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spvce-cowboy · 4 years

Text

songbird

ch. 4 of i’ll be here in the morning (the mandalorian x fem!reader)

previous-ch. 3: “reunion”

next-ch. 5: “the hero’s shoulders”

rating: mature

11.3k words

warnings: PERIL!!!, violence, alcohol and drug use, jealous/protective mando

a/n: apologies in advance for the slight cliffhanger—this chapter got WAAAYY too long so I had to split in two. luckily means I’ll be able to get the next one out to you all asap ! <3

summary: you are forced to go undercover in order to help Mando capture his next quarry, the lionized Tyreus Cavill.

You’re most nervous about remembering the proper steps to a waltz. You know, instead of being worried about aiding one of the deadliest bounty hunters in the galaxy on his highest profile mission yet. Because that totally makes sense, right?

At the Estate, you and Febhana were taught dancing in order to entertain the Lord’s guests. Digging up any memories from that period of your life is enough to have the taste bile flood your mouth. You do your best to swallow it down, keeping a cool face for your sake and everyone else’s.

Honestly, you’d trade being afraid of the known over the unknown any day. The anxiety of remembering your time at the Estate was more familiar, something you could deal with, and have been for years now.

Thinking too hard about the severity of the current situation, about how you had absolutely no idea what you were doing, that was the kind of fear you avoid at all possible cost. So you settle for being nervous about a waltz, nothing more and nothing less.

Mando is seated beside the driver. He doesn’t turn back to address you and Febhana directly, instead tilting his head slightly in order to look at the two of you through the rearview mirror. Before the three of you left, he gave you a small listening device that you now have tucked against the edge of the undergarments you have on. The dress is too exposing to hide it anywhere else.

He debriefs you on the specifics of the mission the entire ride there, showing you multiple images of the quarry, plans of action, a blur of different scenarios and how you should react that you have already quickly forgotten in the haze of your building anxiety.

“The main rule is no secondary locations,” he concludes. “We can’t risk either of you being alone with him. It’s too unstable of a situation as is.”

You nod, staring at him through his partial reflection. From the back of your mind there’s a quiet glimmer of endearment, how you’ve never seen him this thorough about a hunt—Mando seems more like a wing-it-and-figure-it-out-from-there kind of guy. You’re not sure if you’re getting special treatment because he doesn’t like involving someone like you in his job or because this quarry is too valuable of a target to botch. The former doesn’t add to your anxiety, so you run with that.

You tear your eyes from the mirror when Febhana digs through her purse and plops a set of papers in your lap. You examine them closely, trying to bring the little details to memory as best you could.

“Is that even a real name?” You ask, face screwed up slightly, pointing where it’s listed on the fake ID.

Febhana cranes her neck over your shoulder, looking down at the papers with you. “Sophste Wilkbail? Sure, sounds like a poet or something. You can play that up.”

From the front seat, Mando gives a sardonic huff of air. It’s such a cruel sound you can practically visualize the scowl he’s put behind it. Febhana rolls her eyes.

“Listen, darling, believability is just about the last thing we need to worry about, right now,” Febhana settles back into her side of the speeder’s velveteen cabin. “Hiding who you are is more important. As soon as we get past the guards it’ll be easy. Just try your best to pretend like this is any other party.”

You neglect to tell her that you have not been to any parties besides the ones at the Estate. Instead, you nod, training your gaze out the front windshield.

The driver lights another cigarette as he pulls the speeder into a line of idling vehicles that border the streets outside the Tagge mansion. You can tell that you’ve arrived by the bright lights and banners flooding from the building’s open face, an intimidating amount of guards tucked away at every discernible outpost. You drum your fingers against your knee to the song you can faintly hear playing from the radio.

Febhana’s soft hand against your arm breaks you from your reverie. Her words are far more gentle now. “Are you ready?”

You nod. It’s a sharp, curt movement of your head. Steadfast. You’re kind of scared shitless, but determined. She smiles at you, widely, and it’s enough to have you smiling back.

“Let’s get this show on the road, then.”

The first thing you are certain of upon entering the Tagge’s mansion is the fact that this isn’t a home. It’s a cathedral. Possibly the biggest, most extravagant place you’ve ever been in.

The entranceway alone is enough to have you clinging to Febhana’s side a little tighter than you had initially intended to. It looks like… it looks like a marble maw, stretched open, fangs bared. You and Febhana follow the tongue-like carpet down the hall in small, measured steps. She takes to ducking her head in greeting to those she recognizes, you

It only takes a few moments for you to realize the awe you’re feeling is a strange combination of genuine wonder and pure intimidation. You think that’s the point. It doesn’t help with the uneasy feeling that’s situated itself in the cavity of your chest since getting into the car.

“They like to play pretend royalty here, don’t they?” Febhana mutters under her breath, giving a polite smile to a passing guard as she does. “Stars, you’d think they’d try to lay claim to Naboo itself with a place as decked out as this. Tasteless.”

You huff a laugh as she continues to lead you down the main hall. You try to look as dignified as possible, as if environments like this were an everyday occurrence. It’s difficult to do, but with the assurance of her at your side and Mando a few rigid steps behind you, the anxiety pressing from within your chest is somewhat quelled.

The main dancehall is filled with people. Everything—from the tall curtains to the paintings on the walls—is in cool tones of green and gold, interrupted by great expanses of marble. At the far end of the room are two twisting staircases leading to a platform where the band is playing. The ceiling has some kind of intricate mural you desperately want to examine, but when you try to crane your head back Febhana tugs at your arm slightly, reminding you to play it cool.

You square your shoulders as Mando sidesteps to remain pressed against the walls with the other guard droids, the movement a little too fluid for someone who is supposed to be a robot. You pray everyone is too drunk to notice. They are.

With Mando’s presence lost you sink a little further into your anxiousness as Febhana begins introducing you to a flurry of different people. She delicately places a drink in your hands from a passing server, murmuring a word of encouragement in your ear before moving to the next group. It all passes in a blur, but smiling and graciously dipping your head seems to get you through a lot of the interactions without having to actually pay attention.

You quickly realize she is strategically maneuvering her way towards the stage—or, rather, those who are gathered beneath it. There are a collection of small tables lining the perimeter where people are seated if they are not dancing. Below the stage are three larger tables that overlook the entirety of the ballroom. It’s too crowded from where you’re standing to see any of the occupants.

What you really notice, right after taking in what you can of your surroundings, is that there will be no feasible way for you to pull this off. Not here in the Tagge house at least. Every entrance into the private portions of the house are heavily guarded, cameras everywhere. You do your best to swallow the mounting sense of dread, keeping a smile on your face while Febhana continues to lead you through so many introductions all the names and faces blur together.

You tug at Febhana’s arm slightly between introductions to signal your need to speak with her. She eventually pulls you into the cubby of a towering window after disentangling the two of you from another meaningless conversation.

“Febhana,” you lower your voice and maintain small smile on your face to keep prying eyes and ears disinterested. Better safe than sorry. “There’s no way this is going to work. Not here. I’ve counted at least five guards around every possible entrance.”

“I know, I saw,” Febhana takes a deep breath, eyes wandering out the window. “Let’s just… tough it out. See what happens. I don’t really want to get on the Guild’s bad side, or your friend’s for that matter.”

You wince slightly as the idea that this plan could affect her in any way but nod, trying to swallow your guilt in not fully thinking through how much you were asking of her to help you and Mando out like this. You step out of the little alcove and move your way back to the perimeter of the floor.

From this vantage point, you can see one of Febhana friends wander up to the main tables and hug a seated boy in greeting. The contact leans down and says something in the boy’s ear before turning back to glance at where you are standing.

You’re close enough, now, to realize the table the contact just approached is where the Tagge siblings are sitting. The playboys surrounding them have such a loud presence you’re surprised you didn’t notice them earlier.

They’re all practically kids, at least a year or two younger than you, but they act in that way where they knew they were untouchable. They have lived and breathed an entire lifetime of knowing that they are people who could get away with absolutely anything—and have, more than once. It radiates off of every movement they make, from the way they throw their heads back in obnoxious laughter, to the cruel tilt of their mouths as they speak. Everything about them set off some deep-seeded instinct in you to stay away.

Scanning their faces, you recognize the quarry almost instantly.

The photos Mando showed you didn’t do him justice. Tyreus Cavill is wearing a crisp black suit and has skin so pale it’s nearly opalescent. His hair is slicked back close to his scalp, the severe nature of his bone structure combined with some of the darkest eyes you’ve ever seen gives him the appearance of a leering jackal.

Cavill stares up at the ceiling, tracing the rim of his wineglass with long fingers as the person seated beside him speaks. He looks bored--they all do, a kind of lax slant to their gathered bodies that stands in stark contrast to the tight, aloof postures of most everyone else around them.

You tear your eyes from Cavill as the boy that Febhana’s contact is talking to begins to stand. You look at the new boy evenly from where you’re standing, holding his gaze as confidently as you can, before turning back to where Febhana is standing behind you.

Febhana flashes you a sly look. You can practically see the gears turning in her head as she flicks her eyes in the direction of the Tagge brothers and Cavill. You quickly put two and two together.

Whoever it was that’s approaching you right now is your invite to the table. Possibly the only one you’d be getting all night.

“I’ve got eyes on him,” you murmur to yourself, hoping Mando’s device can pick it up. You glance to where he is positioned against the wall and see him dip his head slightly in response. Feeling a little more confident, you pull your shoulders back and pretend to make conversation with Febhana.

The boy enters your periphery shortly thereafter, standing at your side as he greets Febhana first.

“Febhana,” the boy tucks his head in greeting to her, then turns his gaze to you. His hair is a thick mop of curls, nose slightly twisted in a way that suggests he isn’t too good at fighting. The crooked smile he gives you is warm enough to push off your initial feeling of disquiet concerning his friends. “And who is this?”

“Lucius, this is my old friend, Sopheste Wilkbail,” Febhana introduces you by your fake name, then motions to the boy. “Sopheste, this is Lucius Laycam, his father owns the racetrack we went to earlier.”

“Dreadful business,” Lucius’s eyes glint, keeping his head tucked slightly in that way men do when they want you to feel like you’re the only person in the room. You don’t like the fact that he knows to say something like that, it demonstrates an ability to read you too easily.

Lucius takes your hand delicately, leaning down to kiss the ridges of your knuckles. He straightens to say his next words directly into your ear, getting unnecessarily close to do so.

“I’d like to treat you to a dance, if you don’t mind,” his voice rumbles. Your eyes flick to the table from over his shoulder. You make brief eye contact with Cavill, who has leveled his head to take a swig straight from the decanter at the center of the table, entirely disregarding the glass already in his hand. Cavill actually looks at you this time, and holds it, albeit briefly. Lucius finishes his proposal as you train your gaze back to the floor, “And then another drink.”

You give him your best smile and nod. It’s just a small dip of your head, but he eagerly pulls you away from Febhana and towards the center of the dance-floor.

Luckily for you, Lucius isn’t a flashy dancer. He’s amicable in a way you weren’t expecting, considering the company he keeps. He reminds you a lot of the village boy you were having a bit of a fling with before you left Am’ile’s planet: slightly empty-headed, but cute, and very enthusiastic about whatever task he’s put to. There’s a certain goofiness to him that pushes away any residual anxiety with the fits of laughter you tumble into as a direct result of his antics.

It’s kind of… exciting. You don’t want to admit it fully, but there’s something thrilling about someone taking so much interest in you. You’ve been so touch-starved that just the feeling of his hand partially cupping your exposed back in enough to send butterflies straight to your stomach. A different kind of anxious butterflies. Good butterflies.

Maker, it’s only been a few months since you left Am’ile’s and you’ve already been reduced to a giddy schoolgirl at the very brush of someone’s hand against your bare skin. You don’t know how Mando does it, you really don’t.

Lucius pulls the two of you to a halt when the band dies down, the singer murmuring something unintelligible into the mic.

“It was a pleasure, Miss Wilkbail,” he steps back, kissing your hand again and bowing. By this point you’ve figured out that his exaggerated, gentlemanly manner is just another shtick of his. You press your lips together to poorly conceal a giggle, giving him your own mock curtsey in turn.

“And you, Mr. Laycam.”

“Now if you’d like to join me, I’m on a mission to get absolutely plastered before these blowhards,” he motions to the others on the dancefloor with a twirl of his finger, “find a way to make this night even more suffocating than it already is.”

“Sounds just about perfect,” you say as you take the arm he offers you. He pulls you toward the table and you try to keep up with his long strides, bunching some of the skirt of your dress in your hand and lifting the fabric to prevent tripping.

Lucius pulls out a seat for you, introducing you to the playboys seated beside him. You’re directly across from Cavill, who is still nursing the table’s decanter, completely disengaged from the conversation occurring between the two friends that are seated on either side of him.

“Are you new to Canto?” The playboy who asks is a Tagge twin, one of the three brothers who are currently seated at the table with you. You can tell by the signature white-blonde hair.

“A friend of mine wanted me to stay with her for a while,” you say, graciously taking the champagne glass that Lucius plucks off a passing server’s tray to offer you.

“Febhana, you sister’s friend,” Lucius clarifies for the Tagge boy.

“The visiting court singer Heresta was telling me about, before?” The Tagge brother directs the question to Lucius, when his friend nods he raises both eyebrows and shoots you a grin.

“I’m still in training,” you clarify with a nervous laugh, finding it easier to talk if your eyes are trained on the glass in your hand. “But yes, that’d be me. The court singer.”

“What did you say?”

Cavill’s voice quiets the conversations of the other playboys almost immediately. The other Tagge brothers glance over but quickly resume a normal volume. The hierarchy of the table becomes very clear, after that.

“I’m training to be a court singer,” you repeat yourself, sliding your head towards the quarry with your best stab at a cool, practiced gaze of utter ambivalence. Cavill’s eyes remain trained on you, utterly serpentine.

Ah. You press your lips together and look down at your hands folded neatly in your lap, initial resolve broken.

“A court singer?” His voice is a low purr. You raise your gaze again. It seems as though once he takes interest in something, most of his buddies do too. A few of them glance away from their conversations to give you a scathing examination. It takes everything within you to not crawl out of your own skin. So much for the ease you felt back on the dancefloor. “Will you sing for us?”

Your cheeks fill with a heat that quickly travels to your chest. Didn’t expect that. Maybe you should have.

“I... Not here. The singer the Tagges have hired is so lovely, I’m afraid they far outshine me,” your eyes flick back up to his at your last word, you do your best to mask your burning revulsion as shyness.

“That wasn’t a request.” Cavill’s response is so blunt and immediate you actually flinch a little.

“C’mon Tyreus,” Lucius’s voice is quick to intervene. “Leave her alone, she just got here.”

Cavill blinks slowly, as if his eyelids are too taxing of a weight for him to bear. He hums, leaning back in his seat slightly and stretching his arms out to rest on the backs of the chairs on either side of him.

When it becomes clear he has nothing else to say, the other conversations at the table continue as a normal. As if there were no previous interruption. You gradually return to the sense of ease you’d begun to develop earlier, the feeling is seemingly dependent on Cavill’s lack of attention.

Eventually, one of the playboys taps Lucius on the shoulder in passing, quickly murmuring something in his ear before leaving the table to chase down one of the serves for another decanter. Lucius nods, then turns back to you.

“Tyreus wants to extend an invitation to a club we’re going to in an hour or so, if you’d like to join us,” his fingers graze over the peak of your exposed shoulder from where his arm is resting against the back of your seat. For some reason it does not feel as nice as his touch had previously. It’s more intentional, all his playfulness gone. You think that’s why. “Way better than this shit, not so fuckin’ rigid. More private.”

The emphasis he places on those last words is so overt you have to resist an eye-roll. You nod, trying to keep your expression light and ditzy while straightening slightly in your chair. “Tell him it would be an honor.”

Lucius smiles, the fingers that were tracing the line of your opposite shoulder coming up to brush against the shell of your ear. You blink at the touch, vaguely aware of his face inching closer to yours.

You stand without warning, mumbling something about having to use the bathroom before quickly maneuvering your way around the tables and through the arching marble columns that line the ballroom. You walk as briskly as you can into one of the adjoining hallways, following it down and into the women’s bathroom.

Taking a shuttering breath, you place your hands on your hips and close your eyes. Your brain runs at a mile a minute, trying to figure out how to adapt the plan as Mando communicated it to you, considering the fact that Cavill’s posse was leaving within the hour.

You reach your conclusion quickly. You’re the one with the invite, with the way into the inner circle. No time to try and bring Febhana along with you. Honeypot it is.

The bathroom door slamming open breaks you from your thoughts. You gasp, hand pressed to your chest as you whip around. There’s a second of blind panic at the decorated droid stiffly stands at the door’s threshold, both fists clenched at its side, before you remember Mando’s disguise.

You open your mouth indignantly to scold him for bursting in like that but he holds a finger up to shush you, entering the bathroom in one long stride, checking under the stalls for people then briskly locking the main door behind him.

He’s furious. It’s the most blatant display from him you think you’ve ever seen.

“I—” Mando grits out. “Your singing. He doesn’t deserve to get that. None of them do. They’re just using it to get to you.”

You blink twice, completely baffled that that’s the first thing that comes out of his mouth.

He makes another frustrated sound, obviously recognizing your shock, and tries to clarify. “They were… clearly making you uncomfortable but they just kept pushing you—you shouldn’t have to just sit there and take that—"

“Yeah, Mando, that’s kind of how flirting works when you’re dealing with a bunch of entitled assholes,” you snap, finally finding your words. Out of any other possible thing he could be angry about and this was it? “I’ll have to play into what they want to get closer to Cavill. Lucius seems sweet, a little overbearing but sweet. It’ll be fine.”

You’re already hovering the fine line between tipsy and just plain tired. All you want is to get home at this point—your feet hurt, the dress is uncomfortable, and, by your book, making conversation with these silver-spoon pricks could be comparable to pulling teeth. You love Febhana, and you could see the fun in a night like this, but you’re also trying to help Mando do his damn job and if he doesn’t start cooperating—

“He doesn’t. Lay. A finger. On you.” There’s an anger in his voice you’ve never encountered before, not while directed at you, at least. It stops any other thoughts from entering your head. He takes a deep, quivering breath to calm himself. It doesn’t work. “If you’re… if you don’t want it. He will not even look at you. The second—I don’t care if it makes a scene I’ll—"

“Mando.” You lay a hand on his chest. He instantly freezes. “I know that. Thank you. I’m a big girl, I can hold my own. It’s okay.” Trying to lighten the mood, you lift your chin up a bit, smiling at him as brightly as you can manage. “Can we please just talk about how we’re gonna pull this off?”

He gives you a tight nod.

“I… I know that you’ve been doing this for a lot longer than I have, which is the understatement of the millennia, but just… hear me out here. Lucius just invited me to go with them to a club—like, right now.” You feel like if you stop talking he won’t listen to what you have to say, so you keep plowing forward. “I know you made a point about no secondary locations. But, if we have the time I think the best plan of action would be for me to split off, go with them to the club and draw him out to you in some way. The security here is so tight, there’s no way I think we could pull this off without it blowing back on Febhana. She’s important to me and I would appreciate if we could get her out of this scot-free.”

You take a breath, glancing up at him to gauge his reaction thus far. When he doesn’t interject, you continue, keeping your hand on his chest as you speak—for some reason you feel like he listens to you better when you do. “Lucius mentioned that things are way more lax there, so I’m thinking that’ll translate to security measures too. I’m sure Febhana is familiar enough wherever they’re going. She can give you enough intel to be able to get an idea of the place on your way over. Then we can go home.”

“I agree.” His reluctance is palpable, but his next words are far more level-headed than you expected. “You’re right, we shouldn’t jeopardize Febhana. Try to get one of them to tell you a specific location and I can meet you there. I just—” he flexes his hands. “I need to get off this planet.”

“I know,” you sigh, giving his chest a reassuring pat before turning away to go back to the line of mirrors stationed above the sinks, checking your makeup. “Me too.”

You turn on the faucet and lean down to drink straight from the tap. You’re stone sober at this point and the icy water is potentially the best thing you’ve ever tasted. The headache pushing at the back of your eyes has increased to a dull throb.

Mando’s voice from behind you. “Ladylike.”

You turn off the sink and straighten, rolling your eyes. “Oh bite me,” the sharpness of your voice is negated by the laugh you have to push through to get the words out. Relieved that the charged air between the two of you has dissipated, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “Let’s get this over with, I’m exhausted.”

Mando escorts you back down the dimly lit hall, the low hum of the party forms a gradual crescendo the closer you get to the intricate archway where the hallway breaches the ballroom. He pulls you to a stop with a hand on your forearm before you are able to enter.

Despite the heels you’re wearing, he still has to lean down to speak to you.

“Be careful,” he murmurs. Unexpectedly, he swipes his thumb across your elbow before turning heel and rejoining the other droids against the wall.

It’s such an unnecessary motion you can’t help but freeze, unsure how to process that small display of… well, if you didn’t know any better you’d describe it as intimacy. And not the unique sort of platonic camaraderie you’ve started getting used with him. It feels too much like a stolen gesture for that. Something he’s only done out of a pure disregard for his usual utilitarian ethos.

You swallow and square your shoulders, putting on the best smile you can before heading back to the Tagge table.

Biting your lip as you sink down onto the seat beside Lucius, you drag the knuckles of a relaxed hand down the length of his arm.

“Could I say goodbye to Febhana before we go?” You say as innocently as possible, still figuring out a way to organically ask where the fuck they were going to be taking you without acting too suspicious.

Lucius’s eyes flick over the table, only a few of the seats have emptied. Cavill is gone already.

“Yeah, that should be fine. Just find me when you’re done.”

You stand back up, stretching your neck to find your friend among the crowd. Quickly spotting Febhana, you navigate your way back through the crowd. Just as she has predicted, the uptight façade of the event is quickly dissolving as glasses empty and bodies inch closer together. The crowd you are now navigating through seems completely different from the one you’d encountered upon first entering the dancehall. The heady breath of the gathered crowd leaves a different crackle of energy over the room—considering Cavill’s circle wants to leave this for something “more exciting” is foreboding. Wherever you end up, you’ll deal.

Reaching Febhana’s side, you gently touch her arm to get her attention. She turns, smiling as she sees you.

“There you are! I thought I’d lost you,” she aligns her inner forearms with the length of yours, gripping you lightly in greeting. Touch was once meant survival for the two of you. Back on the Estate, sometimes the only communication you would be able to engage in for days on end, the smallest of reassurances are sometimes the most solid. Old habits die hard. You reciprocate the motion, grasping the inner portion of her elbows.

You duck your head in the direction of the person she was speaking to in a small apology for interrupting. Leaning in to quietly inform her of the change of plans, you tell her that Mando is going to try to meet you at the club. Febhana keeps a straight face as you do, but there’s a glint of worry in her gaze.

“Alright,” she says cheerfully. “I’ll tell the driver to wait outside. He can pick you up and take you back to the apartment when you’re ready to call it a night. I’ve prepared the guest room for you, the service droid can lead you there.”

“Febhana—” your brow furrows as you pull back, unwilling to take advantage of her kindness more than you already have, let alone her only way home. She interrupts you before you can insist.

“I’m going for drinks with friends after this, I’ll ride with them. Please, darling,” she kisses your cheek. “Good luck, and be safe,” she says softly as she pulls back, still gripping you by both elbows. You squeeze her forearms, giving a curt nod.

“I’ve learned from the best,” you manage a confident smile and disentangle her arms from yours. You tell her you’ll update her over the comlink and turn to rejoin Lucius, who was in the midst of his own farewells.

Febhana leaves as you wait for Lucius to finish his conversation. Mando has long since disappeared from his place at the wall. Taking a deep breath, you keep your shoulders back and your head high. You were completely alone.

There are five neat lines of spice on the mirrored platter. The Tagge twin is the one to offer it to you, pushing the surface in your direction before sinking back into the velveteen material of the curved couch.

You are in a private room at the club, one of a series of pod-like structures suspended over the dance-floor. The private pod opens into an expansive piece of curved glass that fills out the rest of its intended, ovular, form. If it weren’t for all the plush carpeting, the liquor and smoke and sultry lighting, it would make a decent observation deck. The room makes you feel like the surrounding world is a fish tank, all those people below you just interesting little creatures to look down at and inspect.

There’s something about the very nature of the space that drips luxury—but it’s a kind far removed from the crisp marble lines of the Tagge mansion. This is all seduction. All contours. All darkness and deep tones of amber, starkly contrasting against the pulsing blue lights of the dance-floor below.

The table before you is cluttered with empty glasses, bottles, as well as a few personal items owned by the boys who had already left to chase down the bodies below: a tuxedo tie here, a watch probably worth more than the Crest itself there—you know, the usual things you abandon in search of a warm mouth.

Lucius and Cavill are sharing a cigarette, the burning cherry one of the brightest sources of light in the room. Everything else is illuminated by low shades of red and orange from the warbling fixtures woven against the solid portion of the wall, which then part to trace the curved edges of the observation window.

The music is subdued at this height, yet the grinding pulse of a guitar still sends vibrations through the floor. Through you. The boys’ cigarette traces patterns between them as they exchange it, back and forth, saying very little in between.

Taking a deep breath, you glance down at the platter on the table. You press your lips together, glancing up at Lucius, then Cavill, who has gradually started to pay more attention to you the further into the night you descend.

Pretending to take another sip of your drink, you push the platter towards Lucius. Trying not to draw too much attention to your refusal, you move a little closer to his body as a potential distraction. Either it works or they didn’t care to begin with. Lucius curves into himself, pressing a finger against his nostril to inhale a line. Cavill does two.

Genuinely, there’s no way they could find any kind of appeal to this. You just can’t fathom it—they barely talk to one another, this group. And when they do they seem just as bored in the act as everyone else is. You’d take a night spent with Mando and the kid over this any day.

The Tagge boy jolts back awake, blearily rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. The motion is so sudden it startles you, jumping slightly as he pushes away from the table.

“M’gonna go downstairs,” Tagge’s legs wobble like a newborn calf’s might. “Getta girl.” His departure is unceremonious, just like the others had been. You have a feeling the only thing keeping Lucius at this table is you, and the only thing keeping you at this table is Cavill. Fuck doesn’t really cut it.

As the two of them work on what remains on the platter, you carefully shift out of the circular booth, pacing over to the glass wall to look down at the crowd of writhing bodies.

“Have y’ever been to this place before?” Lucius asks after a moment. He stretches over the top of the couch to look down at the crowd with you. As he does, because you think the universe genuinely hates you, you notice Mando’s disguised silhouette—he’s barely concealed by the darkness of the dance-floor’s periphery. You look away as to not draw too much attention to that one spot.

“No. Never. I’ve been cooped up at the conservatory for most of my life,” you say as angle your body towards the couch, crossing your arms and leaning against the wall with one shoulder. Like this, you’re able to keep Mando in the very edges of your periphery.

What you just said was true for your mother, you knew that. Honestly, you’ve gotten through most of the night by just adopting what you remember about her. It was far too natural of a mask to adopt—maybe that should have creeped you out, but the ease of being able to do so is comforting considering the scope of the mission before you.

You take a breath to clear your mind, needing to get ahead of the conversation before either of them can corner you in a story you’re not able to fabricate. You need to give Mando a clue about where the hell you are.

“How far up do you think we are?” You ask, cocking your head slightly, praying that Mando’s comlink can hear your above what you’re sure is a raucous crowd. It works, you see his head jerk up to finally notice the private rooms above him. Thank the Maker.

“I dunno,” Lucius turns his head to look where you’re looking. “You afraid of heights or something?”

You give a nonchalant laugh, shaking your head slightly. By the time you look back up to scan the crowd one more time you’ve lost track of Mando. Either he’s disappeared in the mass of bodies or he’d gone completely. You have absolutely no clue, and you don’t want to draw attention by continuing to search for him.

Leveling your gaze back to the two boys, you look them over in a way you hope will draw either’s attention. Both are belligerently intoxicated, the glasses before them long since emptied, the smell of spice thick. It gives Cavill the air of a cat luxuriously stretched in the sun, as if it were just some kind of a natural, comfortable state for him.

As if he can read your thoughts, he speaks.

“Why wouldn’t you sing for us, earlier,” Cavill’s voice alone is enough to make your skin crawl. He ashes the cigarette he was smoking. There’s a loud sound of inhaling from Lucius, whose shadowy form is hunched over the table as he finishes what is left on the platter before him.

“Could you quit it,” Lucius mumbles as he rubs either side of his nose, head thrown back as he sniffs indignantly. “She obviously doesn’t want to.”

“If you were shy earlier, it’s just the three of us now. Completely different,” Cavill says, reaching over to wipe his fingers over the platter’s surface. He rubs his gums with the residue. You expect Lucius to defend you and divert the conversation like he’d done earlier. He doesn’t. Cavill sucks his teeth, leaning back once again. “Sing. I want to hear you.”

“It just feels strange is all,” you bite your lip, voice admittedly a bit brisk in how absent-mindedly it disregards what Cavill is asking. Your turn your gaze back out over the club, mainly to get Cavill’s off you.

You’re worried about Mando, about how long it’s taken him to give you some kind of sign that he’s ready. Maybe he’s waiting until you’re completely alone with Cavill? He pushed that in the car, how this whole thing has to be done as quietly as possible. The problem is that you’ve got absolutely no idea how to get Lucius out of the picture.

“Before there were too many people and now there are too little? What do you want?” Cavill’s words float in the air behind you as you pace to the bar cart, determined to busy your hands by remaking the drink you hadn’t touched since entering the room. “Isn’t that what you’re training for?”

Maybe Mando has been stopped? Your eyes flick to the circular doors partitioning the enclosed room from the catwalk hallway. You remember loudly greeting the guards that were there when the posse first entered the room, giving him the best heads up you could organically muster. Could he take both of them out on his own? Quietly?

“Um, yeah I suppose. It’s just different, there. In conservatory.” Dropping ice into your glass, you hear Cavill scoff. Lucius mumbles something. You bend slightly to get some of the bitters from the cart’s lower shelf.

And an explosion of glass shatters right where your head just was.

You whip around in shock, only to see Cavill already standing, swaying a bit on his feet, dress-shirt partially unbuttoned and messily untucked. It’s almost like some kind of switch went off, transforming him into something utterly unrecognizable.

He’s a fucking mess. Eyes nearly black. The empty decanter from the Tagge mansion in his hand.

“In conservatory,” he mocks, his lips pulled upwards in a vicious snarl. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

Before you can react, the decanter is being flung at you—it misses, again. Shattering on the ground in front of you this time. You press yourself as far as you can against the bar cart, eyes wide. Cavill spits, then wipes his mouth with his hand, looking at you through half-lidded eyes.

“Kneel.”

Horrified, your gaze flicks from Lucius back to the tantrum-throwing, wolf-eyed aristocrat standing in front of you.

“What?” You ask incredulously, browns knitted together in complete confusion.

“I said kneel,” Cavill jabs his finger to the ground. “Pick that shit up.”

Lucius does a poor job of concealing a pained grimace. Or maybe you’ve grown far too good at reading the tiniest expressions from your masked companion that you’ve become hyper-aware of these kind of things. He gives a small: “Maker, Tyreus.” If it were supposed to be a warning it was a shitty one.

Survival instincts set in immediately. You turn your eyes to the floor and make your breathing as small and quiet as possible. Obediently, you comply. Kneeling on the ground and reaching out a shaking hand to begin plucking the shards from the carpet.

Cavill stalks behind you in an instant, one hand sealing around the back of your neck and pushing your head down to immobilize you. Simultaneously, his other hand wraps around your wrist, twisting your arm back and making your body to fold in on itself, pressing you into the ground.

You can’t help but cry out, the sharp motion forcing you to quickly catch yourself with your free hand. Your palm lands directly in the broken glass. You’d give anything to erase the wet sound it makes from your head forever.

It takes you less than a second to realize he’s trying to force your face into the carpet. Into it. Fuck.

“D’you want to tell me, huh?” He’s folds in half to speak directly in your ear, his spit hitting your cheek. He twists your arm further, grinding the hand supporting the rest of your body deeper into the glass. You grit your teeth to prevent another pained sound from escaping. “Wanna tell me who the fuck you think you are? Too good for me, whore? Too good for all this?”

The doors burst open. Cavill lets go of you in shock, it gives you time to crawl away from him as Mando levels his blaster at the boy. You scrape one of your knees in the process, you don’t notice it over the adrenalin pulsing through you.

Lucius swears loudly, standing.

“Don’t move.” Mando’s words are more of a growl than anything else.

In the pause this creates, you’re able to kick out your leg and take Cavill out from the back of the knees. It’s not graceful or pretty but it works. Cavill falls to the ground and you quickly clamber on top of him, forcing his hands behind his back, keeping him down with a bloodied knee to the spine.

Mando throws you the cuffs, training his blaster back on Lucius as you work on securing the binds around his quarry’s wrists.

“The spice,” Mando barks out the order. Lucius, eyes wide with terror, looks from the bounty hunter, to you, back to the bounty hunter.

“W-What?”

Mando shoots Lucius in the leg. The boy screams a curse, folding into himself in pain. The air smells like burnt flesh and coins. You swallow, looking back down and busying yourself with keeping Cavill still as he struggles against the floor.

“The. Spice.” He repeats. Choking on his sobs, Lucius reaches a shaking hand into his suit jacket’s pocket, throwing the little bag on the floor. Mando stalks over to him, Lucius cowers.

“Listen, man I—I’ll give you anything you want, ok? My father—”

Mando pistol whips him, the force behind it is enough to also slam Lucius’s head into the table as a result, knocking him unconscious. The bounty hunter turns, snatching up the spice on the ground and crossing over to you, kneeling beside Cavill, whose face is pressed into the ground.

“Mother fucker,” Cavill snarls, the first coherent set of words he’s said since Mando entered. Without reacting, Mando pinches Cavill’s nose shut. You’re confused for a moment, then Cavill opens his lips to either breathe or continue his litany of abuses and Mando takes that opportunity to empty the rest of the spice directly into the quarry’s mouth.

Cavill’s eyes widen, then almost immediately roll back into his skull. He jerks once, then lays still.

It all happens so fast you barely process Mando’s gentle order for you to stand. You do eventually, your legs a bit shaky as you cross back over to the bar cart, holding your palm up to the light in order to puck the largest pieces of glass out before wrapping your wound with a decorative napkin.

When you turn, Mando is pacing the room’s glass perimeter, looking down at the dance-floor to see if anyone noticed the commotion over the pounding music. His takes two brisk strides to cross the room, back to you.

“Are you okay?” He asks, his voice curt and professional. You duck your head in a nod, still pressing the napkins to your bleeding hand. Mando then turns to deal with Lucius’s body, stuffing his mouth with one of the tux ties on the table, binding his wrists. Buying the two of you time, you guess.

You look down at Cavill’s crumpled body. Unconscious, like this, you realize he couldn’t be more than twenty years old. Maybe even nineteen. “They’re all just kids, aren’t they?”

Mando’s sighs, crossing the room again to lean out the open doors to gauge the best way of getting back to the driver. “Pel kar’ta.” Whatever he just called you, it sounds like an accusation “That doesn’t excuse it.”

“No,” you murmur to yourself, gaze still fixed to the boy on the floor. “No, I guess it doesn’t.”

The napkins you use on your injured hand manages to somewhat stop the bleeding. You wait in the backseat as Mando and the driver stuff Cavill’s body into the trunk. You manage to pluck the last of the shards out of the meat of your palm once Mando silently slides into the seat beside you.

The driver leans over to the seemingly empty passenger seat, plucking a bundle of swaddled fabric and passing it back to Mando. It’s the child, sleeping deeply.

“Febhana said she had a feeling you’d want to get off planet as fast as possible. She sends her well wishes,” the driver grits out. He pulls the speeder off the roof of the club, quickly maneuvering the vehicle into Canto Bight’s weaving back alleys.

You take a deep breath, leaning your head against the window.

“I’m sorry,” you manage after a few minutes of driving, the words so soft they break slightly as they leave your mouth. “I… I didn’t think it could get that messy. I should have stuck to the plan.”

He says your name softly, it crackles over the speakers of the modulator. You take too much comfort in how he says it, the way it fills the space between the two of you. “Jobs like this are never clean.”

“You said this needed to go quietly,” you turn your head to look at him directly. “That wasn’t quiet.”

“I should have interfered earlier, that was my fault,” his response is immediate. “You shouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes and resting your head against the window. “I am not trying to make this about me. I just—I know it was a leap of faith involving me in this. I screwed it up, I want to apologize.”

“I didn’t think you were. I was making a clarification. You shouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

The kid makes a small sound in his sleep, you know he’s stretching and nuzzling into the crook of Mando’s arms without having to look over.

“Okay. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

He says your name again. You shake your head.

“Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen like that, if that’s okay?” You keep your gaze trained out the window, watching the city as it passes a good distraction from the pain pulsing from your hand up your wrist. “I’ll be fine once we get home.”

From your periphery, you see Mando nod.

Arriving at the hangar, you scoop the child in one arm and open the speeder door with a slight wince. You thank the driver and make a beeline for the Crest, busying yourself with tucking the little one in his cradle while Mando deals with the body.

By the time you shed the dress Febhana leant you—now ruined, thanks to that asshole—and quickly shower, you’re starting to catch a second wind of energy. You’re wide awake by the time you pull on a sleep shirt and a soft pair of shorts, catching yourself on the wall as the Crest rumbles into hyperspace.

Settling at your med station, you examine your injured hand under a small portable light, making sure you didn’t miss any pieces of glass due to the dim lighting of the landspeeder’s interior. You hear Mando step behind you.

“Let me see it,” he says. You straighten, looking up at him. Mando is holding a hand out, for yours. He’s back in the clothes he sometimes wears during your long stretches of travel, no armor save for the helmet on his head. His gloves are removed.

The first time he’d done this it had nearly knocked the wind out of you, stopping your words mid-sentence as you entered the cockpit to feed the kid breakfast. He was reclined in the pilot’s seat, the sturdy fingers grasping a rag to oil the pauldron he held in his other hand. You only caught the brief glimmer of a thick beskar ring on his thumb before averting your eyes, stuttering an apology.

At this point, you’ve seen enough of his hands to have memorized every scar and callous. You know it all, from the broken mountains of his knuckles to the small tattoo below the web of his thumb, so weathered by age you still cannot make sense of what it’s supposed to be.

This is different, though. He’s asking to touch you, skin on skin. That’s what makes you pause, looking at him blankly. Mando tries again.

“It’s my fault you got hurt—please, let me take care of you this once.”

There’s something in his voice that sounds incredibly pained, it’s enough to break you from your thoughts. You hesitate, then shift to face him on the crate you’d pulled over to sit on.

You offer him your hand, palm up, in wordless agreement.

He starts his work there, diligently giving it one last look over for glass before slathering it in bacta and firmly wrapping it with gauze. His hands feel just as you thought they would, rough but warm, hesitant at first but firmer once he gains the confidence to really touch you.

Mando then begins to examine your shoulder, delicately asking you to lift your arm, shift it in different directions and tell him when it hurts. You comply, easily succumbing to his little, light touches.

Maker, if Lucius had managed to give you butterflies on the dance-floor this… this couldn’t even be qualified at anything close to that feeling. The flight of birds, more like. A whole flock. A force only rivaled by the quick beat of your pulse.

“I got you something.” If you didn’t know any better you’d think his voice has a certain tinge of shyness to it. “A few days ago. I kept forgetting to give it to you.”

“Do tell,” you manage a casual yawn, then wince when his fingers dig into your scapula. “Ow.”

“Sorry,” he removes his hands from you, turning and walking to the other side of the hull. He rifles through a crate and emerges with what looks like a little box, offering it to you. You balance it in your bandaged hand, recognizing the object the second you see the speakers affixed to either end of it.

A wide grin breaks out over your face as you look up at him. “Is this a radio?”

He nods, plucking the tube of muscle warming agent from the med-kit and spreading it against your shoulder. His gloves are still off, the rough feeling of his hands against you enough to steal all words from your parted lips.

“Thank you,” you manage. “Mando—this is so nice I—”

“It’s nothing,” he says it frankly. You gladly don’t continue your sentence, turning the object over in your hand. “The woman told me it should work just about anywhere. If it loses signal it’ll just play some kind of recorded catalogue.”

You nod, bracing your forearms against your thighs and fiddling with the radio’s controls as he continues to talk, his thumbs working against every part of the joint they can. The feeling is far too easy to give into, you allow yourself to close your eyes as he continues, placing the radio beside you and leaning back to rest your elbows on the table to your back.

“I thought it was the least I could offer you. You seem so happy whenever there’s music,” Mando says as he kneels in front of you, wiping off your injured knee, rubbing away the scabs that were already forming with a disinfectant-soaked towel. He disregards the hiss you give and begins applying the bacta to the scored surface. “Especially tonight, when you were dancing. I didn’t realize you could.”

You laugh, smiling to yourself. “I was most nervous about that, as ridiculous as it sounds.” You muffle a relieved groan at the numb warmth that begins to spread as soon as the bacta sets in. You turn over what you want to ask for a long time before you muster the courage to say it. Why not? “I could teach you.”

A pause. “What?”

“I could teach you to dance, if you want me to,” you open your eyes to look down at the man kneeling before you. His fingers are frozen against the bandage he was in the process of tying off—incorrectly, you might add, but you can fix it later. You can’t help but smile at him. “Put this radio to use.”

He pauses for a moment longer, then shakes his head and goes back to adjusting your bandages. “Don’t mess with me like that, I’ll take back the compliment.”

“Hey! C’mon,” you bite your lip, stretching out your uninjured leg to faux-kick his side. He grabs your foot before it can make contact, gently guiding it back to the floor. “I’m being serious. Gotta blow off some steam before I can sleep.” Heat shoots up to your face, the words leaving your mouth before you can think them through. “It’ll be fun, I promise.”

“Alright.” Mando stands, crossing his arms over his chest to regard you.

You genuinely don’t believe it. Your smile widens. ��Are you serious?”

His head cocks to the side. “If you make a big deal out of it I’ll purposefully step on your toes.”

It’s hard to contain your glee. You push yourself up to your feet, Mando’s arms shooting out in a protective gesture to catch you when you wobble slightly.

“Relax, I’m fine,” you gently push his hands away, walking over to the other side of the hull to place the radio on top of a stack of crates. Fiddling with it for a moment, you find a station playing something slow.

Turning back around, you see that Mando has turned off the med-station’s light, the brightest source of illumination now coming from the radio’s tiny interface behind you. The rest of the hull’s sconces are in night mode, the dull orange glow just enough to see what’s in front of you.

“Okay,” you begin, standing in the middle of the room and motioning Mando towards you. He complies. You hold out both hands. When he doesn’t get it, you press your lips together to suppress a smile, taking them for yourself where they rest limply at his sides. “So, you’d start by approaching your lady and holding her hand up, like this.” You bend your right elbow, your loosely interlocked hand forcing his left arm to do the same.

Mando nods, head bowed to you in observation, a diligent student.

“Then,” you continue, guiding his right hand to the curve of your waist. “You’d place your other hand here, or mid-back, whatever feels most appropriate for the situation.” He doesn’t move his hand. It sends a bit of a thrill through you. You place your left hand on his bicep, looking up at him and grinning. “See? You’re a natural.”

The both of you laugh at that one. His comes out as nothing more than a hoarse release of air from the modulator, but it’s enough to have you absolutely elated.

You start to sway slightly, to the rhythm of the song now playing from the radio’s speakers. Mando picks up the hint, taking up the role of leader while you gladly follow. He’s actually okay—granted, the two of you are just swaying in place, but still.

“I meant that, you know.”

“Hm?” You ask, partially distracted in trying to figure out what move to teach him next. The waltz you and Lucius did would be far too complicated, maybe there would be some kind of way to simplify it…

“What I said earlier. You looked beautiful, tonight,” Mando says, chin still tucked to look down at you. You blink, only actually processing what he’d just said a few seconds after he said it. You purposefully keep your eyes trained to his chest in order to keep your thoughts straight. “I um… I didn’t know how to tell you. Earlier. In the car. But I wanted to.”

“Hate to inform you, but the dress is in tatters and I am way too lazy to put all that makeup on again,” you chuckle, using the side of your foot to nudge him into a bit of a wider stance. He has the resting state of a soldier at attention—fitting, you guess, for a Mandalorian. It’s something so natural about to him that you’ve only really noticed the rigidity of it now.

“No, no I’m not… That’s not what I meant. You look that way always just—tonight, especially.”

“Well, Mando, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you sound a little bashful right now,” you joke, trying to move on as quickly as possible to cover up the fact that you had no idea how to take a compliment. You turn your head a little too quickly to look back down at his feet, ready to instruct him on the next steps, and your forehead collides with him helmet.

It fucking hurts.

You wince, cursing slightly under your breath and screwing up your face, trying to laugh off the heat burning in your cheeks and across your chest. “Ow.”

“Fuck, sorry,” Mando mutters, releasing your hands and cupping either sides of your jaw with his hands. His thumbs press along the underside of your chin, tilting your face up towards him as he inspects it for damage. “Are you okay?”

You close your eyes and nod, swallowing. “Yeah, just surprised me is all—never had to teach a tin can how to dance before, forgot I had to be conscious about the...” one of his thumbs traces a curved line against your chin before he removes his hands from your face. The motion is quick and then gone immediately, just as he had done in the hallways of the Tagge mansion. It has a far more vivid consequence of completely scrambling your thoughts, this time around. “Helmet,” you manage.

After a moment, Mando tilts his head.

“Close your eyes,” his voice is husky, from the modulator or something else you don’t know.

You comply without question, pulse increasing as you feel Mando step away and rummage through something. He returns, standing behind you this time. Fabric is wrapped around your eyes—once, then twice. You reach a hand up to touch it, recognize the slightly rough texture of gauze almost immediately.

There’s some kind of a hissing sound, then the clank of metal being placed on something solid. Then he’s back in front of you.

“Think you can teach me like this?” And it’s his voice. His voice. Rough but warm and unobstructed. Just as his hands had been. It takes the wind right out of your lungs.

“Mando,” if you could think of anything else to say, you’d cringe at how breathless you sound. What are you, a locked-away damsel in distress?

“When I was younger I was… a bit more lax. Running with the wrong people. I relied on… technicalities, in our code, a little too heavily back then.” You never want to stop hearing his voice. There’s something about the modulator that doesn’t do the light lilt to his words justice, the low but crisp resonance of his voice. “But I’ve… this is new. But okay. Within the rules.”

“Are you—” clearing your throat, you try again. More firm this time. “Are you sure?”

“Just don’t touch my face with your hands,” his voice remains clipped, slightly cautious, but resolved. Typical. “If you—I can put the helm back on, if this makes you uncomfortable.”

“No!” You interject, placing both hands on his chest in reassurance. “No, I… no. I feel honored and happy, really happy, that you’d trust me like this. It means a lot.”

You hear him hum low in his throat, a sound you know he makes sometimes when he nods. He takes your hand, again, the other going back to your waist. “Okay, start over.”

“So,” you begin again, trying your best to run your mouth enough to distract from how… serious this feels. You know it most likely isn’t a huge deal, if he’s willing to do this after one accidental collision—but, well. Still. “When you’re ready, you’ll step forward and I’ll step back. And… uh…” you bite your lip as his hand drifts lower, just an inch, to rest at the small of your back. You look up at him through the blindfold out of habit. “You lead, I follow, simple as that.”

“Simple as that?” His words have a rare, palpable heat to them. You can never be certain, of course, but you’re convinced there’s a small smile behind his question. It’s easier to tell, now.

“Yeah,” your chest feels tight with an emotion so close yet so different from the joy you’re used to feeling. Your smile is uncontainable, if barely visible in the hull’s dim light. “It really is.”

He’s a fast learner, easily taking you in slow, looping circles around the room for the next few songs. The silence between the two of you is comforting.

The longer the radio plays, the deeper you sink into one another, your entwined movements eventually spiraling back to the center of the space, settling into an easy, sedentary sway there. You only really notice this as Mando’s hand drifts from your lower back to wrap around the curve of your opposite hip, the length of his sturdy forearm braced against your body. After a beat, you let go of the hand you’re holding onto and wrap both arms loosely around his neck, leaning into him fully.

The two of you don’t acknowledge it, playing it off as an incidental thing, this gradual enclosure of your bodies. The equally quick thrum of your hearts betrays the known secret behind the little game you are playing.

“What did that phrase you use mean, when we talked earlier?” You press the side of your face to Mando’s chest. He props his chin against the crown of your head in welcome response.

The hand previously holding yours moves up your spine in order to gently cradle the back of your neck, gently holding you in place. His thumb traces repetative arcs against the sensitive line between the corner of your jaw and your earlobe. It feels like a salve in its own right, erasing the feeling of Cavill’s skin pressed against your own.

“What did what mean?” Mando asks innocently enough, as his hand continues its serene movement. It’s the most he’s ever touched you, and you suppose he keeps his tone completely casual to make up for the fact. As if the two of you were conversing from other sides of the room, not entangled in each other. You’re more than willing to play into the charade if it means you can have this, the ability to close your eyes and take in the rumble of his voice against your ear.

“Pel… pel kar-ta?” You wince at your gross mispronunciation. “What you called me back there, at the club.”

“Oh—” he seems surprised, like he didn’t even remember saying it. “That’s—that’s Mando’a. It means… well it’s the closest expression to kindness we have.” He keeps rubbing the corner of your jaw with his thumb, keeping rhythm with your movements. If it could even be considered that, at this point. “A more direct translation would be ‘soft hearted.’ Someone who is unapologetically forgiving towards others, even to those don’t deserve it. An ability to love that clouds greater judgment.”

“I have the feeling it’s not the most complimentary nickname for Mandalorians.”

“No, no it isn’t,” the breath of his laugh ruffles your hair. You can’t help but hide your smile in the warm fabric of his shirt, laughing with him. Mando shifts slightly, curving over you, your cheek against his, rough with a well-developed five o’clock shadow. “But, um. I mean it as a compliment, for you. As stupid as you can get.”

If someone punched you in the gut it wouldn’t have left you this breathless. You try to disguise the euphoric feeling it gives you in humor. You’re worried that if you give too much away he’ll stop touching you. Stop holding you like this. Like you were the one gentle thing he’d succumb to.

“Well, it seems hardly fair that you get to call me a nickname and I get nothing at all,” you huff in playful offense, barely able to keep the smile off your face. “Totally unfair.”

“Give me your best, then.” He’s still smiling, you don’t know how you can tell but you just can. It’s infectious.

“What about… hmm… I dunno—tin can?”

“That one’s taken.”

“Oh, have some lady in waiting I should know about?”

“That’s probably the exact opposite way I’d describe him.”

You laugh. “Bucket head?”

“Not very original.”

“Well,” you give an airy hmph. “I’m stumped. You win. Mando it remains.”

Continuing your sway as the music maintains its soft tumble from the radio’s speakers, the two of you go so long without speaking you think the conversation has ended--until:

“Din.” He says the word so softly it wouldn’t have been picked up if he were still speaking through the vocoder.

Your brow furrows. “Sorry, what?”

“Din. Din Djarin. My name. When it’s… when it’s just us, you can use it. If you’d like.”

You cup your hand around the other side of his neck and pull back slightly. His hand automatically lifts to press against your cheek, a refusal to allow you to move any further despite the fact that you’re wearing the blindfold. Pure habit, you think.

You blink against the fabric stretched over your eyes, trying to quell your burning desire to do something absolutely disastrous.

So you say his name instead.

tag list: @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @walkingthegrounds @roseallisonparker @kaitlyn2907 @dinsbeskar @mandoandyodito @kyjoraven @ineffableloveforyou

please let me know if you would like to be added/removed !!

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x y/n #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din and grogu #mandalorian and grogu #grogu #reader insert #i'll be here in the morning #i'll be here in the morning ch4 #fanfic #star wars fanfiction

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whump-a-la-mode · 3 years

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Magician’s Assistant - Trance

I heard you liked cliffhangers so here’s a cliffhanger for your cliffhanger. Much thanks to @nightfrostshadow for requesting another piece of this, you’re really a cheerleader for this series!

The rest of Magician’s Assistant can be found linked to in my info post, pinned at the top of my blog. I hope you enjoy!

CW//Some dehumanizing language, food

Villain was scared.

Of course, Friend had expected that. Anticipated it, almost taken a moment to imagine just how it would appear, nerves twisted upon such a feeble countenance. Civilian had warned them as such over the phone, warned them to be gentle, to go slow, to avoid any sudden movements-- as though they were talking about something dangerous, something feral.

In a way, they were.

But, now, as their new charge stood before them, there was something almost unbelievable about the sheer depths of their terror, and the way they presented it.

Villain was small, short in stature and so awfully thin that a stiff gust of wind could more than likely shatter their twig-like bones to shards. They looked upwards like a scared puppy dog, bag held in front of them with both hands like a shield, as though, if they simply kept it there, they would be safe, forever and ever.

And, hopefully, they would be. It was perhaps only a minute or so ago that Civilian had coaxed them through the door, shoving a handful of messily written instructions into Friend’s hands with a hurried ‘thank you.’ That meant that they had a week. A week to keep this- this thing calm, comfortable, and, more importantly than any of that, under control.

They could balance the most complex of equations, withdraw patients from near-death, turn caustic chemicals to life-saving medicines. But taking care of someone so anxious? And without...

No. They didn’t back down from a challenge.

“Hey, bud.” They tried to smile, trying so desperately not to terrify their charge. Not yet. They gestured with a hand to the bag they held, knuckles clenched so tightly as to turn a pale hue. “What’s in there?”

It felt stupid, but at the very least, their ward seemed to respond.

“Um...” Villain glanced downwards, to their burden. Their voice was almost inaudible, whimpering in form. “It’s- Spouse gave it to me. To help.”

To help.

“Can I see?”

They held it close to their chest, shivering turning to all-out shaking. Based upon the look in their eyes, if they ever lost their grip on the thing, they would simply perish.

“No.”

“Okay.” Friend sighed, biting their lower lip. There went that avenue of conversation. They supposed that making conversation with a failed attempt was somewhat of a lost cause in the first place. They needed to stay calm, not necessarily entertained. “Well... How about I show you to your room?”

“M-My room?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Villain dipped their head. It was a display of respect, even as fear made them defy everything, up until the very concept of staying still. Gently, their caretaker reached forward, hand looping about their wrist with an ever so ghostly touch. They shivered, but abided.

“Let’s go then, okay?”

“Okay.”

They had set up the room quite some time ago, as soon as they had gotten Civilian’s call. As soon as they learned what they needed to do, to keep the world ticking over as it was supposed to be. The guidelines had been as simple as they were detailed, leaving nothing to chance, to whim.

Moving to the hall and creeping open the proper door, Friend found themself nodding to themself in satisfaction. They’d checked so many times, verified it all, but knowing that it was still arranged properly was an awfully grand relief.

Dim and cozy, Civilian had said. “They don’t like windows, be sure to cover them. They’re used to the kennel. Anything too big will scare them. Give them a bed, but know that they’re going to end up sleeping under it, assuming they don’t wind up in the corner. Other than the bed, the room should be empty. They can’t read, and they’re afraid of books. That includes any signage or decorations. Think of it like a kennel-- anything unnecessary is an unnecessary risk.”

And, it was so that friend had designed their ward’s living space. A small thing, perhaps ten feet by fifteen, with grey-painted walls and a bed with beige comforter. The singular window was covered in its entirety with an off-white curtain, allowing only enough light to seep through as to allow the room to not be entirely dark. And, that was it. Just like a kennel.

“Do you want to hang out in here for a little while?”

The question seemed to bring Villain quite an extreme relief, as they nodded frantically. They crossed the threshold into the space, nearly disappearing within the dim shroud.

Friend almost left, before remembering a piece of their instruction that Civilian had insisted on being terribly vital: The cuffs.

“Do you want your mitts on, buddy?”

A nod. And so it was done.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“They’re pretty good about eating, nowadays. They can eat the same food as the rest of us. My partner says they like chili, and things that look more like what they’re used to eating. But, more or less, it’s fine, so long as they eat.”

Civilian’s instructions regarding their ward’s mealtimes had been far less specific than those for their habitat. Anything that normal people ate, but specifically chili. It was certainly an odd favorite food to have, given what their diet had once been, but it was something.

Thus, with a quick mix, Friend’s kitchen had quite quickly been filled with an overwhelming aroma-- beans and spices, seasoned meat and the mixings to go along with it. Villain was still scared, even a slightly above average monkey would have been able to see that.

The whole quest, the whole effort, was a farce. They knew that. But, at the very least, perhaps they could make their charge somewhat less frightened for the time which they had them. It would be better to see them smiling, after all, instead of screaming. They’d spent too much time, listening to Villain screaming. It really did get grating, after a while.

When the hot dish upon their oven as last appeared to be finished, they picked it up by the pot’s handle, swirling it around for a moment before reaching a point of satisfaction. A few moments of pouring, and two bowls were equally filled with heaping helpings of meat and beans.

Eating the same thing as a failed attempted. That was a thought.

Friend placed the dishes upon their dining table, on opposite ends, and finished the assortment with a small variety of other offerings-- baby carrots for vegetables, and dinner rolls to nibble upon. The kitchen filled with scents and steam, they turned.

Villain was still in their room, they assumed. Civilian had mentioned that they were quite reclusive, which made sense. They would have plenty to entertain themself.

With jostling steps, they made their way up the stairs, feeling as the aroma of herbs practically followed them up. The room in which their ward was housed was just at the top of the staircase.

The room that-

The room that’s door was opened.

With a raised brow, Friend peered inside. Certainly, Villain was absent, nowhere to be seen. Not in the corner, not upon the bed, nor under it-- they checked. Yet, the bag had been left behind, stim toys and plushies placed neatly and piled to categories.

Perhaps they had only been looking for the bathroom? With a more cautious air about them, they moved forward, along the hall. The corridor existed in an L shape, its shorter side at the top of the stairs, and its longer side around a sharp bend.

The bathroom stood at the end of the hallway’s shorter piece. The empty bathroom.

A bated breath.

Friend turned the corner.

Civilian certainly hadn’t warned them about this.

The longer end of the L-shape was definitively emptier than the other, edges lined not with doors, but with sparse decorations, bookshelves and meaningless paintings. It was all a vessel, a vehicle, for the door at the end.

The door before which Villain stood. There was an odd stiffness to their legs, their whole body. Not a muscle of them moved, not even their eyes, so it seemed as they stared. Stared at nothing.

A closed door, from which creeped the barest scent of antiseptic.

Villain most certainly was not allowed in Friend’s lab.

#villain whumpee #whump #whumpblr #whump community #hero villain whump #civilian caretaker

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dc41896 · 4 years

Text

Stupid Roses

Pairing: Ransom DrysdalexBlack Reader

⚠️: None, just some soft!Ransom feels💕

Reaching the middle landing of the floating stairs, his hands grip the metal railing giving an impressive view of his toned arms in his baby blue short sleeve shirt as he shakes his head at the sight below him.

“I thought you were supposed to be watching the game with me?”

“I will,” you sit up from your comfy position, bringing your boyfriends cashmere blanket down from your face. “I forgot the Bachelor comes on tonight though, so when this goes off I’ll come upstairs.”

“The Bachelor? You mean that God awful show about women throwing themselves at some random guy and claiming they love him on the second day?”

“For someone so disgusted by it, you seem to know quite a bit,” you smirk.

“Only because I had an ex who was obsessed with it,” he answers descending the staircase. “That’s all she wanted to watch day and night.”

“Aww was someone jealous?,” you pout.

“Ha! Definitely not. She deleted a golf tournament I recorded so there’d be more room for some announcement special, and that was the last time I ever spoke to her.”

“So, I take it you won’t be watching with me anytime soon?” A deep chuckle vibrates through his chest leaning down to brush his lips against your ear causing a shiver to run down your spine.

“Princess, I’d rather go on a week long vacation with my parents,” he whispers against your skin before moving to kiss your neck.

“Fine, but it’s not that bad if you give it a chance.”

“Yea okay,” he snorts before disappearing in the kitchen to get his new box of Biscoff cookies.

Leaning over to pour yourself a glass of wine, your’re quickly sucked back into the tv screen now showing the remainder of last nights rose ceremony that left on a cliffhanger. You’re not too distracted though to not notice your boyfriend’s looming figure slowly make his way back to the staircase with eyes fixed on the formal looking man holding a single red rose, and the camera switching between those who had yet to receive one.

It took every ounce of willpower in you to stifle your laugh hearing him quietly curse one of the steps he tripped over being so entranced with the previews of the next date.

Throughout the episode, those long, “secretive glances would continue during his journey back and forth from the kitchen getting chips to counter the sweet taste in his mouth. Then a beer. Then napkins to clean up said beer when he tripped over the same step once again.

This is how you both ultimately ended up on the couch with the game being long forgotten. You, sat between his legs holding the half eaten box of cookies and bag of chips, and him draping an arm in front of your chest pulling you closer to his broad chest as you discussed your thoughts on the contestants.

“So far my faves are Kelly, Sarah M, Traci, and Lara. I definitely feel like they’ll make it close to the end.”

“Hm okay,” he nods. “And which ones are they?”

“Sarah M is the one in the black, floor length gown there. Then Lara is in the yellow- ugh, why would he give a rose to Veronica?! What does he see in her, no one likes her! All she does is cause drama.”

“And she has no sense of style. Where’d she get that dress from, the side of the road?,” Ransom adds, nudging your cheek with his nose so you’ll feed him a cookie after getting one yourself. “No wonder she chooses violence.”

There’s a comfortable silence as you both continue to watch the rest of the evening play out and girls become frustrated when they feel they didn’t get enough time before being interrupted. Gazing at the side of your face, a small smile forms on his lips watching your features scrunch and react to the different sets of interactions being shown. While he wasn’t one for trashy reality shows, he’d sit and watch you get adorably worked up and invested in people you’d never meet all day.

Well, maybe not all day.

“Let’s say I was the bachelor,” he states lying his chin on your shoulder. “Would you try out?”

“Well I think when you try out, you don’t know who the bachelor is,” you giggle as his lips peck your neck.

“Alright say you did, and we weren’t together of course.”

“I honestly don’t know-,” you answer causing him to sit up looking a bit puzzled as he shifted to look you directly in your face.

“You don’t know?”

“Let me finish,” you laugh before kissing the furrowed spot between his brows to relax his face. “I don’t know because I feel like me competing with a bunch of other women who look like supermodels and pageant queens, I’d probably be sent home on night one. Plus you know I don’t really have the same personality type as them either.”

You had a point. Unlike the women on the screen, it took you a bit longer to be open with people due to your shy nature. When you and Ransom first started dating, at least once a week Ransom would start to mentally question if you really liked him as much as he liked you. He’d even become frustrated sitting alone in his modern home as he thought he was possibly missing signals that showed him this.

It was as if you had been reading his mind when you brought it up over a private, candlelit dinner one night at quite possibly the best restaurant in town that, before, you could only dream of going to.

“I-I know I’m probably not as open about my feelings as the other girls you’ve been with,” you spoke nervously fiddling with the extra cloth napkin beside your plate. “I promise it’s not that I don’t like you or anything because I do! It’s just I get in my head, and don’t want to potentially mess up anything and I’m sorry-,”

“Hey, it’s okay,” he interrupts placing his larger hand on top of yours. Was he used to his prior dates and girlfriends telling every feeling and emotion from day one? Yes, but now he understood that until you were comfortable those feelings and thoughts would probably stay held in. And he didn’t mind waiting.

“You don’t need to apologize. I’ll tell you now that you don’t have to be afraid about sharing how you feel with me, but if you need time I get it. Don’t worry I’ll still be here.”

With a soft “aw” as his hand caresses your cheek and thumb grazes your skin, he leans in to kiss your lips only separating briefly before stealing a couple more.

“You’re right, you wouldn’t last long.”

Now was your turn to lean back, looking at him puzzled as you scoffed. “Wow thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“I say that because I’d know you were the one I wanted on night one, so there wouldn’t be any rose ceremonies. It’d be the shortest season in history,” he smiles capturing your smirking lips once more.

“You’d really know on night one?”

You weren’t questioning his loyalty, but you also weren’t gonna forget about his past playboy ways in this hypothetical situation of him being single and surrounded by 30 or so gorgeous women.

“Mhmm. Knowing how long you take to get ready though, you’d probably be the last to arrive but I’d still know,” he chuckles as you lightly smack his chest.

Taglist: @fumbling-fanfics @honeychicanawrites @honeychicana @lady-olive-oil @themyscxiras @melinda-january @lovelymari4 @maxcullen @literaturefeen @damnitaa @curlyhairclub @plokyu23 @fullofmelaninsarcasmandepression @nunubug99 @felicity-x0 @ellixthea @jojolu @jnk-812 @brwn-sgr @captainsamwlsn @wildfirecracker @nina-sj @iammyownlover @chaneajoyyy @secretmysteriousperson @scoop93535

If anybody wants to be tagged, has asked to be tagged but don’t see your name, only want to be tagged for certain people I write for (can be found in masterlist), or no longer wish to be tagged just let me know🤓!

#ransomxwoc #ransomxreader #ransom drysdale #ransomxblackreader #chrisxblackreader #chrisxwoc #chrisxreader #chris evans #knives out

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katefiction · 3 years

Text

The fandom fiction: a joint fiction by the royal fandom

2013

This was a round robin story where each person continued a part of the story. Sadly I can not locate the end of the story therefore it ends on the cliffhanger! However people still wanted me to post this.

katefiction

Eight pm on a chilly night, and Kate sat on the couch under a warm mohair blanket, her legs resting on William’s lap.

William stared intently at the tv screen, his thumbs working rapidly on the games controller he was holding. To his left on the single seater couch, Harry did the same.

‘Come on…

(I can not find the rest of this part. The other parts are complete)

iminlovewiththecambridges

There was short silence for a second between the three royals. All that could be heard was the light patter of Lupo’s footsteps scampering around.

‘Hang on, I don’t quite understand’ said Kate breaking the silence, ‘You’ve really got me confused.’

On the screen of the glowing iPad was a newspaper article. The contents had clearly baffled both William and Kate.

The headline read: PRINCE HARRY HAIR TRAUMA. GINGER HAIR DYE USED BY PRICE HARRY CAUSES BAULDNESS.

‘Wait, it’s a joke… more made up rubbish’ replied William returning back to his plate cleaning duties.

‘Nooo! But it’s the truth! Wills WHAT AM I GOING TO DO? I can’t have a head like yours; I need to keep up my appearance for the ladies!’ screamed Harry, who very dramatically fell to the floor. ‘WHAT IS LIFEEE!?’

Chuckling, Kate gave Harry a small kick and started to whip him with the wet wash cloth.

‘Get up! The floors dirty drama Queen.’

‘Sorreeyy, why would the floor be dirty anyway if you’ve cleaned it?’

‘Don’t be so rude!’ Kate said sternly.

William looked at Kate a bit puzzled.

‘Kate it’s just banter.’ William said soothingly trying to calm his wife down.

Harry got up and cautiously made his way back to the living room and started to watch the TV out of the way.

‘Oi! Harry, don’t get too engrossed in Keeping up with the Kardashians. Top Gears on, it’s supposed to be a real good one tonight.’ William shouted into the next room.

‘But I thought we were supposed to go through the catalogue tonight. Y’know, the one with the baby furniture.’ Kate replied softly.

‘Sweetness, how are we supposed to go through baby furniture when we don’t even know the sex of the baby yet? Plus, like I said it’s supposed to be a really good episode tonight.’

Kate gave William a dirty look. ‘Oh don’t worry then, babies don’t need furniture anyway.’ Said Kate rather sarcastically, and with that she turned and swiftly made her way out of the kitchen.

‘C’mon, Kate. Kate! Catherine!’ shouted William as he ran after her down the corridor.

Late at night the corridor of Kate and Williams’s apartment was unsettlingly peaceful. A sort of calm before the storm.

The paintings lining the corridor glared down at William as his Italian handmade shoes trod their way along the royal blue carpet.

‘Kate wait, sorry. I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings and I know I shouldn’t mess your hormones about.’ Stated William apologetically.

Kate stopped in her tracks nearing the top of the staircase.

‘Hormones! How dare you put this down to hormones! I cook and clean for you and all you do all day is play video games with your overly dramatic brother. I gave up so much for you, and you never show any appreciation.’ Kate bellowed.

‘Whoa, Kate watch your step’

‘Don’t tell me what to do. You’re not the boss-‘

Before Kate could finish her hormonal rant to a startled Prince William, she lost her footing and fell down the staircase.

williamandkatelove

In a second William runs towards Kate and saves her. Harry came out of the living room rushing towards them “what happened he asked” he asked, but they both didn’t say a word.

For almost half an hour they both stood in there place without moving, lost in each others eyes. Harry could her their hearts beating so fast and load so he asked again, still with no answer.

Kate tried to apologies many times through the night, but William was very angry to hear her.” Sometimes you just let your anger controls you and for what nothing” he yelled at her then he left her standing at the staircase by her own with her eyes felled with tears.

The next morning Kate was so sick, she didn’t think about what happened until she met William at the breakfast table “are you okay” William asked “you are very pale today, should I call the doctor?”

“help me William am very dizzy” whose were her last word before she fainted

William swiftly placed his hand under her head “Kate Kate can you hear me love”.

Making the matter worse he found out she was bleeding. William felt as if his heart stopped …..

writingroyal

"Harry!" William cried out, holding his wife close.

Harry, who had crashed on the couch, popped up. "What? Jesus, I'm always getting yelled at in this bloody house."

"Kate's bleeding!...Fainted!" William yelled again.

He pressed his fingers to her neck. Still breathing, good.

Harry scrambled into the kitchen, eyes wandering frantically from William to Kate.

"Should I ring for an ambulance?" he asked.

William nodded. "Yes, get me a pillow from the couch while you're at it."

Harry hurried back into the living room, pulled his phone from his discarded jeans, and grabbed a pillow of the couch. He handed the pillow to William while he dialed the number for an ambulance.

William placed the small throw pillow under his wife's head and tried to get her to come to. Behind him he could hear his brother yelling Kensington's address to the operator.

"Yes, I am serious...Kensington Palace!" Harry shouted, shooting William a incredulous look as he tugged at his unruly hair.

Kate was still breathing, regularly. She looked like she was asleep except for the small stain of blood that had pooled in between her pant legs.

The baby!

"Tell them to hurry, Harry," William told him, becoming frantic.

He stroked Kate's cheek. "Hun, sweetheart...can you hear me?"

Kate's mouth twitched at the corner and then a quiet groan passed between her lips.

"Open your eyes," William demanded, half hysterical.

Kate eyes fluttered much longer than William would have liked but they opened nonetheless. "What am I doing on the ground?"

Harry had just hung up from the phone. "Fainted."

"Oh," Kate said.

William looked up at Harry. "Are they coming?"

Harry nodded.

Luckily, the ambulance arrived in a matter of minutes. Although, William and Harry thought it had taken much longer. Kate was placed on a stretcher and taken away in the ambulance, William riding alongside of her, to St. Barts.

Harry knocked on the hospital room door.

"Come in," William's voice came from behind the heavy wood door.

Harry let himself in and the whirring and beeping of the machines hit his ears, along with the sound of the low-quality television that hung on the wall.

Kate was dressed in a hospital gown with flimsy blankets piled around her legs. William sat beside her.

"How are you feeling?" Harry asked.

Kate shrugged. "Just a bit nauseous, is all. They said I am a bit dehydrated which could have caused the fainting."

"They're still running tests," William interjected, squeezing his hands together that they were turning red. "To see if the baby is..."

"Hello there," the doctor said as he stepped into the room. He was dressed in a white lab coat and held a clipboard under his arm.

"How are we doing?" he asked, cheerfully.

"Just want to know the results," William said, trying to get news as soon as he possibly could.

"Well, the tests all came back fine. The babies--"

"What?" Harry said.

"Surely, you mean baby. As in the singular fetus growing inside that woman right there," William said, his voice high and his finger pointed at Kate.

passionatelyroyal

William awoke in a cold sweat. He glanced over at his wife, cuddled in to his side, hand rested on her stomach sleeping. He sighed. It had all been a dream. He rolled over and glanced at the clock. 7:45AM. he could wake her.

"Baby, I need you to wake up." William pleaded with his wife, gently shaking her awake.

"Whats the matter? She mumbled, rolling over to face her husband.

"I think you're having twins. I had this dream and a doctor said that you were having babies and I couldn't believe him but he said you were. " William whispered, grabbing Kate's hand.

"I think you're crazy. But lucky for you, I have an appointment today so we can get to the bottom of this." She responded.

Later that day, the couple sat in a London doctors office, hands intertwined as they waited for the scan to start. The doctor entered the room and began the scan.

"Well it looks like we were wrong. There are more than one." The doctor said, continuing the scan.

William looked at Kate with disbelief. It had only been a dream.

"How many more?"

phff

When the news finally hit, the world went undeniably crazy. News articles, television segments, blogs, magazine spreads. The news that the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge were expecting twins had caused quite the stir among the royal watchers.

A Royal Pair.

There were those who were thrilled; going gaga over the idea of two bundles of joy. There were those who were annoyed; not at all excited about two more royals to deal with. And there were those who were simply enthralled with the logistics of it all; speculating about the idea that the first one born would someday be King and the thought that, in a surgical situation, the DOCTOR might be the one making such an enormous decision about the future Sovereign.

But, as the world began to take up the idea of royal twins, The Family was just beginning to digest the news. For the most part, everyone was happy—thrilled for the young couple. The Windsors and The Middletons alike. All were excited.

Except for one person. One person who, when faced with the news, did all that they could to keep from bursting apart.

thecambridges

Jessica Hay.

Her name was universally known. William and Kate were never allowed to forget her and royalists the world over were never spared a single article without the mention of her name. What nobody knew however, was why she lent her name to so many inaccurate stories.

Would she share why if people asked? Possibly. But nobody ever cared that much. They just used her name as a source and handed her the money in return.

But it wasn’t about the money, not at all. It was jealousy. Jealousy at the fact that Kate had been the one to marry William. Jealousy that it was Kate’s face on the front of the newspapers. And now, jealousy that she was going to have two beautiful babies.

Truth was, she had dreamed of marrying William just as much as Kate had, if not more. She had wanted her name on the front of every woman’s magazine in hundreds of different countries. And above all, she wanted a baby.

But life had chosen Kate over her and now she wanted revenge.

Up until the announcement of twins, adding her name to fake stories was enough. It hurt Kate and it got her name in the magazines.

But this was the final straw.

It was time to step things up a notch.

mischievousmiddletons

It would take her a few days to come up with something huge, something that would plunge the Cambridges into a scandal so deep they’d never escape it.

As Jessica plotted, William and Kate arrived home, eager to alter their baby preparations to include two children, not just one. Everything would have to be doubled, such as toys, furniture, blankets, diapers, cribs, clothes and everything else they had put in place for the arrival of their baby.

A few days later, the two lovebirds stared into the newly refurbished nursery at their royal home, with the news of two royal babies still sinking in.

Kate leaned into Will and sighed heavily, “Twins…”

“Don’t worry babykins, we’ll handle it” Will wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

He was always mindful of his wife’s baby bump, but now that there were two Baby Cambridges growing in there, he was even more careful with her.

“I know we’ll handle it” She gently pecked his neck, “It’s my womb I’m worried about…”

Will tightened his arms around his wife’s shoulders, hoping to reassure her with his hold, but a series of doors flying open and rushed footsteps quickly ruined the moment they were having. Their private secretary, Jamie Lowther-Pinkerton approached with an exasperated expression on his face and a tabloid newspaper in his hands.

“William, Kate…” he took a moment to gather himself, then held the paper out.

“Jessica Hay is at it again”

hiddlesandcambridge / williamcatherinelove

Before Jamie could get another word in Kate turned to William and told him, "I'm not even going to listen to what she is up to. I don't care any more. I'm going for a lie down. I have a feeling that our little grapes are going to be keen on football when they're older."

"Okay babykins. You get some rest and I'll end this once and for all. I love you." They shared a kiss and Kate left.

William turned to Jamie, "Right then Jamie, what has she been saying now?" They turned out of the nursery and towards William's office.

"Well, Sir. She has claimed that the twins are not your's, but Harry's." William's eyes went from blue to black, but Jamie wasn't finished, "She also claims she has proof from Kate herself."

William's face just blew up into sheer anger. Jamie himself had never seen him like that. "SHE HAS DONE WHAT?"

"Sir, you have to calm down. This is not going to help Kate or the twins if she sees you like this." Jamie has always had a calming influence on William like that.

"You know what Jamie, you're right. I need to talk to her. Can you find me Jessica Hay's address and phone number. No one is going to do this to my family and get away with it."

royalserenade-alwayskate / catherinemfan

Kate woke with a start. She reached out to the side of bed, hoping that William would be there to provide her with the warm, fuzzy feeling that could only be obtained from him alone.

He wasn’t there. There was this tugging feeling in her that made her feel extremely uncomfortable, and it wasn’t the twins.

There was pacing footsteps downstairs and whispers of the staffs. Kate remembered what happened before she took a nap, so she went down to asked about William and what he had done about Jessica Hay and her allegations.

They fall into an immediate silence when Kate approached them.

“Where is William?” Kate asked Jamie.

“Kate,” Jamie begin and then stopped to clear his throat. “William.. He..”

Jamie almost never stammered as long as Kate had known him. He had always go straight to the point. And the others, they were staring at her, bleary-eyed.

Kate wanted to burst out with questions. About Jessica Hay, about what she had said, about William and what he had done. But as she put two and two together from her instinct, Jamie’s stammering and the staffs’ looks, she was nearly sure that something had happened when William attempt to put a stop to Jessica Hay’s ridiculous behavior. And that something, according to her instinct, wasn’t good.

phfanfic-againstheodds

“Jamie,” Kate said, forcing her voice to keep steady, even though that isn’t at all how she felt. “Don’t dance around the subject. Where is my husband?”

Jamie cleared his throat. “I’m sorry Kate, Will is being held at the police station.”

Kate blinked. “I’m sorry. What? Why?”

Jamie straightened his shoulders. “Jessica Hay called the police. She is filing assault charges against William.”

Kate’s hands instinctively went to her belly; a protective, motherly motion even though this had nothing to do with the twin’s safety. But, this was their father who was in trouble, and it was the only kind of protection she could offer anyone at that moment.

“Assault?” Kate whispered. “As in, she’s saying he hit her?”

Jamie nodded. “Yes.”

“Oh my God.”

“Kate…”

“Jamie, my husband didn’t hit anybody. He’s never hit anybody,” Kate cried.

“I know. Believe me, I know. But she called and they had to take him in. This isn’t like the old days where the Royal Family can’t be touched. They can’t keep this under wraps. They have to treat it seriously. Especially since…”

“Especially since she will go to the media,” Kate finished for him. Her heart was pounding in her chest.

Jamie sighed. “She already has.”

Tears sprang to Kate’s eyes and she fought them as hard as she could. She fought to press the lump in her throat down, to keep herself under control.

“Kate, we are doing everything we can. Will is cooperating. The Protection Officers that were there will clear his name. But she’s lit up the press.”

The tears slipped from Kate’s eyes. “She’s telling the entire world that William beats women.”

“No one will believe it,” Jamie tried to assure her.

“Some will,” Kate whispered. “And it will never be forgotten.”

“Kate, we’ve done all we can do for right now, but if there is anything I can do for you…”

Kate immediately cut in. “Take me to my husband, Jamie. Take me to William.”

(The End. Please do get in touch if you remember the ending.)

#royal fanfiction #jointfandomfiction

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godess-ofthe-underworld · 3 years

Text

Love Finds Away

(sequel to “see You Again) ( A Harry Hook x reader story)

Part 10

When the dresses were all delivered and Evie Hadley and Ruby were ready, they headed down to the docks.

The whole way there Hadley couldn't stop staring at the Isle, only hoping that he felt the same way she did. She toyed with her necklace, not having the guts to take it off, but this time instead of tucking it away from view, she let it dangle over the top of her dress. Evie and Ruby both noticed her sullen look and shared a glance themselves.

Making their way up the docks, music and lights were blaring, causing Hadley to squint until her eyes adjusted. A blue velvet carpet lined the entire dock, leading to the massive yacht that cotillion was being held on.

The blue carpet was lined with press from start to finish. Hadley put on a fake smile as they stepped up the camera flashes momentarily blinding her.

Evie, being the natural when it comes to this sort of thing, took the lead with Doug, who had joined them at some point.

Hadley stood back allowing Evie to answer the questions being thrown their way. Just before they reached the ship they stopped in front of a group of reporters

"Evie! Hadley! You both look gorgeous tonight!"

"Did you design the hair accessories and Hadleys arm band?"

"No actually." Evie started touching the clip in her hair. " All of the accessories tonight were made by a very special person, Miss Dizzy of the Isle" Evie smiled into the camera knowing Dizzy would be watching for them.

They moved on after answering a few more questions.

Stepping onto the boat the music was louder and the main deck and upper deck were crowded with students dancing away.

Hadley found herself looking out at the isle. Which was in clear view from the side of the ship. She watched as the thunder and lighting rumbled.

Ruby linked arms with her startling her out of her gaze. She pulled Hadley to the middle with the others waiting for Mal to arrive.

Small chatter was exchanged until the guards along the stairs raised their trumpets to signal her arrival.

"The future Lady Mal" Lumiere proudly announced.

The whole deck erupted in applause as Mal stood at the top of the stairs.

Her once full ball gown dress was now cut into a high-low fashion, the front hem doned the same royal blue lace as the bodice and her shoes stood proud and tall. Her recently dyed purple hair was braided down the side and over her shoulder with tiny accents in between each weave.

She slowly made her way down the steps a look of pure terror on her face as everyone's eyes watched her every move.

Evie stepped forward to greet her at the bottom.

She took Mals hand and walked her to the center of the deck.

"How are you feeling?" Hadley asked as they reached them.

Mal gave a nervous smile.

" you know… kinda like.im going to throw up.."

The five chuckled lightly as the guards raised the trumpets again.

"King Benjamin" Lumiere announced as Ben made it to the top of the steps.

The whole ship thundered with applause as he made his way down the steps, rather quickly as Hadley observed.

Mal met him at the bottom smiling up at him, but his smile wasn't present.

"Mal, I really wish i had time to explain"

The spotlight shone at the top of the steps. There was a collective gasp from everyone on deck.

Ums stood at the top step in a beautiful teal mermaid style dress. Seashells and other sea accents adorned the frilly teal ruching. Her long braids had been carefully tied into a neat bun on the top of her head.

Ben smiled wide as Uma began walking down the stairs and jogged up the first few taking her hand and helping her down the rest of the stairs.

He stopped them at the last step and bowed to her kissing the gold ring that used to be on Mal's finger.

Uma giggled as he stood straight and took her hand leading her out to the center of the deck and right up to Mal.

Hadley completely droned out the conversation about Uma diving through the barrier and what not, claiming that she was in love with Ben and he with her.

When the two began dancing Mal curled into herself, hurt etched all over her features. Hadley rushed to Mals' side as did Evie. The two clung to her shoulders trying to comfort her. The boys huddled as well rubbing Mals arms.

"Ya know I'm not too thrilled I risked my life for him," Carlos said a little louder than the music playing.

Lonnie came up behind Mal holding Ruby's hand.

"We're with you Mal" Lonnie said as Ruby nodded.

Jay placed a hand on the small of Mals back and started leading her to the steps.

"Come on. Let's get outta here."

The others agreed following the two.

Just as they reached the bottom of the steps, Uma stopped dancing with Ben turing to the retreating vks.

"Hey, Hadley." Uma spoke over the music.

Hadley stopped when she heard her name, the rest following.

"What Uma?" Hadley nearly growled; in her anger Hadley's hair sparked and ignited.

"He feels the same way ya know."

Hadley's look of anger quickly morphed into one of confusion, her hair still holding a faint glow.

Uma smiled "But don't take my word for it."

Uma looked to the top of the staircase with a large smile. Hadley and the rest followed her gaze.

Hadley nearly stumbled holding on to Carlo's jacket to steady herself, her jaw dropping.

Everyone around the ship's deck was gasping and whispering. The other vks looked just as stunned as Hadley, looking from her to the top of the stairs.

Harry was nearly unrecognizable; his Isle clothes had been traded for a burgundy suit matching blazer and pants, white button up shirt and black vest. His usually out of control hair was neatly side swiped. Hadley noticed that he still had on his boots.

Harry's eyes, which still had a bit of eyeliner still around them, searched the group at the bottom before locking with Hadleys.

He made his way down the steps, the vks parting when he made it to them giving him a path to Hadley, but watching his every move. Lonnie put a hand on Jay's shoulder when he went to lunge.

Hadley took a step back when Harry reached her.

"Harry… what.. What are you doing here?" Hadley stuttered.

"I had ta know if it was true." He mumbled.

"If what was true?" Hadley asked.

"What ya said on the Isle, right before ya tossed me hook over the dock. When ya said ya.. ya love me… i need ta know if it was jus' a trick ta get away or if ya really mean it." Harry's eyes bore into hers. She thought she almost saw a tear. She could hear the people closest to her begin whispering wildy.

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed her friends starting to head up the stairs and saw Evie nod in her direction. Hadley placed a hand on his arm guiding them to a more secluded corner. Hadley looked at her hands as she dropped her arm, nervously twisting the rings around her fingers.

"It wasn't a trick Har, just really bad timing now that I think about it." Hadley let out a small breathy laugh. She could see Harry's shoulders drop slightly. "But it was never a trick." Hadley looked up at him. "It's true, I do love you. I've loved you for a long time; I just… never knew how to tell you." She looked down at her hands.

"I never wanted to risk losing you. You've been my best friend for a long time and you've never failed to make a day better." She looked up at him.

"Har, you're the one thing that has kept me going since I left." She let out a watery laugh, with tears welling in her eyes.

"I love you."

Harry cradled her jaw with his palm as his thumb gently glided across her cheek. Hadley closed her eyes leaning into it.

"Haddie… I … I love you too."

Hadley's heart nearly leapt out of her chest.

Harry ducked his head slowly bringing it closer to hers. He was close enough that she could still smell the sea and metal permeating from his jacket.

She sucked in a sharp breath just as his lips were about to collide with hers.

However…. Their moment was interrupted by a shriek coming from the deck.

Gotta love cliffhangers.... I can’t believe we’re already on part 10! If if you liked part 10 please comment and like for part 11. As always, you can read the illustrated version over on my Wattpad (@phelpsphan). If you would like to be added to the tag list please message me!

Summary: You would think that six months in Auradon would do any villain kid good. Well, not Hadley. After the events of the Coronation, Hadley's mood took a downward spiral; and for one reason, guilt. She'd broken a promise and left her best friend on the Isle of the Lost. How will she handle seeing him again when certain circumstances bring her back to the Isle? Will she finally tell him what she really feels?

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters in Descendants. Hadley and the plot between her and Harry are mine.

Tag list: @unded-bride , @fangirlforever2412 , @itsnottilly

#harry hook imagine #harry hook x reader #harry hook #daughter of hades #disney descendants

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carewyncromwell · 4 years

Photo

Hey guys! Many, many apologies for the delay in this two-part update to the POTC AU! I won’t bog down this with too many notes, as I know I left y’all on a cliffhanger last time, sooooo...

Previous part is here! Full tag is here! Rakepick’s hair here is modeled off the outline of a Lion’s Mane Jellyfish! Zephyr (or Zephyrus) was the name of the deity of the West Wind in Greek mythology, just as Calypso was a Greek nymph of the sea that first appeared in The Odyssey! And MCs referenced in this section are Jules Farrier-Weasley @cursebreakerfarrier; Finn McGarry/Davy Jones @theguythatdraws and Samantha O’Connell @samshogwarts!

x~x~x~x~x

It had started to rain. Aboard the Clearwater, the tide of battle had turned in the pirates’ favor. Even though Charlie was injured, he was able to rally the crew of the fallen Phoenix against the Navy, beating them back so they could take over the ship. Many Navy men were so afraid that they defied orders and fled to the jollyboats in an attempt to escape the pirates’ onslaught. Charlie was perfectly willing to let them go -- he consistently ordered his crew not to retaliate, if the soldiers surrendered or retreated. After all, the ship was all they wanted -- they didn’t necessarily need to kill, in order to get that.

Everything was going right when all of a sudden, one particularly brave Navy soldier with a blond ponytail -- upon surrendering -- abruptly changed his mind, unsheathed his sword, and charged at Charlie. Charlie was able to block him with his own dragon-hilted sword, but because he was too injured to properly stand, he was unable to dodge or step the way he normally could have, so he was immediately put on the defensive.

Charlie clenched his teeth, trying to power through the pain in his leg, and blocked all of the soldier’s next five blows. It wasn’t easy to try to sword fight while staying stationary -- the form almost required being able to weave around and lunge toward your opponent, if one wanted to win.

The blond soldier, clearly wet behind the ears but determined to win, took advantage of Charlie’s injury by kicking him right in his broken leg.

“ACK!”

Charlie collapsed onto the deck with a pained hiss.

Samantha, who’d been just tossed another soldier overboard on the other far end of the ship, heard Charlie fall and hurried to try to help, but she was too far away. Charlie just barely managed to keep a hold of his sword and was able to block the blond soldier’s next blow, but struggled to push the other blade back away from him.

“This ends now, pirate!” said the boyish soldier in a show of misguided conviction.

THUNK.

The soldier instantly froze up, his eyes going wide and his head falling forward in response to something having collided with the back of it. Then his eyes rolled up into his head and he collapsed.

Standing just overhead with his sword hilt where the blond soldier’s head just was a freckled young man dressed in a blue and white captain’s uniform and a damp white-powdered wig.

“Percy?” gasped Charlie.

The third-eldest Weasley was very pale as he stared from the hilt of his sword, which was smeared with some blood, to down at Charlie.

“...I reckon I may have hit him a bit too hard,” he said rather weakly.

Wiping the blood off on the inside of his coat, he then quickly sheathed his sword and hurried to grab onto Charlie and help him to his feet.

“Charlie, I’m -- I’m so sorry -- I never should’ve let you and Bill go without me -- I’ve been such a - ”

But Charlie didn’t need to hear any more. In an instant, he’d thrown his arms around his younger brother and squeezed him in a huge hug.

“It’s good to see you too, Perce,” he said lowly.

Percy’s eyes prickled with tears as he squeezed his brother in return.

“Charlie, I think Carey’s in trouble,” he confessed.

Charlie pulled back enough to look Percy straight-on in the eye as Samantha reached them at last. “She is. Davy Jones plans to commandeer her into his crew.”

“What?!” Percy was scandalized.

“Bill and Jules are on the Revolution right now, with Carey’s brother -- ”

Charlie indicated the Revolution and Flying Dutchman, which were still hotly engaged in battle.

“The only way we can stop him from taking Carey and get close enough to capture Beckett,” the second-eldest Weasley explained, “is if we can take him out.”

“If we can capture Beckett, we’ll have enough leverage to force the Navy to surrender,” said Samantha. “We don’t have enough firepower to stop the fighting any other way.”

Percy’s brown eyes too faced the sea, instead flicking over to the HMS Lion. His eyes widened when he took in what he saw.

The jollyboats were being lowered...?

He darted over the railing, taking out a telescope to look out.

“Perce?” asked Charlie. With some help from Samantha, he joined his brother at the railing.

“They’re evacuating,” said Percy, dumbstruck. “Everyone’s heading for the HMS Swallow.”

Charlie’s eyebrows knit together. “What?”

“But why?” said Samantha. “If they wanted to retreat, couldn’t they use their flagship to do it?”

Percy shook his head. “Not if the flagship was going to be used to signal the rest of the Navy...”

He combed the jollyboats with his eyes through his telescope. He saw Beckett lingering on the deck of the ship overlooking the jollyboats, but there were no familiar manes of ginger red hair.

Percy gave a start. Suddenly Carewyn’s words from before made sense.

“Don’t try to protect me or my reputation -- those things won’t matter much longer anyway...”

“...Carey,” breathed Percy. “Carey’s leading the retreat. She must’ve openly rebelled against Beckett’s orders -- ”

Charlie’s face went a lot paler. He understood the gravity of what that meant -- after everything she’d done to stay with the Navy, Carewyn had thrown away her safe position with Beckett at a chance to stop the fighting...meaning that she now also effectively opened herself to being tarred with treason.

Percy lowered his telescope, his jaw clenching anxiously as he looked out at the Revolution and the Flying Dutchman. The water under the two warring ships was burbling and swirling ominously.

The ginger-haired Navy captain bowed his head, looking very solemn.

“There’s no way that Beckett will let her get away with that,” he murmured. “He’ll do anything he has to, in order to destroy all of you. If we give him the chance to contradict Carey’s orders to the ships out here and rally the HMS Swallow and the rest of the fleet in a counterattack, then it’s all over.”

His brown eyes narrowed as he looked from Samantha to Charlie.

“If you need Jones out of the way in order to get at Beckett,” he said firmly, “then we’re taking the Clearwater straight to the Flying Dutchman.”

Underneath the Flying Dutchman and the Revenge swirled a terrible, turbulent current -- one that bent back in on itself in a demented, sickening spiral. It soon ensnared both ships in a slowly circling, deepening, descending whirlpool, illuminated largely by the cracks of violent white lightning that crashed through the sky.

Calypso was clearly not pleased about the Dutchman’s new captain.

Meanwhile, on the HMS Lion, Beckett had Orion and Carewyn cornered in the hull of the Navy ship, standing in front of the one and only staircase they could’ve used to quickly escape.

“I didn’t think I could dislike you any more, Admiral,” said Beckett with a icy cold smile as he quickly reloaded his pistol to shoot again, “but for the second time today, you’ve served to only give me more reason.”

His eyes flickered over to Orion, darkening with even further hatred, as he raised his pistol again.

“Don’t do it, Beckett,” Orion said, his voice very low in his throat with both solemnity and disapproval. “Destroying us would only destroy yourself -- ”

“You may skip the philosophy lecture, Amari,” said Beckett, pointing the pistol right at his head.

His eyes swept over the scene, analyzing it.

“If you’re here...I daresay you’ve sabotaged this ship -- just like you did my fleet of slave ships, several years back. Given your tenseness about me using my pistol, I can only fathom it’s something explosive -- I’d most assuredly have to get back in the jollyboat quickly, to escape that. And since the Admiral and you are in league with each other, it’s only logical to presume that she sent my crew away because she knew of it and didn’t want any harm to come to them. Your nobility truly is unparalleled, Carewyn Weasley. It’s just a shame you place men at such a higher value than property -- or your own self-preservation.”

His eyes flashed at Carewyn, looking if possible even colder than before as he took a few steps backward up the stairs.

“Truly, this is nothing personal,” he said in a very unconvincing voice. “Making sure that both of you can’t get in my way again...is just good business.”

His pistol, which had been pointing at Orion’s head, abruptly changed aim toward the barrels behind him. Carewyn lunged forward, but her lack of height made it so her strides were too short to reach Beckett fast enough, and since Orion was so focused on dodging, he wasn’t able to shift gears to follow Carewyn’s lead in time.

BAM.

The Clearwater had just come up on the Flying Dutchman inside the swirling maelstrom when the ship’s crew’s attention was drawn to the huge, flaming explosion that within minutes overtook and consumed the HMS Lion.

The sight alarmed Percy and Charlie, who were both convinced Carewyn was still on-board. Charlie, refusing to believe that Carewyn was dead, nonetheless harried Percy into action. They had to defeat Jones and capture Beckett to stop the battle -- it was the only chance they had at getting to Carewyn, since the maelstrom’s current was now way too strong for them to pull out of.

“Calypso wouldn’t drown you, though, would she?” asked Samantha loudly over the pouring rain. “You two get on, don’t you?”

“She was my friend when she was human, yeah,” granted Charlie with a weak smile, holding onto the railing so as to keep himself upright on his broken leg, “but remember, she sees things as a goddess now! Her anger’s clearly on the Dutchman and the Revolution -- I’m probably the size of an ant right now compared to her, I can’t assume she’ll be able to pick me out in this whole mess!”

He shook out his tricorn hat, which had gathered a puddle of water on the brim, and then slapped it back onto his head.

“I reckon the best way to save ourselves and the Revolution is to help deal with what’s gotten her so pissed off! Ready the lines -- prepare to board the Dutchman!”

At the exact same time, as either luck or fate would have it, the pirate called “Behemoth Ben” Copper had been trying to convince the soldiers aboard one of the other Man O’Wars, the HMS Royal, that he’d been sent with orders from Lord Beckett that they were to evacuate to the HMS Swallow, as the HMS Lion’s crew had. When the Lion blew up, Ben, in a rather brilliant move, took advantage of the flaming wreck to bolster his ruse.

“You see?”the tall blue-and-white-disguised pirate shot at them harshly over the pouring rain. “The Lion was compromised! That must’ve been why it was evacuated! And that’s why we’re being ordered to evacuate now as well -- the Lion is not the only one! Now stop stalling, or you’ll lose a lot more than just your rank! Abandon ship! To the HMS Swallow! NOW!”

Once the Navy officers had left in the jollyboats, Ben and the rest of the ex-Navy pirates easily commandeered the HMS Royal, following along behind the Artemis as the smaller white sloop headed for the remains of the Lion. McNully had not seen either his Captain or the Admiral escape the wreckage -- Ben prayed with everything in him that they somehow had.

When Percy left the wounded Charlie and Samantha in charge of the Clearwater and swung over to the Dutchman, he found Bill and Jacob hotly engaged in battle with Patricia Rakepick. The pirate-turned-privateer did not look like herself at all -- there was no light in her dark blue eyes and her long ginger hair flowed loose around her, the strands flicking at the air like tiny tentacles that seemed to crackle with unnatural electricity. Her blouse also gaped open at the chest, exposing a long-sealed up scar right over her rip cage, and she bore down on Bill and Jacob with ferocity, slashing at them with the intent to kill. Percy immediately yanked out his own sword and blocked Rakepick before she could land a blow on Bill, his brown eyes flaring and his teeth bared in an oddly fierce expression.

“Stay away from my brother,” snarled the Navy captain.

Bill’s face lit up in shock and delight. “Percy?”

Rakepick, however, didn’t give the two any time for a proper reunion -- instead she immediately engaged Percy, beating him back with her sword while also holding off Jacob, who continued to cut at her with his own blade.

“This sibling is not the one you should be protecting, boy,” said Rakepick very coldly.

Once she’d successfully fended off Percy and Jacob for the moment, she went after Bill again, hacking in the direction of his head with her sword.

Percy was about to chase Rakepick, but just before he did, another voice called his name over the rain.

“Percy Weasley!”

Percy turned, to see an unusually striking, clean-shaven and well-dressed pirate with brown eyes and a brown ponytail fending off about three different fishy members of the Dutchman’s crew. When their eyes met over one of the cursed pirates’ shark-shaped head, Percy felt like the clean-shaven man was somehow able to see right through him, and yet it was an oddly relaxing feeling, rather than anything intrusive. The man’s eyes narrowed upon Percy, as if he’d determined something important just by looking at his face.

“You’re needed here!” Ashe said firmly. “Come here, now!”

Percy wasn’t sure why he followed that direction, but he nonetheless dashed over and helped Ashe beat back Jones’s old crew members. Once he’d reached that side of the deck, he found Jules knelt down on the deck behind Ashe, holding a very familiar wrought-iron Chest with a heart-shaped lock in her lap and a make-shift lock-pick in one hand.

“Percy!” breathed Jules.

Percy immediately bent down beside her, his freckled face very pale. “Charlie and I came to help -- Jules, I’m s -- ”

“It’s all right,” said Jules very quickly, almost dismissively. “Percy, we have to get the Dead Man’s Chest open -- Rakepick’s heart is inside, it may be the only way to stop her -- ”

“Rakepick’s?” said Percy with a start. “What happened to Jones?”

“He’s dead!” said Ashe very curtly, having to project his voice to be heard over the rain. “But now Rakepick’s got it in her head to tear down both our and your fleet, with the power she’s accrued! Worse still, that shark-headed feck threw the Key overboard, and there’s no way we’ll get it back in the middle of a raging storm! You know this Chest, don’t you?”

Percy had no idea how Ashe knew this, not knowing anything about the merfolk’s ability to sense the emotions, desires, and memories of humans, but the Navy Captain looked down at the Dead Man’s Chest with a rather surly expression.

“Yes -- Beckett asked Carey for help in opening it, since she’s great at picking locks! She and I were able to manage it after a while, once we’d tinkered with it enough...”

Percy reached up into his coat, tearing one of the ornamental buttons off and bending the hook into a long wire, like he’d seen Carewyn do once before when she didn’t have a lock-pick on hand.

“I think I remember how she did it -- Jules, help me!”

It seemed like the new captain of the damned was more focused on Bill than anything. Even though she obviously loathed Jacob and was clearly being given a run for her money by him despite her immortality, she still seemed to be actively trying to get around Jacob in an attempt to kill Bill.

Meanwhile, Cutler Beckett and the crew of the HMS Lion had just about reached the HMS Swallow in the jollyboats when all of a sudden, something massive lurched out of the raging waves. The crashing of the dark waves that slammed the jollyboats aside was so violent and large that the ocean seemed to roar almost as loudly as the monstrous mass that had emerged from its depths -- one so large that one could really only make out tentacles and a black-hole-like mouth framed with about a hundred rows of sharp teeth.

It was the Kraken -- brought back to life one final time by Calypso, to take its revenge.

Beckett very shakily clutched onto the overturned boat he’d been riding in a moment ago. His tricorn hat had fallen off and his powdered white wig was drenched, but he barely even seemed aware of it. “This -- this is impossible,” he breathed. He looked out at the other overturned jollyboats and the fleeing soldiers being yanked aboard the HMS Swallow and other ships a good ten miles away, with an endless, thousand-mile stare. His face was pallid and as blank as a doll’s as he very, very slowly turned his gaze up onto the wide-open jaws of the Kraken bearing down on him.

“Seems my little pet remembers you.” Beckett’s eyes widened. He whirled around at the sound of the familiar voice, but instead of being faced with the barnacle-encrusted, octopus-bearded Davy Jones, he was face-to-face with a very tall, translucent, glowing cloud of mist -- like a shadow, if it were made of light instead of darkness. Its form was nebulous enough that it couldn’t be considered solid, but one could still barely make out the face of a pirate with a slash-like scar over his eye and a cold smile framed by a beard. It hovered leisurely over the ocean waves, occasionally slipping in and out of the blackened water with ease. “He’s come back one last time just for you, Beckett,” said Finn McGarry’s spirit, his eyes flashing with satisfaction. “You should be flattered.” Beckett’s mouth hung open slightly like a fish. He seemed unable to speak as he looked from Finn to up at the Kraken’s open jaws. “Wait -- you -- you can’t -- ” Finn began to laugh. It was a very loud, harsh sound. “Calypso has made my soul one with the air, Beckett,” he spat in intense satisfaction, “transforming me into Zephyr -- the West Wind over her raging sea. Neither you nor your precious stooge Rakepick hold any power over me now.” In an instant, the incorporeal white light that was Finn -- now the West Wind itself -- exploded, encompassing Beckett in a concentrated dome of swirling air. The head of the East India Trading Company tried to move, but Zephyr was so strong that he rivaled a hurricane and he held Beckett down in place against the overturned jollyboat with little effort, so he couldn’t even try to swim away. “And since you have nothing to offer me that I could possibly want -- money -- status...hell, my own life -- you can hardly expect me to have any reason to spare you,” Zephyr’s voice breathed cruelly. “‘It’s just good business.’” No one on the HMS Swallow, the HMS Royal, or any of the other neighboring Navy or pirate ships nearby, heard whether or not Beckett screamed before he died. The Kraken’s jaws and tentacles ensnaring the jollyboat and pulling it down into the depths in one gulp blocked out any possible sound he could’ve made.

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stardust-and-snickerdoodles · 4 years

Text

I’m Sure They’ll Understand pt. 3

part 1 part 2

fandom: MCU

pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

summary: Steve’s injured on the mission. You have to help the team get him out, no matter how much they may or may not trust you.

warnings: angst, mentions of injury

word count: 1924

a/n: did y’all like the cliffhanger i left you on?? ;)

i think there’s going to be one more part to this! i didn’t want this part to get too long.

Sam’s words ring in your ears.

Rogers is down.

Before you know it, you’re on your knees. Your breath comes in gasps as you try to wrap your mind around those three words.

Rogers is down.

Bucky’s trying to tell you something but you can’t hear him. All you can hear is Sam’s voice, over and over again.

Oh God. Are you going to lose him? You can’t. You can’t handle this. No no no –

At some point, Bucky hauls you to your feet and grabs your face in his hands. “Y/N,” he barks, “Focus. We need to go. Now.”

You nod, barely registering his words. Then you’re out the door of the jet, stumbling across a snowy field to the HYDRA base. Your hands are shaking as you try to notch an arrow onto the string of your bow.

Once you’re at the doors to the base however, your instincts kick in and you swipe away the tears from your cheeks. You finally manage to notch the arrow and do a quick once-over of your quiver and knives. You take a deep breath, nod to Bucky, and follow him into the base.

There are a few bodies strewn about the floor, all HYDRA agents. You step over them carefully, bow at the ready. Bucky walks slightly in front of you, gun raised. It is eerily quiet, even though you can hear the sounds of combat still in your earpiece.

“Where are we going, Stark?” Bucky whispers harshly.

“There’s a staircase just off the main hallway,” comes Tony’s reply. There’s a pause as you hear his phasers firing. “It’s hidden behind a wall panel; it leads to the rest of the base.”

You look around the hallway and notice one of the panels juts out just barely. “Here,” you murmur to Bucky, tilting your head toward the panel.

Bucky nods and presses a hand against the panel, obviously unsure of how to open it. It slides open and a look of pleasure crosses his face, if only for a moment.

The staircase is dark and smells like old books; you’re guessing this is one of the older HYDRA bases, probably from around its founding. You follow Bucky down the stairs quietly as the sounds of fighting become evident.

“They’ve got us cornered down here,” Sam’s voice breaks through the earpiece. “I’ve moved Rogers to a secure location but I’m going to need a clear path in order to get him out.”

“We’re on our way,” you reply. You’re going to get Steve to safety, no matter what.

You round a corner and the combat grows louder. The sounds you were once hearing exclusively in your earpiece can be made out in person. You’re surrounded by HYDRA lab equipment; this must have been a research base rather than a training center. That’s good at least – you won’t find any experienced super soldiers here.

“Y/L/N! Barnes! Over here,” Sam’s voice calls out to you. You spot his form behind a lab table, close to a partially open door. He waves you over and you follow Bucky to him.

As you come around the side of the table, you see Steve’s boots sticking out from behind a crouching Sam. The full scene comes into view, and you cover your mouth in horror.

Sam has his hands pressed to a rapidly darkening stain on Steve’s abdomen, most likely from a gunshot wound. Steve is unconscious, blissfully unaware of the combat happening just one room over.

Sam nods toward the door. “The others are in there,” he says quickly. “Everybody else is tied down with agents. They just keep flooding in; I don’t know where they’re all coming from. The way you came in is the only way out.” He pauses. “And unfortunately, I don’t have super strength. So, I couldn’t get Rogers out on my own.” His eyes are pleading as he looks up at you.

Bucky nods, determined. “Y/N will get him out.”

You look at the super soldier, surprise evident on your face. You’d thought Bucky would want to stay with his friend. But you’re not complaining; this must be a sign that his trust for you is growing – or he just doesn’t want you having any direct contact with HYDRA.

“Sam and I’ll help the others hold them off,” Bucky continues, meeting your gaze. “Get Steve to the jet and stop the bleeding. We’ll try to get out of here as quickly as possible.”

Sam nods his agreement and looks to you again. “You’ll need to move fast once I take my hands off this wound. He’s probably going to lose a lot of blood before you get to the quinjet. Don’t stop on the way.” His voice is a mixture grim determination and resignation.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you choke out, still fixated on Steve – your Steve – bleeding on the ground.

You get in position next to Sam, your hands sliding under Steve’s unmoving form. Sam counts down and removes his hands from the wound, and you take off running.

Steve’s bulk is nothing for your enhanced strength and thankfully you have enhanced speed as well. Remembering your way through the labyrinth of hallways is easy; ignoring the trail of blood that you leave in your wake is not. You whisper reassurance under your breath to Steve, unsure if he can even hear you. Reaching the staircase, you skid to a stop when you notice a figure at the top of the stairs.

You hesitate for a moment, trying to determine if you can take out whoever it is without putting Steve down. Before you can come to a decision, the figure begins to descend the stairs slowly.

“Ranger,” a feminine, airy voice says. A chill runs down your spine at the sound of your old moniker and you freeze, unable to move.

“Well done, gaining the trust of the Avengers. I’m glad to see you haven’t strayed away from your mission,” the voice continues as the figure becomes illuminated.

You vaguely recall her face, but no name comes to mind. She used to be one of your handlers, quite… aggressive in her ways, if you remember correctly.

You shake your head as visions of your time as a HYDRA operative flood your mind. You respond through gritted teeth, “Move. I won’t ask again.”

She lets out a breathy laugh, using her body to block the stairs. “Oh, I always enjoyed you. So… feisty.” A wicked smile crosses her face as she glares at you.

Through the cloud of anger in you mind, you try to think. You have to get Steve to the jet. His blood is coating your hands and you’re losing your grip on him rapidly. Putting him down is the last thing you’ll do but you can’t fight this woman if you don’t.

Before you have a chance to make a decision, a shot rings out and the woman falls backward. Her forehead has been adorned with a single bullet wound.

You turn quickly and see Natasha standing about 20 feet behind you, pistol in hand. “Heard you over the earpiece,” she explains quickly at your look of confusion. “Go.”

Remembering the task at hand, you nod a quick thank you to Nat and step over the fallen corpse of the woman. You take the stairs three at a time as you try to make up for lost time.

Once you reach the quinjet, you set Steve down in the makeshift medbay. You grab some gauze pads from a nearby shelf and press them to the wound, praying desperately that your run-in with the woman hasn’t had an immense impact.

Steve groans as you apply pressure and for a moment, you think he’s going to open his eyes. But it must have just been an automatic response to the increased pain because he makes no further movement. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

The weight of the situation hits you all at once now that you’re back in relative safety. The fear and despair that overcame you when Sam had first announced Steve’s injury reappear with full force. Here is the man that has been nothing but supportive and kind to you, dying under your hands. The very lifeforce flowing through his veins now flowing between your fingers. The serum that magnifies his strength and compassion now doing its very best just to keep him alive. And you, you are powerless to do anything about it.

The tears that you’d hastily wiped away before now stream freely down your cheeks. You sob over Steve’s motionless form as the emotions overtake you.

That woman, she’d nearly kept you from saving Steve. If she weren’t already dead, you would rip her limb from limb.

“Y/N,” Sam comes on through the earpiece, “Did you reach the jet?”

“Yes,” you manage to whisper, hoping your voice doesn’t betray your emotion.

“Good, we’re heading back to you. Just finishing up with the last of the agents.”

You offer no reply but your relief is tangible. The quicker they return, the quicker Steve will be on the road to recovery. You hope, at least.

The next few minutes seem to pass by at a crawl as you wait for the team. You think the bleeding has slowed, but you can’t be sure. At least you’ve stopped crying

Finally, Tony enters the jet, the others all trailing close behind. They all seem bone-tired but board with a sense of urgency. As they pass by you, each offers a terse nod or a look of sympathy. Bucky and Sam are the last two to board. They head over to you and Steve immediately, faces grim, as the jet takes off.

“Any change?” Sam asks.

“Um,” you clear your throat hastily, “I think the bleeding has slowed a bit. I’m not sure though.”

Sam nods and casts a quick glance to Bucky, who is sitting close by with his eyes fixed on Steve. “Good. Let’s get him back to the compound; I’m sure he’ll be fine.” He gives you a reassuring smile and pats your shoulder.

The whole ride back to the compound is silent. Each Avenger seems shell-shocked, which is to be expected. The thing that surprises you is the obvious lack of tension and spite directed toward you. You’d started this mission thinking the Avengers would never trust you, but now it seems you’ve managed to gain it in some capacity. If only it hadn’t taken Steve getting injured to earn it, you think, only slightly bitter.

Once you reach the compound, there’s a flurry of activity as Steve is carted off to the medical center. You start to follow them, but Bucky grabs your wrist and stops you. You turn and find the whole team staring at you.

“They won’t let you into the operating theater,” Bucky states bluntly. “Besides…” He hesitates and glances at the others behind him. “Best to have company while you wait for him to get out, anyway.”

“Oh,” is all you can think to say.

Tony steps forward slightly, not quite meeting your eyes. It’s the first time you’ve ever seen him look… guilty? “Thanks for, ah, coming to our aid in there, Katniss.”

A strange warmth bubbles up inside you at the nickname and you can’t stop the smile that graces your lips. “Anytime, Tin Man.”

“Come on.” Tony leads the way out of the jet. Obviously, he can only be emotional in quick bursts. “Let’s go eat ice cream and talk about our feelings.”

>>>

part 4

tags: @aspie-allie @ashwarren32 @geek-and-proud @ilovesupersoldiers @thewolfgirluniverse @xstormiii

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ikenbar · 4 years

Text

Mr. Love: Ike’s Choice CH3 PT10

Warnings: Mentions of scars, Lucien angst, protective Sam, fun times with Adri, and ye good ol cliffhanger :D

(Chapter Three (Victor and Lucien) prologue and part one, and parts two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, and nine here~)

((Please read the author’s note (and the beginning of the story) on chapter one part one if you’re new here :D))

Chapter three:

Part ten:

I whipped around. Lucien wore his simple smile as he caught my eyes in his. “You look nice.” Lucien tilted his head slightly, still smiling. His tone was as sweet as honey, not matching his eyes at all. The sound made me uneasy. If he could say something like that while feeling the way he obviously did, what was he hiding on the date? I opened my mouth to respond but I was immediately stopped by Sam, who had just jumped in front of me and thrust his arms open, protectively.

“Don’t you come near Ike!” Sam puffed out his chest, “I won’t let you hurt her anymore!” Lucien, who was once smiling at Sam’s brave act, suddenly frowned. He looked back up at me, startling me slightly.

“I hurt you?” He sounded genuinely hurt by the news.

Guilt swirled in my chest. I cleared my throat to try and maintain composure.

“Sam,” I used my usual tactles tone, making Sam snap to my attention, “Go downstairs and help prepare dinner. We will be down shortly.” Sam looked as if he wanted to argue but, sensing my icy stare, decided against it. He glared one last time at Lucien before running downstairs. I moved to the side slightly, allowing Adri a better view of Lucien.

“Adri,” I said in the same professional tone, “This is Professor Lucien. He is a close friend of Bart’s. Lucien, this is Adrienne. The newest addition to our foster home.”

“There’s no need for introductions.” Lucien walked a little further into the room with a hand outstretched, “Adrienne and I have already met.” Adri snapped her fingers.

“I knew I had seen you somewhere!” She said this proudly, accepting Lucien’s outstretched hand, “You gave a lecture for my class about biology!”

“That’s right.” Lucien’s smile brightened, “It is good to see you again, Adrienne.”

“How do you remember me?” Adri asked giddily. Lucien seemed to have this kind of impact on any girl who talked to him.

“You were the one who shot a spitball at me.” Lucien winked. Adri sunk in her overly large shoes.

“H-how did you know that was me?”

“I could see the straw sticking out of your coat.” Lucien’s eyes flashed with a teasing glare, “You need to find a better place to hide your evidence if you want to fool me.” Adri giggled nervously. Lucien chuckled, “Don’t worry. I won’t tell your teacher. But, I will ask that you hold your spitballs the next time I give a lecture.”

“You have my word.” Adri nodded happily. Her attitude had completely changed from when I first met her. I wish I could take the credit for that but I think we all knew who really made her the happiest that night.

“Adri!!” Maria called from down stairs, “Come help set up the table for dinner!!”

“Gotta blast.” Adri huffed slightly but still smiled at Lucien, “I’m glad to have seen you again, Professor! Hopefully we’ll see each other a lot more now that I live with your,” Adri flashed me a quick look, “‘friend~’” I glared at her.

“I’m sure we will.” Lucien waved Adri goodbye as she walked casually out of the room, obviously in no rush to leave. Adri flashed me one last look as she walked past me. I frowned and followed my gaze to her as she walked down the stairs.

Now, Lucien and I were the only ones left upstairs. It wasn’t until the awkwardness really set in when I had realized Maria had plotted this all along. Lucien walked up next to me. I braced myself slightly, ready for an attack. “How are you, Ike?” Lucien’s tone was soft.

“Good.” I kept my eyes glued to the staircase as I spoke, avoiding Lucien’s prying eyes, “You?”

“I’m fine, thank you. But I do have some questions. I hope it is alright that I ask them.”

I cringed slightly but nodded.

“Thank you. First thing’s first, are you angry at me?”

“No.” I answered simply but directly.

“Then why won’t you look at me?”I tensed at his words and scanned my mind for a valid excuse. Finding none, I dragged my eyes to meet Lucien’s. He smiled warmly at me. “That’s better.” He mused. I frowned and folded my arms.

“Is that all?” I asked, pushing back the urge to be sarcastic

“No.” Lucien said simply, “My next question is, were you hurt?”

“No.” I said slowly, “Why do you ask?”

“Your shirt was torn the other night.” Lucien tilted his head, “Along the sleeve if I remember correctly.”

“Oh that.” I rubbed the back of my neck and strayed my eyes from his, “Yeah it was just a small cut but it’s been taken care of.”

“Hm, interesting.” Lucien spoke in a way that sounded as if he were looking at an experiment. When I was about to ask him what was so interesting, he touched my raised arm. The feeling felt like lightning shooting up my arm. I pulled it back before Lucien could touch it anymore. He looked at me slightly taken aback.

“Did I hurt you?” He asked.

“N-no.” I stuttered, “It’s just... been a while since someone... touched... my arm.” My words drifted slightly. I kept my eyes on the floor.

“I suppose that was rude of me to do.” Lucien’s polite tone made me look back up at him, “I’m sorry. But I’m glad you took care of it your scratch right away. Even the smallest of scratches could get infected.”

“So I’ve heard.” An image of Victor popped into my mind, “So... what was so interesting?”

“I thought I had imagined your scars from last night. I’m sorry to see they haven’t.”

“Nope.” My eyes dropped onto my sleeves, “Sorry if they make you uncomfortable.” I started rolling the sleeves back down my arm.

“Don’t worry.” Lucien stopped my hand, “As long as you are comfortable with them up, I am too.” I thought for a second.

“Cool.” I rerolled my sleeve and fixated my gaze back to the staircase, “I won’t then.”

“Good. I’m glad.” Lucien smiled warmly at me but that smile didn’t last long. He looked me in the eye and said, “I’ve got one more question.” I nodded and braced myself once again, “Why did you leave so abruptly last night? Is everything alright?”

“That’s two questions.” I bantered nervously, “You’ve got to choose one.” Surprisingly, Lucien took my joke seriously as he looked up and held his chin in thought.

“Alright.” He concluded, “I’m going to with the first one. The second question can be answered within that one.” I gulped. How was I going to phrase this? Oh, it’s nothing to worry about. I’m just being targeted by someone who knows my every move so, after you had shown me the perfect date, I was convinced you knew more about me then you let on and I freaked out and left you to deal with the mess I made with that jerk. But I’m fine! I only broke down a little and called my boss to pull him away from his personal time to save me like some lost kitten because I couldn’t face the disaster I left behind.

I searched Lucien’s eyes. I couldn’t tell him about the target on my back. There was still a possibility that it could be him. Then how do I explain to a human lie detector that I left him because I realized I couldn’t trust him?!

Finally, I sighed and pulled my eyes from his and to the ground. “Lucien.” I pulled at my sleeves nervously, “I-”

Hurried steps came trudging up the stairs. Lucien and I spun around and spotted a small boy at the foot of the stairs. Sam was completely out of breath as he looked at the two of us. Glaring at Lucien, he ran to me and grabbed my arm. “Dinner’s… ready.” He huffed, dragging me from Lucien, “No more... alone time with… him.” Sam began dragging me to the stairs. In one rushed movement, Lucien caught my other arm. His strength exceeded Sam’s and he pulled me roughly so I was in front of him again. Sam tripped over his feet and fell into my side. I turned to make sure he was ok but Lucien pulled my chin so that I was only looking at him. His warm, controlled breath teased my slightly burning cheeks.

“Ike.” Lucien’s voice was one I hadn’t heard him use before. It was low and husky but, at the same time, extremely serious and determined, “I understand if it is hard to say but I would really appreciate an explanation. I was worried sick about you. I had taken you to a place that was foriegn to you. You had ran away and I had no idea where you were nor did I know what kind of people you would run into. You were lost to me for two hours before I received a single, short text telling me that you were alright and that you wanted space.” Lucien’s eyes held a cloud as he spoke to me but, every now and then, a glimpse of emotion shone through. Though, they never stayed long enough to let me know which one, “Please, Ikamara. Any explanation is better than none at all.”

Words were stuck in my throat. His grip on my arm was strong and his eyes had glued my feet to the floor. If I wasn’t careful, he could probably find out the answer all on his own by looking in my eyes.

A strong force between Lucien and I finally reminded us that Sam was still in the room. He stood between Lucien and I, pushing on Lucien’s stomach to get him to move further from me. “It’s dinner time!” Sam pouted as his attempts to move Lucien were looking grim, “Not talking time!” He sounded like a child as he avoided eye contact with the both of us and began using his legs to help with his efforts. Watching him try so hard to protect me sent feeling back into my body again. I wrenched Lucien’s hand from my face. Lucien had also had a change of heart as he backed away slightly, giving Sam hope that his fruitless attempts to move Lucien were working. He stepped back and smiled proudly to me. His smile fell as I looked down at him with folded arms and an arched eyebrow.

“We’ll be down in a second.” I said, “Give us a minute to at least clear the air.” Sam was very much uncomfortable with the idea of leaving the two of us alone again. I bent slightly to meet his eyes, “It’ll be quick. I promise.” Sam fidgeted a little more, flashing looks between Lucien and I. Finally he sighed and nodded.

“One minute!” He pointed aggressively to Lucien, “One minute and I come to get Ike myself!”

“Alright.” Lucien chuckled, his normal melodious tone returning, “Understood.” Sam gave me one last determined look then hurried back down stairs.

“You’ve got a real knight in shining armor there.” Lucien said fondly, keeping his gaze on the staircase.

“I know.” I answered just as fondly, watching Sam hit the bottom of the stairs and walk with pride back into the dinning room. I cleared my throat, becoming professional again as I looked over to Lucien with my iconic poker face. It felt like an eternity since I last used it. “After dinner.” I spoke firmly, making Lucien turn to me, “I’ll tell you everything after dinner. You have my word.” Lucien smiled.

“I can’t wait.” Lucien chimed. Though his smile had returned, they still didn’t break that cloud in his eyes.

(Next)

#man this one was late lol #ah well #that sweet lucien angst makes up for it lol #come by next week for soap opera esque draaaamaaaa #featuring Lucien!#mlqc lucien #mlqc angst #mlqc fanfic #mlqc oc #mlqc oc fanfiction #mr love lucien #mr love video game #mlqc game #fanfiction #mlqc lucien angst #ike n bar productions #ikamara bikira story #mr love ikes choice

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triangulumlights · 4 years

Text

Kizuna Thoughts

All below spoiler cut! (Also if you’re having trouble finding the leaked sub release, send me a message and I’ll point you the right direction!)

OKAY from what I’d heard about this movie I expected worse, although I do get why people didn’t like it. Overall, I enjoyed a lot about it, while some of the other stuff I’m seriously meh about. So I think likes and dislikes bullet points is the way to go!

LIKES • I love the coordination between the main ‘teams’; Taichi, Yamato, and Koushirou working as a group with Takeru and Hikari as their own related team, and the 02 kids staying coordinated as a group with communication back and forth with the main team. I love that! I love the relationships and the strategy. • Taichi and Yamato’s character arcs were good in this; I didn’t feel like they were rehashing too much of Tri, but just the next step of it. I also love that they were very much on the same side together instead of fighting the whole time. Them being bros commiserating at the restaurant was great. • Yamato in general was just badass this movie; tailing the agent, coming through with the burner phones, coordinating the 02 group, putting the pieces together about as fast as Koushirou, etc. Super good Yamato character stuff. • Koushirou was glorious as always and I like that some of his Tri development was touched on again, especially in refusing to give up just because he’s told one situation inevitable (the real-world reboot in Tri, and the partnership end in Kizuna.) Also enjoyed the secret, behind the back text to Taichi; that was pretty awesome. • Parts of this movie were genuinely tense, like the scene with Kou and Menoa in Kou’s office, or when Yamato’s trying to find Takeru and runs into the agent (I’ve forgotten his name and it’s fake anyway who cares) sitting on the staircase with a gun. • The fight scenes, especially the last one, were absolutely gorgeous. • THE WHISTLE OMG • So many fun cameos! Meiko, Catherine, Wallace, and others were either briefly shown or mentioned in Kou’s list of chosen, and those callbacks were nice. Although honestly until they showed Meiko I wasn’t actually sure if Kizuna was Tri-compliant or not. • The tech upgrades (their communication devices, the phones working as digivices, Taichi’s prototype googles he and Kou bicker about in the opening) were really cool.

I’m sure there’s plenty more I’m missing and will come back to on a rewatch, but for now onto the dislikes.

DISLIKES • Okay, I’ll admit it, I like the Taichi, Yamato, and Koushirou show. But still WHERE WAS EVERYONE ELSE??? Maybe not the 02 kids (including Hikari and Takeru) because they did get some time, but Mimi and Jyou were seriously underused, and I legit forgot Sora was a character for awhile. WTF. • In that vein, aside from Hikari briefly in the beginning, Miyako was the only one of the girls to get to really do anything. She was great, but... Come on... • Did they REALLY make the dark haired agent the good guy and the red haired woman the villain AGAIN? And not just that, but the red haired woman villain LOST HER DIGIMON? No one went ‘wow this plot feels familiar’? I was honestly hoping that the red herring villain agent was ACTUALLY the real threat this time and Menoa was genuinely good because that would’ve been a way bigger shock. • I mentioned this already but it deserves its own bullet: WHERE WAS SORA? I saw the little short where she talked about not fighting, but I figured it would be something touched on a little more as some sort of mini character arc in Kizuna and not just her sitting out the whole movie. What was the point of that? It was just a strange choice. • I’m not sure how I feel about the ending. I’d heard it was ambiguous, and so honestly I expected it to end when we saw the two butterflies fly away, but then there was more and it felt... Unnecessary, I guess? I dunno. I mean, if this is epilogue compliant we know we see Agumon and Gabumon again, so it just seems kind of pointless to end it as a cliffhanger. Maybe they’re just setting up for another movie? • Related to the first point, but this movie felt pretty imbalanced not just for character screen time but for their roles. I mean, Tri just put all that effort into getting everyone on the same level, and now Yamato and Taichi have a new evolution and it’s just weird. Like I get that the plot was primarily focused on them this movie, but I guess I don’t quite get why it was so heavily focused on them. Even Tri balanced it out a bit better, although I know to be fair Kizuna was only one movie.

Okay I think those are my main thoughts for now; I’m gonna go read other posts and see what people say and also I think there’s a novelization I’ll try and track down.

Overall good movie with some genuinely interesting character dynamics, plots, and scenes, but could’ve been very much improved with more balanced focuses and not reusing the exact same overall villain/villain motivations from Tri.

#digimon adventure kizuna #kizuna spoilers #digimon spoilers #digimon adventure kizuna spoilers #my posts

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loveforpreserumsteve · 4 years

Text

Baby Mine: Bonus “EOTL” Story (Pre-Serum Alpha!Steve and Amputee Omega!Bucky)

Two:

Laying down Hugh in his crib for his afternoon nap, Bucky wound the elephant mobile and hummed along with the tinkering music of Baby Mine. Stroking his wrist along Hugh's cheek to scent-mark the infant as he made sure the monitor was on, and left the office-turned-nursery. Quietly walking down the hallway to the pups' rooms to find the pair sleeping in Maisie's bed, hand-in-hand.

Bucky knew that they were still adjusting to this new way of life, just like he was. And sometimes, Bucky wondered if they should move them into one room. But then he remembered when they had asked the toddlers if they wanted to share a room or have their own, how they had jumped at the opportunity for independence.

Easing the door shut, Bucky climbed down the grand staircase to the main level of the house. On his way to the larger kitchen, Bucky straightened the frame of their official first family portrait, the one taken by Steve's photographer best friend, Natasha, and fluffed purple throw cushions on the new gray sofa that was really more for show than anything else. Just little things that helped Bucky believe that this was his house, too. Especially when his mind screamed at him to not mess up Steve's house the way he wasn't allowed to mess up Brock's apartment.

"This is your home now," Steve had told them the first day that they had arrived three days after Hugh was born.

Giving them a tour as he asked which rooms Maisie and Noah would want. Allowing Bucky to choose if he wanted to share a room or have one of the other five bedrooms. Even offering to turn the ground floor into an apartment for them, if Bucky wanted it. Warning the pups about the indoor pool in the basement and how they were never allowed down there without either him or Bucky, while also triple checking that the door was locked. Reminding them that they had full reign of the rest of the house -- even the fancy cinema where Steve had monthly movie nights -- as he solidified, "This is your home now."

This is your home, Bucky reminded himself as he opened the fridge and pulled out sandwich items.

Steve hadn't just been blowing smoke up his ass either, he had meant it when he said that this was their home. Allowing the pups to pick out furniture and bedding and toys -- so many toys. More toys than they knew what to do with. Everything they saw, they wanted, and thanks to Steve and his very successful career, they had it. If Bucky didn't know better, he would've been suspicious of Steve buying their love.

With Bucky, Steve had given him full reign of the house and gave him full support with remodeling. Wanting his house to be their home. Although at first, Bucky had been hesitant, he eventually gave in. First, deciding on more comfortable furniture. It was more than obvious that when Steve had first bought the brownstone, he allowed a decorator to do whatever they wanted with the house.

Meanwhile, the first thing that Steve did was to turn the ground floor into the kiddie floor. Stocking the smaller kitchen on that floor with snacks and juices. Agreeing to the large sectional sofa that just swallowed them up whenever they sat on it and was perfect for nesting and naps, in the family room. Turning that formal living room into a pup's dream by making it an indoor playground. A rock-climbing wall on one side with a pit of soft foam in case they fell. Two clubhouses on opposite ends of the room, connected by a bridge. A slide connected to the clubhouse on the left. Not to mention the swings on either of the clubhouses.

To say that Steve went overboard, would've been an understatement. But it was for the pups, and Bucky just couldn't say no. Neither could Sharon, who designed and overlooked the construction of the play equipment.

The second choice that Bucky had made was to turn the office next to the master suite into the nursery. At first, Bucky was sure that Steve would need a lot more convincing. But he was pleasantly surprised when, after a four o'clock feeding, Steve had readily agreed that he wanted the baby close. It was really as simple as that.

To Bucky's continued surprise, life with Steve was as simple as that.

Really, it had been no surprise when Bucky hinted that he wanted to mate Steve, not even a month after moving in together. Steve, not needing the hints however, had happily offered. Under one condition: for Bucky to bite Steve first. Which Bucky was more than a little glad to oblige by.

After cutting the two turkey and salami on rye sandwiches in half, Bucky put the knife in the sink. Making sure that the baby monitor receiver clipped to his pants was on, shrugging on his winter jacket because it was still too cold for Bucky's liking. Placing both plates on the tray and left through the sliding door off the kitchen.

Cautiously climbing down the deck steps, Bucky crossed the patio and small backyard to the garage. Since they had turned Steve's office into the nursery, Steve had decided to turn the mostly unused guest studio apartment into his office. It was more convenient and allowed Steve to have a quiet workspace.

"Ya know," Bucky started in lieu of a greeting, "We should install a zip-line."

"A zip-line?" Steve loudly chuckled, setting down his pen and turning in the computer chair to watch Bucky set down the lunch tray. Stretching his arms above his head, Steve reminded, "You know you don't have to bring me lunch every day. Especially not on your birthday."

Bucky blew a raspberry in protest as he shrugged out of his jacket and he dished out the plates. Crossing the room to grab some soda from the fridge -- the only fridge that had the caffeinated beverages -- Bucky popped the tops and joined Steve on the sofa. Peeking over at the desk with Steve's latest artwork for the Striped Crusader, and earning a pointed look from the artist himself.

"You know that you have to wait until it's done," Steve half-teased as he took a bite of the sandwich.

"I know," Bucky feigned a whine and took a sip of his Pepsi, "But you can't leave me hanging after the last issue's cliffhanger!"

Steve shook his head, amusement flowing through the bond. Leaning over, Steve kissed Bucky's cheek and assured, "You'll be able to read it soon enough."

"Tonight?" Bucky eagerly pestered. Steve rolled his eyes, but the bond still held that amusement and beneath that, the ever-present love.

Growing up, Bucky had always wondered what a bond would feel like. His dad had told him, "It's knowing you're never alone." His mom had answered, "Having an insight to your partner's mind." Teddy had joked, "It's a five minute warning before realizing how much you messed up." Having a bond now, Bucky knew that he had imagined it wrong. It was like finding a lost favorite book from his childhood. It was a lucky day where everything went his way. It was coming home after a long day.

Bucky wasn't sure if that was how it felt with all bond-mates, but he knew that that was the way it was with Steve.

"I have bigger plans for tonight than just letting you read a rough draft of a comic book," Steve divulged with mustard on his chin.

Shaking his head, Bucky took a napkin and wiped the mustard for his mate. Leaning over to kiss Steve's stubbly cheek, before teasing, "So, you are gonna let me read it?"

"I swear, you only like me for my work," Steve joked, and Bucky sought out the bond within him to see if Steve felt any truth in his jest.

Not finding any insecurities in his teasing, Bucky decided not to worry about it, himself. Choosing to, instead, focus on Steve's suggestion. Wondering aloud, "It can't be a proposal, you already did that --" flashing the simple white gold band on his left ring finger "-- Can't be the party, because you spilled those beans weeks ago."

Playfully rolling his eyes, Steve finished off his sandwich and taunted, "You'll never figure it out."

Bucky narrowed his eyes at his mate and watched him for a moment. Then, he warned, "Steven, it better not be some ostentatious gift."

"Steven?" Steve choked on his food, brows arching high on his forehead, hiding under his floppy blond hair. Finally swallowing, he chuckled, "Geez, so a gaudy diamond necklace is off the table? Ooh, and no shiny sports car? What am I supposed to get you now with those crossed off the list?"

Balling up his napkin, Bucky threw it at the petite alpha. While Steve was preoccupied, Bucky swung his leg over his slender lap. Instantly, Steve's large hands landed on Bucky's sides before sliding around to his ass while Bucky nuzzled into his neck. Pressing kisses to the mating bite on Steve's skin.

Trailing the kisses up the column of Steve's slender neck, Bucky softly confirmed, "I just need you. I only want you."

Steve took in a deep breath, scenting Bucky while he ran his wrists over Bucky's hips and up his back, effectively scent-marking him too. Rolling his head back, to allow Bucky more skin to kiss, Steve taunted, "You won't be saying that once you see your present."

In retaliation, Bucky dropped his hips at that. Grinding onto Steve like they were hormone-filled teenagers. Just giving enough to tease his alpha and soak in that fresh-apple-pie-cooling-on-the-windowsill lust scent. But only for a moment because he knew that he should be heading back to the house. The kids would be waking from their naps soon. Hugh would need a changing and a feeding. Not to mention how Nat and Sharon were bringing the kids ov--

"Are you guys having sex?" A familiar raspy voice, Natasha, questioned through the baby monitor.

Jerking at the surprise, Bucky's heart raced as he climbed off Steve's lap. Shrugging on his jacket, Bucky dropped one more kiss to Steve's lips. Then, packed up the tray and dishes to head back to the main house.

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aj-artjunkyard · 5 years

Text

I think this is going to be a bit of a one shot series. There might be some time skips and not every chapter is a continuation of the same storyline. I like this better as if I ever go off writing this, you won’t be left on a cliffhanger. Every chapter has a complete story, so it’s also longer, which is a bonus.

There is a four year time skip. Apollo is now a fourth year.

My gold and black robes billowed behind me as I sprinted up another staircase and hung a left, barreling through some unfortunate first years as I made my way up to the hospital wing.

I’d began training with the Hogwarts matron in my first year, ever since I’d learned a particularly nifty healing spell that had popped a fellow student’s dislocated shoulder back into its rightful place. The Hogwarts matron had seen me and was impressed by my potential - and nearly four years later I was still being taught between classes. Today, they started at 1:55PM. It was now 2:15 (What? I had missed a staircase. Nothing to do with my poor awareness of schedules).

I readjusted my grip on my leather satchel and rushed past the little plump lady standing in the doorway of the hospital wing, smiling a greeting. She kept her ever-present stern facade intact as she shooed me inside.

“Don’t you be late next time young man, or I’ll be having a word to your father about your punctuality!” She called after me, slamming the door behind her. I smiled at the empty threat. There was no way she would tell my father about my secret lessons, or else both our heads would be on a stick. Headmaster Zeus had some pretty questionable ideology when it came to assigning genders to their copybook jobs. Nursing was a woman’s world, not a man’s.

I came to a halt at the trolly that overflowed with a mix of different overhanging herbs, anthropomorphised plants and some questionable-looking dried out slug-type creatures. Conical flasks hung suspended in the air, swishing their contents around in miniature whirlpools of colour. This, I’d been told, kept the contents oxygenated. The matron appeared beside me, her wrinkled features comparable to the severe expression of a weathered military general.

“Today is simple,” she barked. “Damage to the left arm due to a high fall. Broken humerus, dislocated shoulder, shattered clavicle. The patient is in bed A6. Collect what you need and do what you have to. No lollygagging!” She turned on her heel and marched to a patient who had managed to have the placement of their hands and feet switched. I stifled a grin. My younger brother, a third year Slytherin named Hermes, got a kick out of forging fake love-heart shaped chocolate boxes filled with enchanted candies and leaving them to be found by his unfortunate targets. His spells were never actually dangerous per se (however I would not put it past him. He is unnervingly clever), but they tended to land the non-willing participant in the hospital wing until the matron could figure out how to undo them, which was usually a few weeks. Hermes was a complete ferret of a person, and I always told him so, but he was undeniably good at his craft. I sniggered to myself. As soon as I worked out how to fix the enchantments, I’d have potential blackmail against my darling little brother. I planned to get him do give me something in exchange for me not immediately healing his targets and ruining his fun.

After choosing a few conical flasks and a vial of my experimental Skele-Gro (just in case) I jogged to bed A6 and slipped out my private notebook of healing spells from my satchel. As I flicked through the pages, I didn’t give the red-clad student a second look. It was just another reckless Gryffindor who had probably jumped from the astronomy tower for fun while testing out their friend’s levitating spell (that obviously hadn’t succeeded). I found the right page and set the notebook on the bedside table. Only then did I glance down at the the boy strewn on the bed. He was well-built and broad shouldered, even for a seventh year. His muddied, black hair was chopped in a military buzz cut, and his face and arms were littered with old and new scratches, some much deeper than the others. He wore the scarlet robes and leather armour of a Gryffindor Beater, though his uniform was torn and caked with mud and soaked through from the December rain. He looked like the definition of a stereotypical high school bully. His face held a permanent scowl. I gulped.

“Hey Ares,” I greeted weakly. His scowl deepened. I tried to ignore that. “Um, I just need to check your arm…” I edged around my older sibling like he was an angered boar, waiting to run me through with its horns. I all but hid behind my clipboard while I examined the twisted arm.

Let me be crystal clear with you, reader. I was not scared of my brother. He was violent and reckless, yes, but a coward. I knew that if he bothered me, I only needed to poke his shoulder and he’d be wailing for an hour. However, do you recall how I was trying to keep this little side gig a secret? For years I had been keeping track of the quidditch games and taking note when any of my siblings got injured in one, so I could avoid the hospital wing until they were healed. I was usually quite on top of the Hufflepuff games (as I was their seeker), and Artemis, who happened to be the seeker for the Gryffindor team, helped remind me when her matches were. If any of my dear half brothers or sisters found out that I was learning a ‘woman’s trade’, they’d either tell father (resulting in my death) or use what they’d found as blackmail, threatening to tell father if I did not do their dirty work (resulting in my drawn out, much more embarrassing death). Of course, there had been a few close calls and a few accidental slips of tongue. My best friend Meg (a first year Gryffindor that I had met back in September of this year, while she was stealing my bag) knew. So did my twin, Artemis, and my aforementioned brother, Hermes. I had sworn them all to secrecy, but I did not trust Tell-Tale Ares one little bit. I did not even know how I had forgotten today’s Gryffindor v Slytherin match, but it had crossed my mind that the corridors were emptier than usual.

I copied down useless bulletpoints on the clipboard, such as ‘broken arm’ and ‘ouch’, while my mind wandered down the dark paths of my anxiety, each thought more desperate and panicky than the last. What will father do when he finds out? Will he give me a lifetime of detentions? Will he expel me? Would my uncles and aunts step in? Probably not. Would I have to leave the country to go to a different wizarding school? Would I have to give up learning magic entirely? Will I-

“Apollo!” The matron hollered across the room at me. “Stop your clowning around! Treat the patient!” I wondered if she even knew Ares’ relation to me. My dad had so many kids with so many women that we were admittedly hard to keep straight, and I certainly did not act like Ares did. I was far more - how do I put this - refined.

Ares snickered at the matron’s tone.

“Stupid little Sunny can’t even do a girl’s job,” he taunted.

I took a deep breath and turned my attention back to the task at hand.

“Okay,” I said, starting as I would with any other student. “I am going to use the Brackium Emendo charm to fix your humerus and clavicle. I assure you that I am well trained in this charm, otherwise I would not be allowed to practice it on students. I then have to-”

“Get on with it, Sunny.” Ares growled, his mood swinging faster than the Whomping Willow’s branches. Wanting to give him the best hospital experience ever and possibly convince him not to blab, I obliged in silence. My hopes of getting out scot free were demolished when I was straightening out the newly mended arm a few minutes later. “Dad’s gonna love this one, Sunny,” Ares grunted through the pain. His face was tense with restraint, his forehead glistening with sweat and rain from outdoors. “If you’re lucky, you’ll even make it onto the papers. ‘Loser Son Disappoints Dad Yet Again’. Yeah, that’ll be fun.” I tried my best to bite down on my tongue, let it wash over me. I tried not to get angry. I tried not to scream at Ares to shut his face, and I almost failed. Luckily, I was distracted.

BANG!

The hospital wing door flew open, and a young girl sprinted in, looking around wildly until her cat-eye glasses landed on me. I recognised her as the one and only, bag-stealing, meat-scoffing ragamuffin Meg McCaffrey. She, like Ares, was soaked to the skin, her lenses dotted with raindrops and steaming up from the indoor heat. She wore her red high tops over her uniform grey tights, an obvious infraction of the school dress code (the teachers had already given up, and she had only been here for just over three months, which I think sums her character up very well). Her black and red Gryffindor robes were wrapped around her torso in a useless attempt to keep in heat. We shared a look of dread.

“You can go,” I said defeatedly to the healed Beater, all the angry wind gone from my sails. Ares stood, sneered at me and sauntered out, flicking Meg in the head as he passed her. She hissed, which I thought was an appropriate response. I kept staring at the empty hospital bed, my eyes fixated on the dent in the mattress where Ares had lay, slowly inflating itself. I heard the loud squelching of wet shoes approach me. Meg appeared at my side.

“I’m sorry,” She muttered. “I didn’t realise he was injured enough to go to the hospital wing. I was too far up the stands. By the time I noticed he was already on his way.” She lowered her head. “I didn’t warn you in time.”

I sighed. “It’s quite alright, Meg. You weren’t to know about the extent of my father’s strictness. Thanks for trying so hard though. It means a lot.”

“I know what it’s like.”

I turned to face her. Her glasses were still steamed up, and I couldn’t see her eyes. The expression she wore was blank and unreadable. I wanted to know more, but I didn’t want to push too much. I simply asked, “Your father?”

“Step-father,” she replied plainly.

…

Meg scoffed down her eggs and bacon like there was no tomorrow. I sat between her and Artemis at the Hufflepuff table. This was an advantage to all of us. Artie and I got to eat where the rest of our family didn’t bother us and Meg got to inspire terror into the meek Hufflepuff first years with her champion eating skills. Win-Win. Also, it was good to have two bodyguards from a house that was known for being protective and rash after the proceedings of yesterday afternoon. The enchanted roof was dull and grey with clouds, a reflection of my tense and dreading mood. I was awaiting the call to go to my father’s office, where my sentence would be given. Needless to say, I was not excited.

Nothing happened at breakfast. No word at lunch. By the time dinner rolled around at 6pm, I was almost gaining a little ray of hope that Ares had forgotten, or maybe held back in order to threaten me with it later. Then all conversation died around me at the Hufflepuff table. A low, gruff voice sounded from behind me, making me jump a metre and drop my fork.

“Apollo.”

My stomach sank to my feet while my heart leapt to my mouth. I turned to meet the stone chiselled, bearded face of Headmaster Zeus.

“Sir,” I squeaked.

“My office. After dinner. Do not be late.” He moved on to the teacher’s table at the back of the hall, leaving me pale and faint, unable to eat another bite of chicken pie without feeling like I was going to hurl, despite Artie and Meg’s attempts to reassure me.

Dinner ended so much quicker than it needed to. Students and teachers started filtering out as soon as 6:45. By 7, the hall was practically empty except for a couple of teachers and some Gryffindors, who were celebrating their quidditch win against Slytherin. I knew my time was running out. Father had stomped out a few minutes ago, glaring holes into me as he passed. Meg and Artie had stayed with me, but even now they seemed to be on edge about my punctuality. They wanted me to go and get things over with, while I just wanted the ground to swallow me. But eventually, even I could not make up another excuse. I stood and bade them farewell, then made my way towards my executioner on the seventh floor.

Reaching the headmaster’s tower had never been so exhausting. Every step reminded me of what and who I was waltzing toward. Questions burned through my head, demanding attention. I ignored them and instead focused on striding briskly through the hallways, trying my best not to get lost and be even later. I turned a corner and saw the gargoyle entrance to the office awaiting my arrival. The regal stone eagle had already leapt aside, the rotating staircase revealed. I stepped on and waited. The grinding of stone against stone grated my ears as the the stairs moved up the walls. It was an agonising wait. But of course, it ended.

I stepped into the silent office. It was small enough, but not cramped. Certainly smaller than father’s office at home. It was a round room, decorated with waist-high pedestals that held marble busts of past headmasters. The left wall had a large rectangular indent in the stone, which showed shelves that were stacked neatly with different objects, some I recognised as my father’s belongings (a bronze shield carved with the twisted face of Medusa and some bronze rods - his renowned enchanted lightning bolts), and some of which had obviously been confiscated - a stack of chocolate boxes that glowed a dim green (Hermes’ little experiments), a bunch of sharp iron weaponry, enchanted to drip blood and gore (Ares’ favourite toys) and a bottle of Dio’s Delectable Delight (an alcoholic drink made by my Gryffindor first year brother, Dionysus, that gave a bunch of Slytherins and Gryffindors sick with poisoning while they were having a drink-off between the houses. I remember because I had to treat them all).

At the back of the room, behind an intricately carved wooden desk, sat my father.

He was a six foot five giant of a man, muscular and powerful. His middle age eye creases and greying black hair did not distract from his obviously handsome features. His salt and pepper beard covered the bottom half of his face, and reached down to the base of his throat. His hair was long and slightly wavy, like mine, but less flamboyant and stylish. He wore a smart grey pinstriped suit, with dress shoes and a black tie. His bushy eyebrows were furrowed in anger over his striking blue eyes. He gestured to the small wooden seat opposite him.

“Sit,” he commanded. I sat. My palms were damp with sweat, so I rubbed them on my robes and folded my hands in my lap, fidgeting and changing their position constantly. My head was lowered and my golden hair swept down the side of my face, blocking my peripheral vision. I locked my sight onto a dark circle on the table before me. I could feel my fathers stormy eyes on my seemingly insignificant frame.

His voice thundered; “You know why you are here.”

I tucked my hair behind my ear nervously and chanced look up into the eyes of my father. They were a bright electric blue, and seemed to flash a warning, daring me to speak out of place. I looked down again.

“Yes, sir,” I muttered.

Zeus leaned over the table. It made a loud creak, and I wondered whether or not it would be able to support his weight.

“Do you know who told me?”

I nodded. “It was Ares. I healed him after the quidditch match yesterday.”

“Then you know that he is not innocent either.”

I looked up at him again, confused as to why I had not been zapped yet. He seemed to be…giving me a chance? No, that was impossible. And yet…

“Sir?” I asked, daring to ask for some clarification. Zeus narrowed his eyes and sat up straighter in his chair, increasing his height. His hands rested on the desk, his fingers laced like a top boss talking down to his lowly employee.

“I wanted to expel you,” he growled. “You embarrass my family tree time and time again. I need solid proof that you belong here. Unfortunately, I cannot put you to work as I would like. The ministry would never allow it. However, I have a different task in mind.”

I held my breath and waited for the verdict of my disproportionate offence. “Impress me.”

“W-what?” I spluttered, choking on the air I’d been holding in. Impress him? Him? My father? The most powerful wizard in my extensive family that could harness lightning? “How?”

“I don’t care for specifics, boy” Zeus scoffed, waving off my question. “This is a magic school, is it not? Prove you have ability. Prove to me that you are not just some filthy squib, destined to become a nanny. Such beings do not deserve to be called my son. If you succeed, which I doubt, you may continue with your hobby. If not…” He left it to me to fill in the blanks, which was almost worse. I just knew my imagination was going to run wild with that unfinished sentence. “You have until the Christmas holidays begin. Do not disappoint me.” He leaned back in his chair. This meeting was Over.

…

“He didn’t expel you?” Artemis exclaimed, looking mildly impressed. “Not even a little zap?”

“No! It was…very unlike him.”

“So you got off easy then,” Meg piped up through her breakfast, spraying me with bacon bits. “That’s good.”

“If you count vague instructions to show off to a guy that has the emotional range of a teaspoon as simple, then sure!” - I glared at Meg - “I got off easy.” Meg rolled her eyes and went back to licking the runny yolk off her sunny side up. I thought that to be selfish. I was the one in peril here! “The deadline is the holidays! We get off on the twenty-first of this month, and it’s already the third! Not to mention that I have the concert on the last day! How am I supposed to learn how to gain fathers respect in seventeen days?”

“Maybe you should start by thanking mother,” Artemis mused. “She is the one who got him to lighten up.”

I looked at my twin questioningly. “How did she know?”

Artie rolled her eyes and Meg snorted a laugh, spewing out half of the contents in her mouth onto the table.

“Honestly Ollie, do you ever listen?”

“No,” Meg sniggered, answering for me.

“I wrote a letter to mother about the whole predicament right after I heard about it. I got her response at lunch yesterday. I gave you her letter to read so you would calm down.”

“What? No you didn’t!”

“Uh, yeah, she did,” Meg mocked in an ‘obviously’ tone. “Check your pocket, dummy.”

I reached into my robe pocket and drew out a few items; a keyring, a harmonica and a folded up piece of parchment. Meg snatched the parchment from my hand and unfolded it roughly, then slammed it on the table in front of me. The ink was fashioned in neat cursive.

“Read it,” Meg stated. I picked it up and scanned down the lines.

Dearest Apollo,

I sincerely hope you are feeling better than yesterday. Artemis wrote to me about what happened. I wanted to tell you not to fret, for I am on my way to purchase a howler as I speak - the quill is writing for me. Please do not worry, darling. Your sister and I will not let that man touch a hair on your head, and from what you have told me about your new friend, Meg, I suspect she will help you too.

The letter went on, more reassurances, more threats at Zeus, more pet names. Yes, this would have helped yesterday. If I had not been so numb to the world around me and taken the time to actually read it. The letter ended;

Love you, Sunshine!

~Leto

“Oh,” I said dumbly, feeling my cheeks heat up with embarrassment. “I didn’t see that.”

“Yeah, no duh.”

“Shut up Meg.”

I remembered my mother fixing this kind of problem for me before. When I first arrived at Hogwarts, I had been sorted into Hufflepuff - what my father called The Weak House. The Friendly House. The house that none of his children should be put in, especially because he was such a model Slytherin, the house known for storming through the door first, instead of the house known for holding the door open for others. My father had gotten yellow on his ledger, and wanted to wipe it out. My mother shouted him down, and I kept my place in Hogwarts.

A new voice spoke calmly behind me.

“Begin with the library. Information is the starting point of all wisdom.” I spun around. Standing there was the tall, lean form of a seventh year Ravenclaw. Her dark brown hair was gathered into a tight bun on her head, and her arms clutched several dusty old rolls of parchment. Her grey eyes peered down her nose at us. The sapphire and obsidian robes she wore sat perfectly on her form, and her tucked in shirt and neat tie was exemplary of a Head Girl and Prefect - the badges of both gleamed on her lapel. Athena held herself with pride and confidence, knowing well that she was smarter, more privileged and generally better than the rest of us (read: Daddy’s Favourite). She knew rightly that whatever she did, she was untouchable. Thankfully, her freedom included helping me. “I can get you on the list for the restricted section. It is going to take some light-show to get on father’s good side. And,” - she smiled cockily - “some hard work and research.” Of course.

“So you aren’t really going to help me then?” Athena said nothing, but only smiled before turning on her heel and striding out of the hall to her first class. I rolled my eyes. Turning to my teammates, I announced; “I guess it’s just the three of us, then! No worries, I am positive that if we all work together-”

“-Actually Ollie,” Artie interrupted, totally stomping on my Inspiring Speech Hero Moment. “I have a load of stuff to do…with Orion. So…yeah,” she tucked a strand of loose hair behind her ear. I tried to ignore the blush forming on her cheeks. She gained confidence and stated; “I will not be around a lot this month. Sorry.” My beloved twin stood abruptly and rushed out of the hall.

Naturally. The one time she gets a teeny crush, she abandons me to do my own dirty work. How rude. I was not fond of that tricky fifth year Slytherin boy, and let me tell you, I planned to get rid of him. But that was for later. Right now, I needed to stay on task. Though looking at my only remaining teammate, who was currently showing her chewed-up food to a grossed out Hufflepuff girl, I wondered if that was even worth doing.

…

“This is so boring!” Meg lay with her feet up a against a bookcase, tapping her toes together as she flung another priceless book into the Useless Pile.

“Meg, you aren’t even helping. You’re just looking at the pictures!”

“Even those are dull,” she whined. “It’s so late and the Gryffindor dorms are sooo far from here.”

“It’s only seven o’clock, Meg.”

“It’s dark!”

“It’s winter!”

“Shhhhhhh!” The librarian hushed for the umpteenth time that evening. I whispered our apologies and kept reading about turning people into birds of prey. However I did not think that giving my father another eagle would suffice. I too, chucked my book onto the Useless Pile. It was now the sixth of December, giving me exactly two weeks until the last day school before the holidays.

“Right,” Meg announced, “I’m going back to the greenhouses. Good luck, or whatever.” She grabbed her wand and stuck her hands in her pockets, then disappeared into the maze of the library, leaving me alone in favour of checking on her secret karpos friend Peaches in the herbology classroom.

I sighed. Admitting defeat for the night, I grabbed a thick book I had read many times before. The leather bound book was emblazoned with silver text in ancient greek, a language every member of my family was fluent in, and I was no different. The title read ‘θεός’. I flicked through the weathered pages. Every chapter was a different relation, introduced with a detailed portrait - It was a family tradition to get one done one your twenty-first birthday, when you are your in prime stage of life. I saw my father’s, my uncles’ and my aunts’ portraits, and stopped at the chapter entitled ‘Hecate’. Her mother was sisters with my own mother, making her my first cousin. She was extremely experienced in charms and transfiguration, one of the best witches in the business. I figured I needed some inspiration, so I sidled through the mess of ancient greek and scribbled diagrams. I found that her specialty was inventing new spells. Then I came across a very interesting quote from some guy named Hesiod who had wrote a different book:

“Zeus, Cronus’ son, honoured [Hecate] above all others: he gave her splendid gifts - to have a share of the earth and of the barren sea, and from the starry sky as well she has a share in honour.”

My eyes lit up. That’s exactly what I needed. Well, maybe father wouldn’t ‘honour me above all others’, but he might at least give me a pat on the back, and to get that from my father would be good enough for me. Inspiration struck as I slammed the book shut and began my hunt for any information that might be of help.

By ten o’clock, I had been chased out of the library and back to the Hufflepuff dorms. I went to sleep cosy and content, knowing that all I needed to do now was invent a new spell.

Apparently, this is harder than it sounds. Drat. Even thinking of a new spell took me all Sunday, but at least there was no classes. Meg and I spent all day outside by the lake, sitting underneath a laurel tree while I poured over a seemingly endless stack of books, eliminating spell ideas as I saw them mentioned. I knew I wanted something flashy, something I could add into my concert - which was a great opportunity to show it off in front of the whole school. But alas, as I crossed off ‘self playing violin spell’ I began to loose the inspirational buzz I’d started the task with. Meg leaned over and swiped my list of possible spells from my lap.

“‘Poetry generator spell’? Really?”

“Gah! I don’t know!” I wailed, waving my arms desperately and throwing down my quill in defeat. “I can’t think of anything else! There is not a single spell out there that has not already been created!”

I slumped back against the tree and sighed, watching Meg make a dandelion grow with ten times the regular speed. She had a real knack for herbology and garden magic, just like I did for divination. Divination class had never steered me wrong, especially because the professor is my grandmother, Phoebe, who says I’ve inherited her talent. I had stayed behind after class last Friday to ask Professor Phoebe about the future outcome of my little trial, and she’d told me to grab a crystal ball and see for myself. All I had gotten was the mist in the ball turning gold.

I glanced over to the lake where my uncle Poseidon was lobbing fish for the giant squid. He was wearing his usual attire; a loud Hawaiian shirt and tan kakis with loafers and his signature fishing cap, even in the cold winter weather. As his bucket emptied, he turned to stroll back into the castle when we locked eyes. Noticing my distress, he ambled on over to us, his hands in his pockets and his kind, sea-green eyes twinkling.

“I heard you’re in a bit of hot water with my dear little brother again, Apollo.”

I blew out my cheeks in exasperation and slumped even further down the tree, making Poseidon chuckle. “I know the feeling.”

“He’s impossible!”

“What have you got so far?”

I handed him my list of possible spells, which he read through with careful consideration.

“I want to invent a new spell for dad. Like Hecate did. But every spell is already taken! There’s nothing to invent!”

Poseidon scratched his neatly trimmed beard thoughtfully.

“Well, when people want to sell a product, they usually want the product to solve problems.”

“So?”

“So what problems - besides the whole ‘Impress Zeus’ chore - do you have that can’t be solved with magic right now?”

I furrowed my eyebrows in concentration.

“I have a gig on the last day of class. I have this one song prepared that requires a whole congregation of different instruments, and I still can’t find anyone else with the mere skill set to play with me, so I had to enchant the whole orchestra to play itself. There’s no backup singers either, since all the muses are doing their own parts, and if they play every single song they’ll be exhausted.” I huffed. “Mnemosyne remembered her girls coming home to her in first year after the concert, and she banned them from doing it again. And she never goes back on a rule.”

“Enchanted backup dancers,” Meg snorted. Poseidon raised an eyebrow at my young friend, smirking at her humour.

“Yes,” I mumbled, my mind running at full speed, giving me the ideas and inspiration I had spent a week looking for. “Yes, that could work.” I grabbed my quill and ripped out a new piece of parchment and began scribbling like a madman, muttering and blocking out everything in my peripheral vision.

“Well!” I heard Poseidon say, his voice retreating and getting more distant. “Glad I could help.”

“Don’t Bother,” Was that Meg? I couldn’t tell, I wasn’t paying attention. “He’s gonna be in that trance for hours.”

…

It was 9pm on the eighteenth of December. Exactly seventy-two hours until the concert began. I stood in an empty classroom that was packed with grimy wooden crates that had probably been there for years. A few of the stacked crates acted as Meg’s high throne, where she proceeded to look down upon myself, who trying feebly to summon my incantation. I glanced yet again at my jotter, which was propped open on top of a crate to my left. On it was my scrawled notes on my new spell: the Golden Charmer. The incantation words were translated into ancient greek: Χρυσεαι Κηληδονες, or, Chryseae Celedones. Their purpose was to act as my backup group, to sing, dance and play whatever I asked of them. They amplified my own voice, but in any voice type (tenor, soprano, bass, you name it) or gender that I pleased. They were also supposed to have a golden form, but so far, I had only accomplished a yellow wisp protruding from the end of my wand.

“Be more magic,” Meg suggested unhelpfully before stuffing another fistful of popcorn in her gob. I rolled my eyes, turned back to the empty room, set my jaw and tried again. I pointed my wand at my voice box, uttered “Χρυσεαι Κηληδονες!” and flicked my wrist until the wand tip was pointed away from me. I then drew a steady line downwards with my wand, the golden mist following in its wake and sculpting itself until a beautiful apparition stood before us, casting out warm light and an aura of grace. Her detailed face held an impassive expression, like she could just as quickly bare her teeth in a growl as she could in a smile. Her sleeveless dress was draped across her shoulders and flowed majestically down to the floor. Her hair was folded in a loose bun on her head, the fibres drooping but far from messy or unkempt. She was perfect. I could feel my heart rate rise unnaturally with unbound excitement. I had done it!

Meg, whose mouth was hanging open and spilling chewed kernels all over the place, quickly shut her trap and made an effort to look unimpressed.

“Does it work?”

I glared at her, thinking about that bat-bogey hex Hermes had just taught me, and how many times I would get to use it on my young friend by the end of the school year.

“I just invented a charm, Miss McCaffrey. Can you be impressed for a little bit before ruining my fun?”

“Nope,” she stated, twisting to lie upside-down on her crate, her glasses falling up to her forehead. “Get her to sing.”

I sighed. Tapping my wand on a crate for the golden being’s attention (which was most likely unnecessary, but still, delightfully dramatic), I held my hands up like a conductor with my wand as his baton. The Celedon sang in tune to my gestures.

“Aaaaaaaaaah!”

I smirked at Meg, deciding I had every right to be cocky. The celedon’s voice was pristine. It carried brilliantly, and was as clear as day.

“Are you just gonna conduct, then?” Meg asked. “Like, you’re not actually singing?”

“No, no, no. I’m singing and playing violin for this particular piece,” I said, loosing a bit of my confidence. Did the Celedons need me to conduct them? If so, id just created a whole new problem. “I’m sure if I just…” I turned once again to the Celedon and cleared my throat. “Ahem. Celedon, sing Greensleeves.” Thank the heavens, it seemed to understand. She burst into a rendition of the mournful tune. Meg’s eyes turned glassy with tears that threatened to fall, her soul plunged into the despair of loosing a loved one. I, on the other hand, felt the sound was empty. It was good, yes. But it could be better. I held a hand up for the spell’s sound to cease. It obeyed.

Meg stared at me, wiping her eyes. “Why’d you stop?”

“One moment…” I performed the spell’s gesture thrice more (now knowing the correct way to cast the spell), and soon had a quartet of golden women before me, awaiting my command. “Let’s try that again, shall we?” This time, the song was flawless. The first Celedon took the lead, while the other three vocally danced around the first’s notes, emphasising the main tune. Even I had a tear in my eye by the end. I was glad I had soundproofed this classroom beforehand, or I might have reduced the transfiguration class down the hall into a sobbing wreck.

“Ah ha!” I exclaimed. “Fantastic!” My mind raced for something else I could give them to do. “Uhhh…here! Try this! Accio violin!”

Whoosh - craSH.

A violin smashed through a window, and flew into my open hand.

“Couldn’t you have just went and got your violin?” Asked Meg. “I thought the Hufflepuff dorms were like, a floor down from here.”

“Pizzaz, Meg.”

“You’re dumb.”

I handed a Celedon the violin and announced; “Celedon, play Swan Lake.” But instead of Tchaikovsky’s magical piece, a sound not unlike a spiteful cat dragging its claws down a chalkboard screeched from the instrument. Meg fell off her wooden throne in surprise, clutching her ears and screaming at the charm to stop. The Celedon, obviously not used to being hated on by twelve year olds (despite her limited existence time) paused her torturous tune and glared holes into the red-clad preteen. After the ringing in my ears subsided, stared into space wearily, knowing that I now needed to teach a spell to play expert level violin. And I had less than three days.

…

I tugged nervously on my blazer sleeve as Calliope finished up her last song. I had decided to wear my usual house uniform, but instead of the cloak, I had donned a sharp black blazer with a bright yellow lapel. I smiled at my half-sister as she jogged offstage and joined me behind the great hall’s doors.

“You’re up next, Ollie,” Calliope panted, her sweat dampening her brow and coming through the folds of her stylised Ravenclaw-blue t-shirt dress. Black skin-tight jeans clung to her legs and her socks had sunk below the rim of her pastel pink converse boots. She grappled blindly for her water bottle before dumping the contents on her face and chugging the rest of it. Her wavy caramel hair straightened and darkened under the weight of the water. Cal and I were the main participators in each year’s Christmas concert. And every other concert at the end of a school term. She had just finished her version of ‘Jingle Bell Rock’, and just before that, had sang a variation of ‘The 12 Days of Christmas’ with me and her other eight sisters. She had also sang the song before that, and after three songs with hardly a break, she was rightfully exhausted. No wonder her mother had banned her from playing every song (a rule that my mother had belatedly decided to enforce on me too). Once she caught her breath, Calliope straightened up and patted me on the shoulder. “I hope this last one goes well for your sake, Ollie.”

I blew out my cheeks. “Me too.”

“It’s not a Christmas song though, right?”

“No, It just packs a punch. I wanted something that could really wow someone, y’know?”

Calliope nodded solemnly. “Of course. No one can do that with ‘Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree’.”

I knew she’d get it. Still, from behind the doors to the great hall where the tables had been cleared and a stage set up, I questioned every decision I had made leading up to this moment. Every face in the crowd was blurred together, but somehow I could easily see my father, reclining in his chair and glaring at the empty stage as if that would make the acts happen faster. I was terrified, and I do not get stage fright. I love being the centre of attention, especially when it’s for something I’m brilliant at. I did not doubt my own ability to put on a show. I only doubted my ability to read my father.

But of course, that did not matter. I had to start anyways.

As I sauntered out and onto the stage, I felt the heat of the room smack me dead in the face. The chatter of the crowd lowered to a mumble. I turned from my spectators and waved my wand at the hoard of unmanned instruments packed at the back of the stage, which sprung to life and readied their first notes. I then turned to my side and muttered “Χρυσεαι Κηληδονες!”. Twice before turning to my other side and doing the same again. I now stood between four Golden Charmers, readily holding matching violins. I silently prayed they had picked up the song I had attempted to teach them. Anything could’ve gone wrong at that point, and I could do nothing about it. I heard gasps and mutters go up from the students, but did not dare look. They may have been laughing - or something worse. Instead I focused on grabbing my own violin - whistling a single low note to signify that I was starting - and played.

As soon as my bow hit the strings, I felt the adrenaline flood my being, filling every bone in my body. I was no longer apprehensive. This was the feeling I lived for, and I intended to let it take over. My fingers flew across the strings, and at just the right moment, the Celedons joined in with perfect synchronisation. Everything was going to plan. The operatic voices of the Celedons joined the choir, singing along with the notes. “Aaaaaaaahhhhhh!”

The first verse arrived and the Celedones ceased their play, as planned. I continued with my violin, belting out the lyrics with all my heart and soul. The instruments gradually picked up, and I sang louder and louder, summoning all the melancholy I could muster. I could feel my musical magic making the audience break into tears. The exhilaration fuelled me. I could feel no exhaustion.

As soon as the last note evaporated, I felt my energy drain, my shoulders and head suddenly becoming a lot heavier. I wanted to heave for breath, but I simply could not allow myself to do so while still onstage! So I shortened my breath to what I hoped was normal, and not a person who had just ran several marathons back to back. My brow and torso were sticky with sweat and I had the urge to rip off my blazer for some relief from the overwhelming heat. I could hardly hear the applause that had erupted until I actively forced myself to listen. I was too busy scanning the audience to soak up the praise, but my eyes only landed on the unreadable, impassive expression of the headmaster.

…

I would have liked to be able to truthfully say that I spent most of the night celebrating the deadline of my trial and the end of the term with the muses, my twin, and all my good friends, partying to Pompeii by Bastille until the little hours of the morning, not bothering to concern myself with past mistakes or future hardships, drink too much butter beer and pass out on the Hogwarts Express the next morning. You know, the good life. But alas, that was not the case. For one, we were told to trot off to bed right after my final song, which was only a couple of minutes past ten o’clock, and warned that our heads of houses would be checking that we were all asleep by ten-thirty. If we were not, we would receive a detention for the first day back.

However, I still attempted to force my way through the swamp of students making their way to the doors so I could talk to my father, and perhaps get some clarification on my fate. However, my plans were spoiled when I couldn’t get past a particularly moody cow.

“Bed, Goldilocks!” Hera commanded, her hatred for any children of Zeus that were not hers abundantly present in her poison tipped words. “That husband-stealing mother of yours may cause Zeus to lighten his punishments, but don’t think for a second that I will have any displeasure in seeing you in detention for the rest of your years at this school!”

I leaned past her and searched around, not really taking in her threats (this is a common and practised reaction to children of Zeus), and tried once again to slip past her.

“I just need to talk to father real quick, then I promise I will be out of your…” I glanced up at her. “rapidly greying hair. Won’t be a moment.” At that second, Hera grabbed my wrist and yanked me backwards, almost pulling my shoulder from its socket. She sneered down at me, bearing her teeth and pointing to the exit. I realised it was not worth my trouble. I huffed and, turning on my heel, strode back to the Hufflepuff common room.

If nothing else, being in the common room was always a nice experience. The whole place radiated a calm laziness, the ever-burning fire in the fireplace keeping the temperature cozy in winter months. The low ceilings were just above ground level, so the highest windows let in the sweet smell of cut grass towards the end of the school year. A few older students were lounging on the comfortable yellow sofa facing the mantelpiece and the dozen beanbags scattered throughout the room. These were the students who were staying over the winter break, and had few concerns over the timing of their retirement to bed. Some congratulated me on my performance. A couple gave a thumbs-up and nothing more - I returned these with an added smile, of course. I took a crumb of shortbread (which I had stuck out of the kitchen on the way to the dorms) out of my pocket and tossed it to Badger, the friendly mouse who lay reclined on one of the low tables in the centre of the room (I had found him in first year and the whole Hufflepuff house had unanimously adopted him as our secret mascot). Then I slipped through the rounded, honey-gold wooden door that lead to the boy’s dorms and threw myself onto my mattress.

Was I off the hook? Did I pass the test? Did father approve? Did he hate it? It looked like he hated it. Why is it always me who’s on the wrong side of father? Would it have been different if I was in Gryffindor? Is that why he hates me? Does he hate me?

Fathers words rang in my head. “If you succeed, which I doubt, you may continue with your hobby. If not…” WHAT DID HE MEAN BY “IF NOT”? What did that IMPLY? Does it mean detention, expulsion or worse? Should I be terrified?

…

Why was I still worrying? Everything was out of my hands. I had done my best.

…

BUT WHAT IF-

The anxieties didn’t cease all night. I do not know when I finally managed to drift off.

…

I hurriedly stuffed my trunk full of the belongings I would need for the two week break. Artie and I were staying with our mother on Delos for the duration of the holiday, and I did not intend to miss the train. When all my things were safely tucked away, I slammed the trunk shut and hauled it out of the dorms and through the earthen exit of the Hufflepuff common room, bidding my farewells to the few students who were staying.

Due to my late night worries, I had woken up late and already missed breakfast, so I took the obvious solution to a Hufflepuff. I lay down my trunk at the end of the corridor and tickled the pear - the entrance painting to the kitchens.

I left ten minutes later, licking my fingers which were sticky from strawberry juice and greek yogurt. The house elves had been grudgingly generous, having just finished cleaning up for the winter. Smirking as they chased me out of the kitchen, I grabbed my trunk and began dragging it up the stairs and towards the castle grounds. Halfway there, I ran into a slight problem. Well, we kind of ran into each other.

The headmaster, my father, stood in all his muscular, bulking glory, blocking the way to freedom. He looked as authoritative as always, his grey-streaked beard and hair well-kept and neat, his navy suit and tie clean and imposing, his eyes a sharp shade of piercing blue. I backed off a few steps and tried for a chill smile, but I had a strong feeling that it looked more like a pained grimace. Father straightened his back, rolled back his shoulders and rumbled;

“So. You made… a singing spell.”

I gulped down the bile that was fighting its way up my throat. I hated the way he oversimplified things. It made all my achievements look so much smaller in comparison to their real gargantuan importance. For instance, take that time I recorded a mashup of myself and the muses singing to hit tracks in howlers, and installed the howlers in between walls - our own in-built speaker system! Genius! Unfortunately, a few party-poopers (cough, Athena, cough) complained and had father tell me to ‘Take the paper planes back’, which, frankly, is an utterly ridiculous understatement of the hard work and effort put into that project. But the past is the past. In the present, Zeus was still waiting for an answer.

Oh reader, I so desperately tried to tell him of the wondrous things even a single Charmer could accomplish! They were not merely singing spells! They could entertain, play for those who were lonely, fill vacancies in choirs or orchestras in emergency last-minute cancellations! They could solve more problems for a showman than there are notes on sheet music!

But Zeus would have none of it. He stopped me halfway through my righteous rant. Rude.

“Enough,” he commanded somewhat wearily, holding one hand up for silence and rubbing his temple with another. “It is too early for your passionate outbursts.” I may have pouted slightly at that. It’s not important. Zeus regained some of his intimidating authority and continued, “I have already decided the outcome.” I knew it. I was expelled, I was dead I was- “You were not at breakfast. I was on my way to your common room to inform you of your success before you depart.”

My face paled. I dropped my heavy trunk with a loud thump.

“My… success?”

Zeus grunted.

“Yes. It was… a good show. Many staff and students were moved to tears. That would be the sort of reaction I cannot ignore in my decision making. Spells are typically not simple to create from scratch. And to have seen someone pull such things off in a few short weeks was…” he paused, considering the right word to use. He begrudgingly settled on: “…impressive.”

Let me tell you, if I had still been holding onto my trunk, I would have dropped it all over again. I swallowed, struggling to process a compliment coming from the lips of the toughest, most powerful wizard in the family. My heart was buzzing, my head was light, my breathing was uneven (though I tried my best to hide it). My brain worked overtime to somehow comprehend these impossible words. Impressive. Dad…impressed. I was impressive. I had done something worth being impressed over. For him. He was impressed. Eventually I managed to croak a measly “Thank you.”

It could’ve been me hallucinating, but I could’ve sworn I saw the slightest smirk underneath the greying beard, and a minuscule spark of pride in those electric eyes.

“Ten points to Hufflepuff.”

@psychologymademeunderstand @go-danielle

#Hogwarts au #toa #trials of apollo #trials of Apollo au #my au #apollo #meg mccaffrey #pjo #artemis #zeus #athena #hermes #Poseidon #writing #fanfiction #fanfic #story

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