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bytheangell · 3 years

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Take Me With You

(For my @shadowhunterbingo square: Traveling | Jimon, Rated Teen, referenced alcohol but no archive warnings/other warnings) (Read on AO3) “I don’t need a bodyguard,” Simon insists. “It was one stupid letter.”

“The letter wasn’t stupid,” Jace says, already regretting his appointment to this job. “It was a death threat, by someone who’s sent multiple things to your unlisted apartment.”

“Well, no one knows where I live on the road, which is where I’ll be for the next three months,” Simon points out.

“Oh, yes, the total inability to track you from a list of cities you’re going to and the dates and times you’ll be there. You’re right, no one will ever find you that way,” Jace says, his tone dripping with sarcasm and more than a little condescending. Simon isn’t a no-name, but he isn’t famous-famous either, and Jace hoped that’d make him a little less awful to put up with than Jace’s usual high-profile assignments. So far it’s the opposite - Simon isn’t taking this seriously at all, which is somehow more frustrating than too much importance being put on minor perceived threats.

Simon sighs. “Fine.” It certainly doesn’t sound like he’s fine with it, but Jace isn’t here to argue. He’s here to do a job.

“Great,” Jace says. “You won’t even know I’m here.”

---

That ends up being a complete lie. Of course, when Jace first imagined blending into the background of Simon’s tour life he hadn’t taken into consideration the fact that Simon drove his own van, which would just be the two of them for extended periods of time.

Jace can tell that he’s putting a damper in the way Simon normally functions during his tours, mostly because he’s quiet while they drive. Then he’ll say something, start to ramble, catch himself rambling, and fall abruptly silent again in a repeating pattern.

“Sorry if I’m cramping your style,” Jace says after one of these repetitions, speaking loud enough to be heard over the music playing in the background.

“You’re not,” Simon insists.

Jace is dubious. “What would you be doing if you were alone?” Jace asks.

Simon doesn’t even hesitate before answering, “Scream-singing at the top of my lungs with the windows down. It’s like, my tried-and-true road trip routine.”

“...so do it. Don’t let me stop you,” Jace says.

“My manager hates it because he’s convinced one of these days I’ll end up losing my voice before a show. It’s probably for the best I’m not,” Simon says before falling silent again.

Jace doesn’t push it, nor does he comment when Simon starts to sing to a song that comes on about half an hour later, his voice growing louder and louder until all the windows are down and he’s shouting lyrics into the cool night air.

Jace has to fight the urge to join him. Normally he doesn’t have an issue staying focused on a job but Simon has this disarming way of making Jace want to relax around him. Somehow what he thought would be his easiest job to date continues to throw surprising complications his way.

Still, he keeps his mouth shut and enjoys Simon’s singing as they continue driving into the night.

---

Watching Simon with his fans is nerve-wracking. There’s no telling who might be a threat, not when everyone seems so down-to-earth, much like Simon himself. There aren’t any obviously obsessive fangirls and normal tells like knowing too many personal details is just the norm, with multiple people casually asking Simon about how his Bubbie Helen is doing or about the cat he left at home with Clary during his tour, or the most recent book he’s been reading and chatting about online. It’s difficult to pick out a potential stalker when everyone knows what Jace would typically consider more personal details than usual about Simon.

Jace watches these pre- and post-show encounters with a feeling more like he’s observing conversations between old friends rather than a musician and his fans, signatures and photo ops aside. Simon knows some of them by name, remembers birthdays mentioned over social media or live chats, and even recalls previous conversations. It’s impressive.

Dressed in plain clothes so he blends in with the crowd, Jace grows increasingly impressed with Simon the more time he spends with him. Plenty of people claim to be humble, but few often are in practice. Not Simon. Simon is everything he told Jace when they first met. He’s the same way with his fans that he is in private with Jace, which is the same way he is with his family and friends - Simon’s just, well, Simon, honestly and earnestly and unapologetically.

It’s refreshing. It’s also just another thing for Jace to push to the back of his mind, because he doesn’t need to like the guy - he just needs to protect him. Simon looks up from the table he’s signing CDs at and shoots Jace a beaming smile, and Jace has to actively force himself not to smile back and simply nod his head in acknowledgment instead.

“It’s an assignment, Herondale. Get your shit together,” Jace mutters to himself from the corner of the room. It’s a reminder he repeats more often over the upcoming weeks than he’s comfortable admitting.

---

“Please,” Jace begs after the first two weeks of shows. “I will pay for a better hotel. Let me pay for a better hotel.”

Simon is shaking his head in response before Jace finishes the request.

“Why?!” Jace glances critically around the room. “Do you want to get murdered in a shady motel? Just because I can keep you alive doesn’t mean we have to actively test it every night when we could have a door that doesn’t look like my 11-year-old brother could kick it in.”

“You have a brother?” Simon asks, ignoring everything else Jace said as he tosses his duffel bag (because Simon doesn’t even have a proper suitcase) onto a bed Jace feels the instinctive need to run a blacklight over.

Jace hesitates to answer because this is a job and he isn’t meant to share personal information about himself with his assignment. It’s strange because normally the people he’s tasked to protect are such self-absorbed assholes they barely spare Jace a second glance, let alone casual conversation.

He’s aware that the pause he takes after what should be a simple question is way too long when Simon frowns, brows pinching together.

“Two brothers, actually. One older, one younger, and a sister,” Jace finally decides to share. It’s all he intends on saying, not wanting to be rude and not answer at all, but when Simon brings up his own sister and keeps talking, keeps asking curious, harmless questions, Jace finds himself answering without thinking.

Simon is easy to talk to - maybe a little too easy to talk to, because the next thing they know it’s 1am and they need to be up and back on the road at 6.

“Get some sleep, Lewis,” Jace says finally, taking a few extra minutes to secure the door before doing one last perimeter sweep. When he gets back he pretends he doesn’t notice Simon, still awake, hastily close his eyes and pretend to sleep the second Jace gets back in the room.

---

After the third week, Jace insists that staying at nicer hotels is a matter of security and finally convinces Simon to pull into the parking lot of a proper hotel. One with room service instead of vending machines, plus a gym and a pool. Jace tells himself it’s a matter of security as well, and not a reaction to Simon complaining about having several nights of terrible sleep and some back and neck pain from the old, cheap mattresses.

Jace certainly doesn’t correct Simon’s assumption that this is covered in the contract when in reality Jace is fronting the extra cost himself. After all, this is as much for his own benefit as it is for Simon’s, right?

That’s what he tells himself as he opens up more around Simon as well, sharing a drink or two when Simon insists (never anything enough to impair his judgment, and only ever when they’re back in a room for the remainder of the night), telling a few more personal stories, and… flirting?

Jace isn’t sure, but occasionally when Simon impulsively runs into an ice cream shop in a new city and gets a cone for each of them, or points out a storefront display with a leather jacket he thinks Jace might like, or leans his shoulder into Jace while laughing at something sarcastic Jace says… yeah, sometimes Jace gets the feeling that Simon might actually like him.

Then Jace just as quickly tells himself that it’s just Simon being nice, because Simon is nice, and because of course Simon’s going to be on good terms with the guy he’s stuck with 24/7 for two months. Jace is working for Simon, and their relationship is strictly professional, however pleasant it may also be.

It’s that hard line Jace knows they won’t cross that allows him to continue to open up more, because Simon’s safe. He’ll never see the guy again when all of this is over.

“You’re a good person, Jace,” Simon says one night after a lengthy conversation.

“...what?” Jace isn’t expecting that.

“You know that, right?” Simon’s tone is just shy of insistent, and certainly not rhetorical.

“Why do you say that?” Jace asks instead of agreeing, because… well, because he doesn’t know that. He tries, but he’s made some shitty decisions in his past, and hurt a lot of people, intentionally or not. And Simon doesn’t even know him, so Jace really doesn’t know where this is coming from.

“Just… the way you talk about yourself sometimes. Like you always have something to prove, or make up for... or like you have to justify everything you say. Sometimes I get the feeling you don’t think very highly of yourself even when you’re acting like God’s gift to mankind,” Simon adds with more accurate insight than Jace is comfortable with.

And now Jace really doesn’t know what to do with that.

“What are you, a philosopher now?” Jace mutters, still avoiding any sort of direct commentary on Simon’s way-too-close-to-home observation. “Go to sleep, Simon. I don’t need you too tired to focus on the road tomorrow.”

Simon looks like he’s going to argue but doesn’t in the end, leaving Jace alone with his thoughts in the newly settling silence of the hotel room.

It feels surprisingly pleasant to hear those affirmations from Simon, and Jace considers for the briefest moment what it’d be like to just be friends with Simon outside of their circumstances, to have these discussions and delve deeper into both of their pasts, humoring more of Simon’s personal questions and--

--and everything he can’t let this turn into over the next few weeks. Fuck.

Maybe there’s some harm in opening up after all.

---

They’re a little over halfway through the three-month tour when Jace realizes that perhaps his harmless crush on Simon is stronger than he realized. Jace watches from his usual spot in the corner as Simon signs CDs and sells band t-shirts and poses for photos, which is what he always does. But with every flirtatious laugh and every arm Simon drapes over someone’s shoulder or wraps around someone’s waist, Jace feels the desire to pull Simon away... and it isn’t because he’s in danger. It’s because Jace is jealous.

Jace grows sullen at the realization, arms crossed in front of him as he forces himself to watch Simon with his fans, because this is his job. The more he watches the more he doesn’t even think Simon realizes he’s doing it. Jace knows what active, intentional flirting looks like, but this is just Simon being his natural charming self, and Jace isn’t sure if that makes the whole thing better or worse.

Because it starts to dawn on him with a bit more meaning now that the way Simon’s been with him is the way Simon is with everyone. Jace just gets to experience it more often than everyone else right now. That doesn’t make their conversations special. It doesn’t make Jace anything special to Simon. And hell, maybe it’s just been a while since Jace spent this much time with someone else, too. Maybe he should work on writing off his own motivations as easily as he’s writing off Simon’s because his feelings are far from professional right now.

When the crowd disperses and Jace goes to help Simon wrap up his gear and load it back into the van (something that’s become routine for them, though not strictly in Jace’s list of expected duties) Jace is quieter than usual.

“Everything alright?” Simon asks, catching the shift in mood.

“Yeah. Fine,” Jace says curtly.

Simon doesn’t look like he believes him but doesn’t press the topic as they toss the last of the equipment into the van and head out.

---

The nicer Simon is toward him, the more closed-off Jace gets. He’s quiet during dinners Simon insists on paying for, stops sharing so much about himself when they do talk, and when Simon gives Jace a guitar pick he fashioned into a necklace for him Jace pockets it with a muttered ‘thanks’ without putting it on. He doesn’t have the heart to totally push Simon away, but he can’t keep growing closer to him knowing it’s all going to end in three weeks.

Jace wears the necklace every day but he keeps it tucked underneath his shirts where Simon can’t see.

Simon eventually stops trying to talk to him entirely, and they spend more and more time in uncomfortable silences. Sometimes Simon insists he needs privacy to work on his music and Jace sits at the end of the hallway of their hotel room listening to the faded sounds of Simon’s strumming.

There are three weeks left in Jace’s assignment when he gets the call that the police managed to track the letters to a girl back in New York: she’s in custody and getting a restraining order put against her, and Jace can come back as soon as he arranges transportation.

Jace hangs up the phone feeling surprisingly upset. This is great news for Simon, and he should be happy for him if nothing else, but that means this is the last night he’ll have to spend with Simon.

The last night he’ll get to spend with Simon.

“Hey Simon, good news. I just got a call from Luke and they tracked down your mystery stalker. You’ll get all the details once you’re back home but they’re already putting the restraining order into place, so you’re good to go.”

“What? That’s amazing!” Simon grins automatically, but it falls back into a frown just as quickly. “Does that mean you…?” his words trail off in question.

“I’ll be able to leave in the morning,” Jace confirms.

“Guess you’ll be happy to get out of here,” Simon says, his smile entirely gone.

“I do miss New York,” Jace carefully avoids the answer he knows Simon’s fishing for. The lie he should give, but can’t bring himself to.

Simon looks Jace up and down, his gaze finally resting on Jace’s face for a long couple of seconds, searching for something there before turning away without another word.

---

Jace knows he shouldn’t go to the show, but he does. He hangs in the back, a real drink in hand now that he’s no longer on duty, and listens to Simon sing the songs Jace knows by heart now. Jace knows from experience standing by the side of the stage that there’s no way Simon can make out any faces where Jace currently sits back by the bar. He plans on leaving before the end, before the lights come on and Simon knows he was there.

He’s a few drinks in when he hears Simon break his usual format.

“How does everyone feel about me trying out a new song I’ve been working on?” Simon asks. The crowd claps and cheers, and Jace shifts in his seat to fully face the stage. “This is a song about feeling a connection with someone, and not knowing when things went wrong, only that they did. And wondering if maybe it was all in your head the whole time...”

Jace feels his throat tighten at those words. He doesn’t have to be a genius to piece together the lyrics Simon starts to sing, fitting them to their lives the past few months, the hope of getting to know someone you’re starting to like, the confusion of being shut out, the uncertainty of wondering if they ever felt the same way you did or if they were just humoring you.

Jace knows Simon well enough to know that this isn’t a coincidence. It can’t be.

Against his better judgment, Jace stays. He stays until the set is over and the lights come on and Simon looks out around the crowd and makes direct eye contact with him.

Because fuck it. He’s leaving in the morning, and if this is all for nothing then he’ll never see Simon again and it won’t matter. But if he’s right…

Jace hangs back, watching Simon smile and laugh and sign CDs and take photos, acutely aware of every time the musician’s eyes wander over to where Jace lingers by the bar. Outside of the fading buzz from the alcohol it almost feels normal: hanging back after the show, watching Simon and waiting for him to make his way over once the crowd disperses. Hell, even the butterflies in Jace’s stomach aren’t new.

“You’re here,” Simon says when he finally makes his way over. “I didn’t think you’d come, since… I mean…”

“I heard your new song,” Jace forces the words out before he can change his mind. “I’d say I liked it, but that seems like the wrong response from the guy who made you think you did something wrong.”

“Not everything is about you,” Simon argues, but the intent falls flat beneath the nervous tremor the words are spoken with.

“No,” Jace agrees easily. “But that song is.”

Simon hesitates, then sighs. “It is.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize for not liking me, Jace. You were doing your job, that’s-”

“No. I’m sorry I was going to leave without telling you that I like you. I thought I’d leave and you’d never see me again, that it’d be pointless to get attached. I thought you were just… being nice. Because you’re a good person.” The words spill out of Jace before he can overthink them.

“You like me,” Simon repeats incredulously. “That totally makes sense with, you know, the way you completely stopped talking to me.”

Jace can hear the anger in Simon’s voice and winces slightly. Just because it’s entirely deserved doesn’t make it easier to hear.

“I figured it’d be easier to walk away once this was all over if we weren’t as friendly.” It’s still a shitty thing to have done, and Jace wouldn’t blame Simon for holding it against him. But after hearing that song he couldn’t walk away with Simon thinking it was over anything he did wrong. No matter the cost to Jace’s pride, Simon deserves that much. “And… maybe I was a little afraid that if I got much closer I’d want to cross a line I knew I couldn’t.”

“So you felt it too?” Simon’s words and expression are full of so much hope that Jace almost panics again. What if he isn’t half the person Simon thinks he is after getting to know him in this little bubble of theirs from the past few months? What if he messes this up?

...what if he doesn’t?

“I did,” Jace finally admits. “I still do. And I know I probably ruined any chance I had before, but if I haven’t fucked things up too badly, maybe once you’re back in New York we could meet up for coffee?”

Simon smiles, brighter than the house lights that fill the small venue now.

“Or… or you could stay with me for the last few shows? I wasn’t just being nice for the sake of being nice - I like you, Jace. I changed my hotel routine for you! I wouldn’t do that for just anyone. I don’t know if you have to go back right away for work, or something, but if you don’t I definitely wouldn’t mind the company. Your company.”

Jace considers it for a few long moments, then nods. It’s fitting, he thinks, to drop the formalities and the professional distance in the same setting he started to fall for Simon in. The same setting in which Simon started to fall for him, despite Jace’s best efforts to dissuade him, only this time with no excuses to hold him back. And if Simon’s willing to give him an actual shot after everything, he’d be a fool not to take it.

“Well, I can’t very well leave you to lug all your equipment around by yourself, can I?” Jace says, smiling. “Let me check back in with the office tomorrow morning but I don’t have anything scheduled. It shouldn’t be an issue.”

There’s a pause then, the air between them filled with an almost electric buzz of anticipation. Simon takes the first step closer, bridging the gap between them. There’s no questioning what Simon’s thinking when his eyes dart down to Jace’s lips and back up to meet his gaze again before speaking.

“Can I-”

Before Simon can finish, Jace’s lips are already on his in response. It’s slow and tentative, with each of them feeling the other out, but it’s nice. It’s really nice. When they pull away after a few moments Simon can’t keep the smile off his face. “That was even better than I imagined.”

Jace quirks an eyebrow, smirking fully now. “You imagined us kissing?”

“Shut up and help me load the van.”

The familiar banter and Simon’s easy smile are such an immediate comfort for Jace that he can’t help the light laugh he gives in response. As Simon looks back at Jace it’s with an expression so soft and full of kindness that Jace knows now isn’t the same look he reserves for everyone else.

Jace knows it’s a look reserved only for him this time - and with any luck, for many more times to come.

#jimon #jace herondale #simon lewis #shadowhunters #tsc #hmdiscord #ShadowhunterBingo #a birthday gift for cor! because no one loves Jimon quite like her <3 #I hope you like it!#long post #elle writes a few deadbeat lines

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haru-sen · 3 years

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Imperial Forces

I’ve written...a lot of words for a fanfic no one asked for, and only one person has confirmed knowing what the hell I am even talking about. My god. This is a preview of the IAL anniversary gift and may be changed down the road. Certain people instigated this, you know who you are, and I’m still salty at you.

TW: This is a darker piece of work compliant with some of the unpleasantness that one expects the Sith Empire. Includes: dubcon, mentions of previous sexual assaults, attempted sexual assault, bad boundaries, bondage, and improper use of the Force. Edited: Posted some minor corrections. Part 1/?

You sat at the table, ramrod straight, focusing on the silverware, and your glass of wine. The cut of the crystal was exquisite, and the wine was a Dathomirian Fury Red, if you recalled correctly, which you might not, because the entire day had been an absolute disaster, and you would be so very lucky if you made it to the dessert course. Surviving this situation was highly unlikely. You’d known for awhile that your time was extremely limited. But having dessert before you were murdered by a Sith lord, would be kind of nice.

You glanced up at the masked Sith, and then the bored moff across from you: dinner, dessert, death. At least the dining room was luxuriously decorated. You’d always expected to die in a dark, gross alley. This was an upgrade, really.

But for some reason, all these high-end pre-murder amenities were not making you feel any better.

They called you Cipher 13, because your real name was classified, and because the previous Cipher 13 took a one-way trip down a sarlacc pit the night before your spontaneous promotion. In all fairness, the name was probably cursed. You were the “unluckiest” of the Cipher agents, often getting the worst assignments or having your missions interrupted by the most unbelievable accidents.

It was an old joke by now, but you still got regular comments about your unenviable misfortune. Like today, when you’d gone to the quartermaster to stock up on the special blend of stimpacks Ciphers used. Fixer 3 had made an awkward joke about how your formula had “unpredictable results” and looked uncharacteristically scared when you took one right in front of him. Fixer 3 was normally a sensible guy and you liked him. You weren’t sure what he had been thinking today.

But it had been a long week, and you had not been given the regular rest break between assignments. Something “urgent” had come up. Watcher 5 had briefed you of your next mission, which was something convoluted and political. You were working for a Dark Council member. Watcher 5 had slipped in a snide remark along the lines of, “try not to let your personal chaos spill into this operation. Sith Lords have little tolerance for surprises.”

He said this, like you had control over these things. Ridiculous.

For example, how could you anticipate that a rancor would get loose at a diplomatic banquet and eat the person you were supposed to interrogate (along with half a dozen or so other very important people)? Not your fault, and certainly not within your control, and despite slicing the needed information from his personal terminal, the mission had been judged (unfairly!) to be a failure. Then there was that pazaak tournament on Nar Shaddaa where you had been burned by another Cipher, who outed you to the Hutts. It didn’t matter, in the sense that you won the game, shot her in the face, and received the boon you had entered the tournament to acquire. (The Hutts didn’t care who you worked for, as long as you weren’t crossing them.) You received demerits for having your cover blown by another agent’s blatant betrayal. (But she didn’t get any, because she was dead, and Minder 2 was pissy with you after that forever.) Then, there was that time you’d walked right into a Jedi strike team ambush meant for Darth Baras on Corellia… You were lucky to only lose a hand that day. Coincidentally, the officer who had given you the bad intel had also been fatally unlucky. He had a rare and deadly allergic reaction to the nuts in his ryshcate pastries, served at a diplomatic fete that weekend. How tragic it is when one can’t even enjoy their pastries.

But it wasn’t just misfortune. The current Keeper did not like you, had never liked you, and was growing more and more frustrated by the fact that you kept coming back alive, when many others did not. (You knew for a fact that the Minders had a betting pool regarding your survival. Minder 12 had been very helpful in providing you the behind the scenes information. You missed her.) As Keeper effectively ran the ops division of Imperial Intelligence, this was a definite problem.

Watcher 4 had been instrumental in keeping you alive. But now that he was gone, you were on your own with very few allies within your organization. That was why you had been given this newest assignment. (You missed Watcher 4 as well, and while you could not and would not try to prove it, you thought he and Minder 12 might have faked their deaths and run off together. It was a purely fanciful notion, but you could dream, right?) Imperial Intelligence agents didn’t get happy endings. And Ciphers usually didn’t make it to five years.

You had seven.

By all rights, you should have been able to transfer to a Watcher position a long time ago. But that never happened. It was probably because Keeper hated you. You did not know exactly why. You suspected it was because you were not born into the upper echelons of Imperial high society. You had started out a slave, earned some freedom, and trained as a Cipher; but on the Imperial capital planet of Dromund Kaas, that wasn’t enough. Your continual survival offended him, a constant reminder of his own failure to erase you.

And so here you were, assigned to the whims of Darth Thanaton, a member of the Dark Council, a crusty overpowered madman, and worse, an absolutely unmitigated boor. He was urbane enough in his public appearances, but behind closed doors? An absolute drama queen.

You stood in his foyer, Thanaton was shouting now, and you got the impression that he did this a lot, having an audience present was optional. The man himself was older, fit enough to show his face (no mask or rebreather), and had been quite the assassin in his day. The room was black marble, filled with ugly stone antiques, and it felt like a mausoleum, only louder and more oppressive. Your head was pounding and your stomach churning as you struggled to pay attention to his spiel. You were professional enough that you could maintain a mask of respectfulness, despite your growing physical discomfort. You had powered through worse.

Like that time on Tatooine when you’d broken a leg in melee combat with Tusken Raiders…That had been a bad day. Or that time you’d gone undercover as a Hutt’s dancing slave on Nar Shaddaa. Or even when…

Focus. Thanaton was bad enough. You did not need to take a trip down traumatic memory lane in the middle of a Darth’s monologue.

Thanaton spent a good quarter of an hour railing against the failing morals and falling standards of the Sith academy on Korriban. And then another quarter of an hour complaining about the bureaucratic delay in assigning a “suitable” Imperial Intelligence agent to his cause. He went into great detail about how much the Council needed this work done, and how important it was, and how Lord Messor’s habits were unseemly, and Moff Kiljack needed to know his place, and...and...and… It went on much longer. He sprayed spittle when he spoke. It was painfully distracting.

You nodded along, like a good Cipher, even though you could feel the nastiness of his aura crawling along your skin. It worsened your nausea. You were no saint, but being near powerful Sith made you queasy. There was something fundamentally wrong with most of them, and your body knew it. But you stood at attention, masking your disgust, because to cross a Darth was a clear-cut and uncomfortable death, usually with choking, sometimes lightning. You’d seen it up close many times and experienced lighter versions of those punishments yourself. Best avoided if possible.

Keeper knew what he was doing. There was a fifty percent chance that you wouldn’t even make it to the mission. Snotty old Darth Thanaton would take offense at you for simply existing and smite you before you had a chance to get to work.

But you were not unaware of the situation. Lord Messor was an unconventional dark lord, taking more than his share of apprentices from Korriban (and doing who knows what with them? Sith Lords didn’t usually keep more than one alive at a time). Moff Kiljack had been one of those apprentices, and had shown an extreme aptitude for military strategy. He had then been put on a different career track, promoted to head of Messor’s security forces, and given free reign. Eventually however, things between the men soured, and the former security chief had managed to wrangle a promotion from the Imperial army, instead of just wasting away as Messor’s lackey. He gained some powerful allies and rose quickly to the rank of moff. To no one’s surprise, Messor hadn’t taken the change of allegiances well, and now things were awkward, to say the least.

Thanaton claimed that he found the entire situation offensive. You didn’t think it seemed any different from any other horrible day on Dromund Kaas. There were so many betrayals, atrocities, and political cliques, you just tried to keep your head down, and your heart beating. It was more likely that Thanaton feared Messor’s growing power and wanted to eliminate a rival.

If only you had gotten another off-world assignment. You’d already disabled the kill-chip implanted in the base of your skull. You could just fake your death, move to some peaceful, secluded farming planet, and not worry about being flayed alive for accidentally making eye contact with a power-mad sorcerer.

You’d always suspected your cause of death would be “someone else’s ego” or at least “collateral damage,” but you didn’t expect it to play out so literally. By the time Thanaton actually got to the point, you had been standing in his foyer for an hour, watching him froth and rant. Lord Messor or Moff Kiljack had just been assigned to deal with a situation on Hoth or Voss (you couldn’t tell because Thanaton had been going at it for so long that he kept switching the names and not giving you any kriffing context…) But you were to sabotage those efforts, make Messor and the moff lose credibility, fall from grace, and be tossed into the bone pile in the waste dumps outside the city.

That’s it. Ruin them on the basis of his disapproval and use his tenuously plotted scheme to do it. Failure would be met by death.

Success would also probably be treason, and that too was punishable by death.

Hell, if you did succeed, Thanaton would have to kill you to tie up loose ends.

Death, death, or more death, with no obvious way out. Normal mission parameters, really.

Nodding, you told him, “I understand, my lord. It will be done, my lord,” while preparing to take a shuttle off-world and commit very public suicide on Nar Shaddaa. Hell, you could just go throw yourself at the mercy of Theron Shan. He probably would only torture you a little, as a formality, before taking pity on you, and ending your misery himself.

OK, clearly you had been in Darth Thanaton’s dark energy radius for too long, because his madness and depressive thoughts were now rubbing off on you. Plus you still wanted to throw up. And Thanaton might have sensed your urge to flee, because he sent you back to the Imperial High Command with an escort: one of his security advisors, a pompous man of “good breeding” named Captain Prince, and a dozen heavily armed guards.

Druk.

The soldiers weren’t really there for you, you realized once you were already seated in the convoy listening to Prince further explain Thanaton’s “plan.” Lord Messor was taking on a greater role in the war effort against the Republic, and Imperial High Command was providing more men for his military gambits. Prince and his men were being overtly assigned by Imperial High Command, though they were actually loyal to Thanaton. Prince would be reporting to Messor tonight. Your cover was as Prince’s assistant. Your job would be reconnaissance and sabotage, and you would be reporting your progress to both Prince and Thanaton. You also would be expected to produce reports for Keeper, not that Prince understood the workings within Imperial Intelligence.

...It was shit plan. You knew it even before you heard it, though Prince seemed confident that his background would pass muster. That was a little more reassuring than Thanaton’s mad ramblings, but still amateur. Prince was a decorated military man, and had seen some very vicious combat, committed atrocities, and been rewarded for his service. He was not the man you would have put in charge of any operation that required subtlety. If Keeper had wanted this job done right, he would have assigned it to you himself, and given you free reign. There was a lot of subtext to unravel, but right now you had to nod along to Captain Prince’s blathering. He wasn’t nice, he stared at your chest longer than was polite, and he put a hand on your knee. You lightly brushed it off, reminding yourself that you could not kill Thanaton’s representative on the first day.

Like any highborn noble, Lord Messor had an estate outside the city. The route was straight forward, and you were taking a regular speeder to get there. Contrary to your expectations, the ride actually helped clear your head. You were still a little shaky, but less nauseated. Getting away from Thanaton helped. Wind lashed at your skin as you watched the jungle pass by, and you wondered how much of a lead you would have if you left for Nar Shaddaa tonight. With any luck, it would be hours before anyone noticed you were gone.

You waited, hands steady, even as you and Prince exited the vehicle. It was raining, as usual, and the air stunk of ozone. Three more men followed from another transport, and Prince did not offer any introduction, though you could feel them watching you with predatory eyes.

The Messor estate had several outbuildings, and the gates were high. A large fortress had been partially carved out of the cliff, the jungle providing more strategic cover. Though solid, it had the columned facade of an ancient Sith temple. You studied it, not quite sure what Thanaton had been complaining about. Lord Messor seemed to have traditional Sith tastes (gothic and imposing), at least when it came to architecture.

“Come on, kitten,” Prince said with a leer. “If you want to marvel about size, I have something to show you.”

The men behind you laughed.

You just smiled politely, and decided that maybe Prince would lean too far out a window tonight. The jungle provided a lot of ambient noise to cover any screaming. The winds were dangerous. Accidents happened, especially around you. Hell, if Prince was defenestrated, they’d probably be too busy mopping up the meat confetti to look for you…

Prince led the way to the fortress, frowning as an HK droid met you at the bottom of the steps.

“Greetings, Captain. Lord Messor is expecting you. Please come this way.” The droid pointed to a more discrete entrance: a small path leading to a recessed door. With the foliage and the angle of entry, it was well-concealed.

Prince’s upper lip curled in aggravation, but he adjusted course. You followed, noting the placement of the turrets, the thickness of the walls, and the fact that the droid that met you was a high-end assassination model. It spoke like a protocol droid, it had those functions as well, but you were very familiar with the HK series.

You followed Prince through the heavy durasteel door and to a narrow set of stone steps. The lights were low, and the stairwell was mostly in shadow. Then the door slammed shut behind you, leaving the HK droid and the other three men outside.

Prince stopped, he glanced at you questioningly.

“I didn’t shut it,” you said.

Prince pushed past you and tried the handle. The door did not budge. He frowned and drew his blaster pistol.

“Let’s go,” he told you, gesturing with the pistol for you to go first.

“Of course, Captain,” you said, maybe a little sarcastically, as you marched up the stairs, keeping an eye out for trip wires, pressure plates, or any of the other nasty surprises that Sith lords liked to keep around their homes.

...Druk. Sometimes there were creatures. The local fauna was bad enough, but the Sith liked to import nasty things as well as craft their own monsters. You’d seen plenty and you had no desire to face Sithspawn again any time soon.

You stepped lightly. The stairs went up for at least three stories, and then there was another door. You glanced back at Prince.

“Hurry up,” he growled.

You opened the large metal door, and stepped into a cavernous room big enough to serve as a huttball field. Dim lights shone in wall sconces, and two rows of black pillars lined a path to a massive carved throne. All these features seemed to be cut from the same mountain stone.

There was a figure on a throne, black and red robes under a heavy breastplate, a black hood and stylized skull mask covering his face. He wore heavy metal gauntlets, tipped with dangerously sharp talons.

“Captain Prince,” Lord Messor spoke quietly, his voice smoother than you expected, a lot calmer than some other dark lord whom you had met earlier today. The acoustics of the room were amazing, his voice carried through the hall.

“Ah, my lord,” Prince stepped past you, his blaster already holstered. “I am honored to finally- be in your presence.” He gestured for you to follow as he led the way toward the throne.

“I did not give you orders to approach.” He sounded almost bored.

Prince stopped. “My apologies, my lord. I did not-”

“You don’t need to explain,” Lord Messor said, resting his chin in one palm. “And I don’t have patience for your excuses.”

Prince cocked his head to the side and looked almost comically confused.

And then Moff Kiljack – you recognized that striking blonde hair and those icy blue eyes - stepped out from behind a pillar, and pressed his blaster to the back of Prince’s skull. There was no hesitation. He blew the captain’s brains out right there in Lord Messor’s throne room. Prince dropped with a thud.

You barely had time to avoid the splatter, let alone wonder what Moff Kiljack, Lord Messor’s sworn rival, was doing in his throne room. You glanced between the Sith lord and the moff, wondering if you had time to dive for cover while they battled.

Instead, Lord Messor just sighed. “Ensign De Veo,” he said, using your cover name, and giving you hope that he didn’t know exactly what was going on. “Also known as Cipher 13,” he added, crushing that hope. “I’m sorry for the mess. Kiljack can be so...uncivilized.” He stood and began descending from the dais.

You glanced over at Moff Kiljack, not at all surprised to find the blaster pistol aimed at your head.

“That’s unnecessary, Kiljack. I’m sure our dear Cipher understands her position.” Messor swept down the stairs from his throne, red and black fabric swirling behind him. He circled you like a hungry sleen. “Now, I realize this isn’t what you expected. But I’d be delighted to explain everything. So why don’t you join us for dinner, and we can discuss what you’re doing here, why you’re still alive, and what you need to do to stay that way. This should be easy enough for a woman of your caliber.” He chuckled.

There was no room for panic. You survived because you could think on your feet. Because you didn’t get caught up in “what should have happened.” You kept your mouth shut and most of your insubordinate comments in your head.

You gave a stiff bow from the waist. “I would be honored, my lord,” you said, already tasting lightning in the back of your throat. It was very unlikely that you would get through the night without a demonstration of Sith might.

Lord Messor laughed, like he found you genuinely amusing, and headed toward the eastern doors.

“Cipher,” Moff Kiljack was at your side, offering you his right arm. He was a tall man, very fit in his officer grays. There was blood on his cuffs and glove. He stood like he was carved from ice.

You swallowed and tentatively placed your metal hand on his bicep, wondering if you could scratch him with one of your poisoned needles without him noticing.

“I wouldn’t,” Kiljack said, not even turning his head to look at you. “Be a good girl, and you’ll make it out of this alive.”

You shivered, suddenly very cold in your officer’s tunic. The fear crept down your spine, threatening to freeze you in place. But that would not do. You forced yourself to breathe. You had forgotten that the moff had once been a Sith apprentice. Force-users could pick up surface thoughts. Normally though, you were better at shielding. You steered your mind back to nav-charts and the asteroid belts of the Outer Rim. Head held high, you walked with Moff Kiljack to Lord Messor’s banquet hall.

And so here you were now, seated to the left of Lord Messor, a very bored Moff Kiljack sitting across from you, watching you with cold eyes.

The table was long, almost the length of the room, and also carved from the same obsidian stone as the chamber. The same with the high-backed chairs, though they were not attached to the floor, and had plush cushions on them.

Your brain was working almost too fast, panic welling in each heart beat. You tried to calm yourself, as you stared at the vividly colored salad in front of you. You turned some of your hyperfocus on that. It was very aesthetically pleasing, and would not be out of place at a restaurant on Alderaan or Coruscant. Perhaps it would pair well with-

-So what the hell was going on? Moff Kiljack and Lord Messor shared a well-known enmity. But now they were working together, likely because they had learned of Darth Thanaton’s intent to bring them both down. Prince’s men were definitely dead. HKs were ruthlessly efficient like that. You were a loose end, but one they could bargain with. They would want to use you against Thanaton, of course, but you were an experienced Cipher. You still had some resources-

-a Starblossom spritzer or a Coruscant blush wine. You weren’t sure what the next course was, but traditionally there would be a protein and a starch, and-

-This wasn’t a con you could pull off alone. Not that it had much of a chance before. The original plan was half-baked garbage and you didn’t really want to-

Wait.

You willed yourself still, taking a moment to breathe. Your mind was moving too fast. There was something wrong. Had been wrong all day, your focus slowly sliding into the abyss. But trying to figure out what was exactly was wrong, was like grasping at fog. And with both a moff and a Sith lord watching your every move, now was not the time to buckle.

Your memory coaxed up a tiny epiphany. This started around the time you met Thanaton. Was it him?

Kiljack took a bite of his salad, his flat expression not changing, even as he chewed.

Lord Messor was not eating though. He raised his mask to sip his wine, but given the kinds of damage Sith lords did to their bodies, it was possible that he did not have a normal digestive tract.

“Is the food not to your liking, Cipher?” Messor asked, curling those metal talons against his palm with a rhythmic tap tap tap.

“It is exquisite, my lord,” you said, picking up your fork, and taking a bite. The vegetables were crisp, fresh, and lightly vinegared. There were sweet berries mixed in with crumbles of salty cheese. If this was your last meal, you could have really done worse. “Are these Alderaanian fickleberries? They’re a wonderful addition to the dish, just the right amount of sweetness.”

“Indeed,” Messor practically purred. “You have a sophisticated palate. I understand that you are well-traveled.”

“Or she’s used them before,” Kiljack said, still eating his salad. “Likely when she mixed them with the nuts in that Corellian ryshcate to poison Ambassador Morrow. Clever move: I understand the symptoms mimic an allergic reaction. Never thought to mix fickleberries with vweilu nuts and a decoction of grillig-juice. All are harmless on their own, but when combined together, the enzyme produced causes catastrophic organ failure in most humanoids.”

You froze.

“Do you think that would work on Darth Thanaton?” Kiljack asked, tilting his chin up “No, that’s far too radical for him. Mixing foreign nuts and berries, he’d never go for that.” He flashed you a predatory smile. “You might have better luck with a rancor.”

They knew.

This wasn’t just about Thanaton. No one in Imperial Intelligence decisively knew everything that you had done, or how: just that you got results. But Moff Kiljack and Lord Messor, two mortal enemies had just sat you down to dinner and they karking knew. And if these two knew what Imperial Intelligence did not, that meant they were far more driven and dangerous than you initially expected and how did they know? Why did they go through all that effort-?

Terror, still fresh from your encounter in the throne room, blossomed in your chest once more. Dozens of scenarios played out in your mind: the consequences of your exposure. There was no need to go into graphic detail, though you kept getting distracted with colorful visions of your own evisceration. No matter what you thought of, it all ended very badly for you.

In that moment, you cursed your premature deactivation of your kill-chip. They knew. And if it was you versus a Sith lord and his moff ex-apprentice, you would not win. They had already done the hard part, already figured out what you did and how. And then you had just walked into Messor’s home, a gift-wrapped sacrifice. They wanted something from you, and judging by what they already knew, what it took to find that information out, they had the will and means to break you. You’d seen the inquisitors work, seen the aftermath too, the piles of mewling meat begging for death. Being on the wrong side of Sith and moff persuasion wasn’t any kinder. Electrocution or a snapped neck were far better.

You were on your feet in seconds, already turning to run, hoping Moff Kiljack would take you out in one shot.

“No!” Lord Messor raised his hand, and you slammed back down into the chair. Something in your body cracked as you struck the stone, and the world went black for half a second before you snapped back into your body.

You tried to move, but the force held you in your seat, pressing tightly against your chest, your arms pinned down on the armrests. You could barely breathe, let alone move your limbs. Shuddering, you could only watch as Moff Kiljack leaned against the edge of the table in front of you. He reached out, one gloved hand tilting your chin up.

“You hit her too hard, Messor,” his voice was calm. “She’s bleeding and her pupils are uneven.”

“Couldn’t help it. She moved too fast, and she was planning to self-destruct.” Messor’s voice came from behind gritted teeth.

“That, or hoping to get one of us to do it for her.” Kiljack shook his head.

Cold sweat dripped down your neck. Your breaths came in short bursts. You were trapped, back flat against the stone chair. You couldn’t move. And you were at the mercy of men who didn’t know the meaning of the word. A strangled sob died in your chest as you vainly tried to move your limbs.

“Shhhhh, don’t struggle,” Kiljack reached for your napkin and then gently blotted your nose. “Messor, she’s having trouble breathing.”

“I know,” Messor shuddered, and took a deep breath. “She’s very scared.” There was a note of something like hunger in his voice, but he raised his hand again, and suddenly you could draw in a little more air.

“Mmm,” Kiljack nodded, those blue eyes studying your face. “That’s it, stop fighting us. This doesn’t have to hurt.” He set the napkin down, watching you intently, like a puzzle he wanted to dissect. He smiled then. “You are very loud, Cipher.”

You gritted your teeth and tried to stifle your breathing. You must be badly injured if you were making too much noise. Ciphers didn’t make a habit of being loud. For obvious reasons.

“That’s not what I meant,” Kiljack said. He leaned in, nearly nose to nose with you. “Quiet your mind.”

You stared at him, trying to swallow, but your throat was dry and your vision blurred. You dropped your head, too dizzy to stay upright.

Kiljack lifted your water glass to your lips. “Here. Take small sips. We don’t want you to choke. On the water.”

You flinched, waiting for one of them to follow up with a traditional Sith demonstration of force choking.

“Just drink your water,” Kiljack ordered.

You opened your mouth, closing your eyes as the glass touched your lips. The cool water tasted better than you hoped and the light steady stream cleared your throat.

“That’s it, good girl.” He stroked your cheek, his black glove soft against your skin. “Is that better?”

You managed a nod, feeling queasy from the motion alone.

“Now, are you going to behave?” Kiljack asked coolly. “Or do we have to keep you restrained? Another stunt like that, and I won’t be so nice, do you understand?”

“I’ll be good, sir,” you said, voice weak, and you had to grit your teeth, because speaking hurt. That force blow had done some damage to you. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact location, because your whole body ached. You still couldn’t move. And to make things worse, Moff Kiljack, of all people, was trying to gentle you like a wild tauntaun.

“Does it hurt?” He asked.

You closed your eyes, focusing on the different routes off of Nar Shaddaa instead of your current location. And you waited for the next threat of more pain, or the lightning, or whatever Kiljack wanted to use.

“Now, she’s gone silent,” Kiljack muttered.

“She’s in pain,” Messor said, his voice still low. “And while I find nav-charts far less tedious than endless streams of pazaak, someone really needs to teach you how to shield your mind better. I don’t know how you’ve survived this long with such loud and irreverent thoughts.”

Normally, you were better at it. But Kiljack had said your pupils were uneven...OK, concussion. That made sense. You took an inventory of your injuries: bad concussion, something fractured in your chest or abdomen, and you still were trapped here with a dark lord and a moff who wanted you for nothing good. Druk. It would have been so much easier if one of them had just killed you outright. They were supposed to be good at that kind of thing. Hell, you could still bite your tongue off and-

Kiljack gripped your chin, prying your jaw open. “I thought you were going to be a good girl, Cipher.”

You whimpered.

“I will get the bit and the slave collar,” he said glaring at you.

You relaxed your jaw. You weren’t trying to upset him. You were concussed. And you didn’t have complete control of your faculties right now.

Kiljack narrowed his eyes at you. “Is that so? Do I need to get the bit for your own safety? Or would you prefer I make you a cloth gag? Messor, can we borrow your sash?”

“Sah-ee, sir,” you said. It was not the first time you’d given a disingenuous apology with another man’s fingers in your mouth at the dinner table, and quite frankly you were a little embarrassed to be in that situation again.

Then came the spasm of pain that would have bent you in two, if you could move that far. Instead, you twitched, teeth clamping down on the moff’s fingers as you struggled to breathe. You tasted blood in your mouth, though you weren’t sure whose it was.

Kiljack’s eyes widened, but he didn’t move, and the slap you expected did not come. He waited for you to unclench before withdrawing his fingers. He examined his torn glove with a sigh. “We’re going to need kolto, Messor.”

A kolto pack floated over the table to Kiljack.

Nimble fingers began unbuttoning your collar. You opened your eyes to see Kiljack unfastening your tunic, a kolto pack in hand. His gaze lingered on your thin undershirt for a moment, and then he applied the cool healing gel onto your stomach, along your sides, and around to your back.

“I don’t think we’ll be finishing dinner out here any time soon,” Messor said.

“Messor, I’m not making do with just a salad, no matter what kind of fancy berries you put in it,” Kiljack said, wiping his hands off and checking his fingers. There were teeth marks, and some broken skin, but nothing severe. After the kolto application, the wounds started closing up as you watched.

Messor laughed. “We can take our meals in our rooms. Why don’t we call the medical droid and put our guest to bed first?”

The pressure on your body suddenly lifted, but before you could regain your bearings, Kiljack scooped you out of the chair.

“Is this causing you more pain?” He asked, one arm supporting your back, the other under your knees.

“No,” you said, though breathing was still uncomfortable. Rib damage, likely. You didn’t struggle, too woozy to make good decisions right now. On the bright side, it looked like they weren’t going to kill you just yet, but also, you hadn’t made it to dessert, and you were a little sad at the prospect of missing whatever Lord Messor’s chef had concocted. Even if it was fickleberries mixed with vweilu nuts and a decoction of grillig-juice.

Despite the danger, you could not keep your eyes open. The world faded away.

You dreamt.

You were back in that dining room, candlelight casting eerie shadows on the walls. You saw yourself bent over that banquet table, Lord Messor’s hand on your back, your face pressed against the stone, your wine glass rolling on its side, the red liquid dribbling onto the floor. You felt a spark and flinched, that light crackle of electricity as those metal talons trailed down your spine.

“Scared?” Messor murmured, his breath hot on the back of your neck.

“Yes, my lord,” you panted, squirming under him, feeling his cock pressed against you through his robes.

“Good.”

You were on your knees, staring up at Kiljack, the tip of a riding crop under your chin. You didn’t recognize the room. There was a small fountain flowing in the corner. It was an office, probably aboard a starcruiser from the shape of the window. You did not recognize the orbit. But Kiljack was in full moff regalia, gray tunic coat and jodphurs, black boots and gloves, and a heavy belt. Was this his battleship?

“I told you to open your mouth,” Kiljack said coldly.

You hesitantly parted your lips, noticing that your hands were unbound. You could-

Kiljack pushed a piece of silicone into your mouth, the ring shape holding your teeth apart. He fastened the strap snugly around your head.

“That’s better,” he said, an edge in his smile as he cupped your cheek. “This wouldn’t be necessary if you were more careful with those teeth. Now be a good girl and stick out your tongue.”

The bedroom was large and dimly lit.

The bed was enormous, draped in scarlet silks and pillows. It was comfortable, but you could not actually move very far. You poked at the gold collar latched around your neck. You wore matching bracelets and anklets, but there was a chain attached to the collar and secured to the headboard. You rolled your eyes at the outfit: the dancer’s garb with the red and gold harness top, chain belt and lashaa silk loincloth, and knee high boots.

You had worn these before – what spy hadn’t? But you didn’t remember getting here, or where here even was.

There was someone else in the room, somewhere in the shadows, just watching you. You looped a length of chain – your best bet for a weapon, and began examining where it connected to the headboard.

“I thought you were going to behave today.” Messor’s voice came from somewhere in the darkness.

“But if this is how she wants to play, why should we deny her?” Kiljack laughed.

The lights went out. And suddenly you weren’t alone on the bed.

“So do you like the view?” Kiljack whispered. “You’ll have to be quiet, or everyone will hear us.” He tightened his grip around your waist. “Or maybe that’s what you want.”

You sat on his lap, looking around the throne room, in all its sinister glory. Crimson imperial banners hung from the walls and pillars, the firelight casting harsh shadows. There was a second story balcony overlooking the throne room. It was too dark to see if anyone else was up there. But the rest of the cavern was a vast expanse, easily surveyed from the throne where Kiljack sat: Lord Messer’s throne.

He was right. If you made any noise, it would echo.

You swallowed roughly, eyes drifting to the spot where the moff had executed Prince. There was no body or blood.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Kiljack growled in your ear.

You opened your mouth to speak.

“You’re in my seat,” Messor said, the words echoing off the walls as he materialized from the shadows. His tone was dangerously mild. He stalked up the stairs toward you.

You started to move, but Kiljack held you tightly against him. “About time you got here,” the moff said. “I was getting bored giving the tour. Maybe we can move on to something more exciting.”

You sat up with a strangled gasp, your head pounding. Another unfamiliar bed, but when you looked down, you were covered in blankets. You peeked underneath, finding yourself still dressed in your thin tanktop and uniform pants. You ached, like you’d been in a fight. But there wasn’t pain between your legs, a small, but important reassurance. The inside of your mouth felt like a stable floor and you winced as you looked around, the dim lights still aggravating your eyes.

It was a large elegant bedroom, the furniture silver with red trim. It was neat, but it felt lived in, not a guest room. You started to look around, but your vision swam. Holding your head, you gave yourself a moment before trying to focus.

Yesterday was an absolute sarlaac snarl. You’d been sent off on a poorly-planned suicide mission, and your reactions were...wrong. Judging by how awful you felt right now, you’d been drugged. You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to analyze each location step by step. You started feeling ill in Darth Thanaton’s presence, but you neither ate nor drank there. Maybe he did have some secret force brainwashing powers, but that was unlikely. That ability was too subtle for a bombastic coot like him.

...The stims. Something had been wrong with the stims. Fixer 3 wasn’t being a smart ass. Fixer 3 had been trying to warn you. Echuta! It had been right there in front of your face and you were too distracted and arrogant to notice.

You growled, throwing the blankets off. You tried to stand, but found you were still too dizzy.

“Well, I’m glad to see that you’re feeling better.”

You blinked.

Just off to the side, nestled between a wardrobe and a table, sat Moff Kiljack. There was a blanket on his lap and a blaster pistol on the table. He yawned, stretching his arms above his head, before he stood, fully dressed, though his jacket was unbuttoned. A faint dusting of stubble shadowed his jaw. He looked you over. “That’s better.” He tapped his left temple. “You’re not so loud any more.” He gave a sigh that sounded a lot like relief. “I know that wasn’t entirely your fault. You were out of your head. The medical droid analyzed what was in your system, if you’re curious.”

“Someone sabotaged my stims,” you said, resting your head on your knees. “Someone in Imperial Intelligence.”

Moff Kiljack nodded. “Makes sense. You also had a bad concussion, cracked ribs, and some bruising. The kolto pack helped a little, but a localized injection sped it up.”

“Thank you,” you said, even if you were not so sure that you were grateful to be saved. Because you still had a lot of questions about what was going on, why these two “enemies” had put so much research into your accomplishments, and how much they knew about Darth Thanaton’s intentions.

You closed your eyes, knowing a few things already:

Moff Kiljack and Lord Messor had a complex relationship; this was likely Kiljack’s room and Messor would not keep it for him if they were really enemies. You needed to figure out the exact nature of their alliance and how much of that infamous enmity was a smokescreen. They worked too well in tandem for all of that showboating to be real.

Keeper was now actively trying to kill you. It would be very difficult to tamper with the stims otherwise. Thanaton was probably meant to be the instrument of your death. He was old, powerful, and no one would bat an eye over a Darth executing a Cipher.

The sensitivity was getting worse. Once it had been an asset, just enough insight to give you an advantage. Now it was opening you up to too many other things. And you lived in the capital city of the Empire, where so many hungry Sith congregated. No, this was bad for you. Kiljack was right, you needed to shore up those shields, and hide yourself better. Anything less would get you shipped off to Korriban.

“Can you hold down food?” Kiljack asked, suddenly standing beside the bed. He set a glass of water on the night stand.

“Not sure. Thank you.” You eyed it for a moment, knowing that he could have slipped any manner of drug in there, but at this point, what choice did you have? They needed you for something, and that meant they probably needed you alive and functional. You took the water, sipping it slowly.

The moff watched you like a hawk, probably worried that you were going to choke or throw up.

You studied him, noting his bare hands. There were scars on them, but it looked like the bite marks had healed. “Sorry about biting you last night,” you said. Apologizing seemed like a good idea. It would be wisest if they thought you were docile and amenable to them. You still weren’t certain that you were going to thank him for sparing your life. But you were a little more confident that they weren’t planning on torturing you to death. Not immediately, anyway.

“You need to be more careful with those teeth,” he said, without a hint of inflection, that handsome scarred face stoic once more.

You stared at him for a second, a moment of deja vu. You shrugged. “I need to be more careful, period.” You dropped back onto the pillows, another wave of dizziness skewing your balance.

The moff picked up a personal comm. “Echo, let Messor know that our guest is awake, and have something mild brought up from the kitchens for her.” He glanced over at you. “I can send for the medical droid.”

“You already had me checked out, right?” You asked, staring up at the stone tiled ceiling.

“Yes. There was a small amount of bleeding in your skull. We took care of it. It can provide some painkillers and anti-nausea meds if you want.”

We took care of it.

That was an interesting way to phrase it. The medical droid might have accomplished it on its own, though the procedure would be more invasive.

“I think I should go for the anti-nausea meds,” you said, one hand over your eyes. “But if you give me a minute, I can try to get upright and-”

“Just stay there,” Kiljack said. “Messor will be along shortly. Finish your water.”

You sighed and downed the rest of the glass, spilling a little down your chin, and not really caring because your head hurt.

The comm unit chimed and Kiljack stepped out of the bedroom. When he returned, he was carrying a large platter of flatbread, grilled fish, and some fruit. There was a small glass of anti-nausea medication too. He set it all on the nightstand and poured you another glass of water from the carafe.

Your stomach rumbled, so you took a few berries and ate them slowly, letting the sweetness roll down your throat. You downed the medication in one shot.

When everything stayed down, you took a few more berries, and then a piece of bread, passing on the sauce, just in case.

Kiljack settled back down in his chair, watching your every move.

You had taken a break from trying to eat, when there was a knock. It was distant, and you realized this bedroom was probably part of a suite. Kiljack got up, giving you a stern look.

You pretended not to see. You were still too messed up to make a run for it, and even if you did manage to escape, where would you go? Keeper was trying to kill you. Thanaton was not going to be happy about Prince. And Nar Shaddaa with its flashing lights and cacophony of sounds, would give you a migraine bad enough to make your head explode. You could stay here in the comfortable bed for a moment. You needed a more accurate picture of the situation, before you did anything rash. You did not need a repeat of last night.

“No, it’s fine, I don’t have to get back to the fleet, I’ll just stay here and babysit your new pet spy,” Kiljack said sharply as he returned and practically threw himself into his chair.

Lord Messor followed, still in those sweeping red and black Sith robes, that stylized skull mask in place. The Sith had several skull motifs, though to be honest, his reminded you a little of the Mandalorian mythosaur skull symbol, without the horns.

“I’m glad to see that you’re feeling better,” Lord Messor stood in the doorway. There was a slight mechanical quality to his voice that you had not noticed last night. The mask had a built-in vocoder then. Interesting.

“My lord,” you said, attempting a bow at the waist and feeling your head swoop dangerously close to your knees.

“Don’t-” He sighed. “We can do this informally, Cipher. You’re still recovering from your ordeal.”

You nodded, wincing as you leaned back into the pillows. “I appreciate that, my lord.”

“We’re in private, Cipher. You can forego the title as well.”

Thankfully, you were already lying down, because otherwise you would have fallen over in shock. You had never actually expected to hear a Sith lord say that. After Thanaton, it was a pleasant reversal. But you did not trust that magnanimity.

If Messor and Kiljack knew about the “extra” missions you did, then they had to have a fairly accurate psychological profile of you. They had to know that people who forced you into bad situations ended up having freak accidents. Being polite was just a good way to manage you. You had no illusions about the altruistic natures of moffs and Sith lords. But you could appreciate the effort and you would work with good manners. This was certainly better than spending an hour being shouted at by Darth Thanaton.

You waited for one of the men to speak. They were the ones who wanted you here, after all.

“You were recently tasked by Darth Thanaton to sabotage our strategic efforts on Hoth and Voss. You were assigned to Darth Thanaton by Imperial Intelligence, but that does not mean Imperial Intelligence condones his actions. However, as Thanaton is a member of the Dark Council, politics must come into play.” Messor’s hands twitched. He wasn’t wearing the gauntlets today. He had large hands, dark skin, and thick callouses, probably from handling weapons.

“So someone in Imperial Intelligence tipped you off?”

“Your...Keeper saw fit to warn me,” Kiljack said, fingers steepled.

You frowned. “But not Lord Messor.”

“I think you’ve already figured out that Messor and I are...exaggerating our feud.” Kiljack gave a wry smile. “But that is very guarded knowledge.”

“Yes,” you nodded, and then winced, because you did not need to be bobbing your injured head like an idiot bird. Your brain had taken enough of a blending.

A secret political alliance gave them an interesting cover and access to a wider range of intelligence. But Moff Kiljack did not have the wealth and prestige that Lord Messor did. He would be at a fundamental disadvantage. A Sith lord was not likely to trust anyone outside their control. There were a lot of disadvantages to this tactic and you could not see a clear payoff. You sat with that for a moment. There was an important reason for their ruse, though you doubted they would tell you anything but a plausible cover story today. But the layout of the game started to form. You looked at the empty spaces, trying to find the details that didn’t make sense.

...There it was. There was a third party in play, aiding and abetting this ruse. Someone with enough clout to help Kiljack get his promotion. Someone that even Keeper did not want to cross...

Another Dark Council member then. And given Kiljack and Messor’s military interests and mostly low-key behavior, you had a good idea whom that Council Member was, though again, not why they were using this exact ruse. But if Kiljack’s patron was who you thought it was, you did not blame Keeper for wanting to stay on his good side.

But you were also pretty sure that you were not supposed to survive that meeting with Thanaton yesterday. The exchange would go something like this:

“Send me another minion, peon!”

“I’m so sorry, your Decrepit-ness, you killed my only available agent and we’re very shorthanded! There’s no one else to send. You’ll have to wait.”

Keeper would be off the hook with Thanaton and Kiljack’s patron. You would be dead. Three problems solved.

Except you were alive, and no problems were solved. You looked up to see Kiljack studying your face.

“Do you suspect that Keeper knows the feud is fabricated?”

“No. That’s very exclusive knowledge,” Messor said without a trace of doubt.

You wondered how he could be so confident – not because he wasn’t ruthless – but because your business was secrets: keeping them, stealing them, rooting them out. If people wanted information badly enough, they would find a way to get it. No matter how well you thought you covered your tracks. Your stomach soured a little at that thought. They’d figured out some of your secrets. You’d have to return the favor, if only for your own pride. And maybe some leverage.

“So you want to recruit me as a double agent against Thanaton,” you said.

“Partially,” Messor admitted. “But I had a more permanent offer in mind for you.” He cleared his throat. “My current intelligence chief will be retiring soon. You were recommended to us.”

You blinked. “I can’t just quit Imperial Intelligence, believe me, I’ve tried,” you blurted out.

“You can if you have the right patronage,” Kiljack said. And he had some experience there, having gone from Sith apprentice to moff.

“You want me to help you bring down Thanaton, get you onto the Dark Council, and then you’ll hire me?” Your lips twitched at that tall order. Sith expectations.

“I will hire you now as a house intelligence agent, at double your current pay with all the usual amenities one expects from the well-to-do estate of a Sith lord,” Messor said. “Promotion to intelligence chief pending results.”

That would have been extremely generous, except Imperial Intelligence was criminally cheap. Sure you had some good benefits, but they didn’t have to be competitive when their employees literally weren’t allowed to quit. Still, it was not a bad offer. Better than a lot of the alternatives.

Messor continued. “Handling Thanaton and the Council are longer term problems. If we succeed on Hoth and Voss, I will have enough clout to extract you intact from the employ of Imperial Intelligence. And it will be easier since you’re already assigned to me: possession is nine tenths of the law.”

You sat with that for a few seconds. You could play the long game, letting Thanaton think you had wormed your way into Messor’s confidence. That would sit well with Keeper – it kept him out of the hotseat. You could go back to Keeper and see which way he wanted you to go – for intel purposes only - and then do whatever you wanted anyway. You could say no outright, and get shot in the head by Kiljack…

“You have questions,” Messor said, still keeping his distance.

“How long have you been tracking me? And what brought me to your attention?”

“A man once called “Sparrow” recommended you to us a year ago. He is around here if you want to catch up later.”

You sighed, of course Sparrow was still alive. That explained a lot. He knew you well enough to guess which missions you had purposefully altered. He knew your expertise well enough to conjecture methodology. That he shared this information with a strange Sith lord should not have surprised you entirely. The former Cipher 7 was a skilled assassin; he’d been declared KIA with his brother two years ago. But it seemed he had found a safe haven here.

“His brother?”

“Didn’t want to work with us. No one was going to force him. He took a shuttle to Yavin 4. Sparrow visits him occasionally,” Kiljack said.

“Why me?” You asked, not because you doubted your abilities, but because you still did not quite understand how this coalition worked.

Messor was silent for a moment. “You are a reasonable woman. And looking at your track record, we thought your methods would align with ours.”

“And why do you think that?” You asked.

“The Rancor Incident,” Kiljack said with a smirk.

You kept your face neutral.

“Lord Vilhus was there, a very nasty individual. But the casualty list also included Ieyak the Butcher, Margrene the Bloody, General Arus, Enso Chain-Maker, and Lord Casten. Coincidentally, none of the slaves, servers, or civilian bystanders were hurt. And everyone thought it was just a terrible accident. That took planning, skill, and finesse.”

You stared at your lap, trying to remember if any of those people had good or bad ties to House Messor. Vilhus wasn’t anyone’s friend and Arus wasn’t related. Casten might have attended the Academy at the same time as Messor. You pondered that connection.

Because once you’d had a close...friend, a lower ranking analyst in Imperial Intelligence. A smart and pretty Twi’lek who didn’t deserve the things Lord Vilhus did to her. Lord Vilhus was a Sith lord and could do as he pleased to those weaker than him. So when you saw him there and that rancor… It was just an opportunity.

You looked up to see Kiljack studying you intently. “None of them were allies to House Messor or myself,” he told you.

“Am I...broadcasting?” You asked, trying to make sure your mind was quiet.

“No, it’s just the next logical question,” Kiljack said. He cleared his throat. “But there’s something else we need to address.”

“You’re a Sensitive,” Messor said.

You winced. Of course they’d picked that up yesterday. “A little. Nothing kinetic level, just intuitive boosts every now and again. Came along later in life.” Though it still might be enough to get you sent to Korriban. And now they knew. Which was a manageable thing. You knew about their fake feud, they knew about your force sensitivity. Mutually-assured destruction ensured that the balance of power remained less complicated.

Messor nodded. “Kiljack is very good at shielding. You should consult him about how to better protect your mind.”

Kiljack gave Messor a side-eyed squint, but did not protest.

Accept the offer, take a hard job, and maybe get out from under Keeper’s thumb. Or decline and end up dead. It wasn’t much of a choice.

“What do I have to do to sign on?” You asked.

Different Sith lords had their ways of ensuring loyalty, or at least compliance. You had undergone years of conditioning to be kept under the authority of Imperial Intelligence. A lot of that conditioning had come undone in your term as an active operative. You had worked hard to slough the restraints that would have otherwise hobbled your thinking. They might have had your service, but your mind was your own. Ciphers had a lot of leeway to run operations as they saw fit, because an obedient drone could not do their job. But there were still ticks, involuntary habits ingrained in your mind, pathways worn in by years of unpleasant reinforcement. Oh, you weren’t loyal to Imperial Intelligence, but you knew to instantly bow your head to a “superior,” to mask your emotions with a lie, and that the mission came first at the expense of all else... You knew these things in your bones, because of the conditioning. And you understood intimately how those rituals did psychological damage.

So when Lord Messor stepped into the room and drew closer, you prepared yourself for something unpleasant.

“Give me your hand, the flesh one.”

Permanently, or just to hold? You wanted to ask, but you kept your mouth shut and extended your right hand. He took it gently between his palms. His skin was warm and rough. You swallowed, preparing to be overwhelmed by your reaction to the Sith.

The world turned black.

Then heat and light poured into your skull, a waterfall rushing through you, and you screamed under the torrent. It cut through your perception, and tethered something in your head, to that little spot of intuition that always knew when a weapon was being drawn or when someone was lying to you. That metaphysical aperture expanded, wedged open by the hooks of Messor’s connection. He was in your head, and for a moment, you were face down on the dining room table, those claws tracing along your spine while he pinned you there, while you squeezed your thighs together, squirming at his touch…

Then you felt the weight on your left arm, felt Messor squeeze your right hand, and you forced your eyes open.

Kiljack held you to the bed, your left hand pinned over your head.

You could feel Messor through the force. He was in your mind, had his own private backdoor in, a new sort of violation. And that realization enraged you. Snarling, you thrashed, “You bastard! Get the hell out of my head!”

“If you shield well, I can’t see what’s in your head,” he said calmly. “And I won’t go looking.”

Cursing, you lunged at him, but Kiljack held you down, his full weight on your body.

“It’s not mind control, it’s a minor force bond,” Messor said, tone even.

So this was how he kept Kiljack in line. And you had just willingly submitted yourself to the same treatment. Maybe death was preferable. Fury overtook you and you tried to throw Kiljack off you. When he didn’t budge, you sunk your teeth into Kiljack’s shoulder.

He jerked, then braced himself, hand tightening on your throat. “I thought I told you to be more careful with those teeth,” he rasped, pupils huge.

You waited for the leash or the neural bolt.

It’s not a leash. It goes both ways. And it fades with time. Messor said quietly in your head. Also, if you keep biting Kiljack, he’s going to choke you out.

Groaning, you released the moff, feeling his fingers begin to loosen around your neck. You kriffing piece of sarlaac scum! I’m going to feed you your teeth!

“I hope you’re talking to Messor, because you’re not in any position to threaten me,” Kiljack said gruffly, running his thumb over your throat, before letting go of your neck.

“You’re on the list too, don’t worry,” you hissed.

Messor released your hand, a hint of amusement in his aura. “Get some rest, Thirteen. We can talk more later.”

I know so many annoying drinking songs from dozens of planets. I will be screaming them into your skull all night!

“Charming,” Kiljack said, rubbing his temple. He glanced down at his ripped jacket and glared at you. “If you’re going to be a nuisance, you can go crawl into someone else’s bed, because-”

There was the ghost of a memory, a shirtless Kiljack laughing as he lay in the bed, another man pinned under him, like you had been, a flash of heat pulsed between your thighs-

Messor inhaled sharply.

Kiljack pinched the bridge of his nose. “I told you-” He pushed his hair back, suddenly very tired. “Just go. Your proximity is probably making things more difficult.”

“Your shoulder,” Messor said softly, he stepped out of the room and returned with a medkit.

You watched silently as Messor carefully cleaned Kiljack’s wound, and treated it with kolto.

Kiljack leaned into Messor’s hands, his head resting against Messor’s shoulder, and it clicked.

There was more than one reason why Kiljack did not betray Messor, one you had not anticipated. You gave a dry laugh, how utterly ridiculous. These stories never ended well for the Sith or their lovers. Suddenly very drained, you dropped back into the pillows.

Rest.

I hope you get eaten by a gorryl slug, you bastard. You pictured the giant carnivorous slugs of Kashyyyk, arboreal hunters that dropped onto their prey and were nearly impossible to pry off. They would exude digestive juices and slowly digest their victims. An unlucky person could take a very long time to die.

What are those- oh that is awful. I’ll have to remember that one. A low laugh in the back of your skull. Kiljack is very good at shielding. He will help you if you ask, nicely.

I’m going to gut you like a ghest.

Get some rest, Thirteen. You’ll have plenty of time to threaten me later.

#SWTOR #Crossover #in alio loco #reader insert #Fanfiction #Crackfic #Improper Use of the Force

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foryouthegays · 3 years

Text

techno liveblog w timestamps lets go for ‘a new home (dream SMP)’ stream

good laugh times: 00:13:50, 00:14:55, 1:38:45, ik it doesnt look like a lot but like u should watch the stream anyway bc philzas there and his laugh is amazing and they just go so well together

times techno calls phil his friend: 00:6:00 00:37:00, 00:45:17, 0:1:09:30, 01:11:15, 01:26:35, 01:50:05, 2:35:00

FSDJKFAF;LS HE KEPT THE MUTED INTRO IN JHKADFLS (ends at 00:1:25)

i like how, when faced with Leaving Youtube, techno would choose to be an author. i want a book by techno. reblog this if u want a book by techno (with an audiobook by him as well) /hj. 00:1:33

i love how he says ehhhhhh so much lskjhdfas (abt 2 mins in)

who the FUCK just remembers that the word fortuitous exists wtf 00:5:17

00:7:45 PHILZA TIME PHILZA TIME LETS GO

00:8:55 tommy time :/

0:14:10 rANBOO JUST WALKS IN, LOOKS AROUN ,AND LEA VE SIM CRYING

i love how much philza laughs at technos jokes bc pretty much everything he says IS a joke he just says it in such a serious voice that p much everyone else is like,,,yeah,,,,yup,,,,and phil just knows when hes joking and his laugh is so good with technos voice. sbi? whos that? i only know philza and technoblade

00:19:30 ghostbur joins! this is my first time hearin ghostbur btw

00:19:40 haha string axe technos so bad at crafting what a fool /j

00:21:07 ghostbur: “Even I remember how to make a fishing rod!” ghostbur u just MURDERED technoblade oh my god im gonna scream hgjdfksla i love ghostbur so much

00:23:55: GHOSTBUR NO!! DON’T DIE YOU’LL BECOME A DOUBLE GHOST!!!! -technoblade 2020

00:24:55 technoblade neva lies -guys he almost did the technoblade neva dies ahh!!!!!

i havent heard anyone talk about this but techno has a dedicated roleplay voice. like listen to him talk to tommy at 00:25:08. his voice gets more even, he uses names a lot more often (seriously, listen to his theseus speech. he says tommy so often, its incredible.), and his voice gets,,,,deeper? not deeper but smoother, in a way, and he repeats what he says for emphasis instead of humor. and his voice is louder, and he seems more assertive.

00:27:30 philza: where we goin, by the way? techno: to our- to my new home.

techno cmon let phil live w u wed get so much more content cmonn

00:28:50 the fact that he calls the manhunt theme “dream music” makes me laugh so hard. and then his version of it,,,,,m love he (also he sings it here and at 01:14:20)

00:35:10 why is ranboo so cryptic im-

why does he just casually know the word sentry wh at i hate him 00:39:45

this is the worst sentence (structurally) ive ever heard techno say im gonna cry 00:49:33 ‘im too busy thinkin of new ideas to sleep so i could actually execute them’ and tubbos *oh?* after is just hdsfgkjlka

LKSJDHFJK 00:51:49

00:54:30

techno: thats one of dreams powers, he can just stop the rain

tubbo, quietly: like jesus!

i love them sm dsfhkjla they kept going but i jus gdfhjksa jesus has op

techno @ being the second worst thing to ever happen to those orphans: haha funnie!!

techno @ having fun w religious stuff: i wILL BE CANCELLED NO-

00:58:10 “hey if ur [ghostbur] a ghost, do instant damage potions heal you now?” “...no,, they hurt me still :(” DSIULZKJHFSLKFJH

01:04:00 his brother named the cow bob im- aww

also he has a fanart wall again!!!

01:09:30 “phil, you’re the only friend i have left in this world.” aWWWWW HE GAVE HIM THE COMPASS

“dont smoke, it’s a joke” -technoblade 01:14:15

ROLEPLAY SPEECH VOICE IS BACK AT 1:16:10 “they pillage my base for everything i’m worth, they use me for the revolution, but oooOOOoo i took a pickaxe with his consent? oOOOooOo i’m a thief!”

holy shit 01:17:15 “you know what, phil? for you, the world, alright? it’s fine.” oH MY GOD HHHHGHG (context, right before they were arguing bc phil took some blocks from his base and techno thought that when he said phil could take anything he meant from the chests)

the COMIDY of that villager coming in and sleeping while techno was readin donos at 01:22:05 RIGHT AFTER phil freaked out abt inturruptin his dono readin im SFDHKJLA:

techno talkin bout the winstreak and how he wont be able to live up to that sort of playin at 01:22:30ish is super important and ill transcribe it tomorrow, but if u can id highly rec watchin it.

01:24:20 “[readin dono] what’s your favorite movie? uh, the princess bride is pretty good” techno ily that movie rocks also he said it so fast like hes ashamed of it noo

techno says no to canon ranboo son btw! 01:25:30

01:25:55 “i wasnt in that story, therefore it doesnt matter” all of technoblr be like

01:37:49 is great lemmie transcribe

“how have you still not gotten a second monitor?? holy shit.”

“let me tell you something. and im only telling you this because i know that so many people in the chat are gonna be furious. so i recently realized- i think the second monitor can just be any ol’ monitor, right? you literally just plug it in, and its set up? well i mean you have to turn on some settings, but like, thats it, or something?”

“yeah,,,,, uh techno you fuckin destroyed my chat, by the way, oh my god, [earlier techno told his viewers to twitch prime philza] there has been like 40 primes just flying through”

“yeahhh twitch prime!!! twitch prime philza yeahh!!! so anyways the other day, i like, i looked to my left, and realized that my old monitor has been like, five feet away from where i sit and stream for the last three years?”

“oh my god...”

“so i- i literally do not have to leave my room to set up a second monitor and i havent. and i’m still usin my laptop for this stream.

“is this gonna be one of those situations where you like, you have a thing, you just refuse to do the thing?”

“listen, my desk is-

“yOU STILL HAVENT OPENED UP THE HYPIXEL PACKAGE!!!”

“AHHHH I HAVENT OPENED UP THE HYPIXEL PACKAGE! I HAVENT EVEN OPENED UP MY MCC COIN! DUDE I HAVENT EVEN OPENED UP MY ONE MILLION SUBSCRIBER PLAQUE! ITS STILL THERE RIGHT BEHIND ME! ITs sTILL IN THE BOX! i never made a video on it....”

“bruhhhhh [philza laughs] thats FREE VIEWS what are you doing??”

“ill open it at 8 mil :/.”

“you could LITERALLY make a video of you just like, throwing it off a wall, and then thumbing up, like doing a thumbs up, and then that would be it. 10 seconds. ten seconds. thumb and elbow in shot. [laughs]”

techno is such a disaster i love him

01:34:18 the way techno says “tommy, that statement has NEVER been true” i dont like sayin i simp for block men but GOD sometimes his voice is nicer than usual hhhgn

“man i sure wish tommyinnit was in this stream” -nobody ever (just after previous timestamp)

01:40:15 is fuckin hilarious and im actually crying oh my god techno just says things and says them well with a completely straight face how does he do it

i cannot WAIT until theres a president w the last/first name andy so we can say president andy and think abt technoblade

IM CRIASDNGUSFHD 01:44:38 PHILZA LOOK OUT LOOK OUT PHILZA LSKJDAFJASD;LKF

i love when techno talks abt his vids. like u can tell he puts a lot of thought into the vids (esp these ones) and like at 01:47:00 he talks abt the “I DIDNT PUT DEAPTH STRIDER ON THOSE BOOTS, FUNDY!” and how its just that creepin realization that you were doomed from the start and how he made the armor, he isnt intimidated by the netherite bc he didnt enchant it all the way and only he knows that,,, and i just,,,hgg he

he reveals that hes writin the next arc at 01:48:00: “oh, speakin of arcs, chat, i’m writing the next arc. so, you know. hope nothin bad happens in two weeks, chat!” IM SO EXCITED like he clearly has his character fleshed out and is SO good at writing and retellin history im so so excited to see where he takes it AHHHH and also taht means he might stream more bc he might make his character more important (keep in mind this is the guy who wrote self insert hypixel fanfics. he has no shame in puttin himself first and i respect him so much for it)

01:51:20 “they’re tryin to get a second customer but they’re riskin their first” is lowkey a good line

has anyone else noticed that techno says wise a lot? like at 01:55:10 he literally says “wise dragon armor” as a joke but like i think he says wise so much BECAUSE of skyblock like hjkfdsla

01:57:30 techno plea se eat

ok 1:58:45 is hilarious and all but at the end of his ramble he says “come back, i miss you” and lowkey im crying

techno needs to stop knowing his audience more than we know ourselves im hsfkjda 02:05:25 “the chat’s spammin ‘eat technoblade, eat!’ like they’re not gonna start, like, theyre not gonna get super sad if i ended the stream right now, like theyre not gonna all cry ‘i miss technoblade *sniffs* why- whyd he leave to eat food, why did he listen to our advice noooo’”

02:14:50 NEW VIDEO POGGGG CARL THE HORSE POGGGGGG NOT A STREAM HIGHLIGHT POGGGGG

02:17:40 “i could start a potato farm out here to show how much ive changed” techno last time u made a potato farm u started an entire war that lasted a year that does NOT say calm and retired to me lskgdfjagsldj

02:23:00 why does techno just reference greek mythology so much. makin me scared for his arc.

also he talks abt smp earth a lot in this stream i love it so much

i also just. love?? how much sbi respect tommy like they bully him but when talkin bout him they just have so much respect for how much work he puts into youtube and i just,,,,hgnn they r friends

02:33:13 sbi streamer house lets go cmon

02:34:15 “i think if i streamed every day i could keep up” on one hand YE S but on the ohter oh god techno no we have to keep up tho

hearing techno say “violence isnt the answer” is so scary 02:35:40

02:37:30 technosneeze

hiS BROTHER SENT HIM 46 DISCORD MESSAGES SFKDJLFLKASF 2:49:25 i love his end screen so much hes just sadness,,,,retirement,,,t,echnoblade,,,the government is going to fall on its own due to lack of organization and ideals,,,,,,subscribe,,,,,sadness,,,,,also 2:50:45 is making me laugh so hard its just sad music and technos like??? whys phil in my house drinking milk?????

overall, fantastic stream, if ya want some chill techno philza content i highly recommend.

#stream post

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o-wise-corvid · 3 years

Text

Chapter 4: Take Up Your Blade

“And that’s when Kali and Shriek took him down.” Rex grinned, the pride on his bruised face evident. “Rend’s still in the other medbay raving like a lunatic. Also, he took two live blaster bolts, so he’ll be down for a while anyway.”

Gaia smiled, her split lip pulling a little where it had scabbed over. “Papa shouldn’t have done that.”

“He was well within reason,” Rex defended, eyes growing dark. “Rend was gonna kill you. You’re Sunshine’s Squad Leader. He couldn’t just let that happen. Not in a training op.”

“It could raise suspicion about his feelings for us,” she explained, shifting a little at a catch in her side.

Rex’s expression turned worried and he started to move but then it was his turn to make a lined noise. His left arm rested in a sling; Coris had fractured his forearm during the fight.

“You should’ve heard the chewing out he gave to the lieutenant who had gotten the sim ready. No countermeasures against the use of the Force, no med-pack caches. No plan to prevent an incident exactly like the one that happened.” He sighed, shaking his head. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say Rend somehow rigged the whole thing. He didn’t count on us knocking him out immediately.”

Gaia settled back into her pillow, feeling tired but also worried. Papa loved them all in a way that was strong, like a tight hug, and she knew how she had felt seeing him injured or hurt before. But her love for him was that of a child to their father. What would it be like to love a child? To feel responsible for what happened to them and then watch them be beaten bloody on a battlefield?

Rex continued, absently staring at Gaia’s knees as he brought up his memories. “When the lieutenant tried to disqualify Shriek and Kali for using the force to defend themselves, Buir told him he’d have his rank for nearly killing the best soldiers in the Imperial Army and forcing them to break the rules if they wanted to stay alive. But... way less polite. Like I thought he was going to strangle the poor guy.”

“But he didn’t. That’s... that’s good.”

Rex nodded. “Yeah. He’s been really busy while you were out. Barely comes back to the barracks to sleep. Said he’s working on something. He looks... older.”

Gaia just nodded, not sure what else to say. Rex read the heavy droop of her eyelids and smiled, standing up from the chair he’d pulled over when he’d arrived. “Get some sleep, vod.” They smiled at each other as Rex walked out; Gaia always did like to hear Mando’a even if she didn’t speak it much herself.

She leaned her head back, letting her eyes close. She didn’t want to sleep, but her body was so weary that all she felt like doing was lying still. It was quiet in the barracks, everyone else was trying very hard to give Gaia the quiet and rest she needed. She’d only just come to that morning, having slept for two days straight.

Between bacta injections and even more sleep, Gaia was ready to get up and walk in a week. Her body cramped in odd ways whenever she first stood up, making her hobble around like an old woman for a few minutes before the pain let go.

She was about to go cabin crazy anyway. The others had tried to keep her company as often as they could without spending too much time not doing their daily exercises, spending allotted time in the library and being seen not worrying about their sister.

But Cody’s absence was the the most pointed of all her many discomforts. Gaia had spotted him ducking into his room a few nights in a row, and had heard him speak to the others, but he’d avoided her. She didn’t know how to take this. Cody had always been there, always present, if not in body then in words or gestures.

She walked into the training yard with a carefully closed expression only have it falter into a grin as startled, disproving and then excited exclamations rose from her brothers and sister. They surrounded her, seeming afraid to touch her in case it might hurt. Gaia yanked them all into a tight group hug, ignoring the twisting feeling in her sternum.

Rex’s arm was almost healed as well and he slung it around her shoulders warmly. He stank of sweat but she didn’t care. They were all alright and back together. The way it was supposed to be.

“I was beginning to wonder if you be in that bed forever,” Shriek said with a laugh as she messed his feathery brown hair.

“We broke the bench record,” Soren reported brightly, motioning to the weight station. “259.”

“Oh ho. Looks like I got up just in time then.”

“Cadets. Report to the hangar bay.” Cody’s voice carried the familiar sour note that he always used for the public, but Gaia suddenly felt a twinge of worry that something she had done might’ve made this time more real.

“Come on,” she said and they filed out of the training yard.

The hangar bay was empty, not one ship occupying the wide space. It was quiet as a tomb, no noise of business anywhere. The only person waiting for the squad was Captain Cody, his expression unreadable. There was a table beside him with a long black rectangle set atop it. Gaia couldn’t tell what it was; there were no seams or locks of any kind on it.

“Attention.” Gaia’s voice cut the stillness of the room like a rifle blast.

Cody eyed them all for a long moment, and then took something from one of the pouches on his belt. It was a mini-holo projector. Gaia felt a hopeful little flutter that Gaia immediately recognized. He fiddled with it for a second and then his voice spoke out of it. “Get your back straight, Cadet. Soldiers have fought for weeks on end without so much as a bacta patch with worse than what you got.”

Cody set the thing down on the table and then stepped to the front of the line, next to Shriek. He spoke low, leaning down so that his mouth was right next to the boy’s ear. Shriek stood at strict attention, but Gaia saw the shine of tears in his eyes. Cody gestured behind himself at the table and Shriek nodded.

Shriek hurried over to the glossed black thing on the table and passed his hand over it. There was a soft click somewhere inside it and a seam of white light split it across the middle. The top half of the split smoothly slid upward, folding backward to reveal several objects within.

Gaia felt Shriek’s surprise and then sheer joy hum in the Force, fighting to contain her unconscious smile as her brother turned and gave Cody a stunned look. Cody silently chuckled at the boy, eyes crinkling up at the corners. Rex was right. He did look older.

He nodded encouragingly to Shriek, who reached in and pulled out a sleek black cylinder with an emitter affixed to one end. There were soft grips around the thing, giving it a slight curve. A cold hiss and then hum, much louder than that of a stun baton, filled the air as a beam of golden light shot from the emitter. Shriek’s mouth fell open as he inspected the lightsaber, turning his arm and making a few mock attacks before sheathing it. The grin on his face was blinding as he paced a little and then bounced on the balls of his feet excitedly, unable to express what he was feeling.

Cody’s recorded voice was still bellowing rancorously from the projector but his face was almost glowing as he walked further down the line. Kali beamed and drew out two shoto blades, each no longer than her own forearm. They were golden as well, fitted onto sturdy black hilts that Kali easily clipped onto her belt. She covered her mouth with her hands and twirled before hugging Cody around the middle.

Soren and Rex went together. Cody helped Soren put on new gauntlets, stepping back so the boy could try them out. He unsheathed the lightsabers and cut them down in an X, just as Rex activated his double sabers and spun them about himself gracefully.

Finally, it was Gaia’s turn. Cody walked over to her, his expression becoming troubled. When he leaned toward her to speak in her ear, Gaia noticed how careful he was not to bump into her accidentally. “How are you?”

She met his eyes and nodded. “Are you okay?”

A half smile curled his mouth up but his eyes stayed hollow. “I’m fine.” But then he seemed to shake off whatever was haunting him and straightened his shoulders a little. “Go over to the box. Yours is the last one.”

Gaia wanted to feel worried about Cody, and she was, but knowing now what the box contained, she couldn’t ignore the excitement pounding in her veins. She stepped over quickly and drew out a saberstaff.

“Give it a workout,” Cody encouraged, eyes wrinkling at the corners. Gaia grinned and spun the weapon over in her hands. The blade ignited, sending a subtle hum of energy down through the staff. She sprang back from the box and the table, whirling the staff over her head and then striking at either side. The noise that the blade madness it cut through the air around her was electrifying.

Cody pulled Gaia close before she returned to the line and held out his hands for the staff. He took it and twisted, breaking the long pole of the thing in half. “Wear them the way you would a baton,” he instructed. “Both halves will emit blades,” Cody added with a whisper.

“Thank you, Papa,” she told him, feeling her throat tighten.

Cody regarded Gaia for a moment and then pulled her into a hug, motioning for the others join. “I am so proud of each of you,” he whispered, dropping down to one knee which was something Cody liked to do so that he could see all their faces better. His voice continued to shout from the holo, but it was just noise. “Your have each earned this; no one Cadet your age has ever earned a lightsaber. Be proud of yourselves.”

He stood and smiled. “You should go and get familiar with your new weapons,” but he touched Gaia on the wrist, a silent cue to stay. Cody stood and watched the others hurrying out excitedly.

“What’s wrong?” Gaia whispered, searching his face. Stress was written plainly on the man’s face and his hands were clenched into tight fists behind his back.

Cody’s posture deflated so much that he seemed to shrink. “Come here,” he muttered, scooping his arms around Gaia and hugging her close with a wavering sigh, though his motions were careful and he didn’t squeeze too tight. “Does it hurt still?”

“A little.” Gaia’s breath hitched a little and she hid her eyes in Cody’s shoulder. “You’re not mad at me, are you?”

“Mad? Why would I be mad?” Cody pulled back so he could see her face and made a pained sound, looking away for a moment. “No, no, no,” was all said, shaking his head as he dropped down to one knee and gathered up her hands.

“You weren’t there,” Gaia sniffed, swiping her arm across her eyes, “when I woke up.”

“It’s one thing to watch grown soldiers get hurt, baby girl.” There was a definite break in his voice toward the end and Cody had to pause, searching quickly for something else to look at. “I couldn’t stand it. I’m so sorry.”

Gaia put her hands on Papa Cody’s shoulders. In the Force, she could feel the anxiety churning inside him like a stormy ocean, threatening to spill over his barriers at any moment.

“There’s something else.”

He dropped his head, eyes closing as if he were readying . “You’re being deployed.” The words seemed to cost Cody something to utter. Fear screamed at her through the Force, stealing her breath.

“We are ready.”

Gaia’s own voice surprised her. She sounded older, like a grownup. She straightened her back, hoping that she looked brave. She didn’t want Cody to be afraid or to worry. She wanted him to proud.

“I’m not.”

“We’ll come back. I promise, Papa.” She cupped her hands around his face, making him look at her. “I’ll bring them all back. I promise.” The fear inside her Papa didn’t lessen but the gnaw of it in his chest did. That was good.

A sudden thought hit Gaia and she laughed. “You shot Rend.”

Cody’s face split into an eye-crinkling grin. “I sure did. He’s lucky I was careful with my aim.”

They walked out together after Cody gathered up his holo. “Would you have killed him? If he hadn’t went down?”

Papa slowed, slipping the disc into a compartment on his belt. Before he slipped his helmet back on, Gaia caught the dark shadow that had spread through his expression. In the Force, she felt the bloom of rage. “Absolutely.”

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allelitefics · 4 years

Text

Torn Pt. 2

Characters: Scorpio Sky x Reader / Kenny Omega x Reader

Summary: Your friends with benefits relationship with Sky comes to an end when you want more and he can’t commit..although the feels are still there, you feel like you have to move on. When Kenny Omega finds out he sweeps in at just the right time….Pt. 2 is definitely Kenny Omega focused... but we’ll revisit the Scorpio Sky relationship again for sure.

Warnings: smut

You and Kenny had a pretty good friendship, you often joked around when you were around each other but you often saw him absent during social events. Even though there was a definite family vibe amongst the AEW crew, no matter what role, Kenny was a private guy. You were a fan though, a fan before AEW became a thing. You knew for a long time he was the hottest wrestler around, the stuff he did in Japan was top notch, the fact that he lived there, became a citizen, and learned the speak the language, he was a smart guy and that definitely was one of his most attractive qualities. He knew the wrestling business like the back of his hand, so doing social media for AEW had you intimidated most times with him around.

Then again.. he found your nervousness around him really cute. Just about everyone knew you and Sky were dating, or seeing each other casually. But it didn't stop him from flirting with you during your weekly meetings at Dynamite. The casual, "You look nice today" or "I like the way you did your hair today" it was subtle, but you noticed. You often found yourself reciprocating those came flirtatious comments, your eyes would definitely wander to his muscular arms... men with muscular biceps was your favorite feature of the opposite sex. He noticed. As weeks passed, those meetings were something he eagerly looked forward to with you. He was so respectful but sometimes..just sometimes you wished he would just go for it.. if your hands touched on accident or his hand brushed up on your thigh it made your whole body tingle. And as Sky continued to not commit, you didn't feel so guilty about the way your body reacted to those delicate movements.

Kenny's buddies knew about the fact he was into you, they were actually pretty excited about the idea of their friend getting back out there into the dating scene. He had a successful career in Japan, and now living in the states and being one the EVP's with AEW, things were solid... When he got the text from Hangman he grinned from ear to ear, he was on his way to do your weekly social media meeting to see what you had in store for the week and promoting the upcoming matches online. He wasn't sure how your mood was going to be either so he was a little cautious. When he saw you sitting in an office chair laid back staring at your phone he smiled. You were simply dressed in an AEW shirt and jeans, but you always made sure that your hair and face looked amazing.

You looked up from your phone and saw him standing there, gym shorts and t-shirt, his usual MO. You smiled. "Hey Kenny". "Hey gorgeous." he said back coming to sit down next to you. "You doing alright today?" he followed up with, he silently cursed himself because that wasn't a very cautious question. "Oh you heard." you say and laughed a little. "Yeah, locker room talk..." "More like locker room eavesdropping." you say which you both smile at the same time. "Yeah.. true...do you..maybe want to hang out tonight?" he asked wasting to time..at this point he figured he'd go for it. You were a catch and he knew it, the window between you ending things with Sky and potentially fixing things was small and he wanted it to be known he was into you. "Really? you ask... a part of you surprised.. Kenny Omega wants to hang out with you? Alone? Unreal you thought. "Yeah really." he said anxiously waiting your answer. "Sure." "Sweet, I'll grab you after the show?" You nod your head, "Sounds good."

The rest of the meeting went pretty normal, but the subtle touches became from frequent and you didn't hate it. "Alright so...I'll come get you after the show is over?" "Yeah, wanna meet here?" you ask. He bites his bottom lip softly and you can't hold in the grin that forms on your face. "Yeah, I'll meet you here."

You watched the show backstage and did some photo ops and videos for Instagram, but when SCU had their match and you watched Sky you watched the screen with sad eyes. "Fuck" you say under your breath. Why did he have to be like this? You ask yourself, it had been hours since you talked and he didn't even try to want to fix things..you shouldn't be surprised..but deep down you had hoped that maybe..just maybe he didn't want to lose you.

Fast forward to two hours later, and Kenny came into the room you were set up in with his bag over his shoulder. "Ready?" he asked. You smile and nod, although you were upset about Sky, your feelings started to shift into a "fuck that guy" mood.

"So where are we headed?" you ask when you get into his rental. "Coffee?" "Are you trying to keep me up all night?" you ask and smile at the same time. He glances over at you trying to pay attention to the road, you knew the bar scene wasn't his thing, so you expected him to propose something like coffee. "...and if I am?" he says eyes on the road. Your heart rate climbed a little bit, you were going to hook up with Kenny Omega tonight.

The coffee date went well, "I've actually liked you for a long time.." Kenny admitted. "Really?" you ask genuinely, your head jerking back a bit. "Yeah, I ..uh.. would try to flirt with you without it being sexual harassment." You laughed, he was truly funny and he loved the fact that he made you laugh. "Yeah, I could tell...but today...after today I might have to report you." He loved the banter you were able to dish back to him. "You ready to get out of here?" You nod your head with a smile. The both of you head back to his car but before he could open up the passenger side door for you, he slightly pulls you from your elbow, you turn around and he presses his lips to yours. Your heart races at the surprise, you feel your back against the car door as you then wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him back. His tongue intruding your mouth as he slightly groans, moving his lips to your neck, his hands trailing down your to your hips, then moving to grip your butt cheeks. You whimper slightly and it brings Kenny back to reality and that you're in a Starbucks parking lot at 11:30pm. "Fuck." he growls quietly, you can feel his growing bulge against your clenching thighs. "We should uh.." he starts inching away slowly "get back to the hotel." His eyes finally meet yours, as you bite your lips and nod back. "Yeah." was all you could mutter.

In the car ride to the hotel was when you realized how intense Kenny was capable of being. His hand on your thigh throughout the ride getting dangerously more and more close to your core. Your breaths were heavy. "Fuck this red light." he spat out, you were so close to the hotel. But it made you smile as much as you wanted to keep it in. He looked over at you and he did crack a little bit. "I want you so fucking bad." he said. You looked at him, "Light's green." with a wink and he pushed on the gas hard.

In minutes you were in his hotel room, he pulled his shirt from over his head with one movement, and then his attention was on you. Pulling your shirt off from over your head, his mouth moving to your ample breasts as his hands went to your back to remove that garmet too. Your back against the wall, moaning softly with every touch from him. He moved to his knees so that he was unbuttoning your jeans, you helped him shimmying them down from your hips, he was quick to rip your panties right off of you. Literally..he ripped them. He looked up at you, his eyes seductive as he bit his lips. "I'll buy you a new pair." he said then turned his lips into a smirk. You weren't sure what you were in for with sex from Kenny..but you were excited and anxious... He shifted your thigh as his tongue quickly met your already wet core. "Excited for me, huh?" he said. You nodded, your hand wanting him as you slightly tried to pull back. "Oh no princess... I make the rules." he says, you whimper when you can see he's about to stand up. He grabs you and lifts you up to your surprise, you end up with your back hitting the bed as he then spreads your legs and devours you this time. You grip the comforter as your moaning echos throughout the room. "Don't you come yet." he tells you, it was impossible for you to control that. "Kenny.. I can't" "Yes you can." he backs away and down come his gym shorts, his cock finally releasing from the confines of his clothing. The pause helps you control yourself, but it wasn't long until he lined himself up with your entrance, you're a wreck already and he can't wait to wreck you even more. Once you've adjusted to his length he quickens his pace. Falling on top of you keeping himself propped with his arms as you pull him closer until your chests are touching and it's like he's fucking the life out of you. You've definitely hit your climax several times at this point but Kenny isn't done with you yet. He's not satisfied until he knows you can't physically move. He exits you only to demand that you turn on your hands and knees and within that position he's fucking you so hard that you can't remain in that position. That's when he knows, he's accomplished what he's wanted to with you. His moaning gets slightly louder as you feel his warm liquid hit the flesh on the back of your thigh. "Fuck" he growls. You fall to your stomach, you're completely out of breath. "Hold on." he pants going to grab a towel, you feel him wiping himself from your skin and you then turn over. He falls next to you on the bed and reaches to pull you into him. "Wow." you say. "You are amazing." he says to you and you smile against his chest. "You are." His hand squeezes your arm affectionately, and you feel this comfort, a different type of comfort. You also start to wonder what all this means...

#kenny omega x reader #kenny omega fanfiction #aew fanfiction #kenny omega smut

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synvamp · 4 years

Text

HAPPY PLACE 8

“Love and other irritating crap that I don’t understand” - Qrow finally comes to the horrific realisation that he might be *in love* with Clover. Slow burn, flirting, banter... lovebirds at their angsty, sexy best.

(Part One HERE)

Title: Healing

Fair Game – Part 8 / 10?

Rating: M

---xxx---

The pillow hit Qrow in the side of the head. “Mffffff,” he said.

“Come on, you have to get up or you’ll be late,” Clover’s voice. Clover’s scent. Ah, that’s right. Clover’s bed.

“Urgh,” Qrow groaned from deep within his black soul, “I ha..”

“Hate mornings, I know. Here,” Clover laughed lightly.

Qrow blinked blearily and tried to focus. Finally he made out an incredibly muscled arm holding a mug of coffee. He sat up, pushed his hair back and took the offering.

After a few sips, his brain fog started to lift. It was good coffee. “Wait you’re dressed? You got coffee? How long have you been up?”

“I don’t know; hour and a half?” Clover shrugged, looking perfectly groomed and ready to take on the world.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You were snoring.” “That is not a reason. Also, I do not snore,” Qrow pitched the pillow back at Clover’s head.

He dodged effortlessly (stupid agile morning people) and stood up waving his scroll, “Well you won’t mind that I made you my ringtone then, will you?”

Qrow scowled, “If I wasn’t naked…”

“Ah, but you are! And I am not going to be late again, so drink up and I’ll see you later,” Clover leaned over and Qrow kind of froze. He didn’t even know why, they’d had sex quite a few times and Clover’s hands were often on his shoulder, around his waist… but this little gesture just caught him utterly unawares. Clover leaned down and just kissed his lips. Not a passionate kiss, just a little ‘I’m going to work, see you later love’, kind of kiss.

Then he straightened up, flashed that seven thousand watt smile and flexed his ass out of the room.

Qrow stared at the door for a long time, mind blank and heart doing something he couldn’t even recognise.

---xxx---

“Hey, Uncle Qrow! We thought you weren’t going to make it!” Ruby enthused, running up to greet him as he slunk into the briefing room.

“I overslept,” he reached out and tousled her hair.

“You sleep?” Ren asked.

“Har har, so what are we up to today?” Qrow asked, noting Clover was nowhere to be seen.

“Team work!” Nora shouted.

“O… kay?”

“Clover’s given us all a day in the training room,” said Yang, “said we could polish up our hand to hand,” she grinned dangerously.

“That so?” Qrow mused. It was true that they could learn to be more adaptable in combat. A brutal weapon was wonderful when you had it but he knew better than anyone that life didn’t always work out that way.

Qrow teamed up with Yang (he didn’t want her to beat the crap out of anyone) and then put the others on rotation. Fifteen minutes with one sparring partner then change it up. Flexibility was an important part of being a combat specialist and as he watched Blake and Jaune out of the corner of his eye, Qrow decided Clover had a good head for teaching. It was just the right time to do this kind of thing, they were confident enough to be challenged, mature enough to learn from their mistakes.

A metal hand ploughed into Qrow’s face, sending him cartwheeling across the floor. “Yes!” Yang pumped a fist into the air, “Take that!”

Qrow sat rubbing his jaw, that prosthetic really packed a punch. Yang wandered over and offered him a hand which he swatted away, “I’m not dead yet,” he grumbled, standing.

Yang leaned a little closer so that no one else could hear, “You need to stop daydreaming about a certain Ace Operative and pay attention.”

Qrow didn’t even deny it, “I guess so. That was a good hit though, the way you moved inside my range… very smart kiddo,” he raised a hand to tousle her hair then thought better of it. He’d done that once when she was eight. Once.

“So… how are things going?” Yang whispered conspiratorially, “Are you dating?”

“I… things are good,” he smiled. “How about you?”

“What about me!?” Yang said loudly.

Qrow kept his voice level, “You ever going to tell the others about you and Blake?”

Yang took a step back, “How did you…?”

“I guess it takes one to know one,” Qrow laughed.

“I… we’re waiting for the right time,” Yang looked away.

Qrow nodded, it wasn’t like he was in a position to lecture on this one. “You do what works for you. It’s just nice to see you happy.”

Yang smiled sheepishly, “You too.”

“I am not happy! I’ve got a reputation to maintain here.”

Yang laughed, “Well it’s good to see you enjoying the misery for once.”

“Yeah, feels good too,” Qrow admitted, thinking of the way Clover’s arm wrapped around him when they slept.

“Is that fifteen minutes?” Marrow called out, “My arm is going to drop off.”

Qrow turned at the sound of Weiss’s lilting laughter. Seems like someone is finding Ice Queen Jnr. a bit of a challenge.

“Alright, time’s up!” he called, “Hit the showers then lunch. I’ll meet you back here at two. Got it?”

“Got it,” the students chorused.

Qrow took his time wandering up to the mess hall. He let his fingers trail on the wall and thought about Clover’s touch, light but sure. So much of his time seemed to be dedicated to thinking about how Clover smelled these days. How his hands felt when they tripped down his body, lingering where he’d learned Qrow wanted them most.

“Here you are,” Clover rounded the corner, “I’ve got a meeting at two so I thought maybe we could have lunch?”

“I…” Qrow started. He was thinking about Yang and her ‘right time’. Was it the right time to be seen in a relationship? He didn’t want the kids to think that he wasn’t there for them. That he would ever leave them to go it alone after all they’d been through together… maybe he was over thinking. Yang just seemed happy to see him happy. Maybe it would be a relief for them to not have to worry about him being a moping sad sack any more. He felt bad for relying on them emotionally like he had. It wasn’t right to make kids carry adult sized burdens and despite everything they’d done… all they had achieved, they were still kids.

Clover’s beautiful green eyes narrowed, “Or we could not.”

“Uh…” What do I say? I want to be with him so much but… so much has happened and I just don’t know if I’m ready for this.

“It’s fine,” Clover smiled easily, waving his concerns away, “I should sit with the Ops for once anyway, what did Weiss do to Marrow? He can barely hold a fork.”

“He just needs to focus on his leg work.”

“Ok, noted. Well… Just let me know when you’re ready.” And with that, Clover turned on his heel and sauntered that muscled ass away.

---xxx---

When I’m ready.

Qrow lay face down on the couch and groaned.

When I’m ready.

He means when I’m quite finished dicking him around and I know what I want. I’m sure that’s what he means…

Qrow looked at the clock. Five past eight. He groaned a little louder.

This is the longest night in the history of human kind. There’s some sort of time dilation happening. I refuse to believe that I’ve only been here twenty five minutes.

He lifted up a couch cushion with one hand and pulled it firmly over his head.

I could be there right now. I could be lying on his perfectly made bed completely naked with his hot tongue trailing up my thigh.

Yay, he thought pressing his now very hard cock into the cushions, now I’ve made it worse.

HOW FOR THE LOVE OF ASS CAN I STILL BE SEXUALLY FRUSTRATED?!

Qrow let himself roll off the couch and onto the floor.

He’s probably waiting for me right now…

But what is he really waiting for… he said…

Qrow swallowed. He had to confront this eventually. Seemed like today was the day.

He said that he was in love with me.

He might have meant it, he might not, but he said it. And it’s time I figured out how I feel about this because if he loves me and I just hurt him… the thought of Clover upset did a funny thing to his chest. Tight. Tingly?

Like something was crushing his heart.

Come on. Admit it to yourself. You could be in love with him. How would you even know? It’s not like you have a string of positive relationship role models and a sparkling personal life to draw on. To him love had always been retrospective. The revelation of what you had lost in the very second that it was snatched from you.

Do you want it to happen that way again? Do you want to wake up knowing that you’ve squandered yet another chance at happiness?

He’d always pushed people away to protect them but… Clover didn’t need protecting. He was the first person in… near forever who made Qrow feel safe. Safe with others. Safe with himself. Like he wasn’t a curse or a burden or a jinx…

But how do you even say these things? Oh Gods I know just how it would play out.

Qrow: *knocks on door*

Clover: *opens the door, is shirtless for some stupid sexual frustration reason*

Qrow: *stands gaping for an inordinate amount of time*

Clover: Are you having a stroke?

Qrow: *squeaks*

Clover: So I’m just going to leave the door open, in case at some point you feel you can move your legs.

Qrow: ILOVEYOU!IHAVETOGO! *runs*

Clover: Ok. What an excellent choice I have made picking Qrow out of all the gorgeous fuck boys who clamour after my sleeveless GodBod. Really turning out great for me.

Qrow turned over on the floor and pushed his face into the cushion again. This is so fucking stupid.

Clover would know what to do. He was great at all this touchy feely stuff…

But I’ve pushed him away.

NO. Qrow sat up suddenly and hit the back of his head on the coffee table.

“AH, FUCK,” he exclaimed rubbing the significant bump that was growing beneath his fingers.

That’s it. I’m not going to waste my life lying on the floor with a boner.

I am going to go and see Clover and I’m going to tell him how I feel.

If I can figure out how I feel on the way.

He put on his shoes and glanced at the clock as he walked out the door. Thirteen minutes past eight.

REALLY!?

---xxx---

Part Nine

#fair game #qrow branwen #clover ebi #rwby spoilers #rwby 7 #fanfiction

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greyias · 4 years

Text

FIC: Smoke and Mirrors - Chapter 15

Title: Smoke and Mirrors Fandom: SWTOR Pairing: Theron Shan/f!Jedi Knight Rating: T Genre: Pre-Relationship, Slow Burn Synopsis: Something’s rotten on Carrick Station, and Theron won’t rest until he finds out what. But picking at the frayed threads of suspicion quickly unravels a conspiracy much larger than even the Republic’s top spy can handle on his own. (A mostly canon-compliant retelling of the Forged Alliances storyline, as seen through the eyes of Theron Shan.) Author’s Notes and Spoilers: See Chapter 1.

Chapter Index: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | Crossposted to AO3

“Now, to be fair,” Jonas said, holding the glass filled with mostly ice, and a thin layer of Corellian’s finest up to the rapidly purpling bruise on his face, “no one could have seen this happening.”

Theron glared across the table at his fellow agent before promptly knocking back a shot of the most expensive whiskey he could find on the bar’s menu, since Jonas was now most definitely picking up the tab. The alcohol stung against his split lip, but he just glared through the discomfort, focusing all of his ire on the man in front of him. “I should have. You should have. And apparently the surliest Houk this side of Tatooine did.”

“I’ll have you know, my Sabacc deck is perfectly legal in just about every circle the game is played.”

“Except apparently the Dealer’s Den,” Theron said sourly.

“This is a much nicer cantina anyway,” Jonas sniffed.

“The nice cantinas turned us away.”

“Yes, but this place has character. You just don’t get that these days.”

“I’m never drinking with you again.”

“Never say never.”

“Never,” Theron said emphatically.

“Well, in that case,” Jonas gave out a dramatic sigh, “if this is our last drink together ever, we might as well make it a good one. Bartender, two Whyren’s Reserve, neat.”

The bartender just laughed. “You’re a riot, kid!”

“Okay, then just another round of the best of whatever won’t kill us in one sip.”

“So two more of what you’re having right now?”

“Yes, extra ice please.”

“You really know how to treat a guy, Balkar.” Theron rolled his eyes.

“Has anyone ever told you that you need to lighten up?”

“This one guy, but he keeps getting my face punched in. So I don’t think I should listen to him.”

“I’m just keeping your life exciting.”

“My life was already exciting. And somehow, filled with less bruises.”

“Now that’s a lie.” Jonas took a sip from his drink, getting just the smallest dregs of whiskey through the thick layer of ice. “Half of the times that I’ve seen you your face has looked like some abstract art concept.”

“Um, thanks?”

“To be honest, I’m surprised I was able to recognize you today, what with the lack of blood stains and black eyes. This look now is more you.”

“I do not get injured that often,” Theron said testily, then added a muttered, “and I just haven’t gotten a lot of field work lately.”

“Yeah, promotions suck.” The sarcasm practically dripped from the other agent’s voice. “Although, you have to admit, you’ve been keeping some awful interesting company lately.”

Theron slid a glance up from his glass to see a grin on the other man’s face, rather than the frown that he had expected. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Well, I know for a fact you were involved with the Tython op.” Jonas picked up his glass, and swirled around the ice cubes and minuscule amounts of whiskey. He went to take a sip and frowned when nothing came out. “And also saw that the Jedi’s poster girl was the main operative there.”

“Oh. Her.”

“Thought that I’d get more of a reaction than that, but I forgot who I was talking to for a moment.”

Their conversation paused as the bartender sat two more glasses down at the table, and Theron quickly reached across the table and grabbed the one filled to the brim, leaving the one that was mostly frozen water for his companion.

“Hey—”

“You wanted the ice. I prefer to actually taste the alcohol.”

“Why do I ever take you drinking? Those damn implants make it nearly impossible to get you drunk.”

“That’s the point.”

“You’re an expensive date is all I’m saying,” Jonas grabbed his own glass and pulled it back, “and all I get from the deal is sass.”

“Then stop inviting me.”

“Invitation means someone accepts without being forced out the door. Seriously, you’re more trouble than you’re worth at times.”

“I think you just want a human shield when the punches start flying.”

“Well, that too.” Jonas raised his glass and paused before taking a sip. “And that’s all you’re going to say about the Jedi?”

“What else is there to say?”

“From the way Fauler and the others keep going on whenever they pull her in on ops, I figured there’d be something noteworthy, even from you.”

“Why do you care?” Theron asked, tracing the rim of his glass with a finger. “Angling for an introduction?”

“Just wondering if I should keep the name in mind for future ops is all.”

“I thought Havoc was your go-to squad,” Theron mused. “Or is the Major not picking up your holocalls anymore?”

“I like to have extra options,” Jonas said lightly, “you never know when you might need a Jedi to open a few doors. With the Force. She’s pretty, right?”

“She’s a Jedi.”

“Yes, and some of us don’t hold that against them.” Jonas looked thoughtful. “Pretty sure I could charm even a Jedi.”

“Pretty sure she’d just kick your ass if you tried to put the moves on her.” Theron’s finger stilled as he narrowed an eyebrow.

“Hmm, maybe not my type then,” the other man flashed him a wide grin, “although that’s what you like, isn’t it?”

“There’s not enough whiskey in this bar to get me to answer that.”

“Hey, just saying I haven’t seen you with anyone who couldn’t easily kill you without a second thought. You really ought to lighten up, in every aspect of your life.”

“You haven’t seen me with anyone,” Theron corrected. “Some of us like to be a bit more discreet than you.”

“Oh, drink your whiskey, sourpuss. It costs a small fortune to go out with you.”

“Maybe if you stopped using my face as shield for incoming fists then you wouldn’t feel so guilty that you wind up paying for drinks for the rest of the night.”

“Maybe if you stopped jumping in front of the incoming fists you’d have a few less black eyes,” Jonas shot back. “But point taken.”

Theron let his gaze drop back down to the overly full glass. He eyed the amount of alcohol and weighed it in his mind against the amount his implants could easily dampen the effects of. It would help dull some of the pain of his bruises, but he could easily shove that aside with a few tricks from his childhood training. The fact that he still needed to check into what Darok was up to on Carrick Station had been at the back of his mind for the whole evening, but he couldn’t exactly start that delicate of a slicing job while Jonas was watching.

He reached across the table and swiped Jonas’s glass of ice and poured about half the contents of his glass in, before returning it to the other side of the table. His fellow agent raised an eyebrow at him curiously.

“Getting sentimental on me, Shan?”

“Figured you haven’t looked in a mirror yet, so that’s just to help soften the blow.”

“I’m sure I look dashing still.” Jonas accepted the glass though. “You seem more sullen than usual tonight. Something up?”

“No,” he said and quickly took a sip from his glass, “just trying to sort through this mess from Tython.”

“Yeah,” the usually cheery demeanor slipped away then, and a shadow of Jonas’s real face surfaced for just a moment, “I’m still trying to wrap my head around it. Thought we had the Imps on the run, then this…”

Theron nodded, eyeing the other agent over the rim of his glass. It was probably the alcohol, but he found himself asking. “You haven’t seen or heard anything… weird lately, right?”

“Weird?” Jonas snapped out of his reverie, and gave Theron a look. “You’re going to have to be more specific, considering the galaxy we both live in.”

“Never mind,” Theron muttered into his next sip of whiskey. “Forget I asked.”

The other man frowned, eyeing his fellow agent speculatively. “I haven’t seen anything that’s caught my attention, if that’s what you’re asking. Should I be looking?”

“I don’t know.” He set his glass down a little harshly, the clunk of the impact sounding louder to his own ears. “It’s probably nothing.”

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Jonas said quietly. “If anything pops that doesn’t fit, I’ll let you know.”

Theron nodded. He didn’t want to bring Jonas into this thing, hell, it was bad enough he’d recruited one of the most famous Jedi in the Order on his paranoid hunt. Wrangling her was proving difficult enough, and he really didn’t want to to add Jonas and his questionable “charm” into the mix. An extra set of eyes on the official investigation for the odd bit that didn’t fit couldn’t hurt anything. It probably wouldn’t be enough to catch Darok officially, but it couldn’t hurt either.

Jonas raised his glass for a toast, and Theron begrudgingly raised his as well. There would be no slicing tonight it seemed.

“To Tython,” Jonas said.

“To Tython,” Theron echoed, and then mentally added. You bastards are going to pay.

#swtor fanfiction #theron shan x jedi knight #Theron Shan #Jonas Balkar #Female Jedi Knight/Hero of Tython #oc: greyias highwind #otp: adorkable #brotp: spyboys #brotp: theron shan & jonas balkar #swtor #fanfic #SoR Fic O Doom #smoke and mirrors #greyfic

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gooddadstan · 5 years

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The Sleek Allure of a Grand You Can’t Ignore

Tim Drake learned early on that his parents hated the silence. They’d do almost anything to fill it, from playing their regal classical music they sat and read to, to swing music his mother would sometimes laugh and dance with his father to, all through the genres with only the exclusion of the more ‘teenager sounds’, that his mother insisted wasn’t even music. When there wasn’t any music, there was the hum of voices and sound effects from the television, or the harsh yells from his parents fighting again.

Music seemed to be the only thing keeping his parents from turning their tight and fake ‘public voices’ to the angry roars they only had alone in the house. Music meant that the night was safe from their rage.

So Tim was almost overjoyed when one day his parents came home with movers behind them, bringing a grand piano through the door as carefully as they could. His mother had sat on the sofa, motioned for Tim to sit next to her, and told him that he would take lessons for the piano and learn to play like the recordings they had heard time and time again. His heart leapt, resolute to stave off the rage that filled the silence but intimidated by the massive responsibility it seemed to bring with it. To be the only thing between his parents and their fights, to have his fingers on the keys as the final barrier from another night of hiding in his room with his stuffed lion clung tight in his arms.

His lessons started after his parents had left again, two days of silence filled with music and one day of silence filled with shouts fading into long days of silence with nothing but small feet to break it. He liked being able to fill his own personal silence, though it was clunky at first. He liked having something to distract from the empty house, the nanny only coming three times a week at this point (Once to bring him to his lesson, once to check the groceries, and once to clean).

The grand piano in the sitting room became his home, from when he had to lug the pedal extensions his teacher lent him back and forth from lessons to when pushing the cold metal under his feet felt more natural than walking.

When the last nanny was fired, though, his lessons stopped. The teacher was too far away and couldn’t do home visits, so his parents stopped paying for him to learn. They still asked him to play for them when they were home, as they had since about a year and a half into his lessons for them to use as background noise without standing to change the songs, but the disappointment at the slower rate Tim picked up new songs was more than visible.

It was only when Tim became Robin that he really stopped playing the piano. There was no time, between his schoolwork and training to be with Batman on the streets to drag him out of that rut that had criminals in full-body casts since the last Robin’s death. So he stopped playing, until his father returned to Gotham in a coma and his mother was dead.

When he heard of his mother’s death, his eyes lingered on the black grand longer than it had in months. The lid closed on the keys, the lid shut softly from when the maid who now came to clean the house again had closed it and Tim had never opened again. The maid who would no longer come to clean the house without anyone to pay her. Tim’s soft footsteps on the worn wood around the piano, louder than he remembered them, brought him to lightly run his hand along the side of the instrument. The silence had returned, with none but Tim to break it once more.

Lifting the lid was easier than he remembered, the lid prop rising gently with his hand as it settles into place like it did every time. He strode to the bench with a vigor he hadn’t held in this house since his first night as Robin, too awake to sleep and too tired to do anything but go into his room and collapse onto his bed. The fall board, too, was light under his calloused fingers, as the empty music rack stared at him, daring him to play from memory.

So play from memory he did, hands poised above the keys for less than a second before he launched into a song. His mother had called it his favorite, before she died. Chopin’s Etüde Op.25 No.1, also called ‘Aeolian Harp’. It had been hard for Tim to pick up, to say the least, a bit more than two months spent practicing it before he felt ready to show his parents. But the true, genuine smile on his mother’s face when he finished and looked at them, the lack of novelty in the situation keeping his internal grin off his face until he saw their expressions, it was worth it. So every time she asked, every time she seemed to be slightly more annoyed than was preferred, Aeolian Harp would ring through the halls with the same feeling it held when the Drake’s first heard it from under their son’s fingertips.

Years later, Tim wasn’t sure if his mother truly deserved how much he poured his soul into that piece. Wasn’t sure if the hours he spent burning it into his mind just for a smile on his mother’s face was the amount of effort he should have had to put into the pursuit of motherly affections. But still, the song danced through his head, one of the few songs he never seemed to get tired of letting play over and over in his mind as a personal performance. He hadn’t played the piano in… too long, not since his father died at the hands of Captain Boomerang and wasn’t there to ask him to play anymore. The manor had their own full grand, the lid eternally propped and sitting in wait for someone to tickle the ivories. No one did, not in the years of his life Tim had spent there.

But every so often his fingers would twitch for it, darting along a surface unconsciously in the controlled movements of one of the songs he still had memorized after all this time. Alfred noticed, he was sure, but the butler never commented on it so his skill remained hidden from the bats and birds that made up his new pseudo-family. He could settle for that, listen to their sound and jokes and laughter. It was never silent anymore, in the manor, so he didn’t need to play.

Until, Tim looked back, the silence managed to follow him. From the Drake household to the manor when he was Robin, to his time with the Titans and his own apartment, back into the manor where things had been blissfully, kindly, loud since his return from his solitude. Where Tim Drake goes, silence seems to follow. So one day, an afternoon where he knew Jason and Dick were arguing on the other side of the manor, where Damian was off doing whatever he does with Titus in his trail, Bruce was being Bruce in his study, and Alfred was busying himself with housework, Tim found himself in the same room as the grand so alike the one still sitting in the room on the Drake’s land. The keys exposed to the world, the tablet in Tim’s hand is quickly forgotten on one of the end tables as he approaches the bench.

He’s not quite sure when he sits, just that being at a piano like he is reminds him of every time he turned to look for his parents approval, every time he would stop at a wrong note and play the section over and over again until he couldn’t get it wrong. Every hour of every day he spent pouring his soul into the music sits behind his eyes as his hands stand poised above the keys from muscle memory.

He didn’t need to do all he did for his parents approval back then, he swears, as his fingers fall into the starting notes of the last song he played for his father, his mother’s favorite, as he watched the man’s expression shift between love and sadness with every measure. He didn’t need to take such responsibility into his music, his fingers dance across the keys in notes he’s not sure he could ever get wrong at this point. But he still loved those keys with all his heart, for every note played wrong or right and every chord striking his heart. The rise and fall of every measure flows into his body, swaying slightly side to side as his hands fly. Even now, the music was a haven for him, a way to be free of the silence that followed him. The pedals eased silently under his foot, holding onto the notes before letting them go, measure after measure, phrase after phrase. Even through the pressure he placed on it, on himself, the music embraced Tim and held him close. The pressure on the keys growing with every crescendo and falling all the same, weaving a web of feeling as intricately as it could. And Tim, too, embraced it back.

The low trill of the piece went seamlessly into the final chords, and as Tim’s hands froze above the keys for just a second, a loud applause makes him frantically turn in his seat.

Dick, with the rest of the birds and bats there with him, clapped obnoxiously despite the awed silence from the others in the room. When he settled his hands back to his sides, the chorus of compliments rose to fill the silence, more genuine and excited than his parents had been in the years he’d purposely put on a show for them. They encouraged him to play for them, assorted grins ranging from Dick’s face almost splitting in two to Damian’s barely an upturned corner that was somehow still more rewarding than Janet’s tight smile he got most nights.

His parents weren’t worth the amount of effort he put into making music for them, he realized. But maybe? Maybe this family was.

#Tim Drake #Piano #Music #Fanfiction #Batfam #my writing

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banditthewriter · 6 years

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Choose Your Fate - Billy Russo - 4

Well here we have another 2.9k words written in less than two hours because I can’t get enough of this fic.

The winner for this part was blackmail.

Also... I’m interested to know what you guys are gonna think about the plot twist!

Click here to vote on the next chapter!

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*gif is mine*

Enjoy!

***** A romantic comedy played on mute while you sat on the floor next to your coffee table, flipping through the hard copies of some of your files from the law firm you worked at in California. These were your personal files, the ones where you made your notes before court. Every page seemed to be a reminder of the life that you had left behind, but more than that it was a reminder of the life that you had run from to begin with. This started long before you moved to California to travel around the world and fix rich people's problems. This started when you left New York in the first place. Maybe David wouldn't have targeted you before, but he only had the chance because of what happened years before. The more you thought about it, the more you felt yourself feel the guilt and regret. Some days it felt like it was all too much. You needed to finish going through these files to get the information to Frank and Billy so they could send it to Micro. The plan was to use some algorithms that you didn't understand to track who else could be targets by David and whoever he was working with or for. This plan worked at the same rate as trying to track down David in the first place. The day after you met Billy and Frank at Anvil, you had gotten a call from Maria who had wanted you to come to Lisa's play. She had even sent a picture of Lisa performing a monologue with her brother being a very bored stand in for another character. On top of that was Frank Jr demanding not to be called that or Junior anymore, not even from you. No, he wanted to be called Frankie. Maria said that Frank had smiled at that. You told her that having two of them in her life was going to make things confusing, but she had accepted that early on. A noise jolted you from your thoughts. It was your phone but you couldn't remember where you had left it. Digging under the files and sending papers to the floor, you finally found the device that was lit up with a number you didn't recognize. Before, when you were constantly plagued with calls from clients on new phones or from jail or hospitals or rehabs, you would answer your phone without a second thought. Now? For some reason, you hesitated with your finger over the decline. Instead you swiped over the accept button and raised the phone slowly to your ear. "Hello?" There was a moment of silence where you wondered if you had made a mistake. Then you heard his voice. "I was starting to think I had the wrong number," Billy said with a laugh. "It wouldn't surprise me if your brother had given me the wrong number on purpose." "Oh," you said as you felt your body sag, "I don't think he'd go that far. You have a lot of resources at Anvil; he'd have to know that you'd find me eventually." "Yeah, but this is the man I watched pull out the shoe strings of other people's boots just because they said they didn't like Bruce Springsteen." That... sounded like Frank alright. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" "It's a pleasure to hear from me, huh?" His voice was low and teasing, almost sinful, and then he laughed. "Well the last time I saw you, I mentioned blackmail and then Frank said he was almost there so I said we'd talk later. It's later, right?" "Right," you said, drawing the word out slowly. "So, blackmail?" To be honest, it had been on the back of your mind since he had mentioned it. You wondered what you could help him with, what favor you could do for him that he couldn't get from any of the other numerous contacts he obviously had. The intrigue had over powered your common sense but there wasn't any harm in listening. "First things first, this has to be between the two of us. Frank can't know," he clarified at your silence. "I'm not sure I should be keeping secrets from my brother," you said. "I've never lied to him before." "It's not a lie, it's just not offering any information." After a beat where you didn't reply, his voice came back softly, "You don't have to. If you aren't comfortable with it, we'll drop it right now." There was more honesty in his voice than you expected. Although you had heard about Billy for years now, meeting him had been something different. He always seemed to be ready to laugh, always teasing about something or other. The few times you had seen seriousness come through had been when he first greeted you, him showing command with that Baker guy at Anvil, and him telling you that they were going to catch David. He wouldn't push. Despite him asking for help, he wouldn't put you in a position where you had to lie to your brother. You knew that he respected Frank too much for that. "It'll stay with us," you said sincerely. You heard him sigh and wondered what had made him so nervous about you agreeing to that. "I just think that your brother wouldn't appreciate me telling you this. It's not something he's proud of; neither of us are proud of it. But that doesn't matter. What matters is that I might have an answer to it." "I'm going to need context clues here Billy," you said, hoping the smile you were wearing covered the uncertainty in your voice. Billy explained in an even voice about being involved in some things overseas. Their last mission before they both left the Marines was more black ops than military; run by the CIA and answerable only to one man named Agent Orange. He explained that they were told to do things that they didn't agree with, but that they did because it was their job. "We knew it was going down hill and both of us agreed to get out. Frank had Maria and the kids and I was just tired of the bullshit rolling down on us." Here he got a quiet and you had to call his name to make sure he was still there. "The thing you may not know about me is that I'm selfish. I put myself first more often than not and I got tangled up with some things while we were over there." There was a cold feeling growing in the pit of your stomach as he talked about drugs and weapons, explaining how they were smuggled out to the benefit of the very man that was turning them into a kill squad. "The money was good," he said, his voice emotionless. "The money was good and the promises of building something were too tempting." This time when silence fell, you stayed quiet. You were trying to wrap this around what you knew about Billy, about Frank, and you could barely grasp it. "Did Frank..." "He wasn't involved," Billy said seriously, firmly. "He didn't know about it. That's the thing; I did all of this on my own because I knew he wouldn't get involved. He's too good for this shit and I was okay with that. He was a lifer, you know, was gonna stick through the military until it was done with him, not the other way around. Him stepping out after this shit? I didn't expect that. He was supposed to just go back to Force, not leave completely." His voice was winding up as he spoke, the mark of someone feeling anxious. "Okay," you said quickly, cutting in so to keep control of the situation. "Okay, so you were involved with Agent Orange and making profit off of it. You and Frank decide to leave the Marines because of disillusionment among other things. So what now? Where does blackmail come in?" "When we got stateside, I told Agent Orange I was done. Once I realized that Frank was out and was going to be around, that I was going to get the chance to step up and be a human again? I cut the ties that I could. I started Anvil with the money I'd saved while involved, used the connections I had gotten through him, and it was all going legit. I built that company just like I built myself; from the ground up." Billy's voice was shaking with emotion and you were stunned silent. This was a side of him you never expected. You thought about what he was telling you and realized that you were pretty sure you knew where this was going. "What happened Billy?" You needed to hear him say it. "Turns out Agent Orange has a problem with me leaving him high and dry like I did. He let me know that I'm going to go back to helping him, letting him use Anvil as his very own play thing. Told me that if I refused, he'd release all of the proof of what we did overseas." That... was not really what you were expecting. "You only did what you were command. That would be worse for command than it would for you, right?" "Doesn't work like that in this situation sweetheart," Billy said, his tone somewhere between gentle and scolding, the term of endearment slipping out without hesitation. "This was a black group; disavowing any connection is in the playbook. There's no proof that we were supposed to be doing anything other than being glorified hall monitors all while we are traveling around and black bagging locals and torturing them for information they didn't have." Jesus. You knew it wouldn't be pretty, the way Billy had been painting things, but hearing it like that made your stomach turn. The thought of your Billy doing that stuff, of your brother doing it... "Okay, so it would still be bad. I don't want to think about the kind of proof he has of your involvement." That made you pause. "You said we. He threatened to reveal Frank too, didn't he?" There was only the sound of his breath for a moment and you closed your eyes against the sound. "He's the only family I have," Billy said quietly. And then louder with more strength, "I'm not going to let this touch him Y/N. I have plans in place in case it were to fall on me, but I can't keep it from getting on him. Not by myself. Which brings us to that favor I asked of you." "Which is?" "One of the things that Micro pulled on you was that you worked with a man named Jerome Davidson here in the city before you moved to California. He was the head of a high tech security firm called Steele, right?" You had frozen at the name and had to take a deep breath before you could speak. "Yeah, I represented Steele in a bogus civil suit and we stayed in touch for a while." Actually the two of you dated for a while, but you weren't about to go into that just yet. "What does that have to do with this?" You were thinking about all the ways a high tech security firm could help with Billy's problem, but his response still shocked you. "He provides security for Agent Orange directly, including his home. His servers aren't accessible unless you're in his office." It still hadn't hit you yet, but Billy was quick to let you in on the punchline, his voice dry and slightly amused. "I need you to go to his office so that I can hack into his databases and find out where Agent Orange lives so that I can kill him before he reveals your brother and I as government paid assassins." Not even in your wildest dreams could you have come up with that sentence. "Jesus Christ, Billy, way to bury the lead there." You rubbed your forehead as you felt a headache building. "This is a lot to throw at a girl who is scared out of her wits and running from some shady figures." "I know," he said, his voice reverting back to that softness that made you melt just a bit. "I wouldn't ask if I had any other options. I thought about telling Curtis, maybe even telling Micro the full thing, but it still wouldn't get us into the office." And he needed in the office to be able to access the information on Agent Orange. He'd probably have to have Micro's help anyways, unless he had another hacker on payroll. The thought of Curtis going through it didn't have much merit either. "Curtis couldn't afford Steele," you mumbled as you thought it through. "Jerome might do some pro bono work because he supports veterans, but that wouldn't get him in the office." "At least you're thinking about it. Honestly I expected you to hang up on me by now." "Really? You think I scare that easily?" "No, but come on," he said with a laugh, "I just told you what your brother and I were involved in overseas and that it's followed us home and who knows what Agent Orange is capable of doing with that information and that I wanted to kill him to keep that information from getting out. You gonna tell me that doesn't make you wanna run?" You thought about all of the reasons you've run before, thought about fear and anger, the guilt and regret eating away at your mind every day. "I'm not going anywhere Billy. And if I can help, I want to." You could almost imagine his smile when he spoke next. "I'm glad to hear that." ------ The diner was quiet, a few people at the counter. You picked a booth a little ways from the door, your back against the wall. Every time the bell dinged in the twenty minutes you had been there, you looked up and waited. None of the newcomers were the person you were waiting for. Your phone was on the table with no new notifications. The urge to check again in case you somehow missed one came over you, but the woman that poured you some coffee was already watching you warily and you weren't about to give her a reason to be suspicious. Finally the bell rang and you recognized the person that was coming your way. A sigh of relief left your lips even as you stood up and called out. "Matt, I'm over here." The lawyer turned towards your voice, his white cane tapping out as he made his way towards you. You met him half way, grabbing his arm gently and directing him towards your booth. "Thanks," he said with a twitch of his lips, joining you at the table. He folded up his cane, tilting his head as he turned to face you. "Been a long time Y/N." "I've only been back for a few weeks," you said honestly. The waitress came back but all Matt ordered was a coffee. After she poured it, you leaned forward to speak to him. "I don't know that I ever thanked you for what you did." "You didn't," he said with a smile, shaking his head, "and you'll never have to thank me for that." You nodded, spinning your coffee cup around a few times as you tried to put your thoughts in cohesive order. When you had asked him to join you, you hadn't gotten far into the plan before he accepted. The time where you should have been planning had been taken up with nerves. "You don't have to be nervous around me," he said as he tilted his head, correctly gauging your accelerated heart rate. "Why don't you start with why you invited me here?" "That might require making this coffee Irish," you joked. He laughed and you took a deep breath. "You know that thing you said I don't have to thank you for? I might need your help with that again." "Y/N," he said softly, cautiously. "I know, but I don't have any choice right now. I can't explain yet, but I have to do something and if I do it... let's just say, history might repeat itself." Matt reached out, finding your hand without problem. He wrapped his bruised fingers around yours, squeezing gently. "Whatever you need, I'm there." You closed your eyes and let out a breath. "Coming up soon I'm going to have to meet up with Jerome Davidson to help someone out with something. In case it goes wrong, I was hoping you could be nearby." Matt's mouth was set in a frown and you could see him struggling, but he had given his word. And if there was one thing you knew about Matt, it was that he wasn't going to say no once he had already said yes. "I'll be there." You squeezed his hand back, careful of the bruises that looked relatively fresh. This would set your mind at ease, even if you couldn't explain it to Billy. Or Frank. The irony of it all was that you thought that you'd be safer when you came back to New York. Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place. X A post for voting will be up right after this. X

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honeypiehotchner · 6 years

Text

dancing on my own -- part seven

I’m back when I really should be doing homework. But I can’t help it. Every time I tried to do work, I just saw Rob. So here’s this.

Words: 2,162 (wow, hello)

Summary: Karaoke night. That’s all I’m saying.

Warnings: the fluff will probably kill you

~~~

“So, karaoke.”

Bri raises her eyebrows. “Yes. Karaoke.”

“What am I singing!” I laugh, shoving her shoulder.

Bri shrugs. “Ask the teenager.”

I nearly roll my eyes, looking around for my little sister. She’s been back in the green room with us since mom and dad left to get lunch – I also kind of told her to stay so they will get a little lunch date. Besides, she hasn’t met everyone yet, so this is a perfect time to do that.

I find her after a few seconds of looking – the green room isn’t that big – and to my surprise, she’s listening to the band have a little jam session.

She’s heard their music before, mostly from me playing it in the car and whenever I’m home helping out around the house. But she’s never listened to them really in depth. Judging by her face, though, I’d say she likes their sound.

I glance back at Briana, shaking my head as I try not to smile. I can’t help it. Seeing Anna have fun and smile with people that I love and that I know have genuine hearts makes me so warm inside.

Short story, because Anna hates when I talk about this, but she hasn’t had the smoothest childhood or experience with friends. She’s incredibly wise and mature for her age, probably at the fault of having an older sister like me who kind of threw herself into being an adult right when she turned sixteen, but still. She’s always gravitated toward the older generation or kids who are more mature. And if you know anything about middle and high school, then you’ll know it’s hard to find kids who are like that. So to see her hanging out with genuinely good people that I love, and to see them having a good time with her…

It makes me really happy. That’s all.

I make my way over to them at the ending of a song, Anna clapping and playfully saying, “Encore!!”

“Hey sis,” I tap her shoulder. Everyone’s eyes naturally fall on me, and I try not to blush when I see Rob smiling in my direction. “I need a song for karaoke. And you’re more knowledgeable in pop music than I am, so…”

She chews on the inside of her cheek, thinking. “Do you want old or new?”

“Something that’ll have a karaoke track we can pull up,” I laugh.

She narrows her eyes for a second, but then I see it when she has the perfect idea. “Oh, I’ve got a good one.”

I raise my eyebrows.

“‘Style,’” she grins. “By Taylor Swift.”

I remember the song clearly. My eyes widen in surprise, having not thought of that at all before. “That’s perfect! Thanks girl.” I pause, glancing around at the band. Everyone has gone to messing with their instruments, but I catch Rob staring and give him a teasing look that causes him to grin, letting out a small laugh. “I see you’re corrupting my sis into the Louden Swain world.”

Rob shrugs. “It’s nice to have an audience who doesn’t really know our stuff.”

“Which makes me mad!” Anna interjects, then looking at me. “Their stuff is so good!”

“I tried to tell you,” I laugh, messing with her hair. “Okay, off you go. I need more music.”

“What song?” Rob asks suddenly.

I take a deep breath, thinking for a moment. “‘Like The Heart Goes,’” I finally say. “It’s one of my favorites.”

His face falters for a second, probably not expecting that, but they begin playing it anyway. I look over my shoulder to see Briana discussing something with her handler, so I decide to join Anna on the couch, listening to my favorite band play my favorite song.

+++

After the rest of my solo photo ops and autographs, it is time to get ready for karaoke. Anna wanted to go see the vendors room, so she is there with mom and dad. Thankfully, they agreed to stay for karaoke, mostly wanting to see what all it’s about.

Also, thankfully, they agreed to let Anna be up front in the madness while they stay back and watch. I promised to keep an eye on her (which I always do).

But as I stand here in front of my bathroom mirror, Kim and Briana on opposite sides of me also getting ready, I find my brain unconsciously drifting to Rob.

We have ‘Style’ playing in the background to remind me of how it sounds and all, and every time I hear the lyrics, I think of Rob. I can’t help it. And I can’t tell if Anna chose the song because she could sense something, or just because she likes the song – she’s a massive fan of Taylor Swift, among many other artists; the girl has a music taste with zero boundaries.

Either way, singing it at karaoke is going to be interesting.

“Hey, Bri?”

“Yeah?”

I pause, bringing the mascara wand away from my eyes. “Do you have a red lipstick I can borrow?”

She grins. “Of course I do.”

+++

There isn’t really a theme for karaoke tonight, or if there is it must be leather and badass. Everyone is head-to-toe in black, most of us in leather jackets. I have my black heels on with my leather jacket and black crop-top. The red lips and messy hair have me looking, and I quote from Kim, “Sexy as hell.”

I take it as a compliment, despite the many predicaments Hell on Supernatural has been in.

We’re all onstage with the fans, dancing and having the times of our lives. It isn’t long before I’m scheduled to sing.

Rich announces me, the track starting after he says my name.

“Sing with me if you know it,” I nearly plead the crowd, smiling when they scream. “Midnight, you come and pick me up, no headlights.”

They’re singing with me, louder than I expected. I look to Anna, grinning as she sings with me from the audience with the biggest smile on her face.

“Fade into view, it’s been a while since I have even heard from you,” I try not to look at Rob too pointedly. “You’ve got that James Dean, daydream look in your eye and I got that red lip, classic thing that you like.”

“I said, “I heard—” Oh! “That you’ve been out and about with some other girl.” Some other girl…” I shake my head. “He said, “What you heard is true, but I can’t stop thinking about you,” and I said, “I’ve been there too a few times.”

“And when we go crashing down, we come back every time ‘cause we never go out of style.”

By the end of it I have completely given up on not looking at Rob. The first time I did, he grinned wider than I’ve ever seen him smile, so from there I just kind of…kept doing it. His smile almost seemed playful, like he wanted me to continue singing to him like that. So I did.

I don’t know why. I’m so much better than this. The last thing I need to be doing right now is flirting with Rob. If that even counts as flirting. I don’t know.

+++

After karaoke we all split off to our rooms – some people (Rob, Rich, and Matt) go off to go photos with fans – and end the night feeling both satisfied and exhausted.

I take a shower, just to wash off because I don’t feel like washing my hair before I put on a big hoodie and some shorts to sleep in. It’s not late, though, in my standards, so I’ve been texting with Anna.

As it gets closer to midnight, I hear a knock on my door. Thinking it’s most likely Bri or Kim, I scramble to open it.

“Hey.”

I stare.

“Can I come in?” Rob asks.

I open my mouth to protest, having spent the past hour convincing myself that singing ‘Style’ was a bad idea and that I should not sing ‘Stop Draggin’ My Heart Around’ tomorrow either. Bad idea. Completely.

But when he stands in front of me, those bad ideas don’t seem so bad.

Oh, I am so whipped.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” I move back to motion for him to come in, which he does, standing around awkwardly like he isn’t sure if this was a good idea.

My nerves are mutual, it seems.

“What’s up?” I ask. “I don’t have a couch, so I guess just…” I gesture to the space on the bed next to me.

I don’t have to worry about it being too awkward, though, because he kicks his shoes off before I even finish speaking.

I smile as I watch him climb into bed next to me. He leans back against the headboard, and he won’t look at me, which is strange. He closes his eyes a second later.

“Rob?”

“I’m sorry.”

I furrow my eyebrows. “Are you okay?”

He chuckles then, opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling. They’re glassy. “Funny thing is, I should’ve asked you that more often.”

“Oh, Rob,” I frown. “I’m not mad at you, you know.” I grab a pillow and hug it to my chest, resting my chin on top of it.

“I know,” he says. “I’m mad at myself.”

“Well don’t be,” I pause, “but why are you?”

“I was…an asshole.”

I laugh, shrugging. “You were a little bit of a jerk. But you’re human. I get it.”

“You are incredibly forgiving for someone who has been put through hell by this world.”

“Grudges weigh me down,” I breathe, speaking truthfully. “It’s easier to learn the lesson and forgive. I think it’s healthier.”

“Did therapy teach you that?” I listen to his tone, but it is nowhere near as malicious as it was last night. This is softer, almost curious.

“Oh god, no,” I laugh. “I forgave you on the plane ride home to therapy. I’ve never been able to hold grudges for a long time. Therapy just…taught me to forgive myself as quickly as I forgive everyone else.”

He finally looks at me. “Therapy really helped you.”

I try not to smile. “That obvious?”

“You’re so…strong. And wise.” He pauses, studying my face. “You were before, but it’s different now.”

“I’m really happy,” I offer. “If that’s what you’re trying to get at.”

He smiles then. Finally. “I’m glad. You deserve to be happy.”

“Hey, so do you,” I nudge his arm playfully, causing his smile to widen. “What about you? How’s the girl?”

“Lily?” He chuckles, but it doesn’t sound good. “She, uh…she ended things a couple weeks after the con.”

My eyes widen. “Oh, Rob. I’m…I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he chuckles again, but I can tell it still hurts. “She told me she just thought my heart wasn’t all there,” he shrugs. “She could tell I liked her, but my heart was somewhere else. Her words. She’s a poet, if you can’t tell.”

I laugh, trying to lighten the conversation. “I can tell. But what did you think about what she said?”

He shrugs again. “I told her she was wrong. That I’d make it up to her. But she said I didn’t need to.” He pauses. “She’s in New York now, working in publishing and stuff. She said she thought with her gone I’d realize what she meant.”

“Rob…” I murmur, resting my hand on his arm without thinking. “I’m so sorry.”

He takes a deep breath, smiling as he rests his hand on top of mine. I try to ignore the warm feeling. “It’s okay. I think I’m starting to realize what she meant.”

“What?”

He pats my hand, bringing it to his lips and pressing a kiss to my knuckles. “I should go. You’ve got a full day tomorrow.”

I accept the subject change with a nod. “I do. Hey, are we singing?”

“If you want to,” he shrugs, trying not to grin. “But I’d like to.”

“Okay,” I smile. “We can practice tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he grins. “I’m going now.”

I laugh loudly. “You’re still sitting on my bed.”

“I know, I know.” He finally moves, sliding off my bed and grabbing his shoes from the floor.

I walk him to the door, pulling it open for him.

He’s barely halfway out before he turns around, holding out his arms. “Hug?”

I grin, stepping into his arms. I wrap my arms around his neck, burying my face in his shoulder. His arms move around my waist, holding me tightly.

“I missed you like hell,” he whispers.

I try not to laugh as I nod. “I missed you like hell, too.”

I push back from the hug, both of us really needing to get some sleep tonight. He kisses the side of my head, his hands lingering on my waist for longer than they should.

Then he turns and walks down the hallway.

And I shut my door and squeal.

~~~

Tags: @itsfunnierin-enochian @sirraxa @sherlockedtash88 @shanghai88

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lenaisanerd · 6 years

Text

swing a little further

Read on AO3

Listen on Spotify

It's really hot. The gang goes to the park. It rains. (Alternatively: Izzy stares at Clary for 3400 words.)

This was supposed to be shorter, but it turned into something that is not that short while I wrote it. This is my first published fanfic on Tumblr (exciting). Please reblog or like if you enjoy it!

A huge thank you to my friends and editors @disaster-lesbiab , @raisehades , and @beesarekind , who made this fic possible (and who have been very patiently listening to me ramble on about Shadowhunters for months. Thanks.).

One week since the Institute’s AC system had given out. Turns out not even angelic power can withstand a New York heatwave, and with temperatures outside steadily climbing over 30 degrees, the heat had started seeping through every crack and crevice into the normally cool building. The humidity exacerbated the effects of the hot weather, and in Isabelle’s opinion it was a miracle no one had collapsed from a heat stroke yet.

According to the weather report a massive thunderstorm was due any day now, but what did mundanes know. It certainly hadn’t rained any of the previous four days when they had promised the exact same thing. Izzy’s hope and patience were wearing thin.

There were precisely three things that gave her the strength to drag herself out of bed every morning: One, by now being in her room with its huge portion of stained glass window was even more unbearable than hiding from the sun in the armory. Izzy had even tried sitting in the dungeons to do her paperwork, because being underground should be at least marginally cooler. But apparently sitting on the floor leaning against a wall while looking at a tablet in your lap for 10 hours at a time can really fuck up your back.

Two, the Institute was caught up in approximately one fuckton of work. NYC had picked the worst three weeks of the past year for a demon infestation in the Hudson. Getting rid of the little bastards, clean-up of the river, and convincing mundane victims and the police it was just a really violent species of manatee had kept every available Shadowhunter (and quite a few warlocks) busy. And when your brother is Head of the Institute, and also not afraid to barge into your room to kick you out of bed, sleeping late is not an option, even if Izzy was tempted a few times to quit sentient existence and melt into her mattress.

Three, even though the heatwave left everyone sweaty, tired, and often sunburnt, Clary was a literal angel all the same. Isabelle had started mentally drawing constellations between the hundreds of freckles that had popped up on Clary’s face and shoulders because of her time spent in the sun on missions.

She had given up on all black clothing about two days into the heatwave and was now wearing a different, slightly ratty and paint-splattered t-shirt every day, which, Izzy had to admit, suited Clary even better than black leather or skin-tight party dresses. And although a sunburn was starting to colour her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose, Izzy could still see Clary’s adorable blush whenever she complimented Isabelle. Seeing the redhead’s brilliant smile every morning as soon as she spotted Izzy in the op center or training room was truly the only thing that made the heat bearable.

“...and Luke said he’s going to take care of the press stuff, he knows a guy at the Times. We’re still going with the murderous manatee story, right? Izzy? Did you hear me?”

Clary’s question ripped Izzy out of her dazed daydream, where she had been busy appreciating a single frizzy strand of hair that had found its way out of the ponytail Clary had pulled her red curls into.

Izzy quickly took a sip of her water bottle on the table in front of her to stall while searching for an answer in the depths of her mind. She should really pick better moments to drool over Clary than in the middle of being briefed by Clary. Then again, she was. really. tired. 10 hours of work, fixing weapons, debriefing teams back from missions, chasing after reports from junior Hunters. It was high time for a break.

“Yes, of course, the manatee thing. Let’s do that.”

Clary shook her head. “I still can’t believe the shit Shadowhunters get Mundanes to believe. You would think after a while someone would pick up on the weirdness.”

“You didn’t.”

“Touché, Lightwood.”

Isabelle grinned, Clary smiled back. Maybe a little longer than was justified, given Izzy’s weak attempt at banter. Not that Izzy minded.

A distant, sustained honk cut through the silence between them. At the same moment both their phones buzzed. Clary was the first to get hers out. She checked the message and frowned.

“A text from Simon: ‘Come outside’?”

Izzy raised an eyebrow in surprise.

“Hey Iz. You get a text too?”

Alec was coming down the stairs and striding quickly towards her on long legs. He looked worn out, dark circles under his hazel eyes. Izzy was fairly certain that he had not left the Institute in at least two days.

She nodded and held up her phone.

“Any idea what it means?” she asked.

“Nope. Better go obey his command though, or someone else will go and strangle him to get him to stop honking.”

Now the connection between the sound and the message clicked into place in Izzy’s mind. The honking had started up again, a long honk followed by several short, irregular bursts. It must have been coming from just outside the doors of the Institute. Walking towards the exit it grew louder. Clary pushed open the door.

Across the way from the steps a painted van was parked under a tall plane tree, its owner stood in the open driver side door to play out a rhythm on the horn. Simon waved when he saw them.

Maia was sitting on the roof, leaning back while her legs dangled over the side. Leaning against the hood of the car, Magnus had taken off his vest to sling it over his shoulder, looking for all the world like a supermodel with his sunglasses, rolled up trouser cuffs and a shirt that was unbuttoned almost down to his bellybutton.

Izzy heard her brother draw in a sharp breath, before he rushed down the steps to greet his boyfriend with a kiss. Clary and Izzy followed more slowly.

“What are you guys doing here?” Clary said as she hugged Simon in greeting. “I thought you wanted to get out of the city, go to the beach?”

Izzy tugged playfully at Maia’s ankle and squinted up at her. The sunlight streaming through the foliage made her coiled hair shine like a ring of gold.

Maia grinned and sighed. “We had planned that, yes. But Thor over here is convinced he can predict the weather--”

“Hey, all I’m saying is that my hair is standing on end today, which normally happens when a storm is incoming, and a thunderstorm is not the ideal condition for swimming--”

“The weather report has been talking about rain for like a week now, it still hasn’t happened. You’re just afraid of the ocean!”

Simon gasped in outrage, though Izzy could see his eyes twinkle slightly.

“I am not! And how dare you suggest I cannot predict the weather. I’ll have you know that my predictions saved Clary and me from getting drenched during the Great Sports Day Downpour of 2014.”

“Simon, I’m pretty sure you just didn’t want to do the three-legged race with me.” Clary was chuckling. “And I remember that we got wet anyways when you tripped and we fell into that huge puddle.”

“No, I remember that you tripped and I only fell in because our legs were still tied together!”

They all burst into a fit of giggles at the mental image. Even Magnus and Alec looked over grinning from where they were still leaning against the hood of the van, a casual embrace tangling their arms and legs with as much body contact as the heat would allow.

Izzy tried to remember the last time the two of them had seen each other. Had it been a week? Two? Magnus must have been kept busy as well. Now it seemed like they had been standing like this for hours, their bodies slotting together with comfortable familiarity. Isabelle let her eyes wander over to Clary next to her. Was it stupid to hope their limbs would fit together in the same way?

“But even if we could go to the beach, which we absolutely can’t, because of the storm, what would we do without our favourite demon-hunting buddies?” Simon added, and then, stage whispering while leaning close to Izzy, “we were starting to think you guys had fused with your desks, or that you had moved to Canada without telling us.”

“Seriously, you had us worried. When did you last have a day off, or at least take a break?” Maia asked.

Izzy’s shoulders slumped. “Don’t ask, I don’t think I could tell you.”

“Well then, it’s good that we’re here to enforce some mandatory downtime,” Simon said while rummaging around in the back of the van. He finally emerged holding two plastic bags and a canvas tote.

“Maia and I picked up the essentials of relaxation on the drive here. Books,” he turned the canvas bag around so they could see the New York Public Library logo on the front ,“and candy. It’s all Fourth of July themed though. There was a sale,” he added apologetically, as if he wasn’t holding the most beautiful things Izzy had seen in days.

“We appreciate the gesture, but there’s still so much to do, all the paperwork for the cleanup,” Alec chimed in, but Izzy knew him well enough to recognize his opposition as rather half-hearted.

She met Clary’s eyes and they both put on their best pleading face. Simon and Maia had witnessed these battles of will a few times before, so they reserved themselves to keeping quiet and glancing between Alec and his opponents.

Alec tried to seek support with Magnus and looked at him instead. Like Magnus was gonna tell his overworked boyfriend to go back inside for second helpings, Izzy thought, especially when he was right here ready to distract Alec. Her brother must have been kidding himself.

After about five seconds, she could see his resolve crumble like a dry sand wall.

“Okay, you know what, you’re right. Fuck this, let’s get out of here. Hey Underhill,” he called to the Shadowhunter standing just inside the entryway of the Institute, who made his way slightly reluctantly out of the shade and over to the van, “you’re in charge until I get back. Tell everyone to finish what absolutely needs doing today, and then to take the rest of the day off.”

Underhill gave a short nod and smiled. His eyes lingered on Magnus and Alec for a split second, still standing with their arms around each other, before he turned to leave.

They left the van parked in front of the Institute and set off on foot. After a half hour of strolling at a leisurely pace they reached Rockefeller Park and settled under a tree in view of the river. The afternoon sun shone brightly and with an intense glare, and only a few people were sitting on the grass, some under umbrellas to provide shade.

Most inhabitants of the city seemed to have traded the sultry climate outside for air-conditioned offices, apartments, or movie theaters. Even in the middle of Manhattan the world moved slowly and quietly. The traffic and buzz of downtown were miles away, a vague hum in the distance. Time was sticky and thick like honey.

Izzy looked up from her copy of Lavinia. She was feeling sleepy and content, her stomach full of sweets, her sneakers lying next to her with her feet naked on the grass. She took in the scene in front of her:

Magnus was sitting against the tree trunk to her left, her brother’s head in his lap. The warlock had one hand in Alec’s hair, the other held Eros the Bittersweet from which he was reading in a soft voice. Occasionally Alec would open his mouth to make an observation or a joke, and Magnus would look down at him and laugh.

A few meters away Maia had abandoned her reading to try and catch the Skittles Clary was throwing into Maia’s mouth. Simon had also put his copy of Kavalier and Clay aside to watch and to distract both of them by plucking out single blades of grass and pitching them at them with pinpoint accuracy like tiny spears.

Finally Maia had enough and sprang like a fox on the hunt to tackle her boyfriend. After rolling over on the ground once or twice, Maia ended up on top, straddling Simon’s chest and pinning him down. She proceeded to rip out a handful of grass and sprinkle it on Simon, while he laughed and sputtered, trying to blow the grass away from his face.

Clary watched from her Skittle throwing spot, The Wicked + The Divine open on one of her crossed legs. Leaf-filtered sunlight dappled her skin, a smile crinkled the corners of her eyes.

Izzy took a deep breath and exhaled slowly through her nose. The air carried the smells of sunscreen, dry grass, and the river. She had the sudden thought how strange and lucky it was that she was here, lying under a tree with her favourite people in the whole world, how somehow they had all made here. Sometimes it seemed like the world was about to end every other week, and they couldn’t go two months without at least one of them almost dying. But it wasn’t, and they hadn’t.

“Izzy, everything okay?” Clary had sat down next to her. There were faint grass-stains on her grey jeans.

“You know, before I met you, Alec, Jace and I didn’t do this sort of thing.”

Izzy gestured to their surroundings.

“Sitting in some park, during the day, just doing nothing. Sure, we had free time sometimes. Mostly after missions, late at night, when we were so keyed up we just couldn’t go home to bed. We’d get some food, or go to a party, or walk through the city for hours just exploring until the sun went up.“

“And we had fun. But it was always just a distraction, something to kill time, until the next mission or training session, until we had to go back to the Institute or our parents would get mad. The stuff we do with you or Simon or Maia is…” she smiled, “nice. Different. But nice. Is this what being mundane is like? Nothing to do, nowhere to be but here?”

Clary had been watching Izzy’s face attentively, but now she was looking out at the park, the people walking by or lying on the grass.

“Simon and I used to do this stuff all the time. Sometimes I used to think we were just wasting time, but we really had some of our best weekends when we were just off doing nothing. I just didn’t know it at the time.”

“Do you miss, you know. Your old life? Being mundane?”

Clary was quiet for a moment.

“I do, yeah. Even now. I’ll be walking down some street in my old neighbourhood, and it just hits me, the memories. I miss it so much sometimes it physically hurts. And I think about the girl I was a year ago, and she seems like a stranger. A totally different person.”

“But,” she said and her eyes met Izzy’s, “I also think about all the things I’ve seen, everything I’ve learnt. The people I’ve met.” She smiled. “If I was still living my old life, I never would have met you.”

“That, Clary Fairchild, would have been a tragedy.” Izzy grinned.

“Exactly.”

A loud rumbling sounded in the mid-distance. Izzy just managed to tear herself away from Clary’s gaze to look at the horizon. Dark clouds were gathering and moving quickly towards the city, blown by high-altitude winds, although the air on the ground remained hot and still. The air was heavy with static and the humidity clung to her skin. The surface of the Hudson rippled with a few tiny raindrops.

“Ha! What did I tell you?” Simon’s grin was triumphant and infectious. He turned to Maia. “And you doubted me.”

Maia obviously wasn’t ready to give in. “This is nothing. I’m sure it’ll pass and we’ll be fine under the tr--”

The rain came down hard. They had just enough time to pack up their things and put on their shoes before the leafy canopy above them gave in to unload large drops on their heads. It became clear in minutes that staying under the tree wasn’t going to provide much cover.

Simon was the first to dash out into the pouring rain, speeding faster than Izzy’s eyes could follow. When he stopped to wait for the others however the rain caught up with him. He yelped and tried to use his jacket as a makeshift umbrella, which was pointless as any and all clothing was soaked through in seconds.

Maia followed, and immediately after her Magnus and Alec, who were jogging leisurely across the lawn under a small shield Magnus maintained with one hand held over their heads. The faint blue glow was almost invisible, but the rivers of rainwater running off it were not, and Izzy hoped quietly that the few mundanes who remained in the park were too busy getting drenched to notice.

“Our turn.”

Izzy’s attention snapped back to Clary. She had stepped out from under the meager protection of the tree canopy into the rain and was tilting her head back to let the raindrops hit her face. Then she turned back to look at Izzy, smiling, red hair darkened by the rain, a few wet strands clinging to her face.

Clary reached out and took Izzy’s hand. There was a sensation, like a spark of static, but somehow more than physical. Izzy was almost ready to chalk it up to the thunderstorm, all the electricity in the air, or her imagination, when she looked up at Clary.

Her green eyes were wide and tiny rain droplets caught on her lashes. She had felt it too. For a moment they both stood motionless, breaths held, hands clasped.

Then the moment passed, and Clary whipped around to drag Izzy into the rain and towards their friends. Hand in hand they ran across the flooded lawn, water splashing up around their ankles with every step. A flash of lightning followed closely by booming thunder accompanied them.

The others stood under Magnus’ shield, which was now several meters in diameter. Alec was grinning at Izzy when she skidded to a stop next to him. His eyes wandered down to her hand in Clary’s.

“Took you two slowpokes long enough to get here.”

Izzy raised one perfect eyebrow and smiled mockingly.

“Sounds like a challenge. Race you to the Institute?”

Alec’s eyes narrowed, obviously incentivized. He shot Magnus a quick glance. The warlock smiled.

“Oh, go on Alexander, I couldn’t deprive you. Besides,” his eyes flashed golden for a split second, “I’m sure I can keep up.”

In the blink of an eye, Alec had given Magnus a kiss on the cheek and had dashed off. Izzy rolled her eyes and followed. As if he could shake her with tricks like that.

Among shrieks, shouts and laughter the group ran through the pouring rain. By the time they reached the Institute they were all out of breath and soaked to the bone.

By some sort of miracle (and through the magic of plastic bags) the books had managed to stay dry, and Simon stashed them safely in the van before he and Maia made their goodbyes and disappeared in the vehicle as well in search of towels.

Magnus, having had quite enough of being wet, opened a portal to his apartment. He practically had to drag Alec, who was still arguing with his little sister about who had really won the race, through. Izzy and Clary were left alone on the steps of the Institute.

The storm had cooled off the air noticeably, and the weird pressure had lifted. Everything felt suddenly lighter, the constant noise of the rain and the thunder drowning out the hum of the city until Izzy barely noticed it.

Standing in the warm rain, drops hitting her shoulders and face until rivulets formed on her skin, the world faded out until only Clary remained, her eyes, her laughter, her hand holding tight. Izzy tilted her head back and looked up at the sky. She smiled.

#shadowhunters #clizzy #shadowhunters fic #sh fic #isabelle lightwood #my writing #sh writing #clary x izzy #fanfuckery

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duchampdrone · 2 years

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Presenting my evil twin, SuperCheri

Who knows me also knows how I truly dig music millions of light years from my ecstatic drones that I do as DuChamp. I like to dance, to begin with. I love a lot of loud rock music, the louder the better! So, it happens that in between 2020 and 2021 I had really a lot of time, spend like all of you in waves of anxiety, depression, despair etc. Well, we all went through the pandemic (I actually have Covid right now that I am writing, but being I’m three times vaccinated, it’s still ok) so don’t need to explain. I found myself with time to make music, but with my practice room closed. And my DuChamp music is the music of extasy and I was so far away from that. So I decided to do, as exercise, the following. I had to come up with at least a song for session. The session were in my bedroom, and I was using my Tascam 4-track only. I only had 4 tracks so I had to decide. Actually one track was always the drum machine, so I had 3. I sat there to play, and then, as it always happens, music comes. It turned out to be quite personal, although most songs are very political (personal is politics, right?). Since my husband published his home recording album (The Post Spiderhole ensemble), and it was very well received (it is actually absolutely amazing), I decided that my album should see the light of the day as well. So we publish on Kitchen Leg records. Recording it was a journey, a hard but amazing one, I was literally devouring Tape Op and all interviews with Susan Rogers (the engineer of Prince in “Sign O’ Times”) and then what I learn, is that you have mostly to trust your ears, on tape you got no other clues. I spend one entire day to set up the mic in order to have the guitar sound I wanted. I decided to record the bass on D.I. only, as my bass is absolutely gorgeous (it’s an Höfner!). And couldn’t do punch in by myself, so I had to repeat any time I played wrong, that was aweful, but it also teaches you something. So, those are the songs. “Solida” is a song, that weirdly came out in Italian, about the need to girls and females of being assertives and say “no” when they want, without justifications or excuses. “We despise you” is a song against the cops. It was inspired when I went to a demo for the housing right and there was a lot of cops in front of new buildings, while during the demo of the no-vax, often violent and threating, cops were almost no there. Let’s not call defense or protection of citizen. (For the record: in the last year I had an encounter with a cop that was a very good person, still as a whole don’t like them). “Musicbox” is a piece of heart, is dedicated to the record shop where I used to go as a teen, a wonderful place where I discovered all I know, more or less. “Spinterogeno” is a surf/exotica song. I am crazy for exotica, everyone knows it. “Time” is modeled on “A love bizarre” and I had my husband to sign on it. Talk about time, it’s in between Seneca and Luigino Bruni articles on lithurgy. “Future Tense Bolero” is my anarchist anthem, is about building the future we want NOW and not get discouraged, never, because it will be. “I’m Not” is about the fact that despite I get older, still I don’t care about a lot of things I should, like make career, having the right friends, and sit properly on a chair. “Step Back” is about serial monogamy. I know is better to be alone for a bit to enjoy your own company and set your boundaries, but it never happen to me. “Null Hypothesis” is about the scientific method, First, you should trust your data, and then get other to trust to. Logic and deduction! “Work of Wonders” is for my mom, that left me almost two years ago. As you all know, she was my fist fan, and she was such a wonderful and unique being. I will do a lot of things as artist thinking about her, and the first one is here.

SuperCheri-Featurette by SuperCheri

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some-cookie-crumbz · 6 years

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Abandonment

Abandonment Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender Pairing: Kidge Summary: Life with a newborn can be exhausting. It can also be something that stirs up ones own family troubles. Standard Disclaimer: If you read and enjoy this, please give it a like/ reblog so I know if I should write more. AN: Day 28 prompt fill! I just really wanted to write some cute, post-family reassurance.

“Calm down, buddy. It’s okay, I’ve got you,” He cooed, voice soft but scratchy still from sleep.

“Wa…Waaahhh,” Came the insightful response, warbling in volume and whine.

“It’s okay, Kaden, no need for that. Let’s stay quiet, okay? Mommy’s still sleeping-!”

“I’m not, actually, but I appreciate the attempt,” She said with a sleepy puff of laughter, turning on her side to look at him. His eyes were wide in surprise as he gently rocked the fussy infant in his arms. She shifted a bit to sit up, already going for the hook of her nursing tank top with one hand while pushing herself up with the other. “He’s probably just hungry, which makes sense. It’s been almost three hours.”

“I can just go heat up a bottle for him. Get some sleep, Pidge,” He argued gently, pausing briefly in his rocking. He winced when Kaden suddenly chimed in with a loud, short cry of distress. He looked down and resumed the swaying motions immediately. She reached over and gently tapped the lamp on her bedside table twice, so that it only emmited a low glow. “Sorry, sorry. I know you hate it when you aren’t part of the conversation, but only are the conversation.”

She laughed a bit as she tugged the left side of her nursing tank top down to expose her breast. “Just hand him here, Keith. I’m already up and it’ll be easier for him to just take straight from the tap than you having to listen to him shriek the whole time you’re making the bottle,” She insisted, holding her arms out expectantly.

With a defeated sigh, Keith shifted to sit on the bed beside her and carefully hand over their one month old son. The little guy cried even louder as he was moved, falling silent briefly as he was cradled in the crook of Pidge’s arm. “Yeah, I heard you, baby. Don’t worry, the booby bar is always open for you,” She cooed teasingly, adjusting her arm to lift Kaden closer to her.

Keith watched and chuckled as Pidge struggled to get Kaden to latch properly, the baby continuing to shove his little fist in front of his mouth every time he tried to attach to her. The little guy let out a sharp indignant squawk at Pidge after the fourth time he got his fist instead of her nipple.

“Listen, dude,” She huffed lightly, using her pinky finger on one hand to nudge his fist out of the way while the rest of that hand held her breast in place for him, “you have to work with me here. If you keep curling your fist in front of your mouth like that? Yeah, you aren’t gonna be able to get on the booby!”

“Here,” Keith said, leaning over to gently nudge the offending fist with one finger, “let me see if I can’t help out a little.” It took a bit of coaxing, but after a second, Kaden uncurled his fist. With the palm exposed, Keith prodded at it with the tip of his finger, grinning when small and chubby fingers curled around it instead. He then carefully moved his arm using the grip on his finger off to the side.

“Thank you,” Pidge sighed, exasperated, as she moved Kaden’s head back up with her arm. This time, his gaping little mouth closed around her breast, silencing him. After a small moment of readjustments, he was properly latched and suckling the milk with small, hungry grunts. “I knew there was a reason I keep you around.” She teased Keith.

He flashed a small smile and hummed quietly, turning his gaze down to their son. “It’s nice to be able to do something to help you out with him. I feel so useless sometimes, because it always seems like he needs you,” He admitted, his thumb stroking the soft skin on the top of Kaden’s hand.

“Well, he’s still really small, so it kind of figures. In the next few weeks you’ll be able to do a lot more with him, though; especially once he can go longer than two or three hours without eating,” She pointed out with a small smile. She’d done a lot of research to start preparing herself once she found out she was pregnant, to make sure they’d know what to expect with a squalling newborn around, and it showed that more times than not, newborns would tend to be clingier to their mothers. Once they gained a bit more independence around the six to eight week mark, where babies would start getting better control of head movement and figuring out facial expressions, they were less dependent on Mommy.

Keith hummed again, looking down at Kaden with pure adoration. They sat in comfortable silence for a good twenty minutes before Kaden stared to doze off, little eyes fluttering shut and mouth widening in a yawn around the nipple in his mouth. “Looks like someone is a little milk drunk,” He teased, offering to take him.

Pidge smiled as she carefully handed him over, both of them freezing when he opened his eyes wide to stare at them. They had learned that babies were very similar to dinosaurs; if you didn’t move, they couldn’t see you. Or, rather, they wouldn’t really acknowledge that they saw you. They both slowly exhaled as his little eyes dropped shut again. “This little gremlin,” She whispered playfully, pointing at the sleeping infant.

“Think I can change his diaper before I put him back in his Rock-and-Play?” He asked.

“Give it a shot. If he wakes back up, I can always put him back on the boob for a minute or two to soothe him,” She said with a small shrug as she hooked her tank top back on. She watched as he carefully settled Kaden on the small changing table, tilting her head a bit. “So, you wanna talk about what’s bothering you?”

“Nothing’s bothering me,” He said, but it was a bit too quick of a response. He carefully unpeeled the diaper and made a face, nose screwing up. “I still don’t understand how he can sleep through a diaper full of poop.”

“Little guy’s probably too tuckered out. I mean, he refused to sleep all day,” She pointed out. She leaned back to readjust her pillows a little bit before looking over at Keith again. He was just finishing up with wiping Kaden clean and had already pulled out the clean diaper for him. “Now how about you stop dodging and answer my question? You’ve been kinda huffy since we brought him home and I’d like to know why.” She insisted.

Kids had been something she and Keith had discussed often, especially once they got engaged, and agreed they both wanted. The idea of having a family to call his own had appealed to Keith and he’d been over the moon when Pidge told him she was pregnant. She’d noticed it in the first couple of days after they got home with Kaden, how Keith seemed to deflate with how much attention she had to give to their newborn. She didn’t want to think that he regretted their decision to have a family, but that was the simplist answer she could come up with, given the evidence at her disposal.

He looked at her in surprise before sighing. “It’s nothing, Pidge,”

“Don’t give me that bull. Look, if you weren’t ready to be a dad, you should have-!”

“What? No, that’s not it at all!” He argued quickly, his tone a bit too loud and frantic. They both tensed as a shrill cry came from the changing table and a set of little legs kicked in the air frantically. He turned back around, quickly getting on the fresh diaper and buttoning his onesie closed again. “I’m sorry, bud, I should have watched my volume.” He said, carefully scooping him back up and cradling him against his shoulder.

“Go ahead and bring him back to bed with you. I have an idea that I’d like to try,” She suggested.

Keith walked over and slipped under the covers, starting to offer the squirming and whining infant over to her. Instead, she shook her head and nudged him to lie down with a push to his shoulders. Once he was settled down, she carefully readjusted both her boys so that Kaden’s head rested against Keith’s chest, right above his heart, and Keith’s arm was snuggly wrapped around Kaden so he couldn’t squirm around too much. They watched as he slowly settled, his breathing leveling out to match his dad’s, and slowly his eyes closed again. She watched as violet eyes widened before shining in the low light of the bedside lamp, enamoured and awestruck. “He’s so beautiful,” He breathed softly.

She smiled and snuggled down in beside him. “”The sounds of a heartbeat can soothe a baby, since they were used to hearing the sound while in the womb. It doesn’t have to be the Mommy’s heartbeat, either,” She explained gently.

Keith tilted his head and pressed a small kiss to her head, waiting a moment before taking a deep breath. “I’m not trying to be huffy, it’s just… I don’t like leaving everything to you. I want to help out and be as involved with Kaden as possible, give you time to rest while also taking time to bond with him myself. I don’t want either of you to ever feel like I wasn’t there for you enough. I just… I’m afraid of being like Nyrus,” He confessed, sounding uneasy and uncomfortable.

That explanation actually made a lot more sense, when Pidge thought about it.

Nyrus was a high ranking special ops agent working with the Blade of Marmora and, as it turned out, was actually Keith’s birth mother. She and Keith had encountered one another by chance – being paired up on a mission involving a new type of quintessence they’d discovered – but as she reprimanded him after the mission, he’d thrown off his mask to yell back at her, she realized who he was. Initially, she refused to work with him further or explain herself to anyone. For a few months she avoided him completely before finally he cornered her for the truth, during a huge meeting with the Blade higher-ups and the Coalition and Team Voltron.

The confrontation had been a disaster, to say the least.

The two of them had gone very quickly from a shouting match to actual fisticuffs quickly, which wasn’t too terribly surprising. Keith’s temperament was something he seemed to inherit from Nyrus – being quick to insults and aggression and violence when she felt she was being attacked – and the two of them mixed about as well as ammonium chloride and chlorine gas. Questions were asked and given answers that left Keith filled with nothing but anger. “It was not an easy choice to make,” Nyrus had snarled at him, keeping him pinned beneath her by his throat while her tail thrashed violently behind her, “but I had to do what was best for the universe.”

Nyrus had been tracking the Blue Lion’s quintessence signature to assure the Blade could keep it safe from Zarkon, whom was still working to locate them all. While she had been stationed on Earth, she’d met Keith’s father, Ethan, and found herself charmed by him. He had never seemed put off by her lack of Earthling social graces – like so many others had been – and accepted her as she was. She confided in him, upon her pregnancy with Keith, about her actual heritage, due to the chance that Keith could be born with Galran features. He’d loved her regardless of that fact. But when Keith was still very young, she received word from a few other members of the Blade – long dead and their names fuzzy in her mind – that her ship was being tracked by Zarkon. Her options were to either return to the Blade, or destroy both her ship and her self to protect Earth and Blue Lion.

She had decided to take the option that she felt allowed her to do the most good.

“You could have taken us with you!” Keith had spat back, trying to pry her hand off of him.

Her ears had twitched and brow creased, leaning close to scrutinize him. “Why would I have done that? Your father had no training of proper combat or space travel. You were just a kit, too small to survive outside of our eyes. Neither of you could have served a purpose to the Blade that would have justified bringing you along,” Her tone had been bewildered by his question, as if that answer should have been completely obvious.

Pidge had seen how Keith shattered at her words and surged forward, using her bayard to forcefully hoist Nyrus off of him.

After that situation, Keith had taken a huge step back on how much work he did for the Blade, terrified of becoming an embodiment of their rationale to the same extent of his mother. He didn’t want to become so focused that he cared more for the mission objectives than his future family. It took another year before Nyrus and he encountered one another again, and things had gone… A bit more civilly. Nyrus reached out to him to apologize, explaining that it was never a matter of not loving him- she did, she insisted, loved him more than she’d loved anyone or any thing in the universe – but more a matter of what she thought was best. “Either option, you would have grown up without me. I thought that by going back to the Blade, I could at least keep you from being involved in this war. Evidently, however, that… Didn’t go as planned. I would like the chance to make amends, to be… Well, perhaps not a mother, but at least someone to you.”

And Keith, desperate to have connections with any potential family he had, had agreed. Nyrus held true to her word and worked at remaining calm and composed when they discussed certain topics. She’d been crushed when she learned of all the hardships that Keith had suffered, from his father’s young death to his being bounced from home to home, while also being proud of the things he’d accomplished. Pidge herself was still weary of Nyrus but she did her best to be civil, as she wanted to put in at least as much effort as the older female was. Nyrus had attended she and Keith’s wedding and was expected to take a small stop-in to Earth to meet her first grandson sometime soon.

Which certainly explained why Nyrus had been on Keith’s mind over the last couple of weeks.

“You know,” She said as she settled in beside him, resting her head on his shoulder and settling one arm across his stomach, “it would have to take a lot of effort on your part to be anything like Nyrus. It’s already clear that we – Kaden and I – mean more to you than anything, and I doubt you’d ever willingly leave us. And for as confrontational as you can get, I doubt you’d ever have it in you to pin Kaden down by his throat and shout at him.” The look of pure horror that he flashed at the mere inclination was enough to warrant a small chuckle from her as she nestled down with a small sigh. “And I know that me saying this doesn’t necessarily get rid of those fears in you, but I hope it at least helps a little. You’re already an amazing dad, and you’re an amazing husband, and Kaden’s going to grow up knowing how much you love him.”

“I guess it is a little silly of me to be afraid,” He mumbled, a mixture of love and gratitude softening his voice. His attention had swiveled back to the small form curled against his chest. “After all, if a situation like the one with Nyrus ever occurred with us, I don’t doubt you’d happily blow half the Blade of Marmora to Kingdom Come for even suggesting that I have more important matters than our family.”

“Half the Blade of Marmora?” She asked skeptically.

“You could certainly take them all out, but I think you’d want to make an example of them. And if you took down all of them, there would be no one to really learn from it,” He answered.

“Fair enough. Now shush your pretty little face and let’s get some sleep,” She mused, pressing a small kiss to his collarbone before closing her eyes. She felt his arm move to curl around her, pressing along her back and his hand resting on her hip, and she smiled.

Come Hell or high water, the Kogane’s were going to be inseparable.

#voltron legendary defender #keidge #kidge #peith #kidgemas #keidgemonth2k18 #kidgemonth2k18 #pidge gunderson #keith kogane #my fics

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