#thanks for asking grey citizen

[fluentmoviequoter]

It's Commander, Sergeant

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!Army-FBI!reader

Summary: After years of thinking about Tim Bradford, you meet him again during a riot in Los Angeles. When he learns you outrank him, he falls... hard.

Warnings: incorrect Army terminology and actions, depiction of riots, fluff! a couple Call of Duty references. Also, I grew up ten minutes from Fort Rucker, so I'm allowed to trash talk it.

Word Count: 2.7k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

When you joined the Army immediately after graduation, you didn’t expect it to become a career. What surprised you more was meeting Tim Bradford. You only met him once, but he stayed with you, a firm and commanding yet protective and loyal personality that was impossible to forget. Now, years later, you continue to think about him occasionally, hoping he’s doing well and happy. He inspired you to work through the ranks and do something more meaningful than just obeying as you’re told. Not that being a soldier and taking orders is unimportant, as you’ve explained to the troops you are now Master Sergeant of. Personally, you felt a calling to do more.

“Master Sergeant, Sergeant Major Riley is here to see you,” a soldier says, standing at attention in your doorway.

“I’ll be right out to meet him. Thank you, Private,” you reply kindly.

You are a different kind of Master Sergeant, unwilling to act higher than the men and women who answer to you. Your respect for others, regardless of rank, has made you a favorite on base.

“No need. Is now a good time?” Riley asks, taking the Private’s place.

“Of course. What can I do for you, Sergeant Major Riley?”

“There’s a developing situation in Los Angeles. If you and your team are up for it, I’d like to send you in to help.”

“Los Angeles? Who has jurisdiction?”

Riley chuckles, shaking his head, as he says, “I knew that would be your first question. Not ‘what’s the situation?’ because that’s boring, right?”

“Something like that, sir.”

“The LAPD called in military reinforcements for an out-of-control rioting issue.”

“When do we leave?”

“1700 hours. Tell your troops.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“How’s everyone enjoying US Army Garrison Italy?” you ask your team, composed of twenty of the best soldiers.

“The men- the view is beautiful, Master Sergeant,” one of the female soldiers says.

“I’d have to agree. But we’re heading back to the States. There’s a riot issue in Los Angeles and they’ve called for the best to come in and help.”

“Riot control? Now, we’re talkin’, ma’am!”

“Los Angeles, California?” someone asks.

“What other Los Angeles is there, man?” a second voice replies.

You clear your throat, and everyone in the room snaps to attention. Smiling, you nod and confirm that your destination is Los Angeles, California.

“We leave at 1700 sharp. Helos are standing by. And before you ask, no, I don’t know when or if we’ll be back. LAPD is running point on this - listen closely, we are assisting. This is about the safety of US citizens. Not proving grounds or a test to become a Ranger. They’re calling the shots, but you still answer to me. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma’am!” your team yells together.

“Then let’s get out there and protect our home.”

As you leave, someone whispers, “I’m gonna miss Italy.”

You agree, but your job is about more than the view from the base. As you pack to return to California, you wonder if you’ll ever be back to Italy.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Master Sergeant. Thank you for coming so quickly. I am Sergeant Wade Grey, I’m Watch Commander of the LAPD Mid-Wilshire division,” Grey introduces, shaking your hand.

“Nice to meet you, sir. Tell us where you need us, and we’ll be there.”

“We’ve got six teams out there right now, covering what we consider the biggest targets, but I’ll get you in touch with my lead Sergeant.”

“Is he in the field? We’d be happy to meet him where he is and take his direction from there.”

Wade sighs, a relieved smile appearing on his face. “You’re the best person in the state right now, Master Sergeant. He’s at the Wilshire Federal Building, the intersection of Wilshire and the 405. We’re running short on equipment, but we can get you transport.”

“Oh, we’ve got a ride. And, Sergeant Grey, feel free to drop the formalities,” you offer before telling him your first name.

“Only if you call me Wade,” he replies. “Wait- don’t tell me you have an APC parked outside my station.”

“We don’t. We have an M113 APC, a light tank, and six more vehicles waiting for a destination. You called for riot control, and we’re going to control some riots.”

“If you ever get tired of the Army, the LAPD would be happy to have you.”

“Unless you can offer me a station in Italy and as many armored vehicles as I can drive, I think I’m happy where I am.”

“Fort Irwin is scenic.”

You walk backward as you exit the office, tilting your head to the side as you consider. “Italian oceanside or California desert. Guess which I’m picking?”

“Good luck out there.”

“Thank you, sir- Wade.”

✯✯✯✯✯

The moment you jump off the side of the APC, two LAPD officers rush to you and your group of four soldiers. Splitting your team into five groups and sending one to join each of the LAPD squadrons seemed to be the best option. One of your team members introduces you to an officer, who nods and ushers you to follow him.

“Master Sergeant, this is LAPD Sergeant-“

“Bradford?”

Tim tilts his chin, his eyes the only part of his face you can see past his helmet and shield. You’d know him anywhere after countless nights of thinking of him and being inspired by him.

“Have we met, Master Sergeant?” he asks, his voice raised over the crowd gathering on Wilshire Boulevard.

Someone throws a flaming bottle of alcohol toward the steps of the building, and you motion for your team to push the crowd back.

“Later, Sergeant Bradford. Care to tell me what’s going on?” you ask.

“LA courts decided to take a bunch of cases back to trial, deal with overcrowding, standard procedures. But… you get it.”

“Don’t want ‘em out or want to make sure they do get out. Yeah, I know the answer, though I’ve never understood the thought process behind it.”

“You and me both. What are we supposed to do to show them this won’t change anything?”

Glancing at the crowd, you weigh the options. “Realistically, getting violent is only going to make this worse. I’m not suggesting a negotiation, but… what if we try stopping?”

“We’re not setting down our arms and opening the gates for them to storm the Wilshire Federal Building!” Tim yells.

“Then what would you like to do? Stand here until the trials are done?”

“That’s not-“

“Look, I don’t want to pull rank but if you’re just going to stand here and argue with me, I will, Sergeant Bradford,” you reply. His jaw clenches beneath his helmet, and you offer, “Half of your men lower their shields, a show of good faith. Then we go from there.”

Tim lowers his shield, stepping toward you to threaten, “If anything happens to my men, it is on your hands. This isn’t your home, but it’s mine.”

“I understand how this works, Sergeant Bradford. And I’m not telling you to do it alone.”

You push past him, leading two soldiers to the front line, dropping your shield, and raising your hands. The crowd members closest to you stop, looking at you curiously.

“There is a court schedule available online!” you yell. “If you have a loved one that you would like to advocate for, call the courts, call their defenders, and tell them why someone is worthy of freedom at the proper time and place! But don’t risk your own freedom, don’t take the lives of your neighbors or your peace officers in the process!”

You signal for all of the officers to raise their shields again. As the crowd storms forward, you rush into the fray, letting your training take over as you disarm the citizens around you.

“Down on the ground!” you yell, panting as the tank approaches behind you.

At the sight of the tank, the men and women standing in the road begin kneeling, lowering their weapons, and raising their hands. The LAPD rush forward, doing their jobs as you send your team to give your orders to the other soldiers you brought back to the States.

“That shouldn’t have worked,” Tim says, approaching from behind you.

Turning toward him, you sigh and remove your helmet. “Lots of things shouldn’t work, Sergeant Bradford.”

“You know my name; care to tell me why?”

Pressing your lips together to hide your smile, you walk past him, calling over your shoulder to say, “Never expected I’d have a higher ranking than you, Sarge!”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Is the Master Sergeant here?” Tim asks as he enters the bullpen.

“She’s with her team, briefing their superiors.” Wade smiles before asking, “Why would you like to know?”

“She knew my name. I can’t place her though.”

“She’s Army, you were Army… think about it, Tim.”

“I met hundreds of people in the Army, Wade-“

“Not all of them stay in the Army and work their way through the rankings because you inspired them,” you say, standing in the doorway. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“No problem,” Wade says, adding your first name while looking toward Tim.

Tim looks past you, clearly trying to place your name.

“I met you my first year, we were only in the same room for a few minutes and didn’t say more than a few words to each other. But you inspired me. You were a good soldier, a better leader, and I wanted to do what you did.”

“And now you’re a sergeant?”

Smiling, you correct, “It’s Master Sergeant, Sergeant.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“You got a little drool right there,” Angela jokes, pointing to the corner of Tim’s mouth. “What’s so special about her?”

“She outranks me,” Tim answers.

“Okay. Lots of people do.”

“Yeah,” Wade adds from Tim’s other side. “You don’t look at me like that.”

“No offense, Wade, but you’re not as pretty,” Angela replies.

Tim shushes them suddenly, nodding when you turn and see him. You smile at him, yet again drawn in by Tim Bradford’s presence and leadership. His not trusting you at first, yelling at you, was somewhat unexpected, but you’ve been in his place before. Trusting people as soon as you meet them is difficult, often impossible in your profession, but Tim’s quick change makes you smile. You’re a good leader, like him.

✯✯✯✯✯

“We’ve got a problem,” Wade calls, ending a phone call. “There’s another riot at Cal State Prison. LAPD and Lancaster PD can’t handle it alone.”

“We can never make it there in time,” Nolan responds. “It’s nearly 2 hours without traffic.”

“Now would be a good time to get a private jet or something, Thorsen,” Angela calls.

You pull your phone from your pocket, typing quickly before nodding. “I need Bradford,” you tell Wade. “And your landing pad.”

“What did you do?” Tim asks.

“Sikorsky X2 is five minutes out. We can get there and drop in 20 or less.” You raise a finger to point to everyone in the room. “This stays here. I’m not supposed to know the Army has one stateside.”

“Has a what?” Aaron asks.

“Good answer.”

“It only holds two crew members, but I’ve got a team out there that can ride in a cargo area. We’re going to need backup, so if you can get airships or anything, Sergeant Grey, please do. Let’s roll.”

Tim follows you quickly, jogging to catch up with you. “How’d you pull this off?”

“Somebody owed me a favor.”

“Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“That I inspired you to stay in the Army, to get here.”

“Oh.” You push open a door and begin climbing the stairs quickly. Stepping onto the roof, you look at Tim and say, “Ask me again when this is over.”

Tim waits until you turn away to smile. He can’t believe he forgot you, but your sacrificial, mutually beneficial leadership style, kindness, and abilities, not to mention that you outrank him, have him practically wrapped around your finger.

✯✯✯✯✯

Standing in the back of a helicopter and hooked to a rail, you lean out against the whipping air and feel weightless. The pain and concern of the day are wearing off, and as the sun sets, you’re glad you were asked to come to LA. Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath.

Tim taps your side, and when he has your attention, he points West. The ocean is now visible, and the light ripples over the water, reflecting the pastel colors painting the sky. You smile at the view before looking back to Tim. Reaching up, you adjust the channel dial on his headset. He doesn’t even flinch at your sudden movement, and your smile grows as he leans toward you.

Looking at the soldiers behind you, you say, “If I think any of you can hear me, I’ll have you transferred to the worst base I can think of.”

No one except for Tim reacts, and he chuckles quietly.

“Okay, ask me again,” you request into your microphone.

“Did you really stay in the Army because of me?”

“Yes. You showed me what was possible, but your kindness toward me made me think I could do it too.”

“You could’ve done it without me.”

“Oh, I know.”

“Easy, Sergeant.”

“It’s-“

“Master Sergeant… when this illegally obtained helicopter lands, would you go to dinner with me?”

A soldier to your left moves, and you shake your head. “After this illegally obtained helo lands, and I have Henderson transferred to hot and humid Fort Rucker, Alabama, I would love to go to dinner with you.”

“Since you outrank me, surely you get paid better, so it’s on you?”

You lean toward Tim, pausing when your headset hits his. “I could also go back to Italy and see if anyone there is willing to take me to dinner.”

“Fine,” Tim groans. “I’ll pay, but only if you stay in town long enough to show me how much my inspiration paid off.”

✯✯✯✯✯

The dinner date does not go as planned. When you enter the police station, Sergeant Major Riley awaits you. He takes you into Wade’s office to talk, and Tim stands outside waiting for you.

Being a soldier means being sent to different places with only a moment’s notice, but being at your level makes things far more difficult and irregular. Tim may have missed his chance.

“Any idea what that’s about?” Tim asks Wade.

“No clue.”

You exit a moment later, your previous smile now absent. Tim tries to hide his disappointment, but he should have known getting into a relationship with a younger, yet higher ranking, soldier would never work.

“I blame you,” you tell Wade, stopping before him and Tim.

“What did I do?” he asks incredulously.

“You said there was an opening at Irwin, but you didn’t say that you only knew that because my Sergeant Major told you.”

“He may have mentioned it.”

“Anyone want to loop me in?” Tim asks tiredly.

“I’m moving to California. Leaving Italy behind to lead a new force,” you answer sadly. “No more authentic pasta for me.”

“Wait- you’re moving to California? Irwin, which is three hours from here?” Tim interjects.

“It’s your fault too,” you remember. “I let you inspire me to be a good leader and a good teacher, but now I’m paying for it.”

Riley calls your name, beckoning you back into the office. The second time you exit, you seem a bit more pleased.

“Is the offer for that date still on the table?” you ask Tim. “Looks like my team is going to be in LA county for a few days before I can get discharged.”

"Whoa, whoa, what are you talking about? You're getting out?" Tim asks, raising his hands in question.

"I'm receiving another raise in rank," you tell Tim, grabbing his extended wrist and pulling him toward the door. "But not in the Army."

✯✯✯✯✯

✯✯ 1 Year Later ✯✯

“Your form needs some work, but there’s potential,” you say.

“My, uh, my recruiter said that you take potential and make talent,” the recruit before you says.

Standing, you smile. “I like to think so. But I can’t do anything without your effort. So, are you willing to put in the work to do your best?”

“Yes, ma’am, Commander.”

“Then I only have one more question. Why do you want to join FBI special operations?”

“Commander,” someone scoffs from the doorway. “It’s like you take pride in increasing the divide between our ranks.”

Glancing over, you make a “shoo” gesture before finishing the recruit’s evaluation.

“Let’s go,” you tell Tim, gathering your things. “It’s been almost a year, and we still haven’t had an uninterrupted dinner date.”

“I’m not sure we ever will, Sarge.”

You move your hands to Tim’s shoulders, brushing your lips over his before whispering, “It’s Commander, Sergeant.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Winter's King 9

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: I can't explain why but damn I'm so tiredddd.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

As you approach the capital, you can’t help but poke your head up to admire the domes of the great castle and the high towers. The gates stand open as the party advances, in wait of their new liege and lord. You shield your eyes against the sun as you gaze at the silhouette of the mighty architecture. 

“May as well get a good gander,” Bryce says, “doubt the kitchens are any more glorious than the ones you know.” 

“Mm,” you retract your gaze and sigh, “suppose. But they will still be new to me.” 

“Not all that is new is wondrous,” he girds. “For as much as I’ve seen in this world, it is the familiar that keeps me sane.” 

You nod and let the cart rock you. Ahead of you, the horses tread over rocks and dirt, wagons bounce and creak, and some servants walk afoot to ease the cramps in their legs. You lean lazily on a chest and fold your hands in your lap. It will at least be nice to stay beneath a proper roof again. 

The streets of the city are crowded with faces. They do not holler for you but you can hear the raucous uproar ahead as the king and queen ride between the citizens. There are even more black and grey soldiers stationed along the roads, awaiting your arrival. 

As you wind up to the royal castle, the noise grows tantamount. At the walls of the grand structure, clusters of people threaten to crush the party between their writhing bodies. It takes some time after the king’s entrance for the luggage to make way into the courtyard. 

The carts depart around the back of the castle as the horses make way for the stables. You climb out as Bryce lurks around, dismounting Daisy with a grunt as he rubs his lower back. You glance over at him as the other servants quickly fall into work. 

“Maid,” he calls to you before you can follow suit, “no doubt the queen will need to wash away the road before she faces the hordes.” 

He beckons you forth with his gauntlet and you diligently near him. He hands off Daisy to a castle servant and carries on inside. You scurry beside him as he stops and gauges his surroundings. He is not versed with the corridors but he presses on unimpeded. 

You turn back a few times before you reach the great hall. It is crowded and chaotic. The soldier strides through without pause. You nearly grab onto him just to keep from being lost in the stirring of soldiers and servants, and the tittering lords and ladies in their colourful garb. 

Up the stairs and a few questions grunted to his comrades, Bryce takes you down to a set of chambers with yet another soldier before it. You’re let inside without question. You find Queen Jazlene before a steaming basin as another servant cleans her face. 

The queen scrunches up her nose and swats the lady servant, the maid still in the former king’s colours; burnt autumn orange and goldenrod yellow. 

“Watch my eyes, you moron,” Jazlene chides and jabs her nail into the maid’s ribs. 

“My lady, I didn’t mean--” 

“I am a queen, not a lady,” Jazlene hisses, “be gone before I have your teeth knocked out of that stupid mouth of yours.” 

The other maid wrings the cloth and steps back on her heel, chewing on an apology before she spins to flee. As she nears the door, she notices you and gives a panicked look. You reach to take the cloth from her before you go to the queen. 

“Your highness,” you greet her and dip the cloth back in the steaming water. “Would you like me to put ribbons in your hair?” 

“Mm, I suppose,” she tilts her face up and closes her eyes, “once the dirt is gone. By gods, I hate traveling.” 

You gently wipe along her hairline and trace the outline of her face. You delicately but intently clean away the errant dust and streaks. You drape the cloth over the brim of the basin and turn to the table. 

“And would you like your lips painted?” You intone. “Your highness, I do think your natural tones are beautiful.” 

As you peek back at her, her eyes open and she stares at you. Her nostrils compress as she inhales. She puts her head straight and looks at her reflection. 

“Do you think so?” She touches her cheeks. 

“Yes, I do, if you line your eyes, they might appear bigger but they are so lovely and dark already,” you compliment. 

She hums and tilts her head, turning her attention back on you, “it’s you.” 

You lower your head, “your highness?” 

“You’re always flitting around like some bird,” she sniffs, “suppose you are not so... agitating as the other. Yes, ribbons and some kohl. Then I will have one of the former queen’s gowns. They have delivered her wardrobe to me.” 

“Yes, your highness,” you say and go to work. 

You settle into your usual lull. The queen sips from her goblet as you twine ribbons with her curls, a halo around the crown of her head as coiling strands hang down to her back. She looks even more immaculate than you’ve seen her before. 

She calls for a dress and you bring her several options from those strewn across the large bed. She chooses the lavender and you help her into the light silk. You relace it to account for her lither figure, the former queen having some extra years in her hips. 

When she is dressed, she twirls before the mirror. She stops and sets her chin straight and glares at herself. She arches a brow coyly. 

“I cannot wait to see Lady Florence,” she scoffs, “she will choke when she realises I am her queen.” 

You linger by the wall, blending into the tapestry as she sighs and eyes the glass affectionately. She primps herself and spins again. 

“Well then, I must be overdue,” she goes to the door, “I must go to the king and show him I can be his queen.” 

You open the door for her and follow her out. The soldiers outside glance at her but do not move or speak. Bryce comes up beside you as you trail after Jazlene. She struts to the end of the corridor and is stopped by another guard at another door. 

“Do not think to stop me,” she spits, “I am the queen,” she flicks her fingers in his direction, “don’t be absurd.” 

The man lets her through as she tugs on the latch and his dull eyes stare past her. She hardly has the effect she thinks. People do not admire her so much as they tolerate her. 

She sweeps into the chamber as you wait outside. Bryce lets out a gritty breath and taps his fingers on his sword pommel. He chews more of the sweet leaves he loves so much. Jazlene emerges with a doe-like look. 

“Where is the king?” She exclaims. 

“He has gone to address the people,” the guard picks at his teeth. “He tired of waiting--” 

“Do not tell me about the king,” Jazlene snaps on the soldier, “ugh, let us find my husband. How can he think to face my people without me at his side?” 

She storms onward and you can only follow. She will no doubt need wine sooner than later, though you wish she might take more water or milk instead. Bryce keeps your pace slowed as he makes little haste. 

As she descends the steps, you can hear the king’s voice. The crowd is hushed, almost hypnotised as he speaks from atop a chair. Somehow, he is both overwhelming and unassuming. Jazlene shows as she sees him. The crowd does not move out of her way as they are rapt in his words. 

“...do not come as conquerer, but as liberator,” he declares, “I am not here to suppress but to unite. Our kingdoms, forged together as one, can attain glory. Peace. Joy. Our people needn’t suffer the droughts or frost rot without relief. By coming together, we will join summer and winter in harmony,” the king holds his sword, the tip on the armrest of the wooden chair, “to you lords who stayed loyal to Waleran, I do not seek retribution. You only did your duty and served the king you put an oath to. You had no part in his violations upon myself. I am aware you could not rein in your greedy master. You will keep what is yours, as by rights, but you will swear fealty to the new crown.” 

King Geralt looks around the hall, “I have spoken to the farmers and the peasants, I have seen the beauty of your lands. I wish not to ravage it but to build it. You will not have only from me writs and declarations, you will have fields sown, you will have harvests reaped, you will have coin in flow, and you will have full bellies.” 

He raises his great sword over his head. The large weapon could be held only by two-hands in anothers grasp but he lifts it effortlessly. 

“I saw how your king tucked tail when he saw me on the field. After you good lords followed him to battle and sacrificed your men and your blood. He could not stand and fight, but many of you did, many of you not here today. I will not let their souls be spent in vain,” he pauses and his golden eyes rove around the room. He points his sword suddenly towards you but not quite, at Jazlene, “I have taken a summer wife.” He curls his fingers to gesture her to him. People swivel to see her and clear the path to the king, “a winter’s king must have a summer’s queen, if our kingdoms our to rise anew.” 

Jazlene sways before she gets her footing. She moves forward, chin high as she lets a grin break out over her face. She looks this way and that, gloating as she goes to her husband. He steps down as she approaches and he takes her hand. He helps her up on the chair herself and she seems almost confused by the act. 

“Queen Jazlene of Debray,” King Geralt proclaims, “she will return with me to the Hinterlands to see that order is kept across our realm and perhaps, the next time I look upon you all, I will have an heir to present to you. A young prince to lead us into the sun ahead.” 

He raises Jazlene’s hand as she fawns. The crowd breaks out in racket, voices swelling to the rooves as you’re jostled against Bryce. The lords and ladies, servants and soldiers, throw up fists and hoot and holler. 

The king brings his sword up again, silence falling at the gleam of its silver blade, “but first, a feast!” 

The fervour is even louder as the hall explodes in glee. You hear it ripple out the doors into the crowd without and like an ocean, the tides carry through the courtyard and front gates, streaming into the city. Peace has come and old grudges cannot take the shine from the gift of a king’s mercy. 

⚔️

“Your highness, we heard of what happened on Stag’s River,” an earl, you think he said his name was Kelvan, “it was a brave stand. Admirable, even standing upon the other ridge.” 

“You were there?” King Geralt muses, “mm, how fortunate our paths did not cross.” 

“Indeed, your highness,” the earl agrees, “I must admit, I dreaded it.” 

“But here we are, alive, together, as allies. It is all I ever wanted.” 

“And we knew it. We knew it, my liege, for when you let our men march back at all, we saw your grace,” Kelvan smiles. 

“Yes, but I have only ever admired your lands, never had I wanted to ruin them,” the king assures as he looks over at his wife. 

“He is a brave and good king,” Queen Jazlene praises as she puts her hand over the king’s. 

Lord Kelvan’s lips ripple, “mm, yes, I have not seen your father yet. If I shan’t happen upon the Duke, you will send my regards.” 

There’s an edge that makes you uneasy. You see how Jazlene bobs her head, “so I shall.” 

She doesn’t seem to notice the tick of resent in the earl’s cheek. How odd it is that they are so fond of the invader and yet their own kith and kin, they cannot help but revile. You’ve heard the whispers swirling already. It was not King Geralt who betrayed these people but this snakish woman and her blood. 

“Wine, girl, now,” Jazlene snaps as the early departs back to his seat. 

You stand against the wall, just behind the bench she shares with the king. You come forward with the jug reserved only for her, nearing between the shoulders of the royal couple. Before you can put the spout to brim, King Geralt’s hand catches the swollen belly of the ewer. 

“Perhaps you might have some more lamb before you indulge further, wife,” he girds. 

“It is a feast,” she slurs, “I am only celebrating. With you,” she touches his sleeve, “my king.” 

“I see that,” his voice is low but firm, “yet you are a queen and your subjects are watching.” 

“I can stomach my wine,” she sneers. 

He huffs and wraps his hand around the bottom of the handle, just below your grip. He wiggles it away from you and sets it on the other side of his plate. Jazlene lets out a childish gasp. 

“It is just wine,” she snivels. 

King Geralt runs his fingers along his collar, “we are having a good night,” he says as he peers out on the crowd, “please, let us not make a scene.” 

“I am not making a scene. I am the queen and I want more wine,” she insists. 

He faces forward completely. You stay as you are, trapped in their indecision. He blocks the jug with his elbow and she claps her hands on her lap and kicks her feet.  

“Perhaps you should have some of that wine,” she mutters, “it might make you kinder.” 

The king doesn’t reply and instead greets another lord; one who introduces himself as the Count of Bress. As they speak, Jazlene leans back on the bench and tugs your skirt. You look down at her. 

“Find more wine,” she growls, “and don’t be obvious about it.” 

“Your highness, but the king--” 

“I am your master, not him,” she snarls and nudges you harshly, “be away before I lose my patience.” 

You dip your head and notice how the king’s head turns towards his wife. You don’t look back as you critter off quickly into the shadows. You might be better to take your time and tell her you could not abscond any more wine. If you wait long enough, it might even slip her mind, as so often her desires fade into the next. 

[anonymousewrites]

A Not-So-Disastrous Romance (Book 1) Chapter Nine

Kusuo Saiki x Reader

Chapter Nine: Mothers and Meetups

Summary: Saiki and (Y/N) get stuck as Saiki's house, and (Y/N) ends up in an awkward discussion with Yumehara and Teruhashi.

            “Soon, the world will turn into a sea of blood,” said Kaidou cryptically as he walked down the street with his friends.

            “At least red’s a pretty color,” said (Y/N), always seeing the positive side of things.

            “The time of awakening is fast approaching, Saiki,” said Kaidou.

            “Why don’t you wake up?”

            “Well, then, Saiki, (L/N). See you tomorrow,” said Kaidou. “That is…assuming there is a tomorrow.”

            “Oh, hi, Shuniekins! Are you going home now?” asked a grey-haired woman in front of Saiki’s house.

            “W-Welcome home, mama!” stuttered Kaidou.

            “Is that your mom?” asked (Y/N) excitedly.

            “I am, Shun, are these friends of yours?” questioned Mrs. Kaidou.

            “Well, never mind them! Let’s go home!” squeaked Kaidou nervously.

            “What’s the matter? Our house is close by. Why don’t you invite them over for tea?” asked Mrs. Kaidou.

            “What?! W-Well, they’re busy. Right? Isn’t that right?” Kaidou was practically begging his friends to say they were.

            “Yeah, I do have some stuff I was gonna do today…” said Nendou.

            “Come on, get the picture.”

            “Actually, it was nothing important,” finished Nendou.

            “I would love some tea!” chirped (Y/N).

            “And you?” Mrs. Kaidou addressed Saiki. “Are you busy?”

            I think I’ll pass.

            “I got some coffee jelly from the neighborhood association earlier.” Mrs. Kaidou smiled.

            “I’m sure he’s free,” said (Y/N) teasingly before Saiki even responded.

            “Please take us to your home.”

            “Please, come in.” Mrs. Kaidou opened the door of a huge house. She led them to a bedroom. “This is Shuniekin’s room.”

            “What a big room!” exclaimed Nendou.

            “Wow!” (Y/N) grinned as they looked around.

            “You can do somersaults on the floors!” Nendou began to roll around.

            “Yeah, but there’s no good reason to.”

            “He’s lively, isn’t he?” remarked Mrs. Kaidou, smiling. “No matter, I’ll go prepare tea.”

            “Th-Thanks!” Kaidou called after her.

            “Hey, runt! You call your mom ‘Mama,’ huh?” teased Nendou.

            “You had to bring that up, didn’t you?”

            “Are you a goody-goody at home?” joked Nendou.

            “I know the nickname attack very well.”

            Kaidou switched to his eighth-grade syndrome persona. “She’s an ordinary citizen. I’m trying not to drag her into this since my identity in this world is Shun Kaidou, not the Jet Black Wings! As for ‘Mama,’ in this case, it’s the characters for ‘true’ and ‘demon’ combined. In the world I come from, that’s how we address our mothers.”

            “Calm down, Shuniekins,” teased Nendou.

            “You’re a big mama’s boy,” cooed (Y/N).

            Nendou began looking under Kaidou’s bed.

            “Ah! Hey! What’re you doing, you jerk?!” cried Kaidou.

            “Looking for dirty magazines, what else?” replied Nendou.

            “Blech,” said (Y/N), sticking out their tongue at the idea.

            “Huh? I don’t have stuff like that!” said Kaidou.

            Nendou found a box and dumped out some journals. “Oh? This looks suspicious. What’s this?” He picked up a paper labeled “contract.”

            “Don’t touch that notebook!” squeaked Kaidou. “I’ll never forgive you if you open it.”

            “Put that down, Nendou. That’s not a game to him.” Saiki was serious.

            (Y/N) nodded fervently. “Leave it alone.” They snatched it from Nendou and gave it back to Kaidou.

            “What’s the big deal?” asked Nendou.

            “Those with eighth-grader syndrome have notebooks that they never want others to see.”

            “You’re no fun. I’ll check out these other shelves,” said Nendou.

            “How dare you mess up my sanctuary, you jerk!” said Kaidou.

            His mother entered the room with a tray of tea and sweets. “Thank you for waiting.”

            Kaidou immediately became quiet and polite again as everybody began to eat and drink.

            “I know it can be tough since he’s so shy, but please continue to be his friends,” said Mrs. Kaidou.

            “S-Stop it Ma—I mean Mom!” cried Kaidou.

            “She’s quite different from my mom.”

            “And mine!”

            “So, you three, what college would you just kill to get into?” asked Mrs. Kaidou.

            “Ma—Mom, it’s too soon for that sort of talk!” exclaimed Kaidou.

            “What are you saying? It’s important to start thinking about that now,” his mother said, frowning. “You three are second years. You must be studying for your college exams, right? So which school?”

            “What’s this ‘killer college business?” asked Nendou.

            “I really haven’t thought about it all that much. Besides…right now this is all I can think about.” Saiki began to eat his coffee jelly.

            “I haven’t narrowed it down quite yet,” said (Y/N) brightly, sipping their tea.

            Those were all the wrong answers.

            “Just how lightly do you three take your future?” demanded Mrs. Kaidou. “College prep begins the moment you enter high school! Shuniekins goes to cram school three times a week and studies at least three hours a day at home! You three at least prep before all your regular and after school classes, right?!”

            “I’m not disregarding my future, but…” (Y/N) trailed off. They felt like it was a bad idea to continue.

            Nendou and Saiki were silent (mostly because the sweets were too distracting).

            “Shun, come with me!” commanded Mrs. Kaidou. She dropped a ton of workbooks on the table. “You three work on workbooks! You can have snacks when you’re done!”

            (Y/N) sighed and slumped in disappointment. “Aw, man…” They sighed and picked up a thin worksheet. “Maybe if I get a little done, she’ll let me have something…”

            Saiki nodded and, when they weren’t looking, made the rest of the work finish itself with his abilities. “Finished,” he said. Please let this be one of the times you’re not observant.

            “Let’s eat then!” cheered (Y/N), not questioning anything.

            Good.

            Mrs. Kaidou opened the door and saw the pair eating while Nendou played videogames. “What are you three doing?! I told you to study!” She began to flip through a workbook. “I don’t want you to hang out with my Shuniekins any—What? Can’t be…They’re finished?! It hasn’t even been ten minutes!” She was astounded. Could these three really be…geniuses?!

            “Hold on a sec, Mama! I know what you said earlier, but I really—What?” Kaidou frowned in confusion as he entered.

            Mrs. Kaidou was happily giving out more tea and sweets to (Y/N), Nendou, and Saiki. “Please continue to be friends with Shun! Oh, Shuniekins, what good friends you’ve got!”

            (Y/N) leaned over and whispered to Saiki. “I’m really glad she didn’t press the whole college thing. I don’t think she’d really take to the idea of going to culinary school instead of a college for academics.”

            “You want to be a cook?”

            “Confectioner, actually,” said (Y/N). They grinned teasingly. “Yes, that means I could make coffee jelly.”

            “Are you an angel?” blurted Saiki.

            (Y/N) just laughed.

            Saiki found that he liked that sound.

l

            (Y/N) was heading to Café Mami, simply thinking about the snacks they wanted. They were broken from their thoughts when she bumped into Teruhashi and Yumehara.

            “Teruhashi? Yumehara?”

            “(L/N)?”

            “(Y/N)?”

            They ended up sitting together inside Café Mami.

            “I think this is the first time we’ve seen each other outside of school,” said Yumehara.

            “Now that you mention it, you’re right,” said Teruhashi.

            “I didn’t know you two came here,” said Yumehara.

            “It makes the best tea and sweets,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            “I come to study and read,” said Teruhashi.

            “I see…” Yumehara trailed off.

            All three took a sip of their drinks.

            This is awkward. We don’t talk much at school, thought Teruhashi.

            I called them by their first names. Do we know each other well enough to do that? wondered Yumehara.

            This tea is really nice, thought (Y/N).

            “Ah, come to think of it, our school trip is coming up soon, right?” remarked Yumehara, making conversation.

            “Okinawa, isn’t it? I can’t wait,” said Teruhashi.

            “Yeah, I’m really looking forward to it.” Yumehara began to fantasize about Saiki complimenting her (extremely unrealistically).

            “Yeah…” Teruhashi began to daydream Saiki saying “oh, wow” (also extremely unrealistically).

            “I’m excited!” chirped (Y/N). They imagined Saiki as well, but their mind pictured just traveling Okinawa with him (though they also wished for a moment with him. They did like him, after all).

            “I can dream, right…” breathed Teruhashi.

            “Huh? Were you thinking something just now?” asked Yumehara.

            “What? No, nothing!” said Teruhashi hurriedly. “What about you two?”

            “I-I wasn’t thinking about anything,” stammered Yumehara.

            “I was thinking about what I want to do on the trip,” said (Y/N) honestly.

            “Um, do you have someone you like, Kokomi?” asked Yumehara, trying to create conversation again.

            Teruhashi spit out the tea she was drinking.

            “What?! You do?” asked Yumehara excitedly.

            Oh, yeah, Teruhashi likes Saiki, remembered (Y/N).

            “N-No, I don’t,” denied Teruhashi, “You suddenly asked the question, so I was surprised.”

            “Sure…” said (Y/N). No point in exposing her to someone else who likes Saiki. Especially since it would cause him trouble.

            “Well, I guess you wouldn’t right? It seems love worries are foreign to you,” said Yumehara. “What about you, (Y/N)?”

            “Nope,” chirped (Y/N), lying easily.

            The other girls nodded uncertainly. They didn’t believe them (mostly because they assumed that (Y/N) liked Saiki as they did since they spent so much time with him).

            “What about you, Yumehara? Do you like someone?” asked the blue-haired girl.

            “Y-yeah,” said Yumehara, blushing.

            “Wow! Who is it?” questioned Teruhashi.

            Saiki again, thought (Y/N).

            “Well…don’t tell anyone, okay?” asked Yumehara.

            “Of course not,” said (Y/N).

            “Someone in our class?” asked Teruhashi.

            “Yeah,” admitted Yumehara.

            “Ahh, now I’m curious!” Teruhashi smiled brightly.

            “My psych—,” began Yumehara.

            Oh, wow, is she really going to be truthful? (Y/N)’s eyes widened.

            Teruhashi spit out her tea. “What’d you just say?!”

            “What? Oh, I said my psycho ex-boyfriend is finally out of the picture, so…” said Yumehara.

            Oh, oops, thought (Y/N).

            “Oh, psychO…psychO, right…” mumbled Teruhashi, relieved.

            “It’s someone I liked before I went out with my boyfriend,” said Yumehara.

            “Uhm…to tell you the truth, there is someone I’m sort of interested in,” said Teruhashi.

            Is Teruhashi going to admit it???? thought (Y/N). “Wow, really?”

            “What? No way?! Who’s that?!” questioned Yumehara excitedly. “In our school?! A French guy?!”

            “H-Hey, you’re too loud,” said Teruhashi.

            “She’s very curious,” laughed (Y/N).

            “Well, since so many guys hang out with you, I can’t figure it out,” said Yumehara, shrugging.

            “No, that’s not true. The last time I hung out with guy friends was when I went to Saiki’s house with (L/N) and the other guys on New Year’s Day,” said Teruhashi, smiling.

            Yumehara spit out her tea. “O-Oh, I see.”

            Uh, oh. They’re realizing that they both like Saiki… thought (Y/N).

            They were completely unaware of the two girls who were also thinking about how (Y/N) might like Saiki. Luckily, they were all distracted as a straw wrapper popped over the booth divider.

            “Oh, sorry. It went to your side,” said Nendou, appearing over the divider. “O-Oh, Teruhashi!”

            The trio looked over at the other booth.

            “Hi, guys!” (Y/N) waved and grinned.

            The other two began to blush as they realized Saiki could have heard them talking. Seeing the other blush, their suspicions were confirmed. Strangely, though, Kaidou bumped into Yumehara, who turned completely red. Nendou then accidentally jostled Teruhashi, who also blushed. (Y/N) could tell that from Teruhashi and Yumehara’s wide eyes that they probably thought the other liked Kaidou and Nendou, respectively.

            (Y/N) grinned and whispered to Saiki, “Lucky break for you. Now they won’t be fighting over you.”

            “Yeah. Just lucky.”

      ��     Unfortunately, (Y/N) wasn’t as lucky, and as they spoke to Saiki, they remained right in the line of fire of Teruhashi and Yumehara’s suspicions.

            Yare yare.

            Saiki decided to ignore them and order another coffee jelly. With (Y/N).

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[hunn1e-bunn1e]

Zhongli - With Gojo-like Archon Reader

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

You guys are killing with this spacing your asks thing, just make a paragraph, please! T^T

Anywho! Be forewarned! I believe that the character of Gojo Satoru is heavily intertwined with his physical appearance, so the readers will have his eyes and probably also his hair, but hair color is never mentioned. —Benny🐰

                                                                                                   

☄•♡•☄•♡•☄•♡•☄•♡•☄•♡•☄•♡•☄•♡•☄

🍵 Words cannot describe how he felt when you gave him a look of pity and disappointment after learning he made a deal with the Tsarista and gave up his Gnosis. Like, how can such a childish person give him such an ego crushing look? Ouch.

🍵 Zhongli found your carefree and childish personality to be, frankly, a nuisance. While yes, you help him wind down when he's thinking of his heartbreaking past; he doesn't need a Hu Tao at his residence too.

🍵 To say that this man was shocked upon witnessing your complete 180° shift in personality while you fight would be a lie. He was absolutely shocked, awed, flabbergasted and bamboozled... and a little turned on. You were so serious and held such authority and conviction in your voice that he couldn't help but swoon. (Subtly, of course)

🍵 Though, Zhongli did notice how cruel you can be with your opponents and he kind of wishes you would tone it down a bit. It reminds him of his losses during the archon war and he doesn't want to associate you with any painful memories because he treasures you so much.

🍵 Your confidence in your abilities and status translates to him as haughtiness at first. But upon witnessing you fight first hand and thinking about your reputation as an archon, he understands.

🍵 There has been many an occasion where you show up late to a scheduled meeting between the two of you because you were off buying sweets. Consider Zhongli annoyed. But you made up for it by treating him to some Bamboo Shoot Soup and a promise to let him tell you as many stories as he wants.

🍵 You once playfully teased (harrassed) Barbatos about how weak he'd become from being absent from his people; you also stole his wine, what a great day that was. It seems you enjoyed gloating to Barbatos and himself about your accomplishments as well.

🍵 Zhongli noticed right away that whenever you both were out and about, if he so much as glances at something, it's in a take away bag before he can even blink. It's to the point where he can't even forget his mora because you hid it from him just so he can't try and pay. He appreciates your generosity but let him pay you back, please.

🍵 There has been many times that he's had to drag you away from the Liyue citizens. You just can't help yourself, can you? He hopes to steer you away from that behavior by giving you his best disappointed stare. It never works...

🍵 Your constant need to fight people is giving Zhongli grey hairs! Why do you want to fight Beelzebul? He doesn't understand! And isn't this La Signora woman dead? That's what Childe told him, at least. How about the two of you just sit down and enjoy some tea together instead?

🍵 Why must you speak such romantic words to him in such a risqué manner all the time? Thank you, he's glad you think he's very attractive, but must you wisper it in his ears all sultry like. You're both in public, please don't feel him up so carelessly, it's embarrassing. Stop looking at him like that with those pretty blue eyes. He'll still let you do it though, so long as you don't do too much in public.

🍵 Zhongli finds it a bit funny how you look to him for praise whenever you do something 'cool' or complete a mundane task. He thought you were joking at first until you whined about him being cold hearted and cruel. So now, he usually gives you a kiss on the forehead and then the lips while saying he's proud of you.

🍵 He unfortunately found that you and that irritating, wine reeking bard are friends... great. How did he find out, you ask? He stumbled upon a very drunk you clinging onto Barbatos and murmuring about how "my boyfriend is so cruel because he won't tell me where mora comes from". Let's just say he gave you the first of many future biggyback rides that day.

🍵 You're like Hu Tao, Childe and Venti all smooshed into one person and it's killing him. But he loves you, so he'll put up with that bratty attitude of yours for the time being, but trust, he'll sort that out soon.

🍵 Speaking of Hu Tao and Childe, it's Zhongli 's top priority to keep the three of you from meeting each other. If you three meet, he'll never have restful sleep again and he knows it. Please give him a break and stop asking him to go to the funeral parlor and Northland Bank, he doesn't know how long he can handle it anymore.

🍵 Sometimes, when you're being too energetic for his liking, he'll sling you over his shoulder and bring you to his bedroom. Then he'll trap you in his arms and lay your head on his chest and just lay there and cuddle with you while you play with his hair. Looping it around your fingers, braiding it, combing through it with your fingers; he finds it very relaxing.

☄•♡•☄•♡•☄•♡•☄•♡•☄•♡•☄•♡•☄•♡•☄

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

Wanna see similar content? Check out my Masterlist!

[pretty-red-garnet]

Nightmare

Daryl Dixon x fem! Reader • Prison • Fluff

Little fluffy drabble while I finish a couple other fics I’m working on.

     You woke with a start. Sweaty palms gripping at the metal base of your bunk at a desperate try to ground yourself. Your breaths are short, panicked and teary eyes flying around the room, from the plain grey walls to your side table of trinkets. Trinkets from Daryl, mostly. Little things he knew you'd like. You stare at them an extra second, a try to distract your mind from it's current thoughts.

Your throat is dry and it burns. You make a grab for the canteen of water on your table, but in your haste, you knock it over and it clatters loudly to the floor. You close your eyes for a second, praying that no one would wake. It was pretty tight in the cell block, and the metal canteen echoed obnoxiously when it hit the ground.

Your heart drops when you see the shadow of a person coming towards your cell. Quiet footsteps make their way to your doorway and knuckles lightly rap at one of the bars before Daryl peeks his head in. His hair is brushed aside in a messy manner, like he'd just woken and shoved it back quickly.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" You ask, cringing at the horse sound of your voice. Daryl noticed too, seeing from the pinch in his brow.

"S'alright." He slowly makes his way into your cell. "You alright?" He bends to grab your fallen canteen, handing it to you. "Heard you tossin' and turnin' before."

"Yeah, I'm ok," you answer, giving his a small smile. "Thanks."

"Nightmare again?" He asks after analyzing your face for a moment. He drops to sit on your bed with a little groan, the metal bed frame creaking. You nod, pulling your legs to your chest.

It most certainly wasn't your first bad dream since the end of the world. Thoughts of death, turning into a walker, you friends— family, turning to walkers, you helplessly watching unable to do anything. Daryl dying right in front of you. Your heart races just at the thought of the most recent dream. Of his pale and bloody face, staring back at you with lifeless eyes.

     They've always been bad, ever since the start, but they've been worse lately. The governor was still out there somewhere, probably as a walker but it didn't ease your worries much. The Woodbury citizens had taken up space behind the prison's tall fences. More mouths to feed. More people to protect. You know the dreams you're having are out of stress, a looming feeling from deep in your chest that seemed to never ease.

Well, except when Daryl was around.

     "Wanna talk 'bout it?" He asks, sitting back further to rest his back against the cool cement of the wall.

     "Just the usual," you answer, shrugging. Daryl nods, biting at the inside of his cheek.

     "Alright then," Daryl says, standing. "Scooch." He pulls the blankets off you, motioning with his hand for you to move over. You smile and comply, although you're somewhat nervous.

     This wasn't the first time you and Daryl had been in close quarters, especially after one of your nightmares, but never in a bed. It had started back on the road after the farm. Typically, it was just a warm hand on your back when he'd noticed your shivering. Most of the time pushing his sleeping bag closer to yours to press his back against yours. Just a little contact to show you he was there. But not cuddling in a bed.

Despite your nerves, you do as he says anyway, pushing against the wall so he has a little sliver of the cot. You try to give him as much room as possible, but he pulls you closer. A hand rests on your hip while your head is placed on his chest. Despite Daryl's cool exterior, his heart is beating a thousand beats a second.

"Am I making you nervous?" You ask, a little nervous giggle punctuating your sentence.

"Nah," he answers, but his fingers tapping an irregular rhythm against your hip tells a different story. "Good to sleep now?"

     You smile and nod into his chest, cuddling even further into him. After another few quiet moments, Daryl's heart rate calms and his fingers are just a presence holding you tight, no longer tapping.

     This is different. All of this is. It's intimate and close, closer than you'd been with anybody in a very long time. His hold on you is tight, but not possessive. Protective. The feeling in your chest is different too, a warmth that spreads all the way to your toes and places a smile on your face.

     When Daryl's breathing evens and slows, you risk a glance to his face. He looks so peaceful and calm, the opposite of how you were feeling just minutes ago. You brush his fringe away from his face and smile softly at how his nose twitches.

    The new world is scary, the new feeling blooming in your chest is scary, but as long as you have Daryl with you, you can get through anything.

[porcelana-r0ta]

The Curse of Sight, Part 6

DCxDP

[Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7]

[Ao3 Link] (locked for Ao3 members only)

Summary: When Wes Weston meets Tim Drake-Wayne, the dots start connecting. And those dots form a bat. 

xxXxx

The screen focuses on a woman with her hair pulled back in a braid. The wall behind her is just a blank gray. She smiles into the camera, half-nervous and half-calm. She says, “We are five minutes into active lockdown at WE. Everyone is taking bets on which villain is holding the CEO captive.” 

Off-screen, someone says, “We’re going to be fired for this.” 

“No way, Mr. Wayne will probably think it’s funny.” The woman looks into the camera, “Anyway, my name is Rebecca, and I think that Poison Ivy is holding Bruce Wayne ransom until he personally solves the climate crisis.” 

The camera switches to a black woman, “My name is Kourtnie and I think Mr. Wayne is being held captive by The Joker.” She waves a scolding finger at the camera. “He never got over the electric car thing.” 

The next person is an older man who clears his throat before speaking, “Ahem, I’m Johnny. I think Mr. Wayne is being held by Two-Face, and he’s just angry that our boss skipped out on poker night, or something.” He turns to someone off-camera and asks quietly, “Will I get fired for that? Or will Two-Face shoot me for saying that?” 

Someone answers, “Just hope it’s a quick death. And if you’re fired, you get unemployment.” 

Johnny looks into the camera with a deadpan expression, “Party.” 

The camera is switched from employee to employee, each placing their predictions and theories. Finally, the camera is handed to Wes, who just sighs. 

“I’m Wes, the intern. I think Mr. Wayne is being held captive by no -name villains with guns, and that he’s just getting the typical American public school experience.” 

A few moments of silence. Then, off-screen, Johnny quips, “Good to hear I won’t be the only one called into HR tomorrow.” 

When the TikTok is somehow approved and is posted, it is captioned, “It was Kite Man #onlyingotham.” 

xxXxx

Wes is relieved when he finishes his fitting, and is secretly excited with the idea of seeing animals. He knows that Damian Wayne is a little tetchy, but he’s pretty sure that Dick Grayson will be all too happy to let him pet his dog, Haley. 

It’s basically free zoo time, like going to a pet store just to look at the animals. And he’s getting paid for it! 

When they get to Wayne Manor, Wes blinks at the grandeur of it all, especially the imperial staircase in the interior entrance of the Manor and the crystal chandelier hanging from the high ceiling. 

Ugh. Eat the rich. 

“Do you guys want any snacks or drinks?” Tim asks as they walk in, the butler (introduced as Alfred Pennyworth, but everyone knows he’s basically the Wayne Grandpa) closing the door behind them. 

“I think we’re good,” Wes says. 

“Yeah,” Rebecca agrees. “We should mic up everyone who’s gonna be talking. Thanks for asking, though.” 

“I’ll have cookies and refreshments ready after you come back from the barn nonetheless,” Mr. Pennyworth says. “It is hot outside, after all.” 

Before Wes or Rebecca can say anything, Tim says, “You’re gonna want to try Alfred’s cookies. They’re legendary.” 

“You flatter me, Master Tim.”

“Well, we gotta have legendary cookies,” Rebecca laughs. 

Tim leads them into a sitting room where Dick and Damian are petting each other’s pets—Dick petting Titus and Damian petting the three-legged Haley, and Alfred the Cat overseeing her common citizens from the top of the sofa, her tail flicking imperiously behind her. 

“Guys,” Tim says, clearing his throat. He motions to Wes and Rebecca, “This is Wes Weston, my friend. And PR intern. Oh, and, uh, this is Rebecca Grey, social media support specialist.”

“Thanks for remembering me, boss!” Rebecca chimes, then silently mouths, “support specialist” to herself, as if she’s never heard herself referred to as such. 

Tim rolls his eyes, an action that Wes copies, and finishes the introductions, “And these are my brothers, Dick Grayson and Damian Wayne.”

“It’s great to meet you!” Dick says, jumping up from his crouch. He shakes hands with Rebecca, winking—always a performer, not just as a Flying Grayson, but also as a Wayne adoptee and the first Boy Wonder, surely. Rebecca nevertheless giggles. 

Then it’s Wes’s turn for a handshake, and Wes wants to think he’s imagining things. He really, really does. But, Ancients curse him (as Danny and his group would say), he’s too observant to be making things up. So that means that Dick Grayson’s smile really does widen upon making eye contact, and his eyes really do narrow in what Wes hopes is interest and not suspicion. 

When can Wes retire peacefully in the Maldives? Fifteen going on sixteen isn’t too young to consider early retirement, right? 

Dick’s handshake is blessedly done with normal strength on his end, and Wes is just a puny basketball player from Amity Park, disregarding the minor ectoplasmic contamination that most Amity teens have. It’s not enough for superpowers like it is for Danny or his older sister (and that last bit is just a suspicion on Wes’s part, given that she lives above the damn ghost portal and all). The Fentons had officially proclaimed any contamination below 20% a “non-issue,” which isn’t as reassuring as they think it is, but it’s enough to keep the GIW off the average Amity Parker’s back, so there’s that at least. 

At the intrusive thought of the Guys In White, his hands break out into a sweat, and he’s glad that he’s not shaking the first Robin’s hand anymore. That would be humiliating. 

“Okay, so we should go ahead and mic you guys up,” Rebecca says. “Mr. Drake, do you want to be in this? We have enough mics.” 

“Oh, yes, sure,” Tim says, and before he can say much else, Dick cheerfully says, “Great! I’m so excited to be in a TikTok with my little brothers. Hey, Wes, why don’t you mic up Tim? I’ll take Rebecca—” he throws her another wink, and Wes already knows from her dress specifications that she’s not straight, but she still flushes and giggles—”and then help her mic up Baby Dami, yeah?”

“Call me that again, Grayson, and Haley will have a new owner.”

Tim is also slightly flushed, so maybe it’s just hot in here as he responds, “Yes, yes, excellent idea!” 

Dick just laughs while Rebecca pulls out the mic packs from one of the smaller AV bags meant for travel. She hands one of the packs to him, and then winks at him. 

“Why did you—” But she’s already walking away to Dick, giving him a high-five before asking where he’d like the mic. 

What the hell was that? What just happened? 

Perplexed, Wes turns to Tim, but the other won’t look at him. 

“Uh, Tim? You good?”

He coughs, “Ye-yeah! Yeah! I’m great. Fantastic. So. Miking up?”

“Uh, yeah. Where do you want….” Wes waves the mic in the air. 

“Oh, just on my collar is fine. It’s not like I have to hide it, right?”

“Right.” Wes steps closer so they’re face to face, gently clipping the mic to the white collar beneath his work suit. He’s so close that he can feel the heat of Tim’s face, and when he’s done clipping the mic on, he smooths the clothes down with his palms. 

Then, he makes the mistake of looking at Tim’s eyes. 

Blue. Very blue and vibrant, like the sky while up in the airplane on his way. Not like the sky here in Gotham, sick with desperation, or in Amity, where it was more green most days now. No, Tim was alive, in a way that was foreign to both this city and Amity Park. And those blue eyes are focused squarely on him. 

Wes’s heart stops. Then it starts running. 

Tim bites his lower lip, and the movement jolts Wes into looking down. He’s never looked at another guy’s lips before, but Tim’s are pink and soft. He probably uses some kind of fancy rich people chapstick. 

Wes wonders what it tastes like. 

“Umm… Wes?”

“Yeah? Oh! Sorry, Tim.” Wes suddenly feels the heat that Rebecca and Tim must have been feeling this whole time, every part of his body burning in embarrassment. He takes a step back, clearing his throat, “Sorry, sorry… I got lost in thought.” 

“No, it’s okay! ….I did, too.” 

Wes can’t look up at him, fidgeting with the transmitter that now has to go onto Tim’s waistband. 

“Um, can you turn around? I need to, uh, hook this up to your belt….” This was humiliating. 

“Yeah, yes! Of course.” Tim turns around, and Wes makes quick work of slipping under the suit jacket and clipping the transmitter to his pants, refusing to accidentally draw out any unnecessary contact. He’s grateful that the Waynes are absurdly wealthy because at least there’s no wire to worry about threading beneath any shirts….

“You’re done now,” Wes says, and in unison, they both jump away, leaving five feet of space between them. 

“Unbelievable,” Damian Wayne mutters, glaring at them, and Wes looks up from his embarrassment to see that Dick and Damian are already both miked up, and Dick and Rebecca are looking a little too happy with the situation. Rebecca is even already wearing the headphones that will catch the audio. 

“Shut up, Demon,” Tim says, but it lacks any bite. Damian rolls his eyes. 

“Let’s do a mic check,” Rebecca says. “Mr. Drake, we’ll start with you. Say anything.” 

“Anything,” he deadpans. 

“Good. Mr. Grayson?”

“Just Dick, please!”

“Got it. Mr. Wayne?”

“Sound check.” 

“We’re on a roll, it looks like! Here, Wes, you take the headset to keep monitoring the sound, I’ll actually handle the camera.” 

Wes dutifully takes the headset from her and puts it on, adjusting the connected mic so it wasn’t so close to his mouth. 

“Alright!” Rebecca grins, delighted, and says, “Let’s get down to business!”

xxXxx

They wrap up filming at the barn where Wes can’t look away from the cow’s face. 

She has a goddamn Bat symbol painted across her forehead. She is named Bat-Cow. Sure, Tim told him about her, but seeing it?

How do these people have secret identities?

Wes thinks about that time Brucie Wayne went viral for not knowing how much frozen garlic bread cost, or that time Dickie Grayson did an acrobat routine from a chandelier at a Wayne Gala when he was a child, and he understands.

Right. Some of them pretend to be idiots.

Wes is just the idiot who can see through it, for whatever accursed reason. 

“Are cookies still on the table?” Rebecca asks, breaking through Wes’s internal thoughts. 

“Yes, always!” 

“Awesome! Let’s head back inside and remove the mic packs, then snack.” 

“A woman after my own heart!” Dick pretends to swoon, and she laughs. Tim makes eye contact with Wes and rolls his eyes pointedly. Wes has to smother a chortle. 

Damian gives one last head scratch to Bat-Cow before they start moving back up to the Manor, Tim falling in line with Wes farther back from the others. 

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” Wes says back. 

“I was wondering….”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, do you wanna just stay the night and ride in to work with me tomorrow? Would your mom be cool with it?” 

His mom would be more than cool with him staying at a friend’s house. Because that’s what Tim was, right? Just a friend. And his mom used to be so worried about his social development. 

“Yeah,” he says. “She knows who to hunt down if I end up in Gotham Harbor. I’ll text her.” 

Tim smiles and elbows his ribs, “Scaryyy.”

“Yeah, well. Moms.” Moms who were Amity Park natives transplanted to Gotham City? A different breed of terrifying, probably. Even if his mom moved to Gotham before the portal opened, there was always something unsettling about Amity Park, Illinois.

“True,” Tim notes. 

As casually as he can, he says, “I’ll need to borrow clothes.”

“Right, obviously. You… can borrow mine, if that’s cool.”

“Super cool. Obviously.” Wes takes his turn to softly elbow Tim, even though he knows that he could put all his strength into it and it would be nothing more than a light brush against Tim’s Red Robin vigilante muscles. 

Tim’s smile is soft and kind and his eyes are blue and alive. 

Wes’s heart pounds. His skin prickles. He feels hotter, hotter than he did a few seconds ago, but surely it’s just because he’s under Gotham City’s June sun.

Still… he kind of likes the heat. 

xxXxx

Taglist: @theamazingfox @quietlyscared @lumosfeather18581   @blankliferain @amercurio @gin2212 @starscreamlover @hoarder-of-gender @the-ghost-trader @iariinay @ectoplasm024 @theblackcatscratchpost @chaos-n-kindness @overtherose @roseinbloom02 @jaguarthecat @i23432i

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Ao3 is updated first BUT I upload onto Tumblr 10-30 minutes after uploading on Ao3, so don’t worry about missing out on early content or anything. Everything is updated within the hour :)

[sailor-sun-18]

HONKAI STAR RAIL

Genre: Fluff/Humor

Character: GEPARD

DRAWING SNOWFLAKES

Snowflakes fell gently from the grey tinted sky, covering the streets of Belobog with their soft and cold embrace.

The soft ‘clicks’ of your boots echoed in the long hallway marked with door upon door on either side. You stopped in front of a particular door, framed by two white and blue banners, bearing the emblem of the Silvermane Guards.

You knocked, twice, the sound of wood muffled by your gloved hands. You took a step back, waiting for a bit, before a gentle ‘come in’ came from the study behind the dark mahogany.

“Gepard, you called me?” you said, closing the door behind your frame.

The Silvermane captain looked up from his desk, a gentle smile on his lips.

“Yes,- he set aside his paperwork and rummaged in the first drawer -the Madam Guardian has issued the command to arrest the Outsiders.”

He then put four drawings on his desk, “But before I go back to the front lines, I drew some wanted posters. I wanted to hear your opinion about them.”

You neared his place, picking a wanted poster. Dark grey and vibrant yellow mashed into a single, horrible and unrecognizable figure and was that a baseball bat behind them?

“What do you think?”

Gloved fingers gently crumpled the edge of the yellowed paper. You sweated nervously under the heavy, dark blue coat as you felt frost tinted irises locked onto your frame.

His drawing was... well, his drawing was... it was-

...Uh

Gepard looked expectantly at you, with eyes seeming to sparkle almost adorably and, for a moment, you felt bad. You mentally weighed the pros and cons, stealing a small glance at the blond.

Silence fell, you awkwardly grazed your cheek with the tip of your fingers. Eyes switching from the wanted poster to his blue irises, intently watching your every movement.

Suddenly, your face was in your hands. Belobog and outsiders be damned. You couldn’t bear to see a frown on his pretty face.

“It’s...- your grimaced -...uhm... very artistic?”

A small smile blossomed on your sweet lover’s face, oblivious to your inner turmoil.

“Really?” he asked, his brightened voice betraying his usually composed persona.

“Y-yes,- you faked a cough behind your hand -you’ve improved.” you lied, mentally apologizing to the citizens of Belobog.

The young Silvermane captain gave you a small, timid smile. “Thank you, [y-n].” he said, small flowers dancing around his head. You stiffly handed back his masterpiece and watched as he sat again, finishing the last sketches of another unidentified figure, a bright pink pencil between gloved fingers.

The cold air of Belobog greeted you as you left the comforting warmth of the main headquarters. You fixed the rifle strapped to your back.

An exasperated sigh left your lips.

Now, where was Pela again?

[deathbxnny]

☆《True Power. (Yanqing x HoT!Reader)》☆

-----♡

A/N: This is another request from the dear Yanqing Anon again! I thank them very much for this brilliant idea and hope, that this is good enough!<33

Summary: You are the Herrscher of thunder, that somehow found herself in the hsr world. You were taken in by Jing Yuan and eventually got together with Yanqing during it. You never had any reason to show off the extent of your powers... until you did.

Content: some angst, established relationship, Herrscher reader and her pet dragon, fluff, mentions of violence/fighting, sfw

Reader is afab and uses she/her pronouns!

((Not fully proofread, sorry for any mistakes!))

-----♡

The day started out like all days did.

You woke up, got dressed and met your master and boyfriend in the dining room for some breakfast, before everyone had to leave for another long work day. You peacefully ate your bread, listening into the conversation the two men were having. Yanqing sat next to you, his hand holding onto your thigh absently, as he excitedly talked to Jing Yuan about his most recent sword addition in his collection.

You smiled, happy to see your boyfriend in such good spirits as usual. But that unfortunately didn't last long, when the news of a Mara-struck outbreak came in, making you three hastily make your way to the generals main office so Jing Yuan could assess the situation better. The entire ship was in pure chaos, guards running around to evacuate citizens, whilst researchers ran around gathering their research.

You quickly trailed after Yanqing, his hand tightly holding onto yours protectively. "Stay close." He said to you, his eyes focused on his surroundings in case of a monster suddenly appearing. You just nodded, knowing that you'd be safe anyways. Not only because of Yanqing, but also because of the little secret you kept about your existence.

You don't know how you did it, but one day, you just suddenly woke up on the Xianzhou Luofu, in a completely different world and timeline from your original one. You were the Herrscher of Thunder and extremely powerful at that. When you met Jing Yuan and Yanqing, you tried vaguely explaining to them what you were and whilst they didn't fully understand it, they knew it had to be kept a secret, in case someone dangerous tries using you for their own gain.

And so, you were taken in by the general and instructed to not use your abilities, unless absolutely necessary. You didn't mind, as you never had a reason to use them anymore here anyways... but you had a feeling, that that may change sooner than you thought.

--

Eventually, you found yourself outside of the realm keeping commission with your boyfriend, patiently waiting on further orders on the situation. "... Are you worried, that the outbreak might spread further?" You quietly ask Yanqing, sitting down on some steps. "Hm, not really at the moment... but we should be aware of the dangers and possibilities... we can't let our guard down." He said thoughtfully, seemingly trying to also comfort you a little. But it was hard, when things were so uncertain and chaotic. The commission was scrambling to get everything under control and with the escape of a certain stellaron hunter, things were just getting worse and worse.

You nodded your head, about to say something else, when someone suddenly tapped your shoulder. "Uhm hey! Sorry to bother you... but is the commission somewhere nearby? We're kind of lost." A pink haired girl said to you nearly nervously, pointing at the older man and grey haired girl behind her with a defeated smile. Yanqing glanced at the three, noting that they were definitely foreigners. "Ah actually, it's right behind us." You say politely, making the girl blush in embarrassment.

"Oh... oops, so we were close after all, haha...!" She laughed, making the older man shake his head with a sigh. He looked over at you and stopped for a moment, his eyes narrowing. "... Are you perhaps apart of the commission?" He asked, making Yanqing quickly answer for you. "Not directly! I'm a lieutenant of the cloud knights and Retainer to general Jing Yuan. My girlfriend over here is my assistant." He clarified, guessing that the foreigners were asked to come here by someone on the ship.

You quickly found out more about the three guests after some quick mutual introductions. It was your first time hearing of the Astral Express and it intrigued you. Though Welt seemed oddly suspicious of you for some reason... you couldn't dwell on it much though, when a guard suddenly approached you in panic.

Turns out, that your worries and fears had come true. There was a mob of strong Mara-struck nearing the Exalting Santum and quickly at that. "I'll handle it. Report this to the generals immideatly." Yanqing said sternly to the guard, before turning to you and the trio behind you. "You should stay here-" "-I'm coming with you, whether you like it or not." You cut him off, stubbornly crossing your arms. "We'll join in too!" March said determinedly, as the other two deadpanned lightly at being dragged into this, yet decided to just agree and go along with it.

Yanqing stared at you four for a moment, before sighing in pure defeat. There was no time to argue back.

"Very well... but stay close and get ready for a tough fight. I have a feeling, that this won't go smoothly..."

--

And Yanqing was unfortunately right.

The Mara-struck were much stronger than you had anticipated and it was beginning to become impossible to keep them back. They were constantly regenerating their life energy and it was wearing you all out. You realised, that the only way to end this, was by using your abilities. And Welt seemed to think the same.

"I know what you are... do it and I'll have your back." The older man hummed, as he pushed up his glasses and gripped his cane. You sighed, before nodding and stepping infront of everyone. "(Y/N), stay back! What are you-" "-It's okay, I'll handle it." You said determinedly and in a flash, you took on your form as the Herrscher of thunder.

You opened your eyes, squinting a little in discomfort from how unfamiliar this felt. It's been a long time, since you've actually used your abilities like this. But you knew, that not even your sword could help much in this situation, which meant that you'll also have to call on some backup. You hoped, that your dear old "pet" still listened to you, after so long.

Most of your companions were staring at you in complete awe, never having seen someone like you before. Especially Yanqing, who's eyes trailed over the Blade in excitement. He didn't know, that you possessed it and now that he did, he'll definitely ask you to let him look at it closer later. But for now, he was intrigued to see how your abilities worked.

You crossed your arms infront of your chest, as your large mechanical arms swung down with the massive Katana and cut several monsters in half. It was much more effective, but even with your katana slashing through several enemies, there were still too many coming in. Deciding that it was time to call in your backup, you closed your eyes and focused on summoning your dragon ally.

The ground began shaking, the sky split in half, the clouds turning dark and black, as thunder roared through the sky. And much to your delight, your dear dragon Kurikara had indeed heard you and has come to the rescue. You smiled, as you looked up at it approaching you through a portal in the sky, practically racing to your aid loyally. It gave you an ache in your heart, remembering your old world always did that to you.

But you shook the emotions away, as Kurikara landed infront of you. "W-woah! Is that a new fragmentum monster or something?!" March yelled in slight fear, as the others got ready for a seemingly much stronger "enemy" now. Welt just hummed, recognising the dragon with ease, yet he said nothing. You'd explain everything on due time.

Yanqing frowned, stepping forward to protect you, as he gripped his sword in his hand. Yet he was stopped by Stelle, who was telling him to wait it out to see what happens. And he was glad he did, when you mounted Kurikara in the next moment and flew up into the dark sky. You looked down at the monsters with confidence, a small smile gracing your face.

"Let's do this, Kurikara. Like old times." You said and so the dragon unhinged it's large mouth and shot a laser beam right down onto your enemies. They were pulverised in an instant and those that did survive it, quickly retreated in fear of being next, which successfully eliminated the threat. You chuckled, your hand reaching down to pat the dragon absently.

It was nice, to feel this strong again.

--

"Sooo... you have a pet dragon? That's super cool!" March gasped in excitement, as she patted the dragon happily with your permission. You hummed and nodded, having explained that your dear companion was indeed no threat and in fact a friend of yours. Stelle decided not to question it, whilst Welt gave you a knowing look, that confirmed to you, that he knew more than he let on.

But if he didn't mention it, then you wouldn't either.

Yanqing on the otherhand just took your hands in his with sparkling eyes. He was unbearably proud of having you as a lover and was absolutely honoured too. "Thank you for stopping the threat, my crane... but I do have a request..." He trailed off and you couldn't help but smile at that. You knew what he wanted. "Once we get back and report to the general, I'll let you have a look at my blade." You promised him gently, smiling at the excited look he gave you. He pulled your hands to his lips and kissed them softly, his eyes radiating with warmth, as the sky returned back to normal, an orange hue enveloping you all.

"I love you." "I love you too, Yanqing."

-----♡

A/N: I hope this was okay and not all over the place or confusing! Thank you again dear Yanqing Anon for the request!<33

[possibilistfanfiction]

I love any AUs you write! I love any canon you write! Whenever you write anything I'm so happy :) I know things are busy in life always so I'm waiting patiently and with excitement. Thank you

this is so sweet, here's something a little silly.

/

summary: "ava is quiet for a while. 'do you think,' she whispers, 'that we know each other in all of them?'

it's late and ava is drunk and you say things you mean, when it's like this. when the rest of the world is asleep and there's ava's perfume and the mountains. you say the truth quietly: 'i can't imagine my universe doesn't have you in it.'"

[or: in every universe, there's a lot of love. 5 small AUs, + 1 canon]

ao3

//

this is the golden age (of something good & right & real)

this i can tell you: when i came to your apartment for the first time, i recognized it. i knew, without knowing how, that i would never leave. these were the bricks you had been laying without knowing it; this was the path my flares had been lighting. it was the beginning of a wobbly and joyful and occasionally gross carrying on, learning to come home to you, marked and myself.

— jordan kissner, 'backward miracle', from thin places

/

1

it hurts, to hold death in your hands.

there's blood all over your scrubs and there's nothing you could have done differently; your hands are fast and clever and so is your brain. you've trained for so long for this, practiced for years and years, and still, you can't save everyone.

it's what ava tells you, after you've called time of death and after you have to tell a family that their son is dead, that the damage was too severe even before he was on your operating table, even before you'd cracked open his chest and held his shredded heart; he had died with you saying a silent apology, a prayer, a blessing. it's what ava tells you when she finds you in the attending lounge, tucked into a corner of the couch, your hands stinging.

'wanna hear a horrible platitude, dr. choi?'

you tuck your head into her shoulder, take comfort in the familiarity of her rose perfume and the starchy laundry detergent the hospital uses and the softness of her fleece quarterzip, ava silva, md, phd, facs embroidered on one side, department of neurosurgery smaller beneath. you feel her pulse beneath your lips on her neck, less of a kiss and more of a measure: 74 beats per minute, you count, healthy and normal and real.

'when has me saying no to that ever stopped you, dr. silva?'

she grins. 'someone very wise once told me: you can't save everyone.'

you huff, but it's not with any bite, and you follow along when she puts a finger under your chin and asks, silently, for you to meet her eyes. there are things you need to do, now that you're out of surgery and your shift is, technically, over: pick up your daughter from her tennis lesson; remember to remind ava to grill the zucchini for dinner you both keep forgetting is in the fridge; fold the load of laundry that you'd left in the dryer the night before; take your dog to his weekly canine good citizen class. there are things you need to do but for right now the only important thing is your wife, small and beautiful and brilliant, running her hand through your hair, scratching your scalp lightly, stilling her hand comfortingly there, the back of your skull. she rebuilds spines and you save hearts, or at the very least, you try; her back aches, all the time, and you have more grey in your hair every year.

when you had started your residency program here you had known you would be excellent at surgical innovation, at quick, precise sutures, at research; you hadn't anticipated, at all, how ava silva — brash and loud and deeply caring — had made all of that seem minuscule in the face of listening to a patient carefully, every single time. insignificant compared to the way she loves you, the way she has since before she had been so brave and kissed you one day in the stairwell after you'd saved someone. it's always a miracle: stitching someone's chest up, whole; kissing ava like it's the only thing you've ever wanted.

'i wish i could,' you say, softly, an admission and a hope.

'i know, baby.' ava kisses your temple. 'that's why you're the best in the world. that's why you do save so many people.'

you want to tell her no, it's because you love me. it's because you've given me a life and a home and a beautiful child and endless patience when i can't quite catch up, can't quite love as big or as loud or with the same abandon. you want to tell her so much, all the time, but she just cups your jaw and looks you calmly in the eyes.

'i know,' she tells you softly.

'i love you.'

she smiles, easy and delighted, just like she had the first time you said it, all those years ago, in the middle of a rainstorm in the parking lot after you'd jogged after her at the end of a shift, when you couldn't last another moment without saying it, without her knowing for sure. 'oh, bea,' she says, 'i love you too.'

you don't bother to change out of your new pair of scrubs, and ava seems to decide that's fine for her too. she carefully folds your slacks and sweater and puts them in your duffle, then throws her nice clothes in a messy pile on top. you roll your eyes but just for posterity.

she fishes your wedding bands out from the small zipped pocket on the side and puts hers on, then grins when she runs her thumb along your tender wrist and slips it onto your finger. it's raining again today, too, and you open your umbrella as you leave, make sure ava is completely covered. your shoulder gets a little wet but you don't mind. ava takes your hand in hers, cold and slightly chapped and real — so, so real — and you hold it too, easy: life.

/

2

ava silva, you read on the report, and then the details about her arrest. she has no priors and there's a whole slew of cases just like this judge superion continues to dismiss entirely — much to your delight — in the wake of so many protests. your job has been monumentally chaotic lately, but you're glad for it, glad you're able to do something.

you take a deep breath and comb your fingers through your hair with its neat part and clean edges, straighten the lapels on your suit, and set your shoulders: you will win.

when you open the door, ava perks up. she's wearing a t-shirt that says ACAB on it, with a picture of pigs behind, and there's both a small palestinian flag and a small bisexual flag taped on the handles of her chair. her hair, just brushing her chin, is kind of a mess, and she looks exhausted, but, still she smiles.

'you're my lawyer?'

you're a little thrown off by the question: you're young, but so is ava; you'd passed the bar with one of the highest scores in the state a few years ago and have been excellent ever since, offered countless partner track positions at various firms, but instead you've chosen to do work you actually care about; you've been building a rock solid reputation as one of the most gifted attorneys at the aclu for awhile now.

but you nod, offer your hand. 'beatrice, she/her pronouns.'

'sweet. i'm ava — which i guess you already know — any pronouns.'

you nod and make a neat little note on the report.

'okay, before you judge me for what i'm about to say, please know that i haven't slept in 36 hours, and i think i might be getting a pressure sore on my hip because i've had to be in my chair this entire time.'

you frown. 'that's unconstitutional. they're supposed to make sure you have accommodations under the ADA.'

'yeah,' she says, ‘well, if the police state actually cared about disabled people, we probably wouldn’t be in this jail, would we?’

you bite your bottom lip. ‘we wouldn’t.’

she shrugs. ‘anyway. i was just gonna say you’re hot.’

'oh.'

'don't read too much into it,' ava says. 'i'm tired.'

'understandably so. would it be more comfortable for you to move somewhere else? i can probably arrange it quickly.'

'nah,' they say, dismiss the idea with a wave of their hand. 'let's just get this over with, right? i mostly just want to go home.' their shoulders soften. 'thank you, though.'

'of course.'

'you really mean that, don't you?’

you know the weight of it. 'yes, i do.'

ava's smile is bright, tired, easy, especially for all of this. 'do you want to hear my side, or do you already know what you're going to tell the jury?'

'there won't be a jury,' you say, seriously, and then laugh when you realize ava was kidding. 'i suspect, in fact, that judge superion will dismiss all charges immediately.'

'whew,' ava says, 'thank fuck.'

'i do want to know what happened, though. if you feel safe and comfortable telling me. i can pull in mental health support if that would be helpful.'

'oh,' ava says, but then shakes his head. 'that's okay. you're, you know, you seem cool. in addition to being hot.'

'ava.'

'sorry.' she grins and you're already helpless against it. she tells you what happened, and, just like you suspected, ava had done nothing wrong, and, just as you've always come to expect, the cop assaulted her, certainly not the other way around. she also tells you that she runs community outreach programming for a grassroots disability justice organization, that she's a mario kart champion, and that she has a cat named serena williams — not necessary, but endearing nonetheless, and you don't stop her. instead, you take notes carefully and put your pen down when it's clear she's finished.

'well, i feel strongly that your case will be dismissed without any issue, although of course i can't promise for certain.'

'poor form, i guess. makes sense.'

'unfortunately, you should change your shirt before we go into the courtroom.'

'damn,' ava says, shaking her head ruefully, although she laughs. 'can i keep the flags, though?'

you shrug out of your jacket; ava probably doesn't have any spare clothes, and it's easier this way. you want her to get to go home as quickly as possible. 'you can keep the flags,' you say, and hand your jacket to her quietly.

'damn, gucci? i — i can't wear this. like, for real, beatrice.'

'no worries.' she still frowns. 'genuinely. it’s due to be dry-cleaned anyway.'

she squints. your suit jacket is deep green, linen lined with gold silk. it had been the first thing you'd bought yourself when you passed the bar, when you were just settling into your skin: tailored suits and crisp button-downs, comfortable, soft sweaters and loose cotton pants on the weekends. you cannot think of a single other person in the entire world that you would so casually let wear something so special, something that holds a lot of comfort and pride.

ava still looks skeptical but he puts it on, lifting with his arms to tuck it properly around his waist, and then buttons it so that the majority of his shirt is covered. 'thank you, beatrice.'

you nod. 'let's go get everything taken care of, yes?'

and you do: it goes as you'd both hoped and expected, and soon, you're walking with ava out of the courthouse. it's bright; you get your sunglasses out of your briefcase and ava grins up at you.

'well, will you let me take care of your dry-cleaning for your jacket as a thank you, at least?'

'i — it's my job. no need to thank me.'

'you have a dry cleaner you like, huh?'

you grimace. 'i do.'

ava's laugh is bright. 'okay, fine. but, dinner?'

when you hesitate, he reaches to touch your hand, just for a moment.

'i'm trying to ask you out. so, let me? if you want?'

you open your bag and get out a business card, quickly write your personal number on the back, and then hand it to her. 'dinner sounds wonderful, ava.'

//

3

you button and unbutton the top clasp on your perfectly pressed collared shirt, then run a hand over your hair that you buzz every week, precise and just how you like it. you’re not supposed to fidget but it’s no use: you set to retying your apron for the fifth time, and then somehow feel regret for the one small, stupid tattoo of a pringle you got, just above your elbow, blackout drunk, on a dare on your twenty-third birthday, even though it's definitely not noticeable among the rest of the tattoos that fill out your sleeve.

lilith scoffs. 'chef,' she says, already a bad start because lilith never calls you that unless it’s at the beginning of an insult. she leans casually against the perfectly clean counter. 'you don't even have hair to mess with, your shirt looks gay, the pringle is admittedly funny, and your apron is as boring and perfect as ever.'

'i have never seen you in the kitchen in anything but a black apron.' it's both incomplete and petulant, unfortunately, and only makes her smile bigger, teeth bared.

'you have a crush.'

'i have never in my life have a crush.’

lilith raises a brow.

‘besides, i don't have time.'

she rolls her eyes. 'that's a shallow excuse. i'm sleeping with no less than three people at any given time.'

you pinch the bridge of your nose; you feel a headache coming on.

'fine,' lilith relents, easier than normal, probably because you both are exhausted; opening a restaurant — even though you'd been the chef de cuisine at superion's before this, with its three michelin stars — is more work than you could've imagined. 'well, i'm going to go do literally anything other than witness you continue to be terrible at flirting, especially with ava. don't do anything i wouldn't do.'

'don't think that crosses too much off the list,' you say, and lilith laughs.

'night, beatrice.'

you wave in her direction as she heads out and check on the stewed lamb you'd been simmering — delicate, full of your favorite spices and scallions and cilantro. it's not fancy, not something you would serve on the menu — not in the same way, at least — but it's comforting. it's cold outside, and you hear the front door bang open and then a shit, fuck, sorry from the woman who is pretty quickly becoming your favorite person in the world.

'i'm in the kitchen,' you call out, which is probably unnecessary.

ava pokes her head in, windblown and red-cheeked, unwrapping her scarf, her hair half-out of its bun — beautiful. 'wouldn't expect you to be anywhere else,' she says, grinning. ‘you do leave sometimes though, right?’

ava doesn’t bother waiting for your answer. he snags a piece of a carrot you'd so painstakingly julienned by hand and pops it into her mouth, still smiling, and then comes to stand beside you while you do your best to not burst out of your skin. he puts his hand on the small of your back and her chin on your shoulder to peek over at the pot. 'hi,' she says, leans into you a little more. 'this smells incredible.'

it takes you a second to find your voice. 'it's the cumin.' you settle yourself. 'this is one of my favorite comfort foods,' you say, not much but, still, not nothing. and, like always, in a measure of grace, ava lights up at the offering.

'i can't wait to try it. thank you,' she says, so sincere, 'for making it for me.'

'i'm sure you have very important chefs making you food all the time.'

you feel her frown against your shoulder. 'well, a tasting menu, maybe. but that's work.'

'this isn't work?'

'is this on your menu?'

you resign yourself. 'no,' you admit.

she stands up straight, triumphant. 'exactly. listen, getting your wine pairings right is really important to me, but i'm not — spending time with you isn't work, to me, chef.'

'you can call me beatrice,' you say. and then, a beat: 'you should. it's not work, to make food for you.'

it's love, you know, but you can't bring yourself to say it, not yet.

ava's smile is soft and she nods, backs up and hoists herself up onto the counter behind you. it's a health and safety violation but you aren't actually open yet so you don't say anything, instead just let her kick her boots back and forth in the air a few times and shake her hair out of its less-than-successful bun. you turn to offer her a spoonful of the stew to try, hold your hand carefully underneath it, and bring it to her lips. she closes her eyes and then moans. 'beatrice,' she says, 'i swear to god, who i believe in now that that's been in my mouth — don't make a joke about that, okay — that is the best thing i've ever tasted in my whole entire life.'

it's so exuberant and genuine you can't do anything but laugh. 'an insult to the rest of my food, then.'

ava laughs too, hops down from the counter. 'no,' she says, 'all of your food is incredible. this is just —' she shakes her head, easy curls around her face.

'warm,' you say. 'it feels warm, right?'

ava tilts her head, eyes bright and soft. 'yeah. yeah, it does.'

you feel untethered, so you turn back to your food: perfect, and perfectly timed — like always, like you've never allowed yourself to stray from. maybe one day you'll be at home with ava, after a sleepy morning when your restaurant is up and running on its own, after you've let her cut your hair for you, after you've said vows in a garden and laughed when you fed each other cake — maybe one day she'll kiss you in the kitchen and you'll burn the eggs.

but for now: 'i brought something.'

'hmm?'

she fishes around in her bag. 'okay, we definitely can't put this on the menu, but i brought something i've wanted to open for a long time.'

ava hands you a bottle of wine, deep red and rich, and when you read the label you have to force yourself to not audibly gasp. 'leroy domaine d'auvenay les bonnes-mares grand cru?' you read the entire thing aloud like some sort of prayer, but ava understands.

'the 1993.'

'ava,' you say, 'this is an eight-thousand dollar bottle of wine.'

'sure,' he says, shrugging like it's inconsequential, like it's an offering that she's never second-guessed. '$8716, to be exact. but it was a gift, no worries.'

'i can — should i make something different? i have a beautiful a5 wagyu ribeye —'

'you made me something warm you love.' she smiles gently. 'i don't want anything else.'

'you're sure?'

'a cab is perfect with lamb, you know.'

'i do — yes, i know that.'

ava laughs at how seriously you confirmed. 'plus, i want to share it with you.'

all you can do is smile, really, small and private and into the collar of your shirt. you get down your favorite bowls — you had picked every single one by hand — and then carefully ladle some stew into them. you dress your favorite light fall salad and get out wine glasses and a bottle opener.

'do you want to sit in the restaurant, or just eat back here?'

'my back is solid today,' ava says, 'so let's eat in here. i know you like it, you weirdo.'

you roll your eyes but really you just want to kiss her. she chatters on about her day and very unceremoniously uncorks the wine, your heart skipping a beat because — 'is this going to be the best wine i ever have in my life?'

'i sure hope not,' ava says, grinning at you. 'because that would mean i've really got a very long, very boring career ahead of me if i max out now.'

you grant her a nod: it's how you feel about getting to eat some of the best food in the world.

she pours the wine and then hands you a glass; you watch, mesmerized, as she holds the glass up and looks at the deep, perfect red with a little bit of awe on her face. she brings the glass to her nose and you follow suit.

'the body on this is so beautiful,' she says. 'do you smell the peppercorn?'

you don't, not really, but she's so incredible you just nod.

'alright,' she says, smiling at you, and then raises her glass to toast. you do with a quiet, careful clink. 'to you, and this wonderful place.'

her kindness — constant, gentle, overwhelming, always welcome — fills you up. you both take small sips of the wine, and she swirls it around her mouth and then swallows. her eyes flutter closed and, even though this is definitely the best wine you've ever had in your life, you can't even think about it, can't look away.

she puts her glass down and wipes genuine tears, then laughs. 'okay, on to the lamb, then!'

you let yourself laugh too, let her feel emotional about something she loves without any judgement or recourse; you've cried over food more times than you can count, even lilith's — you're taking that to your grave.

ava takes a large spoonful of the stew and then groans when she swallows, wipes her mouth with a perfectly starched white napkin. 'holy shit, bea.'

the stew is wonderful, although you'd never say that aloud. 'yeah?'

'god, yes.' she lays her hand on top of yours — hers, with its smooth skin, unbroken; yours, scars from years spent in kitchens, one tattoo stretching up from your wrist. 'you're incredible. i hope you know that.'

you look down at your fingers, twine them together. you haven't even kissed her so you swallow down the words — but even that's warm, like the wine and stew, because one day you'll get to say them. you mean them already. 'thank you, ava. it has been — it has been a genuine gift to get to work with you.'

'not many can elevate your food so fantastically, can they?' she says, taking her hand away and pouring you both more wine, groaning again when she takes a bite of her salad.

you scoff but it's with a smile you can't wipe off your face. 'who even gave you this wine?'

'the pope.'

'no way.'

she laughs, loud and bright. 'definitely not, but i bet that threw you for a loop.'

you're sure you're flushed — from the wine, from the food, from ava — but you don't dignify that with a response.

'dominique crenn, actually. i helped with her wedding.'

'no fucking way.'

'better than the pope, huh?'

'way better.'

'don't you know her?'

you do, but — 'still way better.'

ava laughs. 'i think she had a little crush on me. i'm charming, what can i say?'

you roll your eyes. 'do all the chefs have a crush on you?'

ava grins. 'depends.' she leans forward, into your space, and you can't breathe. 'do you?'

you won't admit to having a crush, not aloud. you've worked all over the world in some of the most prestigious, intense kitchens. your hands have always been steady.

they shake now, but it doesn't matter when you bring one to ava's jaw and close your eyes and kiss her. she smiles into your mouth — you can feel it — and you taste the spices in the stew and the peppercorn in the wine and it's warm, everywhere.

//

4

'jesus fuck, beatrice,' ava says, her hands tugging on your hair as you settle between her legs. you kiss up her thigh and she squirms. and, like, maybe it's not the most ethical thing, but your clients are in europe and the kitchen ava designed really is beautiful. you'd put in the marble earlier this morning, finally finishing the toughest room of the project, and ahead of schedule at that.

when ava had come to see, you'd already sent the rest of your crew home for the day — admittedly, in a little bit of the hope that ava would, in fact, want to do exactly this — and so when she'd seen you in your cutoff tank and toolbelt slung low on your hips, you'd known exactly what you'd hoped for was, in fact, probably (definitely) going to happen.

'god,' ava says, her fingers in your hair verging on painful, desperate for you to stop teasing. she loves it, though, and so you pull back and shush her.

'be good for me, baby. be patient.'

'you saying that to me is not going to help,' she says, her head thrown back, and you can't help but laugh.

'this house is so gorgeous.'

'yes, yes, i'm a brilliant architect. let's revisit that after my orgasm.'

'you've already come three times.'

'you're my fiancé — don't want you me to come for a fourth?' she relaxes her hands, though, and smooths one through your hair, rests it along your jaw sweetly.

'i do want that,' you say. 'i also know how much you love teasing.'

she groans.

'but, for you, i'll make this concession.'

you redouble your efforts and ava is so sensitive it doesn't take long before she's coming again in your mouth, quiet this time, a release. she tugs you up after a few seconds and then wraps her arms around you; you settle between her legs and she rests her head on your chest.

'we should do that more often.'

you laugh. 'we have sex fairly often.'

'sure, but we're used to our kitchen. this was fun.'

'this was fun,' you say, back up a little so you can brush some hair from her eyes, sweaty strands from her forehead. you soothe a thumb over her cheekbone and lean to kiss her softly.

'can you believe we're going to be wives soon?'

it's been four years of loving her, since the first time you got hired onto one of the houses she'd designed; the first time you worked up the courage to set up a small picnic in a half-finished living room, timbers around and the sunset quiet and orange in the background, it had felt like all the disparate pieces of your world slid into place — ease, and peace, and happiness. you work with your hands all the time, rough with calluses, but you know have always wanted to be gentle. ava's smile lights up the room; it always has.

'yeah,' you say, 'i love you. i can't wait to marry you.'

she kisses your cheek, then your jaw, then your pulse point, and sneaks a hand down your chest, your stomach, to unbutton your work pants. 'i can't wait to marry you either,' she tells you, voice low and full of want, as her fingers brush the waistband of your boxers.

you nod, whisper the most coherent yes you can muster, and then she's touching you just how you love. the room is bathed in light.

//

5

you hop the fence easily, landing quietly on the other side and rolling to your feet, shooting ava a thumbs up that she may or may not be able to see in the dark. you set your bag down near the edge of the pool and then hurry to the gate, open it as quietly as you can so ava can come through.

she does, not bothering to be quiet at all, laughing delightedly. when you shush her, she just rolls her eyes. 'don't be such a buzzkill, bea,' she says. 'you, like, superhero scaled that fence. have a little fun.'

'i don't want to get in trouble.'

she looks at you skeptically. 'then why are we doing something illegal?'

'you're a bad influence.'

she scoffs, pushing her chair close to the edge of the community pool. it's the middle of the night, so there's no one around, no guards or security. 'i'm a wonderful influence.' she glances over her shoulder, motions for you to come closer. 'plus, you're, like, perfect. not even mother superion has any grounds to fuck with you.'

it's an unspoken truth, then, maybe: you don't want ava to get in trouble. but she genuinely doesn't seem worried about that. instead, she just takes her shirt off and then lifts herself to take her shorts off too, leaving her in her underwear. she waggles her brows at you and you do your absolute level best to not look at her chest, or the apex of her thighs, the soft skin and dark hair there. but you're only seventeen, and it's really hard not to, so you busy yourself with taking your shirt off too, try to fight down any embarrassment or discomfort you have in your binder.

but ava just smiles and squeezes your hand. 'i know you promised me skinny dipping, but why don't you leave your binder on? it counts.'

you don't want to fucking cry on this intrepid — and definitely mildly illegal — adventure ava had begged you to go on for her birthday, so you just duck your head. 'yeah?'

'definitely,' ava says. 'like, it's who you are, first of all, and anyway, when we're older, and you've had surgery, then you can take your shirt off, you know?'

'we're still gonna be skinny-dipping together then?'

'of course,' ava says with a laugh, as if there could be no other option for the rest of your lives but to spend them with one another, two years from now right after you’d had top surgery; twenty years from that — it doesn’t matter. you're young, and you've been hurt; you had nowhere to go a few months ago, when your parents had kicked you out with one duffel bag of your stuff. you had spent a few nights sleeping at the park but eventually you needed to shower, and you needed food. when you had — with a deep, deep cloud of shame — talked to your school advisor, shannon, who you trust implicitly with everything, she had directed you to this program, a group home for unhoused queer and trans youth. ava's been there a while, getting out of a horrible foster home she'd been in, and mother superion — kind without any pity; stern — had shown you your bed on the side of your shared room. you had smiled because ava had made you a clumsy little sign with your name on it and some stickers. you'd talked all night, and it wasn't hard to notice that she was beautiful, and funny, and really, really smart. it wasn't hard to want to be her friend. it wasn't hard, not at all, to love her.

you nod and steady yourself, take off your jeans without tipping over. 'i'd like that.'

ava grins. 'good,' she says. you help her, quietly and without any fanfare, transfer out of her chair to sit on the edge of the pool; you'd been practicing for weeks. she's had hard days, where her hands are cramping badly, or when her body wasn't regulating its temperature properly, but mother superion had been careful and urgent in making sure ava got everything she needed. ava had asked you one night, after a bad day, if you saw her any differently after it, and it was easy to tell her no, to tell her that she is who she is, and the person you've grown to know and love is whole and complete and annoying and amazing. they were easy words to come by, even if you were a little worried you'd say something wrong: you needed to say them. she needed to know.

the trees around you sway in the warm late spring breeze and the night is dark and full of stars. you spend a lot of time doing nothing with her, and it's fuller than your life has ever been. you watch, mesmerized too much to hide it, as ava unhooks her bra and lets it fall from her shoulders. her eyes are big and inky-dark when she looks up at you, and your heart feels like it's beating out of your chest. you do the only thing you can think of in the moment, which is to canonball into the pool as forcefully as you can, which feels absolutely ridiculous halfway through but when you come up for air, ava is laughing and smiling and beautiful.

'that's your reaction to my boobs?'

'shut up,' you say, ducking under the water in your embarrassment. but when you inevitably have to resurface, ava is looking at you so softly. she holds her hands out and you swim over to her, make sure you're only in the shallow end so you'll be able to hold her up without any problems.

it's too much, when her body is pressed against yours and there's the moon and the way her teeth look. you feel her, everywhere, and you're horrified you might start crying, which you'd never ever live down. but ava can tell, and so she splashes you and then you're splashing each other, leading her over to the steps so she can sit and you can swim a little. eventually, you both tire, and you go through a practiced plan of making sure you can safely get ava out of the pool too. it goes off without a hitch and you dry off and slip your clothes back on, then sit at one of the small rickety tables set up by the pool, grass wet under your feet. you fish out a cupcake from your bag, slightly squished but red velvet, so ava definitely won't care. you get out a 1 and a 6 candle and put them in the top frosting, and then a light them with a match from a matchbox you'd gotten from lilith, which cost you two lunches and bathroom duty for a week but, for this moment, the way ava's face lights up in the small flames, it's worth it. it's so, so worth it.

'make a wish.'

ava closes her eyes, tight, for a few seconds, then blows out the candles. you insist she gives you the smaller half of the cupcake, and then you eat with your fingers, frosting everywhere, ava laughing the whole time.

you sit back and look up at the sky. 'i'm so glad i met you,' you say.

she's quiet. 'thank you, for this.'

i love you, you want to say. i think i'm too young to love you this way but i don't care. i will love you this way forever. thank you for loving me. i want to kiss you so bad i think i might die. 'happy birthday, ava.'

she winds your fingers together and it all smells like chocolate and chlorine. she kisses the top of your hand and then smiles, soft and only for you.

//

+

you hear ava from down the street, up the stairs, in the front door, and, finally, poking her head out the window where you're reading on the fire escape. you'll have to work more on your stealth training, you make a mental note.

'why are you up so late?' she asks, squirming out and then pestering enough that you scoot over so she can sit too. you can hear the halo's faint hum from here, which means that ava is probably a little drunk. she's so close and she smiles at you like you're the only person in the whole world.

you can't tell her that you can't sleep when she's not here, that you don't give a fuck about the halo most of the time other than that it's what's keeping her alive, it's what's needs to be kept safe so she can stay that way. you can't tell her that you missed her, even though she drives you crazy all day. you can't tell her any of it.

she doesn't mind, though; she's had too many shots and is also just too fond of you to be upset. she puts her chin on your shoulder. 'what are you reading?'

you flip to the front of the book so she can see the cover.

'oh, space. cool.'

'you can read it after me, if you like.'

'thanks, bea.'

'sure.'

'thought you might not believe in all this stuff, you know.'

'what stuff?'

she shrugs.

'science? space?'

'well, the beliefs you do have to hold are pretty weird. you're a gay nun and i'm like, i don't know, hot bi jesus. and there are demons? anti-angels, or something? wild.'

'i can't not believe in space, ava. that's impossible.'

ava just grins.

you sigh. 'i care to know how things works, and i care to know where harmful systems of people and power have told us otherwise.'

ava puzzles through it for a second. 'this is about you being gay?'

it's said so genuinely you can't do anything other than bark out a laugh, which makes ava dissolve into a fit of giggles and then hold up her hand. 'sorry, sorry. i'm drunk but i really meant, like — i care, you know. it's not a small thing.'

you shake your head a little, will the tears burning your eyes to not fall. you clear your throat and turn to a page you'd read and reread.

'there’s a variation of the ever-popular multiverse idea in which the multiple universes that comprise it are not separate universes entirely, but isolated, non-interacting pockets of space within one continuous fabric of space-time—' you read to her 'like multiple ships at sea, far enough away from one another so that their circular horizons do not intersect. As far as any one ship is concerned (without further data), it’s the only ship on the ocean, yet they all share the same body of water.'

she's quiet for a while. 'do you think,' she whispers, 'that we know each other in all of them?'

it's late and ava is drunk and you say things you mean, when it's like this. when the rest of the world is asleep and there's ava's perfume and the mountains. you say the truth quietly: 'i can't imagine my universe doesn't have you in it.'

she swallows and it's not fair, to love her so clearly. but she soldiers on: 'because i'm so cool and, additionally, hot?'

'something like that.'

'i bet in another universe you're, like, a chef or something.'

it's a shift, and a bright one, pulling light out of nowhere like ava can always do. you think the halo chose her because she's the brightest person you know. surely god knew too. surely god has felt her. 'why? i'm horrible at cooking.'

'yes. you're also horrible at using your imagination.'

you roll your eyes.

'well, honestly, you're good with knives but mostly i think it would be hot. yes, chef, and all that.'

you can't do anything but laugh. 'you're certainly a troublemaker in all of them.'

'yeah, fuck the cops. fuck the state. fuck the man. anarchy forever. god is trans.'

'see?' you say. 'exactly.'

ava grins. 'good trouble, i'm sure of it.'

you feel it: kids and jobs and weddings to stress over and marriages to love, the whole world to learn. you feel her, everywhere. it’s faith and it’s truth: 'i'm glad we have good, exciting lives in the other universes.'

'of course we do.' she leans her head on your shoulder. 'and, right here, i have you, and this horrible little apartment, and all these stars.'

you kiss the top of her head, then clench your jaw. it doesn't work to stop your tears this time, and ava picks up her head and wipes them tenderly with her thumbs, her face close enough you can take in the little scar over her eyebrow, faded, and the perfect bow of her lips.

'ava, i —'

'yeah,' she says. 'i know, bea.'

'maybe someday, in this life. we'll live by the beach and hang out in the sun.'

'hang out?' she says, but she's crying too.

you shrug. 'time, with you. in all of the places i exist, that's all i want. i'm sure of it.'

ava brings her arms around you to wrap you in a hug. 'in this life too, yeah?'

'yes. in this life too.'

ava sits back, her grace evident even now. 'even when i'm using up all the hot water?'

'yes, ava. even then.'

she starts to fade, clearly, and so you help her inside and then quietly get ready for bed together. you climb in, the sheets cool against your skin at first, and then warm. ava has always been braver than you; she turns so that your faces are close. 'time with you is all i want too, by the way.'

you nod, stretch your hand out, palm up — supplication — and she rests hers on top of it. 'goodnight, ava.'

'sleep well, bea.'

you stare at the stars outside the window, infinite. ships in the night. you hold her life in your hand as you fall asleep; you dream:

[lilacella]

First chapter of my multi-chapter prongsfoot fic. I will link the next chapter under the title again, once I post it.

This was inspired by the song "Reindeer Games" by Oso Oso, since it's my go to Prongsfoot song.

Reindeer Games

Next

Chapter 1/5: First Year

James was bouncing excitedly in his seat as the Hogwarts Express started rolling, slowly leaving the station and departing to the place he had dreamed about since he was eight. Hogwarts. An El Dorado for adventure, new friends and - most importantly - Quidditch. James couldn't wait to join the team. As a first grader he wouldn't have much of a chance getting in but he would try regardless. He was a great player after all.

The boy waved to his parents who were standing at the other side of the window, looking wistful and proud at their only son taking off.

When Sirius Black entered the empty compartment that James was sitting in, James immediately knew they'd be friends. He was a Black, yes. Exactly the type of people his parents had warned him about but Sirius wasn't like them. He was funny and charming and something about him grabbed James' attention and didn't let go.

"Thank Merlin. I really didn't want to sit with my cousins," Sirius said and brushed his dark hair back with his hand, causing a couple strands to fall back into his face with an effortless coolness that James wished he could replicate.

"You're a first year too?" James asked, curiously observing the other boy. Sirius nodded.

"Couldn't wait to get out of this house..."

"Don't get along with your 'rents?"

Sirius brows furrowed.

"Not exactly." He raised his head again and smiled brightly at James. "Let's skip this topic though, shall we. Do you know any spells yet?"

Of course James knew spells. He had practiced a bunch of them as soon as he had gotten his wand and he was really proud of his Lumos. That would be helpful in case he decided to sneak out at night, which he was sure he was going to do. His abilities were, however, no match for Sirius'. The way he flicked his wand with elegance and practice, conjuring spells that James was sure they weren't supposed to be able to do yet, with ease, fascinated him. Oh, he needed to be his friend.

"Wow, that's pretty cool. How do you know so much stuff? You are so much better than me."

Sirius waved him off, suddenly looking almost embarrassed to have shown off.

"You are doing great. I just got a headstart. Had a wand since I was three."

"What?! But that's illegal!"

Sirius only shrugged his shoulders.

"My parents aren't exactly the most law abiding citizens..."

The way Sirius spoke made James feel a little lightheaded. He hadn't been this impressed by someone since he met famous Seeker Alexander O'Hara.

Sirius examined him thoughtfully.

"What did you say your last name was?"

"Oh sorry I didn't...I'm a Potter," James said, suddenly a little worried that Sirius wouldn't like that answer. But his worries were unfounded, since Sirius started grinning from ear to ear.

"Perfect! Mother said I am not allowed to talk to you, since you're a blood traitor!"

James frowned.

"And that's a good thing?"

"Of course! Do you think I want to spend the next seven years being stuck with bigots?" Sirius paused for a second. "What house do you think you'll get in?"

"Griffindor," James stated confidently. He really couldn't imagine ending up anywhere else.

"Right." Sirius averted his gaze to look out of the window, fidgeting with the buttons on his sleeve. "Do you think we could still talk even if...if we end up in different houses?" He looked back to James, hope shimmering in his storm-grey eyes. James nodded vigorously without thinking.

**

"Black, Sirius," the tall wizard read loudly from the pergament that contained the list of students to be sorted. Reluctantly Sirius stepped forward, eyeing the Hat with suspicion. He turned back to James who gave him a reassuring thumbs up which earned him a wry smile in return. Sirius took a deep breath and then sat down on the chair.

After talking to Sirius for the past eight hours, James had an inkling which house Sirius thought he'd end up in. Slytherin. Like everyone else in his family. But that wouldn't matter, James thought. They would be friends no matter what. He had already decided on that.

The Hat took a minute to ponder on Sirius' head. The Slytherin table was already preparing to clap when the Hat took a breath to yell its conclusion:

"Griffindor!"

A confused applause, consisting of surprised Griffindors and a few slow processing Slytherins sounded through the Great Hall. James himself, still standing with the other unsorted first years, clapped as loud as possible.

When the Hat was lifted, Sirius walked over to the Griffindor table like he was in a trance. James saw that he was white as a sheet.

**

"Come quickly we will be late!" James was tugging on Sirius sleeve, pulling him off the bench they'd spent their break on.

"Since when are you worried about being late to class?" Remus looked genuinely surprised but immediately, almost unnoticeably, ducked a little when James turned to him. This boy really had no confidence at all, James thought.

"That isn't just a class. It is our first flying lesson! I don't want to miss that! Come on now."

The three boys quickly left the courtyard and turned into one of the sheltered pathways that lead to the front of the castle. They had almost reached the end of it when Sirius stopped in his tracks. James turned to him in confusion.

"What's wrong?"

Remus had stopped as well and was frowning with concern. Sirius eyes were fixated on a group of older Slytherins approaching them from a crossing hallway.

"I need to go to the bathroom, you just go ahead," Sirius said in a strange voice. Then he turned and rushed off in the direction they had come from. Remus shrugged and started walking again but James stood, looking after Sirius.

Sirius had spent the whole week meticulously avoiding any interaction with his Slytherin cousins. He had either skipped the meals in the Great Hall, making up some dubious excuse, or had turned up extremely late, quickly scarfing down his food before leaving again. It was clear that he didn't want to talk to them, but why, was something James didn't understand.

On their first morning after the sorting ceremony Sirius had received a howler from his mom. She had sounded quite awful but Sirius had sat through it without a flinch. Even joked about it. Generally, Sirius seemed to enjoy being separated from his family. He didn't take notes during classes it seemed, however he carried a little notebook with a whole list of things his parents had apparently taught him about Muggles and whenever one of them was disproven in class, he would cross it off, mumbling "And yet another lie..." under his breath, sending the rest of class into laughter. James thought this was hilarious and he admired Sirius for how he was handling the situation. It couldn't be easy for him.

But now it seemed that maybe Sirius wasn't handling it so well after all. And he would be an awful friend to leave him alone with this, right? So with a quick shout to Remus he took after Sirius, towards the bathroom.

When James carefully pushed open the door he couldn't see Sirius. But he heard something: Quiet sniffels and shaky breaths disrupted the silence between the dripping of the leaky faucets.

"Sirius?" He called out carefully.

The sniffling immediately stopped. James still proceeded to walk towards the end of the bathroom, gently knocking at the only locked stall.

"Are you alright?"

"I am on the toilet, I really don't think this is an appropriate question," Sirius hissed from the other side and James really considered whether he may have misunderstood and his friends behaviour had only been driven by stomach issues. But the wet and nasal sound of Sirius voice made him discard his doubts.

"It's okay. I just thought...If you want to talk..."

"There is nothing to talk about, I am fine. Just go to the flying lesson."

James shook his head eventhough Sirius couldn't see him through the closed door.

"No. I'm your friend, Sirius. And friends help each other."

"I don't need help."

"Well...do you also not want help?"

Sirius was quiet for a bit. Then the door opened with a clack and Sirius stepped out. His eyes were red, dark lashes stuck together from tears, cheeks flushed. Pretty, James thought and frowned internally at the thought. That was weird. Why did he think that a boy was pretty?

Sirius rubbed his eyes, his breath was still hitching a little.

"I can't...I can't go out there..."

"What are you scared of?" James put a hand on Sirius shoulder and guided him to sit down in the corner behind the last stall. Sirius let himself slide down the wall and rubbed his palms over his drawn up knees.

"I...I don't know. I just...the letter was one thing. But I don't want to...I just don't know what Bella will do to me if I run into her."

"One of your cousins?"

Sirius nodded, hugging his knees.

"I know. Not very brave of me. I suppose the Hat misjudged me a little," he croaked out with a laugh.

James shook his head and rubbed Sirius' shoulder.

"No it didn't. You are brave. I guess even Godric Griffindor was scared of some things. But you can't keep running away from them. I mean, some day you will have to return back home and..."

Sirius groaned and buried his head between his arms.

"Don't remind me of that."

James carefully rubbed his back, feeling the sobs ripple through Sirius' body. He wrapped an arm around him and tried to pull the other boy into a hug. It was a bit of an akward position but Sirius leaned slightly against him, finally lifted his head and hid it in James shoulder. An unfamiliar, but pleasant feeling spread in James' chest. His heart was beating faster, all of a sudden. Why was he so excited?

"I know I have to go out. I know I have to but...I'm just so scared," Sirius said in between sobs.

"We will face them together," James stated firmly. "I will always have your back, Sirius. I promise! And I won't let them hurt you."

Sirius let out a wet laugh.

"Thank you. But I don't need a body guard."

"Well I will still be yours. And you could be mine, how about that?"

Sirius laughed again, lifting his head this time, and nodded.

"Sounds great." He looked hesitantly at the door. "Should we go?"

"We don't have to. We can. But I mean if you want, we can just stay here."

[thecoffeelovingfreak]

𝒊𝒕 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒂 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒊𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒕

chapter IV of and her heart is a bird on a spit in her chest

Pairing: Teenage!Arlecchino x gn!Teenage!Reader

Genres: angst, light hurt/comfort, politics & law, friends to lovers

Word count: 3.7k

Warnings: themes of corruption and crime, violence, graphic depictions of murder, blood, mild angst

1 | 2 | 3 | 5 | 6 | epilogue

~~~

The near-silence of the market square left a foreboding sensation on the back of your neck. Signs of dark shades broadcasted closed, a stark contrast to your previous visit. The reason for it was not unbeknownst to you however, as word of a protest at Place des Marées had haunted you since you left the orphanage with Manon just an hour earlier.

Things had changed in Fontaine during the last three weeks, and whether they were for better or worse had yet to be seen. Civil unrest had risen, and citizens were making their thoughts known to the establishments of justice here in the capital. Whispers of reconnaissance by the court and hidden resistances had circulated the streets; there was no doubt that both were watching.

Although part of you felt trepidation at the uprising, another part of you was eager to witness it.

With this in mind, you said, “There is practically no point in shopping today, we might as well leave.”

Manon huffed and stopped walking, her long dark coat hitting the back of her calves abruptly. “I suppose so.”

You crossed the small cobblestone street and took her hand in yours. You could tell there was a keen glint in your eye, causing your partner to raise her eyebrow.

“Would you take note of the open shops? We will stop and buy what we can before going back to the orphanage, but for now, I’d like to join those at the Place des Marées.”

“Of course, boss.” she teased, “And we will keep half of the money for ourselves, too.”

“Of course, boss.” you reiterated with a joyful smirk, enjoying the brief moment.

“We can’t both be in charge, __.” she quipped, reciprocating your expression though to a lesser degree.

“Maybe so, but do you expect for me to just let you be the boss?”

“No, but I do expect for you to give in to my demands.”

With a small huff, you shook your head and rounded a corner.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she smirked, causing heat to rise to your cheeks as you continued walking to the Place des Marées.

—

Any light-hearted atmosphere dissipated once you arrived at the square. A large crowd of people were dispersed around the area, some standing or sitting, and others shouting or holding a sign. Cries for those falsely convicted, those unfairly sentenced, those without proper representation, and those given no trial to receive freedom and rightful justice rang out through the citizens. Officers sat at the ready in front of the courthouse and around the crowd.

The various shades of grey in the sky rumbled, but no one seemed to mind.

You weaved through the crowd with Manon's hand still in yours, trying to get to the center of it all.

The middle of the square housed a large gold statue of the current chief justice. His stoic countenance looked down on the citizens from his large booth, creating a feeling of disdain in your chest.

"How long have you been here?" you asked someone sitting on the stone base circle of the statue's planter box.

"About 2 hours, but over half of the people have been here for 3."

"I see. Thank you."

There was no doubt that by the fourth hour, the number of enforcements would have doubled.

Manon tugged on your hand, bringing your gaze back to her fiery eyes. Her sharp, angled pupils appeared like lines of fresh lava across hardened rock, making your previous trepidation vanish upon seeing her determination. She released your hand before climbing up onto the stone planter box and reaching out for you. You took her hand once more and let her aid in bringing you up to her side. The motions repeated, and you felt eyes boring into your back as you stood on the statue's lap beside Manon.

From where you stood you could see out across the entire square, and you wondered if Neuvillette’s eyes could see the entire city from where he gazed.

“May I please have your attention!” Manon demanded, immediately sending thousands of eyes her way.

Your eyes were torn between her and the audience, but you felt it best to observe her spectacle.

"People of Fontaine! We have felt the repercussions of the unjust actions of those leading us for far too long. Every single one of you standing here now is here because your life has been altered due to this. The crimes of people like him," she began, pointing up to the chief justice's face, "have proceeded to shed our blood and trap us in cells, factories, or filth, while newspapers are given false reports or bought off. Our archon treats us like toys – as if we are not beings but puppets, existing simply for her hedonistic ends. Enough is enough! There is no need for such fault and fodder anymore if it can only exist like this!"

Cheers and shouts of support sounded from below you as Manon grabbed your hand and sent a solid, affirming gaze your way – the blaze of fury in her eyes bright as ever.

You turned to the expectant crowd, lifting your joint hands and shouting, "May today mark the beginning of the end of our plight! Vive la révolution!"

Thunder clapped once more and rain began falling. Citizens reciprocated the action as officers closed in, their numbers increased just as you had thought. It seemed time was up. Reporters and spies finished their duties before leaving the square in conspicuous and inconspicuous ways. The details of the scene faded as proud and emboldened shades of black and red came into view once more.

Manon was something secure amidst the instability of the nation's climates – her never-ending drive infectious and her leadership inspiring. You couldn't help but wonder just how influential she could become.

—

The bright aureate rays of the sunset sent a golden glow across the many dirtied fruits sprawling out from your heavy wicker basket, laying tipped over and rocking lightly back and forth. Your feet pounded against the cobblestone, worry falling on your features as Manon raced ahead of you. She had voiced suspicions about the atmosphere surrounding the orphanage, and as you got closer she appeared more on edge, sending a nervous feeling into your stomach.

The front door was left slightly ajar, and Manon had swung it fully open, rushing into the entryway. Her head shifted in multiple directions before she turned halfway back to you.

The building was oddly silent. There was no trace of any person, the children's belongings organized about now gone. All that remained were the director's decorations. It was unnerving – the stark difference in the building when all of the kids were gone.

Light heeled footsteps echoed down the main hall as a figure in a blue and white frilled dress entered your view.

"What happened here?" Manon asked the director, looking over at her with accusation.

“Le Commerce Quinquennal.” Vivienne replied simply, walking between you both to the large mahogany door. 

“What is that?” you questioned, turning around to watch the director’s precise movements.

“Something neither of you will ever have to worry about,” she said, leveling her gaze with yours. “Now please… go pick up that poor produce and bring it to the kitchen for me.”

You watched her as you walked out of the door, blood thrumming through your veins. You heard Manon’s sharp voice interrogate the director, but her avoidant quips in response were quickly ending the conversation.

As you picked up the dusty fruits and vegetables, you started formulating a plan to discover what this orphanage was.

—

Low light cast dubious shadows over the light blue walls of the main hall. Vivienne’s office sat at the end, the dark door ominous. Her bedroom was only one room down from where you stayed with Manon, both of them on opposite sides in the middle of the long hall.

After discussing your ideas with Manon the previous night, you were ready to move forward with what you concurred was the best current option.

Investigating the Director’s office.

You stepped out into the hall first, facing her tall door and the light still peeking out from beneath it. Keeping your breath low and footsteps light, you walked along the wall to her door before beckoning Manon to follow. You pulled out a spare bobby pin you had found in the bedroom – it would be simple enough to pick an inside door. You had done it plenty of times before.

After inserting the pin into the lock, you heard the sharp click that signified the door was unlocked. You looked behind you at Manon and nodded quickly before gazing behind her at Vivienne’s door.

Still closed.

You rapidly opened the door before shutting and locking it quietly behind you both.

~

Manon remained silent as she walked directly to the director’s desk, sorting through the papers neatly stacked on top of it. You stood watch by the door, yet still attempted to sort through her nearby bookshelf to see if you could find anything of note. She had been in this room a few times before, the first being when she initially arrived. You put her in charge of investigating the areas that were likely to contain the most answers due to that.

The only papers on the surface that could hold any meaning were the orphanage’s funds. Since you were visiting the market today, it was likely that Vivienne wanted to review what the establishment had. What piqued Manon’s interest the most were the payments deposited into the funds and occasionally to Vivienne herself. They were from a person marked as nothing but Captain, with a few from the Jester. They were simple titles, but they sparked an out-of-place remembrance.

“Have you ever heard of the Captain or the Jester?” she asked you with a whisper.

You looked at her quizzically, but there was a hint of familiarity in your eyes that she could see even in the dim light.

“No,” you replied with a slight shake of your head, turning back to go through the books once more.

It was a lie, but she was unsure of your motives to do so.

She placed the book of finances down, moving onto the large drawers along the sides of the desk. She pulled out the first, unveiling labeled manilas of the orphanage’s past deals and business. There was a file longly marked SN-F. LCQ. CoF-OdlFS. Manon knew what the abbreviations meant.

Upon setting the file on the desk’s surface and opening it, she was greeted by papers, contracts, and court reports showing a history of scheming since the orphanage was created.

Snezhnaya had an agreement with Fontaine that laid out the formation of Le Commerce Quinquennal. Factories would be established in Snezhnaya that would allow for Fontaine to use a portion of the nation’s resources for their own gain while sending “convicts” to the factories as workers. In turn, Orphelinat de la Fleuve Sinueux would be established in Fontaine for Snezhnaya among a couple of other orphanages. Children would be purposefully sent to them to be taken care of and raised while gaining life experience. Every five years, the children from the orphanage would be exchanged with Snezhnaya for a select group of workers equal in number to the group of children.

Manon’s thoughts were racing as she quickly gathered the information and placed it back into its spot in the drawer. She closed it and leaned down to open the second, her nerves on edge.

“We’re still clear,” you spoke, picking up on her growing stress.

She ignored you as she looked over the files, seeing both yours and hers with the rest of the children’s. In a moment of impaired judgment, she removed your file and opened it on Vivienne’s chair. She already knew things from your past, but she did not expect to find what she did.

Your father was an agent for the Fatui who would monitor their port deliveries and dealings along the Côte des Pêcheurs, making him the one locally in charge of the eastern coastal regions.

Manon looked up and made eye contact with you.

Light steps could be heard approaching the room.

Her mind was jumbled, but she still shoved your file back into the drawer before securing the organization of the desk and taking your hand. She brought you behind the couch to hide, taking the safer precaution than hiding behind Vivienne’s desk.

The sound of a key turning and the door opening filled her with an uncomfortable fear.

The older woman huffed as she approached her desk, retrieving the finance book and one of her pens, as well as a small stack of papers. She looked out at the room with a focus on the fireplace.

"Furina and her contumelious remarks," the director uttered, "When will she simply let me be."

Manon's eyebrows furrowed as she heard Vivienne's statement. Perhaps the archon and the director were on worse terms than she suspected.

As the door latched shut, Manon listened to the receding echo of footsteps and lightly shook her head.

She leveled her gaze with yours, noticing the odd appearance of fight in your eyes.

"We have to escape – now or never." you voiced, something unnerving now swimming in your glossy eyes.

"I agree," Manon responded, observing the rise of derangement in your demeanor. It seemed that she was not the only one who had made a shocking and terrible discovery.

—

The murky night was hardly visible through the glared glass of the train car.

Your escape was successful, but it was only the beginning of your journey. Gathering your belongings and sneaking out of the orphanage was simple, but navigating the dark alleyways to the train station was tedious. Luckily, you were skilled in avoiding officers.

The train station was hesitant to provide you and Manon with tickets on a midnight car, but with a few extra dollars, they did not bat an eye. Neither did the conductor or the attendants, who should have noticed you after the speech at the square the previous day.

Most of the city did, you realized, as those not in attendance would have seen newspapers headlined ‘Les Fous Perfides', Marie Donnadieu and __ __, call for revolution at Place des Marées protest, just as you did on your trek here.

The smooth movements of dark water rested underneath the sturdy glass floor of the train car as it ran along the eastbound aqueduct. You were returning to the Côte des Pêcheurs in order to find a fisherman or travel boat that would take you across the Mer Glacée to the Vetreny Port in Snezhnaya.

—

As you exit the train car and descended the stone steps, you came face to face with your hometown, Mélodie des Vagues. Your family had a mixed reputation here, with some people thinking well of your parents and others terribly. You took Manon’s hand as you walked the familiar streets, being reminded of the past at every turn. Some shopkeepers and Fatui agents gave you welcoming smiles in hope of a word or two, but your steeled gaze kept them away. While you usually would have felt guilty for the needless abrasiveness, you had a goal in mind that was on limited time.

You knew Manon could perceive the situation well from beside you, but you had to bury your doubts and fears of her questioning more about your background. 

The longer you spent in the town, the more danger you were in.

You couldn’t share everything with Manon, even if you wanted to. The secrets of your family were to be taken to the grave, especially after your mother’s death.

Vivienne knew half of them somehow, but with what you read in her diary, you could tell she had some history with your parents. Why she never gave you any hint of your connection, you could not guess, but from what you read and knew of her, she was an expert in facade.

You were not far from the dock by now – all you needed to find was someone who would bring you to the land of eternal winter. You stopped to ask a few people sitting along crates, but they would not be loading up and leaving until sunrise, something that was still two hours away. That would be far too long to wait.

There was a sign propped up nearby showing the times of arrival and departure for passenger ships, but one would not be arriving for three hours, and the other would not be departing until noon.

With no other people close to their ships or you, you decided to ask an angler sorting through their supplies if they could take you to Snezhnaya. They said yes, and that they would be leaving with their crew in fifteen minutes.

It was your only option.

You heard nothing from Manon beside you, and looking at her features you could see a storm brewing.

Bringing one of your hands to cup her cheek, you rubbed your thumb over the arch.

“Speak your mind, Manon,” you whispered.

She looked apprehensive, yet still brought her hand to rest over your wrist before sighing in reluctance.

“I have discovered many unpleasant things tonight, and I am simply trying to sort through them all, ma lumière.”

You hummed, “So have I. When we leave this place, we will have all of the time in the world to figure it out together.”

“I suppose so.” she voiced with a small smile, rubbing her own thumb over the prominent veins of your wrist.

You watched as her eyes softened slightly, before moving over your shoulder and instantly hardening.

You raised an eyebrow and turned your head to follow her line of sight. Waiting for you was a tall figure wrapped in a dark coat with a hand resting heavily on a silver-laced cane. One of their eyes was scarred in a manner that was all too familiar to you.

“What do you want, Henri?” you asked him sternly.

“You know why I am here, __.” he replied, taking a step forward.

Manon brought her arm in front of you, trying to shield you from the threat. You pushed her arm down and took another step forward to match his.

“The death of your father had nothing to do with me. That was simply the business between our parents and you know this.”

“Yet their business still became ours didn’t it?” they queried, tilting their head. “If it were not for your petty little siren tricks, I would not still be facing the difficulties that I am now.”

“Your self-hatred has never been an issue involving me. The only reason you are facing these difficulties is because you attacked me years ago with this same belief.”

He took another step forward. “Where’s your brother, __? Did he finally leave you too?”

Manon tugged you back to her.

“You’re well connected, Henri, you should know.”

He chuckled dryly before standing taller. Within one swift movement, he had pulled a pistol of pyro from his coat and shot it straight through your heart.

~

Manon watched wide-eyed as you fell to your knees on the damp dock. The nearby citizens were panicked, but some were too afraid to move. She assumed this show of violence was not an uncommon occurrence here.

“The siren’s one weakness – fire straight into a heart of water.” Henri whispered as they turned and began fleeing the scene.

Manon was shocked by the news of your nature, and increasingly worried about your health as she knew very little of what one would need to recover from such a drastic injury. All that Atlas had ever taught her about the species was that although they had blood, it was severely watered down due to the fact that the chambers of their heart were created from the sea.

“What do you need?” she questioned, hands moving over you unceremoniously.

You grasped at your throat and chest, almost unable to speak. “End… him…” you voiced dryly.

Manon shook her head, “I’m not leaving you here.”

You moved a hand to her shoulder, gripping it tightly. Your gaze met hers, and she instantly felt compelled to hear your every word.

“Go,” you said sadly.

She did.

Henri had not gotten very far, at least for the speed at which Manon was silently traveling. She grasped his shoulder and threw them into the nearest alley. His body landed with a thump, their cane rolling into another metallic object obscured in darkness. She heard none of their words as she began tearing at his face, leaving shreds of bloodied and burnt flesh on the stone ground. Their screams were soon silenced as Manon made her way down his body, blindly and furiedly completing the task she was given. It had been years since she last treated someone this way, but a part of her deep inside missed the thrill and brutality of it.

No one came searching for him, or to investigate the situation.

~

Manon returned to the dock, blood dripping from her clawed fingertips and her clothes. Sinew was stuck under her fingernails, and parts of her coat were burned.

None of it mattered to her, though, as you were not there waiting for her at the dock. In fact, there was no one remaining.

She ran through nearby buildings, gaining many stares as she did so. She tore through supplies and crates with no regard for the property. She looked over the docked ships, but still to no avail.

Finally, she looked down into the water that now began to lighten with the blossoming sunrise. Tears began to rise in her eyes for the first time in a month, her mind reeling from the day and her heart aching.

You were either dead or gone. And she failed to protect you or help you when you needed it most.

But why would you send her away? Was it all a lie? Or were you afraid of her realizing the reality of your life?

None of it mattered to her anymore. All she wanted was to find you again.

[kaysfanficcorner]

Out of This World Chapter 3: Bittersweet Symphony

Author’s Note: Hi everyone! Thank you so much for the support thus far, and for your patience! It took a moment for me to find the groove with this chapter, but it’s finally here! Looks like I was just in time with the return of our beskar-clad love on the 1st. This will be the first chapter with a tag list, so if you’d like to be added going forward please let me know!

Summary: As complicated feelings persist, the Mandalorian and his new ship mate continue to learn more about each other as they head off to Nar Shaddaa for one more bounty.

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Earthing Reader

Warnings: cursing, mentions of sex, and mentions of emotional childhood trauma. This story is eventually going to have NSFW scenes so please no one under 18 interact. If you are under age, you are prohibited from this work of fiction.

Music Inspiration

AO3

*****

As Din Djarin is coming out of the fresher on the Razor Crest, feeling a little like a new man after taking a much needed shower, he hears a soft melody coming from the second floor. The kid’s nowhere to be found, nor are you and nor is the cat. Curious, he climbs the ladder to see what you’re doing up there and the light music grows louder the closer he gets.

Now he recognizes your voice, singing along to one of the songs on your primitive personal device with the accompanying music softly playing in the background. He finds the sound of it to be one of the loveliest things ever to grace his ears, despite the fact that the music itself is unlike anything Din has heard prior to meeting you.

Din is also acutely aware that the tone of your voice sounds very sad, and disquiet washes over him. 

He enters the cockpit, eyes immediately landing on the back of your head. You’re sitting in your usual spot with both feet on the seat and both knees hugged to your chest, looking out at the unmoving, purple tinted star field and rocky asteroid belt. You hair is pulled up into what you call a “messy bun”, and you’re wearing Cara’s hand me down clothing. A long sleeved black tunic with diagonal straps going across the chest and a red line going down the side of each arm, as well as a pair of grey pants with dark red pockets and straps going down each leg. Black boots sit beneath your chair, but your socked feet are obviously not in them. These clothes have seemed oddly fitting on you as of late, making you look more like a citizen of the galaxy to Din, while still looking entirely like yourself. It’s a good look, if he’s truly being honest. 

You stop singing when he comes further into the room, and Din finds himself disappointed by it’s sudden cut off. Even dispirited, you sound so beautiful. The device playing the music remains to do its job, laying nearly forgotten on the floor beside your boots. The kid and the cat are both sleeping together in the other passenger seat, nestled against one another. 

“Hey, Chrome Dome,” you say with even more sadness in your voice. 

Din moves in closer, coming to face your right side. You don’t look up at him. 

“Is something wrong?” He asks, genuinely concerned. 

“I don’t know how to answer that,” you reply with a shaky voice. 

Din feels incredibly uncomfortable seeing this sudden change in your otherwise pleasant demeanor. You don’t sound like the you he’s come to feel so friendly towards, and it bothers him. In this current moment he can’t explain to himself as to why, but he wants desperately to take the sadness away from you. To see a smile grace your plump lips again. He knows logically that he can’t just remove an emotion from another person to just to replace it with another, but he wants to all the same.

It’s because you care for her, a voice that sounds a lot like his says in the back of his mind. He ignores it and focuses his attention back to you.

Moments like this have always been awkward for Din Djarin. The tight-lipped bounty hunter has rarely showed this much emotion in front of another person, not at all since entering into adulthood, and seeing someone else openly wallowing in throws of despair is uncharted territory for a man like him. He has no idea how to conduct himself, but in spite of this he still feels this tugging urge to help you feel better coming from somewhere deep inside his belly. 

“You’re clearly upset,” Din says, mentally kicking himself for how unhelpful that probably sounds. 

You sigh, “I just get like this sometimes. I think a lot of it comes from having a lack of a normal childhood and growing up in a generally unaccepting society. At least that’s what I’d been trying to figure out with my therapist back on Earth.” There’s such a lack on enthusiasm in your voice as you speak, shrugging your shoulders as you say the last sentence. 

“What’s a therapist?” Din inquires with a slight head tilt to the left, ever curious about the world you come from. 

“A mental health doctor, or healer rather. They try to help you figure out what’s going on in your head and give you healthy ways to deal with it.” You explain, adding on with, “I don’t know how to explain why I suddenly feel like shit. I don’t feel like I’m at my lowest or anything, but I don’t feel great.” You begin to hug your knees even tighter, burying your face into your thighs to try and hide your obvious tears from him, but Din sees them. 

He’s at a loss for words. He has literally no idea what to say, but maybe saying something isn’t what he needs to do right now. Perhaps what you need is to get these feelings out of you, to know that someone is there and someone is listening. 

Without truly understanding himself, the bounty hunter succumbs to an impulse and removes his gloves, letting them drop to the floor before kneeling beside you. Tentatively, he places a bare hand at the base of your exposed neck. You flinch slightly, before relaxing into his warm touch a little by pressing back against his palm. Din takes this as permission to keep his hand where it is, your soft skin driving him mad somewhere deep inside. 

Then words seem to come to him after all. Not many, but enough to communicate the necessary information. “My childhood was ripped away from me without my consent. I may not experience the same feelings that you do, but I might be able to understand. You can trust me.” As he says this Din begins to gently squeeze your neck, lightly massaging around your vertebrae. His other hand turns the music on your device down a little so that he can focus on your voice. 

You take a deep breath, “I wasn’t treated with a lot of respect as a child. I was born to parents who got pregnant by mistake when they slept together at some party and I was the end result. They got married because more often than not in my culture if you got a girl pregnant it was your responsibility to marry her, even if you couldn’t stand each other. So they grew to hate each other, like a lot. Whenever they fought I always felt to blame for existing, even though I never asked to be a part of their shitty little lives in the first place. To them I was just this constant burden they had to bare and I was the reason that they never got to have the lives they’d dreamed of. Which is such bullshit. They could have done anything they wanted to with their lives, I was just an easy target for blame.”

Pausing for a moment, you catch your shaky breath again and continue, “My grandparents on my dad’s side might as well have been non-existent. My grandmother on my mom’s side is horribly judgmental and controlling and I could never be myself around her. If the family as a whole was not meeting her standards then she would rain hell upon anyone and everyone to get her way. Everything had to be perfect on the surface with her, even if all of us were dying inside. The only person in my family that I’ve ever felt close to was my mom’s father. My grandfather was a great man.” Your voice hitches every few words as you softly weep out this explanation.

Din’s hand never stops rubbing circles into your neck and the other grabs hold of one of yours. 

You squeeze it for dear life. 

“You said your grandfather was one of the few who got to break your planet’s atmosphere,” Din says, letting you know that he remembered your mention of the family’s patriarch. Letting you know that he’s listened to every word you’ve ever said to him with respect.

Nodding, you continue to tell Din about the father figure you’re clearly missing. “He worked for my government’s space program until they kicked him out for theories about human life in other parts of the universe. They thought he was crazy, and so he lost everything. My grandmother left him and I was forbidden from seeing him anymore. But I broke the rules all the time, and I spent a ton of time at his house until I finally got caught one day. After that I had zero freedom until I was old enough to move out on my own. I started seeing him again once I detached from the rest of my family. I was pretty much disowned at that point, so he let me move in. Shortly after that he disappeared and then five years went by without a trace of him. I looked everywhere. Well, at least I tried. He was eventually declared legally dead, with a funeral and everything. I refused to go because I wasn’t ready to admit that he probably is truly dead. I refused to think that he would just abandon me on purpose. The only person who ever understood me, who didn’t make me feel like I had to pretend to be someone else, left me without a single word. I’ll never see him again.” 

Your crying becomes increasingly more emotional, shoulders shaking violently as your voice takes on a new layer of pain. “Fuck, I just wish that he could have at least found out that his theories were correct. He’ll never get to know he was right and that everyone else was wrong.”

“That is unfortunate,” Din agrees, still feeling uncomfortable and unaware of what to say. 

“Screw those assholes. Screw my family. Screw Earth. Part of me doesn’t even want to go back there, Mando. I’ve barely got any friends, and the ones I do have are out living their best lives. Marriage, kids, careers. It feels like I blinked and suddenly we were all thirty and I couldn’t relate them anymore because my life didn’t keep moving forward past school. I don’t have a real family to go back to. I don’t even know who I am anymore, Mando. Maybe I never really knew to begin with.”

Sharply, you sit up then and Din’s hand slides down your back. While letting out an uninhibited noise of frustration, you gesture to the cockpit window where the stars and small asteroids sit serenely in space. “Why the hell would I want to go back to a boring life without this?” 

Then your voice dips down to nearly a whisper, outstretched fingers slowly curling back down into a tight fist that you slam against your own thigh. “Fuck, its so fucking beautiful that it tears me apart inside.”

“You don’t have to go back,” Din says after a beat, meaning every word even though it scares him a little to say it out loud. He’s not sure where he finds the words, but they come regardless. “You could start over, make a new life here. Go anywhere in the galaxy. Become anyone you want. It wouldn’t be easy, but you could do it. There’s nothing stopping you.”

You look at him then, cheeks wet and nose slightly runny, and even so he’s struck by how raw your facial expression is. Although wrought with hard emotions, Din thinks you look stunning. 

“I feel like I’m stopping me,” you say with a small sob, whipping your nose on your sleeve and your cheeks with your palm. Your other hand is still clutching his tightly. “I can barely do anything for myself here. I’m completely reliant on other people. On you. I have to let you do everything. You hunt, you make credits, you fight, you cook, and you fly the ship. All I’m good for is watching the kid. Back on Earth I was completely self-sufficient because I had to be. Sometimes I love it here and I never want to leave and sometimes it’s so frustrating not being able to take care of myself.”

Din moves his hand back up to your neck, pressing his thumb and forefinger to the base of your skull. Your eyes slip closed as if experiencing a small moment of pleasure. Din argues, “Why do you have to be completely reliant on me? You can learn how to do anything that I can do. I’ll teach you, or at the very least I can try.” 

“I already intrude on your life enough as it is, Mando. Ugh, fuck, I’m literally a burden on everyone I ever meet. Maybe my parents were right. I know you had no interest in taking me on, and I’m sure I’ll overstay my welcome at some point.” You huff, prying your eyes open to look at him again. 

There’s so much pain behind your irises that something in Din’s chest crumbles at the sight of it. The need to fix this becomes entirely too strong to control but he can tell you're not done expressing yourself, so he lets you finish. 

Your voice is laced with the same pain from your eyes, “Then I’ll just be on my own again. I’m so fucking tired of being alone.”

Din decides to be honest and firm, but in no way intended to hurt your feelings. “It’s true, you may overstay your welcome one day. It’s also true that I didn’t want to accept this arrangement and I feared that this would quickly become tiresome.” 

Your face contorts into a tiny look of agony so he squeezes your hand tighter, taking on an even firmer tone of voice as he says your name to really get your attention. “Don’t focus on the pain, focus on me.” He’s not sure if what he’s saying is helpful, but he feels as if he’s got to say something. As new and strange as this is for him, he truly wants to help his friend. 

Din waits for you to blink at him and nod slowly before going on, “I do not regret this. It didn’t become clear to me that I’ve missed having a friend around until a few weeks ago. I’ve been alone for a long time, and I’m tired of it too.”

When Din says that final sentiment, your face softens considerably and you let out a new kind of sob that almost sounds like relief is lacing its tone. You dive into him with such speed and force that he lets out a surprised yelp as he’s knocked on his ass. You’re clinging to him with nearly crushing force. Arms around his waist, your face burrows into him as the rest of you curls up on the floor between his sprawled legs.

At first he just lets you squeeze him with his own arms awkwardly outstretched on either side of you. After a moment, Din’s arms tentatively come to circle your upper back, one hand cradling your head slightly. This is all so foreign, but at the same time he can’t help but think that it feels entirely right to be in this position with you in his arms. 

“I’m here,” he soothes, and you sob until you have nothing left in you.

Somehow Jupiter and the kid sleep through all of it.

*****

When you finally calm down enough to dislodge from the mandalorian, you scoot back until your back is pressed to the side of the red seat. Throwing your head back with inflamed puffy eyes squeezed shut, you rub at them with your hands as you start to take more even breaths. You know a splitting headache isn’t going to be far behind a good cry like that.

“Fuck,” you exclaim. “Sorry that was kinda intense.”

“You don’t need to apologize for expressing yourself.” Mando says sternly. 

You feel incredibly awkward after being so vulnerable in front of someone so stoic like him, but he let you get out several months worth of pent up feelings. “I just feel like that was a lot,” you say, feeling as if it’s necessary to make further excuses for yourself.

Looking back over at Mando, you watch his silver helmet shake in the negative as he speaks. “Well you don’t have to. Thank you for trusting me.”

“You’re welcome, near bursha. Did I say that right?” You demeanor is shy as the foreign words leave your mouth.

“It’s ner burc’ya, but you got close.” He pronounces it slowly, tone low and warm.

“Ner burc’ya,” you repeat softly. 

Mando stands then and holds a bare hand out to you. You sniff a little, trying to clear your stuffy nose as you look at his skin and stop to really register that it had been exposed for most of that interaction between you. The way in which he’d rubbed your neck while you cried your eyes out  had been so soothing, but you’d been so caught up in your feelings that its not until now that you really realize how long you were feeling his warm skin touch your own. 

You take Mando’s hand and let him pull you up easily, wobbling a little as you come to your feet. A hand on his beskar chest plate steadies you, his own hand holding your elbow for extra support. 

“I feel woozy,” you say with your other hand to your forehead. The throbbing in your skull is already beginning its painful rhythm.

“You need to hydrate,” Mando says matter of factly while leading you to his seat at the front of the cockpit. “Sit. I’ll get you water.”

You comply, sitting in the pilot’s seat of the Razor Crest for only the second time since the ship became your sort-of home. It definitely feels more worn than your own seat, having way more give in the cushion. Obviously your mysterious friend didn’t have a lot of passengers prior to you. Pulling your feet up and laying your head on your knees, you breathe in the comforting aroma of the Mandalorian surrounding you for a few moments as you look at the stars and asteroids surrounding the ship. 

Behind you the baby stirs and makes a little yawning noise. 

“You slept through a shit show, green bean.” You say, turning to see his huge black eyes blinking awake at you.

“Language,” Mando’s voice reappears in the doorway, “His first word is going to be something awful thanks to us.”

You roll your eyes with a small grin, “You are dramatic. Is that a mandalorian thing or just a you thing?”

He hands you the cup of water, shaking his silver head at you. “Just drink.”

As you take a few sips he comes to stand next to you, leaning slightly on a buttonless section of the control panel with his arms crossed at the wrists just at the base of his abdomen. His right hand is holding onto his left forearm slightly, and even in the state you’re in you can appreciate how attractive he is to you. The visor fixes on you and you feel slightly unnerved by it, your system still all over the place after coming down from the extreme state of dysregulation. 

Feeling an awkward need to break the silence, you say, “So we’re landing on Nevarro soon?”

“Yes. Before we get there, would you like to practice flying the ship?” His voice is even as he says this, and you’re dying to know what his face is doing on the other side of the beskar. He can’t be serious, can he?

“Uh, what?” You say almost dumbly, features scrunching. “Don’t think I heard you right.”

His head tilts to the side slightly and his arms shift. “You heard me right. If you want to feel more self sufficient, you’re going to need to learn how to live in this galaxy, not just exist in it. That includes flying. Besides, it would take some of the strain off of me if you could man the controls as well.”

Some of your normal snarky personality is starting to resurface as you quip back, “I was just thinking the other day that if there was an emergency and you needed me to fly the ship we’d be screwed.”

“Exactly,” Mando agrees.

“I was being sarcastic, but that’s cool too.”

“Would you like to learn to fly or not?” His tone, although playful for him, has a seriousness laced within it.

You decide to take the hint, looking at him seriously. “Yes, please.”

The Mandalorian shows you a few very basic controls and how to steer. Watching his gloveless fingers dance across the controls effortlessly is mesmerizing. Maybe its because his hands are the only part of him you ever get to see, but damn are they lovely. 

As he explains navigation and thrusters, you realize how intimidating a ship like the Razor Crest really is. So much goes into flying these ships, but seeing as the craftsmanship is far beyond anything Earth has ever come up with you're not really surprised. It’s definitely not like driving your shitty old Honda, that’s for sure. This vessel is designed for deep space, not driving to the mall to get cheese fries and a new t-shirt from Hot Topic. 

After he shows you what you need to know for very basic maneuvering, Mando steps back and picks up the kid. Jupiter has since jumped down from the chair and is circling between Mando’s legs. They come to your side, the foster father and son who are slowly winning your heart, and and any nerves you felt up until this point slowly fade away. You feel a little more confident as you reach across the controls, clicking on the few buttons he’d showed you before grabbing the left and right joysticks meant or steering.

Just as the ship begins to move, your forgotten iPad changes over to the next song and “Bittersweet Symphony” by The Verve starts to play. It’s so faint you can barely hear it, but you can’t imagine a more fitting soundtrack to this moment. 

You steer left, then right, feeling the Razor Crest glide exactly where you direct it. You speed up a little, dipping up and down then back and forth. A feeling of joy rises to your chest, and if you hadn’t just cried out everything your body has to cry, tears might have formed again at the experience of getting to fly a spacecraft for the first time. But they don’t, so you just allow yourself to enjoy this moment. This confident feeling of freedom is unlike anything you have experienced, like you really could tackle anything you put your mind to.

“How do you feel?” Mando asks as you slow down to a stop and release the steering, grinning up at him with bright eyes.

“Like I can do anything,” you reply honestly. “I could get used to this.” 

The kid reaches for you then, so Mando passes him over. Your bare fingers run across his as you take the child into your arms, skin tingling where his touch had once been. 

*****

The stop on Nevarro is intentionally quick, with Din demanding that Karga give him the biggest payout bounty on his list as soon as he arrives in his office. You’ve taken the child off to see Cara and visit with her until Din comes to retrieve you both. 

“Well hello to you too, Mando,” Greef Karga says with a raise of the brow.

“I need to focus on the mission. On the child. Hunting that last round of bounties took up too much time.” Din says matter of factly. “If I could get one big payout, enough to last us a couple of months, then I can take care of the matters at hand.” 

Karga shakes his head, “You know better than most that the biggest payouts are the most dangerous. Are you willing to put the child and the girl at risk?”

“If I do my job correctly, there will be no risk to speak of.” Din replies evenly, unappreciative of Karga’s tone. “I’d like to be done with this for a while.”

“There is always a risk, Mando. But frankly, with Nevarro becoming such a prosperous and respectable planet I’d like to move away from this kind of work myself.” Karga agrees before changing the subject all together, “How is the girl doing on the Razor Crest, anyway? You never dropped her off back here and it’s been well over two months, so I assume that I was correct and the arrangement has been beneficial for you both.”

Struck by how much the idea of just dropping you off and likely never seeing you again truly bothers him, Din doesn’t answer right away. When he first met you he’d been willing to do that at a moments notice, but now the thought of it isn’t something he’s willing to consider. After learning more about you he’s aware of how cruel it would be on his part, and he would miss your presence. He would miss the feeling of you making him laugh. 

But Din knows that a part of Karga is just trying to distract him in order to haggle, so Din decides to change the subject back. “She’s well, and the arrangement is indeed beneficial. Now about the bounty.”

The two of them do this verbal dance for a little while longer.

*****

At the same time the Mandalorian is arguing over bounties at the desk of Greef Karga, you’re sitting across the desk of Marshal Cara Dune. She’s playing with the child as you fill her in on the events of your life since you last saw each other. 

After a few minutes of letting you ramble, Cara suddenly stops waving her hands in front of the kid’s face to grin widely at you. It’s distracting enough that you forget what you were just saying. 

“What’s that face for?” You ask.

“You have feelings for him,” she replies, completely sure of the statement she’s making. 

“What?!” Heat floods your cheeks, “I have feelings for who?”

“Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t look good on you. You like him. It’s clear as day when you talk about him.” Cara looks so pleased with herself that you want to throw something at her. If only this were Earth and she had papers strewn about on her desk, you’d wad one up and chuck it at her face.

Instead you just sigh and hang your head, “Is it really that obvious?”

“Painfully so,” the warrior woman says, still grinning. 

Between you both, the child is looking back and forth at each of you with a curious look on his tiny face and you briefly wonder if he understands what you’re talking about.

“Why are you so happy about this?” You groan out, sinking into your seat.

Cara shrugs, “Because you have a pleasant air about you that I’ve never seen before. It’s nice to see.”

You look over at her to confirm that her face looks as honest as she’d sounded and it does. “Aww, that’s actually a very sweet reason. I’m a little less embarrassed now.”

“You’re embarrassed?” She asks with a slightly raised eyebrow, “Why?”

“Because I feel like an adolescent with a crush. What if its just a result of being cooped up with him for over two months or I’ve just gone too long without sex?” You ask with a groan, leaning your head back to look at the ceiling. The baby makes a noise and your eyes flick back down to him, remembering that he’s there and he’s listening to you. “Whoops I shouldn’t have said that last part in front of the kid.”

“I’m sure he’s scandalized,” Cara quips sarcastically. She leans both of her elbows on the desk and rests her chin in her hands with a smirk playing at her lips. “Do you really think that’s the reason, or is it possible that you’re actually compatible with each other?”

“I mean, I like his personality. He’s funnier than I would have ever expected him to be. His voice is sexy, he’s got a nice laugh, he’s been teaching me how to do stuff around the ship and that’s been nice. I’d like to learn more about him, about his life. He’s my friend, Cara. This is so conflicting and complicated. I don’t know what to do.” You answer your friend honestly.

“Does it have to be complicated?” Cara’s question is blunt and to the point. 

You shrug, “I guess not, but when it comes down to the fact that I’m not from this Galaxy it feels like it does.”

Cara fixes you with a serious stare before asking, “Do you even want to go home anymore? From what you told me, your life back on Earth wasn’t much of a life. Instead of focusing on trying to get back to a place where you weren’t happy, why not build a better life for yourself here? Your chances of going back are slim to begin with. Would you really want to waste your life looking for something that could never happen and miss what’s going on around you?”

You counter with, “Honestly I don’t want to leave the galaxy anytime soon, but a crush on man is a dumb reason to build my life here. I wasted a lot of time on men back home and I promised myself I’d never make decisions about myself for a guy again.”

Brow furrowed, the little tattoo by her left eye wrinkles while she narrows her gaze and looks even more stern with you. “I’m not saying stay because of him. It would be because of you. Sure, see where things with Mando go if you want to, but if you stay in this galaxy do it for yourself. You need to live life for you, and you alone. All I meant was that a connection with someone can’t hurt either.”

“You make excellent points, Cara.” Her words ring true for you and you can’t help but agree with your friend, nodding. “When I first came to Nevarro I was desperate to go home because I’m so out of my element here, but now I’m starting to realize that I don’t have to be. Maybe I can find a new element. I don’t know if or how I’ll act on my feelings for Mando, though. Can Mandalorians even,” you pause while making eye contact with the kid so your voice drops down a few octaves while you wave your hands around, “you know what I mean?”

Cara shrugs, “ From what I understand, yes. As long as you never expect him to take that helmet off. And as for making a move, just let it come naturally. It’ll feel right when it’s supposed to. He might even make the first attempt if he feels the same way. Do you think he does?”

“I don’t know. He’s not cold towards me anymore, that’s for sure. I expected him to barely talk to me at first but we actually talk quite a bit. He’s opened up around me a lot in the last few weeks.” Thinking back on earlier that morning, laying in his arms as you’d cried your eyes out, you add, “He’s been there for me when I needed a friend.”

“Well that sounds like a start to me,” Cara approves of this, nodding.

“A start to what?” The Mandalorian’s voice is suddenly behind you and you stomach does a flip inside your body. 

Dread fills your brain as your heart speeds up, but Cara stays cool and recovers for you. “Our friend here was telling me that she’s been learning some new skills thanks to you,” she says.

“Yeah I told her that you’ve been teaching me to shoot a blaster,” you add, turning to look back at him. Seeing him just solidifies the conversation you just had with Cara. You want him. Badly.

“She’s not awful,” Mando says with a nod.

“Gee thanks,” you reply sarcastically with an eye roll and a laugh.

“Just being honest,” he quips back with a shrug.

Cara looks back and forth between you before sending a smirk in your direction. “I think it’ll end up working out,” she adds this just for your benefit and you wonder if Mando is confused by her phrasing. 

Oh well, you think. He comes to stand beside you, a hand coming to the back rest of the chair you’re in. Cara waggles her eyebrows at you and you fight the urge to wave her off. Instead you focus on him, and ask if he’s done with bounty business.

“Yes, I settled it. We are going to go grab one last bounty and the payout should last us long enough to focus on the kid for awhile.” Mando looks down at you and nods his head towards the doorway, “Is it alright if we get going? You two can catch up more when we come back. This one should only last a few days, a week tops.” 

You nod back, standing at the same time as Cara. She comes around the desk to give you a hug. “Thanks for the advice,” you say. 

“Of course. Be safe out there. See you soon.” Cara says, nodding to Mando as you grab the child and turn to follow him back to the ship.

Outside, Mando waits so that you are walking in stride together. “What advice did she give you?” He asks sincerely.

“I was telling her that I’m not sure if I want to leave this galaxy any time soon.” You say honestly, and he stops for a second to look down at you.

“Was her advice useful?” His tone takes on a certain vulnerability for a split second, but you hear it.

“Yes, I think so.” You reply with a smile, and the walk back to the Razor Crest resumes.

*****

The bounty turns out to be hiding on Nar Shaddaa, the moon of Nal Hutta. The Smuggler’s Moon. Nal Hutta being a green marshy planet with rings on which a race of large slug-like beings called Hutts reign. The moon, where your little group on the Razor Crest are now headed, is covered completely in urban sprawl and criminal activity. Making it the perfect place for a very wanted person to lay low. 

Yes, of course you have to make a Pizza Hut joke when Mando explains all of this to you. The two of you are standing in front of the little weapons locker on the first floor of the ship, and his confusion is adorably worth it.

Then he hands you a spare blaster, and tells you that he is hoping that you’d be willing to help him hunt the bounty. Both terrified and thrilled, you take the blaster and hold it in both of your hands as you look at him with skepticism.

“‘Smuggler’s Moon?’ This place sounds incredibly dangerous. Is me tagging a long such a good idea?” You ask genuinely.

Mando nods at you, “This place is very dangerous, but the worst of it is at nightfall. During the day, the street market that we are going to is fairly harmless. I want to try to lore him out, and I want your permission to use you as a sort of bait.”

“Bait?!” Exclaiming incredulously, you narrow your eyes at him and hold the blaster back out to him. For a moment you imagine yourself dangling on a fishing hook. “I thought we were friends, Mando.”

“We are,” he says pointedly, gently pushing the blaster back towards you. “I would not ask you to do this if I wasn’t sure I could protect you. I promise.”

You look at him and huff, “If I die I’m allowed to haunt you.”

“Deal,” Mando sticks his gloved right hand out to shake yours and you begrudgingly take it. “I have a theory about something. If I’m right, this could end the hunt that much faster.”

You shift your footing and cross your arms over your chest. You’re nervous but he’s trusting you a lot, so you want to hear him out. “Okay, shoot. Tell me what this idea of yours is.”

“The bounty is an Anzat.” He says this as if you know what he’s talking about, and you roll your eyes so hard you nearly get dizzy. Mando must notice this, and continues speaking before you can take the opportunity to be a smart ass. “The Anzati are a humanoid people who survive on soup.”

No you’re sure he’s fucking with you, so you scoff. “Like potato soup because their planet can only grow potatoes?”

He sighs, “No. Soup is what they call the brains of the living beings that they murder for food.”

Stomach dropping to your feet, your mouth forms an “o” and you do not interrupt your friend again.

Mando goes on, “They look like normal humans most of the time, but they have these proboscises that retract and extend from their cheeks. They snake up the nostrils of the victim and suck out the soup.”

“You’re not making a good case as to why I should be involved. This brain vampire guy sounds terrifying.” You say, growing somewhat anxious.

“They can smell the soup even from miles away, and the Anzati only ever go hunting for the most delicious smelling soup. Or the most rare. Even though you are human, your body chemistry is going to be slightly different than mine, or that of a human from another planet. Your brain will likely smell unique to an Anzat.” Mando explains this cooly, and you can’t help but think that it makes sense.

“Alright, go on.”

“So the plan is we go to the market during the day, in the area he was last spotted, and just pretend to shop around for an hour. Then we come back to the ship, I lock you inside of it so tightly that nothing can get in, and then when he comes sniffing around I grab him. They don’t need him brought in alive according to the puck, so worst case scenario I kill him and we just freeze the body.” The Mandalorian finishes telling you all of this by placing a hand on your shoulder and sighing heavily. “This does sound like a stupid idea now that I’ve said it out loud. I’ll just hunt him the old fashioned way.”

“What if we land the Crest closer to him than you think and he can smell me anyway?” You counter, looking over to where the kid is happily eating something with tentacles. “And what about the kid? He’s got a rare brain too, Mando.”

“I thought about that. We’re going to put him down for a nap and we’ll keep him locked up in the cot until things are safe.” Looking off into a corner of the ship, Mando sighs again before adding, “I regret this idea. Karga was probably right about it being too dangerous with the both of you involved. Even five years ago I would have taken this bounty with a small team, I don’t know what I’m thinking trying to do it alone.”

Your nose wrinkles as you think about it for a moment, and then you look into the T-shaped visor nestled between the beskar covering Mando’s face and you square your shoulders thinking that the two of you could be a team. A great team, even. That has a really nice ring to it. “If I am going to consider living here for the foreseeable future I need to learn what it’s like to be in possible danger. Let’s try your plan. An hour at the market, and then I lock myself in with the kid until you get back.” 

The helmet turns sharply to look at you, his voice sounding surprised. “You’re sure?”

You nod, “Why not? I trust you. I can be your team for this one, at least a little bit.”

The Mandalorian visibly relaxes slightly, tense shoulders loosening as his arms drop a little. “Thank you, ner burc’ya.”

Feeling braver about your feelings after your conversation with Cara, you place a hand to his forearm just above the vambrace. “You’re welcome. I know I’m probably crazy for agreeing to this though.” 

“Perhaps,” he chuckles, and your heart swells at the sound of it. You might follow this man anywhere just to hear that pleasant noise rumble out of his armor plated chest.

You think for a moment and then you recall something that Mando just said. Excitement suddenly floods your system. “Wait, hold up. You said Nal Hutta has rings? I’m going up to the cockpit to look at it. My favorite planet in my solar system has rings and I think it’s the most gorgeous thing ever.”

“You’re going to love this one, then. It’s a handsome planet.” He says, and from the tone of his voice you like to think he’s smiling. 

*****

Din is attuned to your presence every moment that you are out of the Razor Crest on Nar Shaddaa. Things are going as planned thus far, but he is on high alert all the same. He knows how much of a risk he’s created and he intends to keep his promise that you’ll be safe. To your credit, you’ve listened to his every instruction and followed them perfectly. You’re taking this extremely seriously, causing a newfound respect for you to blossom within his already blooming garden of feelings regarding you.

You’re dressed in galaxy fashions a la Cara Dune, and your face is hidden behind a low hanging black hood. The old blaster he gave you is strapped to your right thigh. You’ll blend in perfectly in the impossibly huge moon-city. 

Din looks you over as you finish coming down the ramp of the ship, glad to see that you’d followed his advice on how to dress. “There are so many people here that it doesn’t matter who you are in a place like this, unless the wrong people are looking for you. Good call with that hood. You’re a beautiful woman, you might draw too much attention to yourself with your face fully exposed.”

Beginning to fan yourself, you throw the other hand to your forehead while donning some sort of terrible accent. “Why, Mr. Mandalorian, did you just call me beautiful?” 

“I did,” He says matter of factly, tilting his head with a hidden smirk.

Batting your eyes at him a bit you respond with, “Well thank you. I bet you’re handsomer than hell under that beskar, but I’m fine with never finding out.” 

Din’s eyes widen, a smile creeping up his cheeks in place of the smirk. “I like to think so,” he says honestly.

You put a hand to your chin and pretend to think for a moment. “So the man who hides his face from the world is vain after all?”

“All I’m saying is that I don’t have a problem with the way I look.” Din just shrugs, and the little giggle you let out guts him with a jolt of joy.

The little smile playing at your lips also does Din in a little as you speak. “Your confidence is nice. I wasn’t sure how you felt about yourself in that regard and it never seemed polite to ask.”

Din looks you up and down, deciding to open up more of the wall he has put up around others for most of his life. “My choice to become a Child of the Watch and wear this helmet never came from a place of dissatisfaction with my face. I wanted to be a part of the people who saved my life when droids destroyed my home and killed my parents. I wanted to be a part of The Tribe, to know The Way of The Mandalore.”

“I think its nice that you were able to find a group of people to rely on after your parents died, and something that you feel so strongly about to help guide your life forward. It’s beautiful in its own way,” you say this sincerely, “I am sorry about your family, though. And I meant what I said, I don’t care about not seeing your face. As far as I’m concerned, this is you.” You gesture up at the helmet.

Din didn’t realize that this little banter would turn so serious, but he’s genuinely thankful for how much respect you show his way of life. He dips his head in a nod, “Thank you for saying that.”

“You’re welcome. Thank you for opening up to me.” You grin up at him before covering most of your face with the hood again. “You ready to go shopping?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Din shuts the ramp of the ship, making sure she’s locked up tight with the precious cargo inside. He then turns and holds out a hand to you. “Hold out your wrist.”

You comply and he fixes a small watch-like device to your arm. “Is this a com-link?” You ask.

Din nods, “Correct. If, and I mean if, we get separated we’ll be able to communicate with each other. Hopefully you won’t need to use it, but I’ll show you how it works.” 

*****

Nar Shaddaa is gorgeous in your opinion. Sure, it’s definitely got a crime infested shithole kind of vibe, but its like New York City only ten times bigger and ten times more interesting. You’ve always been a city person, so you can’t help but see the charm in this sprawling urban moon. It reminds you of Bladerunner and The Fifth Element, being practically out of a big Hollywood movie. Neon lights everywhere, even in the daylight. Sky scrapers so tall you can’t really see the top. Thousands of people from all kinds of species wandering around either on foot or little hovering vehicles. Some even walking strange little creatures clearly meant to be pets on leashes. Droids scattered here and there. Seedy or not, this place is full of life and it fills you with a little bout of excitement.

Despite this, you remain very serious as you stay close to Mando through the crowds. This is not the time nor the place to be cracking jokes at the risk getting yourself into trouble.

You stop at a few stands here and there. The Mandalorian instructs you to shop and act naturally. He even gives you a few credits to buy some items you need just to make it seem even more natural. So shop is what you do. 

It’s more soothing than you expect it to be. Shopping like this reminds you of going to street fairs back home to look at crafts, or the farmers market on Sundays to get fresh produce.

You do end up looking at the fresh foods first. Being somewhat of a vegetarian, you buy yourself a few things from the produce stand before moving on to meats of all kinds of alien varieties that do not look appetizing. Mando grabs a few of the meats for the kid, and you buy yourself some sort of grilled vegetable on a stick from a street cart when you realize how hungry you’ve become. It’s odd, but tasty all the same.

Then you move on to clothes and handmade items, trying not to get too friendly with anyone while also being polite. At one stand you pick out a black sweater with bell sleeves, cropped at the waist. At another you grab a set of dark purple leather-like suspenders with a removable blaster holster, and a pair of what look like an odd kind of cargo pants. Black, of course. Purple and black are your two colors of choice when actually given one.

It’s coming up on one hour when a particular item catches your eye. It’s a necklace on a small, thin gold chain. The tiny pendant is only one centimeter long, and it’s clearly a small rendition of Nal Hutta as some sort of obvious touristy product. There’s a light white-green stone with a gold band wrapping around it as the planet’s ring. You could care less about having a souvenir from this place, but damn is it a pretty piece of jewelry. You’re not the biggest jewelry person, but you know for a fact that if you had that little planet necklace it would never leave your neck. 

“A pretty necklace for a pretty girl?” A croaky feminine voice pulls you from your small trance. You look over to see the shop owner sitting on a little chair behind the table of jewels. She’s definitely some kind of alien, but what kind you do not know. Instead of hair, she has two very long fleshy tubes attached her head like pigtails. Her skin is green, and she seems rather elderly.

“Oh, me? I mean I love this piece but it costs more credits than I have unfortunately.” You say, grabbing for Mando’s forearm to push him along. For reasons you don’t understand, you get a weird vibe from her and you don’t care for it. 

“Why not let the gentleman buy it for you?” The old woman persists, and you feel uneasy still. 

“The gentleman has already spent enough on her today,” Mando replies cooly, noticing your discomfort and scooting you forward in front of him. Under different circumstances you would have been titillated at the slightly possessive way in which he spoke of you.

This unpleasant old woman gives a sneer and her once kind face morphs into one of ugly distain. “Suit yourselves. I would have cut you a deal, you know.”

“Yeesh,” you say once far enough away, unaware that she can hear better than you think. “I didn’t like that lady.” 

“Neither did I,” Mando agrees. “That necklace would have suited you, though.” 

“Why thank you, Mr. Mandalorian,” you say in that terrible American southern accent again and he actually groans a little. That’s a new one for him.

“For kriffs sake. Let’s get you back to the Razor Crest.” 

You sincerely hope that he’s rolling his eyes as you fix him with a little smirk. He nudges his shoulder lightly into yours and squeezes your hand for a moment in a gesture which you take as a slightly intimate one. He’s letting you know his physical presence is there with you, even in a huge crowd where he’s probably not willing to do more than that.

*****

Ranik A’kazz, the same Anzati man with a very steep bounty upon his head, notices your presence on the moon of Nar Shaddaa shortly after the moment that you set foot onto it’s surface. He is struck suddenly with a scent that he’s never once in his long life ever experienced. Ranik has travelled through all of this galaxy’s outer rim and through most of its inner rim planets, and not once has he ever smelled a soup such as yours.

It’s absolutely foul.

Ranik is disgusted by the rank scent of it, fighting back the urge to gag the closer he gets to the human woman it belongs to and her Mandalorian companion. It’s a powerful scent to be sure, but even more powerful still is the faint scent that accompanies the one which he finds so offensive. 

This second scent is utterly delectable.

“The force,” he finds himself whispering with a small gasp when he’s able to pinpoint why his mouth is watering so much. He’s dipping in and out of shops, stealthily following the two individuals who do not carry this scent themselves, but have faint traces on their person.

Thanks to the rise of the Empire and the fall of the Jedi, it’s been so long, decades even, since Ranik has been lucky enough to feast on a force sensitive individual and enhance his own force sensitivity. This one feels powerful. Unlike anything he’s felt before. His skin tingles at the thought of ingesting such a meal, and so he follows the unpleasant scent until the trail goes cold.

He doubles back to the jewelry stand where he saw the woman admiring a necklace, and he goes straight to the elderly Twi’lek sitting behind the table.

“The Mandalorian and the girl. Where did they go?” 

“What’s in it for me?” The old crone asks with a skeptical eye.

Ranik drops a small sack of credits in front of her, and the old woman snatches it up faster than a woman at her age normally moves.

“They went back to their ship. I think I over heard the Mandalorian call it the Razor something.”

“Crest. Razor Crest. Ex-military gunship and patrol model. Thank you for your services, madam.” Ranik says, dipping his head politely as he exits the jewelry stand. 

Then he heads for the docks, the hunger in his belly growing all the while.

*****

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

*****

Taglist:

@luc-k-y | @theslytherinwriter |

[heyiwrotesomethings]

How about a one-shot about shinobu and her partner spending Christmas together?

Snowed In

Shinobu Kochou x They/ Them Reader Modern AU

A/N: Wanted to make sure I got this done before Christmas. Also made it a modern AU because it spoke to me more. Hope you like it, thanks for reading! Word Count: 995

“Snowed in on Christmas,” (Y/n) groaned, looking out at the hazy grey skies and fresh snow still being piled up outside, “couldn’t it have at least waited until after we made it to Kanae’s?”

“The roads should be safe by tomorrow. We can celebrate together then.” Shinobu rationally supplied. She was a little disappointed, but not as much as (Y/n) seemed to be.

“Yeah…” (Y/n) laid flat across the couch, looking devoid of all holiday cheer.

Shinobu smiled sympathetically and came to sit on the edge of the couch, resting a hand on their back.

“We have each other. We can still have a good Christmas, (Y/n). We can do most of the things we usually do and then run it back tomorrow with everyone else.”

(Y/n) perked up a bit. That did make them feel a little better. They rolled over to look up at Shinobu.

“Really?”

“No, I lied. No happiness for my partner. We will sit in silence and not even look at each other.” Shinobu spoke sarcastically.

(Y/n) took the end pillow their head had been resting on and slapped Shinobu with it.

A struggle for power over the pillow ensued which ended with (Y/n) on the floor, muffled voice begging for mercy as Shinobu pressed the pillow against their face.

“Let’s make something special for lunch. We can put something on for background noise while we work.” Shinobu sweetly suggested once she had been persuaded into sparing (Y/n)’s life.

“Can it be a Christmas movie?”

“As long as it’s not one of those dime a dozen romances, I don’t mind.”

“Aww why not? I thought you liked making fun of them at the very least.”

“I do, but it’s more fun when Kanae’s there to try to defend them.”

“She is oddly protective over them, isn’t she? Hmm, how about this one?” They pointed to the synopsis of one of the movies that had caught their eye. “It sounds like it would be right up your alley.”

“A movie about Krampus? Yeah sure, put it on. Unless you think you’ll be too scared.”

(Y/n) stuck their tongue out at her before pressing play and rejoining Shinobu in the kitchen.

***

“I don’t know… someone seems a little jumpy since the movie finished.” Shinobu teased.

“I only jumped because you tried to scare me when I came out of the bathroom!” (Y/n) refuted. “That would startle most people even without watching a movie like that.”

“Do you think you’ve been good this year, (Y/n)? I’d hate for Krampus to come take you away in the dead of night.”

“Well he missed his chance by almost three weeks. Bedsides, if he was going to take someone away, it would have been you.”

“I’m nothing if not a perfect, upstanding citizen.” Shinobu grinned.

“Hey,” (Y/n) happened to look out at the steadily darkening sky, “the snow stopped.”

“So it has. We should be good to go tomorrow.”

“Yes!” (Y/n) pumped their fist then jogged to the front door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Shinobu asked, watching them put on their boots.

“Let’s go out in the snow for a bit. It’s been a while since we’ve seen this much.”

“Mmm, I think I’ll pass. While you’re out there though, you should shovel the walkway.” Shinobu suggested.

Shinobu was not a fan of the cold, snow especially she did not care for. It was pretty to look at, but not fun to be in, especially when manual labor was involved. Being cold, completely soaked in slush and sweat, and the way her hat completely messed up her hair, a hard pass.

“What? Shinobu, you have to help me. There is more than two feet out there.” (Y/n) sniffed, “What if I break my back and by the time you came to look for me, it started snowing again and then you didn’t find my body until spring?”

“At least you would be fairly well preserved.”

“Shinobu!”

“Alright, fine.” Shinobu groaned, sitting beside (Y/n) to put on her boots as well.

Once they were all bundled up, (Y/n) struggled to open the door, wiggling it back and forth until the gap was wide enough for the couple to slip through. They took their shovels in hand and cleared the walkway down to the sidewalk.

Shinobu’s arms burned a little and she couldn’t feel her toes, but at least now they could go back inside and—

Fwpssh!

“Hey!” Shinobu spun around to glare at (Y/n), who had another snowball waiting for her and hit her in the chest.

Shinobu knew a declaration of war when she saw it and she would not surrender. She knelt down and began scooping snow into tight balls and (Y/n) frantically began to do the same. When Shinobu was pleased with the amount she had made, she began to mercilessly pelt them at (Y/n) who could hardly return fire during the onslaught. They wondered if Shinobu was using ice or rocks instead of snow because of how devastating each blow felt.

When Shinobu ran out of snow balls, she dove for (Y/n)’s pile, but (Y/n) tackled her into the deep snow, pulling her hat down over her eyes. Blindly, Shinobu reached up and managed to find the ends of (Y/n)’s scarf. She wrapped her fists in it and began to tug the ends in different directions.

It was unclear who truly won the battle, because they both looked like they had seen better days. They were completely disheveled, soaked and shivering as they shuffled back into their home.

But after a relaxing, hot bath and a change into some warm and comfy clothes, they felt much better. They picked something else to watch and shared a steaming beverage while they exchanged gifts and kisses, cuddled up under a thick, soft blanket.

It wasn’t the Christmas they had expected to have, but being able to spend it together was good enough for them.

[chaotic-orphan]

Supervillain essentially being mindwiped and turned into a tool for the heroes, yet he or she has lingering feelings toward some things that they can't explain. Cue Supervillain choosing to take Villain prisoner instead of killing them.

Supervillain was always a tool for the Heroes. When a criminal was just a little too slippery, a little too persistent- that’s when Supervillain emerged. Terrifying. Amoral.

Murderous.

It was a nice scapegoat the Heroes had orchestrated. Of course, they still had to stage the epic fights of good triumphing over evil for the citizens of the City. Supervillain was a formidable opponent before they took them under their wing, wiped everything that made Supervillain— well, Supervillain— and made this docile little puppet. The Heroes pet.

Their once proud eyes glazed over and empty, the only thought in their brain to Obey. Obey. Obey.

“Villain has been gathering your old forces, Supervillain,” said the Number One Hero. “Crafty little thing, I must say, you raised them well.”

“Thank you, Hero,” Supervillain replied, their voice monotone.

They were in the Hero’s glass office overlooking the other ranked heroes comings and goings. All kept in line with the watchful eye of Hero. Hero, who had clawed their way to the top with their quick mind and quicker tongue, somehow earning the respect of the Council and the President’s office while also having the public opinion on their side.

The city’s golden Hero who could do no wrong.

Supervillain knew. Supervillain saw through them. Spoke out against them. Now they stood as the Number One Hero’s personal body guard and dog to dish out orders to.

And the sweetest revenge was that, as Hero was informed, somewhere, in the back of their mind, Supervillain knew what was going on around them. To a certain extent of the word.

Enough to walk, talk, kill, fight. Be aware.

But behind those glazed over grey eyes, a part of Supervillain, the real Supervillain, was screaming and trying to break free of their compulsion.

“And they won’t break free, will they?” Hero had asked the scientist as they saw the broken Supervillain for the first time.

The scientist laughed a small chuckle, shaking their head. “No. There’s no way they could break through what I’ve done to them. Their conditioning had to go deep.”

Hero just nodded in reply, not entirely trusting the scientist. Not until they tested it out when they got home.

“Kneel.”

Supervillain kneeled. Hero tilted their head at them, impassive eyes taking in their form. Supervillain didn’t look different except those cloudy grey eyes. That was the tell.

“Say: Hero beat me.”

“Hero beat me.”

Hero grinned. “Well if you ask so kindly how can I refuse?”

Hero punched them across the face. Supervillain’s body followed the motion before righting themselves.

“Did that hurt?”

“No.”

“Would you like another?”

Supervillain’s cloudy grey eyes stared at Hero with something like confusion. “Ask for another, and say please.”

“Please Hero may I have another?”

Hero punched them again, and again. And again. They got them on the ground and punched them in the ribs, then stood and kicked their ribs again and again. Kicking them over onto their back and pressing a boot into their back.

“Ask,” Hero hissed.

“Please Hero may I have another?”

Hero laughed. They gathered the oxygen in their chest and ran their hand through their hair in disbelief. Supervillain was gone. Gone. No longer here. Now there was just their likeness, their flesh and blood and body and Hero’s commands to guide them.

Hero smiled to remember that first day with the new and improved Supervillain. Then they were back in their office staring at the grainy photo they had of Villain operating out of Supervillain’s old base.

“I need you to kill Villain for me, Supervillain. They’re at your old hideout. Make it messy, break a couple bones, take some teeth for souvenirs. I want you covered in their blood and home before noon tomorrow.”

Supervillain said: “of course Hero.”

Then they were gone.

*~*~*~*~*

Villain knew something was wrong the moment they stepped into base. The energy was different. Someone was here. Villain crept in, feet light, mask still covering the lower part of their face. They narrowed their eyes, drawing their Escrima sticks from their back.

A creak behind them and Villain whirled, catching a hand between their sticks with a wicked grin. Then a kick came towards their legs and Villain jumped back, releasing the intruder. A right hook came to their ribs and Villain gasped, sucking in a hiss of breath as they backed up again.

They held their escrima sticks in front of them for defence, taking in the intruder. Their eyebrows knitting together as they said: “supervillain?”

Supervillain didn’t respond. They just kept advancing on Villain, eyes grey and cloudy and not at all Supervillain’s eyes. “Shit,” Villain muttered as they hopped, the gravity shifting around them until they were walking on the ceiling running to the other side of the room.

Supervillain shot an arm up, catching Villain’s hood and yanking them back down to the ground. Villain coughed as their chest hit the ground, knocking the wind from them as they rolled away, escrima sticks still firmly in hand. They rolled and got back to their feet, hard eyes set on their former mentor. Former friend.

“Supervillain. I don’t know what they did to you, but I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” Villain said as they dodged punch after punch from Supervillain. A punch came from the right so Villain dodged left and caught the side of Supervillain’s boot. Villain barely had time to straighten before Supervillain sent a fist straight to Villain’s mask. A resounding crack sounded and Villain stumbled back as the plastic bit into their skin, blood bubbling at the edges.

Villain drew their lips back into a snarl. They lunged, feigning left and slid right, smacking Supervillain in the back of the knees, then rising to their knees slammed a stick to Supervillain’s thigh and back before shifting the gravity as they jumped to the ceiling, dodging Supervillain’s counterattack.

Villain was on the ceiling for a moment before shifting the gravity again and dropping their full weight onto Supervillain. One stick going under Supervillain’s chin, the other batting away Supervillain’s hands as they grabbed for Villain.

“What happened to you?!” Villain yelled, twirling a stick in their fingers before driving in square into Supervillain’s chest. Supervillain gasped, bent double and Villain jumped from their shoulders, landing on their feet breathing heavy. They put their sticks in one hand, the other grabbing their mask broken into their face and unlatching it with its usual hiss, throwing it to the floor. They pulled the sharp piece from just below their eye and was reaching for the other on the opposite cheek when Supervillain charged.

They got their hands around Villain’s waist and Villain knew then they were going to die. They both slammed to the ground, Supervillain on top.

One of the sticks bounced away from Villain’s hand and before they could manipulate the gravity around them Supervillain viciously slammed their boot clad foot down on Villain’s wrist. Villain screamed. Their hand opening instinctively and Supervillain kicking away the other stick, before leaning their knee on Villain’s bicep keeping it pinned and Villain let out a cry of pain.

Supervillain had one elbow digging into Villain’s ribs, the other punching. Punching. Punching. Crunching and Villain opened their mouth in a silent shriek as they took in a sharp breath making it hurt all the more. Seemingly satisfied with the broken bone, Supervillain moved the other hand to press the plastic into Villain’s face and Villain cried out, bucking their hips trying to buck Supervillain off, but Supervillain didn’t budge.

Villain let out a guttural roar, manipulated the gravity around their back and pushed it forward, bringing them both to the ceiling, Villain pinning Supervillain this time and just started wailing on Supervillain.

“It’s me! It’s Villain! Your Villain! We’re friends! We’re not enemies, please Supervillain. Villain, remember?” Villain demanded, grabbing Supervillain’s shirt and bunching it in their fists. “Remember me! You need to remember!”

“I just have to kill you,” said Supervillain. Villain’s eyes went wide staring down at their friend. Supervillain took that as an opportunity to send an uppercut to Villain’s chin, rocketing them back to the ground. Villain could taste the familiar iron of blood as their head bounced off the ground. Eyes hazy as Supervillain launched themselves down again and it was lights out for Villain.

They stopped moving on the ground. Supervillain’s breathing was heavy.

No one ever got a punch on them before.

Nobody.

They were the perfect monster. The perfect machine for Hero. And this Villain, this small, skinny Villain with two wooden sticks somehow managed to get a couple of good hits in.

Somehow managed to make Supervillain sweat…

Supervillain stood, wiping the blood from their broken nose. It doesn’t matter. They had an order from Hero.

Kill Villain. Break a couple bones. Be home before noon.

It was easy. Like clockwork, yet when Supervillain looked down at their unconscious adversary they couldn’t find it in themselves to deliver the killing blow. Supervillain looked back at Villain’s scruffy escrima sticks and tsked.

They could never get Villain to properly care for them. Except… at a closer look Supervillain’s eyes widened. They weren’t Villain’s sticks. They were Supervillain’s.

Supervillain went over to them and picked them up. Their initials still carved on the edge of the base and beside it… Villain’s.

Supervillain gasped, dropping the stick as a sudden onslaught of thoughts rushed through their head except they weren’t Supervillain’s. Supervillain had no thoughts. Not anymore.

What?

What was that?

Obey. Obey. Obey. Obey. Obey.

Supervillain sat down, suddenly heavy and glanced at the passed out Villain. They knew. Deep down they knew they wouldn’t be able to kill the Villain for whatever reason they didn’t know. How did they get Supervillain’s old weapons? Did they steal them when Supervillain came under Hero’s care? But no…

Something told them that they had to protect question Villain when they woke up. Demand why they weren’t able to finish their mission. Why Villain was so special annoying in their persistent not dying state they were currently in.

Yes.

That’s what Supervillain would do when the Villain woke. First they had to bring their body down to the power proof cells in the basement. Something Supervillain knew instinctively and didn’t want to question too much as to how they knew that information.

This was a really fun request, very challenging to write so thank you Anon <3

[drama-glob]

Scare to Care

The heroes of San Fransokyo are running a haunted house for charity and it's been going well, until of course Halloween night when things start to mysteriously go wrong and threaten to shut it down on their busiest night. O_O

(I wrote this last year and I could have sworn I made a post but can't seem to find it to self reblog, so sorry and hope you don't mind me making this one since Halloween is next week and I wanted to get the word out that this story exists <3).

Now it was Halloween night and although it was a school night for many a kid in San Fransokyo, that didn’t stop them from showing up in costume with their parents along with various other citizens, most of whom were dressed up too; a long line about 200ft stretched back from the rusted gate doors that lead inside. Wasabi was on admissions duty tonight as he sat at the grey table outside the entrance dressed up as a banana this year instead of a pineapple (he had claimed it was a scary costume too on account of the radioactive potassium 40). Fred was off to his left next to the adjacent gate door doing his best to lure customers over. He was currently dressed as a zombie master of ceremonies, complete with a cobweb-covered black top hat, ripped pants and sleeves on his red and black suit, and had a sickly grey green paint job with a few stitches on his cheeks. Mini-Max was helping out tonight too since he didn’t get to experience Halloween with everyone last year and him practicing his sneaking skills meant he could surprise the patrons before they even entered the haunted house. He was currently dressed as a skeleton and hiding among the various joke tombstones that decorated the front lawn along with Honey Lemon-supplied fog that creeped low to the ground.

“There you go,” Wasabi politely said as he handed a mom and her daughter their bracelets.

“How’s it going Wasabi?” Fred asked, taking a brief break to get a drink of water.

“It’s going pretty well. Got a nice rhythm going and unsurprisingly most people want photos of Big Hero 6 or horror movie monsters,” he answered with a sly smile as he waited for the next set of customers to fill out their photo request and scare level. The next person that stepped up was a teenage girl dressed up as a witch and wearing a dark green costume along with a hat and broomstick. She proceeded to give Wasabi the $10 fee and her slip.

“Thank you,” the physicist said as he entered the data into his tablet, put the money in the lock box and grabbed the appropriate bracelet for her. “Have a good time.”

Here is the link on AO3:

[mauesartetc]

Hi maue! You may know me for sending in random asks as well as asks about planet characters! Well I wanted to say my story is in development and it's also a musical. Since I'm also a songwriter. I wanted to ask about the design of one of my main characters dizari (they/them )

Dizari comes from a city in space outside the solar system called Celestia. Which is full of magic. And dizari is a rebel trying to combine technology and magic. They're a chaotic inventor type who also is pretty self absorbed and does like to look fabulous from time to time. But you may say. "Why the dull outfit ?" Well celestia is a town that has white as it's main color ( no not like that ) and citizens of celestia mostly wear white and grey with other colors needed to be muted so the white and grey stand out. Even hair is mostly dyed grey and white. ( Eyes is a different story ) Since dizari is a rebel, they have their hair teal instead of white, but of course it has to be muted and dark.

I wanted to ask if the colors of dezzy's design fully capture the whole muted colors and mostly white and grey thing. Or if their outfit looks too bland for their rebellious personality. ( Design wise not color )

Thank you! ( Note I wanted to ask about my primary main character, but her new design isn't really finished yet )

Oh hi! My first thought right off the bat is that an inventor probably wouldn't want to wear anything that restricts the movement of their hands and arms, as they need those for tinkering on their latest project. And depending on what they're inventing, I'm sure they wouldn't want anything too flowy or stringy, lest those strings get caught in gears and motors. So any outfit Dizari has would need to avoid this. As always, the type of clothing a character wears depends on their lifestyle.

As far as practicality for everyday use, the current outfit is serviceable, but doesn't show off much of the "rebellious" aspect. You mentioned that the town requires a certain color palette as its dress code, but you haven't mentioned shapes. Here's where the citizens of Celestia have the most potential to show off their individuality.

Just a few basic looks I whipped up in a couple minutes, but you get the idea. Focusing on the collar area and shoulders will jazz up the design a bit without restricting arm movement.

And since this is a sci-fi story, don't be afraid to get a little crazy with it. This person lives on an entirely different planet from us, as well as (I'm guessing) a different time period. Of course the clothes they wear will look a bit strange to us at first glance. It might be useful to follow some fashion blogs for inspiration and make a Pinterest board of styles you think would fit a certain character. Even movie costumes can be a great resource: The everyday outfit of one of my own sci-fi characters takes cues from Queen Amidala's gown in The Phantom Menace. (Say what you will about the movie, but that costume was iconic.)

Hope that helps!

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