#also to be clear i knew the marching and salute bit was his bit which is why the smallest man performance has me gagged in its scathingness

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

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[btsficsforthehumble]

adj.: 1. Modern, unfamiliar, or different

2. Not based on or conforming to what is generally done or believed

pairing: reader x ot7

genre: college au; angst, fluff, smut, poly, ot7

Summary: You begin your first year at a prestigious university, set out on achieving your academic goals when a series of men step into your life that change the way you view the definition of love.

A/N: Thank you to the glorious minjoonalist for this banner! Everyone give her some love <3

Part One

Warnings: none in this chapter

Word count: 2k

It’s your first day.

First day entering the world of higher education, on the path to betterment (or whatever the dean said in his boring introductory presentation). To tell the truth, you were pretty zoned out as various speakers talked to the thousands of students that would now become your peers. Those hard ass plastic seats were NOT conducive for attentive listening.

Regardless, you pushed through, and here you are, Monday morning, at 8:45 sharp, sitting in yet another hard ass plastic seat. This time however, you had a small wooden desk in front of you, in line with about a couple dozen others. This was your first class --- Calculus.

You were always good at math compared to the average student, however, being placed with the super smart kids all the time made you self conscience and at worst, made you feel stupid. You were too good at math for the standard curriculum, but felt too dumb for the advanced one. It’s no surprise that math quickly became your least favorite subject.

That hadn’t changed. You were dreading this class, even though you took calculus already in high school --- theoretically, it shouldn’t be that difficult. You knew however, that you had absolutely no willpower when it came to studying math. And considering the fact that you are now attending a prestigious university, one known for their STEM programs, you felt adequately nervous.

You glanced around the classroom, baron except for the desks and the large whiteboard covering the expanse of the front wall. A few other students showed up early as well, mostly looking either as nervous as you felt, or tired like they had just enjoyed their first weekend at college perhaps a little too much.

You yourself hadn’t gone too crazy, going to a single party on Saturday where you only had one drink --- lame even by your own standards. However, you were just getting to know your roommates, and felt it best to remain sober enough to keep an eye out on them or manage any situation this new environment would throw you.

You weren’t close with any of your peers from your high school that also attended your university, and it seemed your roommates were in the same boat. So, naturally, you all decided to go out together as new friends. They all seemed to be nice, and you got along well with everyone so far. You hoped that wouldn’t change.

You sigh gently to yourself while reflecting upon your less than thrilling weekend. You hope that one day you’d let yourself experience the wild college parties that you've heard about. You want to know what it felt like to get properly drunk and dance with a cute stranger without any worries in the back of your head.

Speaking of cute strangers, you take a glance around the classroom, steadily filling up with students. You might as well see if there were any hotties in the class that you knew you’d rather daydream about than pay attention to exponent integrations.

You spotted a boy sitting a ways away from you that caught your attention. His legs were stretched out in front of his desk, in a way that screamed “I don’t care if you trip over me, in fact, I dare you.”

His attention was glued to his phone, as he appeared to be taking snapchats --- probably for some obnoxiously beautiful girls, you thought to yourself, eyes rolling slightly. You had to admit though, he was quite attractive. He had dark brown hair, covering his forehead and slightly swept to the side. His eyes were a dark brown to match, and were quite cute. He had a nice nose and clear skin. His most striking feature was his lips however. He had lips that were larger than the average guy and they looked very kissable. And his frame was decently large, his shoulders wide and masculine, juxtaposing his cute eyes and lips.

You blushed at your own thoughts about the stranger across the room, knowing you were getting entirely carried away in your state of boredom. You still had five minutes until class was supposed to begin. You put away your own phone, which you were holding in your hands as some sort of social protection, in your backpack. You then pulled out your fresh new binder with graph paper, lined paper, tabs, dividers, the whole nine yards. You may not enjoy math, but organization always brought you some level of mental tranquility.

You pull out a pen just as you glance up to see a boy standing in front of you, with the brightest, thousand watt smile on his face. His backpack was slung over one shoulder, his hand in his jeans pocket. He had on a loose tee-shirt that somehow flattered his slim frame. You could tell that he wasn’t a meek first year still finding his bearings. He must be at least a second year. You feel your face heat up as you make eye contact, seeing that he’s looking directly at you.

“Hi there! Is this seat taken?” His eyes widen almost comically as he points to the seat directly in front of you.

“Ah no, no it’s empty.” You cringe internally as you notice your less than relaxed delivery.

He gives you another dazzling smile as he plops in the seat in front of you, pulling out his own simple notebook and pencil.

You rub your forehead trying to get yourself to calm down. You need to not turn red every time a cute boy talks to you, let alone look in your direction. This is so not like you.

You manage to calm yourself down, ready to begin your first class so your attention is off the boy sitting in front of you.

Your professor must have walked in as you were mentally reprimanding yourself, because you hear an authoritative man's voice come from the front of the room when 9 o’clock hits. You immediately began trying to pay attention, writing down all of the information he put on the board even though it’s stuff already in the syllabus. The truth was that you simply needed to throw yourself into a task to keep your mind from straying back onto the boy in front of you.

About seven minutes later, the door to the classroom swings open and another boy walks through, giving the prof a quick salute and grin in apology. You, as well as the rest of the class, had naturally turned your eyes towards the distraction. As soon as it was found to just be a straggler, everyone’s attention quickly shifted back to the professor in front. Your curiosity was piqued by his confident, goofy nature, however.

You couldn’t help but keep your eyes on him a moment longer. He had shaggy dark hair, tanned skin, and a smile that was strikingly unique as it was a little bit of a square shape. He was devastatingly handsome, and you had a feeling he knew it too. Your hypothesis was instantly supported as he made eye contact with you, noticing you looking at him longer than your peers. He flashes a smirk your way that you’re pretty sure could knock anyone’s panties off.

You mentally start screaming and feel yourself turning the color of a freaking fire truck. You quickly jerk your head back down to your notes and refuse to look back up to meet his eyes.

It appears he wasn’t going to give you a break though. You felt the air woosh past you as he walks down your aisle and stops immediately behind you, taking the empty seat.

Great.

Now, you were sandwiched between two guys that you're pretty sure were the most attractive you’d seen in a long while. Not to mention the guy several rows over that you were ogling before they even arrived. You quickly realized that there wasn’t a chance in hell your full attention was going to be on the lecture during this class.

Your entire body sagged with relief when your fifty minute class was up and the professor released everyone. Noticing, the boy behind you leaned forward and huskily whispered, “You’re not a morning person either, huh?”

You froze for half a second at the sound of his voice. It was deep and silky, and my god was it sexy. And he was talking to you.

“You could say that.” You were shocked at his attention but somehow managed to pull out a response that didn’t make you look like an idiot. You didn’t bother turning around to look at him as you answered, deciding not to let him see how pink your cheeks were as you returned your items to your bag.

He let out a little chuckle and stood up.

“I’m Taehyung. And you, my little night owl, are?” He drew out the are waiting for your response.

You too stood up, putting your backpack on.

“I, Taehyung, am off to my next class.” You were annoyed that he seemed to take notice of your attention on him in the beginning of the class and thought that you were a fun little target to flirt with. You knew he wasn’t interested, but merely found it fun to take advantage of his good looks. This allowed you to get over your schoolgirl crush behavior and return to your normal self, which you knew had more of a bite than necessary at times. You had developed a tough edge at a young age and you think that it has protected you a lot already in your short life.

He raised an eyebrow at the sudden appearance of sass and gave you another grin. You simply rolled your eyes and turned on your heel to march yourself out of the classroom, joining the other students that were filtering out. By the time you had turned around, the cute guy with the smile that made your heart melt had already left. You were slightly disappointed to your own chagrin. Why on Earth are you paying attention to boys when you knew you had other priorities? It’s not like anything would come of it anyway.

Throughout high school, you steered away from boys in a romantic sense and they more than happily did the same. You knew you were intimidating, as you had a sharp mouth and quick wit. No one messed with you and you liked it that way. You had kept to yourself, and kept your grades high. You just didn’t have any interest in the boys you’ve known since you were a kid.

As you walked to your next class, you silently cursed yourself for not being cool and collected the entire period. Where was that icy exterior that you had curated for years? How did a simple smile from the boy in front of you turn you into a puddle? How did that annoyingly hot guy behind you manage to blindside you at first?

You nearly stopped in your tracks and groaned when you realized that you had that class every. single. day. It was five credits, so that meant Monday through Friday, you’d be there 9 in the morning, attempting to not think about the cute boys around you.

You were giddy deep, deep down that such cute guys were in your class but the more level headed side of you knew it was in vain. It’s not like they’d go for you or anything. And besides, they would only distract you from the class that you already knew was going to be a struggle.

You pinched your eyes shut when you slid into your seat in your next class.

You had a feeling it was going to be a long semester.

[raith-way]

Fandom: DCEU / Suicide Squad

Fic: Memento Vivere

Pairing: Revina Revnic/Rick Flag

Kiss Prompt 10: …desperately

Requested By: @asirensrage

Tagging: @jinxsflame @hughstheforcelou @uno-reverse-reversed @hiddenqveendom @ocfairygodmother @jewelswrites-ish

The Mission Comes First

Rev had learned, what felt like a lifetime ago now, to fear the words routine mission. Any time a mission became routine, she knew to keep on guard because some kind of shit was going to hit life’s proverbial fan. Despite knowing that, she had let herself relax. Because the mission had been a simple one. Her and Harley had been the only ones deployed, into a dark nightclub filled with music that she could feel vibrating in her soul and bodies sliding against each other with wild abandon. It made her crave the quiet, but she got a kick out of watching Harley mingle and enjoy time outside of her cage. As far as the mission went, they were just doing a little recon. (Rev’s first specialty.) Watch, listen, learn, report. It was the kind of mission that she could do with her mind completely disconnected. Instincts picking up the important bits while her thoughts strayed.

Harley danced, Rev observed, and Rick talked into her ear the whole time. Strict orders that kept her eyes sharp and whispered words that made her thighs tense. For a little while, it was the best mission ever. Harley was distracting the crowd with what looked like an impromptu dance battle, giving Rev a clear view of their target and his dealings, and Rick was dripping filth over their private comm about all the things they were going to do as soon as this mission was over. Her body had started to move along with the masses as she imagined a completely different body pressed against hers, and that was when it happened. When the routine mission flipped, ass-up, and she had frozen inside the club as she heard strange voices over the comm.

Focusing on the mission had been torture after that, because the comm had gone silent. The private channel and the public one. She gave Rick five minutes, she trusted him enough to take care of himself, but she could only control herself for five minutes. Once time was up, she started jumping with the crowd just a little out of beat. She caught Harley’s eyes, and she knew the woman could understand her because she clapped her hands in the air and pulled attention to herself. Rev used the window of opportunity to slip out of the club unnoticed, and she could hear the heavy door clang behind her as she strained to see around her. Rick’s command center for the night was nearby, and that was where she went. Started at a leisurely walk and then slowly built into a jog, until she was nearly running. The nightclub had been in one warehouse, and Rick was set up at a different warehouse far enough away to not be noticeable. Too fucking far away, in her opinion.

The first body was a bit of a shock. Neck twisted at an odd angle, sprawled across the ground, but she didn’t slow her run and just jumped over the body instead of stopping to inspect. The second body was less of a shock, face and chest shining wet and red in the darkness, and she jumped over the body and upped her speed. By the time she reached the warehouse she was looking for, she had vaulted over two other very obviously dead bodies and was breathing heavy from the panic rather than the fast pace. The next shock came from the bright light inside the warehouse, and she skidded to a stop in front of the rolled-up door. Just outside of the falling light. The thick leather heels of her boots caused some noise, enough to get some attention, and Rick’s eyes snapped up to hers.

“The fuck’re you doin’ here, Revnic?” Using her surname wasn’t a good sign, but she didn’t care about which of her names that he was using because she could clearly see blood. He was sitting behind a table, just a plain white fold-up table, and leaned back in his chair. The coat he was wearing to ward off the chill was gaping open, showing the dark shirt underneath, and she could clearly see rips in the material. Rips from blades. On the floor under him, she could see grouped drops of blood. (Not puddles of blood. He wasn’t bleeding that much.)

“Strange voices, dark comm, what the fuck?” No one had ever accused her of not getting to the point, and she completely ignored Rick’s I’m-the-team-leader-show-some-respect glare.

“I was doing a perimeter check, and I got stabbed,” he answered as he sat up straighter. He visibly winced as he slumped forwards in his chair, like she wouldn’t worry if he hid the damage behind the table, and she reached up to pull at her hair. Her stupidly dyed hair that had been dyed for this stupid mission, where Rick had been stabbed while not even being involved in the mission part of the mission.

“What? Why’d you get stabbed?” she rushed out. If they’d been found out, someone would have come after her or Harley. Why go after Rick? Better yet, how’d they get the jump on Rick?

“Not like I stopped to interrogate them. I was a little busy with being stabbed,” he mumbled and rubbed absently at his jaw. Had one of them clocked him? He quit rubbing at his face and pressed his fingers against his temple as he looked right at her. “I got a little distracted.”

“Are you telling me that you can’t handle phone sex and not getting stabbed at the same time?” She finally marched forward, out of the darkness and into the harsh light of the warehouse Rick had claimed, and she bit down on her grin as Rick instinctively sat up straight in his chair.

“It wasn’t phone sex,” he complained. As soon as she was close enough, she grabbed at his shoulder and pushed him back in the chair.

“Comm sex sounds stupid.” She was talking while pulling up the dark tee that he was wearing, and she swiped her hand across the blood that had streaked down his torso. She heard him hiss through his teeth, but she could see now that the wounds themselves weren’t so bad. Two lucky strikes, enough to break the skin and make a mess, but he probably wouldn’t even need stitches. Just a big band-aid slapped on for a day or two.

“Mission ain’t over, Revnic,” he told her as she swung her leg over his lap. Her shirt was dark enough that it wouldn’t show bloodstains, and it wasn’t like she’d care if she did walk back into the club with blood all over her shirt.

“Just checking on my team leader.” She kept one hand pressed against his stomach, high up on the left with already drying blood sticking to her skin, as she leaned forward and knocked her chin against his. “Next time you need to take a break to kill some interlopers, you keep me on.”

“That get you off, Rev?” The words were said against her lips, warm breath against her skin and the taste of the mints that he favored slipping down her tongue, and her free hand locked around his neck with enough force to leave bruises in the shapes of her fingertips along his hairline.

“Knowing you’re alive gets me off.” She whispered the words into him, so that he could taste the truth of what she’d said, and she thought of his voice cutting off. Of not being able to hear him. Of not knowing if he was alive or not.

Before she could have another thought, of Rick dying or him killing four men while she danced with strangers, they crashed together. She bit at his lips until he cursed against her teeth and gripped her hips hard enough to ache, and she lost herself in him. They pushed and pulled at each other, desperate to leave marks that belonged to them, and she ducked down to feel the thundering pulse in his throat pushing against her tongue. Sealed her lips around the thin skin and sucked, nipped with her teeth and pulled, to leave a mark over the place that proved he was alive. She could feel fresh blood against her hands as her fingers curled against his skin, like she could pull him apart and bury herself inside his chest cavity right next to his beating heart, and she could feel her hair being pulled as she was ripped away from his skin so that his lips could devour hers. Her mouth felt hot and sensitive, bruises were blooming across her hips and thighs, and it wasn’t enough.

When Rick pulled away, she actually whined. A high-pitched sound slipped from her throat as her hips rocked forwards, and Rick sat up straight to hold her steady against him. One hand curled around the back of her thigh, fingers pressing in, and the tight grip he had on her hair allowed him to hold her back. Even if she did lose a few strands of hair while trying to taste the jumping muscle in his jaw. Her eyes opened to look at him, to see how his usual stern expression hardened into something that echoed the hunger in her, and she tipped her head back to bare her throat as she let out another quiet sound of need.

“We have a guest,” Rick said slowly. He was looking directly at her, looking at the way her tongue swiped across her bottom lip as she chased the taste of him, and she forced herself to focus. Behind her, she could hear heavy leather shifting against concrete.

“Don’t stop on my account, boss. I’m gettin’ quite the show,” Harley told them cheerfully. Mission, right. If Harley was here, that meant that the mission was over. (Could also mean that Harley had gotten worried and decided to check on them, or it could mean that she had gotten impatient and just killed the target. Rev was okay with all the options.)

“Love ya, Harls, but… no,” Rev said and looked over her shoulder. When she bowed her spine to look over her shoulder without dislodging Rick’s hand from her hair, her hips rolled forward and Rick’s fingers slipped to grip at her inner thigh. From her bent angle, she could see Harley pouting and kicking at the ground.

“Always ruinin’ the fun,” Harley sighed. Rick echoed the sigh, so perfectly that Rev almost laughed, but she was saved from getting that lecture as Rick suddenly gripped her hips and lifted her from his lap.

“Harley, report,” he snapped out. Harley straightened, standing at perfect attention, and even her salute was right on point. Once Rick was standing, Rev dropped to sit in his chair and waited for the debrief to be over. In the meantime, she had some plans to make.

[rainingpouringetc]

Can you maybe write something with a Alastair and Anna friendship?

yes! i love these two and i feel like their friendship would be exquisite. hope i did it justice <3

The party seemed to be going rather well. If he was being completely honest, Alastair wasn’t entirely sure what the ball was for; he knew only that people were dancing and eating and drinking and talking, and he was on the outskirts, as had become normal for him at these events. He spotted Cordelia in James’ arms, a twirling vision in emerald green, beaming up at her fiancé. The rest of James’ friends were milling about, keeping clear of the dance floor and blatantly avoiding Alastair.

This was usually about the time when he would slink away from the prying eyes to a drawing room and pull out the book he had brought along. Who was he to mess with tradition?

The room he found himself in was decorated modestly with two armchairs, a sofa, a low table, and a single lamp. Alastair settled into the armchair closest to the lamp and opened his copy of Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus by Mary Shelley. Books such as this that focused on hypothetical science in fictional settings had never been his favorite--he found them a bit impractical and detached--but this particular narrative had always intrigued him greatly.

He had finished about a chapter and a half when he heard the door creak open behind him. “So this is where you slithered off to,” a voice drawled lazily.

Shutting his book with a soft thump, Alastair turned to find Anna Lightwood leaning against the doorframe with smoke billowing out of her mouth, no doubt from the cigar she held casually in one hand. “Obviously my hiding spot isn’t good enough if you could find me,” he said as she strode to the couch beside him and flopped down rather ungracefully.

Becoming friends with Anna Lightwood hadn’t been something Alastair had necessarily counted on, and yet here they were, avoiding the same party for the same reasons together. They’d bonded over their mutual distaste toward Charles, though obviously after quite different experiences and difficulties with him. Alastair knew Anna preferred women, as he was sure nearly everyone did at this point, but he’d also made sure to tell her of his own preference for men. It had delighted her greatly--she’d almost seemed amused--and after that they grew very close very quickly.

“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” Anna told him, offering him the cigar. He declined with a sharp shake of his head, and she shrugged as if to say your loss. “I doubt anyone worth any trouble--that is, anyone fun--will bother seeking you out beyond the first few sitting rooms and closets around the ballroom. You’ve nothing to worry about.”

Alastair rolled his eyes and opened his book again. “Which of course makes everything so much better.”

“Oh, please, Alastair, you can’t honestly believe that I’m going to let you read at a time like this!” Anna exclaimed, sitting up and reaching at at his book. He swatted her hand away and she backed up as though in surrender. “This is supposed to be a night of forgetting all our troubles. You aren’t allowed to be worried about anything.”

“Saying that doesn’t make it so,” he quipped, though he at least set his book on the table and gave Anna his attention. “What exactly did you have in mind for tonight, then?”

The grin she gave him was nothing short of wicked.

---

Anna and Alastair soon found themselves in a small garden of sorts behind the Institute, sitting on the steps and laughing hysterically at something neither of them could remember. Anna had been drinking. Alastair had not.

A sudden pensiveness seemed to overtake Anna, as she turned quickly to Alastair and took his hands in hers. “You’d tell me if things were bad, wouldn’t you?”

He arched a brow at her, slightly alarmed by her sudden change in demeanor. “How do you mean?”

“If things were bad with you. Or Cordelia. Or your parents. You’d tell me?”

It took Alastair aback. “I suppose... yes. I would.” She continued to stare at him as though waiting. It was rather irksome, Alastair thought. “What do you want me to say?” he asked hotly.

“I want you to tell me if things are bad,” Anna stated simply.

Alastair opened his mouth to tell her that everything was fine, but he paused. Was it actually? Or was he just giving them both a false hope to hide the fact that... well, that everything suddenly seemed far from it.

“What is it?” Anna prompted. “Just... one thing. Just tell me one thing that’s bothering you, right now, in this moment.”

Recovering, Alastair quipped, “Well, your hands are rather cold and are holding mine quite tightly.” Anna laughed and dropped his hands, reaching for the bottle she’d brought along only to discover Alastair had swiped it and placed it out of her reach. “I suppose if there’s one thing bothering me right now... it’s that I’ve never truly been able to enjoy parties such as this one. There’s never been anyone I wanted to dance with who was willing. And there have been far too many willing dance partners who I couldn’t have cared less for.”

A slow smile crept across Anna’s face, and Alastair knew instantly that he’d made a grave mistake in admitting this to her. She leapt to her feet and pulled him up with her, dragging him by the sleeve into the Institute yet again. “Come on, then, Al. Let’s dance.”

“Anna, no--”

“Yes, Alastair.”

“You’re drunk and--”

“No one cares,” she declared, marching the both of them through the doors of the ballroom. “Besides, you’re sober. I’m sure my drunk dancing plus your sober dancing will put us on a level playing field.”

Alastair’s head whipped around to her. She knew he wasn’t one to turn down such a challenge. “So that’s how it is?”

There was a playful gleam in Anna’s eye. “That’s how it is.”

The song changed to an upbeat tune that had nearly every young person pouring onto the dance floor, pulling their friends and partners with them. Anna led Alastair to the floor and placed one of her hands dutifully on his shoulder. He gave a longsuffering sigh and assumed his position, one hand on her waist, the other clutching her free hand. They spun around and around, chatting amiably as they circled the floor. Alastair was fairly certain he saw Matthew Fairchild staring dumbfoundedly at them from the side of the room. He was also sure that they spun past Cordelia and James once or twice, and that while James looked about as confused as his parabatai, Cordelia looked thrilled and even winked at him. 

The pair danced through several songs together before Anna announced that her feet felt as though they were about to fall off and pulled Alastair out to the garden once again.

As they sat there on the steps, staring up at the stars together, Alastair realized he’d never properly expressed his gratitude toward Anna for... anything, really. He glanced over at her. “Thank you.”

It seemed to startle her out of a reverie. “For what?” she asked, looking genuinely confused.

Alastair smiled and shrugged. “Everything.”

Anna smiled crookedly at him and raised her empty wine glass in a salute. “Cheers to that.”

i really hope you liked it! sorry it took me so long to get to, i wanted to make sure i took the time to get it right <3

[mimssides]

Never Met You

Chapter 3: Healing

Time will heal their pain, they say. It will not. It is the time they give themselves to heal which will make them feel better. Be patient. Be understanding.

More than two weeks had gone by since Green had joined the court. He had been trained, sworn the oath of secrecy to not tell whatever he heard while he was with the king and was now steadily by His Majesty’s side.

Janus had gotten used to it far quicker than he had expected. Green was louder and chattier than the other guards were with him. He soon had also begun to talk with the king, exchanging little comments about how he felt and why he wanted to do things the way he had them done. Yet whenever other people where around or Green had to escort Logan from place to place, the guard became still and observant. Sometimes, Janus even believed that he noticed things quicker than Janus himself did. And he had a magical eye to help him with that while Green had nothing of the sorts.

“Life doesn’t allow for you to be inattentive. I cannot allow myself to miss any detail no matter how unimportant it seems. We will only know afterwards which one has been crucial and which one was not, so everything is important right now,” had Green’s explanation been and Janus felt many feelings about this very statement.

Yet today this was not one of his worries. Today he was focused on making sure that everything was perfect for Roman’s arrival. The kitchen was instructed to cook his favourite meals, the prince’s wing had been cleaned a decorated to the t and Janus had most likely not slept more than three hours in the last three nights. So, Janus was feeling perfect.

“Are you sure you want me to be there during their arrival?” Green asked as he and Janus walked towards the foyer where Logan was already waiting for Roman to arrive. “His Royal Highness’s guard will be there and he is said to be more than enough protection for both of them.”

Janus shot Green a look. Green did not want to meet Roman. Janus had realized that soon after the return had been discussed and he had reacted rather subdued to the whole conversation. Janus had tried to gauge what issue Green was having but the man’s lips were sealed about the topic except that he had sworn that he had no ill intent against the prince. It was enough reassurance for Janus at the moment and he really had no nerves to deal with Green’s insecurities right now. He just wanted to see Roman.

“One more word of you not attending,” Janus hissed sharply and watched as Green’s eyes go wide, “and I will have you thrown into the dungeons and let them pull out every single hair on your body one by one. I’m I clear enough for you?”

“Yes, sir.”

Janus grunted and Green opened the door for him to enter the foyer. Quickly both found their respective places by the king’s side, Janus to Logan’s right and Green to Logan’s left by the wall. Logan greeted them both leisurely and let his eyes linger a little longer on Green who shot a few quick glances towards Janus. Then for a moment their eyes met. Logan nodded and turned his attention towards Janus.

Subtly, because subtility was one of the things Logan had had to learn from Janus when he started taking over more important functions in court, Logan tapped against Janus’s sleeve and glimpsed at his friend. Janus glimpsed back and lifted his chin a bit in defiance.

“I don’t think that Roman will be too happy to see that you have overworked yourself,” Logan whispered barely moving his lips.

Janus scrunched his nose a little and retorted just as quietly: “The situation is tense. I cannot make a mistake even if it upsets the prince. You know I am still more than capable to do my work.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

The but hung between them in the air and both knew it would be coming next as Logan added: “But Roman does not just care about how well you are able to do your work. He is worried about you as well. And I am the one who will never hear the end of it if he thinks I made you work too much.”

Janus didn’t say anything to that and Logan took it as a small win. Sometimes an argument with Janus was better set aside than completely won and this was one of those instances. Besides, Roman’s arrival was finally announced and they didn’t have time left to get into the topic any further.

There was bustling behind the door, muffled voices and finally the doors were opened. Marching steps could be heard as Roman Thea walked inside. He was wearing a dark red jacket with golden ornaments and a blood red sash, black pants and shoes, his usual attire. Logan felt a weight fall from his chest and watched his old friend approach with a smile. Roman returned it lightly and whispered something over his shoulder to Virgil, who was following him like a shadow.

“Salutations Roman. I hope your journey has been enjoyable and without incidences,” Logan greeted when Roman had walked up four feet in front of him.

A smile, brilliant and shining, took over Roman’s face and he greeted with a little bow and flourish: “Good day to you too, Your Majesty! My journey has been very pleasant but I am happy to be home again even if the circumstances are quite dire.”

“Indeed.”

Logan felt his stomach turn once more, suppressed the urge to groan and instead turned halfway to the door leading further into the castle. Elegantly, he pointed towards the portal and eyed Roman for a second.

“Would you like to continue this conversation in a more private setting?” Logan said and hoped Roman would accept quickly.

Luck seemed to be on his side as Roman gave a quick nod and took his usual place between Logan and Janus with Virgil shadowing him silently. Well, almost silently. When the four men began to walk towards the portal Virgil abruptly stopped both Roman and Logan from walking by holding them back by their shoulders. Both stopped rapidly and looked into the direction where Virgil was glaring at.

“Who is that?”

Virgil’s deep voice resonated in their ears, his stunning aura keeping all of them in place. The only one to react was the man who Virgil was talking about. Green was looking right up to Virgil. He had come closer to walk besides Logan but now had stopped a good few feet away from the king.

“This would be my personal guard, Green,” Logan finally said and pushed Virgil’s hand off his shoulder.

Logan decidedly dodged Virgil’s glare and squared his shoulders. With a fluid motion he asked Green to step closer. Green complied and lowered his gaze the moment Roman made step forwards to see him better. Green’s hands were clenched tightly and if the others could have seen his face, they would have noticed how he had pressed his lips together. But they didn’t and that was how he wanted it to stay.

“Since when do you have a personal guard?” Roman asked sceptically.

“Royal Advisor Celer has long since your departure insisted on me getting one and now, I found a fitting candidate,” Logan said smoothly, defiantly sidestepped Virgil and approached Green. “Green has proven to be attentive, observant and trustworthy. The Royal Advisor himself can attest to it.”

Logan now was standing to Green’s right, his left hand placed nonchalantly on his shoulder. But as nonchalantly as it looked as much did it take the breath out of Green’s lungs. As much did it make his eyes sting. As much did it strengthen the yearning in his chest. And yet there was nothing for him to do.

“Janus? You approved of this?” Roman said and turned to look at the smaller man.

“What on earth, Celer! This guy could be from Ragan’s secret forces as far as we know! What were you thinking?!”

Janus snapped back viciously as Virgil accused him of paying too little attention to their newest member to court. Logan watched them and crossed his arms with a raised eyebrow. Sometimes their quarrelsome relationship was quite entertaining to watch but today he felt differently about it. He just wanted to sit down and move on with their discussion, even if it meant for the day to simply pass. Life was tiresome at the moment.

“It might be a good idea to move this discussion out of the public ear, Your Majesty. Shall I break the conflict apart?”

Logan looked to the side. Green was not looking up to him, eyes still trained on the floor. But there was something in the way he slightly tilted his head to the side, that made it obvious to Logan that he was on high alert. That made him aware of how much Green feared for someone to be listening into their conversation.

“I do not think it to be wise for you to get in between them,” Logan said and watched the three argue. “It would be better if I tell them to stop.”

“You don’t need to shield me, Your Majesty. I am your guard and here to help you with whatever you wish. And if it means that the poncho pole will fight me, I will accept my fate gracefully.”

Why exactly that nick name was so funny to Logan he did not know. He also didn’t know when the last time had been that someone had made him laugh so strongly that his tummy pleasantly hurt and he had trouble to get air. What he did know though was that he was glad to have Green by his side, who lightly supported him as he was wheezing with laughter.

Logan needed a few moments before he could breathe normally again. He felt shaky and the hand Green offered him was very appreciated. Hastily, he caught Green’s look and found unfiltered concern and a tiny smile in his face. It made Logan try to compose himself and he turned fully towards Green away from the others.

Over Logan’s shoulder Green looked to Janus. He had dropped his fight with Virgil the second Logan had begun to laugh. He had known his king for over a decade now, and what he was seeing was a completely stressed-out Logan. And it needed a lot for Logan to actually show signs of his state.

“I propose we go to the prepared room in His Majesty’s quarters? Do you agree Royal Advisor Celer?” Green said swiftly.

Janus simply nodded. Both Roman and Virgil went quiet as well and followed as Janus took the lead and guided them towards the king’s quarters. Virgil and Green were flanking Roman and Logan in between them and observed their surroundings with sharp eyes. Guards were following behind as an escort but neither of the personally chosen guards trusted their abilities as much as they trusted their own. Their highest priority was the safety of their prince and king and their resolve to ensure that was far higher than those of the usual guards.

They arrived at the room, Janus opened the door and entered to make sure it was as he had requested it to be. After the short check, Roman and Logan followed and Logan took a seat on the divan. Roman placed himself on the armchair next to him, while Janus remained standing. Green and Virgil, after telling the guards to stay on lookout on the outside, took a place on each side of the door and watched as the royals and the advisor exchanged several glances.

Logan sighed and massaged his temples as he finally broke the silence and spoke up: “Please excuse my outburst. I – I don’t know how to explain it.”

Janus shook his head and stemmed his hands on his hips.

“You are running on your last leg, Logan,” Janus said for Logan. “We had three new conflicts at the boarders to Ragan in the last five days and it’s only a question of time until there are the first casualties. I know you do not want to let it go so far, but as a military man yourself you must understand that we have to prepare for a battle, don’t you? I do not see how we are going to talk this out with King George.”

“Three in the last five days? I didn’t hear any of this!” Roman said and got up from the armchair while gesticulating towards Janus.

“We decided to keep quiet about it as long as no one got seriously hurt. We weren’t sure if the situation would grow more tense and wanted to prevent an unnecessary panic from spreading. But now...”

“You expect. You actually expect a war to break out? Over a few villages and some disagreements over the alliance talks with Sictes and Kainen?”

“George is a petty man,” Janus snarled at Roman’s disbelieve. “And he had it out for us in ages. He had it out for you too, Roman. I remember what he said at -”

“We are over this, Jan! You have asked him and he didn’t lie that he didn’t know anything about the – the assassination. He wasn’t responsible for this.”

“That doesn’t mean he didn’t have anything to do with it! He could have phrased it in a way that I couldn’t catch the lie! He might have been the one to- to do this to you!”

“Stop it you two! This isn’t leading us anywhere. We are not to think about personal grievances but about our people! And I need you to realize that it’s not our people King George wants to fare war against. He specifically stated that my methods as well as my court are not to his liking and he wants to claim the villages close to the boarder to “save” them from our politics. If we can reach a compromise with him, all of this might be avoided.”

Logan’s voice was firm but tired. Both Roman and Janus looked down to him. His hands were folded in his lap and his head hung low, completely unlike the otherwise always confident but kind demeanour he would display. Smoothly, Janus sat down next to him, made sure to don’t catch him off guard when he put his hand on his back.

“Logan, he will not listen to you. He never wanted to listen to you since the Coronation,” Janus said sadly and Logan’s shoulders sunk deeper.

Seeing Logan shrink down like this, awakened an old and heavy anger in Roman. It flared through his mind and loosened his lips.

“It’s been eight years! How can he still be hung up on this?!”

“Because he is elitist and believes that you are the only one who is supposed sitting on the thrown!” Janus retorted angrily.

“Maybe we should consider...”

Logan had taken off the crown and was looking at its golden shimmer. His thumb was running along the simple decorations and the few blue sapphires imbedded in the metal. Roman had given the crown in commission for him, so he didn’t have to wear the crown of the late King or Queen. Logan had thought it to be quite excessive to have a new crown made for him but in the current situation he found himself missing it already. But he would sacrifice whatever necessary if it meant that his people would be spared from a war.

“I don’t want the crown, Logan.”

But then of course, there was that. Logan looked up to Roman and sighed. He nodded dismissively. The position and status he took had not only come because he was capable but also because Roman couldn’t bear the weight on his shoulders. It had taken him years to admit it and find the courage to present him as the King of Theana.

“I didn’t think of it as stepping back completely,” Logan said and looked to the side. “It would only be a representative measure. You as the official king and I as the acting regent. He accepted me before you completely denied the throne, so it might be a viable solution.”

“NO!”

***

  █████ was pacing along the hall. His mind was restless and he could feel Janus’s eyes on him. Of course, Janus’s eyes would be on him now. Roman would finally return and █████ was desperate to see him again. He just wanted to be sure that he indeed was alright and that everting had truly worked out as well as everyone had claimed. The reports he had gotten from the messengers were far too stellar for his taste to be true; Roman having befriended the cold-blooded Queen and even getting her to watch a play with him, just sounded too farfetched to not be a lie.

 “████ ███████,” a servant called form the door and both █████ and Janus turned towards them, “the Crown Prince has arrived and will be here shortly.”

 It wasn’t a second that █████ needed to walk towards the door and be on his way to meet his ███████.

 Janus was following him like a shadow and shot him a chiding look as he rushed past the worried servants, to which █████ simply retorted: “Fuck the protocol. I just need to know that he’s fine.”

 With that Janus let it slide and let one of the servants go and get Logan as soon as possible. In silence they continued walking down the halls and eventually reached the foyer to the courtyard, which was promptly opened.

 With proud and loud steps Roman entered. A broad smile was plastered over his face, his eyes were shining and immediately met █████’s gaze. With a high held head and a skip in his step Roman steered towards his ███████ and greeted with a booming voice: “Good day to you █████! It is a joy to be home again!”

 █████ froze. Something fell in his chest as his ███████ came closer, eyes still on him and already recognizing and acknowledging the fear in his eyes. Because Roman was loud. Roman’s posture was straight and proud. Roman’s voice was voluminous and strong. Roman’s eyes were clear and determined.

 Roman was like he had been before and for once it didn’t seem to be a dream or a nightmare.

 There was no moment for █████ to think about it any longer as Roman had reached him and pulled him into a firm hug. The whole room stopped breathing. They watched as their ████ melted into Roman’s arms, as Roman cradled him and held his ███████ close.

 Quiet words were spoken, but no one but the ████████ could hear them. No one but them needed to know of them. Something was mended and they both knew that a new time had come for them.

  Swift steps in synchronic pace and they parted. █████ was smiling widely with a common mad glint glimmering in his eyes as Roman smiled back with his head held high and mighty. Power was shining underneath their skins, energy at the tips of their fingers. Every person in the room could feel it and more than a few guards were close to start shivering.

 But for one person who was standing slightly in the back to Roman’s right side. █████ noticed them only now and his brows furrowed at their sight. The person was tall and the lower half of their face and upper body hidden beneath a shawl and a loose poncho. A batch of light brown hair was falling over one side of their face and █████ found himself intrigued.

 “Who have you yet to introduce me to, Roman?” █████ asked and lightly pointed with his chin towards the figure in the back.

 Roman’s eyes lit up and with a flourish he twirled around and waved for the figure to walk towards them. They promptly complied and approached. Their movement was near silent and their presence almost non-existent. What a fascinating person.

 The ████████ looked at each other and █████ recognized Roman’s passion within a blink and began to smirk even before Roman explained: “This is Virgil Tessaro! We met on my way to Queen Caroline and he has proven to be quite an impressive companion. A perfect guard even.”

 “One moment please!” Janus intercepted and wrestled his way between █████ and Roman.

 With a chuckle █████ stepped back and watched Janus tell Roman off for simply having a stranger come into the castle and having the preposterous idea of having him become his personal guard. Roman took it with a smirk and told him that he could do as he pleased since he was the Crown Prince. They bickered more but █████ paid it no mind as Logan finally entered the foyer and steered towards him. Quietly Logan took his place to █████’s left and eyed the spectacle in front of them. Most people would have been surprised how seemingly unaffected Logan was but █████ could see the deepening of the ceases between his brows and the way how he slightly pressed his lips together as he was looking at Roman.

 “You can tell me outright if you want me to go, gold eye.”

 Virgil had straightened his posture and most likely crossed his arms under his poncho. The rest of the servants had gotten death silent the second he had talked back to Janus and even dared to call attention to his magical eye.

 Janus pursed his lips and clenched and unclenched his fists several times before he raised his voice with a cutting edge and told him: “I forbid you to talk to me in such a tone! I am a high-ranking member of the Theanian Court and deserve to be treated with respect!”

 “Aha,” Virgil deadpanned with raised eyebrows, “I’m not Theanian though and your court interests me not.”

 “One more reason for you to leave!” Janus cried.

 Nothing of Janus’s words seemed to be able to bother Virgil in the slightest. Instead, he turned around and looked to Roman. Curiously, █████ observed the shift in Roman’s amused expression to something softer. He definitely needed to have a word about that with Roman at some point in time.

 “Do you wish for me to leave?” Virgil asked Roman dutifully.

 Roman stepped close to Virgil and put his hand on his upper arm. This time even Logan raised his eyebrows and Janus looked like he would soon collapse on the floor in anger. But Roman paid them no mind. He smiled at Virgil and shook his head.

 “No, I do not wish for you to leave. I want you to stay.”

 Virgil bowed his head. Turned to look back down at Janus. Raised his eyebrows at him and shrugged.

 “I guess you have to accept that, since you have to listen to him.”

 It took them ten minutes to stop Janus from trying to murder Virgil in the foyer. The whole thing only calmed down, when Roman himself pulled Janus to the side and exchanged a few hushed and possibly very dramatic and sappy words with the Royal Advisor.

 █████ was laughing through the whole ordeal and Logan sent for the servants to fetch Roman’s luggage as well as the possessions Virgil had brought with him. Quietly Logan spoke with Virgil after that, made sure he knew what he was getting into and the group finally left the foyer and went into a smaller conference room where they could privately talk for a while without being observed by all the guards. On their way Virgil and Janus were already bickering again, the former never quite letting Roman out of sight and constantly scanning the area for any potential dangers.

 Walking in between the █████, Logan observed the behaviour of the new court member and side eyed Roman for a moment. The Crown Prince noticed and shot him a curious look.

 “What do you want to say, Advisor Rayne?” Roman said with a teasing smile.

 Logan looked once more back to Virgil before he answered: “There is a story behind you and this man. And you will have to tell us about it, Your Royal Highness.”

 “Like you have to tell us about what is hanging on this necklace I have never seen you wear in the whole time since you are here?”

 It was a good thing that blushing made no noise, otherwise the whole castle would have known that Logan had turned rather red. It didn’t help that █████ snickered and put his arm around his waist as Logan’s cheeks turned darker by the second. Roman laughed lightly as well and for once Logan decided to let it pass.

 Because there was no black. For the first time Logan saw Roman wearing no black since he had joined the court. For the first time since the King and Queen’s assassination Roman was not wearing black but white.

***

Roman’s voice died. Janus and Logan looked to the door. Virgil stared to Green next to him. And Green spoke.

“You cannot let him have this! You cannot stand down, just because he threatens you! He will see it as a sign of weakness and will try to blackmail us even more! You are better than him, you don’t need to play his game to beat him! You are Theana’s King without doubt! No one but you can lead this kingdom as well as you do and you shall pride yourself with it and show him what you are capable of!”

Heavy silence hung in the air. A moment passed and another one. Janus watched Green’s passionate expression drain away and observed dread taking its place. Hollowly he put his hand over his mouth and stared at Logan in horror. Subtly, Janus glanced to Logan who looked like he was holding his breath. He couldn’t focus on him though as Roman completely turned towards Green and caught the guard’s gaze.

“You are speaking out of line,” Roman said and Green visibly pressed his hands closer against his lips. “You are not allowed to take part in our conversations if not asked to directly or address your king so casually.”

Roman held his chin high and his lips were pursed. Janus knew that look well enough and put his hand on Logan’s shoulder. Beneath his shawl Virgil began to grin.

“But by the gods, you’re totally right! Logan is so much more capable of ruling than I could ever be! His planning is succinct and well thought out and he looks stunning in a crown,” Roman said and shot Logan a teasing look over the shoulder.

Logan furrowed his brows in a chiding manner and told Roman: “Me looking good in a crown has nothing to do with anything you have been talking about.”

“I disagree.”

This time Green and Roman looked at each other and fell both silent. Roman raised an eyebrow and Green looked to the floor. Roman looked Green over. He knew nothing of this man, not even his full name. He didn’t know what story laid behind this stranger with the wavy hair and weird moustache. He didn’t know how he happened to become Logan’s first personal guard ever. The first one for whom Logan stepped over his own pride and accepted help from.

Automatically, Roman’s eyes darted over to Virgil. He looked into the deep blue and remembered the defiant way he had fought off the hooligans who had tried to hurt those sheep. He hadn’t even known the owner nor been tasked with taking care of the animals but had still fought for them. It had stopped his carriage. It had caused their first fateful meeting.

With a little huff Roman put on a smile and turned back around to Logan and Janus. Janus’s look told him exactly how he felt about this coincidence and Logan’s eyes were still set on Green. Roman could not help himself but chuckle.

“I never met this man but I know there is a story behind him and you will have to tell me about it, Your Majesty,” Roman said in a slightly teasing but not unkind tone.

Unease settled over the group. Logan turned his attention back on the prince and Janus kept an eye on Green. He had tried to hide it before, but when Roman had begun to call him out on his intolerable behaviour and Green had pressed his hands over his mouth Janus had noted that Green had started to smile. He had known that Roman would not be mad at him and Janus had a lot to consider now.

But it had to wait for the moment. Now they had to finish this discussion.

“A talk will be had,” Logan said and placed the crown back on his head. “But everything has its time. Now you and Virgil should go and rest for a bit. I will have an official meeting tomorrow with the military council where we will go into detail. Until then I would ask you two to rest after your long journey. Janus, please make their stay as pleasant as possible.”

Janus blinked. He still had his duties to fulfil and he couldn’t just go off with Roman and Virgil and have a free day with them.

Just when he was ready to talk back Logan leaned towards him and said quietly: “I am not the only one on their last leg, so to speak. Take a break. I have at least slept last night. Green will accompany me for the rest of the day.”

A single nod and Logan got up. He walked to the door and Green opened it for him even though no one but Janus had heard what Logan had just said. One last time Logan looked over his shoulder to Roman and lastly to Virgil.

“Good luck with them. Try to keep them from planning another masquerade ball,” Logan joked.

Under his shawl Virgil grinned and gave Logan a little wink. Next the door closed behind Logan and after a moment Virgil walked up to Roman and put his hand on the small of his back, as he led him over to the divan and waited for him to sit down. Roman did so and Virgil lowered himself to the ground in front of both Roman and Janus.

“Still unable to sit correctly on a proper piece of furniture?” Janus teased tiredly and leaned against Roman’s side.

Janus almost let out a pleased gasp when Virgil put his hand on his knee and Roman draped his arm around his shoulder. Their presence and warmth had grown on him over the years. Roman had been a constant in all of his life but only thanks to Virgil’s presence they had finally developed the dynamic and relationship they shared now. They had needed something new. Roman had needed something new. And Virgil had brought it.

“Is Green the something new for Lo?” Roman asked as if he had read Janus’s mind.

Janus sighed and buried his head in Roman’s shoulder. He felt their surprise in the way Roman’s hand on his back tightened and in the soft strokes Virgil brushed over his knees.

“I don’t know.”

Roman and Virgil shared a look. Virgil got up and closed the blinds by the window. Janus’s recognised the small rustling of Virgil’s shawl being removed.

“Talk Celer. It seems we need to know more about this man,” Virgil said seriously.

Janus sighed and pulled his face away from Roman’s neck. With pursed lips he looked up to Virgil standing in front of him. His scarred face was stern. Janus’s eye lit up in gold and he found himself telling his two partners about this strange man, who had entered his and Logan’s lives over two weeks ago.

___

Link for AO3, Taglist, Masterlist, and next Chapters are in my first reblog!

[hamilsquadwritings]

The Worst Kind of Event (Washington x platonic fem!soldier reader)

The Worst Kind Of Event

(Washington x platonic fem!soldier reader)

Request:- @t0xcat

“” hey! could i possibly get a washington x platonic fem solider reader where he basically sees her as his daughter and has been fighting by his side for a long time and then she’s sent away to south carolina for the battle of yorktown and he receives news from one of the soldiers that she died and washington and the rest of the hamilsquad has a funeral for her n stuff,, sry if it’s confusing!! have fun writing!! 💖💖 “”

~ Warnings: angst, a couple swears, soldiers and war, death, lots of tears ~

{{I'm so sorry if it sucks I've never done angst before, hope it's okay!!☺️💗}}

Words: 3.1 k (so I may have got a little bit carried away?!) 

You had worked with George for 3 years now. You'd come along way from the scrappy blood thirsty recruit he's met all that time ago. You'd joined the revolution after your parents had been killed in an attack from the British soldiers. You'd had enough of standing by and letting others fight for you. 

When you first approached him he didn't take you seriously, something he would quickly learn to regret, you attacked his name and ended up in a duel on your second day on camp. It didn't go anywhere because George had stepped in, he had sent you to his tent while he dealt with your opponent, a one Alexander Hamilton. He wouldn't hear slander against his mentors name, no matter who it came from.

Three years later Alex was the closest thing you had to a brother, you loved him dearly. He was always by your side, you'd saved eachother lives many times over. Be it from enemy fire or from eating food John Laurens had prepared, he said he could cook but Washington had warned you never to accept food off him unless you wanted to spend a few days with the nurses throwing your guts up. He was also one of your best friends, the three of you were practically inseparable, you'd fight, eat and sleep together. The three of you were Washington's aids so you'd all room together. You didn't mind, you'd much rather have them with you and know where they were rather than worry about their whereabouts; as you often did when you couldn't find them about camp. 

You'd also made friends with a tailor who'd frequent the campsite, you recognised him as the boy who worked with the tailor your father had gone to. When he'd first seen you he did a double take. Where was the sweet young girl he'd often played with when their fathers had been busy. You quickly grew inseparable, he'd seen first hand what this war had done to you. He adopted an older brother role, watching out for you on the campsite. 

There had been a group of soldiers who'd decided you'd be an easy target and grabbed you on your second week, they had planned to rough you up a bit and steal your rations, making its a regular occurrence. Unfortunately for them Lafayette had been watching and followed you out. He'd had trouble with those particular men before and had a horrible gut feeling that they were going to do something bad. They didn't get the chance because he'd followed, grabbing the leader and shoved him against the wall, his friends looked on mouths agape as Lafayette was explicitly clear about what he would do to them if they ever bothered you again. You'd been thankful for him ever since. The five of you grew to be a close knit group of friends.

"Hey (Y/N)!" Alex grins as you sit down next to him with your tray "they're giving out assignments at 7, they said some of us will be going as far as South Carolina.." he says nervously, John was from South Carolina which meant it was likely he'd get selected, he knew the terrain which would prove useful to the troops. The last they'd heard south Carolina had been secured but a LOT of blood had been shed to get there. It was likely that just as much would be to keep it that way. 

"He better make it back' you say, trying to sound strong, your voice betraying you with a slight wobble. 

"Who better what?' John asks and he slides info the seat across from you 

"Nothing" Alex says quickly, too quickly. John just gives him a strange look before he starts to eat his own dinner. Hes barely half way when Washington comes up to the table 

"Laurens, Y/L/N, with me," he says gruffly. You have just enough time to shoot a look to Alex, who looks worried, before you're following George to his office. You and John half speed walking, half running to keep up with the general. He wasn't happy, not one bit, you could feel it in the air. "sit down, both of you" he says shutting the door to his office. You share a worried look with John and take a seat.

"Sir?" John asks after a few seconds of silence, there was something wrong, George was stalling.

"You're both shipping out to South Carolina tomorrow" he says finally "first thing in the morning, I'm not sure how long for but you'll both be back before you know it" he says confidently, well, like he was trying to be. If only he could have guaranteed that.. 

You and John left the next morning, Alex and George had both gotten up hours earlier than they should've to see you off. Hercules and Lafayette had said their good byes the might before, the five of you shared dinner together. You'd be lying if you'd said there wasn't a tearful goodbye. Alex took it really hard. As soon as he'd heard south Carolina he knew John would be going. You, however, were a complete shock and it shook him to his very core. You both were excellent soldiers, he knew you could handle yourselves but he couldn't help but worry. 

George hugged you both and saluted which you gladly returned, he wasn't big on goodbyes so he said "until we see eachother again" and smiled, you could feel the love through those few words and you wiped away tears and hug him again, Alex and John quickly joining, he was the closest all three of you had to a father which made you your own little family.

"We got this' John says squeezing your shoulder as you join the other troops in the carriage. 

As it turns out, you in fact, did not have this, far from it. Upon arrival it seemed as all was okay, you'd been thinking the worse but once you got there it didn't seem so bad. You had a part of your family with you and that was all you needed. The conditions were rougher than you were used to but it wasn't so bad, you shared a tent with John so you attest had someone familiar to talk to. 

One the second day you were sent out into the field, there was enemy fire and you were sent as back up. John was by your side laying against a rock when it happened. A loud crack and a searing pain erupted across your side. 

You'd been shot.

The medics did everything they could, they allowed John to travel back to base with you but there was nothing more to be done. He sat by your side while you lay in the bed. He did his best to cheer you up, even with tears in his eyes he told you it was going to be okay and you'd be fine. You knew better. 

"John" you said quietly and he stopped mid sentence, he could see the light behind your eyes was dimming

"Yes?' he whispers back, knowing his voice would betray him if he raised it any higher 

"I want you to write this down, f-for when you go back" you choke out as he scrambled to get a pad and pencil. He scribed down your final words, a letter for each of your family. You used the last of your energy to sign each one.

Alex had been looking forward to your return for weeks. He'd received a letter from you and John the first week, you'd sent it the first day. He'd received letters from John since but he didn't think much of it, field work was tiring and he knew you put 100% into your work and probably fell into bed as soon as you'd had the chance. John's letters were short, but that was to be expected, hed never been half the writer you or alex were. 

"You're going to wear out the deck" Lafayette chuckles from beside him

"I can't wait to see them" Alex says happily as Hercules grins up at his friend. He's sat on the desk with a notebook as he sketches some new designs for a dress, he'd already made you one since you left, he was so excited to see you and show you the three others he'd designed. 

Alex stood on his tippy toes as the ship came into view. He could see soldiers peering over the edge of the ship, there were less than those who'd left three weeks earlier but that was to be expected. He couldn't see you or John. He looks to Washington who'd joined them as the ship docked. Soldiers flooded off the ship, happy to be home on dry land after the travel at sea. 

They waited patiently as soldier after soldier disembarked, as the crowd on the ship dwindled they began to grow worried. Finally John emerged, he looked ill.. no not ill, heartbroken, he looked heartbroken. Hercules felt his stomach drop as they ran to the deck, the crowd of soldiers clearing as Washington marched up to the ship

"John?" He asks as Lafayette helps the grief stricken man off the boat and back onto dry land. "What's happened?" He asks carefully, not daring to utter your name. John just shakes his head as tears filled his eyes for what felt like the 100th time since it happened. Alex felt his knees give out as he collapsed, laf catches him just in time, practically having to hold him up. No.. no this couldn't be happening. Everyone had told him you'd both be coming back, where were you?! 

George's face had hardened a thousand years, his eyes glossy with unshed tears. He turned away as they threatened to spill over. He gently lay a hand on John's shoulder and squeezed it, it was all he could do before he marched away to his office. This wasn't supposed to happen, you and John were supposed to come home okay, he'd warned the general to keep an eye on the both of you, to keep you safe. He needed you to be safe. You were the closest thing he'd ever come to having a daughter. You'd saved his life more times than he could remember, you'd also kept Alexander out of trouble more than enough times which he was, of course, grateful for. When he'd heard your story about your parents he'd been moved, most people would've crumpled at that hardship but you only took it in your stride to power yourself. That's what he loved about you, that you took everything like gave you and used it to your advantage. You were also incredibly kind and would do anything for your family. 

He thought back to his last birthday, he hadn't wanted anyone to know it was his birthday but you'd decorated his room with balloons and a handpainted banner and had your whole little family there to celebrate, you'd even found a cake for him to make a wish on. He'd promised you he'd return the favour for your next birthday- god your birthday was in less than a week.. he had so many plans but now none of them could happen.. you couldnt be gone, you just couldn't.. he knew better but it was easier to kid himself at least for a few short moments.

The boys were a mess, they'd help John off the boat and to the room he'd shared with you and Alex. They were silent on the trip, Alex and John settled on his mattress while Hercules and Lafayette took Alex's. Your bed was left empty, no one could bear to look at it, they all snuck glances and felt an intense pang of pain at the sight of your made bed, complete empty.

"H-how?" Hercules asks quietly, he didn't want to know the answer but he had too

"Shot" John replies, equally as quiet, he hadn't spoken more than a few words to anyone since it had happened "second day.." 

"You- you didn't mention it in your letters" Alex mentions as John turns to look at him "it wasn't something you could mention in your letters" he corrects quickly 

"Three weeks ago?" Laf asks quietly as tears fill his eyes. John not only had to go through it alone but he had to keep it to himself for three weeks? My god "Mon ami' he sighs softly as he goes over to hug his friend, Hercules following quickly. They stayed there, all crammed into John's bed for what seemed like hours, just existing, they didn't say much except to comfort eachother, there was nothing else they could do. 

Your funeral was held 3 days later, on your birthday of all days. Instead of George distracting you for most of the day while the others ran around preparing your surprise party they were preparing another event, the worst kind of event. George had sent Alex to the meadow with John to pick wild flowers to decorate your coffin with. He didn't want either boys around when you body arrived, he knew it would be too much for alex and John had already gone through so much. Hercules had travelled into town to purchase some food and drink for them, your favourites of course. Lafayette stayed with George, they'd both needed to be on duty so they worked through out the day, dreading as the evening drew closer. 

There was a memorial scheduled to start at 8 but Washington had arranged to have a small private ceremony just before so at 7 he gathered the boys up and they went to say their goodbyes. Alex and John had done a beautiful job, there was flowers tucked into every crevice possible, a beautiful array of flowers taped to the top, George smiled, they'd practically emptied half the meadow for you.

"I'm going to keep this short" George starts after clearing his throat 

"Like Alex" Alexander says with a teary smile, as you'd always responded when George said that 

"Of course" George says as the other boys smile "(Y/N) was an incredible person, I'd always thought of her as a daughter and I'm going to miss her, a lot" he sighs softly as he places a hand on the coffin "I wish I'd told her in person.." he trails off gesturing for someone else to speak.  

"I've known (y/n) since before I even started tailoring, we'd play together while her father was fitted for his suits. Her dad was a kind man who always brought extras of whatever lunch her mum had packed, for her to share with me. it's easy to see where she got her kindness from, and she was so kind, she didn't care what kind of person someone was, if she could help them she was going too" hercules smiles softly "she'd helped me on too many occasions to count, whether it be needing a model for a dress or shooting someone who'd come up behind me.. see told you she'd help in anyway" he chuckled as his eyes laid sight on the coffin "I'm going to miss your pretty face (y/n).. although I'm sure I'll see you in my dreams soon enough" he smiles 

Laf was next, he approached the coffin and placed a hand on it tentatively, as I'd he was scared it would open suddenly "I am thankful everyday that I was brave the day we met ma Cherie.." he says quietly "since that day I've been thankful for you, your laugh your energy and your love. You've been an absolute light in our lives" he says softly as the other smile and nod "j'adore tu' he whispers quietly as he steps back so that Alex could step up 

"W-we fought the first day we met.. Nearly ended up shooting eachother, I'm so glad we didn't because the last three years have been the best, a-all you guys have made me so happy, I truly feel like there's somewhere I belong" alex says wiping away tears furiously, he WOULDNT cry, not again "(Y/N) came to share the room John and I had and from the very first night I could tell we'd be the best of friends, she didn't mind John and I staying up talking for hours, she was the one who started card games that ended in a pillow fight" he giggles as Washington sighs 

"You know how much trouble I got into because you woke up the general across the hall?" He chuckles 

"Yeah enough that we were on washing up duty for a week" John laughs "still worth it though" 

"Definitely" Alex smiles softly as he looks between the coffin and his friends "love you (y/n)" he whispers quietly as he steps back

John sighs softly "Is it wrong that I wish I'd been here?" He asks no one in particular "don't get me wrong, I'm glad I was there for her but I see it every time I close my eyes.." 

"Were here for you son" George says gently as he pats John's shoulder reassuringly 

"Like everyone's already said, she's incredible and it fucking sucks she's gone" John continues, he wasn't the best at public speaking, especially when he was upset "at first I was happy I wasn't going alone but now I wish it was me instead.." he says as the tears start to fall "it's so fucking unfair! Why do-"

"Hey" Alex says gently and hugs him tightly, the other three joining quickly, there was nothing they could do about you but they could be there for John and eachother and they'd get through it, they had to, for you. John pulls away after a few seconds and pulls something out of his coat 

"B-before she.. I wrote these letters for h-her, there's one for each of us, she signed then end of them" he explains and he hands out the letters for the others to read. They stood in silence as they read their letters. John had already heard them and knew his own inside out, he'd read it many times but that didn't stop the sting of tears in his eyes. He looked at the others, Alex and laf had both sat down to read theirs, knowing they wouldn't be able to stand. Hercules stood frozen as he got to the end of his letter, his fingers hovered over where your name was signed, he sighs softly, a small smile spread across his face as he read the stupid joke you'd made John add as a ps.

Washington read his letter slowly, he was already trying to keep in together, he couldn't break down in front of them. The others had never seem him cry before. Unfortunately his eyes had other plans, the tears freely flowing from his eyes as he finished. 

He was going to miss you terribly.

[eastofthemoon]

A Paladin in the Fire Nation

Chapter 1

Rating: PG

Series: Voltron Legendary Defender/Avatar the Last Airbender

Summary: After the fight with Zarkon, Shiro accidentally gets tossed into another reality where humans have the ability to bend the elements. His best shot at returning home is with someone called the Avatar, while he waits he might as well take on the job of being the Firelord's bodyguard. 

------------------------------------------------

Shiro groaned. Despite his body feeling sore, he forced himself to sit up as he held his head.

“I feel like I got hit by a truck,” he muttered.

Then he recalled. The fight with Zarkon. All of the paladins in Voltron.

And it suddenly dawned that he was not in the Black Lion. His eyes opened wide and panic struck when he saw his armour had been removed and he was in his black bodysuit.

His heart started to race.

Was I captured? No, no, not again!

Frantically, Shiro scrambled to his feet but his fear began to subside as he looked around. He was in a cell, but it was clear it wasn’t a Galra one.

In truth, it seemed like an old fashioned prison cell he had seen in museums on Earth. He frowned as he walked over to the bars and tapped one of them before he gripped it.

It looks like regular iron, Shiro thought.

If that was the case he could probably bend them easily with his cybernetic arm and escape, but it was probably better to wait until he knew exactly where he was.

Could the others be here too? Shiro thought. Did I end up on another planet?

“Hey, I hate to interrupt your deep thinking, but might be wise to look over here.”

Shiro jumped and looked to the right. He spotted a person that assumed to be his guard. The person seemed female, and although he didn’t recognize the red and black armour there was something else that stunned him.

He blinked as he pointed at her. “Are...are you human?”

The woman raised an eyebrow as she crossed her arms. “Yes, last time I checked.”

Shiro narrowed his eyes. “Are there other humans here?”

At this the woman leaned against the wall and folded her arms. “No, the rest of the palace is operated by moose lions.”

Shiro sighed. “Are you serious or are you joking?”

The woman dropped her arms. “Um..clearly joking?” She stepped forward. “Did you honestly think I was serious?”

“I’ve seen weirder,” Shiro admitted, not that he knew what a moose lion was.

With that said, was it possible he ended up on a planet that also somehow had humans? It seemed unlikely, but a few years ago Shiro also would have said that of giant robot lions.

The woman looked ready to say something else when footsteps approached. The woman stood straight and saluted.

An older man appeared, wearing similar armor to the woman.

“At ease, Ling,” the man said with his hands tucked behind his back. “I merely came to see if the intruder has woke up”

“Yes, sir,” she replied and pointed, “and he has, Sir.”

The man turned and his eyes instantly narrowed upon seeing Shiro.

“I am Admiral Jee,” he stated firmly while keeping his arms behind his back. “Who are you?”[1]

Shiro straightened his own posture. “I’m Takashi Shirogane.”

“We found you unconscious in the royal gardens,” Jee said as Ling was as still as a statue. “Gave the servants quite a fright. Mind telling me what you were doing there?”

“It was just me?” Shiro asked.

“Yes,” Jee said as he stepped closer, “unless you are saying there were supposed to be others with you?”

“No,” Shiro replied quickly.

Last thing he needed was further suspicion, but that did answer one vital question. The other paladins weren’t here as well. He was likely alone.

The man didn’t look convinced, but stepped back.

“In any case I was instructed to bring you to the Firelord once you’ve awoken for questioning.” He sharply turned to Ling. “Go fetch the handcuffs and some robes for him.”

“Yes, Sir,” Ling said as she marched off.

They were left in silence, but thankfully it didn’t last long as Ling returned with the items. Jee took the robes and passed them through the bars.

“I don’t know what kind of clothing you were wearing under your armour but I imagine this grants you some more dignity,” Jee said.

“Um, thanks,” Shiro said as he took it.

The robes were a bit shabby and not exactly high class, but they were still better than his prison uniform the Galra used. He tossed the uniform over his current clothes as Jee unlocked the cell while Ling held out the handcuffs.

Shiro flinched at the sight of them but ignored the stirrings of memories as he let Ling put the cuffs on. Shiro pulled at them slightly and felt relaxed. The cuffs, like the bars, were made out of regular metal. It wouldn’t take Shiro much effort to break free if he had to.

Jee stared at Shiro with narrow eyes. “Don’t try anything funny.”

“Don’t plan to,” Shiro said honestly as Ling escorted him out of the cell. They walked in silence out of the dungeon and into the hallway.

Neither said a word as they three of them walked, but a few more humans who walked by cast Shiro with a curious glance.

Their clothing style was odd. It was both familiar and yet unfamiliar. It was like Shiro was seeing real life pages from his grandfather’s history book, and yet it didn’t quite feel like he was on Earth.

Shiro was forced to stop pondering as they approached a large pair of doors.

“Wait, here,” Jee instructed as he opened and shut it quickly behind him.

Ling kept a tight grip on Shiro until the doors opened again and Jee gestured for them to enter. Ling shoved Shiro forward, and he obeyed.

There were only four other people in the room. Two were guards stationed at the door, and two others were sitting at the far end of the room. One was an older man with a beard, nex to him was a younger man sitting in the centre.

His eyes were glaring at Shiro like a cat waiting to swipe back if need be. Shiro had to assume he was this Firelord. However what really caught Shiro’s attention was the large burn that took up half of his face.

He can’t be much older than Keith, Shiro thought grimly. What kind of accident burned him that badly?

Shiro didn’t have time to ponder as he was forced to halt and kneel on his knees.

“I am Firelord Zuko,” the young man spoke tensely. “Who are you?”

Shiro swallowed as he straightened his posture.

“My name is Takashi Shirogane.”

“We found unconscious inside the royal palace,” Firelord Zuko continued as he leaned forward. “Who sent you?”

“No one sent me,” Shiro replied.

“Then why did you come here?”

“I didn’t mean to.”

Firelord Zuko raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t mean to?” He gave a huff. “You honestly expect to believe you got by my guards and just wandered into my palace by accident?!”

Shiro sweated. Yeah, he had to admit it did look bad.

“Tell me the truth,” the Firelord Lord demanded.

“I am telling the truth,” Shiro repeated.

“Do you think I'm foolish enough to fall for that?!” the Firelord cried looking ready to stand up.

“No I don’t,” Shiro replied.

“Then tell me why you are here!”

“I don’t know,” Shiro shot back, his words echoed in the room.

The Firelord’s eyes, but Shiro noted the older man looked at him with a tight frown.

Shiro took a deep breath to calm himself.  “Listen, this is a misunderstanding.”

“Is it now?” Firelord Zuko asked.

“Yes,” Shiro said as he straightened his posture. “I’m not an enemy, I'm a Paladin of Voltron. I’m sorry for my intrusion, but it was an accident. I mean your people no harm.”

Firelord Zuk blinked and seemed surprised by the answer. “And what exactly is a paladin?”

Shiro frowned. “What?”

“And where is Voltron?” Zuko continued. “It does not sound like a Fire Nation or Earth Kingdom town.”

“It’s not a town,” Shiro began but then stopped himself. They had never heard of Voltron. Did that mean-

“Does the word ‘Galra’ mean anything to you?” Shiro quickly asked.

The Firelord’s eyes twitched. “You just said you were from Voltron? And now you’re saying you’re from ‘Galra’?! Which is it?”

Oh boy, Shiro thought. How do I explain this?

The older man sitting next to the Firelord cleared his throat. “Firelord Zuko, perhaps we should save this interrogation for later.”

The Firelord turned to the man and pointed to Shiro. “Why? We have him right here-”

“And you also have the meeting with the royal treasurer,” the man replied and pointed to Shiro. “You know how she does not like being late and I believe you will need more time to question Mister Shirogane.”

Firelord Zuko frowned and then sighed. “Very well,” he said and looked back at the guards. “Take him back to his cell for now.”

“Yes, my lord,” Jee said with a bow as Ling pulled Shiro up to his feet.

Shiro said nothing as he was escorted out of the room and stole one more glance at the Firelord.

Shiro didn’t know where he was, but he had a feeling it was going to be tricky to get back home.

1 Is this Lieutenant Jee from Zuko's crew during season 1? Yes. Do I think it would have been nice for his crew to reappear in the show at some point? Yes, I do. Did I decided to correct this by making him an Admiral and taking over Zhao's position. Yes, yes I did.

Notes: Normally I wait until I have the full story written, but I couldn't resist posting at least the beginning chapters I have. I can't promise a weekly schedule, but I will try to work and update it as much as I am able.A few notes. 1. This takes place right after season 2 of Voltron and partly during season 3, while on the Avatar side it takes place three years after season 3. 2. I am ignoring the Avatar comics simply because I really didn't care for how they turned out so don't expect any mention of them here. It's just based on the three seasons of the show. 3. Except for some background Sokka/Suki I'm not putting any ships in this. I got enough happening in this story, and I didn't want to be bog down by any romance. The canon ships just decided they were better off as friends for the time being.

[concussed-to-pieces]

Stay Safe Part Two: Tranquil Turmoil

Fandom: The Mandalorian [Star Wars]

Pairing: Eventual Mandalorian [Din Djarin]/Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Part two of the tale! Also, I will do my best to tag who I can, but my browser tends to crash after tagging three to four people. So please forgive me if I don’t manage to tag you, I still love you <3

Thank you for reading! Enjoy!

Tag List: @wrestlingfae @toxiicpop @helplessly-nonstop @huliabitch @culturalrebel @literal-fand0m-trash @sinnamon-bunn @fioccodineveautunnale @hxldmxdxwn @lizajane3

Part One

You had to take numerous breaks for the child, the small being clearly not used to this level of 'forced march through uncertain terrain'. "You're going to sleep like a rock tonight, aren't you?" You asked, chuckling when the kid babbled wildly as if to reply. 

Up ahead, you saw the Mandalorian pause once again. "Everything alright?" He called, his hand resting on his blaster.

It's not like I'm going to run away on you, you thought uncharitably, rushing to force a smile. "Short leg syndrome!" You responded loudly, choosing to swing the child onto your shoulders and trot briskly up the path. "He did good, I'd say, but he's getting tuckered out." You continued once you were close enough for the beskar-clad man to hear you without raising your voice. 

He simply nodded, turning and continuing along the well-worn trail. You shifted your attention to the massive trees flanking the path, gawking a bit at the height and lush greenery of it all. Your drifting often brought you to orbital stations or desert planets, so this verdant forest was a rare sight indeed.

"Not used to it?" His voice broke the silence and you glanced at him, a little confused that he was trying to make conversation. He was still staring straight ahead. He must have been watching you out of the corner of that visor.

"Not at all. I'm really familiar with the dust and sand. I mean, these trees are huge!" You exclaimed, humoring him. "Everything looks so alive and...soft, I guess?"

"Foliage alters terrain dramatically. Don't be taken in by how it dulls the edges." He grunted. 

"Yes sir!" You saluted him and he scoffed, waving the motion off. After a few more minutes of walking in silence, you spotted a large structure looming in a clearing to the side of the trail. 

"Be on your guard." Was all the Mandalorian said, tapping his holster. 

It was a settlement of sorts; a series of tents scattered around a towering, ramshackle yurt that appeared to be the central focal point. You did your best to be inconspicuous, but it was an uphill battle when you were walking drag for a Mandalorian in polished beskar.

Upon entering, you realized that the yurt housed a communal area and drinking establishment. The limited patrons of the bar started whispering to one another once the Mandalorian had stalked by, and you found yourself on the receiving end of more than a few inquisitive looks. 

You surreptitiously tried to mask the bruising on the bridge of your tender nose, pulling the cowl of your cloak up until it was just beneath your eyes. 

The Mandalorian settled down at a table with a clear view of the entrance, his head turning lazily slow to survey the area. The lone hostess, stars bless her, approached with no trepidation whatsoever. Clearly she had seen more than her fair share of strange or unusual characters pass through. 

"What can I get you folks?" She asked, wiping her hands off on the dishrag that hung on her hip.

"Bone broth for the little one." The Mandalorian ordered, then tipped his helmet in your direction. 

You hurried to scan the scrawled menu propped up at the bar while the hostess proudly informed the Mandalorian that she had taken down a grinjer earlier, so there was plenty of broth to be had. Mindful of the limited credits you possessed, you selected a dish made up of local vegetables and started to count out the amount it would cost you.

The Mandalorian exhaled audibly, the noise almost a sigh. "What did I tell you? Save your damn credits." He muttered. Then, slightly louder to the hostess, "get them a good portion of that grinjer meat to go with what they ordered." He slid his own credits across the table, knocking yours out of the way with his elbow. After the hostess had departed to put in the food order, he leaned back once again. "If you don't eat now you'll be sorry later, stowaway."

"I'm sorry." You whispered, staring hard down at the table. You absolutely were not going to cry in public. You refused to humiliate yourself any more than you already had! Gods, you wished you were back on Nevarro. At least there, things were normal.

His fingers tapped on the table twice, drawing your attention back to him, but he seemed to just be idly shifting his weight. The child babbled at him from their seat, tiny hands waving animatedly. "Is that so?" The Mandalorian replied, sounding for all the world like he was carrying on a conversation with them. "Very interesting stuff, kid." Under his breath he murmured, "we've got eyes on us, stowaway, and not the usual kind."

You went rigid in your seat, unsure why his words terrified you so much. Bounty hunters take down all kinds of desperate people, this is regular for a guy like him. "S-Someone you know?" You stammered.

"No." He answered quietly. Then, "Could be nothing. People who don't know any better stare. Be ready."

The hostess returned with the food that had been ordered (as well as two lurid blue cups of freshly-brewed spotchka, the luxury!) and after ensuring that the child could drink their broth safely, you fell upon your meal with gusto.

"Slow down, you're going to choke." The Mandalorian admonished you, his tone amused. "No one will take it from you, you know."

"Mm, but-" You chewed and swallowed. "But it's really good."

"Savor the taste, then." He abruptly got to his feet. "Watch the kid. I'll be back in five minutes."

"Oh. Uh, stay safe?" You replied uncertainly, blinking up at him.

He paused, and then shook his head like he was dismissing something. "I'll be back in five minutes." He repeated curtly. 

You watched him depart, pursing your lips before turning your attention back to the child. They whined, taking another noisy slurp of their broth. "We'll give him two minutes." You decided, nodding firmly and starting to wrap up the rest of your meal. "Then, we'll rescue him."

…

"You want some soup?" The Mandalorian offered, flat on his back with his blaster aimed at the head of the dark-haired woman opposite him. She was on her stomach, her own pistol lined up with his shoulder. 

You and the child stood several feet away, the child toting their small bowl of broth and you clutching your two cups of spotchka. You had stumbled upon the tense scene once the allotted minutes had passed, following the noises of what sounded like a scuffle between a few of the outlying tents. Your heart threatened to leave your chest when you finally caught sight of the two rolling around on the ground, struggling and swinging at each other with purpose.

The woman sighed heavily, holstering her gun after a moment. The Mandalorian rolled to his feet and extended a hand to her, helping her up off the ground. 

The two of them were covered head to toe in pine needles and detritus from the forest floor, which helped to defang her somewhat as she went on to explain that her name was Carasynthia Dune; she had been a shock trooper and this was her early retirement of sorts. 

You could tell she was former military just from the bold band of tattooing that ran around her bicep, never mind her well-built physique or the confident way she carried herself. The fact that she had gone toe-to-toe with the Mandalorian and somehow emerged relatively unharmed was more than enough to earn your silently-awestruck admiration.

"I knew you were Guild. Figured you had a fob on me, that's why I came at you so hard." She admitted to the Mandalorian by way of apology, nodding her thanks when you offered her the untouched tankard of spotchka. 

The armored man grunted, "I assumed as much." He started brushing himself off, leaving Cara to stand there awkwardly. 

"So, what happened?" She turned to you, tapping her nose. "Get a little too mouthy for the tin can?" The Mandalorian's motions hitched momentarily at Cara's query.

"Mouthy?" You repeated in confusion. 

"Yeah, your nose, it's all…" She traced a circle around her nose, pulling a strange expression.

"Oh! Oh, no. I got hit in the face with beskar. Not his beskar! An ingot of beskar." You floundered, chuckling nervously while you readjusted your cowl to conceal your nose once more. "It was all a big misunderstanding."

"Uh huh." Dune didn't sound convinced in the slightest, her eyes narrowed at you.

"Don't appreciate that insinuation, Dune." The armored man snapped.

"Well, I don't appreciate you muscling in on my turf." She fired back airily. "As fun as this little scuffle was, Mando, unless you want to go another round one of us is gonna' have to leave. And I was here first." With that ironclad logic, she turned on her heel and promptly walked away.

The Mandalorian sighed. "Looks like this planet's taken." He shook another handful of needles out of his cape, grumbling to himself. You moved forward without thinking to sweep a few dead leaves from the thick cowling draped around his neck, your fingers reaching out quickly. 

His hand jerked up, pinning your wrist to his shoulder and bringing you to an abrupt halt. You hadn't even had the time to flinch. "You've...y-you've got some leaves under your chin." You managed to stammer, the realization dawning on you that you could be in very deep trouble. He could snap your wrist like a twig, could do much worse than that.

He didn't let go of your hand for a long moment, leaving you to stare up at the blank void of his visor. You had obviously startled him, but despite that his grip wasn't overly tight. Leather worn smooth grazed over the skin of your wrist, his thumb momentarily pressing down on your palm before he released you and took a step back. "Just...tell me where they are." He muttered gruffly.

Through your concerted efforts of indicating around your own neck and his attempts to mirror locations on himself, he managed to rid his gorget space of all the debris. The child began whimpering and whining during the activity, finally plopping down on the ground.

"You all worn out, little one?" You soothed, hoisting the child up into your arms. They rubbed their eyes, fussing until you bundled them up in your cloak. "Shh, take a nap. Close your eyes. You're safe." You assured them, rocking back and forth slightly.

"We're heading back to the Crest. This planet's off-limits." The Mandalorian growled, his words clipped. "I have some repairs that can be managed with what I've got on hand. Leaving Nevarro wasn't kind to my ship."

"Can I help?" You rushed to ask, swallowing hard when he cocked his helmet. "Please, let me help. I can fix things, I'm good at-"

"We'll see." He cut you off, straightening his cuisses. "Can you carry him? I know you managed it all of the way here."

"He's not heavy." You assured him quietly. 

"Let me know if you need a break."

Maybe once you made yourself useful with repairs, he would give a request to return to Nevarro a bit more consideration. With your fingers crossed and your hopes cautious, you trudged along after him back into the woodlands.

...

The Mandalorian sighed for what seemed like the millionth time, sussing out the right spanner to hand up to you. Night had fallen and so the two of you were working by a combination of the landing lights on the Razor Crest and headlamps. 

"This portion is almost rusted through. You're definitely going to need at least one new blade soon." You called, doing your best to coax some patcher over the hole in one of the left engine's anterior rotor fins. "Also might want to clean your bearings more often than normal, what with all the sand." 

"I'll take that under advisory." He replied. "Will it still fly?"

You peered over the side of the fuselage, passing him back the spanner. "I mean, you tell me. You're the one that knows how it behaves." You tapped the roof of the craft and then aimed a finger gun at the armored man. "How do the landing hydraulics look?"

His shoulders drooped. "Not spectacular." He admitted. "Got caught by a ravinak a few jobs back. Didn't get out of it unscathed."

You scooted to the side of the cockpit's viewport, sliding off to land with a thud on the boarding ramp. "I imagine hydraulic fluid is tough to come by on a planet like this." You squinted up at his headlamp, half-blinded.

"You imagine right." The beskar-wearing man heaved a sigh so deep, it sounded like it came from the ground beneath him. "Damn kid, he's lucky he's so cute." He growled. "I'd be well on the way to my next bounty if it wasn't for this."

You tapped your foot while you thought. "Oh! I almost forgot. I…" You fumbled at your side pouch, pulling out the small bundle you had made earlier. "Here, I saved you some food."

"Why?" He inquired bluntly.

"Because you didn't eat and...I mean, you gave me that jerky earlier, and you paid for my food but I couldn't eat all of it, so I wrapped it up and saved it for you to...um...eat?" Your voice faded uncertainly as you struggled to get the words out, hideously sure that you had somehow managed to offend him. Please, please don't be upset, I just want to go home.

He held out his hand after a second that lasted an eternity and you quickly passed the food over. "That was very kind of you." He said quietly. "Thank you. I will eat later." His voice sounded slightly strained.

You scolded yourself inwardly for being shocked that he thanked you, nodding and then resuming your hunt through your tools for your hydroline sealant. With a little luck, you might be able to-

"Um, excuse me sir?"

You jumped at the sound of the unfamiliar voice, whirling and being confronted by two bedraggled-looking men. "Can I help you with something?" The Mandalorian asked, his tone utterly flat.

"Um, well, yes actually. Raiders." The first man began warily. 

The other man extended his hand, the small bag cradled in it serving to illustrate their bargaining power. "We have money."

"You think I'm some kind of mercenary?" The Mandalorian asked sharply, his hackles clearly raised.

"Well, you are a Mandalorian, aren't you?" The first man appeared confused, stuttering, "You're wearing Mandalorian armor--um, that is Mandalorian armor, right?"

"It is."

"So you are a Mandalorian! I told him you were! Sir, I've read so much about your, your people--er, tribe?" This man was floundering worse than you. Your heart went out to him, watching the Mandalorian's posture stiffen more and more with each word out of his mouth. "If half of what I've read is true, then-"

"We have money." The second man reiterated, like he thought the beskar-wearing hunter hadn't heard him the first time.

"'Mandalorian' and 'mercenary' are not synonymous." Oh he was angry, you could feel him biting out his words even through the modulator. But the two men just stood there, looking like kicked puppies until the Mandalorian finally grunted, "how much?"

"It's everything we have, sir. Our whole harvest was stolen." The first man said dolefully as the Mandalorian busied himself tinkering with the landing gear.

"Krill. We're krill farmers." The second man clarified.

"We brew spotchka, our whole village chipped in!" 

The Mandalorian paused in his motions, turning and actually looking at the small pouch. "It's not enough." He announced dismissively.

"Are you sure? You don't even know what the job is-!"

"I know that it's not enough. Good luck."

"This is everything we have. We'll give you more after the next harvest!" The second man attempted to wheedle, glancing at you hopefully as if he expected you to help him reason with the armored man. 

You were uncertain of how to inform him without words that it was a lost cause, and your armored companion made his aggravation abundantly clear by activating the hydraulics on the boarding ramp. Steam hissed and billowed outwards, startling the two men into stumbling back a few steps so the ramp wouldn't hit them as it juddered up.

"Come on. Let's head back." The first man said dejectedly, tugging on his friend's sleeve.

The second man started pitching a fuss even as they slowly retreated to their cart, "Took us the whole day to get here. Now we have to ride back, with no protection, to the middle of nowhere." 

You saw the Mandalorian straighten up, turning his head slightly. "Where do you live?" He asked suddenly.

"On a farm. Weren't you listening? We're farmers." The second man answered him a little more petulantly than you would have advised.

"In the middle of nowhere." The Mandalorian persisted.

"Yes?"

"You have lodging."

The first man seemed to catch on to the Mandalorian's train of reasoning, excitedly saying, "Yeah, absolutely!"

"Good." The Mandalorian nodded, and then gestured to you. "Come up and help."

...

After a brief detour to acquire Carasynthia Dune (the Mandalorian playing the dangerous game of tossing the proffered bag of credits at her feet and asking her if she was ready for round two), the cart hummed along on the trail through the woods.

"So...we're basically running off a band of raiders for lunch money?" Cara sounded unimpressed.

"They're quartering us in the middle of nowhere. Last I checked that's a pretty square deal for somebody in your position." The Mandalorian reasoned, "Worst case scenario you tune up your blaster, best case...we're a deterrent."

The two men who had hired the Mandalorian (and shock trooper by extension) didn't seem to be able to believe their good fortune. They introduced themselves as Caben and Stoke respectively, and were more than willing to engage in conversation with you about their circumstances. 

You figured it would be in your best interest to make yourself scarce from the Mandalorian and Cara's strategy meeting, and so you plied the two men with questions about the surrounding woods and their village in general. 

You learned that Caben's past relatives had been the ones to start the krill, ensuring that the village would have a steady livelihood through dispensing either the raw material or finished product of spotchka. They were relatively self-sufficient, the woodlands they tended rich with game and plants alike.

Unfortunately, that same richness seemed to have attracted unwanted attention in the form of these raiders. Klatoonians had been harassing the small village for several cycles, stealing multiple harvests of krill.

"So uh, what do you do?" Stoke asked you curiously during a lull in the conversation.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you're traveling with a Mandalorian. You must be pretty tough if you're running with someone like him." He theorized, studying you in the dim light of their lone lamp.

"Oh! No no, noooo. I'm a temporary issue for him, I'm sure. Got tossed into his cargo hold at the last port like so much baggage." You confided with a grimace. "My only saving grace currently is that I can entertain younglings."

"Well, that's great!" Caben exclaimed, though Stoke looked a little less enthused. "We've got a host of young ones that I'm sure would love to have someone new to play with."

"I've bounced around a lot, so I've picked up a variety of different songs and games." You grinned. "Pretty sure I'll have something in my arsenal to keep your kids out of their hair." You continued, lowering your voice as you indicated at the fearsome duo behind you.

On your lap, the child yawned and snuggled into your cloak, clearly done for the night. You followed soon after, bidding the two men goodnight and curling up against the side of the cart. 

…

The day dawned clear, but with a humidity unfamiliar to one such as yourself. Mist danced in rainbow semi-circles through the tree trunks, the sun slowly burning it off as it rose. 

The child bounced in your arms when you carefully climbed off of the skiff to stretch your legs, easily keeping pace with the slow-moving vehicle. 

"How much further?" You whispered to Caben, doing your best not to disturb the snoring Cara and Stoke. You couldn't tell whether the Mandalorian was also sleeping, but it didn't hurt to be considerate.

"Only a few more minutes. Just over that next ridge." The man replied quietly, pointing ahead at said ridge. 

You propped the baby up on your hip and set off at a brisk walk, your body delighting in the fresh air of the forest. It was so strange, having something aside from the blistering climes of Nevarro or the stale, recycled air of hubs in your lungs. Maybe you had been directionless for too long, maybe...maybe leaving Nevarro was a blessing in disguise. 

As you reached the top of the hill, a little gasp escaped your lips. The whole valley was spread out in front of you, the small village dwarfed by the wetlands that surrounded it. Uniform pools lined the outskirts, obviously the krill fisheries the men had mentioned. Despite the early hour, you spotted several people already moving around. 

The landscape was idyllic, almost achingly so, and peaceful. 

Tears sprang to your eyes unbidden and you quickly dashed them away on your shoulder, huffing out a trembling breath. "Well little one, let's see whether your papa can help these people." You mused.

...

Caben hadn't been lying about the younglings. There was a group of eight children that rushed to greet the cart as it arrived, small bodies crowding around you to ogle the tiny being in your arms. Said being didn't appear to mind the attention, waving their little fists in excitement.

The Mandalorian seemed on-edge the instant he moved from the cart. Despite the serenity around him, you could feel tension radiating from his form. He was wound tight and you couldn't understand why. Even if raiders had been known to attack the place, right this minute all was calm and tranquil.

That unease was made abundantly clear an hour or so later, while you were being shown your housing for the foreseeable future. One second, he was nodding along to what the lovely young woman (a widow?) was explaining to him about the large hut being a barn previously. The next, he had whipped around to face the doorway, his blaster already drawn.

Gods, he was so fast.

The deadly would-be assailant was none other than the widow's child, the small girl cowering a little beside the door. 

"Easy." You hissed, surprised nonetheless when the armored man clumsily shoved his weapon back into the holster. 

Cara moved to the doorway, crouching in front of the child. "Hey squirt. You're pretty quiet, huh? Think you could teach me how to sneak like that?" She asked. The child seemed to recover from their scare quickly, pulling on Cara's arm to haul her away for 'training'. "You owe me, Mando!" The shock trooper yelled back over her shoulder as several other children joined in on the 'lesson'.

"I'm sorry, she's just not used to strangers." The widow apologized uncomfortably, wringing her hands.

Seeing how distraught she was, you impulsively decided to speak up. "No no, don't worry about it. We're just a little tired. Jumpy, you know." You explained, attempting to play it off before the Mandalorian could sigh or say whatever he had in mind. "Some of us are quick on the draw. But not here." You muttered the last part under your breath, stressing the final word. 

"I apologize for startling your child." The Mandalorian added stiffly, and you thanked the Maker that he wasn't about to undermine your shaky attempt at diplomacy. 

"She will be fine." The woman assured, giving him a tentative smile and then departing.

"I don't need you to speak for me, stowaway." The armored man snapped once she was (probably) out of earshot.

"I know that, but I wasn't sure what you were going to say and I didn't want you to hurt her feelings." You shot back, "You did kind of, almost maybe, consider putting a slug in her kid." 

"I'm not used to this." The Mandalorian stated bluntly, his honesty shocking you anew. Would the surprises never cease?! "They're respectful but they're not scared."

"Isn't it better that way?"

"Scared people keep their distance. Other people want to get close. They want answers." He shook his head, clearing his throat. "I...should probably take Dune so we can start with our reconnaissance." Despite his words he moved at the barest meander to the doorway, where he proceeded to lean nonchalantly for several long minutes as he watched the children drag Dune around. He finally murmured, "I'm probably going to need assistance when I attempt to extract her from the Fou...younglings. Think you can run interference?"

You cracked your knuckles and then hoisted the child up onto your hip. "Once I get there, they won't know what hit them." You promised firmly.

...

"Can you pay, can you pay, calamari flan? Fly my ship as fast as you can!" You chanted, your hands clapping out a gentle rhythm as you recited the nursery rhyme. "Fuel it and park it, Dropship Three, and leave it in the hanger to be flown by me!" 

The children around you all sang their own haphazard versions of the song, hands clapping and slapping against each other in almost-unison. It was incredibly entertaining to listen to some of the verses they came up with. In your time spent roaming after the death of your parents, you had heard a lot of different iterations of this rhyme. No matter where you traveled, it seemed that kids always gravitated to you. With them came songs and games and sometimes, sometimes, joy.

In spite of that, you still tried to keep everyone at arms' length. You would always have a new planet or station to breeze off to, a tumbleweed through and through. So you clapped, and you smiled, and when it was time to go, you vanished in the night like a wraith. It was better that way. Let younglings come up with their own conclusions.

The Mandalorian and Cara emerged from the forest on the edge of the village, and the man tilted his head at you to indicate you should join them. 

"Sorry guys, looks like duty calls." You apologized to your giggly, rambunctious audience, getting to your feet and dusting yourself off. You then bowed dramatically at the large-eared baby who had been sitting beside you, extending a hand for them to hold. "By your leave, my lord." The child quickly latched on, toddling in the direction of the Mandalorian.

When you arrived at the barn, however, Cara looked grim. "We've got a big problem." She informed you softly.

"The raiders have an Imp walker." The Mandalorian dropped the bombshell on you without quarter, and you took an unintentional step back. "I don't know how they got it, but I've seen those things in action. No matter how good I and Cara are, it won't be enough."

"Wh-What are you going to tell them?" You asked once you found your voice again. Even though you knew it was silly, you found yourself nervously scanning the woods surrounding the village. 

"The truth." Cara shrugged. "I'll give 'em their credits back. Hell, maybe we can help them move. They can't stay here, that's the takeaway. Sooner they come to terms with that, the better."

...

The Mandalorian broke the news to the village much like he had broken it to you, consideration thrown to the wayside in favor of expedience. "Bad news. You can't live here anymore." He addressed everyone bluntly from the front steps of the barn.

"Nice bedside manner." Cara grimaced, shifting her weight awkwardly as the villagers began to stir and protest amongst themselves.

"You think you can do better?" The armored man huffed.

"Can't do much worse." The woman snarked under her breath before stepping forward. "I know this is not the news you wanted to hear, but there are no other options." Cara announced clearly and firmly, the former soldier obviously rising to his challenge.

"But you took the job!" One man shouted.

"That was before we knew about the AT-ST." Cara said loudly. 

"The what?"

"The armored walker with two enormous guns that you knew about and didn't tell us!" She snapped, frustration bleeding into her tone. 

Over the building hubbub came the voice of the widow, Omera. "We have nowhere to go." She stated calmly, her child tucked against her side.

"Sure you do. This is a big planet." Cara replied dismissively. "I've seen a lot smaller."

Now emboldened by Omera, several other individuals raised their own voices. "My grandparents seeded these ponds!" Caben informed Cara. 

"It took generations!" Stoke added.

Cara's shoulders slumped. "I understand, I do. But there are only two of us." She said, gesturing at the beskar-clad man. You were more than happy to be left out of this particular equation, your brain still stuck on the fact that somewhere out in those peaceful woods, there was an actual mobile assault tower.

"No there's not, there's...at least twenty here!" Stoke fired back, his arms spread wide to indicate all the people in their village.

"I mean fighters. Be realistic!" Cara protested.

"We can learn!" Caben insisted, starting a new wave of murmurs as the villagers began to nod and agree with him. 

Dune heatedly spat, "I've seen that thing take out entire companies of soldiers in a matter of minutes!" 

That only brought a momentary pause to the debate. "We're not leaving." Omera said, her words soft but firm. Resolute.

Cara's voice shook when next she spoke and you got the impression that she wasn't seeing a village spread out in front of her, but a munitions-blasted battlefield. "You cannot fight that thing." 

You hesitantly put a hand on her arm, offering what little support you could. She shot you a grateful look, her smile thin.

The Mandalorian, who until then had remained silent, abruptly spoke up. "Unless we show them how." He cocked his head in your direction, ignoring the incredulous look Cara was sending his way. "Remember all those crates I had you lift?"

...

Blasters. A multitude of different makes and models, more than enough to arm half the village. You wondered in the back of your mind why the hell he had brought so many weapons.

Targets were quickly thrown together and anyone who was confident was instructed in the art of long range combat by the Mandalorian, his cape billowing behind him as he walked down the line to adjust foot placement.

Cara took over the melee weapon options, setting the rest of the men and women up to defend themselves with long, sharpened sticks and various other methods. You began to understand how she had gone toe-to-toe with the Mandalorian as you watched her cycle through the steps, every motion impactful and economic.

The two ran drills and you alternated between them, the child residing in a back sling you made out of your cloak. Maybe, maybe you could be useful in this type of situation, you hoped. Maybe you could help keep these kind people safe. 

The Mandalorian pawned a spare vibroblade off on you to replace your dull knife and you quickly adopted the techniques he and Cara showed you. You were constantly mindful to keep your fingers well away from the blade after you lost a chunk of knuckle skin when you tried to show off, the bandage you gained serving as a visual reminder to be cautious, that this was not your old knife.

When the Mandalorian finally nodded in approval at the shot you took, you felt proud enough to burst. When Cara grinned broadly at you after you ran through a defense drill, you could have cried.

The plan of attack was simple, as all plans should be: Topple the AT-ST as quickly as possible, use high barricades to divert the Klatoonians into more strategically viable locations and then pick them off. 

And now, up to your knees in mud, you goaded Caben, Stoke and several other villagers on into competition. Which fishery-pit would be the one to render that walker powerless? Whose shoveling would be triumphant in the long run? Bets were placed as the trap holes grew deeper and the barricades were raised on the edges of the village, fortifying the front line.

The rain had started during the afternoon and continued on well after dusk, making the work a thousand times muddier than before. Once you were finally done digging you were a filthy, shivering mess. Waving a goodbye to the others, you slogged back to the barn. Your boots were heavy enough to impede your movement, so your progress was admittedly slow.

"Stay at the door." The Mandalorian ordered sharply when you managed to trudge up to the raised porch and start struggling out of your boots. 

You groaned unhappily but obeyed, wondering if he intended for you to stay outside all night so the rain could rinse off the muck.

He came back with a bucket, his cape hanging over his arm instead of his shoulders. "I'll hold this up so you can clean yourself." He muttered after passing you the pail of hot, soapy water. "Dune is already asleep, so this is the best I can do."

"B-B-But what if you g-get wet?" You asked through chattering teeth, already stripping down to your underthings as he threaded one end of the cloak through the woven twigs that composed the barn wall. You were too cold and wet to be overly worried about propriety.

"I'm going to be wet anyways, I have the second watch. I'm not worried." Even from behind the cape, you could hear the rain softly ping off his helmet and pauldrons. "Blanket is just inside the door, left side. Let me know when you're heading in so I can turn."

You quickly dunked the provided rag into the bucket, scrubbing furiously at the grime on your skin. "W-We think we made them deep enough. We dug a good six extra feet each, I w-would s-s-say." You informed him proudly.

"Good. That's really good." You could hear the smile in his voice, as strange as that sounded. "Means the walker will have a nine to eleven foot drop, which should be more than enough." He then added, "You've done well."

You flushed hotly despite your freezing body, stammering out, "o-oh, I'm just doing wh-what I have t-to-" 

"No. You could have dropped into a funk and refused to do anything once we left Nevarro, but you...you've been good with the kid. With these people." The bounty hunter paused. "I've been thinking about leaving the kid here," he continued quietly. "Once we get rid of the raiders, this village will be peaceful again. And...and he seems to like it here." He shifted his weight, heralded by the clank of beskar. "You seem to like it here, too."

"I do." You replied honestly. "Nevarro was home for a while. I was used to it. It was normal. But this place…" You trailed off, a little perturbed with how much your heart was aching at the idea of having to leave this behind. 

You had never felt any sort of attachment to a location, always knowing that you wouldn't be there long. Nevarro marked the longest you had stayed in an area, sitting proud at a whopping thirty-two days.

"I won't be able to bring you back to Nevarro." He admitted quietly. "I can't...I can't go back there."

What could have gone down on Nevarro that would make a Mandalorian unable to return? Curiosity burned at you and you opened your mouth to ask the question.

"What is the name of that song you taught the younglings?" He inquired before you could get the words out. "The one with all the clapping."

"Oh, that's just...i-it's a nursery rhyme. Originally I think it was something about...baking?" You theorized, rinsing the rag. "Everyone has a different version of it, though."

"It reminded me of home." The wistful tone of his voice took you by surprise. "We would...when you have the armor, to keep time you would rap on your neighbor's. We stomp, clap, slap hands, beat the armor...no matter what we do it's loud." After a brief pause, "Do you have other songs like that?"

"Stomping, I'm not so sure about. See, a lot of flotillas and mining platforms have rules structured around excessive noise. Keeping younglings entertained and quiet...now that is the challenge." You informed him, scrubbing roughly at your elbows and knees. "I have a few others with the clapping. Some of them up the complexity of the motions depending on how long you're playing for, though, so maybe you could adapt one of those for your stomping needs?" was your tentative suggestion.

"Leave your clothes where you dropped them. Omera brought some dry things for you earlier." 

His abrupt shift in topic made your head spin and you panicked momentarily before blurting out, "Maker, please tell me there's pants and not one of their confusing skirts." 

"I didn't look at 'em, stowaway. I just know that she put them with the blankets." The Mandalorian replied testily. "You'll find out soon enough."

Mercifully, the widow had provided a soft, knee-length tunic. Thank the Maker for small favors, you did not want to try and figure out one of their skirts at this hour. Intricate hook-loop closures and trews were great and all, but right now you were exhausted and bed was calling your name.

You slipped the garment over your head, taking a moment to run your fingers along the blanket-stitched hemline. The fabric was dyed a rich teal, a trait shared by most of the apparel in this settlement. One of the krill byproducts was the brilliant blue carapace that gave spotchka its distinct hue. According to Stoke they had to strain nearly half of the unprocessed carapace from the spotchka mix lest it turn unbearably bitter. They then utilized this excess to color their fabrics, bathing the entire village in a myriad of indigoes, teals and cobalts.

The long sleeves of the tunic flopped down over your hands, banishing some of the chill from your body. "Huh. Guess I'm not as tall as Omera." You observed aloud, waving your sleeve-covered hands around to illustrate this incredible fact.

The Mandalorian shook his head at your antics and busied himself tucking his cape back under his pauldrons. "Get some rest, stowaway. As long as nothing happens tonight, tomorrow is when we'll strike. I need you at your best." He said curtly. Then, a little softer, "I need you to keep an eye on the F...younglings." He sounded slightly pained. "They'll need assurance. And if anything happens during the fight, they will need to be defended."

"Of course!" You promised, fisting your hands tightly in your sleeves. "I'll do everything I can to keep them safe. We all will."

Cara raised a sleepy fist of acknowledgment from her own cozy pile of blankets, the soldier mumbling something before rolling over.

"This is the Way." The Mandalorian stated, the black void of his visor boring into you. He seemed to be waiting for something, so you finally bobbed your head in agreement. He then departed without another word, the woven mat over the doorway whispering against the rough-hewn planks of the floor in his wake.

You wondered at the quiet sadness in his voice long after you went to bed, your dreams haunted by glimpses of rain-speckled beskar.

Part Three

[asynca]

Prompt: “Poisonous” - 2k words

For a woman whose mother was a whore and whose father was presumably a sailor from abroad (or possibly the Friar, since everyone always said I had his ears), I came to lead an incredibly privileged life.

It started off not so well. As you can imagine, children were not exactly welcome in the whorehouse. I spent much of my childhood either under my mother’s bed while the springs above me squeaked and strained, or in my little bed inside my mother’s clothes closet, on top of her winter coat. To keep me quiet, she’d give me sweets—anything I asked for.

As a result, I can’t really say I wasn’t a remarkable child, but I wasn’t remarkable because I was especially sweet or pretty. I was remarkable because I grew soft and fat in a way none of the other children were. Their spindly legs poked out under their too-large smocks while I filled mine like a full sack of flour, huge and round. Their big eyes stared out of sharp, thin faces while mine were buried deep in my cheeks.

Everyone called me ‘Little Piggy’, but I didn’t care. They were just jealous of my sweets and the fact they went to bed hungry at night. In the end, those sweets were the best gift my mother could have bought for me.

When I was somewhat older (and starting to attract the sort of attention of men that led me to worry mother’s madam would start the bid for my virginity soon), I was browsing the morning market for lunch when two soldiers came marching towards me.

Guards and whores’ gets don’t typically have the best of relationships, so naturally, I ran for it.

I wasn’t particularly slow for my size—in fact I gave them rather a good chase. I thought!—but they eventually caught me and held me still.

To my surprise, a noble I recognised as the King’s hand came wandering up behind them at a very leisurely pace. He was old and rather unpleasant to look at.

“Like to eat, do you, girl?”

I nodded.

A sly smile spreading slowly and obsequiously over his crackled old lips “How would you like to eat all the delicacies in the world?” he asked, in the sort of voice I’d often her customers talking to Mother in. “Pork roasts with crackling, steaming beef stews, dumplings, cakes, and every single tasty dish you could imagine for every – single – meal?”

Honestly, he was making a good case for whatever it was that he wanted from me. I had thought he was probably after my virginity (for those things, I’d considered giving it up for him), so I was surprised when I nodded and he simply said, “Good. His Majesty’s old taster has suffered an unfortunate…. accident. We’re in the market for someone who can eat on command.”

So that was how I become the King’s Taster.

Honestly, it was wonderful. Our King was well-liked so the danger to him was quite low. He also had the same sweet tooth as I did, which meant I was able to enjoy spiced fruit cakes with marzipan icing, beautifully sugared oranges and sherry almost whenever I wished. On most occasions, he liked to try everything on the table which meant that I was able to as well, and sometimes, when the Queen wasn’t looking, he’d ask me if there was anything particular I liked the look of and he’d order it for himself when she wasn’t paying attention.  

It ended up being him who took my virginity. Shortly after my nineteenth birthday he ordered some supper in his bed chamber and had me escorted up there for it. It was ice cream, so I was disappointed when instead of actually eating it, he seemed rather more intent on consuming me. Before long, my dress was on the floor and I was on the bed, and he was whispering all sorts of sweet words to me as he bounced heavily on top of me. He finished rather quickly and then spent a curious amount of time burying his face in all of my soft bits and rejoicing the roundness of them. Then, once he’d tired himself out, he bid me leave before we were caught.

I think the Queen suspected because after that, she slept in his bed chamber. Truth be told, I wasn’t that sorry. He was nice enough, but he was fifty and I had everything I wanted in the world already.

I was more sorry about what had happened when the following month, however: I didn’t bleed. Nor the month after that, nor the month after that. Having been brought up in a whorehouse, this was little more than an annoyance to me—just as it had been to my mother and the other women I’d grown up around. I knew how to hide my sickness and fix my dress to conceal a bump; not that a bump was really my biggest problem. I was lucky enough to be plump in a way that would conceal the fact I was with child, possibly indefinitely. The birth itself was more of a concern; I’d have to do it by myself, of course. There was no way that I’d be able to sneak out of the castle and find Mother. I just hoped my waters wouldn’t break while I was standing beside the King at the supper table.

I was into my fifth or sixth month when everything took a sudden turn.

It was the Queen’s birthday, which was something she was growing increasingly less keen on celebrating. Every year brought her closer to a time when she wouldn’t be able to produce an heir at all, and people were beginning to worry than she would run out of time. However, despite that, the King obviously loved her and insisted on throwing a big party for her. The banquet hall was decorated, all the court and several foreign visitors were invited, and the kitchen was abuzz for days with all sorts of people preparing all sorts of food. Guest cooks meant new dishes, and so I hovered around the edges, trying to figure out what sort of exotic culinary art they might be creating.

I didn’t get to try any of them at all until the actual day of the banquet. Even then, the King had made an effort to provide his Queen with all sorts of entertainment and had allowed the nobles to offer her gifts, so I had to stand quietly through an hour or two of those being presented until he finally decided to eat.

The first course was not was as exciting as I’d hoped. The King was too distracted to guess the things that I’d like to try, so I ended up just testing rotten old mushroom soup, roast meat and vegetables. These were things I’d ordinarily have on any given night. There were so many dishes with fine-cut pasta and fried breads and things that I’d scarcely had the opportunity to try before that it seemed a cruel turn of fate that he didn’t even want to try them.

I suffered through two courses where he didn’t eat a single thing, until he finally finished with a crème brulée. I’d enjoyed those many times before, and I expected I would enjoy it then.

How wrong I was.

The moment the innocent-looking crème brulée passed my lips I knew something was awry. I’d had no more than a tiny mouthful but I could already feel a tingling on my tongue. The court, milling about and entertained by the Jester, didn’t notice my surprise. They certainly didn’t notice the knife-point pressed against my side or the red, red lips at my ear whisper, “Swallow it and smile, honeypie.”

Paralysed by shock, I could do nothing but obey. In a moment, she was gone.

The King threw only a cursory glance at me before returning to enjoy the Jester’s keen impersonation of him. He broke the seal on his brulée, selecting one tiny shards of sugar glass with the tip of his spoon and chewing it.

In my mouth, I could already feel the burn setting in. I wanted to gag, to cough, to spit out whatever remnants of it were in my mouth, but I was too afraid of that woman with the knife. What if she came back? Instead, I pressed my lips desperately together, staring intently at the King.

Don’t! I willed him, hoping he’d be so distracted by the jester that he’d discard the dish. Don’t eat any more!

Oblivious, he picked another shard, then another. Then, while the jester bowed to thunderous applause, the King looked back toward his dessert, chuckling to himself. He took a big scoop of crème. I watched him slowly lift it to his mouth place it on his tongue and then swallow, and time seemed to slow.

He took a big gulp of sherry, pausing for a moment to salute the jester with a silent toast.

Then he took another mouthful of the dessert.

And another.

He was on his fourth when I saw his spoon freeze mid-air and his brow crinkle.

Swallowing, he placed the spoon down on his plate and took a big, long gulp of water from his goblet. When that didn’t help, he licked his lips, cleared his throat and then, from deep inside him came this terrible retching gag.

The cheering fell silent, and everyone turned in horror toward him. He stood in panic, throwing his heavy chair back and spilling his sherry, clutching at his throat.

It was when he finally looked in terror at me that I could hold it no longer and fell to my knees, spluttering and gagging myself. I knew it was over.

“Poison!” The Queen exclaimed, her voice straddling two octaves. “My King, he’s been poisoned!”

What happened next, I struggle to remember. Someone shouted to seize me, and I was grabbed by my shoulders, tied at the wrists and pigeon-marched out of the banquet hall. I was already sweating and somewhat delirious and couldn’t fathom where I was going—just that there were so many corridors—but then there was a dull thump and a gargle beside me. Warm liquid splashed across my arm, and it took me a couple of seconds to realise it was blood.

While I was staring at my arm and hoping the blood wasn’t mine, a woman’s small hand grabbed me. “Come, honeypie,” she said, grasping my jaw firmly with her other hand and pouring something cool into my mouth. “Swallow.” She held it shut until I did. “Good girl. Let’s go.”

I fell unconscious.

[yourperfectflaws]

HYDRA’s Pet ; 01

Pairing: James Bunchan Barnes x HYDRA!Reader, Avengers x Reader (Platonic/ Familial)

Series Summary: As HYDRA’s favorite experiment, you were trained to follow orders perfectly. But, when you’re taken from the only home you’d ever known by the Avengers, you find yourself more lost than ever. However, out of all the things that could have happened to you, you’d never expected him to be one of them.

Chapter Summary: Your sexy ass is training a new unit when the Avengers find the base. 

Warnings: Includes violence, adult language

Word Count: 1.7k

Author’s Note: It’s good to read the Prologue but I’m gonna try and make the series work without it. (Also this chapter was so goddamn hard to write for some reason) Also bUckY wiLL bE hErE sOoN I ProMiSe!!!

Anything italicized is in Russian (cuz my dumbass don’t speak Russian and I’m not about to use google translate and then put the translations at the end when half of them aren’t even correct it’s just a waste of time and effort)

Prologue // Next Chapter 

January 16th, 2017 ; HYDRA Base

Crack!

The loud smack of Juno’s ruler echoes around the rusty training room. You squinted as you sparred with your opponent, a young redheaded girl two doors down from you. She shrieked at the noise, unfamiliar with Juno’s teaching strategies, which gave you an opening. 

You closed the gap between the two of you and gave her a swift punch to the cheek. She flew to the side of the ring but got up quickly and you both went back to circling each other. She attempted to throw a punch at you but you blocked it by grabbing her wrist and sending a swift kick to her abdomen. 

She cried out and fell to the floor, attempting to scramble back up but you kicked her square in the face to knock her down again. She was conscious but didn’t try to get back up. 

Crack!

Juno’s ruler again. She stepped into the ring and gave a small glance to the girl before sizing you up. “Since she isn’t learning from me, maybe she will learn from you.” She pushed your chest as you stood there blankly. She turned away from you and roughly pulled the girl up. “She will be vital to HYDRA’s regime, as you are. Don’t try to make this any more difficult than it is, soldier.” 

Juno turned back to you and folded her toned arms over her chest. “If you can’t even teach her the basics then you’ll be put in the chamber.” 

You couldn’t help the grimace of fear that streaked onto your face when she mentioned the chamber. It pained you to remember spending time in there. You knew you were forbidden from reading the thoughts of a superior like Juno but you couldn’t help but sense her anger and frustration as she spat in your face. 

“I will be back in two hours.” Juno turned to the redheaded girl and sneered. “You will spar again to show me what you have learned, runt.” 

You stood still as she left the room, the door groaning as it closed behind her. As soon as she was gone, you relaxed and walked over to the girl, who was shivering in the corner of the ring, and extended your hand to her. She took it hesitantly. Big mistake. You pulled her arm up and around, pushing her to the ground and holding her in place. She shrieked in pain. Her mind was a panic, a jumble of thoughts that were all too easily read. 

“I am going to give you rules and you are going to listen.” She nodded her head frantically. Desperation. “Rule one, do not let your guard down. Always be attentive of your opponent. You already failed.”

You let her go and she scrambled away from you, standing up quickly. She held her fists awkwardly in front of her. Feeling her insecurity, you sighed as you sized her up. “You have no balance. You’re skinny, no muscle, and you’re slow. Your posture is horrible and whatever you’re doing right now is completely wrong.”

You marched up to her and pushed her fists in the correct position. “Spread your legs shoulder width, eyes up— you always want to be looking straight at your opponent— and straighten your back and shoulders.” You moved in front of her to examine her stance. It wasn’t perfect but it was better than what she was originally doing. “Now punch me.”

She stared at you for a second, feeling surprised, before throwing the weakest punch you had ever seen at your face. You blocked it and sighed, pushing her fist away. “No, that was weak. Don’t be afraid to hurt your opponent and use all of your strength. Exhale sharply with each punch and drive your elbow rather than your fist into each punch. Try again.”

She made another attempt to punch you, with you blocking it again, and this time it was decent enough to do some damage. You nodded your head. “That was better.” She felt an emotion you couldn’t describe. “This time try moving around and actually hitting me. If you can do that I will give you a water break.” 

It takes her a while before she figures out how to fake a punch and she lands one on your shoulder. She smiles at you, filled with pride, and you notice she has a tooth missing. She couldn’t have been more than 13 years old and seemed almost too naive to be working for HYDRA. You roll out your joints before joining her for a much needed water break. 

The both of you fall into an awkward silence, neither of you knowing what to say, while hunched over on the ground of the ring. After a while you decide you’d had enough of the silence and ask her for her number. 

“Oh, I’m Unit 9813.” She takes another long drink. “You?”

“Project 103.” You scratched your eyebrow. “Taken or raised?”

Images of her family flashed through her mind and a bitter, melancholic feeling crept into yours. She waited a few seconds before responding. “Wait wha—”

BANG!!!

You turned to see the door shaking on its hinges. Out of nowhere, the Commander barged into the room and shouted for attention. Without missing a beat, you stood tall and stiff, waiting for orders, while 9813 rose slowly and shrank into herself. You sensed that she had never met the Commander and felt intimidated. 

A look of surprise dawned on his wrinkly face and his icy eyes darted between the two of you. He was not informed of this training session. He cleared his throat and addressed 9813.

“Unit, you may leave. Head to the deck, they’re heading into the tunnels,” he ordered. She saluted in a panic and scurried off. 

He turned back to you and you sensed a feeling you couldn’t describe. He then recited the words and everything around you faded into black. You were returned to the familiar darkness of your mind. Though you knew it well, you didn’t like it one bit. 

You could see the Commander regarding you with a strange expression as your body waited for instructions. You were in soldier mode now. 

“Initiate order 423E7X.”

Your body saluted. “Yes sir.” 

He pressed his lips into a thin line and walked back towards the door. “Soldier... goodbye for now,” he whispered before leaving. 

You were left with nothing but silence and an order. Even though you had no idea what was happening, your body seemed to have everything under control as it marched out of the training room, down the long, dimly lit hallway, and into the general work area. The lights flickered as you stepped among the tools and materials strewn about. It definitely appeared as though they had left in a hurry. You were not looking forward to whatever you were supposed to do. 

You watched as you climbed the pipes along the walls and pushed yourself onto the maintenance rafters and waited. Eventually you heard the sound of careful footsteps and hushed voices entering the building. 

It wasn’t long before you saw the beams of flashlights as they neared your hiding place. Being in your mind was beginning to feel terrifying and watching the strangers enter the work area sent shivers down your spine. 

They were wearing strange outfits and sported weapons you’d never seen before, though somehow something about them seemed oddly familiar. One of them stood by the entryway while the other two quietly searched the room. Then, the one with the red hair looked up to see you sitting there staring at them. 

“Umm, guys...” 

They shined their flashlights up to you as you sat there looking dejected. One of them gasped and placed his metal hand over his glowing chest. 

“Oh shit! She scared the crap out of me.” He bent over and placed his hands on his knees, which made a clink sound, and looked up at his teammates. “Guys, I think I’m gonna need a new suit.” He looked between them, both of whom stared at him unimpressed. 

“Hey are you alright, creepy girl?” The other man with the bow asked.

You said nothing and continued to stare down at them. 

“Okayyy well we’re going to have to take her with us.” The ginger woman pressed her earpiece. “Hey we found someone.” She continued to notify other members of their team about finding you while one continued sweeping the building and the other climbed up to you. 

“Do you speak English?” He asked you as he offered his hand for you to take. You didn’t want to take it but it seemed your body had other ideas. 

“No one is here.” Unsurprisingly, your voice sounded robotic and completely different from what it normally was. The blonde man stared at you with pinched brows but lightly chuckled to himself. 

“I’ll take that as a no.” You noticed he didn’t have the earpiece that the other two had. He had two and they looked different. 

He pulled you against his chest and climbed back down the pipe, gently letting you go once on the ground. In your soldier state, you couldn’t feel his emotions or hear his thoughts, but your “soldier self” could, which was more than frustrating.

You blacked out for a brief period of time and came back to consciousness, still inside your mind, to see yourself fighting the man who had brought you down from your perch. 

He shot arrow after arrow at you and the few you managed to dodge were out-healed and slowly came out of your body. You threw tools at him and he was dodging them with the agility of someone who’d been doing it for years. 

The other two came back after hearing the commotion and didn’t hesitate to join the fight. “Clint, what happened?” The redhead asked as she caught a wrench you had thrown.

“One second—” he shot another arrow at you, hitting you in your thigh. “—we were all fine and dandy and the next—” he ducked to dodge a screw driver. “—she was throwing shit.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” the metal guy said as he shot a beam of energy at you with his hand. You managed to dodge it before getting hit in the head with a hard object and slumping onto the floor with a dull thump. 

----

Please don’t ask how the Commander guy isn’t dead by now, I don’t know either. 

Let me know if you liked it and if there is anything I should fix! Have a great day and stay safe!

[the-awkward-outlaw]

i’m so excited your inbox is open!!😁😁can i request an arthur x fem!reader where he’s insisting he’s “an ugly, old outlaw” and all that bs and she gets really emotional and gives this speech on how handsome (adorable) and loyal and caring he is? basically just tooth-rotting fluff😊😊love your work!!🤍

I hope I ticked all the boxes for this one, lol. But it definitely turned out very fluffy (which is good, because I live for fluff! They are my favorite to write, especially with Arthur). Enjoy! 

Masterlist

Read on AO3

You stand on the edge of Horseshoe Overlook, repeater in hand, waiting for an improbable attack. Of course, you can’t be entirely sure there won’t be one. Arthur mentioned a couple days ago running into some Pinkertons while he was out fishing with Jack. Something tells you that if they found this place, they’d have no problems marching in. 

An hour later, the sun’s beginning its slow descent into the sky and you hear something: a horse coming down the path. Just as you lean around a tree to see who it is, Arthur comes into view. 

“Oh hey, Arthur!” you say excitedly. Not only does he carry heavy weight in camp, he’s one of the nicest men you’ve ever met (despite being an outlaw), and he’s also the man you’re in love with. You haven’t had the courage to tell him this, the thought alone terrifies you. 

He gives you an adorable “gun” finger salute as he trots past, but you notice his eyes don’t crinkle the way they do when he smiles, almost like he’s faking it. He goes on towards the camp and you follow him, wondering if something’s wrong. 

When you get to camp, you ask Karen to take guard duty for now, explaining you’ll make up for it later. She accepts, saying you owe her a whiskey, to which you agree. Arthur dismounts his horse, feeding her a treat. You hear him say, “rest now, girl. You did good.” God, he’s so cute the way he talks to his horse. 

He continues on towards his tent and young Jack crosses his path as he walks. “Hiya, Uncle Arthur!” 

“Hey there, Jack. You keepin’ safe?” Arthur’s been worried about him ever since he ran into the Pinkertons. Of course, Arthur’s always been protective. 

“Yeah.”

“You still reading with Hosea?” 

“Yeah! He read me a story about a prince! I did a page all by myself!” 

“That’s excellent, son! Good for you!” 

Jack skips off and Arthur continues on towards his tented wagon, his shoulders rolling as he walks. You melt at the exchange he had with Jack. He is the most adorable, gentle man you’ve met. How is it that he’s a wanted man? 

Arthur shuffles around his wagon a bit, adjusting some things on his little table. Then he grabs the flaps of the canvas and pulls them down, clearly wanting some privacy. 

Silently, you go over to his tent and peak in. The sight breaks your heart. He’s sitting on the cot, hunched over, his hands clasped together as his elbows rest on his thighs. You can tell he’s upset about something. 

“Mr. Morgan?” you ask. 

He looks up and clears his face. “Oh, hey there, Y/N. What can I do for ya?” 

“Nothing. I just wanted to check on you. I was… I guess worried. You okay?” 

He smiles a little, huffing a bit. “Oh I’m doin’ just fine.” 

You can tell he’s lying, and you’re nervous to stay any longer. It’s clear he wants to be alone. However, you swallow your fear and walk into the tent. 

“Can I ask what’s wrong, Mr. Morgan? Whenever I have something weighing heavy on my mind, I find it’s helpful to tell someone.” 

“Oh trust me, no one wants to hear about my problems. I’m just… just a sad, miserable ol’ outlaw.” 

Your heart feels like it’s going to break. How can he think such awful things about himself when every time you see him, he’s doing something good to those around him? Bringing Mary-Beth a pen, reading stories to Jack, giving that one-armed man in Valentine money. Every time you’re with him, he proves the exact opposite of what he’s saying now.

“You… don’t really think that’s true, do you, Mr. Morgan?” 

“Oh trust me, I ain’t sayin’ bad enough about myself. I’m… a no-good killer, a fighter. And uh, just a bad man.” 

A tear slides down your cheek and you go sit down next to him. “Mr. Morgan, forgive me, but that’s not what I see. Every time you’re around, I see you helping folk, making people smile. I see you doing too much good to believe that a bad man is all you are.” 

“You don’t know me very well, Y/N. Hell, you only been with us a few months. Wait a few years, you’ll be sayin’ somethin’ different.” 

“I don’t think so. If anything, I’ll probably be sayin’ even nicer things about you. And honestly, Mr. Morgan, I’ve never lied to you. I ain’t startin’ now.” 

“Trust me, you won’t. No one does, everyone who spends any length of time with me knows how horrible I am.” 

“I’ve spent plenty of time with you,” you say. “I don’t think you’re horrible. Sure, you’ve made some bad choices, but who hasn’t? I… I’ve made choices that I regret too. But you can’t look at the world with people split in two based on good and bad. People are complicated. You’re complicated. That’s how the world is, and you ain’t doin’ yourself any favors by seeing it that way.” 

He sighs heavily, looking away from you. He doesn’t speak for a few moments and when he finally does open his mouth, you’re sure he’s about to tell you to leave him alone. 

“To be honest, Y/N, I really am a bad man. The only thing I’m good for is fightin’. All I ever been good at.” 

“Mr. Morgan, can I ask who told you this?” 

“No one told me, Y/N. I… I always known. And the other night, robbin’ that train full o’ city folk. Well, I robbed and beaten plenty of people before, they was really no different. But… I was over near Strawberry earlier. Some guy challenged me to a race. Guess he just bought a new horse, wanted to show off. Anyways, ol’ Artemis and I gave him a run for his money. I won, of course.” He scratches his chin. “When that other bastard got there, he was real angry. So angry he shot his horse in the head, so I shot him. Don’t quite know why I did neither. When…. When I shot him, I realized I felt nothin’. Not joy, not regret. Just nothin’.” 

“Maybe because there was nothing to feel, Mr. Morgan. After all, a man who can so easily shoot his new horse he was so proud of moments ago cannot be much of a man at all. Perhaps… perhaps you killing him was a good thing.” 

“How do you mean?” he asks. He finally turns to you, his blue eyes searching yours. 

“Well, if he can so easily shoot a horse in that fashion, something tells me he doesn’t know how to rein in his anger, that he lets it get the better of him. Who knows? Maybe he was constantly hurting his wife or kids if he had them. Maybe you killing them will send them relief, freedom. That’s the way I have to see the world, Mr. Morgan, that our bad deeds have a positive effect somewhere in the world.” 

Arthur grunts a bit. “Maybe. But… but I’m still nothin’ more than a fighter.” 

“No you’re not. Forgive me, Mr. Morgan, but I’ve been watching you probably more than you think. You’re a good man, a wanderer, a hunter. An artist too I bet.” 

“How do you figure that?” He cocks his eyebrow a bit, staring at you from the side of his eye. Part of you thinks he’s on the verge of smiling, which encourages you. 

“I’ve seen you sitting on the edge of camp, writing and doodling in that journal of yours. John told me Dutch taught the two of you to draw, but it didn’t take with him.” 

“Hmm, a lot of things didn’t take with that boy.” 

You giggle, but don’t really want to lead this conversation into a heated discussion about John Marston and his flaws. “I bet you’re good though. Could… I mean, would you hate me for asking if I could see your drawings?” 

You are extremely doubtful that he’d give you that privilege. After all, you and Mary-Beth talked about journaling and she mentioned how Arthur is notorious for it, but how no one has ever seen the inside of his. However, Arthur surprises you by sighing heavily and taking his journal out. He flips through it quickly, finding a page that has a drawing of a large wolf on it. He hands you the book, though he seems nervous. 

Gently, you take it from him and inspect the drawing. It’s beautiful, professional even. You can so easily see the textures of the wolf’s fur, the bristles of the pines behind it. It’d be impossible to not admire the strokes put down, each one with their own intention and purpose. 

“Mr. Morgan, this is incredible. I knew you were an artist, but I didn’t think you were this good.” 

“Oh nonsense. Anyone can draw like this. Hell, I bet you ain’t that bad of an artist yourself.” 

It’s your turn to raise your brow. “You wanna bet? Give me your pencil.” 

He hands it to you and, in the lower right corner, you draw a small version of his wolf, which is far more than laughable. You’ve never been very good at drawing, but even this version is pathetic. After a few minutes, you hand him back his journal. 

“There. Now your wolf has a badly deformed companion.” 

Arthur takes one look at it and then he lets out a laugh. “I like it,” he says after a moment, his eyes meeting yours. This time, his eyes crinkle. 

You can’t help but giggle. “I’m glad you like it, Mr. Morgan.” 

Still grinning, he straightens up a bit. “Why you always callin’ me Mr. Morgan? You can call me Arthur on occasion, you know.” 

“Oh I… I know,” you say, looking down at your lap, your cheeks burning. “I… I don’t know why I do.” 

He admires your features for a moment. Arthur knows you’re sweet on him. He clued into it pretty quick when he first asked you to call him by his first name weeks ago and you refused. Then he heard Tilly and Mary-Beth joking about how they knew. He also noticed you did things for him no one else did: bringing him coffee in the morning, offering to clean his guns, how he was the only person you asked to teach you how to play poker and black jack. Other small things you did only for him. It didn’t take long for him to realize he felt something for you too.

He finds your behavior now endearing and you’ve helped cheer him up immensely. He grabs your hand and lifts it, placing a soft kiss to the back of it, which causes you to look up at him. 

“Thank you, Y/N,” he says. 

You’re blushing hard again. “You’re welcome. Arthur.” 

Just as he’s about to lean over to try and place a kiss to your lips, Grimshaw’s shrill voice carries across camp. 

“Where the hell is Y/N?! That damn girl, always disappearing! I swear when I find her…” 

“Shit,” you say and quickly yank your hands out of Arthur’s grasp and then darting outside to subdue Grimshaw. 

Arthur chuckles, his heart much lighter than it was before. He looks down at his journal, finding your poor rendition of a wolf. Little do you know that it brings him great comfort and always will. In the future, when things go bad, he opens to this page just to look at it, to remember the things you said. It’s a moment he’ll never be able to forget. 

[oceanera12]

The Medic

Finn remembers the first time he met the man. It was a little more than a few weeks after escaping Crait. The Resistance was in tatters which meant recruitment was a huge priority. Finn had been sent to Maz’s (or what was left of it) along with Poe and Chewy to try and set up a secure meeting for sympathizers.

The man hadn’t looked like much. His hair was long, draping past his shoulders, his clothes torn and ragged. A few pieces of white and blue armor were on his arms and he carried a blaster (and looked like he knew how to use it). Maz had been talking to him when Finn and friends entered the room. The man appeared almost angry at her, downing his drink before asking for another. Maz had obliged, but was clearly not happy about it. Her attention was drawn away by Chewbacca, leaving the man to his drink.

Poe followed the two of them into the back and Finn had been planning to join them but... Something inside him tugged him away from backroom, to the bar, and to the man.

He doesn’t remember most of the interaction, if you could even call it that. Finn had introduced himself to which the man had grunted and downed another drink and ordered another. Finn tried talking about the weather, rumors about the Resistance and the First Order, the weapon the man carried (”Looks like an older model, ever thought of an upgrade?), but all he received were grunts. Most people would have left it alone and Finn did try to leave several times, but his gut told him to stay, keep trying, this is important.

Poe signaled Finn finally, telling him the meeting was scheduled and he was headed back to the ship (and Finn should too or he’d leave him behind). Finn hesitated but got to his feet and turned to leave.

The words came unbidden and he had no idea why he even said them. They were blurted out, clear as day. “FN-2187.”

The man at the bar choked on his drink, spitting and coughing for almost a minute. Finn didn’t move, something telling him to stay put. The man looked at Finn (for the first time) eyes wide and as clear as they could be with that much alcohol in your stomach. “What?” the question was sharp, confused, and Finn thought maybe a little fearful.

“FN-2187,” Finn repeated. “That’s the name the First Order gave me.”

The man’s eyes turned angry. “I see.” He turned back to his drink and downed another. Finn sensed he was done here at the moment and left without another word.

*************************************

The meeting took place a week or so later. Poe was the main spokesman with Finn acting as a witness of sorts. He had seen first hand what the First Order did and what it would do. He explained his story and how his friends had helped him leave it behind. Poe returned to the stand, reminding everyone about General Organa’s days in the Rebellion and called anyone able to join the fight.

It had gone surprising well, with two dozen recruitment’s and a few hundred credits in funding. Finn had been thanking one particular generous donor when he saw him.

To be honest, Finn didn’t recognize him at first. His hair had been shaved completely off revealing a head covered in tattoos (One read, “The only good droid is a dead one,” which was weird to have but okay). His armor was cleaner and there was now a chest piece and utility belt that Finn hadn’t seen because of the poncho (which was now gone). The man marched up to Finn (and Poe, but Finn was pretty sure the man was there for him) and stood at a very stiff attention. A stance Finn was all to familiar with.

“I’d like to help,” the man said and only then did Finn recognize the voice and who it belonged to. 

Finn reached out a hand and the man took it. “Glad to have you...?”

“Kix,” the man gave a sad smile, as if remembering something. “Kix.. Fivofist.”

Poe took it from there, asking about the man’s experience and his skills. Apparently, Kix was a field medic and knew quite a bit of combat (he never mentioned names of battles, just described facing a lot of enemies with not a lot of friends). Both Poe and Finn came to the same conclusion about the same time:

Kix was a deserter.

***************************************

Finn never asked about Kix’s time with the First Order. The medic had a lot of other things going on. 

For one, he was unfamiliar with a lot of the medical equipment, or at least the big machines and what they did exactly. The first time he saw the bacta suit, he had examined it for two hours, mumbling something about how it would have been handy. He also wasn’t up to date on several procedures, using several older methods and personal experience. Sometimes that was better than the “new” way. Other times, it wasted valuable equipment and didn’t make the situation “worse” necessarily, but didn’t make it better either.

Medical had mixed feelings about him. On one hand, he was the only one who could keep Rey in the med bay. Heck, he was the only one who could treat Rey, somehow giving her shots, stitching up a few wounds and even treating some old ones (”I’m sorry? you broke your leg at the age of ten and never had it set?)

On the other hand, Kix was very aloof from most of the Resistance. He spoke very little, only commenting on patients and some medical know-how. He never spoke of his past, never asked about anyone else’s, and politely refused to any kind of therapy that Finn suggested (it had helped him). His relations were strictly professional.

The only person he would “hang” around was Finn. And even then, there was little talking from him. Finn would talk about his missions, Rey, Poe, Chewy, a few stories from the First Order, even some tales about his squad. Kix would only listen, smiling and laughing when appropriate but mostly somber. Finn never asked Kix questions. He was fine with it and happy to have a friend that wasn’t quite so eager to run head on into battle (*cough cough* Rey and Poe *cough cough*).

********************************

When the transmissions started coming, everyone panicked. The Emperor? Alive? The Resistance scrambled around trying to find the source, get troops ready, looking for weaknesses. They thought they’d have more time to build their ranks up and prepare. They were wrong.

Finn found himself whisked from mission to mission, chasing every lead he could find. It was several weeks later he was given a chance to breathe and return to base. His first stop was the medical bay to see Kix.

Which was why he was confused when he didn’t find his friend. According to the rest of the doctors, Kix had locked himself in is room and hadn’t come out for several days. Most agreed he was having some kind of mental breakdown or maybe he had been working to hard. They took him food, which had been mostly untouched and a few had tried to talk to him but had gotten nowhere.

Finn found Kix lying on his bed, curled up in a ball, unmoving. He swallowed down the panic that rose up and moved to sit on the cot. “Hey, Kix. Sorry I haven’t been around.”

No answer.

Finn hesitantly told the man about his missions, the stupid arguments he and Poe had gotten into, a few close calls, etc, etc. Kix didn’t move the entire time, his breathing heavy and slow. Finn’s throat was dry from talking after an hour or so, leading to a long space of silence. Finally, Finn let out a long sigh and gently asked, “Hey, are you okay?”

Silence for a moment. “He should be dead,” Kix’s voice was full of venom, spat out in between a growl and a roar. “Why isn’t he dead?!”

Finn swallowed, “I don’t know.” He didn’t need to ask who they were talking about. Those very questions had passed through most everyone in the galaxy mind’s over the past month. “I don’t think we may ever know, but we’ll get him.”

“Kriffing, sithspit--” Kix finally turned around to face Finn, his face streaked with dried tears, eyes angry and gritted teeth. “That kriffing laandur shabuir should be--” Finn was unable to follow the rest of Kix’s thoughts because of the sudden language switch into something he didn’t recognize, but he got the gist of it. The words were harsh, most likely wishing death or worse upon Palpatine. They were growled and spat out for several minutes before the words began to slow down and turn into something more sad and easier to follow. Eventually, it was just a few words repeated over and over again as Kix sobbed into his cot.

“Ni ceta, vode... ni ceta... Ni hutt’un... ni ceta, vode.”

Finn put a hand on Kix’s shoulder, unsure of what to do exactly but wanting to help. Kix placed a hand on top of Finn’s, squeezing it tight, his voice finally breaking. “Ni ceta, Jesse. Forgive me.” And then he just cried.

Finn doesn’t remember pulling the man up and into his arms but suddenly he was hugging the medic, who clung to Finn like his life depended on it. Kix cried and cried, allowing himself to finally break after weeks of the Force knew what was going through his head.

************************************

Finn remembers the last time he saw Kix. It was just before he left with Poe and Rey, off to find a way to the world of the Sith (there’s something he never thought he’d say).

The medic looked better. More determined. He was working at the time and Finn determined it would be best to let him stay that way. There’d be time to talk again.

But something in Finn’s gut screamed at him to stop, turn around, and go talk to Kix. So he did.

Kix was happy to see him, hugging him in greeting. Finn returned it, gave a quick run down on where he was going and wishing Kix luck. Kix nodded, told him to be careful and he’d see him soon.

Finn bid farewell and turned to leave--

“CT-6116.”

Finn froze in place for a moment. He turned back to the medic, who forced a smile, a tear sliding down his cheek. “I thought it was time you knew.”

Finn found himself unable to speak so he did the next best thing. He came to a stiff attention and saluted the man. Kix returned it, the smile returning for a moment.

*************************************

The Emperor was dead. The galaxy was safe. Finn returned to base to the sights and sounds of celebration. Friends embraced friends, families were reunited, and songs filled the air. After finding Poe and Rey, Finn excused himself, racing off the medic tent.

One of the doctors stood waiting for him. She didn’t say anything to him, simply handed Finn a holodisc and walked away. The disc was a list of casualties.

Kix Fivofist - KIA

**********************

((Whoops, my finger slipped. This was supposed to be about Kix and Finn talking about their pasts and it was supposed to be fluffy and fun. And then I realized: what would Kix think about Palpatine being alive? ... Oh well. I think I may write Kix’s POV at a later date, what do y’all think? And yes, his “last name” is 501st, so sue me.))

[perfeggso]

till the sun’s seeing through my eyes (yumark)

ace me out 

Yuta and Mark are next-door neighbors who grew up together, joined at the hip until Yuta went off to college. Due to their four-year age gap, Mark's freshman year at the same school marks the halfway point of an unprecedented amount of time apart. Yuta is sure he can handle it, until Mark's arrival home for spring break makes him wonder if the fondness he has for his friend might be blooming quite literally into something stronger. It's up to him to handle the consequences.

Chapter 1  |  Chapter 2  |  Masterlist 

Characters: Yuta x Mark + NCT ensemble, other SM (and non-SM (?)) idols tbd

Genres: heavy angst, fluff, Hanahaki!AU, small town!AU, slight Witchcraft/Magic!AU, College!AU

Warnings: blood and gore, mentions of death, disease, vomiting, college-typical alcohol use, swearing  

Rating: T

Length: 5.8k 

“Sunny,” Yuta reckoned, was the word most often used to describe both him and Mark – if in profoundly different ways.  Yuta’s favorite season was summer, so it followed that he should be like the summer sun: bright, intense, and all-consuming.  Mark, on the other hand, favored fall, and sometimes reminded Yuta of early autumn sunshine: soft in its glow, yet surprisingly bold.

It wasn’t summer when Yuta started feeling shortness of breath for the first time; it wasn’t fall, either.  It was in early March, during the part of spring where no one can agree if the world still feels like winter or if it’s beginning to thaw.  The thaw was usually something Yuta savored; the slow sensation of sunshine gingerly gracing his skin for the first time in months.  Sure, the winter sun was a welcome reprieve from the town’s usual snow and rain-induced gloom, but even when it came out, Yuta had a hard time feeling it.  It was the difference between being touched by bare hands and being touched through gloves.  Early March was when that transition usually occurred, along with the first appearances of crocuses and daffodils in Yuta’s garden, and he had always relished it; relished the lead-up to his favorite season and how that seemed to elongate it.  Since last year though, Yuta wasn’t sure what he thought about spring anymore – if he could still trust it.  It was almost exactly a year ago after all – last March – that Yukhei had nearly let himself die of hanahaki.

No, the first time Yuta felt an unusual shortness of breath was after soccer practice on March 6th, the day Mark Lee came home for spring break.  The sun was peeking through the clouds and glittering off the distant coast as Yuta kicked the ball around with Kun, who’d met up with him in the park off Main Street once Yuta’d finished running the local junior high soccer team through some drills.  Yuta had played intramurally while studying anthropology at the college a half hour away, as well as participating in several dance troops, and since he was only a year out of school, he still considered himself a relatively fit person, even if he was known to gorge on the Seo family’s matcha and azuki bean muffins until he could barely walk.  That’s why he found it so odd when he ran for the ball, which Kun had kicked particularly hard and far, and felt like the air was being yanked from his lungs like a chair being pulled from under him.

He kicked it back, his body flailing wildly, and collected himself, hands on his knees and upper body heaving, bent over.  Maybe he was developing asthma, he thought.  He’d heard of that happening to people nearly at random and with no history of the ailment.  He would have to make himself something for that.

“You okay?” called Kun, stopping the ball quickly and jogging over to his friend.

“Yeah I’m good,” Yuta responded, peering up at Kun sideways and flashing him his most blinding grin.  “I just felt a little weird for a sec.”

Yuta gazed past Kun, noticing a figure moving on the edge of the field.  Was that –

“Mark?” he yelled, heaving one more time before allowing himself to return to standing.  Kun wheeled around, looking elated, and sure enough, the figure raised both arms in greeting, breaking into a run.

“I’m baaaaack!” said Mark.  Yuta thought he looked older, even, than he had over his winter break, wearing jeans and a brown herringbone bomber jacket, black hair parting down the middle to fall over a pair of round wire glasses.  He looked like a city boy for some reason, not a conservation major from the countryside.  Yuta practically tackled Mark in a hug, trying to absorb his friend’s smaller frame as Kun looked on in amusement.  A grey cloud floated overhead, obscuring the tentative sun and making Yuta shiver.  When he pulled away, he indulged in a look of performative hurt, unzipping his pocket and pulling his phone out just to confirm what he already suspected; sure enough, there were no notifications.

“How dare you, Mark Lee!” he accused, pointing his finger in Mark’s face and leaning forward so Mark felt the need to lean back in response.  “How could you not tell me you were coming home today?”

Mark broke into a body-racking fit of giggles.  “I’m not allowed to give you a nice surprise?”

Yuta huffed in lieu of an answer and pointed at Kun.  “Was he involved?”

“Mark texted me earlier and asked if I could find you and detain you for him,” Kun confirmed, and Yuta glared.

“Whatever.  Markie, you caught me so unprepared!  I hope you know I won’t forgive you.”  But that was a lie.  Yuta had already forgiven Mark the ambush, if it required forgiving at all, and Mark knew this because the moment he’d schooled his laughing (which was no small feat) he sighed through a tight-lipped smile, eyes so big under his glasses and full of familiar warmth.

“It’s good to see you too, man,” Mark said, adding, “and Kun also.  Thanks for being my co-conspirator.”

Now that he’d processed, Yuta realized how giddy he was.  His best friend was back for a few weeks and they could do whatever they wanted; make spring sweet like it used to be.  He shuffled a bit on his feet as his enthusiasm boiled over, pushing thoughts of asthma out.  He slung an arm over Mark’s neck and started walking towards the rest of town while Kun went to fetch the ball like the responsible person he’d always been.

“Ugh, why can’t you just graduate already?” Yuta whined to Mark.  “I mean we’ve already gone through this once when I was gone! It hasn’t even been a year yet and I’m already sick of you being away!”

Mark chuckled.  “Thanks?” he said.  “But you can always come visit me, dude, like you already have…”

Yuta shook his head, petulant.  There were moments he thanked his lucky stars that his friends put up with his shit, and this was one of them.  “Not the same,” he explained.  “Don’t like sharing.”

Mark spluttered.

“Anyway!” Yuta diverted when Kun rejoined them, “Do you want to come over to mine this evening so we can catch up?  Kun, you’re invited too of course along with the others, who I can shoot a text too although it might be a LITTLE LAST MINUTE, you know?  That could have been avoided, but alas.”  Yuta cleared his throat as his friends laughed indulgently.  “But yeah, I’m in the barn these days, so we can have a little shindig.  What do you say?”    

“That sounds awesome!” said Mark.  “Just gotta check with my parents, but I don’t think that’ll be an issue.”

Yuta rolled his eyes and scoffed in mock disdain.  “Underclassmen…”

They emerged from the park onto Main Street and Kun excused himself to check on the coffeeshop, promising to be at Yuta’s whenever they decided the gathering would be.  Yuta turned to Mark.

“I have a couple errands I have to run in town before I go home, and then I need to get ready, so while I’m doing that you can go and make sure you have permission to be out after dark.”

Mark laughed, flustered.  That was one of the plethora of reasons he tended to laugh; the others ranging from fear to disgust to joy.  “Alright, Yuta,” he agreed.  “I’ll see you tonight.  Can’t wait to be back with the gang; well – minus Johnny, I guess.  Anyway, can I get another hug?”

Yuta grabbed Mark before the request had been fully uttered, rocking him back and forth and groaning in a way he thought only appropriate considering the tightness of his squeezing.

“Whatever you want, Markie,” Yuta teased before letting his friend go.  “See you tonight.”  And with that Mark was backing away down the street and towards their neighborhood, giving Yuta a dorky little salute when he’d gone far enough to warrant turning around.  Yuta shuddered as he watched Mark leave, the cool tinge of early spring evening setting in against his exposed arms.  It was already 4:30 and the previous sunshine was diffusing into a blue tint over everything in sight.  The shade reminded Yuta of the hour in summer when fireflies usually made their first appearances.  If only it were warmer.

On his way down Main, Yuta stopped into the herbalist’s before the shop closed, finding Kunhang manning it, himself home for break.  A little bell jingled as the door opened and shut and Kunhang lifted his head from where it had been settled lazily against the metal counter.

“Yuutaaa,” he called, “what do you need?”

“Hey Kunhang,” he greeted, “do you guys have any black seed?  I’m all out.”

Kunhang reached under his desk and rummaged around, emerging with an empty jar about the size of a single serving of yogurt.  “Sure thing,” he said, turning around and tracing his eyes and pointer finger over labels upon labels until he found the one for the product he was looking for.  “Here we go.  What’s it for?”

Yuta shrugged, fishing for his wallet.  “Just a little chest tightness.  Think I exercised too much today.  I’m an old man, you know.”

Kunhang turned back around, jar of black granules in hand, and placed it on a small metal scale.  “You’re the furthest thing from an old man I can think of, but alright.” He said, then named the price.  Yuta laughed at Kunhang’s comment and exchanged a few bills for his purchase, which Kunhang had packed for him in a lavender-colored paper bag folded over at the top.

“You close at five?” Yuta asked, loitering a few feet from the door. Kunhang nodded.  “Perfect.  You know Mark’s back?”

“I heard,” said Kunhang, settling his elbows back on the counter’s copper top.  “But I haven’t had time to see him yet.  I don’t think he knows I work here now.”

“Well, I’m trying to have a get-together tonight at my place to celebrate.  I’ll send out details soon I think.”

Kunhang looked pleasantly surprised.  “Oh! That’s awesome!” he said. “I’ll definitely be there.  Is it, like – what kind of get-together?”

Yuta chuckled and Kunhang’s expression hinted at embarrassment.  College kids…      

“It’ll be chill, but I’m cool with BYOB if you have something in mind.  I have a few herbal liqueurs I’ve been wanting a reason to break out, anyway.”

“Sweet,” said Kunhang.  “See you tonight, I guess.”

Yuta let himself out with a chiming of the bell.  “I hope so!”

Next stop was Taeyong’s flower shop.  Yuta steadied himself before crossing the street, breath hitching again strangely at his trachea.  He cleared his throat, trying to fight the mild jolt of terror it gave him not knowing what was wrong.  It was as if when he drew air into his lungs, a small fraction of it transformed into something else that he couldn’t breathe.  It was…strange; there was no other way of describing it.  He pitched forward a bit and forced himself to take a full breath to calm his nerves.  He’d been conditioned by his soccer coaches his whole life not to catch his breath in this position, but now that he was actually struggling, he found it was the only effective strategy.  Once he felt a bit better, he crossed the street and walked into the Lee family flower shop.

“Evening, good sir,” he said jovially upon entry.  Taeyong seemed to be in the process of tallying up the day’s total from the till.

“Yuta!” he said, looking from under his bangs. “What a surprise.  You need something or just stopping in to say hi?”

“Both,” Yuta answered, calm normalcy settling back into his brain as if he’d crushed it up and taken it in a little pill.  “I’m getting some flowers in Mark’s honor.  Have you seen him yet?”

“Yeah,” Taeyong said, setting down a handful of bills and rocking against the counter in front of him, “he stopped by earlier today.  Didn’t get to talk long though. He warned me not to text you anything about it.”  Taeyong smirked.  

Who else’d seen Mark before Yuta had?   He pushed his petulant thoughts aside.  “I’m having a little impromptu party in the loft tonight if you could be bothered.  Just to celebrate being reunited as a mostly group, you know – now that all the young’uns are back from break.”

Taeyong nodded.  “Sounds perfect.  Just tell me the details and I’ll be there.”

“Great.  In the meantime,” Yuta continued, “I’d like to acquire a bouquet to decorate; make it homier, I guess.  Also, I want it to be something Mark would like.”

Taeyong pursed his lips in thought and hummed.  “What about bluebell?” he asked.  “They just came into season and Mark likes blue.”

“Sounds good,” Yuta agreed as Taeyong cut a square of paper, scissors gliding with a satisfying crisp sound, folded it into a cone, and began arranging the bauble-like periwinkle blossoms inside it.

“Anything else you want in there?” asked Taeyong.  Yuta hadn’t come with a plan, so he found himself pondering his options uselessly.  That is, until a golden bundle of baby sunflowers caught his eye.

“Oh!” he said, pointing in their direction.  “Maybe a few of those; since I like them and because Mark brought the sunnier weather with him today.”

Taeyong smiled softly, plucking three of the blooms and situated them amongst the bluebell in the least awkward arrangement possible considering their vast difference in size.

Yuta nodded his approval.  “Looks good,” he remarked.  “By the way, where did you get them? It’s not really the season...”

“The sunflowers?” Taeyong asked, and Yuta nodded again.  Taeyong leaned over the counter and put a flattened hand on one side of his mouth like he had a particularly juicy secret.  Yuta leaned in too.  “I don’t know if you’ve heard but they have this very exciting new technology called a greenhouse.  It’s still part of a classified experiment, but you know, I figured I could trust you…”  Taeyong giggled at Yuta’s expense and at his own jest.

“Alright, whatever,” Yuta grumbled, reaching again for his wallet.  “stupid question.”

“What are you doing?” Taeyong shot at him.

“Paying you?” Yuta responded.

“No, you’re not.  Friend discount; on the house.”

“ Discount isn’t supposed to mean free,” Yuta protested.  

Taeyong gave a proud look as he forced the flowers on Yuta.  “I am the house, therefore I get to decide what to put on it.  That’s the final word.”

Yuta tried to argue again but lost due to Taeyong’s hard-headed generosity.

Taeyong gestured to Yuta’s bag of seeds as he was preparing to leave.  “That for Mark too?” he asked.

“No, this is for me,” replied Yuta.  “Just out of some herbs.  Also, the flowers aren’t only for Mark.  You’ll all get to enjoy them!”

Taeyong’s eyes rolled up into his head for a moment, contrasting the sweetness of his face.  “Okay, okay, fair enough.  I’ll see you later tonight, then.  I can’t wait!”

When Yuta was out the door, he transferred his baggie so it was pinned between his elbow and side, giving him a hand to manipulate his phone.  There was a text bubble on the screen from Mark confirming he could come over any time after 6:30.  Yuta grinned, sending off a quick message in their friend group chat requesting the pleasure of everyone’s presence at his home at 7:45.    

Yuta’s family lived in a craftsman farmhouse with a compact cluster of woods in the backyard and a garden out front.  The Nakamotos were not farmers, though, so the rest of the land which had once come with the house they sold in part and gave up in part to be used as communal land for the town.  This meant that Yuta grew up with a slew of gardeners, hikers, picnickers, and campers hanging around his home, and his friends credited this with his sociability.

The house’s old barn had been converted into storage space and a study for Yuta’s father, but once he’d graduated from college and returned home, the upper loft area was turned over to Yuta so he could enjoy more privacy from his parents and younger sister.  It was really nice of them to let him move in there while he decided what to do with himself.  He remembered transferring his belongings to the barn like he was moving into his dorm freshman year all over again.

Yuta and Mark hadn’t met in school, since they were four grades apart.  Instead, they met because they lived next door to each other; their families’ properties separated only by a short hawthorn hedge.  Once when they were in elementary and preschool respectively, they became convinced there were dinosaur bones entombed in the plant’s roots and went to work hacking at them with plastic toy shovels until they had unearthed a series of interestingly-shaped rocks, or as they had put it to their horrified parents, “triceratops horns.”  

Yuta still had those rocks on a silver saucer he kept on his dresser to display random natural objects he’d collected over the years, and the memory flashed through him at the sight of them when he walked into his room that day.  He placed his bouquet in a flouted cut crystal vase which he set in the sitting area on the far end of his loft, then ran a hot shower, figuring the steam would do some good for both his chilled nerves and constricted lungs.

When he exited the shower, he rummaged through his herb cabinet, pulling out some honey, turmeric, ginger, and ginseng.  He placed the herbs into his quartz mortar along with a small spoonful of the black seed he’d bought from Kunhang, then crushed it all up with his pestle.  He dumped the resulting paste into a mug, added some honey so that it all resembled liquified amber, and doused the mixture in hot water from his portable kettle.  Before drinking it, he thought up a short prayer that the infusion might permanently sooth whatever inflammation was bothering his airways.  He figured the strange discomfort wasn’t anything serious, but you could never be too careful.

Yuta sipped the pungent concoction and scrolled through his phone.  To his delight, most people were responding positively.  Everyone besides Chenle and Taeil (who happened to be home visiting) was available, and when Yuta offered to reschedule, both of them said they could just have another gathering later and it would be for the better – Yuta’s loft was going to be a tough fit for all of them as it was.  In a way it made him feel better that Johnny couldn’t be there.  That was the trouble with large friend groups: finding a time when everyone was free and motivated was as difficult as finding a spell Yuta’s mother hadn’t practiced.

Yuta hooked his phone up to his speaker and played some music while he got dressed, swapping his black bathrobe for jeans, a white t-shirt, and the letterman cardigan that’d been purchased ironically with the rest of his contemporary dance troupe in college, but quickly turned into one of his favorite items of clothing.  Yuta peeked at his clock.  An hour and a half and he’d be dancing around his room with his friends, pleasantly buzzed and listening to all the hijinks Mark had undoubtedly gotten himself into his freshman spring.

***

Yuta might have been a diviner, he thought stupidly, he had been that accurate in predicting how the night would go.  Of course, it wasn’t hard to anticipate an outcome he’d had a hand in orchestrating, but he excused his jumbled thoughts as they could be easily chalked up to the multiple Campari drinks he’d made himself over the course of the night – or, at least, that he’d convinced Doyoung to make for him.  He was in the sitting area of his room, dancing with Mark and trying not to disrupt any of his furniture in the cramped space.

“Mark Lee,” he said, setting his glass on the coffee table so he could gesture more freely, “you mean to tell me you haven’t been up to anything of note since winter break?”

“I’m telling you man, I haven’t,” replied Mark, bouncing his way into the side of Yuta’s couch and pulling a startled face in response.  A fit of tipsy giggles poured from Yuta, causing Mark to practically heave laughter.

“Okay, anyway,” continued Mark before anything else could throw him off.  “It’s been midterms and stuff, so I’ve been really busy.  That’s about all I can handle if I’m still gonna try to keep the radio slot Johnny left to me and I promised him I would!  Some people sleep, you know.”

Yuta scoffed.  “I sleep,” he said, reaching towards the table to take a swig of the herbal red liquid in his glass.  “Anyway, point taken.”

“You really saw me at my wildest point, Yuta,” Mark said, sipping from his cider, “I’ve calmed down since senior spring.  I was nervous about college and I let that get to me whenever I came to visit you. Now I’m adjusted; I’m a new man.”

Yuta did a little spin and found that it made him lightheaded.  He chose to ignore that observation.  “What have you done with the Markie I knew?” he joked, pouting.  “It’s alright, I guess I just bring out the devil in you and you’ve gone soft now that I’m not around as much.”

Mark spluttered.  “Yeah, dude, definitely.  It’s all that dark magic and shit – total bad influence.”

Yuta rolled his eyes, nearly sending a knee into his table since he couldn’t see his legs for a moment.  “Oh, shut up, that ‘dark magic’ stopped you from needing crutches after you turned your ankle playing drunk badminton of all things!  Imagine explaining that to your parents.  You should be thanking me.”

Mark took a performative bow, extending a leg and outstretching his arms as if he were a 17th century gentleman.

“Thank you, your majesty,” he said.  “Although I seem to remember thanking you, like, a lot at the time.”

Yuta placed a hand over his chest.  “That’s of little importance, Markie.  Don’t you know a despot always needs his ego stroked?”

Mark looked at Yuta blankly.  “A what?”

Yuta stopped dancing to stare in dramatic disappointment.  “You’re kidding, right?”

Before Mark could answer (and Yuta knew, of course, that Mark had been dead serious), they were interrupted by the ringing of metal tapping against glass.  Yuta turned around to find Donghyuck teetering on his bed, surrounded by Yuta’s other guests.  He had a glass of something in one hand and a copper candle holder in the other, clearing his throat.

“Is this a toast?” yelled Yukhei.

“No,” Donghyuck replied, “this is a complaint.  Yuta Nakamoto: I have a personal issue with you that needs redress.”

Yuta scoffed as all his friends snickered in his direction.  “Alright, Hyuck, do tell.”

“I couldn't help noticing that Yukhei got back a week ago and you never threw him a party.  Same goes for Kunhang!" The supposedly offended parties just stood below Donghyuck, apparently surprised by their friend's little interruption. Jaemin and Jeno stood next to them, grinning with their arms tangled around each other by the edge of the bed.  Yuta could never see the two of them together without a near violent glee overcoming him at the thought that everything had worked out.  “And! And, you can't even be bothered to tune into a single one of my Twitch streams! What's up with that? You’re obviously playing favorites!”

“Hey,” Yuta began in his defense, “I’m your friend, not your teacher.  I’m allowed to have favorites.  Get your own best friend.”

“Oh, so he admits it!”

“He’s just jealous you’ve been hogging Mark all night, Yuta,” Doyoung interjected, and everyone laughed save Donghyuck, who wheeled around to glare at the source of the interruption.  He cleared his throat.

“Anyway,” Donghyuck continued, “In all seriousness, the reason everyone here agreed to attend this highly disrespectful event is because we love you, Mark, and we’re so happy you’re home.  If your being away has taught me anything, it’s that I actually do miss your dumb face and accidentally genius sense of humor, but it’s also made me appreciate those things even more when we’re together.  Don’t let Yuta keep you all to himself for the next two weeks because then I might have to challenge him to a duel, and we all know that wouldn’t end well for him.”  Everyone tittered at that except Yuta, who just crossed his arms and tried to look dispassionate.

“Well, I should be concluding, but I think if anyone else has some thoughts for Mark – or for any of the college kids for that matter since they didn't get their own parties – you should express them now.”

The group gave Donghyuck a round of applause and he took a bow, wobbling dangerously as he jumped back to the cedar wood floor.

Next it was Taeyong’s turn.  He stood where he was by Doyoung’s side rather than climb on the bed, clutching a cup in both hands and teasing Mark good-naturedly until he was a mortified mess against Yuta’s shoulder.

Kun went next, joking that he’d hired Jisung as his temporary delivery boy, so if Mark wanted to make any money over break, he’d need to scramble and get his shit together.  He concluded by telling him not to let Yukhei talk him into too many keg-stands when they’re visiting each other.  Mark shook his head like a madman, waving his hands wildly in front of him as if trying to dispossess his parents of a bad impression.

Jaehyun did get up on the bed, declaring that Mark is only in college once and should be allowed to make as many bad decisions as he wants, Kun .  Yuta found himself wondering unwelcomely exactly what kind of Bad Decisions Mark was making without him around.  As Jaehyun moved on to reminiscing about childhood days of cow-tipping, Yuta was suddenly seized by another bout of breathlessness.  It hit him like the slap of cold water in a polar plunge and made him feel as though every bit of tissue in his body was encased in plaster.  He tried to breath through it, but it only got more uncomfortable the harder he focused on the mechanics of his breathing.  Sicheng had draped himself on his side over the bed, preparing to speak no doubt, but Yuta realized guiltily he would need to miss it.  The coughing was starting in earnest.

Mark noticed.  He leaned in towards Yuta, eyes wide in genuine concern.

“You okay, man?”

Yuta nodded, covering his mouth with his fist and holding up one finger to indicate he’d return in a moment.  Then, he took off to the bathroom, the eyes of the group following him in discrete curiosity until Mark assured them all he thought Yuta was fine.

They probably just think I drank too much , he reasoned as he heaved over the sink.  He felt like he had something stuck in his chest that needed to be hacked up, but nothing arrived no matter how much he coughed.  After a few minutes of this, he stuck his head under the faucet and drank down as much water as he could manage, feeling whatever was stuck inside him being doused back down.  His breathing shallowed, but at least he didn’t have a violent need to cough anymore.  Suddenly, a terrifying thought hit him: if this was asthma, the potion he’d made earlier coupled with the prayer should have taken care of it.  What was it, then?  

He looked in the mirror as he heard Sicheng finishing up, the sound of his words filtering in through the bathroom door but not actually registering in Yuta’s brain as coherent ideas.  He thought he looked fine; his skin didn’t have a sickly pallor and his gold-dyed hair didn’t look greasy or sparse.  His eyes were a bit glassy, but Yuta attributed that to all the coughing and gagging he’d just put himself through.  He grabbed a lavender potion his mom had made him from his medicine cabinet and pressed it into the pressure points on his head and neck, trying to breath deeply as he did so.  He would ask her about it in the morning and surely, she’d know what to do.

When Yuta emerged, everyone was still milling around the bed, the quiet chatter that always signals the waning moments of a party setting in.  Mark abruptly cut off his conversation with Donghyuck and bounded over to meet Yuta on his way to the group.

“Do you feel alright?” he asked, hushed, “we were about to send someone to check on you. Need me to do anything to help?  You can direct me and I’ll make you a potion or something.  It might not be as good as one of yours but if you’re too tired –”                

Yuta forced a laugh, cutting off Mark’s cutely concerned ramble.  “No, I’m fine, thanks though.  I just felt a little nauseous for a minute there, but I’m good now.”

Mark nodded like a bobble head.  “Oh, uh, okay.  Cool.  That’s actually probably good, you know.  Now, you won’t get a hangover.”

“Yeah,” Yuta agreed, a pit forming in his stomach as he looked into Mark’s dark brown eyes.  “Probably good.”

***

Yuta awoke about two hours later in his maroon upholstered armchair, one foot extended on his coffee table right next to the bluebell and sunflower bouquet he’d picked up what seemed like days ago by now.  Most of the party had gone home, but Jaehyun and Kunhang were snoozing on the bed, Jeno and Jaemin shared whispers in the corner, and Mark lay across the sofa facing Yuta.  Yuta stood, ready to cattle-prod people out of his room if he had to.  He woke Jaehyun and Kunhang and extracted everyone from his room with as much decorum as he could muster, and once he’d made his way back to Mark, the boy had woken up from all the hushed thank-you’s and goodbyes.  His glasses were askew, and he looked around the room the way people do when they wake up somewhere they don’t remember having fallen asleep.

“Oh, hey,” he said, voice scratchy.  “Am I the last one?”

“Yeah,” Yuta confirmed, perching on the couch’s armrest, “but don’t worry about it.  I saved you for last since you’re easiest to get home.  Let me walk you?”

Mark giggled.  “You don’t have to, it’s not like I could get lost.”

“I insist,” Yuta said, smiling firmly.

They walked, exhausted, from Yuta’s lawn to Mark’s, Yuta’s flip-flop-clad feet dampened by early morning dew cold enough to make him shiver.

“Did you have fun?” he asked, as they came to pause by the hedge between their families’ properties.

“I really did,” said Mark.  “Thanks for getting everyone together on such short notice.  I’m lucky to have a guy like you for a friend.”  Mark smiled.  Sunny , Yuta thought, like real warmth was hitting him.

“Same for me about you,” Yuta reciprocated, cringing silently at his awkward phrasing. Mark didn’t seem to notice.

“By the way,” Mark added, “I forgot to say anything, but I really like the blond hair.”

“Why thank you,” Yuta said, fidgeting side to side. “This color makes me think of summer.  A lot of personal changes can happen in three months, you know.  I’m still convinced I’ll get something interesting out of you, yet.”  Mark guffawed as he took a step into his yard.  “I mean, come on, Markie,” Yuta pressed, “not even a significant other or anything?  You used to be a hot item.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, dude,” Mark said, “and if you insist on prying into that, you’re only gonna be disappointed at the lack of anything to report.”

Yuta felt the air flow freely into his lungs for the first time in hours.  He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed his best friend – or rather he hadn’t allowed himself to realize; probably because the realization hurt.  Yuta’s four years away had been a struggle, but eight was seeming like borderline cruelty.

“Fine,” Yuta offered, “I’ll not pry, then.  Let’s do something tomorrow, hm?  I have work but we can meet up after.”

“Sounds good.”

“Goodnight.”

“’Night.  Thanks again, Yuta.”  Mark started the rest of the way towards his house as Yuta waved him off.

“It was nothing.”

Yuta tidied up a bit and got ready for bed, checking his almost dead phone before turning the light off.  3:42 in the morning, oh dear .  Below the time was a short message from Mark.  “ Btw I liked the flowers in ur room.  Might get some tomorrow from ty .”

Yuta stifled a cough.

***

Yuta woke up the next morning gasping.  He was sure the only reason his body had jolted him to sitting was because he’d stopped breathing in his sleep and it was a last-ditch effort to save him.  Once he’d gathered himself and gotten mostly ready for the day, he sat at his table to do a quick tarot reading.  He shuffled his art deco set against the coffee table surface, then brought them back into a deck, settling for a one-card reading since his tired and confused mind begged him for simplicity.  He took the top card in the deck and flipped it over.  It was the ace of cups, reversed, the image showing an orange goblet ringed by water lilies around its base and crowned by rays of sunlight shining off the rim.  All of it, upside-down.

Self-love, intuition, repressed emotions … Yuta rattled off the card’s associations in a slow attempt not to be concerned by its imagery.  Self-love, intuition, repressed emotions… “repressed emotions” kept jumping out at him when he landed upon it.  Something about that made him uneasy.  Was he repressed? He took the deepest breath he could muster and slotted the cards back in their case, figuring this hunch would grow clearer the longer he lived with it.  He had to be at work soon, but wanted to ask his mom for advice about the breathing situation before he headed out, so he grabbed his soccer bag and rushed down the stairs.  The skylight above them revealed nothing but a grey sky.          

[eddieeatsass]

The Truth Is That I Think I've Had Enough

Summary: For the first time since Stan developed feelings for his best friend, Richie was finally single on Valentine’s Day, and Stan was fully planning on taking advantage of it. He invited Richie on a camping trip, just wanting one night where he could pretend, but Richie had different plans. Pairing: Stozier Rating: E Warnings: Eventual smut, explicit language

Read on AO3

When it came to the list of things Richie wanted to be doing on Valentine’s Day, Stan knew camping was not high up on the register. Richie was a city boy through and through, but he was also a loyal friend, so when Stan suggested they go camping for the weekend, Richie had gone along with it.

They were both single, after all, and it’s not like they didn’t hang out every other day of the year… so why should Valentine’s Day be any different?

Well, as far as Richie was concerned, it wasn’t. But Stan may have been indulging in his yearning just a little bit. For the first time since Stan developed feelings for his best friend, Richie was finally single on Valentine’s Day, and Stan was going to take advantage of it. So sue him if he wanted to pretend for one night that things were different.

But the truth still stood that Richie knew nothing of Stan’s pining, and nothing about camping, which made the trip a little tricky. They’d gone camping a few times when they’d been kids, tagging along with Stan’s parents who had done most of the handy work. All Richie and Stan had worried about was how toasted to make their marshmallows in pursuit of the perfect smore.

But now Richie was standing before him, gazing between the crumpled tent on the ground, and Stan’s awaiting expression, clear confusion boggling his mind.

“You gonna help or am I doing this all on my own?” Stan asked with light laughter.

“Uhhhhhhhhhh…” Richie drawled, unsure of how to proceed. “I mean yeah, of course, I just don’t quite... know... how.”

Richie picked up one of the objects sitting atop the tarp-like material. He jumped back when what started as a small bundle of sticks suddenly snapped out into a series of rods.

“Careful Rich! I didn’t plan on losing an eye today. We don’t have the medical equipment for that.” Stan warned, making sure to keep an ease to his tone so Richie knew he was teasing.

Richie nodded earnestly, taking more precaution as he began to snap the sticks into one long rod.

Stan knew what he was doing well enough to not need instructions, but Richie’s every move was a gamble between helping, or causing the whole tent to deflate. Stan finally took pity on him and assigned Richie the easy task of getting their blow up mattress out of the car, figuring it would be easier to finish the tent without Richie’s helping hands.

Their tent was generously sized, large enough for a twin person air mattress, and then a little extra room for their cooler and bags. Stan assured Richie that there were no bears in the area, so it was safe to sleep with their food alongside them, but Richie was still hesitant. He soothed himself by insisting that Stan sleep on the side closest to the cooler. If a bear attacked, it would be Stanley’s job to keep Richie safe. Stan’s heart fluttered a bit at the trust Richie instilled in him, no matter how hypothetical, or how unlikely he’d be to actually win a fight against a bear. Stan chose to keep both of those hypotheticals to himself and let Richie think him brave.

When Richie trekked back from the car, heavy box in one hand and air pump in the other, Stan was all done setting up the tent.

“God, why is this so heavy!?” Richie complained, plunking the box with the air mattress at their feet.

“It’s the price we pay for comfort.” Stan said, amused.

“At least we don’t have to blow this thing up with our mouths.” Richie conceded, giving the box a swift kick in retaliation for making his arms hurt.

“Psh, you don’t have enough air in your lungs.” Stan teased, taking the pump from Richie’s outstretched hand.

“But I have the blowjob lips to make up for it. One wrap of these puppies around that nozzle and it would blow itself up.” Richie made obnoxious kissing noises, too distracted by his obscenity to notice the way Stan’s cheeks heated up. His pulse pounded in his ears as thoughts of Richie’s lips wrapped around something else crept into his mind.

“Richie, I hate to be the one to break this to you, but blowjobs don’t involve any actual blowing.”

“And how would you know that, Stanley?”

“I’m a virgin, not an idiot.” Stan deadpanned.

Truth be told, Stan wasn’t as much of a virgin as his friends thought he was. He hadn’t done much, but because of his religion and strict parents, they’d all assumed Stanley hadn’t even kissed anyone yet. Low and behold it was at Jewish summer camp that he had experienced his first kiss, and his second, and so on. He’d even gotten to second base on the very last day of camp with good ol’ Patricia Blum.

But Stanley was a private man, and as respect for Patty, he hadn’t gone around spreading word of their affairs, even though he was secretly dying to tell Richie and see how far his jaw dropped when he found out Stan had gotten more action than he had. Trashmouth never shut up about sex, but they all knew he’d never had any. Stan wondered if Richie would ask Stan for tips, or ask him to demonstrate how he’d groped Patty down by the lake that day. He could show Richie a thing or two, teach him how to be soft and gentle with his fingers.

“Looks like the sun is already starting to go down.” Richie noted, peering off towards the cliff that overlooked the valley. They’d gotten prime real estate thanks to Stan’s knowledge of the woods. He knew exactly where to go where they wouldn’t be disturbed by other campers.

“We should start a fire.” Stan decided. He’d had enough training in the boy scouts to know it was always better to start your fire before the sun went down. It saved you a lot of annoyance, frozen fingertips, and a much harder time finding resources by flashlight.

“Rich, can you gather some twigs for me? About this big,” Stan picked one up that was by his foot. “and make sure they’re dry.” He handed the stick to Richie, who immediately brought it to his forehead in a fake salute.

“Aye aye captain!” Richie stiffened his limbs, swiveling around and doing his best army march impression as he wandered off in search of sticks.

While Richie was away, Stan got to work on setting up a makeshift pit for the fire to be contained in. He gathered as many rocks as he could find nearby and set them up in a neat little circle. Once Stan was satisfied with his work, he moved on to blowing up the air mattress inside their tent.

As he connected the pump to the mattress and began the repetitive motion that would surely leave his arms aching, he let his mind wander.

In hindsight, there was probably a much subtler way Stan could have found to spend Valentine’s Day with Richie. He’s sure if he’d offered up their usual Chinese food and ‘The Princess Bride’ (Richie’s all time favorite movie no matter what he says to the contrary), Richie would have pounced on the idea. So why had Stan felt the need to make it into a whole thing?

Well, he knew why, but he didn’t want to admit it. The knowledge was coated in shame and guilt, but it was still buzzing in the back of his head like a bug he couldn’t squish. Stan wanted this to be a date. Maybe he even liked pretending it was. He knew that wasn’t fair, but he didn’t have much control over it. If they’d done the same thing they always did, it wouldn’t have felt special.

Once the air mattress was completely inflated, and the pump tucked back into its box, Stan let himself fall forward on to the air filled PVC with an auditory oof.

Face down in the uncomfortable fabric, Stan felt like it was where he deserved to be. Lovesick, lying, dirty little-

“Yo, Stanny, I got your sticks!”

Stan steeled himself, tucking away his intrusive thoughts in favor of less intimate ones.

When Stan exited the tent, he wasn’t expecting to come face to face with a mountain of sticks. Standing before him, Richie was covered in dirt, twigs sticking out from his bush of hair, and arms full of branches towering high enough to shield half his face.

“Get in a fight with a tree?” Stan teased, hurrying forward so he could take half the stack from Richie’s shaking arms.

“Yeah, the tree won.” Richie answered with a matching tone, causing Stan’s heart to flutter traitorously.

“We didn’t need this many, you know.”

“I know, but I figured better safe than sorry, right? What if we suddenly need to build two fires? Or three? Or maybe even a fourth? What if we get stuck out here forever and need to provide heat to the village we create to survive. Our children deserve fires too, don’t they Stan? Don’t they?”

“We’re having children?” Stan questioned, beginning to place the sticks in the small fire pit he’d made.

“Yes.” Richie answered definitively as he plopped down beside Stan.

“I’m not sure that’s anatomically possible, but sure, I’ll play along.” Stan delighted.

“Okay, so we’re gonna have two kids. Twins.”

“Of course.” Stan nodded seriously, entertaining Richie’s wild imagination.

“One girl and one boy, or, you know, whatever gender they wanna be. We ain’t gonna be those kind of parents.”

That roused a laugh from Stan, knowing too well how strongly Richie’s opinions on parenting styles were. Richie had thought long and hard on what kind of parent he wanted to be in the future. You wouldn’t think Richie Tozier was a sap when it came to children, but tiny tots had him wrapped around their fingers. Richie had been dreaming about starting a family since they were kids, and Stan was no stranger to being ‘the wife’ in the equation. Richie had organized many imaginary weddings for them when they were young. They’d been married seven times in total, and had played house more times than Stan could count. It was almost enough to fuel Stan’s late night thoughts that Richie might actually reciprocate his feelings.

“We’ll name them Pizza and Macaroni.” Richie declared.

“Why in hell’s name would we do that?” Stan scoffed, grabbing the box of matches from his pocket. He ignited one and flicked it into the center of the pit.

“We’re creating a new society, Stan. There are no rules, no norms. Pizza and Macaroni could be the new standard for names. Imagine.”

“I don’t want to.”

Richie wrapped an arm around Stan’s shoulder and pulled him in close, leaving little room between their faces for Stan to breathe.

“Imagine.” Richie repeated with extra vigor.

“Fine.” Stan closed his eyes and paused for a moment. “I’m imagining it.”

“And? It’s beautiful, right?” Richie asked excitedly.

“Oh, oh god, Macaroni just stabbed Pizza with a fork. He’s bleeding everywhere! There’s no paramedics around, the town consists of just us and we never got any medical training. I’m holding our son, Richie. I’m holding him in my arms, oh god, his blood tastes like tomato sauce Richie-”

“Shut the fuck up!” Richie laughed, wrestling Stan to the ground and pinning him in place. “Take it back! Do not eat our son, Staniel!”

“But he tastes so good.” Stan giggled, his eyes still squeezed shut.

“Spit him out! Spit him out or we’re getting a divorce!”

Stan finally peeked one eye open, seeing Richie’s bright smile hovering over him and dark curls falling into his eyes.

“You’ll have to divorce me seven times then.” Stan challenged with a quirk to his eyebrow.

“Huh?” Richie’s face contorted as he tried to pinpoint Stan’s line of thought.

A piece of Stan’s heart detached from itself and fell into the pit of his stomach. Of course he didn’t remember, why would he?

“Nothing, never mind.” Stan laughed shallowly, shrugging Richie off and rolling back on to his feet. He stopped to check that the fire was successfully catching and was moderately pleased with the small flames he saw licking at the sticks. It should continue to grow if they left it.

“Are you hungry?” Stan asked over his shoulder, using it as an excuse to detach himself from what had just happened.

“Uh, yeah, I could go for some food.” Richie answered, mild confusion still evident in his voice.

“Cool, I brought hot dogs and beans-”

“I think I want smores.” Richie’s voice suddenly rang from beside Stan, causing him to jolt. Richie just laughed at the reaction, cutting in front of Stan and jogging towards their tent.

“You can’t have smores for dinner, Richie.” Stan chastised.

“You’re not my mom!”

Stan once again found himself fighting back a smile as Richie’s figure disappeared into the tent.

An hour later Stan found himself sitting on a log they’d rolled over from a nearby fallen tree. He was holding a stick over the fire, a marshmallow precariously hanging from the end of it. The sky had darkened to a navy blue, pin pricked with stars and constellations they had yet to discover.

Stan moved the marshmallow a little farther above the flames, keeping it from getting charred like Richie’s own marshmallow, which was engulfed in flames.

“I can hear you judging me.” Richie quipped, keeping his eyes on his marshmallow as he brought the flaming gelatin towards himself and began erratically blowing it out.

Stan kept his laughter locked behind his lips.

“It’s just… so unnecessary.” Stan responded.

“It’s not unnecessary! It’s fully necessary! This is the only way to get the perfect marshmallow!” Richie defended.

Stan looked over at the gooey black orb Richie was shoving between two graham crackers. He made a fake gagging noise while sticking out his tongue, finally letting his laughter free when Richie punched him playfully in the arm.

“The perfect marshmallow will never include scorch marks.”

“Boo, you’re no fun.” Richie took a stubborn bite of his smore, reaching out with his free hand and tapping Stan’s stick.

Stan watched in horror as his flawlessly roasted marshmallow disappeared into the flames of the fire, immediately disintegrating into nothing but sticky residue.

“Saboteur!” Stan yelled, pointing an accusing finger at Richie’s chocolate covered face.

“Moi!?” Richie gasped, throwing a hand to his chest dramatically. “I would never! But, I am not a heartless man. Please, as condolences for your loss, will you accept the other half of my smore, monsieur?”

Stan wanted to cringe at the terrible french accent Richie adorned, but his cuteness won over and Stan was just left smiling.

“I suppose I’ll eat your ash-cookie.”

“I’d rather you eat my ass, cookie.” Richie shot back without pause, winking slyly as he scooted closer to Stan on the log.

The air around Stan began thickening, heating him up from the inside out and causing his brain to melt just slightly. He watched in slow motion as Richie’s fingers brought the half eaten smore up to Stan’s lips. It should have been gross; Richie’s face and fingers had remnants of chocolate on them, the smore was falling apart and showcasing the awfully burnt marshmallow, and Stan had a strict ‘no-sharing-food’ policy because he didn’t like sharing germs. But regardless of all of those reasons to pull away, Stan found himself leaning in closer.

As soon as Richie’s fingers brushed Stan’s lips it was like something inside him took over. Stan raised his hands to hold Richie’s wrist, and then cocking his head so he had a better angle, he raked his tongue over Richie’s fingers as he gathered all the chocolate he could. It was a lewd gesture, one Stan would never imagine doing any other time, but something about the flickering campfire and the stillness of the wind made him feel like he wasn’t in this world anymore. He was in a world where he could make Richie want him.

“Uhm…” Richie’s shaky breath brought Stan hurtling back to reality fast enough to leave him dizzy.

Stan quickly let go of Richie’s arm, pulling away both physically and emotionally as he chewed his smore with vigor.

“You’re right.” Stan said through a mouthful of goo. “It’s not as bad as I thought it’d be.”

Richie just stared in awe as Stan tried to swallow past the sticky chocolate and marshmallow that stuck to his teeth in defiance.

Once the residue of his humiliation was all swallowed down, Stan stood abruptly, stretching his arms high above his head and producing a fake yawn.

“Jeez, I’m tired already.” Stan lied, hoping Richie would go along with it.

“Makes sense, we did have a long day of travelling.” Richie answered towards Stan’s turned back.

Stan let out a sigh of relief he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding. As he let his arms drop, so did his shoulders, and some of his tension along with it.

“I’m gonna go change into my pajamas.” Stan stated, leaving hurriedly before Richie could respond.

Once in the tent, and hidden behind its nylon walls, Stan was finally able to process what he’d just done. As he slowly changed into his pajamas he went over the course of events in his head, wincing as he recalled the way he’d indulged so passionately in such a platonic touch. It had felt so good in the moment, convincing himself he saw lust in Richie’s eyes, but the remorse he felt now settled over him like a blanket. He didn’t want to ruin his friendship with Richie, he couldn’t, he had to keep himself together.

Stan was startled out of his stupor as the zipper of the tent began to open. Stan quickly pulled his sleep shirt the rest of the way down, hiding away his body and his thoughts alike.

“You decent?” Richie asked teasingly before opening the zipper any wider.

“Yeah.” Stan responded, warmth already licking back up his chest.

Richie opened the tent the rest of the way and as he climbed in Stan could see that he’d put out the fire. He felt a weird swell of pride that Richie had remembered at least some of the camping basics Stan had taught him.

He’d averted his eyes as Richie changed, had curled in on himself as Richie leaned over him to reach their stuff, but now he was laying next to Richie’s warm body with no way to escape. Their proximity seared into him like a burn that he was far too aware of.

“You know, this was way more fun than my usual Valentine’s Day.” Richie offered into the silence, gazing up through the skylight that allowed them to see the stars.

Stan’s heart threatened to break out of his chest.

“The past few years I’ve usually spent it with some equally lonely one-night-stand. The sex was never good enough to make the next day worth it.” Richie admitted.

“Why not?” Stan piped in.

Richie thought for a moment, allowing the silence to lull them a little bit deeper into the comfort of night.

“I’d wake up feeling disappointed because the person next to me was never who I wanted it to be.”

Stan’s ears perked up. He angled his body towards Richie, cushioning his head in the crook of his bent elbow as he contemplated his friend’s profile. This was the first time Richie had ever alluded to having a crush.

“Who did you want it to be?” Stan asked shakily.

Richie turned his head towards Stan, locking eyes with him and seeming to search for something.

“What about you?” Richie asked, flipping the question around without answering it.

“What do you mean?”

“Who would you choose to wake up to every day?”

The question leered above their heads, threatening to fall and crush the thin veil of tension that had formed between them.

Stan gulped audibly, wanting nothing more than to shy away from Richie’s gaze, but he held strong.

“It doesn’t matter, they don’t want the same thing I do.”

“How can you be sure?” Richie murmured challengingly.

Stan’s mouth gaped open and closed like a fish out of water as he tried to wade through the chaos in his head.

“All I know is I’m glad I’m waking up next to you tomorrow.” Richie said, turning his head back to the sky.

Blood pounded in Stan’s ears as he tried to decode Richie’s words. Was he saying what he thought he was saying? Or was Stan just reading into things, spurred on by his unrequited feelings and juvenile hope?

“I’m glad too.” Stan breathed out.

Richie didn’t miss a beat before answering.

“Glad enough to kiss me?”

Stan’s entire body froze, something inside him shattering as the butterflies finally escaped his stomach, filling up their tent until Stan couldn’t see anything but Richie.

Slowly, as if scared one wrong move would make Richie run, Stan propped himself up on his elbow, peering down at Richie’s expectant face. He kept his pace steady as he slowly dipped down and braved a single kiss.

It wasn’t much of anything, just a chaste peck, a quick dip into the pool to test the water. But that one kiss was enough to erase all of Stan’s trepidation, leaving him as bare and open and vulnerable as Richie was. And it felt liberating.

The next few minutes passed by in a flurry. Richie surged up to reclaim Stan’s lips, no longer just a peck but now a full-blown kiss that left Stan’s legs shaking. Richie flipped them over so he was hovering above Stan, using his leverage to kiss up Stan’s neck, the line of his jaw, and back to his lips. It was quick to turn feral, their teeth clanking against each other as desperation took over. Stan had never felt so terrified and turned on at the same time, his hand trembling as it fisted into Richie’s lush curls and pulled him closer.

Stan’s breathing was labored, his swallows dry as he tried to steady his quickening pulse. Richie was everywhere, blanketing all of Stan’s senses. The smell of Richie’s laundry detergent swirled around them, melding with the lingerings of their campfire. His tongue tasted sweet like the chocolate they’d eaten, and the sound of Stan’s own meek noises were swallowed up by Richie’s own deep growls. If all that wasn’t already over-stimulation enough, Richie’s was consistently rutting himself against Stan, causing his arousal to become less and less subtle with every passing moment.

Stan broke away with a heaving breath, peering up at Richie through hooded eyes.

“I’m a virgin.” Stan blurted.

Richie stared deeply into Stan’s eyes, churning his gut with intensity until what felt like several minutes had passed. When Richie finally spoke again, the sound nearly startled Stan.

“Me too.”

Stan smiled, thankful that Richie felt safe enough to be honest with him. He reached a hand up and gently cupped Richie’s cheek, who immediately leaned into the touch.

“We don’t have to, uh, do anything.” Richie stuttered out, his eyes gently closing as he relaxed into Stan’s hold.

“I know. But if you wanted to…” Stan trailed off, leaving the offer open-ended.

Richie’s eyes popped back open, searching Stan’s face for further explanation.

“I brought stuff… uh… just in case. I guess I was kinda hopeful about tonight.” Stan admitted, averting eye contact. “Can I make a confession?” Richie whispered, his voice going a bit rough at the end. “I was kind of hopeful myself…”

“What do you mean, exactly?” Stan asked.

“I sort of fantasized about the way tonight might play out. I’ve had some… personal experience with receiving, so I made sure to clean myself in case my wildest dreams suddenly came to fruition. But I can also top! Uhm, if that’s your preference.” Richie rushed in addition.

“Personal experience? I thought you were a virgin?” Stan’s tone held a lick of jealousy, which he tried to cover up by clearing his throat.

In response Richie held up his hand and wiggled his fingers, hoping that Stan got the message.

“Fuck that’s so hot.” Stan groaned, letting his head fall back against his pillow. He felt open mouth kisses being peppered down the column of his neck and keened embarrassingly loud.

“I’ll be honest, the thought of splitting you open on my cock does sound appealing.” Stan murmured.

Richie’s head shot up, his eyes wide like a deer in headlights. Stan thought he’d said something wrong until Richie was suddenly shucking his clothes as quickly as possible, dizzying Stan with his pace.

“Slow down! Rich- Richie- there’s not that much room in the tent!” Stan laughed, trying (and failing) to get Richie to sit still. When he finally stopped moving, Richie was stripped down to his underwear.

It’s not like Stan and Richie had never seen each other in their underwear before, but apparently context did a lot, and in this context Stan’s whole body was thrumming at the sight.

“Fuck, we’re really doing this, huh?” Stan whispered, trailing his gaze down Richie’s lean torso.

“Only if you want to.” Richie assured.

Stan wanted to. He wanted it more than anything. But words were failing him as he took in this brand new Richie, bathed in moonlight from the tent’s open skylight, eyes wide and vulnerable with lust.

So instead of talking, Stan took action. He locked eyes with Richie as he began stripping off his own clothes, doing so much slower than Richie had. It was purposeful, a confirmation that he was all in. Their gaze didn’t break until Stan was bared to the same degree as Richie, his navy blue boxer briefs a stark contrast to Richie’s hot pink flamingo print.

Stan was the one to surge forward when their tension peaked, knocking Richie on to his back and giving himself room to straddle him. Richie’s hands were slow burning coils against Stan’s skin, lighting him up everywhere they touched. Stan rolled his hips down experimentally, feeling Richie’s responding twitch between the thin fabric that separated them.

“Off.” Stan demanded, pawing at the waist of Richie’s offending boxers.

Richie complied, but did one better. In the same fail swoop, Richie hooked his thumbs under both of their waistbands and pulled them down in conjunction.

The action resulted in a collective moan as their oversensitive cocks finally broke free and rubbed against each other.

It didn’t take long for Richie's hands to slither back up their thighs and in between them, grabbing them both in one hand. Stan hissed at the contact, clenching his teeth in an attempt to hold back the wave that already threatened to crash over.

“Fuck, Stanny. Who knew you were packing?”

The comment was so un-sexy it made Stan puddle into laughter, his head falling to Richie’s shoulder as the chest underneath him rumbled in tandem.

“Sorry, I don’t think I’m very good at this whole dirty talk thing.” Richie admitted between giggles.

“I don’t want dirty talk.” Stan murmured, placing a gentle kiss on Richie's temple. “I just want you.”

Richie nodded, evidently calmed by the notion that he didn’t have to perform, he just needed to be.

Richie experimented with another flick of his wrist, causing Stan to jerk away instinctively.

“Rich- if you keep doing that I’m not gonna last.” Stan admitted.

“Damn, I’m that good?”

“Shut up and teach me how to finger you.” Stan smirked as he wiped the smile right off Richie’s face.

“It might be better if I just… show you.” Richie shifted out from under Stan and got to his knees.

“You said you have lube…?” “Oh!” Stan exclaimed, bouncing up and reaching for his backpack. He immediately procured the lube and condoms he’d brought.

“Thanks babe.” Richie said casually, missing the way Stan spluttered at the pet name.

Richie reached for the lube as Stan tried to recover, but he didn’t have much time to do so as he watched Richie squeeze a little bit of lube on to his fingers and immediately reached behind himself.

Stan’s heart went mad, bouncing against its confines like it was a prison. He couldn’t help but stare at the way Richie’s face contorted into an all new type of expression, one Stan had never seen on anyone’s face before.

His eyes trailed down Richie’s torso, stopping to admire the way his thin body strained around muscle, how his pale chest flushed pink with arousal, and the delicious way his cock stood to attention just begging for praise. But it was the space between Richie’s spread thighs that mesmerized him, where he could see his hand moving behind him.

Without thought, Stan’s hand drifted to his own cock, acting on instinct as his mind went hazy. He held it gently, not stroking it so much as just giving it the pressure it craved. He watched as Richie’s index finger disappeared inside himself, making Richie moan lewdly.

Richie didn’t take long to get all three fingers inside himself, getting more and more into it as the minutes ticked on. Richie now had his eyes shut and his head thrown back as he fucked himself down on his digits. Stan almost didn’t want to stop him, wanted to see how long Richie could ride himself until he made himself cum, but even more than that, he wanted to feel Richie’s tight heat constricting around his shaft. “So are you gonna let me fuck you or what?” Stan’s voice seemed to jostle Richie out of whatever place his mind had gone to, causing him to look around the tent for the culprit of his ceased pleasure.

“Stanny, fuck, please-” Richie’s voice was completely hoarse as he crawled towards Stan eagerly. “Come here, let me take care of you.” Stan ushered Richie forward, pulling him flush against his chest and kissing him as passionately as possible.

“I want you to ride me.” Stan whispered against Richie’s lips.

“Yes, please.”

Stan laid back down, pulling Richie on top of him for the second time that night.

They kissed for a while longer, grinding into each other as Stan’s cock teased at Richie’s entrance. Keeping their lips locked, Stan reached for his condom, tearing it open expertly and bringing the latex down between their bodies.

Richie sat up on his knees, giving Stan room to roll the condom down over his dick, but as soon as it was situated snug against Stan’s pelvis, Richie wasted no time coating it in lube. He threw the bottle behind him, moving impatiently as he fumbled to line Stan’s cock up with his hole.

“Rich...” Stan reached for Richie’s free hand and entwined their fingers. The gesture gave Richie pause and he finally let out a sigh.

“Sorry, I’m just… I’ve wanted this for a long time.” Richie said quietly.

Stan’s heart swelled. He squeezed Richie’s hand in reassurance.

“Me too, but that doesn’t mean we have to rush. I’m not going to suddenly change my mind, we can take our time with this.”

Richie bowed his head, a shy smile flashing pearly teeth. Stan took the opportunity to slink his own hand around his cock, joining Richie’s. Together, they held it still as Richie slowly sank down until the head popped past his rim.

They both gasped as the new sensation washed over them.

Richie started cursing under his breath, sinking down a little bit lower every few seconds until he was fully seated in Stan’s lap.

Stan held an iron grip on Richie’s hips as he tried to ground himself, the feeling of Richie clenching around him almost too much to bare.

“Why haven’t we been doing this all these years.” Richie whined, pulling himself up until the head of Stan’s cock threatened to slip out, before pushing back down at a satisfyingly slow pace.

“Because we’re idiots.” Stan answered, raising his hips to meet Richie as he came down.

“H-huge idiots.” Richie agreed, nodding along with his thrusts.

“We have a lot of - hnnnng fuck - a lot of time to make up for.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Rich, I would literally stay in this moment for a lifetime if I could- ahhhh.”

“Your dick might shrivel up.” Richie noted, speeding up his rhythm upon hearing Stan’s moans.

“Worth it.” Stan swallowed thickly, getting lost in the sight of Richie’s cock bouncing against his stomach.

“I wanna suck you off.” Stan blurted, no longer able to filter his thoughts through the haze in his brain.

“Fuck, Stanny- you’re so perfect- nnnnggggg ohmygod-” Richie’s entire body tensed up as he reached his peak. Stan watched as his cock twitched, releasing strings of cum that shot impressively far. The feeling of Richie clenching around him paired with the sight of him completely unraveling tipped Stan over the edge along with him.

His orgasm felt like it lasted a lifetime, draining every ounce of energy out of him and leaving Stan completely boneless by the end. He vaguely processed Richie slipping off him, heard the sound of the tent unzip, and then felt the warmth of Richie’s body saddling back up beside him.

“You okay there?” Richie’s voice drifted through the tent, but it still felt light years away. Stan nodded meekly, his bearings just starting to come back.

Stan peered down at his spent cock, giving it a small nod in appreciation for its performance.

“Where’s the condom?” Stan asked drearily.

“I put it outside the tent.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Would you rather we sleep with it next to us?” Richie asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Mmmmm- shut up and spoon me.” Stan grumbled, turning to his side and pulling Richie’s arm over him.

“As you wish.” Richie whispered.

[fandom-meanderer]

May I please request a fluffy with a side of angst one shot with Sylvain x Fem!Reader? Where Sylvain secretly loves the reader (didn't confess) but he immediately hates her after he found out that she's pretending not knowing she had a crest. They had a fight and they didn't talk for a month nd he tried to talk to her but the invasion happened and it leave Sylvain heartbroken as they can't find her body. They both reunited 5 years later.

Fluff with a side of angst? Oh dear, I’ll see what I can do.

~

“(Name)~” Sylvain sang. You giggle as quietly as you could in your hiding spot, clutching a certain letter to your heart. “Come on, you know it’s nice to share.”

“Nope! Not this one, Sylvain!” You tumble out of your hiding spot and make a mad dash for the dorms.

“Hey! Get back here!” Soon, you heard him catching up.

Well, time for a detour.

You jump down the stairs with a new goal in mind, Sylvain just at your heels.

What to do, what to do? There’s only one answer.

You’d die before Sylvain read this letter. You tried to play it off as a silly love letter you had received but, if anything, it was anything but. Inside this letter was a message written to you from your father. Your older brother had just been killed. Leaving you the sole inheritor of the Crest of Timotheos, a crest thought to be long lost in time. You were able to easily dodge Professor Hanneman’s radar, and you had successfully convinced Catherine not to tell anyone of your secret, which she understood and swore on her sword. Before, you didn’t want anyone to know because you knew how jacked up the Crest System is, and you didn’t want to be a part of it in any way. And now...

Good Goddess, you would die if Sylvain found out.

He liked you because you didn’t have a crest, after all.

The irony, right?

Without thinking, you throw yourself into the fishing pond.

“Miss (Last Name)!” Alois runs up to the dock. You swim to the top, a fish in hand.

“Hello, Alois! Nothing to see here, just some midday swimming!” You smile. You watch Sylvain’s shoulders relax as he falls into a full laugh.

“You look like shit!” He shouts. He pats Alois’ shoulder. “Don’t worry, I got this.” Then he turns, his back facing the water, gives a sloppy salute, and falls right in with you.

“Sylvain!” You slap the back of his head with the fish. “Get outta here!”

“You came in here first!” He laughs. “Please don’t hit me with that fish again.”

“Sylvain? (Name)?” Professor Byleth runs up. “What are you... It’s a bit late for a swim, don’t you think?” You and Sylvain exchange a look.

“Nah,” you both shake your head. Regardless, you still pulled yourselves out of the water and apologize to your worried professor. Still, you’d be lying if you didn’t enjoy the sight of this Sylvain. In fact, you might slightly prefer it. You two smile at each other and quickly look away, pink dusting both of your cheeks. Then, you remembered. You shove your hand in your pocket.

‘Gone. Good.’ You looked back to the pond, glad that the piece of parchment dissolved in its depths, a secret well kept.

~

“Hi, Sylvain!” You run up to him, your usual goofy expression on your face. The two of you stood by the armory, getting ready for a battle. “I know why you’re here, the new Brave collection came out, I’m really interested myself. Which one are you going to get?” Sylvain turns away from you, and after making his purchase, he walks off. You eyebrows furrow and you follow him.

“Sylvain? Hey, Sylvain? Yoohoo,” you dance around him. Finally, you decide to drop the act. “Hey, everything alright?” He stops moving.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” He scoffs. You tilt your head. Then, he pulls out a not-so-wet, or dissolved for that matter, letter.

You could’ve sworn that, right then and there, your entire world came crashing down.

“Sylvain... I can explain.”

“You’ve been lying to us. You’ve been lying to me.”

“No, no, it’s not like that! Just, give me a second, okay?”

“How could you explain this?” Sylvain throws the letter at you. “You either know or you don’t, (Name). And from reading that, it’s clear you know.”

“Wait...” You shake your head. “Why are you reading my stuff anyways?! That’s not your place.”

“That’s not the point, (Name), and you know it.” You know Sylvain. You know what he’s like when he’s joking, serious, happy, sad, and more. But right now? You didn’t know what he was feeling. But you had a pretty good feeling. It’s best to just come clean.

“Well, just like you, I couldn’t give a single fuck about the damned crest system. I’d rather distance myself entirely. So I let my brother handle all that Crest bull shit and told everyone I was crestless. There. There’s your explanation. Happy?” You and Sylvain stood in a tense silence. Then, he shook his head and walked away.

This time, you didn’t follow him.

Gods... How he wished he went back to apologize to you.

Just a month later, Empire troops marched on Garreg Mach.

Sylvain, with lance in hand, walked out of the gates of the Monastery and watched the soldiers come in hoards. Just above head, two pegasus fliers. Ingrid looked down, her expression a mix of worry and fear. She knows as well as everyone that this isn’t going to be a close fight. And next to her, there you were. And unlike Ingrid, your expression already told what was going to happen. As the two fliers landed, the class stood together in a unified front for what may be the last time.

“We can do this... right?” Annette tries to bring the morale up. You laugh, you laugh loud, it was almost maniacal actually.

“Don’t kid yourselves,” you say. “This isn’t going to be a fight. This is going to be a fucking massacre.” Right as you said that, the waves of soldiers charged. You and Ingrid hopped on your pegasi and headed straight into battle. Sylvain and Felix moved opposite of you two, trying to cover more ground.

The battle raged on and on and on. The professors weren’t in sight, and neither were the other classmates. Right now, it was just him and Felix, fending off the heavily armed forces side by side. And after forever, the waves stopped. Sylvain didn’t care if they were killed or if they escaped, but after seeing the mass of bodies and uniforms on the field? Only one person mattered.

“(Name)...”

“What?” Felix looks over to him. “Now you care, huh?”

“Not now, Felix, where is she?”

“She went in the opposite direction, remember? She’s with Ingrid, don’t worry.” Sylvain and Felix spot Dimitri and make their way over just as the other blue lions followed.

“Is everyone here?” Mercedes asks. She looks around. Just before she says anything, Ingrid runs over.

“I can’t... I can’t find (Name)...” she huffs. “There was a student, she was cornered so... (Name) flew over, then I lost track of her.”

“A student? But all of the students were already evacuated,” Ashe says. “The only students who stayed behind are the main battle students, right?”

“Yeah, did you see who it was?” Annette asks. Ingrid shakes her head.

“Well she has to be somewhere, right?” Sylvain speaks up. Annette and Mercedes exchange looks, knowing full well what the most likely outcome is. Sylvain turned to Dimitri. “Hey, Dimitri, you don’t... you don’t think she’s dead right?”

“I don’t think Dimitri’s in a good place right now,” Mercedes warns. Dimitri didn’t respond, he held a far off look. Sylvain shakes his head.

“I’m going to go look for her, you guys do whatever you want, I can’t just leave her here,” and with that, Sylvain climbed onto his horse and moved throughout the field, checking everywhere possible for any sign of you.

Felix sighed, he’d might as well help, prove to Sylvain that there’s no hope. Mercedes and Annette, as much as they didn’t want to entertain the idea, decided to help as well. Ingrid, feeling almost the guiltiest of everyone, took Ashe with her and scanned the field from afar. The only two people who stayed stagnant were Dimitri and Dedue.

It shouldn’t have to be said but... they never found the body.

That gave Sylvain a sense of some hope.

You had to be alive, right? If there’s no body, then that means you’re still alive, right?

...

Right?

But that hope was destroyed.

Five years later, he found you again.

But this time, you donned red.

“Oh, Sylvain, it is good to see you again,” you smiled. You twisted your lance in him. “I see these five years treated you well.” Although it took everything in him, he grabbed onto the lance and tried to pull it out of his chest. A futile effort, but one that made you scoff.

“You betrayed us.”

“No. You just don’t understand yet,” you pulled the lance out of him and backed up. “Edelgard’s calling me. Finish this for me, will you, love?”

“Of course,” Hubert stepped forward, readjusting his glove. “I’ll make this fast, Gautier.”

~

Hmm... maybe there’ll be an alternative ending? We’ll see.

(Also I’m so sorry if this isn’t what you had in mind anon!)

[aion-rsa]

Ghosts Series 2: ‘They’re stuck in an existence they didn’t ask for… like all of us’

https://ift.tt/35QzhQ6

The Ghosts creators have worked together for over a decade. To-date, the six-person team (Mat Baynton, Simon Farnaby, Martha Howe-Douglas, Jim Howick, Laurence Rickard and Ben Willbond) have written and performed in long-running children’s sketch comedy Horrible Histories, three series of fantasy sitcom Yonderland, feature film Bill, and two series of the supernatural BBC comedy Ghosts, with a third on the way. 

Channelling Mrs Merton asking Debbie McGee what first attracted her to the millionaire Paul Daniels, I ask Baynton and Howick via Zoom what inspired the group to write Ghosts, a sitcom about a group of individuals who frequently drive each other nuts, trapped together for what may well be eternity? 

Both laugh. “I’m sure we do drive each other nuts in many ways,” says Howick, “but the truth is, like the ghosts, what we always come back to in these episodes is that they love each other and don’t know what they would do without each other. I think that can be said for the group?” He looks to Baynton for confirmation and gets a happy nod. 

Considering the well-documented fallings-out and imploding egos of other comedy gangs – the Pythons not least among them – this level of harmony over such a long period feels remarkable. What’s their secret? “I think we keep each other honest,” says Baynton. “There are certainly heated debates.”

Heated’s too strong a word, says Howick. “We only really fight for our opinion, we never fight each other.” On the rare occasion that there isn’t unanimity about a particular topic, there might be a locking of horns and a democratic vote, but real arguments don’t happen. “There’s no animosity or jealousy with each other’s independent careers,” he explains. “We are our most important project. We have no desire to work each other up. We’re all genuinely fond of each other.”

That much is clear watching them interact. The online BBC press launch for series two was punctuated by the group making each other laugh. Silly voices. Running jokes. At one point, to the absolutely delight of his colleagues, Simon Farnaby’s crotch moved unavoidably front and centre as he stood up in front of his webcam to adjust a window blind. The rapport is real. 

Indeed, during UK lockdown, say Baynton and Howick, the group’s regular Zoom calls drafting Ghosts series three were a godsend. Aside from the boon of having regular work when so much of their industry was in uncertainty, being able to see friends for three hours on a Wednesday evening kept them sane. 

“It’s been a tonic in an otherwise relatively difficult and quite miserable time to have been able to jump on Zoom and make each other laugh with ideas for these characters that we love,” says Baynton. Entertainingly, when the group splits off into writing pairs, each does impressions of the absent characters while drafting dialogue. “It’s funny,” remarks Howick. ‘When we come together as a six, if we’re trying to pitch a positive idea, it’s usually done in a [segues into the regional accent of his upbeat character] Pat voice. Or if it’s a melodramatic idea or if it’s over-the-top, it might be a [Baynton’s Romantic poet character] Thomas voice.” 

Via video chat, it took a little longer for the group’s writing wheels to start turning. Ordinarily a new series would start with two weeks of the gang together in the same room. Stretching that to months of three-hour Zoom calls, fitted in amongst home schooling for the parents among them, was an adjustment. “The energy that you would bring to a room at 10 o’clock in the morning in an office wasn’t there,” says Howick. “You’d have to try and generate this feeling even though everyone was exhausted.”

Howick found himself seeking out frivolity to reach the right frame of mind. He played videogames. “If I sat and thought too hard about what was going on outside my door, it would make me really sad, and so in order to keep a vital part of me going, in order to meet with Mat and the others every Wednesday and keep that bright demeanour, it was good to do that.” The writing momentum started to return with the ease of lockdown, says Baynton. “The simple mental health-saving fact of being able to meet up with family in a garden helped a lot.” 

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Trying to write comedy against a such a serious backdrop of world events also felt uncomfortable, says Baynton. “You feel like it’s almost… immoral is too strong a word, but when there are nurses and doctors and teachers and crucially important people doing the work they do… It felt like an elephant in the room to be tap tap tapping away at a story about another day at Button House and what the ghosts are up to.”

It helped to know how warmly Ghosts series one had been received by its many fans. “What’s touching is when we do get messages from fans who say how much the show means to them. I know how important comedy has been to me in my life, so if we can be that to other people, it doesn’t feel completely frivolous.”

Ghosts, with its colourful selection box of characters (there’s a caveman, a headless Elizabethan, a 17th century witch, an excitable Regency woman-child, an Edwardian snob, a WWII captain, a 1980s scout leader and a 1990s Tory politician) may look frivolous, but series one had moments of real pathos. Baynton is proud of the fact that the series doesn’t shy away from the bleaker side of its ‘dead people’ premise. “If you really interrogate the truth of it – these are people who lived, people who died, people who loved or were thwarted or killed or suffered injustices or never got to love the person that they admired…”

The original idea was for a much bigger cast of ghosts, with everybody playing multiple parts, Horrible Histories-style. It quickly became clear that the story needed to home in on a small ensemble, giving the gang what Howick calls “its own silhouette”. Had they stuck with the original plan, “It would have been like The Muppet Show,” he says. “Every week would only have scratched the surface.” Too many ghost characters would have diminished the show’s emerging premise, says Baynton, which is about “being stuck forever in a tedious and endlessly repetitive existence.”

A bit like lockdown, we joke. Exactly, says Baynton. 

“We talk about this a lot. The way I see it is that their situation is just the same as a living person’s: they’re stuck, they’re in an existence they didn’t ask for, they don’t know why they’re there or what happens next. They know that there is a next ‘thing’ but whether they go to heaven, or hell, or something else, they don’t know. They’re just the same as people on earth.”

Howick agrees, “Their existence is very mortal in that respect.” 

Writing about the afterlife, a sense of existential metaphor is unavoidable, says Baynton. “There is something deeply relatable about it, which is where sitcom will always thrive. You can’t really fail to connect with a story about a person who doesn’t know what to do with their time or who feels stuck. Regardless of class or job or circumstance, that is all of us.”

If the ghost characters are all of us, they’re also peculiar to their time period. The collision and unexpected blending of different social contexts is where much of the series’ comedy comes from. Howick compares the composition of the group to Blackadder Goes Forth, which kept “ranks of characters from different classes stuck together in a hell hole, cheating death every single week.” 

The source of much of the comedy is thwarted status, says Baynton, “It’s the stuff of Alan Partridge and Hyacinth Bucket and Basil Fawlty… people who see themselves a certain way but who aren’t that way to the audience. Every single one of the ghosts is that to some extent. Anything that gave you status in life, you’re robbed of the second you die, so that’s already pretty funny in the sense of a captain who can’t lead, a wealthy woman who has no wealth, a politician who is not recognised as an authority, a poet who can’t pick up a pen, a Scoutmaster with no kids…”

“Not Scoutmaster!” interrupts Howick. “Adventure Club leader!” Before series one aired, they were instructed not to use the “Scouts” organisation name in scripts. “That was before they knew who Pat was going to be,” says Howick. Pat, for info, is a sweetie, and the Scouts should be proud to have him. He’s also a vibrant dancer, as series two, episode two shows. 

“There’s a lot of dancing this series” says Howick. “Without giving too much away, there’s dancing in the last episode. I think Thomas’ best dance is at the end.”

Fans can expect more playfulness with series two. Now that the characters are established and the tone has been taken to heart, the team could afford to experiment a little more. “With series two, because the audience hopefully are with us at this point, we can throw different curveballs,” says Baynton.

“In that way that The Simpsons or those long-running American things, you can suddenly do one in black and white, as if it’s a Hitchcock thing. We’ve definitely had fun. There’s an episode later in the second series which is a format of its own. We’re thinking about those things for series three, being free to be really playful with it.”

There’s a Christmas special episode to come, “the last one ever to be filmed!” joked Farnaby at the press launch. The timing on series two’s filming was especially jammy, with only one day lost to the UK TV and film industry shutdown in March. They made the decision not to use supporting artists in the last scenes filmed, set in a Medieval plague village. The irony of having to tell actors they couldn’t come and play plague victims because there was an actual plague wasn’t lost on them, says Baynton.

Thomas gets a gun in series two, they tease, and we’ll find out how he met his end. “The burning question for fans of the show is how the characters died, and you will find out some in each series,” says Baynton. “There are some we’re holding onto for as long as we possibly can, but rest assured, they’re coming!” 

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Ghosts series 2 starts on BBC One at 8.30pm, with all six episodes available to stream afterwards on BBC iPlayer. 

The post Ghosts Series 2: ‘They’re stuck in an existence they didn’t ask for… like all of us’ appeared first on Den of Geek.

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