#causing it to nosedive fast and HARD

[kismetconstellations]

If you ever find yourself questioning whether or not the Voltron: Legendary Defender showrunners truly despised Shiro, or Shiro fans are simply being melodramatic and hyperbolic when we state as much, contrast the staff's treatment of him with their handling of Pidge.

Compared to their teammates, whose appearances were relatively unaltered, both characters underwent extreme cosmetic makeovers for this iteration of the Voltron/Beast King Go Lion! franchise.

While Takashi Shirogane reclaimed his name and ethnicity from the original 80s Japanese anime, his appearance much more strongly resembles that of a famous character from a completely different franchise.

Pidge Gunderson was gender-swapped, renamed, and de-aged from a "little man from Earth", to Katie Holt, a fifteen year-old girl, with Pidge being a childhood nickname and the alias Katie assumed to disguise herself as a boy when she infiltrated the Galaxy Garrison to uncover the truth about the fates of her father and brother.

Both Shiro and Pidge were given their own unique backstories flavored by varying degrees of tragedy.

And, yet, when Shiro dies two seasons in, we're treated to no dramatic scene of the people who became his found family dropping to their knees, crying out in anguish, and shedding tears over what should be a devastating loss. He's simply gone. No body left behind because it was completely destroyed. By the next episode, Changing of the Guard, with no real sense of how much time has passed, Lance, Hunk, Pidge, and Allura are all referring to Shiro in the past tense, when they refer to him at all, and show no real signs of grief or mourning until the very end of the episode's run time. (Coran doesn't matter, as he's Wacky Comic Relief Man until the plot requires him to fret over Allura, offer exposition, or handle a technical issue on the Castle of Lions.) Even then, each one of them offers perfunctory little sentiments about how Shiro affected their lives (past tense), extending solidarity to Keith for the express narrative purpose of convincing him to move on and let Shiro go.

The episode immediately following, Red Paladin, Lance is set on proving himself deserving of the new Black Paladin title, and Hunk and Pidge are cracking jokes and fooling around inside of the cockpit of the Black Lion, the very location where Shiro's life came to a violent end, as if nothing ever happened.

Aside from Allura donning pink armor to honor lost and fallen heroes, and making a point of specifically naming Shiro as one of them, It's Keith and Keith alone who seems at all seriously emotionally affected by Shiro's absence.

And, even he is over it by the third episode of the season.

And, this was intended to be the permanent status quo. Shiro was not supposed to be brought back in any capacity.

Pidge, on the other hand, is given an appropriately emotional sequence, complete with poignant flashbacks, atmospheric backdrop, and swelling music, when she believes she's found her brother's grave and was too late to save him.

No one cracks jokes or attempts to make light of what happened. She's allowed the appropriate space and time to mourn before realizing that Matt isn't actually dead, and immediately resuming her journey to find him.

Arguably, both Takashi Shirogane and Pidge Holt were altered so extensively, they might as well have been the showrunners' Original Characters. But, it's only the gay, disabled trauma survivor (whom the showrunners intentionally turned into one, as Takashi and Ryou Shirogane in the original Japanese/Sven Holgersson in the English dub was neither forcibly disabled, nor gay) who is cruelly cast aside after suffering repeatedly, while his able-bodied teammates live on to fight another day.

[darkmaga-returns]

Investigators have uncovered $115 billion so far with many hundreds of billions more to be exposed.   Dowd says, “Both sides of the aisle are probably going to have problems..."

"The DOGE revelations are mind shocking.  The clear way in which the government was spending money through NGOs (non-governmental organizations) and people taking kickbacks and profits along the way is going to come out.  There may have been theft along the way.  What business does Stacy Abrams have getting $2 billion for an NGO?  This doesn’t make any sense.  It’s going to be shocking, even shocking to me.  I knew there was rot in the system, but the mind blowing way the NGOs were used to facilitate the illegal immigration just blows my mind.  The 10 million plus illegals that came in over the last four years, you just don’t wake up one day in Central America and say I am going to the Darien Gap, and go to the Mexican border and then meander my way into the interior of the US without a tremendous amount of aid along the way.   NGOs facilitated that and probably took their cut.  What was the all-in economic cost of the goodies they got once they got here?  Plus, the NGOs spent and what the government spent themselves to facilitate this, it’s not hard to imagine $50,000 to $100,000 all-in cost per illegal. . . . This is the all-in cost up and down the entire economic food chain. . . . It was anywhere between $500 billion to $1.5 trillion depending on the illegals.  It was an illegal project funded purposely, and it was very logistical.  It was not something that just happened overnight.”

The result, says Dowd, was the US economy was propped up when it should have already tanked.  Now, all this spending on this illegal invasion is going away.  Dowd says, 

“When we wrote our report, we were surprised on how fast DOGE would get to work. . . . This is why our thesis is playing out a little quicker than we thought. . . . The housing market was on fragile ground the last year or so.  It was held up by illegal immigrants supporting rent prices.  So, as that unwinds, we think there will be a mini 2008–2009 housing issue.  Housing prices are going to come down, and that is a big driver of consumption in the economy.  That needs to happen because home affordability is off the charts.”

Dowd also see a recession coming as the government downsizes, illegal alien funding gets cut and illegals continue to self-deport.  Dowd says, 

“Consumer confidence has taken a nosedive recently, and you can see why.  There are 10 million to 15 million illegal immigrants worried about their gravy train coming to an end.  So, they may be holding back on their spending.  There are millions of government employees worried about their jobs.  Then, you have the NGO networks that employ about 6 million people.  So, you have about 20 million to 25 million people that are in the workforce . . . worried about where their money is going to come from, and that can cause consumer spending to slow down.”

There is good news with the spending cuts, according to Dowd, and that will come in the form of lower interest rates in the bond market.  

[holly-natnicole]

In my K.H. rewrite timeline, all the children have at least 1 mentor.

Vanitas' are Xehanort (who is emotionally & physically abusive) and Cloud (who starts out aloof & not even meaning to be zir mentor, but ends up giving zem advice often by accident then later on purpose teaches various skills to Vanitas).

Ven's are Xehanort (who is emotionally & physically abusive), Eraqus (who is genuinely nice despite his strict nature, but their last interaction is him trying to murder Ventus for the greater good without even trying to think of an alternative solution), and Leon (who initially reminds Ven of Eraqus, which makes their platonic friendship toxic since the lack of communication between Ven & Leon causes both to severely misinterpret what's going on; but they learn to talk properly to each other thus causing them to become close and Ven to slowly regain his trust in adults). (Terra and Aqua are more not-biological-nor-legally-adoptive older siblings to Ven than being his mentors.)

Roxas' are Axel/Lea (their not-biological-nor-legally-adoptive-siblinghood starts out casual then becomes toxic, but they work through their issues with some help; especially since Lea/Axel was the one causing all the toxicity and had learned the hard way that many of his decisions in regards to Roxas & Xion have been mean at best & cruel at worst) and Merlin (who helps Roxas study and provides a safe space to work through his various emotions).

Shion/Xion's are Axel/Lea (coz Lea/Axel is in Castle Oblivion when Shion first starts gaining personhood through Sora's lost memories, it takes a few weeks after his mission for him to warm up to her; then their not-biological-nor-legally-adoptive siblinghood gets toxic before it eventually improves), Saïx/Isa (starts out toxic, stays that way for many months whilst his firm belief that she's solely a puppet with no thoughts nor feelings bit by bit gets disproven, and slowly improves when an incident forces him to accept that she's actually a person then he bit by bit starts to platonically love her as a daughter or little sister when continuing to teach her things), and Barret (who helps Shion find her individuality and provides a safe space for her to talk through how she feels 'bout everything that happened in her short life so far plus he very much holds Lea/Axel and Saïx/Isa accountable for their treatment of the children).

Sora's are Donald & Goofy (who initially see her solely as a means to an end, but quickly grow to sincerely care 'bout Sora then – aside from 1 incident where they abandon Sora in favour of Riku who got 1 of the Keyblades from the enbe thus Goofy & Donald obeyed Mickey's order to stick by the Keyblade-wielder, but less than half an hour later they chose Sora over their mission – stick by her no matter what Mickey or anyone else says; they learn through Aerith shouting at them that their student's/not-biological-nor-legally-adopted child's mental health has taken a fast nosedive & that their meant-to-be-harmless teasing is why, so they apologise to Sora & make amends to the kid who they've been helping keep up with school ever since the Trinity Trio formed in Traverse Town), and Aerith (who platonically bonds with Sora coz he has an affinity for healing magic same as Aerith does then later she's who he confides in 'bout everything he has gone through on her adventures and Aerith helps Sora become less insecure in the enbe's abilities & skills).

Naminé's are Ienzo/Zexion (who starts out manipulative, but redeems themself after she changes from a Nobody into a Somebody since regaining his Heart awakens his conscience), Demyx/Myde (who aids Naminé in learning to simply relax & to take care of themself instead of being filled by self-hatred), and Tifa (who helps them become a badass fighter and is a confidant who they tells every insecurity & issue to then eventually Naminé tells her 'bout the emotional abuse from Marluxia/Lauriam and the emotional & physical & magical abuse from Relena/Elrena/Larxene, plus Tifa realises thanks to Naminé how hurtful secrets from people who the secrets are 'bout can be thus she grows as a person).

Kairi's are Minnie (who teaches Kairi music magic and helps her learn how to use her pure Light instead of throwing herself – and Selphie, who literally jumped through the Corridor of Light when Kairi semi-accidentally created it & fell into it – into unfamiliar places with no clue what she's doing plus Minnie assigns Pluto to guard the girls and gives them a Star Shard to travel with since it's not safe for non-Guardians of Heart to use Corridors of Light or Corridors of Darkness) and Aqua (who she specifically requests to be her mentor, as Kairi is the only one who explicitly feels the need to find someone to teach her new skills; Aqua quickly becomes a not-biological-nor-legally-adoptive big sister to Kairi who she helps regain self-confidence and improve as a fighter).

Selphie's is Daisy (who gladly teaches her how to use hand-to-hand combat whilst Kairi is busy with Minnie's lessons on music magic & intentionally using Light and she's the one who Selphie talks through with all the wild stuff that's been going on, their conversations helping the girl make sense of everything).

Riku's are Maleficent (who manipulates him), Xehanort's Heartless/Ansem the Seeker of Darkness (who manipulates him then in Castle Oblivion literally controls Riku's body for a short time twice thus taking away his autonomy before Riku finally kills the human-looking Heartless), Terra (whose Heart is freed from the Guardian Heartless form it was stuck in when Riku defeats Ansem, as the boy used his ability to communicate with Heartless therefore finding out Guardian was Ansem's victim just as much as he was plus Kairi purifying Riku from the lingering taint of Ansem lets Terra to regain his Heart & properly communicate with Riku instead of staying as Guardian Heartless; they both learn from each other to be better people just as much as Riku learns new fighting skills from Terra), and Mickey (whose support is pivotal in Riku not being stuck as Ansem's victim forever).

Shiro/the Riku Replica's is Cid (who is a very grumpy man, but still good at teaching him various computer & aeroplane skills) and his wife Shera (who takes over handling the lessons whenever he has to go do something very important same as how he helps Shiro learn whilst she's busy plus both help the enbe find hir individuality).

Ephemer's is Ava (who in some ways is more a not-biological-nor-legally-adoptive older sister than a mentor, but does teach the enbe a lot 'bout various magic).

Skuld, Strelitzia, Olette, Pence, Hayner, James, Amber, Sofia, Lani, Kari, Ruby, Jade, Yufi, Yuna, Paine, Rikku, Tidus, and Wakka each have a mentor too. But this post is getting kinda long already, so maybe someday I'll write a Part 2 & a Part 3 covering theirs. Plus some of the adults had their own mentors, so I might do a Part 4 for them.

[cursivebloodlines]

The more she thought about it, the more she noticed how her feelings for him had truly been different than the others. Very rare had she been friends with someone first before dating them. And when Tessa fell for someone, it was usually fast – too fast and all consuming, usually ended disastrously too. Her flaw was she felt too deeply and too quickly, she’d often be told. She could be pretty…intense, when she wanted to be. And she’d worked hard on that. Or guys would think she was just a pretty face, someone to tag along on their arm without making much more of an effort beyond that. For a while, she thought maybe that was it and her expectations had been too high and she should have settled for less. She had grown up a lot since, though, and she knew she deserved something more. But her problem was she had no idea what that looked like. Not in the way she had expected, anyway.

But sometimes… Sometimes the best things in life were the things you least expected. That certainly rang true in their case. In hindsight, she really was an idiot for not noticing sooner. If he was the one person she wanted to be around, to tell things to, to spend time with even if it was doing nothing at all, surely that was a sign of something more than friendship. Before feelings were confessed, Tessa had often wondered how Diego was single. It seemed ridiculous, something that should have been impossible really. He was wonderful in every way – not that she’d always tell him that, because she didn’t need his head to grow any bigger (avoiding being teased on it, more like… but whatever helped her put her own feelings at bay) or have fun poked at her. Though she always secretly loved that, too.

“See what I mean? I told you your jokes are terrible.” Tessa said in jest, nudging him lightly. Even when they were having a serious conversation, it wouldn’t be them without a little jest in between, even if it was there purely to alleviate the tension. It was an opportunity, and she would take it. “We can’t have you breaking the hearts of a nation now, can we?”

There was something so intimate about this conversation, something she wasn’t sure she’d experienced before. A heart to heart, maybe; the whole confessing feelings ordeal was daunting and she hated the way it had made her feel so nervous. She never had reason to feel nervous around him, and she didn’t want to start now. It was just… tricky. Tricky to put her feelings for him into words, especially when she was still trying to figure it out. Tessa noticed the way he had moved closer to her, the sudden desire to feel even closer to him becoming more prominent, a fluttering feeling in her tummy. There was a tenderness in his eyes she hadn’t noticed before, had her looking at him in a different light. And his other hand on top of hers caused the familiar feeling or warmth flood through her.. and yet, at the same time, it wasn’t enough. Tessa wanted more, but she also knew there was no rush; they had all the time in the world, as far as she was concerned. Not only that, but she cared about Diego too much to have them take a nosedive and ruin things before they truly began. And she had wanted her questions answered… after that? After that, who knows what would happen?

Tessa should’ve known that her questions would be met with questions on his part, too. Why did that make her feel more nervous? How long had she really been thinking about this, about them? She gulped as she tried to think, biting on the corner of her cheek in concentration. But truthfully, she didn’t know precisely when the line was crossed. It was a gradual build up, something that was present longer than she had realised. “I… I don’t know…” she admitted sheepishly, shrugging. “Do you think I have a date written in my calendar with the words ‘#HotForDiego Day One’ circled with love hearts and kisses?” She said in jest and yet her own words made her blush even more furiously. The funny thing was, it was probably something she would have done with a crush back in high school or something. The dire thought made her cringe at herself. Wow. How was she supposed to look back at him now? “Yeah, me neither…”

Feeling his hand loosen a little had her feeling like something was missing once again. Such a minuscule movement, but to her she realised it was probably because of her tangent of questions. Caught off guard, perhaps? She wasn’t sure. She dared to steal a glance at him, noticed the way his face was completely flushed and she couldn’t help the little smile. She was probably just as red, if not redder, than him. Listening to every word, she was certain he answered with honesty, nodding her head slowly in the right places. Tessa looked down when he’d mentioned how he first saw her as an annoying little sister; it reminded her of her own sister, the one she’d lost years ago. Tessa wondered what Hayley would’ve thought of all this… She probably would’ve teased her, probably would have gone and told Diego on Tessa’s behalf well before now. An unintentional sigh escaped her lips at her memory, the pangs of missing her sister like an old wound that never fully healed. He was right though. Their dynamics initially did feel like sibling rivalry or some sort… the way they bickered over everything. But he was right, somewhere along the line things had changed and it was quite strange to think that they were on the verge of something more.

Still, she listened as he answered her questions. Appreciative of the way he was honest, didn’t try and change the subject and gave her the answers she’d so desperately wanted. “That’s okay… I just wanted to know, that’s all. I get it.” Her words were earnest, and she peered up at him with sincerity, unable to help the way her body had shuffled that little bit closer to him. She didn’t want him blaming himself for it either. “I could’ve made it easier by stopping you there and then. I could’ve told you how I feel right in that moment… but I guess I was too caught off guard by the sudden change, that I didn’t really know what the right thing to say was…” Even now, Tessa still didn’t really know what the right thing to say. But sometimes the right thing wasn’t even spoken at all. It may have been in the quieter moments, the stolen glances, the closeness between them. “I… so…” A brief pause. “What happens now? What do you think we should do… about… about this? About us?”

The longer the silence went on, the more he wondered if she really didn't know what he meant by his question. Or she was just really good at forgetting their previous conversation? In her defense, he'd also try forgetting that if he could. Diego just couldn't bring himself to put that past him, it was a mistake he had to hold himself accountable for. Still, he had to admit the silence was helpful in its own way. His mind began wandering, was he enough for Tessa? She had always had a...very positive outlook on life, and the way she's described love - it was beyond anything Diego had experienced or provided before. He liked to believe he was a good companion, a good boyfriend but it was no surprise that he's been dumped every single time. If anyone was keeping a record, it wasn't helping him. Did Tessa deserve what he had to offer? Probably not, she could find better anywhere else.

Honestly, he didn't fully understand what possessed him to ask her this question. It could be the place, the beauty of it all, the peace of the surrounding area. Or maybe it was his lingering thoughts, wondering if they had a chance, if he ruined everything. Most likely, it was her. Tessa's rosy cheeks, the way her eyes had shone when the sunset's last rays reached them.

It took everything in him to not roll his eyes once more. Unbelievable of her to avoid answering his questions by bringing up every other thing. Diego was slightly tempted to just change the topic, give her an out. This was not going the way he thought. He turned his head to catch a glimpse of her, and in that moment, all traces of irritation faded. She wasn't doing this on purpose, he could tell. Diego couldn't be annoyed with her, after all, he had sprung a lot on her. Besides, the way she talked about him - when you really listen, it was enough to warm his heart. With every complaint about his bad jokes, Diego heard one more reason he had a chance. "It's not like I joke with everybody about something like this...unless you want me to." One terrible joke on his part to help ease tension. His mouth was beginning to feel dry, the wait was killing him. Was she delaying something? Trying to find a way to let him down easy. Diego would deserve it, though he’d hate it. It could be a sign that it just wasn’t a good idea. It’s what he initially thought, not wanting to make their friendship complicated. He should’ve stuck with that.

Diego leaned in as she took his hand, it was involuntary - he just wanted more of her touch. This was it, could end all his hope or give him a small chance. His lips drawn in a tight line, keeping himself from blurting anything out or saying the wrong thing. That had doomed him once before. And, she was nervous. He couldn't add to that. Her voice was shaky and if he didn't care for the answer, he would've dropped it to keep her from being so jittery. Diego nodded slowly as she spoke. It wasn't precisely the answer he was hoping for, but it wasn't a resounding no. He could work with that. It was more than he deserved. Diego just wasn't sure what to make of her words, she thinks there's more. What kept her from being sure? He listened intently, placing his free hand over hers - trying to provide some kind of comfort.

A small smile escaped him upon noticing the tint in her cheeks.There was a sense of triumph coming over him, the triumph of knowing that she's thought about this before. It wasn't just him. "How long has this been on your mind?" It was only fair that he asked too, each word she uttered presented him 10 more questions. "I...I didn't know. I never realized that this has been around us for so long." It would've been so easy for him to get caught up in his thoughts, but her follow up question stunned him. Now, his face was flushed - down to his ears. Of course that would be brought up. "Right, that occasion." His grip on her hand loosened just slightly. Diego knew it would have consequences, he just hated that it had plagued her thoughts this way. "I...listen, it wasn't you. Or anything about you really. It was more so, my...resolve to not change anything about our friendship. There was a point where I saw you as an annoying little sister, or at least what I understand from it." Diego being an only child, he only had outsider knowledge on siblings and how they got along. His bickering with Tessa resembled that a lot. Going from that view to more than friends was an odd jump to him. "I guess, I just didn't want to make things weird with you. Or make you feel like it's impossible to have a friendship with a guy. I don't know, whatever that's about." He was certain he'd heard that complaint somewhere before. "I thought it was easier to cut it all out. Clearly, I was wrong. All this to say, it was all me. My overthinking got the better of me, and after that day, I heard my own words and how it sounded. It just seemed pointless to clarify."

[pagesdiary]

Diary Entry #36

Date: 04/22/2011

Location: Back at home

 So as promised, here’s part of the interview I gave to Mr. Ember Skyes.

 Me: What is your name and profession?

 Ember: Well...any newspaper can tell ya that miss Page...buuuuut since it's on record...

 Ember Skyes, my Friends call me  Charcoal, on the team I'm better known as: 'Bombshell Skyes'.  I'm in a word, Lead coordinator for the Pegasus Sky Fighting competitions that happen all across Equestria!!

 (I’ve heard of that sport before. A fairly new sport that has quickly been gaining notoriety)

 Me: What drove you to choose that profession?

 Ember: Hm...well...BESIDES being super popular and being a cool athlete...flying runs in my family!! My mom was a famous uh...what she call it? ...fearless flying? And my brother does stunt shows too...I almost did as well but...I learned I was a natural flank kicker long as my hooves weren't touching the ground...so I began thinking up this like...way to coordinate that with flying...after a while I made a sport outta it.

 Me: What is Flash Wind's relation to you?

 Ember: He's my brother!! Or uh...well adopted brother I guess is the right term. We met when I was kinda young, I helped em out with some country guys who were giving him a hard time then let him stay with me and my mom and dad, and he became a member of the family after that!!

 (Well then, more context to what Mrs. Skyes had shared with me)

 Me: Any fun memories you have with your brother?

 Ember: OH a bunch actually!! Me and Flash did all sorts of stuff together, more often tho it peeved off mom cause the trouble was my fault heh

  Their was this one time I taught him one of my moves, the Free-fall Corkscrew, and he was just so eager to learn it!! One day while I was training him he accidently bumped me and threw off my concentration and I broke some farmers barn...mom uh...she wasn't too happy bout that... probably cause she had to pay the damages...

 But it was a blast!!

 (Hehe! Sounds like something teenage colts would do)

 Me: Did you help train Flash in his flying, and any signature moves you invented that Flash Wind uses?

 Ember: Oh yeh DEFINITELY!! He's a great flyer on his own but he has a tendency to bank too hard and his weaving is a little shaky, he always taps training poles, I taught em a few tips and tricks to help em out.

As for signatures...well...I came up with this move right? You fly super super high in the air, so high breathing gets a bit hard, then...you just PLUMMET to the ground, put the audience on edge. Then, just as you near the ground, you put a spin and launch with the momentum, puts a lotta speed on ya...I add a spin to it...I call it...the Corkscrew nosedive!! Fillies always go nuts over it, took Flash some time to get it but he got a handle on it real well...like he's made for that sort of stuff!!

 (That must be what Flash did for the closing act in his air show I watched. Very daring!)

 Me: Any sort of trouble you and your brother gotten into in your time of youth?

 Ember: Uh...well me and Flash have gotten into a lotta things...mostly my fault since uh ..mom says I'm the Daring one between the both of us...but uh their um...was one moment

 We visited some place a bit outta the ways of town and we ran into a winged lion den, the alpha attacked us... specifically me and Flash took the hit for me...ahem...nothing I couldn't handle though...it was strong but I was fast, a few well placed jabs sent the little kitty cat flying but uh...Flash nose dived into the ocean and um...I...couldn't save em...

 (He must be referring to that winged lion that Mrs. Skyes mentioned to me. I assume Flash was rescued if he’s still alive. I wonder who saved him. I’m also noticing a bit of discomfort in Mr. Skyes expression. Maybe I should avoid asking further questions about that)

 Me: What do you think is an interesting fact about Flash?

 Ember: ...an... interesting fact? Hmm...

 ... interesting...fact...OH I got one!!

 He's probably the bravest pegasus I've ever met!! I mean I'm no coward when it comes to facing something dangerous but...hey even I've got my limits...but Flash? He goes above and beyond for just about anypony who asks!! And don't get me started on some of the moves he's done during his shows.

 (Wow! He keeps on reminding me of his father so much! This is exciting!)

 After a while longer, I was able to gather all I needed. He was very curious as to why I had such an interest in Flash.

 I wish I could tell him, but I don’t want to accept the risk of my Napfény finding out. I had to stay silent.

 As for now, I must end here.

 I made it home, and I have many things to write.

 With Love,

Page

[magicman111]

A Moth to a Flame - Chapter Two

One month later

Sasha joylessly toyed with the Music Box, opening its lid like a yawning mouth.

Who’d have thunk it? She wondered to herself. This tacky little thing could cause so much calamity?

How ludicrously out of place she looked curled up on King Andrias’ enormous throne, almost like the little girl playing pretend in the driver’s seat of her parents’ car. You’d be forgiven for not knowing she’d just led the swiftest, easiest toppling of a government in this world’s history.

Big blue dummy locked up? Check. The city’s army surrendered? Check. Their toad army less than an hour away? Check. Dimension-skipping Macguffin firmly in their position? Double Check.

Not a bad day’s work for a 13-year-old.

Marcy’s oversized sparrow was tethered to the armrest by his leg. A prize she’d taken for herself so she could cruise around her new kingdom in style. She saw to it he wasn’t under any duress, and the fact he was neck deep in an industrial sized bag of bird feed told her he was plenty comfortable.

Sasha managed a tiny smile as she reached out to run her fingers through the thickness of his coat. She dunked her hand in the bag and offered him an open palm of seeds; he eyed for a moment or two before gingerly pecking at the mound.

Thank Frog no one was around to hear the ‘d’aww’ escape her lips.

Her grandmother was the one she had to thank for her secret admiration of birds. Old lady had been a birdwatcher who ‘treated’ her to regular weekend trips into the forest when she was younger. This was long before her discovery of malls and arcades. Sasha wouldn’t dare admit it to even herself back then, but the ones they spotted together on those dewy spring mornings were beautiful to behold in their natural habitat.

Herons may now be forever ruined for her, but Joe—she thought that was his name—was a mighty impressive specimen. Poor guy somehow found the strength to carry all seven of them to Newtopia, only to nosedive into the moat at the end of the flight.

Definitely had nothing to do with her asking Marcy if she could take the reins in the last stretch. She and Anne were kind enough not to draw attention to it, same as they did the day at summer camp when they discovered her crying into her pillow. They were awesome enough to go along with her story that it was only allergies. She knew she had a true pair of girlfriends that morning.

Thinking about them only soured her mood afresh. She sprinkled the rest of the feed back into the bag and slumped against the backrest, arms petulantly crossed.

Here she was in the crowning moment of her young life and she couldn’t have been more miserable.

Maybe because her friends should have been here to share in this, but no, they had to go and act all noble. What else should she have expected? She always was the only one in the group with the guts. Anne had to be dragged kicking and screaming to ditch school and join her and Marcy in celebrating her birthday. Was it any wonder she had to keep taking control of the situation?

More likely... it was because deep down she knew she didn’t really want this. She certainly believed she did after they dropped that gloryhound newt general down a waterfall and when they successfully rallied the Toad Lords after retrieving Barrel’s Warhammer. Things only started getting complicated when they needed free tickets into Newtopia in the form of her friends.

She hadn’t counted on realising just how much she missed her clumsy, klutzy Marcy. Neither how effectively she and Anne were still able to work together as a team in spite of all the unpleasantness that had transpired between them during their time here, of which there was plenty. The fact that Anne actively encouraged her in taking down that molten toad monster was the rancid cherry atop the sludge sundae. For a while back there, it looked like they might really turn a corner and start afresh. All three of them could have gone home like none of this ever happened. Except by then it was already too late.

What recourse did she have when the Plantars invited them for the world’s most awkward dinner party or when they brought the house down at the Battle of the Bands? Tell Grime and all the toads who’d invested their manpower and futures in her that sorry, she was getting cold feet? There was only one grizzly way that would end both for her and Grime and the best scenario she could imagine involved heads on pikes.

... It didn’t matter anymore. Her friends had picked their path, she’d picked hers. As her mom always said, ‘You make your bed, you lie in it’. Funny how in her short life, she’d heard that line far too many times already.

Once she figured out how the Box worked, she’d send both Anne and Marcy on their merry way and they’d never have to see each other ever again.

Everyone would get what they want.

Good thing then she’d sent her soldiers to ransack Marcy’s room for all her research about Anne’s fateful birthday gift. Girl was a pack rat. She kept notes for every exam and project they were assigned back home. The less said about her laptop jammed with files of anime fanfiction and theories the better.

Plus, it was a good way to try and distract herself.

They came back into the throne room hauling burlap sacks full of parchments and emptied their contents at Sasha’s feet.

Daaang, girl, you've been in the zone.

She scattered them over her lap and the ample free space on the seat. They actually weren’t that hard to follow; colour coordinated with plenty of cutesy kawaii diagrams. Trademark Marbles.

Apparently, it worked a lot like those puzzle boxes Marcy got as gifts from relatives in Hong Kong. All it took was knowing the right sequence of buttons and zip! You can go wherever you want in the cosmos. Just a matter of finding the code for Earth.

‘I’m done listening to you!

I’m done trusting you!’

Sasha scowled, trying to push the thoughts to the back of her mind where they belonged. She shuffled through a couple more pages until she found the one titled in glittery green and blue lettering, ‘HOME’.

Bingo.

‘You’re a horrible person!’

Ignore. Ignore.

Now all she had to do was jot it down on her palm and—

‘AND I AM DONE. BEING. FRIENDS WITH YOU!!’

She stopped. Her shoulders drooped. Then she just threw the page down on the floor and sunk into her seat further than she thought physically possible.

She normally didn’t consider herself that thin skinned a person, but man, that one hurt.

Traces of bitter tears creeped into her eyes.

What am I even doing anymore?

The sound of footsteps on crumpling paper and someone clearing their throat snapped her out of her self-pitying torpor. She fluttered her eyes dry to see Grime standing there awkwardly among the discarded parchments.

The diminutive, one-eyed former Toad Lord was hiding something behind his back. He actually looked pretty embarrassed about it too, which for a battle hardened war vet like Grime was actually kinda adorable in Sasha’s eyes.

“I, uhh, got you something,” he said, whipping out a long rectangular present wrapped in green paper and topped with a luscious red bow. “Had it made especially for this day.”

Now if there was one thing Sasha Waybright couldn’t say no to, it was a gift, especially from a trusted friend. They were the ultimate distraction from the blues and she couldn’t have been sitting upright and tearing into this one any quicker.

“Whaaat? Grimesy, you didn’t!” What she had pulled from the ravaged packaging wielded aloft her head made her gasp. “How’d you know I wanted to duel wield?!”

It was a brand new heron sword. An exquisite green second shortsword that would compliment Ol’ Pink perfectly.

She stared proudly into the smooth steel surface, admiring the craftsmanship. When she noticed the girl staring right back at her, however, her smirk vanished in an instant. The captain of the cheerleaders, the scarred swordswoman, the conqueror of Newtopia, whatever angle she looked at it, she didn’t like what she saw. Unbelievable as it may sound, even the joy of an awesome gift like this was not enough to make everything better.

“What’s the matter? You don’t like it? Oh dang it!” Grime slammed his forehead. “I didn’t get a gift receipt!”

“No no, it’s just...” Sasha weighed the blade against her ungloved palm. Talking about these kinds of things was never easy for her. “What if Anne’s right? What if I am a horrible person?”

Grime popped up like a whack-a-mole behind the armrest. “Who cares what she thinks?” he scoffed. “You and I are in charge now, and we get to do whatever we want!”

“That’s the thing... I’m not sure what I want anymore,” she admitted wearily.

For all his years of training at the finest academies, his brutal combat in the colosseum and tactical expertise earned through a lifetime of military service as his forebears before him, this one had Grime stumped. Needless to say, talking about one’s emotions wasn't exactly encouraged during their upbringing in toad culture, so naturally it wasn’t one of his strong suits. Just one of the many things he and Sasha had in common.

“Huh.”

Still, he was a pretty fast thinker and came up with a fairly good idea on the spot.

“Why don’t you help me redecorate this place?” he suggested, resting his hand on her shoulder. “Take your mind off it. Cuz this right here...” He gestured to the cluttered mess in which she’d surrounded herself. “This is definitely not—I’m sorry, can I help you?!”

Both of them turned their heads when it became impossible to ignore Joe’s cone-shaped beak lightly nipping at Grime’s cheek.

“He probably thinks your warts are seeds.”

“For the love of—I knew he was eyeing me up on the ride here! There! Get lost!” Grime scooped up a fistful of feed and flung it over the marble floor, but the winged beast persisted with pecking his face. “Stop it! MY HEAD IS NOT A FEEDER!!”

It took an exceptional effort of willpower for Sasha not to laugh at the sight of her old man being preyed upon by the family pet.

Wow, she thought. Her old man? Was that how she saw Grimesy now? Seriously?

Perhaps up to a point. Okay, considering the options she had for parental figures back home, it wasn’t exactly the highest bar to pass, but it still meant something. Anything.

Who would have guessed this would be how they’d end up, especially given how they started off with her as his prisoner? Sure, it may have taken her helping him and the whole tower not getting turned into heron feed for her to be upgraded to his lieutenant, but they really had come a long way since then. There was a lot more honor and heart to the cranky old toad than she first thought, back when she wrote him off just as another blowhard with power. Now he genuinely considered her his equal both as a friend and comrade in arms. For Sasha, the feeling was mutual. A first for her.

When all was said and done, who else did she have left besides him and vice versa?

What the heck? Let’s tear this place up.

Untethering Joe, she whistled a tweet-tweet and gave the rope a gentle tug to encourage him to follow on their ‘indoor walkies’.

A cursory surveillance of the throne room told her there was a lot of work to be done. If this toad regime was to last a thousand years, the correct decor was an important first step. Thankfully for them, she knew a thing or two about fashion. For starters, there were way too many soft blues and purples. Rust red from top to bottom! She preferred keeping the stained glass windows, but they’d need entirely new designs. Hers truly would naturally feature in most of them, one showcasing her and Grime caving that narwhal worm’s head in with the Warhammer being an absolute must. The snakes coiling the stone pillars weren’t a bad touch, if just a bit too elegant for the whole ‘proud warrior race’ vibe they were going for, but she could still work with them. Now as for the throne, they were gonna have to replace it with something much more imposing. There was that super violent dragon show she and her parents used to watch that had the huge throne made out of swords. She was sure she had a picture somewhere on her phone to use as a reference.

“I’m sorry, what the heck is this?!”

Sasha could only denounce what they were gawking at as the single biggest affrontement to tasteful decorating known to man or amphibian. Yes, worse than inflatable furniture, carpeted bathrooms, beaded curtains, glass block bathroom windows, ‘live, laugh, love’ quotes on walls, rustic hearts, mason jars and nautical accessories all combined under the same inland roof.

Tapestries had their rightful place in a palace’s interior design, but the one sweeping across a section of wall depicting a gentle hearted Andrias sitting down by a lake, surrounded by flowers and lilypads was nothing short of vomit-inducing. Gathered at his feet and scooped up in his protective arms were his wide-eyed, childlike subjects. Even the fish and a lobster were surfacing to bask in their king’s magnanimity. Here the oversized salamander was truly the loving patriarch of everything the light touched. The mawkish display could only be topped off with a rainbow streaking across the sky.

Grime felt his stomach roile. If he ever needed an example to demonstrate the difference between kitschy and downright tacky, this was it.

“Y-y-y-yikes!” he gagged. “This thing’s gotta go!”

Sasha didn’t need a second invite. Besides, what else was Joe going to use to line his nest?

A joint effort tore the offensive piece from its place and it tumbled to the floor in a heap.

Dead silence fell over the room.

Hidden beneath the tapestry was... a mural. Including such a decoration in a throne room was hardly surprising, yet it was what it contained that shocked both the human and toad, so much so that they had to take a moment to recover.

“Woah,” they gasped at once, before starting to analyse what they saw.

The mural was a chaotic collection of nightmarish images painted on a night blue wall. Wild red flames spewing out hordes of beasts and the wreckage of buildings. Mountains of skulls and bones belonging to frogs, toads and newts alike. A flying... spaceship? A castle? Whatever it was meant to be, it firied a white beam up at what was unmistakably the Music Box. Pink, green and blue lightning bolts crackled out of the Box. Mesmerising orange gemstones or, more terrifyingly, eyes leaped off the wall and burned themselves into their minds. The frightening focal point of this one-way ticket to the school therapist’s office? Rising out of the middle of the inferno was the silhouette of a red-eyed, goliath-sized beast, its claws reaching up covetously towards the Box that hung right above its crowned head.

It may as well have been lifted straight from the tattered dream journal of a madfrog.

Any ideas of redecorating the throne room were long gone. Even the revolution they were spearheading suddenly seemed millions of miles away in the face of what they’d just stumbled upon.

Peering her eyes slightly, Sasha was the first to put a face to the shadowy leviathan, and when she did, she had to swallow her heart back down into her chest.

“Is that the king?” she asked, mystified. “With the music box?”

Sweat ran down the side of Grime’s nonplussed face. “If it is… it’s a really good thing we stopped him.”

Neither of them said it aloud, but both understood the situation at once. All this time they thought they’d been playing flipwart while the king played bog jump. Oh, how wrong they’d been. It was beyond anything that even the Toad Lords discussed. They knew that they had to reconvene with them as soon as the armies had reached the gate.

She took a couple steps closer to reexamine the mural more thoroughly, missed details emerging now that the initial shock began to wear off. Circuit board markings—the same inside her dad’s outdated computer when she foolishly dared Marcy if she could take it apart—worked their way around the images, serving as some type of frame. Odd choice for a world that didn’t even have steam engines yet. She also picked up the three small geometric figures standing atop the Box’s lid. An artist she was not, but they looked pretty human-like in design.

But humans did not exist in Amphibia. The three of them were the first of their kind to ever set foot in this dimension.

Weren’t they?

Alarm bells were ringing louder than ever before. This Andrias guy had been playing Anne and Marcy for his own ends this whole time, all to get his mitts on the Music Box! What did he plan to do with it? Right now, she still couldn’t say, but it was all bad. Outside of a kickin’ rock band, fire and skulls together were never a good thing!

Even Joe’s feathers were puffing up anxiously against her back. Not turning away from the mural, she raised her hand and patted his risen crest.

“I know, big guy. I don’t like it either.”

Grime’s voice rang urgently in her ears, “Lieutenant! Get over here, quick!!”

Sasha had spun on her heels and sprinted down the room to find Grime standing the wreckage of what used to be a display of armour. He’d evidently acted on a hunch while she’d been preoccupied. Judging by his thunderstruck expression, he’d just discovered something far worse.

“What is iooooh boy!”

This new second mural reminded Sasha a lot of Egyptian hieroglyphs. If there was any room for doubt about the technicolor stick guys, there was none here. Standing tall against an indigo backdrop in a neat row were the outlines of human beings; long gangly appendages, stumpy noses and everything. Some were wearing hooded capes, others were decked out in suits of armour. The couple in the middle looked particularly regal. No prizes for guessing the little wooden box they were holding in their hands, cementing their authority as if it were the globus cruciger.

Faded inscriptions were engraved along the bottom. They were written in a more archaic amphibian dialect, but being a toad of higher education, Grime was able to give translating them a decent shot.

These great beings of magic and might

Travelled from beyond to serve the night

Bow before these children of man

Or know the wrath of the—

“... Wu Clan?” He cocked his one good eye up at her. “Iiiii’m not getting it.”

There it was. Floodlights flashed in Sasha’s head. All colour drained from her face. A million and one thoughts were now firing across her brain at once, threatening to send her into cerebral shutdown.

It was at that moment she knew she’d been played. They all had. She didn’t know whether to be absolutely furious, betrayed or impressed.

Why that conniving, devious little—

That's when they heard the BOOM outside the window.

[rosiesdiner]

A truly solemn mood set in after the first responders - and whomever else - left the city. Rosie wasn't surprised at the nosedive the alcohol storage took. The bar had more resources than she did, but it would grow scant fast if Wexley's occupants kept swiping bottles at the current rate. Rosie was thankful when she noticed Courtney had brought wine for the evening. Rationing was loudly protested when she posted the sign earlier. The asterisk added at the bottom of the notice paper that more than the allotted would be provided on Thanksgiving did little to appease.

Marie's sudden departure from the diner caught Rosie's eye's eye, hearing the teenager's voice call out a name, but unable to discern it over the sound of diner companions. She resumed the conversation with her compatriot at the diner's bar for only a minute before the screaming started. Marie had returned, but covered in blood. Rosie registered it draining from a nasty wound on her left arm with the cause viewable through the glass double doors.

She wished she were braver not to freeze. Neither flight nor fight took over, but paralyzed with the memories of bombing the lobby. The utter violence the infected inflicted on others with their bloody teeth and lifeless countenance. Courtney wasn't as far gone as some of those had been in decaying. As the musician lunged for another victim, Rosie's sense of responsibility returned. Did she have the will to kill Courtney if she couldn't be restrained? This was someone Rosie knew; a friend!

Rosie bolted for the kitchen through the swinging door and grabbed the first sharp weapon she put a hand on. It wasn't a firing arm, but a long knife on the counter was the closest she could do. Marie was about halfway across the diner and shaking like the last brittle leaf clinging to a November tree.

"Get one of the doctors !" she screamed at those shoving themselves through the diner's entrance. The request felt feeble even as she said it. Who wouldn't be running for the hopeful safety of their rooms and the deadbolts on the door? Who would stop and take the time to search for one of the medical experts? "Please!!"

Rosie focused on Marie. She wasn't at Courtney's level. Perhaps she could be saved? Rosie confronted Marie with all of her strength to swing the knife hard enough to sever through bone with the ideology cutting off the source of infection could stop the spread. The limb dropped to the floor, but Marie wasn't phased. Rosie attempted to grasp Marie's arm to quell the fresh bleeding with a bandage, but Marie dropped like a stone off the roof. Rosie attempted to hold the girl down as unrecognizable seizures took hold of her. She didn't know the symptoms of turning; was this a side effect of Marie's body fighting off the bite's effects or was she past normalcy?

The Change - Surprise Event 02

When: Nov 18th, Early Afternoon Where: Rosie's Diner Who: Anyone around the diner, @romanxdrake, @pxtitxrosx, @rosiesdiner

Having handed over the bottle of wine she'd assumed had come from Zach in apology for the night before, Courtney had turned to head back through the diner to maybe go home and lay down. Every passing minute she felt worse and worse. It felt like a fever had hit her like a truck, sapping any energy she had left in her limbs, stealing it with each increasingly labored breath.

A hand reaching out to steady herself on the supports for the heat lamps above the buffet, the room had started to spin and suddenly she couldn't remember where, or what she'd been doing and panic set in. Something was terribly wrong.

Incoherent words spilling past her lips in a pleading tone, she barely registered someone reaching for her before the seizure took hold and she collapsed in convulsions on the floor. For only second or two. Before falling still as thin stream of foam dribbled from the corner of her mouth, tinted pink from where she'd bitten her tongue.

The teenage girl, Marie, who had taken to working the diner had been the one reaching for Courtney, asking if she was alright, and it was her who leaned down now to check on her. Turning to shout for help, the first syllable was cut off into a scream as the once unconscious Courtney came to sudden and shockingly violent life, teeth clamping down on the arm of the girls hand that cradled her head.

Taking an entire chunk of flesh with her, eyes clouded as if covered by a milky film, she pushed off the girl to launch herself onto a man who'd been brought close by the commotion. It was the crook of his neck that took her teeth this time, the sound of her hungry snarling and tearing flesh drowned out by the explosion of panic by the other patrons of the diner. As the body beneath her went limp, the creature that had once been Courtney turned her attention only able to sink her teeth into the wrist of a middle aged woman before it was yanked away as the lady fled along with everyone else. Including those bitten but still able to run and hide.

From there it was an elderly woman who tripped over her cane and ended up with Courtney's teeth tearing at the back of her throat, and a younger man who tried to pull her off his grandmother. He got it the worst, his entire nose torn from his face. More would have went the same route before an explosion of noise fill the space and sent her sprawling finally motionless on the ground, a good chunk of one side of her head gone as the bullet from Roman Drake's gun that had entered from the other side exited her skull.

[tiffdawg]

The Light of Stars | Chapter Eleven: Disillusionment

Gif: @bestintheparsec​

The Light of Stars

Pairing: Din Djarin/ The Mandalorian x Reader (fem; no y/n)

Word Count: 5.5k

Rating: M | Warnings: the typical angst and a little smooching, mild language. No spoilers for season two!

Story Summary: In pursuit of the Child’s people, the mysterious Jedi, Din Djarin and his foundling find hope in a woman who shares the kid’s strange powers. Newly partnered with the Mandalorian, you are trained in the ways of the Force, but you’re no Jedi. You’re just trying to find your place in the galaxy.

A/N: Hi! It's been a while – much longer than I ever intended and for that I apologize. I want to say thank you to you all for reading my story and sticking with me. And to everyone who left comments on previous chapters, you have all my love for ever. I really do cherish each and everyone. You all inspire me to keep writing! Anyway, I'll stop rambling and let you read the latest installment of Jetii, Din, and Baby's (mis)adventures. This chapter is officially the beginning of the end!

Read on AO3

TLOS Masterlist | My Masterlist

… . …

Chapter Eleven: Disillusionment

The last few days were a blur as you cut across the galaxy at lightspeed. Time ceased to exist even as it passed you by, but it was uneventful in the best possible way as you spent what precious time you had left with the Mandalorian and his foundling quietly existing together.

You passed most of your time in the main cabin conversing with Mando. You always talked about your pasts. Never the future. But you considered yourself lucky to have that time with him. He spoke mostly of his youth with the Mandalorians and his early forays into bounty hunting, but occasionally he’d grace you with a story from his childhood. When he’d confessed that he hadn’t so much as said his parents' names aloud in decades but still found it within himself to share a treasured memory of them, you’d reached across the small space separating you to twine your fingers with his gloved ones as best you could. The words seemed to come a little easier after that. His life had been so full of sadness that you wondered if the last few weeks together had been an anomaly even with the chaos you’d brought into his life.

Down in the hull after tasteless meals of reconstituted food, you’d spent long hours reading texts from the Jedi holocron aloud to Mando while he disassembled, cleaned, and reassembled every blaster in his weapons locker twice-over. Other times he insisted on continuing your flying lessons but there wasn’t much to do as the ship sailed through hyperspace. During the infrequent fuel stops on lonely planets, you’d stretch your legs and find a quiet place to practice with the kid in consolation for long days spent trapped inside the ship.

That day, you’d landed on Mygeeto, a cold, frigid planet a few sectors from your final destination. Mando and the kid seemed unfazed by the icy winds, but you’d had to dig out your old parka just to walk to the closet cantina while the ship refueled. It was also a decently populated planet, big on mining and banking and a hub of trade. You were on the outskirts of a smaller spaceport, but it wasn’t somewhere you wanted to linger.

The docking bay was crowded with a steady rush of people coming and going earlier that morning. Now, when you stepped into the small, outdated docking bay ahead of the Mandalorian but behind the Child’s hovering carrier, it was deserted. Instantly, your eyes went to the fueling gear still hooked up to the Razor Crest. A quick glance around the bay told you the lone mechanic was nowhere to be seen. Most likely off working on one of the other starships. That meant the three of you were stuck on that icy, crystalline planet for at least a little while longer. 

That meant trouble.

“Mando–”

“I know,” he sighed. “I made them back at the cantina. They aren’t with the guild, but they’re definitely hunters.”

“Were you just hoping they wouldn’t follow us back to the ship?”

“I wanted to get you two back to the Crest.” He entered a code on his vambrace and canceled the ship’s security protocols. After the ramp lowered, he closed the baby’s carrier and sent it into the hull of the ship.

“There are six of them,” you said, raising a brow at him, “and they’re right behind us.”

“Not a problem, sweetheart.” He placed a hand on the blaster holstered at his hip. 

“Gods, you're cocky sometimes,” you retorted. Still, you extracted your lightsaber from your satchel before tossing the bag into the ship. It pained you to think that neither the baby nor Mando would be safe until that ex-Imp was taken care of for good. And even then, you worried about who else might know about the baby. You could only wish that wasn’t fated to be their only existence together. With his visor trained on you, his helmet tilted to the side. You shrugged as you took your place beside him.

“Don’t think I can handle it on my own?”

“I know you could, but you don’t have to,” you assured him. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eyes and found him watching you.

“I–”

Whatever he was going to say next was cut off by a noise coming from just beyond the entrance. Both of your heads snapped in that direction, alert and ready for a fight. 

When the first blaster shot rang out, Mando returned it with one of his own.

. 

“How many of them are there?” you shouted over the blast that rocked the Razor Crest. You’d mistakenly assumed you’d escaped after you’d fended off the six bounty hunters at the docking bay. The gunship fired back at Mando’s command.

“Down to two,” he answered as he hit a series of switches in rapid fire. He pulled the yoke and the ship took a nosedive through empty space. “Told you that spaceport was too big.”

“You didn’t say that.”

“I thought it.

Another hit set off one of the alarms. “Mando!” 

“We’re almost to the hyperlane. Once we hit lightspeed, they can’t track us. Just hold on!”

You sighed in relief at the familiar streaks of blue light of hyperspace. Mando’s seat swiveled to face you and the Child. “You alright?” he asked the kid. He chirped happily in response. “I figured.” He turned to you, elbows resting on his knees as he leaned forward in his chair. “How about you?” 

“I’m fine,” you assured him. You might’ve been a little rattled, but you’d seen worse. “We’re those the Moff’s men? How’d they track us to Mygeeto?”

“They didn’t.” A beat passed as you waited for him to explain. “They were already here. They’re amateurs. Gideon probably distributed fobs throughout the galaxy.” 

While you’d gotten a decent glimpse of it on Vrogas Vas, you were beginning to see the severity of his situation. The Empire might’ve fallen years ago, but this former Imp had not. He had the resources and the reach to find the Mandalorian and the Child. And you didn’t like the thought of him taking on the Moff alone. “Mando, can you do something for me?” 

“Anything,” he responded quickly.  

You hesitated, doubting he would think that in a moment. “Will you send a holo to your tribe before you leave for Nevarro.” He straightened up at that, ready to protest. “You’re going to need all of the help you can get.”

“I can’t ask them to put the covert at risk for me. Not again.”

“So you know they would come for you?”

“Yes,” he answered, voice straining around the word. 

“Do you think they hold what happened against you? Do you truly believe that any one of them regrets their choice?” He didn’t say anything, but you knew your assumption was right. And you knew his guilt was misplaced. They wouldn’t have welcomed him back, called him their brother, if that was the case. “You have to forgive yourself, Mando.” You unbuckled your safety restraints and kneeled before him. With a hand on the either curved cheek of his helmet, you forced him to look at you. You leveled him with a serious look, but he was unflinching, as still as ever. “Do you want to know what I think?”

“What?”

“They’re Mandalorians. They would want to fight with you. For you. How do you not see that?”

Wrapping his hands around your wrists, he pulled your hands away from his helmet. “I can’t do that for you.” 

“Can’t or won’t?” you snapped before you stood and left the cabin.

… . …

Drawing his eyes away from the streaks of light bending around the Razor Crest, Din found you still in your seat next to him and the Child carefully cradled to your chest. With matching expressions – eyes closed and lips slightly parted – you both slept peacefully. Din had half a mind to wake you and send you both to your room. Even that makeshift bunk had to be more comfortable than the contorted position you’d maneuvered yourself into in your chair. But as the baby moved in your grasp to snuggle further into you, tiny clawed hands gripping the front of your tunic even as he drooled on it, he hesitated to disturb the scene before him.

Somehow, in the span of a few weeks, Din’s entire universe had narrowed to the two of you. His foundling, of course, was already his primary focus in life. And then you showed up and without even meaning to, the three of you had become a family.

Din had a family.  

The realization struck him hard and fast, but quickly faded into something familiar. Something some part of him already knew because of course you were his family.

A soft smile pulled at the corner of Din’s mouth as the two of you dozed, bathed in blue starlight, until he realized that he wasn’t the only one who was going to miss you. The kid had grown fond of you, to say the absolute least. When he wasn’t toddling after Din or causing trouble, he was attached to your hip. But your days together were numbered.

He didn’t have time to dwell on that reality. He was suddenly pulled from deep within his own mind by the quiet beep of an incoming holo. With the flick of a single switch, Greef Karga’s figure, in miniature and cast in static blue light, appeared on the console.

Karga’s booming voice filled the silent cabin. “I’ve been trying to reach you for days, Mando.”

“I’ve been out of range.”

“While I’m sure your new quest has taken you to the furthest reaches of this galaxy, there are more pressing matters at hand here on Nevarro. Would you care to tell me why Moff Gideon, the man you supposedly killed, is amassing stormtroopers outside my city?” he asked pointedly. “Word is he’s looking for you.”

“I’m aware,” Din sighed. “I’ll be there in a few days. I have something I need to take care of first.”

“Something or someone?” Karga mused lowly with a deep chuckle. Din followed his line of sight. Next to him, you’d woken and leaned forward in your seat just enough for the holocam to pick up your image. You watched the guild leader with interest. “Who might this stunning creature be?”

“End of the week,” Din said curtly before switching off the holo.

“Who was that?” you asked. You spoke softly, mindful of the baby in your hold. Your tired gaze lingered on the spot where Karga’s figure stood a moment ago before drifting to Din. 

“No one.”

“Right,” you said with a gentle roll of your eyes. “I heard you mention Nevarro.”

“He’s an old associate.”

“A friend?” you supplied, brows lifting with the question.

“Sometimes.”

“Well, I imagine that means something coming from you.” There was a glint of humor in your eyes but faded into something more serious as you leveled him with a stern look. “Are you sure we shouldn’t go there first?” you asked, not for the first time. “You know I’m good in a fight.”

A small huff of a laugh escaped him. You could hold your own, of that he had no doubt. And the thought of having you with him for a few extra days was nothing short of tempting. Still, something told him that was how things were meant to happen. That was the original deal the two of you struck up, after all, and the course was already set. The Crest was less than a day out from the Lah’mu sector. It would be easier on his own heart to stick to it. Surprisingly, your argument from the day before had faded into the background. He’d come to expect more of a fight from you, but you’d rejoined him in the cockpit that morning as if nothing had happened.

He decided it was best not to prompt another argument. He stood and held out a hand to you. “It’s been a long day. You should go to bed.”

You placed your hand in his and let him pull you to your feet before you gently handed the still-sleeping baby to him. “You should too.”

 .

The kid didn’t so much as stir as Din placed him in his makeshift hammock above his cot. He started to remove his armor, stowing the Beskar for a few hours of much needed reprieve. Lost deep in his own tired mind, he didn’t hear you emerge from the ship’s small refresher.

“What’s that?”

 “What?”

“That.” He glanced over his shoulder at you just in time to see you gesturing toward the compartment.

“Exactly what it looks like.” That time he heard you move closer to him as you peered around his form.

“You’ve been sleeping here?” you asked incredulously. “I thought there was another bunkroom.”

“No,” Din answered flatly. He couldn’t see why that was an issue – especially at the late hour but the scowl on your face as you moved between him and the compartment told him that you expected a better explanation. “Technically there aren’t any bunkrooms on the Crest. Yours was extra carbonite storage for backlog. I converted it recently because the kid kept trying to crawl in here with me and there’s not exactly enough space for two. I wasn’t taking on any quarries so I figured it would work temporarily.”

“And you gave it to me?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why would you do that?” 

“It’s nothing,” he said, hoping to brush it off.

“Mando,” you sighed, sounding stuck somewhere between exasperation and gratitude. You pursed your lips as you looked back at the cot. “This the sorriest excuse for a bed I’ve ever seen. I’m not letting you sleep here.” 

“Where would you have me sleep?” he asked, not bothering to hide the amusement in his voice.

“In your bed,” you replied, crossing your arms over your chest. You could be so stubborn when you wanted. Almost as stubborn as him. 

“And you?” he asked.

“I’ll be there too.” There was a hint of a mischievous smile playing on your lips. 

“Last time–” 

Your voice dropped to a whisper, but it was enough to make him forget the rest of his sentence. “I miss having you in my bed.” 

A chill shot down his spine and settled low inside him as he watched you scale the ladder that led to your room and left him to follow. Just before you disappeared, you threw a playful insult back at him. “Di’kut.”

His chest deflated as a deep sigh fell from his lips. “Let me guess who taught you that,” he called after you, rolling his eyes at your receding figure. He sealed the small compartment and followed you up.

“You had your chance to teach me nice things in Mando’a,” you retorted. “Now I can insult you seven ways to Scarif!”

 “Great,” he muttered with a light laugh.

“To be fair,” you offered when he finally walked into your small bunkroom, “Paz called me an idiot too.”

Din froze at the threshold as a cold fear rushed over him. “He told you his name?” he hissed. 

“Yeah.” You said it almost lightly, but Din heard the slight edge undercutting your words. He knew you understood the significance of the act. He could see it in the way you teased your bottom lip between your teeth. “I didn’t ask. He just told me. He said it was okay,” you tried to clarify. “It’s not like I expect you–”

“Do you want to know?” he replied quickly despite not knowing if he was prepared to give it if you said yes. While there were a few select people who knew his name now, he had never shared it with anyone himself. If Vizsla could share his name with someone outside the covert, then so could he. Right?

“Of course I do. I want to know all of you,” you started slowly. You stepped closer to him, gently resting your hands on his last piece of armor. Your eyes followed the path of your fingers as you traced the mended edge of his cuirass. “But I only want what pieces of yourself you want to share with me. I would never ask.” 

“I know you wouldn’t. You never ask for anything.” 

“I asked you to come to bed with me,” you teased, trying to divert the conversation.

“No. You told me.” You smiled almost shyly and made to move away, but Din reached for your hands and held you in place. “Ask me for something. I’ll give it to you.” You eyed him for a long moment as you considered his request. He could see the thoughts racing in your mind. “Ask me for anything,” he repeated. 

“Anything?” 

“Yes.”

“I want you to promise me something.”

“A promise?” His brows furrowed behind the visor.

“Do you remember our last conversation that morning at the covert? Because I haven’t forgotten it.” Neither had Din. He nodded once and you squeezed his hands. “No matter what answers we find on Lah’mu, no matter where your journey takes you and your son next, no matter how many years or decades it’s been since we parted,” you took a deep breath as your voice wavered, “I want you to promise me that you will pursue a life that makes you happy. The both of you. Whatever that may be.” 

Din had no response to that. He’d given you permission to ask him for anything and for some godsforsaken reason you asked for his happiness. He was struck, hardly for the first time, by just how much good there was in you. That you could possibly care about him that way even amidst your own turmoil. He would’ve preferred you ask him to call his tribe members for help. “Sweetheart–” he tried to admonish.

“Promise me, you stubborn Mandalorian,” you demanded with a new fire in your eyes. “You said you would give me anything. That’s what I want. If I can’t— If I can’t be there with you, I at least want to know in my heart that wherever you are, you are happy.” When he didn’t say anything, you pleaded. “Please, Mando.” 

Lifting a hand to the back of your head, he drew you closer to him and gently pressed his helmet to your forehead, kissing you in the only way he could in that moment. “I promise,” Din swore even though that didn’t change the fact that there was only one way he ended up happy.

“Thank you,” you sighed as if he’d given you something you needed. Without parting, your fingers dipped beneath the edge of his cuirass. “May I?” He nodded against you and you pulled just enough to deactivate the magnetic hold. Others had tried to take his armor off in the past, usually by force, but with you it felt like a barrier. Something keeping him from what he really wanted. 

As Din laid in the too-small bunk with you, your words echoed in his mind. If I can’t be there with you, I at least want to know in my heart that wherever you are, you are happy. With every quiet moment that passed, each one somehow longer than the next, he seemed to move closer to you, and you to him, until you met somewhere in the middle. His forehead knocked against yours again and as your breath ghosted across his face, he fought his overwhelming desire to kiss you. Really kiss you. To show you just how much your care for him affected him. But he remembered what happened the last time you’d tried something like that. It ended with you crying into his chest as he held you through the long night. 

He asked anyway. “Can I kiss you?” he rasped.

“I thought you just did, Mandalorian,” you teased.

He rolled you over onto your back, caging you in as he leaned on his elbows to hover above you. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he rasped. 

Before you could offer some smart retort, he slotted his mouth over yours. Despite his eagerness, he felt clumsy and unpracticed. Considering he’d never kissed anyone before you, he absolutely was. You were the only one he’d ever wanted like this. Based on the breathy little noises you made for him, you didn’t seem to mind his inexperience.

He pressed the weight of his body into yours, pinning you beneath him, until there was no space between you. You were molded to him and him to you in a way that felt natural. It felt right. He was growing accustomed to it even as he knew he shouldn’t. But those moments with you, unmasked and exposed, were too enticing.

Din never said he was a good man.

… . …

In the light of an early morning, you ran through an open field surrounded by a forest of tall evergreens. Soft wild grass cushioned each stride as you sprinted toward the tree line, chasing the fresh, spicy scent. Behind you, someone pursued you at full speed. 

No. That wasn’t right.

You glanced over your shoulder only to find not one but two young children sprinting after you, squealing and smiling. Your heart practically burst at the sight of their unbridled joy and a laugh of your own bubbled past your lips. You slowed your pace, giving in to them easily, and two sets of arms wrapped around your legs. You knelt in the dewy grass, rewarding them with snug hugs and kisses on their chubby cheeks, and earning yourself another jubilant round of laughter from them both. 

Together, they begged you to chase them next, and unable to deny them anything, you readily agreed. You stood, shooing them off to get a head start. But they wouldn’t run away just yet. Not when they were too distracted by something behind you. Another pair of arms, only much stronger, wrapped around you.

The kids ran off, shouting catch us, dad! A low rumble reverberated through your back as the man behind you laughed at the children’s wild antics. Your eyes fell closed as you leaned into him, deciding you’d follow the children in a moment. Right then all you wanted was to savor his embrace. It felt like the closest thing to home you’d ever known.

You turned your head as if to look over your shoulder and a pair of lips met yours. Even after the kiss ended, you didn’t part. The feel of his smile hovering against your lips was almost as intoxicating as his kiss.

 “Good morning, Din,” you sighed.

.

You startled awake with a sharp inhale.

Disoriented and scared, you tried to make sense of what you’d just seen. That dream felt real. Too real. Considering the turn your life had taken in the past few weeks, you had no idea what it was. A remnant of your vision. An offering from the Force. Or just your imagination playing tricks on you. It seems like the closer you get to Lah’mu, the more the Force saw fit to taunt you with that other future.

Your eyes searched the pitch-black room for some sort of sign as to where you were, but you couldn’t see anything. Instead, you felt an arm around your waist, holding you securely.

Mando’s arm.

You were still on the Razor Crest, tucked away in your shared bunk that was too small for the both of you, and he was fast asleep behind you, warm and solid. You felt him shift behind you, lifting his head from his pillow to look down at you in the dark.

“Are you okay?” he asked hoarsely. Even in sleep that man missed nothing. Mando’s hold on you tightened, pulling you back against his chest.

“Yeah,” you assured him. “Just a dream.”

“Another nightmare?” 

“No. Not quite. Just...” You screwed your eyes shut and tried to banish the lingering images, or rather sensations, of that other man from your mind. Mando’s voice cut through your daze as he called your name, drawing you back into the present. “Just strange. It almost felt like another vision.”     

“Of your future on Lah’mu?” 

“I don’t think so.”

Din shifted closer. “Your other future?”

“Yes,” you offered meekly.

“What do you dream of? With him?” The question hurt and you said nothing for a long time. The more time you spent with Mando and the baby, the more certain you were that you’d made the right choice. A life on Lah’mu as a lonely Jedi master was more appealing than a future with a stranger you could never love. Not when your heart belonged to the man lying next to you. Seeing him amongst his people had only reinforced your conclusion that Mando was not the man in your vision. It was not the way. His way. But you supposed that didn’t matter and you were only making yourself upset for no reason by reminding yourself of the fact. You’d chosen your path. “You can tell me,” he prompted again.

You shook your head and craned your neck to face him even though he couldn’t see you. You were so close your noses brushed, but he made no move to part. “No, I don’t think I can.” 

A tension hung between you as you waited for his response. “The offer stands,” he finally replied.

“And I appreciate that.” But all you really wanted was to put that dream out of your mind and forget about it entirely. The man next to you provided the perfect distraction. 

You closed that last bit of space between you, letting your mouths meet in a slow, lingering kiss. His soft, slightly chapped lips matched with yours with aching tenderness. Just like that, with him, you felt safe from all the uncertainties your future held. You decided you could indulge in it just a little while longer. Continue what he’d started the night before.

“Good morning, Mando,” you sighed around a lazy smile when you finally parted.

“Good morning, cyar’ika.”

He sounded happier, and your grin pulled taut and you turned in his arms. Holding his face with your hands, your lips melded with his again. He didn’t start at your touch anymore. He sought it out. With a hand gripping your hip, he pressed you closer.

“I could stay right here,” you murmured your confession against his lips in between hungry kisses, “forever.”

“Fuck, so could I,” he admitted. You slipped your tongue into his mouth as his lips parted around his words, earning a broken, desperate moan from him. 

He let you roll him into his back, and you moved so that you were on top of him, a knee pressing into the thin mattress on either side of him. Your hungry mouths slotted together once more.

You longed to feel his skin against yours again and as his hands slid lower, you thought he was going to free you from your tunic. But then his hands traveled further, past the hemline, over your hips and just kept going until he squeezed the swell of your backside, fingers digging into your fabric covered flesh, and ground your hips down against him. Against something hard.

“Oh fuck,” you gasped into his mouth. He chuckled darkly against your cheek as he did it again. That had no right to feel that good. You’d had your suspicions, but knowing he wanted you like that was a whole new thrill. “Eager this morning?” you asked as you searched for breath.

“You started it,” he said low and teasing while nipping at your bottom lip.

“Let me kiss you while I can.” He stilled his movements beneath you. You’d meant it as a joke, but it hurt. You pulled away and rested your head against his chest, letting out a long, slow exhalation as that all-consuming melancholy that seeped into the stolen moment. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” 

“It’s fine,” he ground out. It wasn’t fine. You could hear it in his voice. Even as he moved you off of him with the gentlest touch, you felt the distance growing between you once more. He slipped out of the bunk and you listened to him search for his helmet in the dark, but you sensed him hesitate and he turned back to you, cupping your face between his hands and pressing his lips to yours. There was something about this kiss that felt different. There was a desperate sort of passion that sends adrenaline coursing through your veins. You return it with equal fervor, pouring all your love for him into that kiss. 

“What was that for?” you asked when he finally parted from you.

“I never know.”

“Know what?”

When he spoke next, his voice came to you filtered through the modulator. “I never know when it will be our last.”

The truth of his words tore through you, leaving you feeling cold as you packed your things and emptied the converted bunkroom of all traces of you.

.

After descending the Razor Crest’s ramp, your boots hit the soft grass first, sinking slightly into the black soil that covered the planet. A cool, misty air kissed your skin as you stepped away from the safety of the ship. Your eyes scanned the green valley, landing on the small settlement that dotted the landscape.

You felt Mando approach. He stopped a half step behind you, but his presence felt heavy, almost overwhelming, as you tried to focus. Still, you knew he’d wait for your call.

“She’s here,” you announced quietly, voice barely audible over the crashing waves. You peered back at him over your shoulder, finding his dark visor already trained on you. His helmet tilted slightly. Your heart swelled with affection at the familiar, inquisitive movement. You were well beyond chastising yourself for the sentiment, even if it hurt. “And I think she’s close.” You tore your eyes away from him, ignoring the way the words seemed to get stuck in your throat. Finding your former master had been your goal for years. Now, for the first time in nearly a decade, the two of you were on the same planet. Yet you felt no joy at that momentous fact.

You felt a steady hand rest between your shoulder blades. “I’m right behind you, cyar’ika. Lead the way.”

.

After a few hours of trekking along the base of the rolling hills at the direction of one talkative settler, you found a lone woman meditating in a grassy field. She faced away from you, but the lavender hair styled in a low chignon and dark flowing robes told you exactly who she was.

“Wait here,” you directed without ever taking your eyes off of her. A familiar hand wrapped around yours, stalling you. “It’ll be okay, Mando, but you have to let go.”

You took another step forward and your hand slipped out of his. When you stopped a few paces away, you hesitated. Even after all the years you’d spent searching for your former master, you never figured out what you wanted to say. 

Before you could so much as open your mouth, a flash of violet light cut across your vision. Reacting on instinct, you reached for your lightsaber, blocking the attack at the last moment.

Falling back a step, you grounded yourself before meeting her next strike. A clash of blue and purple plasma sputtered before you. Over the cross of your sabers, you saw her calculating amber eyes flick to the side as she lifted a hand. Daring a glance back, you saw Mando frozen in place, blaster drawn and ready to fire. 

The force behind your next attack sent Zarichi reeling. 

“You hurt them,” you said through gritted teeth in between parries, “and I’ll strike you down where you stand.”

“You don’t have it in you,” she scoffed.

“You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

“I taught you everything.” Her next drive, three strong blows you narrowly managed to counter, landed you flat on your back with her saber at your neck. The slightest move would’ve singed your skin. “And you’re out of practice, padawan.” 

Before she could so much disengage her lightsaber, she was thrown across the field by some unseen force. You watched her tumble to the ground in a heap before snapping your head to the kid. He stood next to his father, hand outstretched and eyes closed. “Damn,” you breathed.

Zarichi stood and dusted herself off, eyes locked on the baby at Mando’s side. “How curious,” she assed, with a hint of a laugh. Without another word, she set off back toward the settlement. Sighing, you fell back against the grass.

With the baby clutched to his chest and a hand on his hip, Mando appeared above you. “That’s your master?” He didn’t sound amused.

“What’d you expect?” you asked with a shrug. “She’s a Jedi.”

... . ...

Thank you for reading!

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[mhaverse-writes]

burning cold. (dabi x prohero!reader)

author’s note: oh, hi. uh, this is awkward. remember when i said i was coming back like months ago then i didn’t? good times, good times. well after a rough patch irl, i’m officially back! hope you didn’t miss me too much uwu. anyways, onto the story, i hope you enjoy! thanks for reading <3 - with love, rj

description: while working undercover at a club looking for a target, you run into the last person you wanted to see. the dangerous villain, dabi, who just so happens to be your very forbidden ex. though you’re trying to move on, dabi isn’t ready to let you go just yet.

warnings: cursing, suggestive content (some smoochin’ and heavy pettin’ ya dig?), dabi being massive a dick

                                             ︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

"Hey, baby. You come here often?"

"Go to hell, Dabi."

From your seat at the bar, you take a quick sip of your drink before checking that your ear piece was off. You glance around to make sure none of your colleagues have noticed the poorly-disguised villain trying to 'pick you up,' but let out a tiny sigh of relief as they're too preoccupied with scouting for the target. Dabi chuckles, drawing your attention back to him, his smug face souring your mood the longer you look at it.

"If you're here to arrest me, you're doing a shit job at it," He idly runs his finger across the rim of his glass while resting his elbow against the bar and his head in his hand. His lack of caution with the fact that he's sitting next to a literal pro-hero isn't anything new, but it still annoyed you to no end. Did he see you as some kind of joke? Or he just knows you aren't going to do anything about it. God, the fact that he's so certain of his safety pisses you off even more.

"Shut up, I'm not here for you," Snapping with a bite that only makes his grin widen, you turn in your seat rather fast, spilling a little bit of your drink onto the floor. You ignore it, and do your best to ignore him as you rake your gaze across who you were really here for. Dabi turns as well, making a show of stretching before resting his arm behind you on the bar table. You feel your eye twitch, risking a look at him. He has his hand over his heart in mock hurt.

"Your claws wound me, kitten." Though he's speaking in his usual lazy drawl, somehow it isn't hard to hear him over the vibrating bass of music pounding your ears. It also didn't fail to send a tiny chill down your spine at the sound of the almost nostalgic nickname. You do your best to quell it, but it's Dabi of fucking course he notices. His grin is nearly lecherous, but he doesn't speak on it, thank God.

"Why are you here anyway? How did you find me?" Curiosity getting the better of you (the whole summation of your relationship with Dabi, if you're being honest) you turn to meet his icy blue stare, scowling hard to make sure you didn't get lost in it.

"Maybe 'I'm not here for you.'" Dabi parrots, eyes not leaving yours as he takes a sip of his drink. Your first instinct is to call bullshit, but a nagging insecurity at the back of your brain envisions him with someone else. Jealousy churns in your stomach, ugly and rancid, before you bury it down in disgust. Why should I care? Your rational side argues. It's good that he's moved on, that way he'll leave me the hell alone. But you know deep down, you're lying to yourself. Though you're pretty sure you'd rather nosedive off a cliff before admitting that.

Either way, you've entertained this long enough already. Grabbing your drink, you down the rest of it before moving to stand. The muted surprise on Dabi's face-- though it's as simple as his eyes widening the smallest amount-- doesn't fail to bring you satisfaction. He may think you're willing to give him all of your attention, but you are more than happy to prove him wrong.

Dabi, however, obviously is not.

Before you can even think, Dabi's hand snatches your wrist and drags you backward, sending you careening into his chest. You scoff up at him. Was he being serious right now?

"What the hell do you think you're--?!"

Dabi's lips fall to your ear and you're barely able to contain a shiver. "Your little 'target,' is onto you, kit. Three o' clock." Eyes widening, you instinctively turn to look, but Dabi tightens his hold on your wrist and whisks you away, leaving you stumbling after him as you try to keep up with his long legs. He expertly weaves you both through the oblivious crowd, before bodily moving you into a tiny corner on the other side of the club. You try to check on your teammates, but your attention is snatched by Dabi as he takes up every inch of your vision, pinning you against the wall. His cold eyes twinkle with amusement as he takes you in slowly.

"Y'know, I really missed you, sweet thing," You would almost think he's sincere if it weren't for the way he isn't sincere at all. He dips his head down and presses a kiss to the shell of your ear. You can't help but whimper, kicking yourself mentally right after. You can't do this right now! Your target is not only suspicious of you, but the fact your team could catch you with Dabi at any second seizes your stomach with fear. You reach up to your ear piece to turn it on. If you request assistance, maybe you could scare Dabi off.

Your fingers graze only the empty inside of your ear. Panic bubbles in you, burning cold. You look up at Dabi, to find your earpiece clutched daintily between his teeth. No. You reach forward, but aren't fast enough to stop him before he crushes it with a flex of his jaw.

You're alone.

Alone with him.

"Aw, don't look so scared, kit." He spits the busted thing out. You don't have time to register how gross that is before he takes another step close, even closer, bowing his head until your noses brush. Dabi's eyes flick down to your mouth. Your heart stops. "I'll protect you."

His lips crash into yours and you can't help the moan that leaves from deep in your chest at the feeling. Completely losing all reason, you arch into Dabi, hands grabbing the lapels of his jacket and pulling him flush against you. You feel him smirk against your lips and a small part of you argues that you giving into him is a bad thing. But honestly, can it be so bad when it feels so unbelievably good?

Dabi pulls away all too soon and you damn near whine, chasing after his lips fruitlessly. Leaning back to his full height, Dabi considers you while looking all too pleased with himself. You’re too blissed out to care. God, you'd forgotten what his kiss felt like, did it always knock the breath out of you so fast?

"Here's the sitch, hero." He says, calloused hands tracing your features. You melt into them, despite yourself. "I wasn’t lying when I said I wasn’t here for you. Thing is, the little snitch you're after has unfinished business with us. And you taking him in--well--causes some problems for me and my team."

That gets you. Snapping out of your stupor, you blink up at him, eyebrows creasing. Is this what this was? He was only trying to distract you? You dig your nails into your palms, cursing yourself for not seeing this sooner. If Dabi was here, damn well Toga or someone else could be here too. If Toga was here, you wouldn't even know who she was. What if she already took advantage of you abandoning your post and snatched up the target? Hell, she could already be halfway back to their base with him!

"You bastard!" Damn near snarling, you shove him back with all your might, face hot with embarrassment. "Is that why you cornered me here? To get me away from your fucking snitch?!" Dabi merely chuckles. God, you wanted to punch him right in his stupid mouth.

"No, baby. I brought you here because I missed you,” His thumb ran over your bottom lip, retreating when you tried to bite him. “And tell you to back off.” Though he's still smiling, all humor has drained from his voice, making your blood run cold. "I'd hate to have to dirty up that pretty little outfit of yours. I'll take it from here."

"Like hell you w--!"

"There you are!"

The voice of your superior sends relief and fear rushing in you at the same time. You whirl to face her, trying to mask the shame threatening to swallow you whole.

"S-starlight!" You squeak, standing at attention. You glance at Dabi, to find he's already gone, the dancing crowd overtaking where he once stood. Oh, thank God, you think, before freezing up again. He was off to get the target. You didn't have much time.

"Where did you go?" Starlight demands, her iridescent nails digging into your shoulders as she grasped them. "I was worried you'd been compromised."

"W-we're not alone, Star," You stutter out, mind still reeling from the feeling of Dabi against you. Despite the fact he tricked you, it didn't stop the way your body still tingled at the thought of him. Jesus, you were done for. "The League is here, they're after the target too!" You left out Dabi. You left out Dabi?! Fuck, you were protecting him!

"What? Did they hurt y--?"

"No, no, I'm okay. But we need to hurry before--!"

Before you could finish, the sound of screams ripped your body from the inside out. Oh, no.

You and Starlight rush into action, following the screams towards the middle of the dance floor, where a crowd had gathered. You noticed the rest of your team pushing against people as well, struggling to get to the middle. But you didn't have to get there to see what happened next.

Blue flames fanned out in a hot arc, prompting the crowd to back away even further, shoving you and Starlight back. Dabi emerged from the fire, clutching your limp target, a sweaty, plump, balding man by the collar of his shirt. God, was he...?

"Dabi!" Starlight shouts, pure energy bursting to life from her palms. She used a beam of hard light to propel herself up and over the crowd, aiming towards the man. Your heart drops. For Starlight, Dabi, or both, you're not even sure.

Before she can reach him, however, Dabi takes off, using his flames to scare the crowd away, clearing a path for himself. The fire begins to spread and everyone shakes out of their shock to replace it with panic. The people run in different directions, struggling to escape the flames. Starlight and your teammates attempt to fight the crowd and chase the villain, but you stay stuck to the spot, cradling yourself to find some sense of comfort. You knew they weren't going to catch him. You've lost the target.

And it's all your fault.

Sighing, you kick into gear, following Starlight and pushing against the panic and eventually making it outside. The chill of the night is refreshing, but does nothing to ease the weight on your chest. Though you knew Dabi was long gone, it hurt even more to see it. He had played you. Again.

And something tells you it won't be the last time.

[flowerslut]

DAY TWO: SOULMATES Rated: K+ for mentions of death. Words: 3,701

When you’re born with a dead soulmate, what more can you do?

THE CORPSE’S BRIDE

Disposing of newborns was far from Jasper’s favorite thing to do. He’d been forced to improvise as the years dragged on, using distraction, lies, and manipulation to lure the doomed vampires to their final resting place. Anything to keep their emotions from striking him harder than physical blows could.

He was finishing up cleaning out their lot—this year’s newborns had been a disappointing crew, not strong or skilled enough to help them gain back their eastern lands—when the strange feeling first took hold of him.

He’d been mid-sentence when he paused, turning to look around at the dark plains, their abandoned shack way off on the horizon.

The newborn he was to dispose of, a mild-mannered man who shook during battle yet had somehow avoided defeat all the same, turned as well, his eyes fearfully raking across the area as well, no doubt terrified that something he couldn’t see had caused the Major to stop and react.

Jasper brushed the feeling away as he turned back toward the man, lifting a disarming hand to give an almost-friendly smack against his shoulder, sending forth a wave of indifference as he led them forward. He couldn’t lead the man too far forward or he’d undoubtedly smell the venom that was seeping into the ground several hundred yards away, and he’d understand where the rest of their new crew had gone.

But it was in that instant, as he was patting Niko’s shoulder, that Jasper saw it, bright against his pale, scarred skin. He froze again, and any air of comfort he’d been carefully cultivating vanished into thin air as shock set in fully.

Niko reacted the same as Jasper, jumping slightly to twist out of the way of Jasper’s frozen arm, his frightened eyes looking from Jasper’s face to his wrist, and seeing the sight immediately.

A gasp shattered the silence, and for the first time since they’d changed him the previous winter, Niko stopped shaking. Instead, wonder filled the man and he stepped closer to examine Jasper’s wrist.

“A soul mark,” he whispered, red eyes wide as he leaned closer—but not too close, he knew better—to look at the tiny red heart that almost looked to be glowing. The man smiled then, still wracked with shock, and turned toward Jasper, “you have a soulmate! I—”

Jasper ripped his head off then, trying to act as quickly as he could to prevent the doomed man from speaking any further. As fast as he could manage he grabbed the remains and brought them across the clearing, tossing the body onto the rest.

He didn’t realize he was now shaking until he realized he couldn’t light the match.

His eyes moved straight toward the tiny mark again.

There was no way he could hide it. And even if he did what his brain was currently considering, and if he ripped the portion of flesh away with his own teeth, Maria would know.

She always knew.

Maria, whose own tiny heart was now a tragic, black color. Her mate—her soulmate—long dead and gone.

Eventually he lit the match, ignited the pyre, and turned to make his way back to the shack at the edge of the horizon.

If anything, Maria would see it, witness his indifference, and be pleased. What better way to pledge your loyalty then to overlook a newly minted wrist, fresh with the promise of true love?

Stomping his way back to Maria, he inhaled deeply, mouth filling with venom as he realized they’d get to go into town and feed now.

What was supposed to be the allure of love when fresh blood tasted so sweet?

————————————

It wasn’t until years later—nearly two decades since the mark appeared on his wrist—that Maria finally commented on it.

They were going over strategy for an upcoming encounter when Maria made a sad noise, her tongue clicking with pity as amusement began to radiate from her.

“Ah, muy triste.”

Jasper ripped his mind off their carefully-drawn map to meet her eyes. He didn’t need to follow her gaze to know exactly what she was looking at.

“Tu amor,” she frowned dramatically, her lip jutting out in a way that made Jasper suddenly angry, “está muerta.”

His eyes fell upon his soul mark instantly, but the red mark was gone. In it’s place, one that was startlingly familiar. A mark he’d seen on Maria’s wrist as long as he’d known her. A tiny black heart; indicative of a dead soulmate.

His soulmate, wherever they were, was now dead.

He forced himself to not care, ignoring the way the universe seemed to shift around him in that instant, and continued planning out their next course of attack.

His soulmate hadn’t mattered to him during their life; he’d be damned if they mattered to him at all dead.

————————————

When Lillian Brandon grew pregnant with her first child, she’d been elated. She’d been married for barely six months when her body began to weaken as her stomach began to expand. It was a hard, unforgiving pregnancy, but Lillian kept her spirits high, too excited about the prospect of a child of her own to care. 

Edgar, her husband, wasn’t a warm man. If anything, ‘business’ man could go at the top of the list of words used to describe him. She was sure he had colleagues with words far more descriptive, and far more cruel. But throughout her pregnancy, he pulled back from work, making it so that she never went without so much as a sip of water.

Through the months her body was racked with illness, the pregnancy something her slight frame could just barely handle, and by October of 1901 she knew that it was nearly time.

Two days into the month Lillian’s health took a nosedive, and Mary-Alice Brandon was born into the world.

Born cold and unmoving, suspected to be stillborn, she didn’t cry when introduced to the world. Her eyes calm and open and seeing from her first few minutes. Mary-Alice had all ten fingers, all ten toes, and a tuft of barely-there black hair on the crown of her head.

One thing Mary-Alice didn’t have, was a red soul mark.

The whispers floated through the hospital despite Edgar’s swift demand that her tiny wrest be covered immediately. While other babies born with a soul mark were all the same—small, red, and heart-shaped on the inside of a wrist—Alice’s had been different.

Mary Alice Brandon had been stamped with a full black mark, indicating something that only older adults and those struck by tragedy knew: a dead soulmate.

After Lillian was stable enough to hold and feed her baby, she examined the girl’s tiny wrist, held the infant close, and cried with all of her might.

————————————

It wasn’t until the marks began to appear, that they knew something was wrong. Those with living soulmates enjoyed many features of having a person tied to them beyond what could be seen or felt. Some had dreams that were shared. Others enjoyed eerily similar tastes in food and aesthetics. Lillian Brandon had a cousin who could feel his soulmate’s pain as if it were his own; an experience that was as scary as it was rare.

Alice was four days old when the first mark appeared. 

Scar marks weren’t uncommon, but to gain them meant one thing: you had a soulmate, and they were being hurt.

Mary-Alice had been gifted with a dead soulmate from birth. When the first bright purple crescent moon splotch appeared on her tiny forearm, Lillian had almost fainted.

Edgar had been beside himself with frustration, demanding that local doctors and clergymen help fix his infant daughter, using sums of money to ensure the utmost discretion.

But the marks never remained for longer than a week at a time. And by the time the baby was several weeks old, she’d already had a rainbow of marks appear across her limbs, and fade within days.

When Mary-Alice was four months old, the first mark appeared on her face and Edgar swore to Lillian that no child of his would be caught around town with a black heart and a mottled face.

————————————

Lillian theorized heavily for many years, trying to make sense of the marks that appeared and disappeared on her daughter’s skin, despite the proof of her true-love already lost.

It wasn’t until Mary-Alice was a girl, attending school with as much cover as they could get away with under the Mississippi sun, when they grew alarmed.

“He’s out there Mama,” Mary-Alice had smiled up at her mother, her two front teeth missing. “It’s okay. I’m not sad. You shouldn’t be either.”

When Lillian had made Mary-Alice swear to never repeat those words to her father, the girl had frowned, nodded, and skipped away. Her hair was braided down her back, dancing as she moved, revealing a sour yellow mark against the back of her neck.

————————————

When Mary-Alice was eight a group of boys on the schoolyard cornered her. A pink mark that bisected her face in two had appeared in the middle of their arithmetic lessons, causing a bit of a scene and a hefty disruption.

Miss Palmer had dismissed their lessons early that day, unable to control the unruly class, some children jeering, others screaming at Mary-Alice, who refused to even look ashamed at the mark. And when the child refused to move herself to the back of the room to continue on with the school day, the frazzled teacher had sent them all out.

The comments and taunts were routine now, but she hated them all so severely for each insult hurled her way as they circled her, laughing and preventing her escape.

“Off to the graveyard Mary-Alice?”

“How many dead people do you kiss?”

“Enough to try and find your husband?”

“Is it true the morgue lets you check all the arms before they bury the bodies?”

“Aye, Mary-Alice! Old man Kemper’s been dead three weeks now! Maybe he can help you find your husband!”

“Maybe she’s a witch—she’ll show up in a few years with her undead husband still covered in dirt and worms.”

Then, the boy with the lightest hair grabbed her shoulder and turned toward his friends. Alice tensed under his touch. The boy, Wilhelm, always knew what to say to get under her skin, and to push things too far. “Hey, hey. Maybe she is. But maybe he’s deader than a doornail and always has been! That’s why Mary-Alice gets so upset. She knows he’s never comin’ to find her and that she’ll probably die lookin’ for him! There, there, Mary-Alice,” he turns toward her and frowns, patting her shoulder with fake sympathy.

The surrounding boys all began to frown and nod, some of them fake-crying as they called out “Oh, poor, poor Mary-Alice! A husband deader than a doornail! Long dead and gone and never coming ‘round for supper! A dead-man’s soulmate!”

Mary-Alice ripped herself out of her classmate’s grip, put her arms in front of her and charged, pushing her way through the boys who called after her even as she easily escaped their circle. “Be quiet! Be quiet! Be quiet!” She shrieked. 

As she ran back home, tears stinging her eyes, they laughed and laughed and laughed.

————————————

Edgar put an end to the girl’s schooling not long after.

It wasn’t until the third day of home-lessons, upon realizing that this was to be a permanent fixture in her life, that she threw a fit.

“It’s not fair,” she yelled at her father when he returned home from work that evening, stomping her foot, her fists curled at her sides. “He’s out there! I’m serious!”

“Enough, Mary-Alice!” her father had bellowed, but when he lifted his hand to physically silence her, the girl flinched backward, out of reach of her father’s arm. “I am tired of these ridiculous ideas! You need to move past this… this soulmate business!”

“But he is,” Mary-Alice pointed to the orange mark on her palm, “he is alive! See?”

“You are to stay home to continue your schooling,” he spoke the words with finality. “Until you can get these wild dreams out of your head and control your rantings, you will remain here.”

And that had been that.

Mary-Alice cried herself to sleep that night. And the next night. And the next.

————————————

Mary-Alice was fourteen when she first saw her father with his wrist uncovered.

Well. No. She was fourteen when she saw the vision of the moment in which she would discover her father’s uncovered wrist.

She would be helping Cynthia prepare for a walk around the block, tying the young girl’s bonnet under her chubby chin, when her father’s form would catch her eye. His back would be to them where he was standing by the door, adjusting the deep brown band he’d always kept fastened around his left wrist.

An act of clumsiness would cause the band to fall to the ground. And he was none the wiser to Mary-Alice’s attentive gaze as he leaned forward, fetching the band to reattach it to his limb.

But in the seconds it took for him to grab the band, Mary-Alice would see the tiny space where a heart should have been, but wasn’t.

It would stun her into silence and she’d force her gaze back down to her little sister, managing a weak smile at the sound of the young girl’s prodding.

Back in the present day, Mary-Alice was still fourteen. The bonnet she would tie around Cynthia’s chin had yet to be purchased. And Edgar Brandon’s wrist was still firmly covered at all times. In the back of her mind she realized that in her strange absence from the present—something that happened more and more often as she grew older—she’d dropped a glass of water, sending it shattering and wet across the kitchen floor, but she couldn’t bring herself to react.

Shock was quick to strike, but betrayal sank deep into her bones, forcing her feet to remain planted.

Her mother had never hid her own soul mark. The white heart indicated that not only did she have a soulmate, but she’d met them. Most couples with soul marks that were together had matching white hearts. She’d even once witnessed, at the market, a meeting of two people. She’d watched, stunned as the man’s red heart slowly turned to pink and then to white, the newly-acquainted couple hugging tightly as the realization struck them.

Now, she found herself stunned at an entirely new realization.

Her mother had a soulmate, whom Mary-Alice had assumed was her own father.

Her mother had a soulmate. And her father didn’t.

They weren’t soulmates.

————————————

The discovery that her parents weren’t soulmates marked a changing point for Mary-Alice. She realized her father would never understand what she was going through; perhaps he was even jealous, she theorized once.

It also marked a point in time where Mary-Alice’s visions weren’t just rare occurrences, but now nearly daily disruptions. She would walk into door frames and stumble down stairs. She burnt herself on the stove and her first reaction wasn’t to remove her hand but was ‘I wonder if he’ll have a mark here’.

She refused to believe that her soulmate was dead, despite what the heart on her wrist said. She didn’t have visions of him. Instead, in her dreams, vague feelings struck her, bringing her hope, comfort, and a feeling so warm and exhilarating she could only describe it as love. She had a vague idea of what he might look like. Tall, she thought. With honey-blonde hair.

He was peppered with scars. He had to be. The colorful marks she still regularly found herself sporting confirmed it. Maybe he’d been ill as a child, or an infant, and maybe the universe had been wrong to mark her heart as greyed instead of full of life. Maybe he lived in a horrible place, around horrible people who hurt him constantly. Maybe his heart was beating, just broken. Metaphorically dead instead of literally.

All Mary-Alice knew was that her soulmate was out there, and that she would one day find him.

————————————

The day they buried her mother, Mary-Alice’s mind was far away.

She couldn’t think about anything except for whoever had Lillian’s matching heart. It was surely as black as her own, now.

————————————

Her first night in the hospital, Mary-Alice laid on her cot, eyes swollen shut from crying, throat raw from the screaming she’d done over the past few days.

The nights morphed into days, and together they formed weeks, and then months.

The treatments grew stronger until Mary-Alice knew that she wouldn’t be herself soon enough.

During one of the last night’s she was lucid enough to recall who she was, she contemplated digging words into her skin. If her soulmate also received marks whenever Mary-Alice was injured, maybe she could send him a message.

That night with a sharpened fingernail she carved the words ‘HELP ME’ into her thigh.

The next day they increased the intensity of her treatment.

The following day she forgot who Mary-Alice was.

————————————

Wandering rainy streets wasn’t something Jasper enjoyed making a habit of. After all, humans stared far more when a person looked out of place.

He wiggled his toes uncomfortably in the shoes he’d recently acquired and ducked beneath the awning of a closed down marketplace. It was Sunday and the humans had all made their way back from their services to their homes. The occasional automobile would roll through the streets but besides that, the area was quite empty.

It was something that didn’t bode well for Jasper. He knew it was wiser to wait until the night to feed, but he was so thirsty that he knew he would have to seek out a hobo sooner than nightfall before his self-control gave way.

A young couple ran past him, their shoes splashing through the pooled water on the sidewalks as they laughed, enjoying being caught in the sudden rainstorm.

Their scent wafted toward him, causing Jasper to take two steps toward them, entirely unintentional. It was when his eyes caught sight of their hands, joined tightly and swinging as they moved, that he was able to pull himself together and grind his feet to a halt.

Two matching white hearts stared back at him, and Jasper felt his chest ache.

On a list of regrets so long Jasper didn’t realistically have the time to even pen such a thing, disregarding the presence of his soulmate had slowly worked its way directly to the top.

It wasn’t something he’d given any thought to when his soulmate had been alive. And it wasn’t until years after that they he gave them a singular thought.

The night Maria had changed four newborns just west of Corpus Christi, Peter’s red heart had turned black. Jasper had been frustrated at the man’s distress for hours, abandoning his partner to the outskirts of town just to escape his emotional state.

When he returned that night, Peter had covered his mark with a torn piece of cloth.

It wasn’t until almost a year later, when he was slated to send Charlotte, a tiny, weak recruit, off to the pyres when Peter interfered.

“Look,” the blonde man had forced his wrist into his line of sight, Jasper smacking it away instantly with a glare. “It’s her, Major. You can’t do it.”

It had taken Jasper a few seconds for the meaning of everything to sink fully into his brain. Soulmate. Peter had had a soulmate. And she had died. But really, she had been turned. And it was his job now to kill her.

“Go,” Jasper spat quickly, not giving himself enough time to think about what he was doing. All he knew was that if the pair didn’t take his advice in the next five seconds, his hand would be forced and he’d have to kill them both.

He didn’t see them again until years later when Peter came back, pleading with him to follow.

And with his red-turned-black-turned-white heart impossible to ignore, Jasper followed Peter, and didn’t look back

Except, of course, to think about his own soulmate.

Peter and Charlotte had been almost eagerly supportive. After all, if they could find one another in their strange little immortal afterlife, what was to say that Jasper wouldn’t find his soulmate? They dragged him from city to city for a few years, and at first Jasper wanted to believe them. Of course, the idea of seeking out others of their kind was an asinine one—Jasper was sick of killing—but discovering that the north knew peace was almost too good to be true sometimes.

He’d last seen them four years ago. He’d grown weary. And their undying belief that he’d still find his person eventually made him miserable. In addition to the terror that haunted him with every hunt, Jasper had been barely holding onto whatever was left of his sanity for a long time now.

During his solitude he thought hard about his human life, wracking his brain for any information he could recall about soulmates, but he found himself coming up short. He couldn’t remember his parents names and faces, let alone whether they’d been soulmates or not. The only thing he was sure of was that he’d been born without a soul mark, given one around the turn of the twentieth century, and then soon after it had blackened.

Lifting his eyes, neon lights across the street earned his attention. It was a diner. Tiny, not-very-occupied. And with a quick decision he realized he could hide out in there until it emptied a bit more—and when the rain let up, he was sure that it would—he could help himself to a meal, and move on from this town.

He took one step into the street, pushing all errant thoughts of soulmates and soul marks straight from his head.

It would do him no good to think of things so hopeless.

————————————

In a small diner in 1948, in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, Alice found Jasper, Jasper found hope, and two black hearts turned white.

[erin-bo-berin]

Darkest Storms & Brightest Rainbows (Part 2)

MASTERLIST

Part 1

Part 3

Hard Love (unofficial Part 4)

Since I couldn’t leave y’all hanging for too long, here is part 2 of my Spencer/Reader/Cat fic. This is where things kind of go in a different direction from the show, but I thought it would be a nice twist than what we know from the show. This takes place over about a year so that’s why there’s so many skips in time. But in this part, there’s some answered questions from the first part...only to be replaced with more unanswered questions and perhaps another cliffhanger. Happy reading!

Spencer Reid/Reader

Word Count: 4,168

Rating: G (some angst, some fluff)

Grief is a strange thing.

Some people grieve quietly, away from the public. Others, dive into work or another activity to keep their mind busy as they try to place that grief into something else. Occasionally, people skip grief and go straight to anger, questioning the world why they lost their loved one; but in most cases one grieves normally, keeping the person alive in their memories as the pain fades and becomes easier to live with.

But sometimes, grief can consume you. It can completely engulf your entire body, feeling like every cell of your being has been replaced with sorrow. The world doesn’t seem real as the only world you inhabit is the one inside you, filled with despair and sadness. No one could ever be able to describe it, no one could truly know how awful it feels.

You had never felt such a horrible feeling. At least not until now.

•

It was less than a week later that Spencer’s funeral was held. The amount of people that had shown up was astounding, not that you could blame them. Spencer truly was one of a kind; not only great at his work, but a wonderful person.

You couldn’t help but think the sea of black that surrounded his casket was a metaphor for your current emotional state. The world felt dulled by your pain. 

With nowhere else to go, you were forced to stay at Spencer’s apartment, a blessing and a curse in one.

The dark green walls, the deep brown furniture, the living room filled with shelves and shelves of his books were both comforting and painful at the same time. You couldn’t help but notice just how quiet the entire place felt without him to fill the atmosphere with his knowledge and loving nature.

Almost immediately after the funeral, you took to staying in bed. The deep brown sheets still smelled like him and you didn’t want to leave. You just wanted to stay in this little bubble forever.

•

 The scenery was filled with busy streets, people walking by on the sidewalk and cars and buses zooming past on the street.

He sat at an outdoor table of the small café, sipping his coffee, awaiting his company. It wasn’t long until he spotted her amongst the crowd of pedestrians, her long blonde ponytail swinging as she walked.

“Hey,” she sat down across from him.

“Coffee?” he offered.

“No thanks.”

She pulled out two manila envelopes, ready to get down to business. 

“In here is the information you need to access both of your bank accounts. One here in Moscow, the other in St. Petersburg. Both have enough in them for you to be comfortable while you lay low.”

“Alright,” he took both envelopes and put them in his bag for safe keeping.

“Are you doing okay?”

“I’ll be fine. How is she?”

She blew out a breath, not sure she could tell him just how bad it was.

“Not good.”

“Promise me one thing, okay?”

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Take care of her while I’m gone. Please, JJ, that’s all I ask.”

She nodded, moving to stand.

“Be careful, Spence.”

•

It’d been only a month. 30 days since you’d heard the terrible words “Spencer’s gone”.

You couldn’t wrap your mind around the fact that he never made it off the operating table. The bullet had just been too hard to find, there was too much blood, he was crashing too fast.

At least that’s all you could remember being told by the doctors, the numerous members of the BAU and other people you couldn’t remember. It was like the entire experience had been wiped clean from your mind, only bits and pieces of memory flashing here and there.

Your mental health had taken a nosedive. You barely left bed because all you wanted to do was sleep. You ended up losing your job, but you didn’t have enough energy in you to even care. 

You didn’t eat.

You barely managed to get out of bed for a shower. Somehow you stumbled to the shower maybe once a week and that was because your friends made you.

It had been a rotating crew of the team visiting you. 

Mostly it was Penelope, Emily and JJ, but Rossi, Morgan and Tara stopped by a few times too.

Even Hotch showed up.

You could tell just how much your misery bothered him and he, like Morgan, spent his time trying to make things right rather than pay you visits.

Not that you cared all that much.

“We will catch her,” Emily said.

You sat in the middle of the bed, one of the brown sheets in your hand as you played with it, not looking up at your company that was sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Spencer wouldn’t want this for you. He wouldn’t want to see you not able to leave bed, not being able to grieve properly,” she said gently.

“I don’t know what Spencer would want. Cause he’s not here, is he?!” Your lower lip trembled, tears threatening again.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized, brushing away the tears although it did no good since they were falling faster than you could wipe them away.

“It’s okay, I understand.” Emily pulled you into a hug, “We all miss him too.”

She let you cry until you felt completely drained of tears. With all the crying you’d done, you were amazed there were still tears left to shed.

“Have you eaten anything today?” She pulled back, looking at your face.

“I tried to eat some toast this morning, but I threw it up.”

“It’s probably because you haven’t eaten much,” Emily answered, “Do you want me to get you something? We could order a pizza?”

You shake your head, your stomach rolling at the thought of it.

“Thank you, but no.”

When Emily left ten minutes later, you crawled back into bed, shutting your eyes, willing sleep to come and rob you of your memories.

•

“We should tell her.”

“Garcia, no. You know that Hotch advised against it,” Morgan said.

“But she’s miserable,” Emily added.

“Guys, Spencer made us promise we wouldn’t tell her. It’s safer that way. If she knows he’s alive, Cat could come after her to get to him. That’s the last thing he wants,” JJ said.

“I was just over there last night and took her some food. I thought she was going to puke just looking at it. It’s like she’s wasting away to nothing,” Penelope frowned, “Literally and figuratively.”

“Reid was basically all she had, other than us. With no family left, we’re all she has,” Rossi jumped in.

“That’s why we’re not going to give up on her, okay? Or finding Cat,” JJ said, looking around at the other teammates, “We’re going to find this bitch if it’s the last thing we do.”

•

The next time you had company, you were too busy with your head in the toilet to hear anyone let themselves in.

“Oh my goodness, honey.”

You hear the distant voice of Penelope Garcia as she rushed into the bathroom, kneeling to rub your back as you retched again.

“Did you eat something bad?”

“I haven’t eaten anything for 48 hours. I’m amazed there’s anything left in me to throw up,” you groaned.

“How about I make you some of my infamous Garcia chicken noodle soup?”

You nodded, even though your appetite was nearly nonexistent and let her assist you back to the bedroom.

“You look horrible,” Garcia winced, “Sounds like you’ve caught a nasty bug.”

You pulled the sheets up over you as you laid back down.

“Tell me about it. All I want to do is sleep but I can’t for throwing up. Plus I guess I’m starting my period cause my boobs hurt like hell.”

“Oh that’s the wor-” she paused mid sentence and you look up at her, waiting for her to continue.

“I’ll be back in a little bit okay? You just rest and I’ll get that soup started.”

She dashed out of the room and you peered after her, too exhausted to question what was wrong. Soon after, you drifted off.

-

“JJ, Y/N’s throwing up, exhausted and her boobs hurt doesn’t that sound just like…?”

Penelope was pacing the length of the kitchen, which wasn’t very big to begin with, as she talked to JJ on her phone.

“Yeah, it does,” JJ agreed.

“Should I ask her or?”

“Give me an hour to grab Emily and we’ll be there.”

•

“Y/N?”

In your dream, you woke to Spencer shaking you gently, smiling sweetly down at you. Your heart swelled with love for him, just looking up at him. You reached out to touch him, when he called your name again. Only it wasn’t coming from him this time.

“Y/N? Y/N?”

You felt a gentle shake of your shoulder and your eyes opened to see JJ, Emily and Penelope surrounding you. You sat up, rubbing your eyes, confused.

“What’s going on?”

“Garcia called and told us you’ve been pretty sick lately,” Emily said, “I remember you said you were sick the last time I visited. How long have you been throwing up?”

You shrugged, “It’s been off and on for a few weeks. Why?”

The three exchanged a look before turning back to you.

“When was your last period?” JJ questioned.

“Oh, uh,” you stopped to think, realizing you’d been so consumed with grief you hadn’t even registered the absence of your monthly cycle.

“About two months before the hitmen case.” Your eyes widened at the realization.

That was over 3 months ago now. Then, you’d just assumed it was stress making you skip your periods.

“Could you be pregnant?” Garcia gasped, trying hard to suppress her grin.

“I...I don’t know,” you answered truthfully.

You couldn’t remember the last time you and Spencer had been intimate. The last few months of his life had been so busy, filled with cases that usually it was just a matter of being together when you had a spare moment.

“Don’t worry. That’s why we brought these.”

JJ held up a bag with three different pregnancy tests.

“One for each of us to check,” Emily added.

“Now why don’t you go take these and go take a shower. We can check them after you get out,” Garcia said.

You nodded, obeying their orders. 

After a quick shower, you stood in fresh clothes, your hair still dripping wet. The three women stood looking at the pregnancy tests you’d taken and left out.

“Well?” you asked, biting your thumbnail.

“Positive,” JJ answered.

Emily looked up from hers, “Positive.”

“Positive!” Garcia squeaked, bouncing on her feet.

You felt your mouth drop in utter surprise and wonder, your heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks.

“I’m...pregnant?” you whispered, tears forming in your eyes, a small smile on your face.

“You’re pregnant!” Garcia squealed, rushing over to hug you, the other two joining in on the group hug.

For once, your tears were tears of joy. There was a part of Spencer that would always live on through this baby.

You had a reason to live again; a tiny, growing reason, but a reason nonetheless.

•

The following weeks were less than desirable in your opinion.

After being forced to visit the hospital by your friends and having an examination by Derek’s fiancé Savannah, you discovered that you were severely dehydrated from your weeks of grieving.

You couldn’t help but feel guilty knowing you’d deprived your little one of the food and nutrients it needed to grow. Savannah—who happened to be close to delivering her and Morgan’s first child—had assured you that after some fluids from a couple of IVs you would be fine. All you had to do from here was to continue to eat properly and take your prenatals and the little one would be just fine.

“This is what you get to look forward to,” she’d  chuckled, rubbing a hand over her round 35 week pregnant belly.

You had found out that you were 12 weeks along, just a week shy of your second trimester. Unfortunately, you had still experienced morning sickness all day long and still only looked bloated, not pregnant.

But time passed quickly.

Four months turned into six. Six turned into eight. There were many changes that happened around you besides the growing human inside of you.

The search for Cat continued, the team working their asses off to find her, but with no luck nor leads.

Changes to the team happened too.

Derek Morgan retired from the FBI, wanting to be with his now wife, Savannah and his little boy Hank. You’d sent him off tearfully. He was one of Spencer’s best friends, one that you had become close with too over the years, but you knew he was going to be the best dad.

A new member joined in his place, Luke Alvez. He had been familiar with Spencer as well and the team welcomed him into the family, as did you. 

Then Hotch decided his time with the FBI was coming to an end. After a particularly grueling case, he put in his resignation paperwork. He was happy to be a more involved father to his almost teenaged aged son, Jack. You wished him all the best, knowing he was going to have the time of his life with more time for Jack, even though it was hard to see him go.

Emily stepped up as the new unit chief and brought in agent Matt Simmons, another agent you were familiar with. A tall, handsome, hardworking sweetheart, you were glad to welcome him to the team as well.

The changes within you were just as extreme as the ones around you.

Your belly grew bigger, your little one stronger. You felt kicks and movement daily now, each move warming your heart, although you couldn’t help but wish quite often that Spencer was around to witness this. He would be so in love with this baby, you were sure of it.

You struggled with the decision to find out the sex of the baby. With a vote between you and your friends, it was a unanimous vote for yes.

Mere weeks after the discovery of your pregnancy you found out you were carrying a precious baby girl. You were completely overjoyed, as was the entire team. You couldn’t help but feel grateful for the team of people that would be loving extended members of the family and of course, babysitters. Occasionally though, the melancholy feeling would creep back into your subconscious.

Spencer would’ve been over the moon knowing he was going to have a little girl. He would’ve spoiled her so much and she would have him wrapped around her little finger. You missed him daily, even though a part of him grew in your belly. You couldn’t help but be sad for your little girl who would never have the chance to meet her amazing father.

It was then after many weeks of contemplating a name, that the perfect one came to you. You decided to keep it a secret until she was born, much to the team’s dismay, but you wanted it to be a surprise. In your heart though, you knew it was the perfect name for her. 

-

Your ninth month of pregnancy had finally arrived as did the other symptoms of your final trimester. You were tired, achy and felt like you’d swallowed a watermelon. You were so ready to get this baby out.

As if overnight, Spencer’s apartment had been filled with baby things in preparation for her arrival. Her crib was in the spare bedroom, although she wasn’t going to leave your side for the first few months, hence the bassinet next to the bed in the bedroom.

Bottles were lined up in the kitchen, boxes of diapers sitting in the living room. You couldn’t believe it was almost time to meet her; secretly you hoped that she took after her daddy, both in looks and personality.

“How are we feeling today, mama?” JJ asked when you met her and Garcia for your weekly lunch.

“Like a huge, swollen basketball,” you laughed.

“Hey princess, auntie Penelope can’t wait to meet you,” Garcia rubbed your belly, making you grin.

“Maybe you need to give her more pep talks because I’m so ready for her to get out,” you groaned, “And to see my feet again.”

“Henry and Michael are so excited for her to be born,” JJ chuckled, “I’m going to have to tell them to be gentle with her though, they’re not used to little girls.”

You grinned. You loved JJ’s two boys. Spencer had been their godfather, so you’d kind of become an auntie to them. She often brought them to visit you when you were still grieving Spencer’s death and they were the only ones who could bring a smile to your face during your darkest period.

After you’d found out you were pregnant and started rebuilding your life again, you often volunteered to babysit them. Other than your little girl, they were the ones who motivated you to begin healing and getting stronger. 

They got more excited the bigger your belly grew. Henry, the oldest would often try to explain to his younger brother Michael that babies came from mommy’s tummies. He also told him that there came a point when mommy and daddy loved them so much that there was no room left for the baby in the mommy’s belly. So, the baby had to come out in order to get the rest of that love. It warmed your heart knowing that one day, your child would be this big and this smart.

You were so thankful for them and for the entire team in general for pulling you out of the hole of despair you’d been in for you might not be sitting here right now.

When you’d ordered, the three of you sat and chatted about their current cases and baby stuff until you felt a slight trickle down your leg. With a glance under the table, you realized your pants were soaked. For a moment, you thought you’d peed yourself.

You groaned, expressing your concern. Even though that was just a symptom of pregnancy, it wasn’t any less embarrassing.

But the flow of the trickle became heavier. When JJ came around the table to assess the situation, her eyes widened, taking in your now soaked seat.

“I think your water just broke.”

A flurry of activity followed.

-

18 hours of labor and nearly 2 hours of pushing later, you were holding your daughter, staring at her in amazement.

Her tiny fist was holding onto your finger and you smiled down at her, tears blurring your vision. It was early yet, but you thought she looked just like Spencer.

She had a head of brown hair, his eye shape and his mouth, but your nose; although it looked much cuter on her.

“She’s so cute,” Garcia cooed at her, stroking her cheek.

“Spence would be so happy, Y/N,” JJ said.

You smiled up at them. They’d been the ones you’d requested to be in the delivery room and they’d been amazing helping you through the rough labor.

“Can I hold her?” 

“Of course,” you smiled, handing her to Penelope.

“Me next,” JJ smiled, holding her little hand.

“So are you gonna tell us her name now or what?” Garcia urged.

“Yes,” you smiled, “I thought it would be appropriate for her to always have a part of her daddy with her. So I decided to name her Spensa. Spensa Rose Reid.”

“That’s beautiful,” JJ breathed, looking down at her, “Hello, Spensa. You look just like your daddy.”

•

Adjusting to being a single mother was difficult, but so rewarding. It helped a ton that you had so many willing helping hands, as well.

Spensa was such a laid back baby and loved to be sociable, even at five months old. She truly was the light of your life.

You loved watching her grow and learn new things, from rolling over to waving and clapping her hands. She babbled a lot as well nowadays.

Her dark head of hair had lightened to a lighter shade of brown and was just starting to curl at the ends. Her blue eyes surprisingly hadn’t turned dark yet and she still looked so much like Spencer.

She had the little dimples in the side of her cheeks that only showed up when she made specific expressions and she liked to scrunch her nose occasionally, just like daddy. It was almost hard to tell that she was yours, but you didn’t mind one bit.

She was the sweetest baby and you fell in love with her more every day.

As to be expected, the entire team fell head over heels for her and often took turns visiting when they had time. Sometimes, you even took her to the BAU to visit all her aunts and uncles.

You often talked to her about Spencer, even though you knew she was too young to understand. It was amazing how the knowledge of her had eased so much of the grief you had felt those first few months. You still longed for him, missed him so much, but in a way he was alive and with you within Spensa.

It was nearing her bedtime one night and you were rocking her in the chair next to the crib.

“Do you want to hear another bedtime story about daddy?”

She baby talked in response, playing with her toy giraffe.

“Well, your daddy was the bravest man I know. He was so passionate about his work and he was good at it too. He was sweet as you are, ladybug.”

You tickled her stomach, smiling at her giggles.

She laid back in your arms, still playing with the toy in her arms, her gaze on you.

“He cared so much about the people he loved. He would have loved you too munchkin. He loved kids so much and he wanted his own some day. I wish he could be here to see you.”

The tears choked you and you wiped a hand over your face as they fell. Spensa started fussing as if she could sense your sadness.

“It’s okay baby,” you repositioned her on your lap, reaching for the frame of you and Spencer on her dresser.

“You wanna say goodnight to daddy?”

Spensa babbled to the picture, putting her hand on it. 

It might have seemed silly to do such a thing every night, but you never wanted her to not know who Spencer was.

You kissed the top of her head.

“I love you, Spensa.”

•

In Moscow, it was a pretty standard day for Spencer. 

He had managed to set a pretty strict schedule in his time here. It had been nearly a year and he had gotten used to life in Moscow. He still worried daily about his girlfriend though, worrying for your safety.

It was Thursday evening, the usual time he went to the market, yet when he returned to his place, something felt off.

On the entrance table, there was a lone red rose and a note. His eyes scanned over the note.

Roses are red

Violets are blue 

I have a surprise

And a secret too

Love,

Cat

He automatically reached for his gun that he carried at all times, just underneath his pant leg, in an ankle holster.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” came the taunting, familiar voice from behind him.

He turned around to face the living room and saw Cat sitting in one of the arm chairs, her gun on the arm.

“Spencie,” she grinned, “Miss me?”

•

It was just after nine. Spensa had just been put down again after her 8 o’clock feeding and you were attempting to rinse some dishes off before you headed to bed.

The tv played in the living room and you turned, confused when you no longer heard any sound coming from it. You shrugged it off, chalking it up to a possible power outage.

You returned to the dirty dishes, the clinking plates masking the noise of the sliding porch door clicking shut. A creak from behind you made you freeze in place. You glanced up, a figure approaching behind you clear in the reflection of the window. 

Before you even had the chance to cry out, something hard struck the back of your head and everything went black.

•

You groaned, your head pounding. You reached up to rub the sore spot, wincing as you try to sit up. It was bright behind your eyes and you fought to slowly open them, blinking a few times until your surroundings come in to focus.

That’s when you saw them.

Across the room stood your dead boyfriend, lips locked with none other than Cat Adams.

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[petalsmooth]

Two choices

You can presume RAS & Ted are playing off the fans by taking opposite sides of the coin deliberately. Or little Teddy has ventured off the farm seeking flattery to take the edge off the complete dud he orchestrated. I lean toward the latter.

I choose to believe RAS is not playing his version of good cop because he lives to troll. He enjoys making fans miserable. He spent a month trolling the fans. He allowed his entire staff to belittle Bughead fans. He was an absolute cretin. Then the musical nosedives and right before the following show is to air suddenly a flood of Bughead stills is released and has all hands (minus Cole) on deck to promote the show. Ever since then he has been quieter about trolling Bughead fans, as have most of his people aside from of course Ted. 

When finale airs he has an interview released where he can’t run fast enough away from idea Betty wants Archie or that this is anything but one-sided for Archie. Since when does RAS shut down hard triangle speculation? He feeds off of it. He was desperate to get the word out to Riverdale fans before they left for summer that Bughead drama was going to be school NOT Archie.

Do I think he suddenly has seen the error of his ways? No, but I do think he got leaned on by the network/someone above him after this mess they crafted and I do think might see changes to what was initially planned for season 5. 

As for Ted, granted I’m reading between the lines, but he sounds like a guy who wants to do one thing and got recently shut down due to the fallout of his little brain child. Because this is not a guy who sounds like he buys into protecting the characters and ditching the musical bed concept. I can practically hear that line of not taking the characters down a road they can’t return from being recited to him in a meeting as a warning. I just don’t know who it was who said it. The tone is very different than the voice heard laughing about breaking everyone up. 

That they are scrambling to reset is telling of itself because they have been away from the set for awhile due to COVID. They have had plenty of time to decide how to address the story but NOW everything is up In the air including a time jump being re-evaluated? What ever could have happened to change your mind in the last 2 months from a course you were so committed to except perhaps having this whole cheating arc blowing up in your face, not winning you new fans, and jeopardizing ones you still had? Forget the ratings. I’d love to know the data/feedback they received following these episodes because the tracking must have been fairly negative to cause this second guessing.

[afterspark-podcast]

My Little Pony/Transformers: Friendship in Disguise, Part 1 Transcript

[This can also be found on AO3!]

[Stinger]

O: So I'm like, “No, I'm just fine with pretending this never happened, honestly.”

[Intro Music]

O: Welcome to our April Fool’s Special!

S: The Transformers/My Little Pony: Friendship in Disguise crossover.

O: Specifically, issues 1 and 2 here.  An episode covering issues 3 and 4 will be released in a few weeks.�� Um, so obviously our podcast doesn't normally talk about ponies.

S: For all that it too was a popular Hasbro franchise in the 80’s- I mean, still is.

O: Yes.  I will attempt to give a short blip about My Little Pony characters that show up, but we're gonna kind of assume that you know the mane six.  Which is Twilight Sparkle, Fluttershy, Rarity, Applejack, Rainbow Dash, and Pinkie Pie.  Ah, Specs has seen some of the My Little Pony episodes, whereas I have seen... all of it at this point.  Um, so I'm reasonably familiar with most of the characters.  And uh, for the record, Twilight Sparkle is my favorite, but that's because she's basically me. [laughs]

S: This was a crossover comic that was released in 2020 (for your information).

O: Uh, most of the Transformers characters in here are part of kind of the regular G1 cast that you're all probably used to seeing in various things.  Most of them we've talked about.  There's a few we haven't um, because they just haven't popped up in the series yet.  [Like Arcee.]  The exceptions being Gauge who's from IDW2, and Windblade who's from IDW1, Cyberverse, and several other things.

S: Mm-hm.  They did some fun things with the fonts and some of the other visuals in this.

O: Such as using the Transformers font for ‘Equestria’ and the My Little Pony font for ‘Cybertron’.

S: Mm-hm.  And the character’s speech bubbles use the fonts from their respective series.

O: Some of the issues are done by who I think is the current artist for the My Little Pony comic series.  While the rest are done by Transformers comic artists- like, plural, several of them.

S: And with that we begin.

O: Part 1: Transformation Is Magic!

S: In Equestria, a pony by the name of Quibble Pants is standing in front of a newsstand complaining about some very applicable meta issues.

O: Quibble's a side character.  His whole shtick is that he picks apart plot and whatnot.

S: He's a bit of a nitpicker.

O: The newsstand pony tells Quibble (and by extension us) that this is all for fun.  So don't worry too much about continuity here, guys.

S: Mm-hm, a loud clap of thunder transitions us to a nearby mountaintop where Queen Chrysalis is up to nefarious plots

O: She [Chrysalis] is villain.  She is the queen of the changelings.  She can transform into different creatures, basically, or different ponies.  I think, judging by some of the background characters in some scenes later, that this is after she's lost control of most of the other changelings?  Though she does have a small group working with her here.

S: She plans to bring forth other changelings from other worlds to take over Equestria.

O: I'm sure you can see where- where this is going. [laughs]

S: Mm-hm, and now, on cybertron.

O: The Autobots and Decepticons are fighting, shocker.

S: The Decepticons are clearly trying to take control of a malfunctioning space bridge.

O: A space bridge that Shockwave is convinced is breaching other dimensions.

S: Suddenly, all of the Autobots and Decepticons are zapped away through a portal.

O: Leaving only poor Grimlock to smash into view a few seconds later... thinking they have all ditched him.

S: Poor Grimlock.

O: Poor Grimlock. [laughs]

S: Back in Equestria, Twilight shows up with several royal guards to stop Chrysalis but it's too late and a portal opens, sending the Cybertronians zooming past through the air.

O: Twilight is horrified to see that Chrysalis has summoned living things that are about to go ‘splat’ onto the ground, or more likely ‘crunch’! [laughs]

S: Or possibly clank, if someone slows them down-

O: [laughs]

S: But I mean, who knows?  Twilight speeds off to try and save the newly arrived Cybertronians.  While Chrysalis stays behind to acquaint herself with Megatron.

O: Bee is both surprised and resigned to see himself falling to a colorful death.

S: But Optimus grabs Bee's hand, and intends to break his fall with his own body.

O: Optimus, are you okay?  Do you need to talk?  I feel like you need to talk.  We need- we need to get you into therapy, dude.

S: It's all the self-sacrificing, but yes.

O: [laughs]

S: Yes, he needs some therapy.  The two are saved by Twilight’s a very timely arrival and magical powers.

O: The Cybertronians are just as surprised by the ponies, as the ponies are of them.

S: Bee attempts to blend in by transforming into vehicle mode, to Twilight's consternation.  But Twilight says that doesn't really help him blend in, but it's okay if they're different!

O: She comments on their ‘shape-shifting magic’ and that Chrysalis will be disappointed that they're friendly.

S: To which Optimus says... unfortunately, they are not all friendly.

O: And then we are given the most amazing image. [laughs]

S: Queen Chrysalis, as happy as a kid in a candy store, on top of a tank, aka Megatron.

O: Seriously, it's one of the best images in the comic. [dissolves into laughter] And one that was shared I think, pretty frequently after the comic came out?  So it's very funny.

S: Mm-hm.

O: And we begin part 2 of issue 1: Shine Like A Diamond.

S: Rarity and her staff at her Manehattan boutique have been volun-told to get Starscream all dolled up for his coronation.

O: You know, the outfit he's in in the G1 movie, the purple cape and the crown get up.

S: Rarity attempts to calm him down, because he is being a snippy asshole during all of this.

O: Yes, with vague, implied threats throughout.

S: Mm-hm, so Rarity says, “Happy, healthy subjects show just how good their king is, don't they?”

O: A car is heard in the distance, much to Starscream's surprise, as he didn't think the ponies had cars.  Which, he is correct!

S: Mm-hm, Arcee barrels into him with a flying kick.

O: And Starscream retreats.

S: Leaving Arcee and Rarity to introduce themselves.

O: They seem to become fast friends as Rarity thanks Arcee, and Arcee tries to help clean up the mess Starscream has made.

S: Unfortunately, Starscream returns with the rest of his trine in tow.

O: Arcee intends to fight them alone, but Rarity generates a magic shield to help protect Arcee while she fires on the jets.

S: Thundercracker takes a direct hit, while Starscream and Skywarp are herded closer together by Arcee's fire.

O: Once they're close enough, Rarity uses her magic to wrap the fabric from Starscream's cape, that she was helping make earlier, around the two of them.

S: Skywarp says, “This is stupid!  I'm out,” and teleports away.

O: Leaving Starscream to nosedive to the ground with a boom.

S: Arcee compliments an exhausted Rarity on her help.

O: While they both agree they would do anything for their friends, and for each other!  Now, you may notice that none of the My Little Pony characters have been shown in the Transformers universe, but that is about to change.

S: In issue 2, part 1: Inspiring.

O: It would seem that Twilight's assistant, Spike (the dragon) is wandering around the Ark writing a letter to Twilight.

S: Of course, with Grimlock being the only one left behind, he's presumably found Spike and brought him to the Ark.

O: Spike is of course very enamored with the big old Dinobot.

S: And Grimlock seems to like Spike quite a bit too.  Even holding him in his open palm while they get an alert from Teletraan about an attack.

O: Said attack, by way of the Constructicons, who have come to destroy the Ark while everyone else is away.

S: Grimlock transforms into dino mode and meets them.

O: Grimlock makes the mistake of saying, “Puny Decepticons, even together you no match for Grimlock!”

S: To which, they respond by forming Devastator, and stomping the absolute crap out of him.  “Grimlock and Grimlock's big mouth.”

O: Spike shouts words of encouragement to Grimlock, but quickly sees that the Dinobot is losing.

S: So he thinks, looks at the Ark, comes to a realization, and then runs inside to make his realization happen.

O: Inside, Spike flips through two large books.  ‘Modern Cybertronian For Everyday Conversations’ and ‘Teletraan I For Dummies’.

S: He then climbs onto Teletraan’s console and starts the main engine cycle countdown.

O: Spike yells at Grimlock to get down.

S: Which is, you know, not that hard as Devastator is still stomping on him.

O: Devastator is then blasted by the bit of the Ark that's still sticking out of the ground, causing Devastator to fall to pieces.

S: The Constructicons flee, and Spike checks on Grimlock.  Spike still feels pretty down about himself, because all he did was press some buttons.  But Grimlock says Spike did even more than he did.

O: “Spike learned new language, and operations system in short time!  Spike think of using busted engine as canon!  Spike use pronouns!”

S: Grimlock tells Spike that Spike inspires him, and that he's full of potential.

O: Spike collapses into a happy little puddle of dragon that Grimlock called him, “Inspiring.”  Their friendship is so cute! [laughs]

S: And now it's time for part 2 of issue 2: They Eat Ponies, Don't They?

O: We are brought onto the stage of a cooking show, “Prepping With Pinkie,” hosted by Pinkie Pie.

S: And a special guest, Gauge!

O: And all I can think is- Arcee she still one of her parents in this continuity?  Is Arcee worried about her child!? [laugh]

S: And in the spirit of cultural exchange, Pinkie and Gauge will be sharing some of their favorite recipes in today's program.  I never thought about giant robots having recipes before this, and I didn't want to think about it.

O: [laughs] Pinkie is, of course, making cupcakes.  While Gauge has brought iron filing casserole.

S: Poor Pinkie and ah, several audience members are questioning their decision based on their facial expressions.

O: Pinkie goes to start her cupcakes, but suddenly everything starts shaking.

S:  [singing] Dun, dun, dunnnn!

O: [snorts]

S: A space bridge appears with Shockwave stepping out of it.

O: He has, by his own admission, come to ‘spice things up.’

S: Ah, time for some puns.  Unfortunately, his recipes require a bit more audience participation.

O: Shockwave’s apparently come to discover how much pony it takes to fuel one Decepticon.

S: [sighs]

O: [laughs]

S: He transforms his hands into a grater and a whisk, respectively.

O: Pinkie and Gauge evade him, causing him to demand that they stay still so he can finish his experiments.

S: Oh god, by attempting to whisk them!?

O: [laughs] I know, I know!  I'm not saying it's sane!

S: I know, I mean, I read it too.

O: [laughs]

S: It’s just, now I have vivid mental images of this being attempted and everyone being very…

O: Confused? [laughs]

S: Yes.  Gauge whacks him in the head with a cookie sheet, completely bending it out of shape, and tries to get Pinkie to flee.

O: Pinkie refuses, but in the background the show's audience is running through the exit door- at least part of their audience is running through the exit- exit door.

S: Mm-hm.  Shockwave transforms his hands again, this time to a spork and spatula.  Sporking them to death is not gonna work, dude!

O: Tell him that! [laughs]

S: Mm-hm, again, with the mental images.  Gauge rips off the spork and spatula, sending Shockwave falling backwards, where Pinkie trips him.

O: Pinkie and Gauge grab some frying pans and bean Shockwave's face in between them.

S: Shockwave, thoroughly beaten by a small Cybertronian child and a pony, is kicked back into the space bridge and disappears.

O: The remaining audience claps.

S: And 47 minutes later, the duo tries the other's culinary... contributions.

O: Pinkie declares it as success, though her face implies she didn't enjoy the iron filing casserole.

S: In the background, Gauge is clearly trying to politely spit out the cupcake in a towel. [laughs]

O: And that ends issue 2.  So, join us next time for issues 3 and 4 where we will finish this mini-series.

S: And that just about wraps it up for us today.  Remember to check us out on Tumblr or Pillowfort as Afterspark-Podcast for any additional information, show notes, or links we may have mentioned.  You can also find us on Facebook and Twitter at AftersparkPod (all one word), and various other locations by searching for Afterspark Podcast, such as AO3, iTunes, Spotify, and Youtube, just to name a few.  And feel free to send us questions on Tumblr, Youtube, or AO3.  Till next time, I’m Specs.

O: And I’m Owls!

S: Toodles.

[Outro Music Plays]

[mysterioh]

Saajan Ji Ghar Aaye - Chapter One

Bucky Barnes x Desi!Reader

Synopsis: After a brisk romance in London, Bucky follows you back to your home in Upstate New York where the preparations for your marriage to the son of a family friend are well underway. As the inevitable countdown to your wedding begins, Bucky remains optimistic in his pursuit of your love and your family’s acceptance.

Arranged Marriage/Forbidden Lovers AU

“Saajan Ji ghar aaye” means “your beloved has come to your home”.

Masterlist

I. Koi Mil Gaya

Koi Mil Gaya. Mera Dil Gaya. 

There’s a peculiar charm to airports. The continuous hum of cheerful chatter, luggage wheels rolling softly on shining white tiles, and cell phones ringing create a lively atmosphere. The pungent aroma of coffee beans wafting from cafe stalls brings the comfort and warmth of home to a junction where different parts of the world connect.

It’s late in the afternoon. The sun pours through the large ceiling to floor windows that curve around the place.  Streams of people flow through the terminal building while others sit in the lounge, either excited or bored.

"Oho, Ummi, I'll be fine,"  you groaned on the phone, pulling your carryon as you made your way to the gate. "I've been on a plane before.”

Ummi replies with a snarky remark, but you know she's just worried underneath it.

“Okay, maybe not alone, but how hard can it be? I’ll be fine. Stop worrying,” you replied. Ummi releases a deep sigh and hands the phone over to your father. "Hello? Abbu?" you said, "Hanji, main thik hu. Hanji, hanji, sab kuch meray paas hi hai.”

"Are you sure you'll be okay?"  Abbu asks one last time just to make sure.  

You sigh deeply. "Yes, I promise. I’ll be fine. It's a direct flight to London. I just have to get on the right plane. That's it.”

Unfortunately, your word wasn’t enough for him. He goes on to lecture you about the dangers of the airport with the classic “young girls shouldn’t be traveling alone” spiel.  After hearing the very same lecture for years, reiterated with a new subject matter so many times, it automatically goes through one ear and out the other.

You knew he meant well. He always did. Every step he took had the wellbeing of his family in mind. But sometimes he overdid it; and it was those certain moments that made you cringe.  

Your ears perked up when the PA system spoke overhead. “Passengers for Flight 9B4 to London, please go to Gate 36.”

"Abbu, I’ll talk to you later!” you exclaim. “They're calling my flight. I gotta go. Bye!"  You hang up on him before he can say anything with a mischievous grin. 

You speed walk down the terminal, using the overpass with directions as a guide. Another announcement has you running through the crowds, slightly pushing and whispering sorries as you do. By the time you get to the gate you’re a heaving mess. You give your boarding pass to the gate agent while bending over to catch your breath.

“Made it just in time,” she chirped with an amused smile.

You reply with a breathy laugh, unable to say a word.

Damn, I’m out of shape.

She verifies your boarding pass and hands it back. “Enjoy your flight.”

You thank her before entering the air bridge and into the plane. A gorgeous blond attendant at the door greets you warmly then guides you up the aisle towards the first class seats. You find your seat by the window. Slipping your carryon into the overhead compartment, you take your seat then pull out your phone to message your dad about successfully getting on the plane.

From the corner of your eye, you see a guy lifting his bag to place it in the compartment above. The hem of his shirt hovers just above his waist as he stretches, showing the band of his Calvin Klein boxers and a teaser of what seems to be a very sculpted torso.

You whip your head towards the window, embarrassed by yourself for looking at him.  You hear the seat next to you dip and groan inwardly. You give him a side glance as he rustles through his backpack for something.

His side profile is gorgeous. Short, fluffy brown locks just begging your fingers to run through them. A perfectly straight nose and a sculpted jaw.

A phone notification forces you to look away. It's a message from Abbu wishing you safe travels. A grin spreads on your face.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome onboard Flight 9B4 with service from New York to London," the head attendant announces.

"Mind if I squeeze this right here?" he says, already pushing his bag between your legs and his.

I mean you already did?

"Yeah, that's fine," you reply.

"Thanks," he grins.

"We ask that you please fasten your seatbelts at this time and please turn off all electronic devices, including laptops and cellphones," the attendant drolls. "Thank you for choosing British Airways. Enjoy your flight."

You listen to her directions and securely strap yourself in. You take a deep breath and relax into your seat as the plane begins to move.

"Nervous?"

You turn over to find the guy looking at you with a goofy smile.

"No," you replied, a bit harsher than you intended to.  

"I was just asking," he chuckles. "I'm nervous."

"First time?" You asked.

"No," he denied with a shake of the head. "I always get nervous. You never know what can happen y'know? Like what if the engine bursts when we're over the ocean? We're all fucking screwed."

He had a point and it was a plausible fear, but what decent human being would actually come out and say it while the plane was taking off?

You look at him completely dumbfounded.

"Didn't mean to scare you."

Your lips contort into a pout. "I'm not afraid."

He shrugs. "Looks like you are."

"Well, I'm not," you affirm.

"Alright, so when the plane takes a nosedive into the ocean, I'll count on you to save me 'cause I'm going to be scared out of my mind."

"I'm not going to save you," you reply flatly.

"Ouch," he chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners when he does. "Whatever happened to being a Good Samaritan?"

"We'd both die instantly. There's no point in helping."

"Geez, you're depressing."

You fall back into your seat as the plane begins to rise.

"Oh, this is it," he announces with exaggerated excitement.

"Can you please be quiet?"

"Sorry," he whispers apologetically.

You look out the small window, watching the plane lift off the ground and rise into the sky.  Even as the engines rumbled and the ringing in your ears grew irritating, the scenery through the little window made your heart feel at ease. The clouds flowed constantly like sheets that stretched to the horizon.  As the wings sliced through the dense layer, a brilliant evening sun scattered a hazy pink over the clouds, leaving you in awe and admiration. The plane levels and sets on a steady course over the clouds.

You reach down into your handbag and pull out the novel you've been trying to finish.

"Is that the Kite Runner?" he asks.

"It is," you reply with a smile. The first time you've smiled in your short time with him and he has to admit it's a pretty one.

"That's a great book! I finished it in three days."

"Oh wow," you exclaimed, slightly embarrassed that it was taking you weeks. Not your fault though. You were busy.

"Yeah," he sighs, reminiscing a good memory. "I don't read many books, but that one," he points at the book in your hand. "It moved me to tears."

Your hand brushes over the cover. "Yeah, I like it so far. I love how flawed Amir is and how he strives to be better. It's so relatable."

"Yeah, it's so realistic," he replies. "I cried when he found out Hassan died."

"Hassan dies?" You gasped.

From the dumbfounded look on your face, he realizes that he's committed one of the greatest sins. "What? No!" He laughs nervously. "I meant Baba dies."

"Baba dies too?"

"No," he shakes his head. "Nobody dies. They all live—happily. They all live a happy ending."

He can feel a thousand curses shot in his way just by the way you're glaring at him.

"Aha," he laughs awkwardly. "I'll just shut up now."

"Good idea," you mumble.

"Would you two like anything?" The flight attendant asked.

"Uh, yeah I'll have some water," he replies then turns to you. "Do you–"

"No thank you," you replied curtly, opening up your book to where you left off.

Bucky takes the bottle from the attendant with a sheepish smile. He decides not to bother you anymore and pulls out his air pods to listen to some music that would hopefully lull him to sleep. He puts on his slow playlist then shifts into his seat until he feels comfortable. He closes his eyes, allowing the music to relax him and just as his consciousness begins to ebb, a heavy thud on his shoulder brings him back to reality.

He turns to find you fast asleep with your head resting against his shoulder.

Bucky couldn’t stop his lips from stretching into a wide grin. There's just something so intimate about someone —stranger or not— falling asleep on your shoulder that makes your heart flutter. It made his insides flip and a light blush scatter on his cheeks. He sits quietly, making sure not to move too much so he doesn’t wake you.  

Wide awake, he twiddles his thumbs, wondering what to do. He sees the book in your lap and slowly slips it out from underneath your hand. You wouldn't mind if he borrowed it. He flips to the first page and starts to read, delving deep into a distant world that rested in his hands.

As Bucky travels back to 1970’s Afghanistan through the memories of his flawed storyteller, Amir, a brilliant idea pops in his mind.

It's a stretch, but it might just work.

All he needs is a piece of paper and a pen.

"Farhan!" You wave in excitement.

"Y/N!" He shouts back, weaving through the crowd to get to you.

You jump into his arms and give your brother a tight hug.

"I've missed you so much!" you whined, shaking him from side to side.

"I've missed you too," he says, a chuckle coloring his words. You push him back to have a good look at him.

"You look kinda skinny," you comment, "have you been eating?"

Farhan rolls his eyes. "You sound like mom." He takes the suitcase by your side and pulls it along. "Now come on, let's get out of here."

Farhan was your mother's pride and joy. She loved all her children, but she loved him just a little bit more.

He was the trophy child of the family, and as the heir to one of the largest enterprises in the world, he had to be. He was the best in school, the best on the field, and had a magnetic personality that attracted crowds from miles away. If it wasn't his personality that attracted others it was his looks. He was the very definition of tall, dark, and handsome with the most gorgeous hazel eyes that fringed with smooth green under the right light. You can't recall how many times your friends asked if he was single. As if you'd actually give them a chance with your brother.

After graduating from Oxford with an MBA degree, he decided to stay in England and work at the London branch of the company, honing his skills before he took his throne.

Farhan was perfect in every way and your parents wouldn't miss a chance to boast about him. He was the envy of the elite. His name was clear of scandals and only marked with achievement after achievement, raising the family name to soaring heights.

Only problem he had was that he refused to get married. He wouldn't even look at the pictures of girls your mother offered him. When she'd asked him why he didn't want to, he always had the same answer.

"They don't want me, they want my name."

Sometimes, you wished you had his boldness.

"How was the flight?" Farhan asked as he pulled out of the parking lot.

"Good," you replied. You cringe from embarrassment, remembering how you slept on that guy's shoulder the entire flight.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," you turn to look out the window, watching raindrops racing down the side of the window. "It's kind of weird sitting on this side of the car," you laugh.

He chuckles. "It is, but you get used to it after a while. How's the wedding going?"

You exhale deeply while leaning against the window. "I don't know, ask Ummi."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, Ummi does everything. I just sit there and look pretty."

Farhan laughs from his stomach. "Why not tell her to ease back a bit?"

"I don't mind it,” you explained. “Honestly, I'm grateful. I can't plan shit, but I just wished she wouldn't talk about it so much."  

Farhan’s brows crease in confusion. “You’re not getting cold feet are you?”

“N-no!” you stammered. “It just gets me anxious, that’s all.”

He sighs, waiting at the light. “You bring it on yourself, Y/N,”

Your head whips towards him. “And what do you mean by that?”

“You try so hard to please everyone else, that you end up not caring for yourself."

“That’s not true—”

“We both know this wedding is only to please Abbu," he interjects with a sad chuckle. “You’re only marrying Ayan for him.”

You scoffed. “I’m marrying Ayan because I want to," you counter. “He’s sweet and really nice—”

“But do you love him?”

You fall back against the window with a sigh. “Farhan I don't want to talk about this," you mumbled.

"But don't you think you should?" He questions.

“Yeah, Abbu picked Ayan for me. So what about it?" you lectured, waving your hands around. "He's always done what's best for us. So what’s to say he won’t pick the one that’s the best for me?”

“But shouldn’t you be the one who knows what’s best for you? Not Abbu?” he contended, eyes fixated on the street. “You say you’re an independent adult, Y/N, but you’ve never stepped out from underneath his wing. You've never tried anything for yourself, it's always what he wants," he jabbed, hitting you harder than he had intended to.

You retreat to your window in defeat and shame.

“Hey," he whispers, shaking your arm. You don't look at him cause you might just cry; and that's one thing you'd never do in front of him. At least not anymore.

"I’m not trying to make you feel bad, I just worry about you sometimes," he confesses. "I want you to be happy doing what you want to do and not what others want from you."  

You turn just a little to peek over at him with a quaint smile. He smiles back, holding your hand tight. “This is what I want. Really it is. Don't worry."

He laughs in defeat. "Whatever you say, Aloo."

You smack his arm. "Don't call me that!"

You plop onto the bed after unpacking your bags. Farhan had to take a business call, leaving you to your own devices. You scroll through different apps, bored out of your mind and a bit sleepy.

A notification drops down.

Ayan

Have fun on your trip! Call me when you get the time. 😊

Your insides twist at the message and not in the excited, butterflies in your stomach kind of way. It’s more like a dreadful duty that you don’t want to do right now.

You swipe the notification away, promising yourself that you’d call him tomorrow, and decide you should go to sleep. You reach over for your bag on the bedside table to get your phone charger. You pull out the novel you quickly shoved inside before leaving the plane, and notice a paper sticking out at the top of the book. You raise a brow in confusion. You never had any bookmarks, and just folded the corners to save the page. You pulled it out and weren’t expecting a message.

Sorry about spoiling the book. Maybe I can make it up to you? If you’re staying in London, hit me up.  

917 - 569 - 2156

- Bucky

Translations:

“Hanji, main thik hu. Hanji, hanji, sab kuch meray paas hi hai.” - Yes, I’m fine. Yes, Yes, I have everything with me.

Aloo - Potato ( a nickname)

Taglist: @anjali750​ @desibarnes​ @regainedworld​ @saintsebastian-stan​

[mellazella]

no rest for the wicked

steph is just. so tired. and the batboys are so insufferable. just some shenanigans for 4,503 words.

summary: 

steph is a tired college student, just trying to make her way to her bachelor’s degree at least. doing this simultaneously with her nightly vigilantism is difficult and exhausting, but she makes it work dammit. she doesn’t even mind too much that her aforementioned nightly vigilantism comes with strange bat people that she isn’t fully convinced are people. but if one more tights-wearing, creepily-looming bat climbs through her window on her night off to actually complete an essay for once she’s going to make them write the six page essay for her, or so help her.

big big big thank you to @wisdom-walks-alone for being the best beta this girl could ask for!!!

read it on ao3!

Stephanie Brown is having what she likes to call a Shit Day. She’s just tired all around, and when it starts affecting her nightly hobby she starts to rethink her priorities for the first time in—she can’t remember when. Which then causes an existential crisis that she, at the ripe age of 21, should not be going through yet. Her crisis turns into an absolute nosedive of a tailspin when, of all the people in her life, Bruce “I’m Batman” Wayne notices that her help on the case is turning hindrance instead and tells her to take the next few nights off the case.

“It’ll still be there when you come back,” he says.

She may or may not stare at him for five minutes too long, and he may question his stance on asking her to work with them on the Falcone case of the week, but she goes home either way. Steph is not about to look this gift horse in the mouth, even if her entire view on life has shifted a solid eighty degrees to the right in less than two minutes. 

And boy, does she not regret her decision to go home. A full night’s sleep, an actual breakfast that isn’t from a drive-thru on her way to her eight am class that she’s always been perpetually late to, and she is on time to her class for the first time. In all honesty, Steph is living her best life in the first two hours of her day.

And it didn’t stop there: she’s on time to all three classes she has, she’s actually awake for the classes, and her notes are helpful instead of hopeless scribbles of random key words and names of people. She’s feeling like the student she always knew she could be, but was always too tired to be. 

When she gets home after her last class, she takes her time to shower and put on her comfiest pajamas, and make a dinner that isn’t frozen solid. The dinner is on the table, her books are opened and scattered around her, and Steph is feeling that ripe sense of productivity that has eluded her since she started offering the bats her help. With no risk of interruption—surely Bruce knew what a night off was when he offered her to take some—she eats lazily while working on some chemistry problems. 

She abandons the chemistry homework when she’s finished eating, and cleans her plate instead of throwing it in the dishwasher without a care. This productivity shtick ain’t so bad, it at least keeps her apartment cleaner—not clean, but cleaner.

Her planner is propped up against her bag, the day’s assignments actually written down neatly instead of rushed abbreviations that take an hour to decipher, and she gives it a look-over. Steph realizes that with this new downtime she’s been given she can actually get a head start on an essay due in a few days. “Head start” is used loosely, but starting it two days in advance is a new experience for her. She usually rushes the day of due to late nights on the streets and hopes it doesn’t actually look like it was rushed.

Blanket on, pillows fluffed behind her, and laptop fully charged, Steph settles into her couch to start this thematic essay that’s been gnawing at her mind since it was assigned. The introductory paragraph is slow to set up, but she can feel her brain gaining momentum as she puzzles out her argument. Her brow is furrowed and her fingers are flying across the keyboard, with the backspace having the most hits. She’s getting there, she is, her thesis is coming together so nicely and her ideas are flowing freely, she hasn’t felt adrenaline from something other than freefalls in...months? Years? Her fingers stutter and she rereads her thesis. This is such bull—

A knock on her window almost has her sprawled on the floor, and her hands catch her laptop at the last possible second. Her head snaps over to the window and there, in all his black and blue spandexed glory, was Dick Grayson, in his stupid skintight spandex suit and his stupid sheepish but pained grin, bleeding on her fire escape. Which she just cleaned her own blood off of. 

Irritated didn’t cover the slight boiling she could feel in her veins. She gives one last look at her document as she places her laptop on the coffee table, and another knock resounds through her living room.

“Okay! Okay. You win this round, Night-dork.” Steph goes over to her window and opens the hatch, letting the first Boy Wonder climb—more like fall—into her apartment. Her eyes follow his form as he all but crawls to her kitchen’s island, his domino being tossed onto the counter carelessly. She follows slowly, trying not to hate the man before he’s done anything other than exist, and maybe breathe, in her apartment. “Thanks for not bleeding on my carpet, too.”

Dick glances up at her before going back to his search for her first aid kit. “My pleasure, courtesy is my middle name.” His voice is strained, but his demeanor is purposely relaxed.

“Your middle name is John.” She watches him struggle, eyes darting from him at the cabinet above her fridge, where he’s reaching up even though it’s obviously hurting him, to the drawer beside her sink where her first aid kit is tucked away.

“It’s close enough,” he says with a tight shrug. He continues to search through her baking sheets and cooling racks.

Realizing he won’t be leaving that cabinet for a while, Steph sighs and pushes his body to the right drawer. He turns that sheepish-but-pained grin at her again, and she just pushes it away from her with a groan. Dick takes a heavy seat on one of her island’s stools, opening the kit with his non-bloody hand.

“It’s my day off. Do you know what that is?” she asks him, eyeing the needle and thread in his hands with mild interest as he misses the needle’s eye twice before taking it and threading it herself. Exasperation bubbles to the surface, and after Dick starts stitching his side she shuffles away to the couch. That grin seems permanently fixed on his face whenever she looks at him, so she stops looking at him and busies herself with folding the blanket that fell to the floor with her. “It’s this really cool thing where I stay home and not do what I would normally do. Like deal with your blood in my apartment.”

For a brief moment only Steph’s defeated sigh and Dick’s pained breaths are all that can be heard, and then Dick breaks it between stitches. “Yeah, sorry about this.” That grin is facing her and she looks at the blanket like it has a map that will lead her out of this conversation. Hell, out of this entire interaction. “You were the closest safe house, and I had a bit of a...situation.” He gestures to his side meaningfully with his head, as if Steph has no idea what situation he could possibly be referring to. “Hey, can you hand me the scissors?”

Dropping the blanket on the couch, Steph grabs the scissors from the other side of the island and hands them to him. He thanks her softly in that Earnest and Sincere Dick Grayson way, which makes it increasingly hard to be irritated with him, which in itself is irritating. He cuts the thread and ties it off a little sloppily, but effectively. 

“There, all done and no one’s dead.” Dick stands up, grunting only slightly as he does so, and sets everything back in the first aid kit. 

Steph notices that he puts it all in more neatly than it had been to begin with—she’s always in a hurry to get it back in the drawer and get to bed, don’t judge—and begrudgingly takes it when he hands it to her gently. She can feel Dick’s eyes on her as she puts it in its drawer, then she turns to face him, leaning against the drawer as it shuts. “Okay, you’re no longer in danger of dying, and I have an essay to write, so shoo.” She makes a shooing motion with her hands. 

Her weight is fully being supported by her counter and Dick is looking at her with his kicked puppy eyes that make her give in sooner than she would like to admit. Steph slumps down a little more, legs stretched out in front of her and feet flat against the floor. She meets his gaze head on, feeling all the productivity and triumph from the day drain out of her so fast she’s a little dizzy. “What.”

His pout deepens, and she can tell he knows exactly what he’s doing. “I feel bad, Steph.” Dick leans into the stool’s back and flattens his hands on the island’s counter. “I didn’t mean to intrude.” 

And there’s the Dick Grayson Guilt Trip. 

Steph’s eyes trail over to her laptop one last time, the screen gone black from inactivity. She huffs a laugh, because this is her life, and it actually feels more real with a newly-stitched up dude in her kitchen than writing an essay early. For the second time in less than two days she finds herself having a mini crisis, but Dick’s puppy dog eyes snap her back. Steph rolls her eyes, dragging herself to her fridge. “You’re not intruding, Dick.” 

Dick’s grin goes from sheepish to genuine with a touch of triumph, and he leans his body forward against the counter. “Great! So how does a nice midnight snack sound?”

She looks away from the orange juice she’s pulling off the shelf to stare at Dick in distrust. “You aren’t going near my stove, Grayson. I don’t need a small fire to deal with on top of my bloody fire escape.” A glass is taken from the shelf beside the fridge, and as she pours the juice into it she lets herself grin at Dick’s spluttering. 

“I wouldn’t burn your kitchen down this time! I’ve gotten better,” he promises, pointing a red stained finger in her direction. Steph continues to stare at him with that deadpan expression she practiced from Alfred, though she knows hers isn’t half as successful as the stern butler’s. “I’ve been practicing!”

“Well, you can practice somewhere that isn’t my kitchen. I’ll make us pancakes if you stop looking at me like I took Jason’s gun to your favorite suit,” she says, bringing her glass to her lips. 

Dick nods, pointedly looking away from her and over at the laptop on the coffee table, and wisely stays silent for the moment.

Steph whips the batter up as quickly as she can, flour settling on her shirt and the counter despite her careful measuring and whisking. The stack of pancakes towers on her chipped plate, and when the batter runs out she splits them between the two of them. 

They eat in relative silence, until Steph breaks it when she finishes eating, feeling exhaustion seep into her bones. She eyes the clock on her microwave, the green numbers flashing 12:45; her 9:30 class crosses her mind like a neon sign saying go to bed, dumbass. Tense hands rub at her eyes before she pushes her chair back.

 “This has been a lovely, if not bloody, visit,” she says, picking up her plate and stealing Dick’s even though he still had a couple bites left.

“Hey!”

She ignores this maturely, cleaning the plates and feeling satisfaction in her petty revenge. “But it’s getting late and I’m tired. You know the exit.”

Without waiting to make sure he actually leaves, Steph drags herself to her bedroom and kicks the door shut with her foot. In the next moment she’s face down on her bed and passes out when her head hits the duvet.

Surely tomorrow will be better is the last thought that dashes through her sleep-muddled mind.

---

Tomorrow isn’t better. She sleeps through her alarm, and misses her first class. She curses Dick’s name her whole drive to campus while she chugs coffee. She doesn’t even like coffee.

The one class she’s able to make it to sucks the joy of life out of her, and when she tries to heat up the leftovers she brought with her for lunch the microwave went up in flames.

(Yeah, Bruce will be the one getting that bill.)

Steph trudges into her apartment and just as she closes the door she realizes that she still has that essay, and she really doesn’t want to have to do it all on the last day possible. She doesn’t even have a complete introduction paragraph.

So she makes a nice batch of waffles to help lick her wounds, and when she’s full and feeling slightly better she sets forth to spite-finish her essay.

Her essay is actually coming along, one body paragraph finished and her argument set in stone, and she’s feeling that satisfaction building in her gut. A smile is tugging at her lips, and the idea of finishing it early is seeming more plausible. 

But then her window is being slammed open and a small body is shoved through.

Stephanie most definitely does not scream, and she will forever deny it.

Timothy “Pain in Steph’s Ass” Drake climbs in after Damian—who’s becoming increasingly feral by the second—and the laptop is abandoned once again. Unlike last night, Steph has no hopes of getting back to the document and has resigned herself to her fate of finishing it all tomorrow.

Steph eyes the feral child practically vibrating with rage, then looks over at Tim, who appears to be as calm as can be when paired with a murderous child. After shutting the window behind him, Tim gives a little wave, pulling his domino off with the motion. “Hey, honey, I’m home?”

All that satisfaction left her in droves, and she stalks over to her laptop and shuts it with a snap. 

Out of the corner of her eye she can see Tim flinch just barely, and a smidge of satisfaction returns, but it’s quickly taken away when she notices Damian’s glare has settled on her. The sigh that leaves her body is heavy and tired, but she pushes forward and leans against the back of her couch to stare them down nonetheless.

“Tim, babe, what the hell do you want on my night off?” Steph crosses her arms over her chest, resting her chin in one of her palms. She glances over at Damian again but looks away from his piercing green eyes that promise pain. “And why does the bat-brat look ready to put me in a real grave?”

Tim turns to Damian with a grimace, and tries to start explaining, “You’re the only one technically available tonight, so—”

Damian cuts him off sharply. “So you need to help us with this lead so we can leave and attend more pressing matters. After all, crime doesn’t take nights off.”

Tim hides his face in his hands, muffling a groan. “I told you to let me do the talking.”

The smaller boy turns on his heel, his cape fluttering behind him, making him look just like Batman after a scolding for a night gone worse than it should have. “I agreed to nothing of the sort, Drake.” He walks like he’s commanding the room, rummaging through Steph’s fridge as if he has the right. Like he’s Bruce Wayne and could buy her out of house and home. 

(Well, he actually could, in all likelihood.)

Steph doesn’t like the comparison her mind is making, so she interrupts before it can go any further. “I don’t care who does the talking, just give me the info so you can leave faster.”

Tim’s hands run down his face and he looks at Steph pleadingly. “I know it’s your night off, but no one else would answer their comms and we really need an extra pair of eyes on this case. We’re driving ourselves crazy looking at the same clues over and over.”

Steph sighs, and takes in the bags under Tim’s eyes and Damian’s tensed shoulders. She lets out a groan, leaning against the couch back even heavier and getting a sense of deja vu with this feeling of defeat. “Okay.”

Damian scoffs from his place at her fridge before he moves on to browsing through her cabinets. “Of course you will, it’s your duty.”

Tim interrupts before Steph can retaliate with her, arguably, witty and biting remark. “Great, thank you, I love you, please look at the file.”

She begrudgingly takes the folder from her boyfriend’s hand, moving to plop on the couch. Papers are strewn about within seconds, and as Steph scans the information her mind is happy to have something more familiar to focus on. 

It’s quiet aside from pages shuffling and Damian finally finding suitable tea bags, filling her kettle with water. Tim settles down next to her, relaxing for what must be the first time tonight.

“Got stuck with Bruce Jr.? What’d you do to get that sentence?” she asks, eyes not leaving the pages.

Tim scoots in closer. “I was the only one who didn’t have an excuse not to work with him.”

Steph’s pen circles and connects a few sentences, and she hands the paper to Tim. She moves on to the next paper, scanning for pertinent facts, adding more circles and lines. “Dick wouldn’t take him tonight?”

He looks over her shoulder, taking papers as she passes them off and connects the dots she’s connecting. “He’s on medical leave. Stab wound, I think?”

Her pen stops mid-circle before she forces herself to finish the marking. “Yeah, that was a thing.”

“‘That was a thing’?” Tim asks as he leans back, staring at Steph in mild confusion. 

“Yeah, he used my needle and thread last night. Didn’t think it would actually be an issue for him,” she says as calmly as she can, very aware of the unhappy child pouring boiling water a few feet behind them. 

Sensing her forced nonchalance—and glancing back at Damian before looking back at her—he drops it. 

“It’s the bodyguard, he’s the link,” she declares, pushing the papers into the folder and the folder into Tim’s lap. “Good luck, he’s built like a linebacker.”

Damian sniffs derisively, sipping his tea like the snooty brat he was raised to be. “If I had had another half hour—”

“Thanks, you’re the best,” Tim says loudly, giving Damian a look. Damian just huffs and turns back to his tea. Tim gives Steph a kiss on her cheek before standing and putting his domino back on. “Damian, we should get going so we can get some intel before we have to head home.”

Steph jumps up and slides the window open, happy to let the two walking headaches exit her premises. “Yep, you should get going, little demon.”

Damian sneers at her, but finishes his tea and puts his mug in the sink. “Thank you for your hospitality, brat-girl.” He walks past her to the window ledge, sliding out to the fire escape. “The state of your fire escape is appalling.”

“Yeah, whatever bat-brat, go annoy that bodyguard for a while,” she replies, giving him a slight push as she walks by to go put his mug in the dishwasher and avoiding the right hook thrown back at her. She passes Tim and gives him a quick kiss while pointedly ignoring Damian’s age-appropriate hiss of disgust. 

“See you Friday?” Tim asks before he follows Damian out the window.

Steph looks back from the sink, and smiles. “Yep, as always.”

Tim disappears from her fire escape and Steph’s shoulders fall slightly. After the dishwasher is turned on because she’s a responsible adult and chores are her bitch, she falls into bed.

Tomorrow, she thinks, is another day, huh?

---

Steph wakes up to sunlight filtering through her curtains and 11:14 on her alarm clock. The light bugs her into getting up, but she feels rested enough as she stretches her joints. She takes a hot shower, and gets into comfy sweats and a sweater.

Thursdays will be her favorite day for the next two months. No classes make for a relaxed and mostly productive day, if not wonderful for her sanity.

So she takes her time making a nice breakfast of eggs and toast, and after unloading the dishwasher and putting her breakfast dishes into it, she’s feeling happy and productive. Her laptop is open and ready, and she settles in for the long haul to finish this goddamn essay.

She’s working at a steady pace, getting into the zone of writing about themes and connecting ideas and only semi-hating it. The time passes quickly, and she’s halfway to her six page minimum and mentally screaming because she’s gotten this far, she can finish it on time for the first time in years.

It’s when she’s just reached the middle of her fourth page that her window is smashed to pieces, glass littering her floor.

Steph is ready to cry.

But she’s been taught—well, she inferred from a few grunts—to use emotion as a driving force and grabs her slugger from under the couch and swings it at the figure, who is distracted by trying to avoid the shards of glass underfoot. Through his lapse of attention, he doesn’t dodge fast enough.

Jason now has a bruise blooming on his right shoulder blade, his face contorted in pain before twisting into a scowl aimed at Steph. Normally, it would have been effective, and it would have been if Steph wasn’t so angry and stressed. She drops her bat, and it rolls under her coffee table.

“It’s the middle of the fucking day, why the everloving fuck are you running around in your furry suit, you jackass?”

Jason’s scowl deepens, offense written over every inch of his face. He brushes glass off his shoulders, letting the pieces clatter against their kin on the floor. “I am not like the bat-freaks, Brown. I was trying to go undercover in a drug gang’s meeting, but I was found out. I lost them a few blocks back, so I had to move to a safe location before they caught my trail again. I caught sight of one of the guys just as I was climbing up so I was a bit rushed. You were closest, don’t be thinkin’ anything of it, you wouldn’t be my first choice if I had a choice.”

“Oh boy, you sure know how to make a girl feel special, Todd.” She stalks over to the closet in the hall, and when she’s back in front of him she hands him the broom and dustpan.

He takes it and just stares at it for a second before looking back up at her with an eyebrow raised. “You’re kidding me.”

Steph shakes her head. “Nope.”

Jason heaves a sigh, but starts sweeping the glass into a pile. As he cleans his mess, Steph looks over at the microwave clock. 4:06. She curses under her breath, rubbing her eyes for a moment to relieve the headache coming on.

“Did I interrupt something?”

She lowers her hands, crossing her arms, to see Jason looking up at her questioningly. She shrugs with one shoulder, glancing at her laptop. “Only an essay that the universe doesn’t want me to finish on time. No biggie.”

Jason hums lightly with a nod, brushing the glass into the dustpan, but doesn’t say anything more. An idea sparks in Steph’s muddled brain, and she eyes Jason’s hunched form with more interest.

“Hey, Jay, you like literature, right?” A content smile plays on Steph’s lips.

Jason glanced up, but stopped his motion as soon as he caught sight of the cat who ate the canary. “I...dabble.” He hesitates, as if he doesn’t want to finish his thought, but he does anyway. “Why?”

“Well, you see, my dear Jaybird—”

“—Don’t call me that—”

“—this essay is on Persuasion, which I didn’t actually read? Anyway—”

“—didn’t actually read, what the fuck is wrong with you—”

“—I’m writing about the theme of appearances, and my argument is actually kinda strong?”

Jason throws the glass into the trash can, then moves to sit on the couch and grabs her laptop. “All right. Open the doc.”

Steph grins, taking the laptop and doing as he asked. It worked. It was the longest of shots and it fucking worked. He reads what she has and gives honest—and really harsh?—critiques, picking her essay apart.

“Then fix it!” she exclaims, throwing her hands in the air. She can only take so much criticism before it gets on her nerves. “How do I structure it, oh, master writer? If my quotes are so stupid, what quotes would be better?”

Off the top of his head, Jason lists three quotes. And she has to admit it: they fit her argument perfectly. She grumbles as she flips through the book to find the quotes.

As he rambles on about the theme and effective arguments, Steph absentmindedly reflects that this would have been a great punishment if he didn’t look like he was enjoying it so damn much. In fact, it makes her connect school to Jason, and how he was a really good student from what Alfred says.

His borderline monologue is cut off as Steph sits up and looks at him curiously. Jason realizes that she hasn’t been listening and gives her an unamused look. “Really?”

She ignores him. “Why didn’t you go on to college?”

Taken aback by the random question, Jason looks more like a deer in headlights than the terrorizer of Gotham’s crime syndicate. “Uh, because I’m legally dead?”

Steph rolls her eyes. “Please, your dad’s the wealthiest guy in Gotham, he can pull some strings in the right places.” She stops at the angry fire building in his eyes at the mention of Bruce and backtracks like the expert she is. “Or you could literally make a fake identity? You’re a crime lord, you aren’t above fake identities, are you?”

Jason looks lost in thought for a moment, before seamlessly returning to his essay argument-turned-rant as if he hadn’t even stopped. Steph notes the sore subject and actually pays attention this time around, fixing the essay with his help.

---

For the first time in weeks, Steph barges through Jason’s window with a crazed grin on her face.

“Uh, what the fuck are you doing here?” Jason asks from his stove, water boiling beside him.

She doesn’t reply, just walks over to him with a bounce in her step, shoving a stack of papers in his face. The red A is clear as day, and Jason will forever deny the proud grin and high five that overtakes him in that moment.

[crimsonbluemoon]

Working For Love: A Terrormoo Story, 3/17

Look! I did it on a Saturday! Aren’t you proud of me?? Hope you enjoy it!

Previous part

Start from the beginning

Drabble Three

Brock hated Wednesdays. 

Or rather, he felt Wednesdays had it out for him. They were the longest shift of his week, for starters. The weekly team meeting was pointless, the students were always cranky, and somehow mid-term grades always ended up being due on a Wednesday. 

Like today, for example, which was why Brock was showing up at the gym two hours later than normal. It was also the busiest day at the gym, and despite every effort he tried to use to get himself up in the morning to go early, he never managed it. Though there was a light at the end of the tunnel coming up (the school’s spring break started Friday), it didn’t give Brock any extra motivation to haul himself out of his car in order to enter the gym. Even from outside, he could see that the gym was packed. His anxiety about working out around people had waned a bit since the first time he’d mustered the courage to go to the gym, and he’d even been able to exchange small conversation with both Evan and Tyler (on the rare occasion the owner scanned him in). He’d been able to avoid the hot gym guy since his last two ‘run-ins’, over two weeks since he’d seen any hint of him. 

But when Brock entered the gym and caught sight of the handsome employee, he felt the breath evacuate his lungs in a rush. 

“Oh.” The word barely came out as a whisper, eyes glued to the man casually scrolling through his phone at the counter. “Of course. It’s Wednesday.” 

Hump day really had it out for him.

His hand tightened on his water bottler out of reflex, wondering if he’d catch more attention walking out as soon as he walked in. The guy would see him, and it’d just make Brock’s desperate need to avoid any contact with him even more obvious. But what else was he going to do? As far as Brock could see, Evan and Tyler were nowhere to be found, and Nogla didn’t work weekdays. He needed to get scanned in to use the gym, and he didn’t want to skip. Despite still carrying around a lump of insecurity and self-deprecation (he didn’t like looking in mirrors for long, even if the scales implied he’d lost ten pounds), coming to the gym was a second nature to him now. And more importantly, it made him feel good. Smiling didn’t feel as forced anymore. Despite the increased amount of laundry and sore muscles, he didn’t need as many pep talks to get out of his car. The improvements were small, but they meant something. He meant something. 

And it didn’t matter if hot gym guy failed to see the truth, because Brock was better than that. 

“Um, hello.” Except all the false bravado was quick to take a nosedive when finally forcing himself to approach the front desk. He wasn’t even sure his voice had carried enough to catch the distracted man’s attention, and he bit his lip to keep his anxiety from shouting out another greeting. Barely a moment passed before he was caught in the man’s surprised stare, and mentally Brock cursed at himself for feeling the heat start to swell in his face. How did something as simple as a look cause a chain reaction in him so quickly? The guy hadn’t even said anything yet! Brock prayed the embarrassment wasn’t too obvious as he swallowed and held up his card, his smile as shaky as the breath he let out. “I just… can you scan me in, please?”

“Scan you- oh! Right, yeah, fuck just lemme-” The card was plucked from Brock’s fingers as the employee ran the barcode under the red light, his eyes only pulling away from Brock to look at the screen. He hadn’t meant to watch the other man so intently, but he was grateful for it when he caught the small dip of shoulders paired with a laugh. “Brock, huh? So that’s your name.” 

“Is… that a problem?” He fought the urge to snatch the card from the other’s hand and high-tail it out of the gym. Though there was no reason for Brock to be so on edge at the moment, his spine wouldn’t relax and his skin felt hot. 

“No, not at all. It’s a great name, just- I’ve been trying to figure it out.” The admission came out with such ease, Brock wasn’t sure he heard it correctly. But with the sheepish grin and shoulder shrug sent his way, that seemed unlikely. “I was bout’ to go through the entire database to figure it out.” 

“Did you need to contact me for something with my membership card?” His logical and emotional brain waged war over how dumb the question was. When hot gym guy showed confusion and shook his head, Brock leaned to ‘very very dumb please stop talking’. Nogla worked here; if they needed anything, why would they send hot gym guy? He spoke to his landlord that morning! Where did his brain go? Brock’s laugh was higher than normal to cover his panic, and he wanted to steal the time stone from Doctor Strange just to erase the past sixty seconds.

“Just wanted to know your name.” Despite his internal panic, hot gym guy didn’t seem bothered, and the smile he’d given once learning his name only grew in size. “If you’re going to be around a lot, I thought we should probably be on a first name basis. My plan was to say hi during one of your workouts, but you always look so focused and I didn’t wanna distract you.” 

“Sorry!” He blurted out the apology with a wince. The pieces of the truth started to fall into place. Of course this guy wanted to know who he was; he was causing some sort of scene. The fact that the employee had to reach out to him because he’d noticed Brock’s weird routine was terrible. Had he started singing again? Mini has always teased him in high school about humming or mouthing lyrics whenever he was focused on something. Had that transferred to the new task, too?  

“Sorry for what? Impressing me?” 

“W-what?” 

“Because if I’m being honest, you’re really inspiring to watch.” The genuine shine in the blue hue proved he meant what he said, and the hot gym guy nodded his head toward Brock’s favorite treadmill. “Everytime I get to see you working up a sweat over there, it makes me wanna go hit the weights or work harder on my leg lifts.”

“How? You’re in such good shape and I’m-” Too many negative words filled his head as he stared at the frown that took over the other’s mouth. He didn’t know what word to describe himself with, but he wasn’t given time to decide. 

“You don’t have to be a bodybuilder to be a motivation. Just showing you’re not giving up is better than any of them roid rage idiots always showing off their muscles. You’re like my pick-me-up, if that makes sense. Real and dedicated. And that’s why I wanted to learn your name.”

“Oh, wow I…” To say the explanation was unexpected would have been an understatement, and Brock couldn’t keep his shock off his face. The heat of a blush rose onto his cheeks again, but he didn’t try to hide it. It felt wrong to cover up his genuine reaction when the gym member’s words were said with such vulnerable honesty. The chuckle he got in response was low but not malicious, and he needed to blink twice before realizing his membership card was being held out for him to take. “Um, thanks. For both of those things.”

“Not a problem, Brock.” It seemed like the man enjoyed saying his name now that he knew it, leaning forward over the counter with a smirk. “And if you need anything, don’t hesitate to come get me, okay? I know this place like the back of my hand, so I can pretty much tell you anything you want to know.”

“I-I’ll be fine!” His mind shifted far too fast to something he wanted to do with this man, though barbells stance and row stations had little to do with it. 

Fighting a new blush for his internal lewdness, Brock rushed through a goodbye before he moved away from the desk, hoping the snicker he heard behind him wasn’t because of his quick retreat. He set himself up onto the treadmill and selected his choices before finally caving in to his impulses, turning a side glance over his shoulder. Sure enough, hot gym guy was looking at him, leaned on the frontdesk with no hint of mockery. Brock nearly busted his eardrum from shoving in his headphones too hard when ducking his head, knowing his mind was far too frazzled to fully concentrate on his walk. The music played background noise to his thoughts, which raced and ricocheted in every crevice of his head. Emotions scattered like marbles through his veins, able to slip through any attempt to grasp onto one for dissection. What was he supposed to do when someone like hot gym guy said-

And then suddenly, his chaotic mind jammed to a halt on one mind-blowing thought.

I never asked for his name. 

Panicked, Brock looked back at the front desk, seeing the man in question back on his phone. He could catch the outline of the nametag on his chest, but from how far he was, there wasn’t a clear sight on what the letters said. And he couldn’t go back over there now; he’d just ran away! Hot gym guy would think he was crazy. 

“Just look when you leave,” he muttered to himself, trying to keep his focus on the treadmill in front of him. Not once during his workout did he give into his urge to look over at the front desk. He blared his music loudly and kept his eyes trained on the moose documentary playing on the screen. So focused, he didn’t notice Evan switch out with the other man until after said guy was gone. Too embarrassed (and worried he’d look like a stalker) to ask Evan his co-worker’s name, Brock muttered a weak goodbye before shoving himself into his car and driving home.  

He really hated Wednesdays.

Brock is such a spirit animal. I feel him too much. But I hope you all enjoyed the drabble, cause this was a cute one to write! Please let me know what you think, and I’ll see y’all next week. As always, like and reblog! <3