I'll be with you soon," I told Alana.

She eyed both of us suspiciously but complied.

"Okay," he said. "I don't know what Alana actually does or if she's actually an airline stewardess. She's always been hard-headed," I opened my mouth to defend her but he stopped me. "Don't tell me if I'm right or wrong, I don't think I can handle the truth." He paused and looked me in the eyes. "But regardless of what she does, I'm so proud of her and as a father, I always worry. So what I need you to do is promise me that you'll look after her. Take care of her, please."

"I understand what you mean, but she's capable of taking care of herself."

"I know, I raised her,"  he said with pride, smiling. "But even the most capable people need someone to look out for them and I've never seen Alana open up to anyone the way she has to you. Aside from me of course," he laughed. "You mean something special to her, Kai. She trusts you and it'll put me at ease to know she's not alone."

"Of course, sir," I replied. "She means a lot to me too and I would never do anything to let her feel like she isn't. I promise I will, I've always been there for her and I'm not planning on changing anything. It would be stupid of me to leave."

"I'm glad you think so," he teased. "Thank you, Kai."

We met Alana outside where our taxi was already waiting for us. She gave her dad a big hug, promising that she'll be back soon.

"Jangan terlalu lama," he replied into her hair.

When they pulled back, he stretched out to shake my hand again.

"It was nice meeting you, Mr. Kusuma."

"Aku harap yang terbaik untukmu berdua," he said to us.

Alana gave him one final kiss on the cheek before we entered the cab. We waved him good bye as the car drove away. She gave me a soft kiss on the cheek and rested her head on my shoulder, sighing.

"You alright?" I asked, concerned. I wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her closer to me.

"I had two of the most important people in my life under the same roof."

She closed her eyes and smiled.

"I've never felt better."

(More fics!)

~*~*~

Translation:

sayang - love/dear

ayah - dad

aku dah pulang - I’m home

selamat pulang - welcome home

putriku - my princess/my daughter

putri - princess/daughter

terima kasih - thank you

jangan terlalu lama - don’t be too long

aku harap yang terbaik untukmu berdua - I wish the best for both of you