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apocalypticgargoyle · 3 years

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𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐔𝐌 𝐈𝐈𝐈 ↟ 𝐓𝐞𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐞

↠ summary: After receiving a few letters from your previous accomplice, your withstanding in Techno's home is questioned.

↠ fantasy au, slow-burn romance

↠ pairing: c!Techno x fm!reader

↠ tw: angst, mentions of blood, slight manipulation, fighting, language, knives, language, a lil fluff

↠ wc: ~2700

↠ previous chapter ↟ make a request ↟ create the next moodboard

this post contains an image of a letter. if you find it difficult to read, here is the transcript.

The wind howled against the cabin, snow beating against the shutters to make the structure trembled as if it was battling the cold like you were. The heavy blanket around your shoulders served as an anchor from your intruding thoughts as you attempted to self-soothe. The fire blazing in front of you was your only consoling friend as you debated whether or not Techno would make it back during the storm.

In your gross self-pity, you wondered if he even would want to come back. You had been living like a parasite in his domain for weeks, relying on him as your wounds slowly mended. How many times had he stayed up to cool your fevers, or told you to sit down when you had been on your ankle for too long? When would it be too much for him? When would he want you gone?

You had never had another person before. Sure, Dream was your friend and partner, but the two of you lived independently of each other. Techno had gained your respect and trust within a short amount of time and you hated to admit that you liked having him around.

But was it the same for him?

You pulled your knees to your chest, hugging the fabric tighter around you as you dug your nose into its velvety coloring. It smelled like Techno, a mix of pine and sage. It quelled your neediness for his presence. You debated whether or not your worry was because of your obsession with his impression of you, or the fact that he was the first person that had let you rely on them.

The blizzard grew stronger with each passing second, and you were a hairline fracture away from throwing on a jacket and searching the snowbanks for him. Your mind darted to if packing your belongings and getting out of his hair would be the option. Clearing out before he had to tell you to leave seemed almost like the better idea; the possibility of gaining back your independence secretly made you melancholy.

With that, the image of Dream came to you. In the summers when the two of you were hunkered down against a rotting log looking for one of the King’s enemies, you could practically smell the sunlight on his skin. His freckles would darken, and his blond hair would shine as if it were a ray in and of itself. If you let yourself, you could feel his green eyes on you, watching as you would dip your knife in a tranquilizing agent if your target were to be delivered alive. He would always wander into your root cellar, running his fingers along the hanging rosemary and strands of lavender.

He would always pitch the idea of poisoning the King and running away to grow mushrooms in the forest together. For most of your time as accomplices, it seemed like the perfect life but as his brain became infatuated with the poison of power and majesty, it seemed a distant fantasy only to be left for the wind.

The door opened abruptly, Techno stomping out his boots as he kicked the entranceway shut. He shook the snow from his clothing, and you pushed yourself to stand. He grabbed one of the candles, using it to light a few of the others beside the door and blowing into his cold hands for more warmth.

You approached him, leaning on the doorframe as he pulled off his cloak. “You made it back,” you chirped, hoping to mask the utter relief washing through your body. His ruby eyes flashed to you, a softness in them that warmed your heart.

“How are you feeling?” He asked, reaching one of his hands out to you to angle the cut on your face towards him. He inspected that cut at least three times a day and if you would let yourself indulge on the thought, it might have just been an excuse to touch you.

His fingers were cold against your jaw, but you had to restrain your urge to lean into his gentle touch as his eyes grazed over the cut. “Better,” you answered with a light sigh. He looked as if he were holding back something from you, something that was plaguing his conscience.

He pulled away from you reluctantly, digging into the bag he had tossed on the table. His knuckles were red from the cold, the stack of letters in his hands appearing almost pure white. There were specks of blood sprinkled on the edge of the stack. “We found another mercenary searching for you,” he let out a soft chuckle. “I know what to look for now,” he mumbled; a small ode to you. The pair of you stared at the envelopes in his hand. “These are for you,” he added, holding them out for you. There was a seal on the last one, the design mimicking the symbol on your shoulder as it wrapped around the letter ‘D.’

You swallowed, hesitantly taking them from him. He watched you carefully as you examined them, your hands shaking from the anticipation of what was in them and why there were so many. “Did you read them?” You asked; the pads over your finger tracing over the broken seal of the top one.

He shook his head. “Only enough to find out they were for you,” he assured. You trusted that fact. “I’ll leave you alone with them. I need to clean up anyway,” he illustrated, eyes scanning you as you stared down at them. He seemed to have a hesitancy to him as if he were reluctantly giving them to you, wanting to know what it meant for your future.

You nodded slowly, unable to find more words as you threaded the dark green ribbon binding them together through your fingers. Your stomach churned, knotting together as if you were awaiting punishment.

As you sank into one of the chairs, Techno left your side wearily, looking over his shoulder at you before closing the door behind him. You opened the letter he had already seen after counting at least eight letters in the stack. Your mind got fuzzy after eight. The seal was dusted with soft gold. You had always found random flowers to give the appearance of wealth and prestige to your letters when you were sending them back and forth to each other. You figured that it was real gold this time since the color didn’t stain your skin while you brushed over it.

Your heart hammered in your ears, thumb drawing against the blood that had seeped through as you read his words, his voice whispering in your ear with each curl of his handwriting.

The next letter sounded similar, detailing what had become of some of your old teams and idols. He had removed the mad King’s advisors, flushing them with his own. Each word you read weighed heavy on your heart until you figured you couldn’t take any more of the venom in his ink. The sickening nature of him begging for your return made your nerves flip. He was an old friend of yours, brought up through the orphanages as your twin practically, but that didn’t mean you trusted the man that he had grown into being. The boy you had once known was now in shreds, held together by the façade he was hiding behind.

You stood, throwing the letters into the fire and standing back, breathing rigid into your chest. Your ankle began to ache, but you couldn’t seem to bring yourself to look away. With Dream’s threats, you knew you had to leave.

“He calls you ‘hemlock,’” Techno mumbled, his voice coming out in a questioning tone, hesitant of overstepping the unspoken boundaries the two of you had set for each other. He played with his fingers, back pressed against the wall behind him as he avoided stepping into your space. He gave you an emotionless look as if refusing to show his true feelings on the situation. You weren’t sure what he thought of you after diving into that letter. “Almost like you’re some kind of…” he paused, chewing on his lip as his eyes fell to the hardwood floor and then back to your gaze. “Malice,” he finished.

Your mouth grew dry, feeling small and vulnerable in front of him. You inhale deeply, attempting to steady your nerves. “It’s always been some kind of joke for him,” you responded. You weren’t sure if you were defending Dream or fishing for Techno’s assurance.

He nodded. “It’s not very funny, is it?” You shook your head quickly, suddenly finding it difficult not to cry. It had been too long of a day for you. Techno watched you, surveying eyes waiting for you to ground yourself.

He took a few steps, sitting down and motioning you toward him. You silently took a seat at his feet, eyes trained on the fire in front of you as his scent surrounded you. You crossed your legs, taking a deep breath once again. His hands moved into your hair, softly running his fingers along the crown of your head as he separated your short locks. His touch was gentle and calming, brushing against your ear as he braided.

You closed your eyes, letting him relax you and bring you back from your frizzled edges. He was quiet while he worked, your mind silencing to only focus on his fingers. You could swear that you had never felt more at ease than you did then. “Thank you,” you whispered, voice barely audible, worry that if you spoke louder he would hear the extent of your distress.

His hands moved to your shoulders, finished with his words as his fingers rolled against the knots forming. You settled your cheek against his hand. “I’m not going to ask for an explanation,” he began, his thumb pressing between your shoulder blades in a sensitive spot. You focused back on the flames, eyelids feeling heavy. “But I need to know if you’re okay.”

You mulled over his words as he loosened the tension weighing on your mind. “I’m okay.”

⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫ ⸫

The next morning, you were setting your plates on the counter, listening to Techno chop wood outside. The front door clicked open in a rush, a man stepping inside and throwing off his hood. His brown eyes bore into you with a wave of lingering anger you recognized in the eyes of someone when you had been on the other end of their blade. He was increasingly tall, like Techno, but his features were more child-like and innocent, apart from his eyes.

He went after you, lunging for your body as you swiveled out of his path, grabbing onto the knife beside you. Your fingers gripped onto the back of his collar, pinning him to the table with a loud thud. The blade was resting against his throat as the two of you panted, him from being caught off guard and you from being dormant for so long.

He gritted his teeth as you pressed the blade tighter to his neck. “Who are you?” You bit. His Adam’s apple bobbled against the metal as he swallowed, catching his breath.

“I see you two have met,” Techno called, a tired look in his eyes as he spotted the man beneath you.

The brunet chuckled, the sound coming out more like a frustrating example of fear than a true laugh. “I like your new guard dog, Tech,” he mumbled, spitting at you. You pursed your lips, striking the blade against his cheek to draw a bit of blood and making him wince.

Techno rested his shoulder against the wall, crossing his arms. The man’s hand reached to brush the collar of your shirt to the side, his eyes focusing on the branded symbol on your shoulder. His breath was warm against your chest as his expression changed. You continued to glare at him. “It really is her, isn’t it?” He muttered, betrayal evident in his tone. You searched his face as his eyes met yours.

“This is Wilbur,” Techno stated, moving towards the two of you. You pulled away from him, letting him up as Techno stood beside you. Wilbur’s hand reached up to brush away the line of blood trickling from his fresh wound.

Wilbur straightened up, digging into his pocket to pull out a wadded-up piece of paper. He unfolded it slapping it on the table where he had just been laid out by you. Bold letters spelled out the terms of your arrest and the price on your head. There was a crude drawing of what you used to look like staring back at you as you took half a step behind Techno’s arm.

Wilbur stiffened and it hit you. He wasn’t actually after you rather than worried for Techno’s safety. Concern was painted across his face at just how close the two of you were standing as he gestured to the Wanted poster. “I’m not sure what she’s told you, but I know I’m right,” he pleaded. It struck you that the two had previously discussed trading you into the authorities. You weren’t surprised, mainly because before you knew Techno, you would have done the same. “Think of the money. You could actually retire. Give up babysitting-“

Techno cut him off. “No,” he answered flatly, shocking you. “We’ve already talked about this.” You stepped back, leaning against the counter to relieve the weight on your ankle. Techno peered over his shoulder briefly, as if feeling you step away from him.

Wilbur shook his head in disbelief. “They’re going to continue to look for her. It’s not safe.”

Techno shrugged, indifferent towards the look Wilbur was giving him. It made you sick to think of the divide you were causing. “We’ll get her name changed then.”

You raised your eyebrows as Techno chuckled, moving to finish your job as Wilbur looked between the two of you. “Yeah, and how are you going to accomplish that?”

Without a beat, Techno replied, “I guess I’ll marry her.”

Your breath hitched, facing flushing a deep red, but before you could reply, someone else barged in; a blond panting slightly as he doubled over to catch his breath. The two men looked upon the boy, waiting for him to stop wheezing. “Tommy, go home. It’s not safe here,” Wilbur commented. His gaze shifted to you. “Techno’s harboring a murderer.”

So, this was Techno’s famous Tommy; a boy barely older than sixteen and tall enough that he could knock your head off your shoulders with a flex of his elbow.

“Wilbur, we can’t give her up. Who knows what will happen,” he groaned, standing up and putting his arms above his head. You wondered just how far he had run to get to Techno’s. “You weren’t there when we found her.” He looked to the side, giving you a half-wave as he attempted to steady his breathing. If they weren’t discussing such intricate matters, you would have giggled at him.

Instead, you cleared your throat. “I’m leaving soon anyway. There’s no need-“

Techno interrupted you. “No. No one’s going anywhere, okay?” He sighed. “Obviously, we can handle ourselves. If not, at least let her get back on her feet before you excommunicate her from my house, Wilbur,” he adjudicated, his tone quipping as if to suggest that Wilbur’s opinion on the matter wasn’t holding water. “Tommy’s right anyway. You don’t know what it was like.”

Wilbur chewed the inside of his cheek, glaring at you. You felt hot and uncomfortable under his gaze as if he were hexing you secretly. He sighed, grabbing onto Tommy’s arm as he brushed past you, knocking into your sore side. “One wrong move and I’ll kill you,” he stated. You could tell he wasn’t normally such an antagonist, and you respected his devotion to Techno.

You nodded. “I’ll let you.”

Tag List: (to be added, please follow this link :))

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#technoblade x reader #techno x you #techno fanfic #techno x reader #techno au #technoblade au #technoblade fanfiction #mcyt x reader #mcyt imagine #mcyt x you #mcyt x y/n #tw blood #tw injury #tw knife

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devildomdoofus · 3 years

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Winter Storm

Part 1

Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan

WARNINGS:

‼️contains spoilers from chp. 16‼️

[[ angst, cursing, anxiety, fear/terror, depression, survival, near death experiences, mentions of blood/bleeding, hypothermia, dehydration, fainting, severe pain, cliffhangers ]]

Authors Note (sorry it’s long):

My sincerest apologies for how long you all had to wait!! I’m hoping what I’ve created was worth it. Because each brothers’ pieces were rather extensive especially being on mobile, I’ve decided to divide them into two parts where part one includes the four eldest brothers and part two includes the remaining. This is also to test the waters a bit and see if my writing style is decent enough to continue or if there are changes that need to be made before posting part two. Also, I purposefully wrote “cliffhangers” because I felt that, as reader, you should be able to decide MC’s fate for yourself according to your personal tastes/moods/etc. I hope it doesn’t come off as lazy.. it was intentional so that you may enjoy the content to the fullest and take it in the direction that you choose and not the author.CONSTRUCTIVE FEEDBACK IS ALWAYS APPRECIATED!! Good, bad, or indifferent, your feedback will help me write better for you in the future so you can enjoy my content to the upmost extent!! ALSO: If the spacing is weird with the paragraphs and such, I’m very sorry but for the time being, I have no idea how to fix that considering I’m on mobile and there’s only so much the app allows me to do. Anyway, I hope you all dig what I dish out! Thanks again for your patience, support, and understanding!! -DevildomDoofus

UPDATE (2-19-2021): Part 2 is out!! Unfortunately I don’t have enough content to make a master list quite yet but until then, forgive me, but you’ll have to search my blog using the hastag “devildomdoofus” or “my posts.” Don’t worry, I’ll get my blog in order eventually, I’m just a little slow with these kinds of things 😅 thank you for your patience and understanding!!

- DevildomDoofus

Prologue:

One word, a pair of twinkling eyes, and a pouty lip was all it took for you to convince him to vacation with you up in the human world. Maybe a few more ‘fluffy’ words and a bigger pout had to be used on Lucifer, as his paranoia was, more often times than not, justified by his brothers’ antics so... he needed further convincing.

When you two arrive at the cabin that you were to stay in for the week, you eyed the place over and it was rather beautifully decorated and cozy enough to never set foot outside for eternity, but with the wonderland that was just right outside your door, how could you not? By the celestial realm, it was like a dream. The ground was carpeted with fresh sheets or large comforters, rather of glistening white snow that reached just above your ankles, so soft to the touch that it could almost be compared to the cushy feel of Belphegor’s favorite pillow. The mighty mountains reach up to graze their fingers through the few clouds that wisp across the bluest skies... have they always been this blue? The nearby forest that towered over all, beckoned you to join them in their dance with the gentle wind. In other words, you HAD to explore! You set out on a solo trip to get aquatinted with your surroundings and take pictures to reminisce about later, while the one you came with unpacked your belongings to get rightfully settled in. You promised you wouldn’t wander far, just enough to really take in the scenery before venturing further out together. As a precaution, you dug markings on nearby trees as you tread and left stones in consistent, peculiar piles so that in the event of an emergency, any who might have to come looking for you would notice these things and easily be able to follow in your footsteps. Well, more or less, considering the clouds had secretly huddled up above you for another gentle snow shower and are now covering up your footprints. No worries though, right? You left plenty of stone piles and tree markings and you’re not even that far from the cabin. Someone could surely find you if you needed them to. You pushed onward, too entranced by the world around you to turn back now.

As time passed, storm clouds gathered faster than a pack of hungry wolves over a freshly fallen corpse and this became your cue to hurry home. To your dismay, you couldn’t find ANY of the markings you left on the trees or ANY of the stone piles you made. Ok, that’s not great but everything’s fine. The trick is to not panic. Maybe you just wandered a little farther of the beaten path than you realized. You’ll surely find your way back. As you searched high and low for your markings, the wind began to pick up, howling furiously in your ear and the once gently drifting little snowflakes became hardened, frosted hornets, stinging your face until they bit through your exposed skin and caused you to bleed. So much snow and ice, you could barely see 2 feet in front of you and could hardly lift your legs high enough to move forward as the levels of snow quickly rose to just above your knee. You had packed and dressed for whatever these snowy mountains could throw at you, but nothing could protect you from the fury of a raging blizzard for long. Pain from the dropping temperatures began at the tips of your toes and fingers and the longer you tried to find your way back, the more the pain spread and the harder it was to move anything at all. Everything inside of you, every fiber of your being was screaming for you to stop, for the pain was becoming too great but you just HAD to make your way back or you would surely die out here. These thoughts were starting to make you panic. Just as you were thinking it couldn’t get any worse, the wind grew even stronger and was starting to knock you to your knees. At this rate, you were causing more harm than good to yourself, perilously trying to toughen it out. Instead, you decided to find a makeshift shelter, just strong and big enough to keep the snow and wind off of you as you would attempt to warm up.

As if by divine intervention, you could make out a large rock formation with an opening big enough for you to huddle up under, just ahead of you. You ducked low and crawled in, hunkering down in your saving grace. As you shivered in the shadows, heaving and trying to collect yourself before deciding what to do next, you realized that numbness had settled into your limbs and you could no longer feel them, much less move them. You tried, desperately, over and over to inch them in any way but damn it, nothing would. Tears began to puddle at the corners of your eyes as your mind began to race. You should have never left the cabin alone. You knew better, you just couldn’t help yourself. The tears started to fall more and more as the thoughts started spiraling. How could you be so stupid? Now no one is going to find you and you’re going to die here, alone and deathly afraid. You could no longer contain your cries and in one last fleeting attempt to be rescued, you screamed for help with as much force as your withering lungs would allow. Nothing but the wind answered your cries. Before you knew it, your body was shutting down and your eyes fluttered shut right as you fainted against the rocky wall behind you. The panic, the wet and the cold, dehydration, the pain that once gripped your entire body that then turned to numbness, the overexertion, the hypothermia that was setting in; it was all too much for your body to handle anymore. Limp against the stone, you were quickly turning into a human icicle. This is how he finds you.

Lucifer:

Lucifer had been prepping for dinner for later that evening, as some meals tend to take an eternity to prepare, when the hair on the back of his neck pricked up and an uneasy feeling settled into his stomach. He could sense something was wrong even before the storm clouds rolled in. There was no way to explain it other than something is or was going to be terribly, terribly wrong. It’s the same feeling he gets when his brothers are up to no good or are in some form of trouble. It comes with the responsibility of being the eldest brother. He, indeed, trusted you enough for you to go alone for the simple fact that you were the most responsible out of his brothers, but that did not mean he didn’t still feel a bit uncomfortable with you out of his immediate supervision considering you’re human and humans tend to make many, many mistakes. You’re a child by no means and can handle yourself incredibly well, as evident by your time in the devildom and at R.A.D. He knows this and believes you could conquer the world if you so chose to do so. But even YOU know that he only acts and does these certain things that can come off as overbearing to some because he cares so deeply for you that he tries his damndest to prevent any harm that may come to you. Physcial or emotional, accidental or self-inflicted, whatever the case may be. He would give his life and soul up for you, just as he had done for Lilith. That is why this unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach upset him so. He had to find you. He set out to look for you and quickly noticed a pattern. The markings and piles of stones, he assumed, were yours and, for a fleeting moment, it filled him with pride to know that you went about your adventure with a proper head upon your shoulders. Still, he had to see you and be able to hold you in his arms so that his worrisome mind could be put to rest. He followed the trail until it ended with you nowhere in sight. “MC, darling, what have you gotten yourself into this time?” Though calm in his demeaner, he was still fidgeting beneath the surface. Through the wind and hail that was picking up, he heard your cries from miles off and like a bat out of devildom, races to you. From pounding out of his chest to dropping through the crust of the Earth, Lucifer’s heart collapsed when he found you. “MC...” He rushed to your side in the blink of an eye and shouted your name over and over, but you didn’t respond. He rips a glove off and places two fingers to the side of your neck. Your pulse was so low, he had to press his ear to your chest, but even your heart was far too faint to be heard by human ear. Thank Diavolo he was a demon or he would have assumed the worst. You rarely see this man lose his composure, even behind closed doors. But now, when he looks at you and your state of comatose for the second time in his life, he becomes frantic. So many emotions racing through him, he doesn’t notice the tears welling in his eyes or his demon form breaking the surface. His fist clenches and he slams it into the ground next you, creating a cavity in the stone. He almost lost you once, he won’t let it happen again.

Before his emotions get the better of him, he swiftly yet ever so gently scoops you into his arms and immediately transports you both back to the cabin where he could try and warm you up and bring you back to your old self. Back to him. Bursting through the door, he rushes to place you gingerly onto the couch in front of the fireplace and carefully strips you of all the wet clothing, replacing them with warm, dry pairs. He wraps your neck with a thick scarf, slips fuzzy mittens on your hands, covers your head in a knitted hat, and drapes multiple blankets over your body. He then tosses wood into the fireplace, setting them ablaze before circling the couch and pushing it, and inherently you, closer to the warmth of the fire. All of this within the blink of an eye. He finally sits next to you on the cushions and takes you back into his arms, fearing that if he ever lets go, he will truly lose you once and for all. He’ll occasionally reach a hand up to the side of your neck or to your wrist, checking your pulse. Still too damn low. How in the devildom could he let this happen? For hours, he stays like this with you, keeping you so close to his chest that from the outside looking in, it would seem he was smothering you. The entire time he cradles you, he is mentally abusing himself for not being with you. For letting you go out alone. For not protecting you. For going against his better judgement and agreeing to come out here with you in the first place- no... that’s not it.. He’s frustrated with himself for you going against your better judgement and choosing him to be the one to come with you. Him of all people. He couldn’t protect Lilith in the Great War, he couldn’t protect you when Belphegor tried to kill you, and now here you are, lifeless in his embrace and fighting to stay alive once again because he couldn’t protect you from the storm. The tears began to fall from his eyes once more and they dropped onto your cheek. He looks down at you, cupping your face in his hand and tenderly wipes his tears from your skin. “Please,” he begs through the lips that threaten to quiver. “Please MC. Come back to me, darling.” He shuts his eyes and presses his forehead to yours over the knitted hat. Hoping, if only he could pray, for you to come back.

Mammon:

Before the storm even rolled in, Mammon went looking for you. It was unnatural for you two to be separated for this long and he didn’t like it. Not one bit. “Damn it, MC! We’re supposed to be doing this stupid vacation thing together,” he grumbles, as he stomps out of the house in a little Mammon tantrum. He saw your markings on the trees and piles of stones and began to think you set up the whole ‘going on a solo adventure’ thing as a prank. He chuckles to himself and beams a bit in pride. “My clever little human, turning into me.” A seemingly great idea at first, but the more he thought on it, SERIOUSLY thought on it, the more that two Mammons seemed like a bad idea. But he’d like to go over the so called ‘bad idea’ with you if he could just find you. He followed your markings until they stopped and that’s when the storm clouds rolled in. He was starting to get nervous. Yes, you hid and jumped out at him in an attempt to scare him on numerous occasions (which hardly worked, considering he was a demon and quite frankly, a powerful demon at that) back in the devildom but... this situation seemed different. Having been around you and your person the longest, he gained a sixth sense specifically for you. Your warm presence, your delectable soul essence, your precious voice, your thoughts and feelings, your wonderful heartbeat; he could feel them all, even when you returned to the human world for a bit. He could feel them all until now and it felt like he had gone numb. His nervousness turned to anxiousness. The only other time this numbing sensation has happened to him before is when Belphegor tried to off you right in front of him. He so very often wishes he could just wipe those memories from his mind forever...

For a moment, he thinks he can hear your voice, as faint as it is. “MC!!” He follows the direction he thinks your voice is coming from and calls your name again but with no reply. Then he hears it. One ever so minute thump of your heartbeat. He follows the sound like a wolf after a lamb until he comes across the little miniature cave his lamb had taken shelter under. He crawls in and he‘s instantly frozen in place. “MC?” You’re.. ? No you couldn’t be, you just couldn’t be. “C’mon MC, qu-quit foolin’ around. We have to go home. It’s s-storming like crazy out there, ya know?” Only the little echo of the cracks in his voice are his reply. He takes one of your hands in his and- shit! They’re so cold! Colder than when held you that time you were almost kill-NO! He lets go of your hand and grabs you by the shoulders instead, shaking you frantically. “MC, please, ya gotta wake up! This isn’t funny anymore!” The longer he shook you with no sign of you waking up, the more his eyes glazed over with tears. “MC!! WAKE UP!!” He growls, frustration and demon form taking over. Your body slides like a rag doll into his arms and that’s when he finally realizes that this is no prank and you’re in serious, serious danger. His heart disintegrates in his chest and nothing could stop the tears from cascading down his face like rain. For just a few moments, he sits there in that cave, holding your frozen body in his arms and rocking you as he cries heavily into your hair. He’s so hurt, so fucking hurt that this is the second time that he couldn’t protect you when he said he would. But by Diavolo, he had to keep trying until the absolute very last millisecond.

He gets a grip on himself, cradles you tightly into his embrace and skyrockets back to the cabin. Once there, he’s doing anything and everything in his power to get you warm. Heated blankets, warm and dry clothes, thick gloves, fuzzy hats, warmed pillows and cushions, a fire in the fireplace, the thermostat cranked up by 5 degrees, EVERYTHING. He even went to the extent of placing his bare hands into the fire, pulling them out to cool them down to an appropriate temperature, and then placing them over your ears, under the hat and across your forehead, or he would cradle your face in his hands to gingerly brush his warmed thumbs over your cheeks and nose. He simply could not sit still. There had to be something more he could do to help you, something more he could do to make up for his mistakes. He couldn’t stop no matter what. He loved you too much to give up so easily.

Leviathan:

Leviathan had originally intended to get both of your belongings unpacked as quickly as possible so that later that evening, you two could have a video game binge with the new game the TSL franchise came out with, honestly he did, but... as soon as he turned on the tv to test the reception in the area, one of the human shows you often mentioned to him popped up on the screen and he was instantly glued to the couch. The characters were as entertaining as you had described them in that cute way where your eyes sparkled and lips curled into a smile. He loved the way you beamed with joy He loved y- He couldn’t pry his eyes away from the screen, not even for a second. That is, until 20 minutes later and the show turned to static. “Oh for crying out loud,” he grumbles as he clicks the tv off and tosses the remote to the side. It was just like this normie of a human world to have terrible reception, especially during an intense episode. Surely he had it recorded somewhere back in his room in the Devildom. With newfound boredom, he stepped to the window and looked outside. Sheesh, it had gotten dark rather quick. It would be an awful shame for someone to be stuck out in this impending weather, just as the food in TSL had been stuck in terrible weather that The Lord of Fools sent The Lord of Flies. Such a kind gesture from the Lord of Fools, considering his former lover, Geldie, was found frozen in- “OH SHIT! MC!!”

He kicked open the door and stumbled around in the snow and gusting winds before getting his snow legs, then frantically circled the cabin, looking for any sign of you. He finds the markings in the trees and little stone piles and figured that they must belong to you. As he tread, he couldn’t help but beat himself up for letting you go alone, especially considering neither of you knew the area well enough. He understood, more than anyone in all the realms, that time alone is sacred and shouldn’t be interrupted without a legitimate reason. But even still, he wished that you would have teased him to go with you, like you often times did, until he would inevitably cave and follow behind you as he would then talk about the situation being “like that one scene from that one anime we watched together where the male protagonist somehow turns into a puppy, lost and confused, until the female protagonist comes along and takes him in and loves him for who he is and he turns back into a human and follows her around like he did when he was a puppy and-...” The rest of the walk would be filled with talks of which anime or show or video game resembled each moment you two shared.. and you loved every second of it. His eyes lit up like the sun shone right behind them and his precious little grin when he would recall humorous scenes. He would blush when he caught you staring and stumble over the next few sentences before eventually shutting up and just holding your hand (for safety of course) as you giggled at him for being so damn cute. His memories of those times kept him warm as they could as he continued onward in search of you, hoping that you weren’t in too much danger. But with how little mercy the storm was showing him, the possibility of you being safe and sound was rapidly decreasing.

Your marked trail came to an end but you weren’t there. Instead, there was only the howling winds and cascading ice to mock him. Oh no, this is bad. This is very, very bad. He shouted your name in an attempt for you to hear his voice and be able to find your way to him but he received no answer. He shouted louder and louder but you simply wouldn’t answer. “Shit, MC, where the hell are you?!” Anxiety began to make its way through him and he had to lean against a nearby tree to try and collect himself. That’s when he could faintly hear your voice crying for help. He darted towards your direction, coming upon the shelter you hid away in and as he moved closer to you, he froze. You were deathly still and your skin was so incredibly pale compared to it’s usual hue. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe, he was just frozen in place with nothing but your limp body and emotionless face in front of him. He had no clue what to do but try and wake you up as he swallows the lump in his throat to call your name. “M-MC?” No answer. He takes your hand in his. Shit, you’re colder than ice. “MC, pl-please... please wake up, MC.” The wind outside seem to laugh at him and his feeble attempt to wake you up. Tears welled in his eyes and the lump in his throat thickened, almost to a point where he felt he couldn’t breathe, much less cry. As his demon form creeps to the surface, he grabs your shoulders and gently shakes you. “MC, please!! I can’t do this without you!!” Your body droops into his embrace and his heart feels like it’s been dropped into a blender and turned to mush. For a moment, all he can do is stare at your solidified face and wonder why oh why was this happening to him. To his precious ‘Henry’... “That’s it!! Henry!!” He shouted to himself. What would Henry do for his loved ones? He wouldn’t sit here and feel sorry for himself, he would do everything in his power to help the ones he cared about most! Leviathan shakes away his tears, holds you tightly in his arms, and bolts to the cabin to attempt to save you. He wasn’t going to let himself get in his own way, he was going to try his damndest to save you and bring you back. To bring back his Henry.

Satan:

In the midst of folding and putting away yours and his clothes, Satan paused. Similar as much as he hated to be so to Lucifer, he had developed a sort of instinct to tell when something or anything was off and this sense was only heightened by his incredibly refined observation and detective skills. He couldn’t quite place his finger on it just yet but something was clearly off. That’s when he went looking for you. Knicks in the trees and your piles of stones made him feel a bit more at ease about going after you, as he felt you were at least intelligent about your endeavors and not as callow as most of his brothers seemed to be. That is, until the trail of markings came to a stopping point. It was difficult to admit, but this situation was throwing him for a loop. You wouldn’t have just randomly stopped placing markers for yourself unless something bad had happened and even then, you would have called for him using the pact if you were in danger, right? There had to be an explanation for all of this. He leaned against a nearby tree, neck deep in furrowed brow concentration until the sky darkened with thick, furious looking clouds stampeding in, breaking his many trains of thought. With a new indication of urgency, he continued onward in search of you. As the storm picked up, so did that ominous feeling and inherently his blood pressure. If this was your idea of a joke, it was highly inappropriate and if he’s blatantly honest, irritating, to say the least. Very. irritating. Although he was a demon and basically immortal, that didn’t negate the fact that he felt his time was precious and any amount of time with you was that much more precious. He had not come up to the human world, with the presumption that you two could finally spend some time alone together, just for the whole trip to be some pathetic excuse of a prank. You could do so much better; that he was certain of and for you to do something as lowly as this was an insult to his intelligence, his affection towards you, and an insult to him in general. He wouldn’t let his wrath, his sin, get the better of him nor would he ever use either against you but when he finds you, you will know very soon of his immense displeasure.

“Ugh...” He could hear how much he sounded like Lucifer as he is in punishment mode and it made him want to vomit.

Before the wind could really drown out any other sound, he thinks he hears your voice crying out through the storm. All of the anger that was building up instantly vanished and he hurries after you. Years and years (we’re talking thousands) of constant meditation, reading self-improvement novels, and studying a multitude of ways to strengthen one’s emotional fortitude, absolutely NOTHING could have prepared him for the way he felt when he found you. Frozen, limp, and lifeless against the stone; He didn’t have to touch you or call your name to know you weren’t going to answer. All of this was because he simply didn’t accompany you on your scouting trip.

It was too much. His wrath instantly took hold and his demon form bubbled to the surface. He wasn’t angry with you in the least, no. He was absolutely furious with himself because he didn’t protect you and he wasn’t there for you when you needed him most and he had no one else to be angry with but himself. Overcome with and blinded by the pure, white hot rage, he screams his broken heart out of his chest and into the sky above, and the earth trembled around you. The steadfast shelter that once braced against the harsh storm crumbled into trillions of pieces as the sheer force of his voice crushed them to bits. The trees no longer bent to the will of the blizzard, but to him and him alone. His anger practically created ‘an eye in the middle of the storm’ and all but Satan had stilled within it. As the last bits of his wrath dispelled and he could finally get a better grip of himself, he looked down at you before taking you in his arms as the storm closed back in around you. Using the last of his energy, he bolted to the cabin with you clutched to his chest and settled you onto the couch to start the warming process. More than anything, he wanted to reach inside of you, grab the coldness by its throat, rip it out of you, and proceed to pummel it into a fist-dug grave. He wanted to take your pain, your fear, your sadness and tears, everything that caused you harm and reign devildom upon them all. To make your suffering know the name of wrath, to know his name personally and properly. Yet all he could do is kneel at your side and wait patiently for your possible recovery.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #otome #obey me scenarios #mine #my posts #devildomdoofus #obey me lucifer #lucifer #obey me mammon #mammon #obey me leviathan #leviathan #obey me satan #satan #obey me mc #mc

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freaoscanlin · 3 years

Text

Put It On the List

3283 words, rated PG. Clint/Laura, Laura & Natasha, Natasha & Clint.

A few months before the events of Captain America: Winter Soldier, the spy life interrupts the Barton family on a normal errand. Perhaps bringing the scary ex-Russian spy was a mistake. She thinks so, at any rate.

A/N: I wrote this as something of a prelude to an Endgame fix-it fic in progress. It predates everything in that fic and it's cute, so I'm tossing it up here for now.

“Everybody’s allowed one fun item, too. House rules.”

“Not sure they sell anything I consider fun here,” Natasha said, glancing up at the rafters dubiously, “but I’ll take it under consideration.”

“Dirty,” Clint said, walking by with a green bunch of bananas.

“Sorry we can’t provide more excitement than grocery shopping,” Laura said as she pulled out the stash of reusable bags from the trunk.

“It’s fine.”

Laura was of the opinion that a vacation should be taken somewhere exotic, or at least filled with bottomless alcoholic beverages, especially given as young and unfettered as Natasha was. But the woman who had recently become Captain America’s partner at SHIELD had apparently decided a week off merited a trip to Iowa and she had been absolutely content to tag along on family outings with no apparently sign of boredom at all.

“It’s okay,” Clint said, hopping out from the driver’s seat as Natasha unhooked Lila from her car seat. “Nat’s secretly boring at heart. It’s the best kept secret at SHIELD.”

Natasha gave him a puzzled look. “Now, that can’t be true if even you’ve figured it out.”

“Excellent burn,” Laura said, laughing. “You really should come stay more often.”

“Somebody needs to keep Cap in line, otherwise I would.” Nat easily swung Lila onto her hip, following the other three as Cooper grabbed onto his father’s hand.

Laura had already spent the entire dinner the night before peppering her with questions about working with Steve Rogers, the Captain America from the comments. Clint had mentioned him a few times after that kerfuffle in New York with the Chitauri (“Nice guy, wears khakis.”), but Natasha had the inside scoop. And more willingness to share if he was as attractive in person as he looked on TV in that ridiculous star-striped uniform (“If you like that square-jawed All-American sort of thing, sure.”). Laura had even pointed out that, hey, if he was single...

“Yes, the ex-Russian spy and the American war hero. It sounds too much like a bad eighties movie.” Natasha had helped herself to more creamed corn. “I think I’ll have to find him a girlfriend to avoid ever having to answer that question again.”

“Hey,” Laura had said, protesting.

“Fair,” Clint had agreed.

And now here was the ex-Russian spy herself tagging along at the grocery store, carrying Lila and looking like there wasn’t anyplace else she’d rather be than the big chain grocery store a few towns over because they had a better selection of gluten free snacks than the Shop A Lot back home. She trailed along as Clint took over the cart, Lila kicking her legs happily from the child’s seat atop.

“You’ve got the list?” Laura asked.

“I thought you had it?”

“Clint, I said you need to grab it off the fridge before we left. Weren’t you listening?”

“I always listen to you. But it wasn’t on the fridge, so I thought you had it.”

“That’s ridiculous, I put it there last night and—” Laura turned to see Natasha silently holding it out, eyebrows high. “Oh, that works. Thanks, Natasha.”

A half-shrug. “He would’ve forgotten it.”

“They’re impugning my honor,” Clint told Lila and Cooper, the former of whom giggled back at him. “What’s first? Edible or not edible?”

“Food first. Oh, hey, did you remember to put the popsicle sticks on here? Cooper’s day camp was asking people to donate supplies, and I put us down for those.”

“Yes, I absolutely did that. For no reason whatsoever, may I see the list?” Clint grabbed it away and underhandedly passed it to Natasha. Since Laura caught the move, she figured they weren’t actually trying to hide it.

When the list returned to her, “popsicle sticks” was written on the appropriate line in slightly loopy handwriting. “Cute,” Laura said. “Also, if there’s food you want that we don’t have at the house, make sure you put it in, Nat.”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay. Just keep it in mind.” Laura smirked. “Everybody’s allowed one fun item, too. House rules.”

“Not sure they sell anything I consider fun here,” Natasha said, glancing up at the rafters dubiously, “but I’ll take it under consideration.”

“Dirty,” Clint said, walking by with a green bunch of bananas.

Natasha rolled her eyes at him, but a small smile broke out when Laura laughed. Later, Laura noticed that a small bag of nectarines had been added to the cart.

Normally she did this errand without two spies in tow, which was a matter of getting the groceries as quickly as possible and especially speeding through the aisles with the brightly colored boxes that would make Cooper and now Lila whine. Clint’s paycheck was more than generous enough to cover their expenses, but she liked to keep the sugar down at least a little. Grocery trips could be a nightmare from that alone. But now she could send one of them down the danger aisles, while the other distracted the children.

She could get used to this.

Of course, she could have just sent Clint or even Natasha to do the shopping—or gone herself—and she imagined they’d have it done in less than a fifth of the time it took them to wander the aisles now. But Clint had been called on so many SHIELD missions lately that it was nice to just have some family time together.

She was about to suggest they hit up the putt putt course on the way home when Clint’s body language snapped into readiness. On the other side of the cart, Natasha turned away in what most people would deem a casual fashion, but Laura was surprised to see tension running across the line of her shoulders as well.

Instantly, she began to turn her head, to see what had set them both off.

“Don’t look,” Natasha said, Clint echoing her a split-second later.

Cold panic sprang up, but Laura froze in place. The air conditioning turned abruptly frigid. In the basket, Lila had conked out, wheezing a little, and Laura had never been so grateful for her daughter’s ability to fall asleep anywhere.

“This way,” Clint said in a murmur, scooping up Cooper. To strangers, it would never look out of the ordinary, but Laura knew her husband too well to be fooled. And his partner, too, apparently, for she could sense something amiss as Natasha fell in step behind her. At the end of the aisle, away from the registers and most of the store, Clint began shoving aside various things in the cart to deposit Cooper in there. He glanced at Laura. “It’ll be okay, honey. Nat, are they here for you or me?”

“Me.” The word was flat. “They’re scoping out women.”

“Who? Who’s here for what?”

She’d seen Clint and Natasha’s silent conversations before, usually at holiday dinners, but those were always warm and amused. Now, Laura was treated to the fact that they seemingly had their own entire language—and the ability to hold arguments with little more than a few nods and pointed looks.

“Mom, what’s going on?” Cooper asked. “Dad put the stuff back wrong.”

“I know. It’s okay, though. The store employees will know where to put it back properly.” Her pulse had begun to hammer, but Laura did her best to keep her hands steady as she petted Lila’s bent head.

“Fine, you win,” Natasha said, the first words she’d spoken aloud. “Where?”

“Northeast corner, break room.” Clint collected an oversized bucket of licorice, and as Laura and Cooper gawked at him, popped it open and dumped the individually wrapped candies into the cart.

Natasha dropped her phone into it and grabbed Laura’s purse.

“What? Hey, don’t—”

Natasha pulled out a few items, including Laura’s phone. This she dumped in the bucket. An unfamiliar black box, she tossed to Clint. Laura stared mournfully at the shimmery blue phone case bought off of Etsy only last week as the entire bucket was hidden on a shelf behind a case of gum. Clint tossed his hooded jacket to Natasha, gave Laura one brief, heart-stopping look, tousled Cooper’s hair, kissed Lila on the head, and strode off without looking back.

“We were followed,” Natasha said in an undertone, pulling the hood over her distinctive hair.

Followed could mean anything from evil assassins to space aliens at this point, and both of those options led to nauseating conclusions. But Natasha shot her a look, so Laura nodded and swallowed back any panic. And then she changed again, quicksilver just like Clint, so that she was bright and happy Auntie Natasha once more. She picked up Cooper out of the basket and held onto his hand, swinging it cheerfully. “Time to play a new fun game. It’s called ‘Let’s be invisible.’”

“How do you play?”

“Our job,” and Natasha actually hunkered down so that she was on eye level with Cooper, “is to get all the way there,” she pointed to the back of the store, “as fast as we can without running. Because if we run, we won’t be invisible anymore.”

“This is a silly game, Auntie Nat.”

“That’s half the fun, isn’t it? Shh, come with me.” Natasha rose and made brief eye contact with Laura, then headed down the aisle in the opposite direction from Clint. She walked briskly, but not fast enough to draw attention, and Laura had to follow. “Clint’s scoping things out,” she said in a low voice as Laura caught up with the sleeping Lila. “He’ll be fine. I’m taking you and the kids to hide.”

“Are you going to stay with us?”

“You’ll be safe.”

So that was a no. Because she knew her friend well enough, she knew Natasha was tense and watchful, but not a single thing about her betrayed that fact. Natasha didn’t lead them straight to wherever they were going, either. They crossed the store through random aisles, first through the art department and then sporting goods, and Laura’s heart sank as she noticed they were approaching the toy department. They were never escaping without at least one meltdown.

But Natasha surprised her by leaning down and whispering something to Cooper that had him giggling. And right on through they went without a single problem.

“Shh,” Natasha said to Cooper as she pushed open the door to a break room. She peeked inside, then jerked her head for Laura to follow.

“What are we doing, Auntie Nat?” Cooper asked as Natasha immediately climbed onto a table and reached for the ceiling.

“New part of the game,” Natasha said.

Laura looked at the human-sized trap door she’d opened and thought Oh no.

“You get to go up there,” Natasha said. “And it’ll be like hide and seek.”

Cooper’s expression suddenly shouted that he found the prospect of invisibility much less enchanting now. “It looks scary.”

“I’ll be with you,” Laura said. “The whole time. We’ll be invisible together, okay?”

“You first, and I’ll hand them up,” Natasha said.

Laura clambered gingerly onto the table, wishing she’d worn better shoes for this. She put her foot into Natasha’s cupped hands and hauled herself into a very, very dusty vent. Darkness surrounded her and she thought Oh, no. Cooper needed a nightlight on the best of nights. Her son was far cleverer than most; even with Natasha’s easy cheer, he could clearly tell something was off. And if he began crying, Lila was bound to wake as well. Keeping them both quiet would be beyond impossible.

Natasha passed Lila up first, and the toddler barely even stirred. Before she could lift Cooper, she hopped off the table and down to his level. Laura couldn’t hear what she said, but she saw Cooper nod and hold his arms up, completely trusting.

When Natasha lifted him up into the vent, he had his chubby little fist wrapped around a little flashlight. Laura hadn’t even seen Natasha pull that from the shelf, though she recognized it as being from sporting goods. Cooper waved it about, wildly.

“I couldn’t grab much,” Natasha said, hauling herself up so that she hung half off the trap door. Laura would kill for that kind of core strength. She slid over two coloring books and crayons. “Sorry about that. Stay here until Clint or I come to get you. If somebody comes in, we’re invisible, right?”

“Invisible,” Cooper agreed, scrambling for the coloring books.

“Good man.” Natasha reached up to ruffle his hair like Clint had done. She glanced about the air vent in a distinctly sardonic way. “Cozy.”

“Stay safe.”

“Will do.” She raised an eyebrow at Laura, and disappeared down the hatch. A few seconds later, the trapdoor slid back into place, leaving Laura in a dark vent with her children and no cell phone to keep them company.

She had to remind herself that they were lucky something like this hadn’t happened before, though that felt like cold comfort when everything smelled like dust. She shifted the sleeping Lila in her arms. “Here, set it here,” she said, helping Cooper open the coloring book. “What shall we color first, huh?”

* * * *

Nearly eleven minutes later, Natasha knelt down next to the man she’d cornered in Home and Garden and resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose. “Coincidence.”

“Yup.” Clint sounded close to laughter, the traitor.

“The whole thing. Coincidence.”

“Looks that way.”

Natasha sat down hard on the bottom shelf, which held giant sacks of birdseed. Slamming his head into those rather than the concrete floor was probably the only reason the thug was even still breathing. She’d need to hide the body soon, and alert SHIELD, but she had a few minutes to recover. The cell phone she’d stolen out of his pocket after their fight didn’t show an image of her, as she’d expected, but a completely random woman who looked nothing like Natasha outside of being the same height.

It had definitely been a hit, but she hadn’t been the target.

At least they’d saved some random woman, so there was that.

“We should’ve known they weren’t here for you when there were only two of them,” Clint said over the earpiece. He’d teased her about stashing them in Laura’s purse before they left, the traitor. And look who’d been correct to do so. It had kept them in contact as he’d stalked his own target back to the clearance section in the back. “Mine’s taken care of. You?”

“One minute.” She hauled the man bodily onto the shelf and tossed sacks of birdseed over him.

“I’ll get the phones and swing by to steal the surveillance. You fetch Laura and the kids.”

Natasha winced. The last thing she wanted to do was face Laura after ruining this outing for everybody. “I think they’d rather see their daddy after being stuffed in a dark place out of nowhere.”

“Nah, Auntie Nat is just as good,” Clint said. “Face it, you’re part of the family now, god help you.”

“Yeah, part of the family that can’t even let us go grocery shopping without disaster striking.”

There was a warm laugh from the other side of the comms. “Disaster? This is nothing compared to getting two small children through the cereal aisle without a tantrum, Romanoff.”

Natasha, reaching up to fix the braids that had become disordered during the scuffle, wrinkled her nose. She debated whether or not to swing by the staff restrooms on the way and clean up the lucky hit the thug had landed, but decided it was more important to get la familia Barton out of the vents quickly. The less time the children spent in a dark, scary place, the better.

She resolutely did not think of the absolute darkness of thatshipping container, which unfortunately brought the thoughts closer to the surface than she liked.

But she also didn’t want to scare the children, so she grabbed a hand towel off an endcap as she passed, and dabbed at her face.

Mercifully, the break room remained empty when she stepped in. “All clear,” she said, moving the table back under the trap door. “Invisible game’s over.”

From inside, she heard thumping. “Auntie Nat!”

“Cooper, wait—” was the only warning she had before the trap door opened and Cooper launched himself at her.

She snatched him out of the air, and absolutely did not think about what could have happened if she’d been slower to react. “Whoa, okay. Excited to get out of there, huh?” Laura’s white face appeared over the edge, eyes wide. Natasha mouthed he’s fine back at her. “Here, climb down, let me help your mom and your sister out.”

“I stayed so-o-o-o quiet,” Cooper said. “We colored in a dinosaur for you, but we didn’t know your favorite color so I picked red like your hair. What is your favorite color? There’s another dinosaur on the page, so if it’s not red, I can use that color instead.”

“I do like red a lot.” Natasha thought about it. “Purple, too, maybe.”

“You can’t have purple, that’s Dad’s favorite color.”

“Coop, more than one person can have purple as their favorite color,” Laura said, transferring Lila down to Natasha. Mercifully the baby had slept through all of it. “I like purple, too, remember?”

Cooper wrinkled his nose at that. “Okay, fine. I’ll make it purple.”

“I can’t wait to see it,” Natasha promised. Once the entire family had been retrieved, she pushed the trap door back into place. Of course Clint had scouted this spot months ago. His paranoia remained legendary. “Family’s secure, Barton.”

“Got it,” Clint said. “Heading to the front.”

“Meet you there,” Natasha said. To the others with her, she tilted her head toward the door. “Ready to get out of here?”

Laura looked more or less composed, which Natasha had to credit her for. Civilians rarely handled those kinds of curveballs well, but she’d been married to Clint for a decade. It stood to reason this might not even be the first time something like this had happened. Her grip on the sleeping Lila remained tight. “Coop, hold Auntie Nat’s hand, okay? Humor me.”

“All right, I guess.”

“Everything good?” Laura asked.

“False alarm,” Natasha said.

One eyebrow went up. “A false alarm gave you a split lip?”

Natasha worked at it with her tongue, scrunching her nose at the brief spark of pain. “Just another exciting day in our line of work. It all turned out okay, if you ignore that we were unsuccessful in our primary objective.”

Laura looked blank, so Natasha prompted: “Getting the groceries, Barton.”

“Pfft, whatever. We’ll get takeout. We’ll consider it an adventure, and it won’t even be the first one today. Hopefully there will be less dust this time.” Laura leaned over, conspiratorially. “I am getting my phone back, right? I really like the case, and it’ll take forever to get another one like it.”

Years of espionage training kept Natasha from staring at her like she’d sprouted a second head. Clint had told her years before that his wife was far more pragmatic than either of them, but she’d never had a chance to witness it in action before. She almost wanted to ask if this was some kind of backwoods Midwestern thing, but it seemed better not to do that.

So she settled into a helpless laugh. “Yes, we’ll get your phone back. The case is really cute.”

“Good. I knew you’d agree.” Laura squeezed her shoulder with her free hand, and it felt more like a thank you than Natasha had ever received after years and years on the job.

“One point,” Natasha said, feeling a tiny bit shy as as she pulled out a package she’d swiped on their trip through the store earlier. “We should probably pay for the coloring books. And these.”

Laura looked down at the bag of popsicle sticks and laughed. “You really are a hero.”

FIN

(the target was a leaked witsec hit. Bad timing all around)

#avengers fanfiction #natasha romanoff #black widow #hawkeye #clint barton #laura barton #cooper barton #lila barton #fanfiction #fanfic #my fic #not simple to say verse

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path-of-my-childhood · 3 years

Text

Taylor Swift: Pop Star of the Year

By: Jonathan Dean for The Sunday Times Date: December 27th 2020

Rather than hunker down, the singer put out two albums in 2020 and won over new audiences. She’s the pop star of the year.

Taylor Swift met Paul McCartney in the autumn for a big interview in Rolling Stone. The two would have headlined Glastonbury this summer. Who knows if they will do that next year. Anyway, both recorded albums in lockdown, working from home like the rest of us. When they spoke, though, Swift had a secret. As well as Folklore, released in July, she had a follow-up record in the pipeline — Evermore, which was released this month.

Swift noted that the former Beatle was still so full of joy. “Well, we’re just so lucky, aren’t we?” he said. “We’re really lucky,” Swift replied. “I can’t believe it’s my job.” And she is right. Being a pop star is an extraordinary way to earn the living she does. But rather than accepting luxury and letting this tough year tumble on, Swift is also keenly aware what music means. Sad songs soothe, happy songs make us dance, but as fans of most artists waited for something — anything — this year, this 31-year-old released two albums that broke chart records, were critically adored and introduced her to people who once thought that she wasn’t for them.

“I’m so exhausted!” she said to the American chat show host Jimmy Kimmel, laughing, a few weeks ago, when asked if she had a third new album planned. “I have nothing left.” In addition to Folklore and Evermore, she filmed a TV special and even started rerecording her back catalogue, after a volatile dispute over who owns her work. By October I’d just about cobbled together my first sourdough loaf.

A decade ago Swift moved firmly into the limelight thanks to a squabble with Kanye West entirely of the rapper’s own making. In 2009, when Swift — then a nascent country music star — won the best female video award at the VMAs, West stormed on stage, grabbed her microphone and said that Beyoncé should have won. Swift was 19 — West was 32 — and she looked scared. This wasn’t just about her biggest moment yet being stolen, but also about her position in the pop hierarchy being questioned, very publicly, from the off. She stood there as that man bullied her. Apparently she left the stage in tears.

Years later West released Famous, with its infamous lyric “I feel like me and Taylor might still have sex/ Why? I made that bitch famous.” The alt-folk singer Father John Misty also wrote about sleeping with her. Every time that sort of thing happened, a powerful man in Swift’s industry was reducing a successful, talented, younger female to the level of a sex object. It was back-in-your-box belittling — as it was when a TV host groped her. (She successfully sued him.) While Swift herself would retort to West, as her music became less country, more slick pop, such retorts felt forced and gave the rapper too much of her oxygen. A nod to him on Folklore comes with the “Clowns to the West” line, but it is a sideshow now, not a headline.

Not that Swift’s life is entirely her own. She’s been one of the world’s bestselling female artists for a decade, coupled with curiosities such as a well-orchestrated relationship with Tom Hiddleston that kept her in the spotlight. Like many twentysomethings, Swift spent her youth apolitically, only to receive flak for staying silent during the 2016 US election. This year she endorsed Joe Biden, but what if she had wanted to stay quiet? Would the media have let her? She is under so much scrutiny that, after she made an innocuous hand gesture in a recent TV interview, similar to one women make to draw attention to domestic abuse, this headline ran: “Some people think Taylor Swift is secretly asking for help in her latest interview.”

Like many at the start of the pandemic she felt listless. The world we were used to was a wasteland, and we could only find the energy to watch Normal People. Swift’s ennui, though, was, well, swift. Stuck in LA, she emailed Aaron Dessner of the beloved beardy indie band the National to see if he fancied writing with her. No fool, Dessner said yes and, mere weeks later, the duo — with help from Swift’s regular collaborator Jack Antonoff as well as Justin Vernon, from the beloved beardy indie band Bon Iver — released Folklore. The gang just carried on working and, five months later, gave us Evermore.

Creativity is not on tap. Indeed, this year is not one for judging what others may or not have achieved. However, the silence of many big pop stars is striking because they know that even a single would make someone’s day; distract for a while.

Everyone needed to adjust to working from home, but Swift was one of the only musicians who did and, by eschewing the arena pop of recent albums for something more subdued, organic and folky, she gave the sense that she was letting fans in more than ever. She was at home, like us. This is who she is, and the first single from these sessions was so cosy, it was even called Cardigan.

“I just thought, ‘There are no rules any more,’” she told McCartney. “Because I used to put all these parameters on myself, like, ‘How will this song sound in a stadium?’ If you take away the parameters, what do you make? I guess Folklore.”

Maybe it is tedious, for a deft writer with a career of varied, brilliant songs — Love Story, I Knew You Were Trouble, Blank Space — to find respect from some people only when artists who appeal to middle-aged men start to work with her. On the other hand, pop has never been particularly welcoming to many until it sounds like something you are used to and, with delicate acoustics and gossamer-like piano, Swift’s two new albums recall, sonically, Nick Drake or Kate Bush. Thematically, lyrics seem to come from anywhere. Daphne du Maurier, for one. Even the Lake District and its poets.

Some songs are personal. She is dating British actor Joe Alwyn, and on one track she sings, “I want to give you a child.” Make of that what you will. But these records’ highlights are not about herself, but others. “There was a point,” she told Zane Lowe on Apple Music, “that I had got to as a writer, [where I was only writing] diaristic songs. That felt unsustainable.” Instead, she does what the best writers do and mixes subjective with objective. The Last American Dynasty is a terrific piece of writing about the socialite Rebekah Harkness, who lived in a Rhode Island house that Swift bought and was, by all accounts, a bit scandalous. Swift tells her story almost with envy. Imagine, she seems to say, that freedom.

“In my anxieties,” she said in Rolling Stone, “I can often control how I am as a person and how normal I act. But I cannot control if there are 20 photographers outside in the bushes and if they follow our car and interrupt our lives.”

Then there is Epiphany. The first verse is about her grandfather, who fought in the Second World War; the second about frontline workers in hospitals now. Sung in a high register, it is suitably choral. Marjorie, on Evermore, is even better. It is about her grandmother, an opera singer who died in 2003. “What died didn’t stay dead” is the repeated line, and it is eerie, gorgeous. Swift sings how she thinks Marjorie is singing to her, at which point some vocals from the latter’s recordings waft in. Touching, but the real power is in Swift writing about vague memories of a relative who died when she was young. “I complained the whole way there,” she sings. “I should’ve asked you questions.”

In person she is warm like this, and funny. When Kimmel told her there were far more swearwords on Folklore and Evermore than previous records, she replied: “It’s just been that kind of year.” She is also odder than people realise. In the way pop stars should be. Obsessed by numerology, she wrote, on the eve of her birthday when announcing Evermore: “Ever since I was 13, I’ve been excited about turning 31 because it’s my lucky number backwards.” When I turned 31 I just wished to be 13 again, with all that youth, but then, maybe, she is just joking. “Yes, so until I turn 113 or 131, this will be the highlight of my life,” she said. “The numerology thing? I sort of force it to happen.”

Swift, of course, is far from the first pop star to become public property, or have a close bond with fans. This year, however, she was one of the few to show that such adoration is not one-way. She is, simply, a fan of her fans — from planting secrets in her artwork and lyrics, to recording two albums of new music as a balm for them when real life became too deafening.

“One good thing about music,” sang Bob Marley. “When it hits you, you feel no pain.” The 80.6 million who streamed Folklore on its first day will attest to that idea. So will the four million who bought it. Swift is pop star of the year, no doubt — leaving her peers in her wake, on their sofas, rewatching The Sopranos.

#thanks to anon who brought this to my attention!#🖤#taylor swift #the times #article #about taylor #folklore album #folklore era #evermore album #evermore era #twitter.com/hendopolis/status/1342959069792002050

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hearts-hunger · 3 years

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dralshy’a ka’ra (brighter stars): chapter six || din djarin x reader

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five

Series Summary: In the lake country of Naboo, you and Din romance each other under summer’s brighter stars. || Part Two of Jate’kara (Lucky Stars)

Chapter Summary: You and Din return to Sorgan to get your baby, and you get some very happy news.

Pairings: Din Djarin x Wife!Reader

Genre: Pure fluff | Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: Just to be safe, talk of pregnancy and having babies

A/N: It’s the end of this little sequel series! I hope you loves have enjoyed reading it as much as I’ve enjoyed writing it, and I’m so thankful for all your kind comments! A note about this chapter: I did my research on Star Wars lore, so even though Omera’s backstory is my own headcanon, it all exists in Star Wars canon! I think she deserves to be force-sensitive, and I think Mr. and Mrs. Djarin deserve their happy news even if it’s not realistic to know that soon. Anyways, I hope you like it! ♡

“Mr. and Mrs. Djarin!”

You couldn’t help a smile at the exuberant greeting as you made your way down the lane, warmth and light spilling out of the little huts on either side. Winta ran up to meet you, leaving the group of children playing together in the warm evening air, their toys spread out amongst them as they laughed and chattered with each other. Your baby was playing happily with two other children and a pile of toy soldiers. You didn’t call for him, even though you wanted to hold him; you’d be leaving soon, and you wanted to let him play with his friends a little longer.

Winta stopped in front of Din, the toy Pelta-class medical ship in her hands all but forgotten.

“Are you here for the baby?” she asked, the slight edge of hesitation to her voice indicating she was hoping you were here for a different reason.

“Afraid so,” Din told her, sympathy and amusement coloring his voice. You both knew your little one had a devoted friend in Winta, and he’d be just as sad to leave her as she would be to see him go.

Her shoulders slumped, but she quickly recovered her manners.

“Well, thank you for letting him stay for a while,” she said sincerely, looking up at both of you with an earnest expression.

You smiled. “You’re welcome,” you said. “You had a fun time together?”

She beamed. “Yes!” She gestured back to the other children, then to the toy in her hands. “We were just playing that we were in the Clone Wars, but the hospital ship’s lights won’t turn on.”

Din hunkered down to her height and extended his hands. “May I see?”

Winta handed her toy to him, watching as he took out his vibroblade and began to tinker with it. His big hands were steady even on the toy’s littlest parts, and he soon had the lights working as they should.

“Thank you, Mr. Djarin,” Winta said, almost in awe as he handed the toy back to her. He put his knife away and gave her hair an affectionate ruffle as he stood.

“You’re welcome,” he said. “Could you do me a favor and tell your mom we’re here?”

“Sure,” she agreed. With a parting smile, she skipped off in the direction of her house, cradling her newly-fixed toy close to her chest.

Din watched her go. “Strange to think about kids playing at the Clone Wars, isn’t it?”

“A little,” you agreed. “Though probably more for you than it is for me. I don’t remember them at all.”

“No, I guess you wouldn’t,” he mused, looking at you. “You were only a baby, right?”

You nodded. “I was born the year they started.” You knew Din had been rescued in the last year of the conflict, and wondered how he felt about his son playacting it with a bunch of toy soldiers.

“Does it bother you?” you asked.

“Them playing it?” he asked. He shrugged when you nodded.

“Not really,” he said. “I played like that when I was little. We mostly stuck to the legends of the Mandalorian Crusades, which were thousands of years ago, but it’s... comforting, I guess, that little ones are so removed from the war I lived through that they can make it a game.”

“I think my parents thought the same about the Battle of Naboo,” you said. “We played it all time, in the field where it happened, and mother made us costumes and everything. I always wanted to be Queen Amidala.”

You smiled at the memory. “I stuck bird feathers in my hair to make a headdress,” you remembered. “Even though the queen probably wasn’t wearing her fancy clothes during the battle.”

Din chuckled. “Probably not,” he agreed.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a happy babble, and you looked to see your little one toddling over, a grin on his face and a toy clutched in his claws. He gave you uppy arms and you happily scooped him up, cuddling him close and giving him kisses.

“Hello, my little love,” you cooed, secretly pleased that he’d noticed you were here and had decided you were worth leaving his game for. He touched a hand to your cheek and giggled when you kissed his ears.

“Did you know mama missed you very much?” you said. He gave you a questioning coo, and you smiled. “Yes, I did miss you very much. Your daddy missed you too.”

He turned his head to find Din, then broke into a beaming grin when he spotted him. Din moved closer to you and put a hand on your back as he offered his other hand to your baby.

“Su cuy'gar, ad’ika,” Din greeted, his smile unmistakable through the vocoder as the baby wrapped his hand around Din’s finger. “I missed you.”

Your baby gave an excited babble and held his toy up for his dad to see.

“I know, you’ve got a very nice toy,” Din said with interest and affection. “You had fun playing, didn’t you?”

You knew Din wanted to have his chance to cuddle your son, and you handed him over with a parting kiss. Din cradled him against his chest, listening to your baby’s incoherent but impassioned chatter as he waved his toy around. Your husband responded with “wow!” and “I know!” when appropriate, knowing your son was telling him something but unsure what it was. You smiled as you watched them. As happy as you had been to have time alone with your husband, you were happy that your little family was back together.

“You’re here!”

Both you and Din turned to see Omera greeting you with open arms, and you fell willingly into a tight, affectionate hug from your friend. She hugged Din next, careful of the baby, and looked at both of you with a warm smile.

“You look well-rested,” she said. “Did you have a nice time?”

“Yes,” you said sincerely. “It was wonderful. Thank you so much for watching him.”

She gave a dismissive wave. “We were happy to have him. He’s played from sunup to sundown every day.”

The baby had found his toy made an interesting clinking noise when tapped against his dad’s arm plate, and Din covered the buttons on his vambrace so nothing would get set off accidentally.

“He was good?” Din asked. “Minded his manners?”

Omera smiled. “He was perfect,” she assured him. “No trouble at all.” She glanced up at the sun that had just started to set, then back at the two of you.

“Can you stay at all?” she asked. “I know you’re probably anxious to be going soon, but I have the kettle on if you’d like to at least have some tea before you go.”

You looked up at Din. You knew you couldn’t stay the night; he preferred to set course for Trask as soon as possible, but you did want to spend a little more time with your friend if you could.

“Can we stay for tea?” you asked.

He nodded. “Yes. I’d like us to be headed to the Crest before dark, though, if that’s alright.”

You smiled. “Okay,” you agreed. “Thank you.”

You looped your arm through Omera’s and walked with her towards her home, happy to let Din hold the baby while you told your friend all about your vacation. You’d become very close the first time you stayed on Sorgan, just after you’d gotten your baby - she was an invaluable help to you as you learned the ropes of motherhood, and she was a deeply caring and affectionate friend. You didn’t get to see her as often as you would have liked, but treasured your time together whenever it came.

“You have an aura about you, Mrs. Djarin,” she said sagely, a mischievous glint in her lovely brown eyes as she walked with you up the front steps of her house. “Is there any news you need to tell me?”

You were intrigued but slightly bewildered - you didn’t have any news, did you?

You sat down at her kitchen table. “What do you mean? What kind of aura?”

She didn’t say anything, just gave you a knowing smile as she moved about her kitchen, pouring two cups of Tarine tea into beautiful teacups. You knew they’d been a wedding present from her husband, and she liked to use them as a way to keep his memory close.

“Any for you, Din?” she asked as he took a seat next to you, the baby content to stay in his lap. She handed the baby a cookie, and he gave a pleased coo.

Din chuckled. “No, but thank you for offering. It’s kind of you, considering how many times I’ve declined your hospitality before.”

She waved him off as she sat catty corner to you with her own cup. “What good is a woman’s hospitality if it doesn’t respect those who come through her door?”

She cradled her mug in her hands and blew gently on it as she raised it to her lips. You watched her face expectantly, desperately curious to know what she’d meant by her earlier comment. When she just raised a brow at you, you gave an incredulous laugh.

“What do you know that I don’t know?” you asked. “I don’t think I have any news to tell you.”

Din cocked his head. “News? What news?”

“Omera asked if I had any news to tell her,” you said. “She said I had an ‘aura’ about me. Do I have an aura about me, Din?”

“Um... I don’t know?” he said politely, unsure if it would be a compliment or an insult and therefore choosing the middle ground.

You looked back at Omera. “Is an aura a bad thing?”

She shook her head. “No, not necessarily. It’s just an indication of something - in this case, something medical - that you may not even be aware of.”

You frowned. “Medical? As in, your healing?” Omera was the village healer, but you’d always thought it to be based in traditional, herbal medicine. You’d never heard her mention an “aura” in her work.

She hummed. “Yes, I use it in healing,” she said. “Maybe I should tell you about how I learned to be a healer, and that will make some things clear.”

“I’d love to hear about it,” you said earnestly. Aside from this confusion about your “aura”, you had wanted to know where she trained, as you’d thought she’d been on Sorgan her whole life.

She took a sip of her tea.

“My grandmother’s people were from the planet Dathomir,” she said. “She was born into the Daughters of Allya, a clan of witches and powerful healers, and she was taught to be a healer. Though she left Dathomir to settle with my grandfather here, on Sorgan, she trained my mother to be a healer too. My mother taught me, and when Winta is old enough, I will teach her.”

You studied your friend’s face. To know she was descended from a clan of healer-witches made sense of her uncanny grace, her warrior spirit. It fit her very well, and only grew your admiration for her.

“Do you heal with magic, then?” you asked.

“Not usually,” she said. “Only in very serious cases. And it’s not magic like people usually think of it, not party tricks and potions. It’s more... channeling energy, working with your own life force and the life force of the sick person.”

You and Din looked at each other, and you knew you were thinking the same thing. Life force, energy, healing - that all sounded uncannily similar to the powers your little one exhibited. No one knew of his healing powers aside from those who were there when he’d healed Greef, and to hear Omera talk about a similar power had your interests piqued.

Omera tried to read the tension between the two of you, a frown creasing her brow.

“Oh, dear,” she said. “I’ve offended you, haven’t I? Or frightened you with all this life force talk?”

“Not at all,” you assured her. “It actually sounds like... something we’ve heard of before. But what does it have to do with me?”

Before Omera could answer, you felt Din stiffen beside you.

“Is it - is there something wrong?” he asked. “Her life force, is there something wrong with it?”

Omera’s smile was warm and comforting. “No,” she assured both of you. “There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“But you can... sense something about it?” he pressed. You put a hand on his arm, hoping to soothe him; though his posture eased a little at your touch, he still looked at Omera and waited for her answer.

She gave a gentle laugh. “Oh, I’ve done a bad job putting you at ease,” she said, apologetic and kind. “I’m sorry. Yes, I can sense something, and it’s nothing to be worried about. It’s actually very good. It must be early yet, if you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

Both of you shook your heads.

She smiled. “Well then, my dear friends. Let me be the first to congratulate you, because you’re going to have another baby.”

Both of you stilled. Then, before you’d quite found your voice - “We’re what?”

She laughed, the sound bright and happy.

“You’re pregnant,” she told you. “Your aura is unmistakable. The life force coming from you grows by the minute.”

Even before you’d had the chance to really process it, you felt yourself give a beaming smile. You were pregnant? Already? How could that be? You didn’t feel any different, and it had only been a few days ago that you and Din had started trying.

You looked over at him, a little overwhelmed with joy, and you wished you could see his face. He held his hand out to you, palm up on the table, and you put your hand in his.

“We’re having another baby?” he said, his voice hoarse through the modulator. He glanced over at Omera. “Are you sure?”

She beamed at the two of you. “Yes, I’m sure. It’s still early days, but I know a mother’s aura when I see it.”

Din squeezed your hand, and you didn’t need to see his face to know how much he loved you.

“Cyare,” he said. “We’re having another baby.”

“Oh, Din.” You felt a rush of happy tears; he released your hand to cradle your face, running his thumb over your cheek to catch the few that fell.

“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum, cyar’ika,” he said softly. Though Omera and your baby probably understood what it meant, he’d made a point to say it in Mando’a, just for you. For his wife, the mother of his children, the woman he loved more than anything else in the world.

You leaned into his touch and said it back. You couldn’t stop smiling, and he gave a watery, affectionate laugh as he let you take his hand in yours again.

“Thank you for telling us,” Din said, turning to Omera.

She smiled. “You’re very welcome,” she said. “I’m so happy for you both.”

She took your other hand in hers, and you felt a wash of thankfulness to be so cared for by the people you loved. The excitement and happiness between the three of you was palpable, and you were so grateful to share it with your husband and your dearest friend.

“I want you to deliver this baby, Omera,” you said. Even when you were daydreaming about having another baby, you’d never thought about who you wanted to help you deliver; but there, in Omera’s warm, comfortable home with the sun sinking low, you knew you absolutely wanted it to be her.

“I would be honored,” she said sincerely, her smile warm. “It would be my pleasure to help bring another Djarin into the world.”

Your conversation drifted towards Omera’s experience with midwifery, and you were confident that no one in the galaxy would be better suited to help you deliver this baby. Between the two of you, you whiled away the evening in happy conversation. Din jumped in when he felt inclined, but you knew he was happy to take a breather and let you visit while both of you enjoyed the luxury of sitting at a friend’s table and enjoying her company.

Though he’d said you needed to leave when the sun set, Din let you linger as long as possible over the dregs of your tea and your visit with Omera. He was sweetly apologetic when he gently chimed in that you should be leaving, putting a hand on your arm when there was a lull in the conversation.

“I’m sorry, cyare, but we should head back to the Crest.”

You glanced outside and realized that night had well and truly fallen, and your baby was sound asleep in the crook of Din’s arm. It was later than Din had wanted to leave, and you felt a slight pang of guilt.

“Oh, dear, we completely lost track of time, didn’t we?” Omera said as the three of you rose. “Sorry, Din.”

He chuckled. “That’s alright. It was very nice to see you, Omera, as always. Thank you again for watching the little one.”

He accepted her warm embrace and angled the baby towards her, so she could give him a parting kiss on his forehead. Your baby stirred a little, then snuggled further into the cradle of Din’s arm.

Omera smiled. “Take good care of your clan for me, Djarin.”

“I will,” he said, and you knew he meant it.

Omera hugged you then, both of you holding each other close.

“I love you,” she said.

You hugged her tighter. “I love you,” you said, your voice tight with emotion. You knew it would probably be a while before you saw her again, but at the very least, you’d see her in nine months.

She pressed a kiss to your cheek as she released you.

“Don’t be a stranger,” she said. “And take good care of yourself. I know it won’t be easy, but try not to get into too many dangerous scrapes, ok?”

You smiled. You and Din managed to get into scrapes like it was your job, and Omera knew it.

“I’ll certainly try my best,” you said. You gave her hand a final squeeze. “Thank you for everything.”

She walked you to the door, and gave a parting wave as Din helped you down the steps in the near-darkness. Winta came up as you were leaving, and Din lowered the baby so she could give him a kiss goodbye.

“Oh, this is probably yours,” Din said, realizing the baby still held onto the little toy soldier even as he slept.

Winta smiled. “It’s ok, Mr. Djarin. He can keep it.”

She gave you a quick hug, throwing her arms around your waist before she scampered up the steps to join her mother. You exchanged goodbyes again and took Din’s hand, letting him lead you through the village towards the clearing you’d landed the Crest in earlier.

“Sorry we’re leaving later than you wanted,” you said, leaning against his arm. “Thank you for letting us stay.”

You walked through the patches of light spilling from the rows of cosy huts, even Din’s tread light in the soft grass.

“You’re welcome,” he said. “No need to apologize. I’m sorry we couldn’t stay, cyare.”

Part of you did want to stay, but you were also happy to be going home together. Hopefully Din could set you on course for Trask and leave the Crest on autopilot so he could get some rest with you and the baby.

He handed the baby to you as the Crest’s ramp lowered, and you smiled to yourself as he put a steadying hand on your back while you walked up. You would have to get used to Din’s care taking on a little bit of anxiety and caution, now that you knew you were pregnant, but you would try your best to humor him and knew you wouldn’t mind the extra attention.

He reached up to turn the bay lights on, leaving them on the dimmer setting for your baby’s sake. “If you’ll get him settled, I’ll get us ready to leave.”

“Okay.” You touched your fingers to your mouth, then to the bottom of his visor. “Will you be able to come back down later?”

“Hopefully,” he said, heading towards the ladder. “I’ll have to see how clear our course is. You don’t need to wait up for me, if you’re tired.”

You didn’t think you were, but your bunk did look awfully inviting as you opened the door. The baby usually slept in his hammock above you, but he was sleeping peacefully in your arms and you didn’t want to let go of him just yet. You gently laid him on the bed next to you and curled around him, brushing a gentle finger over his ear.

You were overjoyed with your news. Another baby, and so quickly after you’d started trying. You hoped that your little ones would get along, and though there would certainly be difficulties to navigate, you knew your capacity for love would only grow as your little family did.

You hadn’t thought you could love anyone as much as you loved Din, when you married. When you became a mother, your love for your little one was different but just as strong, and you got to share that love with Din. That was the thing about love - it only grew the more people you had to share it with. You couldn’t wait to welcome your new baby and become a clan of four.

You were nearly asleep by the time Din came back down, lulled by the sound of the Crest’s engine as she sailed towards Trask and Din’s occasional tread above you. You watched as he took his armor off, putting everything in its rightful place.

Careful of the baby, you moved to sit on the edge of the bunk. Din raised a brow at you and you made grabby hands towards him.

“Come kiss me,” you said.

He smiled. “Demanding, aren’t you?”

He leaned down and cradled your face in his hands before kissing you soundly, all tenderness and slow touches. You were drowsy and very in love; he took his time, murmuring words of praise and affection as he kissed all over your face. His fingers traced under your jaw, behind your ears, down your neck; it tickled a little and you giggled as you pulled away from him.

“Quit that,” you said, though you didn’t really mind it.

He chuckled. “Sorry. I won’t do it anymore. Come here.”

You did as he said; his touch was less feather-light, but still gentle. His hands were rough and calloused from years of hard work, but they held you carefully and showed you how much your husband loved you.

He pulled back after a moment and just looked at you, studying your face with that steady, understanding gaze. He started to smile, showing the laugh lines and dimples you loved so dearly, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“What?” you asked.

He shook his head. “I can’t believe we’re having another baby.”

You beamed up at him. “Me either. Isn’t it wonderful?”

“Yes, it’s wonderful,” he agreed. He kissed you again. “You’re wonderful. My beautiful, wonderful wife.”

You felt your cheeks pink a little and nuzzled his jaw. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

He chuckled. “Thank you.” He tipped your chin up so you would meet his eyes, and brushed his thumb over your bottom lip.

“You’re such a good mother, cyar’ika,” he said, and you knew how much he meant it. “I’m so glad our children have you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, thinking of your own mother, thinking of how Din had lost his.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice a little wobbly. You cleared your throat, but the sting of tears still lingered.

“Happy tears, cyare?” he asked gently, brushing away the few that fell.

You nodded and gave a watery laugh. “Sorry I keep crying. I’m just... very happy. I wish I had better words to say it.”

He smiled. “I know what you mean,” he said. “You can cry as much as you need to, cyar'ika.”

You pressed your mouth to his again, and he eased the ache of too much joy - sharing it with him was even better than feeling it alone, and you were so thankful you were going to raise your children with him.

“Come to bed, my love,” you said gently. He gave you a few parting kisses before he pulled back; he took a moment to study you, his gaze soft and affectionate as he looked first at you and then at your son cuddled up in your bunk.

He let you get settled first, and then lay next to you with your son cradled snugly between you. He rested his hand on your stomach, protective of you and the new little one.

“I love you,” he said.

You gave him a chase kiss and tangled your legs together under the blankets. “I love you too.”

You tried to keep up a little bit of conversation, keeping your voice soft so as not to wake your baby; Din didn’t seem overly tired yet, and you knew he liked to lay with you and talk before he fell asleep. But snuggled close like you were, warm and safe and happy, you couldn’t keep your eyes open; he gave a gentle laugh and brushed his hand over your cheek.

“It’s alright, cyare,” he said tenderly. “Sleep, if you need to. I’m not going anywhere.”

You let yourself relax as he gently combed his fingers through your hair, humming a Mandalorian lullaby to you. There in your husband’s arms with your baby held close, snuggled into your bunk that would soon hold four instead of three, you drifted to sleep happier and more content than you had ever been.

pedro pascal character taglist: @punkgeekchic, @tv-saved-the-teenage-girl, @stardust-galaxies, @theorganasolo, @qhbr2013 ♡

series taglist: @kyjoraven, @sarahjkl82-blog, @remmysbounty, @bitchin-beskar, @cosmicbreathe, @prettyboyskywalker, @happyxdayxbitch ♡

#i hope you like it!!#i'm pretty proud of it ♡#(also debating writing another series to make this a trilogy...... thoughts?)#din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fluff #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #maddie writes stuff!#dralshy'a ka'ra

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fandom-necromancer · 4 years

Text

Choose your side

To the first Halloween short! This was prompted be the wonderful @derpyfangirl! I hope you enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 | AU: Vampire

Gavin looked left and right down the path. The streetlights failed to illuminate all of the road and Detroit’s city lights didn’t reach that far. But he was thankful for the darkness, it made his plan so much easier. He wore dark clothes to blend into the background better and checked on his equipment. His silver gun was holstered at his side for quick access, as well as a few sharpened pickets, a chain of garlic bulbs and his favourite sword. He covered it with his coat and fell into a short sprint to scale the chain-link fence that was surrounding the old castle. He let himself fall onto the other side and hunkered down to wait for any sign he had been spotted. As everything stayed calm, he made his way over to the walls, crawling through the shadows to the only access point Gavin knew of: A creaky wooden door that would lead to a partially flooded basement. He leaned against the cold stones of the doorway, carefully pulling it open. He risked a look inside the darkness and slipped inside. He didn’t see a thing, but he didn’t need to. With the experience of hundreds of similar visits, he manoeuvred around puddles, his feet searching for elevated tiles and pillars. He could see the distant light of candles now and his steps became more careful. It wasn’t far now, Gavin could nearly feel the other’s presence hovering over him, ready to strike the moment he would step outside. And Gavin couldn’t say he wasn’t looking forwards to it.

He straightened his back before walking through the last arch and stepping into a huge hall. Two curved stairways led up to a gallery and more rooms. Candles were the only source of light, lined up on the railing of the gallery, stone tables at the side of the large hall and huge crystal chandeliers above his head. Gavin walked into the middle of the room, trying to keep an eye on every dark corner. Only then he drew his sword and took position. ‘I’m here!’, he called, a smirk on his face. ‘Now come get me!’ As if only waiting for the challenge out of nowhere the shadows moved and coiled like an enormous beast rising from eternal slumber. They gathered from the gallery and trickled down the stairways to unite back before Gavin. The smoky shadows piled up slowly, only to form a person and attack in a heartbeat.

Gavin parried without missing a beat. His sword caught the other’s and directed it away from his body. The next swing followed, and Gavin evaded it with a simple side-step to attack himself. But again his sword collided and Gavin was caught face to face with his opponent in a stalemate only to be broken by who was the stronger fighter. Blue eyes stared into green and Gavin’s adversary grinned at him, flashing sharp elongated canines. Gavin pressed harder against the sword but didn’t manage to push him away even the tiniest bit. Not until the other allowed it, letting the crossed weapons move closer to his chest before leaning over the blades to meat Gavin’s lips.

Gavin huffed, but returned the kiss, slowly letting his sword sink next to his side not to accidentally hurt the other man. ‘You know, darling, I don’t actually need all that drama’, he muttered against his lips and Gavin smirked. ‘Really? Thought you’d like it!’, he teased, putting his arms around the shoulders of the taller person. ‘I mean, you really liked it the first time we met, Nines.’ ‘Only because you were the only human to even get close to killing me’, the vampire tried for excuses. But then he shrugged, returning the hug. ‘Okay, yeah, you are right, I do like it.’

Gavin let go of him and picked up the sword he had to have discarded somewhere around the time Nines had kissed him. ‘Should I get the kitchen running? Are you staying for long?’, Nines asked, as he picked up his own. ‘I mean, not gonna say no to a snack, but I just wanted you to know I’m out for a mission’, Gavin explained. He kept step with the Vampire as he moved to a door underneath the stairs that would lead them to the kitchen. ‘We got a new lead for some activity over in Chicago, you know someone there?’ Nines frowned next to him and hummed for a while thinking. ‘Hmm, the Chens are strong over there but they kinda went vegan and run a coffee shop now.’ ‘Vegan?’, Gavin asked. ‘Can’t imagine how that would work for you guys…’ ‘Coconut water is similar to the inner lumen of red blood cells, just with different levels of ions.’ Gavin looked at the Vampire next to him incredulously. ‘I guess they use supplements for the rest’, Nines shrugged. ‘And that works?’ ‘They are still around, so I guess. Not really my thing. But at the same time, I got you. No need to feed on the innocent for me.’ He patted Gavin’s back lovingly.

Gavin’s hand subconsciously moved to his neck where the collar of his jacket hid the small precise marks Nines left on him whenever he went for a meal. ‘You going to be alright?’, he asked concerned. ‘I’ll leave tomorrow, but I prepared a few pouches for you. They are over at my place. The usual spot.’ ‘Thank you. But I’ll be. Just be careful on your mission. Most of Detroit’s vampires know not to touch you, but the Stern Clan isn’t really a name in Chicago. I’ll message the Chens though. They’ll keep an eye on you.’ ‘Thanks babe. But I can handle myself.’ ‘Have I ever said anything different? Now come, let’s get you something to eat and then make this night count, shall we?’

As Gavin was on his way back to the city trailing the van of his fellow vampire hunters on his bike, he felt exhaustion tugging at him. He craved nothing more than a hot shower followed by the rest of the night spent with Nines in that heavenly soft bed. Nines was so much different to the vampires he met on his job. Sure, all of them were monsters that sucked the blood of humans, but… There were some who had come to terms with the morality of it and some that simply bathed in the feeling of power and bloodlust. It were only the latter who were a real danger. Nines on the other hand…

Okay, yes, he wouldn’t lie to himself. Nines had been dangerous once. But Gavin always had had a thing for danger. And Nines was phcking attractive. He had the knowledge and wisdom of several centuries, helped him with his missions from time to time and was fine with letting a few habits fall. If Gavin was so freely offering his own blood, he also didn’t really need to go and look for victims every other night. They simply fit together Gavin had decided. And after a while they had become what Gavin had most feared: full on lovey dovey romantics. Not that Gavin truly minded if it meant they would spend the night together in bed, star gazing or appreciating just being in each other’s company. Yes, screw the shower. He craved for Nines’ strong arms around him, his dusty scent in his nose and his own hands in his hair. Some peace and quiet after this last mission. He would just have to help the others stow away the equipment and discard of the body. Then he would head straight to Nines’ residence.

They parked the van and Gavin’s bike outside the loading platform of the headquarters of Detroit’s vampire hunters, before heading to the stairs to unload. Then they pushed the roll car with their equipment inside. They were heading towards the armoury, but they would never make it: The great hall was in uproar. Gavin could only see hunters being flung around by the chains they were holding, others shooting blindly and even more sitting somewhere behind cover holding their bleeding wounds. Mostly slashes across arms and legs. Incapacitating blows not meant to kill. That made Gavin look up to the centre of the heavy chains. That was when his heart stopped.

‘Nines?’ He had whispered it to himself disbelievingly, but the enormous head of the giant figure before him turned towards him. It was about two times the size of Gavin and there was no mistaking Nines true form. His giant wings batted away the humans around him effortlessly, while these blue eyes focussed on Gavin only. The snout of a bat, his emaciated looking body with pure muscle underneath tight skin and bony ridges did little to instil fear in him. Gavin had felt these hands hold him, caress him. These lips, whatever form they were could be so tender and gentle. The inhuman screeches could be the most beautiful melody.

‘Nines!’ The party that had just been on a mission with him was looking at him perplexed, but Perkins, leader of the vampire hunters had spotted him. ‘Get him!’, he screamed over the noise. ‘Get the traitor!’ The people around him were still hesitant. Gavin was the best hunter; how could he be a traitor? ‘Now!’ That made them move. Nines growled in anger at hearing the human’s order and with a fling of his shoulder he pulled multiple humans who had tried to anchor the chain across the floor, effectively knocking the hunters closest to Gavin off their feet. That was enough time for Gavin to make his decision and react. He had pulled out his sword and gun and began shooting at his former co-workers. Nines was his everything and he wouldn’t allow them to kill him. Not when he had agreed to refrain from killing humans. Not when he was one of those vampires that just wanted to secretly live their lives with those dear to them. If he had to choose between the hunters and Nines, he knew exactly how to decide. He focussed his fire on the hunters holding the chains on Nines’ left side and the vampire caught onto his thought. He kept his right busy until his left was weakened enough for Nines to break away. He ducked out of the chains and with a single blow of his wings he sent the humans tumbling against the wall. Gavin was caught in a fight against three hunters now and didn’t pay much attention to Nines. That’s why he was startled by the vampire grabbing him and flying towards the round roof window. Nines smashed through it, sending glass shards to rain down on the few quick humans who lined up to shoot.

Gavin began to realise they were out of the hall as he saw the night sky above them. They were soaring through the air and Gavin had to shake off the confusion from the flurry of pictures since he had been snatched from the ground. Nines pressed him hard against his enormous chest and Gavin had to pat against the arm to remind his love he still needed air. ‘What do we do now?’, Gavin shouted up to the vampire. ‘How- How the phck did this even happen?’ Nines landed on the flat roof of a supermarket and changed back to his human form. He opened his mouth to say something, but adrenalin was still coursing through Gavin’s veins. ‘Holy phck you are bleeding!’ Nines looked down on his leg that was slowly oozing a black substance. ‘I’m fine, it’ll heal’, he groaned. ‘Not if it’s from silver, phck, Nines what-‘ ‘I’m fine’, Nines growled again, silencing the human. ‘I went to your flat, I was hungry. They waited for me.’ ‘They were in my flat?!’ ‘Yes. I guess they knew of us.’ ‘Oh, that’s why they sent me on a phcking rookie mission!‘, Gavin shouted and Nines had to hold his arm to remind him they likely were followed already. He had to keep it down. ‘I was caught off guard and they took me to their headquarters. Then you came.’

Gavin nodded. ‘And the hell are we supposed to do now?’ ‘I guess it’s time you meet the family’, Nines smirked. ‘What? But… I’m human. What would you even say to them?’ Nines laughed. ‘I’ll just tell them you killed half of Detroit’s hunters. That will make them like you. Besides, I’m not the first one to bring one home.’ ‘What?’ Gavin looked at the vampire sceptically. ‘Human or hunter?’ ‘Both.’ ‘Who is it?’ ‘Err… well my brother took a special liking to a certain human… Anderson I think was his name.’ ‘That drunk phck has a vampire boyf- Never mind.’ Gavin shook his head. ‘You know, I thought he went slack because of drinking and old age but… Don’t tell me we’ll meet him too.’ ‘Well, I’d think so’, Nines chuckled, holding out a hand for Gavin to take. ‘Come on. We’ll be safe there.’

Gavin was still hesitant, but it was settled as he looked into Nines’ eyes again. ‘As long as we’ll stay together, I’ll be fine.’

#detroit become human #dbh #dbh halloween #Halloween short #Reed900 #RK900 #Gavin Reed #Vampire!RK900 #Vampire hunter Gavin

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starbuck09256 · 4 years

Text

Furball

Season 3

What if Mulder ended up not hating Queequeg Tagging @today-in-fic

He won’t admit it at least not in front of her, but as the night rolls on he finds himself scratching behind the ears of her annoying little furball. He never had a dog as a kid. Something he always wanted, a big black lab to chase around the yard, or maybe a collie who could follow him on a bike. Now with cases and hospital stays keeping him from even having anything edible in his fridge he finds that the time escapes the dreams he had as a boy. Sure he wanted a yard with a dog and a cool job. Most days his job is pretty cool, and if the day should be full of paperwork and stale coffee it does have a cool redhead that laughs at his jokes and always smells nice. Queequeg smells nice too, as he rolls on his back so Mulder can rub his belly while Scully finishes typing up her last few sentences of her report. His original disdain for the little fluff ball was mostly about his eating habits, people not being the most ideal food group. Now though the dog is fed regular old dog food and a few treats. Queequeg has also stopped barking at him when he comes over, Mulder thinks it might just be because he smuggled him in some real ham but likes to think the dog is warming up to him. Scully finally finishes the report and sits next to Mulder on her small blue striped couch. Queequeg is almost taking up an entire cushion laying sideways on his back, paws in the air snoring. Mulder rubs his belly back and forth, a file sits perched on his lap as Scully squeezes in on the other side. She would rather sit practically on top of Mulder than move her precious pup, and a large part of him is happy to oblige. He lets his arm wrap around the back of the couch to give her a little more room. She takes the extra space and cuddles closer to him. Tapping on a picture as her brows knit in confusion. He smiles softly looking at the grainy photo that seems to capture a man dancing in thin air.

“He snores pretty loud” She mutters as a yawn escapes her lips.

“Looks like he has the right idea.” Mulder mutters yawning as well.

The flight being delayed and the terrible weather had them hunkered down to finish up the reports at her house before two blissful days off. He thinks about driving up the vineyard tomorrow, his apartment is being fumigated and part of him wants to check out some mysterious lights up in the sky. Scully snuggles in a little closer her warm breath on top of his t-shirt as she leans on his shoulder.

“Hey sleepyhead,” he says, letting his arms wrap around her to stroke her arm up and down.

She mumbles a bit and he doesn’t even bother to decipher it. He looks at her as his hand rubs his eyes, her soft smile, the dog's loud snores, the rain and ice beating on her windows that lulls his head to rest against hers. The smell of her shampoo and the warmth of her tiny dog on the other side of him cause him to smile as sleep captures them both.

He wakes hours later with a bad crimp in his shoulder, a warm Scully wrapped in his arms, her dog asleep in the small space left on his chest. He can’t help but grin the pain being worth it. He rubs queequeg's fur and the dog seems to sense that a bed would be a better choice and hops down, wagging his tail and dancing around to go to the soft big bed in the other room. Mulder shifts and picks Scully up. She is tiny and fierce but waking her is almost impossible. He would rather deal with a well rested Scully then one that he jolted awake in the middle of the night. Queequeg happily leads the way as Mulder carries his prize through the hallway. He turns off a light or two. Pulls back the covers and slides Scully in as queequeg hops to the other side. He moves the covers up to protect her from the chill but she grabs his arm, he turns to her, a shy smile hoping that she will forgive him moving her for her own good.

“Didn’t you say your apartment was ..” she gestures into the air as another yawn takes over. He nods, whispers as he leans down and gives her a soft kiss on the cheek.

“It’s fine, I can check into the Marriot.” He feels her tug on him as her head moves back and forth on the pillow.

“No Mulder the weather and you are already tired just come to bed there is plenty of room.”

She moves back almost squishing the furball as he moves from his precious pillow. Queequeg's small eyes narrowed at him, and he is now sure if it wasn’t for the ham and hour long belly rub this dog would be barking his head off until Mulder was chased from her apartment. But Mulder did bring him ham and belly rubs and sneaks him better treats than the redheaded lady. So he moves over easily let’s the big man slide next to his human friend. In the morning when Mulder and Scully are snuggled together sharing one small pillow he will still have half the bed, which is secretly what both his human friends wanted anyway.

Mulder ends up spending the entire next day with Scully and queequeg walking through some local parks and gardens. When Scully takes his hand and links their fingers together he forgets about the lights he wanted to check out. As the day runs down the twinkling lights come on they are still walking arm and arm and when he finally gets enough courage to kiss her, queequeg doesn’t make a peep.

The next morning as he brews them coffee and makes her pancakes, he slips the dog some bacon. Scully swats at Mulder but the dog just wags his tail happily. Mulders arm snakes around her, pulling her to his lips in a certainly not chaste kiss. She tastes like syrup and her hands find their way under his shirt. He can’t help but lift her on the counter as he tosses another piece of bacon to the dog before having his fingers cup her face and deepening their kisses.

He never makes it to Massachusetts; he spends the whole weekend walking a dog and being an everyday person. It’s not nearly as boring as he thought it would be. When he goes home late Sunday night he has to kiss her at least 3 more times before she is forced to shut the door in his face.

On Monday when she comes in with a smile and her face already blushing he can’t help but grin and bite his lip to keep it cool. They work just like before only now she touches him more, her fingers lingering on his skin. On Friday night when he brings a nice bottle of red and a pack of dog treats, queequeg jumps up on him the second he is barely through the door. He barks happily and Mulder leans down to get a face full of slobbery kisses.

Scully comes in drying her hands on a dish towel looking bemused. “More fumencation?” her eyebrow raised. “Well, I umm just wanted to bring over a nice bottle of wine as a thank you for you know putting up with me last weekend.” He looks down, they kept things mostly professional this week. It’s like a silent agreement that this was private and not to be known at the Bureau. She reaches out for the wine, as he opens up the dog treats for queequeg. Giving him a big one and rubbing his little head. She looks over the bottle and looks at him, chuckles as he sits on the couch with an eager queequeg already in his lap rolling onto his back for a belly rub.

“You won’t be able to move for the rest of the night you know?” she says from the kitchen, grabbing some wine glasses. He looks up at her rubbing queequeg's belly in circles.

“I’m kind of ok with that, if you are.” His eyes find hers asking the question, can I stay? Or was it all just a one time thing.

She smiles that big adorable scully smile hands him his glass, he grabs her wrist to tug her down beside him. She comes with a plop and as he is kissing her before he even tastes the wine.

#todayinfic #the x-files #myfic #fanfic #mulder and scully #msr #fluff #season 3 #queequeg

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kikis-writing-world · 3 years

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Hiya! Congratulations on the milestone! If it's not too late could I participate in the ship game? I'm really shy and awkward the first couple months of knowing someone, and it takes a long while for me to get comfortable with being myself with someone, but once I do get comfortable I love to make people laugh all the time and try to focus on the silver lining of things, just generally trying to make people smile. I use writing and drawing to try and calm or organise my thoughts, since most of the time they scare me, and I also have a big urge to travel and explore different cultures while also being absolutely shit scared of everything 😂.

Hope your OK and staying safe! Bye! 👽👽

Thank you! I ship you with Din Djarin. The first few months of knowing each other would be a lot of awkward silences. Not uncomfortable necessary, just long. Eventually one of you would crack a joke, and that would be the beginning of an actual friendship. You would travel the galaxy with him, and he would love finding your drawings spread around the ship. He secretly would keep a stash of his favorites hidden in case you ever leave (because he’s kinda got abandonment issues if you couldn’t tell.) He would protect the shit out of you and it wouldn’t be long before you’re less scared because he’s way scarier than most things that could come after you.

I would love to see you two in a modern workplace AU, coworkers to lovers deal. You are his personal assistant and the two of you have a decent working relationship. You’re not great friends at first, but you work well together and have a mutual respect. He gets a promotion within the company which means he’s now having to leave the office/city for more meetings abroad. You get to go with him as he does this. He’s great at his job, kills it in meetings and with bosses/investors, but his social life seems kind of lacking. It’s almost like he’s not as confident outside of the business.

The first crack in the professional relationship is when it turns out you’re kind of nervous on the private jet. He helps you through take-off and landings, holding your hand and speaking in a calm, even voice. Next, because you’re spending so much time together in other cities, you two eat dinner together a lot. This means you’re chatting more about life and everything else. It’s probably a little awkward at first, but soon you realize he’s kinda your friend, not just your boss. You have to admit too, he’s kind of dashing.

You go to a meeting in the Northwest in winter, but while you’re there the meeting is cancelled because of a blizzard. This means the two of you have to just hunker down in the hotel. He proposes a movie night, so the two of you get into comfy clothes and pick something to watch from the hotel’s on-demand and order room service. As much as you liked seeing him dressed up, seeing him dressed down is somehow sexier. He looks so comfy and at-ease. You two end up falling asleep on the couch together, curled up under a blanket he pulled from the bed.

He gets invited to a company event and asks you to go with him. You say yes, of course, and make all the necessary plans. You’re a little excited, you’ve never been to the bigger dinners before, and you make sure to pick out a nice dress to wear. You’re also kinda nervous about being around the big bosses for a whole evening too. He reassures you that it’ll be fine.

He picks you up at your place. The whole night it seems like he has a hand hovering near you, sometimes actually touching your arm or lower back. It helps make you feel less anxious in the crowd and you’re thankful for it. He pulls your chair out for you and pours your wine. He’s kind of the perfect gentleman the whole time, and you for the briefest second allow yourself to think about what a great boyfriend he’d actually be.

At the end of the night he thanks you again for coming and kisses your cheek. You’re entire being is just frozen with a “WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!” He notices and he gets really flustered, apologizing like crazy that he maybe misread the situation but he thought this was a date. You’re like “ITS A WHAT?” because you definitely didn’t realize he asked you to the dinner as his date, not his assistant.

Things get super awkward at work the next Monday, both of you stuttering and stumbling over each other. Finally, he approaches you and basically spills that he’s been gaining feelings for you for some months now, and how working with you has been spectacular, and he admits that your drawings in the margins of notes and memos make him smile and he thought he had been clear about his intentions. He apologizes again and tells you that if you wanted to transfer to someone else, or even look for another job, you’d get nothing but a glowing recommendation from him. You tell him you don’t want to leave, but you really hadn’t realized he was feeling this way, and that the night had been a date. You shyly ask him if you two could have a do-over, try again when you actually realize what’s happening and he happily agrees.

Post with the rules and possible tropes here. Join in the fun!

#66followers #66followers celebration #shipping games #👽 anon #Anonymous #did you subliminal message me??!#Did I pick the SW character when you sent alien emojis?#i got played!#300 Followers Celebration

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deniigi · 4 years

Text

Last Mike piece kind of combining a handful of different requests.

It’s a long one and is under the cut.

(Note, contains some stereotyping--I love Mike but I don’t imagine him as a super sensitive or culturally aware type of guy.)

Thanks to everyone who sent in asks!! And who has read and commented on stories up until this point.

You’re all darlings and stars and I appreciate you immensely. Truly immensely. It is a pleasure to read your comments and reactions and to have met so many lovely humans through the work.

---

keeping brothers

Mike comes to SF to demand retribution for not being invited to Matt and Foggy’s wedding. He crashes into Sam and finds in him a challenge that is perhaps even too great for even Mike Murdock to overcome.

---

Foggy was not presently receptive to advances.

This was unfortunate. Especially since revenge was needing to be taken here over dear, dear Matthew going forth with a wedding without even inviting his only, humble brother to sit in the pews.

Mike had picked out a suit and everything.

It was yellow.

Everyone loved yellow.

He’d gotten a hat to go with it.

Everyone loved hats.

Matt, however, seemed to have other ideas and went on and on about how he was planning on an August wedding and he’d tell Mike in the next month or so what the decided date was and what the color scheme was, and so on and so on. And yet, somehow, by the time May was rolling to a close, with months left until the auspicious August date, Mike got a furious call from the Sister who, for once, had found it in herself to contact him first and who was also offended on Matt’s and Dad’s behalf that Mike had failed to show up to his own twin’s wedding.

She didn’t yell. No of course she didn’t. But she told Mike that God was watching him and that he should consider how he was going to make it up to his brother.

His brother.

Hmph.

More like his little shit wombmate.

Oh, Mike would make it up to him alright.

Dearest, darling Matthew lived in San Francisco these days and while Foggy was not receptive to Mike’s usual charm and wit, he did say that Mike was welcome to stay at the happily married couple’s house for the night.

Foggy felt guilty when Mike explained the phone call from Mom and the whole unworn suit situation. He said that it was wrong of Matt to have lied to him and that an apology would be forthcoming, but in the meantime, if Mike could keep an eye on the dogs and the apprentice while he went out to find his beloved husband, that would be great.

Mike, of course, promised he would.

He chose not to mention that dogs were the foul scum of the earth on his personal hierarchy of creatures and things.

He also chose not to mention that children were right below dogs on said hierarchy. After all, not everyone in the world needed to know his business.

Matt’s dogs were…disgusting.

Mike didn’t get it.

The number of times Mike had moved Matt to the other side of the pavement to keep him away from dogs (out of brotherly love and fear of the neighborhood kids knowing that his little bro was a crybaby) had long passed countable means.

And yet.

These things.

Hazel was alright. Mike got why Matt was obsessed with her. She was ginger. They were ginger. There was an unbreakable bond there.

But Tuesday?

Just why?

She was old. She was pale. She looked sad all the fucking time.

Mike tried to throw a tennis ball for her, but after he’d pried the wet, nasty thing out of her mouth, she just watched it bounce and roll onto the living room carpet before looking back up at him like he’d just shot Bugs Bunny dead on the carpet and tried to feed him to her.

“You ever considered therapy?” he asked her. “Maybe anti-depressants?”

She said nothing.

She just looked sad.

“How about a walk?” he asked.

Hazel flung herself out of the kitchen and crashed into the bottom of the island on her way.

Mike could appreciate that level of enthusiasm. Tuesday watched her and the slowly looked back up at him. Her tail swung exactly once.

“That’s it?” Mike asked her.

The tail drooped.

Fuckin’ A.

Look who’s Sandra D., huh?

The door rattled open and both dogs suddenly leap into action. Mike threw hands over his ears at the sudden explosion of barking.

“HEY,” he snapped at them.

They carried on yowling and bustling, racing each other down the stairs. Mike stood up and begrudgingly accepted that he was gonna have to chase these slobbering idiots out into the street, but froze.

A person was down there at the bottom of the stairs with bags slipping off their shoulders. They were laughing and petting the dogs. Cooing to them.

Mike decided that he wasn’t in the mood for housecleaner chatting. He was here for the express purpose of shaming Matthew in his own home.

He took a step back, but not soon enough. The black hair down there snapped up and made eye contact.

“Oh, hey Boss,” the cleaner said. “You’re home early.”

How to respond? How to respond?

This appeared to be an opportunity.

“Wasn’t busy,” he said in his best, stiff, huffy Matthew impression.

The kid cocked his head to the side a little.

“Really?” he asked. “Huh. Wild. Did you already take the girls out?”

Housecleaner and dogwalker? Come on, Matt. You ain’t that busy.

“Negative,” Mike said.

“Oh. Okay, I’ll take them then,” the kid said. “Jia and Chunhua want to meet them, is that cool?”

Um.

But

Why.

“No can do,” Mike said. “They’ve been poorly behaved.”

The kid stopped with his hand on the downstairs closet door. He turned his head slowly back up the stairs, this time frowning.

Mike decided that he was going to make a drink.

You know. A “drink.” For protection. Against suspicion.

“You feeling okay, Bossman?” the kid called up the stairs.

“Just fine, thanks,” Mike called back from the kitchen. He found a safe place behind the counter and hunkered with the muzzle of his piece over its edge.

Surely, this guy knew Matt’s ‘leave me alone’ tone. Mike had it imprinted across his heart and his impression of it, he knew, was flawless.

The sound of rustling eased downstairs for a moment, and the creak of a door opening followed it. The dogs did not come back up the stairs. Mike started to stand up.

Perhaps the suspicion had passed?

The sound of a door opening downstairs destroyed that dream and the sound of the kid hiking upstairs with intention followed the shattered its remaining fragments.

And like.

Damn.

There were two ways to go about this.

Way 1) Shoot the kid, hide the body, hire new household help for the brother.

Way 2) Engage full and complete Matthew impersonation.

Tricky, tricky, tricky.

One of those involved paperwork and speed interviewing. Mike stowed his piece and made a show of picking through the cabinets for a glass. He was careful to feel around at the bottom of the glasswares’ stems.

He heard the footsteps stop behind him and could practically feel the kid’s eyes burning holes into his back.

“You need a Tylenol or somethin’, Teach?” the kid rumbled.

The hair on the back of Mike’s neck stood up.

He’d fucked up.

He didn’t know how he’d fucked up, but he’d fucked up.

Damn.

Poor little shit. Dyin’ on a kitchen floor was just one step above dying on the toilet.

“I’m good, thanks,” he said to the cabinet contents.

“Are you?” the kid asked.

Pushy.

Stop asking questions, boy, and start prayin’.

“I am,” Mike said, closing the cabinet firmly. “Is there a reason—”

He turned around.

Blue, glowing eyes stared right through him.

“What’s the matter, Teach?” the kid asked sweetly. “Never seen me before?”

Oh.

Shit.

Mike never claimed to be Matty.

Ever.

He wasn’t there for the whole cult-training thing. He only became aware of it after the fact. Of course he’d noticed the change in behavior and the personality shift and yadda yadda yadda. But he couldn’t have done anything about it. He’d just been a kid himself, not to mention that he’d been busy being shipped out to a thousand different foster families and group homes while Matty had been shuffled through a series of special needs placements. They were broken apart and thrown back together all the fucking time while every social worker and home and institute claimed to be trying to ‘keep the twins together.’

As a result, one day Mike woke up and learned from the paper that his twin was secretly a devil in disguise.

It had been kind of neat, actually. Matty’s devil fought crime and Mike’s devil did crime.

What a pair!

The contrast! The tension!

Delicious, all of it.

And while that was very good aesthetic-wise, it unfortunately meant that Mike was woefully unprepared to fight a dog-walking, house-cleaning marital artist on kitchen tile.

The kid was strong. And fast. And fuck, could he land a punch. Or eight.

He’d snatched Mike’s gun and chucked it in the sink within seconds of this conflict beginning, and while Mike had a height and weight advantage on him, someone had taught him how to go for the kidneys and the knees.

Christ.

Mike was going to have to knock him out.

He didn’t want to.

Matt’s kitchen was already a disaster. Adding blood to that had not been part of the shaming plan.

Welp.

Beggars can’t be choosers.

He managed to get the kid locked into an elbow and pulled up with the intention of giving him a head start in the napping arena, when the front door slammed open. The kid simultaneously sunk his teeth down into Mike’s forearm.

Mike shouted before he knew he was and suddenly there were dogs everywhere and people talking over each other and one second, Mike was reestablishing his grip on that mangey little mutt, and the next the kid was gone and he was staring into Matt’s furious grimace.

A glass rolled around on the counter by the sink.

“Oh,” Mike said. “Well, fancy meeting you here.”

“Sensei,” the kid cried, trying to push past Matt’s side to get in front of him.

“That’s enough,” Matt said to Mike’s face, but really to the room at large. The kid stopped.

Sensei, he’d said.

Oho.

Ohohoho.

Mike might have misjudged things here.

“Go clean yourself up,” Matt ordered him, pulling back out of his braced form and catching the kid when he tried to get in front of him again.

“Righty-o,” Mike told him pleasantly. “Just one question—”

A muscle in Matt’s jaw jumped. Mike decided that that was permission.

“Does your little whelp there got all his shots?” Mike asked him.

Sam.

This kid’s name was Sam. And he was not household help. He was apprentice and employee and he was fucking sharp.

Matt kept grabbing him and forcibly manhandling him back onto the couch to keep him from lunging at Mike with intent to kill.

Mike didn’t know what to make of any of this.

When Foggy had said ‘apprentice,’ Mike had assumed that some 14 year old would be arriving for lessons in MMA in the garage or something.

He had not expected this guy.

“Fuck you,” Sam snapped at Mike when Matt told him in hushed tones to settle down or go downstairs until he could.

Wow.

Mike was almost…impressed?

“Samuel,” Matt said in a voice that gave Mike shivers because it sounded exactly like Dad.

Holy shit.

Sam and his glowing blue eyes jerked and then stared up at Matt in hurt betrayal. Matt sensed it somehow and softened.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Thank you for protecting the house. There’s just a misunderstanding here.”

Boy, was that an understatement.

“He’s impersonating you,” Sam told his teacher. “He was cursing Tuesday.”

Eh?

Oh.

That.

“He’s not impersonating me,” Matt said calmly while Foggy made aggravated sounds at the state of his kitchen. “He’s my twin.”

Samuel went slack and stared up into Matt’s sunglasses. He swiveled his head back to Mike. Mike tapped his own glasses down and winked.

Sam bared teeth at him.

Hm.

Unfriendly.

Yes. Like the dog.

Why did Matty collect such things?

“Sam,” Matt said, apparently aware that this type of Sam-silence was not a benevolent one.

Cowed by the warning, Sam’s new tactic for dealing with Mike abruptly became hiding from him. He wriggled out of Matt’s hold and tucked himself up against his back instead, peeking out to squint severely at Mike as though daring him to come any closer.

Matt sighed.

“What do you want, Michael?” he asked, holding his head in his hands while the sound of glass being swept rang out from the kitchen.

Mike hummed and leaned his chin on his palm.

“I think we both know what I want,” he said.

Matt took off his glasses and squeezed the bridge of his nose.

“Hostile,” Mike noted disapprovingly at the now-empty doorframe.

“He’s not always this way,” Foggy assured him.

Mike scoffed.

“Little shit bites,” he said.

“Where do you think he learned that from?” Foggy asked.

Ah.

Matty.

Mike saw now.

“Matt’s not even trying to include me in his life anymore,” Mike sighed. Foggy matched his posture on the other side of the now-clean kitchen counter.

“Sam is a soft spot,” he said.

“Psh. He shouldn’t be. If Matty wanted a nephew, all he had to do was say so. I’m sure I’ve gotten some broad or ten knocked up over the last twenty years,” Mike pointed out.

Foggy’s silence was judgmental. He was lookin’ kind of thin.

“Bad timing?” Mike asked him.

“More like tasteless,” Foggy told him.

“Maybe tasteless, but not untrue,” Mike volleyed back with a winning smile.

Foggy pursed his lips at him.

“Matt and Sam are already bonded, Michael,” he said. “It’s going to be far easier for you to accept Sammy than it is to get Matt to accept one of your eight thousand love children.”

Mike huffed.

Always a double-standard in this family.

So Sam was definitely trying to kill him. Or at least run him out of this place.

There was broken glass in the guest bathroom. There was a rug suddenly on the stairs in the middle of the night. There were wet, disgusting tennis balls waiting to be stepped on in the house’s hallways.

Sam allegedly slept downstairs, but Mike didn’t think he was sleeping.

“You’re accusing my apprentice of sabotage, now?” Matt deadpanned to him over breakfast.

“He’s jealous. He doesn’t like the idea of there being two of you,” Mike told him reliably.

Matt reached out and felt around for Mike’s forehead. He held his hand there like the fucking dick he was.

“Hm,” he said.

“I ain’t lyin’,” Mike told him.

��Hm,” Matt said again, taking his hand back to stuff a piece of toast in his mouth.

Mike heard a door open downstairs and then a burst of babytalk towards one of the dogs.

It cut off abruptly.

Mike looked over his shoulder towards the staircase and sure enough, the most favored blue-eyed boy of the household was down there, glaring up at him. He waved. Sam gave him the finger and hauled the dogs off with him to go make his own breakfast in the downstairs kitchen.

“He’s adorable, Matty,” Mike said without intonation.

“I am aware,” Matt said. “I like to keep him around. Really draws in the ladies.”

Hm.

Sam hid. Mike became aware of this on the third day of staying over that he managed to wrangle out of Matt and Foggy in return for their inhospitality over the weekend and the whole wedding situation.

The boy was always in his room or going or coming from the house. He did not touch the stairs.

“It’s me, isn’t it?” he asked Matt.

Matt didn’t even turn his way while he brushed Hazel’s fur.

“I mean, he doesn’t love to come up here in general,” he said, “But yeah, no. He especially doesn’t love you.”

Hm.

“I’m gonna bond with him,” Mike decided.

“Please don’t,” Matt said immediately.

“I’m gonna,” Mike said.

Sam blinked slowly at him once and then twice.

Then he picked up his plate and mug and made to leave for his room.

“Hold on now, partner,” Mike said, blocking the doorway with an arm. Sam’s eyes flicked up to the arm, then back to his face. Then up to the arm again.

“I think we both want the same thing here,” Mike continued. “You clearly love my brother. I appreciate that. I love my brother too. And if you’re gonna be stickin’ around, me and you should get onto more even footing, no?”

Sam turned his head to the side and ducked right under Mike’s arm into the hall. His bedroom door closed with a thunk.

It locked.

Mike blinked at the window he had been standing in front of.

Little shit.

This kid was a little shit.

“Mike, he’s just not about you,” Matt sighed. “It took him months to warm up to me. He’s not that kind of person.”

Bullshit.

He was what? 18?

18 year olds could be bought.

Matt’s lip twitched.

“He’s 24,” he said.

Oh.

Well.

Same difference. 24 year olds could be bought too.

Matt smirked.

“Alright, do your worst then,” he said.

He invited Samuel out for Vietnamese coffee. There was a place close by. It seemed to be quiet enough.

Sam stared at him and informed him that he was Chinese, thanks, not Vietnamese and all Asians weren’t the same, by the way.

Mike didn’t know what to say.

“Do you not like coffee?” he asked.

“I don’t like stereotypes,” Sam told him. “And I don’t like you.”

He shut his door.

“If we do East Asian food, then we let Sammy pick where we get it,” Matt told Mike dutifully.

That was like, fine. But also wasn’t that equally presumptuous?

“He’s got much stronger opinions on it than we do,” Matt shrugged. “And certain places don’t have things that he likes that we don’t know very well.”

…right.

“So I should let him pick,” Mike translated.

“I think you should leave him alone,” Matt told him.

Well, they both knew that wasn’t happening, but it was a sweet thought, little brother.

“You have a compulsion to feel liked,” Matt said offhandedly.

“You have a need to be hated,” Mike sighed.

Matt glared.

The stalemate remained intact.

Sammy. Samuel. Sam.

He told Mike to call him Mr. Chung or Blindspot. Nothing more, nothing less.

Mike thought ‘Sammy’ was very cute.

It sounded nephew-like.

Sam told him that he wasn’t his nephew because Sensei wasn’t his dad because he already had a deadbeat, missing father, thanks. He wasn’t looking for another one.

Mike was getting the feeling that Sam was angry with him.

Matt wandered downstairs afterwards and knocked on Sam’s door and was allowed admission. For like. An hour.

Them double-standards, man.

Matt announced that Mike was coming with him and Sam to walk the dogs. He bribed the kid with a promise of a bagel. Mike watched this happen.

Sam stared long and sad into Matt’s unseeing face exactly like Tuesday. Matt patted him on the head in consolation and he did not (did not) bite his hand (unlike the damn dog).

“Half an hour, kiddo,” Matt told him. “Then bagel.”

Sam was from New York, it turned out. Not Shanghai or Beijing or Hong Kong. And apparently it was rude to ask or assume the latter.

He liked bagels as much as any decent New Yorker did, and Matt knew this about him.

“Only for the bagel,” Sam told him.

“Only for the bagel,” Matt agreed. “I’ll buy and you can put whatever you want on it.”

“Egg,” Sam said definitively. “And peanut butter. And sriracha.”

Matt tried not to wince.

“Whatever you want,” he said.

Sam was pleased with his submission.

“Is it cold outside?” he asked.

Sam loved the dogs. Mike suddenly understood why he and Matt got on so well now.

This kid had little care for drool on his hands and had a killer arm. The dogs raced after his lobbed tennis balls like their lives depended on it—even the old lady.

Matt said nothing.

He was busy acting as a buffer. He elbowed Mike in the ribs after the fifth throw or so.

Mike remembered the mission.

“Where’d you learn to throw, Sammy?” he asked.

Matt clutched at his face with a hand.

Sam side-eyed Mike without moving.

“Sam,” he said firmly. “Or BT. Or Chung.”

“Sammy suits you,” Mike told him. “Where’d you learn to throw?”

Sam furrowed his brow.

“My mom,” he said.

Oh, nice.

“She play baseball?” Mike asked.

“Archer,” Sam said stiffly.

“Very cool. Very cool.”

Annnnd that was it. Hm.

“Teach, why’re you lettin’ this guy hang around?” Sam asked out of the blue.

“Familial obligation, minor guilt, fear of maternal retribution,” Matt listed out dutifully.

Sam picked up the proffered ball and with it, accepted this answer. He chucked the ball and watched the dogs run.

“Are you a devil too?” he asked the field.

Mike blinked then realized the question was for him.

“Sort of,” he said.

“Definitely,” Matt sighed.

“What’s your thing then?” Sam asked. “You carry. Why?”

Why?

Because Mike Murdock wasn’t being caught out in the cold, no siree.

“My choice of company relies on, how shall we say, some rather poor communication,” he went for.

Sam hummed.

“So you’re a crook,” he said.

Matt choked on a laugh.

“A crook? No, no, kid,” Mike said. “You got me all wrong. I’m what you call an opportunist.”

Sam lifted an eyebrow.

“Uh-huh,” he said. “Sure. Why’re you such a dick?”

Wow.

No respect for his elders, truly.

“It’s the trauma,” he deadpanned. “And the older sibling burden.”

“You don’t look older than Sensei,” Sam pointed out.

“Well, looks aren’t everything, sweetheart,” Mike told him kindly.

Sam frowned.

“Why do you wear a hat?” he asked.

“Because I’m fantastic,” Mike told him.

“Oh, I get it now,” Sam said.

Mike straightened his back.

“Do you?” he asked.

“You’re just a fuckin’ clown,” Sam said.

Okay, so Mike might just have to throw this one.

Matt wouldn’t stop laughing at him and it was his job to make Matt miserable, not the other way around. Any more of this and Matt would forget his place.

“Your son is out of line,” he scolded Matthew. “Doesn’t respect his elders. Doesn’t play well with strangers. You need to socialize him.”

Matt found that even more comical.

He wouldn’t say why. Mike had to interrogate Foggy, but that was difficult because Kirsten showed up and was gorgeous and too good for Matthew, so that had to be addressed with full and complete attention.

Kirsten leaned over and took Mike’s hat and patted him on the shoulder and said, “Sam’s never been disrespectful for more than five minutes at a go the whole time we’ve known him, Mikey, we’re learning more and more about him each day that you’re here.”

Which was.

Hm.

Not sexy.

But he would deal with that once Sexy herself gave him his hat back.

He got a job on in Miami that night and had to cut his visit short. Matt was not sorry to see him go. That was pretty typical.

Sam had no opinions on his leaving. He stuck his head upstairs and said bye, but nothing more than that.

Mike felt bitter.

It had been a long time since he’d left a job feeling unsatisfied.

No closure.

Matt wasn’t supposed to be better with people than he was. That was their trade off. He wasn’t allowed.

“I’ll be back, and I’ll crack him,” He threatened his brother on the way to the airport.

“I have no doubt that you will,” Matt said patronizingly. “And I am sure that he’ll be waiting for your return.”

Yeah, well.

He better.

#fic #long post #inimitable verse #I won't post another long piece like this for a while i'm so sorry mobile folks #ficlet #It def is not a ficlet but for the tag #mike murdock #matt murdock #samuel chung

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ambistep · 4 years

Text

Mutual Aid, pt 2

Mina Oh joins the Rangers on a mission, just like old times. The Phalanx 1A7 is having a tough first day. The Rat King does a very good job and can have a little treat.

~5.8k words. Canon typical violence, guns, excessive length ;_;

Part 1

She was right. This is a bad idea.

Look at them. All four of them, standing at the edge of the observatory’s parking lot, looking down over the city, bathed in the orange-gold light of the setting sun.. Like something from a movie - real big hero shot. Knowing each of them, you can’t imagine it was intentional, but some part of you still wants to roll your eyes.

Ortega’s talking to someone from the LDPD - and past the four Rangers, down the hill and into the city, you can see the marks of disaster. Periodic buzzing of helicopters, plumes of black blossoming on the horizon, the constant sound of sirens in the distance. It does feel a lot like last time.

But these are different Rangers. As you approach, the aura of majesty fades, the illusion of your memory is peeled back. You can hear the tail end of the marshal’s briefing as you close in.

“...liaison at the Pentagon said they weren’t prepared to officially comment.” Chen looks sour - being stonewalled by bureaucracy would do that to a person. There’s no sign he’s still nursing that broken arm, and trust that you are looking for it - but there wouldn’t be, not under his heavy armor.

“Typical,” Julia’s got her arms crossed in disbelief, “and how about unofficially?”

“Unofficially. ‘Phalanx,’ a prototype multiped drone tank walked off the test range in El Toro Air Base this morning. More than that…” Chen’s distaste is tangible. “He said he’d work on it but the response’ll be-”

“-predictably late.” The sound of your voice through the vocal distorter catches even you off-guard. “Does it get easier with the years, Marshal, being lied to by your masters?”

You have to get your digs in, play the part of Clarity - or else you might start thinking about Spoon, and evenings spent sitting in silence in the Rangers’ lounge, taking comfort in simply being present. Besides, Chen needs to hear these things Mina couldn’t say - his loyalty to that system is going to bury him sooner rather than later. Assuming I don’t end up burying him first. A glum admission.

The Rangers’ reactions are worth the dramatic approach - Herald settles back into a defensive posture, fixing a frown on his face that, secretly, you think looks just a little bit pouty. Chen is resigned, barely moves - already determined you weren’t here for a fight. Argent, bless her, makes a poor show of pretending to be shocked. But sparks spit and arc along the surface of Julia’s mods, a snarl on her face as she all but prepares to lunge for you.

“More of your games?” She crosses the distance and makes a grab for your arm - easily sidestepped.

“I don’t think you have the time to play with me, Charge, not like that.” That anger and strain on her face saps the fun out of the usual back and forth. Julia looks so far from the invincible Marshal Charge right now - shorter than your height in the armor, but only just.

“I’ll make time, if it means bringing you in.”

“Bringing me in?” You have to force the laugh, but you’ve had practice - and the voice modulators make it into a hideous, mocking sound. The serene visage of the Clarity mask looks down at the former Marshal, “Not on your best day, Charge.” You lean in closer, voice dropping to a hissing whisper through your mask, “And we both know, your best days are far… far behind you.” I told you to stay away from this. Mina had told her. Clarity had told her. Please, Jules. Sit out, for once in your life.

“Enough, Charge.” Steel steps in, time to be the Marshal, “She’s right, we don’t have time for this. Why are you here?” How are you here, he may even be wondering.

“This city is filled with loose lips,” you can’t resist hanging on to that last word and looking directly at Argent - not that the Rangers can tell through the mask, “I have plans that conflict with a next-generation battle tank carving a bloody swath through Los Diablos. Given that Herald is already bleeding,” you motion to him holding his side, and the tell-tale first aid patching done to his suit’s shoulder, “I would suppose that reconnaissance did not go well and you’re in no position to refuse my aid.”

Another explosion in the distance. The marshal’s mouth presses together in a displeased flat line. You don’t have to touch his mind to guess he is weighing his brushes with Clarity - the lives you’d saved, the ones you’d endangered, and the harm you’d done. If you’re lucky, that is all he is doing. Finally, he exchanges a look with his team, a consultation conducted in quick looks. Herald seems relieved that there’ll be no fight with you. Argent shrugs and turns away, doing her best to give no real reaction at all.

Julia’s muscles are still tight, still ready to fight if given the word, but after more silence and the long look from Chen, you can see her resolve wavering, “This is stupid, and dangerous, Steel.”

You politely turn to the marshal for his response, making a show of your good manners.

“I don’t disagree.” The marshal concedes the point but his eyes are already back toward the horizon, and the behemoth traversing Interstate 105.

“I’ll be her minder,” Argent’s hand raises up, claws extended at the end of her hands, “You are on a very short leash, Clarity.”

You simply turn your head to the side, “Fine.” It takes considerable effort on her part not to smirk, you can tell. And so, so much effort on your part not to follow up with a suitable double entendre.

Far from the sleek modern armor you’d expect of a prototype tank, what you see through the zoom of your helmet is a six-legged lumbering beast - wide as two lanes with a long body that makes you think of some sort of scorpion, it’s main body held just off the ground by the segmented legs. It is covered in a patchwork of burnt plates, twisted metal, looking like the product of a junkyard more than the Department of Defense. It’s difficult to make out but there does seem to be more typical armaments peeking out from the scrap-armor - a machine gun, other emplacements.

As you watch, the thing Chen called Phalanx stalks step after painfully slow step down the evacuated freeway. It halts before an abandoned tractor trailer blocking the roadway. There is a pressure in your sinus, deep in your head, and then all at once, the cab and trailer twist themselves apart, wrenched steel and carbon fiber torn asunder. The pieces of the vehicle come apart and… hang there, floating in mid-air.

“You see?” Argent crosses her arms.

It’s strange to talk to her through the armor again - it had been some time since Clarity and Lady Argent last officially crossed paths. “I see it - I can feel it from here - you were right, that is telekinesis.” And not like you’d seen it before, not on that scale. And not from a tank. “What is it doing?”

“Watch.”

And so you do - the metal warps and almost seems to melt, the scraps of the tractor flattening and pulling and layering to plates that then cling to the tank itself - becoming another layer of the scrap armor, another patch in the shell surrounding. Unseen force sweeps the road clean in front of it, and it resumes its trek.

“Alright. So where is it going?”

“We don’t know.” A different voice, a familiar voice - that shouldn’t have been able to approach with your noticing, if you hadn’t become so stupidly comfortable in Ximena’s presence. The stealth is curious - maybe she didn’t totally trust Argent with you still. Julia is still stewing at the indignity of suffering Clarity’s presence, “So where is this ‘help?’”

You give a flat explanation, letting the voice synthesis do the heavy lifting of turning your tone harsh, “If it is a drone, then it has a system directing an organic psychic interface, a -”

Charge cuts you off, “-a series of telepathic rodent brains linked in sequence, like a computer or something. Like Psychopathor used to use. Yeah, I know what it is.” She does, doesn’t she? Does she remember, right now? Is she thinking of Sidestep hunkered down behind cover with her? You’d never forgotten - but you’d thought for sure she would have.

You can say nothing, your gut twisting in that cold sensation of the past stalking you down. Clarity’s mask looks Charge dead on, silent, impassive - but in the helmet, sweat runs down behind your ear, along your neck. You close your eyes, trying to get a handle on the moment. It is taking you too long to answer - both of them have turned their attention away from the target and back to you.

...ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ…? A nibble, a tug at your mental lobe. Curiosity. It pulls you back. No, we’re not talking about you. Well, sort of. ...I’m afraid this is something different. Put at ease, the little minds nestle up to your neck, or at least in that approximation of the act they project to your mind.

You finally scramble for Clarity’s character and retort, “Maybe you’re more clever than they say, I am impressed.”

“Well, I’m not.” Charge wrinkles her nose in distaste, fingers flexing like she’s thinking of taking a swing.

How are you sweating so much? Don’t think about it. Don’t think about Julia Ortega. Don’t… Don’t be Mina. You’re Clarity right now, and Clarity deigning to speak with Charge is just that, a lowering of herself. Shoulders up. Get the arrogance, and project, “Consider this - if it is turning away live fire missiles and small arms from your dear Marshal’s armaments then I suspect it is quite the opposite of a telepathic targeting web - this is a machine directing a telekinetic array.”

With Psychopathor’s cannon, the rats had been the guidance, the aim for the hardware. In this case, the hardware is the guidance, and the minds serve as the firepower, so to speak. That’s what you’d have to imagine. Mildly terrifying concept - you have to wonder if the Farm knows about this project?

“You’ve seen this before?” Charge is skeptical.

“That kind of information is above your paygrade. Ask your superiors, they’ll tell you the same,” leave her to wonder. You haven’t seen this particular usage but you and every Regene are proven concepts - biological minds educated, directed and fed from wetware. A different implementation of the same idea. “I will need to be close to know what I can work with.”

“‘Close’ makes it angry,” Argent explains. “Herald got close, got shrapnel for it.”

“So by all means, get close.” Charge coolly encourages you.

Steel’s voice crackles over the Ranger’s comms, “Do we have a plan?”

“Yeah.” For the first time you’ve seen today, Ortega smiles - that famous, smug grin that Los Diablos loves to see from Charge. “Yeah - we’re going to throw Clarity in front of it.”

The Phalanx 1A7 next generation telekinetic hexapedal battle tank has put out what must be either the greatest or worst recorded product demonstration of all time. As it steps off the 105 at El Segundo, the streets are empty, the buildings ought to be clear - helicopters circling overhead issue sirens and evacuation orders on loop.

The LDPD had come up with the brilliant idea of hardening polymer foam to delay it’s advance - to stall out while further surrounding areas were evacuated. There’s four low bangs of shells fired from teams stationed atop a highrise. Two more from a helicopter overhead. The delivery canisters are torn apart in flight by telekinetic windshear - but to the police force’s credit, the unleashed polymer goo splashes against the Phalanx and swells into a foam that then hardens, encasing the forelimbs. Which stops the warmachine for as many as seventeen seconds.

The retaliation is quick in coming - scrap is peeled from its debris husk in strips, eight slivers of metal taking to drift and float in the air. Molded and forced into straight, slender javelins by psychic force, they spin and turn, finding vectors and trajectories, then sail forward, fired forth like a rail gun - no boom, no bang. One punctures straight through the LDPD chopper, sending it spiraling down into the city proper - a KTLD news chopper that had wandered too close follows just after. And the other shards - you can’t see or feel the minds of the officers stationed at the highrise, but it seems likely those found their marks too.

“Stellar coordination with the police, as usual.” You can’t pass the opportunity to note.

“Shut up.” Ortega sinks down behind the department store counter, scowl fixed on her face as the two of you wait at your position.

Ximena’s voice comes over the communicator, “Turning onto Continental.” Lucky you, coming right this way. “Oh, I think it noticed m-”

Your heart leaps up into your chest - out on Continental Boulevard, the sound of asphalt crunching, impacted by projectiles. A rattle of machine gun fire. Then, nothing. Quiet. Her voice pipes back up over the Rangers’ comms. “I’m good - it missed.” Argent doesn’t sound worried, but you hadn’t taken a breath.

You hardly move - this isn’t a Clarity type of plan - this is a Sidestep type of plan. A Rangers plan. Some stupid, thrown together assault based on guesses and confidence, that put you hiding behind cover, far too close to danger. And yet you’d just agreed - how suspicious that must seem to them. You agreed because that’s what Mina did, when the Rangers came up with these stupid plans. Stupid. Telling yourself you were past all that, weren’t you? That this wouldn’t be like before.

“What are you doing?” Charge is staring at you, when you open your eyes again. She’d been watching that suit of armor sit motionless - the visage of the villain that had humiliated her in public twice now.

“Preparing.” A simple, uncomplicated reply - you didn’t have a snide remark ready.

She watches you with a canny suspicion - the woman whose thoughts you can’t touch. What would you give to know just what was running through her mind? “Whatever you’re planning, it isn’t going to work.”

You laugh a little, “For your sake, marshal, it better.”

And as soon as the words leave your lips, you realize the mistake.

Ortega narrows her eyes, confusion, suspicion written across her face. How, after all the tiny details, all the adjustments to your mannerisms, your posture, after all your training, had you let that slip? Calling her ‘marshal.’ Telling on yourself - living in the past. This whole plan felt just like that same slip up.

The quiet of the department store is interrupted by trembling, shaking. Not an earthquake. Just a multi-ton monument to taxpayer funding lumbering down the street outside. Just in time to save you from your mortifying blunder. “That’ll be close enough.”

Reaching out, and reaching out. You let your helmet rest against the counter, abandoning your senses - you coax your little helper to wakefulness, entreating her with calm reassurances to help you track down your target.

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ <3

There’s the shape of Ortega’s mind, painfully familiar - but only a shape, that your probing glides over. The familiar, dangerous waters of Argent’s psyche, out there in the street, staying nimble, playing at being prey for the Phalanx… Out beyond, a few scared, huddled minds, or dim hints of of them. People that hadn’t been evacuated - not many, but a few. Flits of anxiousness at the limit of your senses, that would be Herald, high overhead.

And there - ...strange. A void, a spot with nothing. Dampeners? But oh- Oh, there it is. One mind, anyway - you start to pressure against the shielded thoughts and then it’s gone. The Rat King nudges you, finding another mind - but only for an instant, and it too is gone. Oh, Hell.

You sit forward, Charge taking notice, “Let me guess: you failed.”

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ u_u

“A minor wrinkle.” You try to avoid sounding apologetic, “It’s only vulnerable when the telekinesis is engaged.” Clarity showing weakness in front of Charge is painful, and you don’t care for it. “And it appears the evacuation was less than complete.”

Charge seems skeptical of your concern, and that’s fine. But she’s doing the math, she’s redrafting the plan. You’ve seen her do it dozens of times. She keys up on the comms, “We need to engage the tank - there’s still citizens here somewhere and… our guest needs the distraction.”

Danny’s the first to answer, “What do you mean enga-” There’s a buzz of static. Comms jammed. Which it can do, because of course it can.

Ortega crosses over from her cover and grabs you by the arm, then the throat, her mods sparking alive - you hadn’t been prepared, fool that you are. There are no words for the moment, as she glares into the mask - as if maybe she could see through it if she comes close enough. “Do. Your. Part.”

A threat? But some weird measure of trust at the same time - no, not trust. That’s her making the hero play - she doesn’t trust Clarity, but the risk is worth the lives she could save. Julia is heading out that revolving glass door. Toward the Phalanx. Of course she is - the only thing more on brand would be if she could flirt with the tank first. Moron. You wish she wouldn’t - just… stay in cover.

You call out, in spite of yourself - Clarity wouldn’t, but Mina can’t help herself. Stop her. “You can’t be serious. If you run off, who will be here to cover me?” There, at least make it sound like self-interest.

She hardly slows, answering only with a middle finger.

You follow her as far out of the store as the sidewalk, before dropping into a stairwell for cover. She isn’t stopping, and she’s going to get herself killed. So that her enemy, the villain Clarity, can try and save the day. Ridiculous, naive of her.

Well, you can’t exactly let her down, can you? Sinking back into your mind, linking strength with the furry little psyche resting in your suit, you resume probing, searching for your opening. .

There’s the crack of thunder and the smell of ozone wafting to your nose - Ortega’s mods. Then the tank would respond and - you try not to think about what could happen, and focus on the minds now open to you.

They’re there. Three minds - human minds, as you’d suspected, not rodents, not with that sort of telekinetic strength.

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ >:(

No offense.

Brushing over the triune, caressing them - they’re not terribly telepathic, but they do have uncanny barriers - augmented by implants, wetware, maybe. It takes time and pressure to find slips and seams, work through the cracks, but honestly? You’re better than you’ve ever been, and you are damn good at this. Nobody’s withstood Clarity yet.

There is the sound of glass shattering - windows breaking - not a sound you care for. But other sounds too, the Rangers engaged in battle, no doubt. But you can’t be distracted by that.

There - slipping through and prying apart the protective layers behind one of the minds, you insinuate yourself into what passes for consciousness in this psychic arra-

A flood of pain, fullness, noise, a torrent of thoughts, washing against you. Your physical body doubles over, not that you’re making any use of it. An attack, maybe - or… no, it’s just… thoughts. Once you adjust, the Phalanx’s minds are easier to distinguish. It isn’t an attack, not a defense, it’s just… data. Massive volumes of data, information slammed into the mind in a way no human could comprehend. It tastes like… burning, but wet.

There is a nudge from the Rat King, scared, seeking comfort - it doesn’t like this anymore than you do. Maybe… It is a risky thing to do, but if you could just possess it like with Yasmin, or any other person, then the data should be legible like… that.

All at once, you are seeing out of a dozen eyes, cameras, but also audio data, radar waves, electromagnetic sensors, seismic sensors, and all kinds of senses you have never known before. The avalanche that had pounded against you becomes easier to grasp - it is full of trajectories, angles, estimates, calculations, predictions. You are… part of Phalanx. But you’re not doing your job. Two pieces of you query - Core 02, ping.

One part of you asks, Core 02, ping. Another part of you asks, Core 02, ping. Core 01 and Core 03 deliberate over the lack of response from you. You can feel the urge, the urge to execute. To perform functions. To fulfill programming. But you… you aren’t Core 02, and you don’t understand this body, or what they want, and you know you shouldn’t try to understand. You can feel Core 01 and Core 03 asserting pressure on Core 02 to realign with them, to recalibrate and resume normal function.

But you refuse. You’re… Who again?

There is a thunderous boom, and a tidal wave of data crashes against you - you hear the sound, the seismic response, and the countermeasures. Long-range heavy ordinance, vector approach -92°. Anti-material rifle. You aren’t doing your job, so Core 03 takes control and pushes the rifle round off trajectory so that it strikes the pavement. Visual data identifies one combatant, exoskeleton suit, heavily armed, 1207m south. Distantly, you remember… a name. Chen.

Core 01 and Core 03 seem to confer, then agree, accepting your new data - this combatant is designate Chen. Core 01 takes control of a limb, not a limb, the 120mm smoothbore gun, and turns it south, firing a best-guess shot at the estimated position of the distant combatant designate Chen.

Other combatants receive designates, almost unwillingly - Cores 01 and 03 query and the names come forth from you. Herald. Argent. Julia. [REVISE] Ortega [REVISE] Charge.

What’s your designation? Core 02, someone helpfully reminds you. When you disagree, it hurts. There is a pain response, discord. Not Core 02. No, you are Core 02. Fine, I’m Core 02. Blissful harmony when you agree.

The assailants are skirmishing, keeping their distance - nothing they’ve done has really threatened your systems, but they have slowed your advance towards the objective.

What is my mission?

Core 01 burbles in confusion. The mission is the objective. Core 03 clarifies. The objective is the objective. Your head hurts - if you have a head.

I… I need to recalibrate: what is the objective?

The objective is HOME. Everyone agrees. HOME is the objective. The system is going HOME. You have to concur, really, that HOME is the objective. Maybe there could be other objectives, but you can’t think of them right now.

Countermeasures - designate Argent has removed the improvised steel ablative armor and made contact with the system’s hull. Core 01 pushes with telekinetic systems and expels her from the system’s exterior. Core 03 directs fire from the #2 swivel-mount 12.7mm machine gun chasing designate Argent back into cover behind a building.

What is HOME? I am going HOME. Identify.

Something strange happens then. Not a patch of data, not the babbling stream of Core 01 and Core 03, but a thought, an ordinary thought comes to the fore. HOME. A small beige two-story house. Crammed beside other, matching homes, with a narrow yard. An older sedan parked in the driveway. HOME. That is HOME and you are going to HOME.

Who… who am I?

More thoughts, too many thoughts - no, no, that was the wrong thing to ask. Not Core 01 or Core 03 but a base recess of their functioning - a sub-conscious provides a flood of pictures of a man you don’t know - a boy you don’t know, the same man, a self-image, you can see hands, chubby little hands - these are your hands? Self-data. No, wait. You are not that, you are not them. Not this person. You are… who again?

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ !!...!!...!!

Little minds nagging you, trying to remind you. I am… Rat King? No. That doesn’t…doesn’t seem to fit.

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ -_-;;

Oh. Right. Mina. Are you Mina? For some reason, that doesn’t quite feel right either. Core 01 agrees, you are not Mina. Core 03 affirms, you are definitely not Mina.

Visual data of… designate Charge. A burst of lightning, twists away from the system’s lightning strike countermeasures and blows out a visual sensor on the Phalanx exterior. If that is designate Charge, then… are you Sidestep? Core 01 and Core 03 disagree, but it would make sense. You’re supposed to help Charge.

Is that what I was doing? Someone else asked for help.

Designate Argent, that’s right. Asked Mina. Maybe you are Mina? Core 01 streams insistent negative responses.

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ !... …>:( …>:o

Angry? You are angry. You shouldn’t be angry, it isn’t good to be angry, but… but the Rat King is right, you are angry, and that feels… true to you. You grab onto that anger. A cold, old dead anger that’s settled in your gut for years. That’s right. That’s who you are.

Core 01 brushes against you. It demands to know. You are not Core 02 - identify.

Core 03 presses against you. It demands to know. You are not Core 02 - IDENTIFY.

You don’t push back. You hone the edge of your thoughts to a razor point, you draw Core 01 closer, and you drive your sheer force of will through it, savaging the psyche with your hardened ego, severing it’s processes.

Clarity. Of course. You’re Clarity today, and it is satisfying.

Core 01’s functions diminish, it’s processing slows. Everything feels red in the Phalanx triune organic psychic interface. Red and loud, but getting quieter. Core 01 agrees - you are not Core 02. You are Clarity. That is the last thing it can acknowledge before damage to it’s psyche becomes unable to sustain thought and it... simply dies.

Core 03 is aflame. Another thundercrack. Another round from designate Chen’s weapon but Core 01 is unresponsive. Core 02 is not Core 02 at all! Core 03 can’t muster a countermeasure in time, and there is impact. System’s hull is intact, but there is damage. Gyroscopic function is reduced, stability is reduced, electronic warfare suite is offline.

Core 03 continues to try to fight - reaching out toward it, you find the barriers returned, a feeling of yellow and glass between you. Of course, because you’re not Core 02 - it knows that now, and has stopped listening to you. It tries to stabilize, but the system has planted nose down on Continental Boulevard, and gyroscopics are unable to rectify locomotion.

Core 03 engages telekinetic improved missile routines, stripping a piece of the temporary ablative armor from the hull, shearing it into four pieces. It holds them in place, as you hammer against the barrier, the blades of molded steel whistling as they acquire vectors. Acquire targets.

The barrier is strong, and you… you can’t break it in time. The target is - you can see flashes of a smirk, a victorious, cocky expression, that strong jaw and -

Fast, fast like anything, you tear yourself apart, you pull yourself to shreds - not your actual self, but the self you are occupying, Core 02. Mangle your processes, purge your routines and tear out every bit of the system you can reach, even as you slip out, slip away, releasing your mind, pulling back… back… back into your body. Into your body and your suit. Clarity’s suit.

Ortega doesn’t even know, the idiot, the hovering lethal slivers of metal somehow just beyond the scope of her attention. Careless, because she’s winning. She raises her guard only too late as you crunch into her with a tackle, knocking her to the ground, the instant the telekinetic force commanded by Core 03 releases the projectiles, that psychic railgun driving them at the target.

There’s an ugly slicing of metal as one tears through the shoulder of your armor, the second goes wide of you, the third is glancing and fails to do more than scratch the thick armor Mortum had prepared for your torso. The fourth is another matter, slicing much like the first, but catching your side in the process.

It burns, there is pain - a pain you’re unused to feeling in Clarity’s armor. The HUD flashes a warning, but it is, all told, a minor wound, and nothing compared to the fear you’d had. Fear of seeing her lying bleeding, dying. Fear that now releases and becomes anger.

The Phalanx groans and collapses, somewhere behind you, but you hardly even notice.

Idiot. Stupid Ortega. She is on the ground, looking up at you in a daze. Not the first time Ortega’s hit the pavement before Clarity like that. Bewildered, confused. You’d pushed her out of the way, after all. Not what she’d expected? Maybe not. Not what you’d planned for.

Time to ruin that moment. Clarity summons up all her condescension, “I see you’re as capable an ally as you are a foe, Charge.”

“Fuck you, puta.” Charge’s confusion returns to disdain, she spits on the ground as she climbs back to her feet, “You’re bleeding out your fancy suit.” She has to point it out.

You have to laugh. The audacity of Julia Ortega, calling you out for saving her life. “Yes, lucky for you.”

“I think I fucking won.” Argent’s voice calls out behind. She’s atop the still body of the Phalanx, her skin orange in the glow of the setting sun. Clutched in her claws, a tangle of wires and systems and a sealed gun-metal grey case stamped with the designation ‘Core 03.’

Herald descends, touching down on solid ground and, ugh, his hair still somehow looks good, “Is that it?” You stare at him, disappointed he can’t see the withering look past your helmet. “Is it down? What’s in the case?”

“A brain, I think.” Argent looks to you for confirmation. Charge too. And you can’t help but feel a sense of deja vu.

Sunstream dims her lights, shaking out her flawless hair “Is that it?”

Anathema shrugs, “Don’t look at me. Ask Sidestep.”

You swallow back that… stupid memory, that you definitely don’t feel anything about, and aren’t going to dwell on later. You don’t answer them - you can’t come up with something that doesn’t sound congratulatory, you only turn away, permitting yourself a moment to examine your bleeding side.

Charge, of course, calls you on it, “And you leave, like that, no pithy dismissal? No last word.”

She has a point. You exaggerate the severity of your wound, leaning over, nursing your side - an excuse to leave quickly. You coax a growl from your throat, “I did my part. The rest is on you, Ranger.”

Ortega’s smirk fades, “This doesn’t change anything.”

“Tell yourself that, if you’d like.”

She looks down at the ground, then back up, “...did you find where it was going?”

“Home. Naturally.” Carefully, you pause to think. “147 West Pendleton Street, a house there. When you find out why a tank has a home in El Segundo, ask yourself again if that changes anything.” You don’t know for sure, but you have a suspicion of what she’ll find.

There, set her on the path. Like you’d told Argent, the Rangers aren’t your enemies. But this… doing the hero thing, if only for a day. It feels bad. It feels bad because it reminds you of what you missed - and whatever lies you’ve told yourself, you do miss it. And doing it like this, for just a day, it makes you wonder if it could have been this easy. If you could have just come back, told Ortega you were alive, lived… some sort of sane life.

You make your way down the sidewalk. News helicopters hover in the distance, outside the evacuation area - sirens have started returning to the eery quiet of the neighborhood. You blink your eyes a little, suddenly aware of how cramped the suit feels. Tilting your head, you activate the contact function. Get Boris out here, get a pick up, get out of the suit, and… a bath sounds nice.

You probably couldn’t afford a penthouse with a full bath in Los Diablos while living a sane life. You’re not sure if that outweighs the rest but right now, it sounds alright.

ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ …?

Yeah, we’ll do the thing, too. Story books, fiction. She liked it when you read them beside her chassis, shared in the imagination. A little treat, for all that good work.

“So what was there?” Chen eases back into the heavy chair behind his desk, watching the newscast.

Julia shrugs, shaking her head, “Kwame and Rebecca Owusu, retired truck driver and nurse anesthetist.” She cringes when the photos of Clarity meeting with the Rangers at the observatory come up on the broadcast, “I didn’t even see anyone taking pictures, where do they get those?”

“They pay a lot of money for them,” Chen’s dour as ever. He scratches the back of his head, unable to shake… something.

Ortega keeps fixed on the news, taking a drink from her beer, “‘Sabotage and terrorism,’ guess that sounds better than ‘your secret psychic brain tank had a meltdown.’”

Chen mumbles, “We don’t know it wasn’t sabotage.” Then, a sigh. His hand rubs the side of his neck, working through something unpleasant.

“I guess,“ she looks up to the marshal, “...what, Chen?”

He turns the monitor on his desk around, to share the picture, a smiling young man in a slate grey motorcycle jacket. “This is ‘Crush.’ Nelson Owusu. He was a Boost. A telekinetic. We scouted him. Six years ago.”

“And? What happened?” Julia can feel her buzz fading, a headache coming. She already knows she doesn’t like the answer.

“Don’t know. Can’t remember. Maybe he stopped returning our calls - it doesn’t say.” He settles back into his seat, mulling over the implication.

Julia shakes her head, “Missing?” Chen doesn’t have a good answer - likely there are no good answers there. She laughs bitterly, rubbing her face in her hands, “God, fuck Clarity.” She can practically feel the villain’s smugness across time and space.

Chen sounds more thoughtful, “Yeah. It’s harder when they make a point.”

#fhr #fallen hero: rebirth #not sure how i feel about this #but guess its okay #retribution spoilers #lots of characters #scribbly

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