#the sheer scope of these rooms is VERY impressive

[gummi-ships]

Kingdom Hearts 2 - The World That Never Was

[foolish-sparrow]

All eyes on me

A/N: I’m not even gonna deny the fact that I sound biased because it’s Jisoo but honest to god her solo debut was my favorite.

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 2.3k 

The way she moved screamed elegant and formal, sprinkled in with an underlying tone of humility that became more apparent with each kind gesture. 

One look was all it took for you to be a goner, trapped in the abyss of bright eyes and tender smiles. 

The white marbled walls of some of the buildings seemed almost blinding as you transverse the semi-empty streets of Paris.

The sun sat heavy in the air; golden rays of excellence brought a glorious display of light, and with it, the gentle warmth that was neither overwhelming nor undetectable.

You were beginning to understand why Jennie enjoys coming here so much, but then again, Paris did just fit her vibes perfectly.

She had dragged you with her on this occasion with a certain goal in mind however – and that was to introduce you to someone she had met by chance during a vacation.

“You have to meet her,” she had said, your eyes immediately narrowing in suspicion at the amount of enthusiasm that was enriched with every syllable.

“Why?” You had asked in turn, genuinely surprised when your friend actually began ranting.

Looking back, you’re not even entirely sure about everything she even said when she began listing some of the qualities of this stranger, but there was one particular word that demanded attention in the fog of word vomit.

Model.

Why Jennie wanted you to meet this woman was completely beyond you, but to deny the curiosity perking up from within would be lying to yourself.

And so here you were; a suitcase filled with enough clothes for a long weekend in Paris.

You look back down at the address on your phone before looking back to the surrounding buildings.

One of the few… encouragements Jennie had enticed you with was the fact she had already paid for a room for you both. Something you would have playfully argued against under normal circumstances, as you always liked to at least go halves.

Not that you would have been able to add much, the quadruple digits of just a single night in the hotel she had chosen making you slightly ill.

As it were though, your mind had been distracted by meeting this woman. Kim Jisoo.

Jennie had even made you promise to not look her up, as she wanted your first impression to be the actual first one when you’re introduced in person.

All in all, very sus, especially by Jennie’s standards.

- - - - - - - - - - ☆ - - - - - - - - - -

Locating the hotel takes a little longer than expected, but once you do you ping a quick message to Jennie to let her know you’re outside.

You watch people come and go as you wait; fancy sports cars drive by every now and then.

Almost made you feel like a simple peasant amongst nobles, but one call of your name from Jennie Kim and those kind of thoughts are banished by her adoring smile.

She wraps you in a hug as soon as she closes in, and simply having her near makes any of the anxiety disappear in almost an instant.

“So glad you made it,” she greets, taking your free hand and dragging you inside.

The lobby is just as lavish and stylish as one could imagine for how much it costs to rent a room; occupants walk about in their expensive suits and designer dresses.

To say you didn’t fit in would be an understatement, but you don’t particularly care once Jennie has you both in the hotel room. Your eyes immediately widen at the sheer size of it alone.

“Are you feeling tired at all?” She asks once you leave your suitcase to scope out the literal apartment, giddy like a little excited child.

You stick your head out from the bedroom at her question, “not really,” you reply, having slept the majority of the plane ride over. “More hungry than anything.”

“Good,” she grins, and you fully exit back into the foyer when she unzips your case and begins rummaging through, “because we’re meeting Jisoo today.”

You suddenly pause, the sudden action almost making you stumble. “Wait,” you force out, slightly panicked, slightly stunned, “what do you mean today?”

“Well, tonight,” she clarifies, like that makes it any better. “So if you needed to rest I would do it now, or we can go and get something to eat.”

Your response comes with a single blink in her direction.

She doesn’t react to your non-verbal reply, having found what she was apparently looking for and holding it up for appraisal. Nodding after but a moment.

“I’m glad I bought you this.”

It was a piece of clothing, an expensive piece of clothing, that she had bought you for a birthday one year.

“You know,” you sigh out, forcing yourself through the shock, “have I ever told you that you act like my mother at times? Like what? You going to cook me dinner next?”

Her smile would look innocent to the many, but after years of friendship you know the difference by now. “Don’t you dare.”

Her laughter is quick and infectious. “Do you not like my cooking?”

“It’s more of the fact that we’re on holiday, so I’m expecting you to wine and dine me… with takeaway.”

Her wink is of friendly banter, and you can’t help but feel extremely lucky to have her in your life.

- - - - - - - - - - ☆ - - - - - - - - - -

Evening fast approaches, and with it, so too does your anxiety.

You’re not even entirely sure why. Jennie has introduced you to people before, this wasn’t exactly a new experience.

But there was something that was just… different, this time.

You had never seen your friend so excited before, and the way she spoke about this woman was nothing short of childlike glee.

The city lights of Paris come and go as the taxi drives past, buildings both old and new catching your attention all the same.

Entering the restaurant is a rather easy affair, a member of staff guiding you passed many tables as you head towards the large floor-to-ceiling windows that have a spectacular view of the city.

Your lost in the view before another steals your attention.

A woman stands from the table she had been sitting at, and with it you could swear your heart actually stops at the very sight of her.

She brings Jennie into an embrace once they’re close, but you’re too preoccupied trying to restart your systems that you stutter when they break away and Jennie begins introductions.

“Hello,” she greets, bowing, “I’m Kim Jisoo.”

“H-hi,” is all you manage to squeak out, failing to notice the devilish twinkle in Jennie’s eyes as she leaves you floundering for steady footing.

Jisoo blessedly does not comment on your clear nervousness, but the kind smile she sends you does absolutely nothing with helping you out either.

Holy shit, you internally scream, she’s a goddess.

Your unbalanced legs do manage to get you to your seat, the one opposite Jisoo, and so your eyes begin darting everywhere but forwards.

“So Jisoo,” you hear Jennie begin talking, and you use the distraction to hopefully regain any of the fraying bits of sanity you had left.

Thankfully, albeit eerily, Jisoo’s disposition makes it easy for you to calm yourself down as the evening progresses into the night.

She was just so down to earth and easy to talk with.

You learn of her modeling career, and the way she talks about her job with passion has you grasping on to each and every word.

You can tell that she was a humble person who worked hard for what she believed in, and it becomes clear as to why Jennie seemed so infatuated.

Because you were starting to become the same.

Dinner finishes far, far too soon.

But just before goodbyes could be shared, Jisoo turns to you with the slightest bit of hesitance. “Would you like to come and see me at work tomorrow? We could get to know each other better once I’m done.”

The faltered step of your heart halters you from responding; Jennie throwing a casual arm around your shoulder as she answers for you. “They would love to.”

Jisoo’s smile is soft and understanding, “Jennie can give you my number if you would like.”

Another arrow to your heart, another step fallen.

The 3 of you part ways with tender goodbyes and an air of excitement.

Jennie also uncharacteristically first bumps you on the way back.

- - - - - - - - - - ☆ - - - - - - - - - -

Hours pass by in a blur.

Jennie watches you leave the hotel room with an encouraging smile after she had served you up some breakfast to help with the nerves.

You’re grateful for her actions, but you doubt there was much she could do to squander the deep chasm filling your chest.

She had given you Jisoo’s number the night prior, and after a serious pep talk you had managed to send off a text before chucking your phone on the opposite end of the bed and burying your face into your pillow as a wide nervous smile ignites your features.

Her reply was almost instantaneous, but you had to work up the courage before you could even pick up your phone to read it.

One message led to another, and then another.

You felt light and giddy throughout the entire exchange, which was mainly filled with the initial politeness shared between acquaintances. Subtle bits of personal information hidden with compliments and words of thanks.

You had fallen asleep feeling… just really, really happy.  

The feeling didn’t go away in the morning, but the knowledge of actually seeing Jisoo again did bring back the nervousness of yesterday.

Finding the studio she was at actually proved easier than finding the hotel, the security taking one look at you before they ask you your name.

They hand you a pass to wear once doing a quick check and list off some things you were not permitted to do, allowing you to enter shortly after.

Jisoo is actually waiting for you at the entrance, her bright smile still rendering you weak in the knees.

She ushers you in with great enthusiasm, linking her arm with yours as she asks you how your morning had gone.

You obviously forgo the minor details of being really eager to see her again.

You’re not left a whole lot of time to talk, as her photographer is calling her back on set with quick hand movements.

You watch in awe from the sidelines.

It’s easy to see, even with your untrained eye, that Jisoo has a mixture of natural talent and hard work backing her movements.

The expressions, the way she moves, all of it just seems so fluid and easy.

Not to mention hypnotizing.

You’re not sure if you even blink once during the entire ordeal, too fixated on the model in her element, but once it’s done it’s like a switch has been flipped.

As soon as it’s finished Jisoo goes and thanks everyone for all of their hard work, and you can feel your expression softening as you watch her do so.

She returns to you after quickly getting changed, “thank you for waiting for me.”

Your smile feels tender against your lips, “no worries,” you reply, enjoying the way she once again links her arm with yours. “So where are we going by the way?”

Her smile turns slightly wicked, looking at you from the corner of her eyes. “That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

You are left little time to find out just what exactly that means, because she is gently tugging on your arm for you to follow.

The pair of you exit the studio after one quick word with her manager, entering a car that was waiting just outside the front.

Once again you find yourself watching the Parisian streets come and go, the daylight giving off a whole different atmosphere to the night prior.

Unbeknownst to you, Jisoo does cast subtle glances at you every now and then. A smile curving her lips when she notices the awed look in the reflection on the window.

And then the building breaks away, and once you turn you catch the glimpse of France’s most famous landmark standing tall.

You turn to Jisoo with wide eyes, and that smirk from earlier returns in full force as she silently gets out of the car before you can say anything, your own hands scrambling with the seatbelt before you quickly join her.

“Jennie mentioned you had never been here before,” she states. “And I thought it would be a good view to get to know each other better at least.”

You’re kind of left for words if you were being honest, eyes managing to tear themselves away from the Eiffel Tower back to the woman beside you.

“I am actually struggling to believe I’m here.” You blurt out, and she laughs with affection.

The grounds surrounding the Tower have small groups of people, both tourists and locals alike.

It almost looks like a scene from a movie.

Accessing the top only makes it more so.

You both stand there, watching the city in comfortable silence.

“Can I confess something?” Jisoo asks after a while.

You turn to her in curiosity, but it would seem like it’s her turn to be unable to meet your eyes.

“I, um, I was the one to ask Jennie to introduce us,” she admits, and you watch in shock at the way her cheeks redden slightly, “the way she spoke about you was so full of affection, I was curious at what kind of person you were.”

She turns to you then, “and this is going to seem sudden, and for that I truly apologize. But I am leaving for South Korea tomorrow and I feel like if I don’t ask this now I will regret it.”

Your heart races from where it lies within your chest, and you can feel some kind of hope begin filling the gaps.

The question is almost lost within the wind, fleeting and timid.

- - - - - - - - - - ☆ - - - - - - - - - -

10 years have passed since that day, and you find yourself once again standing upon the Eiffel Tower, alone, during the quiet dusk hours.

“Sorry I’m late,” a voice call from behind, and you smile when a hand covers your own, a pair of wedding rings lying next to each other.  

[agoddamn]

Hey, remember that Clone Wars thing I was doing? Let's get back to that. THE BOX

Still really funny that THIS is where I stopped, mid-Obi-Wan arc

Narrator!Yularen, once again, is saying Rah-ko where Eval says Ray-ko

>Obi-Wan copying Bane's butch shoulder-shove past Eval

lol

I actually like Obi-Wan's chest armor here, the fur lining and all. Cute look, very low-level D&D armor. I've seen some people argue that this is a Mando outfit but he's really lacking the distinct T-visor; he just has a horizontal visor

(once again, it is so fucking funny that Mandalorians are literally wearing range targets)

Anakin is actually...quite calm, confronting Yoda about all this? He's clearly unhappy, but his first concern is Obi-Wan's safety. Wtf, fanfic led me to believe he was berserk through all this

...anyone else ever have that moment where you realize that you don't dislike a character, you just hate the fanon version of that character? Sometimes I wonder if even some supposed fans actually like Anakin Skywalker, given as they write him like a whiny brat instead of a complicated adult

--was that a salarian doing a handstand? (Twazzi?)

Bane: I require P E R F E C T H A T

Heyyy, it's Embo!

Dooku says something about a bounty hunter's standing "last season"--wait, hold on, there are seasons?

Hardeen is introduced as 'the marksman of Concord Dawn,' which I guess is where the Mando assumptions come from, but with the other bounty hunters a lot of their titles seem to come from jobs, not origins (ie pink dude being the butcher of whereever)

Is this the first canon appearance of a Selkath outside KOTOR?

Weeqay lady also hot

I have to ask why an assassin filter is testing them without their weapons

Dooku says Rah-ko

I like how Bane has gone from slapping away Obi-Wan's hand to "go!" within the space of two minutes

Looks like there's 8 now, lost 3 in the lightsaber room

I really have to ask who tf would take this job? "I'm gonna murder you at the end" was the conditions for 42% of the applicants. Why would the best bounty hunters in the galaxy take a job that has a 42% chance of killing them by sheer luck when they could take literally any other job that doesn't do that? I know, I know, money/arrogance/plot, but still

Obi-Wan speaks Parwan and whatever language Embo speaks in here

Down to 6

Idk why Dooku thinks the Box ain't doing its job. It's down to 6, and he expected it to be down to 5

Obi-Wan being able to hit those targets--alright, that looks like maybe 25 yards? 35? So the impressive part here is in how quickly he acquires his target picture; he's not shooting at an exceptional distance (especially since he's not using iron sights), but he is taking very little time to aim

There's still recoil on laser sniper rifles, which is very unfortunate (...also a sniper rifle with a scope is pretty excessive for such close range). I can't imagine dealing with that without a cheek well--it'd just be smashing into the helmet every time and you'd lose your stance. Horrible

...god I ship this so goddamn hard. I mean, I already did just from hearing about this ep, but goddamn. I need to reread the Idiot's Array now

...but seriously why is Eval even so salty, this is literally what the Box was designed to do--cut the team down to five dudes

Ok that wallrun was pretty sick

What do the other bounty hunters even think about this whole situation. "So like...am I good? Did I win?" What's it like when you're not a main character

Dooku: -tells Obi-Wan to kill Eval-

Dooku's next line: Eval is the one who knows the plan

Good succeeds because evil is fucking stupid

I intended to make one post per arc, but I actually hit the text limit here so the next ep is another post.

[thebandcampdiaries]

Spiral Scouts presents: "Tales On The Tide"

A collection of four songs, serving as an introduction to the band's creative legacy.

Spiral Scouts is a band that has been active for over a decade. Despite facing challenges, such as George, a main member, being diagnosed with Leukemia, the group has persevered. George, who is the leading songwriter in Spiral Scouts, has been the driving force behind the band, coming up with over 60 songs for the band's repertoire, drawing inspiration from a huge variety of genres. Each song showcases his talent and versatility as a musician. Drawing inspiration from a wide range of musical styles, including indie rock, alt-folk, and many others, George has created an impressive collection of songs that is only waiting to be heard.

Spiral Scouts' latest release, "Tales On The Tide," is the first taste of what the audience can expect! This release features four tracks, which are sure to appeal to fans of indie, alternative, new folk, and more. The title of the EP itself is very poetic, and it evokes a sense of storytelling carried by the ebb and flow of the currents that rule our lives. Sometimes, we need to deal with the unexpected, and this title reminds us that we really can only hope to share our stories, capture whatever creativity we're lucky enough to share with the world and make the best of it.

Much like George's story and his struggle with Leukemia and its related health challenges, this EP is all about those narratives shaped by the unpredictable twists and turns of life.

Granted, listeners can interpret titles and meanings in a thousand different ways, but what remains a very objective truth is the sheer variety of sounds and expressions offered by George's songwriting on this EP. He really stands out as a natural-born storyteller, seamlessly weaving personal experiences into lyrics that resonate universally. George actually started making music at the age of 37. However, this late start enabled him to gain more focus when he comes to really understanding what matters in songwriting. Speaking of, this band makes music that isn’t just a result of George’s songwriting sensibility. The band is all about channeling the collaborative process, and having each musician contribute in a very personal and special way.

Each track on the EP showcases the breadth of Spiral Scouts' repertoire, from the spicy rhythms of "Setting Suns" to the upbeat and energetic vibes of "We Know More," Anything Goes. The EP features only four tracks, but these songs are a very big insight into just how diverse the artist's work can be. There is room for blues, roots music, rock, and so much more. Let's take a closer look at the other tracks on this EP. This release is a combination of passion, focus, and vision, and it combines instinctive artistry with true technical expertise, bridging the gaps between the best of both worlds.

The song "Time," co-written with lead guitarist Nathan Beaumont, is one of the record's most notable features on the album. This is a beautiful track with a flavor reminiscent of jazz manouche (Django Reinhardt fans will immediately connect with the rhythm and flow of the production). The song "If Only" is another fantastic example of the immense variety one can find on a Spiral Scouts record. This song is a guitar-based track, which features George's playing prominently. The intimacy of the track is absolutely fantastic, as there is seldom a combination more powerful and stark than guitar and vocals. With its barebones aesthetic, the song feels like a perfect representation of George's amazing vocals and melodic sensibilities. At times reminiscent of singers such as Eddie Vedder, George is able to showcase so much depth and the ability to sing with focus and intensity. 

The sheer scope of the production will immediately capture your imagination. The music has a larger-than-life feel, almost hitting the speaker in a big cinematic way while still retaining a very natural and musical sound. The songs, especially in the context of the band's story and the songwriter's background, are indeed very evocative and create a strong texture rather than just focusing on a melodic line to remember. The fact that there are many layers to this release really allows the artist to achieve an extra sense of depth, making for a strong and balanced tone.

Not many artists can easily pull off a project that features such a wide variety of elements and influences, but Spiral Scouts has managed to strike a balance between these different styles, enabling the audience to experience a huge range of styles while retaining the band's core personality and character overall. With 21 minutes and 8 seconds of music, the EP offers a relatively short but complex and rewarding run time, which will immediately make people want more. If these four songs are any indications, fans of the band are in for a real treat, as more music is expected to be released in the not-too-distant future. This is going to be a prolific new year for George and his band!

The EP is available on all major streaming services, so be sure to check them out and discover the nuances and kaleidoscopic variety of this amazing release.

You can also find the band on Facebook and Instagram.

[calaofnoldor]

Driving My Baby

Characters: Dean x Reader (gender neutral)

Words: 2,183 (i can’t drabble)

Summary: Dean doesn’t know about your mad skills behind the wheel, but it turns out there’s nothing hotter than seeing his baby driving his Baby.

Warnings: implied smut, language, fluff, dean’s bow legs, references to the fast and furious franchise

A/N: was originally gonna post a slightly angsty 2-part dean fic next, but decided against it in light off recent events lol. there’s really no plot or substance here, just some light floof. (and yes, the title is a reference to the song ‘you’re having my baby’)

MASTERLIST

The roar of Baby’s engine rumbled to a halt as Dean glanced over at you, “Alright, so you gonna sit tight while I go scope this place out?”

You sent him a close-lipped smile, trying your best to repress the excitement bubbling within you. “Mhm!” you concurred with a bouncy nod, pausing to sneak a quick peek at his shapely behind when he stepped out of the car, “I’ll try and see if I can get a hold of that morgue guy again.”

Walking over to the passenger side, Dean bent down to kiss you through the open window. “Mmkay, I’ll be back soon,” he mumbled against your lips, before turning to commence his search for the potential vamp hideout you suspected was in the vicinity.

“Oh wait! Dean!” you called out, stopping him in his tracks.

“Yeah?”

“The keys?”

Dean looked down at his pocket where the Impala’s keys were safely nestled and then back up at you with raised brows.

“You’re not gonna leave me in here like a dog, are you?” There was a subtle hint of amusement in your voice, but also a challenging edge, as well as a slight pout which you added for good measure. You knew he could never really say ‘no’ to you.

And as expected, Dean returned to deposit the keys into your waiting hands. You gave him a wide smile in return, “Thank you! Love you!”

Your boyfriend narrowed his glimmering green eyes at you, imparting one last suspicious glimpse in your direction as he grumbled somewhat warily, “Love you too,” and then finally sauntered off for good.

Biting your lip, you watched with bated breath as his figure grew smaller in the rear-view mirror. Normally, you would have enjoyed the exquisite vision of what you often dubbed his ‘sexy ass bow-legged swagger’, but this time, it was when Dean was no longer in sight that a devilish grin broke out across your face.

But really, who could blame you? You’d been a car enthusiast all your life, and classic cars were your weakness. “It’s just you and me now, Baby.” Your fingers glided along the dashboard.

With Sam on the bench due to a broken ankle (courtesy of the werewolf from your last hunt), you and Dean had driven out to Piedmont to take care of this vampire case on your own. So now after two years with the Winchesters, you finally had a chance to explore the front seat of Dean’s Baby, his pride and joy, the glorious, refurbished 1967 Chevy Impala.

When you’d joined forces with the brothers, it was readily agreed upon that you would be better off riding together in the sleek American muscle car, so you ditched your stolen, rusty 2003 Honda Accord and never looked back. Since there was a giant moose to accommodate, you were naturally relegated to the back seat, and rightfully so, but boy, did you miss the thrill of being in the driver’s seat.

You were always a bit of a demon behind the wheel, and it’d been ages since you’d gotten the chance to flex your driving skills. Back when you and Dean first got together, he promised you joyrides (and other recreational activities) in Baby, but the hunting life never seemed to let you get it on.

Sliding across the bench seat, your lungs released a contented sigh as you wrapped your hands around the leather-bound steering wheel. Dean’s bowlegs, however sexy, were not the same length as yours, so you pulled the lever beneath the seat to adjust its position to your liking. Perfect.

You took your time getting to know the ins and outs at the helm of the Impala, though it seemed like none at all had passed when you suddenly heard Dean’s deep voice cry out.

“Y/N!” Your eyes shot up to the rear-view mirror to find an image of the older Winchester running towards the car. “We gotta go!”

Well that’s strange, you thought. Dean never ran – not unless someone, or more often something, was chasing him… Oh shit. Had he somehow woken the vampires? But the sun was still thriving; how much could they retaliate out in the open at this point during the day?

“We gotta get outta here! Now!”

Dean’s voice was much closer now and if you’d learned anything from your experiences hunting with the Winchesters, it was to never doubt your boyfriend’s commands. He was a seasoned pro and possessed instincts like you’d never seen. It’s a good thing you’ve also got some of your own.

Plunging Baby’s key into the ignition, you started the car without hesitation, allowing yourself only a second to relish in the thunderous purr of the engine below you and the incomparable feeling of glee that always sprouted in your chest whenever you were sat at the wheel of a powerful, capable vehicle. Indeed, the adrenaline was already rearing.

As Dean approached the car, you quickly reached over to open the passenger side door for him. “Get in the car!”

“You- Wha-“ Dean stumbled for a split second, so accustomed to taking the driver’s seat. “Y/N, they’re awake and they’ve got bikes – a bunch of Harleys!” he continued to explain, as if that would get you to move out of his designated spot.

“OK, so hurry up!” you yelled again.

Seeing no better option, Dean hastily climbed into the car. Just as he got in, your ears picked up the unmistakable resounding growl of revving motorcycle engines. From the sound of it, they couldn’t be too far off. So when Dean slammed the door shut, your foot came down fast and heavy against Baby’s gas pedal, propelling you forward with an aggressive lurch before you whizzed off, burning rubber and leaving nothing but flying leaves and dust in your wake.

“Jesus!” Dean bellowed; his eyes had grown to about twice their usual size.

You paid him no attention though, too busy reveling in the delightful buzz that vibrated through your body starting from your fingers and toes, where you could feel every unit of Baby’s intoxicating horsepower, and travelling up your limbs until the exhilaration settled deep within your very core.

Stealing a glance at the rear-view mirror, you caught sight of the monster-driven motorcade advancing considerably, so you decided to take the next available turn as an attempt to throw them off. Things were getting truly exciting now.

“Vamps on bikes? Really?! And covered in leather?” you huffed mirthfully with a shake of your head.

But it was Dean’s turn to ignore you. He was clutching at his door tightly, as if afraid your driving might somehow hurl him out of it. In fact, when you took the first corner without warning, Dean just about fell over.

“Woah! Slow down, Toretto!” he shouted in alarm, looking over at you as if you’d grown a second head.

Seeing you’d managed to surprise the vampires with your unexpected maneuver however, a loaded smirk was your only reply.

It took you about twenty minutes to get the vamps off your tail, during which time Dean managed to recover from his initial shock and began instead to absorb your radiant form. The look of exuberance on your face and the utter determination in your bright eyes, mixed with the mischievous tug of your lips, and combined with the all-around liberated and euphoric aura that surrounded you was sexy as hell, not to mention your sheer competence. All of it astounded him and caused his blood to flow to places he could not have foreseen.

You seemed to be completely at one with his esteemed Baby, handling her with perfect control and aptitude, and all the while enjoying yourself so very much. It was something Dean never knew you were capable of, but more so, it was something he never knew he needed.

Dean had always loved how much you loved and appreciated his car, but this made him feel like he was seeing you in a new light; it made him feel like he was falling for you all over again. That devilish glint in your normally kind and virtuous eyes, your ever jubilant and fervent love for life after enduring so much pain and grief, the way you never ceased to amaze and surprise him – it was all gloriously heady and irresistibly addictive. His teeth couldn’t help but pull at his lower lip, emerald eyes glazing over with lust and adoration as he stared over at you in the driver’s seat.

So when you ultimately pulled into an empty clearing, not wanting to lead the vamps straight back to your motel room, Dean was at a loss for words.

“So, a bloodsucking motorcycle gang, huh? Can’t say I’ve seen that before,” you speculated in a cheery, nonchalant tone, feeling perfectly satisfied after your little stunt driving escapade.

Dean, on the other hand, appeared not unlike a fish out of water with his furrowed brows and pouty lips which appeared undecided as to whether they should remain open or closed.

“That was… I just- You-… I don’t even know…” he ran his hands through his hair, pulling the short strands forward roughly, “What just happened?”

You sent him a small, innocent shrug, rather amused at his adorably stuttery response.

“You never told me you could drive like that.”

“You never asked,” you replied truthfully.

“Fuck, Y/N. That was… so… incredibly…”

What? Your curiosity was killing you. Dean’s opinion always mattered to you and at the moment, you could read a myriad of emotions upon his face. He looked stunned and confused, perhaps a bit frightened, but at the same time awed and impressed, and maybe even – were you reading that right? – slightly… aroused?

Dean lowered his voice to answer your unspoken question, “Hot,” he finished emphatically.

You heaved a breathy laugh, “Yeah?”

“Fuck yes! Baby, that was incredible. The way you handled Baby like a fucking pro, the little faces you made when you were living for the thrill of the chase. The skill, the speed, the Tokyo drifting, all of it. Goddamn, you are so sexy when you’re driving my Baby like that.”

“Well that’s a coincidence ‘cause I also happen to find you amazingly sexy when you’re behind this wheel,” you joked lightly, “In fact, I think seeing you drive this car might’ve been part of the reason I fell in love with you.”

“And I think I just fell in love with you all over again,” came Dean’s suave response.

You giggled a bit, but soon sobered when you saw his gorgeous eyes cloud over with wanton desire. One minute you were dwelling in the heavily charged sexual tension that seemed to consume the entire car, watching his gaze wander down to your lips while yours did the same, and in the next your mouths met ferociously as your bodies swooped forwards simultaneously, crashing together in the center of Baby’s front seat.

You moaned into the kiss, your hands finding their way around Dean’s ridiculously broad shoulders and up to his thick neck. When you were forced to come up for air, his lips began to work their way down to your collar bone. “Mmm, god Dean.”

“Seriously baby, that was such a turn on,” he rambled across your skin, “I didn’t even know driving could be so hot.”

Your laughter was really more just an exhalation of air. “Are we finally gonna do it? Are we gonna christen Baby now, thanks to your newfound kink?” you whispered salaciously, your brain already presenting obscene images of the two of you re-enacting something akin to the infamous Titanic scene.

Dean paused for a moment, allowing you to rip off his outer layers with relish before he brought his large hands up to cup your cheeks. “See I wouldn’t call it ‘newfound’,” he started, dazzling forest orbs boring into your soul, “Cause I’m pretty sure it only turns me on when it’s you behind the wheel, and I’ve always had a kink for you.”

You stare at him in disbelief, unable to keep the smile off your face, “You are such a smooth fucker sometimes, Dean Winchester.” And with that, your lips and bodies collided yet again. His strong hands held you impossibly close while yours ran joyously across his expansive chest before travelling down to find the zipper of his jeans.

“Ungh, wait a sec,” you pulled back a little with knitted brows, a playfully incredulous tone taking over your voice, “Did you call me Dominic Toretto earlier?”

“Well, yeah. You were driving like a madman!” Dean exclaimed candidly.

You smirked, “So does that make you Letty Ortiz?”

“Sweetheart, I will gladly be the Letty to your Dom anytime you want… I still can’t believe you just took me on a high-speed car chase, that was fucking awesome! Just wait ‘til Sam hears about this one!”

Laughing as you pulled him back in, you shut him up with your tongue as it invaded his mouth, pausing only to smile against his luscious lips, “Mmm, well maybe he doesn’t have to hear about this next part?”

A/N #2: thank you so much for reading, feedback always appreciated! oh and here’s a look at some new stuff at lexicolor.redbubble.com :)

[asset35-maya]

Since it's your birthday, a prompt came into my mind. "Birthday Prank" it can be any character. Anyways happy birthday again Maya :D

Yo thanks Blaire! Wasn’t initially planning to, but looks like I’m doing it. Thanks for kicking off:

MAYA’S BDAY WEEKEND ASK EVENT

Send me whatever writing requests or nosy asks you want. Go bananas, my good people.

//

\\

🎆TINA’S 30TH🎆

Tina Chen was a super lowkey kinda girl. She was definitely fun and easygoing, but to be honest, she was the kind of person who enjoyed celebrating other people’s birthdays more than her own.

Suffice to say, she didn’t expect any grand celebration for her thirtieth. Everyone said it was the big one… but to her it was just another day. Another year over. Same old, same old.

Her mother didn’t seem to think so.

Mama Chen insisted on smothering her in kisses and making an elaborate breakfast and getting all their relatives to speak to Tina over the phone. It was very unlike her family to have such overt displays of affection. Perhaps they were all getting sentimental with age.

By the time she extricated herself, she was almost an hour late for work. She wasn’t too worried though. Hank was an extremely understanding boss.

But when she arrived at the station, Tina discovered utter chaos had broken out.

Nines came running up to her anxiously.

“Where on earth have you been, T! We’ve been trying to get hold of you for ages!”

She grabbed her phone and found a long series of missed calls and angry texts from Gavin and Hank and Fowler and apparently everyone in the department.

“Shit! I didn’t get any of these!! I’m so sorry! I don’t know how! I had my ringer on-”

Nines grabbed her by the elbow and steered her into a briefing room before she could finish. There was an intricate map on the projector screen and Hank was deep in the middle of an explanation.

Gavin impatiently tugged at her to sit down and shoved the case file into her lap. She opened it guiltily. All pleasant birthday thoughts receded to the very back of her mind.

Apparently a dormant serial killer had just resurfaced. His thoroughly unique MO had been identified on a body found the night before, and the DPD had reason to believe he was active and about to strike again.

Tina’s heart raced with fear and anticipation. She paid rapt attention to Hank’s instructions and soon found herself behind the wheel of a police cruiser.

She absently noted that it was the very first one she’d driven as a rookie patrol officer. Out of sheer habit, she popped open the glove compartment to retrieve her shades.

Tina kicked herself when she remembered that she’d lost her favourite rayban aviators on a recent mission… and that it would make no sense for them to be in this car anyway… but then her fingers curled around a very familiar shape. A suede leather case.

She opened it to find shades identical to the ones she’d loved and lost. Before she could think any deeper, Gavin got into the passenger seat and barked at her to drive. Tina put the sunglasses on and floored the accelerator.

At the location, Nines and Connor had already begun scoping the building and scanning evidence. Both gave her brief but tense smiles. She’d hoped Connor would at least wish her a happy birthday, but her boyfriend was busy knocking on floorboards and looking for hidden compartments.

What had she expected? Human or android, all the men she dated had turned out to be as obtuse as her father. With a sigh, Tina got on her knees and joined him.

“What do you think made him do it again?”

“You tell me, baby. You’re the one with the criminology degree.”

Their eyes met and the warmth of his chocolate brown irises made her irritation fade away. They fell into an easy pattern of swapping hypotheses while scrubbing for evidence. The whole thing was incredibly reminiscent of the first case they’d worked together on, and fallen in love while solving.

After searching the house from top to bottom, they ended up with an impressive stack of evidence. Gifts from a secret admirer intended for a hapless victim. Jewellery, red-bottomed shoes, perfume and a lot of other trinkets that were strangely to Tina’s exact liking.

The killer’s purported next mark was a mystery woman who seemed to embody Tina’s personality entirely. A shiver went down her spine as she contemplated the idea.

Just as they were about to leave the house. Nines came hurtling down the stairs with the ultimate clue. A midnight blue dress with no back. It was draped beautifully over a wire hanger, with a note attached to it.

Gavin seized the note and read aloud the place and time indicated. That very night. At the swankiest jazz lounge in Detroit. The elusive killer would make an appearance.

After ten years spent trying to catch him in vain, the DPD would finally have a clear, undeterred shot. Tina could hardly believe it.

Gavin thrust the dress into Tina’s hands. The implication was clear.

She looked at the others. Hank shrugged. Nines smiled apologetically. Connor cocked his head to the left and arched an eyebrow, as if to say… chicken?

Officer Tina Chen was many things but that’s one thing she wasn’t.

So it came to be that on the evening of her thirtieth birthday, instead of celebrating with at least a quiet glass of wine at home, Tina was squeezing herself into an evening gown and getting ready to play killer’s bait.

She considered throwing her hands up and walking away, but then her phone buzzed with a series of messages from Captain Fowler. After showing up late to her shift, she wasn’t about to risk getting into his bad books.

Tina took a deep breath and slipped on the sparkly heels found in the house… put on the big golden hoop earrings… slipped the Swarovski chain around her neck… and spritzed the expensive perfume all over her body.

She made her way into the lounge and found a place to stand. Discreet, but obvious to anyone looking. Right at the edge of the bar. As the music began and other patrons began to dance, a false sense of calm flooded her. Tina had to sharply remind herself to focus. This was an undercover mission. A big one. The whole team was counting on her.

A drink slid towards her. A lychee daiquiri.

Simple, but quite specific. It was her personal favourite. Her eyes widened but before she could ask, the bartender pointed along the bar.

Tina’s blood turned to ice.

It was time.

She went over the mission brief again and again in her head. She revised every protocol, every bit of police scenario planning, every word of caution from her senior officers.

Tina steeled herself and turned slowly.

The man was standing closer than expected. Before she could react… either fight or flight… an arm curled around her waist and warm lips pressed against her own.

Her eyes fluttered shut and Tina sank into the familiar sensation.

“Happy birthday, baby.”

Tina opened her eyes and found herself Connor’s embrace. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him in relief.

As she looked over his shoulder, she spotted his fellow conspirators. Nines, Gavin, Hank, Fowler, Chris, Person, Sixty, Allen, the whole damn DPD it seemed… all her childhood friends… and of course… Mama, Papa and Grandma Chen. All dressed up and smiling mischievously.

Connor swiftly manoeuvred her onto the dance floor, and so began a night to truly remember.

Tina’s thirtieth.

//

@blaireunstable

[freckledmountain]

Lulling comfort

By @freckledmountain for @romeoandjulietyouwish

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark

Summary:

"Music had gotten an entirely new meaning after that, from Disney songs to musicals to classic rock, and everything else in between. … He´d do anything to listen to Peter sing to them again."

Or, an AU where you hear whatever your platonic soulmate sings or hums! :D

For the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange

Read on Ao3

Chapter 1: Change

Some-

BODY ONCE TOLD ME

the WORLD IS GONNA ROLL ME

I AIN´T THE SHARPEST TOOL IN THE sHE-ED

Peter´s endearing screech and dramatics at the starting notes startles a fond laugh out of Tony, making DUM-E beep in curious surprise.

The bot has a screwdriver in his grasp and usually Tony´d chastise him for grabbing tools without permission (he has not forgotten the last lab incident, thank you) but right now he´s much too preoccupied resisting the urge to join in the kid´s slumber party via his own singing.

God bless karaoke.

Peter had looked sheepish when he´d mentioned it to him, the little get-together his scary girlfriend and Ned had planned this weekend at the latter´s place after a ridiculously long week of exams. Tony had absolutely no problem listening to his kid´s voice in his head, but it was still sweet of Peter to ask beforehand.

“You know I work best with music anyway.” He´d said, remembering all the times he´d listened to Peter perform dramatically to songs on the radio.

Peter´d hunched his shoulders a bit, smiling. “Yeah, okay, okay, I just wanted to make sure because Ned might ask me to duet to Take on me again, and last time I sang it you were on a meeting and FRIDAY sent me that video of you mouthing the words and Ms. Potts looked like the disappointed dad from that Shawn Mendes vine- “

…even if he had no idea what the kid was talking about sometimes.

He´d gasped and placed a hand to his chest, feigning offence. “Have you forgotten the time you had Call me maybe on loopin my head for an entire day?”

“…It was a dare?”

“Hmm” he´d said, raising an eyebrow playfully as Peter dissolved into laughter. “whatever you say, bud.”

His smile softens unconsciously at the memory as he methodically tweaks a few things in his nanotech suit, still listening to Peter belt out lyrics in his head. Truth be told, he misses the kid working alongside him like usual, but he knows how important spending time with his friends is to Peter.

(The parenting books say it´s imperative too, although of course he hasn´t ever read, purchased five on a whim or fret over anything of the sort. Obviously.)

He hopes Ned and Michelle´s respective other halves don´t mind the kids crooning 80´s rock on a Friday evening, but he guesses if they´re anything like them, they probably won´t complain. Soulmates are cool like that.

He remembers all the times Rhodey had told him about his soulmate´s voice inside his own head, how he´d suddenly perk up and grin at whatever melody he could hear, how he´d start humming randomly to join in.

Tony had grown up hearing nothing but his own treacherous thoughts for the longest time, almost losing hope completely at the possibility of having a soulmate right up until adulthood. Heavy metal music blasted over his speakers constantly whenever he was busy in his workshop, but he never joined in. There were moments when he´d thought his love for singing would be soured forever, since apparently the universe or whoever was in charge didn´t have a problem leaving him without someone out there to share it with him in his head.

Thankfully, he always did have Rhodey, and boycould he kick-start the fun in singing again with his flawless Mariah Carey impressions. He´d loved the few times he´d heard Pepper sing too, and there´d even been one memorable instance where he´d surprised Happy vocalizing in an unexpectedly pleasant lilt.

Hearing Peter sing though...simply put, there was nothing else like it.

-and we could aLL use a little changeeeeeeeEEE

…Yes, nothing was quite like it.

Tony shakes his head, smiling, and grabs his phone to text May about the kid´s shenanigans. She´d been more than a little concerned when Peter and him had figured out who the other was, (that was one heck of a superhero fundraiser) but now they´ve become much closer, and Tony can genuinely say they´re friends. He´s glad to have her on his side, because May Parker is, in Peter terms, a very kind powerhouse, and not someone he´d like to mess with.

He´s about to press send when the lights in the room flash red.

Tony´s up and summoning his gauntlet attentively in a second, right as FRIDAY pulls up screens around him, showing footage of the emergency.

“What am I looking at, FRI?”

“Around 30 heavily armed machines have emerged in Midtown Manhattan, boss.” She responds, as the room fills with projections. The robots on screen are huge and ugly as heck, about the width and height of three school buses together. They´re making their way through the streets surprisingly quickly for how heavy they look. People run away, steering clear of their illuminated blasts. “They appear to be releasing high frequency blasts approximately every ten seconds. Local police have just arrived at the scene and are requesting backup, since the blasts are causing structural damage to the surrounding buildings. The source of these machines is unknown.”

“Tell the team to suit up and meet me there.”

“They have already been alerted, boss, but I´ll relay your message as well.”

The rest of his suit materializes around him, and he makes haste to get to the nearest window, half worried and half downright annoyed at whoever was behind this.

“Another one for the robot bingo card on means of world domination.” He says to himself, unimpressed. Just one week without this crap…

He soars above the sky nonetheless, blasting his way towards the fight.

Please stay put kid, he wishes, even as the singing stops.

---

Three blocks.

He´s three blocks away from where Peter is making his way back when it happens.

As big and fast as the robots are, Tony can tell they weren´t exactly made by the finest of the loons who regularly try to take over New York. Not to mention they´re absolutely appalling to look at, whoever designed these things had absolutely no taste, Tony thinks, crushing his twenty-second bot with the suit´s repulsors. It hasn´t exactly been easy, since the wretched machines have no real apparent motive but to blow up everything in their path, but within an hour it seems they´re done with the worst of it.

He can see Nat and Wanda dealing with the remains of one of the last ones below, while a little way away Cap´s talking with a few cops, scoping out the damage. Even though the air is permeated with smoke and there´s rubble in some places, there are no casualties, and they´ve thankfully emptied out the buildings that got wrecked. SHIELD will take care of the rest.

He flies over the skyscrapers, keeping an eye out for any other bots, but it seems like FRIDAY´s finished identifying all of them. He activates a private line on the comms to talk to Peter.

“Done securing the area from whatever that disastrous colour scheme was?”

He can hear Peter´s good-natured groan as his location pops up on Tony´s screen, six blocks away.

“I know, right? I can wear mismatched socks for a week and rock them no problem, but blue with like, eye-melting neon? Yikes.”

“Exactamundo. Couldn´t agree with you more, kid. But hey, it looks like you might actually be able to get back to your sleepover after all. Can´t wait to hear what alarming chorus is going to keep me up until midnight.”

“Oh you just wait, we´re doing ABBA next and it´s gonna be so-“

FRIDAY tears through the conversation with an alarm, but it´s precious seconds too late.

A gasp. An abrupt thud resounding through the comms. A scream. Peter´s.

Tony´s blood freezes in his veins.

“Peter? Peter!?”

He gets there in less than a minute and sees one of the bots with its blaster pointed at Peter, still smoking from the shot.

He obliterates it without a second thought, his mind swirling with fear and rejection at FRIDAY´s next words as he runs towards Spiderman´s crumbled figure.

“No heartbeat detected, boss”.

Chapter 2

The first time he´d ever heard Peter´s voice, he´d been running on three hours of sleep, a frankly heart-attack inducing dose of caffeine, and no motivation whatsoever to sit down with stuffy board members for five hours.

It didn´t exactly come as a surprise that for the first few milliseconds of the “Itsy bitsy spider” chant in his head he´d thought, confusingly, that it might just have been his mind finally resorting to the resurface of old nursery rhymes as a way to tell him to go the frick to sleep.

His heart however, was another matter.

As ridiculous and improbable as it sounded, a new something in his chest rose even before he knew what was happening. He might not have been a machine, but something slowly and irrevocably clicked into place the more he heard that gentle voice go on about water spouts and suns.

He´d stopped short in realization. Blinked.

And then smiled wide enough to lose himself in the mirth of it.

He´d run back to his workshop right after that, laughing like mad with the absolute mayhem of emotions coursing through his whole being, almost crashing into Pepper in the process. She´d looked back at him in concern, questions already forming in her lips, before Tony had frantically mimed at her to keep quiet, wanting to listen to the soft voice´s final notes.

Once the song finished, Tony may or may not have let out a loud shriek of sheer joy and told an increasingly delighted Pepper all about it, practically bursting with excitement.

“Pep! Wait, what do I do now!? Do I- Do I sing it back to him? Do I sing another- crap I don´t even know any children´s songs, JARVIS, JARVIS!”

In the end he´d had to phone Rhodey to yell the news ecstatically to him, because he´d just found maybe the universe hadn´t wanted to screw him over after all, and he felt like screaming it from the rooftops. The little voice was sweet and shy and boyish and happy, and about the best thing Tony had heard in his damn life. He couldn´t have contained himself if he´d tried, and heck if he was going to any time soon.

(“Tones, what- “

“Rhodey!”

“…was that you or a screech owl.”

“It happened! There´s- a little kid! Somewhere! Spiders! My soulmate!”

“The- wait what-? “)

Music had gotten an entirely new meaning after that, from Disney songs to musicals to classic rock, and everything else in between.

…

He´d do anything to listen to Peter sing to them again.

Burning.

He´s burning all over.

Screaming in pain, he tries to escape from the scorching heat, but it´s everywhere, it´s everything, he´s the pain, he´s the fire, everything hurts-

And then as soon as it appears, the pain is gone.

He opens his eyes, blinking woozily.

“Oh, thank God.”

His vision blurs all over for a minute. There´s dampness in the corners, left over from tears.

Tears?

He makes an attempt to sit up, but there´s a hand holding his shoulder gently. He blinks again.

Tries to decipher his surroundings.

He´s laying down in a mostly deserted, grubby looking street. A figure kneels close to him, some sort of red and gold robot type thing. He narrows his eyes at it, trying to figure out why it feels so familiar…but finds, to a detached kind of surprise, that he can´t.

He has no idea what happened.

The robot seems to be very relieved for some reason, just staring up at the sky for a couple of seconds, taking a deep, wheezy breath.

Even with his head feeling like wet cotton, he looks at him with concern. The robot sounds seconds away from fainting. Is he…alright?

When the robot´s face opens and a man´s head peeps out (cool!), he almost jumps back in surprise.

And then…

Well. He still doesn´t have a clue who this person is, but as soon as he sees the man´s expression of utter joy and relief, something inside him settles. Safe.

He blinks in confusion at the feeling. He knows this person. He does.

But who is he?

“Pete? You´re back bud. Do you feel okay?” The man´s (man? robot? man-robot? cyborg? figment of his imagination?) smile fades slightly, looking at him in worry. “FRIDAY” Friday? Who on earth is he talking to? “didn´t you say the CPR made his vitals-“

“I´m- I´m fine” he says, because enormous confusion aside, he is. Maybe his head is scrambled, and he feels exhausted, but he has a feeling he´s been in worse shape before.

A feeling.

The man (he´s decided on man) starts going on about robots, and getting him to a tower with someone called Dr. Cho, but all he can do is blink back, his confusion increasing.

“I´m really sorry” he interrupts, knowing he´s probably going to disappoint the man, but needing to push forward even so, “who- who are you? Are you-? “

He tries to put a word on the feeling seeing the man´s face had evoked in him before, tries to remember who he is or what he has to do with the man or why he feels so…safe. So safe. With him there, even with all the questions going round and round inside his head.

“Are you my dad?”

The man´s face stills. For a second, it looks like his brain short-circuits.

Mood, a thought rings out in his head, unbidden.

That´s when he hears it.

A huge metallic…thing coming through the street towards them, and he doesn´t know why but it makes his heart thump like a rabbit´s in a cage, and suddenly he gets a flash of remembering pain, and he knows these machines, these machines are dangerous, and what if the man gets hurt too-

He pushes the man behind him as he desperately tries to look for somewhere they can hide-

-but the man grabs his hand first and hurries them both towards the sturdiest-looking car on the street, crouching so they´re out of sight.

“Uh, alright. I- this must be really weird for you, but it´ll be okay. Just stay here for now, ´kay? I´ll- We´ll figure this out. You with me?” The man holds his gaze for a second, and it´s so sincere, he finds himself nodding.

The man smiles. “Okay. Give me a sec.” And then he gets up and turns towards the robot.

What the-what´s he doing!?

He reaches out clumsily to drag him back, but the man´s face gets obscured by his robot mask once more and he…

Flies?

The frick? He thinks in bewilderment, as he sees the man lift off and attack the robot with blasts coming from his hands. My maybe-dad can fly!?

Either he lives in a sci-fi novel, or he´s going absolutely nuts.

Could be both at this point, frankly.

The whiz of gold and red fighting the robot is almost quicker than his sight can keep up with, but he persists, looking out anxiously for any opening the robot might have to take the man down so he can try to warn him about it. There is none though, the robot might be exceedingly fast, but the man remains unyielding. He takes another look at the giant machine and sees it´s blaster-

And then it´s like someone takes his brain and shakes it around everywhere, and the throbbing is so sudden he kneels and clutches his head tightly to keep it from falling apart. His thoughts feel shattered and tampered with, and the pain-

He cries out in agony, and tears fill his eyes again.

The man! I have to look out for him!

He tries to listen to the fight again, but just as he tries to focus in on it it´s like a tsunami of yells and police sirens and voices washes over him, and noise, why is there so much noise-

Overwhelmed, he kneels until his forehead touches the grainy concrete, and wishes he would just pass out.

He doesn´t, though.

Among the oversaturated ocean of noise, one adds to the mix.

Except this one isn´t grating. This one doesn´t make everything seem like too much.

Because it feels like it´s coming from within himself.

He´s at a loss for what´s happening, but the voice slowly and lightly blocks out all the other noise, grounding him in a gentle tune. In a flash, he recognizes the song. He knows where he heard it last.

Mr Stark.

And he remembers.

“Kid? What are you doing up?”

He shrugs, sinking deeper into the couch cushions. Baby Tarzan laughs onscreen.

He half expects Mr Stark to push him for more details, but he seems to understand Peter´s not in a talking mood and walks up to him solemnly.

“Scoot.”

He does, and Mr Stark plops down next to him, wordlessly extending his arms out in invitation. Peter falls into the hug gratefully and sighs. Exhaustion pulls down on his bones, but he´d rather not get back to the nightmare he woke up from. Mr Stark snorts softly at something in the movie, and then they both jump a bit at the sudden loud gorilla roar. They keep watching the movie, and Peter´s curls are brushed back gently in a soothing motion.

He wants to sleep. But he can´t.

But he´s safe here, isn´t he?

His chest grows heavier as he thinks of the dream, and when he blinks, his eyelids dampen. He hasn´t shed a tear yet, but Mr Stark must sense something again because his hand at Peter´s hair stills.

And then he starts singing.

It´s a lulling comfort, and Peter melts into the embrace, allowing his tired eyes some rest.

He´s safe.

Come stop your crying

It will be alright

Just take my hand

Hold it tight

I will protect you

From all around you

I will be here

Don't you cry

He´s safe.

With a final shot from Iron man´s repulsors, the robot powers down, and Peter runs out to meet Mr Stark, almost crushing his ribs in a hug.

“Woah, woah!” The helmet´s visor pulls up, revealing a grinning Tony. “Did that actually work? FRIDAY told me you were freaking out and I thought it might help calm you down.” He says, hugging him back. “But it did more than that, didn´t it?”

Peter´s too relieved to do anything but nod happily into his shoulder, but he gets the point across.

They stay there for a full minute, just holding on to each other. Until Tony grumbles out a “and I can´t believe you remembered Phil Collins before Iron man, seriously.” and Peter bursts out laughing, lightening the mood.

“The man didn´t sing that soundtrack in five languages for nothing, Mr Stark. It slaps.”

Tony hides his smile in Peter´s curls, and hugs him close.

[grimmseye]

Tandem

Read on Ao3 Here

Rating: Gen

Fandom: She-ra

Relationships: Hordak & Entrapta, Hordak/Entrapta (pre-relationship

Chapter Characters: Hordak, Entrapta

Chapter Tags/Warnings: This is just 1500+ words of Hordak’s thoughts about Entrapta, Pre-Season 2

(Disclaimer: remember that Hordak is both an imperial soldier and a cult survivor. This is also before he and Entrapta have really started building their relationship. His narration is told through that lens. )

— — — — — — — —

Years of sifting through the Horde’s administrative detritus had not made the job any more bearable for him. Even when Shadow Weaver had been keeping operations smooth, there was a certain portion of work that had to fall on his head, plans and projects needing review before they could be dismissed or approved of.

It was aggravating work, with one new exception. When he reached the file with telltale oil smudges on it, he could already feel the weight of his armor ease. There was a quickness to his movements as he flipped the file open — certainly not eagerness, but anticipation. For once, the weight of the file pleased him rather than had Hordak biting back groans.

Entrapta’s projects were the only things that brought him any mental stimulation these days. He took a cursory flip through the first packet, ears perking as he spotted the first draft of her blueprints. For once, she wasn’t offering new weapons to deploy, but rather a more espionage-focused design: something small that could scope out their targets before they sent any troops to seize new territory.

It was delicate work, and deeply time consuming. He settled in to read in more detail, making a note to himself to grant her a more direct line of contact to him. From now on, Entrapta’s projects should be sent through communication pads, to be vetted by the only person in the Fright Zone who could offer worthwhile criticism. Two pages in, he could tell notes from those who had reviewed it before were utterly worthless, all questions and conjecture with no understanding of what it was that they demanded. It was worthless to insist she work faster if there wasn’t a method to do so.

There was one, potentially, but not a single of the previous readers had mentioned it.

Hordak created a document on his communications pad and set a stylus to the screen. He got several lines into his writing before he had to stop, giving a faint sneer. His armor weighed his limbs, making his writing sloppy, and regardless...

He tapped his nails along the edge of his throne. As excellent as Entrapta’s reports were, she did not receive the same work with enthusiasm. Audio recordings were her preferred means of reference if he recalled correctly, remembering a delay in her work when she'd first began working on his bots. When he'd inquired about it, she'd mentioned something along the lines of struggling to digest the information. A vocal repetition and a recording of the instructions had been enough to get her back on schedule.

A moment’s deliberation sent to the security feeds, ensuring Entrapta was in her lab before he flicked on a monitor. Through his screen, it gave an overhead of Entrapta at her workbench, looking to be setting up to get to work. Good. He wouldn’t be able to interrupt her if she were doing something delicate.

He lifted his chin before announcing himself with a call of, “Princess Entrapta.”

She straightened up at once, head swiveling before she caught sight of the monitor, gawking for a moment before breaking into a smile and calling out, “Hello!”

She’d forgotten to bow. Again. He pushed a breath through his teeth, finding that the urge to demand proper respect felt oddly diluted for Entrapta. Whether or not she bowed had yet to compromise her work. Instead he skipped to the point: “I received your newest blueprints. The design is promising, if… inefficient.”

Entrapta clapped her hands together, looking excited before the words caught up with her. “Oh, I know. I’ll need to develop a prototype to get a real sense of what materials I’ll need and how much time it’ll take —” As she spoke, her words grew quick, almost snappish. “— But right now the estimated time per drone is much longer than I’d like, let alone viable for regular use.” Her hair frizzed out, bristling not unlike a cat’s. A clear sign of displeasure.

He lingered in that for a moment, then spoke. ��I have a suggestion,” He said, appreciating how she perked up at once. It was gratifying to work with someone who knew what they were doing, and even understood what he was doing — at least as far as an upbringing on this planet allowed. “There is a synthetic compound we produce here in the Fright Zone that may work as a substitute for what you intend to use: adamantine. It should have the strength to support this device even in sheer pieces.”

She listened to him speak, interrupting only once to ask if she could run a recorder. Once again, he found satisfaction in that. He rarely had trouble with being listened to — with the exception of Entrapta, all knew to bow in his presence, to not speak while he was speaking. He had fear, and respect, and obedience, he had created a facsimile of the true Horde, successful in his emulation of Horde Prime. And yet, while Princess Entrapta did not fear him or even always obey him, she heard him in a way no other creature on Etheria had before. She challenged him, even, and as irritating as her insubordination could be, there was value in an alternative perspective.

Truly, she was impressive. Despite being a princess, Entrapta had taken well to life in the Fright Zone. Everything he knew of the Etherian princesses suggested inordinate wealth and luxury that would not lend itself to the Horde’s lifestyle. The primary kingdoms were disorganized and self-serving, lacking unity and loyalty to any but themselves, excising that which they found displeasing and then stuffing their castles with unneeded opulence. Here, closest thing to luxury Entrapta had been provided was her own room, something all ranking officers were granted. And yet he’d heard none of the anticipated whining, just a snippet of her voice from Imp about the brown nutrition bars being unfavorable in texture, even once cut into smaller cubes.

He wasn’t sure he could count her among the ranks of the princesses at all, and that was entirely favorable. Dryl had such organization and stability that even in their princess’ absence, the small nation ran like clockwork. It seemed almost entirely self-sufficient, and what necessary trade was denied to them after allying with the Horde could be supplemented.

Again, he berated himself for not considering Dryl’s value. It seemed that like the other nations of this planet, he’d vastly underestimated its value, and Princess Entrapta’s value most of all.

At some point, their conversation drifted off track, to the materials Dryl itself mined and then stories of what Entrapta had found beneath the earth, the First Ones’ tech she was so enamored with.

“Their power sources are more efficient than any Etherian technology I’ve seen,” Entrapta breathed, her chin cupped in her hands. “One crystal,” she framed her thumb and forefinger approximately an inch apart, “could have enough energy to fuel one of your Skiffs for a full day of flight, longer if you stop to let it replenish — because that’s what makes them so amazing, they don’t run out of power. I think eventually they might exhaust their capability for storage but I have yet to prove it, but in the meantime they seem endlessly capable of recharging their own energy, potentially by harnessing the latent magic in Etheria’s atmosphere.”

Sometimes it could become difficult to keep up with the pace of her voice, when her words began to run into one another and she took great gasps as she ran out of breath. And yet, the subject held his attention, ears perked forward with fascination.

“If we were able to collect such crystals…” Even that much energy would be insufficient for his portal machine, but to collect a great quantity —

“That’s the trouble,” Entrapta sighed, deflating. “I’ve rarely found these crystals intact.”

Disappointment weighed heavy in Hordak’s chest, then curled into anger. He’d hardly known about it for a moment, and already his hope —

He slammed his fist down on his throne. Hordak glanced at the clock, realizing half an hour had slid by without his noticing. This entire thing had been — “A waste of my time.”

“I disagree!” Entrapta’s rebuttal made his eyes narrow. Still, he knew to listen to his officers when they spoke — even to Shadow Weaver, who had to walk through elaborate metaphors and tangents before she ever got to the point. Though perhaps he should have listened less to her. The very premise of her arrival should have served a warning — seeking revenge did not sow loyalty.

Unlike Entrapta, who worked for her discoveries, for possibility rather than vengeance on the fools who had left her for dead.

So he did not silence her as she continued, “Your input was quite valuable! If you could have some of that material sent to my lab, I’ll be sure to attempt a prototype using it and see if it will be a good substitute.”

His ears relaxed from their flattened position. Hordak glanced away from the screen for just a moment, taking a breath to calm his frustrations. “Of course. I will see it is done.” He hesitated for just a moment before saying, “That is all. You are dismissed, Princess Entrapta.”

“Okay!” She smiled. “It was nice talking with you! We should do this again!”

His finger hesitated over a button. Hordak inclined his head, half of a nod before he ended the transmission.

The quiet that followed left him with a strange feeling: reluctance to continue his work, the want to shift it aside and perhaps pull up his records on Dryl to read more on what Entrapta had told him. Instead he took his pad, putting in two orders: one to deliver a shipment of adamantine to Entrapta’s lab, the other opening a direct line to her own communicator.

Just in case she wanted to consult his opinion once again.

[neostriatum]

All we are, and all we have...

[AO3] [Dreamwidth]

Title taken from these photos (archived version here) in one of photographer @rabbitinthemeadow's series. All Mando'a translated at the end.

--

Maul inhaled.

This was unusual, given his certainty that this time he had died. It had not quite been the death he had been craving, but it had been an honourable one at the hands of his arch-enemy, and the peace it had granted weighed heavily in his hearts despite their absurd insistence at beating.

Exhaling, he stretched his senses out into the Force. It was the surest way to place himself, and the thrum of the living against his mind was enough confirmation for him.

So. Alive again. And not even on Dathomir.

The walls of the palatial bedroom were obscenely Kryze’s, still holding the decorations and gilding he hadn’t the presence of mind to change early on in his reign. The confirmation laid bitterly on his tongue, and abruptly he was fed up with the idea of living on a planet he had already spent roughly twenty years on the first time.

The Force was a strange beast, and the idea that it could punish him by undoing so much of his life as he had breathed his last sounded about right. But- and he clenched the ridiculously expensive sheets in his grasp, but-

Light seeped into his skin, a thready but still present brush of warmth against his skin and senses. It reminded him of Kenobi, the gentle reassurance of peace as he died. It was almost cruel, how comforting the memory was, especially now that the destruction of the Jedi hadn’t happened yet.

His comm chirped, fracturing the euphoria of the revelation at hand. Maul clapped a hand to his mouth, not sure whether he was restraining a laugh or a sob. The Light was fracturing his resolve to the Sith, and all he could feel was relieved.

Forcing himself to steady, he pulled the comm to him, answering with a brusque, “Maul.”

Hope. What a strange feeling.

--

It was difficult, trying to undermine the goals Sidious had so deeply impressed on him that they were etched into his bones. But no longer did the man’s edicts reverberate in his lungs with every breath he took, filled instead were they with an unrestricted buoyancy that threatened to make him hover at the slightest provocation.

Was this how a Jedi felt? It baffled him, but also explained the way they seemed to flutter through the Force, a marvel of nature instead of a tragedy shaking the ground beneath their feet.

Meditation was at once easier and excruciating. The Force had always been a soul-sucking entropy, to be treaded carefully and yet bent to one’s will. But these shards of light burned, forcing growth in the holes in his soul that had been scraped raw where Sidious had laid claim. Where a grave once stood now blossomed a garden, and beauty caught his eye more often than grief as he accepted the Light making itself comfortable.

His thoughts strayed often, his deaths compounding and overlaid. Many times did he force himself to put his comm away, to restrain the urge to howl in the direction of Obi-Wan Kenobi and bring the entirety of the man’s formidable army upon Mandalore’s heads.

Perhaps, Maul pondered, it would provide suitable vengeance for Kenobi. To conquer the world of his once-lover and reassert balance sorely lacking in this galaxy.

The thought clung to his mind, a thorn catching on cloth, and it unraveled the loose plan. Kenobi - despite his once harshly-denied ties to the Dark - was not the type to exact his rage upon the world, no matter how deeply routed the ditch of grief ran in his heart.

No, only hope would attract hope. And Maul, with his own hearts still thudding painfully at the still-burning loss of his brother, knew Kenobi now better than the man himself did.

With a smirk, Maul gestured one of his soldiers close. There was a trap to be laid, and he knew just the bait.

--

Obi-Wan stared in bewilderment at the missive tied to the trooper in front of him. It was, to put it politely, unhinged chaos.

The trooper wasn’t even one of his - he had checked. And then handed the very long roster of the entire Third Systems Army to Cody to double-check. And then, on Anakin’s insistence, to R2.

“Well, Lieutenant,” He sighed apologetically, “It does indeed look like just a spot of bad luck.”

“If it helps, sir, I’ve got a clean bill of health.” Smoke offered, still looking a bit pole-axed to be in the same room as him and Cody, but faring rather well, all things considered.

Cody sighed even deeper than him, which had the expected impact of Smoke straightening his back to parade-perfect straightness. His commander waved the trooper back to at ease, pressing a thumb to his temple in an attempt to relieve the burgeoning migraine from this shit-show of a situation.

“Healthy except for a shaved head.” The commander commented, and wasn’t that the crux of it. No injuries, nor signs of surgery, though that was no guarantee given Smoke’s… transit time, and that in itself was a bundle of issues.

The good lieutenant shrugged, and, well- that did seem to be that. Only a lingering sign of sedation, but then being sent through the absurdly mundane postal system in an admittedly well-equipped box did carry that sort of assumption.

Helix, moving aside the privacy screens to perform another check on the trooper, patted them on the back, “Think about it this way, vod. You were important enough to be mailed first-class.”

Cody gave up all pretenses at maintaining an authoritative façade and groaned, “Usen’ye, vod.”

The medic made a wry, rude gesture back, chuckling. Helix clicked a few things on his datapad, and gestured to the trooper, “You’re good to go, vod. I’m recommending to put you on light duties in case anything crops up, but everything seems to be in order.”

“Oya!” Smoke grinned, looking forward to their unintentional vacation. Hopping off the cot, they grabbed their helmet and left, a bounce in their step.

“Well at least someone’s enjoying this,” Helix shook his head. He glanced at their Jedi, who was still scrutinizing the honest-to-gods paper that had come with Lieutenant Smoke, “What’s on that thing, anyway, General?”

Obi-Wan startled, smoothing his beard absently. “Oh, some sort of message,” He surmised, “I think someone’s asking for help.”

Cody grunted at that, sidling up to the general to peer over his shoulder. The message itself was in Mando’a, written neatly and precisely. “It is paper, though.” He said, “Are you able to-” “Check it for signatures?” Obi-Wan hummed, already switching the paper to one hand so he could remove the glove from his other. With glove sufficiently bitten and removed, the man mumbled, “Not quite as well as Quinlan.”

The two clones exchanged an amused look at the man’s single-minded intensity for a new discovery. It was dropped as quickly as the glove from their shocked general, a strangled gasp mingling with the dull thud of Obi-Wan’s glove as his hand laid as if riveted to the paper.

“General,” Cody said, tone stiff and demanding information.

Obi-Wan shook his head once, muttering the message out loud, a lilting cant to the words as he absorbed the new information. “K'olar, Kenobi. Jorhaa be mirjahaal.”

The intervening few moments were tense, and Cody wondered whether he should tap out an alert as a preemptive measure when his general’s gaze snapped to his. The blue eyes seemed to glow, something physically impossible for the man’s species and yet perfectly understandable for the scope of his mythological status.

It drew that familiar stirring of faith forth, and Cody nodding in acknowledgement. Whatever the General saw, he approved of, for he nodded back, seeming to fold himself back into his mortal form.

“Gentleman, I have a call to make.” Obi-Wan announced, “I believe we’re going to Mandalore.”

--

This lure of hope was maddening, tugging at his spirit in a fluctuating jerk of attention. Maul took to pacing more, which in turn drew the attention of Kyr'tsad and the few New Mandalorians that lingered in Kryze’s court.

“Alor.” Bo Katan interrupted him while he prowled in search of some way to release all of this damnably energy. Sparring had ceased to entertain him days ago, the thorough victories and the sheer fact that his rage was no longer reliable fuel.

Brave warrior that she was, the Kryze sister merely stared placidly back at his scowl. “Who is it, precisely, that we are expecting? There are rumors growing, and it would be better to quell the dissent.”

He exhaled sharply, feeling the burning warmth of the Light sinking deeper with the action. “Haatyc or'arue jate'shya ori'sol aru'ike nuhaatyc,” He chided her, a distant part of him relishing her shock at his smooth handling of this system’s language. “We are heading into a war, Kryze. And I have invited a powerful ally to bring us all to glory again.”

It was interesting, how stark the hope was that flooded his senses. And pleasing - for Maul was right. Hope brings hope, and only shall it grow when given room.

He felt the insistent tendrils of Light settling in his own hearts, and smirked at joyful look that greeted him.

--

Obi-Wan felt it difficult to meditate. He sighed, glancing in the direction of his desk, where that damnable paper was carefully stowed away.

The Force was an insistent swell, burgeoning with ultimately welcome but distinctly unhelpful feelings like joy and anticipation. He appreciated the encouragement to rest his worries, but feeling the remnants of Maul’s Force signature was only ever going to be unsettling.

Should he trust the sincerity ringing forth from Maul’s message? It wasn’t something that could be easily faked, but then specialists in Force artefacts like Quinlan were too far away for a quick consultation, and whatever was brewing now on Mandalore, it needed immediate attention.

Anakin was worried, and that in turn set himself on edge, dredging up the feeling of Satine’s cooling body in his arms and how much it had hurt to breathe through the fracturing of his heart.

And now, exactly like last time, Maul was at the center of it. But now, only Maul was at the center of it.

That in itself was a quandary, for Maul had become so prevalently obsessed with him since their first fight on Naboo. Not that Obi-Wan could say much, for a twin flame burned in his own spirit at the mere thought of the other man. Grief at lost opportunities, yes, but now he had to contend with an overture of… what?

Peace? Was that what Maul truly wanted, now? The Force seemed insistent that it was no lie, and the Force had never led him astray, no matter how confusing the path.

He inhaled, loosing his spirit into the currents of the Force once more. One tone stayed with him, and it was the consistent feeling of hope.

Whatever it was, it would be alright. Obi-Wan had to trust that.

--

Entering the Mandalore system was nerve-wracking on its own, their only steering the stark thread of faith beating along with Obi-Wan’s heart. With Cody at his right hand, and Anakin at his left, he managed to feel unmoored from the reality of how quickly access was granted to the Negotiator as they made their way to the capital planet.

His troops seemed to sense that they were about to escort their general into some battle they couldn’t accompany, and the Force surged with the echo of their prayers as they worked in calm, professional tandem. Obi-Wan found that his heart had room to swell in pride, listening to their manda as they passed checkpoint after checkpoint.

Eventually, though, all good things must come to an end, and he regretfully withdrew from the jatne manda his troopers unintentionally enveloped him in. He inhaled, steeling himself for the upcoming meeting.

“Olarom at Manda’yaim.” Echoed through the Bridge from Mandalore’s flight control.

Obi-Wan nodded in acknowledgement, clapping a hand to Anakin’s shoulder with a smile at the press of well-wishing from his old padawan. He met his commander’s eye, watching the man draw himself up in anticipation.

“You have the bridge, Commander,” He ordered, knowing that the Negotiator and everyone on it was in the safest hands they could possible be.

“K'oyacyi, General.” Cody assured him. The Force bolstered his commander’s sentiments, and Obi-Wan found himself smiling.

“I will, Commander.”

--

Although their assigned diplomatic partner was… unusual, Obi-Wan had still insisted on peacetime protocol rather than the loose-handed play at reconnaissance and body-guarding the 212th had become accustomed to during their general’s usual diplomacy. It had brought sour looks to even the High Council when they had convened at his request, but if Obi-Wan was going to throw all of his faith into the Force’s will, then he was going to follow its pull to the letter.

And with that notion in hand, he arrived with only a complimentary guard and his lightsaber as bodily protection, armor shed and cloak donned. It almost made him nostalgic for the first time he and his master had arrived, guileless but with heightened awareness.

The trip to Sundari was mostly quiet, and it felt good to practice his Mando’a with those who had grown up through the same Mandalorian turmoil as he had, a common ground by which to foster good relations with the guards accompanying him. The variety of dialects was pleasing, and the stories fulfilling.

It made him miss with distinct fervor his own troopers, the camaraderie so similar it was at once dissociative and yet yaim’la. The guards were attempting to be polite to their Alor’s guest, but curiosity was a trait every sentient shared, and so Obi-Wan whiled away the time between his shuttle’s designated landing spot and the palace by sharing tales of home and the front lines, cultivating rapport in the manner he had learned as a Padawan.

The flutter of hope settled warmly across his shoulders with each smile and laugh, Mando’a settling on his tongue as if it had never left from that year traversing the system with Qui-Gon and Satine.

(Maybe Anakin did have a point about that year here.)

New friends tentatively made, they traversed the corridors to deliver Obi-Wan to a very familiar room. Bo Katan Kryze lounged in front of the closed doors, a moue twisting her features despite the curiosity burning in her eyes.

“Kenobi.” “Lady Kryze.”

She scoffed, but stood aside with a nod of her head that still managed a respectful tilt. He nodded to her, feeling the mantle of the Force’s direction settle in his bones.

It was time to see what Maul wanted.

--

For all his planning and treading the edges of Sidious’ intimidating scope of influence, Maul still couldn’t help the stutter of his breath as Obi-Wan Kenobi walked through the doors of this room exactly as he had hoped.

He had abandoned the idea of the throne room as soon as it had occurred to him and his overeager advisors. They were meant to meet on equal grounds, and this antiquated room with its oblong table, seats of the same height, and walls illustrated by tapestries of famous monarchs past would make its mark.

The impression was certainly gathered by Kenobi, curiosity flitting across his face as he recognized that this was neither throne room nor the one more popular for meetings with advisors. He gestured for the other to sit across from him, taking his own seat.

In lieu of speaking, Kenobi instead pulled the missive out of his pocket, sliding it across the table with a flick of his fingers until it sat in the middle, slouching in his chair.

“Tion gar vercopaan par ... me'jorbe?” The Jedi drawled in askance, “Jorhaa'ir be mirjahaal?”

Maul ticked a brow upwards, catching how loaded the tension was between them. He leaned back himself, matching Kenobi’s posture. “Elek. Haatyc or'arue jate'shya ori'sol aru'ike nuhaatyc.”

And that irrevocably caught Kenobi’s attention, a considering frown and nudging at his shields the other’s reply. Maul lowered some of them, where the Light was the most enduring, and felt the ripple of stupor from Kenobi at the revelation. The Force bounded between both of them, a thought-quick upending of expectations.

Kenobi broke his gaze, glancing around the room before twirling a finger. He nodded, flicking his wrist in dismissal.

The Jedi leaned forward, “Sidious.”

Maul leaned with him, “Is Palpatine.”

Kenobi made a punched-out sound, not questioning the answer as he tugged at his beard. The Force was an insistent undulation over his senses, now, the familiar press of the Jedi’s signature settled against his own as the other man thought.

It reminded him of the last time he had died, weariness eclipsed by the Light and Kenobi’s own spirit as he was sent off. The sensation coaxed him to close his eyes, mellowed by the reassurance that Kenobi was taking significant part in the future.

He drifted in the Force for a while, buoyed by the Light surrounding and binding him. It was calm, a gentle warmth while he waited for his next directive.

Peaceful.

And interrupted by a firm hand on his shoulder, somnolence shaken from him with determination by Kenobi himself.

“Maul. Maul.” The Jedi called to him, looking altogether too relieved for an accidental meditation. “I was about to call for your guards. Are you alright?”

He gusted out a sigh, ascribing the trembling in his hand as he grabbed Kenobi’s to weariness. While the Force still sung to him, a clarion call of peace that rung in his ears, Kenobi’s presence pressed more forcefully upon him, a rousing direction to bring his senses to bear.

“I’m fine, Kenobi.” He muttered, sitting up and ignoring the way the other helped him do so. The nudge the Force made to speak the truth, however, wasn’t so ignored, “It is no easy thing to change alliances in the Force, Jedi. Not for a Sith.”

The searching, concerned look he bore as gracefully as he could, pulling the paper on the table toward them both. Maul read the words he wrote once more, turning to hand it to Kenobi.

“I can bend Mandalore to my will, Kenobi.” He said, firmly twisting his words together with his memories of the Jedi Purge, “But it will be more difficult to bend your army to yours. We have a common enemy, and I will help you with this.”

“Because they will not listen to me?” Kenobi questioned, frowning.

“Because their will is not their own,” Maul corrected, withdrawing the control chip from a pocket, holding it up and watching the pieces come together on the other’s face, “This is in every clone’s brain. It is Sidious’ doing.”

The lash of Dark intention was unnerving, not only from its originator, but also how aberrantly different it was from the Light he had grown accustomed to. It sat bitterly on his mind, but heartened him at the resolve this Jedi tempered himself into before his own eyes, how similar it was to their last meeting on Tatooine.

It was that blend, that knife-edge Kenobi strode, that spoke hope to his senses. And it made him smile, bouncing that emotion back at the Jedi before him, something real and earnest that drew a sigh and tentative smile from Kenobi.

“You removed one.” Kenobi stated, a cunning light in his eyes. “How do we remove the rest?”

Maul grinned, “Very carefully.”

--

Mando'a Translations

Usen'ye, vod - Piss off, mate

Oya - Many meanings: literally *Let's hunt!* and also *Stay alive!*, but also *Hoorah!*, *Go you!*, *Cheers!* Always positive and triumphant.

K'olar, Kenobi. Jorhaa be mirjahaal. - Come, Kenobi. Speak of peace. -- mirjahal - peace of mind, *healing*, general term for emotional well-being especially after a trauma or bereavement

Kyr'tsad - Death Watch (lit. Death Society) - breakaway Mandalorian sect

Alor - leader, chief, *officer*, constable, boss

Haatyc or'arue jate'shya ori'sol aru'ike nuhaatyc - Better one big enemy that you can see than many small ones that you can't. (Mandalorian proverb.)

manda - the collective soul or heaven - the state of being Mandalorian in mind, body and spirit - also supreme, overarching, guardian-like

jatne manda - good mood - a complex sense of being at one with your clan and life

Olarom at Manda’yaim - Welcome to Mandalore

K'oyacyi - 1. *Cheers!* 2. Can also mean: *Hang in there* or 3. *Come back safely.* Literally, a command; *Stay alive!*

yaim'la - comfortable, familiar, sense of *at home*. Can also mean local to the speaker.

Tion gar vercopaan par... me'jorbe? - You wish for... what reason?

Jorhaa’ir be mirjahaal? - To speak for peace (of mind)? -- mirjahal - peace of mind, *healing*, general term for emotional well-being especially after a trauma or bereavement

Elek - yes

[readyplayerhobi]

Flower | 20

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff, slight angst

; Word Count: 5.1k

; Warnings: Mentions of a car accident, character death, depression and anxiety

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: Boy have I struggled to get round to this. I’m working from home and on lockdown so I’m so bored and when I finish work, I just want to go to bed lol I half proof-read this and I’m posting it a little early! So...<33 as a reminder, the UK went forward an hour last night so the times each which have changed! Please reblog and give me some comments and love! I don’t get much interaction nowadays ;-;

; Flower Masterpost

-

“So Hoseok was really the first guy you messaged?” His mom asks, a soft smile on her face as she sits down on the couch, eyeing where you sit on Hoseok’s lap in the armchair with an unreadable look. Your stomach feels full from the delicious meal she’d made earlier to welcome you into her home and you almost whine when Hoseok shifts behind you, jolting you just enough to put pressure on your food baby.

For clarity, he was the one who had pulled you onto his lap once he’d sat down in a plush, leather armchair. Apparently this had always been his chair when he’d been living here and he didn’t want you too far away from him it seemed.

“Yeah. Actually, he was the only guy so...either that makes him really desperate or me very lucky.” You can’t help the teasing tone to your voice, the pitch increasing as you giggle when Hoseok lets out an overly exaggerated affronted gasp before gently tickling your sides. 

“You take that back. I was not desperate. I waited like...a whole half an hour or something to respond to you.” He points out, lower lip pursing out into an adorable pout and you snort in amusement, flicking the metal ring affectionately.

Turning back to his parents, you shrug lightly as you reach out for your water, taking a sip of the cold liquid before placing it back on the coffee table. Thankfully, they hadn’t seemed too weirded out by your request for just water. You’d found that a lot of people found it bizarre that you preferred that over everything else, but they’d just taken it in their stride.

“He’s right in fairness. One of my best friends, Soyeon, signed up for match.com and she hadn’t filled any of her profile out. Only had a picture and her description was something like ‘I’m not as pretty as my filter makes me look’. Which is a complete by the way, she’s actually way prettier. But in like...fifteen minutes, she had over 100 likes and 30 messages. I know online dating works for some of us,” You give Hoseok a fond smile at that. “But honestly, some of them were just...desperate. I mean...how can you match with someone when all you have is their photo and nothing else?!”

That gets a laugh from his parents and you feel warm relief bloom in your chest; the knowledge that they were laughing with you and not at you was good. It meant they found you funny, which hopefully meant you were making a great impression on them.

“I gotta admit you’re right. I, personally, was never one to go by just looks. My friends can attest to the fact that just because someone looks nice, it doesn’t always mean they’ve got anything nice going on underneath. And by friends I mean me, unfortunately.” Hoseok’s face twists into a grimace and you wriggle in place slightly as you laugh, oblivious to the way he stiffens ever so slightly beneath you or the way his expression tightens for a moment.

His dad notices though, and the loud guffaw he lets out causes both Hoseok’s mom and you to stare at him in confusion. It makes Hoseok’s cheek’s colour though when he realises that his dad’s obviously figured out the reason for his discomfort.

“I hope that’s not referring to me.” Teasingly, you poke at his cheek and smirk when he tilts his head away, whining quietly before reaching up to grasp your finger. His chocolate brown eyes focus on you firmly before he’s waving the index finger of his free hand in your direction.

“Stop fishing lady. You know it’s not you,” You pout at that, eyes going big as you give him a wounded look and he can’t help but laugh at your antics, letting go of your hand to instead place his arms around your waist once more. “I’ve made a lot of really bad life choices, I’ll admit to that. But answering your message was definitely not one of them.”

That has you cooing at him, cupping his cheeks and squishing hard. He says something to you, but his lips are so smooshed together that it just comes out garbled, causing you to baby talk him for a few seconds as you feel the warmth of his cheeks heating beneath your palms.

It’s unbearably cheesy, and if you’d seen anyone else doing this then you’d have been embarrassed on their behalf. But you don’t really realise because something about him makes you be cheesy in a way you’d always cringed at before.

You’re both so involved with each other that neither of you notice the way his parents turn from watching you both to looking at each other. The emotion on their faces isn’t one you would recognise, given you’re not a parent yourself.

But for them, it’s a soul deep relief that paints itself on their face while burrowing into their very being. Their son, their only remaining child, their little boy whom they loved more than anything else in this world and had been lost to them for so long, was happy. His flushed cheeks might indicate his embarrassment but they recognised the happiness he radiated towards you as you played around with him.

And that was to say nothing of the pure love he seemed to positively glow with in your presence. Like you’d hit an internal switch inside him that had been flipped off many years ago. Hoseok had turned a corner in college with therapy but it felt like only now were they really getting to see the little boy that had disappeared so many years ago with the death of his sister.

It made his mom a little too emotional, and she stood up abruptly before leaving the room. The movement was so sudden that it distracted you both from each other, Hoseok’s brows immediately furrowing in concern while you watched after her in bewilderment.

Glancing back at him, you saw that Hoseok had seen the glassy tears in her eyes too. There was a brief pause between you before Hoseok shifted, getting ready to move you off his lap and evidently go after his mom.

But then his dad’s voice spoke up.

“Don’t Hoseok, it’s okay. She’ll be okay. How about Y/N go instead? It might be nice for you both to bond a little or something.” He gives a meaningful look to Hoseok and you get the sudden feeling that whatever had upset his mom was going to be explained to him by his dad. Leaving you to deal with Hoseok’s mom.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Don’t feel forced or anything.” Hoseok says firmly, glancing at his dad for a few seconds before looking back at you. You get the feeling that he’d just mentally reprimanded his dad for being so forceful and expectant but you gave him a slightly tense smile, shaking your head.

Nerves flared in your stomach immediately though, the anxiety rolling around and you shook ever so slightly at the thought of being alone with his mom. She’d been perfectly nice all evening to you, but there was the knowledge still that Hoseok loved her deeply and you’d seen tonight just how much she loved him too.

What if she was angry about what Hoseok had said? What if she didn’t approve of you? What if she was crying because she was upset Hoseok loved you or something?

A brief glance in Hoseok’s direction has him immediately scoping you out, squeezing his arms around you tightly and pushing his head into your neck. At this angle, he can kiss your cheek easily and he does so, freely giving his affection to you as his hands gently soothe.

“It’s okay, she’s not gonna bite. I swear. I promise. Please. If you’re okay with it then...talk to her, get to know her. And make sure she’s okay, please?” His eyes are wide and endearing in their innocence, causing you to give a slight smile as you run your fingers through his hair. “I love you, you’ll be okay.”

He whispers that bit, almost as if he’s afraid of his dad hearing. But you know it’s probably not that and more out of respect for you and how you feel when it comes to emotions. You’re not exactly someone who goes around shouting your feelings from the rooftops after all, and you feel the same way the other way around.

Swallowing, you take in a deep breath to fortify yourself before nodding. Anyone would think you were off to war, and you can’t help but chuff a laugh at the thought of that. It gets you a strange look from both Jung men, but you simply kiss Hoseok briefly before standing and moving in the direction his mom had gone.

As you reach the door frame though, you pause as your nerves get the better of you once more. Glancing back to Hoseok, you see him watching you with careful eyes, his lips turning into a sweet smile as he gives you his silent reassurance. His complete trust in you to not only handle yourself, but comfort his mom meant a lot and you resolved not to make him regret his faith.

The house Hoseok had grown up in was much larger than the one your parents had, the rooms bigger and the ceilings higher. Not only that, but there was just the sheer number of rooms on top of all that as well. It was one thing to know objectively that Hoseok’s family was well off, but it was another entirely to actually see it.

If anything, apparently Hoseok had been very humble about himself and his family’s money. They weren’t loaded or anything, but their house was big enough and in a nice enough suburb with two cars not even a year old that you’d immediately felt the difference between you both.

He hadn’t said anything about it though. Hadn’t indicated that he was aware of the difference at all. Maybe he didn’t notice or maybe he was just being polite and not mentioning it. It probably wasn’t very good in a relationship to blatantly float your wealth compared to your partner or something.

Either way, you appreciated his tact. 

Once you'd left the room, Hoseok is distracted away from watching where you'd gone by the wry snort from his dad. Glancing over, he furrows his brows in a silent question, wondering what his dad found so funny.

"She's cute." Is all he says, causing Hoseok to nod in response. He doesn't even realise he's looking back until his dad talks again. "Your mom isn't going to kill her, you know, she'll be okay."

That makes him blush, his cheeks heating as he purposefully turns his body until he can't look out the door. Turning his gaze to his dad, he glares at him slightly before pursing his lips.

"I know that. I just...want to make sure she's okay." He didn't tell his dad why he thought that. Your emotions and mental health were yours to share or not, and you'd only shared it with him so far. Hoseok wouldn't betray your trust by blabbing it to everyone.

"Your mom won't do anything to upset her. We know how much she means to you. Which in case you didn't realise, is why your mom left the room."

Hoseok just hums lightly, hoping that will be true.

-

You find Hoseok’s mom in what looks to be a home office, the walls covered in bookcases filled with files and framed pictures while a desk takes pride of place, an iMac sitting atop it with the plush looking desk chair empty in front of it. She’s sat on an equally nice looking leather sofa, backed up against the wall and facing the desk.

For a moment, you stand awkwardly in the doorway, unsure of what to do or what to say. You feel probably even more nervous than you’d expected, your stomach swirling the delicious pot pie and vegetables she’d made for dinner that you’d eaten happily earlier. This was Hoseok’s mom. His mother. The woman who had carried him for nine months, given birth to him and raised him. The woman he adored.

You knew logically that you were psyching yourself out, but you just didn’t really know how to react. What if she was angry at you for some reason? Or disgusting for being so close with her son in front of her? Though Hoseok had been the one who had dragged you into his lap so it was his fault really.

“You can come in sweetheart, it’s okay.” Her tone is gentle and the warmth in it automatically soothes some of your nerves. You can really see where Hoseok got his caring nature from now, and it amuses you to know that he spent years actively pushing his parents away only to have such strong similarities between him and them.

Carefully, you move into the room and sit on the couch next to her, your posture absurdly straight and wooden as you struggle to relax. There’s a moment of silence before she lets out a soft chuckle, her hand reaching out to rest on your shoulder as she squeezes ever so slightly.

“You can relax, I promise I’m not going to be mean.” Looking at her, you see the familiar smile of your boyfriend in an older, feminine form and can’t help but smile back. Taking in her face properly, you realise as you see the way her eyes crinkle warmly that Hoseok has her eyes too. It makes something warm bloom in the midst of your nerves.

“Are you...are you okay? They err, sent me to check on you. I don’t know why. Maybe because I’m a girl or something.” Shrugging awkwardly, you pause as you hear the gentle laugh that falls from her lips once more.

“Probably. Neither of them are all that great with emotional women I think,” She muses, looking away from you to one of the bookcases. “But also probably because they want us to talk. They’re not very subtle.”

You can see the amused expression on her face and yet you feel a sudden urge of protectiveness, a desire to defend Hoseok. Which is ridiculous, because this is his own mother. But still.

“Hoseok’s great actually, he’s really good at coping in a crisis. Especially with an emotional woman. I should know because he did it with me the other month.” As the words fall from your mouth, you look away in horror and shock. Yet again, you’d just said something without thinking first and wanted to cringe at the knowledge that you’d just given away something had happened with you. And that you’d also just argued with her.

Instead of getting offended though, she reaches for your hand and squeezes gently, concern written all over her face when you turn to look at her. Genuine concern.

“I won’t poke my nose in, but are you okay yourself?” Glancing at your hands, you consider the last few months carefully before giving her a small smile and a nod.

“I am. On the way there anyway. And Hoseok has been a huge part of that. You should be proud of him.” That causes a smile from you as you remember everything that your boyfriend had done for you over the last few months and that warm fuzzy feeling returns in your chest.

“I am proud of him. We’re both proud of him. Probably more than he ever realises, you know? I know you know about the accident and everything that happened after. Sometimes we didn’t think we’d ever get to see our happy little boy again,” Pausing, she reaches for one of the binders stored into the bookcase close to her and pulls it out. “Have you ever seen a picture? Of his sister?”

Shaking your head, you take what you realise is one of those books that parents keep track of all the important milestones in their child’s first year and rest it on your lap, opening the cover carefully. The front page features a photograph of a tiny newborn baby, swaddled in a pale yellow blanket. 

‘Jung Hyeri, born 28th November…’

The information carries on including her birth weight, the time of her birth, her star sign, her Chinese zodiac sign, her parents' names and more. On the next page was an ink imprint of her tiny foot, while the next page had a small piece of her black hair. Each page continued on, outlining her achievements such as her first word, her first time crawling, her first smile, her first time walking and so forth.

It was sweet, and yet you found yourself feeling so sad as you took in the image of Hoseok’s big sister back when she was so small. She wasn’t here anymore, and you can’t even begin to imagine how much their family still hurts over that.

“She was a sweet baby, laughed so easily and was really quiet. I think we got lucky for our first time.” His mom smiles brightly as she traces her finger along the image of Hyeri at her doljanchi, the Korean tradition of celebrating a child’s first birthday. She’s sat in a tiny hanbok with a table full of objects in front of her and you recognise it as the doljabi custom in which the item a child picked was supposed to dictate how their life would turn out.

“She picked up the book,” You look up at Hoseok’s mom, a small smile on your face. “Supposed to symbolise that they’ll be smart. And she was very smart. I like to think she would have become a scientist or something, because she used to love her science classes so much in school.”

Once you’ve finished looking through the book, his mom places it carefully back before smiling and giving you one that looks identical. Only this time, you get to see a more familiar name above the image of another baby, fast asleep in a pale green blanket this time.

‘Jung Hoseok, born 18th February…’

You can’t help but coo at the sight of how tiny he was, completely unable to reconcile this itty bitty baby with the man you have to look up to today. Each page is turned slower than before as you take in all the information you can, a part of your mind wondering if Hoseok would be embarrassed to know his mom was showing you his baby pictures.

But you can’t bring yourself to really care to be honest, because he looked so cute.

“Oh my god, you can see all of his features just in tiny chubby form.” Laughing quietly, you run your finger along Hoseok’s eye on a photo of him crawling, his smile so bright. He looked like a really happy baby, and even though you’re not fond of kids yourself, you can’t help but enjoy looking through the first year of his life.

Just like Hyeri, the final page was dedicated to Hoseok’s doljanchi celebration with a similar image of him in a cute hanbok in front of a table. Looking at his mom, you raise your brows in a silent question and she smiles.

“He chose money, which definitely pleased his grandparents. We weren’t concerned with pushing him though, you have to let children make their own way in life. Though he is doing quite well for himself isn’t he?” She takes the book from you and closes it carefully, placing it back in its rightful place before grasping a thicker binder.

This one is full of pictures and your eyes widen as you take them in. The pictures start out with Hyeri as a sweet three-year-old, sitting next to her newborn brother in his little bassinet. She’s looking inside, her black hair draping in and curling next to him. Over the next few pages, you observe as they both grow older.

Hoseok starts to be walking after her, and soon running, a bright and happy expression on both of their faces. Hyeri grows taller and taller, remaining firmly above her little brother and you see them building sandcastles on a beach, taking a walk along a forest lined path, climbing the steps of a castle and more.

A few pictures feature his parents, their fashion and hair wildly out of style for today but obviously perfect for the time. They looked like a happy family, one who was close with each other. As the children age through the photos, you note how Hoseok slowly starts to look a tiny bit more like how he does today.

The same occurs for Hyeri, her features losing the baby fat of her younger years as she fast approaches teenagehood. It’s with fondness that you note both siblings have the same eyes, sharing them with their mother in a clear sign of their familial relationship.

And then suddenly, Hyeri isn’t in the photos anymore.

It’s just Hoseok and occasionally his parents. Your heart clenches when you realise the joy that had been so evident in his eyes has vanished and that his smile is empty. It’s even worse when you realise how young was, how unprepared he was to suffer such a tragic incident so early in his life.

Swallowing hard, you look at his mom with a sad expression. “This was after, wasn’t it?”

She nods slowly, the pain in her eyes still as fresh and evident two decades later. “Yes, it was. A split second. That was all it took, and then we lost our daughter. We didn’t realise at the time that we’d lost him too, for such a long time. They were really close and he...he idolised Hyeri. He was convinced that he was the reason she’d died. That it was his fault. We knew it wasn’t, and he knew somewhere in his mind that it wasn’t. But...he was so young. And we just...we lost him to that grief and anger for so long. Therapists couldn’t help him back then because he was too lost in his own head. I think he had to be willing to accept the truth, and he wasn’t when he was younger.”

“Until college.” You murmur, running your finger along the vacant face of a younger Hoseok. It makes your heart hurt when you truly realise just how long he’d gone feeling such anger inside him, such a disconnect from the world. The tattoos on his body were a living memory to Hyeri, but you wondered if part of him had gotten them to start with so he could try and feel the pain he felt he hadn’t been given compared to her.

“Yes, until college. We had no idea until he came home one day, looking...well different I guess. And then he told us what he’d been doing. Apologised for how he’d behaved over the years and just...we talked it all out. All of us cried a lot, which I’m sure he was probably embarrassed about but, it felt like we were getting him back. There was still a part of him that wasn’t there though. A part that still...punished himself.” She sounds a little awkward then and you give an amused smile, knowing what she was getting at.

“You mean he slept around a lot and was still a little wild?” You can’t help the laugh that leaves you at her face at that, focusing back on the photographs as you flick through them. “I’ve met his friends. They were shocked that he was not only properly dating someone but that he was dating me in particular. Apparently I’m not his usual type.”

There must be something in your voice that sounds a little more vulnerable than you realised as his mom takes your hand gently, squeezing reassuringly until you’re looking at her. When you do, she takes a moment to look over your face before speaking.

“I know we’re talking about my son, but he obviously knew this was going to happen so I feel less bad about it. But I just...I need you to know it doesn’t matter what his friends said. What they say. Even what Hoseok says. He has a past, yes, but that means nothing really. He chose to date you, fully aware of his own habits and history, aware of you as well. No, you’re not like what he used to...date. If you can call it that. And that’s probably why it’s working, because you’re someone he has to actually work for, someone who’s made him realise that he wants to put in the effort required to make a relationship work. He wouldn’t be doing this, being with you and bringing you here, if he didn’t think you were worth it and that your relationship was going to work. I can promise you that.” It makes your stomach go all funny when you hear that and you’re not sure why.

Maybe it’s just because you’re finally getting validation that you’re not just some novelty Hoseok found. As much as you like his friends, you often feel distinctly uncomfortable with the knowledge that they found it amusing the fact he’d picked you. Like there was something wrong with you compared to the other girls he’d had in his life.

But hearing from his mom that there was nothing wrong with you and that it was probably just that Hoseok had found you worthy of his time and attention? That made you feel better. You were positive there was nothing wrong with all the other girls he’d been with, but the idea that he’d found you so enticing that he’d decided to commit himself was nice. More than nice really.

Logically, you knew it was stupid to be worried about things like this. After all, you’d both been in a relationship now for a year and he couldn’t change his past. So it should mean nothing. But you found it hard to let some things go.

“I didn’t know why he wanted me either to be honest. I mean...he’s...well him. Handsome, a good job, tattooed and into all that metal stuff. And I’m...me. Introverted, shy, awkward, exceptionally geeky and just...yeah. I mean, i know it’s stupid.” You struggled to explain it to his mom, feeling embarrassed about it but she lets out a soft tutting noise, placing her other hand over yours to capture it between her own.

“Doesn’t matter. None of it matters, okay? He knows all that. He knew all that before getting this involved with you. And he loves you. That’s what matters. And that’s what made me leave earlier. Because I got emotional seeing my little boy was back, the Hoseok who smiled and laughed with such love in his eyes. He’s been gone for so long, but he was there with you. So it doesn’t matter what the differences between you are. It doesn’t matter what his past is or yours. You make him happy, and that’s all I care about.” Now it’s really a struggle to not cry, hearing his mom sound so emotional and thankful to you.

It’s not like you’d done anything. Hoseok has done most of the heavy lifting in this relationship if you were being honest. You owed a lot more to him than he did to you, of that you were positive. But his mom looked so earnest and her words reverberated inside you.

Glancing down at the photobook, you take in the sight of a Hoseok who must have been around fourteen. His hair is just as black as it is today only the styling is completely different. The sides of his head are almost shaved while the hair remaining is gelled to be spikey. It’s not exactly the greatest look, but the anger in his eyes tells you that he probably didn’t care.

And it’s then that you realise that you’ve never seen Hoseok look like in this picture. Maybe it’s because of the therapy he went through in college, or maybe it’s because of you. You don’t know, but you do know that you don’t want to see him look like that again. Because that anger in his eyes was a mask for so much pain beneath.

And you don’t ever want Hoseok to suffer that again. Not while you could make him happy.

“He’s done more for me, I swear. But I’ll try to keep him happy for you. I promise. As long as he wants to be with me, I’ll try.” Your words are solemn, the tone grave and it makes her smile to see you being so serious about it.

“Oh sweetheart, I’m not going to force you at gunpoint to make him happy. There’s two of you in the relationship and he has to make you happy too. But I feel a lot better having met you now. I can see that you’re good for him, and I’m guessing that he’s good for you too. I’m just...I’m protective over him, even though he’s an adult now. We lost one child already and we were afraid that we’d lost our other too, so I want to do everything I can to make sure he stays with us.” Nodding, you give her a hesitant smile before handing back the now finished binder.

She places it back into the bookcase before taking in a deep breath and letting it out in one, long breath. There’s a hesitation before she stands, giving you a bright smile that you instantly recognise before she gestures to the door.

“Now, I think we should probably go back. Given how protective I’ve heard Hobi is over you, I think we should probably go and reduce his blood pressure by returning you to him.” You go hot at that, embarrassment making your hands press to your stomach lightly.

“He’s not that bad.” Murmuring, you follow her out of the room, unable to stop the smile as you hear her light peal of laughter.

“Sweetheart, you should have heard the riot act he gave us before bringing you over. If he thinks we did one thing to make you upset then I’m sure we’ll be made aware of it for the next few months. And as much as I love my son, I do not want to be given the cold shoulder or hear his grumbling over how we’d upset you. Men in love do the strangest things sometimes, so don’t underestimate him.”

[theonceoverthinker]

Wow...100 Fair Game HC’s...how do you PROPOSE we celebrate something like that?

Yup...it’s time, Fair Game Buddies.

You’ve waited patiently for it (By not knowing you were waiting for it, granted, but still, cookies for all of you), and now, here it is!

...

No, you’re not getting a Fair Game proposal.

Don’t be ridiculous!

...

...You’re getting two…

Surprise...

YES!

Look, there are many interpretations about how the Fair Game Proposal would work, and for good reason! There’s a crazy amount of variables concerning who would propose, what hijinks regarding their semblances would ensue, and who might be there to see it unfold!Basically, there’s a LOT to work with with these two and the art of proposing!

And for my 100th HC, it felt appropriate to give the limelight to both Qrow and Clover, since whoever was going to propose was inevitably going to get most of the focus in the HC, and I wanted a bit more balance. So I figured I’d give you a “choose your own proposal” surprise!!!

Okay! On with the show! Let’s get to it!

Everything is going under the cut because this is LONG! But hey -- your HC’s only turn 100 once, so go big or go home!!!

Clover’s Proposal

For Clover, the moment when he knew he wanted to propose to Qrow and the moment he realized he was in love with Qrow were one and the same. But part of being in love is knowing your partner, and while Clover was probably ready to marry Qrow from as far back as the moment they left Atlas together, he knows Qrow needs more time to parse out these kinds of feelings. It’s only when he gets a strong sense that Qrow’s ready for that big step does Clover start to prepare for it.

But that presents its own challenges.

Planning big events for Qrow is tough. Clover likes making a big show of things -- he wants to show the world that the things and people in his life give him pride and make him so happy. But Qrow has always been more introverted in that respect, and Clover’s always done his best to work with that. 

But this is his proposal -- one of those few once-in-a-lifetime events, and Clover can’t help but want to make a spectacle of things.

He goes to Ruby, Yang, and Tai on a solo trip in search of their blessing and after getting it (A topic for one of these for another day, perhaps), asks for their opinions on the best way to pop the question. During their conversation, Clover gets an idea, but it’s not from anything they say (GOD, is it not that -- “Ruby, I don’t think filling a pool with chocolate is a good idea”) -- but instead, it’s from them just being themselves.

Finally, he knows what will make this proposal special for both of them.

About a week later, Tai invites Qrow and Clover for a dinner party. It’s a regular occurrence in their lives, but it’s normally a small affair. Qrow doesn’t find out until they get there that more than just team RWBY, Zwei and Tai are in attendance as well as he and Clover are. No, it’s also team JNR, Oscar, Maria, Pietro (If he’s still alive), the Ace Ops (If they and Clover are still on good terms), Robyn, the Happy Huntresses, and Penny!

Clover looks to Qrow -- after all, he’s well aware that Qrow and big groups can be pretty hit-or-miss at times -- and asks if he’s okay with the unexpected crowd. 

But Qrow, looking about as relaxed as he ever has in his life, smiles back.

“Yeah, it’s family.”

Clover can tell that proposal or not, he’s a part of that population. 

He nearly drops on his knees to pop the question right there and then.

It’s only a sheer dedication to showmanship that keeps him on his feet as they enter. 

Dinner goes nicely as always, and afterwards, they all gather into the living room for a relaxing time. It’s so packed with people that Qrow and Clover share a cushion on the couch, utterly pressed into each other’s sides.

Suddenly, Ruby calls over Qrow’s attention.

“Catch!” she says, tossing a green coin bag into the air. 

Qrow and his nieces do that all the time -- tossing things casually to each other, and catching them just as casually. It’s pretty impressive how in sync they are with that -- though it’s pretty scary for Clover when he’s close to the hurled object.

But unlike all of the other times they’ve done this, Ruby’s throw doesn’t reach Qrow. Instead, it lands on Jaune’s lap, who is across the room from them.

Just out of Qrow’s line of sight, Clover smirks. 

The plan’s now underway.

“Your aim’s getting worse, kid,” Qrow teases, looking at his niece with all the cockiness in the world. “Looks like it’s all downhill from here for you.”

“That’s not funny, Uncle Qrow!” Ruby shouts at him.

Jaune then throws the bag to Qrow, but it goes just a bit over his head and lands in Blake’s hand instead. Blake then attempts to throw it over to Qrow, but it tumbles out of her hand just before she can throw it and lands in Maria’s hand. And from person to person, the bag makes its way to just about everyone in the room EXCEPT for Qrow. 

Clover can see Qrow looking at everyone, stupefied -- frustrated at first, but after the first six or so throws, only partially. By the time it’s passed ten people’s hands, Clover can tell his frustration has melted into curiosity.

Finally, Penny collects the bag and gives it a throw that makes it seem like it will land in Qrow’s grasp for sure, but just before it can, Clover hand gets in the way of Qrow’s own and grabs the bag for himself. 

“You too, Clover?”

Clover merely shrugs at him, and looks in the bag for himself. 

“Very nice,” he comments, innocently smiling. 

“What the hell is in there?” Qrow asks, more to anyone who will give him an answer rather than just Clover.

A smile -- one Clover himself can tell is probably not without the tiniest pinch of worry -- crosses his face, and finally, Clover slowly opens the bag, revealing the green velvet box hiding inside, and pops it open.

Qrow goes silent as he looks at the ring, and it’s at this moment that Clover knows he grabbed a real winner.

He looks back to Clover, and Clover can feel himself growing a little bit more worried and a lot more excited. Without taking his eyes off of Qrow, Clover pulls himself off the couch and lands on the floor on one knee.

“I was thinking about the best way to do this,” Clover explains. “We’re both so different, and I know you like more intimate moments, but I wanted this to make this as memorable as I can, and-”

Qrow chuckles, interrupting him. “Never thought I’d see the day where you started nervously rambling.”

Clover laughs. “Shut up!” he chastises, smiling and chuckling even as he says it. “Anyway, I realized that the best way to do that would be to have everyone close to us -- friends and family alike -- here to witness this. It felt like a good compromise between big, and intimate.”

“Clover, you’ve always been corny, but that is without a doubt THE corniest thing you’ve ever said.” 

With a smirk and a wink, Clover nudges Qrow’s knee. “Well, what can I say? You make me feel a little corny, so this is really your fault.”

Qrow mirrors Clover’s prior actions and nudges Clover’s arm. “Not a good idea to blame someone for something when you’re trying to get them to marry you.”

“Fair point,” Clover concedes.

“Can we get back to the proposal?!” Ruby calls out, causing everyone in the room -- Qrow and Clover included -- to laugh. 

Clover takes Qrow’s hand, holding it even more dearly than even the ring in his other.

“So what do you say, Qrow? Will you marry me?”

Qrow looks utterly speechless. Bits of tears well up in the corners of his eyes, though they don’t fall.

He takes a deep breath, and with a smile, finally speaks.

“Yes,” Qrow murmurs, passion seeping through the relative quietness of his words. Clover feels a weight in his chest he didn’t dare acknowledge before life above the wave of relief that hits him. Qrow pulls him up and onto his lap, catching him in a tight hug while everyone cheers.

As they exchange looks, words, hugs, and kisses of endearment, Clover knows without a doubt that this is an amazing start to what will absolutely be an amazing life together.

Qrow’s Proposal

Qrow has never been a sappy guy, but Clover has a way of birthing some sappiness in him. Nowhere is this more apparent in the moment that makes Qrow want to propose. When Clover surprises him with a night in watching movies and snuggling with takeout on Valentine’s Day after an afternoon spent fighting some of the most vicious Grimm he’s ever come across, Qrow knows that this life they share is all he wants for the rest of his stay on this mortal coil, and he can’t wait to let Clover know that, too.

He starts planning out his proposal immediately. Research is done about times of the year that historically have the best weather. Meaningful locales of their lives together are compiled and narrowed down until one remains. If there are living people in Clover’s life to ask for blessings, he does so (And in the most awkwardly adorable way possible, may I add). Secret day trips are taken to various locations to scope out their various qualities.

A ring is purchased.

And finally, Qrow comes up with exactly how he’s going to propose, and if it goes as planned, it’s going to make for one hell of a memorable experience.

It’s not rare for Qrow and Clover to visit Mantle these days. Robyn invites them out there from time to time to get together and for double dates with her and Fiona. Clover has other people he knows there as well, and also likes visiting Atlas to check on its post-war progress and leadership -- and that’s not even getting into all that Mantle’s rather diverse culinary scene has to offer. Because of that, it’s not out of left field for Qrow to suggest they visit Mantle together to go to some restaurant they’ve previously talked about trying -- after all, there are quite a few of those that they still haven’t gone to, and even without the company of their local friends, they can still enjoy a night out together. Naturally, Clover agrees, and a few days later, they’re walking Mantle’s streets to grab a bite to eat. 

Dinner is nice as always, and afterwards, Qrow suggests they go for a walk around the town. It’s late enough that most people have settled in for the evening, leaving the roads and sidewalks nice and empty, but not too late that Qrow needs to worry about Clover wanting to turn in ahead of schedule. So with shoulders leaning on each other, Qrow and Clover stroll Mantle’s quiet and comfortable streets.

There’s a lot of reminiscing done, and as usual, it’s mostly done by Clover. He always seems to have two or three new stories pop up in his memories about his life in Solitas every time they visit, and they’re always the right blend of entertaining, seemingly impossible, and totally plausible only for Clover Ebi. 

However, when they walk past Pietro’s laboratory, it’s Qrow who finally gets the chance to do some reminiscing. 

“Do you know where we are now?” Qrow asks, confident that Clover knows.

And as to not disappoint for even a second, Clover smiles at him, with the same knowing look in his eyes he’s had all night.

“This is where we met,” he says, answering a question he likely knows needs no answering in the first place.

Qrow separates from him and walks into the empty streets.

“Who’d have thought all that time ago that this is where we’d end up? After all, it wasn’t exactly love at first sight that first night.”

Clover approaches him, mock hurt all over his face, up to and including a hand to his mouth.

Drama king.

“Are you saying you didn’t fall for me the moment you saw me stand above your bound-up body?”

Qrow smirks. “What I’m saying is that that smirk of yours is an...acquired taste, to say the least.” He then snorts, backing up just a little bit more. 

“To be fair, it didn’t take THAT long afterwards for you to acquire it.” Clover winks. A wink like that when they first met would’ve turned Qrow into a blushing mess, but now, Qrow can not only take them, but give them back just as easily.

And so he does.

“You’re not wrong,” he says right afterwards. “But maybe I just needed to look at it from the right angle. In Mantle at night, you don’t always get the best lighting, especially when you have to stare up at him from the ground. It can make even the most handsome of guys look a little weird.” Qrow’s smirk deepens. He’s not sure of Clover’s realized this yet, but as he pulls his first surprise of the evening out of his pockets, he knows it doesn’t even matter. “But don’t take my word as gospel. You tell me.”

Clover has no time to prepare as the bolas hidden until  just now move from Qrow’s pocket to his hand and hurdle towards Clover’s ankles. Disbelief takes over Clover’s features, and gracelessly, he falls to the floor.

Despite the oddness of it all, everything is going exactly according to plan.

“So tell me, how do you like the view from down there?” Qrow asks.

From memory, Qrow recreates the moment their lives collided for the first time, stepping in just the same way that Clover did so long ago. Clover, clearly more than a little freaked out, looks up at him, just as he anticipated.

He smirks as he sees Clover try to piece together just what he’s doing, but remains calm with the knowledge that all will be revealed in just a few moments.

And finally, as to truly recreate the scene, in the place of the horseshoe Clover fiddled with during their original encounter, Qrow spins the loop of a small, red velvet coin bag casually around his finger. 

Well, he spins it until the bag falls OFF his finger and hits Clover square in the eye, that is.

“Ow!” Clover shouts!” Clover shouts, completely thrown off, as his hands rush to soothe his now pulsing eye. Qrow can’t exactly blame him, because now, so is he.

“I-I,” Qrow stammers, attempting to explain himself, but unable to come up with the words to do so. 

Why can’t his semblance just restrain itself for one night?

“Qrow, what the hell’s going on?” One of Clover’s hands pushes the bag that hit his eye out of the way, and just as it tumbles off of his face, the loosened bag releases its singular content -- a velvet red box. While the contents of that box remain hidden, it’s completely obvious to anyone with a brain.

And Clover Ebi definitely has a brain.

Well, it looks like the secret is out.

Both Qrow and Clover are suddenly bereft of speech for a moment as Qrow takes in the fact that his plan has all but collapsed in a matter of ten seconds, and Clover takes in the box’s mere existence. Clover looks from Qrow to the box, and back again.

“Qrow,” Clover says, apparently so frozen by shock that he can’t find it in himself to move, “is that-?”

“Yeah,” Qrow says, quickly and now very nervously. He sighs, massaging his eyelids with his fingers as that very sigh morphs into a groan. “God, these things can never just happen normally, can they?”

And then, Qrow hears the sound that takes all of his anxiety away -- Clover laughing. Qrow opens his eyes to confirm what his ears tell him. Clover, now smiling, shakes his head. “No, they can’t, but it would be boring if they did, wouldn’t it?”

Qrow allows a smile that’s bursting on his lips to bloom fully. 

“Well, we’re definitely not boring,” he concedes. Another awkward pause, albeit less so than moments ago, takes place. They both smile at each other and after a few beats, Clover -- still on the ground -- gestures with his eyes towards the ring.

“So, you gonna continue?” he asks excitedly.

“Y-yeah.” Qrow grabs the box from in front of Clover and gets down on one knee. “Clover, I-” He stops and takes a deep breath. “I think you know by now that my days are never normal. They never have been either, for better or worse. And for the longest time, I wished they would be. To be honest, don’t think I’ll ever know the definition of a normal day.” Qrow sighs once more, his smile deepening, as he opens the box to reveal his ring. “But I wouldn’t trade a chaotic day with you for all the normal days in the world without you. Clover-”

“Yes,” Clover responds, with not an ounce of fear in him.

Qrow smirks. “You gonna let me finish?”

Clover raises a hand to his mouth. “Sorry!” he squeaks. “Go on!”

“Clover, will you-”

“Yes,” Clover interrupts. 

“Clover!” Qrow shouts.

“Sorry!”

While Qrow loves Clover’s enthusiasm, he doesn’t allow that to happen a third time.

“Clover, will you marry me?” he rushes out of his mouth, breathing as if he’d just run a marathon when he’s finally finished.

And of course, only now does Clover pause for a second.

“Yes,” he says when that second is over, warmly and with so much meaning packed into the tiny word.

Qrow takes Clover into his arms, lifting him up so they can kiss. When the kiss finally breaks, Clover tries to get up, but both he and Qrow are reminded of the bolas Qrow threw on him earlier. With the biggest grin he swear he’s ever sported, Qrow frees Clover out of them and pulls Clover close as he at last rises.

Life will never be normal for Qrow -- Qrow knows that well after the years he’s already spent in this world -- but as long as he has Clover by his side, he knows that the chaos life throws at him will be worth living with.

And now with his ring on Clover’s finger, he can hardly wait to make that future a reality.

Guys, thank you so much for following me across these 100 HC’s! It has been nothing short of a pleasure to take this trip alongside you all, and I hope you’ll stay with me for as long as I make these!!!

Tagging @homokinetic @skybird13 @whipped4qrow @mooksie01 @luck-of-the-caw @xwildangel @solitude-of-stars @magneto-is-neato @o0nashipear0o @unfairgamey @doctorrwby @clover-and-co @megan-atthedisco @wash-my-brain @bisexualdisasterqrow @baelonthebrave @doubledexterity @rwby-things-i-guess @atlas-heartthrob @the-answer-was-bi-klance @compoterie @thuskindlyiboop @oceansquid @transdemion @deltastream21 @mimiori @xya-hunter @delta-altair @genderfluidturtle @roman-torchtwink @subatomictealeaves @drbtinglecannon

Want to be tagged in future Fair Game HC’s? Of course, you do! So send me a reply, PM, or ask to be added, and I’ll grant your greatest wish! XD

[pokeverse-amethyst]

Drabble: Answer Me!

What was the point of Team Galactic indeed?

~~~

“What was the point of it all?”

Cyrus looked up and at the Grunt who had come to meet him. She was… frazzled was one way to put it. Close to hysterical was another. All very understandable reactions. Especially when he thought what had happened to Charon… and the whole buildup to it.

“If you want to find sense now, it is a decade too late. The circumstances have changed. But I will answer your question to the best of my ability.”

That caught her off guard. Cyrus sat down on a bench - they were at Lake Acuity, during the calmer time of the year. He had come up here because it helped him clear his mind. And because he kind of needed the sight of the freshly fallen snow to assure himself that this was all how it should be.

Everything was orderly. Everything was... peacful. In the larger scope of things. She finally sat down next to him, quietly mumbling that her name was Lauren, not “Grunt” or whatever. So. Lauren.

“Our world is founded on base principles… Reality is reality, time flows as it should, space is expanding, and everything is counterbalanced by the Distortion World. This, we know. This, this is how it was done when Arceus shaped this world.”

Cyrus bent down and picked up two pieces of ice. One, he chucked far into the lake, the second one he dropped close to the shore when the small waves reached far enough to intersect with the second drop.

“Look at it like this. The first ice piece, that is something a Legendary does. It has far-reaching ripples, every time they decide on something. But we? We are like the second set of waves. Able to perceive only a fraction of what the Legendaries intend in our lifetime. Of course, it would be possible to divine everything… over generations, over long lifetimes. But in that time, more things happen.”

Lauren furrowed her forehead and shook her head slowly. She didn’t know where he was going with that yet. But she at least was willing to hear him out to the end.

“Now, I always presumed, all those years ago, that it might just be the other way around. That the Legendaries don’t fully understand how they appear to us. How their actions might only create small ripples, on the presumption that they spent most of their powers with the birth of this universe.”

“So… that was the reason for your… attempt to reset everything?”

Cyrus leaned his head to one side. “To a degree. There was something else at work, though. The fact that… I had been told time and again, over and over, without fail, that I would never be enough. That was what convinced me that this was reality for everyone. That everyone felt that they never had quite become complete. So there was the seed for my presumptions. That something had gone wrong during the creation and that no one ever became complete, either physically or spiritually, but mostly… spiritually.”

He then released one of his Pokémon from their ball. In this case, Gyarados, which was immediately occupied with floating over Lake Acuity and gazing down into it, spotting its brethren that was unchanged. The Magikarp… it was hard to really see if any of them were bothered by the so severely changed apperance of their evolved kin.

“But looking at it now… it is too easy to put the actions of Legendaries down to cruelty or sheer lack of understanding how their actions influence mortals on the long term. And, to be fairly honest… I still sometimes have the impression that they are not fully aware of how much their actions can lead to resentment or confusion. Sure, there are those who will object to anything that a higher power does on principle, there are those who are indifferent to the intention and just ascribe all cruelty to it. There are those who… simply want to wrangle this narrative into something to serve their purpose. My point is still the same, though. While I don’t believe that the Legendaries are prone to fits of utter… madness, for a lack of better words… they sometimes seem to be unaware that their focus on certain issues will inevitably breed resentment. But there is only so much you can do about it.”

Cyrus sighed quietly, while Lauren quietly shifted a stone from one boot to the other, trying to wrestle with everything. He regarded her, quietly impressed that she seemed to have a far brighter head on her than the average Grunt. She’d probably have made a fine Commander.

“So you are saying that you… recognize that you made a mistake.”

“In so many words, yes. I still would contest that… some things in this world are incomplete. But there are ways to make them complete.”

Lauren sighed and leaned back. “Well… in that case? You’re an ass.”

Cyrus chuckled quietly to himself, which probably startled her more than any other reaction out of him. “Possibly. But there is always room to improve.”

[jawabear]

(6) A Lesson In Want (Maxwell Lord x Reader)

A/N: Welcome to the past. This part is set before and during the very first meeting. Sorry for any mistakes. Hope you enjoy!

Genre: Fluff, angst

Warnings: none, it gets a little sad at the end though, Pedro Pascal comes with his own warning

Summary: To put things simply, its the beginning of the end

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Epilogue

(Y/N) walked back into her room to see a black box at the foot of her bed and a new case file waiting for her on her pillow. She wouldn’t really call it a pillow, more like a slab of stone, that’s what her entire bed felt like but it’s what she had to live with. She reached for the file and read over the name of her next target.

MAXWELL LORD

“Ooh lucky, you get the handsome rich guy again” Mia giggled like a child from over her shoulder. (Y/N) didn’t answer, she remained silent as she skimmed over his information. It had the basics, his name, age, birthday, appearance, height, occupation etc, nothing she hadn’t read before in news articles about him, nothing to dissimilar to a few of her previous targets who also happened to be rich, stuck up, arrogant men. “My target is boring...” Mia pouted “I wanna go after the rich ones”

“It makes no difference if they’re rich or poor, they’re a target so why should it matter?” (Y/N) grumbled to her self as she looked into his dark eyes printed in the picture the was clipped to his file. They were interesting to say the least, dark and intriguing. She could hear Mia talking to her, but it was blurry in her ears, she was getting lost in Maxwell’s gaze, even though it was through a picture.

“-wouldn’t you agree (Y/N)?” Mia laughed. (Y/N) blinked rapidly, pulling herself from her trance and looked over to her friend.

“Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention to a single word you said” (Y/N) told her. She flicked through the pages and saw the list of events that he would be attending, the first one being that night. “I was doing something far more interesting”

“Well, that’s just mean” Mia whined as she folded her arms over her chest like a child. She turned her head from (Y/N), flicking her faded grey hair in her direction before slumping down on her bed, pulling the thin cloth, they would call a blanket, over her body.

“My first scoping is tonight so don’t wait up for me, I don’t know when I’ll be back” (Y/N) called as she stood from her bed and went to the box that had been placed at the foot of her bed, it was expensive looking but (Y/N) already knew what it was, a dress for her to wear. She opened the box and saw a dark blue dress, it was simple, like all of her dresses had ever been, she was in no position to need to stand out in a crowd. In fact she was to do the exact opposite, be seen by no one, only him. And that’s exactly what she planned to do. Everyone else at the Academy was impressed at just how easily she was able to hide in plain sight, she could stand in front of someone and the still probably wouldn’t notice her.

“It’s not like you to have sex on the first night (Y/N)” Mia said as she turned in her bed so she was now facing (Y/N). (Y/N) picked up the dress and walked over to the mirror in their room and held the dress against her body “who are you going as?” Mia asked in reference to her never ending list of covers that all had better lives then she did.

(Y/N) thought for a moment and looked over to the file that rested on her bed “I think I can tell Mr Lord’s type by the look in his eyes. I’ll go as myself”

Mia sat up slightly, shocked at her friend’s words “are you sure (Y/N)? Is that even allowed?”

“Of course it is. It doesn’t matter anyway. We’re ghosts remember? We could give our names to the CIA and they wouldn’t be able to find a damn thing on us” (Y/N) explained “I’ll be fine, it’s not like anyone else will want to talk to me other then him. That is, if all goes to plan”

“When does it not go to plan with you?” Mia questioned with a slight laugh. 

-

She managed to slip into the hall unnoticed, grabbing a drink from the tray of champagne in the doorway before weaving through the crowds. She would never stand in one place, she would take a different route with each circle of the hall that she did, standing in one place gave people a chance to talk to her, if she kept moving no one who bother her, unless she bothered them.

Her eyes scanned to room for Maxwell Lord, she had already memorised his face, and looking around at the mass of people, he wouldn’t be too difficult to pick out. He was a lot younger then the majority of people at that gathering, most of them in their late 50’s early 60’s or older, very few looked younger then that. Aside from a few girls she could spot in the arms of men. She wondered how many of them work in the same place she did.

The Academy was very strict, any woman who worked there was rarely able to mingle with anyone outside their roommate. (Y/N) wouldn’t have care to talk to people anyway, she much preferred to do her job and leave, she didn’t have time for friendship, Mia being the only exception. The Academy is an assassin organisation, unknown for obvious reasons, they take young orphan girls and train them to be master assassins of the richest and worst men in the city. Masters of disguise and seduction, their two greatest weapons. They’re taught that any man will fall to the feet of a beautiful woman if they talk the right way, and of course that what they do. Members of the Academy scratch rich names off one by one, they are told after every assassination that they are one step closer to cleansing the world of greed and corruption. Brainwashed into believing what they are doing is right, being denied any emotions towards a target, being denied any sort of emotion at all really. You can’t kill if you’ll feel guilty afterwards.

And (Y/N) was the best if the best. Aside from Mia, no other girl had met her, but they had heard stories. About how she had never failed a mission, about how strong she is, about how collected she is. Defiantly, she was the one to handle Maxwell Lord.

Ten minuets in to her being amongst the crowd, she spotted him. He was taking to a younger gentleman. Max wore a dark grey suit and a matching tie, he liked to match. For a while, she just stood back and watched him, she didn’t attempt to approach him just yet. He seemed engrossed in the conversation he was having, using hand gestures to emphasise his point. She was fascinated to know what was getting him so flustered. It was almost comedic to watch. But soon the show was over, he had calmed down and taken a large sip of his drink, his eyes moving from the man before him and looked around the room.

She hadn’t meant for him to find her so quickly but she was prepared nonetheless. His eyes seemed to widen slightly when they met hers, he dropped his glass from his lips and stared at her for a moment. She pulled her own glass to her lips and gave him a teasing look before turning into the crowd. She managed to find a quiet place and hoped that he had followed after her.

(Y/N) waited for a few moments and then he appeared. He looked calm and collected as she slowly approached her. “Excuse me” he spoke, his voice smooth and deep, not how she would’ve imagined it but she wasn’t complaining. He held his hand out to her “Maxwell Lord” he introduced.

She gave him a smile and gently shook his hand “(Y/N)” she said.

“Just (Y/N)?” He asked her as he removed his hand from her.

“For now” she said “what was getting you so flustered?” She asked him “made for quite a show”

“Some of these people don’t know how to properly run a business. I was trying to help him but he was adamant he knew exactly what he was doing” Max summarised.

“Ah, I see. And do you know exactly what you are doing?” She asked him.

“What I’ve been doing seems to have done me well so far. So I would say I do”

“Of course. I should’ve known not to ask such a question, the great Maxwell Lord clearly has everything under control. Any one would be lucky to gain advice from him” he couldn’t help but notice a hint of mockery in her voice as she spoke to him.

“Are you mocking me?” He asked her. If anyone else had spoken to him the way she just did, he would’ve destroyed them, but something about her just drew him in further, like he was happy to be mocked her. Her sheer beauty was mocking his very existence.

“Defiantly not” she shook her head “quite the opposite, I was complimenting you” she took a sip of her drink and raised an eye brow at him “surely you are familiar with the term compliment” she teased “I can’t imagine you are unused to hearing them in your position. You must have to shell out quite a fortune to keep the line if kind words flowing your way”

“I’ll have you know Miss (Y/N), any words that come my way, good or bad, are completely free. Unlike most people here tonight I accept criticism, it makes you a better person in my opinion”

“I somehow find that hard to believe. You don’t strike me as a very gracious looser”

“I wouldn’t know, I’ve never lost”

She let out a chuckle as she finished off her drink and rested it in the table behind her. “Well, Mr Lord, seems we both have that in common. But there is always a first time for everything. I have a feeling we may be meeting more often, so, until next time Mr Lord” she gave him a seductive smile and a soft wink before seamlessly disappearing into the crowd.

Max put his own empty glass down and followed after her, he wasn’t prepared to have her slip away so quickly, but even following in her exact footsteps he had lost her. He must’ve looked like an idiot, his head flicking in every direction looking for her but she had vanished. He let out a low growl of frustration and swore to himself in that moment that she was to be his.

(Y/N) lay beside his sleeping figure. He looked so at peace. A few stray pieces of his usual neat blonde hair had fallen from their place. She gently brushed them away from his face. She often thought of their first meeting, she often thought of every meeting after that too. She often thought of him. Everything about him. His soft hair. His beautiful, warm eyes. His voice. His body. The way he touched her, the way he spoke to her, they way he smiled at her. They way he made her feel.

She had to finally admit to herself that she was in love with him, she tried to push it down but the longer she was with him, the more she forgot herself, the more she fell for him. And she didn’t want to stop. She loved the feeling he hand planted inside her. She loved the warmth that spread through her body whenever he looked at her, whenever he touched her. She was in love with him and she knew she shouldn’t be. But she couldn’t help herself. This was the first time she had felt love and it was completely consuming her.

And being with him in that moment certainly didn’t help. His arm loosely around her waist, his mouth hanging slightly open as he let out soft snores. She wanted to snuggle into his chest, wrap both his arms around her and just stay pressed against him until the end of time, but the low buzzing in her ear stopped her from them. The noise from the earpiece signalled that she was to return back. She let out a quiet sigh and slowly slipped out of his hold. She immediately felt cold. She could’ve just slipped back into bed with him and ignored her job but she couldn’t, she wouldn’t be able to.

She was quick to put on her clothes and make a silent escape from his home that she had come to love. She had left him another note, thanking him for helping her relax in the bath and being so open with her about his past love. As she walked down his drive way she glanced back at his house, up into his bedroom window. She didn’t know why, she wasn’t expecting him to be in there, but for some reason she hoped he would be, but he wasn’t.

Once she had returned back to her room she flopped down into her solid mattress, a complete contrast to the comforting softness of Max’s mattress. She longed to be back in his bed, to have the thick covers over he body rather then the stupidly thin blanket she did have. To sink into his feather mattress, rather than be in pain from sleeping in her slab of rock. But mostly to have him beside her.

What she wouldn’t give to be able to just spend one entire night with him, to sleep soundly for once, and then to wake up next to him, to see the sun peek through his curtains and cast its golden light over his body, making him glow like some sort of god from the heavens. She would give anything to have a chance at that. Not that she had much to give. So, for now, she would have to be content in what time she did have in his arms. And god knows she was grateful for it, because she knew he didn’t have much time left. 

23/04/20

[chrysaint]

FFXIV Shadowbringer Flavor Text from background NPC’s

Main Story Quest: Word from On High Location: The Crystarium, The Bridges, Fort Jobb, Radisca’s Round, The Ostall Imperative Excluding NPC’s locked behind side Quests

Just scripts from NPC’s that say something different during certain points of MSQ. Notable amount of non-interactive NPC’s are gone, some NPC’s who said nothing different before are now say something different after previous quest. https://ffxiv.gamerescape.com/wiki/Word_from_On_High

The Crystarium Katliss: We're mustering up all the resources we can to provide relief to our citizens. If there's something you need, just let me know.

Cassard: I saw you, Naonori─saw you fighting the eaters on the front lines. That was impressive stuff.

Irill: I have not been able to stop second-guessing myself since the battle. If only we had been quicker to send supplies, how many more lives could have been saved? I suppose I should take solace that we were able to do anything at all, but that is easier said than done...

Thickeman: You are safe!? Thank the gods! If you are injured, make for Spagyrics at once! The chirurgeons there will see to your wounds.

Rosard: All of our vaunted weaponry, and still we suffered the casualties we did. The sin eaters are a frightening foe indeed...

Valthewyl: I've never seen a sin eater attack of this scale! Medicine, bandages...we are running out of anything and everything at an alarming rate! Gods have mercy...

Emythia: Those who were wounded battling the sin eaters always beg for us to put them out of their misery before they hurt anyone. You can see it in their eyes that they don't want to die, and yet─ Damn it all! If only there was more I could do for them...

Fae-Hann: There are so many wounded that it will be a miracle if we manage to treat them all with so few staff...but it's a miracle we'll need to make happen.

Chessamile: Oh dear, we've never seen so many sin eaters before... We must make ready to receive the wounded.

Wounded Guard: I-I'm all right, I think. My injuries have been tended to.

Lesthil: I am heartened to see you return, friend. Thanks to the bravery and resilience of my comrades, we, too, live to fight another day.

Bethard: I do hope that the wounded make a swift recovery. There were so many... But fretting over it will avail us naught. What might I do for you?

Bragi: Medical supplies are selling as soon as we stock them, but the shelves are still heavy with foodstuffs and clothing. So many who won't be coming home...

Julstan: Lakeland suffered great casualties in the battle. I may be a merchant, but profit is the last thing on my mind at a time like this. I only want to do everything in my power to get the suffering the supplies they need.

Sylgham: Nothing weighs quite so heavy on the heart as cleaning the rooms of those we lost. I see their smiling faces in my mind's eye, and it is all I can do to hold back the tears...

Armilla: Whatever will become of us? My poor little girl...

Heggie: The sin eaters scare me to the depths of my soul. They show no capacity for reason, for mercy... They come, and they take everything from us. Oh, whatever can we do?

Lobarth: My father is big and strong! He fights for the guard! Or at least...he did. They told me he got hurt in the battle, and now he's resting at some place whose name I can't pronounce. They won't even let me visit him. I hope he comes back soon...

Dawkes: The immediate danger has passed, but I fear the future may only hold worse. We have lost too many good men and women today, and there is no telling what action Eulmore will take next.

Glynard: Things seem to have calmed down with the eaters, so the Stairs is back to business as usual. Why don't you stay and have a pint, if you're not too busy?

Leweralth: It was you and your companions who led the defense of the city, yes? I cannot begin to express my gratitude!

Gracine: This is no time for small talk! I must prepare the emergency foodstuffs for shipment at once!

Astrille: I saw you assist the Exarch in erecting the barrier that warded off the sin eaters. I cannot thank you enough for saving our lives.

Szem Djenmai: We witnessed your bravery, Naonori. Full many citizens are alive now thanks to your swift actions. You have our gratitude.

Melboth: Reading these records, one can see the sheer scope of the casualties and damage we have suffered. It is demoralizing, to say the least.

Ilsgor: These are grim times we're living in. And of all the days not to be able to find my what-do-you-call-it! Have you seen it anywhere? You know what I mean!

Leinneil: Improving cultivars for more efficient healing is a time-consuming task. I only wish there was more I could do to be of assistance at times like these...

Evelie: We have already mixed one batch of medicine to deliver to Spagyrics, and are currently in the process of making another. Leave it to us!

Mao-Ladd: I'm working to improve the strains of fruit we grow. There's nothing like a sweet and succulent morsel to lift the people's spirits.

Uilmet: How kind of you to come and check on our safety. We are fine, thanks to the brave men and women who protected us. As a show of gratitude, we're growing a veritable feast of fresh veggies!

Yalard: It is good to see you safe, traveler. When you stopped showing up for a while, I had feared the sin eaters got you.

Moren: We are fortunate that those who came before us had the foresight to record not only their triumphs, but their failures as well. Will you take advantage of their woeful experience...?

--

The Bridges Philard: Though we survived the battle, our supply shortage has reached a critical level. I have put in an order to the Crystarium, but with all of our outposts reeling, I fear that there is not much they will be able to do for us...

Shira-Kee: We escaped serious casualties in the sin eater onslaught, and suffer only from a shortage of supplies. From what I hear, the other outposts were not nearly so lucky.

Nanard: Much as expected, few sin eaters so much as attempted to breach the Bridges, and we suffered no real casualties. This is small solace, however, knowing what happened to so many of our brothers- and sisters-in-arms.

--

Fort Jobb Ilthri: The last sin eater attack was more costly than we could have ever imagined, and we now face a dangerous shortage of both manpower and supplies. We must restock and rebuild our numbers, and we must do it with all speed.

Bjorn: We lost a lot of men back there. Too many. But it would have been far more if you hadn't been there.

Grimcogg: Oh, it's─ It's you! I-I'm fine, thank you! Well, not fine, really, seeing as practically everyone's wounded and we barely have any medical supplies left, but...er, how are you?

Chathwick: We are living in turbulent times, but the men under my command bravely soldier on. I have my own anxieties and doubts, but I dare not show them. No, I must remain a pillar of strength for all those I lead.

Fernwren: You, too, fought in the battle against the sin eater horde, did you not? We are fortunate to be alive today, my friend.

Rae-Satt: I was fortunate to survive the sin eater onslaught, but many of the wounded I carried through these doors haven't been so lucky...

Lamlyn: I fear we suffered great casualties in the battle with the sin eaters. Countless wounded have been carried here...many of them on amaro. Oh, how I adore those glorious and heroic beasts!

--

Radisca’s Round Roi-Tatch: Since the recent sin eater attack, all of our outposts are suffering from shortages of supplies. We have the goods here, but with the roads as perilous as they are, delivering them is another story.

Kristinn: Heh...got pretty scratched up out there, but I'm still standing! I can't very well die now─not with the return of the night, and history being made right before our eyes!

Lewto-Sai: Lost one of my men to the sin eaters. They never even found the body. The hardest part is not even being able to say a proper good-bye...

Varlier: I lost more than a few of my longtime friends and companions in the battle. Yet all I can do is pray that their souls find peace, and fight on so that their sacrifice will not be in vain...

Menther: We suffered great losses in the battle against the sin eater horde, in manpower and supplies both. It will not be easy to rebuild and restock our resources, but we must do what we can. Anyhow, what might I do for you?

Mynes: If we had better anticipated the sin eater onslaught, we might have escaped with fewer casualties. We must be ever more vigilant...and yet, we find ourselves more undermanned than ever.

Bjarni: I've never seen anyone fight the way you did, traveler. It was fortunate for us that you came along when you did. Otherwise, I'm not sure I'd be standing here right now.

--

The Ostall Imperative Chadine: The sin eater onslaught claimed more than a few of my companions. Sometimes it is hard for me to accept that I am still here, and they are not. But I must soldier on and serve as best I can.

Szeli Vantheu: Those wretched sin eaters... Not even the amaro were spared their cruelty.

Atli: I've lost count of how many good men and women I've lost to the sin eaters. You'd think I'd be used to it by now, but it never gets easier...

Mosanilde: I hear that while our forces were occupied with staving off the sin eaters, a friend of the Exarch's helped to shepherd the civilians to safety. Whoever it was, I only wish I could meet them face-to-face to express my gratitude.

Seanric: Oh gods, what are we going to do!? We've fought sin eaters before, but never this many!

Tao-Tistt: We've fought back no end of sin eater attacks, but each one leaves us more depleted than the last. If they keep coming at us with such force, I fear we will not be able to hold out much longer...

Seanard: We opened the castle to house the first wave of civilian refugees during the sin eater attack. As they have many times before, the doors stood strong against even the most vicious foe. Those who fled here later we were forced to shelter at Wolves of Shadow. We could not risk opening these doors in the clear view of the enemy.

Teanna: The recent battle thinned our numbers considerably. While we are in no danger of a food and supply shortage, needless to say, I can take little comfort in this...

Cassfort: When the sin eaters attacked, I was tasked with protecting the lookouts atop the castle. As it turns out, few of them paid us any mind. I reckon my halberd would have better served us down below.

Merlath: We were able to spot the sin eaters approaching, but even then... Well, you know how things went. Updating Side Quest Completed NPC’s Pitrig: To think that all of Lakeland would be the target of an attack of that scale... And yet, the barrier will keep us safe. We must do what we can to ensure that our residents stay calm in this time of crisis.

-- After Completing, the Quest NPC’s dialogue changed

Anguished Guard: Mother... I don't want to die... Trembling Guard: I can't... I can't... Dying Guard: <wheeze>

[ohblackdiamond]

little t&a (paul/gene, nc-17) (part 13 of 29)

part 1   part 2   part 3   part 4   part 5   part 6   part 7   part 8   part 9   part 10   part 11   part 12   part 13   part 14   part 15   part 16   part 17   part 18   part 19   part 20   part 21  part 22   part 23   part 24    part 25   part 26   part 27   part 28   part 29

Four weeks before KISS gets back on tour, Gene discovers that Paul’s been cursed by a groupie. For the sake of KISS’ finances, Paul’s comfort levels, and Gene’s libido, this crisis must be resolved. Sexswap fic. In this chapter: Paul and Gene go to the temple of mammon, Studio 54.

“You look,” Gene said, throat drier than sandpaper, “really good.”

Good was an understatement. Paul looked hot. The light blue of the dress made a good contrast against his still-suntanned skin. The neckline made up for the dress length, providing more cleavage than Gene had seen out of Paul since he’d first met him on the front porch in the bathrobe. The heels accentuated his legs—even as a guy, Paul had always had nice legs—but for maybe the first time in three days, Gene was paying more attention to Paul’s face than his body.

It wasn’t like he’d done anything wild with makeup. Blush, red lipstick, eyeshadow, mascara. Except for the eyeliner maybe being a bit heavier, it was about the same look as the night prior. But Paul seemed happier. Relaxed. There wasn’t that tightness to his jaw anymore or that tension to his mouth. And that was a surprise, given the stilted way their dancing earlier had ended. Gene thought Paul might have been sore or tetchy, or at least awkward, but he’d just carried right on. Those sad brown eyes of his didn’t look sad at all, for once, and if Gene were sentimental, he would almost have said they were sparkling.

Maybe he’d just liked sharing a few dances with Gene. And maybe tonight really was the night that this would all be over. Every bit of it. Back to normal life for them both, touring and signing and interviewing. Back to life a hotel room away from each other. He’d be stupid to regret the change. Just stupid.

“You’re not half so bad yourself, Gene.” Paul crooked his head as if he hadn’t seen variations of his outfit at least a dozen times over just this year. As if he hadn’t been suggesting half of it while Gene had asked for the clothes to be sent over. Black leather everything, including the pants—something he already was regretting bitterly. Silver accessories. A belt with a spider encased in enamel as the buckle plate. The public demanded a monster movie out of Gene even when he got off the stage.

“That’s generous.” The limo was already idling in Paul’s driveway. “You ready?”

It took a few seconds for Paul to answer. He wasn’t looking at Gene, at least, not directly in the face; it almost seemed as though Paul was scoping him out, assessing him like there was something new to assess. Gene would have called him out on it, except during times like this, he never was sure if it was Paul’s hearing or Paul’s daydreaming to blame.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

The limo ride was uneventful. Gene decided he didn’t care for Studio 54 long before they pulled up to the VIP entrance. He decided that through the line wrapping around the building for what seemed like miles, the garish outfits of the wannabes begging for admittance, and the weird air of desperation mixed with eagerness that seemed to permeate through the limo windowpane. It made him feel itchy. Beside him, Paul had spent a bit of time doodling peace signs and dicks in the misted-up windowglass like it was a school notebook. His good mood didn’t seem to dampen until the limousine stopped, and he saw the press, out there already, all cameras and notepads.

“Gene—”

“It’s fine, I’ve got my bandana.” He’d forgotten to ask for it over the phone, but it’d been in the box of clothes for him anyway. A couple of them, actually. “Do you want one?”

Paul shook his head.

“No, it’s okay. Switch spots with me, would you?”

Gene swapped obligingly. The limo wasn’t roomy enough to avoid Paul brushing up against him as they traded seats. He caught the woodsy scent of Aramis cologne in Paul’s hair, just another indication of what he’d spent three days pounding into his head now.

“Want me to hold the door for you, too?”

“God, no.”

Gene laughed, and got out first. The bandanas always made him feel like he was about to rob a bank. Every so often, they’d get goofy with it, find weird headgear—knight and astronaut and football helmets—but for the most part, bandanas and scarves were enough out in public, real public. Places where they wanted to be seen, under normal circumstances. The first half-dozen camera flashes were blinding as always. He helped Paul out of the limo, hovering over him as he stepped out. Part of him wished he’d thought to bring a jacket, but maybe that would’ve made it worse, provoked the paparazzi more, if he’d tried covering Paul up too much.

“You okay?” he asked, as the crowd shuddered and swarmed around them. A horde, just a horde, worse than the CBGB crowd ever considered being. Fans would want an autograph or a lay. The press only ever wanted blood.

“I’m fine, I’m—”

“Mr. Simmons!” A woman reporter called out, touching his free arm. “Can I have just a moment?”

“No,” he said, brushing past, his hold on Paul’s arm only getting tighter. Walking quickly, not making eye contact, until the line—there was a line, unbelievably, for VIPs—forced him to stop. Paul had his head half-buried against his shoulder for the whole duration of their wait, tensing with every camera flash and intrigued leer. Gene realized, offhand, that the attention wasn’t pissing Paul off the way it had at CBGB. Instead, it was scaring him.

It made sense, he supposed. CBGB wasn’t nearly important enough to have reporters and cameramen about. They didn’t have big names there, either, no one that Paul would’ve really worried about bumping into. Paul had said earlier that he didn’t think he could pull off talking to someone that knew him, and Gene suspected he was right. Gene suspected an interviewer was even further beyond him at this point.

He’d expected to just be let in once they arrived at the velvet-roped entrance, not really believing Paul’s claims about exclusivity, but instead, a broad-shouldered kid with a grin held them up at the door.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Gene echoed, and shoved down his bandana. On wry automatic, he held up his free hand—full of rings, including the skull one that the teenyboppers seemed fascinated by—as if it was a secret signal. The doorman blinked, unconvinced. Gene could hear Paul snort beside him. “I’m Gene Simmons from KISS, and the—lovely Miss Eisen and I would—”

Still smiling, the doorman pointed at his own tongue.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” But Gene stuck it out anyway. The kid’s expression didn’t change much as he opened the door to let them in. Gene pocketed his bandana, but he didn’t loosen his grip on Paul until they were on the VIP floor, and hopefully beyond the bulk of the press’ touch, and even then, he didn’t let go. Paul looked a little shaken up, anyway, though Gene couldn’t blame him. It was a different beast from last night, for all their objective hadn’t changed.

“Don’t worry. They won’t have gotten any good shots,” Gene said.

“That may not matter. Depends on who else is here.” Paul sighed, worming his arm out from Gene’s, shifting to hold his hand instead. No hesitation. He was getting accustomed to it. So was Gene.

Gene stole a glance Paul’s way before really taking a look at the scene, trying to absorb New York’s hottest discotheque, decide if the interior impressed him any more than the exterior. He decided it didn’t. Maybe too promptly. But the flashing lights, the blaring music—all that was ostensibly no different from CBGB, or any other bar or club; it was just a matter of size and budget and spectacle. It didn’t matter if someone was worth ten bucks or ten million; they all looked the same passed out on the floor. Enough of them were already that Gene couldn’t quite believe they’d gotten to Studio 54 on time.

“What do you think, Gene?”

“You liked it here?”

The VIP floor was covered in lounge furniture, long couches and glass-topped tables. The carpets were dirty, and the smell of booze was heavier in the air than Gene had experienced in years. Probably not since that ill-fated Hotter than Hell shoot when they’d first started off, the one that had very nearly ended with—well. Gene wasn’t in the mood to consider that one, not given Paul’s current shape.

But almost every square inch of the place was smothered in people. Hollywood giants, of vintage and modern flavors. He saw Liz Taylor—wild, to see Cleopatra in the flesh, nearly fifteen years out from the role and easily fifty pounds heavier. He saw Michael Jackson, making moon-eyes as usual at Diana Ross. Poor, hopeless kid. He could’ve sworn he saw Truman Capote, hitting on a well-muscled, shirtless bartender. And all around the giants were the hangers-on and the hopefuls and the arm candies of the duration. Transvestites in g-string bikinis, lesbians in suits. It was viscerally strange, the sheer variety. No one was paying them much mind yet, aware, somehow, that they were too sober to be worth noticing. Paul cleared his throat, defensive.

“Well, yeah, I like it. It’s kind of wild, yeah, but—”

Three feet from them, a producer was puking straight onto the carpet, while a Playboy bunny rubbed the top of his head. On top of one of the tables, a guy was snorting a line of coke straight down a naked girl’s breasts, and as he kept sliding, Gene realized that the powder ran all the way down, bisecting her torso.

“Paul, this is a cesspool.”

 “C’mon, you’ve seen this shit before.”

“Not all at once.” Gene shook his head. “You’re not even into it. Why would you go here?” He understood it for Ace and Peter, as drugged-up as they’d get. He didn’t understand it for Paul. What was he trying to accomplish? What would it really matter, getting with the big names right in their stomping grounds, when those names were so trashed that they were useless? I want to belong somewhere, that was what he’d said. But this somewhere wasn’t it.

 “I just—”

“Mr. Simmons!” came a voice out of the din, eager and excitable. Not a VIP. The tone was too innocent, too close to admiring. Gene turned around.

“I’m not doing auto—”

“Mr. Simmons! I work for Mr. Rubell! I’m one of the doormen!” The kid couldn’t have been older than twenty, blondish and broad-shouldered. “Sorry I didn’t get you at the door, we’ve got a couple new guys, they don’t know—but listen, we’re all looking for that Carol chick!”

“Good.”

“We’ll tell Mr. Stanley when we see him, too.”

“Thanks.”

The doorman nodded, making an awkward salute before heading back. Obliquely, Gene wondered if Bill and Sean had checked Studio 54 out yet. Rubell seemed to have a hiring preference in line with their tastes. He turned to Paul again.

“Looks like they got the memo. You wanna sit down?”

“I… maybe for a minute.” Paul’s eyes darted around, searching for an empty table. Gene looked, too, but he didn’t see one. No corners they could tuck themselves into—not that a corner would’ve been great for keeping a lookout for Carol. Gene felt Paul squeeze his hand. Shot nerves already. Gene could tell that much before Paul spoke again. “If I can keep from talking to anybody, that’d be great.”

“I don’t think you’re going to be that lucky,” Gene said dryly, spying a tall man getting up out of his chair and waving them over.

“If it isn’t Gene Simmons!” the man called out in a distinctively non-American accent. Even if he hadn’t spoken, the feathered brown hair and bright smile would’ve made it obvious. It was Barry Gibb, holding a glass of champagne. “I thought your band was back on the road!”

“Barry, hey,” Gene said, sticking out his hand on automatic. Barry shook it exuberantly. “You’re a few weeks early for that one. How are you?”

Paul looked a bit like he wanted to die on the spot. Barry didn’t seem to notice.

“Great, great. My little brother, Andy…” if possible, Barry’s beaming increased, “he’s just released a single. It’s a guaranteed hit.”

“Really? I think I’d heard he had his own group in Australia—”

“Zenta! You do keep up!” Barry clasped his shoulder. “No, that’s done with now. He’s doing some fantastic solo work…”

Despite the meaningful, sour glances Paul kept throwing his way, Gene’s interest was piqued enough at the thought of a hit, and the thought of a worthwhile contact—the time or two they’d met in passing prior, Barry had been just about this congenial, so Gene didn’t think he was drunk—that he accepted Barry’s invitation to sit down. The next twenty minutes were filled with shop talk, Barry sending off for a Coke for Gene and a whiskey highball for Paul (Gene suspected Paul took Barry up on the offer as payback rather than an actual desire to drink, since he barely touched it), and praise Gene had a hard time fully enjoying.

“My son loves KISS, you know,” Barry said at one point. “He’s never gotten half so excited over our albums.”

“Really? How old is he?” Gene took a sip of his Coke, leaning forward. “We’ll have Casablanca send him something. We have a whole catalog of new merchandise in the works.”

“He’ll be four in December.”

Paul, who had stayed mostly silent up until that point, looked mortified.

“Four?” he almost wailed. Barry seemed amused.

“Oh, love, it’s not an insult. I wish we had that kind of mass appeal behind us.”

“Gene, this—we’ve got to talk to Bill, Gene, we just can’t—I know we don’t get taken seriously, but for God’s sake—”

Under the table, Gene nudged Paul’s bare ankle with his boot. Paul flushed and cut himself off abruptly. Barry glanced over at Paul, then took a swallow of champagne.

“The youth market's the best one to be in, Polly. I've been in this industry long enough to promise you that."

“What, ten years?”

“Next year it’ll be twenty.” Barry got up, shaking both their hands. “I hate to leave you too abruptly, but I’m to meet up with Maurice in a bit. Great to meet you, Polly, great to see you again, Gene.”

“Yeah. And I do mean it, about the merch. We’ve got dolls—”

“Oh, Steve’d love them. Thank you.” Another bright smile, and Barry headed off. Paul let out a groan as soon as he was out of earshot.

“Twenty years,” he mumbled, slumping forward, propping his head up with his hand. “How the hell was I supposed to know the Bee Gees have been at it for twenty years?”

“I didn’t, either,” Gene admitted.

“Fuck, how old is Barry, anyway? Peter’s age?”

“I have no idea.”

“At least he’s not gonna see me again like this. God, he thought I was a jackass…” Paul sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“He didn’t take it personally. Barry’s a good guy.”

“Twenty years stuck with his brothers. I’m amazed they haven’t killed each other.” Paul got up, stepping away from the table, and Gene followed suit. “Think we can get a better look around without getting interrupted? I couldn’t see anything from here.”

Just from a cursory glance, Gene doubted it. Most of the other tables were full or near-full, and no good for people-watching. They’d be better off on the floor.

“We’re going to have to stand to see.” Gene started to take Paul’s arm again, almost on automatic, but a glance at his shoulder stopped him. “Did you get another bra?”

“What?”

Gene pressed a finger against the purple strap hanging past Paul’s sleeve. Paul shook his head, looking abashed.

 “No, this is… this is just the nightie.”

Paul’s cheeks were going a little pink. That pink went straight to red when Gene tugged the strap back into place for him. He had to push Paul’s hair back and turn up his sleeve in order to fix the strap up again to his shoulder, under the dress. His skin was soft, dotted with a handful of moles Gene hadn’t ever really noticed before. There was the pitted smallpox vaccination scar, and the tattoo, of course, the green stem peeking a little past his sleeve. Gene’s fingers lingered longer than they needed to on his arm before he remembered himself enough to pull back.

“The nightie? Why are you wearing that here?”

The redness in Paul’s face wasn’t anywhere near abating.

“Because I didn’t buy a slip. This dress is thinner than I thought.”

“I bet it looks cute on.”

Paul fidgeted, starting to adjust the strap himself, fiddling with the slider.

“Thought you said you just liked what was underneath.”

“Well, that’s the main event, but you’ve got to say something for packaging—"

“Keep pushing it and you won’t find out.”

“I’ll take the chance.” Gene grinned. “Dance with me.”

 He said it on impulse, almost airily. The song blaring through the speakers—some new funk bit from Marvin Gaye was already midway through. Paul put one hand on Gene’s shoulder. Still worried about what people thought of him, even in a place like this. A place where no one would’ve even given much of a shit about them dancing if Paul was like he ought to be. And yet here Paul was, thinking anyone’d care about a girl leading a guy. Gene shook his head, taking Paul’s arm and moving it to his waist.

“No, you lead.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

“Okay.”

The driving, pulsating bassline and wailing saxophone were such a far cry from the CSNY album they’d danced to in Paul’s basement. There was a flippant, overly sexual air to disco that was kind of fascinating. More marketable than their own sordid stuff. Gene didn’t know if KISS would try and ride the wave—they’d talked about it, and Paul had tossed around a few song lyrics—but it hadn’t come to much yet. Might ruin their image. Might solidify it.

Step by step. Paul was stiffer on the dance floor than he’d been in the basement. Partially because of how he had to keep shifting them both around, to avoid dancing into other couples, or stepping on passed-out partiers. But there was more to it than that. His lips were pursed, as if he didn’t quite know how to handle the song. Maybe, for once, he was listening to the lyrics.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

A little sweat was clinging to Paul’s brow, and a little more to Paul’s palm, enclosed in his. He hadn’t tried anything close to fancy, not even any turns or spins. He’d seen Paul do better than this just a few hours ago. Nerves. Except the only time Paul didn’t nerve out was in front of an audience. And this audience was too wasted to care if the two of them were tearing up the dancefloor or stumbling through each step. Paul’s tongue was poking out between his teeth again, and he wasn’t looking Gene in the face, and he wasn’t looking around the room.

Something warm was spreading in Gene, the longer he looked at Paul, the longer they danced. Stepped in time, more like. That concentration made his features seem almost sweet. Paul’s hand on his waist was fidgeting, like he’d forgotten how to hold it. Gene squeezed his shoulder, and Paul raised his head, finally, as Gene cleared his throat to speak.

“Hey. What’d you say dancing was earlier?”

Paul blinked, caught off guard enough that he stopped moving.

“Getting a feel for your partner. Mirroring them.”

“That’s right.” Gene exhaled. His fingers inched up past Paul’s shoulder, touching his cheek for a brief second before returning to his shoulder again. “Could you mirror something for me, then? Right now.”

“Yeah.” Paul had turned his head towards Gene’s hand. Was looking right at him, all big dark eyes and red lips. Red lips that were twitching up, suddenly, in the faintest ghost of a smile. “What do you want to—"

Gene inclined his head and met Paul’s lips with his own.

Paul kissed back instantly. Greedily. Gene was almost taken aback. It wasn’t ferocious so much as desperate, as though all his pent-up energy was suddenly given just a single release. Paul’s tongue licked across Gene’s lips for entrance before Gene could even get there first, hot and overwhelming. Gene dropped his hold on Paul’s hand to cup his smooth, soft jaw, fingers careful not to brush too far past it. His fingertips caught onto Paul’s curls, stiff with hairspray, yet they still somehow felt good against his fingers. The scent of his cologne, emanating off his hair and neck, was almost overwhelming, cologne and sweat and something else; for an insane moment Gene felt like he could almost smell the want on him.

Paul tightened his grip on Gene’s waist, pulling him forward until their bodies were flush. Gene’s hard-on was getting unbearable, pressing up against Paul nearly worse than no relief, because of all the things wasn’t. Gene couldn’t think straight. Could barely let himself remember who was kissing him so ardently, who he was kissing back, whose lipstick was smearing against his mouth and jaw and neck—

Gene only pulled back to get a breath in. Paul’s hand had sunk below Gene’s waist, groping at his ass through the leather fabric. Paul kept shoving his hips against him, friction that didn’t really quite manage to hit its target. Too much of a height difference. They could fix that. Fuck, they could fix that right here in the disco, in one of those basement rooms—he could fuck Paul there, against the wall, or on the floor; he didn’t care, anywhere. He murmured against Paul’s neck, lapping and kissing, not quite daring to leave a mark against his skin. Gene barely felt Paul’s ankle latch around his boot, almost as if he was laying claim, but it warmed him, nearly as much as Paul’s little hitches for breath, the needy press of his lips against his skin. Gene grunted, fingers tightening on Paul’s hair, intending on tugging him back in for another kiss when Paul’s expression shifted, dilated, glassy eyes suddenly going wide, whole body tight as piano wire. His foot went back into place on the floor, stiff as a soldier, hands seeming frozen on Gene. The color was starting to drain from his face.

“Paul? What’s wrong?”

It must have hit him. His brain must have caught up with his libido faster than Gene’s had. Gene started to let go, feeling his brow furrow, a little, hopeless shame twitching in his gut, but then Paul grabbed onto him harder, shaking his head.

“It’s not you. It’s not you, I swear.” One hand withdrew, just to point. Gene couldn’t follow Paul’s finger at first, with the slew of people, but finally he caught sight of the blond doorman from earlier, ushering someone forward, towards them. Someone cute, but not beautiful. Not a VIP. Someone he knew wouldn’t belong on her own here, any more than Paul did.

A small young woman with light brown hair.

“She’s here.”

[blackbatsnwitchshats]

New Opportunities Ch. 6

Chapter 6

Chapter Summary: Ichidai's first day back to school, and the following weeks after.

______________________

"We found your runner."

"And?"

"He's dead."

"Well then, we'll proceed as planned. Operation 'Infiltrate U.A.' is officially a go"

______________________

All For One stood still as Kurogiri tightened the tie around his neck, fighting the urge to rip the abhorrent thing off and hurl it out the window of his new apartment.

While the petulant action might have matched his appearance, it still would have been a highly childish thing to do and he didn't want such things to become a habit. Tomura might have been prone to such fits, but he wasn't Tomura. He had more patience than that.

Most days anyway.

Today would be his first day at Aldera Junior High though, and he wasn't one to forgo first impressions. He wanted to get there on time, preferably earlier, and scope out the place he'd be haunting for the next two years. Yes, haunting, because he fully intended to make his teachers' and peers' lives as much of a living hell as he possibly could throughout the duration of his education there.

All For One nearly snorted out loud at that thought. Aldera was the bottom of the barrel in terms of schooling. Its reputation -if anyone could say it had any at all- was so deep in a trench it wouldn't ever be climbing out. There wasn't anything they could teach him that he didn't already know. The only thing they could provide him with was a proper alibi for his new role.

He might have never finished his schooling as a child the first time around, but All For One was fairly certain he was in for doing a whole lot of nothing for the next two years. Outside of building up some muscle to properly wield his quirk, which he could do just fine on his own, there wasn't a whole lot he needed to do. His body would be ready when it was ready and forcing it would only cause issues in the long run.

The best thing for him to do right now was lay low and attract as little attention to himself as possible.

He'd more or less managed that for well over a century. It'd be a piece of cake.

"You have your new phone?" Kurogiri asked, "Both my number as well as Tomura's are in there should you need us."

All For One nodded. "Yes, I double checked last night."

"Good. Let's head out. I don't know about you, but I'd rather not have to deal with the morning rush."

"Ditto."

As they passed Tomura on their way to the door, he waved without looking up from his game and said, "Have a good day in Hell, S- Ichidai."

All For One quirked an eyebrow at him as he pulled his shoes on. "Kurogiri homeschooled you. How do you know whether it'll be Hell or not?"

Tomura shrugged. "I don't, but everyone in my game servers says it is or was for them."

"Well, ...I suppose you're not wrong. I'll see you when I get back."

"See you then."

______________________

Unfortunately, because something had gone wrong in the administrative process while filing his papers, All For One didn't get to do any sort of roaming before classes. That alone annoyed him. What really got under his skin, though, was the fact he'd had to fill out important paperwork he'd already completed again.

Now, standing at the front of a room filled with snot-nosed brats, he was just barely resisting the urge to strangle someone.

"Morning, class. Today we have a new student. Introduce yourself, kid."

Internally scathing the teacher's lackadaisical attitude, All For One plastered a polite smile on his face despite the scorn writhing in his chest. "Hello! I'm Suzuran Ichidai!"

Short and simple. To the point. Done.

Apparently not.

"And?"

All For One, or rather Ichidai, directed a raised eyebrow to the sad excuse of a teacher. "'And,' what?"

"Your quirk. What is it and what does it do? Why don't you show off a bit, get it out of your system before we start class."

Ha! Yeah, no. That'd be a very bad idea.

"Ichidai" leveled the man with an unimpressed stare. "Do you want to be the one to explain to the principal and police why there's a ginormous hole in the side of the building? Because I just got here and I'd rather not get expelled on my first day."

The color in the teacher's face vanished like water down a drain. "Ah, ...In that case, feel free to take a seat. There should be an empty one at the back, next to the window."

"Thank you."

The words themselves were polite, but -had they been a tangible thing- the sheer amount of sarcasm laced within them could have killed the entire class.

Various students eyed him warily as he made his way down the isle leading to his seat and he rolled his own eyes. Clearly he'd made quite an impression. Good. Intimidated was better than curious. The fewer people he had around him, the better.

He didn't need anyone getting nosy and snooping around all up in his business.

As class finally started, he took his sweet time carefully assessing the quirks he could see around him. He knew what they were, of course; gaining access to Aldera's student records had been laughably easy. However, reading about something on a computer was very different from seeing said thing in person. More often than not, people tended to embellish or downplay things whenever they thought they could get away with it. Regardless of whether that was the case or the kids simply not knowing what their quirks were truly capable of, taking things at face value would have been incredibly foolish.

Out of twenty-nine quirks, twenty-two of them were heteromorphic and unusable to him anyway. Frog-throat, luminescent skin, and stretchy eyes? Unique, but certainly not useful.

Only seven quirks barely caught his interest. Pyrokinesis, wind manipulation, bodily evaporation, rapid muscle growth, explosions, telekinesis and molecular solidification; all of them had potential given the right conditions. Taking them now would only cause suspicion though.

Perhaps another time...

For now, he tuned out the miserable teacher's useless droning and gazed out the window. He was in for a boring year...

______________________

Or not.

The kid with the explosion quirk was loud, and not just because of his quirk either. His entire personality shouted, "Hey! Look at me!" in an arrogant, infuriating way. Sneering at people, taunting and degrading them, even going so far as to physically assault them; he was a class A example of a bully who thought he was God's gift to Man.

All of it -combined with the fact he never shut up about becoming the next Number 1 Hero- almost made All For One want to steal his quirk out of spite.

Though the kid certainly wasn't there yet, heroes just like Bakugo Katsuki were exactly the reason why he hated the current social climate. People glorified anyone with a conventionally strong quirk; they put them on a pedestal, dubbed them a "hero," and believed they could do no wrong when it couldn't be further than the truth. Sure, there may be a few genuinely good ones, but -at the core- Hero Society was as currupt as could be. Even now, after centuries, people still considered those with heteromorphic or so-called villainous quirks to be less than human.

Goodness forbid someone end up quirkless in this time period, because it might as well be death sentence.

Case and point being Midoriya Izuku's existence.

For the first few weeks, "Ichidai" bore witness to the systematic debasement and abuse his lone quirkless classmate went through. Day after day, people left ill-willed flowers on the timid boy's desk, destroyed his personal belongings, and shoved him around like an unwanted plaything. All while the teachers turned a blind eye to everything.

It stirred a fury in his gut he hadn't felt in a long time.

Wasn't this what he'd fought against, once upon a time? Perhaps not for the sole purpose of the vulnerable and less fortunate, but it'd been a rather large part of it... No one deserved to be harrassed over something they had no say in.

Everyone deserved to exist without feeling like they had no right to.

All For One's tolerance eventually ran out, and he snapped, "Good grief! Do you ever shut up?"

"Ha?"

Bakugou, as well as several startled others, turned to him upon realizing he was the one who'd spoken. Their reaction wasn't surprising, considering he'd barely said a lick of anything to anyone in the entire three weeks he'd shared classes with them so far.

"You wanna say that again, newbie?" Bakugo suggested threateningly, ditching Midoriya to sneer in Ichidai's face instead.

Ichidai wasn't impressed, sneering right back at the blond without issue. "No, I don't think I will. You heard me just fine, didn't you?"

He gasped and held a hand up to his chest dramatically as he widened his eyes in false surprise. "That is... unless you're deaf."

After all, an immunity or tolerance to one's own quirk was never a guarentee. Given what Bakugou's quirk was, it very well may have been the case for why he was so loud. If it was, ...well, All For One had never had any issues taking potshots at people, especially people he didn't particularly care for.

Unfortunately for Bakugou, he fell into that category.

Grinning smugly, Ichidai watched the blond briefly freeze before he was roughly grabbed by the collar and jerked out of his seat.

"You wanna die?" Bakugo snarled, "'Cause that's what's gonna happen if you go around spouting shit like that!"

"What are you; a rabid dog?" Ichidai asked condescendingly, grin transforming into something more akin to a baring of teeth. "Oh, wait- I take that back. You're more of an attention hound, aren't you? You're so used to having others cater to you and what you want that anything less than complete submissal rubs you the wrong way."

The sound of Bakugo's teeth creaking as they ground together was music to Ichidai's ears as he smiled wider. "Anything to say? Go ahead, tell me I'm wrong."

"Yeah! You are! Big time!"

"Really? Because I don't think I am."

Popping and crackling sparks burst from Bakugou's clenched fist and Ichidai laughed, "Oh no! I'm so scared! What're you going to do? Use your quirk on me?"

Bakugou went to swing his fist at Ichidai's face, only to be caught by the teacher's extended hand.

"Alright kids, that's enough," the poor excuse of an educator chastised them, "Back to your seats. Class is starting."

Ignoring the teacher, Bakugou sneered and ripped his arm out of the teacher's grip. He shot Ichidai a glare and Ichidai smiled innocently right back, like their entire spat hadn't just happened.

The sheer incandescent rage that encompassed Bakugou's face was almost enough to make Ichidai giggle.

However, the realization that the teacher had once again stopped a fight between two kids seemingly on the same playing field yet had let Bakugou rip into Midoriya like a primary schooler would a Christmas present soured Ichidai's mood.

Come lunchtime, Ichidai didn't bother leaving his seat. So busy brainstorming little ways he could inconvenience the people who'd annoyed him, he didn't even hear the bell. It was the feeling of being stared at and the sound of someone clearing their throat that caught his attention.

Ichidai looked away from the window and found Midoriya standing at his own desk a few feet away.

Midoriya fidgeted and stuttered, "I -uh, thanks for stepping in earlier. I really appreciate it."

"No problem," Ichidai shrugged. "Happy to do it. His voice was getting annoying, and the teacher didn't seem in all that much of a hurry to put an end to it."

"Do you...uh, want to get lunch together?"

Ichidai thought about it. While he didn't intend to make friends with anyone, it would seem strange if there wasn't at least one person he talked to on a regular basis. He guessed Midoriya would be as fine as any -if not better- company than the rest of the loud-mouthed children in their class.

At least he knew how to be quiet.

"You know what? Sure. I brought my own lunch, but I can meet you wherever you want once you get yours."

Midoriya deflated, likely mishearing him before he jerked back up. "Wait, ...yes? You said yes?"

"I did, yes," Ichidai assured him firmly.

Midoriya smiled at him so genuinely it almost took his breath away. Truly, his grin was so bright Ichidai had no doubt he'd have been blinded again had the other boy been capable of producing light with it.

"Great!" Midoriya swung his backpack over his shoulder and raced to the door, looking back to wave at him before he left the room. "I'll meet you by the koi pond in the front courtyard!"

Ichidai waved back as the door closed, slightly bewildered by his sheer enthusiasm.

"Yeah... I'll see you there."