#stuck in the abyss left the bar SO high

[cerasus--flores]

oh btw mewtuals what do we think of hold it down

[whittakerjodie]

Forced to Watch (A belated Febuwhump Post) 13th Doctor X Reader

A/N: So sorry for not posting I fell out of love with writing fiction a little bit but I miss it! Also this is from febuwhump 2022... meant to post it this year then I forgot... awkward moments. whoops. I don't really like this one but it's got some good lines!

Warnings: implied violence, direct references to violence, etc.

Word Count: 2.5k

The silence moving through the air of the cage was deafening. Between it all, left unsaid, was a blame that could not be placed on either of you. But attempts were certainly being made, at least in your own head. It was you that had gotten the two of you into this mess. It was your stubbornness that had put a target on your heads in the first place, your misspoken words that had labeled you and the Doctor as traitors to the crown, as spies. All because you wanted to see more, wanted the adventure to go perfectly, your way, for once. 

After all, the Doctor had let you choose your destination. This time, you thought, you could be like her. You could pull her through the unknown, show her new and exciting things. Instead, you had landed the two of you in a cage, waiting to face an unknown danger. Danger wasn’t unknown to you as the Doctor’s companion. But it was different when it was your fault, when it was more than just an occupational hazard. When it was avoidable. 

You certainly felt like avoiding everything right now. The Doctor didn’t seem to mind the situation, peering around the empty abyss your cage hung in for clues or escape routes. Perhaps if you apologized once more, ignoring what she said about not having to, it would be enough to prove you were really sorry. 

“Don’t apologize again,” The Doctor said softly. “You really don’t have to. Besides, it’s not all that bad. Remember when we were stuck in-” 

She was cut off with a small yelp as the cage was tugged upward, violently so. She tried to steady herself on the bars of the cage. However, just as she made her attempt, the cage was tugged again and the force of it sent her across the cage and on top of you with a loud thud. You tried to gasp, but the air was knocked out of you at the same time. Your own body moved awkwardly as you were pulled upward, pushed against the bars. The Doctor tried to steady the two of you, only succeeding in crushing your chest tighter. 

“Looks like we’re getting out of the cage at least '' You winced as the alternative came into view; the Qupaci were rather hideous, both in personality and appearance. The majority of their faces were covered by the large tusks protruding from their mouths, from which putrid green saliva dripped. The Prince of the Qupaci, sharing these traits, surprisingly hadn’t caught your eye on the dance floor, where you and the Doctor had been so innocently dancing and talking several hours earlier. Your attention completely captured by the timelords dashing black suit, you hadn’t noticed him make his way onto the floor and towards another alien dancing near the two of you. 

You hadn’t realized the words you shared could be seen as conspiratory either. Big mistake. 

The Prince was at the back of the crowd that greeted you, watching as the cage reached the top of it hung from. Through the wrinkles and boils covering his face, you could make out his smug expression even from some distance. It stayed in your mind, the image twisting and curdling with the contents of your stomach. 

“Right, I think it’s time we talk '' The Doctor said sternly. You looked at her, eyes wide. The Qupaci guards had already drawn quite a few weapons. You weren’t sure it was time to talk just yet. The Prince and his guards laughed, and he made his way towards the pair of you. 

“My council deals with many issues these days, with tensions being so high. There is a lot of stress. But there are ways to relieve that stress as well” His lip curled around one of his fangs as he spoke, turning into a smirk. His eyes flitted to one of his ‘council’ members next to him, who was holding a rather rusty looking knife. You winced. 

“Crosswords?” The Doctor said sarcastically. She stood, prying herself off of you and wrapped her hands around the bars of the cage, sneering at the Prince. “Best not to threaten me.” 

“I promise you, Doctor, there is no threat. Or, at least…” The Prince turned to his guard and shouted: “Not an empty one!” They all cheered, one grabbing the cage and pulling it onto solid ground. The Doctor did not budge, supported by the cage. You, however, had been trying to pull yourself up and were rudely thrust back to the floor of the cage. Cheeks burning in humiliation, you quickly stumbled to your feet- eyes meeting the Princes. 

“This one,” he growled. 

“I don’t think so” The Doctor hissed in response, doing nothing to slow your quickening heart rate. You had been chosen. But for what? 

“Andraxi will have fun with them,” One of the guards said through their slobber. “I wonder which tools he’ll choose.” 

“You’re not laying a finger on them” the Doctor said louder, voice echoing throughout the cave. 

“Do you know what the Qupaci do to traitors?” Another guard asked, his S dragging on teasingly. You winced. Clearly whatever they had in store wasn’t great. You stared at the back of the Doctor’s head, as if you could somehow read the thoughts occurring inside of it. What sort of plan was she dreaming up? Hopefully there was one in the first place. 

“We’re not traitors” You said, trying to keep your voice steady. 

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“Coward might be a better word,” The Doctor snarled. As soon as the words left her mouth, you witnessed something more rare than the birth of a star- a look of pure regret crossed the timelord's face. After all, the words had inspired several more of the aliens to step closer, drawing their weapons, staring at you with intent. 

“You, then?” The Prince said coldly. He had squared his shoulders, trying to brush off what the Doctor had said. 

“No!” You shouted, having successfully gotten to your feet and to the Doctor’s side. She looked at you, alarmed, and shook her head. 

“Yes, me, then. Can’t say I won’t make it a challenge for you.” Her eyes were narrowed, scanning the Prince’s for any other cracks to pry open before he managed to even begin whatever sick plan was in place. 

“No,” You insisted. Her narrow eyes focused on you, not losing any intensity. She wasn’t just warning the Prince, now. “I got us into this mess.” 

You lowered your voice. “Besides, you’re the one who can get us out of it.” 

“I’m also the only one with regenerative ability. Get. Back.” You followed her order out of surprise, physically jumping back, and instantly regretted it. Your chance at an upper hand was lost immediately. Forfeited by your own instinctive dedication. 

“Doctor please,” You whispered. “Just because you can heal.. Doesn’t mean you should have to. Please” 

“What should I do then, let you suffer?” You held each other’s gazes for a brief moment, waiting for the other to give in. 

In the back of your mind you registered the door to the cage opening, but its implications did not fully hit you until scaly arms were dragging the Doctor away from you, another pair shoving you roughly down to the floor. You scrambled up to the door just as it slammed shut, a metallic ring filling your ears as you yelled for the guards to bring her back. The Doctor avoided your gaze as they pulled her out of sight, eyes fixated on the Prince.

He turned to you and chuckled. Reaching through the bars, one of his fingers- no, claws- brushed away a tear, mocking the comfort you should be receiving from the Doctor. You pushed his hand away, and he grasped your shirt instead, pulling you against the bars as tightly as he could. So tightly that it was a wonder the metal didn’t bend to your form. 

“Don’t worry, you’ll have your turn before the night is over.” 

_____

The next half an hour was a blur. Firstly, you were slowly lowered back down into the abyss below, left to hang alone. There was nothing you could do. Any attempt to move the cage simply caused it to rock and sway from side to side, your stomach moving twice as fast than it. Desperate for something to happen, you laid your head against one of the bars, trying to extend your ears. Waiting for a noise; the sound of the Doctor’s footsteps, preferably. A reassuring comment, or perhaps the buzz of the sonic. Those were the sounds you wished for, too scared to think of the possibility that you might hear a shriek or scream instead. 

The Qupaci were not merciful enough to only allow you the ability to hear them. The cage began to lower further, and you gripped the bars tightly to steady your bones. When you and the Doctor had been captured, the cage had never strayed lower than where you had been seconds ago. What awaited you at the bottom? 

There was a loud rumbling, and the darkness started to part in the middle. A door was opening below you. Whatever awaited you was approaching fast. You gripped the bars tighter as the cage picked up speed, as if the rope that held it was running out, falling with you. Sure enough you began to simply fall, until you landed on the floor with a thud. Your body rose and fell against the bottom of the cage, making you groan in pain. 

“Y/n!” The Doctor’s concerned voice. Exactly what you needed to hear right now. Just… not in the way it was delivered. When you looked to where her voice was coming from, propped up on your elbows and eyebrows drawn together in focus, your heart fell. 

The crowd of guards had parted enough to give you the full view that you wished you didn’t have. The Doctor was strapped to a long, metallic table, her bonds attached to her ankles and each hand, which were spread and raised above her head. They were red, betraying whatever small movements the Doctor would’ve likely been trying to use to escape. 

“Are you-” 

“Enough!” The Prince yelled. You rushed towards the end of the cage with a distressed yell. 

“Let her go!” 

The guards and the Prince paid you no mind. The very few that did only offered you a sinister chuckle. They were all stationed at the front, surrounding the Doctor’s bound form. Their cloaks were different from the others. The Prince’s council, you determined. The ones who so desperately needed to resolve the stress they experienced. You gulped as they reached into their pockets and yelled again. The Doctor stared down at the various tools and her gaze hardened. Your heart tore as you realized she was trying to brace herself for what was to come; trying to brace herself for you. 

The next few hours were a blur, existing in a special purgatory within your memory. One second, it seemed as though your brain were erasing each minute entirely, getting rid of every piece that was too hard for you to bear. The next, it seemed as though each of those pieces were receiving their own horribly intense spotlight, each movement, each slice or scratch or hit echoing through your bones and soul. Every single one of the Doctor’s yells and groans, uttered through grit teeth and eyes shut tightly. 

Looking at the Doctor now, it was as if your brain was conjuring it all up. You wished that was the reality. The golden glow of regeneration energy had been flowing throughout the room for several minutes, wrapping itself around the two of you. The dust only rested near you for a brief time, healing any bruises you’d received. Its real task was to heal its owner, who had suffered so much. In the end, the servants of the Prince had decided to take advantage of his focus on torturing the timelord to carry out a long awaited uprising, freeing the two of you in the process. 

“This could’ve been you,” The Doctor sighed, breaking you out of your mental recap. “But, see?” 

She held up her shirt, showing off the side of her midriff. Her shirt was still torn and ripped from where the Prince and his council had carried out their evil deeds, but there were no marks as evidence. 

“I can heal,” 

“It shouldn’t have been you,” You breathed, the air exiting your lungs in a shaky breath. The power behind it made your chin wobble, made your shoulders shake. Your face squeezed together, trying to hold back the tears that were gathering in your eyes. The Doctor softened and took your hand in hers, kissing the back of it. “I hate that you.. I hate them, for doing that to you, I couldn’t help and it hurt, so bad” 

“We got out, it’s alright,” 

“You could’ve gotten us out,” You said weakly. Your body was giving in to the fear and grief that it had held onto so tightly for hours, weakening your skin and bones. “Would it have been so bad if it was me? You could’ve-” 

“Don’t say that. Don’t you ever say that. I felt what they did” You winced, remembering the exact moment your heart broke, the exact moment the Doctor’s walls fell, just moments before the servants had burst through the doors. When you let out a small cry, the Doctor pulled you to her chest for a moment, before pulling you back and holding you by the shoulders. “I saved you. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

"Why can't I save you, why can't I help like you-" 

"Because you're not me!" The timelord shouted. She let go of your shoulders, and you froze. "You're not me, and you never will be. You can't be. I get hurt, Y/n. That's how it is, how it always has been. The least I can do is try to make sure you don't"

You shrank backward, all resolve disappearing. The Doctor took a step back as well, rebuilding the same walls that you had been forced to watch crumble.

 Later you would both find each other in the library, seeking the other out. In silence, you would both come to accept that it might take a while to process everything that had happened with the Qupari and all that had been said after, words that could not be taken back. Words that conveyed the terrible, terrible truth of traveling with the Doctor. She got hurt. You had, you did, you would, as well. But your days were not infinite. Your pain was not infinite. Hers, tragically, was. One day you would stop running, stop remembering, and existing. But the Doctor would continue on, unable to give up despite the desire to, only able to keep hold of her duty of care. 

[miseries-mistress]

BY THE WAY I LOVE U

but however, i would still really like to request a fic (at least a small sketch/drabble) on mark renton, maybe something with obsession.

I will look forward to it, i so want to see mark in yer performance, honey!

THE EYES OF ANOTHER | MARK RENTON

Synopsis: The led lights ghosted over Mark's skin, the music a constant thrum under his fingertips. He was out drinking again with his friends, the remains of heroin being the perfect high to get through the night without a woman at his side- or so he thought. 

Warnings: female reader, mentions of sex, alcohol, heroin, making out, pretty mild tbh. W/C: 1592

Notes: I have been sick for the past two and a half weeks, so i am so incredibly sorry for the lack of updates. i will try to post more frequently and get some of my requests done. this has been sitting in my drafts for months, and i have finally found the energy to edit it. i will try to write something else with possession for mark and tag you in it, but right now, this is the best i can do (btw i love you too <33)

em masterlist

Mark Renton had come to know a few things in his life. He had what most men could ever want, heroin, pure as the devil's snow, and a couple of friends to share it with. For a while, Mark was content with the few necessities of life he had acquired. After all, what problem was there that heroin couldn't solve?

It turned out that a bar was where he found the answer to that.

He was sitting between Spud and Tommy; the remnants of the heroin in his veins let him coast between the paradise of no worries with a flimsy grasp on reality, just enough to make him remember the euphoric feeling when it left his system entirely. 

Begbie was waving his hands sporadically, his voice carrying above the bass of the music pumping. He had a girl, drunk enough to be a blackout, hanging off his arms while his hands roughly grouped at her flesh. He didn't know where the fuck Sick Boy or Spud's first girlfriend in six months was, and from the looks of it, they didn't know either. Then there was Tommy's girlfriend, who snuggled under his muscular arms while he moved wisps of her hair out of her face. 

Disgusting, Mark thought to himself, turning away from the affectionate couple. He was surrounded by people clouded with lust or, in Tommy's case, love that Mark realized what heroin in all its glory could never do for him; sex. 

It was a weird writhing feeling in his chest that persuaded him to abruptly stand from his seat, his mind fixed on drowning the foreign feeling in his chest. Yes, anything was better than wallowing in self-pity when his mind could be floating further into an infinite abyss where his anxieties could never truly reach him. 

He flagged the bartender, and the man gave an acknowledging nod, knowing Mark well enough to have his order memorized. His fingers tapped against the sticky hardwood. Well, his skin stuck to a mixture of alcohol, and…he couldn't tell what was mixed with the alcohol besides the dash of blood. Out of boredom more than anything else, he laid the palm of his hand against the surface. He let his hand stick before he pulled it off, his flesh stretching as it clung to the stick before his hand was fully released. He flexed his hand, the substance adhering to his palm in an uncomfortable sticky mess.  

His drink was set in front of him, and his hand dived into his pockets to fish out the appropriate change. He stopped his eye from becoming as wide saucers as adrenaline began loudly thrumming through his poisoned veins. 

He didn't have his wallet. 

Now Mark knew damn well that he had stuffed his wallet in his jeans. He never left the house without it. Meaning, from the limited options he's left with, it's been stolen. 

He curses himself, his mouth moving to form more profanities before a self-assured, feminine voice speaks up. 

"And that man's drink, too, since he seems to be having a bit of trouble."

What caught him off guard was not someone else paying for his drink or the apparent lack of a Scottish accent but the…woman in the voice... 

A woman was talking to him. 

Him. 

Mark Renton. 

His head moved at the sound of your voice as you slid over the appropriate change. The bartender almost imperceptibly raised his eyebrow, knowing him well enough that women never talk to him and surely none of your stature. But, on the other hand, Mark is sure he's never seen anyone so beautiful. The sight of you was enough to start that climb that he could only reach with the addictive buzz of drugs. 

"Thanks," is all he manages to utter, his eyes still fixated on you. 

"No problem…Mark Renton?" His ears perk at his name, leaving your lips. It's such a sweet sound, like it was laced with seduction and all things beautiful, incarnated into one voice that seemed to rise brilliantly above the rest. He's almost too caught up in his love-sick daze to realize you know his name. 

Almost. 

"How do you know my…." 

Your fingers thread through the fading wallet, raising it between your fingers for show. It takes Mark a second to recognize the wallet as his own, and his body snaps to attention. How in the world did you pickpocket him? Was he that far gone not to feel a hand in his pants- not to mention yours? 

"I couldn't help myself. I hope you don't mind," you sheepishly smile, tossing the wallet back to Mark. Immediately his hand digs into his cash, frowning at the amount. He definitely left his apartment with more in there. 

He stares at you, dumbfounded, before it clicks, and his face falls into understanding. Not only did you pay for his drink with his own money, but with your own. You chuckle, raising your glass to your lips, as you seem to understand his expression. 

"I warned you." You take a sip, taking pleasure in the sight of Mark while he blinks at you before taking his drink, swallowing the pale brown liquid while his irises observe you curiously. 

Before Mark had given himself any time to think about it, he took a bold step forward. He wasn't one to initiate things; hell, he hardly moved from his seat next to Spud, but now this odd sense of purpose was filling his chest. It took ahold of him, grasping him firmly towards you, a woman who had heartily captured his attention and his heart. 

"What's your name?" 

"Why do you want to know that, Mark?" you purr, meeting him halfway, drink still loosely held in your hand, your cocky smirk never diminishing.

Under the strobe lights, headache-inducing music with just the right amount of heroin and alcohol consuming any insecurity he might have previously had, he takes time to admire the structure of your face, the slope of your nose, the curve of your brow, the flutter of your lashes with the gentle purse of your lips, igniting a flame inside him that he had not felt for a long while; desire. It slowly filled him, tainting his mind into wanting something beyond playful banter. 

"Well, I like you a lot," he shouted over the music, and your smirk dissolved into a smile.

"We just met."

 "That's the point." You both share a laugh as you shake your head. Mark's irises remain transfixed on you as if you're pulling him in with some kind of spell. You must feel the electricity brimming in your veins because you look up to find his eyes overflowing with an admiration you don't often see in men. 

That same electricity winds around his heart, pulling him closer. His heart pounds so wildly against his rib cage that his mind briefly flickers to the possibility that you're able to hear it. Within seconds, your lips crash together, molding forcefully and earnestly with your honeysuckle ones. The kiss is filled with wild abandon, desperate for contact as Mark's hands find your waist upon instinct. Electricity sparks with each touch, sending you both spiraling further down the rabbit hole of untamed passion. It consumes you, molding you into him, and you can't think of a time when you've fit so perfectly with someone like pieces of a previously unsolved puzzle. 

Mark finds himself much in the same boat, his thoughts wrapped around the noose of arousal, suffocating him under his own craving. He can see why his friends are so addicted to sex. If a kiss felt this good, then your body would be an unimaginable pleasure he was certainly not worthy of.

His tongue pushes its way through the barricade of your teeth, exploring every crevice he can find, his body pressing closer to yours to chase the sweet friction you grace him with. 

He earns a delicious whine from the depths of your throat, and it spurs him on further. While swept up in your aromatic taste, he floats on a cloud, drowning in bliss and yearning as the rest of the bar fades into white noise. 

Unfortunately, Mark tugs his lips from yours first, gulping in the stale air while his eyes, shaky with pent-up lust, find yours, surprised to discover them in a similar state as his. 

"I never got your name." You chuckle, your head falling to his chest, your finger running over the fabric above his heart. Finally, you whisper your name, and his eyes close in bliss, the echo of your words turning his heart into mush. Yeah, Mark could get used to this.

[siremasterlawrence]

The Lost Signal Part 3 - 4

The sudden disappearance of superheroes Superman, Batman, Superboy and newly minted hero Nightwing vanish after public court cases.

The news as per usual is on a loop constant replay of the events and the magical event of their defeat running out of control on the screen.

Bucky turns off television then throws the remote down on to the table sighing a bit in anger as Cap appears placing a hand on his shoulder.

He stares out of the window completely left in a befuddle of all the craziness that is about to be ensuing.

He can’t imagine how a court room could

be a bizarre actions of Bruce and Clark obeying this man.

They jump to obey to grab hold of Clark and Connor to induce him in to total submission is unbelievable.

Cap puts his shield down to and focus on the paper he lay on the table he began to list everything.

It’s amazing one man can have enough power and ability to mind control the man of steel.

Who has that power and why would they allow the world to see it. It literally makes no sense at all to him.

Captain America watches as Bucky exits the room to go for a walk he does notice a man in the background.

Across the way on the roof a batarang hits the glass shooting on to the wall a man hits the floor.

He rolls through the room finally standing up to face Captain America is The Dark Night with spiral eyes.

He has wildly sick expression on his red face with crazy eyes he loses his mind throwing all the blows.

Captain America goes to toe with him blow to blow Steve cannot believe he and Bruce AKA Batman.

Cap leaps in to the air digging his feet in to the wall he holds on tight propelling his feet upward.

He throws his shield at him hitting Batman in the face sending Bruce flying back in to the wall.

“What the hell is going on? What’s wrong with you Bruce? What did he do to you?”

“He freed me Boy Scout and he will break you super pussy. Mwahahahahaha.” Bruce adds pinning him down and using his one shied to knock him out.

“Wwwwaaaaaahhhhhh! Where am I?” Buck sighs as his eyes pop open.

“You are awake? Perfect!” Blue Haze says in excitement and smacks his face.

“Jackass! Release me, let’s us all go now, I am meaning immediately.” He yells.

“Dick please come in and help Bucky over here.” I command.

“Yes Master!” Dick shuffles in to the room.

“Dick no! Nnnnnnoooo! Stop!” Bucky yells.

“Sssshhhhh!” Dick puts his finger on his lips.

“Relax Buck” telling Bucky rubbing his head.

“Set me free” Bucky begs

“When I get out here” Bucky boldly states

“How will you do that?” Blue Haze mocks him

“I thought so shut up!” He continues

“Bastard” Bucky fights back

“Call me whatever you want” Blue Haze shrugs

“You will still submit to me” finishing it

“Fat chance” Bucky bites back

“Oh yeah!” He adds

“Hit it” Blue Haze instructs Dick to flip the switch.

The end

The Lost Signal Part 5 - 6

Superman along with Superboy on orders are on their way to take the skies creating a storm and causing a havoc on the earth and the systems go down.

Batman and Nightwing go on a looting trip all over the country adding to my wealth and his vast fortune.

Stepping out of the nights dim light shadow Daredevil breaks a lot and races down the staircase.

He jolts upward over the bar a few feet to the middle floor and kicks open a door a group guards react.

Daredevil takes out his billy clubs throwing them on target to guys are knocked out and two more stuck on to the walls.

Matt loses his mind throwing punches high low and kicks defeating everyone in his way till he reaches the end of the long hall way.

“Master Lawrence huh or should I call you Blue Haze?”

“You figured it out extremely resourceful indeed.”

“I am bringing you in one or the other.”

“I see, stare in to the abyss Matt, feel all of your senses go wild and you feet give in.”

“Aaaaaahhhhhhhh! My senses! FUCK!”

“Your mind loses control spinning in to new web I am weaving.”

“What are you doing to me?”

“Come on Matt! Really?”

“Mwahahahahaha”

“You want this”

“As much as you do”

“Admit it”

rank Castle is walking from a mission it is unknown to him of a looming finger approach him.

Someone shoves him in to an alley way and block him he removes a needle from his bag.

The man raises his hand pinning Frank C down and inject him hard as the serum took root.

“Ffffffuuuuuccccckkkkkk!”

“Sorry Frank! Master has chosen you”

“What Matt? Why?”

“I told you why”

“Master’s will must be obeyed”

“He will love you “

“I already do”

“You are his property”

“So am I”

“Uuuugggghhhh!”

“Yyyyeeeessss”

“I hear and obey”

“My love”

“Take me to him”

“On my way Master”

The end

[sparkypantaloons]

Quarterback

Willis had been a handsome man once. Tall and broad, with a strong jaw and dark brown eyes. He had a hell of an arm on him, could have been star quarterback if he’d tried. A shoe in for Prom King too. Then life had happened and Gotham on top.

He never meant to be a bad father. But at least he didn't let his son die.

On what would have been Jason's 23rd birthday, he decides to pay Bruce Wayne a visit.

~~

Willis had been a handsome man once. Tall and broad, with a strong jaw and dark brown eyes. He had a hell of an arm on him, could have been star quarterback if he’d tried. A shoe in for Prom King too. Popular with the girls and guys alike.

He was smart. Not A-student smart, but he could get solid B’s without too much stress. “If you just tried, you could be looking at Ivy League.” His teachers had told him. “A bit more effort and you’d’ be a straight A student.” Willis could have tried harder.

He didn’t.

He wasn’t a troublemaker. Not really. He got the odd detention, but never enough to be known for it. He was friends with most of his high school class, knew people in most social circles. He was polite and laid back and friendly. “Easy on the eye, easy on the soul.” His first girlfriend’s mom had said.

But high school had been easy. Much easier than home. Willis knew which he preferred.

His old man had been a drunk. Not a mean one, just a sad one. He couldn’t get out of bed most days, much less work. Plagued by nightmares and tears and melancholy.

And his momma had been hard. All bitter edges and cold words. Stuck grieving a man she’d known long ago. Reminded of him every morning, when she woke to his empty shell.

Momma resented Willis. Resented his youth and everything that lay before him, growing taller and stronger each week, whilst her husband wasted away. Resented his easy smile and his broad shoulders, the friends who would call on him. How quickly he was becoming the man his father should have been.

Willis didn’t blame her. It wasn’t her fault anymore than it was his. She had been dealt a poor hand, no aces up her sleeves to escape the fold. But it dragged on him. Made his soul feel heavy and tired. Like he was wading through tar. “You’ll never amount to anything, just like that man upstairs.” She’d spit at him, as he tried to do his homework. Not able to bear the possibility that he might become what she had so loved in his father.

Willis didn’t blame her. But it was easier not to try, then. Better to be safe, average. He didn’t want her to hate him. It never worked.

He was seventeen when he dropped out of high school. Kissed his old man goodbye before he left, slipped out the kitchen door before momma got home from the store. He hitched a ride from Philadelphia to Gotham, never looked back. Never saw either of them again. Never found out if he made Prom King.

Gotham was different to Philly. It was darker. Colder. Teetering on the edge of an abyss, like the whole city was waiting. Waiting for disaster to fall from the sky, or the ground to swallow them up. Two weeks after Willis arrived, some teenage billionaire who owned half the town went missing. Bruce Wayne presumed dead at 19 said the papers. And not long after, everything went to shit.

Willis had left home with fifty dollars in his pocket. Reached Gotham with only twenty. He worked the docks and the warehouses and the subway tunnels. He’d take jobs on the regeneration projects that would spring up across the city, fronts for money laundering though most of them were, wound up before anyone could realise no buildings would ever materialise. He worked behind bars and on their doors. He drove the buses and the trains and once had a cab share with a friend. But it was never enough. Every month was a choice between food or gas. Electric or water. And just when you thought you were getting somewhere, corruption or crime or the just plain chaos took it away.

Money was tight, and Gotham kept squeezing.

By the time he was twenty four, Willis couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the sun. A friend told him about a job going in Metropolis. Knew a little place by Outlook Park where there was a room share they could stay. South facing. The sun would shine in through their window and they’d be able to sit in the park and enjoy it on their off days. Would have the money to enjoy it, to have off days. LexCorp was offering crazy pay for guys to build their new project. It would be perfect.

Then Willis saw Catherine, and decided maybe the sun could wait.

She was training to be a teacher, she said. A light blush under her freckles, as she sipped from the beer bottle. A small smile on her lips.

For their first date, Willis had taken her up the old clock tower. Still had the keys from the reno project he’d been working, before it had been scrapped.

“What will you teach?” He’d asked, blushing himself when she’d caught him staring.

“Reading.” Catherine had said. “I mean, it’s English really, but I’ll be in primary school, so it’s reading.” She paused. “I just think it’s the best thing we can do for our kids, at least in this city. You know how many kids leave primary school unable to read properly?” She said, suddenly serious. “It’s criminal. I’m volunteering at Blackgate too. Helping some of the residents to read there. Can you imagine never being able to have read Great Expectations, or Catcher in the Rye, or Shakespeare?” There was fire in her eyes. “It’d be enough to turn anyone to crime.”

Being with Catherine made Willis feel like he might be Prom King after all. She was damn smart, and fiery, never willing to back down from a fight for what was right. They moved into a little place over a bodega in what used to be Park Row. It wasn’t much, but it was theirs and for the first time in a long time Willis had thought things were starting to look up.

For a year, Willis lived in a dream. Couldn’t remember life ever being so good, since before even high school. Catherine read to him every night, just a page or so from whatever she was reading at the time, and Willis built them a bed from left over pallets he swiped from the abandoned building sites across Gotham. On Friday’s they would get take out and dance to their elderly neighbour’s violin practice and when it rained they built pillow forts and watched movies. Together they could just about afford the bills. Life was good.

The year Bruce Wayne reappeared in Gotham, Catherine fell pregnant. The same year, Willis had an accident on a job. A broken arm that stopped him working. They needed the money, so Catherine put her studies on pause, picked up shifts at the bodega downstairs, helped make ends meet. A few weeks later she had a fender bender on the way to a baby appointment. Her and the baby were fine, and Willis thanked God everyday for that, but they couldn’t afford to fix the car. Not until he got back to work.

Except work around Gotham was drying up. Wayne was on some social justice crusade, him and his polo club buddy Dent. Shutting down all of the under-the-table jobs that Willis had grown to rely on. He didn’t have a high school diploma and suddenly everyone was asking for one, or wanted two references and a character statement. All Willis had was a string of jobs for a bunch of guys who ended up being crooks.

Catherine was seven months along and they still didn’t have a car. Willis hated the thought of her taking the bus all the way to the hospital, so when a friend mentioned a gig working for Oswald Cobblepot, nothing major, just moving some boxes, Willis agreed.

The money was good, and the work not much different from what Willis had been doing before. It was menial, but it paid. He bought a new car, used, old, and loud as all hell, but it was his. He used it to drive Catherine to the hospital to give birth, the same night that The Batman first appeared in Gotham. Catherine gave birth to a little girl. She came out silent and blue. They named her Marie and drove home without speaking to each other.

In a way that could only ever happen in Gotham, Sheila turned up at their door the following day. Willis barely remembered her. She had worked for Cobblepot too once. They’d been drunk, and Willis didn’t remember even finishing. She didn’t speak when she handed over Jason. She turned on her heel and Willis never saw her again. Catherine didn’t care enough to ask. Just held the tiny baby close to her aching breasts.

Willis remembered holding Jason later that night. A tiny little thing, screaming his tiny little lungs out. A shock of black hair and bright blue eyes. His face red and screwed up, fists flailing. So small, so helpless. Willis had been at sea, in danger of drowning in the swell of love and fear that churned in his gut. This tiny little thing he had made. In this awful city that had been trying to undo him since he arrived.

He’d sworn to himself there and then he’d earn enough money and move them all to Metropolis, like he’d originally planned. Catherine could finish her studies and become a teacher, and he would take Jason out to play ball in Outlook Park, under the sunshine.

A few weeks after Jason was born, Cobblepot got caught by The Batman. A giant freak in black and silk. Willis only just escaped arrest himself. That same week, Willis found Catherine on the roof with the baby, standing on the ledge in her nightdress and slippers.

It took him over an hour to coax her down. She didn’t even look at him when he put her to bed, didn’t see as he watched her with wild eyes, Jason screaming in his arms. Catherine didn’t get up for two months after that. Jason cried the entire time.

Harvey Dent became Two Face and Willis eventually found work with some clown calling himself The Joker. Willis wasn’t averse to breaking the law, God knows Gotham had done it enough. But working for The Joker was different to working for Cobblepot. It was no longer just moving stolen goods, now it was moving bodies.

It weighed on him, what he was doing. He wondered where the bodies were coming from. Why they were being killed. But Willis knew better than to ask. He couldn’t tell Catherine what he was doing. Not that she spoke much those days, but it’d have broken her heart to know what he was doing. So Willis pushed it down, locked all the terrible things he saw and heard in a little box, and buried it in a corner of his soul.

It was a Saturday morning, 4am and the sun already risen when he broke. He’d started the night listening to the screams of some poor fool who pissed off The Joker. Finished it by dissolving their body in a vat of acid.

He was desperate to speak to Catherine, to the same fiery, bright woman he met all those years ago. He wanted her to hold him and read to him, tell him it’d be okay. That they’d move to Metropolis and live in the sun. Instead he got home and she hadn’t left the bed all day. Jason was sat in a soiled nappy, over-filled and stinking of shit. He’d screamed himself hoarse, and cried silently on the kitchen floor.

Willis sank an entire bottle of Jack and then threw it at the wall above the bed. Catherine didn’t flinch. Jason started screaming again.

The Batman was being followed around by some kid in gold and green. The papers were calling him Robin and Catherine was finally speaking again. Jason was two and Willis was no longer working for The Joker but the damage was done. His nightmares were no longer Catherine and the baby on the roof. They were darker, colder, and filled with a hideous laugh.

Two Face paid good money, but it wasn’t enough for therapy. Was barely enough for Catherine’s meds. So Willis drank instead, and if Jason cried too much he’d shut the kid in the closet. Willis didn’t want to lose control around his boy. Better to keep him out the way. Keep him safe. It only took a few months before Jason started taking himself to the closet, shutting himself away once he saw Willis open a bottle.

A few years later, The Batman and his little bird put Two Face away, and Willis was out of work again. Catherine’s meds were expensive, but she said she had a friend who could help her out. Jason was smart, eight years old and sharp as a tack. “He’s gonna be a heart-breaker.” Catherine used to say, when she was half way lucid, looking at their boy the same was she used to look at Willis. Willis couldn’t bear to see it.

Except, then he didn’t have to. Because eventually The Bat caught up to him, The Bat and the little freak who followed him round in the green shorts. Scarecrow’s whole operation was blown wide open and Willis was sent to Blackgate. Three years.

Catherine and Jason visited once. Jason practically dragged her into the visiting hall. Her eyes slid in and out of focus, her smile was lopsided on her face. “You have to help, Willis.” Jason said. He’d never forgotten the closet. Never understood it was for his own good. “She keeps taking the drugs and they cut the power off because we missed the bills.”

Willis couldn’t deal with it. Couldn’t help from where he was. Couldn’t stand the sight of his beautiful Catherine, ruined by this beautiful boy and the little girl that never was. “I can’t help you Jason.” Willis snarled. Better the kid learned to fend for himself. “You need to figure this out yourself.”

Willis didn’t see him again. When the Warden came to tell him that Catherine had passed, he didn’t mention Jason. Catherine’s only legal child had died years ago and Willis didn’t ask. Jason was smart. He’d have got himself somewhere safe.

As safe as Wayne Manor, it turned out, and Willis was impressed. Much as he hated Wayne, hated how much worse he made Gotham trying to fix her, at least the guy would keep Jason safe. Keep him warm and fed and in school.

Jason died in Ethiopia before Willis was released.

Willis beat the shit out of his cellmate in a rage. Got another eighteen months added to his sentence.

~~

The night that would have been Jason’s twenty-third birthday, Willis is drinking. He’s a large man these days. Years, in and out of prison, with nothing to do but lift weights and ruminate, he’s muscle and rage and bitterness made human.

He’s half way through a bottle of vodka when he decides that he’ll visit Wayne. A birthday gift to Jason, he tells himself. Wayne was meant to keep him safe, revenge is the least that Willis can offer.

He jacks a car from outside the old bodega he and Catherine used to live above. Winds all the windows down to keep him sharp as he drives. The vodka is warm in his veins.

He thinks about how smug Wayne looked, that first time he took Jason out in that little suit. Eleven years old and the kid dressed like some penguin politician. He grinds his teeth as he thinks of the little brat Wayne adopted to replace Jason, once Willis’ boy was dead. His fingers tighten around the steering wheel as he thinks of Wayne’s shit eating grin every time he adopts some new kid. And he feels a break in his heart when he thinks that Wayne has never once mentioned Jason since. Has forgotten him, as though he was an old dog.

It doesn’t take Willis long to get to Wayne Manor. Everyone in Gotham knows where it is. Up on the hill above the river, lording it over the common folk, as though it were a palace. In a twist of fate that could only ever happen in Gotham, a pizza delivery guy is pulling out of the gate just as Willis arrives.

He drives through unannounced. The long, dark gravel drive, crunching beneath stolen tyres.

Against a dark sky, The Manor is an even darker silhouette, lights dotted across various windows, shining out into the night. Willis can hear music. It makes his blood burn with rage. A party. On his boy's birthday.

He takes another swig of vodka as he climbs out of the car. Throws the bottle to the ground as he forces the spirit down his throat. Fuck Bruce Wayne. He thinks savagely and before he knows it, he’s pounding on the giant oak door.

“Wayne!” He roars, “Wayne, I know you’re in there you—“

A hand lands on Willis' shoulder and he cuts himself off. Bruce Wayne stands behind him, his fingers pinching ever so slightly into Willis' flesh.

“Let’s go for a walk Willis.” Wayne says. And Willis narrows his eyes. Shrugs off Wayne’s hand.

“You’re piece of fucking work, Wayne.” Willis snarls. “A party? Really?” He stares the other man down. “Do you even know what day it is?”

Wayne inclines his head towards Willis’ car, begins walking away from the porch. Willis follows.

“Aren’t you even go to say anything?” Willis sneers. “My boy, he was my—“

“I know what day it is.” Wayne says once they reach the car. His voice is even, firm.

Willis spits. “Bullshit.” He seethes. “He was just some accessory to you. Then you just replaced him. Like he was just some fucking dog.”

Wayne takes a step closer and Willis isn’t expecting it, he stumbles back against the car.

“I’d think very carefully about what you’ve come here to say, Mr. Todd.” Wayne says, and there’s something in his voice that fills Willis with an old dread. One he can’t quite place. He shoves Wayne back, squares up to him.

“My boy deserved better than you.”

Wayne raises an eyebrow. “Who do you suppose is better than me?” He asks.

Willis swings before he can think about it, let’s out a cry of rage as his fist sails through the air. Wayne side steps it with ease and Willis staggers, falls to one knee. Gravel and stone pressing into bone. He clambers to his feet, turns on Wayne again. “You let him die.” Willis reaches for Wayne with both hands. Wants to grab him by his overpriced jacket, shake him until he’s limp. Beat him bloody for how he failed Jason. But Wayne dodges again, easy as if Willis were a child.

He gives Willis a pitying look. “I’m going to make you an offer, Mr. Todd.” Wayne says. “One grieving father to another.” He ignores the noise of rage in Willis’ throat. “Leave Gotham. Better yet, leave the country. Forget Jason and go. Name your price, I will pay it.”

“You’re not his father. You were never his father.” Willis snarls. “You’re a fucking fraud. Some rich bastard who uses kids like, Jason. You were never good enough for him, you were never his father—“

Something in Wayne snaps and suddenly Willis is pinned against the car, Wayne’s arm across his throat, their faces inches apart. Behind him, Willis can hear the music from the Manor still playing. “Name your price Todd. Leave Gotham. Forget Jason and this city.” Wayne’s voice is a growl, monstrous and feral. “This is a once in a lifetime off—“

“Hey Bruce!” Willis hears a young man’s voice travel across the drive way. There’s something distantly familiar about it. Probably one of the brats Wayne adopted. “B, what’re you doing out here in the dark? It’s meant to be my birthday party.”

Willis watches as something in Wayne’s face changes. He steps back from Willis, but still keeps him pinned in place. He looks over the roof of the car, clears his throat. “Just a sec, son. I forgot to tip the pizza guy.”

Willis hears the front door close and Wayne changes again. Shifting into something menacing and forboding. “What’ll it be Willis?”

“He was my son, I can’t just forget him.” Willis sneers, but it’s half hearted, because he’s suddenly overcome with dread.

“He’s my son.” Wayne says, with a finality that makes Willis shudder. “You’re leaving Gotham tonight. Don’t be fool enough to come back.”

Willis stares at Wayne, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up, as a strange and terrible scenario begins to present itself. In the distance he can hear a helicopter. “What happens if I come back?” Willis asks.

Wayne barely blinks. “I’ll have your memories of Jason removed and you’ll live out the rest of your life in Blackgate.”

Willis narrows his eyes, the sound of the helicopter is getting louder. “He’s alive, isn’t he?”

Wayne doesn’t respond and suddenly Willis is desperate.

“Jason’s alive isn’t he? Isn’t he?!”

The helicopter is directly above them now, coming into land, all loud noise and bright light.

“Answer me damn it. Was that him? At the door? He’s my son! Answer me!” Willis shouts over the roar of the blades.

Wayne stares at him impassively. “The chopper will take you to an airfield. Just tell my pilot where you want to go.” He says, only slightly nodding as two large men suddenly grab Willis by each arm, drag him towards the chopper.

“Where is he? What have you done with him? Where is my son?” Willis screams, as the men force him into the helicopter.

Wayne follows, stands at the door. “I know all about what kind of a man you are Willis Todd.” He says. “What kind of a father you were. Do you think Jason didn’t tell me what it was like growing up for him with you? Never knowing how long you’d keep him locked away, or what violence you’d cause when you were drunk?”

Willis wants to fight back. Wayne doesn’t know how hard it was, what it was like back then for the normal people of Gotham, who weren’t born with silver spoon in their mouths and fucking helicopters at their beck and call. But he can’t find the words, and the two larger than life men, hold him in his seat.

“You were never a father to him. Jason was my son, will always be my son.” Then Wayne steps back from the helicopter and nods to the pilot. Willis feels his stomach lurch as they rise into the air, and it’s nothing to do with gravity.

~~

Bruce walks back to the Manor as the chopper rises into the sky, sends a text to the security firm employed by Wayne Enterprises. Tells them to come and collect the car in his driveway.

It's not like he's proud of himself. Threatening Willis. Bruce wouldn't have Jason if not for him, afterall. And Bruce knows he himself, isn't perfect. He knows there are times he's let Jason down. But God he loves that kid more than the world. And despite how often the Red Hood has tried to prove otherwise, Jason is far too forgiving. Far too kind to face Willis and not give him another chance.

Bruce has already put Jason back together once, after a life with Willis. Has already heard the horror stories of being locked in a closet for days at a time. Of Jason crying himself to sleep because Catherine was too high and Willis too drunk to feed him.

Bruce won't let that happen again. Willis doesn't deserve a second chance. Not with Jason.

When he gets back through the front door, Jason and Tim are in the foyer, bickering about something or other. Music form the library drifts through the door ways.

“B, what have you been doing?” Tim implores, elbowing past Jason and shoving another canapé into his mouth. “You’ve been gone ages.” He says, crumbs flying everywhere.

“The pizza guy was telling me about how his Grandma is sick over in Metropolis. I was convincing his boss to give him the rest of the night off. Had the chopper fly him over there.”

Jason rolls his eyes. A birthday hat sits at an angle atop his head. “Can we get back to the party now? You’re the one who wanted this stupid thing anyway.”

Bruce grins, puts an arm around Jason’s shoulders. “Of course son, anything for you.”

[husbandohunter]

Stardew Impact [Genshin+Stardew Valley/xReader]

Part 1/3 Kaeya, Diluc

Synopsis: “A mysterious phenomenon brought you and your s/o to an unfamiliar world: Pelican Town! Without the power of Visions, the two of you begin to learn the life of what it takes to be...a farmer?”

(DOMESTIC FARM LIFE YIP YIP)

Coming soon...

Albedo and Childe

Zhongli and Xiao

(A/N): So the brainrot was real in this one. I planned to add Albedo for a Mondstadt edition but kinda went overboard so I gotta split this one into parts too. Wordcount_almost 2k spspspsp

______________________________________________________

Diluc

• Already has the whole year planned in his head. Literally if Diluc were to play this game, he'd have a booming farm within year ONE. Calm and collected through and through, though the new environment raises alot of questions, as long as you were still with him, Diluc ain't complaining

• The town welcomes you two with open arms. It was all thanks to the attire. Diluc wore his usual dark coat adorned with regal gold while you had a dress made of Liyue's finest silk, one that he bought for you. Needless to stay both of you reeked the aura of rich aristocrats (Mayor Lewis is pleased that greedy bastard)

• Once the farm was permitted to your owndership, Diluc began to think of ways to turn it into a vineyard. He was a businessman afterall. Although the staff back at the Dawn Winery were the ones who tended the field, Diluc still knew a few things about planting due to his childhood days Master Crepus would bring him out to their yard and demonstrated the process of gardening. He still remembers those days clearly, doing the very same this moment with you.

• Occasionally works at the Saloon bar. It was the perfect opportunity. As you took care of the farm side, Diluc continues to look for more ways to increase the income while gathering information from the folks around town. Gus LOVES to have him over, like he's just so efficient and reliable! They soon become good friends saying if Diluc were ever to own a wine stock, he would gladly buy from him.

• This is why Diluc would stay a little later due to just chatting with the people from the bar. One time you walked into the Saloon only to the front desk with Emily alone. Turns out the others were in the other room, too busy playing a game of pool. You decided to leave him be since it was rare to have Diluc so relaxed in leisure activities. Thus in the end, you spent your time chatting with Emily until a whole hour has passed before your lover notices and apologizes for losing track of time.

• Everything felt like a dream because it was his dream. To live a life undisturbed from chaos, his duties and the dangers that lurk in Teyvat, Diluc grew fond of the domesticity. There was nothing he loved more than to spend his hours by your side, day after day, returning home to your freshly handmade meals.

• Spring: Already up and early planting the parnersnips (I'm very soft for gardener Diluc you see). What do you expect from a workaholic? Even during his leisure time you would often find him near some plant as he does consider this hobby quite therapeutic. But when it rains, Diluc would be standing beside you with an arm around your shoulder, smiling contently as you lean into his touch. He gazes through the dripping window and silently admires the current progress you both made on the farm.

• Between the two annual spring festivities, I would say the flower dance. Diluc is a private man and would prefer to take things where no eyes were on sight. But with a little bit of nudging from Gus (your wingman), he gives in and leads you to the center stage. Elegant. Graceful. The way you two moved together became the talk of the event. Though, Diluc was already used to people staring by now, all he needed to do was to ignore them and keep his focus on you.

• Summer: No blankets in bed. Nope, its bloody hot in Pelican Town. He tends to stay indoors or anywhere with shade, in other words, his work hours in the Saloon increased.

• Diluc always has a nice cold drink prepared for you if by any chance you were to pay a visit after a whole day of labour. It's a habit he's made subconciously as if it would be a natural occurance for you to enter the door. His colleagues would ask him who did he make that drink for? Honestly so cute i cri

• Moments like these remind him of Mondstadt, where he quietly wipes the glasses while listening to you talk. Your voice is soothing. Sun rays peek from the side casting onto the umber tables, reflecting a rich golden light as the radio plays a soft song in the background. It's so peaceful, the town was small hence not many people visited the bar, Diluc came to appreciate this warm privacy (plus no Venti and Kaeya which is a huge pog realization).

• Autumn: Harvest time baby. The kegs are full and the sheds are full of kegs. This season was huge stonks and the house ended up getting an upgrade. Diluc is the type of man who wants to make sure that his spouse wouldn't have to work another day of her life. I reckon this is why he's so ambitious because he wants you to have the best and you deserve the best. (Husband material. Slap a ring on him ladies).

When there was no more work left to do, time would be spend peacefully exploring the woods. While you skipped a few steps ahead as the leaves crunched beneath your feets, Diluc follows slowly from behind. He sees your back but his eyes stares somewhere far beyond whats in front of him: His future. 

It was such a stark contrast to the one he envisioned before. One filled with uncertaintly, blocked by darkness with no silver lining in sight, endlessly wandering as he drags the claymore against the ground. There was never a day in which the Darknight hero wouldn't think of Mondstadt. Leaving the city in the incompetent hands of Ordo Favonious while Abyss Mages continue to lurk fuels him to find a way to return as soon as possible and yet...

"Higher big sis!" Jas tightens her hold on the ropes as you pushed the swing with all your might. She laughs, like a child, it was full of innocence and joy. Later Vincent came in and nugdes you, asking when his turn will come.

"You wanna go too? Alright alright don't worry," waiting for Jas to come down, you lift the boy up so that he was seated safely on the chair, "3..2..1 go!"

He wonders if he could just be a little selfish for once.

• Winter: Best man to have in this season. Every morning Diluc would find himself restricted in movements due to a pair of arms around his waist and legs entangled with yours. Turns out you've been doing it subconciously because he's just so warm (Diluc keeps it lowkey and pretends to sleep longer cuz of it)

~~xx~~

Kaeya

• Haha looks like the portal is gone, guess we'll be stuck forever :)). No kidding Kaeya would be so down to stay here for the rest of his life and the best part is to spend it with you. He doesn't show a shred of concern regarding Teyvat, not like he's easily shaken by events that are abnormal, but you can see that Kaeya is truly and genuinely happy. (You're stunned).

• Oho we also have this marvelous landscape just for the two of us? And a cozy little cabin to go along with it as well? This should be fun~ 

• Of course Kaeya would also know a few things about planting, just the basics since he did grow up with Diluc. When they were kids, Crepus would give each of them their own pots so they can grow their own plants. It eventually became a competitive thing where whoever's plant grows the fastest gets to eat the other person's dessert for a year (no one wins. They end up sabotaging each other which Diluc started first, thinking it'll be funny as a joke).

• You are, and will be going on dates with him. In fact, the amount of dates you two went on increased since then. The townspeople would call you two "lovebirds" since he's practically by your side 24/7. 

• I mean he doesn't have the responsibilities as a Cavalry Captain anymore so what else is there to do?

• Would attend all annual events no matter what season. 

• Evelyn constantly gushes how much of a wonderful pair you and Kaeya make and often is the one who provides Kaeya a fresh bouqet of flowers for him to use as a gift. George on the otherhand just rolled his eyes mumbling something along the lines of "youngsters these days" and "crazy hormones."

• Befriends Pam. Love for beer plus somewhat cynical attitude? They get along real swell! She starts sending some recipes into the mailbox of course saying if yall ever need a hand, let her know.

• Spring: I can see Kaeya be switching back and forth between caring for the farm or taking quests posted on Pierre's bulletin board. He likes to keep things interesting, learning the ways of the new world while also getting to know the people around town.

• Would NOT return Mayor Lewis' shorts in which he found in Marnie's room. It's such high quality blackmail material. Kaeya is currently plotting what is the best way to use it to his advantage.

• He didn't tell you of course.

• Summer: There are no blankets because he is your blanket. Since your cabin was small so was the bed. That's why he has to hold you so that no one falls off when rolling over. Either he hugs you with your nose close to his neck, or your back against his chest while spooning you or holding hands if sleeping on your sides became too much. Yall need a serious house upgrade.

• For some reason Kaeya becomes more energetic in the summer. He lets you rest in the shade while handling the farm work for the time being. If you guys got a pet it would be a cat. Hes the first one to refill their bowl every morning outside.

Another day passes as summer comes to an end, the town’s Mayor invited you and your lover to see the annual Dance Of the Moonlight Jellies. Kaeya being the opportunist was delighted to come along. Locking the door of your house, you follow him down the path and made your way to the beach.

Everyone from town was already gathered by the docks when the sun had disappeared down the horizon. You stood by his side in a space far from the others, watching  the candle boats set off to ride the waves, lighting up a small ray of light for creatures to find. 

“Wow,” your tone almost above a whisper, “If only our friends back home could see this too.”

“Perhaps,” he says. Kaeya slips his fingers into yours and you shot him a curious glance, “But let us enjoy this moment shall we? Just the two of us.”

And there they were. A sea of luminescence radiating colours of brilliant blue with hints of green like a city of laterns floating in a world below. Their image reflects in the star of Kaeya's eyes as he wonders, where would they go? Where would the light lead them? They were so free with nothing to worry, so serene just like the sea and unknowningly, he squeezes your hand. It was a sense for confirmation. One to remind him that this moment was indeed a reality he wishes to keep.

Autumn: Finally a house upgrade and a kitchen!! Because it was harvest season, you guys end up making a set of delicious meals with all the recipes the townspeople gave you. Kaeya can cook since he lived by himself back in Mondstadt. Most of the stuff he learned to make were food that can be accompanied by alcohol though...

• Ahah remember Mayor Lewis' lucky shorts? He found a use for them. It was displayed on the stands during the Stardew Valley Fair (Oh my how did this get here? Must be the wind). Ends up buying a Rarecrow for the farm when Lewis bribes him not to tell this to anyone.

Winter: This was mostly an indoor season for the both of you. With the existence of television, nights would be spent until morning while watching movies at the couch. A blanket drapes around your shoulders as extends to his.  Oh and don't forget the hot chocolate! 

[travellingarmy]

║Kaeya║Goodbye Kiss

Gender-neutral.

Angst.

Word count: 1.7k

---

It is time..

He had fulfilled his duties as a spy and so, it was time for the rightful heir to the throne to return to his home, Khaenri'ah. However, he guilts the thought of going back. In the beginning, he only had one reason of lingering around Mondstadt for a while but now that that he was done, there was really nothing left holding him back to return. So, why is he wavering?

His eyes- both visible- stare at the oh so familiar ceiling of your home. He had grown to love the sight of it over the years. His eyes seemed to sparkle in the night, a hand behind his head. Those eyes if his had always been unique and mysterious apropos to others one would meet along the way. It held a secret that makes one so interested in the soon-to-be former Cavalry Captain, but they could never unveil the truth behind them-- not even you.

Not even you who lay beside him bare and snuggled against him, a hand on his chest. Not even you who was most closest to the knight. If you couldn't do that, who could?

You made a sound during your sleep, gaining the attention of the man. His eyes glistened upon landing sight on you. His heart raced at everything you do. He was happy with you, but he also bitterly blames you for being the reason he was hesitating. Why did you go make such a man fall for you? No, what was it about him that made you fall into his arms? Surely, you could see just how scary those eyes of his, right?

Honestly, you were the first to approach him knowing the darkness that he had carried since young. You dare not question what his past was or where he came from. You openly loved him, but he was going to be your heartache.

If only, he thought, if only he didn't fall into the hole you had made, he would leave Mondstadt all behind without looking back. When did he trip? Was it the first glance of you? There was really something about your eyes that intrigued the male.. Yeah, that was probably it. Something in your eyes shone something he had not seen in himself. Your eyes were free of hidden motives and your quick-witted actions proved that.

Maybe, he was interested because he felt jealous of you. Jealous that you didn't have to carry a burden of a task since young. Maybe he had gotten close to you to take that glimmer in your eyes. After all, he was a man with ulterior motives, no?

Ah, that did no good to Kaeya. He tried to convince himself over and over that there was something he wanted to take from you but as you lay bare beside him, he felt himself at a loss.

You mumbled in your sleep, once more making sounds to gain the attention of the male. Whatever you were dreaming about, it obviously was a pleasant one. He chuckles lowly and put his free hand behind the back of your head, moving you closer to his lips so he could place a kiss on the crown of your head.

"I love you."

-

The clacking of hurried heels and boots greet you upon entering the headquarters. It was early in the morning but everyone was jolted awake and masked with a stern look, brows furrowing as they rush past you.

You knew what was happening. Otherwise, you would still be lazily getting out of bed. "Acting Grand Master," you greet the blonde whose back was facing you. The call of her title brought her attention from another knight to you. "(Y/N), I'm so glad you're here. Have you seen Kaeya?"

Indeed, you have seen Kaeya. Hoewever, it was just a glimpse before your tired eyes fluttered shut for another hour. "No, I haven't." Jean sighs but did not dwell on the thought of the captain. "Well, we'll just pray to Barbatos that he comes soon. We need all the hands to protect the city from the Abyss."

Something inside you churned. Something was calling out to you that you failed to listen. What is it? Why was dread washing over you at the thought of Kaeya? Surely, he would be fine to take on a couple Abyss mages and hilichurls, right? Well, it doesn't matter. Even if he can take down a whole army, you should still be by his side, fighting with him.

Not waiting for orders from the Acting Grand Master, you made a bolt towards the gate. Jean shouted your name but you ignored it as that churning feeling grew inside you. "Kaeya.."

The entirety of Mondstadt was surrounded at all fronts. All sorts of Abyss mages and hilichurls attacked like savages, using this chance to take down the city while the rest of the troops were still coming their way.

Your eyes darted around, hoping to see the Cavalry Captain somewhere amongst the many men who were trying to by more time for backup to come.

You bit your lips, drawing out the blood to trickle down. Where in Teyvat is Kaeya when you needed him most? It wasn't the time for him to go drinking in a bar, getting wasted.

Not wanting to waste more time dwelling on the thought, you took the lead, running past the other knights and heading deeper into the battle. "Captain!" A knight had called your title but you dare not turn around. Something was telling you that Kaeya was further in, and you were going tl follow it. Knowing Kaeya, it does sound like him for him to rush before anybody else. "Please, Kaeya.. Please be okay."

Clearing any enemies in your way, you felt your heart become lighter at the sight a his familiar back, but you dare not break into a smile. It would just make you lose your focus on the fight.

"Kaeya!" You called, but that failed to reach his ears amongst the chaos around. You were drawing near, noticing that the army started to grow thin in the back.

You were about to call him a second time but the words got stuck in your throat, seeing that the male was talking to an Abyss mage. It confused you. Why is the Abyss mage bowing to Kaeya? Why isn't it attacking Kaeya?

The mage looks up, eyes looking past Kaeya and onto you. "Your highness, behind you," the mage gestures him to look behind. Wait, did the mage call him 'your highness'?

Kaeya turned around to look at you, revealing you both of his eyes that held no warmth as usual when they laid upon you. You were stoned into the spot, mouth feeling dry. What were you supposed to say at this point? Your head dizzied, wanting to collapse on the ground for support.

When your silence was prolonging further activities, his eyes narrowed coldly and his mouth drew a wider frown of displeasure. "(Y/N), what are you doing here?" His voice was montoned and no longer spoke in a flirtatious manner.

The mystery behind his eyes were revealed to you; the mystery that all of Mondstadt wanted to know yet could not get close enough to know.

You gulped back the lump that grew. Surely, there is some misunderstanding, right? Kaeya just wanted to toy with the mage before he killed it, right? Yeah, that has to be it. "K, Kaeya, Acting Grand Master wants you back and help protect Mondstadt.." Your eyes slightly widen in desperation, searching for the truth.

"Oh? Does she now?" A smirk tug his lips yet his eyes stayed the same. He turns his full body to face you and rested his knuckle on his hip. He was toying with you. "Y, yeah.. You better get back before she gets mad at you."

Kaeya chuckles at the look in your eyes, knowing that look all too well. "Why should I go back? I'm not from here so I have no reason to protect it." He shakes his head, all the while smiling. "(Y/N), I'm sure you already know that I am not from here, yes?"

"Where are you going with this, Kaeya? Please stop playing around and come back," you spoke with a shaky voice.

His smile drops. Were you seriously trying to convince yourself that he was a good man? He sighs and walks close to you, grabbing your chin in his hands. "Oh, (Y/N), you could be so cute at times. It almost makes me want to take you with me," his words were sincere. "But the land of sinners is not a place to call home for someone like you. So, be good and listen to when I say to stay." A flick of sorrow failed to catch your eyes.

Kaeya had not slept that night, waiting for the sun to shine through the curtains to tell him that it was time. As much as he wanted to stay with you, he was a sinner who ruled a land abandoned by the gods. He had no place in Mondstadt- with you- knowing his origins.

A tear slipped from the corner of your eyes, but Kaeya did not dare to wipe it away in fear that his heart would waver.

"Be good.. Protect Mondstadt.." He shows you one last genuine smile that you loved. His eyes allowed itself to show you his true feelings for you once more as well which just made your heart squeeze itself.

He brings your face, your lips, close to his. He was giving you one last kiss. A kiss that you would miss for as long as you lived. A goodbye kiss.

Tears left your eyes as he deepened the cherishing kiss.

He soon pulls away, watching your tears fall silently onto the ground. He smiles and turns on his heels to walk away, the Abyss mage following close behind him.

Your legs gave in and fell onto the ground as you watch the man you loved walk away from you-- never to return to Mondstadt-- to you.

Kaeya dares not to look behind. If he did, he had a feeling that he'll run up and hug you to stop those tears of yours. This was goodbye.

"Forget me and find someone else, lest you will be broken."

---

[heresathreebee]

Morning Of and After

SMILF Jesse X Female Reader

Summary: You meet Jesse in a bar and take him home. Masterlist

Word count: 3.3k words

Warning(s): +17 | swearing, drunk sex, porn with(out) plot (?), p in v sex, from behind, morning angst, mutual masterbation

AN: bitch I watched a 30 second clip of a tv show JUST to see an underdressed Alex Brightman. What has my life come to. Ah well, I'm gonna enjoy it while I can. Blame these lovely, inspiring fools @hoodoo12 @go-commander-kim @escape-your-grape

Jesse's not sure why you were hanging off of him at the bar but he's basking in your attention now. You didn't hesitate to give the cabbie your address, arm permanently looped around his shoulders for balance. You had both been drinking– exactly how much was a mystery– and Jesse was eager for a breakthrough in his dry spell. 

Your lips are wet and on each other as he kicks your door closed. Pulling your clothes from your body proves a little difficult, especially with you wrestling to take off his. He catches a case of the giggles when you get his head stuck in his shirt but the laughter quickly turns into a moan when he feels you slip a hand into his underwear to fondle his junk. He remembers gripping your wrist like iron and ripping his shirt from his face. He gives you a gentle push backwards, right onto the edge of your bed (he didn't know that was there but he would have been happy to take you on the floor too). 

Your top is misaligned but far from off, however you are bare from the waist down and wrap your legs around his hips to pull him towards you. Jesse's just as desperate and he slips his pants down midthigh, then stops to rummage in his pocket for a condom. He has to bat your grabby little hands away or he won't last. It's a little hard to see through the haze of lust and alcohol but he manages, and then he's pressing you into the mattress leaning on an elbow and sliding his fingers through your slick folds. 

He groans and plants a kiss on your mouth. "Fuck you're wet..." 

The man wastes no time and hooks two fingers inside you, eager to stretch you out and make you come now because you're fucking gorgeous and it's driving him to the edge without any stimulation. 

You mewl beneath him, nails scratching his scalp and chest heaving as if begging for his attention. Jesse's mouth waters heavily as he sloppily licks and sucks at your breasts, pushing your top aside and just nipping at the lace bra still intact. He has no idea how high you are until your inner walls contract around his fingers so hard he worries they might break. And with a practiced motion, he eases you down from your orgasm, fingers slowing down until he slips them out. 

And just for the hell of it, he flicks your clit and feels you jump beneath him. Suddenly your teeth are digging into his neck and he howls. 

"Fuck me already," you growl. 

You spread your legs wider to fit his hips to the center and drag him into another rough kiss. Jesse has some trouble maneuvering with his pants half on, but he catches the head on your lip and pushes in groaning at the familiar feeling of being engulfed. Bottoming out inside you sends an electric tingling sensation down his spine and he has to stop for a moment and catch his breath. 

He feels your feet sliding up his thighs, one foot still in a heel which catches on his waistband. His hips give a test rock and you moan against his collarbone, legs twitching at his sides. 

Jesse sets a subtle pace, rocking into your heat and drooling a little. You feel so fucking good underneath him, so right, like eating apple pie on the Fourth of July. His balls start to tighten and he almost lets go, but the feeling of your pussy twitching draws his attention to your face. You're close to coming again but not anywhere near where he is. The sloppy drunk part of him wants to just keep going and finish but the real Jesse wants this to be good for you too and what's a little second orgasm between drunk strangers? 

He pulls out and despite your immediate protests, you quickly become curious when Jesse's hands push and pull on you as if trying to move you. 

"What are you doing?" 

His chin has a small glisten and his eyes are so watery. There are hickeys forming on his neck and a scratch or two rising on his shoulder. The hairy expanse of his chest is turning red from friction and he looks as unreal as a dream until he says, "turn over." 

Your legs twitch and you definitely soak the quilt on your bed. Did you hear him right? This guy? Soft, pretty boy who was just a second ago gently rocking your world? 

He licks his lips and says, "turn around. I wanna do it the other way. On your knees." 

Fuck. Well you're definitely shaking with excitement as you fulfill his command. You finally manage to slip your top off and fling it into the abyss off the bed. You wiggle your hips into the requested position and shiver as a warm hand slides up your spine. Another warm hand locks around your hip and you feel him enter you with no resistance. The rough material of his jeans scratches at your thighs as he begins to thrust, longer strokes that leave you empty and full, empty and full again. You quickly slide off of your elbows and press your face into the blanket, loving the way he seems to lose himself again inside you. 

God, does he even know he's moaning right now? It's so hot, somehow hotter than him driving his cock deep inside you. The slapping sound of his hips against your ass sendings endorphins straight to your head. After Jesse breathes another 'fuck,' you slither a hand underneath your body to circle your clit. The first touch of your fingers to your sticky little button causes you to tighten around Jesse's cock and you hear him choke. He leans over your back and settles a hand on the bed to proper himself up, changing the angle of his thrusts and hitting some spot deep inside you that makes you see stars. 

"Fuck, so good," Jesse mumbles, sweaty forehead pressing against your shoulder. "Mmmm… gonna come…" 

Fuck that's exactly what you needed to hear. Your whole body turns tuat like a bow string and your walls constrict into a vice. Your legs quiver from the strong shocks of your orgasm, forcing a long, broken moan to escape your chest and black to creep into your vision. 

Your orgasm is the end of your partner. Jesse's hips stutter to a stop as he fills up the condom, unable to breath for a few seconds as he forgets his name, his location, and his sense of self and all there is left is you. Eventually Jesse's soul slams back into his body and he collapses his full weight on top of you unintentionally crushing you. He feels you laughing and at the urge of an elbow in his ribs, he rolls over and off of you. You're still giggling, boneless and satisfied as you try to catch your breath. 

You turn your head towards him to look over his blissful features. His skin glistens in the half light and he's probably seconds from falling asleep. You put a hand out on his chest and shake him awake despite yourself, knowing you need to clean up. 

"Up," you command. 

Jesse shifts off of the bed sluggishly, disposing of the condom in the bin by your desk and grabbing the waistband of his jeans like he's not sure what to do with them. You reach out mischievously and slap his ass causing him to yelp and look back at you in disbelief. 

"Take those off and get back here." You fling the quilt of your bed off and curl under the topsheet with a hand out to him. 

Jesse looks confused. He moves slowly, crawling back in naked and incapable of meeting your eyes. You place a guiding hand to help him lay his head on your silk encased pillow. "Stay," you command, and dip into the bathroom to clean up. 

Jesse lies awake but not for long, his body thumps with the beat of his heart and it lulls him to sleep. He's snoring softly when you come back and flip the lights off. 

~

Jesse's head is pounding in the morning, but he's had it worse. Like way worse. The bedroom curtains are drawn but the sun is direct and the light reflects off the walls a little too strongly for his liking. You look pretty in nothing but sheets and it's turning him on a little bit. 

What the fuck was a girl like you doing with a guy like him anyways, he wondered, over his skinnier and better looking friends? And then he wondered, how much did you have to drink last night? It unnerves him that he doesn't know the answer. You left the bar together but you didn't walk in together, who knows how many jager bombs or tequila shots you had before you met him? 

Jesse's really hyped himself up now, his hands are getting clammy and he's about to start fidgeting if he doesn't figure something out soon. When you wake up will you remember him? Did you know his name like he knew yours? Would you throw him out in disgust? Maybe you were the type who took them home because you knew they'd be gone at first light. Maybe you liked it that way. 

Jesse takes a deep breath to steel himself. He's intent on thinking things through until… until he realizes it took 10 minutes. From the time you entered the apartment to the time he came, it took 10 minutes. Oh god… that is the nail in the coffin for him. 

He slides out of bed as quietly as possible. His face is hot and his hands are cold as he slips into his underwear, then his pants. He lets his feet carry him out of the bedroom and into the hallway where he finds his shirt, and he gets distracted looking at your soaked lace underwear as he reaches for the keys by the door. 

You actually live really close to his work, which is where he left his car last night. If he can just get some distance maybe he can think better. He could probably use a tylenol more than anything right now. 

Jesse's waiting for a light to change at a crosswalk when he realizes these are not his keys. All regrets about leaving his phone number on a paper somewhere at your place go out the window when he realizes he doesn't have his phone either. 

"Fuck," he mutters in defeat.  

Returning back to your apartment is the real walk of shame. He hopes someone will stop him, ask him if he lives around here or something so he can chicken out and maybe get a friend to get his stuff back. The cute like trinkets hanging off your car keys do give him some interesting insight into the things you like. 

He can't remember if he left the door unlocked and celebrates when he doesn't have to knock and wake you up. He probably should have clued in when he heard the sound of a sink turning off, but he's actually more hungover than he thought. He fully freezes like a deer in headlights when you appear with a towel on your head and fresh lounging clothes. 

The look you give him should have turned him to stone. "Hey Jesse. Forget something?" 

He opens his mouth and nothing but a weak "heeeeyyy," escapes. His mouth flaps like a fish and he suddenly remembers to put your keys back from where he found them. Busted. "I ee I was just going out to grab some coffee… and like a tylenol… but guess I grabbed the wrong keys, hahah..." 

The twist of your mouth is a little cruel. You let the towel rest on your shoulders and toss him his keys from the kitchen counter, warm hand lingering over his heart in an affectionate but threatening way. "Coffee sounds good. There's a shop a mile that way, honest to god espresso and cheaper prices than the usual dig. I'm sure I've got a bottle of tylenol somewhere around here, I should find it by the time you come back." 

Oh...K? Are you… planning something? Should he fear for his safety? Apologize? Not knowing what else to do (and distracted by the feeling of you caressing his chest), Jesse simply nods and turns to obey you. Only at the door does he turn back and gesture with his key hand, "you uh, haven't seen my phone, have you?" 

You're smiling. You've got no bra on beneath your baseball tee, hair soaking your shoulders, and tiny tiny shorts with pockets– a pocket carrying what he clearly recognizes as his phone– and you're smiling. 

"I like my coffee strong. Just tell them my name, they'll know what to make." Jesse doesn't know what else to do except sputter and leave. 

~

It would have been a short walk but it's an even shorter drive. Jesse stands in line assessing the menu with his hands in his pockets. You were mad at him. 

Ok, that was fair. 

You were upset that he left you without a goodbye and had stupidly forgotten his things and had to come crawling back. So you weren't that kind of person. He knows that now. But you also weren't screaming at him or begging him to stick around. 

Jesse didn't know what to think of your reaction. But you knew his name. He told you his name in the cab and if you remembered it's because you weren't blackout drunk. That's good for both of you. You didn't seem too hungover either, maybe you'd had less to drink than he did or at least the same. This is good, these were good things. 

It didn't make going back to your place less terrifying though. 

~

You left the front door cracked and Jesse pushed his way in with a cup in each hand. "Boy, they sure do like you down at that coffee shop! Extra this and extra that. I'd kill to have a place like me like that." 

You seem… calmer now. The tension in your movement is gone and you peck his lips with a kiss as you take your coffee. You reach around him to shut the door and walk to the couch expecting him to follow (and of course like a dog on a leash, he did). You passed him a tylenol and took a few yourself, washing them down with your drink before leaning back with your arm over your eyes. 

"I'm sorry," Jesse blurts out. You peak at him from under your arm. "I… I didn't know if you wanted to see me when you woke up so I…" 

You snort. "Jesse, honey. If I didn't like you, you would have never made it to my room. Not even close. And if I didn't want to see you in the morning–" 

You sat up and pressed yourself almost into his lap– "I would have fucked you at the club." 

Now is not the time for a boner, this was a serious conversation. In any case, you eased up on your dominating stance and fell into his side like you belonged there. It felt nice. You smelled like fresh laundry and peaches (definitely your body wash or something), and weren't mad at him anymore. In fact you passed his phone to him and settled back. Jesse wrapped an arm around you and rested his cheek on your head. He had almost drifted back to sleep when his text tone dinged. 

MASON: Where the fuck are you? 

Jesse sighed. You knew exactly what that sound meant and became determined not to let him go without a fight, but Jesse stopped you from climbing into his lap very firmly, by flipping you onto your back and holding you down. He can't help but blush, his ears turning red as he glares at you. 

"I have. To go," he scolds. "My buddy Mason's got this project he needs help with and I promised I'd be there to help him move his stuff." 

You whine, grabbing his wrists and sliding his hands up to cover your breasts. "Can't it wait a little longer? We can be fast." 

Jesse's brain short circuits and his hands inadvertently flex. "What?" 

He knows your nipples are hard because he can feel them, and you're looking at him in that way that makes his pants tighter. You don't have to say it but when you do, he falls hook line and sinker. "Come on, babe. Round 2? Before you go?" 

How could he say no to that?

Jesse kisses you roughly. His hands squeeze your tits before he plants one to hold himself up and the other to draw you closer so he can grind his hips into yours. You gasp, pulling at his hair and then fumbling with his pants for a second just as you change your mind. Jesse protests as you push him backwards, then he stares as you slide those tiny shorts off. He goes right to circling your clit with his thumb and takes a long look at the dark spot on your new panties. 

"So easy to get you wet," he praises, swiping his thumb down over the wet patch before returning to his pronounced circular motions. 

You let him toy with you, feet resting on his shoulders until you remember your little game. you gently kick his hand away and replace it with your own, sliding the fabric aside and making him watch two of your fingers glide deep inside you. Jesse groans, intent to help out but you stop him. 

"Just me," you gasp. "Just you." 

Jesse seems momentarily confused. Then you see it click in his head and he scrambles to take his cock out, already fully erect and dark in color. He starts to stroke himself, eyes bouncing around your form and drinking in the sight of your self administered pleasure. His eyes roll back at the squelching sound filling the space between you, continuing to stroke himself with a dry rasp. 

Jesse calls your name and grasps your wrist. His tongue swirls around your fingers hungrily to suck the slick from them, groaning as he does. It's a moment's distraction as his own fings dip into your wet heat and come out coated in more. He replaces his soaked hand on his cock and strokes with renewed vigor. 

"God," he hums. It feels so good, watching you watch him is turning him on way more than he thought it would. He's getting close to coming at the thought of painting your stomach when his phone starts ringing. 

He grows an annoyed glance at the offending device, then does a double take and pounces. "Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck– hey boss!" 

You looked at him, completely stunned. Jesse pretended not to notice you and listened intently to the voice on his phone, nodding his head absently and to your horror, tucking his cock back into his pants. He doesn't look too happy about it, but he swallows his pride and tells his boss he'll 'be right there.' 

He's already apologizing as he pulls you up from the couch and sets your clothes right. Jesse peppers your sour face in light kisses, rubbing your arms as if to soothe you from a blinding rage. 

"I promise I'll make it up to you," he says donning his jacket. "I don't know when or how but I will I–" 

"Arcade. Thursday. 7 pm." You zip up his jacket and glare at him so he knows there's no room for argument. 

He smiles, "I can't wait," he drops a hearty kiss to your lips. "Thursday, 7 pm. Want me to pick you up?" 

"Only if you plan on staying the night." 

"That's a yes then." Jesse leaves and you cannot wait for Thursday.

[vanderlindemorgans]

dark blue tennessee

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 4.8k

Summary: It was one thing being without him while he was alive. It was another to lose him all together

Warnings: Major character death, grief-induced alcoholism, descriptions of blood and injuries, vague allusions to suicide. None of this is beta read so please don’t shoot me for any grammatical errors!

None of this seemed real to you. None of it felt real. It would have brought you some comfort if it wasn’t - that way you could reason with yourself that this was all the result of some horrific nightmare, that’d you’d wake up with a small gasp in his arms, safe and away from whatever dark terror had enveloped your mind. You weren’t one to usually have nightmares but when you did he would always be there, his embrace warm and tight, a single hand running through your hair in a soft pattern, and his unmistakable southern drawl whispering into your ear. 

This wasn’t a dream however. No matter how wrong it felt, how surreal and horrific the whole situation was, it was all real. Perched on the edge of a barstool, you glanced over at the almost empty bottle of whiskey beside you. You thought it would take the pain away, dull your senses and let you pretend for two seconds that he wasn’t really gone, but if anything, the whiskey made it worse. Everything reminded you of him, day in and day out, every morning you woke up and all you could notice was that he wasn’t there. His clothes were, his Stetson perched on a hook on the back of your bedroom door, his stupid belt buckle that you’d always mocked him for...but not him. You couldn’t bear to box away any of it. It may bring you pain to see all these items laid out, as if they were expecting their owner to return someday, but shoving it all in the back of a closet seemed so...disrespectful to you. It would be almost the same as forgetting him in your mind, and you refused to. 

It had been only two weeks since you first received that fateful call, the one that you prayed to high heavens you would never hear. Thank god you were home when you got the call - if you’d been out with your friends, or heaven forbid at work you don’t know what you would have done. It was a moment that you often replayed over in your mind, if for nothing more than the torture of reminding yourself of the day you had broke like glass shattered on a white cloth. 

Trailing the pad of your finger over the edge of your glass, you tossed your head back as you downed yet another glass of liquor. Every detail of that memory stuck out to you, even the most insignificant things that no one else would ever mention. You’d taken the day off work, already feeling shitty straight up from the moment the day had begun. You’d been making something to eat, just some toast because you couldn’t be bothered with anything else, and right when you were searching the fridge for a jar of jam you had heard the phone ring.

Without a second thought you’d scooped it up in your hands and answered it, thinking it would be one of your friends calling to try to get you to come out with them to some bar or something that night. You hadn’t guessed it would be anything important. “Hello?”.

“Hi, am I speaking to Y/N?”. You furrowed your brow at the response, not immediately recognising the voice. You considered hanging up for a brief moment but something in you told you to stay on the line.

“You are. I’m sorry, who is this?”. 

“My name is Ginger Ale. I’m a colleague of your partner, Jack Daniels. I’m very sorry to have to inform you this way, but he’s perished in a horrible incident”. 

Everything around you seemed to collapse in that moment. The whole world might as well have fallen away around you the minute you heard those words. It was a curious thing, the death of a loved one. It often comes so suddenly, and so unexpected that you feel like you’re climbing the stairs to your room in the dark, thinking there’s just one more step than there actually is, and feeling yourself plummet down into the abyss below. It was nothing like you’d ever experienced before - you might as well have been falling deep into the shadowy chasm right at the moment. Your grip on the phone tightened as you struggled to find the words, or any words really, to say in response as tears started to gather around the corners of your eyes. “W-what? What do you mean...he’s…” you trembled, stumbling on your feet as you fell against the wall in a daze, the world somehow seeming both screaming loud and quiet all at once. 

“He was injured badly during his last mission - multiple gunshot wounds from a certain run in with a couple of gangsters. He was...he was barely alive when we brought him in” Ginger explained, trying her best to comfort you but you barely took any notice of her words as the same thought played over in your head. He’s gone. He’s dead. He’s fucking dead, and you could have stopped it. It’s all your fault. 

“Aren’t you guys supposed to have that weird gel stuff that heals gunshot wounds? Surely...surely he could have been saved, right?” you asked frantically, your cheeks streaked with tears and flushed with grief. It took everything in you not to fall apart right then and there, dropping the phone to the floor and screaming out in sheer agony of the pain that was ripping through you. 

“Not this time, sadly. I’m really sorry, Y/N”. There was a small pause on the other end of the line before Ginger spoke again, her tone indicating her hesitance at divulging such information to you. “He also insisted that we don’t bother, that he knew his time was up with this one. I was watching him on this mission - he went into it all quite recklessly, which isn’t completely new for him but…”.

“But?” you asked, prompting her to finish her sentence but she never did. A heavy silence hung between the both of you, punctured lightly by the sound of your heavy breath which you tried desperately to keep in check. Some small part of you was still in some sort of disbelief, wanting to fervently deny that any of this was happening. This is just a dream right? I’ll wake up back in bed, I’ll get up and call Jack, and he’ll be alive and well. None of this is real. It can’t be real...

“I want to see him. Please, just let me see him. Let me at least say goodbye”.

_

You hadn’t taken much notice of your surroundings on your way to Statesman Headquarters - everything might as well have been a blur to you from the moment you stepped through the doors to the second you walked off the platform of the elevator towards the medical wing. As soon as you spotted him all sense of decorum and logic was thrown out the window, any sense of composure melting away to nothing the very second his body came into view. Ginger had been beside you, probably as a general gesture to ensure you wouldn’t entirely lose it once you gained a single glimpse of him but alas, as soon as the elevator pulled to a stop and the doors pulled open to reveal a lifeless Agent Whiskey lain across the stretcher, everything you had ever known seemed to fall to pieces from under you. It was as if your entire world had collapsed, had stopped revolving the minute you laid eyes on his lifeless form. Without another seconds hesitation you rushed towards him, tears beginning to cascade down your cheeks as you bore witness to the unfortunate result of the tragedy that had struck.

It was as if the floodgates had opened right then and there - once you started crying, the tears just wouldn’t stop. With every ounce of your being you wished that somehow, by some godforsaken miracle, your touch would bring him back, that his eyes would magically flutter open and would greet you with those enchanting brown eyes that you had come to know every day of your life since the moment you had first met. That he would maybe, if only by the simple wish of your heart, say the one thing you were always angling to hear truthfully, in a way that you could put more than a simple faith in. As if you were a broken record, you couldn’t stop repeating his name over and over, like if by some divine intervention that alone would turn the clock back and have him lying next to you, his hand caressing your cheek and firing one of his signature flirty quips at you as you woke up in bed, catching a whiff of that ever-present scent of whiskey that mixed beautifully with his cologne. If only it were that simple. If only that were possible.

Instead you laid a hand against his cold forehead, now devoid of any warmth of life it once felt. Some would say that the dead looked almost peaceful in a way but you saw none of that: even in death Jack somehow looked anguished, like there was something left behind that he wanted to say but simply couldn’t go back to. 

“I can’t feel you anymore…” you murmured, your voice wobbling violently. Leaning down towards him, you cradled his head between your palms, whispering his name softly and feeling your own tears decorate his cheeks. Ginger, or maybe somebody else, said something in the background that you couldn’t take any notice of, your mind fixated only on the man you loved and the unfortunate reality that presented itself to you now. 

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

_

The funeral had only been held a week afterwards. From a planning perspective, it was easy to organise his final affairs - for whatever reason you’d been named as the executor of his will, a fact that came as a shock to you once you had been served the information by the attorney. The two of you weren’t ever married, although you had attempted to float the idea once or twice, and his mother was still alive so it seemed odd to you that of all people to be left in charge of his estate Jack chose you. Emotionally, it had been a taxing revelation for you: on top of having to carry the stinging pain of finding out the man you loved had died, you had to be the one organising his affairs. You knew after leaving the medical wing of Statesmans Headquarters that day that you wanted nothing more than to let your own sorrow overcome you and let yourself fade out of existence, his voice haunting your every waking moment until you finally decided to let go entirely and throw yourself off the brink of insanity. That’s what you felt you deserved anyway.

His funeral had been the worst of it. You had silently prayed that maybe you would have numbed yourself out a bit. The most agonising part of it all were the hoards of people coming up to you asking how you were. It took everything in you to stop yourself from confessing everything. If they knew, they’d hate you. They’d blame you. The gossip would start, the theories and rumours flying high, the whispers you could hear in your head as if they were real. Somehow you’d pulled through, despite the inclination to break down at any given moment. But of course, that wasn’t the end. You’d buried him, now you had to face the mortifying reality of living without him. 

With every passing day the memories became stronger. You never told any of them what had happened the last time you saw Jack - you couldn’t tell them. It had been eating at you from the inside ever since you picked up the phone that cursed day, tearing apart your mind and leaving nothing in its wake but heartbreaking grief and despair. It’s your fault. You’re the reason this happened. If you two hadn’t fought, if you hadn’t told him to fuck off on the phone that night, he wouldn’t have gone on that mission. You killed him. You’re a murderer. 

All of these thoughts and more wormed their way between different glasses of whiskey, letting you lose track of both time and how many glasses you had. No matter how much you drank though it never dulled the grief nor the guilt that you’d been torturing yourself with from the moment you woke up every day to the moment you went to sleep. Actually, even in your sleep you couldn’t escape it, being plagued by nightmares and the like increasing in degrees of terror the longer they went on. It was why you now avoided any sort of conscious effort to sleep, only succumbing when you’d become so drunk that you had bent yourself over the back of the couch and cried as much as your body would let. 

You swore to never let anyone know what had happened, that Jack and you had technically broken up a few days before his death. It already ate at you enough that you had to run over the memories in your mind, every last word you spat at him on repeat for your own infinite suffering. “It feels like wherever we go, she’s there. And she’s so beautiful, and perfect, and dead. I can’t compete with a ghost, Jack”. Scowling to yourself, you scooped up your glass and took yet another sip, feeling nothing but regret towards how everything played out. You didn’t regret what you said - on some level, you still felt it was true. You knew Jack would forever hold a candle for his ex-wife, but you’d grown tired of feeling like you were second place to a dead woman, as if the only reason he kept you around at all was to fill a void that could only truly be filled by the one person he could never have back. It had been selfish of you, in some way, but you’d deserved more. You loved Jack with everything you had, and you wanted him to feel the same way back, and although he swore he did you could plainly see that wasn’t the case.

“Darlin’, please, don’t be like this. You’re my only love and you know that. You’re being ridiculous about all this”

“Then why do you still wear your ring? Why do you get dismissive whenever I try to bring up moving in together, or marriage, or anything. It’s been two fucking years of this. You can do whatever you want, Jack but I’ll tell you one thing: you’ll be doing it alone. I’m out”. 

“For fucks sake…” you cursed, slamming your glass back down on the table with a loud thud, your words slurred beyond all comprehension. A few drops of whiskey sloshed out of the glass onto the countertop, creating a small puddle on the marbled surface but you didn’t much care. What was the point in caring anyway?

You still had to pack up his home, a reminder that only contributed to your pain. You were supposed to have taken care of that before now, at least a week ago but you couldn’t bring yourself to enter his home. I’ll do it tomorrow...maybe. Yeah, tomorrow. Deciding firmly on that, you sipped the last of the liquor and stumbled off the seat of the barstool, the world spinning around you as you fumbled your way through the dim light of your apartment to where your bedroom was, throwing your intoxicated body amongst the heap of unmade bed sheets and burying yourself within them, crying until you passed out in a deep slumber. 

_

Standing outside the door to Jack’s penthouse apartment, you stared forward with a muted expression upon your face, the key to his place gripped firmly between your fingers as if it would disappear from your hands at any moment. You’d been there for a good five minutes by then, meaning to break out of your state of catatonia to only be stopped again by yourself, kicking off a seemingly endless cycle in which you remained stuck in front of his door. You knew you had to go in there eventually: it wasn’t like everything of his would magically disappear if you just ignored it. It was still hard though, since you knew the moment you stepped through the door you’d be hit by the unmistakable scent of him. Almost like you were crossing a threshold of sorts, only with a feeling of emptiness on the other side instead of anything resembling happiness. Seeing his things would only remind you of how he wasn’t there among them, where he should be, which spiralled onto other thoughts, such as reminiscing on his gorgeous brown eyes and that honeyed southern accent you adored on him, and everything else that once made your heart spark with love. You felt your breath tremble as your knuckles turned white from holding the key with such might. This was a bad idea. You weren’t ready for this. Maybe you should just go home and call it a day. 

No. You have to do this now. You might as well rip the bandaid off, lord knows you’ll have to do it eventually anyway.

Keeping your breath paced, you raised your shaking hand to the lock of the day, slowly inserting the key and twisting it until you heard the unmistakable click inside. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you pushed open the double doors and pulled yourself inside, your high heels clicking on the linoleum floors.

Everything was exactly how you’d last seen it, how Jack had last left it. Not that you expected any different of course. The only people who had probably been there in the past two weeks since his death were people from Statesman to collect various bits of the agency's technology and other gadgets Jack had left lying about. You never knew much about his life as part of the secret service: during your relationship Jack had preferred to stay off the subject of his job as much as possible. He even said himself that you shouldn’t have known about his double life in the first place but when it became too obvious that keeping it from you was going to hurt your relationship with him in the long term he’d sought permission from his boss to have you cleared on the most basic of intel. That never bothered you in the slightest - the least you knew about the agency, the better, a view Jack wholeheartedly agreed with you on. You didn’t know him as Agent Whiskey, top agent to Statesman Secret Service trained in espionage. You knew him as Jack Daniels, the cocky womanizer who chased anything in a skirt, the gentleman who had always managed to sweep you off your feet whenever he was around, and the man you had once dreamt of marrying before things went south. 

All around you were familiar places and objects, things that brought back so many memories yet felt hollow and empty as you looked upon them now. If things were right, he’d be there too, perhaps in the kitchen preparing dinner for you, knowing that you couldn’t resist coming over again even if it was the third time that week. Or maybe he’d be on the couch, reclining back with a glass of whiskey and a book, turning his head back to take a gander at you, shooting one of his signature smirks and making a remark about how incredibly gorgeous you looked. Without him, the space felt sullen and void of life, the dust settling on every surface from remaining untouched for two whole weeks by then. 

Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward and tried as best you could to sort out your thoughts, detaching it as much as you were able to from the memories being back in that apartment brought. His mother already came to you and asked to have a box of certain things belonging to Jack given to her. You knew she was already going through a hell of a rough time herself, her only son winding up dead. She never knew about his life as an agent, being fed a cover story by Statesmans team in order to maintain their secrecy. A bit of you felt jealous of her for that. She would never know the truth, whereas you had to live every day for the rest of your life knowing what happened, being made aware of your own part to play in his fate every hour, every minute, every second. 

The rest of it, well, you had no idea what to do with it. You thought it would be best to box up as much of his personal items as you could, either to keep for yourself or to hand back to his family, and arrange to have the rest of the furniture sold or given away to a charity shop or something. Moving towards the living room, you began to scoop up the different framed photos you found around the apartment. Some were of him as a kid, either on a horse or in different shots with his family, already sporting that heart melting smile of his. A lot of them were of you and him on various dates - one you stopped to pour over was of the two of you at a diner in Brooklyn, you taking the photo and Jack taking a sneaky swipe of your sundae in the background while you were distracted. You remembered that day so well: he’d just come back from a particularly rough mission in Russia, one that he’d had to stake out for weeks, so it was the first time you’d seen each other in about a month. You looked at how happy you were in that picture, the sight of such joy bringing tears to the corners of your eyes. What you wouldn’t give to have those days back, the easier times, before the distance, the fights, the feelings of being second place to a ghost and of course, his own tragic death at the end of it all. 

At last you made your way to his bedroom, clutching onto the stack of photo frames as if they were a lifeline. You fought with everything in you the urge to just drop everything and crash down onto his bed, cradling one of his shirts in your hands to try to get a whiff of him, pretending that he was still there for only a few seconds. Rather, you walked over towards his bedside table and set the stack of frames down, crouching to your knees and biting back the teardrops threatening to fall from your eyes. It’s ok. You don’t have to do it all in one go. Just gather together some of his personal stuff, and then you can leave.

Opening the drawer, your eyes flitted between the various trinkets and things he’d accumulated, searching to see if there were anything personal that his family might want back when your gaze was instantly drawn to a stark white letter shoved towards the back of the drawer. Scooping it up in your hands, you furrowed your brow as you inspected it further, only to have your breath catch in your throat once you saw your name written in his unmistakable cursive on the front.  

Immediately you stood yourself up from the floor, your mind rushing into overdrive while you stared at the letter in your palms, hesitantly trailing your fingers up to the top of the envelope to tear it open. Out of all the things to find in Jack’s drawer, you definitely weren’t expecting this. You had no clue what it could be, when it was written or even if you should read it at all. Should you just put it back in the drawer and pretend you never found it? Though you supposed it was a bit too late for that, on account of you practically ripping the top of it open. With a hint of uncertainty, you reached into the envelope and lifted the letter out onto your lap, opening it to reveal its contents. 

The first thing you noticed was the date in the top right corner - April 22, two weeks ago, a day before he went on that mission and met an unkind fate. That alone was enough to make your heart stop, so when your eyes travelled down the page to read the rest of the letter, you might as well have dropped dead right then and there from the sheer pain that was struck through your heart.

I was a damn fool for letting you get away. You and I both know that my dearly departed wife will always hold a special place in my heart, and I know you understand that. I didn’t want to admit it until now but I had been becoming distant - every time you brought up marriage, or anything more I’d get scared. Scared of...well, a lot of different things. Of repeating the same tragedy with you, in some way. Some part of me was worried marrying you would be dishonoring my late wife’s memory as well. It’s no wonder you walked out when you did. I don’t blame you for your choice, but please allow me to say my piece at least. You never were second to anyone, sweetheart. As much as I will always love Lily, my heart belongs to you here and now. Missing you like this is such sweet sorrow, won’t you come back to me? No matter whether or not you chose to forgive me, or even entertain the idea of givin’ me another chance, I just want you to know that I love you, honeybee. I’ll be waiting for you today, tomorrow, and forever, down in dark blue Tennessee.

- Jack

Every word you read was like another stab to the heart for you, the tears that you had fought so hard to keep in now pouring down your cheeks, small sobs escaping your throat as you collapsed back to the floor with a thud, your heart racing a million miles a minute. There it was, all written down in hasty cursive script - the apology that he never got to give, hidden away in the back of his bedside drawer like an afterthought. Knowing him he’d probably written it out and intended to give it to you before he left for his mission but decided against it for whatever reason. And that final sentence...Tennessee. He mentioned Tennessee. The place where you’d grown up, where you’d lived almost your entire life before moving to New York. The place where you’d met Jack all those years ago, down in a local bar. You’d been visiting your parents for the week, he’d been there meeting with an investor for Statesman. By some stroke of luck you two had crossed paths, hitting it off and becoming infatuated within mere moments, one thing leading to another until eventually you’d woken up in his bed the next morning. The way you’d initially thought it’d only wanted a one night stand but then became something more. It was all flooding back to you now, triggered by only a few sentences written down on a letter that was never sent. You didn’t know what to do, or what to think. The only thing you could do in that moment was lean your head back against the bed and choke on your own sobs, muttering his name over and over for what felt like forever, holding the now crumpled and tear stained letter in your hands.

The hours ticked by, though you took no notice, and when you do eventually move, it’s not to leave the apartment. Your eyes barely leave the ground when you walk, stumbling from room to room in search of a bottle of wine or something stronger to drown your own sorrows in, kicking off your shoes haphazardly and without much care. When you bump against the liquor cabinet, you can hear something fall and shatter off the top, and when you walk back through the shards of glass with the bottles in your hands, you don’t even wince when one pierces your foot. With thin streams of blood trickling from the cut on your sole, you’ll flick the top off the first bottle you reach for, letting the lukewarm liquid slip down your throat, spiralling you down deeper and deeper into a drunken stupor until finally, the moment comes where you can close your eyes and slip into that familiar void of darkness that you greeted with open arms, those last conscious thoughts being an apology of your own that no one ever got to hear. I’m sorry, Jack...

[talesofsonicasura]

Wonderful Hunter

Chapter 1: Awakening

Life was very odd when it came to the future. Sometimes souls are brought together in the most extreme circumstances...in a bang. Warning: Description of graphic injuries and swearing! Rating Estimate: Teen

I never wanted to be a hunter. Ever since I was little, there was a desire in me to perform. Dance on the stage to my own melody, to bring awe and in wonder for others to witness. A dream that I never had a chance to grab.

To perform in little free time, what wasn't taken by vigorous unwanted training. Nearly every piece of money made to buy materials with the purpose of crafting costumes was placed for ointment to mend any injury or ailment. A toy soldier who wished to no longer have a winding key.

Who would've thought that day where the key had broken was the day I died?

"What the hell did you do?!" The soft whir of electricity echoed through the void in a massive blur of distortion. Voices clear for all to hear but so jumbled that a possible identification of even a gender was impossible. Under all that chaos was a quiet heartbeat. "The machine is overloading! Everyone evacuate immediately!"

That soft whir grew into a high pitched whine as a formed cacophony alongside the harsh thuds from thousands of stomping feet. "___?! No, come back it's too dangerous! Leave that mongrel behind!" Growls of pain and concern from some unknown animal blend together with the crackle of electricity.

An explosion of bright white and velvet purple burst throughout the void with that heartbeat going silent and a small voice hidden amongst it all. Despite the darkness filling the abyss, sensations of phantom pain, muffled voices full of concern, and hands across the skin, that one voice overrides them all.

"We had a good run, pal. Misfits always stick together, ____."

Bright red eyes opened with a harsh start, their owner fully aware of the unfamiliar dimly lit room around them. These confused ruby orbs belonged to a young man around his mid 20s, and almost nude except for the black boxer briefs. Wild cherry blossom pink hair that ends halfway down the man's back, soft peach tan skin, 6'8 tall body sculpted with lithe but powerful muscle and covered in various scars.

Some of these healed wounds were mild such as scratches, bite marks, punctures but there were extreme ones from burns whether it be acid, electric or fire, 2 in deep lacerations to even a large bite mark on the jugular of his neck. Part of the man's body such as his chest and arms were covered in fresh gauze bandages paired with a crude makeshift splint on the right arm.

Raising an eyebrow, the young man removed the bandages whilst breaking the splint with a harsh pull before he took in his surroundings. The room seemed to belong to someone with a rich background from the decor alone. Pastel blue walls lined with beautiful expertly painted portraits, furnished dark oak dressers, a large vanity, double king sized bed complete with silk sheets, pillows, and hard oak frame, large oak wardrobe and three separate doors.

If anything, this made the man feel very out of place. He did catch what looked to be a pair of clothes folded by a table near him, a note on top of the stack. The pinkette delicately got out of the large bed and walked over to the table. 'Dear guest, sorry if I had to leave you a bit underdressed but your wounds needed to be addressed. Hope these would suit you until your wounds finally finish healing. The discussion about the armor would be a later dealing. Sincerely, Maestro of Wonderworld Theatre, Balan."

The man couldn't help the snort or raised eyebrow from the rhyme scheme of the note. His caretaker had left a plain white shirt and long black pants, the material being silk from spiders by the feel of it. Placing the clothes on, he noticed it was a perfect fit suspiciously as it wasn't too tight or loose.

Upon leaving the room, the young man fully understood where he was. It seemed to be a theatre, well, if a theatre was mixed with the dimensional size of a small mansion and aesthetics of a castle. The grand small staircases, rafters above a tall ceiling, fancy torches hanging through a few corridors and the various posters of different shows being some evidence.

As the pinkette walked down the halls, he couldn't ignore the feeling that he was either being watched or led somewhere. The corridors felt wrong, almost if the walls were alive and shuffling each other. He also can't forget the sensation of invisible eyes on his lone form. Whatever the case, the sound of someone talking or to be precise, two people grew louder.

"You are not touching my guest, Lance. Even if the man is odd, I will still hold a defensive stance./ That human isn't normal. Something you would easily notice if you drop being formal. Injuries on his flesh were those that can kill any human. You aren't blind to that weapon and armor made from materials that aren't of man."

Both voices were definitely male in tone and their owners' clearly arguing. The first voice was deep and had a texture similar to smooth chocolate, a type of sweetness paired with charisma. The second voice was softer just as it was light in pitch, however there was hidden animosity to the calm yet alluring tone, a siren luring their delusional prey.

All of it was coming behind a slightly opened door, perfect to peek through or eavesdrop. Quietly the pinkette tiptoed over to the oak frame, ruby eyes looking into the room on the other side. This particular door led to what appeared to be a bar from the kegs put on the side of the bar stand and the various liquor bottles stacked on the shelves behind it.

Sitting at a table adjacent to each other were two humanoids, both being significantly different from the other. The only traits these two oddities shared were their tall 10 maybe 11 ft tall forms, peculiarly thin waists, tendril-like hair, performer attire, spindly arms and spindly legs. Other than that, they could be considered Yin and Yang or opposites.

The one on the left had soft jellyfish-like pastel green hair similar to dreadlocks, pitch black skin, a large perpetual toothy smile, and amber yellow eyes that peered through his hat. A sparkling white hat bearing a red ribbon which acted like a mask for those odd eyes, red cravat, long sleeved short white coat with gold elegant rims, a black tuxedo vest, short red cape alongside fancy white gloves, long glittering white pants that were ruby red past the thigh with gold rims on the bottom, and white pointed shoes.

His opposed companion looked more human except for some glaring details. Deathly pale skin highlight by soft dark violet, long elven ears, blue eyes bearing slit pupils that dwelled in yellow iris, sharp clawed fingers, and long black tendrils with elegant markings in various colors such as green, pink, blue and yellow that sprung from the man's back but was also his hair.

A pitch black bodysuit with gold rims, torn long sleeved short violet cloak bearing elegant gold embroidery for a top, white mask shaped pauldrons on his bony hips and gold toed shoes made for nasty kicks. Wine glasses sat between these two eldritch like entities.

"Dragging others into darkness might be your role, but this one isn't taking a more grizzly toll. He is also greatly injured and like you said could've been dead if I didn't help instead." Spoke the top hatted male, that deep velvet voice belonging to him. It also meant that the darker counterpart had to be Lance from what the pinkette heard outside.

The young man scanned the room, ruby eyes looking for anything familiar to him. His focus immediately sharpened on the glint of darkish violet poking from a large wooden crate, belonging stripped off the pinkette. Carefully and quietly, the man opened the door then slipped inside.

He stuck close to the floor and moved about as the two slender giants were focused on their conversation. It was almost comical how the young man traveled on his hands and feet like a predatory cat, stealthily approaching the target without a sound.

The pinkette was about to reach for the box when the unexpected happened. The door he went through had slammed itself shut with a loud thud, both giants immediately pulled out of their conversation and watched as the chairs parted away from each other. An act that put the stunned human on full display, a deer in the headlights or hand in the cookie jar situation.

No one moved as it was a silent staredown, neither were expecting the chairs or door to come to life like that. It was the man who immediately broke out of his stupor first, the pinkette sidekicking the crate. The box shook as an object was flung out of it by the harsh force, a gun.

It was a double barrel shotgun that was an inky sinister violet in color, the barrels were that same violet but lightened to a red color by the end, the handle of the gun mimicked a dark violet scabbard bearing tannish gold spiral patterns on the side, bone like caparace similar to a segmented blade lined the bottom of the gun barrel and held the trigger within a bone like cage.

With very fluid movements, the pinkette grabbed the descending gun from the air by the handle and spun it until he was holding the trigger whilst the barrel was aimed at the two taller entities. Sapphire and amber could see the subtle cautious fear hidden in those steeled ruby orbs.

"Who the hell are you? And where am I?" The pinkette's voice was slightly rugged, fire within the husky baritone, and a bit of a growl in the pitch. You could hear how deadly serious the human male was at the moment from his voice alone. Lance and his unnamed companion carefully put their hands in the air, sudden movements would only spook the pinkette further.

"There is nothing to fear, you are completely safe here! Please put the gun down, such an item used in a theatre is a huge frown!" Even that giant smile remained despite the slight twitches that showed the top hatted male's nervousness, well, that plus the beads of sweat and now dot sized pupils.

Lance merely raised an eyebrow at the weapon. "You do know it is rude to destroy those bandages you were given? Balan had some difficulty but his will to help you was focused and driven." Those words made the pinkette lower his weapon but not drop it.

He contemplated the words then thought back to the note. Whatever conclusion that came to mind was enough for the smaller man to put the gun down on the table, something that eased the room's occupants. "That means you're Balan? Fucking hell. What the hell happened to me?" The pinkette questioned as he went to sit on the floor only for a chair to move in place instead.

An action that made the human jump back in shock, nearly kicking the chair. "Bloody hell! My day has already been Congalala shit so I really don't need all these magical shenanigans! Please tell me you have some liquor to spare." Balan and Lance could only look at each other completely aware of a very odd explanation.

Not even 5 minutes later, the pink haired man had down half a bottle of wine as he now sat with the taller odd men in the room. Massaging his head, the mortal man finally spoke up. "So I am in a magical sentient theatre that serves as a gateway to someone's heart. You two, mainly Balan, are tasked to use that magic to bring balance to anyone whose heart is out of place upon entering. Nearly godlike beings who performed this task for over 3000 years?"

The top hatted Maestro nodded his head in agreement while Lance took another swig of his wine glass. Both of them ignored the pinkette swearing under his breath, the guy was having a bad day so it was normal. Although none of them could deny that this particular person was anything normal at all.

"Alright. My name is Val'tah, Val'tah Choso and I'm a Monster Hunter." Val'tah quickly raised his hand up before Balan and Lance almost immediately shot out of their seats. "Whoa! Not that kind of hunter for Namielle's sake so don't have your knickers in a bunch. Do any of you have a pen and paper?"

Magically upon request, the mint green haired performer took out a pen and notepad from behind his cravat. Rolling his eyes, the hunter took the items and began to draw something on the paper. Val'tah then placed it on the table for both Maestros to see.

It was a sketch of what looked like a dragon made completely from stone. Stony humps that grew bits of moss protruding from the back, a tail that looked like large pebbles strung together, even flat wings to a wide meteor shaped body and narrowed rhinoceros-like face. "That is a Basarios, a Monster or species of monster."

Lance and Balan looked at the picture with curiosity. It definitely explained why the man had that sort of weapon or armor. "Hunters are sort of like mercenary peacekeepers. Whenever a monster starts a huge ruckus or someone has a job in monster infested territory, we get called to do it."

Taking a swig from the wine bottle, much to Balan's distaste, Val'tah continued. "We don't have to slay targets such as the Basarios if we want to. A Hunter has permission to capture and relocate any large monster to a better habitat, something that I usually do. Where I'm from, it's our duty to keep the balance of not only the ecosystem but between human and monster kind."

A hum of acknowledgment rumbled from Lance's throat, it was almost comical in a sense. Normal hunters have various goals in mind when it comes to hunting: glory or survival. This was the first time hearing about ones who bring balance amongst more dangerous fauna and humans. How very ironic.

"Very interesting, to imagine there is a world beyond the realm of our understanding. There is still a question, how did you end up in our sacred bastion?" Balan's question rang through Val'tah's head alongside a bit of pain. Memories flashing through the pinkette's mind as a look of solemn horror crossed his face.

"I'm remembering it now. I was assigned to an expedition to investigate some odd ruins located near Wyvern's End, a den of a very dangerous monster. Those ruins were actually a machine that accidentally turned on and… I think I was caught in an explosion. Dear Namielle, I think I died."

Silence washed over the room, it was so deafening that a pin drop could be considered a bomb going off. Balan's perpetual smile dropped into a neutral frown, horror crossing his eyes upon the hunter's visage earlier. Severe burns on the unprotected skin and his arm in a very unnatural angle...Wait.

Any other chance to say anything was stopped when a look of abstract terror and grief burned within Val'tah's eyes. "No…! Buena was with me. She must have got caught in the blast too! Where's Buena?!" The pinkette shot out of his chair, the piece of furniture hitting the floor with a loud thud.

Neither Lance or Balan could grab the hunter before he ran for the door, the hard oak opening into a gray expanse of rocky terrain than the actual hallway. Not that the change deterred the hunter as Val'tah ran in but surely took the two Maestros by surprise.

"The theatre opened its doors to a new world never seen before! Could this be the hunter's trauma born from his core or is it something more?" Balan was quick to pick out the growing intrigue within his darker counterpart's words. There was more going on with Val'tah but they couldn't figure it out without finding the man.

Both Maestros quickly ran through those doors to catch up with the hunter and his questionable head start. It appeared that the gray expanse was actually the part of a larger mountain, a steppe to be more accurate. Thick deciduous forests could be made out past some of the gray rocky cliffs other than the one the door led them there, vast yellow fields of grass and very rough uneven terrain laid alongside unknown fauna than just plants.

Or the terrifying large nest made from various sticks, broken logs, ivy, bones of different creatures; humans included, and large egg shell remains of whatever species made it. The only indication that this world was made by Val'tah's heart were the small floating islands and giant airborne accessories or props.

Ribbons woven through part of the forest, a showman's cane that hung by the cliff leading down to the grassy plain, masks hanging across the stone walls, and instruments disguised as plants or rocks playing beautiful music bearing a tribal origin by the beating drums, whistling flutes and sitar strings being strung.

"How very odd and peculiar. This place must be spawned from a memory very familiar. It will be harder to avoid any wrong, when the aura of this world is heavily strong." Balan spoke wearily, a feeling that they were being watched prickle the fuzz on his skin. There was also the strong sensation about splitting up being a very bad idea.

Using the cane to slide down to the forest below helped give both theatre dwellers a quick glimpse of the surrounding areas before they hit the ground. For a split second, Lance swore he saw something large moved through the trees. Whatever it was, it was too big to be Val'tah or any of his familiars.

Both Maestros landed on a reddish clay ridge, small ledges to an almost natural stone bridge connected the large ditch at the center, a small stream of water passing down the middle, various large mushrooms and beehives leaking honey from multiple branches. Or that they weren't exactly alone.

Grazing about the area were deer, their pelts were a dark green speckled by white dots that overlapped a soft peach underbelly, large grayish silver antlers for the males whilst the females had short black horns and azure eyes that stared at the duo. Some of the deer continued to munch on the flora while the others kept a wary gaze on Balan and Lance.

"Definitely inhabitants of Wonderworld but not quite. I think these deer were crafted by Val'tah's memories that hold powerful might." If these animals shared similar traits to their earthly counterparts, the Dark Maestro knew they were relatively harmless unless provoked.

Another thought then immediately crossed Balan's mind. "If these creatures are here, then we might have more to fear. These deer are prey…" Suddenly the various green pelted beasts rose their heads up, ears twitching as if they caught something the other two hadn't.

"Wouldn't a predator cause dismay?" The top hat wearing man really didn't like where things were going as the large herd began to scatter immediately when the sound of heavy thuds could be heard. One deer was running for the bridge, the thuds stopped and both Maestros only had time to blink when something large and purple snatched the scared fawn off the stone ground.

"Holy shit." Balan would've scolded Lance for foul language if they didn't have a bigger problem on their hands. The body of the snatched deer hung limply from the jaws of a giant purple monster. A 69 ft hulking dark violet draconic tiger, its body mostly covered in violet and yellow edged plates of caparace like armor bearing a ruby red underbelly, a short tigerine snout that held large sharp teeth and two large tusks at the ends of the mouth, giant jagged yellow horns that mimicked those on the helms of samurai which also covered long thin ears or the burning azure eyes.

Both front and back legs held four digit paws carrying razor sharp claws or what looked to be long yellow spikes on the forelegs, and the large reptilian tail that ended with a three pointed Spade spear. Balan and Lance watch the deer disappear into the beast's mouth, minced to pieces down its gullet and the feline smiled with blood tinted fangs.

Or that the draconic tiger let out a threatening roar right at the duo as bright blue fire burst from the edges of its mouth like a miasma. They barely had the chance to jump out of the way when the giant beast bounced at the two, sharp claws shredding through the dirt as if it were paper.

"This is a beast we'll have to fight or neither of us will come out alright!" Violence wasn't something Balan often indulged in but he knew there were times that he had no choice. Facing his hands forth, small spheres of yellow energy manifested on the maestro's fingertips before tossing them in the form of arrows.

With a wag of its tail, the draconic tiger brought forth burning blue will o' wisps and launched it back with a tail swipe. Both volleys of energy exploded into fireworks of their respective color, the armored beast leaping through the smoke with claws alight in blue fire.

Lance quickly dove under the beast while Balan flew over to the left side, the Dark Maestro flared out the tendrils on his back then slammed into the beast's unprotected belly alongside a vicious uppercut. The violet tiger felt the pain but took the opportunity to release a thin burst of glittering blue powder from its body before being launched into the air by Lance's attack.

Whatever the blue powder was irritated the raven haired male, the sensation being a mixture of itchy powder and bubbling hot grease. "Lance, look out!" Balan's shout made him look up at the airborne beast, the spade of its tail had opened into a trident as it swung the limb through the air.

The momentum being enough to correct the beast's position and trajectory so it could dive-bomb the Dark Maestro like a burning blue meteor. Neither of them expected for that particular powder to ignite upon contact as Balan watched his dark counterpart get flying by an azure explosion from his own body.

Creating a larger blast of yellow energy, the hat wearing man threw it at the violet tiger before heading over to his fallen ally. It let out a howl of annoyance upon the projectiles not only striking it's face but burst into a thick mustard smokescreen that made the feline gag.

Lance laid slanted by the tree he had hit, burn marks sprinkled over parts of his skin and clothing was singed too. "You okay, Lance?! This beast has more frightening power than just a ferocious stance!" Balan spoke, carefully helping his counterpart off the ground.

The movement made the elven male let out a mild hiss before shaking the greenette's hand off him. "As much as I like seeing you frown, this beast needs to be taken down. Balan, watch out for any powder from the skin of the hide, you'll lose more than just your pride."

Sharp claws of the draconic tiger swept away the hatted maestro's smokescreen. Bright blue fire burning burst the open jaws, the feline was absolutely pissed as even more azure fire spewed from the legs and tail or that the yellow ridges on the back and forelegs were now giant blades. It let out a furious roar forcing Balan and Lance to prepare for another attack.

That was until the entire world became silent, all of the instruments had oddly stopped playing. It was quiet until the sound of shamisen strings being plucked filled the still air with an orchestra of intimidating brass to follow in its wake. Sinister sounding melodies of violins and shinobue flutes were met with someone walking out from the brush.

It was Val'tah, a violet mask resembling the tiger donned on his face alongside dark violet coat with golden fur sleeves, dark violet hakama trousers decorated in elegant gold patterns reminiscent of fire and swords, two fake tails similar to the violet beast sewn on the back and without any shoes, only barefooted.

Balan and Lance stood speechless as the pinkette did something neither of them expected. The hunter had begun to dance in a style similar to those done by kabuki actors. His arms glided through the air, bits of glittering violet powder produced from the sleeves creating streaks in the air with an appearance mimicking purple misty fire.

Val'tah stomped his foot to the ground to spread out the mist like powder around him, the man spun into a short pirouette so he could stop in the Dragon Stance found in martial arts. It was like the hunter was manipulating magic to flow with his elegant and entrancing dance.

The sinister orchestra went perfectly with Val'tah's movements. Beating of hand drums, male chants with an ominous tone, shinobue flutes paired alongside the plucks of the shamisen and strung chords of the violin told a story on its own. A ritual performance of omens and cautionary tribulations.

Balan and Lance couldn't look away, neither could the beast who appeared to be calming down. The long yellow caparace blades lower themselves back into thin ridges, the trident tip of the tail collapses into its spade form and the eerie blue fire burning around the beast sputters out. Bright blue in its eyes dimming into a soft mellow teal.

Val'tah spun on the ball of his feet before transitioning into an aerial kick. The pinkette then used the momentum of the kick to position himself so he could bring down his arm in for a slash. He landed on the ground in a predatory stance, nails of his right hand dug into the soil, feet spread apart with knees bent for a crouch, left arm held out behind the man and the tiger mask facing the spectators.

The hunter then twirled himself into a backflip, all for the purpose of landing on his feet with his arms held and hands pressed together while the fingers were positioned to mimic fangs. Val'tah pulled his arms apart and let out a loud beastly roar with the final loud beats of the drum, the draconic tiger letting out its own roar in unison.

The pinkette took off his mask once the music returned to its more peaceful counterpart. "Glad I made it in time or Buena would've torn you to pieces. Luckily the Sonata of Omens can be played here or I would've been forced to do an acapella." Balan nearly choked upon the words Val'tah just said.

The giant hellish tiger that spews blue explosive fire was the hunter's friend?! Something Lance couldn't help but state the inquiry out loud. "You telling us the beast that nearly had us ravaged, is your companion that you ran off to scavenged?!"

Val'tah sheepishly scratched his head and let out a soft chuckle. The beast or Buena groomed their paws as if nothing happened. "She is a Magnamalo and they tend to be... tenacious predators. Buena is unique since she's friendlier than the regular 'malo, at least to me and any friend of mine."

Balan had a feeling there was more to this odd bond than just a story but… "At least your missing friend has been found, even if she treated us like a steak for a pound. Best to return back to the theatre, Lance got burnt bruises that need gauze by the meter." The top hatted Maestro then clapped his hands together as a giant door formed behind him.

It was big enough for the large Magnamalo to go through without any hindrance. Val'tah had a feeling there was going to be more magical convenience when it came to this odd theatre than just the taller duo living inside and a magical replica of the ritual clothing for the Sonata of Omens. Something to think about when he tries to figure out their situation.

And that's it! Yes this is a crossover between Balan Wonderworld and Monster Hunter but also my first Balan fic too! If you guys don't know, Balan Wonderworld is one of the games I've recently got and wholeheartedly. Sure it had problems but it was a delightful experience throughout my entire playthrough.

If you do decide to get the game, wait until it goes on sale. The full price isn't really suited considering the huge controversy involving it's development.

Our two star characters of this fic are an unlikely pair.

'The Hunter Who Wished To Dance' and owner of the mysterious 13th Door in Wonderworld: Val'tah Choso. A Monster Hunter who strived to become a performer but forsaken the goal partly for his ward, Buena.

Buena is a subspecies of Magnamalo called Will-O-Wisp Magnamalo. They expel blue fire often mistaken for spirit orbs and can engulf their body in an armor of azure fire for offensive defense. Only the Sonata of Omens, a mysterious ritualistic dance can calm a rampaging Magnamalo.

Until next time folks! I'll see you back in Wonderworld.

[arsonistvoyager]

A Jedi for a Clone Pt. 3 // Captain Rex x Reader

Pairing: Rex x Reader

Summary: You warm up to Rex and the rest of the clones. 

(And big thank you to @mangoberry43​ for that amazing idea where reader is trying to not be scary so the clones like her lmao I will definitely work more onto that!)

Part 1  Part 2 

taglist: @starflyer-104​ @mangoberry43​ @kaminobiwan​ @persaloodles​ @painkiller80​ @passionofthesith​

Rex hadn’t seen the projectile flying his way until the very end. His breath hitched and he froze. For a second everything seemed quiet on the battlefield, while his eyes were locked on the object a mere 10 meters above him. The battlecries of his brothers which had been sounding from every corner around him were suddenly gone. And in what he thought was gonna be his last moment he lowered his two blasters and closed his eyes.

                                                           ---

You were tempted to let it happen. To watch it from distance. To see him fear his last moments. For some reason you couldn’t. Instead you had ran over the broad heads of Seperatist B2 droids before using your force abilities to jump inhumanely high into the air. With one swift motion both of your lightsabers cut in diagonally through the projectile, sending it’s 4 severed parts into different directions.

Softly landing on your feet again you turned to look over your shoulder to see Rex remove the arms he had put over his helmet to cover himself and his posture relax. “Thank you General.”, he sighed, nodding towards you, before tightening the grip around his blasters.

You stared at him for a few seconds, not saying a single word before you jumped forward, deflecting the shots that the advancing droidekas were firing at you.

“Another victory for the Five OH FIRST!” Many of the men cheered to Jesse’s words, throwing their helmets in the air and patting each other on their backs. You glanced towards them through the opened entrance of the tent you and your fellow Jedi were in, scanning their happy, laughing faces and subconsciously looking for that of Rex. Stop it. You shook your head lightly to clear your thoughts and looked back up at Anakin. He was talking to Master Windu, reporting to him about how you and his men had defeated the separatist forces that were exploiting the planet of its resources, while him and a selected few clones had freed the enslaved inhabitants of Arami. 

The High General nodded and thanked Skywalker on the report before turning to you. “(L/N), Skywalker, rest tonight. Tomorrow you will stay with the Arami people and await the arrival of Senator Organa. He will negotiate a potential alliance with their leaders and arrange Arami’s accession into the Galactic Republic. We suspect Separatist forces might intervene, so it is of utmost importance that the leaders stay out of harm.” You and Anakin nodded simultaneously. “May the force be with you.”, you told him and Master Windu nodded in response. “May the force be with all of you.”

You pressed your finger on the holoprojector and the blue, static image of the Jedi disappeared. For a second you both stood there without saying a word. You decided you would take the first steps and leave. “You’re an amazing fighter, (Y/N).” Skywalker’s voice was gentle. As if he was trying to see if what your reaction to his words would be. And how he should proceed.

“Of course I am I was taught by a great-...By a respectable Jedi. As were you. It was almost a pleasure working with you, General Skywalker.” The young Jedi seemingly relaxed. “Well our work is not yet over. We’ll see what the morning brings. It was a hard fight and I think we all deserve a relaxing ni-” You hadn’t bothered staying for his speech and already left the tent.

Outside of it you saw many of the clones setting up campfires like the night prior. Looking above you to the sky, you gazed towards the millions of stars that decorated the dark blue abyss that formed the rest of the galaxy.

The fight had been long and exhausting and had stretched into the late evening. You locked your lightsabers onto your belt and looked around for water. Not before long your eyes landed on a crate of boxes that were put up close to the refugee camp of the surviving Arami. 

With a few quick steps you made your way over to the boxes and looked through them. The force really was with you because as you suspected there were flasks of water in one box and stashes of ration bars in the others. You pulled one of the flasks out and sat down cross legged next to the boxes, drinking its contents. 

While doing so you observed the camp that the clones had set up for the Arami. Most of them were sitting closely together around another campfire, holding each other. A few were tending to their and others wounds, using the medical supplies you had brought with you in the name of the Republic.

And a few of them, mostly kids, were playing with soldiers, clones. They used the helmet of one of them and played catch, others were sitting at the knees of a clone, listening intently to a supposedly very interesting story he was telling. You grabbed a ration bar and ripped the wrapper off with your teeth before biting into it and observing the clones and the Arami laugh together. 

Sitting next to some boxes felt weirdly lonely all of a sudden. 

On your other side you heard more laughter. Turning over you observed more clones and – Rex finally. He was laughing with his brothers, leaning onto one of the wooden logs they used as seats, his legs sprawled into both directions. All of them had removed the chest plate and arm pieces of their armor, as well as their helmets and some had even taken off their leg protection to be more relaxed, thus sitting in nothing but their black full bodysuits. 

You figured it must’ve become heavy after some time and had to admit you wouldn’t want to be stuck in it for more than 24 hours either. Nonetheless this battalion was special. It most definitely had to do with their reckless young General but they themselves seemed so unique to you.

You chewed on the yellow roll of food in your hand and pulled your legs to your chest.

Trying won’t hurt anyone...Maybe I should hide the lightsabers? No don’t be ridiculous (Y/N).

You held the ration bar between your teeth and grabbed a few more that you stuffed inside your pockets before you stood up to dust off your pants and robes from the dirt you had been sitting on. Pulling out the ration bar from between your teeth you made your way over to one of the campfires that was occupied by Rex, goatee, whos name you learned was Fives and a bald one with the symbol of the republic tattooed over half of his face. CT-5597...Jymes? Joost? Jesse! It was Jesse.

“And so I told her you know what? When this is over and the seppies have been kicked to the Galaxy’s A-” You knew exactly by the way the troopers voice cut off that he had seen you approaching him and his group. Fives swatted him with his foot. “Come on continue, Burn! I mean I know the story is freshly made up banthafodder but I’m a little invested!” He laughed giddily until his eyes followed those of fellow trooper, Burn, and he fell into silence. 

“General!”, he tried his most to sit up in a more appropriate position and smooth out the folds in his bodysuit. The others followed suit, including Rex who sat up a little more straight from his position on the ground.

“At ease, soldiers.” You swung one leg after another over the log that Rex was leaning against and sat down on the wooden seat. They all visibly relaxed but sent shy glances towards your figure.

“By all means continue your conversation. Hungry?” You threw out the ration bars you had snatched up earlier and smirked as their eyes followed the food. “Are we allowed to take those?”, one of them asked.

“What’s your name, soldier?” He immediately fell back into his stiff position. “CT-9225, sir!” You rolled your eyes. “Your name.” You noticed Rex look up to you in curiosity, before looking back at the tasty ration bars spread in front of him.

“My brothers call me Sly, sir.”, he finally answered, noticeably a little more relaxed. “Am I not your General, Sly?” Maybe you were playing with him. He stiffened again. And maybe you were enjoying it a little.

“Yes sir.” “Then I hereby allow you to eat those sticks of...I don’t know what they’re made of actually.” Maybe you came off more official than you had intended to, because they only hesitantly reached out to grab one each.

Nevertheless the conversation didn’t pick up again. And you were inexperienced in this. Sure you could lift huge rocks and spaceships with the power of your mind, you could manipulate someone's thoughts with a flick of your wrist, you could slice through anything with the deadly ancient weapons to your sides but how in the makers name were you supposed to make people who were afraid of you like you? You’d think the Jedi would’ve taught you these things, being negotiators and the so-called keepers of peace after all.

You decided to try. “We will stay here for tomorrow as well. Possibly a few more days.” Sure, boring status updates would do. Or… “That sure makes me miss those zygerrian pirates I encountered a few days ago. I mean I would call them over for some fun but they might not have tongues to speak with anymore.”

Nobody said anything. In fact, your surroundings were so quiet you swore you could hear Jesse next to you gulp. “Because I cut them off? With my lightsabers.” Rex had halted in his motion and lowered the ration bar from his lips. “That was a joke. I’m funny too.” You huffed at the everlasting silence. Maybe joining wasn’t such a good idea after all. The boxes and crates hadn’t been that bad.

You were about to stand up when you saw the Captain sitting at your feet tremble. Shortly after you heard a soft giggle and soon enough it turned into a full, boisterous laugh. You watched in confusion as the others hesitantly joined in and relaxed their bodies again.

“General with all due respect, you’re terrible at telling jokes.” He giggled once more and opened up the wrapper of his ration bar. You did not believe yourself when the thought crossed your head, but you liked the sound of his laugh.

“Honestly I thought it was kinda funny.” Fives spoke up. “Apart from the whole...I’m kinda scared that it’s an underlying threat and she wants to cut our tongues off kinda thoughts I had at first.” You tilted your head into his direction and the corners of your lips raised slightly.

“Who said it wasn’t a threat?”

Silence.

“That was a joke. Right?” You rolled your eyes, again. “Yes, trooper. That was a joke.”

You looked up from the rolled up ration bar in your hand to the fire in front of you. How you wished that it was creamy white marshmallows instead of the bland protein snack. Had the Clones ever tried marshmallows? You doubted that the Kaminoans gave any to them even if they did have them. 

What was childhood like for them? Could it even be consiered childhood, due to their accelerated aging? And what else had they missed out on that you took for granted? And what in the force’s name was this feeling you had not felt for a long time? It couldn’t be guilt. Jedi knight and war General (Y/N) (L/N) didn’t feel guilt. Neither for the droid armies, nor for the clones. Master Krell had taught you to not give in to your feelings and form any sorts of attachment. It was not the Jedi way but maybe both you and your Master had failed to follow this ancient rule.

“Okay that’s it I think I’m calling it a night.” Sly was the first to stand up and stretch his arms far above his head. You saw him from the corner of his eye but you were still looking towards the flames. Burn joined him as they walked away. “I think I’ll just sleep here, the weather is so nice.” Five’s sprawled out on the ground before he rested his head on his two crossed arms. “What do you say Rex, you joining? The ground is surprisingly softer than the cheap cots they provide us with.” 

At the mention of his name you looked up. “No. I have to go to General Skywalker and discuss tomorrows plans with him. Besides I like the cots.” Rex smiled at his brother while tapping on the ground around him, seemingly looking for something. “Kriff, where is my crutch…” Your head whipped around to face him. “Crutch?” He started looking for said crutch around the fire but paused to shoot you a fleeting glance.

“Earlier today. After you force pushed the collapsing tree out of my way before it could hit me, if you recall General, I tried to doge one of the B1 clankers and almost fell down the cliff, I uh...you were busy taking down the commander droids with General Skywalker, you couldn't’ have seen.” Your gaze pierced through him. “It’s no big deal, already got a painkiller.” He rubbed his neck over the spot they had probably injected the painkillers and stopped his search on the ground. “Got a little limp though.”

You stood up and brushed the dust from your pants before walking around the fire and stopping right in front of him, your hands planted on your hips. One of your hands reached out to him and he looked at you perplexed. “What are you waiting for? I’ll help you move. I don’t have all night I wanna get some sleep too after all.” Rex nodded, a slight blush creeping onto his cheeks. One hand grabbed his helmet off the ground, the other wrapped around yours. With one swift motion you pulled him to his feet and Rex turned his head away. You were strong he knew that but it was still weird.

When you noticed him swaying slightly you glanced down to his feet, noticing he was trying to balance all his weight on one leg, while the other one was bandaged up and dragging behind.

Grabbing his left arm you wrapped it around your shoulders and firmly placed your right hand on his hip. Finally you secured his left hand in your own and started walking carefully towards the lit up tent that Anakin was most likely still in.

Rex was trying his best to walk on his own – not because he was embarrassed that you had to help him, but because he didn’t want to bother you for having to help him in front of the eyes of his brothers.

“Thank you, General.”, he murmured, looking at your face before his body relaxed against yours. You looked straight ahead as you practically dragged him across the base.  “Call me (Y/N).

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

a/n: I am once again asking you kind people that read this thing to forgive me for not making it more romantic arrghh. I WANT TO. But it just didn’t feel right YET! It’s coming, if you’re patient enough to wait for part 4. Speaking of. 4 parts??? How crazy is that. 2 weeks ago I didn’t even think about writing for tumblr but here we are! 

[f-117-nighthawk]

Playlist Update? From MY Brain? More Likely Than You Think

can't remember the last time I posted these all together but I just put a few new songs in. I've been playing Arknights bc STARSET songs keep being used in the trailers, and then I was listening to Transmissions while making dinner, and uhhhhh there's two new Transmissions songs on the playlists, plus whatever else the spotify links needed to update to my ever-changing apple versions.

This is just the main playlist, because this one is now 3h 40m, and the other three playlists are about an hour each. I’ll give them their own post tomorrow. Under the cut, because it's also Write Random Snippits and Include Important Lyrics time

Dark Matter

Surprise surprise, this one’s got probably the most work done on it. A lot of that is moving things around, a few deletions, and the additions.

DM now starts with Your World Will Fail, Dark Matter, and Eater of Worlds. Turn the Lights Out still kinda applies, but I stopped vibing with it starting everything, and wasn’t really sure where else it should go so it got dropped. It’s role is sort of picked up by a UtA song later? Anyway, the opening three are still very much about not only the birth of [REDACTED], but the birth of the universe itself. And that’s why it feels better to start out with YWWF. Because it is the start.

(Your world will fail my love/It’s far beyond repair/Your world will fail my love/It is already there)

(Bring me your soul/Bring me your hate/In my name you will create/Bring me your fear/Bring me your pain/You will destroy in my name)

(Can’t imagine the violence/The rage and the love in my madness/I am the eater of worlds and I’m looking for someone to feed me)

Remnants of Stars is a hook to Filaments at this point, but stays way up here because the thing it’s about connects back up to those three ^ and is something slowly realized by the Paladins throughout the series. There’s kinda three different points that they realize something new about this (at the moment, I Am the One, Cosmic Vertigo, and Centigrade).

(Shed all you know and make way for a galaxy of light/Answers found hidden inside the smallest stone/Bringing forth a new way of life/Open your heart to the sky)

Apocalypse 1992 hasn’t changed. Still about The Fall, still the turning point for the entire damn war. Still about poor Krolia. Still the Rogue One of DM. It happens between parts of Awakenings, detailing the rise of [REDACTED] and the final hours before the destruction of everything sentient species knew beforehand.

(Fly high through apocalypse skies/Fight for the world we must save/Like tears of a unicorn lost in the rain/Chaos will triumph this day)

Apex is the final moments of Apocalypse 1992 from the Red Lion’s perspective, and connects nicely (just as in the albums lol) to the next UtA songs. Which we’ll get to in a bit.

(Brother mountain/Now we sleep/For a thousand years/I will see you again/Something is coming/Coming for me)

You Keep What You Kill covers the slow degeneration of the Empire between The Fall and the Battle of Arus. The knowledge harshly taught by the Thuanial War is forgotten under the influence of Zarkon, Haggar, and [REDACTED]. Marzin and Galraasa quickly rise the ranks as the Empire’s left and right hands, like omens of destruction before them. The four are the ‘holy half-dead,’ the ones who shape the devouring of the universe before them.

(Defying dimensions/These ruthless creatures will steal your soul/Breaking away from the chains of mortality/They won’t be taken down/Bow now to the holy half dead/The master to death mongers calls)

The Glory and the Scum is partially here bc I missed having Delain, I’ll freely admit that. (Delain split up! Like six months ago! I’m still sad!) Here, it’s (most) of the reason why Krolia isn’t around until MGHM. Think Winter Soldier-ish. It’s also from Krolia’s perspective as she’s talking to Kolivan in a conversation I implied in Shatterpoint. Perhaps it shall see the light of day.

(Look at what we've done/Take a step back/Shake your head at what we have become/We're the glory and the scum)

The Seven Sisters is about Keith, mostly, and connected to Closure via its influence on Child From the Stars (Lost in the Dark) and also to Memories of a Girl I Haven’t Met. Also the thing about the Pleiades has kinda become A Thing associated with my two favorite halfbloods.

(I cast my hope upon The Pleiades/The Seven Sisters who would come for me/They’d fall to Earth to grant a child’s dream/But I’m still waiting)

Starlight is the Adashi song. Here, it’s the sad part, based around the time that the SFSS Genesis launches for Kerberos. It also is sort of about Shiro’s thoughts throughout the war as he watches ‘from distant skies’ (and influences String Theory kinda)

(At night the earth will rise/And I’ll think of you each time I watch from distant skies/Whenever stars go down and galaxies ignite/I’ll think of you each time they wash me in their light/And I’ll fall in love with you again)

Waking Dream and Abyss are Awakenings. They’re specifically the Red Lion waking up on Sendak’s ship to her new Paladin, but also sort of the rest of the Lions as they find new Paladins for the first time since The Fall (and, also, an accidental hook to the end of Filaments just by virtue of being on the same UtA album…)

(Centuries like flowing streams as years go rushing by/Waiting in the dark for afterlife)

(Open my eyes in a daze/How long has it been? Am I so out of place?/Warmth I can no longer feel/My mountain is gone, I’m surrounded by steel/The strangest of structures arises ahead/Seems to be held up by nothing/Where have I gone, do I dream?/How can the stars be all I can see?)

Who Will Save You Now is about the Paladins in First Contact. It’s the video messages they send to their families, the warning that Something Is Out Here that they need to prepare for. It’s a declaration of protection for Earth, but a recognition that the Paladins may not be able to do what they say.

(I will not take from you and you will not owe/I will protect you from the fire below/It’s not in my mind/It’s here at my side/Go tell the world that I’m still alive)

Then there’s The End of the Beginning. Which is, well, the eponymous fic. And don’t forget the String Theory connection! Fun fact: part of the last chapter leads directly into part of String Theory at the moment.

(Every night I die just a little/All this time, I’m caught in the middle/All your life, you fought with no winning/This is just the end of the beginning)

A Simple Plan is about anything but a simple plan. Lotor is making his secret bid for the construction of the Sinkline ships, but there’s one more thing he needs before it can come to fruition. Haggar has suspicions, and knows one thing that she needs to keep from both him and Voltron. Team Voltron is still struggling to fit into their new roles, especially with a Black Paladin who adamantly does not want to be Black Paladin, and is in desperate need of one thing to fix the last of the damage done during the Battle of the Sarnan Nebula.

(How long can we hold off ending?/How long can we pretend we’re ok?/No one goes on fighting it forever/I know I’m better this way)

Memories of a Girl I Haven’t Met. Such a short song for such an important fic. It skips all the way over Naxzela to the Mission to the Baaria Shipyards, the first major offensive that isn’t somehow connected to canon (even if only a very very small part of it is actually at the shipyards lol). This is also the song that solidified Keith’s very queer identity in Dark Matter. And more Pleiades stuff!

(In this lonely place, bathed in silence and thoughts of you/I can’t see your face but I’m trying to envision you/So are you really out there? Are you awake with memories/Of a boy you haven’t met yet who’s wished upon the Pleiades?)

There’s another fic in here that I’m still waiting for a song to catch my ear, but it’s pretty big so I’m putting it in here. For the moment, it’s called MGHM 2.0: Electric Paladinloo. Featuring the Whispers, Voltron, and a few mullets.

And then. Hoh boy. The beast of beats. TRIALS (reimagine), Dark On Me, String Theory, and I Am the One. We’ve got [REDACTED], we’ve got [spoiler], we’ve got the first major turning point in the entire war, and the first revelation of the true nature of [REDACTED]. Hence the honor of being the separation point of my two main DM folders. TRIALS is the first part, the horrifying realization. Dark On Me and String Theory itself are from Shiro’s perspective. I Am the One is… an image song? I guess? That’s all I’ll say on that. (I would like to note that the STARSET songs bar OWtT tend to be about the Shiroganes…)

(Hear me from the bottom/Forged in regret, I'm the silversmith/Doomsday, you we had it coming/Marching the streets with an iron fist/Obey no more in silence/The steel in our hearts will be monuments/Today, they'll hear the violence/We'll rise from the dark like Lazarus)

(You're the cause/The antidote/The sinking ship that I could not let go/You led my way, then disappeared/How could you just walk away and leave me here?/Light the night up, you're my dark star/And now you're falling away)

(You don’t believe in space/You don’t believe in light/You don’t believe that anything is well beyond your might/We walk across the sky and beneath the ocean floor/We’re never going anywhere we’ve never been before)

(I am the one/I am the architect to rule your fate)

House on Fire is the aftermath of String Theory, and a large vibe of We ARE Struggling Together! It’s about family, never letting go of something you care about, and the slow act of trusting.

(So I’ll just hold you like a hand grenade/You touch me like a razor blade/I wish there was some other way right now/Like a house on fire we’re up in flames/I’d burn here if that’s what it takes/To let you know I won’t let go of you)

Belgrade is The klance song! It is a) a bop b) always stuck in my head because it is That Good. The line in the chorus about ‘sweet songs of seduction’ is eternally funny to me bc a)they’re both ace and b)QPR’s don’t usually involve seduction. Belgrade also leads almost directly into…

(We pretend in the darkness/We pretend the night won’t steal our youth/Singing me the sweet songs of seduction/Let me be the fool, fool, fool/Who will live and die for you)

Here to Save You is about Sam. Mostly. It’s also about Pidge. And Zaivorge cannons.

(A slave for humankind/I made sure I would survive/To stay alive/Now it’s time to move on/When there’s nothing left to prove/I’m coming to get you)

Iron is the third Closure fic (the second is End of the Beginning, forgot to mention that. They’ve slowly moved away from actually being related to it in anything but name and general idea). It’s about Keith coming to terms with parts of himself, and learning how to use them to great effect. Also has a huge info dump about the Blade.

(You can’t live without the fire/It’s the heat that makes you strong/‘Cause you’re born to live/And fight it all the way/You can’t hide what lies inside you/It’s the only thing you know/You’re embracing that, never walk away)

The second major turning point in the war is Monarch, Birthright, and Firewall. I really recommend reading the whole lyrics for Monarch, because the entire thing is very much a Lotor song. I had a bit of trouble picking a lyric to use here. Monarch is here because Lotor is also the ‘singer’ of Birthright, and both songs are to a very specific high-level target of the Coalition. Firewall is a little different as it’s a Team Voltron song not a Lotor song, but happens because of the same thing the other two do. They’re all not exactly a direct result of Iron, but they wouldn’t happen how they do without it, and then [REDACTED] swings back into the fray and things learned in String Theory/the framing story for Through Apocalypse Skies hit in full force.

(I am not the person you remember from before/The one you patronized and stepped on, the one you hurt/And I have pulled the arrows, now my skin has become stone/No longer am I prisoner to your empty fucking words)

(The voices in my head have all begun to sing/(The voices in your head have all begun to sing)/And they sure as hell hope I am listening/(I sure as hell hope you are listening!))

(They come to your dreams with illusion/They come to bring shape to your mind/You know how to stop the intrusion/We all have to fight for our lives)

and then, The Day the Earth Collapsed

(How much time has been elapsed/Since the day the earth collapsed?)

Here Comes the Reign doesn’t come into full effect until several months after Birthright/Firewall, but starts with The Day the Earth Collapsed. It’s largely about Haggar and [REDACTED]

(You made something they can’t take away/Now bring the fire of the burning sun on everyone)

Supersonic is here… kinda as a placeholder? Things have shifted around since its original purpose, and frankly it’s here still as a framework for what I like to call The Meme Battle. It’s generally about the increase in Coalition support and general winning as they go after warlords in the aftermath of Feyiv, culminating in I Need a Hero which is, of course, The Meme Battle.

Yes, it’s the Shrek version. It’s the Meme Battle.

(Supersonic, polyphonic, this is our war/Mustering the armies, marching faster than before)

(I need a hero/I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night/He's gotta be strong, and he's gotta be fast/And he's gotta be fresh from the fight)

But Tonight We Dance isn’t exactly a klance song, but it’s here for them. On a diplomatic mission gone wrong, the Red and Blue Paladins of Voltron uncover a literally-buried government conspiracy, a rebel cell, and nearly die. A normal days work for the two of them. But they’ve really gotta stop having relationship milestones in the middle of a warzone.

Another reason it’s here is Tonight We Dance is a very aro song to me. “A language universal, but I speak not its tongue” hits hard. I felt like I needed a bit in here to remind listeners/readers that romance isn’t a language Keith speaks. And it becomes very explicit in this fic, just like Belgrade.

(Tomorrow we might wake in servitude and silence/I will give you everything if only you would have me/Tomorrow we will sweat and toil/Our hands will quiver, caked with soil/Tomorrow we'll give it one last chance/But tonight we dance/But tonight we dance!)

But Tonight We Dance is the last of the Closure fics, which is why it’s here. Closure in general is a lot of Keith’s character development and some of the struggles he goes through to accept his place in the universe and the fact that yes, he does have people that care about him. The last fic is me shining a brighter light on Closure’s chorus and taking a ‘last goodbye’ as never needing to say it again

(I am the child from the stars/That got lost in the dark/Between heaven and hell/I am forced to live on/I am the cause when you sin/I am the demon you skin/But there is no more tears to beautify/This is my last goodbye)

Then we step back into the universe-level action with Soulbound. Revelations from String Theory and Firewall swing back in with a vengeance on a joint Whispers-Voltron mission, leaving them reeling and Krolia questioning her very identity.

(Soulbound, endlessly forever/Locked between the darkness and the light/Don’t drown in the swarming, blackened rising/Hold on to humanity and fight)

About three months after that is My Darkest Hour and Faster Than Light. Haggar realizes something and goes searching for her fifth [spoiler], sending the Blade and the rest of the Coalition scrambling. These also lead directly, and I mean directly, into…

(When the sun comes crashing down/When the world is spinning round and round/I will face what must be my darkest hour)

(Once more we’re flying fast as light/Dark matter passing in the night/Pursued by a force we can’t outrun/As we hurtle towards a dying sun/We maneuver through the remnants of a moon/On the solar winds of supernovas/There is not a place to hide, the Matriarch is close behind/It’s plain to see she’s coming for us all)

Cosmic Vertigo and Other Worlds Than These. Together they are the second of two revelations in what, exactly, is [REDACTED]

(Banish me like burned down planets/Write my fate with sparkling lies/I am the universe; you're just one sky)

(Pull the wool out from your eyes/It won’t shade your frail belief/In the end we cannot hide/There are other worlds than these)

Godhunter is Team Voltron, well, hunting for gods, even as one of them disappears.

(She’s been watching for a century/With hatred, and with scorn/If you know the hunter’s coming/Then you hide or keep on running/'Cause she’s slain the gods before)

Trophy Hunter, Ember, and Redemption are the culmination of Godhunter. I’ve been thinking of them as akin to the suicide mission in Mass Effect 2, if that gives you an idea of what the hell they run into. Also I switched which specific Redemption is on the playlist, because I was listening to Red Handed Denial again and their Redemption was vibing way more than the Hammerfall one. They link up to Godhunter and Soulbound in subject matter, and lead directly into…

(You, you won’t escape me, I’ll rise from the deep/In this final moment, no words left to say/I can’t let you be when a life fades away/You, you won’t escape me ‘cause I’ll set you free)

(Dark matter falling from the sky/Dancing flames reflecting in your eyes as you watch them burn/Watching all your riches witches burn)

(Remember me not for the mess I’ve made/But who I could have been/Finally I’m going home)

World On Fire, This is a Call, The Reckoning, The Wind That Shapes the Land, and Louder Than Words. Switched the order up a bit so it makes more sense chronologically, because the message ‘sent by forces beyond salvation’ has to get there before the reckoning can begin.

(World on fire with a smoking sun/Stops everything and everyone/Brace yourself for all will pay/Help is on the way)

(This is a call to action/This is a call to arms/All lives for one, together/There are no false alarms)

(I see your face, find peace of mind/Between the madness and the sadness and the fire burning/The end of war, the great divine/We’ll see the day of reckoning)

(Search within/Uncover the will to win/Turn against the tide that washes o'er/Find the strength to fall and rise again/Open up the gates, unleash the force/I am the wind that shapes the land/Old as time and twice as strong/Oceans arise at my command/I alone can carry on)

(We have the force to fight/We have the blinding light/A war is more than heard/Coming in louder than words)

[crash-cinematic-universe]

Abed Nadir and his need to count the seconds

pairing: abed nadir/troy barnes (it’s Light but I wrote it with the intent for trobed)

summary: Abed Nadir hates being alone in general, so when his friends disappear and leave him alone in a sea of job-seeking students he struggles to keep his head above water. 

request:  okay wait ur abed headcanons got me thinking. abed angst. kings gotta have abandonment issues cuz of his parents YES I'm projecting a little bit. u don't have to do this if it makes u too sad tho - @ghost-butch

warnings: abandonment issues, anxiety attacks, s/h (kinda; in the form of clenching ur fists too hard)

notes: writing abed angst makes me sad ): why did i do this to him he deserves better. also im about to punch evil abed in the face ):< just over 2k words with this one so thats Cool also its midnight and i have school tomorrow arent i epic and cool. 

taglist: @simonsbluee

  _____________

            Fifteen minutes and twenty-two seconds. Abed had been lost for fifteen minutes and twenty-two second. Abed’s eyes were trained on the clock hanging on the wall, each tick of the second hand amplified in his head to a piercing shout. Everything was bigger; the lights were blindingly bright and his clothes felt as if they were clawing at his skin. With each passing second Abed became increasingly worried, his breath getting shallower and shallower with each rise of his chest. His eyes returned to the clock on the wall, his stomach jumping at the reading-- sixteen minutes and fourteen seconds.

            The study group had promised Abed they’d accompany him to the job fair. They promised they’d be by his side the entire time; Abed didn’t do well alone in large crowds, especially in new environments. He’d gotten distracted by an engineering booth in the corner with a large lego replica of the millennium falcon hanging in the corner. He looked away from his friends for no more than thirteen seconds, but in those thirteen seconds, they disappeared in the sea of students and booths and interns. Thus, leaving Abed completely alone in a mass of strangers in a building that he’d never seen before. 

            His anxiety had built up with every minute he was lost. It was gradual; he started with the initial panic, followed by frantic searching for familiar faces in the crowd. It wasn’t long after that when his heart rate began to pick up, and within minutes his skin felt as if it was on fire. Abed couldn’t really pinpoint exactly when he’d begun to shuffle backwards out of the large venue the job fair was held in. Before he knew it, he was at the end of a dimly lit hallway, completely alone. He slunk to the floor and pulled his knees to his chest.

            They’ll look for me, he thought. They’re probably looking for me now. Abed reached into his pocket for his cellphone before he realized he’d left it with Troy. The emptiness of his pocket felt endless, his hand tingling where the fabric of his shorts met his skin. The familiar whine that Abed let out when he became overwhelmed filled the empty hallway, the tone only making his anxiety worse. He cursed himself for not thinking ahead-- he’d left all of his fidget toys and putty in his messenger bag which he also left with Troy. 

            It was then that a tiny voice in the back of his head spoke up-- maybe they left, it called. Abed shook his head, but the voice persisted. They left you. They’re gone, and no one is coming for you. A familiar figure materialized in the vast shadows at the other end of the hallway; Evil Abed smirked at him from where he stood.

            “They’re gone,” He repeated. “They were waiting for something to draw you away for them so they could slip away,”

            “That’s not true.” Abed’s fingers absentmindedly dug into his palm. “They wouldn’t do that-- Troy wouldn’t do that. Jeff and Britta, maybe, but not Troy. Not Annie.” Truthfully, Abed didn’t believe that Jeff or Britta would leave, but he wasn’t thinking clearly in the moment.

            “Riddle me this, Abed, who does Troy respect more: you or Jeff? Who does he think is cooler? Who does he idolize more?” Evil Abed’s voice was smug and cruel. It felt as if his words were burrowing through his brain and fogging up his thoughts. “Sure, Troy might tolerate you, but he worships Jeff. If Jeff wanted to leave, then surely Britta and Annie would tag along. It’s inevitable that Troy would join them, isn’t it?” Abed shut his eyes tightly, but that didn’t do much to ward off his evil counterpart.

            A film played behind Abed’s eyelids, the poetic irony of his worst fears being portrayed through his favorite thing making his heart ache. There they were: Jeff, Britta, Troy, Annie, all standing in a tight group as Abed wandered off. Their expressions and movements were exaggerated, but Abed didn’t care. He just sat and watched as the scene unfolded.

            “God, I can’t believe he roped us into this,” Jeff groaned, his hands gripping his cellphone as if someone were going to take it from him. “What kind of loser can’t go to a damn fair by himself? I could have a hot redhead hanging on my arm at a sports bar and instead I’m babysitting a twenty-five-year-old.”

            “C’mon Jeff, we’re here for Abed. God knows if he came here alone he’d probably drive everyone here crazy with his “Inspector Spacetime” BS.” Britta chimed in, a tired tone in her voice. Annie looked antsy as always, while Troy looked unsure. Abed wasn’t sure of what, exactly. 

            Slowly, Abed  wandered a few feet away from the group. Jeff’s face lit up the same way it does when he sees an attractive student in the hallways. A borderline cartoon-ish grin grew on his face as he pulled the group tighter.

            “Hey, Abed’s gone. Let’s take this window and get the hell out of here while the cat is distracted by the lazer,” He chuckled. Britta smiled and nodded, quickly grabbing Annie’s hand in an attempt to pull her out. The three of them made their way to the exit, leaving Troy alone. He turned around to glance at Abed before rolling his eyes and running after Jeff. Abed was alone.

            The image faded away, and to Abed’s surprise, Evil Abed faded away with it. For a split second, Abed was disappointed. He really, really, really didn’t want to be alone-- even if his only companion was an evil version of himself. A minute passes before Abed realizes he was crying, that revelation followed by the realization that his fingernails dug into his palm so hard he broke the skin. His tears blurred his vision and made his surrounding seem much smaller, much darker, much lonelier. His eyes no longer portrayed a dim hallway. Instead, Abed saw the same tiny locker he was locked in so often as a teenager.  He could smell the rusted metal of the locker hinges. He could feel the chipped paint rubbing against his skin. He couldn’t breathe. Abed couldn’t breathe-- the entire world was closing in on him. He was cold and alone and no one was coming for him. His friends left him and they weren’t coming back. Everyone who he cares about leaves him, why would they be any different? He watched the world pass by through the tiny slits in the door before his eyes screwed shut again as he choked on air.

            He was in agony. His entire body shook and his heart pounded so hard he felt as if it were going to burst. Abed wanted to go home, he wanted to be back at Greendale with Troy and the rest of his friends but he was trapped. His arms began to cramp up from how hard he had tensed, his knuckles a pale white from how tightly he was clenching his fists. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t speak or sob or scream; he was stuck. Locked away. The outside world faded away as Abed retreated into his mind. He tried to hide away in his head forever until a janitor stumbled upon his frozen shell of a body tomorrow morning. There was an echoing sound, however, that kept drawing him from the abyss of his brain.

            Footsteps. He could hear footsteps. Abed couldn’t tell whether or not they were real, but he could guess who’s footsteps they were. They were frantic and uneven-- they had the potential to be rhythmic, but the walker was urgent. Worried. The biggest identifying factor, though, was the quiet sound of plastic aglets on the tile floor; their shoes were untied. Abed smiled weakly as he recalled the fact that Troy almost never had his shoes tied. A glimmer of hope shone through the small slits in the locker door as the footsteps grew closer.

            “Abed?” Troy’s voice cut through the silence in the hallway. He turned the corner and froze as his eyes landed on his friend. “Abed? God, there you are! You scared me half to death, and Jeff was already boring me to death with his lame lawyer stories, so now I’m only, like, a fourth away from death!”

            Abed didn’t reply. He couldn’t-- he still didn’t know if Troy was real or just another image. He was still locked away, after all. Troy could tell something was wrong; Abed’s eyes had glazed over and he looked like he’d seen a ghost. Troy hurried over, his eyes frantically assessing the situation at hand. He saw the blood on Abed’s palms and his stomach lurched. 

            “Hey, Abed, are you alright?” Troy asked softly. “Did something happen?” Abed did not reply, instead releasing a small, high-pitched whine. Everything was foggy-- it was all too foggy for Abed to know whether or not he was simply envisioning this angel of a human.

            “Alright, uh, I’m going to touch your wrist. Is that alright?” Abed hesitated before nodding ever-so-slightly.

            Gently, Troy wrapped his hand around Abed’s wrist. The contact was startling, but not unwelcome. Abed was becoming more and more sure that this Troy was real. The tight locker melted away to reveal the same dark hallway; his anxiety was eased a bit,but he still couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that settled over him. He glanced at the clock once again-- he was alone for thirty-two minutes and forty-seven seconds in total. 

            “I’m sorry I lost you,” Troy spoke quietly. His voice was comforting and genuine, his face soft and kind. He didn’t match the Troy that Evil Abed created at all. “I know this place is overwhelming, I’m so sorry. We should’ve been more attentive and more careful, this place is like a maze.” Abed soon realized he was too tired to respond verbally, instead opting to hold Troy’s hand. A silent reassurance was exchanged through their intertwined fingers. Abed’s palms stung a bit, but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it. He was just so tired. His muscles were sore and his chest ached and his head pounded. He wanted to go home. 

            “Britta was practically running across the building looking for you, ya know,” Troy said. His hand was still holding Abed’s. “Annie started crying after 10 minutes, and for a second Jeff looked like he was going to cry, too. They were all so worried. I was worried, too. The thought of something bad happening to you was too much to handle.”

            “I know you hate being alone, too. I guess you probably thought we ditched you or something. Jeff thought you ditched us, but I knew that wasn’t true. It doesn’t really matter, though, because I’m here now,” That final phrase echoed in Abed’s mind as he sat beside his friend. “I want you to know that I really care about you. I want-- I need you to know that I would never ever ditch you like that. Not in a million billion years, not even for a million dollars,”

            They sat there for a few more minutes before Annie turned the corner and shouted, sprinting full speed towards the two men at the end of the hallway. Britta and Jeff followed closely after, a wave of relief washing over their faces. They all gushed about their worries and concerns. Annie was quick to tend to the small indents in Abed’s palm, and Jeff and Britta talked about how freaked they were when they realized Abed disappeared. Jeff mentioned stopping by every directing booth in the entire building to see if Abed had landed there-- he even grabbed a few pamphlets for him to flick through later. Finally, Abed gained the energy to stand up, and he walked down the hallway with his friends beside him and Troy’s fingers still laced with him.

            On his way out, Abed glanced at the clock on the wall-- twenty-two minutes and twelve seconds. Abed had been surrounded by his wonderfully chaotic family for the past twenty-two minutes, and he’d never felt more secure.

[cosplaydude637]

Chapter 08: Market Run.

Simon has been in the library for the last three days. He looked like crap. His hair was messier then normal and he had dark rings under his eyes, an energy ruin barind on his right arm. Isabelle walks in and looks at her husband and lets out a heavy hearted sigh.

“Simon why are you still here? You have to sleep!” She barks.

Simon slow looks up at her his eyes red from staring at a computer screen. “Is there word form the other have we learned anything?” He asks. Isabelle shakes her head slowly “Ok then that is why i am still here researching everything I can think of.” He adds. Isabelle sighs and walks out of the library.

Isabelle leaned her back on the door of the library. She loved Simon but damn that man could be stubborn. Then again she did love that about him too, just not when it came to her. Giving a heavy sigh she push off and heads down the hall to the weapons room.

Once in the weapon room Izzy fault at home. The room was covered in all kinds of weapons from swords and whips to axes and bows. As a weapons master Isabellea loved this room. Not as must as she loved her and Simon room…. There bed. How she missed her husband but ever since they learned of the Gates Simon has not left the library. She past most her time here.

However this time the weapons room was not empty. Ruthie one of the new young shadowhunters was standing there looking over a table of knifes. “Can I help you squirt.” Izzy asks. Ruthie jumps and lets out a little sqwill.

“Mr.s LoveLace you scared me.” Ruthie says turning to look at Izzy.

“It's Izzy and i am sorry but did you need some Weapons?” Izzy asks as she makes her way to her work table.

“Mr.s ...Izzy” Ruthie starts to say but catches her self. “You know every Weapon in here right?” she finishes.

“That I do, I would not be much of a weapons master if I did not. Why do you want to learn?” Izzy inquers.

Ruthie shakes her head “Not exactly. I am the medic for my squad as you will know. I want to learn how these weapons can hurt my team and what I can do to heal them.” she explands.

“Wall for must of them a Iratze will do the trick.” Izzy repalies.

“You just said, must of them?” Ruthie asks

“Wall ya if we are stabbed with a seraph blade it will not heal with an Iratze.” Izzy explands.

“And any truly deadly cut will need more than just a Iratze that's why Alec put into place a medic on every team.” Izzy says fingering a long sword that lies on her disk. Just then one of the other new Shadowhunters enters the room.

“Hello Xander.” Izzy says waving at him.

“Hey the console asked me to tell you that him, Jace,Simon,Clary, Mekyle and Angelique are all going on a mission and will be back later.” Xander says in a very droll voice.

“What's with you?” Ruthie asks.

“Just because I don't have a Parabatai I can't go on this mission.” Xander pouts.

“It does suck at times but there are just some things that only they can do. Trust me I dealt with it all my life.” Izzy says with a small smile.

“Ya but I am going crazy stuck in here with books.” Xander says.

“Well you know there are other ways to get info” Izzy replays with an evil smile. Ruthie and Xander exchange looks and smile.

An hour later Izzy, Ruthie and Xander are walking down Canal street in full gear unseen to all the mundens. “Where are we going?” Xander asked.

“Just keep up.” Izzy says ducking into an old run-down theater. The other two follow her. Their eyes go wide when they see a huge market unfooled before them. “Welcome to the Shadow Market.” She adds with a smile.

The two young shadowhunters look around in amazement. There were stands selling all kinds of things. One stand head a vampire selling Cross of all things. There were two Werewolves selling all kinds of meat. In the square two fey girls were dancing in circles. As they walked deeper and deeper in the market they were filled with wonder.

“Mrs.Isabelle, where are we going?” Xander asks.

“Just call me Izzy and we are headed there.” Izzy says and points to a small building. The sign over it says “The Dancing Elf.”

“Tell me that is a joke.” Ruthie smirks as they make their way in.

The Dancing Elf was a very busy bar with all kinds of downworlders in it. Izzy walks over to the Bar and kicks one of the chears so hard it flies over everyone's head and hits the back wall. The whole place goes silent and turns and looks at Izzy, Ruthie and Xander. Xanders hands slowly move to his Chakrums on his hips. Right as the room seems to start to bust into a full out brawl a Woman voce yells from the back of the bar at a round Table. “Damn it Lightwood why you gotta be a pain in everyone's ass!”

Izzy smirked and started to make her way to the table. She walked with a power that screamed go ahead and try to pick a fight with me, I dare you. But not a single one came at her. And there were gant Fey in this place but they just looked away or got out of Izzy's way as she passed. Xander and Ruthie followed behind her quickly.

“Cassandra you old Dog. You know me, I got to be the center of attachen.” Izzy flashed her a devilish smile.

Cassandra was a lean woman with long green hair and glowing yellow eyes. She was dressed head to toe in black with 3ich high black combat boots. Both her arms were covered in tattoos. Like Izzy, Cassandra ora screamed fighter. Seeing as Xander is from the mundane world Cassandra looks like something out of a biker gang.

“Izzy Lightwood it's been far too long.” Cassandra moshens for them to sit down. As the Shadowhunters take their seat the Bar goes back to its normal business.

“It's Lovelace's now Cass.” Izzy smiles and flashes her wedding ring.

“Wall lish me and send me to the powned A man who was brave enough to put a ring on it.”

“Cass be nice Simon is a great man and one hell of a lover.” Izzy smirked.

“So why are you here, most not be for a drank… Seeing as you got the kiddos.” Cass looked over at the two young shadowhunters. Ruthie's eyes were glued to the table but Xanders head was like it was on a swivel. In his mind he had already mapped out ways to get them out of this place with as little damage as needed.

“Cass, This is Xander and Ruthie. They are young but they are ShadowHunters and they are good. Or so Jace tells me.”

“Oh Jace how is my dear blond god?”

“Married” Xander smarted off.

“Oh the kids Got fire?” Cass asked. Xander locked eyes with her and for a few sacents not one of them blinked. “Oh i like you boyo.” Cass says liking her lips sadctvly. This made Xander look away. Cass leaphs out and turn back to Izzy. “so why are you here?”

“Need Info and you're just the bloodhound to find out for me.” Izzy says with a soft smile.

“Is Is she a Wolf?” Ruthie squikes out. Cass again starts leaphing.

“No I am a warlock that is shifter.” Cass answers.

“Shifter?” Ruthie asks, finally looking at the women.

“Ya I am a Shape Shifter. I mostly turn in to a dog. Hins why your monitor keeps dropping the dog jokes.”

“Hey you made one two.” Xander chimes in. Cass blows him a kiss and smiles as Xander's whole face turns red and he finds a very interesting spot on the floor to Look at.

“Cass focus I need info on a warlock that is called Sinara.” Izzy snaped. Cass whent raged and her face went almost ghost white.

“You seen her.. Or you know her.” Izzy stated

“Look Shadowhunter I think it's time you got out of my bar!”

“Cass, Please she almost killed my brothers.”

“Get out!” Cass growled and once again the whole bar fell silent.

Izzy studded up and slammed her fist on the table. “Damn you Bitch and all your kind!” Izzy stormed out of the bar. Ruthie followed suit behind her but as Xander made to leave Cass grabbed his arm and slammed a piece of paper into his hand. Xander looked at Cass and in her yellow eyes and for a split second he saw regret in her eyes.

Once All three of them were outside Izzy spun on Xander and grabbed his shirt. “What did she say to you?”

“What nothing just gave me this paper.” Xander holds up the paper and Izzy saches it out of his hand. She quickly opens it and starts to giggle like a schoolgirl. She hands it back and starts for the exit. Xander looks at the paper and again Blush like a mad man. All that was on the paper was a phone number and xoxoxo

As our group of shadowhunters make it to the exit a blood curdling scram coming from the Dancing Elf. Without thinking Xander turned and ran back with Ruthie and Izzy a few seconds behind him. Xander bust through the doors of the bar and drew his chakrams as he landed and stood ready to fight. The bar looked like a blood bath. Ruthie let out a small scream as she came charging in.

“By the Angel!” She states and starts to tend to the few that were still alive.

Izzy eyes sweep the room quickly. Xander does the same. Both were taking inventory of who was in the bar and how was not… “Cass!” They both shout. A werewolf with a broken leg slowly sits up. “They grabbed her and head out the back.” Ruthie moved to start working on his leg.

“You two Go I got this.” Ruthie doesn't even notice that Xander was already gone.

“Damn it!” Izzy snapped and took off after him.

When Xander got to the back alley he found to human shaped shadow hovering over Cass who was laying passed out on the floor. Xander threw one of his chakrams, That cutting off one of the shadow heads.

“Nephalum.” The other shadow histed

“Shadow Demons” Izzy says, waking up next to Xander, her shank bracelet slithering into its whip form.

“You know this breed of demon?” Xander asks as his chakram flies into his hand.

“Ya, A shadow demon is formed from the very essence of evil on the Abyss”

“So why are they after Cass?”

“Good Question lets ask.” Izzy flicked her wrist and her whip gois flying out and wraps around the demons neck. The sound of burning flesh can be hard and smoke was coming from it's nick where the whip was.

“Adumis..” It cried out in pain.

“That's right big boy.” Izzy scoffed.

Xander dashes over to Cass wall Izzy toys with the demon. Cass layed there on the cold ground unconscious. Xander slowly moved her head to where it was laying on his lap. “Ruthie!!!” He cries out.

“Why are you after my Friend!” Izzy bracked yanking on the whip.

“Shape Shifter talks too much.” the demon answers in a raspy voice.

“Who sent you?”

“Why you ask us that you know already.”

“Sinara” Xander ground out from clenched teeth.

Finally Ruthie head made her way to the ally they all stood in. She crouched down next to Cass and began working on her. “It's going to be ok Xan I think she is just out cold.” Ruthie lays her med bag down and Xander places Cass hade on it. Within sacets Xander head drew his other chakram and shoved it deep into the demons left arm and head the other at its throat. Izzy eyes widened and shock then softened in respect.

“I am only going to ask this once. Why... does... Sinara... want... Cassandra... to... stop... talking...?” He drew out the words of that last sentence so that the demon knew he was not messing around.

“Gatekeeper Gatekeeper!” It shouted out in fear “No Kill me I only do my j…” It started to add but was cut off when Xander cut it's head off with his charkram.

“You will never lay a hand on her again!” Slowly he clipped his charkram to his hips and turned to see all three girls staring at him. He locked eyes with Cass and she smiled at him. He gave her a soft smile back.

“Umm what's a GateKeeper?” Ruthie asks, breaking the awkward silence.

“I am.” Cass answers. Ruthie and Izzy help her up

“Ok what's that mean Cass?” Izzy asks.

“It's an order that the Shadowhunters started but over the centrays Downworlders have joined. We have one simple job.” Cass says with a heavy sigh

“Guard the gates of hell.” Xander finishes for her. Cass only nods in agreement.

[the-last-cuddlebender]

Webs We Weave

A spider has decided to move in. Aang has decided to let it stay.  ...Zuko and Sokka did not agree on this new roommate, and they will do what needs to be done.

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A/N: This was originally a vent-write (because I had a horrifying in-my-face encounter with an airborne spider) that #1. I had way to much fun writing and #2. Spiraled far beyond what I originally imagined lmao

(Also jumping spiders are tiny and precious and wear raindrops as lil hats and Aang would take a bullet for one.)

Rating: G (S for Short Aang is bae)

Words: 2,376

ArchiveOfOurOwn

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

Aang had a considerable grip for someone more than two heads shorter than who he was trying to restrain. The young Avatar managed to hold Sokka back, nonetheless. “Stop it, guys! Please! You can’t kill him!” 

Sokka shrugged Aang off. He side-stepped the airbender before he could weasel past him. The kitchen wasn’t big enough for Aang to do a tricky-trick on him this time.

Sokka almost felt bad when Aang’s cheeks puffed red and his fists clenched. Sokka had hit his growth spurt, so Aang had to tilt his head vertical to meet his (in all but blood) big brother’s eyes. He stood on his tip-toes, and Sokka had to bank on his warrior’s discipline not to laugh when Aang couldn’t even get his head close to his shoulder-level.

“You guys can’t kill him! It’s just—It’s just wrong!”

“Yeah, we can. Easily, in fact.” 

“Sokka!”

Sokka rolled his eyes not for the first time that night.

Behind Sokka and just beyond Aang’s reach, Zuko crouched close to the very small, very fuzzy, somewhat colorful eight-legged critter not even a full half-inch big. It huddled into the corner under the umbrella of its tiny web. Its legs looked almost too short for its body. Six of its beady eyes blankly stared at them, but the two eyes at the forefront—which were so big they almost looked like they were glued on—shined with a waxy gloss that rivaled the tears gathering in Aang’s eyes.

“B-But you can’t! Every life is sacred!”

Zuko made his finger into a blowtorch and crouched like a prince performing a formal execution on a war criminal. “It’s the natural order, Aang.”

“But you can’t!”

Aang tried to dart past, but Sokka snagged him by the scruff of his robes. The short airbender yelped as his feet left the ground. He was as light as his element. He squirmed not too unlike Momo when he refused to bathe, but Sokka held him higher so his kicking legs couldn’t even toe the floor.

Aang’s face bloomed several shades of frustration and embarrassment, and Sokka made a mental note to thank Suki for teaching him some elemental chi-blocking. 

Because judging by the look on his little brother’s face, he would have been taking the brunt of all four elements five-times-over by now. 

“Sokka! Put me down!”

“Sorry, but no can do, sport.” Sokka turned his head. “Do it, Zuko.”

Aang thrashed harder. “No, don’t! Zuko, please—!”

Katara—winded and whipping her head around like she was looking for a horde of assassins—appeared from around the corner like Aang’s plea had summoned her from across the continent. A warrior’s discipline and experience let her take in the scene at a glance. Sokka nearly rolled his eyes again when her glare zeroed-in on and burned him in particular. 

Sokka wanted to rub his head. Spirits, he had thought the constant headaches he got during the war would go away, but with stuff like this always happening, it’s no wonder they were getting worse and worse. It felt like his head was about to split in two. 

Katara waterbended her liquid ammo back into her waterskin, though she didn’t become any less of a threat. “Sokka, put him down. Now. And Zuko, what—What in the world are you guys doing?”

“What must be done.”

Katara cocked her jaw at Zuko, grim-faced like a true executioner. “That explains so much and yet so little.”

Aang struggled more, but Sokka just held him higher and away from himself. 

“Katara! Katara, they’re gonna kill Bartholomew!”

Katara looked affronted. “Bartholomew?” She glared between Zuko and Sokka with equal levels of disgust. 

Zuko and Sokka shared a side-eyed glance and an exasperated sigh. 

“Katara, look,” Sokka said, gesticulating with even Aang who was hanging from his grasp like a polarbeardog pup by its scruff, “the spider has to go. It’s a pest, and Zuko and I are not going to let those things curl up and make their home wherever they damn well please. They can hide in the rafters or whatever, but not out in the most open corner of the kitchen. If you let them see that there’s no threat in places where we don’t want them, then, before you know it, we’ll have dozens of them in the kitchen.”

Zuko sagely nodded. His finger was still a torch. Bartholomew’s six small and two abnormally large eyes reflected the red glow of its would-be murder weapon but were otherwise as black as ink and void of fear. “Have to make an example out of it.”

“Thank you, Zuko, for listening to reason.”

“He’s not hurting anything!” Aang gave up his struggle and hung limp in Sokka’s one-handed grip. The young Avatar’s pooled robes made him look even smaller, and Sokka could feel the blinding rays of his wounded pigmypuma eyes getting bigger. “Bartholomew just likes to hang out and watch you cook and—”

Sokka held Aang to his eye-level and got nearly nose-to-nose with his little brother. “It is a spider, Aang.”

Aang poked Sokka’s chest. “He is my friend, Sokka.”

Katara crossed her arms. Despite themselves, Sokka and Zuko both flinched. “Zuko, put that out. Sokka, put Aang down. Now.”

Sokka, in fact, did not put Aang down. He returned her glare with his own and subtly stepped between his love and his sister as he felt the heat of her glare reach the capacity to melt steel bars.

“I can’t do that, Katara.”

“Well, you’d better figure out how before I make you, Sokka.”

The searing whish of Zuko’s finger-torch got stronger. Aang pawed Sokka’s hand on the back of his robe’s collar and cursed his genetics into oblivion for not having hit his presumed growth spurt yet. 

“Zuko, don’t! Please!”

Zuko growled. He put his torch out and threw his arms up. “Fine! Whatever! Just give me a cup or something and I’ll take it outside!”

Aang looked appalled. “You can’t!”

“Why the hell not?”

Aang fiddled with the end of his robe. “He’s—Bartholomew’s been inside too long. He won’t know how to survive outdoors. And he isn’t—”

Sokka groaned. His urge to bang his migraine-aching head into the wall was becoming more of a compulsion that bordered on a need.

“—the outdoor spiders don’t like him? And what if—” 

“Do it, babe.”

The torch was back. “On it.”

“No!” 

Aang got free of Sokka’s grip but didn’t stay free for long. Airbender or not, Sokka was a big brother, and he easily scooped the young monk off his feet again in a light but firm headlock. Aang wiggled and pushed against him, but Sokka tightened his grip. “Bartholomew!” Aang cried out as he reached out to his tiny insect friend.

Katara snarled. “Sokka, put him down! He’s not—Zuko. Don’t. You. Dare.” 

Zuko paused his finger-torch an inch away from its target. The chilly voice that bent the Southern Raiders to their knees crawled like frost freezing over into his ears. 

The pressure in the room nearly crushed them. The universe rippled in a strange way that made the hairs on the napes of their necks stand on end. He and Sokka looked at each other before turning inches at a time to face the tempest-made-flesh who was glaring them down.

Katara’s eyes held the promise of bloodshed, and her voice bellied the threat of major bodily harm. Arms crossed and hackles raised like a sabretooth-mooselion, she stalked towards them. 

“You two are not going to lay hand or foot on Bartholomew. Got it?”

Sokka rolled his eyes again and tightened his slippery grip on the escape-artist whining and wiggling in his hold. He wound one of his arms around Aang’s middle to pin him flush against him. “Or what? Are you going to freeze our—”

“Don’t give her any ideas, you idiot,” Zuko hissed. He put his fire out and stood, though he subtly-but-not-as-subtly-as-he-thought shimmied away from the heated waterbender so that he had partial cover behind his boyfriend.

Sokka turned to him with half-lidded eyes and a half-blinding migraine. “Not you, too. Come on, guys, it’s a spider. It’s not like it’s a puppy or—”

Sokka looked down. The kicked puppy trapped in his arms was looking up. Aang’s grey eyes were miserable puddles of pleading that were so dilated that Sokka almost fell into their tear-filled abyss. 

“Please, Sokka?” 

Aang’s voice broke, and when Katara clasped her hands to her chest in a heartbroken aw while simultaneously letting her brother know her very clear intent to shed blood should Aang shed a tear, Sokka rolled his eyes so hard that his whole head nearly rolled with them. 

Aang tugged the arm around his neck with his one free hand, and he somehow changed his facial anatomy to make his eyes even bigger.

“Pretty please?”

Sokka sighed. “Fine. You can keep the damn spider.”

Aang smiled so brightly that Sokka had to look away to save himself from being blinded. He let Aang go and tried to nurse the now full headache he had. 

Aang raced to his pest-pet and cooed it like it was a newborn. Zuko touched Sokka’s shoulder to offer his condolences and share his frustrations...and to shimmy further out of Katara’s path.

Katara smiled and nodded like they were soldiers in battle who had satisfied their honor. Sokka stuck his tongue out at her. She returned the gesture in kind. Zuko backed him up, and Katara grumbled and looked away in defeat.

Zuko and Sokka, without looking, shared a small high-five.

Aang zoomed up to them and gave his de facto big brothers a group hug. He jumped on the balls of his feet and thanked them profusely. Thankfully, he couldn’t see the moment when the two of them went braindead to his rambling and just nodded when he stopped for breath.

Behind her boyfriend, Katara kissed Aang’s arrow. She plopped her head on top of his as she wrapped her arms around his waist. Aang placed his hands on hers and smiled so wide that the force of it had Zuko and Sokka bracing themselves from being blown backward.

Katara tugged her rambling boyfriend flush against her chest, and she protectively curled around him. When her eyes met their others’, she stuck her tongue out again.

Sokka huffed. He side-stepped Zuko and mirrored his sister’s maneuver with his boyfriend. 

Zuko blushed in Sokka’s arms, Aang redirected his smile to his Sifu Hotman, and Sokka returned his sister's stuck-out tongue with a hidden middle finger in addition. 

Aang, with his smile creeping dangerously close to a supernova, looked back and forth between the water tribe siblings until Zuko, done with this and ready for a nap or a drink or both, gave the airbender a partial head-pat like he really was a polarbeardog. 

...(later that day)

“No! No, Sokka, wait! You can’t!”

“I can! I will! I’m gonna! And you will watch me! Now get out of the way, Aang!”

“But it’s true love! Petunia is his Forever Girl!”

“I cannot put into words the depth and intensity of the fuck I do not give! Now move!”

“Think of their children, Sokka!”

“I AM THINKING OF THEIR CHILDREN!”

Zuko saved his and Katara’s boyfriends from bodily harm while Katara quickly but quietly set up the terrarium she and Zuko had special-ordered for Bartholomew (and Petunia, now, as well).

Aang still kept it in the kitchen, though. He didn't want to stress out his ‘lil babu’ and his ‘lil babu’s babu’ by moving them to a change in scenery.

Sokka (gently but with passion) flicked the corner of the glass whenever he walked by. Zuko flipped it the bird.

Aang saw neither action. He just smiled and melted into Katara’s hug as he relished thinking about how well all of his friends were getting along.

Bartholomew and Petunia watched on from their new home in the corner on the counter.

And they watched.

And they watched.

And they watched.

And though they were nocturnal, they always crawled out of their hide when the humans’ voices drew near so that they could watch them some more.

...That night—Petunia’s first in the house, to Sokka’s dismay—Bartholomew and Petunia crawled onto the clump of bark and moss outside their burrow. The moon was full, and some of its light reached the terrarium just like Aang had hoped their minor change of scenery would do. 

They curled their thin legs together and sat in the strongest of the moon’s rays. And, once everything was quiet and all were asleep, Bartholomew turned to his companion and shared his thoughts with her.

/This Avatar is a strange one./

/Very./  Petunia curled closer to his side. /The two males are very quick to violence, it seems. The Avatar’s mate, as well. I’m surprised you didn’t blast the firebender into the Spirit Wilds./

/I was going to, but I was curious to see how the situation would unfold. I probably should have taken a different form. The lemur and skybison said their master would take interest instead of offense to this form. They failed to mention the opinions of the others sharing his dwelling./

/I’m sorry, my love. It won’t be too much longer, now, will it? Because I swear on the Ancients themselves, if the firebender’s mate flicks the glass one more time, I will flick him into—/

/Calm yourself, my dear. It won’t be too long. The web is woven, and we need him near if it is to work./

/I suppose that is one benefit to this form, then./

/Aye./ Bartholomew drummed all of his legs like he was shifting his weight impatiently. /He is the last one Hei Bai took into his forest during the Solstice. Thankfully, it hasn’t festered long enough to corrupt his spirit./

/Because of the firebender?/

Bartholomew pawed the bits of a dead leaf and would have grumbled if he had a voice. /Yes. And he’s lucky, too, because otherwise I would not have hesitated to banish him and his mate to the Spirit Wilds./

Petunia touched her legs to his and gently herded him back to their den. One of her legs gently tapped his back. /I’m sure you would have, dear./

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

The spiders know all

(Many thanks and more to @coldmentalitystudentme @thecaroliner for helping me settle what these dorks’ reactions to spiders might be!!!)

[lexfritterwrites]

Let Lips Do What Hands Do - Part 13

Washington is much the same as she left it, Addie decides. Her students are fine, the other teachers are nice and the little house she’s renting is suitable. Leaving Taron was the hardest thing she’d ever done, and she struggles to think her current life is what she left him for.

They text constantly, just as they did when they were together, and Addie resolves to be friends.

Fall shifts into the air; leaves change and seasonal rain rolls across the state. It was always Addie’s favorite time of year, and she calls Taron to tell him so.

“Adelaide.”

“Hi Taron! How are you?”

“Fine, thanks. Listen, Addie. We need to talk.”

“Oh.”

“I can’t keep doing this,” he says. “I can’t move on if I’m stuck on you.”

Addie stops on the sidewalk, her heart clamping at his words. “I thought we were friends.”

“We’re more than friends, Addie,” he says, “and the decision was made to split and I have to honor that decision.”

“Okay, goodbye.” She disconnects the call and stumbles to the nearest bench, trying to catch her breath. He would cast her as the villain for leaving when he made no plans to see her or leave London. Addie’s heart races and her hands shake.

Dating. That’s the plan. She downloads a few apps, sets up her profile and starts conversations. There’s a date at a coffee shop, one at the little Italian restaurant and one with the choir teacher. 

“I give up,” she says, switching the phone to speaker mode. “Now is not the time for me to date.”

“Now is just the time for you to date,” Jack says. “You’re young, hot, you’ve got a house, a car and a job. That alone sets you miles above some of the others.”

“I just can’t,” she says. “The last guy met me at a seedy bar and kept nodding his head towards the bathroom. I am a lady and I need to be wooed first.”

“Undoubtedly so,” Jack says. “Have you seen the news?”

“No,” Addie says, “I’ve tried to stay off the internet.”

“Taron has been seen out with a costar.”

“Really?”

“Ofelia Montague,” Jack says. “They’re in that new Branagh project together.”

“Of course they are,” Addie says, googling Taron’s name. The pictures look like something from a magazine ad: Taron’s leading her down the steps outside of a fancy restaurant. She’s wearing a sleek gown with a full-face of makeup and perfect hair. Taron has her hand in his and his suit jacket over his other shoulder. They’re smiling at each other and Addie rolls her eyes.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I knew this would happen.”

“I can’t tell you how to live your life,” Jack says, “but I would go get under that trainer at the gym you’ve been staring at.”

“He does have a remarkable ass.”

“How’s school?”

“It’s OK,” she says. “The kids are fine but I do miss my little British students. They always liked me.”

“So come home,” Jack says. “I miss you like crazy.”

“I miss you, too,” she says. “There’s so much about London that I miss.”

“It misses you! Come home.”

“Ugh, I thought I was coming home. I see my dad and Lucy once a week, but we would all be OK if I were across the pond.”

“Think about it, babe. I need my other half!”

“I’ll consider it. I miss those little meringue things.”

Addie is true to her word and gives up dating. Instead she gives herself into teaching and her hobbies, taking up baking and spin class. It’s mid-October when the call comes.

“Taron, what’s wrong?”

“Wrong? Why does something need to be wrong for me to call you?”

“We haven’t talked at all in two months! Are

you just calling me to shoot the breeze?”

“Addie, I’m sorry! I didn’t think how it would look. I actually have good news and a question.”

“Okay.”

“First of all, are you well?”

“I am living,” Addie says. “How are you?”

“Great,” he says. “I am headed to Los Angeles a couple of weeks before Christmas. How would you feel about me coming to visit you for a few days after?”

“Why?”

“I miss you,” he says. “I miss having you around, and I want to see where you’re living and working.”

“You miss me?”

“Of course I miss you,” he says. “You were a staple in my life for a year and I’m aching without you around. I just want a platonic visit with one of my dearest companions.”

“December?”

“December, yeah.”

“Okay,” Addie says. “We can do December.”

Addie sees the headlights reflect on her living room wall and she’s off the couch. She knows she should appear uninterested but this is Taron. He opens his arms to her as soon as she’s running towards him and he kisses her hair.

“Hi,” she says softly, her nose against his neck.

“Hello.”

“How are you?”

“Better now that I am here,” he says, putting her at an arm’s length. “You look great!”

“I’ve lost thirty pounds,” she says. “Apparently when I get depressed, I eat less.”

“Apparently I’ve gained everything you’ve lost.” He chuckles.

“You still look great,” she says. “Let’s get your stuff inside. Are you hungry?”

“I could eat, yeah.”

They’re perfectly amicable at dinner, and her gut continually turns to mush. Her Apple Watch beeps every few minutes to alert her of a spiking heart rate, and she knows it’s because Taron is here.

Taron can’t keep his eyes off of her. She’s still just as lovely and wonderful as she was when they were together, and he’s contemplating making a career change for her.

It takes everything in him to not reach for her hand as they leave the restaurant and she drives him back to her house. 

Addie sighs and sags against the wall. She runs her hands over her face as she breathes, something like panic making her skin too tight across her bones.

"Addie, are you all right?" Taron asks, wrapping an arm around her elbows.

"You shouldn't be here," she mumbles behind her hands with tears welling in her eyes.

"What?" Taron asks, his face pinching at his brow. He heard her perfectly but thought perhaps he misunderstood her.

"You shouldn't be here."

"Why not?" God, his heart's racing and he's starting to feel rage boil from his gut to heat his face.

"We should never have broken up. We should have tried to make it work. We should have fought for us." Addie still has her knuckles pressed against her eyelids. It's easier to admit it if she doesn't have to see the dismay on his face. "I should have fought for you. For me. I love you. I still love you. Being with you like this is painful, to know what we had but will never have again. What could we have had? We'll never know."

"We'll never know?"

"You're with Ofelia now, aren't you? You're doing exactly what I knew you would. You've met a gorgeous, leggy thing with perky boobs and a non-existent waist. You deserve her, honestly, if she treats you right."

"Addie, I think you're drunk."

"I'm crying my eyes out to you, blubbering like an idiot with the things I've been feeling this entire time, and you have the audacity to tell me I'm drunk?"

"Well, not when you say it like that. I just want to be sure you know what you're saying."

"Of course I know what I'm saying," Addie says, finally dropping her hands. She runs her fingers beneath her eyes to stop the makeup from smearing further down her cheeks. "Go be with Ofelia."

"We're not together."

"What?"

"Fe and I," Taron says. "Not together. We're just friends."

"You look very comfortable together."

"We can be because there's nothing between us," Taron answers. "It's actually not my place to say but Fe is a lesbian."

"What?"

"A lesbian, Adelaide. She's got no interest in me and no use for my dick."

"I have interest in you and a use for your dick!”

They're like magnets, first their lips and then their bodies fusing together. Addie sobs at the feeling of his mouth on hers, hot and sweet and full of everything she had missed in his absence. His hand is on her back, pressing into her and Addie doesn't even know what her hands are doing aside from touching him wherever they can.

"Adelaide."

She whimpers at the word, having thought she would never hear him say her name that way again — the way that makes her heart race and her gut turn to mush. She's fighting against his sweater and shirt, wanting to feel the heat of his skin. Grunting, he pulls them off before taking her face between his hands and kissing her. Damn, he can't stop kissing her. He'd missed the taste of her lips and the warmth of her mouth, and he shivers as she runs her fingers through his hair.

He's tugging at the hem of her dress, lifting it just high enough to slide his fingers beneath her leggings and underwear. It's like a drug to him, the way her grip tightens in his hair as his fingers slip inside her while his thumb massages her clit.

Addie trembles against him as an orgasm rushes swiftly through her, and his moan echoes hers. She only thought he was hard until she feels the bulge pressing into her belly. She needs him inside her immediately.

It's a dance to her bedroom — pants here, a shoe there, her leggings a wadded heap on the floor.

Taron had imagined dragging things out for as long as possible when they were reunited this way, if they were reunited this way, but those notions are quickly forgotten as his body covers hers. Too long he's been without her sweetness, too long he's shrunk without her warmth, too long since her lips have sung the praises of their bodies together. She's warm and wet as he presses inside her, both of them exhaling at the feeling of having what was once lost. He can't kiss her enough, trying to touch her everywhere at once while keeping the rhythm of her heart with his hips. In turn, Addie can't get him close enough, knowing she could be without him again.

Taron needs to see her, to know she's really there, and the shock of her gaze meeting his sends him over the edge immediately. He's not even remotely soft afterwards so he continues to thrust into her, and Addie falls into that peaceful abyss.

She loses count after five orgasms and stretches her toes sometime later, Taron's head resting between her breasts. It's odd to her they should be in bed like this after being apart for so long, yet it makes complete sense. He is the love of her life, after all.

Taron snorts, nuzzling his nose against her ribs. "We're shite at just being friends, huh? What —with the distance and all that?"

"Actually there's something I've been meaning to tell you."

Taron's head pops up so he can look at her. "What?"

"You remember Dr. Williams, the man in charge of my degree program?"

"The good looking one with all the hair?"

"Precisely. His husband has just been named headmaster of a new school for gifted underprivileged children they're opening in north London, and he's offered me a position in the English department. I'll be able to teach how I want within loose guidelines and the students all actually want to be there. I could actually make a difference."

"You could make a difference anywhere," Taron says quickly. He gathers her fingers in his and very briefly kiss the tips. "Are you going to take it?"

"I report at the end of August for training."

"Adelaide!" Taron squeals, dropping his forehead to her chest. "You're moving back to England?"

"Yep." She runs her fingers through his short hair, his breath warm against her chest. She sighs when a tear falls against her skin, and she tilts his face up towards hers.

"I'm good, I'm good," he says. "I'm really good." Tears cling to his eyelashes but his lips curl upwards. "I just thought we were over, and here we are in your bed, naked, and you're moving back to England." He takes a deep breath, moving so his face is over hers. "I'm overwhelmed by the thought of you being with me again. You know, if you want it."

She feels the heat rise in his cheeks beneath her finger tips and she laughs. "Of course I want it. I was moving back to England because I love it there. It feels more to me like home than Washington does now, and having you there is just the cherry on top of the sundae. I'm moving in with Jack though, at least for a little while. I think that's best."

"I don't care where you live as long as we're on the same continent." He brushes her cheek with the back of his hand before kissing her deeply and long, but keeping it from becoming sexual. This is more than that — this is two souls becoming one rather than two bodies. "I love you, Adelaide, and I'm so happy you're mine."

"You think we can make the distance work until June?"

"There is no distance great enough to keep me from you."

"I love you," she says. "I love you, Taron David Egerton."

"Moving back to England!" He says. "That's so fucking brilliant, Adelaide!"

"God save the Queen," Addie cheers, wrapping her arms around him.  "Are you happy?"

"I'm ecstatic!" Taron cries, kissing her. "I'm over the moon." His lips land against her jaw. "I can't believe you'll be back across the pond in a few short months."

"I know," she says. "It's been torture not telling you. I wanted to make sure it was what I wanted and that the job was mine."

"Adelaide," he hums again, nuzzling her neck. She purs, shifting her head so he can kiss her clavicle. "I feel like bursting out of my skin I'm so excited!" He shifts so his face is even with hers once more. "Are you sure you want to move back? It's not just for me? I don’t want to sound bold in even asking the question.”

“Rest assured I am moving to England for me. I miss it so much. I miss the food, I miss hearing about the Royals when I walk down the street, I miss the history. I miss Jack, and it’s obvious how I’ve missed you.”

“Bang on, Addie! This is so fucking perfect, I can’t stand it!” He kisses her with such conviction she giggles, and all words are quickly forgotten as they move together.