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ace-mob-boss · 2 years

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I am so undeniably overwhelmed at all times no matter what it looks like I'm doing because it's never what I should be. My productivity hours are 11-3 and 5-7, but thats when im supposed to fucking sleep.

And I wanna work out more like, fr before i end up killing myself over my weight on some dumb shit. I don't wanna get to that point but I'm getting worse and worse at communication, i use to just leave it be when i hurt someone on accident and they get mad vcus i apologized and it was an accident and now i sit there biting my knuckles like "FUCK! FUCK. FUCK" every time.

anyways, my communication skills are so bad and i would go to the gym or on walks for a couple hours everyday if I could simply do it alone and dictate my own routine. not my moms.

The ellipitical makes me wanna tear my fucking hair out when someone else TELLS me to do it.

I should get substantially better at getting work done now that i have headphones though, people dont understand that i actually am very bad at getting work done when im not listeniing to music, especially when considering that not only does it help me concentrate but when im listening to music i often try to mainly type, but also write, to the beat. i might tap my fingers along to and throw them out in a flappy kinda way. kinda like when you do explosions with your hands but in a more coordinated way, at least, coordinated to me.

Regardless, without music im shit at concentrating, especially in english. part of the reason my english skills have deteriorated so badly regardless of my high ass reading level, skills and comprehension, because I am officially on college level reading since last year according to the state, I can't pay attention to books in class for the most part. If I start before everyone else adn am left uninterrupted I will annotate on my own and read the whole thing. The problem comes up when they stop letting me do that or they start making other students read a loud. Like, my stupid ass englissh teacher make me take my heapdhone out one time, for no reason when i was actively reading my text and ahead of the class, which i then stopped working cus not only was i now bored as shit, but she also had students reading aloud when they didn't even know the words with a MICROPHONE.

Anyways, i got off track, it went downhill in 8th grade where i literally almost failed english because of the damn school. So usually, since like, 2nd grade where i would do entire hw packets in the beginning of the year, i would start reading the book early or read ahead of where everyone else was. I often got in trouble for it but for years and years, I'd even borrow the books without being seen which was against the rules no matter how safe you were, and I'd read at home or in school. If I don't read ahead I don't pay attention. I dont know how it works but whenever im on the same pace as others i either quickly fall behind because i usually answer questions more extensively then asked or i get stuck rereading the same page, who know why. But in 8th grade they didn't want me doing that and so they would keep the book name a secret, explicitly said to stop me on multiple occasicons from buying and reading the book early. Then they would also send me a copy late/last in the class so i couldnt read ahead. then they wondered how i was failing when they've SEEN the pattern in which i always read the book ahead on purpose.

Anyways, fuck english, it's my worst subject. ON another note. i keep letting my room get dirty even though it bothers me for some reason. it just piles on and on until i force myself to clean it. Also, i am depressed. I don't care if my mom tries to say i just heard it off the internet. I am better than i was before but sometimes i simply cannot gain the will power to do things. Sometimes i ponder my existence in the world as everything goes to shit. and sometimes i just really hate myself. But, it's still better than before. Because while i dont attempt to be a pick me, it is simply something that i accept and try my best to go against. But it isnt just internet influence. I use to ponder for weeks on end with no sleep on different ways to kill myself. which would be less painful and which would be fast. I'd be in the car with family staring at the window, thinking of how i should die. One time i didn't sleep for 6 days straight, how i kept functioning is a fucking miracle. i only went to sleep when i started hallucinating shit in the corner. And yet when my parents learned about me saying i had depression, mind you i only spoke about this with other people who also had depression, both diagnosed and not, they were simply disssapointed in me.

Anyways, i have no clue how i got to this point. My room is hot, my mother has put a plastic film on top of my ac to stop the draft from "freezing the house out" regardless of it being known that my fathers side of the family is constantly hot. including me. and because of fucking global warming, which could be easily ficed if it wasn't for how naturally greed ridden humanity is, it's not even touching, under 45 degrees like it use to even though we're nearing the peak of winter. I also have a fuck ton of squishmallows and blankets which are usually very comfirtable but right now its hot as all hell so im burningm up even with my window open. Another reason is that for year my building has no heat until my mom finally sued the land lord early this year/late last year and they fixed it except for the fact that it is hot as balls now. Both buildings are burning up somehow.

Anyways, my little cousin also like fanfiction right, usually we read weird shit in funny voices as a joke and giggle and laugh. she's three, almost two, years younger than me. I often hang out with her and she obviously the favorite cousin after the chromebook i just bought her for christmas this year. so all of us had a sleepover recently and she was obviously tired and my other cousin was asleep while me and a NOTHER seperate cousin were on the bed.so she was talking about how quiet it was and i laughed and said its cus this is usuallyt the time me and the tired cousin start reading weird shit and giggling but shes tired so i wont. mind you i havent read anything with her in the past like, 1 and a half months on the days i seen her and she had just spent the whole day with me walking around the city to an art gallery unlike all the other cousins. And she just pops up talking baout how oh thats so good and all that shi and i was like, i just said we not doing that cus your tired and i didnt even read any with you today, yesterday, or two days before that when i also saw you and multiple times before that. and shes just gonna go "yeah i know bur you always read fanfiction with me everytime i see you and i was just with you all day" and im not gonna act like i wasnt hurt because i dont know anyone else who reads fanfiction that isn't x reader which i personally just dont like in any way, i think its kinda weird but i leave people who do read it be. but she somehow failed to mention the fact that she is often the one to choose to do that to begin with and just has me read them. but regardless it hurt my feelings and it truly made me feel like shit. cus now in my head im just like, oh. i just make her feel uncomfortable dont i. i cant explain the whole feeling but part of it was kinda like betrayal and it just really fucked me up cus that was two and and a half days ago and i still feel fucking bad.

Then on a whole nother note. my parents got a divorce and while im glad for it cus we live in the same apartment with my mom. im also pissed. my dad left and he texted me the other day in a way that was actively trying to seek attention and guilt me. but thats not even the problem. I haven't loved my father in years right. he constantly made jokes about it and everyone in the family knew this. he also was hella rude to my mother. threatening her and shi but never truly acting. overall just disrespectful. but ive never out right told him i dont like him. until the day my mom officiated this shit show when she came back from vacay and had me wait in the car. afterwards. she told him, cus he was lying and saying that me and my brother said we were fine with living with him and having her visit, that why would i ever agree to that when i dont even like him, like being around him, or like tlaking to him. in which he then called me and she told me i have to tell him the truth and say yes. now she keeps fucking bothering me about having to talk to him about why i dont like him like im legally required to involve myself with HIS healing process and stress myself out over his feelings. Every fucking day its something baout having to talk to him and how shes gonna instigate a convo with him but i dont wanna fucking do that. and she keeps saying/acting like it's out of cowardly reasons that i dont want to but its not because i truly fear him. It is because he stresses me out and bothers me. He annoys me on all levels and when im overwhelmed i cry. He pisses me off and acts like I'm stupid, undermining me and my intelligence while also acting like a damn narcissist who's simultaneously done no wrong. I do not fear him. He angers me. i dont want to talk to him because of the potential stress, not out of mere cowardice.

anyways, i have plenty more to say cus im just venting remotely everything right now because since most of my friends suck fucking ass and the ones who i do talk to aren't ones i'd like to talk about this to without feeling as if im bothering them, ill leave it be. not that theyre bad friends, but, there are different friends that tolerate different things and react in different ways. I think im going to go to sleep now though considering that i just wrote for a hot 35 minutes and it is 4:30 in the morning and i have so much i want to do.

#suicide mention #school #overwhelmed #overall just bullshit im not gone hold you

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rnelodyy · 3 years

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So I saw this tweet today, and I think the question this person poses is actually a very interesting jumping off point for analysis. I absolutely refuse to make a 100 tweet long thread about this though, so here I am, typing out my thoughts on a platform without a character limit.

(this is all /dsmp /rp, unless otherwise specified all names refer to characters, not content creators)

I wanna start off by saying that I am NOT what I would describe as a “Dream anti/hater.” I’m a MASSIVE enthusiast, he’s easily one of my favorite villains in any piece of media I’ve ever consumed, precisely because he is a smug, over-the-top asshole who will stop at absolutely nothing to get his way. It’s incredibly fun to see his antics in action, and immensely satisfying when he finally gets his comeuppance.

I’m going to first delve into the second question: what makes Dream different from other villains in other pieces of media?

Well, he’s not, not really. The way he acts and carries out his plans is unique to his character of course, but the role he fills in the narrative and the way he plays that role is a pretty common archetype, though one that has fallen a bit out of use as of late.

Dream is a Pure Evil Villain.

The video I’ve linked goes into WAY more depth, but the basics of the PEV archetype is that they:

Have no backstory (at least not one that’s relevant to the plot).

Have very simplistic goals (i.e. taking over the world, retribution for perceived slights, or just wreaking indiscriminate havoc).

Have motivations that are purely self-serving, and they’re having a lot of fun carrying them out. (That said, some PEVs had complex motivations once upon a time and may have been full-on good guys, but have long lost sight of their original goal.)

Have an unwavering sense of self-confidence, and a MASSIVE ego.

End their stories with a third-act breakdown (or as TvTropes refers to it, a Villainous Breakdown, which is a term I’m gonna keep using here because DSMP doesn’t have a three-act structure), where they crash and burn in spectacular fashion as the hero finally comes out on top.

Dream ticks ALL of these boxes.

He has no backstory or even a point of view, and even if he got one, it wouldn’t change much about how we perceive his character. We can glean his goals, motives and personality pretty well from his interactions with the people around him.

His goal is literally just “control the entire server through any means necessary,” which is why he goes to such lengths to crush his political rivals, break Tommy’s defiance against him, and create a giant fuckoff prison to throw major threats into.

He’s stated multiple times that he enjoyed watching L’Manburg get destroyed, was laughing and telling Lazar “this is the best part” while destroying Tommy’s armor in exile, and tells Tommy and Tubbo he’s “playing with [his] food, that’s the fun in it” after they lose the initial battle of the Final Disc War.

He’s nothing BUT self-confident. I cannot remember a single moment where he doubts himself or has a moment of introspection, and an insult I’ve never heard Tommy use for anyone except Dream is “egotistical bastard.”

His villainous breakdown happened at the end of the Final Disc War, when he was suddenly made powerless, none of his manipulation tactics worked anymore and Tommy was actively beating him to death. He ended up huddling in a corner, begging and bargaining for his life, before being thrown into his own prison.

(Sidenote ‘cause I know it’s gonna get brought up. Dream has claimed he just wants the server to be a happy family twice, but the context of the scenes make it obvious that you’re not supposed to take that line at face value.

The first time he said it, he was talking to Punz, his only ally at the time, while standing in front of the prison he commissioned, helped design and helped build. During that same conversation, he claimed the prison was only for the most dangerous people on the server… but also that it had twenty cells, and a main cell that could fit multiple people, when the server’s population at the time was about thirty. This conversation also took place right after Tommy ran away from exile, meaning Dream was saying this knowing he’d abused and wanted to continue abusing a sixteen year-old boy to the point where he attempted literal suicide.

The second time, he was talking to Tommy in prison, right after Tommy told him he wouldn’t be visiting him anymore, and Dream was desperately trying to change his mind by claiming he could change as a person if Tommy kept up his visits. Tommy’s response says it better than I could.

Dream’s actions speak louder than his words. He can claim he just wants a happy family, but when he’s cut off, abused, kidnapped, killed, tormented and blackmailed the people he’s supposed to care about into compliance, it becomes pretty obvious that if you don’t fit into HIS image of a happy family, you need to be locked up in a tiny box or dumped on a remote island and beaten until you’re so broken you will just do whatever he tells you to without question.)

Now, if you have a shitty literature teacher, they’ll tell you that villains NEED to be morally grey, have complex motivations and a chance at redemption, otherwise it’s bad writing. However, that’s not true. Some of the most iconic villains of pop culture are PEVs, like Bill Cipher, or Megatron, or Moriarty, or literally any classic Disney villain. It’s not bad writing, it’s just not fashionable right now. Just because other villains in the narrative ARE morally grey, doesn’t mean Dream needs to be.

It’s also become popular nowadays to have a PEV AND a sympathetic, redeemable villain working together, most often with the sympathetic villain serving under the PEV. Zuko is sympathetic and redeemable, Ozai is the PEV. Gideon Gleeful is sympathetic and redeemable, Bill Cipher is the PEV. Catra is sympathetic and redeemable, Hordak is the PEV. Nebula is sympathetic and redeemable, Thanos is the PEV.

This allows writers to have the best of both worlds; it allows for the emotional journey and incredible character development that comes with a really good redemption arc, while also having the flair and pizazz and unbridled charisma and catharsis at seeing them crash and burn that comes with a PEV. Some writers try to have both in one character, but that rarely ever goes right (like how Thanos’s goal of wiping out half the universe is supposedly to prevent overpopulation while keeping biodiversity, yet he also killed all the dwarves and tortured Eitri for no reason).

Whenever Dream teams up with another villain, he’s ALWAYS taking the PEV role.

When he teamed up with Wilbur for November 16th, Wilbur acted the way he did because he was mentally ill, suicidal and severely paranoid, convinced nobody wanted or needed him, that everyone secretly hated him, that betrayal was just around the corner, and that he was the villain of his own story. He destroyed his own creation in a fit of anguish, before committing suicide by proxy. While his behavior is largely unchanged after his revival, it’s clear he is still in a lot of pain, and there is a lot of setup for a redemption arc for him. Dream, meanwhile, fought on Schlatt’s side, egged Techno on through whispers as Tubbo was being sworn in, screamed the loudest “YES” I’ve ever heard when the TNT went off, then proceeded to place more TNT and attack everything in sight while Techno went on his rampage. When everything was said and done, he even ran over to Tommy’s house and blew that up too for good measure.

When Dream teamed up with Techno and Philza during Doomsday, Philza was clearly convinced L’Manburg was the cause of all the pain on the server and that destroying it would be the right thing to do, and used its destruction as an outlet for the grief he carried over the death of his son. While his target was misplaced, you can see how he came to the conclusions he did, and how his own biases, prejudices and boomer-ish “I am older and have more experiences therefore I’m always right” attitude cloud his judgement. Dream, meanwhile, outright admitted that he decided to destroy L’Manburg instead of burning the discs because it was just more fun that way, and said some DISGUSTINGLY creepy things to Tommy on the grid. We also know that, after Techno and Phil already left, Dream stayed behind and rained TNT down for days.

(I didn’t mention Techno here because I would argue that, in the context of Doomsday, Techno also classifies as a PEV. That’s a discussion for another time though.)

The Final Disc war, in my opinion, PERFECTLY illustrates Dream’s pure evilness. He describes himself and his actions as evil multiple times, acts completely in his own self-interest, is MASSIVELY overconfident until he’s thwarted by Punz and co, and he is, of course, having an absolute BLAST with his reprehensible actions.

Which leads me into the other question: what makes him irredeemable?

PEVs are irredeemable pretty much by definition. The combination of selfish motives, massive ego and lack of introspection makes for a character that’s EXTREMELY allergic to character development, and character development is pretty much the point of a redemption arc. It’s a MASSIVE shift in a character’s goals, ideals, morals and sometimes personality, brought on by massive amounts of introspection and self-doubt, and that’s just not something a self-assured, egotistical person who KNOWS their goals are selfish and evil and enjoys it would ever really do.

The only PEV I’ve ever seen get something resembling a redemption arc is Hordak from the She-Ra reboot.

(SPOILERS)

In season 3, Hordak meets Entrapta, a princess working for the Horde with a scientific mind just like his. As he bonds with and gets romantic feelings for Entrapta, he slowly starts to open up to her about his past, his struggles with his physical health, and how he just wants the approval of Horde Prime. When Prime eventually arrives however, his achievements are waved off, he’s deemed defective due to his physical illness, and has his memories erased. He’s eventually used as a replacement body by Prime, before openly defying Prime and hurling him off a cliff.

Thing is though, it’s not a redemption arc in that he’s instantly forgiven, or even that he’s a good person now. The princesses (sans Entrapta) look visibly uncomfortable or afraid of him, and Mermista even outright asks if anyone is gonna say something about Hordak being there during the big end-of-series celebration. Hordak defied Prime, but he’s not automatically a good guy, nor is he treated as one.

(END OF SPOILERS)

The most important point is: as soon as Hordak enters his redemption arc, he stops being a PEV. His backstory is suddenly integral to his character, his self-confidence turns out to be a farce, and while his motives are still self-serving, they’re much more complex than the generic take-over-the-world villain he was before. A redeemable PEV can’t exist, because as soon as they start redeeming themselves, they cannot continue being pure evil.

Dream has shown to be completely allergic to character development. No bargain with him has ever worked to his detriment, nobody can reason with him because he’s so set in his own ways, and he has never shown any kind of remorse for his own actions. The only person he’s ever apologized to is Tommy, and you can tell from his tone and the way he refuses to even mention specific events that he’s sorry for that it’s purely performative. Any redemption arc NEEDS to start with a villain examining themselves, or feeling remorse for their actions, or questioning their position. Dream never does that, HAS never done that, and it’s looking like he never will.

However, if you’re looking at specific actions that make him irredeemable, there’s one event that pushes him over the edge.

Because sure, some villains have tortured people, have killed people, have committed acts of terrorism, and still received redemption arcs (though there’s usually some level of coercion involved so they cannot be held 100% responsible, like they were brainwashed or acting on someone else’s orders).

There is, however, a line. TvTropes refers to this line as the Moral Event Horizon, as like with the event horizon of a black hole, once you pass it, there is no going back. Where that line is is kind of subjective, it depends on the narrative weight placed on the event, the cultural standards of the audience, and in part, the personal opinion of the viewer.

But I don’t think it’s a controversial statement to say that Dream passed the Moral Event Horizon with Tommy’s exile.

I don’t know if you’ve watched exile live, but as someone who has, I can tell you that it was fucking GRIM. People had to stop watching the streams entirely or wait for people to post trigger warnings and summaries on Twitter and Tumblr before watching the VOD, because it was legitimately triggering to some. AO3 was full of fics of Tommy being pulled out of Logstedshire by other people on the server (mostly Techno and Phil) a trembling, traumatized husk of his former self, and those were the OPTIMISTIC ones. There were jokes about Tommy’s chat getting traumatized with him, as they were constantly telling him to run, get away from Dream and hide his armor, and whenever “Dream joined the game” appeared in chat, everyone’s stomachs collectively DROPPED. The general mood in the fanbase was one of helpless panic and terror as we watched this kid be slowly destroyed in front of our eyes through physical, emotional and psychological abuse, gaslighting, and isolation. Hell, exile is the event that sparked the creation of the c!, cc!, /dsmp and /rp tags, because people didn’t want sentences like “what Dream is doing to Tommy is abuse, this is actually horrific” to make it to the wider internet without any kind of context.

Exile is one of the most narratively heavy events on the server. It changed Tommy and Dream’s relationship status from “friendly rivals” to “abuser and victim,” and completely destroyed any sense of friendship they had left after November 16th. It’s permanently scarred Tommy to the point where even now, nine whole months later, he still has self-esteem issues, depressive episodes, flashbacks, panic attacks, suicidal thoughts, and a pervasive fear of Dream breaking out of prison. It’s one of the most realistic portrayals of abuse and trauma in fiction I’ve ever seen, and it is HARD to rewatch.

But most importantly, the vast majority of people who thought Dream was in the right at the time dropped that IMMEDIATELY as soon as it became apparent what exile was REALLY about. I have a friend who was a huge sympathiser/apologist for L’Manburg and Pogtopia era Dream, but who refuses to even CONSIDER defending anything related to exile. The points about exile not being that bad, Tommy deserving it, or Dream trying to help him somehow didn’t start cropping up until MONTHS after exile ended, when memories of the events had been warped by time, fanon had blended with canon, and the horrific details had faded in most people’s minds.

There are very few outright abusive characters who have gotten redemption arcs, and those arcs are often reviled by fans. Abuse, child abuse especially, is one of those actions that make you completely irredeemable as a villain, like torturing someone purely for fun, or killing babies, or kicking dogs. Ozai’s establishing character moment is a flashback where he burns his son’s face off and exiles him for speaking out of turn, and the show makes it clear you’re not supposed to see that as anything EXCEPT revolting.

There is nothing Dream’s POV could show us that would make what he did to Tommy acceptable. There’s nothing he could say or do that would make exile okay. Exile is as low as he could morally go, and the fact that he not only has shown no remorse for it, but even seems to remember it fondly makes redemption impossible for him. What could he do that’s worse than exile? What would prompt him to feel any semblance of guilt or shame if exile didn’t spark it?

When you isolate and abuse a sixteen year-old boy, clearly have fun doing it, and feel not a single shred of guilt in the aftermath, you’re not gonna get a redemption arc, because that’s just not the kind of character you are at that point. Redemption arcs are reserved for sympathetic villains and fallen heroes, like Zuko, like Catra, like Wilbur. Even Hordak, who got a redemption arc, wasn’t an actual PEV in the end. He was a sympathetic villain in disguise, and as he shed the mask of pure evil and got some character development, the role of PEV was passed to Horde Prime.

The reason villains like Ursula, Maleficent, Bill Cipher, Cruella De Vil and Jafar are so fun to watch is precisely BECAUSE they’re unapologetically evil. The biggest criticism the live-action adaptations of Maleficent and Cruella received is that they strip that away from the characters to make them sympathetic and redeemable, and therefore - ironically - a lot more bland.

Dream’s pure evilness is what makes his character so much fun to watch. Giving him a redemption arc now not only wouldn’t make sense narratively speaking, it would actively strip away the aspects of his character that make him such a good villain! People don’t watch a PEV to see them grapple with their morality, they watch them to see them fuck shit up! A true PEV needs to be stripped of everything that makes them cool and interesting to their audience in order to even BEGIN thinking about redemption.

You can even see this happening in the way Dream is retroactively made to be more sympathetic by his apologists. There’s this running joke in a Discord server I’m in that Fanon!Dream is a fucking pussy, and that Canon!Dream would wipe the fucking floor with him, and I can’t help but agree.

There’s an idea going around that Wilbur manipulated Dream into becoming evil, that he constantly called Dream a tyrant and a dictator, and that Dream was so upset by this that he started the L’Manburg War. Except, not only does this have no basis in canon, it kinda makes Dream look pathetic, doesn’t it? Canon!Dream is a tyrannical control freak who saw some people make an area where his rules didn’t apply and decided to beat it into the ground to once again rule undisputed, not caring who he hurt or killed in the process. Fanon!Dream started a whole war because Some Guy he’d canonically talked to maybe twice and his annoying brother called him mean names.

There’s also the idea that exile needed to happen, because Dream saw that Tommy was such a destructive asshole all the time that he posed a massive threat to the server. Except… Tommy is absolutely not the most destructive person on the server. He’s loud and annoying, sure, and he could be destructive, especially in the early days where he often vandalized people’s stuff for fun. But… it never got worse than that. Was a teenager swearing at people and doing petty vandalism really such a massive threat to the server’s apparently paper-thin integrity that he needed to be taken away for everyone else’s safety? Or was it the fact that Tommy constantly called Dream out on his bullshit, refused to concede to his terms, questioned his authority, and encouraged other people to do the same?

Making Dream heroic also warps every single character around him, making them all unreasonably cruel to Dream specifically. Wilbur made him a villain for Reasons and was always a controlling chessmaster manipulating everyone around him (honestly it’s like their entire personalities switched places here). Tommy is a rabid animal only capable of destruction who needs to be kept on a leash for everyone else’s safety. L’Manburg is a xenophobic, colonialist, other buzzword empire. Sapnap and George left him because they’re bad friends, and not because he continually betrays them, uses them, disregards their wishes completely, and does nothing to refute Sapnap’s claim that he doesn’t care about them. He doesn’t deserve to be in prison, despite the fact that he murdered a bunch of people, abused a child, committed multiple acts of terrorism, and got caught red handed trying to murder a defenseless teenager while his friend watched and having a vault with everyone’s most valued possessions for blackmail purposes. Oh and did I mention the Skeppy cage?

A redemption arc for Dream would not only open up some really uncomfortable cans of worms (like Tommy suddenly being expected by fans and other characters to forgive and be nice to the man who made his life a living hell for months), it would be an active detriment to his character, because it strips away everything that makes him interesting in the first place.

If you want to watch a complex character going through a slow, painful redemption, go follow Wilbur’s storyline. If you want to watch a morally good man get beaten down by the world over and over again until he’s willing to go to even the most heinous lengths to secure his own safety and happiness, Quackity is right there. Let Dream be the guy who fucks shit up without remorse. Wilbur and Quackity can handle the emotional conflict and slow, painful spirals and roads to recovery, Dream can give us the explosions and villain speeches and the stomach-dropping terror whenever he appears on screen.

Anyway that’s my hot take, thank you for coming to my TED talk.

#dsmp analysis #dreamwastaken #c!dream #dream smp

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midnightsunnyday · 3 years

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The Brothers Go To Bath & Body Works

A/N: because I was bored and like headcanons where the brothers are in ordinary situations doing ordinary things, yet because of their nature and ignorance of human culture, get in all types of trouble. Definitely counts as a crack post.

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Lucifer: for horrid's sake it's like Asmodeus and Mammon's bathrooms exploded.

Satan: for once I have to agree with you. This place is a bit...assaulting.

Leviathan: ugh. This is just like that anime I watched: My Partner Tricked Me Into Going Shopping And Now I'm Stuck Watching Them Make Horrible Financial Decisions!

MC: that sounds way too contrived to be a real show.

Satan: furthermore, are we really about to spend an hour shopping for candles?

MC: no, I'm about to spend an hour shopping for candles. You all can wait outside *sighs* At least Asmo gets it.

Asmodeus: such splendor! Such rapture! I mean just look at it: the colors! The scents! The mini hand sanitizers! Oooh, and is that a sale? Buy three get two free, you say?

Lucifer, scanning the shelves: and what is this absurdity? Pumpkin pecan, pumpkin apple, vanilla pumpkin, pumpkin clove, cinnamon pumpkin, caramel pumpkin...just what is it with you humans and your obsession with pumpkins?

MC: hey, don't judge my culture. Pumpkin scented and flavored products are an annual mortal tradition.

Lucifer: a tradition that should be banned, clearly.

Mammon: humans sure are strange though. I mean, why have an entire store dedicated to something so lame?

Satan: well, candles can be used for many purposes, but for most humans they're not only therapeutic, but romantic. In fact, it's customary for human lovers to light a multitude of candles around their dwelling to draw in their mate.

Mammon: to draw in their mate, huh? Ya don't say...

*loud clanging noises*

MC: Mammon...why are you scooping an entire row of candles into your shopping bag?

Mammon: oi, what are ya the candle police? Don't worry about it.

Salesperson: just so you know, all our three wick candles are--

Mammon: --buy three get two free. Yeah, yeah, we read the sign!

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Belphegor: hey, which scent do you think smells better on me?

MC: *sniffs* ooh, I really like the lavender one.

Belphegor: good, then that's the one I'll buy. That way, when we finish taking our naps together, you'll smell me all over your sheets. And your clothes. And your pillows. And the rest of your room.

MC: sounds very...Pavlovian. Just no leashes or collars, please.

Belphegor: I think you might have me confused with Lucifer...and possibly Satan.

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Asmodeus: Satan dear, please tell me you aren't going to buy that just because it has a cat on it?

Satan, blushing: of course not. I was just...looking, is all.

Leviathan: you know, you're kinda behaving like an otaku who wants to buy all the latest merch of their favorite character.

Asmodeus: so like you, then?

Leviathan: hey! Otaku are a proud people who fuel their hobbies with the upmost passion and dedication. There's no shame in it.

Asmodeus: whatever you say, brother ~

Salesperson: just so you know, that's our limited edition Halloween scent, which is only around for the holidays.

Satan: hmm...

Salesperson, wearing a cheeky grin: we also have cat shaped plug ins.

Satan: where?

Asmodeus: now wait just a--

Salesperson: --did I also mention that we're having a sale on all our bath products?

Asmodeus: on all the bath products, you say?

Leviathan, rolling his eyes: normies.

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

Salesperson: excuse me, sir?

Lucifer, sighing: if you're attempting to sell me something, then I rather hear the quick version.

Salesperson: it's just that you seem a bit...tense. Do you happen to suffer from stress? If so, I can show you a few items in our aromatherapy collection.

*Lucifer, gazing over at Leviathan and Mammon*

Mammon: ok, ok, on the count of three. One, two...three!

*Leviathan and Mammon shrieking in pain as they spritz body mist into each other's eyes*

Lucifer: ...I'm listening.

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

Belphegor: hey guys, I don't think it was a good idea to bring Beel in here.

Lucifer: meaning....

Beelzebub, holding two candles and mumbling to himself: this one says banana walnut muffin and this one says warm apple pie, but it's not a muffin and that's not a pie, but it smells like one, but I can't eat it, but it's named after food, but it's not food...*falls to his knees* it's not food.

Leviathan: uh...

Beelzebub, in a trance like state: it's not food. It's not food. It's not food.

Satan: well, this doesn't look good.

Mammon, placing a hand on Beelzebub's shoulder: hey, little bro. You ok?

Beelzebub: so...the time for retribution has come? Such an ironic fate, being made to roam this chamber which torments me with scents familiar, yet unable to satiate. For centuries I've scourged the lands, devouring flesh to still the pain that naws at my being. Cursed to eat without gain. Without joy. Forever crowned as the sin of gluttony, a crown in which I sometimes find too heavy to bear. For some, I was once a god, for others a mere pest. Even so, I find myself in a hell not of my own creation, but one in which I rightfully deserve.

MC: um, Beel? I love you, but you're freaking everyone out.

Beelzebub, looking up at MC with empty eyes: ah, the mortal to whom I am bound. Tell me, are you here to guide me towards salvation? Or are you too like these wondering souls, searching for nourishment in that which is fleeting? However, I advise you make your decision with haste, as soon I will no longer be able to tell friend from prey.

*silence*

MC: ...we really need to get him some food.

Mammon, helping Beelzebub to his feet: ok, time to go, buddy.

Asmodeus: how about we get you some McDonald's. Do you like McDonald's, Beel?

Beelzebub: immortality is a curse. The only true salvation lies in oblivion.

Asmodeus: ...he wants McDonald's.

*at the food court*

Asmodeus: still, I can't believe I ended up purchasing several bags worth of lotions, candles, and body sprays *shivers* such an insidious place. I love it!

Lucifer: admittedly, this pillow mist is very soothing. Though may I suggest that next time we go somewhere less...traumatizing?

Satan, staring down into his bag full of cat shaped plug ins: *sighs* agreed.

Mammon and Leviathan, holding a cup of ice to their eyes: definitely.

MC: I just wanted us all to go shopping. How was I suppose to know scented candles would make Beel suffer an existential breakdown?

Lucifer: speaking of which, how are you feeling, Beel?

Beelzebub, stuffing his face: cheeseburgers and nuggets are my favorite food from McDonald's.

Lucifer: that's nice Beel.

Leviathan: well, that problem solved itself.

Mammon: but man, what a day. All this shopping sure gave me quite the workout *stretches his arm over MC* I think I'm just gonna head home, light a bunch of candles around my dwelling, let MC walk in and ya know...see what happens.

MC: *sighs* This is exactly the reason why I shop online.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me mammon #obey me luficer #obey me beelzebub #obey me leviathan #obey me belphegor #obey me asmodeus #obey me satan #midnightsunnyday #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios #obey me crack

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lorei-writes · 3 years

Text

Basic Guide on How Not To: Slavic Characters

Well, as most of you have probably realised by now, I’m Polish. Truthfully, I am quite upset now. I generally tend to avoid most content involving Slavic people, because well, stereotypes are plentiful and I have only one stomach - there is only so much anger I can fit inside of it. However, this time I was merrily watching an episode of a series, for goodnight sleep, and got smacked in the face with just that... So, I suppose, let’s use my anger towards something - hopefully - productive. This is a very hard post for me to write. It may be closer to my personal experience, although I did try to be more general.

Contents:

Where Do I Even Begin or Sad Slav Filter

Common Stereotypes - Professions & Jobs

Common Stereotypes - Characteristics

Few basic issues with languages & names

Where Do I Even Begin or Sad Slav Filter

Grey buildings, empty plazas, ominous blocks of flats with walls up to the very sky. Snow. Gloom faces. Dark nights. Red. Gold.

To start with, be aware that this sort of image is oftentimes not only written into stories or presented in picture-based media, but that I had the displeasure of seeing it being used for cover art for several books.

What I jokingly call sad Slav filter is presenting the reality of Eastern Europe* through, well, pessimistic glasses. The architecture speaks of terror, of being post-communist state, of never having recovered. The streets portrayed in such fashion are gloom, unwelcoming, threatening in a way. Winter is oftentimes the season of choice, to add an extra layer of depressive atmosphere and cold. Nobody smiles. One may say that usage of gold and red brightens the image - however, those connect directly to the communist flag, thus locking the entire space in a rather obvious context.

The reality?

Yes, old blocks of flats built in 60s or so still exist. Some are even grey and in dire need of being re-painted! However... Many are not in such a state. In Poland, the common colours for elevation of such buildings are white, pastel orange, pastel yellow and pastel green, oftentimes put together in combination of stripes or other geometric shapes. What also should be noted is that such estates were designed with plenty trees and other plants around them in mind, as to accommodate for a development of a community - especially for older blocks of flats, those are most likely situated nearby a primary school and a kindergarten, not to mention stores and other services. It is not uncommon for playgrounds to be present as well. You could also expect small flower gardens.

Parks exist here. Architecture does not begin and end at the blocks of flats, especially not in the major cities - most, if not all, have old towns or historical representative streets. Buildings dating back to medieval still do exist in plenty of places. Churches & Tserkovs - those are oftentimes tourists sites for a reason!

It may happen that the side of a building will be decorated with a mural. It is not very common, but does happen. Here are some examples (from Poland). The designs sometimes relate to other works of art, or to some forms of traditional art.

mural by NeSpoon, a street artist who incorporates motives of koronka ludowa [a type of lace] into her artwork

Overall, I come from a poorer region of Poland, from a small town to add to that. The one thing I would list about it? Flower gardens. All of my neighbours had flower gardens in front of their houses. In the recent years, I’ve seen plenty of new houses being built, plenty of renovations being made. Especially in spring and summer, it is all far from grey. Some major cities started investing in fields of wild flowers, as to aid pollinators. And winters? Well, the way it should be (as climate change shows and I have not seen a proper winter in a while), they should be snowy. Yes, it may involve a rather depressing image, at least in places where snow cannot just rest over the ground and glitter... But I do think it may be the case in plenty parts of Europe, as winter days are overall shorter as well, which hardly helps :”) Eastern Europe as a region is not locked in an eternal winter.

People may not be smiling, but they are not frowning either - it is the... Neutral resting face.

*- that being said, Eastern Europe is not inhabited only by Slavic people, even if it is often presented like so

Common Stereotypes - Professions & Jobs

List of common stereotypical jobs/professions usually performed by characters of Slavic descent:

a member of a mafia (Russian mafia)

a drug dealer

a spy

a prostitute

a maid / a cleaner

As you can see, nearly all of those involve crime, the only exception being a maid / a cleaner (which, I’d argue, speaks of a lower socio-economic status). If you do not plan to have more than one Slavic character in your work, I advise you to avoid those - especially if you wanted to make your character Russian. I do not think I have to explain why representing a group of people nearly exclusively as criminals is hurtful.

Certain stereotypes exist in media. They do influence the reality. I have seen covers of books about spy programs (non-fiction, referencing an issue from 2000s) which involved clear references to communism (+ used the most hideous Sad Slav Filter I have ever seen). The title suggested all Russians are spies. This is not okay.

If you want to have a character who is performing any of the above, and want to make them Slavic, but then never have their heritage influence anything about them - ask yourself why.

EDIT: Do allow me to also add that being a sex-worker may not be a choice for all Slavic women. Sex-trafficking of Eastern Europeans is a real issue. You should be mindful of that when writing a story - even more so as it affects some countries more than others. Research is due.

Common Stereotypes - Characteristics

Common hurtful characteristics in depicting slavic characters:

uneducated or otherwise stupid

rude, loud, uncultured, violent

an alcoholic / addicted to drugs

extremely conservative / religious

Do I have to explain it? Yes, alcoholism is a social issue, same as addiction to drugs. Yes, some people are conservative and / or religious. However! We are not a monolith! Social issues are not the general rule!

Scale of conservativeness and religiousness also differs greatly by age group and region. In Poland we have an entire category of practising atheists - non-believers, usually from smaller communities, who appear in church once or twice a year, despite not believing. Due to social pressure. What religion? This differs greatly too! Roman catholic, Greek orthodox, Muslim? Slavic people are not a monolith.

(about women specifically):

beautiful (must put plenty effort in her physical appearance)

looks for a rich (western) husband

submissive

obedient

Well. This ties into the greater issue of objectification and sexualisation of Slavic and Eastern European women. Admittedly, such portrayal [including all of those] is more so present in online spaces, if you turn a few wrong corners down the roads of the internet :) It is dehumanising.

If your Slavic character happens to be a woman and must be extremely sexy femme fatal spy - this reeks of stereotypes.

Few basic issues with languages & names

As I’ve hinted already, it appears that oftentimes Slavic = Russian. This, however, is not true, both language-wise and culture-wise. Despite sharing some common elements, Slavic cultures do differ. Polish characters, unless they are 50+ years old, won’t generally speak Russian. Czech and Ukrainian are different. Ukrainian is not just another version of Russian.

I decided to single out this paragraph for one reason: authors oftentimes do not bother to check for appropriate names and just use whatever seems right. If you want to write a Slavic character, do make some research.

The common mess-ups I’ve seen:

inappropriate form of the surname (about Russian surnames in particular; giving a woman a male version of the surname, giving a man the female version of the surname - Slavic languages are heavily gendered!)

claiming a character is of nationality B, while giving them a surname which is most definitely speaking of nationality A (e.g: Polish character with a clearly Hungarian name & surname)

wrong spelling

using very rare forms of names for all the characters written into the story (it sounds very unnatural - in one particular case it seemed to have been done on purpose, as I’ve had to google whether some names were even names. They were used as code names for few organisations during WWII. That sort of uncommon).

nicknames derived from the actual names that would not work at all (Żegota -> Zeg; It just would not work like this. It would be literally more likely for a character named Żegota to be nicknamed/renamed Staszek than for somebody to call him Zeg. It does not only not include the ż sound, but it also ends with g - which a Polish person would simplify to k when speaking. In other words Zeg -> zek. This, meanwhile, is not only not exactly pleasant to say, but it also sounds like a grammatical form of another word, albeit pronounced with a heavy lisp - “river”; It is possible to find appropriate nicknames online).

Also, unless you want for some character to be a dick, do not make them purposefully mispronounce the name of a Slavic character or have them name them after an object/thing. (Calling “Maciej” by “Magic” because they can’t be bothered to learn to pronounce the name or at least try to get it close is not nice).

#lorei spoke #honestly i had to take a couple breaks while writing this #because some of those affected my family living abroad directly and </3 #i was completely not in a mood for any stereotypes today </3

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chaoticevilbean · 3 years

Text

Another Star Wars AU, TBN*

*To-Be-Named

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rex and Cody wake up together.

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

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

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

(also, this is the Mandalore in the cartoons)

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

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

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

He looks up to see who's carrying him.

He looks around at the people walking with them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's Mace (and Depa).

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

Back to the beginning

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

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

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

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

He also is wondering what that lump is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Next group

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

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

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

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

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

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

They agree on one thing, at least.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anakin is panakin.

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

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

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

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

Mace puts a few things together very quickly.

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

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

Back to the beginning

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They are very very very wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A slave cannot bite someone who approaches and Vibes Wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

Smol Feral Brain says this is Dangerous. Mean.

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

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

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

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

The Temple is having a field day.

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

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

Yoda: Mission report, you have?

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

Mundi: A disturbance?

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

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

Dooku:...

Yoda: Bring the child back, you wish to?

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

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

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

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

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

The entire lineage has a soft spot for children.

Anyways...

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

Koth: How long until your return?

Mace:...

Yoda: Found a child, you did?

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

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

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

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

*more snarling*

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

Tiin: *deep sighing*

Mundi: *mild confusion noises*

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

Mace, nodding sagely: Of course.

*extremely loud yowl* *sounds of Mace turning*

Mace: DEPA!

Depa: He nearly bit off my finger!

Mace: That doesn’t mean you pinch him!

Depa: What else am I supposed to do?!

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

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

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

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

Mundi: He left the child with you, right?

Dooku:

Mundi: He left the child with you, right?

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

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

OW: Is that your name?

“Ben”: It is a name I am called :)

OW: That isn’t what I meant.

“Ben”: I know :)

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

MEANWHILE

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

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

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

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

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

ELSEWHERE

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

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

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

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

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

BACK TO

Obi-Wan and Ben have made it to Tatooine.

#star wars #star wars fic #another star wars au #obi-wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #kote fett #cody fett #rex fett #cody #rex #ahsoka tano #disaster lineage #mace windu #depa billaba #jango fett #duchess satine #time travel #deaging

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thebadboyfanclub · 4 years

Text

It’s Alright Darling (Sherlock x Reader)

Ok... Was this requested? No. Am I writing it cause anything Henry Cavill related makes me feel happy? Yes. Enjoy!

Being Sherlock Holmes assistant was something a lot of people would kill for and that makes it even better if you think about the irony of it. However, since Sherlock wasn’t a normal person to mostly everything he did, he had decided to hire a woman as his assistant, Mycroft called him mad and unhinged almost every time he brought up her name. (Y/n) was one of the most intelligent people he had ever been around, combining that with a charming personality was the recipe to success.

“Well, well, well I see my brother is full of surprises”

“Hello there Mycroft is so nice to see you again as well”

She spoke in an clearly ironic tone as she took of her gloves, she was never a fan of hats other than the occasions she knew she would be under the sun for hours. As she walked in the living room area for what seemed like their childhood home, Sherlock had requested for (y/n) to arrive a day later than the brothers, knowing that her and his older brother were like oil and water he chose to “prepare the grounds” first.

“Where is the young little Holmes?”

“Inside, talking with miss Harrison”

“Alright... who is miss Harrison?”

“Miss Harrison is an excellent teacher and a friend of mine, come to think of it maybe you should go in and ask her to take you as well... you might be a bit old but I’m sure she can make an exception”

Mycroft found (y/n) intolerant, she was dismissive, unladylike, mouthy and a feminist, he still does not understand what asset do she brought to his younger brother. She only smiled while sitting at one of the chairs

“I will let you know I was an excellent student in all my academic achievements, although I suppose you were one as well that doesn’t really prove someone’s intelligence or manners, right mister Holmes?”

Sherlock let a laugh be heard at (y/n)’s quick response, even though he would never take sides and sometimes wanted them to get along, he had accepted that it would never happen and simply enjoyed the situation.

“Amused brother? Of course you are as mad as her since you didn’t only hire her, you kept her around and brought her in my home”

“Now Now mister Holmes, what type of gentleman would you be if you threaten to through out not just a lady but your younger brothers guest, unfortunately you are just further proving my point about our little quarrel”

Before he had the chance to respond a young girl walked in, wearing a white undergarment dress and looking disheveled. The girl who (y/n) could only assume was the infamous Enola didn’t even notice her being in this room.

“No, don’t do this to me. Let me remain happy, I am happy here”

“You are a young woman now Enola, you need an education”

“Test me, on anything you think I need to know in order to be sufficient for this world”

“If she taught you so well, you wouldn’t be standing in your undergarment in front of me”

Silence fell in the room for a quick second. His disgusting answer to his own sister made (Y/n) get on her feet, Enola quickly let her gaze fall on the young woman that was now in her house.

“Why is that a problem Mister Holmes? Undergarments are scandalous for the men when a woman they are interested in wears them, she is your underaged sister”

“This is a family matter, it does not- I repeat- does not concern you”

“Of course it does not concern me, but it does concern me when a young girl is being held accountable for walking in her home, to her brothers, completely covered and still being shamed for it”

Enola understood by that quick argument the lady was not here because of Mycroft, so it only meant she was Sherlocks company, she is not his wife since if not invited he would have at least informed their mother, so perhaps a girlfriend?

“Enola you have no hopes of making a husband out of your state, neither do you... miss (y/l/n)”

“I don’t want a husband”

Enola claimed, raising her voice at the ridiculous claim her brother made. Even though they haven’t been properly introduced they had developed a mutually liking for each other, at a brief look they seemed to have the same outlook on life.

“And that is another thing you need to have educated out of you”

At that Enola turned to look at her other brother, Sherlock, who had remained radio silent throughout this entire conversation. Enola kneeled in front of him, as Sherlock looked at her and then broke eye contact to look down at the book he was holding.

“Sherlock, Don’t let him do this to me”

“You are his ward”

“Make me yours. Guide me. Teach me. For him I am nuisance. For you-”

“Enola. I’m sorry, but it’s out of my hands”

“Just like his cruelty to our mother was out of your hands”

Cruelty to their mother? No, Sherlock would have never allowed his mother to go through anything, he is a man of honor... isn’t he? (Y/n) felt her stomach tighten as she saw this tragic scene unravel, she hoped Sherlock would have accepted and took her in.

“She is not dangerous. She is remarkable and always has been. And if you still can’t see that then shame on you both”

“So remarkable she left you in my care”

Mycroft shot back. (Y/n) could almost feel the pain the young girl felt, you could see it in her eyes how that was an arrow straight in her heart. (Y/n) decided to step up and try to help, she approached the young girl with a kind smile and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Come on, let’s get you out of here to calm down. Seems like your brothers don’t share the same love and admiration you do for the woman that made them who they are”

“I am a self made successful man”

“but you wouldn’t be no man if the woman you frown upon had not broken her hips and went through hours of painful labor. Take that as some food for thought before you school me on my manners”

Sherlock looked at her in awe, as she stood proudly next to his sister and became the shield he should have been. Standing up for a girl you haven’t even spoken to or knew before this.

“Let’s go young Enola, seems like a woman’s presence is wanted here only when she does as she is told”

“Come in”

“Can I open this door and be promised that I will remain safe or are you holding a dagger and you are ready to take me out of this world?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, dagger you in your own household? I would probably wait to poison you a few days after we leave and write the paperwork of you firing me”

He smiled at her plan as he closed the door in her room. It was already nightfall and the only light here were a few candles, he had let her take a breather after the unfortunate event that had occurred previously. Even though he wasn’t the one that she went toe to toe with, his silence was as obnoxious to her as his brothers loud ignorance towards the female gender.

“You are upset”

“Of course not, why would I be? It’s not like you let that man embarrass his own sibling and talk down to his mother without her being in the room”

She had remained sited in the chair next to the table, a book open that seemed like she was writing on rather than reading it. He was aware she was holding a journal, he didn’t blame her for it, having a job like she did she was in desperate need of something to keep her sane.

“This is a very wary subject”

“I am aware of it, I just can’t seem to understand why not comfort her, try to change your brothers opinion, anything that will show you care for her, you do care for her, right Sherlock?”

“She is my baby sister (y/n), that’s a given”

She closed her book. She ran her hand through her through her hair and got up from her sit, her hands going in front of her torso at a defensive demeanor, even when Sherlock should be cold or show his higher position to her, he couldn’t help but seek some type of truce with her, how could he not? She looked so beautiful even when she mad at him, the eyes he was so caught up in looked at him with fury, her delicate feature went harsh and she was dressed more... lightly now.

“I spoke with her earlier, she was in the garden”

“I know, I saw.”

“She asked me about you, asked me if you were my lady”

Her eyes went wide for a split second before regaining her composer and turned her back to him. She approached the window before she spoke.

“If you think of how she became familiar with me, she was probably certain I wasn’t even friends with your holier than God brother”

“You mustn't be angry at me”

“And why is that?”

“Because other than my sister and mother, I care for you and for your opinion about me”

She remained silent. Not only because she was caught off guard by his comment, she also didn’t know what he was talking about. Sherlock stepped closer to her, his steps making her heart flutter and her palms sweaty. He stopped when he was right behind her, he wanted to hug her, caress her, kiss her, still he was uncertain of how she would react.

“I still remember the night you got kidnapped”

Someone that Sherlock had helped uncover had escaped prison and kidnapped her. Luckily, she was retrieved safely yet again she was still shaken up by the scary experience, when Sherlock found her awake next to the fireplace she was so vulnerable and grateful to be alive she launched at him and kissed him passionately.

He shared his bed with her, in the middle of the night though she had gotten up and left, when morning came she acted like nothing had happened, barely even looked at him in the eyes for a week.

“Please Sherlock don’t pick at my brain”

“Why did you leave that night? Did you regret it that much”

“That night... was the most blissful I have ever been.... However you are still my boss Sherlock”

“That’s all I am to you? Your boss?”

(Y/n) turned to look at him, tears welling up in her eyes. Those eyes would be the death of him, it was with no doubt the window to her soul, that pure gentle soul of hers.

“What am I to you then Sherlock? This wasn’t just about me”

“You are.... what I never knew I needed”

His hands went up to her forearms instinctively, a soft caress that made her think his hands were made out of the finest silk, she felt goosebumps as he touched her. Her lips parted slightly as she took in a heavy breath, her eyes searching for a hint of a lie in his words.

“Sherlock”

“Shhhhh, It’s alright darling. You don’t have to say anything”

At that he slowly leaned in, his lips on top of hers at a shy and gentle kiss. Her hand went to his neck, bringing her torso to touch his as the kiss deepened, her entire body felt a rush go through it as they should the passion they held for each other with this kiss. As she pulled back her fingertips traveled to his face, taking in his attractive features

“I had almost forgotten how good of a kisser you are”

“Oh love, you will never forget it ever again”

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teasty · 4 years

Text

kiss yourself (01) | h.js (m)

● pairing: han jisung x (female) reader

● genre: angst, smut, fluff || fwb to lovers au

● words: 6.9k ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

→ summary:

It all started when you and your best friend for life, Han Jisung, got a little bit too tipsy at a party and ended up waking up naked in the same bed. After that unfortunate night, you and Jisung confirmed there be a distinguished “friends with benefits” relationship between the two of you, with a few rules.

Number One: No one else is supposed to know about this relationship.

Number Two: The minute one of the two of you starts a serious relationship with someone, the benefits are cut off immediately.

Number Three: Have to respect the other’s wishes, if one doesn’t want to do it, then there’s no argument.

Number Four: No falling in love.

But, when Jisung starts crushing over your classmate, you start to break the rules. One by one.

a/n: first story here :D my dirty mind couldn’t resist smut so here we go

CHAPTER ONE | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

“Oh, fuck, baby… you feel so fucking good.”

It was a stupid way to start of a weird relationship with one of your best friends, Han Jisung. A stupid way to let yourself succumb to his stupid antics and a stupid way to let him be more than a friend, but less than a lover.

It was a few months ago, and your second year of university was just starting up. Jisung had convinced you to go to some party the week before school would start. But, you were reluctant at first. Unlike Jisung, you were never too much of a party animal. Never too much of a social person to begin with. Jisung was another story entirely. He would always be out late and wouldn’t go back to his house or his dorm room until late, according to his roommate, Jeongin (who thankfully kept tabs on Jisung for you whenever you were suspicious that Jisung wasn’t telling the truth to you and would go out to some party, when he would tell you that he’s just going to meet up with other friends. You didn’t want to overbear him, but you worried for his health at times).

It was your first party, too. You had never bothered going to one in high school, not wanting to be crowded by drunk teenagers, being thrown up on or spilled on, or watching two people fuck in the corner of the room. It was never your go - to, but Jisung had convinced you to go after he promised that he’d never leave your side, even if he was being dragged away by “some hot chick trying to hop on his dick”. Even if you had wanted to say no, you couldn’t get a “no” past his pleading eyes. So, you had hesitantly agreed to go, and he was beyond excited to take you to your first party.

He even helped you pick out an outfit, and had taken hours finding the right one for the occasion. You’d never been very fashionable, unlike Jisung, who usually decked out in expensive clothes and accessories (you preferred comfortable, classic clothes like hoodies and leggings instead of skin - tight jeans and overly designed shirts). Jisung had basically tore your closet apart trying to find the “right outfit”. It was tiring, but you will admit that you had fun with trying on new clothes and hearing the praise from Jisung. He had eventually chosen an outfit for you that you felt quite uncomfortable in, but nonetheless beautiful. You had worn a tight pair of black leather pants, a maroon red tank top (that was tucked into the leather pants) and a black jacket. You will admit that it was sexy, and Jisung seemed to like it.

A lot.

But, he claimed that guys there would be drooling over you and trying to sleep with you, but he’d be there to keep you safe. Even so, you wondered why he’d make you wear such an outfit to a party if he was only going to keep you away from a one night stand, one you wouldn’t even remember anyways. He did claim that he wanted you to ‘keep your innocence’, which was total bullshit since he knew you weren’t a virgin (you lost it to some jock in high school who had been eyeing you during a football game) and definitely not innocent, as you both liked to constantly make dirty jokes here and there.

The party was at some rich kid’s house, and their parents were out of town. Their house was gorgeous and big, but filled to the brim with loud university students, some you had even recognised as your classmates. Jisung had kept his hand interlocked with yours as he pulled you through the crowd at the entrance and to the living room, where there was a table full of food and drinks, and even a cliche bowl of spiked punch. You were glad not as many people crowded the table, but Jisung obviously had some friends there, since he hugged one of them before going back to you.

“Hey, Hyunjin. Felix. Have you guys met (Y/N)?” Was the first thing he had said to them, and you were somewhat flustered by the sudden attention. But you suspected that you should have expected that kind of attention, since Jisung seemed oh - so excited that he’s taking you to a party.

“I don’t think we have,” said one of the two. You were taken aback by how deep his voice was. It wasn’t forced either, his voice was so relaxed, you almost felt like you’d be pulled into a deep sleep if you were to listen to his voice for hours. He was handsome, too. His bleached hair was a little long, but not as long as the other man’s, with brown roots peaking through the top of his head. “The name’s Lee Felix. I didn’t know Jisung kept such pretty friends away from us.”

“Oh, don’t be a flirt,” says the other man with long hair, which was tied back in a ponytail. You had concluded that he was Hyunjin, if the other was Felix, “And, no. I think I’ve seen you around though. But not in… those types of clothes.”

“Yeah, and you call me a flirt?” Felix cocks a brow at Hyunjin, who only glares back.

“It’s not flirting if it’s just stating a fact. I’ve seen her around… but in oversized hoodies and leggings,” Hyunjin counters.

“Alright, alright, pipe down,” Jisung interferes, stopping what would have become a petty argument about who’s flirting and who’s not. “Well, since you both can’t make a decent introduction… (Y/N), this is Felix,” he points to the man with the deep voice, “and this is Hwang Hyunjin. I think you guys might be in the same chemistry class last year, am I right?”

“Oh, yeah…!” Hyunjin claps his hands together, “You’re the one who nearly blew up the whole class! Oh, I remember, now.” Hyunjin and Felix laugh together, and Jisung gives you a weird look.

“It’s a long story,” you sigh, chuckling along with their contagious laughter, “Let’s just say that I was too tired to function and got mixture A mixed up with mixture B and almost made a really severe chemical reaction. I don’t think it would have blown up the whole school, though.” You fold your arms, and Hyunjin shrugs his shoulder.

“Who knows,” Hyunjin says, and you squint at him. “I’m not a chemistry genius, but it could have been bad. That’s not the point. I’m glad to meet you, (Y/N). I hope we can be closer.”

“Ditto,” Felix smiles down at you, and you chuckle awkwardly, flustered, “You seem like an interesting person. How did you and Jisung meet?”

“We used to be neighbors, like, a decade ago,” Jisung answers for you, leaning against the table filled with drinks and food, “Since we were the same age, we stuck together. Even after I moved again, we still talked like every day over the phone until university hit. Thankfully we got into the same school, and we both are going to live on campus, so… It’s been a lot easier.”

“Surprised you two were able to stay close even through distance,” Felix comments, and you and Jisung share a brief look and smile, “Not a lot of people are able to hold a strong relationship when the only thing they have is a phone or computer. Take Hyun for example, he couldn’t stay friends with this one chick even if he tried.”

“Wasn’t my fault she sucked at holding conversations. She always expected me to make up all the interesting shit. Kinda glad she ghosted me, now,” Hyunjin laughs, almost defensively, as if embarrassed by such a situation.

“It was your fault for trying to cling to her,” Jisung intervenes.

“Oh shut up, shortstack,” Hyunjin grumbles, and Jisung’s brows raise in challenge.

“Say that again, pretty boy, I dare you,” Jisung threatens, and you glare over at him, but he didn’t seem to care for your glare. Hyunjin and Jisung did end up getting into a petty argument about it and you had to stop it by asking Jisung to show you around the place. But, not before trading numbers with Felix and Hyunjin, since they insisted that they wanted to get to know you better (Felix still grumbling irritably about how Jisung kept “such a pretty friend” away from them for so long). You wouldn’t deny new friends, even if they were Jisung’s party animal friends and flirtatious, it didn’t really matter to you. You could use some new friends, anyways.

You had met a few more of Jisung’s friends (who all seemed to be so handsome that your heart would race every time they’d smile down at you or talk to you), three seniors,Seo Changbin, Lee Minho and Christopher Bang, and another, younger man named Seungmin. Out of all of them, Seungmin and Christopher seemed the most genuine. Minho, Felix, Changbin and Hyunjin just seemed pretty flirtatious. You could admit that you were intimidated by them, and by the party in general, but with Jisung next to you the whole way, you had at least some sense of security.

Your first drink of the night wasn’t until a few hours into the party. You were a little bit more comfortable with the setting. Jisung had sat you down in one of the living rooms, as you learned there were many. Not as many people were in this room other than people talking or flirting. It felt nice to finally sit down on such a comfortable couch, since you had been standing on heels the whole night, and relax. Jisung had already had a few mixed drinks, and you could see his face getting redder and redder due to the alcohol.

He handed you a plastic red cup filled with something orange that stunk of different kinds of liquor. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing too strong,” Jisung reassured, and you huffed softly. A bit nervous to drink it, but you did, anyway. It wasn’t terrible, but you could taste the liquor clearly through the citrusy taste. Jisung watched you as your face grew from confused to scrunched up from the bitter taste. You had alcohol before, but every time you had it, it was like the first time all over again. But, when you got used to the taste, the cup was empty in a flash.

You didn’t know when it started kicking in, but after you had Jisung fetch more drinks and you tried to stand up, you immediately plopped back onto the couch as an instant wave of fatigue washed over you. Your head started to ache, and it was getting warmer than it should have been. Sure, it was nearly the end of summer, but it was like someone shut off the air conditioning. So, you took off your jacket while waiting for Jisung to come back. It felt like forever until he came back, and you instinctively began to miss him. He’d stayed by your side the whole night, and it was weird without him. It was lonely, too, even if there were other people in the same room. You were too nervous to talk to them, though.

When he did, and handed the drink to you, the minute he had sat down, you clung to him.

“Woah, you alright?” Jisung laughs it off as you take the red cup in one hand and the other latching around his strong bicep. You were never usually one for skinship, but now was a different story. Each time you looked at Jisung, you felt like he was going to magically disappear. You didn’t know if it was the alcohol that made you so anxious or just you being lonely, but you weren’t really going to let go anytime soon. At first, Jisung was tense, and it took him a minute to get used to you huddling so close to him.

Like the first, the cup you had was empty sooner rather than later, even though Jisung advised you to sip on it instead of gulping it down, like you had been. After that drink, you didn’t order him to get another drink, you were too focused on the feeling of his bicep to ask for another.

“You can’t be drunk after two mixed drinks,” Jisung said after a while.

“Not drunk… just a bit tipsy, is all,” you responded, more of a low grunting than a talking voice. You liked how you could hear Jisung’s voice loud and clear the closer you were to him.

“Sure. Your tolerance isn’t very high, you know,” Jisung chuckles, and your body moves along with the bounce of his for each laugh. You only grunted in response, having already known that. “And, by the way, you don’t have to cling onto me like that. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Shut up,” you snapped, but you didn’t really want him to. You just didn’t want him to talk about you letting him go, since you didn’t want to. To prove your point, you squeezed harder onto his arm, “I’m comfy. Lemme have this moment.” Jisung deeply sighs and complies. After that, there’s a comfortable silence.

You were staring at the way your legs pressed against his as his legs relaxed in a (hot) manspread. His head leaned back, slightly tilted towards yours, which was squished against his shoulder. His hand rested delicately against your thigh, not moving much but sometimes his hand would press against your thigh. It was nice, and you could faintly hear his heartbeat.

You and Jisung weren’t strangers to cuddling, as you both had a lot of sleepovers before (with a strict talking to from your parents about having sex, and why not to do it), but this was different. Almost intimate. You’re both adults now, so cuddling like you would years ago when you were both barely teenagers wouldn’t be so innocent. Especially with Jisung’s obvious sex drive, things wouldn’t go so well. You both had never done anything like that, either. You both have never even kissed before. Well, there were times when he’d kiss your cheek or hand and vise versa, but nothing more than a peck and nothing more than that.

You wouldn’t deny your attraction to Jisung. You couldn’t really see yourself in a serious relationship with him, but damn is he attractive. He really matured over the years, too. His beautiful brown hair is in need of a cut, but you liked it a bit long. He might not be the tallest man alive, but his face made up for it. Even if he had the cheeks of a chipmunk, his jawline was as sharp as a knife. You could stare at him for hours, just admiring how he was built. You wondered if he felt the same about you. If he could stare at you for hours just admiring your beauty. Of course, it would probably never even cross his mind, even if Jisung would say how pretty you looked with a specific hairdo or how you looked beautiful in a certain outfit.

You found yourself staring at him as your thoughts carried on. Your arm unhooked from around his, and you watched how his eyes were closed. He looked like he was sleeping, but you could tell he wasn’t by the way his hand gripped you just above your knee. You were staring at him, and then at his neck. The way his Adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed.

Your mind grew hazy, void of thought as your lips parted slightly, your breath fanning his neck. His hand squeezed harder around your leg and you could faintly see his brows furrow. He doesn’t do anything nor say anything, but you watch as his bottom lip catches in between his teeth. You want more of a reaction. You don’t know why and you can’t form a reason why, but you do. You push yourself a little bit further until your lips connect just underneath his jaw. Your warm tongue pressing against his warm skin. You can feel how his hand trembles and the way his leg twitches underneath your own. Jisung emits a breathy groan, and you can feel it against your tongue.

“(Y/N)...” Jisung musters out, but you only press wet, slow kisses along the side of his neck, “What the fuck are you doing?” His voice is deeper, raspier and darker. Almost scary. If you weren’t so blank in the mind, you would think he’s mad. But all you can think about is urging him on further. You don’t want to answer him. You don’t have an answer to begin with.

“Just relax,” You whisper closely to his ear, nipping at the skin below his ear, and he sharply inhales. At this point, you don’t care who’s watching or why you’re doing this. The soft, breathy sounds Jisung emits makes you feel different, and the feeling of his warm skin against your tongue is addicting. “Don’t push me away.” You whisper again, one of your hands creeping up over his defined chest and along his neck.

“You have no fucking clue what you’re getting yourself into,” Jisung groans out, and you only chuckle against him. Briefly halting your wet kisses to his neck to smile lazily. “I’m being serious, (Y/N).” You know he’s serious just by the tone of his voice.

“Mmm…” was all you responded with as you pressed your body against the side of his. Your hand gripping his shirt as your leg creeps over his more and more. Edging yourself on top of him. “Sunggie…” you teased him by groaning his nickname into his neck. Sucking gently on his skin, giving it a blue and purple hue. You gave him multiple marks, and his hand caressed your arm gently as you breathily moan his name against his neck, “Sunggie… Jisung - ah.”

And that seemed to break him. His hand snaps up to grip your cheeks, aggressively pulling your head away from him to make you look him in the eyes. And it’s a look you’ve never seen in him before. It wasn’t anger or disgust in his half lidded eyes, but a pure sense of utter lust and desire. His hand grips your chin, his fingers pressing against your cheek as his eyes examine your face. His face is a pretty pink from the alcohol and you guessed from him blushing. Now, you’re on top of him. Straddling his lap, and you can feel his hard - on underneath you.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, (Y/N). I’m giving you one last chance before I take you back to my place and break you,” Jisung says, and you liked this side of him. Sure, you’ve seen him being aggressive, but not like this. No, this is different. You don’t have much courage to speak, so all you can do is let your tongue fall out of your mouth and guide his index finger in between your lips. His mouth parts slightly in shock as he watches your mouth engulf his finger.

“Fine, you wanna be like that,” Jisung brows furrow, and he stands up quickly, and you let out a yelp as his hand yanks itself from your mouth as both of his hands latch around your thighs. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and your arms around his neck, “We’re going home.”

It wasn’t easy, leaving without being spotted by one of Jisung’s friends. Felix had come over to see us when he saw Jisung’s arm wrapped around you as your head stuffed into his neck (teasingly kissing his neck). “Oi, Jisung. Everything good?”

“Yep,” Jisung gives Felix a convincing smile, and you smile against his neck, “I’m taking (Y/N) home. She got a bit too crazy tonight.”

“Really? She’s been pretty quiet,” Felix notes.

“Well, she has her different sides to her,” Jisung laughs, “Uh, yeah, well, I gotta get her home, Felix. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, alright? Let Hyunjin and everyone else know that I’m leaving.”

“Alright, I’ll catch you later, bud. Take care of her for me, alright?”

“Oh, I will,” Jisung smiles, and you squeezed tighter onto him.

After that, it was foggy. All you could remember was how Jisung treated you. Calling you dirty things all while praising you. Making sure you were alright while tearing you apart blissfully.

It was the next morning where everything was decided.

You were the first to wake up, having the sun shining brightly in your face. You had a blazing headache, and you could feel your head pulsing that morning. You couldn’t even open your eyes after you woke up because it hurt so bad. You hadn’t even considered where you were or why you were completely nude at first. But, when it hit you that there was only a thin, soft blanket covering you, you had the courage to open your eyes and see where you were.

It was a familiar room, that’s for sure. The bed was much bigger than your own, and you usually had more pillows and blankets than this, so it wasn’t your room. It didn’t really hit you where you were before you looked to your side. You nearly screamed when you saw Han Jisung, your best friend laying next to you. His back turned to you, and completely shirtless. You held the blanket around your chest. You stared at him for a moment, brief memories of last night running through your mind. You wanted to cry as embarrassment and shame powered through you, but a sense of want overpowering it. A part of you didn’t want this to be just a one - time thing.

“Jisung!” You whispered, nudging his shoulder. He didn’t budge, “Han Jisung! Han Jisung - ah, wake up!” Your voice raised as you shook him, “Jisung!”

“What, what? Is everything okay?” Jisung bolts up after you yell his name. Sitting up straight, he hisses when the sun makes contact with the sun. His hand rubs his eye, and you try not to note the scratch marks on his back, the hickeys littering his neck and chest or how he was just as naked as you, only being covered by the comfort of the thin blanket. “Fuck, (Y/N), don’t scare me like that.”

“Why are you acting so calm?” You didn’t raise your voice, as your head ached terribly because of it, “Look at me Jisung.”

And, so he did. He looks up. He didn’t seem as tired, as he saw the blue and purple hickeys lining your neck and what he could see of your breasts as well as red scratch marks on your shoulders. You both don’t say anything for a while. You’re both an uncomfortable distance away from each other, and you didn’t want to admit that you wanted to cry right there.

“I’m sorry,” Jisung is the first to say something after that tense silence, and your brows furrow, “I… I shouldn’t have… I’m so fucking sorry. I’ll… I’ll.”

“Why are you sorry?” You asked softly, and Jisung seemed hasty. His hands were trembling as he gripped the blanket, and he didn’t make eye contact with you.

“I shouldn’t have done anything to you. Everything’s ruined now,” Jisung’s head dips, “I shouldn’t have let the stupid alcohol guide me. Fuck, (Y/N), I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Hey, nothing’s going to change between us,” You crawl towards him, still keeping the blanket firm around you as your free hand cups his cheek and lifts it up towards you. “It was both of our faults…” Jisung stares up at you, “I was the one to make the first move. If anything, it was my fault.” You let go of his face, as he watches as you sit on your feet. You swallow the lump in your throat, and utter out, “And, besides… I don’t regret anything.” Jisung’s mouth falls open, and his brows lift in what you can guess is shock, “I might not remember all of it, but I how you made me feel.”

There’s another silence, both of you staring at each other.

“I want to feel it again.”

Jisung didn’t answer right away, but his bottom lip got entrapped between his teeth subtly.

“You don’t know that,” Jisung whispers, “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Of course I do,” your brows furrow, almost angrily. “I know what I’m saying, Jisung. And I’m saying that I don’t want this to be just a once in a lifetime thing and never think of it again.” You look away, resting against Jisung’s headboard. “I know that we don’t share romantic feelings for each other. I know that, Jisung.” You look over to him, “So, I want benefits.”

“You mean…? Friends with benefits?” Jisung musters out in a low, unsure voice, “I don’t know, (Y/N). I don’t want to ruin this friendship.”

“But, that’s the whole point of it, Jisung,” you chuckle, “I know that you don’t want our friendship to weaken, and neither do I. But, Jisung, I’ve always been attracted to you. Not exactly like I want to be your girlfriend, but I want you in some way. I just don’t know if you feel the same way, so I’m saying it now. Do you want me, Han Jisung?”

He doesn’t answer right away, which makes you nervous of his answer. But, his answer satisfies you, thankfully; “Yeah. Yeah, I do. I hate to admit it, but I do. I couldn’t resist last night.”

“I know. It was my fault for urging you to do that even when you warned me not to,” you chuckle.

And, from then on, you two concluded that whenever someone needs to let off stress or steam in the form of sex, the other should be open for it. Of course, there’d be rules along with it. You didn’t want this to just be a ‘come by for sex and leave’ kind of thing, or thinking the other is romantically attracted to the other so you wanted to make some ground rules. Jisung agreed, thankfully.

There were four rules. Number One was that no one is to hear about this relationship. Not only would it cause rumors amongst school and your friends, you both agreed that it should be kept top - secret. Besides, you both didn’t want people to think you’re both in a secret relationship and that it’s more than just a friends with benefits type of relationship.

Number Two was that the minute one of you gets into a serious relationship with someone, all benefits cease. This one is quite obvious. Neither of you wanted to be defined as a cheater if either of you do end up in a relationship with someone else. No matter how much the other person wants it, if one of you is in a serious relationship, until that relationship ends and both are single, there’s no sexual activity.

Number Three was that both had to respect each other’s wishes entirely. No matter how bad they want it or how horny they might be, if the other person is uncomfortable with something or doesn’t want to have sex, then the other must respect their wishes. Again, no matter how horny or how much they want a certain thing. This also leads to a safe word between the two of you, which was just basic yellow and red. Yellow being to slow down or to take a short break and red being to stop completely without argument.

And finally, Number Four was that there’s no falling in love. This one was actually Jisung’s idea. Everything else was yours. You agreed with him, but was still skeptical about it. If you did catch feelings, you’d have to hide it. Jisung seemed pretty serious about it, though, which kind of scared you.

And, those four rules led to the present day, months after this event. You lean against a family bathroom sink with Jisung’s fingers curled around your hair, keeping your head up to watch him in the mirror as he slowly pushed himself into you. Your leggings and panties barely pushed down past your ass as Jisung undid his belt and pushed his pants down. Not even prepping you before he pushes himself into you. His cock, covered by the condom, which he had learned to always carry around, slowly dragging against your wet, oversensitive walls.

He’d been teasing you all day in the movie theatre he’d taken you to with his friends. While watching the movie alongside Hyunjin, Felix and Christopher, he was slowly playing with your clit, edging you on and on. Finally, the movie ended and after half an hour of pure torture from Jisung’s sinful hands, you dragged him to the family bathroom (which was one bathroom with a lockable door). He didn’t even hesitate before bending you over the sink, making you watch him and yourself as he fucks himself into you painfully slow.

“Oh, fuck, baby… you feel so fucking good.”

You delicately whimper at the sound of his words from behind you as he fills you. Jisung liked to call you by pet names during sex, like baby, babygirl or babe (anything with baby in it, really).

“Oh, fuck… I’m not gonna go slow, baby.” Jisung warns the minute his pelvis presses against your ass.

“I don’t care,” you groan in response, eyeing him in the reflection in the mirror, “Break me, Jisung. You’ve been teasing me all fucking day - oh my god!” you would have screamed if it wasn’t for Jisung stuffing the end of your hoodie into your mouth before his hands grip your waist before pulling out and ramming himself back into you. Once his hand lets go of your hair, your head dips down in pure bliss. Your teeth grinding against the fabric of your hoodie and your hands gripping the sink.

“I know you like it, baby,” Jisung grunts out as he starts to thrust into you, “I know how much you like it when I play with your little pussy in front of everybody like the little fucking slut you are. I know you like it, baby.” You let out choked moans at his words. The degrading words only make you wetter as you move your body back to meet with his thrusts. One of your hands reaches back to grip his wrist as Jisung’s hands dig into your hips to move your body with him. The way his cock rammed into your tight cunt burned in a blissfully sinful way.

Jisung had pulled your tank top and bra underneath your breasts so he could lean over you to play with them harshly. His hands gripping your bare, warm breasts as his chest presses against your back. His head presses against your shoulder as he breathes heavily against your neck. His tongue occasionally jutting out to lick stripes up your sensitive neck. Sucking gently on your skin, trying not to leave too many marks.

“Fuck, fuck…” Jisung curses breathily, and you try your best not to scream as he ruts into you as if it were the last time he’d ever have the chance to fuck you again. Your saliva coats the part of the hoodie that stayed in your mouth for you to bite onto. Your hands weakly grip the sink to try and hold you up, but your legs can barely hold your waist. “Oh… my god, babygirl.” Jisung sweetly moans into your ear.

Your mouth opens to let the hoodie fall out of your mouth, and you utter out, “Jisung… Jisung I can’t… oh, fuck… I can’t stand.” Jisung is quick to fix the situation by turning you around so that you’re sitting on the sink, legs thrown over his shoulder and your back and head leaning against the mirror as he fucks himself into you. Jisung doesn’t hesitate to grip onto your neck, but careful not to let off air flow, just pressing his fingers on either side of your neck as he rams himself into you. Your hands creeped up to grip his wrist, which only seemed to make Jisung more and more confident.

He pressed his hand against your core, slowly down slightly to allow himself to focus on pressing his thumb against your extremely sensitive and extremely erect clit. The minute his thumb makes contact with your sensitive bud, waves of pleasure and chills run through you, and your eyes roll into the back of your head as your back arches up, your nails digging into Jisung’s arm.

“Oh my fucking god, Jisung!” You pitifully cry out, trying your very best to contain your moans so no lingering ears would hear. But, it was getting difficult with Jisung’s hard cock thrusting ever so quickly into you and his thumb pressing firmly against your clit as his hand wraps around your neck.

“Shh… babygirl, you don’t want anyone to hear, do you?” Jisung chuckles darkly as he looks down at you, no mercy in his eyes as you clench around him. Beyond sensitive to every touch. “I want you to cum on my cock, but be as quiet as you can, baby. Try and be quiet, but I want you to cum.” His hands move from your neck to your mouth, his middle and ring finger slipping between your lips and pressing down against your tongue.

The moment his hips start to stagger and his thumb pressed harder and harder against your sensitive clit, your hip bucks violently as you feel your climax approaching. Jisung doesn’t slow down when he feels your warm walls clench around him tightly. He speeds up despite how his hips falter and tense as his own orgasm edges up, you let out a series of high pitched moans, muffled by Jisung’s finger, and Jisung lets out a string of low groans against your neck. His thumb softens against your clit, rubbing small circles to ease you out of your climax.

Your stomach twitches as Jisung pulls out of you, his thumb finally coming off your clit to gently press against your abdomen as he eases out of you. You let out a sigh as let your body relax once Jisung’s no longer in you. His fingers pull out of your mouth to deal with the condom, and you catch your breath. Your hands clutching the sink as your legs stay limp on his shoulders, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“You made such a fucking mess. How horny were you?” Jisung teases as he eyes the cum and pure wetness still seeping out of you. You glare at him.

“Very. And it’s your fault.” You snap, and Jisung raises his hands in defense.

“Hey, guilty as charged,” Jisung chuckles and pulls up his underwear and pants, not bothering to tighten the belt around him before he reaches over to grab paper towels to help clean you up.

“Still. You were the one teasing me during the movie,” you utter out as Jisung wipes away the cum with the paper towel, “Couldn’t even focus on it. You seemed to enjoy every bit of it, though.”

“You know it,” Jisung jokingly winks at you, and you playfully hit his head.

Once he’s finished cleaning you, you get off the sink to pull up your underwear and your pants, sighing deeply at the sore feeling in your core. “Fuck… Jisung, you’re carrying me back to my dorm.” Jisung couldn’t argue with you, since you’d always have the upperhand, especially since Jisung knows he can become an animal when fucking you, and usually blames it on ‘not being able to hold back’.

“As you wish, princess,” he teasingly calls you, and you glare at him as he buckles his belt before turning his back to you and crouching down for you to get onto his back.

When you do, he unlocked the door and started heading out, both of you not really caring for the wandering eyes of people who were curious why two adults came walking out of the family bathroom. Luckily, Felix, Hyunjin and Christopher were all gone, since you couldn’t spot them anywhere. The movie theatre was in the center of a mall, so you had suspected they were somewhere, roaming the stores of the mall.

“I swear, I’m going to have arms bigger than Changbin’s at some point. Having to carry you everywhere,” Jisung complains, and you groan.

“It’s not my fault all you do is go rough,” you counter, and you can see Jisung roll his eyes, “Maybe if you were a bit more gentle you wouldn’t have to carry me. But, hey, you need the workout.”

“Do you not like it rough?” Jisung teases.

“I never said that,” you mutter, and Jisung laughs triumphantly.

At first, things were a bit awkward between the two of you, but that was to be expected. It wasn’t until Jisung was knocking on your dorm room door at three in the morning and railed you while your roommate was out grabbing groceries (at three in the morning? You didn’t know why, either.) because he had just gotten into a fight with one of his friends and “needed to let off steam”. After that, everything even related to the benefits you both have turned into a normal thing, and you both seemed to get even closer with each other. You both could talk about information that would be considered weird between normal friends, but since you’ve both seen each other completely nude over a dozen times, it wasn’t as weird anymore.

“But I don’t just like it rough, you know? If it’s intimate and slow, then I don’t care,” you sighed, resting your chin comfortably on his shoulder. Jisung doesn’t respond. In fact, he frowns at you. Why? You had no clue. All the more, it was a silent walk back to the dorm buildings. Jisung dropped you off at your dorm, and your roommate, a geeky, yet strange, girl named Jeo Jeongja thanked Jisung for taking you home.

“And, by the way, (Y/N),” Jisung said before leaving, and you raise a brow as you climb up onto your bed, “I expect you to meet me at the D.R. tomorrow night. Jeongin’s gonna be outta town for the weekend.” Jisung winks at you, and your breath catches in your throat.

D.R. was your secret word for ‘dorm room’. Since saying directly, especially in front of others, that you’re going over to a boy’s dorm room when they’re roommates going to be out of town is suspicious to say the least, you both decided to come up with that.

“Are you alright with that?” Jisung asks, his tone lacing with a delicate worry.

“Definitely,” you shoot him a playful smile.

“Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow. See ya, Jeongja,” Jisung waves at Jeongja, who gave him a subtle wave back, not really interested or immersed in the short lived conversation you and Jisung were having. And with that, Jisung left, closing the door behind him.

There’s a subtle silence between you and Jeongja. You both might be roommates, but you could never really consider her a friend. The most you two talk to each other is when you help each other study with whatever topic. Once Jisung leaves, Jeongja sits up on her bed and stares at you with a playful smile.

“Oh my god, I don’t get how you’re not crushing on him” Jeongja giggles.

“He’s my best friend,” you sigh, laying down on your pillows to try and soothe the ache in your gut from your last session with Jisung, “I could never picture myself with him, you know. If you want him, have at it. But, be warned, he is a player.”

“Oh. I know that much,” Jeongja laughs shortly. You should’ve known, since Jeongja seemed to have ears all around the school. Every rumor eventually gets to her, and through your ears, whether you want to hear about it or not, “I heard he’s been fucking with most of the popular girls.”

“Oh, really now?” your brows raise. For some reason, it sparks an angry flame in you. Sure, you might not be in love with him, but the fact that you both have an intimate relationship makes you jealous when you hear that he’s been with other girls, but you try not to show it as much.

Jeongja shrugs a shoulder, “Just what’s been going around. I only report what I hear. And, apparently, Jisung knows all of the rumors. He just hasn’t said anything about it.”

“Well, he hasn’t talked to me about it,” you sigh, taking your phone out of your pocket, debating whether or not to talk to Jisung about what you're hearing. After a few brief moments of staring at your locked phone, you decide against it and let it fall onto your stomach. “Do you mind keeping me updated on this shit?”

“Why? Is someone jealous?” Jeongja wiggles her shoulders and brows at you, smirking.

“Hell no,” you groan, your head falling back, and you rub your eyes. Exhaustion crashing over you, “I’m going to bed, Jeongja. Do whatever you want, but don’t turn the lights back on.” You get up briefly to shut the lights off before climbing back under your blankets, slipping off your bra.

“But, it’s only nine!”

“I don’t give a shit. I’m tired.”

But, a part of you wasn’t. A part of you was beyond eager for what Jisung had in mind for tomorrow. Your aching core began to throb at the thoughts.

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honeypiehotchner · 4 years

Text

intelligence & issues (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- chapter eighteen

Helloooo I almost posted this yesterday as a thank you gift and then I totally got caught up in schoolwork. Gotta love finals season am I right

Anywho, thank y’all so much for 1.7k followers <3 Here’s a long ass chapter that’s a good ol’ mix of fluff and angst xx.

Chapter Warnings: waking-up-together kinda fluff, no sexytimes but there are some ~suggestive~ comments of course, ANGST at the end (i’m so sorry), the end of this case is very near on the horizon

Previous chapter || Fic Masterlist

Aaron wakes you when his first alarm goes off at 5a.m. It’s way too fucking early in your opinion, but you know he wants you to have time to go back to Emily and JJ’s room to get ready for the day.

Still, being woken by a kiss on your forehead is something you can see yourself getting used to. Not to mention using his chest as a pillow all night.

You tilt your head to capture his lips in a sweet kiss, not caring that the both of you probably have disgusting morning breath right now.

He pulls away first, nudging your nose with his before he rests his forehead on yours, looking deep into your eyes. “Good morning, sweet girl.”

You can’t help the smile that splits your lips. “Good morning.” You close your eyes in your flustered state, burying your face down into his chest. “I don’t want to leave.”

“I want you to stay,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “But we’ve got a job to do.”

“I know,” you sigh, opening your eyes to bring yourself back to reality. Then, you hook your arms around his neck, starting to grin. “Same thing tonight?”

He smirks, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Depends on how much of a good girl you are today.”

“Ooh, a challenge,” you tease. “I dunno…I’m feeling pretty bratty this morning.”

You feel his arm tighten around your shoulders, drawing you closer to him in warning.

“I’m just teasing,” you murmur, propping your chin on his chest, giving him your best eyes.

But he isn’t fazed. “I know. I’m keeping track.”

So, naturally, you pout. “Fine.”

“Strike two.”

“I have a feeling this isn’t like baseball. Three strikes and I’m out?”

“Are you trying to find out?”

“Mm, maybe?” You grin, but, as always, the FBI Agent part of your brain comes back to life. “If we didn’t have to be downstairs soon, I’d say yes. But I probably should go get dressed.”

“Understood,” Aaron replies, a small grin on his lips too. “I suppose even as your boss, I can’t keep you here.”

“As my boss, we’re technically not even supposed to be in the same bed together,” you remind him with a snort, but seriousness comes over him. “What?”

“We still need to talk,” he says quietly. “Really talk about this, but right now I just want you to know...I don’t regret this. I want this. No matter the consequences.”

“Me too,” you whisper, fingernails gently scratching the base of his skull, your weak attempt at comfort. “Do you think there’ll be consequences?”

He sighs, and you rise and fall with his chest. “I don’t know.” He pauses. “If Strauss finds out somehow, maybe. I don’t know if keeping it from her until she inevitably finds out is better than telling her ourselves, but…”

“We’ll figure it out,” you assure him with a small smile. “But you wanna do this?”

Instead of answering you verbally, he pulls you closer for a soothing kiss, coaxing all your worries away.

“I want to do this,” he says, knowing you need to hear the words from his voice.

“Okay,” you murmur, taking a deep breath. “What do we do about the team?”

His eyebrows furrow. “What about them?”

You give him a tired look. “Come on. They know.”

“What?” He blurts, sitting up a little, taking you with him. “Rossi knows.”

“And Emily and JJ and Garcia,” you chuckle. “I didn’t even tell them. Emily saw us at dinner one night. JJ figured it out from the phone call a few days ago. Garcia just...knows.”

“What about Morgan and Reid?”

“Are you kidding me? Morgan knows. Have you seen how he irritates the shit out of me every day?”

“Exactly,” Aaron says. “He does it every day.”

“Have you noticed how he’s been doing it especially when you’re around?” You raise an eyebrow. “Come on, you’re our supervisor! I thought you were a better profiler than that!”

“We have a rule not to profile each other,” he says sternly, obviously a little butthurt that he didn’t see that everyone else knew.

“A rule that none of us stick to, by the way,” you laugh. “We just don’t voice it. But we do. Trust me.”

“I didn’t think you’d figured that out yet,” he admits.

“Eh,” you shrug. “It wasn’t hard. I caught myself profiling everyone. I figured I couldn’t be the only one who does it by accident.”

Aaron only smiles. He’s amazed by you every single day. Sometimes he wonders if you even know how intelligent you are. If you even know the full scope of your mind. Maybe you don’t, maybe no one does.

“But anyway,” you swerve back on track. “I feel like it should be unspoken, but just...no PDA, you know? It’s fine that they know because honestly I think they knew before we knew, but let’s not make it a big deal.”

“Agreed,” he nods. “We still need to be professional.”

“Exactly,” you breathe, glad to be on the same page.

His second alarm goes off, the one for 5:30, and you groan, dropping your forehead to his chest.

“Why does it have to be so early?” You mutter, your lips brushing against his skin as you speak. It sends a hot wave through him, one that causes him to promptly shift your body off of him. “What are you doing?”

“You need to go get dressed,” he says. “And if you stay here wrapped around me any longer, I won’t be able to let you leave.”

You grin. “Point taken.”

You roll off the mattress, fully aware that he’s looking at your ass, and at your entire body, marveling at the way you look in his shirt.

“Oh,” you say, doing a dramatic turn, watching his eyes very quickly move back to your face. “Do you have any boxers? I probably shouldn’t walk down the hall in just a shirt.”

He’s scrambling for a pair of his boxer briefs, the thought of anyone else seeing you just like this making his blood boil frighteningly fast.

“Thanks,” you smirk when he hands them to you. And you put them on in front of him, partly for a show and partly because the look he was giving you demanded it. “I’ll see you in an hour or so?”

He nods. “Try not to spend too much time gossiping.”

“Oh, please,” you shake your head. “They’re getting all the details.”

You’re out the door before he can even catch you, and you just know you’re going to get it later.

+++

Emily and JJ are on you as soon as you open the door, both of them dressed and ready, arms folded over their chests like Moms whose daughter stayed out too late last night.

In a way, that’s completely accurate.

“And where have you been?” JJ asks, fully entering her Mom persona.

“Uhm, a friend’s house?” You play along, trying to inch your way to the bathroom.

But Emily knows your move, and stands in front of the bathroom door. “Is this friend named Aaron?”

“...maybe.”

And the façade falls, because they both cheer, pulling you into a hug.

“Finally!” Emily screams.

“Finally, what?” You laugh. “The night before I was also in his room.”

“Oh, we know,” JJ assures you.

“Finally, you admit it,” Emily clarifies. “So...details?”

“So...we have to be downstairs soon and I need to get dressed,” you walk past them to your bag. After grabbing your clothes, you turn back around to find them still staring at you. “What?”

“You’re in his shirt,” JJ says, still smiling.

“And boxers,” you laugh, pulling the hem of his t-shirt up a little. “Guys, don’t make this a big thing.” You pause, heading toward the bathroom. “He was a little upset that I knew everyone knew, and he didn’t.”

“How did he not?” Emily scoffs. “He can be so dense.”

You shake your head, shutting the bathroom door to get dressed.

When you emerge from the bathroom, now dressed and looking more presentable, Emily and JJ are finally getting ready, too. They still watch you like a pair of hawks stalking prey, though. You just hope they won’t make any comments later.

That’s wishful thinking and you know it. But hopefully the comments will be held in at least until you’re all on the jet, heading back to Virginia.

+++

When you walk out of the elevator with Emily and JJ, you find Hotch standing with Rossi, the former looking much more grave than you left him. And he’s on the phone.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, picking up the pace. You glance at Hotch, silently asking, and he nods. “There’s another body,” you fill in Emily and JJ, ignoring the strange look that Rossi gives you.

Once Hotch hangs up, he looks immediately at you. “There’s two bodies. Male and female.”

“What?” Emily blurts. “In the same location?”

He nods. “Same house.”

About this time, Morgan and Reid step out of the elevator, jogging over when they see the team’s faces.

“What’s going on?” Morgan asks.

“Two bodies this time, same house, male and female,” you explain briefly.

Hotch jumps in. “JJ: you, Reid, and Y/N head over to the precinct and get Garcia on the phone. Get her to find everything she can on these new victims.”

You nod, glad he’s not sending you to see anymore bloodied bodies. Just the thought has a chill running down your spine.

You don’t want to admit it, but it’s hard not to picture Trevor’s face. It’s hard not to feel the thrill of the possibility of revenge. But you know that’s only the irrational part of your brain. You know you wouldn’t really act on those thoughts.

But they’re still there.

+++

Back at the precinct, you’re dialing Garcia and stirring a cup of shitty coffee. When she picks up, she sounds about as frizzed as you feel.

“Good morning, my angel sent from Heaven,” she sings, sounding far too bright for seven in the morning. “What can I do you for?”

“Good morning,” you chuckle. “We’ve got two new victims.”

“Mm, I know,” she groans, and you begin to hear typing. “Morgan texted me their names, I was waiting for your call.”

“Yep, we just need you to work your magic, that’s all.”

“That I can do,” she replies, no doubt through a smile. “Speaking of magic…”

You already know where this is heading. “Seriously? Who told you?”

“JJ and Emily texted me,” Garcia admits. “But you know I was going to weasel it out of you eventually, anyway!”

“Yes, I know,” you roll your eyes, tossing the coffee stirrer and empty cream and sugar packets in the trash. “Listen, how about this: Once this case is over, we’ll all have a girl’s night at my place with a bunch of junk food and wine, and I’ll give all the details -- whatever they might be at that point.”

You can’t let yourself believe that you’ll still be together because who knows what could happen. Anything could happen. The universe has a bad habit of getting in the way of your love life.

“You know the way to my heart,” Garcia sighs dreamily. “It’s a date. Speaking of dates, it looks like our two victims were married.”

“Married?” You nearly yell. Talk about a plot twist. “And the guy brought our unsub home for a one-night stand?”

“Looks that way so far,” Garcia says with a grimace. “Caroline Merritt, 35, was the CEO of her own company and traveled a lot. It looks like she changed flights yesterday and landed around eleven p.m. She checked her car out of the airport parking lot at eleven forty-five.”

“Great, so she might’ve walked in on our unsub.” You rub your forehead from the stress. “What about the other victim?”

“Jasper Rhodes was 34 and a part-time worker at the local Walmart,” Garcia lists off. “They had been married for three years, but Caroline never changed her last name.”

“Don’t exactly blame her,” you remark. “Alright, which one had allegations?”

“I’m about to burst your bubble, babycakes. Neither of them.”

“Really?”

“Really,” Garcia echoes, just as solemn. “Caroline has a squeaky clean record, aside from one speeding ticket when she was seventeen for going forty-five in a school zone. Jasper also has a clean slate for a record, but he does have one DUI from when he was twenty-two. Nothing else since.”

“It’s been twelve years, so for all we know, he could be sober for a decade now,” you mutter. “Okay. Do they have any connection at all to our other victims? Please say yes.”

“Cross referencing as we speak,” Garcia says, typing furiously. “Almost done… Negative,” she sighs. “I’m sorry, babe.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you shake your head. “Thank you for being such a wizard, as always.”

“It’s my specialty,” she quips. “So...do I get some details about you and Hotch now?”

“Goodbye Garcia…” You chuckle, ending the call before she can ask anything else.

You walk back into the conference room, shaking your head sadly at JJ who looks up with hopeful eyes.

“Garcia found virtually nothing. Caroline got a speeding ticket at seventeen, and Jasper a DUI at twenty-two. Nothing since. And no connection to any of our other victims,” you relay the information, ending it with a sip of your coffee.

“This unsub is good,” JJ says, exasperated. “How is she always three steps ahead of us?”

“She’s not, really,” Reid says, and you can feel something else coming on. “It’s like she knows we’re closing in on her, so she’s going after those who have no reported allegations. She’s not as far ahead as we think, but maybe that’s what she wants us to think.”

“Reid, dude, you’re sounding like a fortune cookie right now,” you laugh. “I get where you’re going with this. But unless they find some DNA at the crime scene, we’re back to square one again.”

“Maybe…” He trails away, getting up to look at the map.

Something is going on in his head, but you’re not sure what. He’ll tell you when he’s finished with it, you’re sure.

In your pocket, your phone starts buzzing. Thinking it’s Garcia, you pull it out and answer without looking, but Garcia’s voice isn’t what you hear on the other end.

“I’m heading back to the precinct,” Hotch says.

“O...kay,” you furrow your eyebrows, mouthing, ‘Hotch’ to JJ. “Why just you?”

“I need to show you something,” he says slowly, like he’s struggling to get the words out. “The unsub left a note.”

“What does it say?” You ask, wondering why it’s like pulling teeth to get him to speak.

“It’s addressed to you,” he finally says, and all the blood drains from your body. “It’s in an envelope and sealed. Your… Your name is on the front.”

You’re not sure what to make of that at all.

“Okay,” you say, your brain unable to really process it. “Okay, we’ll look at it when you get here.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Aaron,” you whisper, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Don’t say that to me. You’re scaring me.” You pause. “What are you sorry for?”

“For this note,” he replies, voice quiet. “For this unsub targeting you, and now for scaring you.”

“What does the note say?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “I didn’t open it.”

“Okay. Just...hurry, I guess.”

“I’m turning into the parking lot now.”

“Okay, see you in a sec,” you murmur, ending the call.

You look up from the phone to find both JJ and Reid staring at you, concern swimming deeply in their eyes. You don’t even have the energy to offer them a reassuring smile. Nothing about this is comfortable for you.

Why would the unsub leave a note addressed to you?

Hotch walks through the precinct doors a few moments later, a man on a mission as he walks directly to the conference room. You’re explaining to JJ and Reid about the note when he walks in, and you fall silent upon seeing him.

He hates that he even called you to warn you, but he had to do something. His mind was racing on the drive. He had to hear your voice, and he knew you were bound to ask why he was coming back on his own, what’s so urgent, so he knew he’d have to tell you.

But the fear in your eyes right now is something he never wants to see again. Ever.

“Where is it?” You say, your voice wavering.

Slowly, Hotch pulls the envelope out of his jacket pocket. It’s in a plastic bag, which is standard protocol for evidence, and you begin searching for a pair of gloves.

You find a pair and start to slip them on, grimacing at the way your hands shake, and using your peripheral vision to see that Aaron is watching you closely.

Once you’re gloved up, he hands you the plastic bag. It feels much heavier than it should.

Carefully, you pull out the envelope, swallowing down the nausea you’re feeling. As Hotch said, your name -- Agent Y/N L/N -- is scrawled on the front in messy handwriting. Fortunately, Reid can examine that, and this letter if it’s handwritten.

You break the seal on the envelope, flinching slightly, and ignoring that you did. But Aaron saw it.

You pull out the note and half of you cries in relief because it is handwritten, and the other half of you feels sheer terror because your business card is taped to the top left hand corner.

“Shit,” you cuss, closing your eyes.

“What?” Aaron asks, taking a step closer, lowering his head to meet your eye level.

“My business card,” you say, opening your eyes again, hating the way things look blurry for a moment. JJ and Reid are just fuzzy figures at the table when you look around the room. “It could’ve been anyone at the meetings. I handed my card to as many that would take it. There’s no way I’ll remember everyone, or even half of them, I mean, I ran out of cards, I had to go stand by Morgan because--”

“Okay, okay, slow down,” Aaron stops you, putting both hands on your arms. “Look at me, please.”

Slowly, the world comes back into focus and you meet his brown eyes, finding your peace there like you have so many other times before. You focus on the weight of his hands on your arms, grounding you, bringing you back.

“I know it’s difficult,” he says. “But you need to breathe.”

You nod, sucking in a deep breath a little too abruptly, not even realizing you had been taking shallow breaths in the first place.

“Good girl,” he whispers, so low that he’s almost mouthing it, careful not to let JJ or Reid hear. And it’s not sexual or sensual this time. It’s comforting. “Can you read the rest of it?”

You nod. “I can help you end your suffering. I can help you avenge. I can help you heal. It doesn’t have to be this way.” You pause, looking up from the note, looking between Hotch, JJ, and Reid. “What does that even mean?”

“Did you talk about your experience during the meetings?” Reid asks.

“A little bit, but I barely scratched the surface of it,” you admit. “And I didn’t mention any names. I might hate him, but...I’d never send a serial killer after him.”

“I know,” Hotch says. “We’re not accusing you of that,” he adds gently. “It’s clear our unsub feels a connection to you now. Something you said must’ve resonated deeply with her.”

“But all I said was that he was my fiancé and that I didn’t report him, so that still gets us nowhere. She’s still a ghost.”

“She’s not a ghost,” he says sternly. “We will find her. You’ve already seen her once.”

“Yeah, but I don’t remember seeing her, Hotch.”

“That doesn’t matter. What matters is she’s reaching out. Which means we’re close.”

“Not close enough,” you protest, tossing the letter back on the plastic bag on the table. “I need to take a walk.” You move toward the door, and he’s following you, so you add quietly, “Alone, please.”

Hotch nods, and watches you go, more worried than he’s ever been in his life.

+++

When Rossi, Emily, and Morgan return to the police precinct, they spot you sitting alone on a bench outside the front doors.

“I got this,” Morgan says, hopping out of the car and heading to you, gesturing for Rossi and Emily to head inside. They share a look and nod, disappearing into the precinct to leave Morgan alone with you.

You don’t even look up from your hands when you see Morgan coming over from your peripheral vision.

“What’s up, kiddo?” He asks, standing in front of you.

“I’m really not in the mood right now, Derek.”

“Too bad,” he shrugs, sitting next to you on the bench, stretching his arm out behind you. “What’s going on? You know I’m just gonna keep buggin’ you until you tell me.”

You snort. “I know.”

“So…” He pauses. “Tell me. It’ll save us both a whole lotta time. And it’ll save you a whole lotta stress, sittin’ there with all that in your head.”

You know he’s right. And you know he’s the only one who really gets it.

So, you tell him what’s wrong.

“The unsub left that note just for me. My card was taped to it, Morgan.”

“And?”

“What do you mean and? It means I laid eyes on her, maybe talked to her, handed her my fucking card, and I still didn’t know it was her.”

“We’re not superhuman, Y/N. We only see what they show us. She probably put on a mask while talking to you.”

“Well now she’s still out there--”

“Listen to me. I ran out of cards too, remember? We started using yours. I easily could’ve given her your card. Hell, I was there with you, I probably looked at her a dozen times, too. Are you gonna yell at me for not recognizing her?”

“No--”

“Then stop doing it to yourself, you hear me?”

“I just… She feels a connection to me. What does that say about me?”

“That you’re a relatable person,” Derek offers, causing you to glare at him. “Hey,” he raises a hand in surrender. “I’m just being logical. It doesn’t say anything about you. Because a serial killer’s view of you is not who you are. You are who you are.”

“Thanks for the fortune cookie.”

“Don’t get that tone with me, kid,” he replies tiredly. “You know you’re not really mad at me, so don’t take it out on me, okay?”

“I know, I’m sorry,” you rub your forehead. “I’m just…”

“It’s not your fault, Y/N.”

“I know that.”

“I know you know that, but you still need to hear it,” he says. “And I’ll always be here to tell you, got that?”

You look over at him with a small smile. “Got it.”

He smiles too, glad to see you’re feeling better. He shoves your shoulder lightly, playfully. “Come on. Let’s get back in there.”

“Yeah,” you nod, standing up.

He walks ahead, but you stay still, wondering if you should even ask what you’re about to ask. But Derek notices your hesitation and turns back around, studying you.

“Spit it out,” he says, knowing there’s something.

“The unsub is trying to talk to me,” you say, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly. “So...what if we set up a trap.”

“What?” Morgan deadpans, raising his eyebrows, turning his body to completely face you.

“What if we--”

“Use you as bait?” Morgan finishes, incredulity coating his words.

You nod. “I wasn’t going to word it like that, but--”

He scoffs, looking more and more pissed off as the seconds go on. “Hell no. Are you outta your damn mind?”

“No, I’m not. I’m--”

“No,” he stops you, holding up his hand, pointing at you. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. Don’t go there. We will find this unsub, and we will do it without you sacrificing yourself.”

“I wouldn’t be sacrificing myself!” You protest. “You guys would be there. You’d have my back.”

“We can’t predict everything this unsub will do, Y/N, you know that,” Morgan fires back. “And I’ll be damned if I let you throw yourself into danger like this. It’s not happening. You hear me?”

SIghing, you nod. “I hear you.”

“Have you even told Hotch about this?”

“No.”

“Good. Don’t,” Morgan replies. “You’ll just get a lecture and you and I both know you don’t need that right now.”

“I know.”

He pauses, shaking his head. He steps forward, wrapping you in a hug, eyes closing when he feels you burying your face in his neck. “I love you, kid,” he whispers. “And I know it’s hard, but you got this, we got this. And it’s gonna be okay. Okay?”

“Okay,” you nod into his neck, taking a deep breath. “Yeah.”

Next chapter

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rowansparrow · 3 years

Text

By Any Other Name: Chapter Seven

Summary: You and Rex have a conversation on the rooftop.

Chapter Rating: Teen

Warnings: Alcohol, some drunk-ness. Sad, so very sad.

Ships: Rex x Female!Reader, Fives x Female!Reader, Clone OC x Female!Reader, other ships tbd.

Tags: #ByAnyOtherName, #BAON

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: *insert that Always Sunny in Philadelphia Meme: “NEWSFLASH ASSHOLE, REX HAS BEEN IN LOVE WITH READER THE ENTIRE GODDAMN TIME* As always, bless @fat-zygerrian for being my beta reader!

Comment if you want to be tagged! Reblogs are SO appreciated!

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six

You were supposed to meet him that night.

You’d planned on going to 79’s instead of the rooftop as usual. Rose said the boys had missed you and wanted to play cards again. You’d gotten all dolled up and were about to head out when your comm beeped.

“Hey,” You grinned, shutting your apartment door behind you. “I was just heading out.”

“Yeah… about that,” Rose sounded embarrassed. “There’s been a change in plans. I won’t be able to make it. In fact, none of us will. We got – err – held up on base.”

“Really?” You asked, pausing as you started to head down to the main level of your building. “Okay… well can we meet after?”

“I’m not supposed to go off base but – yeah, yeah I’ll see what I can do. Keep your comm close.”

He hung up and you hesitated in the stairwell for a beat. Fuck it. Even if Rose couldn’t come along, you were still going to have a nice time tonight!

You had gotten more confident about going to 79’s ever since you and Rose had gotten close. You could recognize a few distinct faces now, just from people Rose had pointed out to you or introduced to you in passing. There was a notable absence of 501st blue, which at least confirmed Rose wasn’t just ditching you and had in fact gotten held up at the base with the rest of his battalion.

You approached the bar, settling in and glancing around to look for any familiar faces to keep you company while you waited for Rose. Further down the bar, you spotted Marshal Commander Cody and your breath hitched for just a moment. Rose had told you all about him – the most highly decorated clone soldier in the entire Republic Army. You would’ve been able to guess it even if Rose hadn’t told you about the curved scar on the side of his face. For the way Cody carried himself, even here, held an air of authority, of gravitas and poise.

He was talking to someone, the other person obscured by his own body. You ordered a drink, trying not to look as starstruck by the Commander as you felt.

“I’d try your luck with someone a little less ranked if I were you,” The bartender teased, catching you staring. “I’ve never once seen the Marshal Commander take up an offer to go home with somebody.”

“That’s – that isn’t my intention.” You blushed, taking the drink with a short huff. Still, you glanced at Cody again and watched him clap his hand on the shoulder of the man he’d been speaking with.

“Alright, see you around, Rex ‘ole boy. Stay out of trouble.”

Now that made you turn instantly. As Cody moved away, you were able to get a better look at the man he’d been talking to, and gods above, it was him. It was Captain Rex. Rose had told you so many stories about him that it felt strange finally seeing him in the flesh.

Rose had warned you about how much trouble you both could get in if anyone ever found out you were seeing each other. Your friendship was frowned upon enough as is, but now that it had become something more, Rose had given you the full dressing-down on what could happen to him if you were ever caught.

As such, you hadn’t ever met Rose’s superior officer, and since Rose wasn’t here…

You downed the rest of your drink quickly. There’s no reason the Captain would be suspicious of you. Besides, you wanted to meet him, get to know the man who was such a huge part of Rose’s life.

You wanted to meet his family.

“Hi.”

In truth, maybe your introduction could’ve been a little stronger. But as you sidled over to the Captain and leaned one hand on the bar, he gave you a small smile, nodding once.

“Ma’am.”

“Can I buy you a drink?”

Rex seemed surprised and looked you over carefully. He seemed to be waging a war with himself for a split second but eventually nodded.

“I don’t see why not.”

You grinned, settling into the seat beside him and waving the bartender over, tucking a hand under your chin. “What’s your name? I’m Y/N.”

“Rex.” He replied, offering his hand to shake. You repressed the urge to giggle. He was such a gentleman.

“What do you drink, Rex?”

He chuckled. “Whiskey.”

“Two of those, then.” You told the bartender. Rex’s eyebrow jumped up but you barely noticed.

“So. You must be a Captain, right? With all this fancy gear?” You said, motioning to his pauldron and kama.

“How d’you know I’m not just some ARC trooper who likes showing off?” Rex replied, smirking and leaning forward a bit.

“I’ve met an ARC trooper or two, and you don’t seem the type to boast.”

Rex chuckled again, taking his glass as the bartender returned. “You must get around, then.”

It wasn’t an insult and you didn’t take it as such. “Maybe I’m just good at making friends.”

Rex smiled and his eyes seemed to appraise you for a moment, taking all of you in, calculating. He took a swig.

“You here with any of those friends?” He asked.

“All alone, tonight.” You replied. “My friends got held up and you looked lonely. Thought I’d keep you company. It’s the least I can do for a soldier like you.”

Rex chuckled, low and sweet. “Most pretty girls don’t just find themselves in 79’s.” Rex drawled, setting his glass down again. “From what I can tell, they’re usually looking for trouble.”

He turned slightly to face you better. “Are you looking for trouble, mesh’la?”

Your heart skipped a beat. You knew that word, but didn’t know what it meant. Rose had called you that before.

“It looks like I already found it.” You replied.

Rex grinned. “Then I guess you better stay close so I can keep a proper eye on you.”

You chuckled, picking up your own drink and finally taking a sip. The whiskey burned your throat but it warmed you to the core. Rex looked impressed which was its own bonus.

“You never answered my question.” You said. “Are you a Captain?”

“I command the 501st attack battalion.” Rex said, a note of pride in his voice.

“Ah, then you must know Echo and Fives.” You prompted.

Rex seemed to age ten years at just the mention of their names. “I take it those are the ARC troopers you’ve met?” He asked. “My condolences.”

You giggled. “We played cards a few times. They’re nice but definitely a handful.”

“They’re all a handful.” Rex waved over the bartender to get another drink. “Every last one of them. That’s why none of them were allowed off base tonight.”

“Oh?” You grinned. “Do tell.”

Once he got going talking about his men, he couldn’t stop. Rex regaled you with the story of how earlier that afternoon he’d discovered his men were not only hiding a loth cat in the barracks, but it had given birth. They had managed to keep it a secret for weeks until the kittens started wreaking havoc. According to his men, Fives and Hardcase had been the ringleaders.

“That’s what they all say at least.” Rex amended. “’Course, Fives’ll take credit for just about anything. But Rose and Echo were suspiciously quiet the whole time. Kix was the only one with the good sense not to show his face in the barracks when I caught them. Still, I’ve got a feeling he encouraged the others to go along with it. Di’kuts, all of them.”

He shook his head but smiled as you laughed. “Anyway. They’re cleaning up the mess and finding natborns to rehome all the kits with. And when they finish with that, they’re supposed to take over the latrine shifts and canteen shifts for any other battalions.”

“Aw, seems a steep punishment for hiding loth cats.” You laughed.

“You didn’t see the state of the barracks.” Rex said, shaking his head slowly. “Apparently a bucket of paint got upended. They should all be scrubbing paw prints out of the durasteel right about now.”

You smiled fondly at Rex. Even as he retold the story, you could tell he was trying not to smile at the antics. It was clear he cared very deeply for his men, even if he had to be the tired parent of them all.

“Sounds like they wear you out.” You teased. “You deserve a break.”

“Are you offering me one?” Rex prompted.

You tilted your head to the side. “What do you mean?”

Rex smirked, and downed the rest of his drink. He took a deep breath, as though he was steeling himself to ask you something.

“Y/N!”

You recognized the voice and turned quickly as Rose hurried up to you. He had a small streak of blue paint across his cheek, but otherwise was beaming.

“Hey, you should’ve told me you’d be here. I went all the way to your apartment and had to backtrack -.”

He noticed the Captain a beat too late and you watched as all the color comically drained from his face. “Captain! Sir!” He snapped to attention. “I ah – I can explain…”

You glanced between Rose and Rex, your own heart pounding. Rose had all but given away the two of you were seeing each other. Rex looked at Rose before looking at you. He then turned to his glass, picking it up and making a big scene of looking it over.

“Sir…?” Rose asked nervously.

“Oh, I’m just inspecting my beverage.” Rex replied smoothly. “I must’ve been drugged you see, because surely I am not seeing my Lieutenant standing here, not when he is under strict orders to stay on base tonight.”

Rose cringed. “Yeah, sir, about that -.”

“It’s my fault.” You spoke up quickly, throwing together a lie. “Rose and I met yesterday, we’d been playing Sabacc with some of his brothers and he very kindly walked me home afterwards. I promised him drinks tonight to thank him and I wouldn’t take no for an answer.” You glanced to Rose. “He was just being a gentleman.”

Rex raised an eyebrow, glancing at Rose. “Funny.” He said. “Could’ve sworn I saw you in the weight room with Fives last night.”

“We… came here afterwards sir.” Rose lied, shifting a little closer to you, almost protective. “Ask him, he’ll say the same thing.”

“I’m sure he will.” Rex stood, picking his helmet up off the counter and knocked his knuckles lightly against the bar. “It was lovely to meet you, ma’am.” He said. “Rose?”

Your soldier stood at attention once again but Rex just put a hand on his shoulder.

“We have a briefing tomorrow morning. Oh-eight-hundred. Don’t be late.”

“Thank you, sir.” Rose was barely audible over the roar of the music in the bar. He looked like his knees would give out at any moment.

You could’ve sworn you saw Rex give Rose a little wink, but it must’ve been a trick of the light. He gave you one last nod before quietly departing.

Neither you nor Rose saw him glance back at you over his shoulder one last time before stepping out of the bar.

You’d lost track of how long you sat on the roof with Rex. Partially because he’d gone downstairs and returned with a bottle of your favorite whiskey and two glasses, pouring drinks for you both.

“For Rose,” Rex toasted, clinking your glasses together.

You smiled and for the first time that you could remember, Rose’s name didn’t make your heart ache. “For Rose.”

You both tossed the glasses back, that familiar burn searing your throat and chest before you shook yourself out, watching as Rex poured you both a second glass, entirely unfazed.

“He was very unsubtle about sneaking off base to go see you.” Rex told you, leaning back on one hand and closing his eyes as the breeze kissed his cheeks. “I’d give him a job and it would either be done in record time or it would’ve been passed off to somebody else. He once almost missed a debriefing because he’d spent the night with you. Skidded in right as I was about to start.” He chuckled. “I didn’t mind. He was happy. Gods know we soldiers deserve whatever happiness we can find.”

You hummed, smiling as you took another drink. “He talked about you all the time.” You said, leaning slightly against Rex’s side. “Idolized you, actually. He told me about the battles you’d been in together, how well you led your men.” You smiled to yourself, finishing your second drink and making your way towards a third. “He told me about that virus. Blue Shadow Virus, right?”

Rex hummed, getting himself another drink as well. “That was an ugly mission.”

“He said you were hovering a lot.” You teased. “Because he was always so sick when he was little. You were worried about him.”

“Brothers were dropping dead, left and right. Hells, even Commander Tano passed out at one point.” Rex recalled, shuddering to himself. “I thought we were all going to die.”

“He told me he wasn’t scared because you weren’t scared.” You smiled. “I guess you did a good job of hiding it.”

“He had way too many close calls.” Rex chuckled. “That virus almost took him out. We got rescued just in time. There was another time he was scouting with me and a few others on Saleucami -.”

“I remember that. You were shot.” You recalled and Rex chuckled.

“He really did tell you everything, didn’t he?”

“He was terrified. He told me he thought you were dead, the way you flew off the back of the speeder after getting hit..” You murmured.

“What he probably didn’t tell you is that shot just barely missed him.” Rex replied. “I’d been leading but he’d circled around me to get in front. He was goofing around with Hardcase. Bolt whizzed just an inch past his head and hit me instead. He had a blaster burn on the side of his helmet to prove it.”

You shuddered at the thought. “He didn’t tell me that part.”

“Probably also didn’t tell you that he got shot pretty good on Toydaria.” Rex replied. “Not once, but twice, once in the leg and another straight through the chest. Kix thought for sure he was a goner.”

You were familiar with those wounds. A frown pulled your lips. “He didn’t tell me. I had to find them myself.” You grumbled, still bitter. “He’d come back from the mission and told me he’d gotten hurt, but it was nothing serious.” You threw back your drink again. “Bantha shit, if I brushed against him, he winced. Finally made him show me.”

“I’m sure he got an earful after that.” Rex laughed.

“Oh, he did. And he wasn’t even that bothered that he’d nearly died, no, he was more concerned about the fact that his tattoos had been damaged by the shots. He was worried he wouldn’t be able to get new ink over the scars.” You rolled your eyes. “That man…”

“He was just trying not to worry you.” Rex smiled, taking another drink.

“I always worry.” You murmured, rubbing your thumb along the rim of your glass. “Always. About all of you. I always worried that one day Rose would come home and tell me something had happened to Fives, Echo, you… or any of the others.” You chuckled humorlessly, finishing your drink. “And then… one day you showed up at my door instead.”

A heavy silence fell between you. Rex took your empty glass, filling it up once again.

“It seems so silly.” You said. “That he should survive all of that and then just get shot and killed during a routine supply drop. I thought he was unbreakable.” You shook your head. “Guess I was wrong.”

Rex wouldn’t look you in the eye, instead focusing very intently on the glass in his hands.

“It was quick.” Rex said finally, still avoiding your eyes. “He didn’t feel anything. I promise.”

“I know.” You gave him a small, sad smile, squeezing his bicep gently. “And I guess I have that at least. At least… at least I know he didn’t suffer. He wasn’t alone or – or afraid.”

You smiled wistfully, looking out over the skyline.

“There’s a dress in my closet,” You began. “It’s nothing fancy, just a white sundress with lace around the hem and sleeves.”

Rex already seemed to know where this was going. He took a very long drink and followed your gaze out towards the skyline.

“We were going to leave together.” You said quietly. “Get married. Have a family. He had this whole, crazy plan.” You chuckled. “I’d told him I wanted to think about it. It was a big decision, he’d be on the run for the rest of his life, hiding from the Republic. And I’d be part of that.”

You glanced over at Rex. “He told me he was going to tell you. He said we could trust you. Did he ever…?”

Rex shook his head. “No. He never got the chance.”

You nodded, turning back towards the sky. “I was going to say yes.” You whispered. “I was going to go with him when he came back. We were going to run away together… It was all very romantic.” You shook your head, staring down at your glass. “And it was so stupid.”

Rex was quiet for several long moments until finally he rose to his feet, offering you his hand.

“C’mon.” he murmured. “I think that’s enough drinking for one night. Let’s get you home.”

You nodded, taking his hand and letting him pull you to your feet. You swayed. You didn’t realize how much you’d had to drink until you stumbled, falling slightly against his chest.

“The Rose Lounge owner can’t hold her liquor?” Rex teased. “Ironic.”

“Shuddup.” You mumbled, giving him a little shove. “I can walk.”

“Oh no you can’t, Tipsy. C’mere.” He crouched down slightly, and you slumped against his back. He picked you up with ease, bouncing you once to hike you higher up his back. He wrapped his arms around your legs, holding them snug against his torso while your hands wrapped around his shoulders.

“Don’t puke on me.” Rex warned, carrying you piggyback style towards the stairs.

“’M gonna fall off.” You muttered.

“No you won’t. Trust me.”

Your eyes were heavy, cheek pressed against the back of Rex’s neck and you remembered a time very long ago when another man had carried you on his back to this rooftop, and said the very same thing.

“I trust you, Rose.”

Rex was still. You hadn’t noticed your slip, your eyes already slipping closed.

“Okay.” His voice echoed. “I’ve got you.”

I’ve got you.

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silkling · 3 years

Text

This is part two of an ask box fic. For part one, click below.

Part 1

———————————————————————————————————

Cody had been expecting to see Blades sitting in front of the TV when he and the others returned. He had not been expecting to see the large bot the team had rescued holding the copter while said copter made a sharp, painful sounding noise. When he, his siblings, and the other three bots had returned to the firehouse, they’d been chatting and teasing Heatwave about his increasing frustration with his difficulty at contacting Optimus. Then when they’d gotten down to the bunker, the three Cybertronians had abruptly stopped talking, before they’d looked concerned and panicked and rushed ahead. The humans had followed as quickly as they could, and the group arrived to see Blades in the large bot’s grasp, making that noise that Cody didn’t know the meaning behind.

The large bot noticed the, first, and a sharp, red gaze snapped to the group. “More younglings, little one? I suppose I should not be surprised, the Rescue Force did tend to match teams within the same age bracket.” he remarked.

Cody didn’t know what a “youngling” was by Cybertronian standards, but to human ears it sounded like the new bot was calling Sigma-17 kids. Or at the very least, younger than adults.

Heatwave clearly didn’t care about what the bot had to say. “You let Blades go!” he snarled, stepping forward and looking ready to tackle the larger bot.

Blades had startled and gone silent when the bigger flyer spoke, but at Heatwave’s words he jumped and pulled himself free, gathering his pedes under him and standing between his team and the larger bot. “Wait!” he protested. “He wasn’t hurting me. I was kinda…collapsing, and he kept me front falling.”

Cody frowned. “Why were you collapsing?”

“He told me something that Optimus should have told us a long time ago. Something very bad.”

“And what was that?” Kade snipped, eyes narrowed.

“I’d be curious to know too.” Dad’s voice came from behind them. Cody turned to see his father stepping out of the elevator. “But first, maybe we should sit down. Something tells me this news isn’t going to be pretty.”

“You are a clever human.” The stranger rumbled. “I believe that would indeed be best.”

Heatwave growled, but nodded stiffly. “This way.”

He led them to the lounge area, where everyone got settled and comfortable. The stranger sat on the floor, Blades and Boulder took the couch, and Dani and Graham sat beside their respective partners. Heatwave sat leaning against the couch, and Kade sat leaning against him. Chase pulled over a Cybertronian sized beanbag Graham and Boulder had made, and Dad squished in next to him. Cody, after a moment of consideration, stepped in and sat in front of the newcomer. The large bot shot him an arched brow, and the human just smiled and waved in response.

“So.” Heatwave grunted. “What’s this news?”

“We’re the last Rescue Bots.” Blades cut in, voice quiet.

Chase was frowning. “That is not entirely news. Optimus implied as much when we asked him about the rest of the Rescue Force. I assume the rest of the Rescue Teams were folded into the Autobot ranks when the War began.”

Boulder frowned. “That would make sense, though I have a hard time believing the others would just….abandon in the oaths of neutrality we all took.”

“They did not.” The stranger cut in. “When the War began, the Rescue Force remained neutral. They aided and rescued mechs from both factions. Megatron offered them the chance to join the Decepticons, and they refused. They wished to hold true to their oaths to serve and protect all who needed it. Megatron did not take kindly to the refusal. In order to make an example of them, and also to remove a faction that would aid his enemies, he destroyed the Rescue Force Headquarters and offlined every Rescue Team there. Survivors of the initial attack, as well as those who were simply not present, were subsequently hunted down and slaughtered.” he said bluntly.

There was dead silence in the bunker, with horror growing palpable in the air.

“Dreadwing.” Blades’s voice was weak. “Maybe that was a bit blunt.” He glanced at his teammates. “I think he’s right. I found a mention of the “end of the Rescue Force” in one of High Tide’s data pads. Plus…remember what Optimus said when he first saw us? “I was not aware Rescue Teams were still active.” That’s what he told us.”

Dreadwing. So that was the stranger’s name. Still, he was more worried about the bots. Boulder looked horrified and increasingly sick. Heatwave looked stunned and angry and grief-stricken all at once. Chase looked disbelieving. None of them seemed to be able to protest what they’d been told.

“Dreadwing, is it?” Dad’s voice rose in the silence. “You seem to know a lot about the topic.”

“Any Cybertronian who was alive at the time knows about the Fall of the Rescue Force. It was a great tragedy.”

“That’s why Optimus is so adamant about keeping us here.” Blades whispered. “He knew. He probably thought we’d be in danger if any other bot knew what we are.”

“You would be.” Dreadwing agreed. “If Lord Megatron were to discover your existence, he would send his forces to see you slain, even if it meant razing this island to the ground to do so. Perhaps he would even keep you alive long enough to force Optimus Prime and his team watch your destruction.” He stated, blunt and hard.

Everyone collectively flinched at that, looking sick and horrified at the prospect. Cody could relate. The way Dreadwing discussed such violence and such horrors…it was so casual. He didn’t know what to make of it. The Rescue Bots didn’t speak so bluntly about that sort of thing, but he knew that was due to lack of exposure to that level of violence. Optimus and High Tide were both also very…sanitized, in the way they spoke of the War. It wasn’t necessarily bad that Dreadwing didn’t care to censor himself, but Cody certainly wasn’t used to it. Just the idea of his friends being stolen away and killed to make a point made him sick.

Graham’s voice broke the silence. “Lord Megatron.” he sound, sounding strained. “You called him “Lord Megatron”. I can’t imagine any Autobot calling the leader of their enemy something like “lord”. Which means you’re not an Autobot. You’re a Decepticon.”

There was a second of silence, and then Heatwave surged forward and yanked Cody away from Dreadwing. As one, the Rescue Bots, baring Blades for some reason, lowered the windshields in their chests to let their partners climb in to safety. As for Blades…he just stood, carefully maneuvering Dani out of range of danger and stepping forward before anyone else could do anything. Cody, still dazed and now strapped into Heatwave’s passenger seat, could only watch in confusion.

“Everybody stop and calm down!” The copter snapped, his rotors rattling against his back. The other bots were still, and Dreadwing hadn’t moved from his seat on the floor.

The large bot shifted his gaze to Boulder, or rather, Boulder’s chest where Graham was tucked away. “You are correct.” he said, voice somber. “I am a Decepticon. Or rather, I was. It was Megatron himself who gave me the wound that nearly offlined me.” He paused. “I am afraid I am still teaching myself to shed the loyalty that once bound me to him. I spent many millennia calling him my Lord, and it is a habit that is very difficult to break.” He tilted his head. “Regardless, I assure you I have no desire to return to the Decepticons. I would be destroyed if I were to return.”

That seemed to calm the bots down, and Dani frowned from where Blades had stashed her. “You knew, didn’t you partner?”

Blades sighed. “I suspected.” he admitted. “I read in the data pads that Optimus left for us that after the fall of Vos, most Seekers joined the Deceptions. Dreadwing is a Seeker. I put the pieces together.”

Dreadwing bristled at the mention of “Vos”, though Cody didn’t know what that was. “Vos was destroyed and razed to the ground by Autobot forces, little flyer.” he rumbled. “Seekers did not join the Autobots when the War began because most of those who did were the same who had spent generations abusing and ostracizing any and all flight-frames.” he said bluntly. “It is why most flyers joined the Deceptions. They did not wish to be treated as lesser simply because of a different vehicle mode.”

Dani blinked. “Huh. So bigots exist on all planets, then.” she sighed. “The War…are you saying it started as a social revolution?”

“Just so.” Dreadwing nodded at her. “In the beginning, it was not Optimus Prime who led the Autobots. It was his predecessor, a mech called Sentinel. Sentinel was backed by the Senate. The same Senate that had created laws to force mechs to live only by the function of their frame types, and the same Senate that allowed flight-frames to be treated as filth. When Megatron rose up initially, it was to fight for justice and put an end to the caste system.”

This was news to all the humans. They’d heard about the War, of course, but hearing about how it started and why it had began put new context on things.

“The Senate refused to listen, and thus the War began. Megatron initially led as non-violently as possible, but then any who harbored even slight anti-Senate mentalities began to be culled by Autobot Enforcers. Flyers were confined to the ground by force when not in Vos, and in Vos they were not permitted to leave the city.” The Seeker continued. “What started as a fight for equality turned into Decepticons fighting for their right simply to live. And then the Senate was assassinated, and Sentinel destroyed, and Optimus Prime took his place. By then, it was too late for things to return to peace. Too many Decepticons feared they would be killed for the crime of wanting a better life and fighting for it, and too many Autobots were bitter and angry towards the chaos the Decepticon had wrought. And so, the War continued.” he sighed.

There was silence for a long moment, and the Rescue Bots finally returned to their previous positions, though they didn’t let the humans out just yet. Blades sat on the couch, and Dani shifted over to perch on his shoulder. Everyone present was silent for a moment, taking in what they had been told. This…changed things. Certainly, the Decepticons had done horrible things. The fact that they had slaughtered the Rescue Bots was a prime example. But to learn why they had risen and where they had come from…it put a lot into perspective.

“Blades.” Dani spoke up. “You’re a flyer. Did you run into any of that sort of thing Dreadwing was talking about, before your stasis nap?” she asked.

Blades sputtered. “Well, no.” he seemed embarrassed. “You know I wasn’t always a flyer. I was a ground-frame, on Cybertron. Sure, I’d heard about the anti-flyer and anti-Seeker stuff but I never experienced it. Dreadwing is telling the truth, though. Cybertron…didn’t have the best social system. I did know about the civil unrest, thought it hadn’t grown to a revolution quite yet the last time I was on Cybertron.” he said, sheepish.

Before one of the humans could ask for an elaboration, Dreadwing was straightening up. “Youngling. You mean to tell me you were able to shift from a ground-frame to a flight-frame by scanning a new vehicle mode?”

Blades paused. “Yes?”

Dreadwing was quiet, before uttering what Cody was very sure was a curse. “You do realize that is an extraordinarily rare ability? Even triple changers are more common than that.”

“Really?” Blades, and even all the other bots, seemed stunned by this revelation.

“Yes.” Dreadwing was frowning. “Most Cybertronian t-cogs will only allow for scanning and transformation into a vehicle mode that is compatible with your root mode. To be able to change from a grounder to a flyer by simply scanning a new vehicle mode…it speaks of a highly malleable and adaptable base frame type. The kind one expects from the tales of the Shifters of old.”

That made the Bots perk up, and Cody made a note to ask about that later. For now, he opted to stay quiet and let the Cybertronians figure this out. And it seemed his family had the same idea. Even Kade, for once.

“Are you saying I’m a Shifter?” Blades seemed frantic at the idea.

“No.” Dreadwing shook his head. “But perhaps you have coding descended from them.” He sighed. “Your ability, little one, is one I have only ever heard of on Cybertron. Many would be jealous of you. I know many flyers would not give up their flight for anything, but I know of many more who would have wanted your ability desperately in order to change to a ground-frame and escape the derision.”

Blades blinked, then looked down. “Oh.” he whispered.

Heatwave growled. “Look, it’s all well and good that we’ve figured this out, but now what? You were a Decepticon! You could hurt us or someone else on the island!”

Dreadwing looked unimpressed. “I have no intentions of doing any such thing, though I will leave if you prefer.”

“But won’t Megatron kill you?” Boulder asked.

“He will try. I will simply have to avoid him.”

“Then why not join the Autobots?” Chase asked.

The Seeker’s expression went dark. “No. While Optimus Prime is honorable, the Autobots have not always been such. I have lost too much to their regime to submit myself to the brand, even if it is different now.”

No one seemed to know what to say to that. After a long moment, the humans were finally let out of the cabs of their respective partners, and Cody saw an odd look in his Dad’s eye.

“Hoe about this, then.” Dad said. “We don’t feel right about sending you off where you might be killed. You don’t want to fight the Autobots, you don’t want to fight for the Decepticons. Am I right so far?”

Dreadwing simply bowed his head.

“Do you even want to fight in the War at all, anymore?”

Dreadwing paused. “The Decepticons committed a crime which I must put right. But other than that, no.” There was a pause. “Even with my end goal, it is not the Decepticons at large I wish to see defeated. It is only one mech among their ranks.”

Dad hummed slowly, then nodded. “I’m guessing you’re not ready to tell us the details, so I won’t even ask.” he said. “Here’s what I propose: you stay here on Griffin Rock. You don’t let yourself be seen by the humans here, we do have a cover to maintain after all. You can think and plan your next steps here. That lets us keep an eye on you, and keeps our minds at ease that you’re not out there running for your life from a tyrant. You just can’t destroy anything or hurt anyone or cause trouble.”

Cody was surprised by the offer, and clearly Dreadwing was too. What did his Dad see in this large bot that was making him take a chance like this? Cody wasn’t against it, but it was a little unusual.

Dreadwing seemed to think over the offer, before he nodded. “I will accept your terms.”

Dad relaxed, and before Kade could protest he waved his children along. “Now come on, everyone. It’s late and we humans need our rest.” he said. “Kade, not here. We can discuss this more later. Let’s go, everyone.”

Cody hopped off Heatwave’s knee, and followed his siblings and father to the lift. The last thing he saw before the doors closed was the Rescue Bots turning to their newest addition, and heard the start of a question before the doors shutting cut it off.

“So what else do you know that Optimus isn’t-“

——————————

Everything came to a head a week after Dreadwing had settled into the bunker. The Seeker had taken over one back corner of the large room, converting it into a small space for himself. None of the other bots or humans had raised a fuss at that. But Kade was getting increasingly agitated. It was clear that he didn’t understand why Blades and his team were so calm about letting a Decepticon live peacefully with them. Personally, the copter bot attributed that to the fact that the firefighter was human, so he probably didn’t understand the Cybertronian cultural or societal intricacies that had allowed the five bots to come to an understanding. That day, Kade had been particularly snarly. Even Boulder was starting to get put off by it.

They had gathered in the bunker. Blades was watching TV with Dreadwing and Chase, trying to explain the allure of his favorite show to the two bots. Boulder was painting, and Heatwave was on his little sparring platform. The humans had come down in time to see Dreadwing pinch one of Blade’s finials when the little copter bot’s rotors had straightened and extended, threatening to start spinning right there on his back due to his excitement. It had pulled Blades back to himself, and he’d sheepishly tucked his rotors back along his spinal strut while shooting the older mech an apologetic grin.

To a Cybertronian, such a gesture from an older mech to a youngling would not have raised any attention. The gentle tweak hadn’t even hurt his sensitive finials. But to a human, especially one who didn’t have or understand the context of Cybertronian culture, the gesture and lack of reaction from the bots could easily be misunderstood.

So really, Blades wasn’t surprised that Kade had finally snapped. As soon as he’d seen the interaction, he’d roared a demand to know what was going on, questioning how the bots could live with someone who had been part of the same team that had wiped out all the other Rescue Bots. That was when Chief Burns had sighed and suggested they all get settled in the lounge to talk again. They had, taking up the same positions as the previous time, though this time Boulder also dragged over a large beanbag for himself and Graham, while Dani perched on Blade’s shoulder and Dreadwing took the free spot on the couch. Which was where they were now.

“Alright.” Kade spat. “So I’m not getting something here, obviously. Why are you four so comfortable around him? He literally admitted that he used to be a Decepticon! The same guys that destroyed your Rescue Force!”

“But he wasn’t there.” Blades chimed in. “We talked when you went to bed that night. He joined the ‘Cons after the Autobots destroyed Vos, which happened after the fall of the Rescue Force.”

“And that changes anything?” Kade sputtered.

“It changes everything.” Heatwave grunted. “He wasn’t part of the group that destroyed the Rescue Force. And even though he joined them later, it wasn’t to inflict violence, it was in response to his home and people being destroyed. That may be hard to understand, based on what I know of your human culture, but for us Cybertronians that’s enough.”

Kade crossed his arms, scowling fiercely. “Fine. I guess I can accept that, even if I don’t get it. What I don’t get is why you’d defect.” he directed the last part at Dreadwing. “You hinted last time we talked that you served Megatron for thousands and thousands of years, and joined him because he was fighting for a just cause, one you believed in. What changed?”

Dreadwing frowned, staring hard at the human. “You are correct, Skyquake and I did originally join Megatron because we believed him to be honorable and just.” he tilted his head. “As the War progressed and left Cybertron, Megatron gradually became more…mad. However, we still followed him because we had sworn an oath of loyalty, and to break that oath would be dishonorable.” he rumbled. “And we did not fully agree with the Autobots either, even after Optimus Prime took command.”

“Hold on.” Graham cut in. “Skyquake?”

Dreadwing blinked, and something odd entered his gaze. Blades felt the flash of grief in his EM afield before it abruptly cut off. “Yes. Skyquake. He was my brother. We were split spark twins.”

“I thought you said you guys don’t have families like humans!” Kade said to Heatwave, eyes narrowed.

The fire truck scowled. “We don’t! Not usually! There’s only really one exception, and that’s so rare I didn’t think it mattered!”

“Two exceptions.” Blades intervened quickly. “There’s actually two exceptions, two ways for Cybertronians to have siblings.”

Looks were directed at him, and he squirmed under the attention. Slag, he hadn’t meant to say that. They’d want to know how he knew and that was something he wanted to keep to himself. It was his burden to bare.

Dreadwing sensed his discomfort, cutting in before the questions could start and drawing the attention back to himself. “Yes. The first exception is that of split spark twins.” He glanced at the humans. “We Cybertronians are not created like you organics. On Cybertron, our source of life is called the Well of All Sparks. It is where all sparks are created, and where all sparks return upon deactivation.”

“A spark is like…your soul, right? It’s what gives you guys life and makes you who you are.” Dani questioned.

Dreadwing dipped his helm towards her. “Indeed. When a new Cybertronian comes into be, their spark is created in the Well. It goes through several layers of the Well’s energy, the spark refining and becoming more defined as it progresses to the edge of the Well from the center. Often, the sparks will not maintain their form in this process, and their energy will dissipate and return to the Well.” Noting the human’s looks, he shook his head. “The spark has no life or sentience at that time, it is merely a small collection of energy. It is if the spark holds its form past the final layer of shaping that it gains sentience and life. At that point, the energy of the Well pulls resources from Cybertron itself to create a protoform, a physical body, around the spark. Then, the protoform is pushed from the Well, and thus a new Cybertronian is created.” the Seeker explained.

“That doesn’t explain how you guys can have siblings.” Graham pointed out.

Dreadwing dipped his head. “Twins like myself are a rarity. They occur when, just before a protoform is formed around the spark, a surge of energy from the Well causes the spark to split into two. When that happens, most sparks to not survive and dissipate. If they do survive, the Well forms two protoforms around the two halves. The two halves of the spark can function on their own, and are fully formed in their own right, but due to the fact they were one a singular spark those two halves are forever bound.” he explained it carefully.

“Two halves, one whole.” Graham said, eyes lighting up with understanding.

Dreadwing nodded. “Yes. That is how split spark twins are created. Due to the bond, twins are very close to one another. A spark bond is a precious thing, little human.” His optics went distant, and Blades’s own spark ached with painful remembrance. “Through a spark bond, you are always and forever aware of the one who you share the bond with. You know what they feel, how they think, you know them in every way that they in turn know you. You can talk and communicate using the bond, and it can never be detected or listened in on. Distance can dampen a bond, and the further one gets from those they are bonded to the more muted it becomes. At one point, the bond becomes too muted to talk in words, and you can share only base thoughts and emotions.” he rumbled. “But even so, the bond persists, and it allows you to know your bonded is still living.”

“And…this Skyquake. He’s your twin? Where is he?” Kade asked.

“Gone.” Dreadwing said, his EM field flaring with that sharp agony, and even the humans could hear the grief in his tone. “Offlined before I even arrived on Earth.”

“How did it happen?” Chief asked, voice somber.

Dreadwing stared at him for a long moment, and Blades could see the grief in the angle at which he held his wings, even if he had reigned in his EM field. “Centuries ago, Megatron stationed my brother here in stasis in order to guard over Deception energon deposits. I was aware of his mission, but I was sent to far off star systems to fight in the War.” he sighed. “Recently, Skyquake was awoken, and in an ensuing confrontation with the Autobots he was slain by Optimus Prime and his scout.”

Blades flinched, optics wide. Bumblebee had killed Dreadwing’s twin? He supposed he couldn’t really judge a situation in which he didn’t have all the information, but he still had a hard time imagining the friendly yellow bit he knew actually killing someone else.

“How did you survive?” he blurted out. Looks were directed to him again, confused, but Dreadwing understood.

“Distance.” he rumbled. “I was so far away at from my brother at the time of his death that the bond was too strained for me to even feel his strongest emotions. I could only barely tell he was still living, and even then only when I focused on the link between our shared spark.” His gaze went sad. “I felt his death. The surge of energy that came from the bond breaking did reach me, but by the time it did it had had to travel so great a distance that it had dulled too much to overwhelm and gutter out my own spark. All I felt was a very faint sting. It didn’t even hurt to feel him perish.” he said, and he sounded bitter at it.

Blades could understand. “I’m sorry.” he said honestly.

Dreadwing sighed. “He died an honorable death. For that much, I am grateful.”

Kade cleared his throat, frowning. “Okay.” he said carefully. “But that doesn’t explain why you left the ‘Cons. Shouldn’t you have more reason to stay with the, if the Autobots killed your twin?”

Dreadwing growled lowly here. “No.” he denied. “The Autobots gave my brother a good death, a death I know Skyquake would not have been ashamed of. For all I resent the Autobots from taking my brother from me, it is War, and I cannot find fault in them removing an enemy from the battlefield.” He turned a sharp look to Kade. “It was the Starscream, however, who is a Decepticon, who desecrated my brother’s rest by defiling his corpse and turning him into a Terrorcon.”

Blades inhaled sharply, rage clouding his processor. He seethed, his rotors clamping tight to his spinal strut, his optics going dark and angry, and his hands curling into fists. Dani was the only one to notice, and she didn’t want to draw attention to him just yet.

“Terrorcon? Cody asked.

“A zombie.” Boulder offered, looking sick. Actually, all the bots look sick. “Or the closest equivalent to it there is for Cybertronians.”

And now the humans all looked sick. “Oh.” Kade said. “That’s why you left.”

“Yes.” Dreadwing said darkly. “I learned the truth, and when I attempted to avenge my bother Megatron attempted to destroy me. It did not matter to him that Starscream had attempted to assassinate and betray him on countless occasions. He sought my death in order to protect a known traitor.” he growled. “Starscream turned my brother into something twisted and abhorrent. That is why I left.” he finished.

“I’m surprised you didn’t rip his spark out.” Blades hissed. Stunned gazes turned to the copter, and everyone was alarmed to see just how angry he looked. “I’d have tried to, in your place.”

The only one who wasn’t surprised was Dreadwing. “I did try, and I was almost killed for it. I will avenge Skyquake one day, little one. But for now, calm yourself.”

Blades actually snarled at that. His rotors rattled aggressively, the smaller ones in his pedes whirling to life with a loud buzzing, and his engine all but roared with fury. “Just the idea of someone doing that-!” he cut himself off, snarling again. Dreadwing was quick to pick Dani off the youngling’s shoulder and set her down.

“Blades.” he snapped. The others were too frozen in shock at the sight of the usually bubbly copter so aggressive.

“No!” Blades snapped. “If someone did that to ‘Aid, or Groove, or Streetwise, or Hot Spot, or any of them, I’d rip them apart myself!”

Dreadwing narrowed his optics, his processor working quickly. There was no reason for the youngling to get so upset at the idea of a spark sibling being so badly defiled, no reason for him to take it so personally. And those names…

“You are gestalt, aren’t you, little one?”

That was enough to snap Blades out of his angry haze, and his optics shot wide. Fear swamped his field, and his rotors abruptly silenced and clamped back against his spine while the rotors in his pedes cut off with a sharp grinding noise. “What?”

“Given your reaction, and those names you said….it is the only conclusion that makes sense.”

“Wait, Blades…you’re part of a gestalt?” Boulder asked, his own optics blown wide.

“That…would explain your reaction.” Chase offered hesitantly.

“Blades.” Heatwave prompted at the copter’s continued silence.

“Uh, hello? Clueless humans here!” Dani called. “Blades, put me back up. Also, what’s a gestalt?”

The youngling bent down, allowing his partner to climb her way back up to his shoulder before he sat up. He sagged, looking defeated,

“A gestalt is the other way Cybertronians can have siblings.” he said quietly. “It happens in the Well. Most of the time, the Well creates on spark at a time. Creating a living spark is a complex process, so it can’t afford to create too many at once. Every once in a while though, the Well has an excess of energy, undetectable to any technology. When that happens, it creates multiple sparks at once. If all those sparks survive to the edge of the Well, then the excess energy pulls them together into one large, massive spark. Many sparks, becoming one. They remain combined until the energy stabilizes, and then split into the original number again and that’s when the protoforms are created around the sparks.” He sighed. “When that happens, all the bots in that group are linked. They were created by the Well together, and they were merged together by the Well to bind their sparks. That’s a gestalt. Because of the spark merge that occurred in the Well, gestalt can actually merge themselves again outside of it. They can push together their sparks and processors and very beings to become a singular bot. Gestalt frames are even adapted to that they can physically combine, each member becoming a different body part, in order to form the body of a new, larger mech while their sparks combine to form the mech’s own spark. Many, becoming one.” Blades looked down. “My brothers and I are that. We can combine to form Defensor. I’m the arm.” he said weakly.

——————————

Part 3

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pedrosbisch · 3 years

Text

My Sun and Stars

Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x Reader w/ nickname

Chapter 1- Call Signs

Chapter 2

Summary:You go out on a Friday night with your buddies, and meet Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia for the first time Rated M for Mature themes, but would prefer the fic stayed 18+ since it gets a little spicy later 👌

AN: Hello everyone! This is my very first fanfic I’m posting, and I hope it’s up to par 😅 I’ve been delaying posting it for so long but I’m so excited to finally get this posted and starting this journey.

TW! Alcohol, Slight Violence. Please let me know if I need to add anything else!

It was just another Friday at the bar after a dull day at work. Your friend Will invited you out for drinks with him and a couple of his buddies to celebrate a friend coming home.

“Where is this guy anyway, aren’t we supposed to be celebrating him?” You ask, frustrated by the fact the person they were celebrating was nearly an hour late.

“Pope’s always late, he runs on his own time. But he’ll be here.” Will took another sip of his beer before glancing toward the door.

“He better be, I can’t stay late. I have to go back home to Maria, I promised her I’d help with the baby after I got back tonight.” Retorted Frankie.

“Speak of the devil.”

Up walked a man with curly hair and sun kissed skin. He's undoubtedly handsome, smiling before he claps a hand on Frankie’s shoulder.

“What’s up cabróns? Sorry I’m late, there was traffic coming from the airport and then there was this girl out in the parking lot who had this ass that-“

“Ah-hem.” You clear your throat, hoping to cut off whatever vulgar story he was about to tell.

“Pope this is Hail. We met through the VA, thought I’d invite her out with us.”

“Hail? Cute, what’s that short for, Hailey?” He pours himself a mug of beer, barely looking your way.

“Hail Mary.”

“That’s a hell of a name. Parents were religious huh?”

Benny snickers and Frankie leans back, preparing for the shitshow to unfold.

“Call sign. Hail Mary, as in the prayer most people say before they’re about to die; A last ditch effort. For a man whose nickname is Pope, seems like you’d know better”

“Oh baby, people call me Pope because I bring them closer to god, whether it’s out in the field or in bed.” He side eyes Benny and they fist bump behind your head.

“Classy.” You roll your eyes and look over to Will who pinches the bridge of his nose and mouths 'sorry' over to you.

“Anyways- glad to have you back safe man, but I really gotta go. Wife’s gonna kill me if I don’t help with the baby like I promised.” Frankie fixes his hat and slaps Pope on the back before walking out.

“Yeah man me too, I’ve got my fight tomorrow and I already got too drunk waiting for you. You gotta come though!” Benny says as he wobbles standing up.

Will quickly stands after and steadies him propping him up on his shoulder. “I better drive Benny home, what about you Hail? You need a ride?”

“I’m alright, I’ll probably stay a little longer. I need to decompress from work.”

“Whatever works for you darlin, text me to let me know when you get home safe.” He says goodbye and shakes Pope’s hand before walking away with his brother.

“And yous better be coming to my match tomorrow!! I need my Hail Mary!!” Benny yelled with his head flopping back and forth.

“I’ll be there Benny.” You punch his ass and send them off, leaving you entirely alone with the menace of a man you’ve just met.

“So uh— you and the Miller brothers seem close.” Pope eyes you up and down, clearly trying to figure out what he’s missed while he was god knows where.

“Sure. Like Will said, we met through the VA. We’ve been pretty close since then.”

“I take it you’re a vet then, with your call sign and all?”

Was he actually trying to get to know you? “No, my dad served. 20 years in the Marine Corps, I just drive him to the meetings. He tried dragging me in one day to set me up with Will.”

“So you two are together then?” He looked up quizzically.

“Ha! If he’s interested he sure doesn’t show it. Plus I don’t think he’s really my type.”

“What is your type then?” Pope raises an eyebrow and a wide grin spreads across his face.

“Definitely not a man some of whose first words around me were ‘there was a girl who had this ass’”

“So you don’t like me because I appreciate the female form?”

“Ha! I don’t like you because you make assumptions. Like how you just assumed that you could get me to go home with you.”

“I’m offended you think so lowly of me Princesa, and how are you so sure I want to you to sleep with me?”

“Don’t call me Princesa, and because if you didn’t want to— you’d be off chasing that girl with the ass down. But you’re here, talking to me about if I’m taken and what my type is. Now if you excuse me, I’m going home.” You gulp down the rest of your beer before grabbing your purse and speed walking to the door.

Pope rushes through the crowds and grabs your arm before you raise it to hail a taxi. You break from his grasp and slam your palm into his chest before realizing it was him.

“Agh! So you’re not all bark after all.” He rubs his shoulder and winces. “Listen, I truly am sorry for this bad first impression. But I don’t think Will would be happy with me if I didn’t at least offer you a ride home in your inebriated state.”

You roll you eyes before you look in your purse and realize all your cash went toward tipping the bartender; You sigh and toss your head back in defeat. “Fine. But you’re not coming in for a nightcap.”

He leads you to his Jeep and you buckle yourself in as he pulls out of the bar parking. You punch your address into his GPS and lean your head against the cool window as the music plays softly. The alcohol hits you all at once like a tidal wave, and your head starts to spin.

You’re thankful the ride home is quiet, and even more so when the car comes to a stop. The car door opens letting the fresh night air hits your face waking you slightly.

“Can I at least walk you to your door?” Says Pope, but this time his tone is different. It’s not assertive or defensive, almost like he cares you get home safe. And he has this look on his face, what is that look? You’re too drunk to tell.

"That would be great, actually." He walks beside you, careful not to touch you unless you expressly needed help. You were doing better than expected, swaying slightly and bumping arms as you walked side by side. You were about to send Pope off, all up until you came to foot of the stairwell.

“Shit. You can go, really I’ll be fine. You’ll be here all night watching me climb these stupid things. Without an ounce of of dignity, I may add.”

He chuckled as you planted your palms on the stairs and began to crawl up them like an overgrown toddler.

“I have all night to help you up the stairs Hail, but I’ll have to touch you. If that’s ok?”

Why did those words send fire through your cheeks? ‘But I’ll have to touch you.’ You quietly nod your head in defeat and feel two strong arms lift you from under your knees and behind your back. You instinctively wrap your arms around his neck and press your head to his chest. The world is spinning and you’re doing anything to anchor yourself, even if it’s to him.

You turn your head and shut your eyes, taking deep even breaths into his chest doing everything in your power to calm yourself. ‘Focus’, you tell yourself. Focus on literally anything but the spinning. You take another deep breath, but this time you take a second to appreciate the scent of Pope’s cologne. It smells expensive, but sooo nice. You hear his heart beating, or—wait. Is it yours? Your mind continues to wander further as footsteps echo off the stairwell. His arms feel so nice, maybe you could invite him… No, you decide. You won’t just be another drunken conquest.

You reach the second floor of your apartment complex and tell him your door number. He steadily places you down, and keeps a steady hand on your back as you dig out your keys. You open the door and catch yourself on the frame turning yourself to face Pope.

“Thank you for taking me home, and for carrying me up the stairs. This is so embarrassing, I swear this never happens.”

“Shh, it’s alright Princesa. Drink some water and get some rest, I’ll see you tomorrow at Benny’s match. I’ll bring my best manners, and hopefully we can forget about today.” He gets you a glass of water and places it next to your couch where you ungracefully plopped yourself down.

“Mmhh. Pope?” You reach, as if trying to reach him without knowing where his is.

“Santiago. My real name is Santiago, but you can call me Santi if you want.”

Your brain is far gone, blacked out in a half asleep state with no filter attached to your mouth. “Well then Santiago, thank you again for bringing me home. Sorry it wasn’t in the context you wanted. Next time if you want it to go more smoothly, ask me to dinner. You smell too good to say no.”

He chuckles and looks at you with a soft expression before locking your door behind him as he makes his way back to his car. For the rest of the night, he replays the way you said his name in his head and makes a mental note to wear the same cologne again tomorrow night.

#santiago pope garcia #tf fanfic #pope x reader #santiago garcia x reader #santiago pope garcia x reader #tw alcohol #fanfic

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young-dumb-and-vaccinated · 3 years

Text

The Sommelier (Hannigram x Female!Reader) pt. 25

Y/n puts an end to everything.

@dovahdokren @deadman-inc-bikeshop @lov3vivian @wisesandwichshark @scpdragon

⚠️HUGE⚠️ trigger warnings: rape, drugging, sex trafficking, VERY graphic descriptions of violence, physical violence (please let me know if I leave anything out)

Hannibal could walk through a valley of human suffering and not even flinch. You couldn't tell if that made him subhuman or superhuman. You, however, were just human.

You wanted to be a badass. You wanted to kick the door down and make a scene. But one woman was enough to break you.

She was wearing only a large t-shirt. A cloth bandage covered in blood covered her pubic area like a makeshift pair of underpants. She laid limply against a stone. Her arms were punctured where needles had been.

"I don't..." she mumbled, clearly intoxicated beyond function. "...don't make me..."

You knew you couldn't afford to stop. But compassion kept your feet firmly on the ground in front of her.

"What is Chase making you do?"

"I can't-" She said, pressing her forehead against the rock. "I can't be an unwoman-"

She began to slam her head against the rock with clear intent to take her own life. Without thinking, you grabbed her by the shoulders and shoved her into the grass. She sobbed, a bloody, but thankfully, survivable, gash on her forehead.

"Tell me your name." You demanded, squeezing her shoulders.

"...Tiffany." She said with a sudden lucidity.

The name unlocked a memory in you. It was the still image of a sunny young girl, immortalized on a faded missing person's ad hung up at the grocery store. Tiffany Rose Pierce, it read.

"I'm gonna get you out of here, Tiffany." You whispered. "I'm gonna get all of you out of here."

"Vanguard won't like that." She said, slipping back into a state of minimal consciousness.

"Stay here." You instructed, pushing yourself back to your feet.

You readied your gun and slowly, carefully pushed the cabin door open. Suddenly, the stained glass window was the least of your worries.

The entire area was lined with cheaply-constructed bunk beds, like an overgrown henhouse. Women with distinctively long hair were shackled to the lower bunks. Their shaven counterparts, the unwomen, were forced to be the slavedrivers. They held the chained women down.

You heard the rattling of chains coming from the right. It was accompanied with screaming and wet slapping.

"Take daddy's cock you filthy fucking broodmare." A familiar voice grunted.

The only way you could look at him was behind the barrel of your gun. He was exactly how you pictured him while listening to his voice in the car. Unremarkable, middle-aged and serpentine.

"Pastor Armitage!" You yelled.

To hear someone call him by his title in the midst of violating a person was enough to send him into a panic. He sputtered and his entire face turned red.

He didn't suffer for long, though. A 12 gauge shell right through the face took care of that. Fragments of his head, his blood and brain matter splattered everywhere. His knees buckled and his limp body collapsed.

The room fell silent. Smoke trickled out of your barrel.

"Where's fucking Chase?" You asked the room.

Someone weakly pointed up the stairs. You met her eyes and nodded.

"Sorry about the mess."

Now you knew how Hannibal felt. Blowing someone's head off made you acutely aware of your own head on your shoulders. You held it higher. You felt no remorse as you ascended the staircase with your gun blazing.

You came across a room with some words etched in the door. 'Skin room'. You launched your foot squarely into the door, causing it to violently swing open.

You examined the room from behind the gun. Chase had done a hell of a job dressing up this cheap cabin bedroom like a hotel suite, but the smell hit you before you could be fooled. A brick chimney, a wine cooler and a mahogany desk were positioned so the eye would gravitate towards the luxury while the nose picked up the brutality. The stained glass window was suspended in front of the real window, absorbing the mid-morning light and giving the room an eerie sepia tint.

You cocked your gun to announce your presence. You heard the sound of running water, and then a side door swung open.

“You’ll forgive me a couple minutes to freshen up.” Chase said, shaking his hands dry. “Cleanliness is close to godliness, after all.”

You said nothing. You didn’t want to dignify him with a conversation.

He bent over and pulled a bottle of wine from his cooler. He placed it squarely on the desk. You looked at it, then did a double take. He grinned sadistically.

“Is that...” You leaned in to get a closer look. “1907 Heidsieck Monople Gout?”

Chase shrugged. “You tell me. You’re the wine expert.”

You’d heard many a conflicting story about the legendary 1907 Heidsieck. Some said as many as 2,000 bottles were pulled up from the depths of the freezing Baltic sea. Some said a single bottle could go for half a million dollars. With that kind of precedent, you never thought you’d ever have to worry about it. Yet, there it was. Right in front of you.

“I’m saving it for a special occasion.” Chase said, suddenly reminding you where you were.

You returned to your gun. “For when you kill me?”

“For when I save you.” Chase smiled, his unnaturally white teeth glistening in the sepia light. “See, Miss [F/N], you survived two of my attempts on your life. God has smiled down on you.”

“Or, maybe,” You interrupted. “You’re just horrible at killing.”

Chase raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

"A knife through the hand hurts like a bitch, but it isn't fatal." You shrugged. "And you didn't do a good enough job beating the fear of death out of Catherine. Else she might have actually gone through with it. Maybe if you'd sent Tiffany-"

"God loves you." Chase interrupted before you could poke more holes in his attempts on your life. "Why you're still alive when so many less deserving of death have died is beyond me, but god works in mysterious ways, doesn't he?"

"She sure does." You smirked.

Chase cleared his throat. You'd pegged him as the type to get irrationally angry at the implication of god being a woman, so his reaction surprised you.

"Well, let's get down to business, shall we?" He gestured to a seat across from him.

You narrowed your eyes. "I don't think so."

"Pity." He pouted. "Not even for poor Mr. Graham?"

It dawned on you that he probably still thought he had Will, and you could use it to your advantage.

You held your gun at your side and hesitantly sat down in the seat. A gluttonous smile spread across Chase's face.

"So it wasn't wine after all." He said. "It wasn't even your own life. You're only willing to save your soul for the sake of your precious Will Graham."

"What do you care?" You growled through your teeth. "This is just a power grab for you. You wouldn't know what genuine empathy for another person feels like."

He grinned, as if someone had just flipped his 'on' switch. "Jesus does."

"Did Jesus use his influence to lure teenage girls into a sick breeding ring?" You sneered. "I don't remember that from VeggieTales."

"Genesis 1:28." Chase said. "And God blessed them, and God said unto them, be fruitful, and multiply."

"I suppose you also don't eat shellfish or wear mixed fabrics." You rolled your eyes.

"It's always the same arguments from you atheists." Chase scoffed, adding a distinct bite to the last word. "When are you going to show some actual proof that the bible isn't an infallible model for human morality?"

"Maybe when you stop eating shellfish and wearing mixed fabrics." You repeated.

"They are minor sins at best." Chase grimaced. "I have gotten right with Jesus. You, on the other hand, oh, you. Your sins are weighty."

"I did just blast a rapist's head off." You admitted. "And it's going to be two very soon if this one doesn't get to the fucking point."

"I know about your exploits." He squinted. "With Mr. Graham and the man with the Nazi accent."

"He's actually from Lithuania, which, if you wanna be technical," you corrected, just for the sake of being annoying. "Is an ex-Soviet state, but whatever."

Chase tensed up at being corrected. "I know about your hedonistic sexual activities with two men, your exploration. But in the bible, Satan approaches these two people called Adam and Eve..."

"No he didn't." You shook your head. "It was a serpent. The devil wasn't a concept when Genesis was written."

Chase gritted his teeth. "God made one man and one woman. Each to fill each other's sexual desires, within the context of marriage, entirely-"

"But Adam had two spouses, didn't he?" You cocked your head and smiled. "Eve wasn't even the first woman in Adam's life. That was Lilith."

Chase heaved a frustrated sigh. "How do you know that?!"

"I was raised catholic." You said in the tonal equivalent of smacking him upside the head. "I was forced into religion at a young age and brainwashed to hate myself."

"See, that's where we agree." Chase tented his hands, thinking he found a genuine point of connection. "Organized religion is a cancer on society. Christianity is fundamentally about a relationship with god."

You laughed. It was the first real, good laugh you had in a while.

"Don't laugh." He scolded. "I am sorry that that was your experience with religion and that the Catholic church modeled a false teaching of who god is and what he wants. Not all christians-"

You wiped a tear from your eye. "Homie, you killed four people in front of me."

He placed his hand over his heart. "And christ forgave me. And he can forgive you too."

"Alright, this has been fun and everything," you said, standing up. You aimed your shotgun and cocked it. "But, I did come here to kill you, so, open wide."

Chase put his hand squarely over the barrel and pushed it out of the way. "You don’t have the guts to pull the trigger."

You pulled the trigger and blasted his hand clean off. Any hope of reattachment was shattered, as bits of his hand painted the walls and floor.

You opened the gun and let the two empty shells fall to the ground while Chase screamed in agony.

Instead of going through the motions of reloading, you smashed him over the head with the gun. He wrapped his good hand around the barrel and attempted to wrestle it away from you. You took this as an invitation to corner him against the wall with the still-hot barrel against his neck. He smashed his forehead into your nose, sending you tumbling backwards.

The shotgun fell to the ground. You pinched the bridge of your nose to control the blood flow. Chase wrapped a champagne towel around his stump and picked up a small revolver on his desk. He let off a shot, which lodged itself into your shoulder. By the time he let off the second shot, you were on the ground. The third shot didn't fire, just let out a flash and a bang.

"Goddamn blanks!" He cursed.

He tore open a drawer and rummaged around for bullets, giving you a window to come up from behind and gouge your fingers into his eyes. He screamed, dropping a handful of bullets. He flailed aimlessly, then charged backwards, slamming you into the cheap drywall.

He felt around for the bullets without the advent of eyesight. You knew you wouldn't be able to take aim with your shotgun with a bullet lodged in your shoulder, so you dove for the revolver.

Chase grabbed you by the ankle and dragged you down. You hit the floor with a thud, the collision making the bullets jump. Chase grinned, using the sound to place them. He turned around and reached for one, while you scooped up another that had rolled under the desk.

You scrambled to your feet. Chase's hand was just centimeters from the revolver. Thinking fast (but not so thoroughly), you grabbed for the revolver. You wrapped your hand around the barrel, putting yourself at a disadvantage if he fired off another blank.

Chase, however, wasn't that forward-thinking, and opted for a childish game of tug-of-war instead. Knowing he had the brute strength advantage, you waited for him to pull back and released your grip. Chase tumbled, cursing on his way down.

With no thought on your mind but ending this, you launched your foot into his sack, causing him to scream and drop the gun.

Just as you thought it was over, just when the gun was in arm's reach, he kicked your knees backwards and you fell. You swallowed the pain and army crawled for the revolver.

"I don't think so." Chase spat, smiling like a maniac. He grabbed your face with his good hand and his fingers slithered down your throat.

"Choke..." he demanded. "Choke, demoness."

Strengthened by animalistic instinct, you crushed his fingers under your teeth. The sound of snapping bone filled the inside of your head and a sudden rush of blood flooded into your mouth. He withdrew his hand, leaving a finger behind to limply fall down your throat.

You coughed and gagged while Chase screamed. A single bloody digit dislodged itself from your windpipe, flew across the room and landed on the desk.

Chase sputtered something resembling a laugh. "Maybe you're not such a dumb bitch after all."

You grabbed the gun and pushed yourself up with the help of the desk. The finger stared up at you as you loaded the single bullet.

You positioned the finger onto the trigger and guided it with your gloved hand. Then you aimed it at his forehead. Dead by his gun, by his trigger finger. Bleeding on the ground in his private bunker while the empire he built collapses around him. A coward's death. It was poetic enough an end as he deserved.

"You want to say a prayer before you meet god?" You offered.

"My soul is saved." Chase said through ragged breaths. "My place in heaven is secured."

Bang. One bullet, right between the eyes. A bloody fingerprint on the pistol. You dropped the revolver and collapsed. You just laid there, listening to your phone buzz.

#hannibal lecter #hannibal x you #hannibal x reader #hannibal nbc #the sommelier #will graham #will graham x reader #will graham x you #hannibal x you x will #hannigram x reader #hannibal x will #tw violence #tw grape without the g #tw sex abuse #tw sex trafficking #tw christianity

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roger-that-cap · 4 years

Text

meet me in the gardens

knight!natasha x noble!fem!reader

summary: being the widow of a decently wealthy lord and sitting on a large plot of land automatically meant that you were a candidate for the program that you couldn’t say not to; the hosting. you had to sponsor a knight and keep them in your home for an entire year, which was troublesome enough on its own. but you never expected yoru knight to be a woman, and you certainly didn’t expect to have a full on illegal love affair with her, either.

warnings: actually none but a misunderstanding and the lack of editing that i think u guys may or may not be used to at this point

word count: 5.3k

part two!!

The knight before you was the opposite of a man. She was so opposite in fact, that you had to actively make yourself not appear like you were shocked. You knew that the twins were having to try even harder to keep composure.

She was without a doubt, one of the prettiest people you had ever seen before. Being a lady, you had seen so many handsome young men and gorgeous young women, but there wasn’t one who’s fairness struck you like this woman’s. Her eyes were an unfamiliar shade of blue, and you knew that they were the kind of eyes that were made for surveillance and observation, and if you looked hard enough, maybe a window to her thoughts. She had pink lips that were set into a genuine yet thin smile, almost like she wasn’t used to wordless pleasantries at all. Her hair was cropped just above her shoulders and it shined a brilliant red that you had rarely ever seen. Despite the powerful and extremely potent energy that she was giving off, she was short, shorter than you, but something told you that she was strong. Stronger than anyone knew quite yet, but you could feel it. But, you were still confused, regardless of how she had rendered you breathless for the quickest of seconds.

The problem wasn’t that she was a woman. There wasn’t even really a problem at all. It was just the fact that a woman was a knight. You had never seen anything like it in your entire life, and you had never even thought of the possibility of that happening. At all. You had to fight tooth and nail to keep property that you hardly even wanted, all because you were a woman. Because you weren’t pregnant with a son who could carry his hypothetical father’s name. Because you were a woman without the heir to your late husband’s fortunes, you were seen as nothing, for a long time. And now, there were women who were becoming knights?

You were more impressed than confused.

You felt another pinch from Pietro, this time a little harder. You breathed in through your nose, a welcoming smile on your face as you grappled for words.

“Hello,” you said, public voice still working hard as you internally scrambled for words. You were looking the red headed woman right in her eyes, the eyes that were so intense that if you hadn’t been in rooms where extreme business had gone down, you would have melted. You tried to remember the standard greeting. “Welcome to my keep. I hope that I can accommodate you during your stay, and that you are successful in your search for what it is that you are looking for.” You knew the words were off by a bit, but you saw the coachman nod in approval that you didn’t really care to have.

The knight took a step forward, and the sound of a heavy footstep crashing against your well-kept grass made you shiver. The trampled grass had nothing on the way that you reacted to hearing her voice. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Mirellis. I sincerely thank you for allowing me into your home.”

It was hardly your home, and you could tell that the two of you had already gotten off on the wrong foot. You knew it was because of your shameless staring. “May I be graced with knowing your name?”

If possible, she stood up a little straighter. “I am Natasha Romanoff, My Lady.”

If you were hearing correctly, you heard the slight awkwardness in her last two words. Only people with titles of their own called other lords and ladies “my lady”, and lower born people were to call them “milady”. She must have been lowborn, just like you. “It is my deepest pleasure to meet you, Natasha. May I show you around my keep?”

“Typically,” the coachman cut in, and you furrowed your brows at the way he interrupted the stop-and-start flow of the conversation. “It isn’t the lord—sorry—lady of the house’s job to do that.”

Wanda opened her mouth, highly defensive of you and ready to go because it was a fight she could afford to pick. A servant and a coachman were on the same level. She would face no punishment for talking back to the man. However, you reached to your right and squeezed her hand twice.

“Well, I am the lady of the house, and I would like to show my new guest her accommodations.” The man narrowed his eyes slightly at you, and it became obvious to everyone that he clearly wasn’t expecting back talk from you.

You knew that everyone thought widows were these gentle, sad women. The type that cried themselves to sleep and wished to meet their husbands again in the afterlife. The type that listened at anything that a man uttered simply because he was a man, or because they didn’t have the energy to entertain an arguement or to correct them. Especially ladies. But you were not supposed to be a lady. You wore fancy dresses and had gold and had a small castle to yourself, but part of you would always be that girl who beat up the boys who lived a few acres away for talking about your hair and then rolled in mud with them, laughing about it the very next day.

Even through the glances that were thrown between the five of you standing there, you continued. “My staff has worked so hard on making sure it was nice for her. I’d like to show off their diligence now.” It wasn’t a question.

“Do as you please, milady.”

You resisted the urge to nod smugly. “Thank you.” You watched him climb back onto his chair and quirked a brow. The coachman always stayed for dinner. It was considered offensive if they did not, both to the knight and to the lord or lady. “Did you not want to stay for the meal, good sir?”

“I must get back, milady. If that is alright with you.”

You knew you should utter something lengthy that you didn’t mean at all, but the most you could get out after his blatant rudeness was a quick “safe travels.” There was a long stretch of awkward silence as you watched him leave, arms hanging at your sides as the trotting sound of horses carried him away.

“Goodness, was he rude.”

“Pietro.” Wanda hissed, and you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. You whirled around to look at the knight— Natasha— and saw that she was already looking at you with blatant curiosity.

“Would it be alright with you if I took you around myself?” You asked, and she nodded her head. “Well, I’m sure you’re hungry. Would you like to eat first?”

You were beginning to realize very quickly that the woman was the staring type. Her eyes, no, her entire face and persona was so demanding and intense. It was hard to even be provoked by her shameless staring and possible judgement, because at least she was open with it. The more you looked at her, though, the more you knew that you would never understand what was happening behind her eyes. “I would like to see.”

“Then you will see,” you stated, and gave Wanda a look. She knew immediately what it meant, and she walked off to tell the chefs to expect you in an hour or so. “We can start with the outside area and make our way in.”

She was very much the staring type. Not even just at faces or people in general, but with everything. You noticed that when anything caught her eye, she looked at it for a few seconds in silence and then moved on, like she heard them speak something unknown to everyone else and took the time to listen.

“These are the training grounds,” you said after walking to the back half of the castle, where the grass was still trained to grow with strength and hardly a thing was out of place. The training grounds were for young squires in the area or kids that just wanted to play fight. You had made the area yourself, and it was one of your favorite parts of your home. You liked being able to look outside and see children playing freely, and the sound of laughter was something that everyone needed in life. “You’re free to use them in any way you see fit, of course.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“You’ll run into aspiring knights here and there, but they are good children.” Your voice was fond as you spoke of them, and then took a right. “And just down here, we have the gardens.”

And gardens, they were. They were the only thing in the castle that was actually yours while your husband was alive. When you had arrived, the patch of land was so disgraced that it would have been insulting to call it a garden. The flowers were droopy, the soil was dry, and the vibrant colors that were once there had been sucked away. Your husband didn’t care about the area, and neither did anyone else, so you adopted it. You had built it from the ground up and made it into what it was; a huge and gorgeous garden full of colors, with ivy hanging from rails in what looked like an unruly manner and bushes full of roses and begonias and everything in between. It was caged off by golden rails, but the rails were hardly binding. They were so wrapped with leaves that it looked like they grew with the garden.

“This is my favorite part of the keep,” you stated softly, walking down it. You had expanded it so that it went down and into the forest, the rails forming a path. You walked down it every so often yourself, deep into the woods where no one would bother you, where you could look at the stars above in peace.

“Is it yours?”

“What?” You asked, tearing your eyes from a particular bush to see her looking up at the ivy.

“This garden,” she said, and you realized that you were strolling closer and closer to the woods. You stopped walking, but didn’t make any move to go and meet her. “Do you tend to it?”

“It’s mine,” you answered, not even bothering to take the subtle pride out of your voice. “It’s my project. I started it when I got here, and now it’s flourishing.”

“Where did you learn how to garden?”

It was no secret that typically, ladies did not get their hands dirty, even if the activity was simple planting. They were supposed to stay inside and knit or something like that. Ladies could go outside to look at gardens, but they had staff to plant for them. So, did Natasha not know that you weren’t born with a title? “When I was a girl,” you answered vaguely.

“Your Lord Father allowed you?”

My father was no lord. “Yours allowed you to wield a sword?” The sound of armor clanking brought you out of your slight hostility, and you sighed. “I apologize.”

“It’s quite alright.” The harshness in her voice told you that she was offended by what you said, and she turned around once she realized that the two of you were nearing the tree line.

You walked around with Natasha, giving her the rest of the tour halfheartedly and only speaking when absolutely necessary. It was clear that the two of you clearly weren’t clicking as well as you hoped to, and while that was tragic, you weren’t going to kiss anyone’s feet to get in their good graces.

“I’m sure you’re hungry by now.” The second you stepped on the wood floors of the inside of your keep, the warmth hit you. Your shoes clicked on the material as you walked ahead of her, not looking back or waiting for an answer. “I’ll show you the kitchens, and then the dining hall.”

The dining hall was known for its size. It was huge, and the ceiling was high. Everything that was said echoed, and the lighting provided by strategically placed candles made the hall have an elegant, almost eerie feeling to it. The staff was already bustling around, plating food and pouring wine. Wanda and Pietro were already there, their harsh and bickering whispers hitting your ears until they heard you approaching.

“Oh, please, sit.” Wanda did so immediately, and Pietro walked around the table to pull out your chair, which sat at the head of it.

You cringed when Pietro sat down. He had been dethroned from his seat at your left hand, because it was courteous of you to give up that seat for your new night. That was one tradition that you wouldn’t break, simply because it would be seen as disrespectful. “You can sit right there, Lady Natasha.” You saw her lip twitch.

In all honesty, you had no idea what to call her formally. You two certainly weren’t close enough to address each other by first name, and you doubted she even knew it. But she wasn’t a man, and male knights were called “Sir”. She wasn’t a “Sir”. You didn’t want to offend her further by calling her it.

The first half of the dinner was in awkward silence. Wanda kept giving you glances, and you frowned at the way she was looking at you- like you had clearly messed something up. You sighed through your nose when you heard Pietro clear his throat, a sound that meant that he was about to run his mouth.

“So, my lady knight, what do you think of the castle?”

The red head didn't even realize she was being addressed until she looked up and saw you and everyone else looking at her expectantly. “It’s very nice.” You waited a bit, listening to hear whatever empty compliments that she would give for the sake of being polite. Ten seconds passed, and there was nothing.

You chuckled. “Thank you,” you answered just as shortly, holding back the urge to laugh much louder than was appropriate.

“So, where are you from?”

“The slums.” You nod in acknowledgment, and guilt. Sometimes you repressed the images of people living from coin to coin. But silly you, silly everyone. For there to have been people on the top, there had to be people at the bottom. And those who lived at the bottom lived in what were called “the slums”. “I don’t know if you would know anything about that, My Lady.”

Wanda made a noise that told you that the bold knight’s words were clearly meant to wound you, and Pietro’s brows shot upwards so quickly that you barely saw the movement happen. You stared at your plate, jaw dropped open in surprise and mortification.

You were fuming on the inside. How the hell would she know who you were? What you dealt with? How your husband was as cruel as he was disgusting? How you grew up a poor farmer’s daughter? She didn’t know, and that was what kept you grounded. How could she have known?

Before you could get in your right mind to utter a threat that you were sure that your late husband had said in your presence at least once, you nodded your head and took it in stride. You stood up from the table and didn’t look at her or the confused look she shot you after looking at your painfully unfinished plate.

“Wanda will show you to your chambers, Lady Natasha. I hope you enjoy your first dinner of many here at my castle, and I hope that tonight begins your yearlong journey to wisdom.” And with that, you turned on your heels after taking your plate shamelessly, heels clacking against the polished floor once again, silence filling the hall until long after you left.

§§

By the third day Natasha was there and the second that you had been blatantly avoiding her, you were starting to feel bad for fueling the fire between you two. She was to stay under your roof and do what she had to for a full year, and you antagonized her. You gave the sacred act of showing a knight to their room to someone else, and you understood Natasha’s lack of speech towards you to be a consequence of that.

But that was fine. You certainly didn’t need for the girl to like you. It would have made things much easier and smoother, but it wasn’t a necessity. Your job was to give her food, water, shelter, and time to find herself and her purpose as a knight. Nothing said that the two of you had to be as thick as thieves.

But that also didn’t mean that you would actively pass on befriending her. You decided after a long time of sitting at the polished wooden desk that had become yours that you would be her friend should fate allow it, and if not, there was no harm to it. But you weren’t going to chase her, no matter how wonderfully her bright hair would work as an object to follow.

A soft calling of your name happened seconds before Wanda opened the door. You greeted her informally and grinned at her, until you saw the look on her face and the sealed paper in her hand. Immediately, your joyful expression left and you sighed.

“Who is it this time?” Wanda shut the door behind her after your question, and you gave her a look. “It can’t be Lord Rumlow again.”

Brock Rumlow was not a good man. No man who had power was a good man, but he was one of the worst. He had gone through two wives in the past three years, and the second one was found with stab wounds in the forest. How he had gotten out of being tried for her murder was beyond you, and it made you sick to your stomach every time you thought about it. Now, he set his sights on you, a widow sitting on plenty of money and land. He had been sending you letters, flowers, gold, dresses, anything that a narcissistic man would think that another human being would like simply because the things were tangible. And the letters always said the same old thing; to marry him. And he wasn’t ever really asking.

“It’s him,” Wanda confirmed, her tone telling you that she felt the same way you did towards the vile man.

“I want to burn it,” you said, and immediately, Wanda crossed the room to put the note in the fire, waiting for your final say. “Let me read what this imbecile has asked for now. I wonder what beautiful horse or jewel he’ll offer for my hand, this time.”

You took the letter from Wanda gently and gave her a small smile, and she urged you to open it, just as nervous to see what was inside as you were. You stared at his seal for a few seconds, eyeing the red wax with a three headed serpent engraved with disdain before tearing it right open. You did the rest without ceremony, your eyes narrowed as you found the messy and unbothered handwriting that you would recognize from anywhere.

Lady of Riverstone,

I take it that my other letters may have been lost to the wind. I apologize for not reaching you earlier. But, if you have been getting my letters, then my main offer stands the same. I would be honored for you to take my name and stand under my veil, and for you to become my wife. Marriage to me would give you a great deal of benefits, and I have listed them down below. I would like an answer within two fortnights, and if I don’t get one, I’ll send another letter.

It was all more of the same, more of the same offers and then a little more, vague threats, and monotonous language that he hardly knew how to use correctly. You read with a neutral expression, even though Wanda was shocked reading all of the things he was offering. He signed it off like he did every other letter.

Lord Rumlow, of Serpent’s Keep.

“He offered you two tons of gold to send your father?”

“Do you notice how he’s never called me Lady Mirellis?” You asked, sipping the chalice of water that constantly sat at your desk, and got refilled whenever someone walked by and saw it nearing empty. “Or by my name?”

“I have.”

“It’s always ‘Lady of Riverstone’,” you sighed, shaking your head. “If he wants the land, he should just go on and say that. It’s much more respectable for him to be honest with me. Maybe I would have said yes already.”

Wanda made a face. “You’re lying, now.”

“Well, of course I am. I've never seen him, and all he wants is a woman to beat around. I’m not that woman, no woman is. Do you think I want to find myself dead within a half year of being wed?” There was a sharp knock on your door.

“He wouldn’t kill you. He wouldn’t gain these assets after your death,” Wanda said softly, understanding that you were about to finish the conversation. “He must be truly desperate to pay ou two tons of gold. That could help nearly anyone out of a pickle, and it would certainly pay off some things back at the farm.”

You knew that. But the truth was… you held a certain amount of irrational and rational disdain for your family. You knew that some of it was warranted just off of the way humans worked in general, but others weren’t. You knew for a fact that a part of you would always be bitter about the way that no one fought hard enough for you not to be taken from your home. You knew that a part of you would be bitter because they took the money that your late husband had offered them, like you were the fattest, most desirable pig in the pen. And there would forever, and ever, be a part of you—if not all of you— that would be angry about your wedding night.

Half of your family showed. The other half came, took you to a back room, and cried. They cried on your night of terror, and you comforted them. It was the one time where you truly needed your mother and her maternal instincts, the one time you needed your brother to teach you some moves that could hurt a man if you needed them. And they either weren’t where you needed them, or weren’t what you needed them. Both truths hurt the same.

“My family doesn’t need money,” you settled on saying, swallowing the burning that came with thinking about the people you shared blood with. “If they needed it, they would ask.”

“Your father is a proud man, he wouldn’t set that pride aside. Especially not to ask one of his own daughters for money.”

“Well, let that be their problem,” you said, although your harsh words weren’t as impactful because of the tremor in them. “I won’t marry Lord Rumlow.”

Wanda leaned forward a bit, and she took both of your hands in hers as the knocking grew louder. She looked you in the eyes, just the way one true friend looked at another. With the same ferocity in her voice as the time when she assured you that no one was going to force you to give up your rights to ladyship, her next words were no louder than a whisper. “And no one will make you.”

Your eyes almost grew watery as you held her hands, feeling the purity of the bond you shared with her surging. “Thank you.” You looked towards the door and let her hands go, uttering a soft command.

Pietro stood there with his arms crossed and a flushed look on his face. He cocked his head to the side at the sight of you and Wanda hovering over a broken open letter, and took a few steps forward. It was upside down, so you turned it his way so that he could read it easier, and the second he recognized the handwriting, he groaned.

“I think I can assume what this is,” he rolled his eyes, and he picked it up and walked over to the fire. When you’d said nothing, he tossed it in and the three of you watched it burn. “I came to tell you that our little knight is strange.”

“How so?”

“Well, she's writing.”

You furrowed your brows. “Writing?” You repeated, remembering her saying that she grew up poor. Most commoners had no idea how to read or write. You only learned because you had to learn when you married a lord. And even if knights had the ability to read and write, they hardly did. Words had very little value to a man who could wield a sword.

But Natasha Romanoff was no man.

“What on earth would she be writing about?” Wanda asked, leaning against the desk. “I wonder if she’s required to write a review on her treatment.”

Pietro gave a short but genuine laugh. “She’s probably writing down terrible things about you to give to the king after she returns home,” he joked, and Wanda cracked a smile, but you couldn’t find it in you to laugh.

“I couldn’t care less about a review of my hospitality or lack therefore of,” you drawled.

Wanda rolled her eyes. “Yes, you do, because you’re a kind person.”

“But she is not.” You felt bad for saying the words that you said not even seconds after.

“We don’t know that,” Wanda reasoned softly. “Actually, I happen to know that she’s quite nice. And she’s level headed and very smart, from what I can see. She’s no man with a little praise under his belt, that’s for sure.”

“So, she’s not boastful.” You said. “That’s good. But I don’t see her and I sharing more interactions than what we need to.”

“With all due respect, Lady Y/N,” Pietro said, leaning forward with that characteristic smirk of his plastered over his face. “You are very dramatic. You always have been.”

You could hardly even pretend to be offended. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” Wanda said quietly, though not fearfully at all. “You are always dramatic, and then things work out.”

Wanda was right. She very much was, actually. Things like the river nearly drying up and crops rotting too quickly and other things that were completely out of your hands terrified you. The things that you couldn’t control made you irrational and erratic, and that was probably your worst fault. You did the same with things you could change, only with worrying. Something as simple as an apology could fix something, but you would sit on giving the apology for hours, sometimes even days.

That night, when it seemed like everyone else was fast asleep and dreaming sweet little images, you put on slippers and walked right outsides, your guards not even asking you where you were going. You walked right out of the side doors and into the garden, humming quietly to yourself as you walked through the entrance of it with your pails of water.

It was quiet besides the noise of bugs chirping, and the occasional flap of wings from birds above. Even your humming had tapered off, and it felt like you could have been able to hear things from miles away. You smiled in the crisp air as you bent over to water a rose bush, a soft affirmation towards the red flowers when you saw how pretty they looked in the moonlight. When you stood back up and turned your head around, you gasped in fright and tumbled towards the ground.

“Shit,” a hand caught your arm and the other was on your shoulder as your chest heaved, adrenaline rushing from being so frightened. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you saw me.” It took you a second to see the face of the woman speaking in the moonlight, but when you saw it was the knight, you sighed.

You were set back on two feet, and then Natasha took a step backwards. “Why are you out here?”

She shrugged. “It’s pretty.” There was a stretch of silence as you waited for her to say something, anything else. “It’s safe.”

A part of you was angered by that statement. Yes, the gardens were safe. Of course they were, they were your safety! They were your place that you went to when you felt like nothing was in your control, like your own decisions weren’t yours. Nothing could hurt you in the gardens, and plants couldn’t talk. They held every secret that you could ever tell, they held every tear that you never shed in front of another, and they saw every emotion that you were too stoic to show in front of others. They were the one place that you could get peace. And now the knight has ruined it.

But on the other hand, you were proud of yourself for creating something that someone else can admire. You created something that someone else could be free in, and in a way, that was amazing. And that hand was outweighing the other.

So, you said, “I’m glad it feels that way.” You cleared your throat softly when you realized that you were speaking to her the way you spoke to the twins. “I created it as my own safe space, so I’m glad someone else thinks of it that way, too.”

There was a short yet heavy silence between you and Natasha, and then you saw her turn to face you, her eyes burning a hole into the side of your face. “I know you’re not very excited to have me here, but I’m here. So we can at least try to be cordial.”

“Is that not what we’re being?” You asked, not even taking your eyes off of the moon. “I thought we were even being a little friendly.”

“It would be nice if it lasted.” Natasha muttered, and you nodded your head.

“I don’t know if I offended you with the question about whether or not your father approved your knighthood,” you said, sighing. “I assume that I did. And if you carry around that offense, then I apologize. I don’t like talking about my own father, but you couldn’t have known that.”

“You do not need to be forgiven,” she states. “I apologize, as well.”

“And it’s not that I don’t want you here,” you started, already cursing yourself for going into what she had said not even a full minute earlier. You were tense as she waited for you to continue, but you just shrugged and sighed. “Just know that that’s not it.” Something reached toward you out of the corner of your eye, and you finally turned your head to look at her.

She was… she was nothing short of gorgeous. You were taller than her, so you looked down at her just a little bit. Her red hair looked more brown than anything, and her blue eyes were pale and still as beautiful as they were during the day. There was the smallest hint of a smile on her face, nervous almost, as you looked down at the arm that was reached out your way. The moon was shedding you both its white light, and it primarily rested right where her arm was extended, her palm lord and turned to the side.

She wanted to shake hands with you. Shaking hands was seen as archaic, and knights certainly didn’t touch ladies unless they were assisting them. But, you knew by now that Natasha was not the typical knight. One of her fingers twitched, and you realized that she was just waiting there, her hand hanging in the air, like a gavel ready to drop at any moment. And quickly, almost enough to make the other woman startle, you took her right hand in your own and shook it twice, keeping your eyes right on hers.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

******

hiiii guys! still establishing things here with this chapter, but when things kick off, they are going full speed. i already love this fic, and i can’t wait to put all my ideas down for it as the finished product! i hope you guys liked it, and if you did, please show her some love! i have a little taglist building up, so here it goes!

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