#in which order do you place the knives and the millions.

[captain-astors]

Lifeline

[silverflqmes]

໒⦂ 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐃 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒.

synopsis. in which you go from utterly despising what you’ve dubbed as your ‘rival’, with every fiber of your being, to loving his stupid ass self.

academic rivals to lovers ( alhaitham’s version )

for @reiqings <3

tw. mildly suggestive, mentions / consumption of alcohol.

alhaitham x gn!reader.

“look at him, sitting all smug with that stupid little book of his.” you grumbled to your best friend, layla, taking a bite out of your pita pocket. “i bet he’s reading smut, i can just feel it.”

“smut?” the female repeated, nestling her head in her arms. “alhaitham-san is super serious about his reading and reputation.. doubt he’s reading that.. sort of content..” she trailed off into a snore and you nearly face palmed. there goes your friend again.

unlike him, sadly layla didn’t share the same major as you, as she was into astrology, rather than languages and writing. so it was only around lunch hour that you could hang out.. although it was more like nap time for her while you sat in silence.

with a huff, not wanting to be shown up, you finished the last of your meal before grabbing the book you’d been reading as of late. if alhaitham could read without it being for an assignment, so could you!

except he didn’t care.

his eyes barely lifted from his novel as he flipped to another page, deeply immersed in the story.. which in turn, frustrated you each time you peeked at him.

what could you do? there had to be something.

and like a metaphoric light bulb flashing, an idea came to mind.

opening your school bag, you reached for your linguistics notebook, recalling the newly assigned homework.

silly alhaitham was busying himself with his dumb little book, blissfully unaware of the homework you had just received. only a good noodle would make it the day it’s assigned — and that.. would be you!

as you buried your nose in your text book and notes, writing the necessary notes for the homework, you failed to notice groan of the chair few tables away.

until the culprit was standing across from you, overshadowing your work with their stature. it didn’t take any guesses to know who it was, but you were a petty shit.

“can i help you, dear alumni?” you asked without lifting your head, words like knives covered in honey. if you had your way, they’d be covered in bees, too. “your breasts are blocking the natural sunlight.”

“are they now? i hadn’t noticed.” the person in question answered, his tone low, yet there was a hint of amusement. “does that mean you were eyeing them each time you glared over at me?” he inquired, and you scoffed.

“me? eyeing your rack? that is preposterous. i would never do something so absurd. you flatter yourself too much, alhaitham-san.” who was he to think so smugly of himself? like you would be staring at that terrifyingly gorgeous physique of his.

but the silver haired male wasn’t buying it, not one bit. “hm, perhaps i do when flattery is in order. maybe next time you should try being more stealthy if you wish to stare.” he advised, turning on his heel with a faint smirk on his lips, knowing precisely how to rile you up.

and it worked like a charm, as your jaw nearly dropped. “flattery is NOT in order and never in a million lifetimes would i be caught red handed staring there of all places!” you blurted, slamming your books shut before dashing past him to your next class.

alhaitham only rolled his eyes, knowing damn well you would tire your legs before even reaching half way. like the turtle and the rabbit, he would come in like the wise turtle to beat the naive little rabbit.

from the lunch table, layla stirred at the sound of the bell, looking around tiredly before blinking. “y/n-chan?”

and alhaitham was correct, once again, for you did tire yourself before even reaching the doorway to your next class.

he passed you wordlessly, an innocent smile on his lips as he took his seat, watching as you dragged yourself into the seat next to him — the only one that remained. how touching.

“not a word.” you hissed to him, fixing your hair up as best as you could before taking out your materials.

the male ignored your comment, shrugging with indifference as he took out his own things.. along with that book of his. just what in the world was he reading that was so much more important than today’s lesson??

as your eyes darted to the book, you noticed it was unguarded while alhaitham reached into his bad for pencils. an opportunity.

with a wicked grin, you reached out for the book, nearly snatching it from alhaitham’s desk.. had it not been for the hand that encased your wrist. foiled again.

“i believe you should ask before taking one’s belongings, wouldn’t you agree, y/n-san?” the dendro user spoke, his words like a chill breeze. it made you shiver as you looked up at him before trailing your eyes to his hand. yeah, yours was going nowhere.

“quick, think of an excuse!” you warned yourself, clearing your throat as you did so. “you think so illy of me, alhaitham-san. i wouldn’t dare take that abstruse book of yours.” you huffed out, snatching your wrist back. “i was waving a fly away like a good classmate of yours! i should have known my actions would always go by unappreciated with you.” you pouted further, turning away from the gray haired swordsman, who only rolled his eyes, as he knew.

“sure, we’ll go with that.” he retorted in his usual monotone, missing the irritation on your visage as he refocused his gaze on the lecturer.

the twin tailed female below averted her gaze from the bickering pair, clearing her throat. “perfect, now that we’re all listening, allow me to commence today’s lecture with returning your test papers to you.” the teacher — faruzan spoke, smiling while half the students groaned. “i will be going over the all the answers, so should there be any mistakes in my corrections, do approach me after i finish.” the anemo user finished, grabbing the stack of sheets off her desk before handing each out.

as she reached where you and alhaitham sat, she sent your a proud grin. “amazing job on last week’s test, y/n-chan! your story was lovely to read!” the professor praised as you took your sheet from her hands, blinking in surprise. a perfect score!

curious, you looked over at alhaitham’s paper, wanting to shove your grade in his face.. only to find he had also gotten a perfect score.. with a bonus point.

you nearly wanted to smack yourself.

“you’re staring again, y/n-san.” the taller mocked, a smug look on his annoyingly attractive face. who made brains and good looks legal, and why did it have to be him?!

you puffed your cheeks out, tearing your eyes away from his paper. “i’m not staring, you’re imagining it with how inflated your ego must be!” you retaliated, folding your arms over your chest as you sank back into your seat.

stupid alhaitham and his stupid games. it’s like he wanted you to taste the bitterness of defeat while he soaked in the sweetness of victory. what an ass.

his only response to your outburst was a hum, and if that didn’t throw you over the edge, you weren’t sure what did.

“him being right, probably.” you answered in your head before muttering a curse under your breath.

just who does he think he is?

“alhaitham-kun, w-would you go out with me??” a female squeaked, holding out an envelope to the haravatat student as she bowed her head.

a confession a second after the bell rang.

you nearly gagged at the sight, wondering to yourself who in their right mind would want to date the likes of him. he was despicable! annoying, and egotistic! there was absolutely nothing attractive about him other than those horrifyingly gorgeous features of his.

and yet.. there was this strange bitterness you felt, as your gaze lingered on the pair longer. you weren’t sure why, but there was this nervous feeling of what he might answer with.

“sorry, but i’ll have to decline. i have my eyes set elsewhere, hope you can understand.” he responded curtly, rising from his seat beside you as he passed the girl to take the stairs.

the poor maiden barely got a word in after his answer as she watched his retreating figure disappear through the doorway, letter still in hand. “he.. didn’t even take it..” she muttered to herself, frozen in place. all eyes were on her, including your own.

somehow you felt this sense of relief, hearing alhaitham say no. and yet.. you couldn’t help but feel for the scholar as you placed a hand on her shoulder. whether to comfort or wake her from her trance, you weren’t sure. but the female lowered her hands, keeping her head down as she descended the stairs before taking off at the doorway.

it stirred something in you other than that strange relief but rightful pity. fear, was it? you weren’t sure why.

though something else boggled your mind impossibly more.. that being alhaitham’s response to her confession.

i have my eyes set elsewhere.

and just where on teyvat was that?

“your rival sounds awful, y/n! breaking the poor heart of a girl..” the blond across from you sighed out, draining his glass of wine. “reminds me of someone i know..”

you nodded vigorously, lowering your glass in front of you. “see what i mean, kaveh gets me! i can’t stand being around that man,” you hissed out, wiping your maroon stained lips. “he’s always reading his dumb book half the time — i don’t get how he scores higher than i do?!” you groaned out, clenching the column of your glass. “it makes no sense!”

“perhaps if i meet this fellow, i can rob him clean of his tcg deck as revenge.” the albino haired male across from you spoke, twirling a card between his middle and index fingers, which drew a low exhale from the male beside him.

“tcg isn’t to be used as gambling material, cyno.”

the male question sunk back in his seat, grumbling. “who put the sigh in cy-no.”

silence.

“moving on..” you cleared your throat before looking down at your watch. “when is this roommate of yours is supposed to arrive, kaveh? he’s awfully late and we’re already on our second glasses..”

“wow, i didn’t picture you as the alcoholic type. perhaps that’s why you stare so often where you’re not supposed to.”

it couldn’t be.

almost instantaneously, you whipped your head around to look up at the newly arrived figure, widening your eyes. “a-alhaitham?!” you blurted before turning to the blond beside you. “you live with him?!”

kaveh sank back in shame, draping a hand over his forehead. “unfortunately.” he muttered back, sending you a glance after a short pause. “you know him?”

“i wish i didn’t.” you grumbled back when alhaitham sat between you both without warning. it irked you greatly as you looked up at him, brows furrowed together. “do. you. mind?! i was in the middle of a conversation!”

alhaitham only glanced down at you, raising a brow. “did you say something?” he asked, lowering his hand from his ear.

“can he not hear?!” you asked yourself, nearly shattering the glass between your hands. “forget i even asked, you’d probably just annoy me more than you have already today!” you fired back, turning away from your classmate.

already?

that piqued kaveh’s interest as he shared a knowing glance with cyno and tighnari before smiling innocently at you. “say, y/n.. you never did tell us who that guy was.”

the color drained from your face almost instantly as that guy.. was right next to you.

“maybe you could de-scribe him to us?” the spantamad major added and his fennec eared friend groaned.

“can we do without the puns for once..”

a wicked snicker. “well that’s no pun.”

“you guys!” kaveh hissed out before turning to you once more. “so who is it, y/n? you can tell us.” he encouraged, grinning brightly.. for someone who held a similar distaste for the male in question.

it left you in a panic, not wanting alhaitham to know you had been blabbering about him in particular. you’d never hear the end of it if he found out!

“i-i need a drink!” you babbled, nearly jumping out of your seat as you rushed over to the tavern bar, face flushed, and not just from your last two glasses of wine.

when the bartender approached, your ordered another glass of wine and water, smiling awkwardly. you probably sounded like a complete mess as your words jumbled out from your nerves. why was alhaitham making you feel so on edge — so.. flustered. was that the word?

“having too much to drink is no good, you know.” speak of the devil.

startled by his presence, you nearly slapped the boy as you tensed beside him. why was he there??

“sneaking up on people is pretty weird, you know.” you retorted, huffing quietly. “this is the third time today.”

alhaitham hummed in amusement. “and you counted each time?”

“i hope kaveh destroys that book of yours..”

“jealous of the attention i give it over you?” he asked and you nearly choked on your breath.

you? jealous of a book? as if!

“and why would i be jealous of an inanimate object, least of all one belonging to yourself.” you countered, scoffing at his words. “that’s completely ridiculously, even more so when it’s coming out of your mouth.”

“then what was that look on your face, earlier today.” he inquired, side eying you. “when that girl confessed.”

look?

you hesitated for a moment, thrown off by the sudden question, but you didn’t back down. “disgust, perhaps. a normal person would be appalled to see someone confess to you of all people. it’s idiotic when you’re more likely to be committed to a library than a significant other.”

the silver haired male hummed again, which annoyed you, but he wasn’t finished. “funny, it looked like envy to me.” he mused, finally turning to face you. “and repose when you heard me reject her.”

archons, his eyes were so striking — so alluring. was this why he never looked you dead on? or paid you any mind, other than some side glances?

it made the beat of your heart quicken with fear, maybe even excitement. wait.. what were you saying? this was alhaitham — your class rival! he was just trying to throw you off your game!

and yet.. why was he suddenly so close to you? so entrancing? was it the alcohol? no.. the alcohol was bringing it out more — the truth, that which you’d been hiding.

“am i making you nervous? or was i correct with my conclusions?” he asked after a period of silence and you gulped. how long had you spaced out for?! speak!

“a-and why should i tell you anything?” you finally voiced, a puny comeback. “thought you had your eyes set elsewhere.” you elaborated, mustering up whatever confidence remained in you.

alhaitham leaned in closer, a prideful smile on his lips. “correct, i’m looking right at them.”

you blinked once and then twice.

there wasn’t anywhere else or anyone else he was looking at.. except for you.

“that..” you stumbled, feeling your face warm up up. “that can’t be right — you’re joking, you have to be.. did kaveh send you over purposefully? i swear to-mmph!”

and just like that, your disbelief was silenced with a surprisingly soft pair of lips as you felt a hand cup your cheek.

“still think i’m joking?”

notes. this was longer than i expected and oml istg it went everywhere.. ANYWAY here you go rei i hope you liked it BAHAHAHA half of this was me clowning around with an old idea i drafted soooooo yeah.. but i hope i did the boobman justice and fulfilled your request<3

↳ return to main masterlist . request rules . send an ask

[tiredwitchplant]

Everything You Need to Know About Crystals: Black Obsidian

Black Obsidian (The Regal Warrior of Stones)

Color: Black, Dark Brown

Hardness: 5-5.5 (softer than quartz)

Rarity: Easy to Acquire

Type: Igneous Rock (Comes from a Volcano)

Chakra Association: Root

Angel: Uriel

Deities: Pele, Tezcatlipoca, Itzpapalotl and Sekhmet

Element: Fire, Earth

Astrological Signs: Sagittarius, Scorpio, Aries

Planet: Saturn, Pluto

Origin: Anywhere with Volcanic Activity

Powers: Protection, Grounding, Clarity, Releasing Blockage, Drawing out Stress, Creativity, Divination and Scrying, Negativity Banishment, Transformation and Absorption

Crystals It Works Well With: Howlite, Malachite

How is it Created: Obsidian is a black volcanic glass, formed when molten lava hits cold water or air and solidifies. It is composed of silicon dioxide (quartz) and many impurities which allows it to take different shapes and colors. Black obsidian gets it coloring from iron and magnesium.

History: The earliest obsidian tools can be dated back to the Oldowan, at the dawn of the Paleolithic/Stone Age (2.6 million- 10,000 BCE). Different origins of this rock can be found in Britain, Italy, Mexico, and the USA. In Egypt, obsidian knives were used in ceremonial circumcisions, as well as making mirrors (scrying mirrors for most) and other decorations in tombs. The word “Obsidian” was first used by a Roman explorer, Obsius, who “discovered” it in Ethiopia. In the Americas, Obsidian was used as a symbol of Tezcatlipoca, the chief god of the Aztec religion. Tezcatlipoca means “smoking mirror” which is why a lot of the Mayan priest used the glass rock for scrying mirrors like the Egyptians did. On the Eastern Islands, obsidian was used to make the eyes of the Moai statues before they were lost. The indigenous tribes of North America used pieces of obsidian to make arrowheads, spears and even knives by using an antler in order to carefully form different shapes.

What It Can Do:

Grounds the soul and spiritual forces into the physical plane, making it possible to manifest more spiritual energy

Increases one’s self control

Forces you to face your true self

Brings imbalance and shadow qualities to the surface to release them

Repels negativity and disperses self-hating thoughts

Powerful meditation aid

Great for scrying and divination as the glass allows you to look to see the “clear truth”

Can heal you after a spiritual or mental attack

Was used in the past during ritual for healing physical disorders

How to Charge:

Sit with the stone in the palm of your hand and enter a light meditation. Use your thoughts to charge the stones with desires of protection and make sure the thoughts are clear and concise.

Use high vibration to amplify the crystal

Use a singing bowl to send sound energy into it

Place it in a bed of Himalayan salt and let it sit for 48 hours

If you work with a sun or moon deity, I have noticed charging it in the sun or moonlight with the idea of protection helps to charge it as well

How to Cleanse:

Run under water (not hot just lukewarm) for a minute

Create a saltwater solution and submerge it for up to 24 hours

Burn herbs or incense over the obsidian with the intention of cleansing (I personally use sandalwood incense for this)

Leave your stone under the full moon to cleanse and retrieve in the morning

Bury your obsidian in your garden for 48 hours

How to Get the Best Out of It:

Wear a black obsidian bracelet. The wrist area is a highly energetic zone because it has nearly direct access to the bloodstream. This (in my opinion) is the best place to have obsidian to create a powerful shield and help with manifestation.

For lighter dosage, use an obsidian ring.

Crystal Grid:

Letting Go (Triangle Grid)

Mantra: “I release everything that no longer serves me”

Center Stone: Smokey Quartz Tower

Secondary Stones: Obsidian, Malachite, Rhodonite, Citrine

Best Moon Phase: Waning or Dark Moon

Best Day: Saturday

Sources

[peachyloveswriting]

Hello there!

I have a Trigun Stampede, Millions Knives x female plant reader request, pretty please.

(If it interests you, is not too much trouble, and if you have the time, of course.)

Millions Knives x female plant reader, who was captured by humans via some obscure old technology. She can heal via her blood, which the humans frequently harvest from her without her consent, leaving her with many scars from needles, surgical equipment, etc, and she has the darkest bags under her eyes and just exudes utter exhaustion. 

Knives was just doing his usual thing, stalking after his brother and blowing through yet another town in the process, when he accidentally stumbles upon her in her cage as the humans attempt to take her with them as they run. The humans here refer to her as “it” and a “tool,” and Knives is enraged.

He saves her, freeing her from her cage and soothing her? I’d love to see him discover her in her cage, and his reaction to how the humans treat her, and how he helps her heal after saving her?

From cages to tubes -- (Knives)

Summary: Knives comes across another plant locked away in a facility, tortured and used by humans.

Knives next target was supposed to be the city of May, he'd gone through every bit of information before he ever even stepped foot inside that town. Yet something stopped him in his tracks anyways.

A plant testing facility?

He'd never heard of such a thing.

Staring at the grey metal door, he contemplated his actions for just a moment, wondering what he might find inside. Hopefully this was the jackpot, where he would find multiple plants in one space. The possibilities were too endless...

Screams erupt from inside, his metal tendrils ripping the door off its hinges as he steps through. The place is dark and nasty, humans scatter their hands reaching for their radios and voices frantic.

"Code 10! Code 10! Grab it, we can't leave it behind!"

It? Curious, Knives continued forward, killing any human along the way, coating the floor and walls with blood. He began to notice that the further he traveled in the more strange this place became. Lining the walls were plants in their tanks, each one with a pad of vitals beside it. Each one was labeled with the word experiment and they were all dead.

Something was off about this place, really off. He had to know more.

Travelling further in, Knives found what seemed like a central hub. Hundreds of people were rushing around, bodies falling to the floor in seconds. He didn't even bat an eye at the people trying to harm him, they caused him no problems. What caused him inner turmoil was this "it." He kept hearing about. It was a tool, he'd heard. It just wasn't sitting right with him, like they were talking about a living thing, not an it or a tool.

Cleaning through the last of them, he finds the door they had been guarding. Tearing it off, he discards it and steps inside.

"C'mon. Grab it! We can't let anyone get their hands on this!" A voice snaps.

Knives steps closer to the voice, his eyes sharp and narrowing. "Why not?" His voice is smooth, scarily so.

The man shouting orders snaps his head around to look up at Knives in fear, his body trembling. Whimpers fall from his lips as Knives towers over him, his patience beginning to wear thin.

"Speak!" He tells with sudden malice.

Abruptly, there's a crash close by. Another voice screams out in pain, aloud sobs following after. Suddenly the man before him becomes an after thought and his body falls limply to the floor. Stepping past him, Knives comes up to another man, this one younger than the last.

He tugs frantically at a large cage, the outline of the crying voice is inside.

His blades slice through the last human as he lowers himself to peer inside the cage. The form shakes and trembles inside but he can't seem to get a good look. Taking the top of the cage he sets it upright from being knocked to its side.

Light suddenly illuminates the figure inside, the intricate patterns of his kind flowing all along its body, littered by cuts and scars.

He feels breathless as he tears the cage open, frantically reaching for you. A call of pain cuts through the air as he grabs your wrist and you pull yourself away.

"My god. What have they done to you?" He mutters. You look over at him, trembling in fear.

"It's okay. I'm just like you." He slowly extends his hand to you as an offer. "I'll take you away from here where you'll never be hurt again. I promise."

He watches your gaze softly flicker between his face and his hand, before you tenderly rest your hand in his. "That's right." He says, softly pulling you from the cage. "Come with me. I'll make you good again."

Carefully scooping your frail body into his arms, he begins to make his way out of the facility, disappointed that he has no one to take his anger out on.

As he walks away, he looks down at you. "My name is Knives, you'll be answering too me from now on."

—⁠☆

"How are you feeling?"

You gaze down at Knives through the glass, your hands coming to rest up against it. "Better than before."

He smiles, crossing his arms over his chest. "Good. Staying there for a week should get you back to normal." He casts his gaze to a shorter, mostly bald, human. "Con'rad will monitor your vitals and 'keep you company'. I'll be gone often but expect to see me a lot."

You give him a nod. "So, what exactly is this... Thing?"

You look up at where the cords attach then connect to your body.

"I'll explain that." Con'rad starts. "The tube you're in is filled with a liquid that should allow your body to fuller regather itself. Typically we use these to manufacture independents however these can also be used for purposes much like this. The process is quick and you'll be in a sleep-like state until you fully recover."

Knives nods. "In short, it heals you."

"Oh, okay." You take a moment to collect your thoughts before you meet Knives' gaze. "Thank you for saving me."

It almost looks like his stoicism face softens before he speaks. "Of course. I'll do whatever I can to save my people."

[peri-helia]

No use crying over spilt milk

Joe x Nicky Secret Agent AU

It’s a milk run, really.

Get in, make the drop and get out again. Something he’s done a million times, even in time sensitive situations.

Joe just has to make sure that Nicky doesn’t try to do the dishes before tomorrow morning. Under the kitchen sink isn’t one of his usual places of concealment, but he doesn’t want to risk Quynh or Nile finding any of his weapons under the sofa bed’s slats or in the guest room. So he’ll move his stuff, pry Nicky away from doing the dishes with kisses and convincing him that it’s okay to leave the pans to soak, just this once. Then he’ll extract everything while Nicky and Nile are on their morning run.

See? Easy.

He’s just nudging the cupboard door open with the toe of his boot, arms full, when there’s a rattling sound from inside the cupboard and the door springs open, the familar sound of weaponry thudding to the floor as a barrage of knives, and a couple of handguns fall out of the cupboard and skid across the floor around him.

Which. Are not his.  

What.

What.

Had Andy done an inventory and forgot to tell him? Stacking them haphazardly like this was normally Booker’s sort of thing -

There’s the light, rapid tread of someone running down the hall, of Nicky running down the hall towards the noise and towards trouble just like always and it’s all Joe can do to shout, “I can explain!”

Arms full of his Spare Bedroom Stash, standing on one leg in front of the kitchen sink was not how he figured he’d tell his husband he was a spy but to be honest he’d sort of not thought about it and just hoped for the best.

Christ, Booker’s really rubbing off on him.

“I can explain!” Nicky repeats, repeats – What the actual fuck - as he rounds the corner, hands raised.

“Uh – I” Nicky’s eyes dart from the mess on the floor to Joe’s weapon laid arms and back again. His face cycles through expressions too fast for even Joe to read them, but there’s flashes of panic, confusion and worry there. Everything Joe’s feeling right now, basically. 

Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthe

“What the fuck do you mean you can explain?!”

Nicky can’t even slice an onion without supervision, he forgot to take the knife guard off when they visited Booker’s family for dinner two weeks ago, Joe remembers hysterically, what the fuck is he doing with all this.

Nicky takes a deep, calming breath that comes out vaguely shuddery, his shoulders still somewhere about his ears, gaze resolutely fixed on Joe’s face. “Yusuf.” Oh fuck, not good. Can be very good in the will you spend the rest of eternity with me or the I’m going to pretend I am not going to let you talk me into spending all day in bed again way. But this is more of the Quynh’s ship went down. Andy’s stitches that Nicky thinks is from an appendectomy have re-opened sort of way. “Yusuf, habibi, would you sit down? Please?”

Joe puts the weaponry on the kitchen table, thinking about what a mad tableau this makes, the two of them sitting at the kitchen table, a pile of weaponry between them. Nicky quietly takes the opposing chair, sighing to himself when Joe doesn’t sit. Joe notices absently that Nicky takes the chair that is between Joe and the door, but angles it slightly so that he can see it too, the way he always does, even here, even at home.  

“I suppose I should start with the fact that – um, well, I’m not an translator”

Joe blinks because of course Nicky is a translator. He forever sits at this very table, earphones jammed over his ears, listening quietly. He starts ordering his coffee in one language and finishes it in another. He corrects the poor subtitles on Netflix, with a quiet mutter of ‘that’s not what they’re saying’, eyes flitting over the actors’ mouths as his brow furrows. There are notebooks and notebooks filled with his transcriptions. But, but all Nicky’s work comes from his laptop – the work laptop he has to use an app to open, not from his notebooks and – oh, oh God

 His eyes catch at Nicky’s own, those beautiful oceanic eyes, all big and pleading and Joe’s brain starts back on its track of whatthefuckwhatthefuck, the grip of his Beretta digging painfully into the meat of his palm. Nicky’s still talking.

“Joe? Tesoro, I really wish you would sit down. I –“ his Adam’s apple bobs, “di immortals is not an translation firm, it’s a front for my team, Quynh’s team and the whole me not being able to cook thing is a lie, a painful one but I'm too good with it and you'd have known and – I don’t own throwing stars” Nicky stops, mouth open, eyes trained on Joe’s hands.

Joe becomes painfully aware of the crick developing where his little finger is hooked though said throwing stars that Andy had got him for the Sao Paulo job years ago, just because he’d said there were cool and he’d wanted to learn. Because Andy’s the best.

“Of course not – these are mine!” It comes out somewhere between indignant, proud and enthused.

Well. Fuck.

This was not how he’d pictured this going at all.

[drgnrder82]

Steel's Melting Point (Kaiju No. 8 One Shot)

A/N: Yes, it's an OC. Yes, it's Hoshina fluff. Yes, he's all over the Kaiju No 8 tag, and no, I don't care. Cross posting to AO3, but decided to just post the whole short story here. This occurs before the events of Kaiju No 8. Therefore, it only involves Mina Ashiro, Soshiro Hoshina, and Konomi Okonogi.

***

Captain Ashiro’s face remained neutral, reading the latest report from the Science Division. Biometrics of the recent kaiju emergence were not great. Steadily, the fortitude of each emergence has grown. It started off linearly, but then the spike happened sending shockwaves through the Defense Force.

Vice Captain Hoshina stared through Captain Ashiro’s window. Millions of people were at risk. And what were they doing? Reading reports like nothing else was going on?

“You cannot solve this by glaring, Vice Captain.” Mina’s soft quip would have been out of place in front of any other officers. 

“The numbers came in.”

“Soshiro,” Mina actually looked up from the report, softening.

She’d said it before. He didn’t need to hear it again! 

“I already wrote the letters to the families,” Soshiro said solemnly, dragging his gaze down to the bottom of Mina’s desk. Staring out into the devastation would only continue his downward spiral. 

“Take a few days, Vice Captain,” she said, standing and pushing the report aside. “I can deliver—”

“It should be me. I just…” 

Someone cleared their voice from the doorway, and Mina nodded at whoever it was. Soshiro placed the strained smile and returned to glaring out the window, telling himself for the thousandth time that it wasn’t his fault. Every year, he told the cadets and new officers the same thing. No one is guaranteed to come back from a mission. 

Every loss hit Soshiro, piercing straight through the armor over his heart. 

“Captain Ashiro.” 

Soshiro kept his gaze fixed on the debris left behind of a kaiju fight, questioning why he recognized that voice. Wait.

It was that voice.

Rose and sweat drifted to him. She’d changed into a clean, plain black shirt and pants, which fit her with vigor. Akiko Tachikawa smiled demurely and bowed to Mina. Her hair was pulled back into a low but large bun, with no hair astray. Then, without looking his way, she added a playful, “Vice Captain.” 

The lotus flower emblem, embroidered in black on her black shirt, caught the light. 

How—? Akiko’s training was still… ongoing. She wasn’t…

Akiko lifted a large case from one hand to in front of her knees. Swinging what looked to be a heavy case with ease. “Captain, would it be possible…” 

“By all means, Tachikawa.” Mina released a breath.

Akiko lifted the case, opening it in one fluid motion. “They’re ready, Soshiro…-kun.” Akiko had not used -kun since they’d been small children.

Soshiro’s breath deepened. Wait. Ready? After how many years…

“As… ordered,” Akiko purred. 

Mina raised an eyebrow at the gesture. Izumo Tech provided all the Defense Force’s official weapons. In fact, Soshiro had received new blades with SW-2033 etched in the side just recently.

Akiko threw sharp implements when angry. Based on the state of the branch, with approximately a dozen (possibly more, though it was hard to tell through the branches, flowers and leaves) throwing knives embedded in the wood ten meters overhead, Akiko’s rage could rival that of a Yonju. 

However, when one fell, Akiko did not move to avoid it. Soshiro reached her hand and yanked before the hilt hit her shoulder. “That’s new,” he snapped, out of breath. Or had he been holding it and only now let go? “What happened that’s made you so… so…” 

Shaking him off, Akiko reached down and grabbed the throwing knife, inspecting it thoroughly. They were new. A different style. But sleek. Even. He could tell by the way she tossed it up and caught it that the balance was impeccable. Likely each of the ones still stuck in the tree limb overhead were the same. So… what could possibly be wrong? 

“I’m not a master.” Akiko let the sun glint off the edge of the blade, blinding Soshiro. 

“Neither am I.” Both were approaching the title of master, though. At a pace that outdid their parents and grandparents. Her short swords were his favored blades. “We could…” 

“You don’t get it. You weren’t there.” Her hand shot upward, releasing the knife back into the tree limb. After the soft thud, though, a slip of paper floated down. Akiko averted her eyes, making to stomp on the paper but he was quicker. 

Izumo Tech wins bid; sole manufacturer of weapons for Defense Force

“What does this have to do with anything?” 

Akiko wiped her face. “You weren’t there. They didn’t invite you.” 

“Who didn’t?”

“Your father. My father.” 

Soshiro’s stomach dropped. What? Why would their fathers get together? 

Another knife fell, but Soshiro snatched it before Akiko took it. He’d been right. The balance and the weight overall were perfection. He twirled it, savoring the feel. She’d truly outdone herself. 

“I can’t marry you.” Akiko wiped at her face again, but tears dropped onto the dirt. 

“Why?” 

“It’s not… needed any longer! No need for a political marriage since Izumo Tech took the contract. Your father is cutting ties with the Tachikawa Family.” 

Shoshiro caught the next knife. And the next. He held up the newspaper clipping in one hand and the three throwing knives in the other. With infinite speed, Soshiro shredded the paper and sent the blades into the tree. Taking Akiko by the shoulders, he turned her around, but she lashed out. Striking his chest, sending him back. 

“They can’t stop us from getting married, Akiko.” Soshiro caught the next blade, but Akiko caught another as well. Her blade slammed into his. Fire fueled more slashes, but they were more wild than her first. Emotions had taken over. “Akiko… I believe every swordsman needs his bladesmith. You are my bladesmith.” 

“Yeah, well, our engagement is over. Your father said as much!” 

This wasn’t sparring. Akiko lashed out harder and faster, as fast as her tears fell. “We say when our engagement is over.” Soshiro could have knocked the small blade from Akiko at any time, but he waited. Another, not the last, but nearly the last, fell from the tree limb overhead. He cast away the blade she held and his to tackle her. They crashed together into the sakura tree. “What is it you want, Akiko?” 

Her sobs began to subside. “To be a master, the highest master bladesmith the Tachikawa family has.” 

“Do you want to marry now?” 

“What?” All her tears stopped now. “You can’t marry me without…” 

“Without you being a master? I could. But what else do you want? There’s more you are not saying!” Soshiro demanded. 

“To be your master bladesmith, Soshiro. That’s all I ever wanted.” 

“Then,” Soshiro released Akiko’s shoulders for the tree, resting his head against hers and continued, “when you achieve the title of master bladesmith, bring me blades crafted only for me.” As was the tradition in the Hoshida family when marrying someone from the Tachikawa family. A betrothal gift. 

Soshiro pressed a kiss into her forehead. “Promise me?” 

Soshiro’s breath hitched. “They’re ready?” 

Akiko’s lips parted, her overbite she was always so self-conscious of on display. She opened the case. A blanched white paper sat on top. Soshiro’s hand trembled to pick it up. 

Dear Ms. Akiko Tachikawa, 

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted as a Master Bladesmith at Izumo Tech… 

All other words blurred on the page. Soshiro didn’t need to read anymore. 

Looking past the paper, he tried to focus. The black foam protected something else black in the case. Two… somethings. 

Short swords. When his eyes cleared, Soshiro found two short swords embossed with the same lotus blossom as Akiko’s shirt. “They’re not regulation or from Izumo, but…” 

“Please,” Mina snipped again, “go live a little. Take the Vice Captain and make him clear his mind.” 

Soshiro’s heart hammered. The kiss he’d placed on Akiko’s forehead lingered still years later. The smell and taste of the rose water she used to cover the scent of working all day in a forge. It never quite covered the scent of steelwork. 

“I’ll take care of your work tomorrow,” Mina smiled behind another report. 

***

Konomi bit her finger. She should have been in bed ages ago, but Vice Captain Hoshina’s distant look, the lack of his cat-like grin… oh! The man was hurting! And he’d already been spiraling down…

What could she do? 

Konomi’s hand hovered over the enter key. She could start searching the security feeds. Find where he was. Just… make sure he didn’t need… well, what would he need? A medical team? Beer? Brandy? 

Working OPs didn’t mean interfering. But the losses his team suffered had not been light. And she knew exactly how much Soshiro Hoshina cared for his men and women. 

***

Akiko stood in the middle of the room holding one blade, Soshiro the other. Not the reunion he’d anticipated. 

“Is the blade not to your liking?” Akiko’s voice quivered. 

Taking his nail to the blade had been both a good and bad idea. The blade could not be sharper. It sliced a clean shaving from his nail. The weight… How long had it been since he’d held a blade that wasn’t a melding of kaiju and steel? All steel blades just felt different. But good. The weight and feel was… good. The best.

“It’s,” he grinned, the little points of his canines peeking out from his lips, “perfect.” 

In the span of a breath, he moved—not to truly strike Akiko, but if she could show off, so could he.

But she’d moved. He hadn’t seen it. Soshiro lashed out with his sword on instinct, and was met with the clank of metal on metal. Akiko had countered him. 

“A proper bladesmith should…” 

He’d dropped his sword and taken Akiko’s hand, making hers fall as well. How many years had it been since they’d kissed?

***

Mina knew right where Soshiro would have gone. And she definitely knew better than to walk into the gym. Had she not known, she certainly would have heard them before walking in. 

Yet, she dared a pass by the gym to ensure Soshiro had taken her advice. At least in some respect. The sparring only lasted a few moments. Soshiro’s heavy breathing and Akiko’s… parry? Then she heard sparring of an entirely different nature. 

Above Mina, a red light from one of the security cameras caught her eye. Ah. There was another on the wall inside the gym. Mina turned on her foot and found another red blinking light. 

Sigh. 

She’d intended to only make a quick stop to check that Soshiro had engaged in some activity to take his mind off the recent incident. But now she needed to head up to the Ops office. Fortunately, the halls were empty. Few were lucid enough after a day’s work to stay awake this long. So, there’d be little explanation or gossip surrounding Soshiro. 

Mina silently opened the Ops door. Like the hallways, the Ops room was dark and quiet, save for a few blazingly bright monitors and one Konomi Okonogi. 

Prowling toward Konomi, the young Ops leader for the Third Division heard nothing and continued muttering to herself. 

“Who was that girl? Where did the Vice Captain go?” 

Mina snapped the switch to shut down the monitors, then glared down at Konomi. “Shall we give the Vice Captain his privacy?” 

All color drained from Konomi’s face. “I… I…”

Dim light from the console buttons gave Mina a demon-like appearance. “You wouldn’t want to be interrupted…” 

“I was just checking on Vice Captain Hoshida!” Konomi blurted out. 

Ugh… dang it. Mina dropped the creepy voice she’d added and glanced at the blank screen. “Okonogi. Will you help me with an errand in two days?” 

Konomi adjusted her glasses. “Me? You’re asking… yes, ma’am. I would be honored, ma’am!” 

Mina nodded. “Wear something… nice. Dress, or slacks and a blouse. Just something… nice.” 

***

Mina returned to her office via the hallway with the gym, ensuring the video cameras were not actively panning and searching by human involvement. 

Still, she’d thought they’d be done by now when something loud banged against the wall shared by the hallway. Risking herself, Mina jutted her hand inside the room with her phone’s camera on and snapped a picture before kicking the wall. 

Ha ha! Blackmail at its finest. 

“This is not a sufficient date.” Nor place to propose, you dunce. Mina waited, leaning on the wall and scrolling on her phone for florists who could make a quick bouquet. “I assumed one of you two would be smart enough to go out somewhere to help take Soshiro’s mind off recent events.” 

“Mind sufficiently elsewhere, Captain,” Soshiro pounded back on the wall at Mina. 

“Guess those blades were of sufficient quality,” Mina smiled and hit order. “Take the week off, Captain. Your work will be taken care of.” Which was good. The Vice Captain told his men and women to ‘live a little’ all the time. It was his turn. 

Mina wondered, did she have a nice enough dress to crash and impromptu wedding?

[vashsmunch]

Atonement

Millions Knives x GN Reader

Synopsis: the two of you have a deep conversation about trying to open up

Warnings: none? sort of emotional

A/N: this isn’t crazy long, i wrote it in a hour for someone’s birthday LMAO

─── · 。ﾟ☆: *.��� .* :☆ﾟ. ───  

"We really don't have to if you're not comfortable."

Nai heaved a deep sigh, leaning back on his forearms to look at the sky. You were next to him, knees curled up into your chest as you gripped them close; it was a chilly night. Seated on the central tower's ledge in July, you could see the entire city from down below. You glanced over at him, seeing how emotionless his expression was. He wasn't one to let his guard down, much less discuss how he felt to others. He had taught himself long ago that any emotions had to be stripped away to reach his idea of paradise, and it has stuck with him ever since. You knew that, which made this situation even more uncomfortable. 

The idea of vulnerability was a foreign concept to both of you in his defense. You were never taught how to be with someone else, and he placed his trust in others and had it forcibly ripped apart. If anything, the fact that he had asked you to "talk" was an enigma in itself. You weren't even sure what he wanted to discuss. 

"How does one forgive themselves?"

Startled by his sudden speaking, you turned towards him curiously. He was looking at you with expressionless eyes, but if you looked closely, you could see his eyebrows furrowed slightly. It took you a few moments, but then you responded. "It starts with not being afraid to feel," Already, you could see his defenses rising, and you sputtered, trying to save the situation. "That sounds like a tall order, but let me explain." His shoulders relaxed, which made you sigh with relief. 

"Everyone goes through their own struggles, but almost all of the solutions can be boiled down to one fact: if you try to push it all down, you'll never be able to fully cope. To forgive yourself is to heal; you can't expect to do that if you don't acknowledge how it truly affected you. What you went through... it's a lot more traumatic than others. So what I'm saying might not be helpful, but I will say this. This time, you're not alone," His expression hardened at the notion, but you pushed forward, trying your best not to falter in your point. "You don't have to place your complete trust in me, but I just want you to know that some people want to care about you, and I'm one of them. We can learn how to be vulnerable together."

You scooted yourself closer to him, easing the space between you two. With a deep breath, you took his hand and were surprised that he didn't immediately try to pull away. You looked him right in the eyes as you brushed your thumb over his knuckles, trying to make your words sound as sincere as possible. "They really hurt you, Nai. And I'm so sorry. If I could take that burden off your shoulders and save you from that heartbreak, I would do it instantly," His gaze softened as he looked into yours, and you felt a tug at your heart. You'd never seen him so at ease; others saw him as a cold-blooded monster, and sure, killing people isn't a good thing. But that's not all there was to him, and in this moment, you could see that clearer than ever. "I wasn't there then, but I am now. You deserve better than how you were treated back then. For so many years, you've been fighting alone. Let me help you."

Without a second thought, you hugged him as tightly as you could. You poured all of your sentiments and affection into it, trying to tell him silently that he was cherished, that he didn't have to keep wandering this path to try and bring himself peace. He shuddered, and you knew he was crying. To feel like this must've been so foreign to him. Nai spent his entire life fighting against this society that had had no problem mercilessly killing his brethren. And here he was, being so vulnerable and human with a human. It hurt you more than words could ever describe. His hands grazed up your back to cling onto your shirt as he tucked his head into the crook of your neck. A shaky exhale and then complete stillness. There were no words exchanged. At that moment, it was just the two of you under the stars, embracing each other and trying to explore this new feeling of defenselessness. It was a chilly night. But for the first time in a long time, Nai finally felt warm.

[triplesilverstar]

Day 20

Rating: Explicit 18+ Minors DNI

Pairing: Vampire Knives  X F!Reader 

CW:  Rape, dub con, forced pregnancy, Broodmare, Humans as cattle, Humans as food, breeding pen, Penis in vagina sex, biting, blood, mentions of pregnancy, Sort of pet play

Word count: 2614

A/N: Day 20, Part two of the Vampire Knives, part one can be found here

You aren’t sure exactly what had happened, only that after being with Lord Millions in the hedge maze you woke up strapped to some kind of apparatus, your legs spread apart and your chest pressed against a table. 

“I see you’re awake, that’s good news.” Lifting your head you see Lord Millions’ butler right in front of you. Legato. “Our Lord has decided you’re of some use to him. Now if you’re a good little mare and do as you’re told you’ll be rewarded like you could never imagine.” 

Three weeks later, you're exhausted as Legato comes with your meal. Your food is no different than when you were employed at the estate. Unlike the estate however you’ve never seen much of this place, most of your day spent with a man you’ve never even seen deep in your core filling your belly with his seed. Something you were informed that was expected of you as part of your survival here. To bear offspring which you don’t yet understand the reasoning behind. 

The only time this stranger wasn’t inside of you was when you were eating or using the bathroom, led there by Legato to a private chamber. Shivering as you were brought down a short hallway, seeing your treatment was far better than some of the other women here. Chained to a wall with straw lining the floor and buckets near their feet that the smell of tells you what they’re used for. 

“Let us see if your condition has changed” since your first week here, that has been another daily occurrence. A small vial of blood was removed from your arm and brought elsewhere. Something used to check if you were pregnant before your next round of breeding, a term you were starting to hate. Breeding.

After your meal, you remain leaning against the table waiting for Legato’s return, surprised when he hums before you see him reappear. 

That’s new. 

“Congratulations. You’re with child, and Lord Millions is due to return shortly. You’ll be ready for him just in time as per his orders.” A robe wrapped around your body and this time Legato takes you beyond what he calls the breeding pens. Up several flights of stairs and into the main castle and into a room that seems to be a similar size as your young mistresses’s had been. 

“This is to be your home, so long as you continue to behave. Lord Millions is due to return in the next day or so, I suggest you recover as he shall wish to see you upon his return.” Striding towards the door he had brought you through before pausing “Be sure you’re clean for his return” sneered over his shoulder before he departed. 

You have no idea what to make of that information, certainly not as you wander around the room and see fabrics and perfumes far more expensive and rich than the ones at the estate. A bottle you remember from when your young mistress had broken it and her father had screamed how it was worth three years worth of wine harvests. You remember it largely because of the broken ribs that had been your reward for the loss. 

As you explore you find a smaller bath chamber and a locked door on the other side of the main room you can’t open, the bath chamber has your attention the most. The tub is filled with hot water, you know it’s hot as you can see the steam rising from it in small puffs. It’s still steaming when you’re done exploring, sighing as the heat envelopes your skin as you sink into it. You wince as your lower body is engulfed by the water, places you didn’t even know could be sore starting to loosen. 

While you work on cleaning the grime from your skin you’re surprised a second time when an older maid comes in. “Oh. I’ll be out in a moment.” As you start to rush to finish cleaning your body. 

“Oh no my lady, there is no need to rush. Is there anything I can get for you?” Her voice is kind, like a grandmother's and you feel your head spin. 

“I’m not a lady. Not by any stretch.” Scrambling to crawl out of the tub, as the older woman helps you. Wrapping you in a towel much as you used to do for the cause of so much of your suffering and helping you to dry your skin.  

“Pardon me my lady and my words, but you wouldn’t be in this room if Lord Millions did not consider you a lady.” You’re left reeling, like you’ve missed a large part of the picture and your confusion grows as the next two days pass. Treated as if you are a lady like the one you served a short time ago, however unlike her you always tell the old woman, Maria, she doesn’t need to fuss over you as much as she does. 

You’re still not used to the bed either, it’s soft and you find your mind wandering when you lay in it wondering if it’s what a cloud feels like. Even the sheets make your skin feel like something precious with the way they slide along your body, never too hot or cold. A luxury that just adds to your confusion as to what you are here. 

On the third night since you left the breeding pens while you sit at the small desk reading a book Maria had suggested from Lord Millions library. The face you had the ability to read surprised her and Legato, whom came to investigate the claim. Allowing you to read within the room while waiting when you hear the click of a door unlocking. 

Turning your head to face the noise you find yourself looking into the cool eyes of Lord Millions himself, and while he’s still dressed in fine clothing he is down to just his shirt and trousers. In the blink of an eye, you’re standing bowing as you had been taught all your life to your betters. “Good evening Lord Millions, Is there anything I can do for you this evening? I was not aware you had returned.” Spitting the words quickly yet clearly as a fear gripped your mind and chest.  

The sound of his footsteps like thunder in your ears, expecting to be told you were not supposed to be here. A hand on your chin, pulling you upwards from your bow, slamming your eyes closed expecting a strike. Only to feel his plush lips press against yours, a low hum in his throat as he gives you the ghost of a kiss before leaning away. Opening your eyes to see his teal ones glimmering in amusement. “I see you’ve yet to break from that servant mindset. Have you been made aware of what I require of you?”

That shine never seems to leave his eyes as you swallow and answer him to the best of your ability. “I understand I’m expecting to bear children and do as I’m told while in your service Lord Millions.” 

A long sigh as his hand moves to the back of your neck, wide long fingers starting to knead at the muscles of your neck. “Knives. When it is the two of us, I expect you to call me Knives. You do have the basics of what is expected, by now you should have figured out what I am.” His hands are trailing along your back, settling at the space just above the dip in your spine and guiding you toward the bed. 

You nod, you have figured out he was a vampire, a creature of myth to scare children into behaving. “Unlike some of my brethren, I prefer to have my sustenance close. I also want my meals to have flavor.” He’s positioned himself so he’s directly behind you, running the tip of his nose along the shell of your ear tenderly. “You my dear, are the most exquisite human I’ve tasted in over a century, your body also provided a pleasure I have not felt in some time. You see, parents that suit my palate tend to pass those same traits on to their offspring, and I like having a wide selection to choose from.” 

As he speaks his words sink in, for lack of a better term you’re cattle to him that he chooses to feed from at his leisure and you aren’t sure if you feel sick or not at his words. Wondering if it has to do with whatever he did to you back in the hedge maze.   

“Most of my herd lives in comfort, except for those that fight me. You’ve seen what conditions I provide to those that fight me.” You have, some never leave the breeding pens but in the past few days, you’ve seen other pregnant women and some men walking through the lower levels of the castle while escorted by Maria. “But for you, I desire more. I seek your companionship, whenever I wish to enjoy the warmth of a woman, to have one already warming my bed. I would prefer for that to be you, and it comes with a new set of rewards not offered to the others.” As he lists them off, one thing keeps ringing in your mind, you won’t be beaten anymore, won’t be hit for others failing. You won't be denied food. 

A kiss just behind your ear and the briefest press of one of his fangs into your skin. “Keep baring children to make my herd grow and you'll remain in my bed well cared for. And when the time comes that you either die in childbirth or grow old, I'll ensure your end is painless regardless. A final gift.” 

After everything you’ve been through, you aren’t stupid. You’re still being used, but to no longer have to be treated no better than the dirt under your feet? No longer treaded upon as if you don’t matter, that’s an easy decision to make. 

“Yes. I’ll do as you ask.” Swallowing hard before you utter the next word. “Knives.” You’re certain you hear something like gates slamming shut, the final sign you shall forever be damned for agreeing to such an arrangement. 

“Good girl.” His hands are gliding along your sides, lips dragging along your skin “Now I wish to see the rest of my new companion, I already enjoy the face.” Wide palms landed on your shoulders, the pressure gentle as he used the edge of his pinky to lift the smooth fabric away from your supple skin. The fabric bunched as it was pushed to the sides before sliding down your arms. 

Since your arrival here and coming to the upper levels of the castle you’ve found very few undergarments, aware at this moment it might be something Knives had planned for you. The cloth of your robe held in place by just the piece of silk tied around your waist. 

With the firmness of his smooth chest placing pressure against your back, his mouth back to licking and sucking at the skin of your neck his hands are more concerned with your breasts. Cupping them as if to feel the weight before those long fingers of his hands dancing across the tender flesh on the underside. The skin around your nipples pebbles both from his actions and the cool night air of the room, a brief shiver racking your body. 

“Are you cold my sweet?” His breath ghosts along a line of saliva he’s left on your neck making you shake even more. 

“Yes, Knives.” Even with that honey haze starting to form on the edge of your mind again you know what answer he’s looking for and don’t see a reason to deny him. His hands kneading the skin of your breasts. 

“As much as I wish to continue to enjoy these, it wouldn’t do for you to grow cold on my account.” Marking his words with nimble fingers tugging on the thin piece of fabric about your waist in slow motion so the knot slowly comes undone. Your entire body is on display for him as he holds your shoulders once more to turn you to face him. 

The glow of his eyes added more light to the room and you shiver for an entirely different reason as his gaze takes in your form, biting your lip and your hands rubbing together nervously. What if he doesn’t like what he sees? You know parts of your body are forever covered in scars from your punishments at the estate. What if he decides you should go back down to the breeding pits? You’d still never go hungry or be beaten because you’d listen, but you’d miss the few hours of sunlight you’re allowed to enjoy as part of this freedom. The massive library that you know you’ll never be able to read all of the volumes held there.

“Aw, my lovely sweet thing.” One of his hands pressed against the space above the apex of your thighs, a feather-light touch before trailing those fingers higher and grasping a handful of your chest in his wide palm. “They tried to scar you, afraid others might find your beauty too enticing. I shall have you for the rest of your life.” His words ring in the air, a note of undeniable truth. Your life, not his. 

Placing his mouth on yours again you let him lead, to take command. Whatever he wants you’ll give him, his hands exploring your body as he guides you to the sheets on your back. Watching as he removes his clothes before joining you, his skin so pale it’s almost translucent, but his body is built as if by a master's hand every part of him is sculpted as if by a divine hand. 

Lifting your legs around his hips, his cock already hard and pressing between your folds that are slick with arousal. It’s the first time you’ll see the face of the person inside your warmth since he first took you in the hedge maze. Sliding into your pussy his eyes gleaming as he watches himself disappear into the confines of your body. “Perfection.” Knives sets an easy pace, so different from everything else you’ve felt as he makes your body bend to his will. Watching at the light makes him seem so much more than he is, a beast trapped in a man's body. Skewed morals that are still better than those that you’ve known more of your life. If you have to belong to a monster, at least this monster treats you like you have worth. 

Later, closer to dawn as he’s had his fill of your body several loads of his release deep inside you, learning his seed can never take root inside of you, even if you hadn't already been pregnant, because he’s technically the undead you hear a soft chime. 

A thin piece of ribbon with a bell attached to it. “A present for my favorite Pet.” Making you sit up and wrapping the ribbon around your neck, sighing as he lets his eyes slide around your face and neck. “So everyone shall know, you are my favorite.” A final kiss before he leaves you to rest for the day, to recover from his trip. 

The next night he seeks you out once more, once his duties as lord of this castle are attended to, once more warming his body with your own after a goblet of blood to keep him alive. Filling you to the brim, and it’s the same the next night, and every night after.  

Back to list

[batsandbugs]

Bruce Wayne’s Headache Classification System Chapter 3

IKEA Verse

A/N: The author shows up a month and a half late, with Starbucks: S'up, here's 7500 words of pure chaos. Feast! Y'all are the best, thank you for the amazing comments in the last chapter. I love seeing your excitement for this crazy little world I've created. I have a new fic that I'll be adding eventually, called: "The Stalking of Daminette: A Treatise by Steph and Cass" it's still in its baby stage, so we'll see how long that grows before I post. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it because I have not started on the next part and I'm moving in less than a month, so maybe the next chapter will be out sometime in October, but I'm not making any promises. Enjoy!

Chapter 3

Bruce narrows his eyes and pins his children with an unimpressed stare. “What did you do?

“He was totally willing!” Dick insists with an innocent grin.

“Coercion.”

“Manhandling.”

Dick’s grin disappears evilly side-eyeing his brothers. “Both of you suck at being back up.”

“He didn’t want to at first,” confesses Tim. “But they held my computer hostage to convince me to agree.” Tim rubs a hand over the top of his laptop in a soothing manner. “So, I stole all his knives so he couldn’t stab us, while Jason and Dick wrangled him into the car.”

“Little demon was spittin’ nails, but we persuaded him not to throw himself out the car, so he was trapped.”

“By the time we arrived, I convinced them how a game of hide-and-seek would be a fun, non-disastrous way to spend time together,” says Dick, his face one of ruined hopes and dreams.  

“Mostly through bribes, blackmail, and calls to our innate competitiveness,” says Tim.

“Dickie kept the keys so none of us could leave, and declared himself seeker first,” Jason continues. “He found me-" 

"In the food court," says Dick.

"Then Replacement-"

"At the Starbucks."

"Didn't even get to have that coffee," grumbles Tim.

"So we joined forces and decided to search for Damian together. We spent an hour chasing him in circles. Swear I almost caught him too.”

Tim scoffs, “Yeah no, he had us good. We had no clue where he was.” 

Jason rolls his eyes. “Oh, shut up Tim.”

“You shut up,” Tim shoots back.

“Boys…” warns Bruce, already regretting bringing all three of them into this sitrep.

“Okay, so he evades us long enough to team up with a girl named Marinette Dupain-Cheng-” starts Tim.

Jason growls a bit. “Lying bitch.”

“Jason…” Dick sighs but doesn’t refute the insult. This only serves to deepen Bruce’s headache which now strongly veers out of the I-am-not-mentally-or-emotionally-prepared-for-this category and straight into Ongoing-dumpster-fire territory.

This was fine.

Jason slams a fist on the table. “She lied to my face multiple times! She said she was hired to poison Tim and Damian in order to steal Tim’s phone and if I didn’t find them in time, they were gonna die from brain damage!”

Bruce blinks. Did he hear that right? “Sorry, what?”

Tim sighs. “Okay, rewind, so Damian evading us like the little assassin he trained to be, hooks up with Marinette, who, as far as my research shows, is a civilian-”

“Yeah right, girlie ain’t a civilian. No way, not in a million years.”

“Shut up Jason, let Tim talk,” snaps Dick.

“She lied to Jason about where Damian was, and between her initial meeting with Jason and the incident in the food court, about an hour passed. Then she appeared in the cafeteria with Damian’s card, how we tracked her there in the first place. She panicked when she saw us and used her magic on the shelves in the warehouse to cause a diversion-”

“She crushed a fucking forklift, and we got blamed and billed for it.”

‘How?’ Bruce thinks in despair. Not over the money, of course. They had more than enough to cover costs, just in the general sense of incredulity. One would think, after being Batman this long, it would inoculate Bruce from bewilderment at all types of situations.

It has not.

Tim shakes his head. “No, I proved we had nothing to do with that."

‘Oh well isn’t that grand?’

"Didn’t manage to pin anything on her either considering how much electrical interference occurred whenever she performed magic, but we don’t have to pay.”

“Magic doesn’t cause electrical interference,” Bruce reminds them. “Not unless it completely breaks the system in the process.” All three boys – men really, his kids all grown up now, even if they pulled stupid shit like this – turn to him. Identical expressions of contemplation played over their faces.

“Shit, you’re right,” mutters Dick.

“Well, her magic does,” counters Tim, his brow creasing heavily, grasping past the sleepy, foggy haze that comes with being awake for three days straight. Grabbing a notepad he jots down the observation. “Her magic doesn’t obey any rules we know to be true.”

“It’s magic, dumbass,” Jason sneers. “It doesn’t have to make sense. I’m still on the fence about whether she enchanted Damian though. On one hand, demon-spawn shouldn’t be capable of smiling that much, and he defended her, deferred to her, fucking used her first name without blinking an eye. That ain’t natural for him. On the other hand, she’s the same brand of demented as he is, and maybe they want to be horrible little demons together.”

“I…” starts Dick before trailing off, his face flickers through a series of emotions. Mostly fragile hope, pragmatic disbelief, and good heaping of uncertainty.

“See, Golden Boy, even you can’t say this is a good thing!”

“He made a friend?” Dick offers with a pained wince.

“She’s a psychopath!”

Bruce cuts off the argument. As much as he would love to hear more in-depth detail about Damian’s newest… acquaintance, he wants a clearer picture of what happened at the store before he judges the situation. “Boys, behave. Tim, please continue.”

Tim nods. “Okay, so Marinette escapes the warehouse, and we track her back to their entry point into the vent system. We split up to cover more ground, I take the warehouse and keep myself from the worker’s sight but close enough to the vent I could spot them exiting. About forty-five minutes later they set me on fire-”

“Wait,” interrupts Bruce. “Fire? FIRE?”

Tim looks at him like he’s being particularly slow. “Uh, yeah, I said that a time or two now, keep up. To be fair, the fire was more around me. But I did end up singed.” He shows his arm sleeve again, and the singeing on the sleeve takes on a whole new meaning.

“I wasn’t sure what happened at the time, I expected to catch the little twerps, not engage in guerilla warfare. So, understandably, I’m off my game. The security guard dragged me into the office, and I’m ready to call for backup, only to find my phone missing. I talk down the manager in the warehouse, but then he yells at these poor workers. And Bruce, they were kids, couldn’t be more than fifteen, working in this busy warehouse with no clue about any rights they had, and then after the manager became… distracted I conversed with the other workers, and-”

Tim’s one-breath ramble was swiftly cut off by Jason. “Yeah, yeah you caused a worker’s strike through the power of charisma and rhetoric. So original. No one else in the world’s history has ever done that. Can we get back to the French bitch tricking me?”

Tim huffs, crossing his arms. “You can continue then because I wasn’t part of that.”

“Cool, I will. So, there I wait at my post, and it’s been like an hour and a half at this point. Timmy finally calls, but it’s not actually him it’s the French girl. She’s actin’ like a paid assassin slash company spy, and says she poisoned Tim and Damian through tricking them into eatin’ poisoned coffee and shit.”

“And you believed that?” Bruce asks. Jason glares at him with piercing green-blue eyes, and although his second son puts off an air of anger and annoyance, it’s a mask for a deep-seated fear that his brothers were genuinely in danger. That he would be too slow, too late to save them, like what happened to-

Jason flippantly shrugs his shoulders, years of practiced reticence covering his care. “With our craptastic luck, I sure as hell wasn’t going to take any chances. So, I go chasin’ and-”

“~It’s a trap~,” Tim gloats in a sing-songy voice, his grin wide and eyes unfocused. He’s going to crash soon, it’s just a matter of time.

“Shut up, you ended up set on fire and pickpocketed. You have no leg to stand on.” Tim rolls his eyes but slouches back in his chair. “So, it’s a trap, and demon-spawn is waitin’ there with one of those tricked-out trip wires Timmy made. He and Frenchie wrapped me up good, taunted me, and stripped me taking my wallet and phone. Bitch also took my knife. I insult the brat, and he fires back, but before he does anything else Marinette pulls him back and tells him to simmer down and he does.” Jason’s wide eyes drip with incredulity and, quite frankly, a little awe.

“I see,” Bruce says, a fake calm surrounding his words. He really didn’t. They were talking about Damian. Bruce loves his only biological son, he truly does. He loves Damian’s sketches, and care for animals, he loves his dedication to sword mastery and sly humor. The way his son has the same wrinkle crease between his eyes Bruce gets, and that Thomas did before them. The similarity soothes a small part of Bruce’s aching soul. He’s ridiculously proud of all the work and effort Damian went through, put himself through, to become a better person. To overcome the trauma his upbringing caused and come out stronger.

That being said, Damian was still arrogant, stubborn, and quick-tempered. He considered his opinions and plans more highly than others, and unless one could give a quick and compelling explanation as to an alternative option, he would be proceeding with his plan with efficiency; damn anything else standing in his way. Damian spared no sympathy to the average person and even less for fools.

This behavior was extremely out of character for him.

Which made the entire situation ring with alarm.

Jason shook his head. “I don’t think you do,” he says, calling Bruce’s lie out. “You’re gonna need to see it to really understand. Anyway, they leave me there for the police to find me, and the wire’s wound on tight, so I’m still struggling to get them off when security finds me ten minutes later.” Jason smirks. “Now those idiots had no clue who they were dealing with, and they loosened the wire round my legs, cause they sure as hell couldn’t carry me. By the time we reached the car I was out of the bonds and knocked one out and escaped from the other. Fat-ass bastard.”

“Language,” Bruce reminds him. Jason flips him off.

“Fine, the heavy-set bastard. Better?”

Bruce sighs. “Not really.”

“I scale the building, figuring the store entrances would be monitored. They had a nice handy dandy human-sized ventilation shaft up there - no wonder with the place’s fucking size - so, I shimmy down-”

“Like Santa,” Tim giggles, well past bordering on a manic state, and instead moved well into the capital of it.

The comment doesn’t appear to have fazed Jason though, who takes another long sip of his alcohol-soda mixture. “And like Santa, I have a knack for toys. I emerge out of a vent in the children’s toy area and snag myself a nerf gun.”

Sharp pain blooms on the side of Bruce’s neck. He doesn’t let it show on his face though. “Why?”

“Seemed like a good at the time, ya know?”

Bruce mentally counts to ten, takes a deep breath, and says, “Sure.”

“So, I head towards the play area to find Dick, because obviously, Replacement was a lost cause.”

“Geeze thanks, Jason.”

“But before I can get there, I spot Demon Spawn constructin’ a wacky ass Rube Goldberg contraption-”

Dick winces. “I saw the remains when I chased after Marinette. It was initially meant for me.”

“You were chasing the girl?”

Dick pouts. “She stole my phone!”

“Wait, so a civilian pickpocketed all of you?” 

“She was quick,” mutters Tim.

Jason raises a finger. “She didn’t technically pickpocket me, she frisked me after tying me up. I was fully aware of the stealing.”

Bruce reminds himself that he can’t strangle his children. He. Can’t. Strangle. His. Children. “I plan to make all of you go through awareness training, again. A civilian!?”

“Still not convinced,” Jason mutters, crossing his arms.

“I don’t care she certainly hasn’t trained with assassins and spent half her life mastering stealth and deception. I expect better from you all.” All three men mutter in acquiescence, to the extent that they would do better. “Continue.”

Jason’s demureness fades to be replaced with a gleeful grin. “Yeah, there wasn’t much left of the trap after I jumped the little bastard. I started shooting-”

“Jason…” Bruce’s headaches gain a specific twinge of exhaustion whenever Jason becomes involved. It’s a talent he possessed since the day Bruce found him hi-jacking the Batmobile’s tires.  

Jason’s hands go up in defense. “With the nerf gun, chill Bruce I ain’t trying to contribute to America’s public shooting crisis. I wouldn’t take a loaded gun into a shopin’ center unless crazies were already causin’ chaos.”

“I’d prefer you not to use guns at all.” It’s a pointless request, but maybe one day Jason would cede to it.

Jason scoffs. “Yeah, you’re still gunna lose that one pops. I got a rep to maintain.”

Bruce reigns in a sigh. Expected.

“Anyway, everythin’ was fine, I’d managed to dismantle their little trap for ya, you’re welcome,” he says with a pointed glance at Dick.

His eldest crosses his arms, and with a total deadpan stare, replies, “Thanks, Jason.”

“But then a security guard interfered after I knocked down a display or two.”

“So, you strung him up and gagged him?” Dick asks voice rising into the hysterical range.

Bruce now understands why Tim looks exhausted, dealing with the fallout from a situation this unhinged for the past forty-eight hours.  

“No, I didn’t do that. Demon spawn already set the rig, waitin’ for you. The guard tripped it.” He pauses, cheese-covered chip in hand. “Although I did add the gag, he was shoutin’ too much and grabbin’ attention. It only took a second, but by the time I turned back, Damian had shot off like a rocket.”

“Don’t take your eyes off the target,” chides Tim, with a smug little grin.

Jason’s eyes flash a brighter shade of green. “Fire.”

“Shut up.”

“Boys…” Bruce warns.

“Fine, fine,” Jason mutters, as he takes another sip of his drink. “I chase him through the store and he’s barely keepin’ ahead of me. I keep shootin’ at him. Newer nerf guns have a range and a surprising amount of ammo. Bastard didn't even look inconvenienced; he takes a fucking phone call at one point.”

“That was when I was chasing Marinette and we found the remains of their plan,” Dick interrupts. “She panicked with the sprung trap and called someone, but I couldn’t hear a word.”

“Yeah, he jumps off the call when I manage a shot at his head, and I’m close enough to have him in reach. Unfortunately, he ducked into the employee-only entrance. We weave through security rooms and offices and shit, and of course, causin’ chaos there.”

“He was right there, and yet somehow, we’re the only ones banned,” mutters Tim.

Jason scoffs. “Yeah, don’t know how that happened. Pretty sure I saw him dump a pot of coffee on-” Tim groans in frazzled distress. “Bad Timbo, you can’t have any more caffeine until you take a goddamn nap!”

Tim slouches into the solid wood dining chair. “You can’t tell me what to do, you’re not my dad.”

“Tim you can’t have any more caffeine until you sleep,” Bruce says.

Jason grins, sticking his tongue out at Tim, while Tim only glares and mutters something under his breath about ‘killjoys’ and ‘he’ll show them tired’ and Bruce really doesn’t want to see the result of that decision. This needs to wrap up soon. For both Tim’s sake, and his own as his headache has moved from Hassles-have-evolved-into-ongoing-dumpster-fires to Information-overload-caused by-dumbass-decisions-please-reboot-system.

“I get tangled in an office jam – literally, there were cords involved and by the time I scramble out of it, Damian’s already through a door and down a hallway. I haven’t a clue which way he’s gone, so I pick a direction and gun it because security is on my tail and there ain’t time to waste. I head down a hallway and lock the doors behind me to give me a second of breathing room. Then I spot the intercom system.”

“I wondered how you got close enough to use that,” Dick muses.

“I wondered what they did to piss you off so bad,” Tim adds.

Dick nods. “Same.”

“Yeah, so I call out Demon Spawn and French Bitch over the intercom, and I know they both must have panicked, but the guards broke through the locked doors, so I split. Now here’s the fucking miracle.” Jason leans forward, grinning. “I find the door that’ll take me back to the showroom area, the guards bearing down on me from all four sides. I don’t have a chance in hell, when the lights go off.”

“Blackout?” questions Bruce.

“Magic,” Dick says flatly. “It was Marinette.”

Jason slaps the table, snarling, “Damnit! Now I have to give credit to her.”

“She knocked out electricity to the whole store,” says Tim.

“And caused a display to collapse in front of me. I tripped,” admits Dick.

“You have fought off assassins while poisoned, and executed advanced acrobatic maneuvers with broken bones, and you tripped over a toppled Swedish store display because of the dark?” Bruce knows he’s trained his children better. Why in the world did this go so sideways on them?

Dick braces his arms against the table and roughly slides his fingers through his hair. ”I know. I know. I was right there. Any other day and I wouldn’t have blinked about jumping right over it, but this time it felt… off. Bad day?”

“You’re getting old Golden Boy.” Jason takes a sip of his drink, doing nothing to hide his shit-eating grin as he teases his older brother. “I guess it’s all downhill from here ain’t it.”

Dick flips him off.

Jason sticks out his tongue.

Bruce’s headache takes on a twinge of my-children-are-immature-brats feeling (generally categorized by a sharp sting right at his temple) and holds in an exasperated sigh.

“So, after magic girl shuts the lights off with her mind or whatever, I escape the security guards by an inch. One emergency exit later, and I’m back in the store proper. People are freakin’ the fuck out about the lights. By the time they turn on again, I’ve lost Damian for good, and now I just try to stay off security’s radar. I settle in a nice little blind spot right outside the children’s toy area and keep myself out of any trouble.” Jason looks over at Dick, fighting to keep a smug grin off his face. “Course I did see a woman go off on a poor employee. I kept my nose clean of it ‘cause it wasn’t my business.”

“Oh, ha, ha very funny. That woman was a menace,” groans Dick.

“Woman?” Bruce questions, almost scared to ask.

“Jessica Merope-Laverne, fifty-five, resident of Pleasantville. Married twice, has two children, a restraining order, and a police file with multiple notes about disturbing the peace,” Tim rattles off. “Thoroughly unpleasant.”

“That’s an understatement,” mutters Dick.

“Practically dragged Dickie Bird away by the ear.”

“Right as I was about to nab Marinette too. She’d hidden in one of the wardrobes in the room, and I was this close-” Dick positions his fingers scant centimeters apart from each other, “-to cornering her, and I got dragged away.”

“Shit, would have loved to know that,” mutters Jason. “Anyway, I stood around, making sure nobody was on my tail, soon I heard rumors about a ruckus in the atrium-”

“That would be me,” Tim admits with a grin.

“Well, I didn’t know that. I was hoping demon spawn and Frenchie were involved somehow, so I headed over, and then-”

“Oh, I know what happened from there. I saw the video.” Bruce pins Tim and Jason with a stare. “I respect both of you have opinions-”

“Opinions? Opinions? I have justified grounds for calling out his revolutionary bullshit! His entire life embodies nothing but the anthesis of systemic poverty, and he argues for class cooperation!” shouts Jason. Bruce always marvels at how eloquent Jason becomes when angry.

“Violence isn’t the answer,” counters Tim. “You would harm the very people you try to uplift in the process.”

“Sure, it is! It’s the natural response to a gluttonous, greedy, overburdened, bureaucratic system that’s leeching off the populous and perpetuating its own supremacy.”

Tim slams a hand against the table, raising to his feet, exhaustion clearing from his eyes. “It’s an option, not the option. We can do better than violence if we work at the cause's root problem without pulling out a fucking guillotine.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “Oh of course you would argue for that, you’ve never had less than six figures in your bank account in your life.”

“So says the self-proclaimed drug lord!”

“That was ten years ago!”

“A bag of heads on the steps of the GCPD!”

“Oh, get over it!”

“If it matters,” interjects Dick. “Probably doesn’t, systemic economic issues are hard to fix when we have bigger problems like an actively insane criminal population that likes destroying important city infrastructure on a monthly basis.”

“Which Wayne Enterprises does its best to counter,” adds Bruce, not bothering to chide his children back on track. This particular topic turned them into a bunch of unherdable cats.

“Funneling more money into the one percent’s hands!” Jason’s bordering on manic at this point.

“We are the one percent, Jason!” counters Tim. “And we stay that way, despite the copious amount of infrastructure projects, that we hire Gotham citizens for, and pay at least a living wage to all of them. Not to mention every other single employee we hire who also are paid a living wage, with benefits, and support. I know I am privileged. I am trying here.” The last sentence came out as a distraught cry, as he collapses back into his chair.

“Are… are you okay?” Dick asks tentatively, ready to cross the table to comfort his brother.

Tim shoves his hands into his hair and mutters, “I need an espresso.”

“No, you need sleep,” says Bruce, mentally calculating where all the caffeine in the house is so he can hide it. “Can we return to the recap, so your brother can go to bed?”

“My side of things is much shorter in comparison to Jason’s,” says Dick. “As long as nobody interrupts.” Casting a pointed glare in Jason’s direction. Jason shrugs casually and crosses his arms.

“I waited at the children’s play area. Now, a man my age would attract attention without a need to be there, so I’d ducked into the employee-only area, and grabbed a shirt to disguise myself. I hung out in the Starbucks for a good forty-five minutes trying to look like I was on break while observing the play area. Although I couldn’t tell where the vent entrance was, I figured two adults Damian and Marinette’s size would be easy to spot coming out of an area meant for children.

“When an hour and a half passed by, I’m nervous, because neither Jason nor Tim has sent any word. I called them both. They didn’t answer.”

“Yeah, 'cause the French phone napper took our phones,” mutters Jason.

“So, I decided to do some reconnaissance. The lady at the front desk looked bored enough, and so I went over to… chat.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “You mean flirt.”

Dick glares. “Shut up. So, I hang around the front desk for half an hour at most, before the kids went crazy. Like plastic balls being thrown everywhere, kids shrieking, this one little girl, later we learn her name is Abby, she’s doing this whole speech about a revolution-”

“Tim…”

“Not me, I’m not here at this point.”

“I stand there in shock, wondering what the heck set it all off. This one little girl runs up to the daycare worker, Melinda? Melody? Something. I don’t remember. And the little girl’s nose was bleeding, so there immediately goes my peaceful cover. I back up into the crowd, which at this point has gathered around pretty thick.”

“You know I wondered why there were so many people hanging around in that front lobby area,” says Tim.

“I’m almost sure the commotion has something to do with Marinette and Damian, so I keep my eyes peeled waiting for any adult-sized figures to emerge from the play area.” Dick sighs, rubbing a hand across his face. “I was right of course, but I missed Marinette slipping out, and she approached me from behind.”

“This is where you get pickpocketed too!” crows Jason.

“Really, Richard?” asks Bruce with a raised brow. This is ridiculous.

“Okay, look, I was distracted, off my game, there was a ton of screeching, and it had been a long day. And she was very good. The technique was flawless, minus a bit of overacting and a touch of obviousness. Which was her goal because-”

“~It was a trap~” Jason and Tim sing together.

“It was bait,” Dick corrects. “Leading me to a trap, that didn’t even work. So really, I did the best between the three of us.”  

“You all will complete remedial awareness training, so a situation like this never happens again.” Bruce massages the bridge of his nose with a long-suffering sigh. “Just… just please continue.”

“I can’t full-out chase her or anything, but she keeps out of reach through the store, until we reach the place where they set the trap. Obviously, Jason already tripped it, so she turned face and ran in the opposite direction. I followed, trying to convince her to stop and talk. But at this point, she’s full-on outpacing me and doing well too. I’m hesitant to say trained, but she had practice.”

“She’s gotta be a spy, or maybe she’s working for the League?” muses Jason.

“Damian would see right through that,” interrupts Bruce. He knows his youngest son has an instinct when sniffing out undercover League members. Talia certainly sent enough of them over the years.

“Maybe she’s just that good?” says Tim. “I certainly can’t find a damn thing on her, and being a League plant would explain that.”

Dick shrugs. “We’ll figure out her deal later. She calls Damian, and they talk briefly, but I couldn’t hear the conversation. Soon after Jason does his whole intercom takeover Marinette pulls out her little magic electro bursts and short circuits the electricity to the entire store.”

“And then caused you to trip.”

Dick wearily nods. “And then caused me to trip. By the time I detangle myself, she’s long gone. The lights come back on, and I’m stuck wondering where the hell she’s gone. I try to avoid getting clocked by security, so I keep to blind spots, which is how I eventually spot her doing the same.”

“Suspicious,” mutters Tim. “More evidence for the ‘League plant’ theory.”

“Or she could know security is looking for a woman of her description and she’s smart, either way, I tail her and corner her in a display room, no idea why she chose that one, but when I walk in it’s empty.”

“She teleported, or vanished like a ninja,” gasps Tim, eyes wide, pupils smaller than pinpricks. Bruce is now counting the seconds until he passes out.

Dick shakes his head. “No, she hid in the fucking closet. Tim, you need sleep.” Tim sticks out his tongue.

“I was this-” Dick places his fingers centimeters away from each other “-close to nabbing her, and then the whole Jessica situation happened.” He rubs a hand through already messed up, fly-away hair. “She drags me away screeching about lawyers and customer service, and it had been a very long day, so the second her back was turned I bolted. I couldn’t risk heading back to the display room, although if I were Marinette I’d be long gone, so I backtracked to where I stuffed my actual clothes and headed towards the atrium.”

“Yes, I saw your arrival as well,” Bruce confirms with an exasperated drawl. The videos spread out across multiple platforms gave an all-around idea of what happened in the atrium. “You all know better than to escalate things in public. We have an image to maintain after all." The boys nod, cowed and guilty. "That being said, things wrapped up rather neatly.” He eyes the boys with a paranoid weariness. “Too neatly.”

All three sag into their seats and gaze at each other with sheepish grimaces.

“Yeah, B, we noticed that too,” says Jason. “But at the time…” he trails off.

Tim continues, his speech sluggish. “It felt normal, to accept what was going on. The fight, the crazy lady, the little kid with the ball pit balls, her uncle being Dick’s old friend, and the store manager, and they let us go. It was easy to go along with it.” Grimacing, he gestures to his assorted piles of papers. “You know, besides for all the work I have now.” Crossing his arms on the table he lays his head in the middle. “Too many people, so little sense.”

“Damian hasn’t said a word about any of it.” Dick slouches lower in his chair.

“Kid was all smirks when he and the little liar approached us after we left the store,” grumbles Jason. "Had fuckin' ice cream and everything." He spins the almost empty bottle of alcohol coke on the table. “Of course, they made us wait, because after we left and booked it to the car, Dickie realizes his keys are gone too. So there we are standin' in the parking lot, Timmy doesn't have his shoes, and all we got between us is one nerf gun, no phones, no keys, and no fucks left to give.” Bruce, too tired from the absolute rollercoaster of emotions and information his children just sent him on, can do nothing but muster up a stern and disappointed glare. He trained them all better than to let a civilian pull one over on not just one of them, but all of them.

“Yeah, yeah, I know situational awareness. We’ll work on-” Dick breaks off his sentence, and sighs softly. A small soft smile overtakes his face, and he raises a single finger to his mouth. He nods in Tim’s direction.

Tim’s head, previously cradled in his arms, now lolls to the side. Neon blue light from his laptop highlighted his closed eyes, and the purplish bags underneath.

“Finally,” Jason mutters. “I swear he has the survival instincts of a wet paper bag. He’s been up for way too long.”

Bruce is just grateful he won't need to physically drag Tim off to bed and force him to get some desperately needed sleep. “Now we just need to get him to his room.” He would have done it himself if his ribs didn’t spasm the second he thought of the idea.  

“Not it,” Dick whispers so quickly it’s practically a rush of air.

“Not it,” says Jason, barely a millisecond behind.

“Ha!” Dick impishly grins. “You do it.”

“But-”

“Nope, I said it first. You got to carry him.”

Jason turns his head towards Bruce, big bluish-green eyes looking for support.

Bruce doesn’t get himself involved in the decision-making games his children play. “He said it first.”

Jason’s hopeful glance turns into a disgruntled snarl. “I hate both of you,” he spits.

“Love ya too, Jay.”

“Thank you, Jason.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters, wrinkling his nose. Jason pushes back his chair, and although he’s annoyed, the solid wood chair doesn’t scrape against the floor, so he can’t be too mad. Despite drinking his entire liter of mystery-alcohol-diet-coke mixture, his footsteps pace steady and strong. “Come here, ya little coffee-addicted gremlin.” Jason slips his arms around Tim’s body. It’s a testament to how exhausted his son must be, that Tim only flutters his eyes and protests incoherently at being lifted out of his chair.

“Quiet down, Replacement,” Jason murmurs, his voice soft as he speaks to his sleep-deprived brother. “All your calls and research will be there when you return from the land of nod.”

“But…”

“You can go willingly, or I can grab sedatives from the med bay and forcefully put your ass to sleep. I’ll put a bet on who’ll win that brawl.” Jason stands a good six inches taller than Tim, who looks like little more than a bedraggled rag doll in his older brother’s arms. Bruce knew who would win that fight too. Tim sighs and relaxes another inch into Jason’s arms. “There ya go. You can go back to bein’ insufferable once you’ve had some fucking sleep.”

“Hmm…” Tim's eyes fully flutter shut. Jason shakes his head and rolls his eyes, but softly traverses the room so as to not jostle him. Looking back over his shoulder one last time to shoot an I-can’t-believe-I’m-doing-this look at Bruce and Dick, before walking out of the room.

Silence overtakes the grand dining room as the last of Jason’s footsteps fades into the echoing halls of Wayne Manor. A light rain drizzles outside, the faintest patter hitting the tall arched windows letting in a soft grey light.

Dicks groans, pulling himself out of his slouch gracefully and into more of a respectable position. “I’m getting too old for that.”

“If you’re old, I must be ancient,” Bruce responds. He’s not, really. Only forty-seven to Dick’s thirty-two. What he’d been thinking taking in a ten-year-old at twenty-five, he couldn’t really quite say. The only thing that mattered at the time was the aching echo of loneliness reflected in the eyes of a child who had just lost their parents.

Now, look at them, all these years later.

“Nah, you’re not ancient, B. We’ve just been through enough shit in our lives to age a person twenty times over.”

Bruce gives him a look of high disappointment. “Stunts like this do not help, Richard.”

Dick has the decency to look properly ashamed. “I really didn’t mean for the situation to get so out of hand,” Dick insists in a soft, quiet tone. Bruce doesn’t quite believe it. His sons thrive off of chaos. Even if they didn’t mean for things to get out of hand, they tended to actively encourage it once in the middle of the undertow. “I know, I know, but how was I supposed to anticipate Damian teaming up with a… witch? Magician? Whatever she is.” Dick mutters the last sentence, but Bruce hears it clearly.

His sons certainly think the young woman is dangerous. Tim is thoroughly confused and stressed by her existence, although deciphering his third son’s emotions through his fog of exhaustion is a vexing endeavor Bruce still isn’t sure he accomplishes all the time. Jason clearly hates her or at least is holding a very large, very deep grudge against her. He wonders what exactly the content of the conversation was when she threatened Tim and Damian. He wonders if she knew the effect it would have on Jason.

Flickering light from the chandelier above pierces his eyes like a particularly vicious game of stab-the-vigilante, but this conversation is important, so, despite the full body ache accompanying his you’ve-pushed-too-far-and-now-you’ll-suffer-the-consequences migraine, he pushes through to ask, “What do we actually know about her?”

Dick sighs heavily, rubbing a hand across his face, and suddenly he looks every inch of his thirty-two years. “To be honest? Only a little. Tim wasn’t the only one to look her up. I did my searching too.”

“And?”

“Practically nothing. Basic info, but school records sealed tighter than Fort Knox, and firewalls grow tighter every time I try to hack ‘em. School activities, online media presence, and even pictures; all of it is whisps in the wind. Every time I try to look deeper, something...” Dick shudders as if shaking away a bad feeling. “I come up short and I can’t find a reason why. Even trying to think about Paris as a whole feels off and I can’t put my finger on it.”

“I can see if there’s anything in the League’s database about the city the past few years. It was Diana’s home base for decades until…” Bruce trails off, his mind an unexpected blank. Diana moved to the US from Paris eventually. Sometime within the last decade, but he can’t quite remember why. Surely, she must have told him at some point.

“She’s a fashion designer, I know that much. She has a website but it’s very bare bones. Commission work only. And her current course of study at Gotham U is Fashion and Business Management. But-” Dick’s hands flail into the air. “She’s from Paris! What on earth possessed her from moving from one of the fashion capitals of the world to here, to study fashion is beyond me.” 

“Hmmm…” Bruce’s brain whirls at a million miles a minute. Connections forming and rearranging on his mind’s case board. The incongruency is so stark, there must be a reason. They haven’t found it yet.

“As for her magic…” Dick shrugs. “She said her powers mostly affected situational outcomes, and from the incidents I saw, she told the truth. But I’ve never seen magic like that before. Magic that just… happens. She didn’t say words, she didn’t make hand gestures. She used tiny little - I want to call them mechanized balls, but we never came close enough to tell – to kickstart the magic.”

“A techno-mage then?”

Dick contemplates the idea for a moment before saying, “Could be. But it felt more than that. As soon as she became involved the whole day felt… left of normal. Which I suppose aligns with situational outcome manipulation. The day certainly went their way…” Dick shrugs. “I just don’t know.”

Bruce hums, finally asking the question that had swirled in his mind since the girl was brought up. “Do you think she’s a danger?”

Dick leans back in the chair, his face an avalanche of flickering emotions. Wind lightly howled outside the dining hall filling the intervening silence. Finally, he sighs and says, “No, I don’t think so. She was chaotic sure but genuinely enjoyed the game for what it was. Damian probably encouraged the more unhinged ideas. And yes, she has magic, but so do a ton of other, far more obviously dangerous people. Our system is tricked out for all types of magic users, and even if she can bypass them due to her own unique magic, we’d at least receive a warning. And as for our identities…” Dick half-smiles. “She didn’t even know we were the ‘Waynes’ until we were just about to leave, and she didn’t appear particularly star-struck. I doubt she’d make the jump from chaotic billionaire’s kids to vigilantes.”  

“As for Damian…?” Bruce hardly knows what to make of his youngest’s out-of-character reaction and hopes to receive some cohesive read on the situation from his eldest.  

Dick, being quite unhelpful, shrugs. “I think you should talk to him. Get his side of the story. Things may have been chaotic on our end, but he did genuinely have fun. And, yes, he’s acting out of the norm.” Dick pauses. “Way, way, out of the norm for him, but I don’t think he’s enchanted. I think he just has a crush.”

Bruce blinks. Isn’t that a hell of a thought?

Damian.

With a crush.

He doesn’t have the bandwidth to deal with these kinds of realities. Reflexively he massages his temple with the tips of his fingers trying to relieve the paining, aching pressure.

“Headache again?” asks Dick with sympathy. After twenty years his son knows his tells well, and Bruce has always had headaches, although his reasons for having them have certainly increased over the years.

“Yeah, is what it is though. We’ll keep an eye on Damian, have you run him through the influence-affected protocols?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

Dick shrugs. “Nothing, it’s mostly why I think he’s fine. She may be a danger, or powerful, but I don’t think she’s doing anything to Damian. Besides making him run up the data plan on his phone. He really hasn’t stopped texting the past two days.”

They’ve spent plenty of time talking about Damian, but Bruce hasn’t seen a glimpse of him since he woke up this morning. “Where is he?”

Dick pulls out his phone. “On a date, according to Stephanie.” Pulling up a photo that’s taken in a long-distance setting. Damian is pictured, seated at a cafe table, drinking out of a white coffee cup. Across from him sits a girl, Asiatic features, black hair, clad in a colorful sundress. They’re both smiling at each other.

It’s normal and adorable. And slightly worrying. Damian doesn’t smile like that unless looking at a fluffy four-legged creature.

“Stephanie trailed him?” 

Dick flips the phone away. “Actually, she and Cass both followed him when he left this afternoon. Not sure what they planned, but they’ve sent some nice pictures.” He pauses for a moment and smiles fondly. “If she’s not a danger, or a League plant, this could be really good for him.”

Bruce hums, unsure, and hating himself for that unsurety. He’ll make a call when he has more information, and less of a migraine. “Go wash up and grab some sleep. I’m out until my ribs heal, so I’ll need you to take point on patrol.”

Rising from his chair, Dick stretches and shoots him a grin. “It took you twenty-five years, but damn, you’ve finally learned to call it quits when you need a break. Proud of you B.”

Bruce doesn’t bother to disguise his roll of the eyes. Dick would know he did it regardless. “Get on.”

Dick shoots him a lazy salute. “Sir, yes, sir.” He ambles to the door, and Bruce calls out again before he’s gone.

“And next time, Dick, please try to keep the antics out of the paper, and off the internet.”

The shit-eating grin betrays Dick’s real thoughts when he says, “Of course Bruce, won’t happen again.”

Liar.

Bruce shakes his head in reluctant bemusement – should he honestly have expected anything else – and Dick ducks out of the door without another word. Finally, the dining room is quiet, except for the pitter-patter of rain on the window panes, and the soft hum of Tim’s computer.

Carefully, Bruce rises from the chair, his side twinging, head throbbing in what is now a full-on migraine.

He should have stayed in bed.

Ah, well, he’s suffered worse, and now he has a good idea of what happened with his sons that caused a headache so insistent he felt it halfway across the galaxy.

Gently closing Tim’s laptop, he doesn’t bother to touch the articles and paper, knowing his son’s organizational system may appear a mess to outsiders – even him on occasion – but that it has meaning for him. He observes the rest of the room; collecting Tim’s coffee mugs, and Jason’s empty plate and coke bottle – no need to have Alfred do it if he was right here – and ambles slowly to the kitchen taking care not to drop the dishes or disturb his ribs.

Placing the dishes away, Bruce leans heavily on the counter. Mind whirling, analyzing, and connecting the information as he has always done, however, it battles for dominance over the present, persistent, migraine. His body screams for more rest, and as much as he wishes to dig to the bottom of these problems right now, he trusts Dick has given him an accurate read of the situation. Later he can pry information from the girls, maybe they’ll have a less biased view of Damian’s… friend than his sons do.

He flicks the lights off in the kitchen, for now though, he’s heading back to sleep.

-line break-

A nap, a full meal, and hours later, the pitch black of the night concealed a heavier storm than the light drizzle which draped over the manor earlier in the day. Bruce, knowing damn well he wasn’t fit for patrol, sat in his office, a bottle of forty-year whisky perched next to a crystalline tumbler and a box of chocolates. A minor indulgence, especially as he should stay far away from alcohol at the moment. But if he hadn’t died from insane nutcases, aliens, or his children’s antics, mixing medicine and alcohol probably wouldn’t kill him.

Bruce snapshots a picture of the newspaper Alfred gave him this morning.

The front-page cover contains enough of the story to showcase the significant amount of drama his children had caused.

He texts the images to both Diana and Clark.

All he adds is, ‘I always know, and I’m always right.’

He pours another finger of the amber liquid into his glass and swirls it around as the computer turns on. Just because he wasn’t out and about, didn’t mean he intended to take the night off. Bruce stretches his fingers and opens up a blank case file template.

Time to find out who exactly is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. 

[dbphantom]

So I rewatched ep1 and 2 of Trigun Stampede with my friend and it got us thinking about the upcoming plot/structure of the show, namely if we get a season 2 what's gonna be the catalyst for it

AKA we have a very specific wishlist for this show and watch it be thrown out the window when episode 3 airs lmao

Spoilers under the cut

No, seriously, those virus explodey things are a total wildcard. Anything could happen! It's so exciting! But here's our take (big thank you to @moscovus for being a great friend and nerding out with me tn):

We were talking mostly about the map and the structure of the world, and because July is still around and hasn't happened yet, if The Destruction will happen during the show. Mainly because it feels like the map will start showcasing the party's adventure across it as the season goes on, and we can't help but notice July is placed perfectly on the right across from our party's starting place, with an orphanage smack dab in the middle. Plus there's a landmark with its name cut off on the far left which seems... Sus. That or the version of the show we watched was just ever so slightly zoomed in. Either or.

So the main theory is that the season 1 finale will be the events of July and Vash will get his iconique 60 bil bounty at the end of s1 because of Knives, leaving season 2 (+??) to cover the already written events of the story. Basically s1 is going to be introducing characters (a little out of order from what we're used to, but still), getting us used to the world/story, and then setting up/paying off with the July incident. So maybe that will be when the whole plant/angel arm reveal to the audience happens in this iteration (or maybe that will be a mid season finale type deal). Then the rest of the main story events will play out in s2 (+?????).

We're thinking changes mean Roberto + Meryl will be in July when the destruction happens and most importantly Roberto will die (or otherwise be written out) as the end of his character arc. My friend suggested his arc being him becoming less jaded as they follow Vash around and learn about Love and Peace. Specifically, we think Roberto will die so that in season 2 (if we get a s2, that's the HINGE) Meryl will get a second partner in Milly because We Want Her Back

Also in general we've come to the agreement that even if Wolfwood is introduced immediately [aka next episode] if he dies this season it's going to feel like an any% wolfwood dies speedrun with how fast everything seems to be progressing. That plus how young he looks, we're thinking maybe we will get a timeskip (kinda like the 5th moon incident timeskip) after the s1 finale (again, hypothetically/hopefully the destruction of July) and we'll actually get to see him change designs bc of the super fast metabolism stuff. AKA this is our plea: bring his tits back.

Also, if July happens during the season finale, then Knives will need time to incubate and heal. What better time to do that than during a between-seasons timeskip.

Anyway. Yeah. Wishlist:

Season 2 pls we love this so much already and we want MORE

July is the season 1 finale

slow

Roberto dies/is written out and is replaced with Milly after he gets satisfying character development

Bring back Vash's 60 billion. 6 million sounds SO WRONG

Wolfwood doesn't die until post season 1

Short timeskip after season 1 into season 2 to set the stage for the 'main' manga plot

If July happens and Knives has to regen after getting blasted/bested then a timeskip would make sense right

Hhhh

Feral plant Vash please we love the feathery baby limbed body horror and cg is the perfect medium for this scene to finally be animated

Elendira

Please

Don't fuck her up please

That's it

Okay actually that's a lie we also wanna see Tessla, Domina, and Chronica animated

But not the truck scene please

Realistically we know our wishlist probably isn't happening given we got a trailer with all the gung ho guns fighting already and what looks like Knives going all-out and they probably wouldn't have animated s2 stuff for a season 1 trailer but man we can hope right? Like maybe they'll just introduce them all before July and Knives is just throwing a temper tantrum like he often does 🥺 I mean he's still gotta make the plant collective and the ark so so so maybe he hasn't started yet despite physically stealing all the plants so far 😭 like if July is the s1 finale then there can still be a big flashy fight and everything, he will just regen after during the timeskip between s1 and s2 like he does in the manga 😭😭 <- is not coping great, clearly

Also, just for the record, it's been a couple months since I've last consumed the manga and the og anime, so forgive me for any inconsistencies or incorrect info, my memory isn't the greatest. I only have room for borderlands lore in here

Odds are, they're probably not following the manga's story, or changed it so significantly that none of this speculation actually matters. We will see!! After all these virus injector explodey things are totally new, so who knows where tf they're taking us next. We certainly don't. We're just having fun with it.

Just as an overall thing, this is us assuming season 1 is going to be 12 episodes. If it's 24, then maybe July will be the mid-season finale and 13+ will be after a timeskip.

[mirrorballtales]

Do NOT withhold your vote!!!

You are only silencing YOUR voice and assuaging your guilt. This “activism” will do NOTHING for Palestinians. Look at the results and data from previous elections. Look at 2016. You will not send the message you think you are sending, what you are doing is allowing the other candidate to become more emboldened. You will carve an easier path for the other side. A side that will NEVER support your cause. They are solely interested in isolationist policies.

If you need to look at their handbook, look at the German election of 1932. Paul Von Hindenburg beat Adolf Hitler, then appointed him Chancellor. Within a year, Hitler withdrew Germany from the League of Nations, the Nazi party gained 43% of votes making them the majority. The Night of the Long Knives (in addition to Hindenburg’s death a few months later) helped Hitler and the Nazi Party to consolidate absolute power in Germany by removing their political opposition. From August 20th, onwards, the Reichswehr, who had previously been a separate organization, now swore a personal allegiance to Hitler. The SA were dramatically reduced in size, dropping by 40% to 1.8 million by 1935. Goebbels engineered the media coverage following the attack to present it as a preventative measure, in response to the SA’s ‘plan to overthrow the government’. As the SA were known for being violent and unruly, many saw this as a legitimate move by the government to ensure public order.

You think MAGA isn’t reading the handbook of the Third Reich? You think they haven’t hired their own “Goebbels?” Gleichschaltung was the process of the Nazi Party taking control over all aspects of Germany. It is otherwise known as coordination or Nazification. The process primarily took place between 1933-1934. The Nazi’s started with the Civil Service, issuing the Act for the Restoration of the Professional Civil Service on the April 7, 1933. This act legalized removing anyone of non-Ayran descent from the civil service. In the judicial system specifically, this act removed any judges that were deemed non-compliant with Nazi laws or principles. This act was reinforced by the German Civil Service code of January 26, 1937, which retired any judges or judicial official who would not intervene in cases and rule in favour of the Nazis. The People’s Court, a court created by the Nazis in April 1934 with judges chosen specifically for their Nazi beliefs, replaced the Supreme Court. With these measures in place, the Nazification of the judicial system was complete. Gleichschaltung was applied across every possible aspect of government policy. To take control of cultural policy, the Nazis appointed Joseph Goebbels as Minister for Public Engagement and Propaganda on March 13, 1933. Goebbels became responsible for controlling the national media, film, theatre, arts, and other cultural aspects. Goebbels soon radicalized each of these areas, ensuring that they advocated Nazi ideals. Whilst Gleichschaltung aimed to reach every aspect of rule in Germany, this was not always possible. Local governments proved more difficult to infiltrate, and even at the end of 1945 only 60% of local mayors were Nazi Party members. Despite this, on the whole, Gleichschaltung was largely successful. By the end of 1934, the Nazis had managed to infiltrate and take control of every major aspect of German government.

They will scare you. They will tell you immigrants are taking your jobs (what jobs are they actually taking), they will tell you the “other” is at fault. They’ll paint the “other” as the enemy while they steal the riches and leave you in ruins. He is dangerous. To understand the present study the past. Change needs to happen but to stand idle and allow for a change in creed and belief and allow someone to shake the foundation of this nation will leave everyone maimed. I guarantee it. Now enough preaching.

GO VOTE!!!

[soapsips]

you have never seen this place before, and yet it is standing on the opposite street with no prior warning.

an antiques shop, supposedly - you have nothing better to do curious, bored, you enter.

there is a chopping board to your right. a somewhat unexpected thing to find in an antiques place, you suppose, but maybe this one in particular is trying to cultivate some type of niche.

in any case, even though you're unsure if you should, you pick it up. it's a wooden thing, scratches dug into its surface, rough. the edges pick your fingers when you brush over them. you turn it over in your hands, wondering if maybe there's something on the back to distinguish it from a million other used chopping boards sitting in people's kitchens.

nothing.

again, you turn your attention to the front. other than the scratches, there's nought but a few light stains. it is entirely ordinary.

and then the strangest thing happens.

you smell food. it's not anything very specific - something meaty, maybe. and you hear light sizzling somewhere distant on your left - you turn, but there are only shelves, housing other seemingly worthless objects. and you hear the steady thump of something being cut - cucumbers, or carrots - and muffled conversation - a you know i'm no good at this, a sure, but i can teach you, an okay spoken lovingly enough to ache - and despite standing in an antiques shop, you are in someone's kitchen, and there are two people cooking dinner together in peace.

softly, you put the chopping board down. as quietly as they came, the sounds, the smell - they fade, and you are left in silence, feeling as though you have been cared for.

your hand is also suddenly missing everything but the bones. rattling as you flex your fingers, which you can apparently still do despite the lack of muscle, it has become entirely skeletal. there is no tissue, nor blood in veins, none of that which a hand should have other than bone, yet it bolds itself together in perfect working order. it does not hurt. to your surprise, it feels right.

truthfully, you have always been a strange one. skin and flesh felt restraining - you retreated from conversation, from people. you worried some of them. you have always preferred to watch. collect.

and somehow, you think you know exactly what kind of antiques shop this is. you are sure, which is odd, because you have never been sure about much of anything.

but you know that you have found an archive.

there is- so much, in a life. in chopping boards and the knives that accompany them. sofa cushions. compact mirrors. loose threads and surface scuffs. and they are here.

and you will witness them.

human hearts reach. they bleed everywhere they go - you will hold all of that in your skeleton palms, as gently as you can. this place has found you, somehow, someway, bleeding from its floorboards, in a perfume smell you can't exactly place. it is now yours, all walls and ceiling.

with no prior warning, you - yes, you, lost in a big, big world with head-height skies and ankle-deep oceans - have found yourself a home.

your bones creak. it's a sound you have sorely missed.

[elles-archives]

Ransom Drysdale x Wife!Reader

In for a Penny Part: Seven

Word Count: 1240

Series Warnings: Smut, Angst, Fluff, Spoilers for Knives Out, Talks of pregnancy, Murder, Swearing, Potentially dark themes (but not really), Death, Nausea, Anxiety. (I may add more as the series progresses)

Part Warnings: Language.

Series Summary: When Harlan Thrombey is found dead, the last person you would think is responsible is. The only problem is how far do you go to protect the ones you love the most.

(A/N: I appreciate how much interest I have received for this series. If you add yourself to the taglist for In for a Penny then can you please make sure that your age is in your bio as this is an 18+ story. Thank you - Ellen)

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Add yourself to the Taglist

Everyone gathered into the library. Alan sitting at his table with a young woman by his side, helping him arrange the papers. The tension from the living room was still there but it was masked with excitement. Linda and Richard wanted the house. Most likely just for show, as they will keep their Boston place. Joni wanted the money. That way she could pay for her extravagant lifestyle and for Meg’s school tuition. Walt and Donna wanted the publishing company. It was hardly a secret that Walt felt that it was his company. All he did was publish the books, Harlan wrote them, he did the hard work and Walt wanted to sell them to Netflix. Something Harlan was against.

Obviously, mine and Ransom’s excitement came from knowing that no one would be getting what they wanted. They all deserved to be cut out anyway. None of them were very nice people and the idea that all their plans for their inheritance were about to be thwarted was something I couldn’t wait to see.

Knowing that shit was about to hit the fan, me and Ransom made our way over to the back corner of the library, Ransom pulling me into his lap again. Linda noticed this action and rolled her eyes at us. Sitting quietly at the back, Ransom was playing with the chess pieces in one hand, and I was playing with his fingers on his other, twisting his wedding ring around. I loved to feel his ring, knowing that it was the thing that connected us together. that and the matching one on my left hand.

It didn’t take long for Alan to begin.

“Well. Thank you all for getting together like this, it isn't legally necessary, but I thought because you're all in town and some of you are leaving soon, it would be best…” Alan began before being interrupted by Blanc.

“Excuse me Mr. Stevens. As to that, ladies, and gentlemen, I'd like to gently request you all remain in town until the investigation is completed. Shouldn't be more than two days.” This time Lieutenant Elliott cut in.

“He's gently requesting, I'm ordering. Nobody move until we figure this out.” This caused everyone to become upset. As far as the family were concerned, Harlan’s death was a suicide, and they had no idea why the police believed otherwise.

“What.” Linda asked confused.

“Can we asked why? Has something changed?” Joni chimed in.

“No.” Blanc answered her vaguely.

“No, it hasn’t changed or no we can’t ask?”

“Mr. Steven’s please continue.” Blanc motioned to Alan, completely ignoring Joni.

“Right. Well, the other reason I thought this gathering would be, uh, beneficial is that as I told Walt, Harlan altered his will one week ago. He sealed it and asked me not to submit it to the courts for probate until after his death. So, in case there's any confusion about anything we're all together, we can talk. I can't imagine any of it will be that complicated, Harlan's assets included um…”

“…the house.” Sally, chimed in.

“The house which he owned outright, um…”

“…sixty million.”

“Right in various cash accounts and investments, yes and of course the real assets are sole ownership of um…”

“…Blood Like Wine.”

“Blood Like Wine publishing, his publishing company. Ok.” Alan finished listing Harlan’s assets. The look on everyone’s faces was hilarious and it was getting extremely hard for me to contain my laughter. Ransom saw this; he put his hand on my thigh and squeezed gently gaining my attention before covering my mouth with his own.

“Shh Kitten, don’t let on.” He whispered, barely audible to me, making sure the rest of his family didn’t hear him. I still saw the amused glint in his eye. I nodded my head in agreement to him before pecking his lips once more then turning my head back to watch the show.

“Um, he did write up a statement when he made the recent changes, he wanted it read first, so:” Alan opens up the letter and begins to read it. "Some of you may be surprised by the choice I've made here. No pleasure was taken in the exclusion, and its purpose was not to sow greater discord in the family, quite the opposite. Please accept it with grace and without bitterness. But do accept it. It's for the best."

Carrying on, Alan then opens up the envelope containing the will, reading it to himself first before reading it aloud. “Ok. So - oh wow, yeah, not complex at all. This'll be quick. "I Harlan Thrombey, being of sound mind and body, yada yada, my assets both liquid and otherwise, I leave in their entirety to Marta Cabrera. My entire ownership of Blood Like Wine publishing I leave in its entirety to Marta Cabrera. The copyright of its catalogue likewise I leave in its entirety to Marta Cabrera.”

Everyone turned to look at Marta, and I swear that I saw steam come out of my in-laws ears. I felt bad for Marta who was standing in shock, not really absorbing the rage going on around her. Walt went and snatched the will from Alan and had a look at it, both him and Linda chanting ‘no.’

Ransom and I were unable to understand what everyone was saying. It was all mixed together. However, soon Ransom moved me gently off of his lap and grabbed my hand instead as he left the room laughing loudly. I couldn’t help but quietly giggle along with his. Both of us pushed past Marta, who was frozen in the doorway, as we walked out.

“So, that went well.” Ransom laughed as he wrapped his arms around me.

“I’m sorry but I thought your mother was going to combust.” I wheezed as we continued to hear the commotion inside.

“Shit’s about to happen.” Ransom murmured as he dipped his head o kiss me before gesturing for me to go to my car. “Meet me at our restaurant.”

I automatically knew exactly where he meant.

As I got in my car I noticed at the entire family were following Marta out of the house. Marta panicked as she went to her car, but it failed to start. I watched with an amused smirk as Marta eventually made a break for my husband’s car, still trying to avoid everyone surrounding her.

“This could be the best thing to happen to all of you!” I heard Ransom shout before he drove off. I quickly followed him to the restaurant. I knew what Ransom was going to do. Although, I wasn’t sure if backing her into a corner was the most effective way to do things, I knew better then to try and change Ransom’s mind once he had it set on something.

Eventually we got to the restaurant, and I took a deep breath before exiting my car. I don’t know what Ransom said to Marta in their car on the way, but I would have to follow his lead in whatever he went with.

Getting out, I confidently walked into the restaurant and straight to the corner where me and Ransom usually sat. Just as I thought, both of them were sitting at the table. I approached them with a smile. I quickly kissed Ransom before he stood up and allowed me to slide in next to the wall before he followed placing his arm around me.

“So, shall we?”

**

Taglist: (Crossed out didn't tag.)

@bval-1

@dietmountainhoneydew

@cevansgurl

@ttae-yong

@princess-baby18

@ccmarvelxx

@tenaciousperfectionunkown

@slutforchrisjamalevans

@mechixx

@booklover2622

[deafsignifcantother]

fruit fly

♥ summary: you were the one left in the house - the one that wasn't supposed to be there. he had captured you, but his tenderness left you weak in the knees

♥ relationships: asa emory x deaf gender neutral reader

♥ word count: 1,491

♥ warnings: cat and mouse, albiest mentality from his part

The front door closes, and you feel it. The roommates must be home early, just as you were. It was supposed to be date night, though you decided in the middle of it that you didn't like the scene. So here you were, at home, sitting in the dark of your room listening to music and trying to sleep early. At the sound of the closing, you look over at the darkness peaking from underneath your door. A few seconds pass, and then many, and suddenly, a weird feeling corrupts your mentality. They haven't turned on the lights. Why?

.

Asa knew you were up there the moment he heard your unslick bedroom door open. It creaks louder than you would have realized, and it was something he was grateful for since otherwise, you could have gone untouched. Your roommates lay in another room, unconscious. The placement of their bodies, and the fact that they are alive, is a rarity.

He rushes up the stairs, something that you can feel, his thick footsteps offering no stealth. You hurry off of your bed, leaving the blankets askew, before shrinking into your hiding place.

In movies, you know that the killer consistently taunts: they always tell the victim to come out, telling lies about how they won't cause harm. Is this what he is saying now? You can see him from your place crouching inside of the closet. With both of your hands covering your mouth, you hold your breath.

He can see the blankets, knowing which direction you threw them in, following the invisible trail to the closet. But when he opens it, with the lack of light in the room, he can hardly see anything in the dark. So he closes it, knowing that you would eventually find yourself in one of his traps, and he leaves it at that, only after checking under the bed.

I got away. You blinked rapidly, wondering if this was true. There was no time to bask in your joy, however, because a question looms over you like a storm cloud. What next? Do you stay here forever? Do you get your phone, warning the girls not to come home, or do you try and text your police department? You have never seriously considered what the best action would be. You had never thought of yourself stuck in a situation like this.

Asa smiled to himself, crouching down in front of the other girls, picking out their phones from their bags and resting them all, in order, on the table. What are you going to do? When he hears the door creaking, he doesn't head up, instead of staying in his place, waiting to hear a snap or a crunch or any scream of yours.

But none of it comes. You step over each trap, your heart pounding in your chest, and you can see from your place on the stairs that the door has almost a million locks on it, which isn't good.

He probably has the key.

You'll have to get it by getting close to him. Detaining him first must be the easiest solution. So what? Get behind him, grab him by the shoulders and let out all of your inner anger on him? Would he take you down before you even try? For once, you are considering how much sound the world makes around you. What if you trigger the smoke alarm - or if you turn on the blender to hide your weakness.

You step over the spikes on the stairs, holding your breath again, only releasing it when you step onto the ground floor. There's the kitchen window that you always keep close, the one without the screen. You can crawl through that. With all the locks on the door, it's unlikely that the man will follow you outside.

A wire tugs at your ankle, and it catches your attention immediately. The man has the whole house rigged. From your kitchen view, you can see wires on the knives, practically a leash, waiting for you to pry.

You lower yourself to the floor, crawling, feeling the distant footsteps. The man is in the living room. He has to be. You crawl on all fours quicker until the footsteps stop, and you freeze.

You're going to die. That much is a certainty.

But you take the chance, hurrying into the kitchen, the adrenaline almost making you not care if he catches you or not. With no plan B, this attempt is your only. You reach the tile, going into a crouching position, looking behind you. There's nothing: no figure, no boogie man, and no killer. There is just silence, something that stabs into you like a knife. The kitchen has no sign of struggle, making you believe that he had not even been in here, especially since the window lacked wooden planks. So you climb up on the counter, opening it, watching it slide with ease before placing your hands on the window sill. But something is wrong. It feels hard - not like a wooden material, nothing metal nor plastic. When you try to pull your hand back, it sticks, and you notice the dark tape that seemed to be melted to the sill. It is sticky, unbelievably so, and when you pull back, it relents a bit, not before stretching your skin with a sharp sensation. Like a fly trap, you are stuck, in front of the light, obvious to anyone walking by.

You don't even have the chance to turn around before he grabs you from behind.

He uses his knife to cut you out, and not in the way you would like. Earlier, he wraps a rope around your legs, taking advantage of your position, putting handcuffs on you before even thinking about cutting you out. When he does, he takes layers of your skin off, leaving a print on the tape.

And that's how you end up in this place. It's cold, almost always, and the floors are constantly vibrating. It feels as if the man is depriving you of your senses. If he even realized you are deaf. You can't tell. His mouth never moves from behind that mask. He never talks - does he know that you wouldn't be able to listen?

From within your room, you don't realize that other people had it worse. They are in cages, piled together, filled with drugs, and cut up just for fun. You have a bed, a bookshelf, and a vanity.

He knows you are deaf. It wasn't something he figured out - instead, when he was dragging you into the living room, one of your friends had pleaded with him to let you live.

"They are deaf," they begged.

And it felt like faith. You have to be why he was having such trouble trying to decide who to keep.

In your room, now, whenever he visits, he has noticed that you stopped fighting. He gifts you food, things he's cooked up, food personal to him. And you eat, not ignoring him, but not speaking to him either. You often glance up at him when he watches you. And when you finish eating, he rubs your cheek, patting it before he leaves.

Sometimes he gives you things like coloring books or puzzles. And on the days where he is stressed out, too tired to carry on with his plights, he will sit down and do them with you. He never talks, never tries to communicate with you. The two of you sit side by side in peace.

Peace. That is soon how the both of you would describe it. Worry will lace your movements, often when you are with him. Is he planning something? Why is he keeping you here? But the longer things go on, and the longer between moments where he causes you harm, the more you begin to trust him.

And he knows this. It is palpable, your trust, and he finds himself looking down on you. You are helpless. Completely defenseless against him, and your disability makes you a bit cuter to him. You fell for the flytrap, and it amuses him because fruit flies cannot hear. Everything about this laid out perfectly for him. You seem to be his gift - and he treats you like a prized possession. Your trust means a lot to him, even with how you don't struggle, and it all has to indicate something. He is not spiritual nor superstitious, and the idea of soulmates is beyond him. But in humble moments, you make him believe it is all true.

So here he fulfills you, away from the others, making you oblivious to his sadistic side, beyond the murders of your roommates. Unlike the common fruit fly, you are an individual, a unique, beautiful thing. Drosophila melanogaster is what he would call you, but you make him feel something strange: the desire to learn your name.

[deceitfuldevil]

Do I Wanna Know?

Pietro Maximoff X Reader

Summary: You and Pietro’s friendship could best be described as a relationship that never was, it was constant flirting that you both brushed off as just a very close friendship. A friendship so close that sometimes you flirt with others, so when feelings get hurt; dynamics are crushed. But those who are meant for each other will always come crawling back. Vaguely based off the song “Do I Wanna Know?” by the Arctic Monkeys.

Warnings: Slight angst, kissing, fluff, all that :)

Word Count: 2.3K

It all started when you first joined the avengers, a few months after the battle of Sokovia. Tony had a last minute thing with Pepper and assigned Pietro Maximoff to show you around the compound, which he initially whined over. Not wanting to do anything more than stay in bed on his day off, he begged Wanda to take over for him. She agreed under the circumstance that he’d make dinner for a week.

Sitting on the couch watching whatever was on TV at the moment, Pietro munched on some chips, enjoying his day off to its fullest extent. He heard some chattering behind him and turned his head to see his sister Wanda and another woman with her head turned the other way, who he could only assume was the newest member to the team. Waving a small hello to his sister he turned back around and continued his program, but of course Wanda wouldn’t let him off that easy.

“Ahem,” Wanda said, clearing her throat as she now stood next to the couch Pietro sat on with the newest recruit, you.

“Y/n, this is my brother Pietro. Pietro, this is the newest addition to the Avengers, Y/n.” she said with a smile, mentally slapping her brother for being so lazy. Pietro gave you and Wanda a half-assed glance ready to wave you off, but he did a double take when he saw you. Choking slightly on his chips he stood up abruptly and brushed himself off, extending his hand out to yours.

You started to feel hot under his gaze as you gladly accepted his hand and shook it; he had a firm grasp that made you want to melt into the ground.

“So, what’s your thing printcessa?” He asked smoothly, slipping his hand out of yours, making you frown slightly as the loss of contact. But then you quirked your head to the side, not understanding his question.

“He means, what powers do you have?” Wanda interjected, clarifying his question.

“Oh you know, telekinesis, super strength, some healing abilities, the usual.” you joked

“Hey we could’ve really used you a few months ago during the battle of Sokovia. This asshole nearly got himself killed!” Wanda said, raising her eyebrows at her brother.

“Ahh sister you worry too much, I was fine!” Pietro insisted, waving her off.

“Sure you were. . . we’re going to finish this tour now okay?” Wanda said, turning around and getting ready to show you the rest of the compound. But of course Pietro had something to say about that.

“And take this gorgeous new Avenger away from me? You know Tony assigned me to show her around, right? So rude of you to just steal her away like that. . .” Pietro said, rushing to your side and taking your hand, pulling you along.

“I thought you wanted to-”

“Sorry! TV is too loud, I can’t hear you!” Pietro said running off with you, making you giggle.

The rest of the tour Pietro slipped in little compliments and flirty touches; in fact, the rest of your time there was practically the same. You had an innate attraction to Pietro, and he was drawn to you from the moment he laid eyes on you. But yet, nothing ever actually happened between the two of you, which quite frankly annoyed the hell out of the team. Having to constantly watch you two flirt and cuddle as if it was nothing was borderline ridiculous.

It’s been four months since you’ve joined the avengers and your tension with Pietro was higher than ever, and with another successful mission down Tony decided to host another one of his famous parties. You saw this as the perfect opportunity to look irresistible for Pietro, but when you walked out onto the dance floor in your sexiest dress and saw Pietro at the bar with some blonde bimbo caressing his muscles, and you damn near lost it.

Rationally, you had no right to be angry at all. You and Pietro weren’t an item, you never were. But seeing him in such close proximity to some girl who's name he probably didn’t even know practically made steam come out of your ears. You disregarded your fellow teammates saying hello to you as you entered the party and the compliments thrown your way as you made your way towards Pietro, ready to give him a piece of your mind.

But you were too late, no more than 10 feet away from Pietro the nasty blonde he was with pulled him in for a sloppy kiss. You watched in horror and pain as you felt your heart break into a million and one pieces. You rushed off to your room before any tears could spill from your eyes, staying there for the rest of the night as the party raged on, only imagining the worst in your head about Pietro and that bitch he was with.

What you didn’t see was Pietro promptly pushing the blonde away from him, and Wanda finding her brother soon after slapping him across the face.

“What the hell, Pietro?!” Wanda shouted at her brother, drawing attention from the others at the party.

“Suka! What was that for?!” He exclaimed, holding the left side of his face in pain.

“That was for kissing that girl when you know Y/n’s been pinning after you for months!” She yelled, not caring about the excess attention from the others.

“She doesn’t feel that way about me. We've been over this a thousand times Wanda!” He fired back, anger and hurt lacing his voice.

“Yes she does! Did you forget I can read minds?” She said rolling her eyes, a little red glowing in them. Pietro got quiet and turned away from his sister.

“You better go and apologize to her and tell her how you really feel before she changes her mind after what she just saw!” Wanda pointed out, causing her brother to rush off, leaving streaks of blue in his place.

You sat with your back pressed to your door as you sobbed quietly, jumping when you heard a knock behind you.

“Y/n?” You heard Pietro call out. You sighed and rolled your eyes.

“I don’t have any condoms Pietro, go ask Sam.” You said bitterly.

Standing on the other side of the door your words were like knives in Pietro’s chest; he wanted to respond and tell you how he really felt, but after your harsh comment he turned away and went back to his room. Wanda visited him when the party was over and he gave her the same bitter attitude you had given him hours ago.

“I don’t know what part of her head you looked into but she definitely doesn’t feel the same way, so thanks a lot.” Pietro said harshly, making Wanda leave without another word.

Things were a lot different in the compound after that night. You and Pietro were no longer lovey-dovey, now holding nothing but contempt towards one another. It changed the whole dynamic of the team, none of them knowing how to act around you two now, or even what happened.

It had been about three weeks since you and Pietro last spoke to each other, and here you were at 3am sitting on the couch crying while you ate ice straight out of the carton. You sat silently as the tears streamed down your face, jumping when you felt a hand on your shoulder. Turning around you saw a very tired looking Wanda.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” You asked quietly.

“No, but your thoughts did. I never knew someone’s thoughts could be so loud when they’re heartbroken.” Wanda said, sitting down next to you.

“Pfshh, I’m not heartbroken! What in God's name are you talking about?” You said casually, pushing your emotions back down as you set the container of ice cream down on the table in front of you.

“You know, he’s torn up too.” Wanda said, turning to face you.

“And you expect me to believe that why?” You asked, neither of you noticing the new presence that stood in the kitchen.

“Did both of you magically forget I can read minds?” She asked with a laugh, making you feel small.

“Okay well even if he did have feelings for me at one point there’s no way he still feels that way. If he did he wouldn’t have let that girl kiss him at the party,” you said bitterly.

“You have no idea how much he regrets that, and for the record that blonde kissed him. He pushed her off after you ran away.” Wanda explained, putting more hope than you’d cared to admit in your heart.

“He’ll come crawling back to you soon enough, I promise.” she said with a small laugh, patting your back as she got up and left you alone on the couch. Wondering if your feelings for Pietro flowed both ways.

A little more than a week had passed since that night as you were constantly tormented by the question, “Do I wanna know?” because if Pietro did feel the same way towards you at one point, how would the recent events change how he feels for you now?

However now was not the time to dwell on the question racking your head; now you were on a mission with the rest of the team getting some much needed intel from what you thought was an abandoned HYDRA base. But when gunfire erupted you immediately took cover and soon followed Steve’s orders to fall back and head to the quinjet. Running back you tripped and fell face first into the dirt. Getting up you winced as you looked around and saw the last person you’d want hurt.

“Pietro’s shot!” You scream into your comms as you crawled next to him as he laid up against a tree, falling in and out of consciousness. You started to cry worrying your powers wouldn’t be enough as you placed your hands over his wounds, mustering all of the power you could. You thought all hope was lost until you heard a loud gasp as Pietro grabbed onto you and held you close to his chest.

“It’s okay Pietro, I’m here, you’re alright,” you whispered as you started to feel very tired. He ran his fingers through your hair as he stared down at you, in awe of your abilities. You looked back at him with tired eyes.

“I’ll always come crawling back to you,” you said as sleep took over your body. Pietro took it upon himself to speed your sleeping figure back to the quinjet, setting you down as you snored softly. He admired you, but only for a minute as Wanda embraced him in a big hug from behind.

“You have got to stop making the sacrifice play, brother.” she said, more than relieved that he was okay.

“Now I just might. I wouldn’t want to put this beauty under so much stress again right?” He joked, motioning to your sleeping figure. Wanda smiled brightly at him.

“You better not mess this up again, otherwise I’m finding her a more suitable partner.” Wanda joked, punching her brother in the arm playfully.

“No one is more perfect for her than I.” Pietro said with a cocky tone. Wanda only sighed in response, not wanting to admit that he was right.

-

You woke up slowly in a dimly lit room; looking around you saw a familiar man with silver hair asleep in the corner of what you now recognized as the compound’s recovery room. You smiled contently as you used your telekinesis to bring the chair he slept in next to your bed. You reached out for his hand and gently ran your fingers over his knuckles, sighing tranquilly

Pietro slowly awoke as you just stared shamelessly at him.

“Dragosté!” Pietro exclaimed, now fully awake, jumping up and embracing you in a tight hug. He pulled away but kept his close distance, his hot breath fanning over your face as your eyes flickered from his eyes to his lips. A few more stolen moments passed by before Pietro closed the space in-between you two and pressed his soft lips to yours. Moving lazily against each other he slowly pulled away and rested his forehead on yours.

“I’m so sorry for everything, I should’ve seen it sooner.” he said sweetly, pressing another kiss to your cheek as you smiled.

“It’s okay, you’re here now and that’s all that matters.” you said, bringing your hand up to the side of his face, admiring his cobalt blue eyes. His eyes filled with the most love-struck look you’d ever seen as he pressed his lips back on yours, grinning from ear to ear.

You’d have some explaining to do to your other teammates in the morning when they’d inevitably find you both sleeping together in the cramped hospital bed though.

-

Hi all!! I hope this short imagine was fun for you all to read! Some of my more recent one-shots have been getting a lot of attention lately and it makes me so happy! I am over the moon that I’m not only writing again but gaining some traction. Thank you all so much! Don’t forget that my requests are open and feedback is encouraged! Also I just hit 100 followers and I know it’s not much but I’ll be starting a sleepover tomorrow!

Much Love,

-Skyler

[jessiebanethedragon]

White Sands Warm the Cold Sea (pt 10)

Summary: the reader, betrothed to a disgusting Coruscanti Lord flees her home world and lands herself in a plethora of trouble, a ship of clones, and one pirate captain whose cold exterior needs much more than the tropical seaside sun.

Chapter one

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Warnings: Swearing, takes place in time periods where women have dowery's and suchlike. The readers' dad and betrothed are asses.

Chapter Ten: The Echo

Greeting your companions the next morning was just as awkward as bidding them goodnight after the debacle last night. You’re stiff, bruised, and the dirtiest you’ve ever been in your whole life. Lightly retying the corset to support yourself, you collect Gonk from where she’s curled in the Hammock and brace yourself before heading out onto the deck of the ship. It’s already very bright out, and the crew is as rambunctious as ever. With the Captain throwing orders around here and there, Tech and Wrecker working the sails, and Crosshair shouting back down to Hunter. It’s marvellous how they work together when they're not disagreeing about something.

You feel Gonk leap off your shoulder with a curious noise before bounding away, her speckled wings bouncing behind her. She looks clumsy for a lizard, but then again, how many lizards did you know that have feathers?

“Good Morning!” Wrecker shouts to you when he notices your figure. You give him a smile and a small wave. Tech returns your smile and watches you as you glance around. Appreciating the sea and the vessel you’ve found yourself on.

The water of the Corillian run is a rich blue with just enough green to look magical. And the waves the churn underneath you look more powerful than any carriage or speeder you’ve seen before. Just as you’re wondering how deep it is, there's a commotion behind you. Hunter is glaring deadly at Gonk, who’s held by her neck feathers in front of his face. And from the way her wings are flapping and her front claws grab at him, it's no mystery where she was, or where she’s trying to go.

“I’m sorry!” You say, gathering your skirts and rushing over. The Captain glares at you as he shoves her into your arms, her grey feathers bunching up as he does so. His tunic is rolled up again, and in the morning light you can see the symbols on his forearm more clearly. Traitor.

When the wooden ruler collided with your desk you yelped in fear and surprise. Was it the first time this had happened? Absolutely not, and if these lessons continued this way, it certainly wouldn't be the last.

“Pay. Attention.” The Pantoran woman growled at you, she was very smart. You could just tell, and the fact she was instructed to dumb down your education infruiated the both of you. “As I was saying…” She eyed you - a dare to look out the window and start daydreaming again.

“Teach me about the war.” You blurted out the statue of the emperor they were erecting, catching your eye again.

“This is a language class.” She said with a sigh, before placing the ruler down. “I’m guessing you want to know about the Clones.”

“How did you kn-”

“It’s all anyone ever talks about.” She interrupted you, which was shocking in itself, but not unwelcome. Perching herself on the birch coloured desk, you found her staring out the window as well.“It’s well known that there was scarcely a better soldier than a Kaminoan Clone. And so when the war came to its end, and the Jedi went rouge, well they hardly stood a chance. Those who sided with them were caught and killed or branded traitors. Why they let any of them survive is beyond me, but those clones were so fiercely loyal. Some of them just couldn't shake that. No matter how hard the Kaminoans or the Emperor tried, there were millions of them, and some…” She paused for a moment, glancing back at the door as if someone was watching you through it.

“Well even if an inhibitor chip is 99.99% effective, out of one million, there will still be one hundred defects.”

You try to stop staring, you really do. But by then Hunter has caught your eye, and is glaring even harder than he was before. Cautiously you take a step back, finding yourself in the company of clones is one thing, those willing to defy Nython, another. But enemies of the Galactic Empire was a different kind of dangerous.

“Courtesy of your betrothed.” The Captain grits out, and whatever softness was there from the night before is gone. Scared, you clutch Gonk to your chest like a child would a blanket. “What did you do?” You ask, looking him up and down. Even with the scars on his knuckles of cuts and burns, He didn't look like the horror stories you’d been told as a kid, in fact, he didn't look dangerous at all. But the symbols were there, scared into his skin some time ago. Something flashes in his brown sugar eyes, like the ping of a blaster bounces off of his iries in the heat of battle. Like he relives combat right in front of you.

“What we did was rescue a prisoner of war.” He spits, walking towards you and backing you into the banister that overlooks the pain part of the deck. “That hammock you’re sleeping in belongs to someone.”

“I’m sorry.” You say trembling. Looking to the side to see Wrecker place a firm hand on his sergeant's shoulder and pull him firmly away from you.

“Echo’s was in the hands of the Techno Union for some time.” Wrecker explains defusing the situation. “He’s waiting for us on Alderaan, after some much needed rest.” Hunter, who’s now swatting Tech - and whatever device he’s trying to scan him with - away, seems to be ignoring you.

“I-I didn’- I didn’t mean…” You tell Wrecker shakily.

“I know, and it’s okay.” He says with a smile, but Hunter's words resonate with you. Haunting you of acts you have had nothing to do with.

In his cabin Hunter throws his hat as hard as he can against the wall. He hates you, he hates the Empire and most of all he hates Nython. And what’s even more infuriating is how innocent you are, how your morales are driving you away from your betrothed, and how you saved the shit disturbing reptile that seems to like himself and yourself too much. And no matter how much Hunter wants to despise the empire, if it’s still filled with people like you, it means there’s still something to fight for. But if he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t know how much fight he's got left.

☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠ ☠

“What did he mean, courtesy of my betrothed?” You have to walk quickly behind Crosshair in an effort to keep up, his long legs easily outpace you and even though you’re both still injured he moves quickly. You follow him into the storage area that you’re all too familiar with, nearly bumping into him when he stops to look for a specific crate.

“Why don’t you bother Tech with your questions?” Crosshair says pushing boxes around.

“Because you’ll tell me the truth, no sugar coating.” You tell him, nudging him aside with your boot as you lean over to grab what he couldn’t reach. Perhaps being smaller wasn’t a disadvantage after all. Proudly you hand him the strange looking fruit.

“I need the whole crate.” Crosshair tells you unimpressed, before giving you the singular Meiloorun fruit and leaning over the stack of crates again. “And to answer your question, he was talking about the scars on his hand.” You lean against the tower so you can try to read his face as he yanks the crate forward.

“The burns or the wounds?” You ask, mulling over the fruit in your hands.

“Same thing.” Crosshair explains. “From a mission on Kashyyyk, Nython had the whole forest alight, and Hunter got trapped behind a blast door.” He watches as you cover your mouth with one hand as you remember the boasts, the gloat, the pride Nython had when he recounted the battle.

“You should’ve seen it,” There’s awe in Crosshair's voice now. “The Regs wanted to label him MIA, but that's not Hunter, not the Sergeant of ‘Force 99. When the squad hoisted him into that medical bay, he was barely alive.”

“No wonder he hates me.” You breathe, looking at the clone in front of you who shrugs.

“Don’t take it personally, he hates mostly everyone. We all do, it’s…” Crosshair stops and composes himself, like being honest or genuine with you is a weakness. “Nython decimated everything in his path. There’s what? A handful of Wookies left, half of those are thanks to him and all he can think about is how many he didn’t save.” You gently place your fruit on the box Crosshair is standing before you with. “It’s all a bit narcissistic if you ask me.” You smile at Crosshairs sass.

“You’d know.” You counter, trying to ease the tension in the room. “Thank you, for being honest.” You tell him, catching a smirk as he starts up the stairs.

“It’s one of my many endearing qualities.” He says, before shouting to his brothers about something that you don't even bother trying to understand.

With a look back at the hiding spot that you had chosen when you boarded the ship, you start up the stars and get back into the daylight. The captain is still gone, but Tech, Crosshair and Wrecker are each peeling a Meilroon fruit. You smile at them, they look so picturesque right now. The sea in the background and the three of them scraping the tough skin off of the fruits with knives. You’re reminded of children's picture books of pirates mulling over gold.

“Hey! What’s so funny?” Wrecker calls when he sees your big smile. Walking over, You plant yourself on the floor leaning against the banister.

“I half expected you all to break out into a sea shanty.” You tease reaching up to pick up a fruit.

“Ha ha.” Crosshair said dryly, giving you the handle of the knife to take from him to peel your own fruit. “Try not to chuck it at Tech again will ya?” you nod and very carefully start running the blade along the fruit.

“So no sea shanties then?” You ask, popping a piece into your mouth.

“We don’t sing.” Tech states.

“Yeah we do!” Wrecker argues, jamming his knife into the lid of the crate, “we know that one from-”

“Ferrik if you start singing that again.” Crosshair grumbles.

“THERE ONCE WAS A SHIP THAT PUT TO SEA” You all cringe when Wrecker starts shouting rather than singing, both of his brothers shout back simultaneously for him to stop, while you giggle from your spot on the floor. You could almost get used to their company, that and the fresh salty sea air, you are already beginning to enjoy the life of sailing. On the second floor, emerging from the captain's quarters, Hunter generally steps. Even someone without enhanced senses would have heard Wreckers incessant shouting and he has every intent on giving the three of them a lecture when he hears something else entirely.

“There was once a soldier who carried a mighty sword, and he had saved the village, oh lei, oh lai, oh lord.” Your voice accompanies soft taps to the wooden boards to create some kind of beat. The sound stops as soon as it starts.

“Don’t stop on our account.” He hears Tech's voice, and a stealthy Hunter moves to try and get a better view, he wants to know what you’re up to, and if you’re still trying to manipulate his crew.

“I’ve been told I have an atrocious singing voice.”

“It’s better than Wreckers.” Both Crosshair and Tech comment simultaneously. And Hunter hears you let out a half laugh. Some kind of reserved dainty thing that has him rolling his eyes.

“There was once a sailor, he had travelled the globe, his love he was chasing. oh lei, oh lai, oh lord.” You continue tapping again, “And there will come a captain who’s heart is completely pure, he will find those who are lost, oh lei,...” He hears you stop. As something catches your attention. And Hunter takes the opportunity to make an appearance.

You hear the captain’s footsteps before you turn your gaze away from the birds flying alongside the ship. “Who let the Aaray get a’ hold of a knife again?” He says looking down at you, the fruit and the blade. Hesitantly, and with only half of the Meilroon fruit peeled you give the knife back to Crosshair the same way he had originally given it to you. Pointing the handle towards him whilst gently holding the blade.

“I wasn’t going to…” You start.

“Going to what? Try and kill one of my crew again?” Hunter raises an eyebrow as if he’s daring you to disagree. You take a deep breath in, and hoist yourself onto shaky feet. Wrecker gives you a hand when your legs shake still in pain. Letting out your breath you lock eyes with the captain.

“I understand your hatred for that man,” You begin softly.

“No.” He snaps, “you don’t” You plead with his unforgiving eyes, and the way his half tattooed face scrunches in annoyance.

“You can’t be reasoned with.” You say hopelessly, knowing that whatever you say, it won't be enough.

“I should not have to reason with the likes of you.” Hunter bites. And at this point even Wrecker has given up trying to reason with him. Behind you, Tech’s Holopad beeps.

“I am not my Fiance!” You exclaim. “And yet you attribute all of his crimes to me, even the crime of trying to rid myself of Ny-”

Before you can react, Hunter moves fast as lightning, a hand on your throat, his own vibroblade dangerously close to you, bending you against the banister that stops you falling into the abyss alone. The three others brace themselves and when they move to help you, stop at the growl of anger from their sergeant.

“You do not. Say that name. On. My. Ship.” He tells the trembling woman beneath him.

“What happened to you Sergeant?” You breathe out, searching for the man that his brothers seem to think he is. Everything they tell you about him, every ‘he’s not like this.’ All of his actions point to the fact that he is like this. Something changes in his face, like he remembers where and who he is. And like Hunter is on fire, he steps away from you. The second there's room, Wrecker forces you behind him protectively.

“Sarge.” Tech says, his voice echoing like blaster fire in the mountains. “I think you should come with me.”

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