#this was too goddamn funny to me personally that i drew it right away | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nightingaelic · 3 years

Note

Reactions to a vampire courier? Companions plus Benny, Ulysses, Graham, House, Caesar, and Yes Man. (sorry if that's too many :x)

TW: Blood (maybe obviously)

Also I don't normally feel some type of way about AUs but the idea of Joshua Graham encountering a vampire courier is giving me shivers

The courier was a little... strange. Not in any way that stood out to the average wastelander just by looking at them, everyone in the Mojave had their quirks and the courier was no exception. Hell, you get shot in the head and come back, you're bound to have a screw or two loose. They were unquestionably a night owl, but so were half the people on the Strip, who only started to wake up after the sun had gone down and the slot machines were singing their loudest. They usually had bags under their bloodshot eyes, but every caravan driver from here to the Hub was short on sleep.

On the other hand, the courier had some habits that were a little beyond surface-level eccentricities. For one, no one had ever seen them eating, not once. Even when the King laid out a spread of pre-war snacks and liquor or when the buffet at the Tops was refreshed, they politely declined and took a swig from the canteen that they never offered to anyone else. They were also rather odd about bathrooms, insisting that anyone accompanying them remain outside on watch and let no one else through the door until they were finished. But the undeniable moment of oddity came one night in October, when their companion rounded a corner in Freeside after a trip to the Atomic Wrangler and discovered the courier behind a rusted dumpster, holding a man against a brick wall with their teeth buried in his neck.

The courier drew back at the interruption, blood smeared across their face. "I'm not- it's not what- he- oh, fuck."

Arcade Gannon: Arcade stared open-mouthed for a moment, before snapping violently back into the present. "Is he dead?"

"Umm..." The courier glanced at the man they were holding, whose head was lolling against the bricks. "Yes? Mostly."

With no patient to resuscitate, Arcade rounded on them. "Six, what in the ever-loving fuck are you doing?"

The courier tried to wipe away the blood that was dribbling from their chin, but they only succeeded in spreading it up their jawline. "Well, I, um, I was trying to..."

Whatever excuse they were searching for eluded them, so they dropped the pretense. "I was feeding, Arcade."

"Feeding? What, like some kind of-" Arcade's eyes widened and he cut his sentence off early in realization. "No. No way. That's not- vampires aren't real!"

That earned him a look of intense skepticism. "Arcade, we've fought off plant monsters and rattlesnake-coyote hybrids together. I have a gun in my pack that lets me teleport."

"Oh, okay, so you have some kind of iron deficiency and you're delusional." Arcade laughed, the sound high and harsh in the quiet alley. "Great. Fuck."

Craig Boone: Rather than engage in an abandoned alley, Boone immediately backtracked to a busier street. He was unsurprised when the courier didn't follow him: Even in Freeside, someone covered in blood was sure to be noticed and questioned.

Boone left town that night and made for Novac. He was pretty sure the courier would follow him, but he didn't know where else to go. At least he knew they were coming. A few people in Novac asked about where he'd been, what the courier was up to, but eventually they stopped asking.

A couple of weeks went by. Boone was on the night shift again when the door into the dinosaur swung open to reveal the courier. He'd heard someone coming, their feet on the stairs, and he already had his gun pointed in their face. "We will never work together again," he said, before they could open their mouth.

"Boone, can you just-"

"I don't want an explanation." Boone shook his head. "I don't need one. I already did you a favor, leaving New Vegas without putting you back in your grave. This is over."

The courier took a deep breath. "71."

"What?"

"71. I've killed 71 Legion soldiers and left their bodies empty under the Mojave sky." They looked down and shuffled their feet. "I've tasted their fear. They're more scared of me than the Burned Man, now."

Boone studied them. Ever so slowly, he lowered his gun.

Lily Bowen: "Put him down, dearie," Lily chastised them. "You're playing too roughly with that man. And watch your language around your grandma!"

The courier looked down at their victim, at their torn throat and limp limbs. "He tried to mug me, Lily. It wasn't pretty."

"He looks like he's had enough," Lily insisted. "Set him down. Gently."

With a sigh, the courier obliged and lowered the man to the ground. "I'm sorry, Lily. I should have told you earlier. I don't mean to be rude when I turn down your cooking, I just... I can't seem to..."

"Hush, now." Lily produced her enormous handkerchief and gathered the courier up in her arms, dabbing at the blood on their face with a corner of the cloth. "You've gotten it all over yourself, haven't you? We can clean that right up, but it looks like Grandma's going to have to do a load of laundry. You made the mess, so you get to help."

Raul Alfonso Tejada: Raul swallowed nervously, something he'd noticed he was increasingly doing around the courier. "You know, we get murciélagos down in Arizona that do the same thing. They won't leave the brahmin alone."

The courier took in his anxious stance and sighed. "Raul, I'm not going to hurt you. Prometo. It's okay."

"Sure boss, but I don't think the hair on the back of my neck is going down anytime soon." Raul smiled, but it was more of a grimace. "Or it wouldn't, if I still had any. Como..?"

"No clue." The courier shrugged and held their hands up, letting the corpse they'd been holding slide to the ground. "I think it had something to do with me surviving Benny's best attempts to do me in, but a bullet is a bullet and I don't remember if I was like this before, or..."

"Or only after." Raul chuckled. "Jesucristo, and here I am thinking I'll outlive you like most everyone else I've known."

"Yep."

"Should I start calling you el chupacabra?"

The courier grinned, a bloody smile with sharp teeth.

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: "Fuck," Cass echoed, scrambling to pull her shotgun from its holster. "Knew I had too much, can't even- who are you and what've you done with the courier? Some kind of cannibal, wearing their skin? Alien? Shapeshifter? I'll blow a hole in your liver to match mine!"

"Whoa, Cass, it's me, it's me!" The courier dropped the man they were holding and held their blood-stained hands up. "Same old Six, just... maybe I wasn't straight with you about why I don't order anything at bars."

"Goddamn right you weren't straight with me!" Cass gestured at the body on the ground with the barrel of her gun. "Who's the fucker on the floor and why are you two pints in on him?"

"Just trying to get my drink on," the courier muttered.

Cass repaid this facetiousness with a jab of her shotgun, and they raised their hands higher. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry! You tell me, how do you tactfully tell someone that you're a creature of the night and you need to drink blood to survive?"

"Creature of the night? You're fucking loopy." Cass' eyes narrowed. "There's plenty of critters in the Mojave that only come out when it's dark, but most of them don't tear into..."

She trailed off into curses when she realized she was wrong. The courier smiled hesitantly and lowered their hands an inch. "Hey. Let me chuck this failed mugger in the dumpster and we can talk about it like a pair of civilized folks?"

Veronica Santangelo: Veronica squeaked and fell back a few steps, banging her elbow against the edge of the dumpster. A jolt of confused pain shot up her arm, and the Scribe couldn't help giggling harshly at the sudden assault on her funny bone.

"Not- laughing... at murder," she managed to get out between hisses of pain. "Oh, for the love of... right, you're not getting out of explaining what you are, exactly, just because I'm indis-indisposed!"

The courier couldn't help laughing at the squirming Scribe, but they did their best to stifle it. "Sorry, I'm sorry, I um... I guess I don't really know... what I am?"

"There's books!" Veronica burst out, pointing at the courier and their victim wildly. "I've seen them, in old libraries. Creatures that feed on blood, only come out at night, don't show up in... in mirrors, of course, no wonder you're weird about bathrooms, I should test... Dracula! That's it, you're a Dracula!"

"A Dracula?" The courier held their hands up, as if seeing them anew. "Never heard of them. Are they... bad?"

"Well, traditionally, yes." Veronica made a face and rubbed her elbow. "Black cloaks, sleeping in coffins, seducing and manipulating everyone around them... and people don't like it when you take their blood, in my experience."

"Whose blood have you taken?"

"This isn't about me, Six!"

ED-E: The eyebot bobbed wildly and made noises of concern, blips and blats and a flat burst of trumpets from some old jazz tune.

"I was hungry," the courier protested. "And this asshole pulled a knife on me and wanted all of my caps. Probably more than that, if we're being honest. He wasn't doing the world any good, but he did me some, for sure."

ED-E flipped between old clips of a Silver Shroud radio show. "Well, isn't this a deep, dark <static> secret? <static> In a situation such as this, the best anyone can do is <static> try to control it!" The robot added some more concerned beeps for good measure.

"I'm trying," the courier said with a sigh, looking down at the dead man they were holding. "You know I wouldn't hurt some random person, ED-E. Not if I could help it. The Mojave's full of bad people, enough to keep me going if I'm careful."

Rex: The hair on Rex's spine stood up, and he let out a long, low growl. The courier froze for a moment, before realizing that he was growling not at them but at the man they were holding.

"He's dead, Rex," they reassured the cyberdog, lowering the corpse to the floor for inspection.

Rex sniffed the body over, taking in the copper scent of his blood and the Freeside stink on his clothes. He sniffed the courier too, each of their hands they held out to him and the thick headiness of adrenaline. He whined and wagged his tail twice.

"Good boy," the courier said, straightening up. "It's about time I turned in, anyway. Let's dump this guy and split."

Benny Gecko: Benny crossed his arms. "You know, Six, if you're dead set on getting your kicks in Freeside every now and then, you might want to ease up on the passions with the next greaser you snag. This one's torn all to pieces."

"I wasn't- what kind of-" The courier dropped the man they were holding and sputtered. "Christ, only you could make a midnight murder awkward, Benny."

"Murder?" Benny raised his eyebrows and looked from side to side theatrically. "Who said anything about a murder? All I saw was some dreamboat and the best apple butterer of New Vegas playing back alley bingo, officer."

The courier's eyes narrowed. "Not gonna rat me out? Tell the King or somebody that I'm..."

"What, taking a page out of the White Glove Society's book?" Benny held his hands up. "None of my business. Well, if you ever come for me with that look in your eyes, though, that'll be a different story."

"Not much you'd be able to do," the courier pointed out. "You already tried and failed to kill me once."

Ulysses: Rather than react like any normal wastelander might've upon encountering someone attacking a man with their teeth, Ulysses just stood there, taking the scene in. "Heard tales of a tribe like you. East, farther east than even I've walked... a coven hiding in tunnels, emerging only when their hungers grow too strong to ignore, strong enough to pull blood from the veins of the world around them."

"Well, I don't hide in tunnels." The courier grimaced and heaved their victim up over their shoulder, depositing them unceremoniously in the dumpster. "Unless some disgruntled Frumentarius sends me out to hunt mutants under Hopeville."

"Perhaps you have more in common with those predators than I assumed," Ulysses admitted. "But then, your path has always run red. Blood of the Old World, blood of the new, blood of the Bull and the Bear..."

The courier rolled their eyes as they peeled off their red-stained coat and tossed it in the dumpster as well. "Don't talk to me about blood. I know you've seen just as much as me, but it doesn't mean the same thing when I look at it."

Ulysses cracked a hint of a smile. "You see life where I see death. Two sides, courier."

"Yeah, yeah. If you're not going to try to kill me, come on. You can wax poetic and lecture me about which road I'm walking while I take a shower."

Joshua Graham: "A creature far from God," Graham said in his most reproachful tone. "Forever damned for the souls of the innocent they've taken from the earth. Aren't we a pair, courier."

"You can fuck right off with that attitude." The courier dropped the man they were holding and wiped their hands on their coat. "He tried to kill me first. For some caps."

"The crimes of others do not absolve you of your own sins, courier," Graham continued, leisurely retrieving his gun from its holster. He held it up in the muted neon light that filtered through the alley, turning the weapon this way and that. "Though I confess I am also looking for absolution in this way."

"Are you going to kill me?" the courier asked, eyeing the gun as well.

"I've no doubt it would leave this world better than when you walked it," Graham replied. "But my own opinions are not enough to seal your fate. Perhaps we should find this man's family and hear their feelings on the matter."

The courier took a step forward, then another, until their chest was right up against the pistol's muzzle, pressed against the fabric of their shirt. "Go ahead. Try."

And though Joshua Graham was sorely tempted to pull the trigger, though the courier made no move to stop him, something in their eyes... some faraway pain, older than the desert itself, fresh as the blood on the ground, stayed his hand.

He lowered the gun, chastised, and the courier walked away.

Robert House: The Securitron that bore Robert House's face on its screen leveled a minigun at the courier. "Whoa!" the courier protested, dropping their victim and putting their hands out. "Can't we talk about this?"

"And what have we to discuss?" House sounded absolutely disgusted. "I believe you're familiar with my contract with the White Glove Society. If they wish to continue their current prosperity in New Vegas, cannibalism is strictly forbidden. You are subject to the same terms and conditions, as one of my employees."

"Terms and condi- hold on, hold on, you never asked me whether I was a cannibal," the courier replied. "Are you talking about that document you had me sign, way back when I agreed to help you fight the NCR and the Legion?"

"The very same."

"How is that fair? That thing was over 200 pages long, I didn't grow up in the 21st century, I don't have a degree in... okay, okay." The courier waved their hands. "Cannibalism is a no-go. This isn't cannibalism, this is vampirism."

"Which falls under the definition of cannibalism," House replied, his annoyed tone still detectable over the sound of the minigun spinning up. "Section 3.65, subsection F. Next time, read the fine print."

Caesar: The Legion's great leader pivoted in an instant from surprise to quiet anger. "Clean yourself up, courier. I expect to see you in my quarters within the hour."

He turned and left the alley swiftly, letting his powerful stride and swinging cloak cover his shaken confidence. The people of Freeside cowered as he passed, shrinking into the shadows as he made his way back to the Strip, but the fear in their eyes was not enough to erase the image of the courier bent over in bloodlust, holding their victim in total subjugation.

The courier found him on the top floor of the Lucky 38, gazing out over the city he had conquered and named his Rome. "Leave us," Caesar bid his Praetorian Guard. They bowed and departed the room without question.

"You asked to see me," the courier said nervously, shifting their weight from foot to foot. They had changed clothes, and no trace of blood remained on them.

"I did." Caesar beckoned them to the window next to him. They stood in silence for a moment, watching the lights wink below.

"I'm a well-read man, courier," Caesar said finally. "I know the legends of the Old World, and I recognize the marks of one of their nightmares in you. I order you to tell me the truth: Do you fit the full definition of the creature they called 'vampire,' or do you simply mimic the things to add to your fearsome affect?"

The courier didn't answer right away. When they did, their voice was soft. "I pretend to be nothing. I am what I am."

"And everything that comes with it?" Caesar pressed. "Darkness, the blood of the innocent, eternity?"

"Yes."

Caesar turned to face them fully. "Then I, Almighty Caesar, command you to make me as you are."

Yes Man: "Now that's a twist I didn't see coming!" Yes Man said, his happy tone only slightly tempered with uncertainty. "Boy, am I glad I don't have a circulatory system right now!"

The courier shushed the Securitron and looked around the alley surreptitiously. "Yes Man, I swear to god, if you blow my cover I'm disassembling you."

"As I've told you before, I can't technically die!" Yes Man reassured them. "And I certainly wouldn't want to endanger you and your hobbies, but my volume mixer is tied to my enthusiasm simulator and I can't adjust it! You'll just have to hope any passersby aren't interested in following my friendly voice into an alley!"

"Then go back to the Lucky 38 and we'll talk later," the courier insisted, through gritted teeth.

"I technically never left! But if you mean this Securitron, sure thing!" Yes Man zoomed away on his single wheel, whistling the whole way back to the casino where the rest of his consciousness was housed. He kept whistling as he ran probability algorithms, only pausing when the courier returned after a few hours and crossed their arms in front of his main screen.

"Hi there!" he said joyfully. "I've just been cross-checking Mr. House's records on noteworthy disappearances in the Strip, and I've flagged eight of them as potentially being connected to you! I don't want to assume your intentions, but if you don't want to be found out, I've developed a plan for choosing your next victims that will help you remain undetected in New Vegas for 184 years! Give or take a few!"

The courier put their head in their hand and sighed.

306 notes · View notes

chenziee · 3 years

Note

Cool your back.

I have a very cute LawLu prompt

Where Law is still a pirate some how becomes (little doses he know)the Fiance of the Goda kingdom's Cat God of freedom named Luffy(much to the world nobles dismay) and all of the high jinx that come along with it. And Luffy keeps popping up whenever Law doesn't/needs him. Good thing he's cute.

Thank youuu! Glad to be back :D though still super slow I’m sorry

I might have taken some liberties there with Luffy but I hope you like it! :)

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A Divine ball of fluff

[Read on AO3 | Request info | Ko-fi]

Law startled awake at the sound of gunfire and cannons somewhere above his head. Stepping over the lamp on the floor, he only briefly wondered just how it had managed to fall from his nightstand before he forced himself to focus. He only grabbed Kikoku, then ran out of his room to join his crew on deck, ready to murder whoever had come to disturb his sorely needed nap.

“Hand over Luffy and I might just let you go alive, Trafalgar Law!”

With the angry shout being the first thing Law had heard upon opening the door leading to the Tang’s deck, Law could only groan. Not again. “I keep telling you, old man—” Law slammed the door shut behind himself maybe more aggressively than strictly necessary before quickly striding over to the side of the ship to glare at Vice Admiral Garp— “none of this was my choice! And your stupid grandson isn’t even here!”

“Uhm, about that, Captain…” Bepo trailed off, quiet and apologetic.

Law took in a sharp breath, closing his eyes momentarily and praying for patience. “Don’t say it. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Sorry,” Bepo mumbled, dropping his head as if it was somehow his fault their regular ‘guest’ had invited himself over without any warning again.

Shaking his head, Law slowly looked at Garp again. The old man was fuming and not for the first time, Law marveled at the stubbornness of this entire family. No matter how many times he said ‘no’ to either one of them, they just kept coming back like a bad rash. Sometimes, Law couldn’t believe neither of the three brothers or their grandfather were related by blood. Hell, one of them wasn’t even human. But well… when it came down to it, Law couldn’t say he cared.

“Fine, take him,” he said finally, smirking at the loud crash from behind him that immediately followed.

“Torao~” someone whined before arms wrapped around Law’s waist

On reflex, one of Law’s legs shot forward as he braced for the impact of the entire body crashing into him a split second later. Why, just why did this man insist on lunging at people constantly? Law would never understand. He was lucky Law had managed to train his reactions well enough by now to not face plant into the railing anymore. “What?” he asked, smirk still shamelessly in place as he turned to look at the person who was hanging off of him.

The person—or rather, the god—in question was staring back at him with an unhappy frown and a pout on his lips. Law hated to admit he looked outright adorable then, and not just because of the cat ears sitting proudly on top of his head, alert and facing forward in agitation. Ears which were also covered in black, incredibly soft fur that Law would never get tired of petting.

Giving Law something that was probably supposed to be a glare, Luffy finally huffed before continuing, voice sounding incredibly sulky, “How could you just sell me out to gramps like this?”

“Because he could absolute keep you on his ship even if he did take you. Sure,” Law replied in a tone dripping in sacrasm while he rolled his eyes at the dramatic complaints of the literal embodiement of freedom, the person who could and absolutely did materialize out of nowhere on the Polar Tang whenever he fucking felt like it, without any warning, for the sole purpose of driving Law absolutely crazy with his ideas, only to then disappear into thin air again once he got bored. While on the open sea, with the nearest land two days of sailing away.

“That’s not the point!” Luffy cried, his grip on Law’s waist tightening.

Before Law could say anything back, a canon ball landed a bit too close to the ship, causing a wave of seawater to wash over the both of them. Law cursed loudly at the unexpected and fully unwelcome shower, just as Luffy also hissed loudly; if he was in his full monster cat form, Law could just imagine his fur raising until he looked like a huge, black ball of pure fluff.

…Now Law wanted to see it. He made a mental note to find an opportunity to scare the shit out of him at some point later, when he was in his true form.

“What was that for?!” Luffy demanded when he recovered from the shock.

“A warning shot!” Garp retorted, sounding just as angry as Luffy did. “You get off that pirate ship before I drag you off myself!”

“I’m not going back to Goa! It’s stuffy and tiny and they keep burning down my shrines, I hate it there!”

Garp growled as he grabbed another cannon ball. “As if I care about the idiot king’s orders, I’m not going to give you to those scumbags and I don’t care where you go—” he paused to aim his cannon ball at them threateningly before he continued— “but you’re not becoming a pirate on my watch, you brat!”

Law heard Luffy taking a deep breath behind him, no doubt in preparation to go off on his adoptive grandfather, and he sighed. Before either of these idiots could say anything, Law snapped, “If you’re just going to keep screaming at each other, can I go?”

“No,” Luffy said immediately, digging his claws into Law’s stomach painfully.

At the same time, Garp said, “You stay right where you are, I’m not done with you either!”

Law sighed. Every goddamn time.

“Prepare to submerge,” Law said to Bepo tiredly before raising his hand. “Room. Shambles.”

Appearing back in his room a split second later, Law took a deep breath, giving himself a moment to appreciate the blessed silence—or the alternative of, which meant only muffled rage instead of people screaming right in his ear. Not ideal but he would take it anyway. Honestly, why couldn’t these two ever do anything quietly? This whole thing could be so easily resolved if they had just sat down and talked but no, they just had to go yelling at each other while throwing cannon balls and scratching the other’s face off. And Law never had a say in getting caught in the middle of it every damn time either.

Sometimes, he cursed the day the Tang landed on Dawn Island, the place where all his problems started. But really, he couldn’t with clear conscience say that if he were to relive that day, that he wouldn’t do exactly the same thing; that he wouldn’t stop at the tiny, ancient looking shrine to talk to the young man sitting in front of it. That he wouldn’t answer every question Luffy had about the world beyond his small domain, that he wouldn’t look into those large, excited eyes and invite him to leave with him.

But, as stupid as it was regardless, if he could do it over, at the very least, would now actually know he was accidentally proposing to a literal god; one that was incredibly stuborn, selfish, and bright enough to be the actual sun. A god who also came in a package with a crazy grandfather, two over protective brothers, and the softest, warmest fur Law had ever had the pleasure of touching.

“Thanks for getting me away,” Luffy said after he made himself comfortable on Law’s bed, the anger and raw power that had been radiating off of him only moments ago replaced by his usual happy and carefree attitude.

Law clicked his tongue. “I was getting myself away. Not my fault you were clinging to me like a child.”

“Same thing.” Luffy waved him off.

Law didn’t have the energy to argue. Simply shaking his head at him, he instead bent down to put the lamp he had ignored earlier back on his nightstand.

“Weird how this was on the floor. I distinctly remember it was screwed on tight just yesterday,” Law noted, giving Luffy a pointed stare. Now that he knew this giant, ridiculously strong cat was on the ship, Law had no doubt just how the lamp got knocked off. Briefly, Law wondered whether there was even a point putting it back until Luffy left; he was probably going to knock it off again while staring at it with morbid fascination as it crashed to the floor again and again.

Law watched as Luffy’s eyes veered off to the side, his lips pursing as he mumbled, “Yeah, that’s super weird.”

Huffing out a small laugh, Law crossed the short distance between them, reaching out to ruffle Luffy’s hair. It was almost as soft as his fur was. “I know. A complete mystery,” he said with a smirk before he leaned down, pressing his lips to Luffy’s briefly.

The kiss was easily returned, a wide grin spreading on Luffy’s lips as soon as they separated, and despite himself, Law felt himself smile back. That damn smile would be the death of him. No matter how maddening this man could be, how loud and selfish, the moment he smiled like that, it was like all Law’s problems and frustrations were melting away. Luffy was simply beautiful; adorable and bright, yet absolutely terrifying and Law loved every little bit of it.

It was funny, actually. If someone had told him he would ever say ‘Luffy’ and ‘love’ in the same sentence just half a year ago, Law would have laughed in their face. Back then, Luffy was only some incredibly annoying giant cat who just wouldn’t leave him alone, someone who popped up on the Tang or wherever Law currently was just to ruin any and all of his painstakingly created plans. But now…

Now Law couldn’t remember what life was before him. He had learned to build his plans around Luffy recklessly charging forward, didn’t even bother trying to explain anything to him. He had long since stopped fighting the pull, the warm aura of power and charisma that drew people in and didn’t let go. It took a while but Law had finally accepted that he was not any different from all the other people Luffy had managed to charm without even realizing he was doing it ever since Law had gotten him out of the Goa Kingdom.

There was just something in the stupid divine cat that made people want to join and support him. Maybe it was the sense of absolute freedom that followed him everywhere; be it his own freedom, or the one of whoever Luffy thought deserved it.

“What’s wrong?” Luffy asked after a long while of them just looking at each other.

Law smiled, shaking his head at the cute, worried frown on his face. “Just hoping your grandfather won’t hit us before we sink far enough.”

“He’d never actually hit the ship, he’s a big softie,” Luffy announced, that grin back on his face.

“Good to know.” Law chuckled, finally sitting down on the bed with Luffy. “You know, I was sleeping before you two started fighting,” Law said offhandedly, glancing at Luffy and nearly snorting at the way his ears perked up in excitement.

“Wanna?” the other asked immediately, nearly vibrating in place.

Raising an eyebrow, Law gave Luffy a look. “I was going to say yes but seeing how excited you are, I’m not sure it’s such a good idea.”

“Nah, it’s all good,” Luffy decided, nodding to himself as he hopped off the bed, walking two steps towards the door to Law’s cabin before shifting into his monster cat form, then lied down slowly, watchful as to not break anything while he tried to fit his huge body into the tiny room.

Once Luffy looked back at him expectantly and Law was sure he was fully settled, Law went to join his boyfriend on the floor, careful not to step on any of his limbs or either of his two tails on the way. As he leaned back against the giant cat’s chest, he let his eyes slide shut, already feeling the exhaustion from earlier in the day settling back in. It was just so warm and soft and fluffy and Law would sooner die than admit out loud how much he loved it. It wasn’t like everyone didn’t already know by then anyway. What could he say, Luffy’s fur was impossible to resist. It was worse than Bepo’s in this aspect.

“No licking,” Law reminded, cracking one eye open to shoot Luffy a half-hearted glare when he felt his face come close to his body.

“You’re no fun,” Luffy whined.

Law could only sigh. “I’d just like to keep my skin where it is, thanks.”

“Fine.” Luffy huffed, thankfully keeping his sand-paper tongue where it should be, before he simply nudged Law with his forehead.

A smile pulled on Law’s lips, his hand raising to rest against the side of his little monster’s head. To anyone else, this position would seem incredibly dangerous, yet to Law, it was so very comforting. He had never felt safer than when he lay snuggled into into this god’s side, with the jaw which could fit his entire head inside twice over and then some positioned just inches away from his face.

Right here, Law knew he was home.

And while he gently stroked Luffy’s fur, Law’s eyelids slowly slid shut again.

~ Meanwhile ~

“What do we do?!” Shachi cried in panic, staring with wide eyes at the neptunian who looked like it was about to eat the Tang for an afternoon snack.

“We have to call the captain and Luffy, we can’t do this,” Ikkaku shouted back, trying to shoo away another two of these giant sea kings away together with Jean Bart.

A frustrated groan came from Clione in response, “I tried but they won’t answer and the door won’t open!”

“Why do they always have to sleep with Luffy’s giant furry ass blocking the stupid door! How are we supposed to get them out here?!” Shachi whined, mind slowly slipping into despair. Honestly, these lovesick idiots. What use was having a literal god around when he was never there to actually help when they actually needed him to?

This was why Shachi preferred dogs over cats.

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Dedicated to my cat who has the softest fur and also forces me to keep everything on the fucking floor.

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deniigi · 3 years

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hi I have something for y’all called a disaster.

I wrote an Inimitable!Spiderman/Modern Star Wars AU because no one can stop me, not even myself. it is like 47 pages long. I am handing it tenderly to y’all.

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Title: impossible scenario

Summary: Peter runs into some drunk assholes arguing, calling each other Han and Luke. He lets it roll off him until he can’t anymore and eventually finds himself for the first time on the other side of someone more chaotic than himself.

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There was an argument happening under a fire escape. Peter knew about it because a concerned dude wearing a fuckin’ Yankees cap had flagged him down with waving arms and told him that someone needed saving, Spiderman. Some tall asshole was kidnapping a young blond dude, the guy and his too-cool-for-him girlfriend explained. They’d heard the two scuffling.

Peter maybe stared for a beat too long at them because the gal pointed two blocks behind him and said, “That way. I think the blond guy might be drugged. He’s slurrin’ something strong.”

Peter liked her shoes. They looked like Miles’s, but blue.

“Spidey?”

Miles told Peter all the time that he wasn’t cool enough to wear Jordans. MJ and Johnny had agreed. Such sad times.

“Spidey.”

“I got it,” Peter sighed.

The gal tsked.

“Man, you’re too young to be this jaded,” she said.

Peter sighed.

“You’re the third person to say that this week,” he said. “You think I should go back to therapy?”

There was a pause.

“You know that answer, dude,” cool-gal said. “Go save the twink.”

Twink. Got it. Thank you, citizen.

“There are websites for that shit, Spidey.”

Bye now.

“Apps, even.”

Bye, bye.

“BetterHelp or Headspace or somethin’—”

“Two blocks, you said?” Peter asked.

Two blocks away, there was indeed a man with dark hair trying to lift a violently intoxicated twink up onto the first steps of a fire escape. Peter examined his options. There were many ways to ruin a potential kidnapper’s day. His favorite involved coke and mentos, although he’d received feedback that that was a waste of perfectly good food. Down the list was also the option to walk over and scream bloody murder so that the kidnapper shat themselves and dropped their target.

That was good, but Peter was tired and the thought of mustering up the energy to scream at a noticeable volume made his thighs turn to Jell-o.

That left snark and violence.

Today, he would not choose violence. Only for today.

He strode out of his dark temporary residence between two dumpsters directly towards the tall dude and his mark. The mark was a messy one. Bless his heart, he was unwittingly making himself the most noncompliant victim to have ever victim-ed. Every time the tall guy got him almost vertical, he gave up his corporeal form to become drunk slime and ooze back to the ground with various moaning sound effects.

It would have been funny if not for the kidnapping context.

The fact that Peter had been standing there under the beams of two separate side-building security lights and neither of those two had noticed yet was also objectively funny—or would have been, if Peter had the capacity for processing humor at the moment.

Alas. This was what he got for telling Tony that he’d evolved beyond the need for sleep. He got caffeine-pilled. And there would be no true rest until that shit wore off, exhausted as Peter’s body yearned to be.

“Kid, work with me here,” the tall guy said.

“I can’t, I’ll die,” the shorter one moaned.

“Luke.”

“I’ve done my time—thirty years in AZKA—”

“Keep your voice down, oh my god.”

Peter was just standing here, fellas.

“Luke.”

“Why’s it always me? Why’s it always gotta be me? The hell did I do to piss off the whole galax-galaxy? HA. My bad, my bad. The whole universe?”

God, what a mood.

The tall guy dropped his grip on the smaller one and loomed over his puddle of ooze with poison in his gaze.

“People are going to die, Luke,” he said.

“So what? They’re always dyin’. Everywhere I go, people’re dyin’ and when it’s not them dyin’, you know who is?”

“Kid.”

“ME.”

“So you’re just gonna wallow there, feelin’ sorry for yourself?” the tall dude snapped.

“Sure am,” the puddle of ooze hummed.

This was not a kidnapping. This was a come-to-Jesus in the back alley of a bar. Peter was not needed here. He turned around on his heel and stopped when he heard a sharp intake of breath.

“Is that?” someone whispered.

“Don’t mind me, pal, just your friendly neighborhood—” he started.

“Look what you did,” Tall and Handsome hissed at Ooze-Man. “Someone went and called Spiderman on us.”

Peter lifted a brow as Ooze-man ripped its chest up from the asphalt and composed itself back into a human shape with fluffy blonde hair and huge wide eyes.

“Omigod, it’s Spiderman,” the guy said. “Wait, no. Gimme a hand. No, not that one, fuck off, nevermind, I don’t need you.”

He drew himself up to standing, only leaning slightly on his buddy there and gave Peter as lopsided smile.

“Hi, there,” he said with a twang that Peter couldn’t place. “Were you lookin’ for someone, handsome?”

Ah, they had reached the time of night when all the drunks needed to tell Peter things he already knew about his ass. He loved this time.

Not to mention that this dude looked eerily like Johnny. Scarily like Johnny. So much like Johnny that Peter almost wanted to take a picture of him to send to Sue so that she could print up some lost and found posters.

“Just lookin’ at you, babe,” he said. “This guy botherin’ you?”

The tall guy blanched and then grabbed at his face in horror. Peter swallowed his laugh.

“He sure is, hon. You got time to rescue me?” Blondie crooned.

“Luke, please. Please.”

“Because I’m in real distress,” ‘Luke’ said with a pout mighty enough to fell Thor.

“You sure seem like it,” Peter said. “C’mere. I’ll walk you home. Leave that tool, he ain’t worth your breath.”

He held out an elbow like proper gentleman and was pleased at the hand that Luke laid over his heart in response.

Peter could imagine Johnny’s face in six different expression of jealous horror at a selfie taken with this look-alike. Each was beautiful in its own special way. As payment for being referred to counseling by the public, he at least deserved to receive at least two of those faces.

“You mean that?” Luke asked him.

“He doesn’t,” his tall companion said.

“I sure do, where do you live? I’ll walk you,” Peter said.

“Oh my god, I’m gonna cry, he’s gonna escort me,” Luke said, all choked up and fanning his eyes lightly.

This tall friend grabbed him before he could escape, though, and pulled him back behind his own body.

“Listen, Spidey, this is a misunderstanding,” he drawled. “I know this idiot—he is technically my idiot— and I’m the one escorting his ass home. Thanks, though. You’re a real menace. Beat it.”

MMMMMMM.

And here Peter had been planning on being jaded and miserable this fine night. How could he now when this dude was ticking every box that made him feel alive?

“What’s your name, dollface?” Peter asked across the short distance.

“None of your business,” Tall Guy answered abruptly.

“Luke,” Luke said around him. “Are you gonna save me?”

“In just a minute,” Peter said, striding forward with a hard roll in his shoulder and deep drop in his knees.

It was amazing how Tall Guy wanted to take some steps back all of the sudden. Peter couldn’t help but let a smirk widen his face as he advanced.

“Okay, hang on now,” Tall Guy said with both palms out in front of him. “You don’t know what this is about, Spidey. You don’t want to get involved with this, trust me. He’s just bein’ dramatic. No need to get testy.”

“You sure do a lot of talkin’ for your friend there,” Peter noted through his grin.

“Yeah, Han,” Luke said.

Ha.

Han. Han and Luke. Ned was gonna be enraptured when Peter told him about this later.

“Luke. Back me up.”

“Why should I?”

“Because,” ‘Han’ finally snapped. “I’m not doin’ this because I want you to suffer, alright? I don’t want nothin’ to do with it either, okay? No one does. But it’s this or—”

“Or everyone else,” Luke finished for him in a strangely toneless voice.

Han sighed.

“It’s always everyone else,” Luke said.

“Not here.”

“Why’s it always everyone el—No, no, here. Why not? We’ve got fucking Spiderman in our midst, how much more surreal can this moment get? No. You listen to me, Han—”

“I’ve been listening to you all damn evening and you know what I’m hearing?”

“—I lost my life for this. I lost my home, my aunt, my uncle, my hand—”

“I’m hearing you making this about you.”

“—everything I ever knew, and I tried to make it right, didn’t I? I made the school. I gathered the kids—”

“And it’s not just about you this time, kid. It’s not about you, it’s not about me, or Leia, or Chewie or—”

“—I lost my kid and the love of my life, and I finally get a second chance at finding them and giving them the goddamn happy ending they deserve, and the next thing I know—”

“Luke, you’re the only one,” Han said.

“I WAS NEVER. THE ONLY. ONE, HAN,” Luke roared out of absolutely nowhere, sober as a saint. “I was never the only one. EVER. Ahsoka. Go find her. She’s everything that I’m not and more. She’s the real—”

“Luke.”

“Stop saying that name. I HATE that name. I would do anything for twenty goddamn seconds where I didn’t have to be him.”

“You don’t mean that,” Han said quietly. His shoulders had rounded out and become black and heavy under the weight of their shadow. Luke’s eyes, however, looked like topaz.

“I mean it,” Luke said.

Oho.

So shit had gotten real tense, real fast, so Peter about to make a decision that was gonna make Shelley so proud of him she would weep when he finally slunk back in through her office door.

He was leaving. He was turning around and taking a wee jog. Maybe turning a corner, having a little jump over a fence, up a wall, to a place as far away from this one as superhumanly possible.

Bye, bye.

“This galaxy needs you, Luke.”

Peter stopped five paces away.

“They need you,” Han repeated. “And I need you.”

Peter slowly looked back to see that Luke’s face had twisted sharply out of the light, towards the alley wall.

“I’m sorry that we met again like this,” Han said quietly. “I’m sorry it’s always you. You don’t deserve this. No one deserves this.”

“Shut up,” Luke said.

“But if you don’t do something, then it won’t be just me and you and all these random others sliding back into that cesspit we all barely crawled out of.”

“Stop.”

“You’ll never find him if things go back the way they were.”

“You—you don’t know that. There—maybe—”

“Luke. Listen to me. Please.”

“Maybe there’s a chance—”

“Luke,” Han said reaching out and putting a hand on Luke’s shoulder and clenching it hard enough that Peter should see the bunched fabric, “Do you want Din to live through this shitshow a second time? Hasn’t he suffered enough?”

Peter shivered. The pressure at the base of his neck was building. The Spidey Sense wanted to hiss in his ears like white noise. It pinned him where he was, staring over his shoulder at those two solid shapes, one digging a hand into the flesh of the other.

His stomach turned.

Luke said something that Peter couldn’t hear. Han pulled him toward his own body by the grip he had on his shoulder. At first, Luke seemed to stagger, like he was walking on black ice. He stopped a single step away from Han’s body, still with his face angled severely away. Han said something to him.

There was a long pause, then Luke seemed to fall forward. Han caught him and crushed his head into his shoulder, lowering his own until it was almost touching Luke’s ear. They clung to each other.

Luke was crying.

The Spidey Sense started to crackle and pop in Peter’s ears.

“I gotchu, kid,” Han said in a rasp. “I gotchu. We’re gonna get through it.”

Peter blinked once and finally unlocked the muscles in his neck. He wasn’t meant to witness this. He held out a wrist and fired a line.

It was weird.

It was just weird.

Something wasn’t right. And Peter couldn’t make his stomach not writhe about it.

Luke.

Han.

An offhand mention of like, characters. Character names. They were character names. Leia, Chewie.

Peter had heard of people who lived their lives honestly believing that they had been other people—fake people—in past lives, but like, damn man. Why would you put yourself in a position like that were you were moved to actual tears for some elaborate street-drama?

Maybe it had been a joke? That was the only thing he could think it could be. Maybe the universe had gazed upon his hubris at work and gone ‘ah yes, I know what this young man needs: emotional confusion at midnight on a Thursday. That’ll fix him.’

If that was the case, then yeah. Good job, universe. Good job, larpers. Y’all are equally sick.

But if not—and Peter no longer lived in a world where he could rule out any possibilities—then he had just witnessed—Dude, he’d just witnessed—

He couldn’t even think it. It was beyond him. It was so far beyond him that like he might have a real stroke taking the thought seriously.

There was only one person who could hold that kind of information unscathed.

Only one.

PP: Ned. I need you to listen to me and tell me I’m not crazy.

NL: no promises but go on

PP: I think? I just saw? Luke Skywalker? And Han Solo? In an alley behind Kitty’s?????

NL: fascinating

JS: Say more

PP: who let you in here?

JS: you?

PP: SECURITY

NL: Peter say more

PP: I can’t there’s a nerd in here and it’s vibrating at the wrong decibel. SECURITY???

MJ: yeah?

PP: I’m trying to have a breakdown. Can you remove Matchstick please?

MJ: what kind of breakdown

JS: he thinks he met Luke Skywalker

PP: Security has failed me. God?

NL: Peter can you name three things you can see.

PP: I am not manic. I am in touch with reality. I’m just having anxiety because I just fucking saw two people calling each other Luke and Han fighting behind Kitty’s. Like real fighting.

JS: nicknames?

PP: I—

PP: oh my god nicknames

PP: Johnny I’m so sorry I ever doubted you. never leave my side

JS: 😊

MJ: wow that’s cringe. Imagine naming yourself after SW characters

NL: does kitty do a cosplay night now????

PP: idk it was wild. People thought that ‘Han’ was trying to kidnap ‘Luke’ but when I got over there, Luke started flirting with me and then shit got real and they started arguing over like him hating his name and not wanting to do something and losing everything or some shit

NL: that’s a lot. I’m sure it was nothing, though, peter.

PP: yeah it was. My SS has been going nuts ever since I left. You think they bugged me?

JS: yes I will come search your body imminently

MJ: my job storm, back off

JS: after MJ has finished prelim checks, I will then search your body for you out of the kindness of my heart ❤

NL: that’s weird, the SS doesn’t usually freak out about cosplayers

PP: ikr?

NL: lol imagine if they were serious

MJ: don’t say that

JS: well now we have to lean in. thanks ned

JS: they were definitely real. God they were so real. You hear that Fate? You got us. They’re definitely real.

PP: BUT WHAT IF THEY WERE?

MJ: cue breakdown

NL: that would be so fucking funny. Luke Skywalker and Han Solo trying to save the world from the hellscape of nyc. The rats alone would thwart them.

PP: ned I’m freaking out

NL: oh you mean you’re actually freaking out?

PP: deeply

NL: oh shit sorry. I’ll be over, have you slept yet?

PP: NO

MJ: on it

JS: can I join?

NL: no johnny

MJ: no johnny

PP: 😭

JS: one day our love will build a bridge, peter. In the meantime I am stroking your ear comfortingly from midtown

Need and MJ’s weight pinning him to a mattress brought sleep but not necessarily comfort. They both thought that this was a sick joke someone had played on him that was now destroying his psyche. They thought that the couple pointing him back towards the cosplayers had been in on the joke.

Peter would have agreed with them if it wasn’t for the Spidey Sense. Everything else lined up perfectly.

Ned sighed in the morning and told Peter to go talk to Wade.

Wade’s hallucinations were, by far, more auditory than visual, but he stayed quiet while Peter talked his ear off over the phone in his locked office. He waited until Peter had run out of words to describe the feeling of impending doom and then huffed a bit of a laugh into the receiver.

“Them Star Wars people are unreal, Pete, you know this,” he said. “Look at Ned.”

Ned was perfect.

“Take off those rosy shades, hon. Now, look again.”

Ned had perhaps memorized the entire scripts of the first three movie and 90% of the spaceship names and the jedi lineages.

“Uh-huh. Keep going.”

Peter didn’t want to.

“We all gotta do shit we don’t want do.”

Fine.

Ned’s goal in life was to go to his wedding in a stormtrooper suit.

“Keep going.”

Every Lego project they’d built together since 13 years-old had been a Star Wars-related one. When Ned had decided to move out of his parents’ place, he’d shed actual tears over MJ and Peter mutually suggesting that he sell some of his memorabilia.

“Will this delightful buffet before our very eyes, what is the likelihood of your two pals being drunk larpers in too deep to quit?” Wade asked.

73%.

“Uh-huh.”

“Thanks, Wade.”

“No problem. Although, now I gotta see this. You said they were behind Kitty’s? You think I can get a stormtrooper costume in 8 hours?”

“They’re not still gonna be there, Wade,” Peter huffed. “It’s 10 am.”

“You ain’t know that. What if Luke Skywalker’s a useless drunk, huh? You ever think of that?”

No.

“What’d he look like?”

Peter groaned.

“He looked like Luke Skywalker,” he said. “Blond hair, blue eyes—sort of like a chipmunk that forgot its stripes.”

“I’m onto you, Skywalker.”

Peter hung up to Wade’s cackle. He slouched low and tapped his pen against his desk. Then against his fingers.

He stared at the edge of his keyboard.

“What’s the weirdest thing you could imagine, Pete?” he asked himself.

PP: sam

SC: yeah?

PP: do you like star wars?

SC: nah

PP: you’re perfect

PP: do you believe in past lives?

SC: like spiritually or culturally? I know I was a cult-kid for a min there but before that we were Buddhists and like, past lives are part of the package

PP: that’s cool. What do you think of people being reborn as themselves again like, 500000000 years later? From a galaxy far far away?

SC: I don’t think about those people

PP: okay well, hypothetically. Let’s say that you were going to imagine someone who embodied that whole spirit. Who would it be?

SC: Buddha

PP: not buddha

SC: is this a riddle? Is it Jesus?

PP: THOR. Thank you this has been helpful ily bye

Mr. Stark asked him over a cup of viciously black coffee why Peter was seeking out the demigod of his present nightmares.

That usually meant that he and Thor had disagreed on basic physics principles again. Peter took that also to mean that the demigod was still in the building. Possibly loose.

“He’s with Banner,” Mr. Stark said scathingly.

“Thanks, you’re amazing,” Peter said as he sailed out of the room.

Thor was sitting on Dr. Banner’s lab table, despite Dr. Banner telling him to get off no fewer than two times in the five minutes that Peter was in there, schmoozing and making pleasantries. He warmed Thor up to the home-run hit by asking him all about past lives and present lives and what the soul was on Asgard. Thor was only too happy to explain a load of nonsense that made Banner roll his eyes and poke at his muscles with a thermometer.

“So, hypothetically speaking,” Peter drawled in a very casual lean, “With the infinite galaxies and universes, etcetera, there could be one where Star Wars people exist. And so hypothetically, they could get reborn into a universe like ours.”

Thor blinked at him.

“You remember the laser swords?” Dr. Banner deadpanned.

Thor lit up.

“I suppose it’s possible,” he told Peter indulgently. “But if that was the case then it would be a long tragedy, no?”

…yes…

Say more, Thor-man.

“Well,” Thor said with a big, happy smile, “The series of events that unfolded in that story seemed to me to be one of triumph and tragedy. With one would come the other—that’s how these stories work, yes?”

…yes.

“So if Master Luke Skywalker and his companions arrived into our space here, then they must experience the same in order to be themselves,” Thor said, bobbing his head in pity. “Perhaps what would look like a new start for such people would result only in terror and disappointment until the same conclusion was reached.”

Peter felt his own grin twitch.

“So it’s not impossible?” he asked.

Both Thor and Banner looked at him quizzically at the same time.

“Peter?” Dr. Banner asked. “Is this coming from somewhere?”

Peter’s grin twitched so violently, it turned into a grimace that even superstrength would not let him maintain.

“Can I borrow one of you?” he asked.

Wade was not happy to be met outside of Kitty’s in the middle of the day, especially because his stormtrooper outfit, in his words, ‘did no justice for the size of his balls.’

Peter was ignoring that. He dragged Thor past Wade’s righteous anger until he was standing on the place where the other two had stood the night before. Thor stood there gamely.

“There,” Peter said. “Any like, energy signatures?”

Thor glanced around and shrugged.

Wade scowled at him and hounded him off the spot so that he could stand there instead.

“I feel nothing,” he said, devoid of emotion.

“Same,” Thor said.

Damnit.

“Perhaps you are—”

The Spidey Sense smashed through all of Peter’s sense and screamed at him to get to the street.

Get to the street. Get to the street. Get to the—

There.

Across the way. Chipmunk, no stripes.

That was the guy from the day before. He was on the opposite sidewalk smashed in with the crowd, dragging a hand through his hair and laden with a backpack and two separate totes. He was wearing a strange set of clothes—a mash of casual and formal—and seemed to be in a hurry, the type of hurry that involved pushing past folks at a half-jog and not stopping at streetlights.

“Got ‘im,” Peter hissed.

“No shit?” Wade asked over his shoulder.

Thor made a sound of interest.

“I see him, too,” he said. “What incredible energy, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Wh—

Peter whirled on him.

“Don’t you fucking say that,” he warned. “I’m gonna go distract. You two, on my six.”

Peter broke four traffic laws on his way around the block. He swung himself around a corner and fucked up the collar on his labcoat and counted to four before stepping out right into ‘Luke’s path.

They collided. Luke stumbled back and dropped one of his totes.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Peter blustered. “Are you okay?”

Luke swore and dropped down without answering, collecting the odd ends of metal that had clattered out from his bag and now rolled loose over the pavement. Peter stooped to join, gathering rings and pipes of all sorts of sizes in his hands. Oncoming folks gave them a wide berth.

It took a moment for Luke to realize what Peter was doing, but when he did, his shoulders went stiff as a board.

“DON’T TOUCH THOSE,” he snapped, just as Peter made to pick up a little plastic bag with a wad of tissue inside it.

Peter froze.

“Oh. Sorry,” he said.

This time, Luke finally met his eye.

“Oh, Jesus. No. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” Luke blustered, “Thank you. I’ll—I’ve got them. Thank you, though. It’s okay.”

He took the metal out of Peter’s hands and stuffed them back into his bag. He snatched the plastic bag before Peter could touch it and put that on top.

“Excuse me,” he said as he stood. “Thanks again.”

And just like that, he hurried off past Peter down the pavement.

Peter watched him go.

“Catch?” Wade asked softly from the corner.

“Negative,” Peter said, reaching into his sleeve and holding up the thin aluminum tube he’d hidden up there by the edge of his shirt-sleeve.

It was shiny and longer than he’d expect for any plumbing project. The inside appeared to be coated with some sort of heavy, non-reactive material, and half of the outside had grooved bands carved into it.

“Someone’s building something,” he said.

“Mid-century sink?” Wade asked, taking the tube.

“Nope,” Peter said.

NL: That is a lightsaber hilt

NL: where did you get that? It’s like mega accurate. Was it etsy?

PP: I stole it

NL: give it back

PP: I can’t I stole it from Luke Skywalker.

NL: Peter.

NL: we talked about this.

PP: He’s Luke Skywalker. I swear on the grave of my mother

MJ: this is a problem. This is now an intervention.

PP: I will prove it. If he’s Luke Skywalker, then he will do ANYTHING to get this thing back.

NL: and if not?

PP: then I will wait two days before politely tracking down his home address and then I will return it via wall crawling

JS: UM

JS: SORRY

JS: PETER CAN YOU CALL ME?

PP: no

NL: no

MJ: no

JS: are

JS: are you sure??? Because there’s a guy in Reed’s lab right now talking to him and Sue, asking SUPER politely for access to—I shit you not—the crystals we picked up from that space trip the other day???

NL: …

PP: …

MJ: …

PP: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

MJ: fake

NL: no way

PP: WHAT’S HIS NAME, JOHNNY BOY????

JS: I can’t

PP: nope you gotta

JS: I can’t I’m gonna cry I didn’t ask for this

MJ: out with it

NL: please say it’s obi-wan

JS: HHHHHHHHHHH

JS: nope

JS: just a guy named Ben 🙃

PP: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

PP: I told you motherfuckers

JS: right. So like. Awkward. But you uh, know that hilt thing you have?

PP: …is Obi-Wan Kenobi about to beat my ass, Johnny?

There was something about putting the hilt into the palm of someone more famous than Captain America that made Peter’s knees weak.

It did not help that Luke Skywalker had flirted with him the other night.

It did not help that Luke Skywalker didn’t recognize him as Spiderman.

Nothing helped, really, especially when those big topaz eyes lifted and Peter could see that their rims were red and raw.

“Thanks,” Luke Skywalker—the embodiment of hope itself—said in a soft, defeated rasp.

Every alarm in Peter’s head said to save him. Save him from what? How? Who knew.

Ned and MJ seemed to feel the same way, if the pressure on each of his arms was anything to go by.

“Well, that’s all cleared up, then. Thank you so much for your help; it is deeply appreciated,” a stupidly pleasant gentleman with a perfectly combed beard and lovingly coifed light hair said to the room at large.

Obi-Wan Kenobi—pardon, Ben Kennedi—was far more handsome than any movie could ever dream to make him. What they’d done to him in the 1970s, Peter saw now, was a fucking crime. He watched as this beautiful human being set a warm hand on Luke Skywalker’s—pardon, Luke Naberry’s—shoulder and used it to steer him towards the Baxter Building’s front entrance.

He watched as the two of them, like true Master and Padawan, stepped out onto the landing and opted for the stairs. For one fleeting, unbelievable second, Luke looked back over his shoulder at all of them before taking the next step after his Master.

He was right the other night.

He wasn’t the only jedi. Not anymore.

“So that just happened,” Sue acknowledged for everyone after the door had clicked closed and the sound of footsteps had faded off to nothing.

“I’m going to cry,” Reed announced.

“This is single-handedly the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Ned said.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi walked into our kitchen,” Reed told Sue like she hadn’t been there right next to him.

“The empire is trying to establish itself under our very feet,” Sue said back a little viciously.

“The real empire,” Reed whimpered.

Wait.

No, go back.

“For real?” Peter asked.

Sue and Reed looked back at the rest of them and then exchanged a look.

Peter was sad now. Depressed and laid out on his side staring back at Valeria’s huge eyes on the floor while Ned and MJ and Johnny asked Reed and Sue two hundred clarifying questions.

Peter didn’t need the specifics. He was thinking back on the conversation that he’d witnessed between Luke and Han Solo—Han Solo who was tall with dark hair and dark eyes and an accent straight out of New Jersey. Solo who had probably been charged with forcing Luke to face the facts in front of all of them because he was the one who Luke trusted most.

But it had shattered them—both of them.

The New Hope had given up everything. He was tired. His heart was torn. He was jaded just like Peter had been that same night. He’d been avoiding the tightrope that Peter had already started crossing, though, probably looking for every possible way to not have to set the first foot on that wobbly line.

He’d walked it before.

Valeria reached out with a chubby, round hand and touched the side of Peter’s face.

“Spiderman,” she said with terrifying understanding, “Someone needs help.”

He wriggled in close enough to bonk heads with her.

“Baby Storm,” he whispered, “I think you’re right.”

MJ thought that Peter needed to leave things alone. She pointed out that he had plenty of problems without getting involved in universe-saving. She gestured to Johnny and volunteered him for the job.

Johnny refused on account of needing to be the prettiest blond in any room. He claimed that if he wasn’t, he had to fight for dominance.

Ned was on the other end of the spectrum. He had 43 reasons why Peter should get involved with things, and 40 of them ended up in the same place which was ‘it would be cool.’

One of Ned’s better reasons, however, involved pointing out that Peter had already stolen half of a lightsaber. He was good and involved now, whether he wanted to be or not. And that was enough for Peter to decide to go on a hunt to give a formal apology.

He recruited Ned to help him locate Luke Skywalker.

That didn’t work.

They tried Luke Naberry.

That didn’t work either.

They ended up going through every possible iteration of every Star Wars name they knew and then filtered out the people who’d been named by exuberant parents and then filtered out anyone who didn’t live in New York and they ended up with fat lot of still nothing.

It was like Luke Skywalker didn’t truly exist in this world.

Until MJ found his Instagram by typing in ‘guys who look weirdly like Luke Skywalker.’

She held the phone aloft in triumph and they all gathered round to gape in awe at her intelligence and research skills.

Luke’s Instagram was nothing but pictures of coffee.

He had one selfie and this selfie was enough to have gotten him onto a BuzzFeed article. In it he was holding—you guessed it—coffee. Iced coffee. One in each hand.

He was shaking them, and one had been labeled with his name—hence the public connection made.

“Someone needs to tell him that coffee is not a food group,” Johnny observed.

“Maybe he works nights,” MJ said.

Ned lifted an eyebrow.

“Maybe this is his job,” he said.

There was a pause.

Some snooping revealed that Luke was an honest to god food website editor. He was a cameraman.

Repeat. Luke Skywalker, cameraman. He filmed all the food hosts for his company’s Youtube channel. He edited videos. He more or less blended into the background of everything, while having his finger prints on damn near everything.

This was a man after Peter’s own soul. They were kindred spirits in hidden identities, content creation, and suffering under a boulder of responsibility too great to cope with.

He had to find him now.

And after they had his Instagram it wasn’t too hard. He seemed to hang out in various parts of the Bronx and Peter just so happened to know some folks out that way.

Louis told Peter that he would never speak to him again if he found, befriended, and then didn’t share Luke Skywalker (the man, the real man, I’m not fucking with you, Louis). But he also recognized a place on Luke’s instagram that he seemed to be working his way through the menu of. He sent along an address and told Peter not to forget his promises.

Angel asked why he was looking for Johnny Storm in the Bronx.

Peter left Louis to rattle sense into her.

He took a walk on Saturday morning. A long walk. A long train ride, then a walk, then a half hour of squinting, and then, lo and behold, he found a blond guy banging his head into the center of an out door metal table across from a woman with heavy braids trailing down the sides of her neck. She was much older than him and drummed white-painted fingernails across her cheek as she thought.

Peter hid and called Ned and MJ for an ID. He peeked the phone’s camera out enough for them to see the other two and then snatched it back.

Ned was about to flip a table.

“That’s clearly Ahsoka Tano,” he said. “She—the braids, dude. Dead give-away. And she put ribbons in them, like what even is discretion?”

Peter didn’t know that person. He continued not to know this person, even as Ned dragged him through a trainwreck of Star Wars lore.

“So she’s a friend,” he said.

“She’s like a jedi, but not like a jedi, she was a jedi, but then she said ‘fuck the order’ and—”

Great. Peter was approaching.

Ned held his face in his hands. MJ told Peter to report back on his findings. Peter ended the call and inched closer, weaving through the crowd and slipping into the coffee joint to see what nonsense they were selling.

It was nonsense with lots of syrup. He could never say no to syrup.

He watched the two outside while waiting for his order. Luke gesticulated to his friend and she spoke, giving reasonable gestures back. He stopped her and dug out his phone and that little plastic baggy full of fluffy material. He answered his phone. His friend took the little bag and held it up to the light.

She frowned at it.

Luke pushed away from the table and walked away to take his call. Peter’s order was called. He grabbed it and swerved out towards the patio.

“Hello,” he said at the edge of Luke and his friend’s table. “Is this seat taken?”

Luke’s friend stared at him.

“It is,” she said. “Move along, hon, you’re ten years too young.”

Wow.

“For your friend?” Peter tried. “Could I leave my number?”

He had this lady’s attention now. She was looking him up and down, appraising. Peter tried not to flex. He stayed cool. Matt-levels of cool. He smiled winningly.

“Alright, why not?” she said, digging through her bag for a receipt and a pen. Peter beamed as he leaned down to scrawl his number down on the back. He got halfway through before he heard a step stop nearby.

“Look alive, kid,” Luke’s friend said. “Hey, Luke, this guy was just—”

“You again?” Luke said.

Peter lifted his head and brows.

“Hi,” he said. “I just wanted to apologize.”

There was a long silence.

Luke’s friend looked between them and then gave Luke a long, judgmental stare.

“You don’t have to,” Luke said. “Thanks, though. How did you find me here?”

Mmm. Beginner’s luck.

“Here,” Peter said, offering his number on the receipt. “If you ever need someone to talk to who gets it.”

Luke’s friend bit her lip and looked away in secondhand embarrassment. Peter ignored her for now.

“Thanks,” Luke said. “You don’t and you won’t. But you’re very pretty.”

Nice.

“You’d be surprised,” Peter told him. “Gimme a text. I’ll leave y’all alone now. Enjoy your coffee.”

He left. But not before hearing, “but that ass, Luke.”

Ned told him that there was no way that Luke was ever going to text him and he was disappointed in Peter’s hostage-taking skills.

But he was proved wrong two hours later and, for his crimes, had to admit Peter’s brilliance publicly.

LS: hi sorry. This is Luke. This morning when you stopped by our table, did you happen to see a little plastic bag on it?

Why yes. The one in Peter’s pocket right now? That bag?

PP: hi!! I did, actually. You guys aren’t very subtle 😏

LS: it’s not coke

PP: I’m not judging

LS: no, it’s not coke, I swear. It’s something INFINITELY more important. Did you happen to see if it had fallen on the ground?

PP: ah, no, sorry. I didn’t see it

PP: OH NO

PP: oh my god I’m so sorry, I think I took it with me when I accidentally took your friend’s pen.

LS: I

LS: what’s your name?

PP: Peter ❤

LS: Peter, you have a fucking problem

LS: I’m starting to think that you want something from me. And listen, you’re a handsome guy, but I’m not available and my type isn’t kleptomaniac. What do you want for it?

PP: well you got me

PP: to talk

LS: about what?

PP: mostly about why you look like you’re a wet phonebook in a bad gutter

LS: a phonebook???? What era are you even from????

PP: I could say the same to you, sir.

LS: I

LS: wh

LS: alright touche. The point is that I’m not going to talk to you. I just need that bag back. It’s a life and death situation.

PP: what are they? They aren’t coke crystals.

LS: how would you know?

PP: what are you, a cop?

LS: NO. This is going nowhere. What. Do. You. Want?

PP: To. Talk.

LS: I’m not going to talk to you.

PP: then why did you ask me to rescue you?

He held his breath.

LS: I didn’t

PP: you did

LS: I didn’t ask you for shit. This is it. What’s your last name.

PP: Man 😊

LS: Man what

PP: That’s my last name.

LS: Peter Man.

PP: oop, nope, sorry. That’s someone else.

LS: …so I’m calling the police, now. That’s what we’re saying?

PP: depends. Do you still need to be rescued?

Come on, Skywalker. Come on, remember.

LS: I never asked you to rescue me.

PP: You did. Think back.

LS: I didn’t

LS: I just made a joke to

LS: WHAT AFAJSDFA DTTH E FUCK

Peter cackled and let himself fall onto his back.

PP: Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii ❤

LS: YOU’RE

PP: Just your friendly neighborhood guy ❤

LS: YOU

LS: you

PP: me

LS: THAT’s how the storms knew you

PP: yep 💋

LS: I don’t even know what to say

PP: it’s okay, you don’t have to say shit. The main thing I wanted you to know was that I hear you. And if you need it, I’ve got you.

LS: You’re literally trying to rescue me??

PP: it’s my job

LS: IT ISN’T. How have you never been arrested? how did you find me? Did you track my phone? Is it some kind of spider thing???

PP: yes

LS: I am legally obligated to kill you with the force now

PP: harder daddy

LS: ADaaSDASFSDFSdd

LS: oh my god Han is going to lose his gourd

LS: I’m sorry I just I can’t believe you of all people stole my damn hilt

PP: I’ve got……………………..sticky fingers

LS: go die

LS: no I didn’t mean that sorry that’s a thing with me and my sister. I mean, okay. You got me. Hero of NYC.

Peter’s cheeks were starting to hurt.

PP: I’ll bring them back to you.

LS: Please do, Ben’s about to have a stroke.

PP: you mean obi-wan?

LS: he’s convinced his cat ate them. There’s a staring contest happening. No one has blinked in two minutes and I don’t want to be here for the internal investigation.

PP: where do you live?

Luke sent an address. Peter held his phone high and walked it into the living room where Ned was bitchily composing an Instagram post. He and MJ looked up at the same time.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Peter said. “Luke Skywalker and Co. live in a cemetery.”

It wasn’t a cemetery. It was a funeral home, but close enough.

Luke was waiting outside on the stoop in a cardigan about four sizes too big for him. It was there probably to protect him from the equally large ragdoll cat in his arms.

Peter smiled. Luke stared at him and then shook his head and went through the screen door. Ned gave Peter a biting look.

“Made friends, I see,” he said.

“We’re doin’ great,” Peter told him, hopping up the stairs. “Look at us, totally—”

“Insidious.”

Peter stopped and turned nervously to see through the screen door where Obi-Wan Kenobi had seized both of the cat’s cheeks. Luke continued to hold it with maximum doneness levels.

“Where have you been?” Obi-Wan asked the cat seriously.

“We have guests,” Luke said. “Take your beast.”

Obi-Wan snatched the cat out of Luke’s arms with contempt all over his face.

“You are a villain of the highest order,” he told it.

“Ben. Guests. Please evacuate. I am hosting negotiations,” Luke said.

“We should have named you ‘Sith.’”

“Ben.”

Peter was not going to laugh at Obi-Wan Kenobi. That was too surreal.

“Come in,” Luke said, returning to hold open the screen. “I hope you’re not allergic. There are two of them.”

T-two?

“The other one is Junior.”

Peter stepped over the threshold and found himself in a room that looked like a human birdhouse. It was full of surfaces that were almost completely empty, as though an enrichment object had once lived there but had been removed as punishment. Luke waved Ned and MJ in and accepted their apologies on Peter’s behalf.

Peter ignored them to lock eyes with a creature more stunning than any he had ever encountered. It sat on the kitchen counter by a single clear jar labelled ‘Not Spice.’ It blinked grumpy green eyes.

“Oh, it’s these people again?”

They all looked behind them to see Obi-Wan peering around a doorframe with the first cat draped over his shoulders.

“Kleptomaniac,” Luke said, pointing at Peter. Peter waved.

“Huh,” Obi-Wan said simply. “I will distract Ahsoka.”

He vanished. Luke grimaced after him.

“Let’s go talk in the back,” he said. “There are no bodies, I promise.”

The funeral home had a little deck and a yard small even for this far out in Queens. It was crammed full of plants that appeared to be in a competition to bloom. Luke invited them to sit and then left to make coffee.

Coffee, yes, how had Peter forgotten.

He peeked over the side of the deck down where there was a large stone set in the center of the garden.

“A seeing stone,” Ned whispered to him.

“Oh, how did you know?”

They all jumped.

Peter swore that Obi-Wan hadn’t opened that sliding door. How had—what—

Ned was at a loss for words in the face of one of his greatest heroes.

“I—uh. M-movie? I mean, sorry. It was in The Mandalorian, second season, with the—”

“Yet more television,” Obi-Wan said derisively.

They all stared.

“Can you teleport?” MJ asked him.

“I thought you were bothering Ahsoka?” Luke asked, from inside. He squeezed past the man and his cat with three glass mugs in hand. He set them down on the little square table off to the side of the desk railing.

“I was, but then I got curious,” Obi-Wan said. “And I lost Junior.”

Luke stared at him.

“I’m going to lock you in the basement,” he said.

“Try, try, and try again,” Obi-Wan told him, petting his beloved cat’s head.

“Do you even know who Spiderman is, old man?”

“More television.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Peter had to keep a conscious watch on his jaw, lest it fall open in the face of the most handsome, clueless man on the planet. He watched as Obi-Wan, disgusted with all this ‘television’ nonsense skulked back off into the guts of the home. Luke shut the door behind him.

“So,” he said, holding out his hand. “We’re talking. Fork ‘em.”

Ah.

Fair was fair.

Peter produced the plastic bag from his pocket and handed it over. There was a shout somewhere inside followed by someone going ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’

“Ben keeps our home ghost free. He terrifies all the wannabee haunters,” Luke said simply. “Thank you for these. I imagine it’s somewhat of a shock to learn that it’s all real.”

It was, but it wasn’t the weirdest thing Peter had encountered by far.

“How long have you lived in New York?” he asked conversationally.

Luke gave him a weird brow.

He seemed smaller than before in that enormous cardigan. Certainly smaller than the movies made him seem. His face was a little thinner too, and his lips seemed to slope into an almost permanent pout.

“About twenty years,” he said. “We were born in California, but Anakin moved us here when we were eight.”

Anakin? Like, Darth Vader, Anakin?

“’Luke, I am your father’—yeah, that guy,” Luke said with a scoff. “Except, you know, he ain’t dead. And he’s the only one who can make Ben remember that tea isn’t a meal, so we keep him around for that and to scream back at Leia.”

Peter was already completely lost to the dynamics of this household. It wasn’t like the books and movies—Ned’s twitching for his phone to take notes was proof enough of that.

“That’s awkward,” MJ said. “So did y’all do like, collective counselling for the past life shit?”

Luke deflated and moaned into his hands.

“It’s not past life shit if your damn name is the same,” he said. “It’s complicated.”

It sounded like it.

Imagine growing up with your apparently-Star War-obsessed father and uncle who’d built a home and a business (presumably) around that shit, only to find out later that they’d done it because it was literally their religion.

What a trip.

“When did you find out?” Peter asked gently.

“Oh, you know. Last week,” Luke said with a bitter grin. “Quit my fulltime job. Dumped my ex. Broke my lease and now here I am. Once again. Back at this place.”

“Do you want a hug?” Ned asked into the awkward silence.

“You’re very sweet,” Luke said. “If I touch another human, I will start crying and never stop.”

Yikes.

Barely holdin’ on by a thread there, buddy? How’s the hyperawareness going?

“Why does it matter, is my question. For you, I mean,” Luke said with a suspicious squint. “You fought a goblin guy, didn’t you? With a hover board?”

Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuh, yeah.

Yeah, Peter sure had done that.

“And like, the bird dude? Didn’t you down a plane?”

Perhaps.

But Luke had blown up the Deathstar, no?

“These things are not equivalent,” Luke said flatly. “I joined a rebel alliance. There were loads of us.”

Mmm. Perhaps so.

“God, how old are you even? You look 22.”

Peter gawked.

“I’m 27,” he said.

Luke did a double-take.

“That’s a lie,” he accused. “Tell the truth or be compelled.”

“By the Force?” Ned asked hopefully.

Luke blinked at him. He pointed at the glass sliding door which revealed Obi-Wan holding Junior the cat above his head by the kitchen sink.

“The Force,” he said.

Ned’s face fell.

“Do we not have the Force, here?” he asked.

Luke flinched.

“Listen,” he said abruptly, “We’re workin’ on it. This isn’t our original galaxy. The rules are all different. The only one who’s managed to make even a spark happen is Obi-Wan so far, but as soon as we find Master Yoda, it’s over. We’ll already have won.”

“You lost Yoda,” MJ mused.

Luke stammered and caught himself.

“We lost a lot of people,” he snapped. “It happens when you shift galaxies. Anyways, that’s what the stone is for.”

MJ glanced back at the stone and then leaned her forearms onto the small table.

“So, let me get this straight,” she said. “You jedi folks all popped up over here by some cosmic accident. You don’t have the Force. Most of you don’t even remember who you are. You lost your most experienced Master, and you’re going to fight the Sith?”

Peter stirred his coffee nervously.

Luke’s eye twitched.

“We don’t need the others,” he said. “We only need the Force. To fight the Sith. Yes.”

MJ frowned deep and held her chin with both hands.

“So you need the thing you for sure don’t have the most,” she said.

Luke opened his mouth, but not before the window by the door snapped open and Obi-Wan leaned out to say, “We always have the Force.”

Luke covered his face in despair.

“I was listening from the kitchen window,” Obi-Wan told him lovingly.

“GO FIND CODY ALREADY,” Luke roared at him.

“I did, he’s right here,” Obi-Wan said soothingly, stroking his angry cat.

“The other Cody.”

“Oh, I am trying, don’t you worry.”

“Ben, so help me God—”

“Force.”

“SO HELP ME FORCE—”

Star Wars had really left out the part about Luke’s explosive temper. Peter winced, but Ned laughed and the sound seemed to have a calming effect on Jedi-on-Jedi crime about to take place in the kitchen. Obi-Wan appeared pleased with this development and emboldened. He wove past Luke out onto the desk and came over, cat and all, to point down to the seeing stone in the middle of the garden.

“Others who feel the Force’s energy will be drawn to it,” he told Ned fondly. “It’s how we got Luke back home.”

“It’s not,” Luke said. “You called me.”

“And so others will also come,” Obi-Wan said with confidence. “The most important thing is that we believe in the Force. And from that, we will find guidance and power and—”

“He means Yoda,” Luke translated. “He’s been putting frogs on it as an offering, even though me, Ahsoka, and Anakin told him that this is a human’s world. A human’s world, Ben. Even if he did eat them, he’s not eating them raw.”

“Don’t be discouraged by Luke’s attitude, he is very stressed,” Obi-Wan told Ned and Ned only affectionately. “I told him not to be, you see there are four of us here already, and the Chosen One is among us.”

“Anakin told you to stop calling him that,” Luke moaned, massaging his temples.

“He was the first to be aware of our present situation,” Obi-Wan said.

“He took a hallucinogen and had a paranoid breakdown,” Luke pleaded. “Ben, please. Go inside. Think of your blood pressure.”

“Perhaps, but it was a useful breakdown, was it not?”

“I am so sorry for him, he’s getting senile,” Luke said to the rest of them.

“Your energy is different,” Obi-Wan informed Peter out of absolutely nowhere. “Are you also Force-sensitive? Were you drawn to the stone?”

Er.

No.

Sorry?

“He’s Spiderman,” Luke said, gesturing pointedly. “Remember Spiderman?”

Obi-Wan did not. Peter suspected, actually, that Obi-Wan still used phonebooks, if he used phones at all, that was.

Luke took a deep breath and let it out.

“Okay, let me just lay it out,” he said. “We’re doing the best we can with what we have. You don’t have to get involved with this. We appreciate your help, but what would help us even more is if you stay out of it, alright?”

Yeah, okay. Sure. Peter could respect that.

“Amazing. And don’t tell other people.”

Understood.

“Unless they’re Force-sensitive,” Obi-Wan said. “In which case, ask them how they feel about rocks.”

Luke just stared at him coldly this time.

“You didn’t used to be like this,” he said dangerously.

“No, I used to be stressed,” Obi-Wan told him. “But you and Ani are doing that for me, so I have resolved to be a free spirit. Nice to meet all of you. Have more coffee. I don’t like this one; I will have it out of the house by sundown.”

He left, and possibly for good this time. No one knew what to say in his absence.

“So,” Peter tried, desperate for something to break up the tension. “You said a few days ago that you were looking for someone?”

Luke finally stopped making growling faces towards the sliding door. He lit up like a bulb.

“I am, actually,” he said.

Luke was looking for a very particular person named ‘Din.’ He described him as ‘six feet tall and covered in armor.’ He asked if they knew of such a person.

Peter had to shove a hand against his mouth in case he made an unwanted connection between this description and Obi-Wan behavior.

“Haven’t,” MJ said. “Who is he?”

“My husband,” Luke said.

Ned choked.

Peter choked.

MJ tilted her head.

“You have a husband?” she asked. “I would have remembered a husband in that series.”

Luke leaned his chin on his palm and gazed sideways over the city. He seemed to sigh.

“I don’t know why he isn’t connected to me in the media created here,” he said. “It’s probably because he’s always been very shy.”

Oh, aw. Peter loved that. The contrast between them was heart-warming.

“We had a son together,” Luke said. “His child. He brought him to me. One of my students, at first.”

Hang on a minute here.

Peter exchanged a glance with Ned. Ned tried very hard to pick a way to approach this sensitively. He landed on asking, “What was his name again?”

“Din,” Luke said. “Din Djarin.”

Ned cringed.

“He was a Mandalorian,” Luke explained. “Very, very, very shy. Like, he would rather chew off his own leg than make small talk with a stranger. I think, before I knew all this, I was still subconsciously looking for him. All my exes are the same type.”

That—

Okay, so like.

Did these people own a TV?

“Do we look like we own a TV?” Luke deadpanned. “No. If Ben senses anything bigger than a datapad happening in this place, he’s driven to madness and breaks it.”

UH?

“He doesn’t actually break it,” Luke sighed. “He just finds a way to make it unusable—putting clothes on it, disconnecting the monitor, that kind of thing. He thinks they waste electricity.”

What a guy. Peter wanted to put him and May in a room and see what conspiracies they could spin together.

“Why do you ask?” Luke asked.

Ned cleared his throat.

“Do you have a, uh, datapad, then?” he asked.

“DIN. That’s DIN. He’s got his own show. Oh my god, that’s—stay right there. Don’t move.”

Bless this man. Peter wanted to hug him so bad. They’d lost him to the staircase leading up from the second floor to the attic. Peter wondered who he was showing the tablet to.

Maybe Obi-Wan?

“I told you this already,” a voice up there said.

“LOOK AT HIM.”

“You’re killin’ me, smalls. We had this exact conversation last week. Did you forget?”

“You knew where he was.”

“Alright, alright. Downward march.”

Anakin fucking Skywalker came down the stairs with a handful of Luke’s shirt in one hand and the tablet shoved under his other arm. He paused and frowned at the three of them in the kitchen frozen in shock, and then apparently decided that that didn’t matter. He carried on dragging Luke with him towards the kitchen counter. He dropped the tablet onto it and Peter realized that the lower half of his sleeve on that side was empty.

He watched as the guy let go of Luke and chased the not-angry cat off the counter, cursing.

“Alright, this?” he said, tapping on the tablet. “Is the link I put here.” He rapped the same finger on what Peter now saw was a whiteboard covered in rows upon rows of symbols that he’d never seen before.

“Din here? Din here. You see?” Vader told Luke with untold patience.

“I can’t read that,” Luke moaned. “You lied to me.”

“It’s up in the kitchen, Luke.”

“You’re a liar and a cad. Do it in Basic.”

“This is Basic.”

Oh, dear. All that fanfic about Luke meeting Darth Vader and having a breakdown was looking real embarrassed now, wasn’t it?

“If it’s Basic, why can’t I read it?” Luke demanded.

“Because, like I told you last night, the night before, and the night before that,” Vader said painstakingly, “It doesn’t all come back at once. It’s going to take time.”

“We don’t have time,” Luke snapped.

Vader leaned his head back with half-lidded eyes. Luke didn’t look even remotely like his kid, even with him looking all pre-quels-like now.

“We talked about this, too, remember?” Vader asked.

Obviously not. Luke was distressed. He had eyes only for the tablet now.

“No, of course not, silly me,” Vader said. “Why are humans here?”

“Ahsoka went home,” Luke said.

“Thank you, that was not my question.”

“What was your question?”

“Why are non-order humans here?”

“I told you, Ahsoka went—”

“Son, I will kill you if you continue to act like Obi-Wan,” Vader said without missing a beat.

“You can try,” Luke said offhandedly. “But only one of us has two handed grip.”

There was a long stare.

“It’s Obi-Wan,” Vader told him. “Why do we have living guests?”

He gestured back to Peter, Ned, and MJ like they were flies on a set of blinds.

“Oh, because that’s Spiderman and he stole your kyber crystals,” Luke said.

Vader rounded on Peter, and Peter actually felt fear.

Vader blinked once.

“This may as well happen,” he decided somehow placidly. “I’m going back upstairs. Where did your grand-master go?”

“Into the mist,” Luke said. “Can you feel Din?”

“Negative, ghostrider.”

“When the Force chooses you first out of favoritism, can you feel for Din?”

“Ah yes, can I feel for your Force-repellant life partner with all of the Force energy that I do not have? Yes, I sure can.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Anytime, primary monstrosity of my loins.”

UM?

This felt a little hostile for Peter’s tastes. Not that it wasn’t earned. Clearly it was earned. It was just horrifying.

“Guests, you are dismissed,” Vader said in their direction. “Unless you’re drawn to the rock outside, in which case, you may stay. Otherwise, do not darken this doorstep again, or else we will leave you with the other dead in the morgue.”

“Thanks for bringing the crystals,” Luke said from behind him. “And for talking. I do feel better, actually.”

They left the funeral home. Obi-Wan was outside by the mailbox as though waiting for them. Peter wasn’t sure he had any emotional energy left to approach him with.

“Thank you for speaking to Luke,” he said as the three of them attempted to pass unnoticed. “It’s good for him to talk to others his own age.”

Uh-huh. Good night, sir?

“Good night, Peter, Ned, and Michelle.”

They hadn’t given their names.

They definitely hadn’t given their names.

Ned wasn’t sleeping for two years. He made this clear with a lot of clapping gestures and then rolled around on the floor, talking about all kinds of shit that Peter couldn’t decipher. MJ watched him and flicked her eyes up to Peter with concern on her forehead.

“That family is cinematically dysfunctional,” she said.

Correct.

“They’re barely their own characters.”

Correct.

“What now?”

Peter wasn’t sure. The best he could think of was to just keep an eye on the situation. Maybe check in every couple of weeks?

“If you say so,” MJ said. “I think you made Ned’s life, by the way. Good job.”

Peter tried checking in every two weeks. It started because he happened to hear of a tunnel collapsing in Queens nearby the funeral home. He texted Luke to ask if he needed a save and all he got back was a ‘well, not anymore.’

After that, Peter kept a close eye on happenstances occurring around the city. There were more than he bargained for. And when he glanced at Luke’s Instagram after the first week after the tunnel collapse, he noted that two of the nails on the hand Luke held his coffee to the camera with had gone completely black.

That was worrying.

Peter was used to be the danger-prone asshole in his friendgroup. He did not like this role-reversal. MJ asked him sarcastically what the problem was.

He texted Luke again.

PP: how many nails do you have left bro?

LS: we put a hole in one to release the pressure

PP: that don’t sound great bro.

LS: it’s fine. Oh, but good news

PP: oh?

LS: the most predictable thing ever has happened. The Vader has regained force power

PP: that’s worrying

LS: ? why?

PP: won’t he go dark?

LS: ah, no. He fucked up and raised me and Leia with Ben this time after our mom died. He had his chance to go dark and traded it for 8 consecutive hours of sleep instead.

PP: I truly don’t know what to say

LS: It’s fine we did 12 years of family therapy after the accident so we are no longer on the DSS watchlist

PP: I know less what to say

LS: he won’t find din :/

PP: is that your priority right now?

LS: aren’t you supposed to be spiderman or something? Don’t you have chaotic things to say?

PP: you know normally I do, this is literally out of character for me. but I think you also might be absorbing my chaos.

LS: that’s fair. I have that effect on people. Hey, is your buddy Ned available to chat? He knows more than I can remember about my old life. Can I borrow him?

That sounded like a horrendous decision.

PP: yeah let me get you his number.

LS: thanksssss

Ned reported a few days later that his services were needed at the funeral home. He was leaving them all now to befriend Luke Skywalker as was his true destiny.

He came back a few hours later and reported that his services had been helpful and he was pleased to say that Darth Vader was now the official herder of ‘wans’ in the house. This included all Obi-Wans and padawans.

He seemed to be the only guy there who could like, retain information given to him for some reason. He accepted this as his lot in life and went around repeating the same things to the others ad nauseum until they finally stuck for them.

Peter wondered if that was his personal hell.

Ned didn’t think so. He thought the guy was pretty chill about it and had probably been doing it for a while now. He did it more for Ahsoka Tano and Luke than he did for Obi-Wan. Although that was probably because Obi-Wan appeared to be on a hunt that made all non-relevant information given to him slip off his back like water.

Another two weeks. Another text.

PP: hey luke, I saw you drowning on the news. You okay?

LS: GOD my ex-workplace keeps calling welfare checks on our house. We’ve had more cops here then flies these last few days.

PP: ex-workplace is one way to refer to your old job. Sounds like they cared about you. What did you do?

LS: preschool teacher.

Peter was going to lose his shit right here on this bed.

PP: was that your calling?

LS: that was Luke Naberry’s calling. Luke Skywalker’s calling is to make the lightsaber go vrrrrrrm

PP: you honestly terrify me

LS: thanks han says the same thing. OH. HE FOUND CHEWIE.

PP: no shit??

LS: yeah I told Ned, not you. But yeah. He found him lugging boxes for a bodega. And now they both work at the same bodega. Which like, objectively, is a bad thing because Han was a UN translator.

PP: I’m

PP: sorry

PP: what?

LS: I know he was all respectable and shit. It was awful. I can look at him again without feeling like I’ve failed in every part of my life.

PP: dare I ask what your sister does?

LS: lawyer

PP: not senator?

LS: we’re not old enough to be senators.

PP: every moment becomes more concerning than the next. You fascinate me. This is why they put you in like, all the films.

LS: because I’m sexy yeah

PP: that too

LS: not to you. I’m off-limits bub. I’m married.

PP: how’s that going for you?

LS: Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

PP: I see. So no Din yet?

LS: I will find him if it kills me

PP: that’s so romantic. Hey you should watch that series. They gave him a little green yoda in it. Really cute.

LS: that’s my son you piece of shit

There was no winning here.

MJ asked him a few weeks later if he was still keeping up with the Jedi drama since the whole city had recently decided that Peter was a snack.

Obviously he hadn’t.

She told him not to worry, Ned had. She told him to talk to Ned, so he went and talked to Ned with a heatpad in one hand and a coldpack in the other.

Ned patted at him sympathetically and informed him that Luke had reunited with the Force. It was going poorly for him, mostly because the Force wasn’t used to people being in touch with it in these parts of the universe. It kept telling each of the jedi that there was a disturbance and then luring them to each other to fight to the death.

Luke described it as the Force-equivalent of an auto-immune disease.

They’d taken to gathering in the living room of the funeral home to meditate in a circle, as though to calm the Force’s anxiety while scenting each other for protection.

It had a 40% success rate. Everyone was sleeping in locked rooms for the time being, just in case someone got compelled to do something rash.

Peter asked Ned if he’d finally lost his crown as King Chaos of NYC.

Ned patted him on the knee more firmly than before and said that he could regain his crown by introducing a calming element into the jedi household.

Peter had his pride to defend, so he asked what that element ought to be.

Din Djarin, the Mandalorian, the leader of all Mandalorians, was bound to have a name that looked nothing like the one they had for him. Luke nearly exploded when Peter approached him to asked him (and his taped fingers) more about who Din Djarin was outside the name.

They proceeded with caution, however. So far, Peter and Ned had discovered only dissonance between Luke’s account of his life partner (his ‘heart, stars, sun, and sand’) and the guy on the screen for the tv show. That was to be expected, given that they had met Luke now and learned of his somewhat explosive personality.

But even still, Luke’s description of Din Djarin as ‘kind, compassionate, tender, shy, emotionally stable, dependable, sweet, caring, and hunky’ seemed slightly biased.

Peter just wanted to know how tall this guy was. Hair color. Eye color. Skin color. Blood type. That kind of shit.

Luke said that Din had brown hair, brown eyes, Type Who Knows What blood, and was about six feet tall. He had no idea how much he weighed. He’d never had need for that information. He knew that Din was human, which was probably helpful in a galaxy far, far away. He knew that he spoke Mando’a as his first language, then Basic, then a whopping fifteen others. And he knew that Din was probably looking after their son.

Vader asked Peter over a mug of coffee (also labeled in the funeral home’s cabinet as ‘not spice.’) if Spidersenses could overcome a dearth of information. It took Peter a few moments to realize that he was sympathizing with him.

“You’re not going to find Din,” Vader told Luke. “You need to look for the kid. You’ll find the kid first, you always have.”

Luke took his coffee and poured it down the drain.

Peter decided that he didn’t want to get in between that burgeoning battle. He told Luke to text him if he remembered anything else.

Wade was pissed that Peter had been meeting and ‘cavorting’ with Luke Skywalker without him. He claimed ownership of the Din Djarin mystery in order to cram himself into Luke’s good graces. But quickly, he ran into the same stumbling blocks as Peter.

Din Djarin was six feet tall with brown eyes and brown hair.

That was what they currently had to go on.

Wade would have torn out his hair if he had any, but he stopped himself and accepted the challenge. Peter watched over his shoulder as he chicken-pecked his way into a list of social security numbers held by the NYC State ID issuing department and started methodically filtering names that did not sound like ‘Din.’

He started broad with all ‘D’s and then narrowed it down further and further and further until he was left with a shitload of Daniels.

He stared at the screen before him and vibrated.

Peter massaged his shoulders before he cracked.

It helped. Wade started filtering by height, then by eye color. Then by hair, and only ended up with several hundred people.

He vibrated again, but this time, Peter couldn’t help him.

He sighed. Wade said that there had to be a better way to do this. He got up.

Wade made about four thousand missing posters with the name Din Djarin on them which he recruited the whole team to plaster up around NYC. This was not a request.

Miles asked him why they were doing this for a tv character and had to be let in on the gig.

He lost his shit.

Louis tried to retain his shit.

Angel still didn’t know how the whole jedi thing worked.

Dave hummed and haw’ed and took his time in calling bullshit. Wade asked him to look deep into his eyes and ask if he was entertaining bullshit that fine evening.

Dave changed his opinion and took a stack.

There was no way that shit was supposed to work. There was just no way. A) because Wade had the worst ideas of all mankind and B) because Peter had the worst luck of all mankind. So the two of them together should have destroyed all the prospects of success for that job.

But instead, while they were hatching a new plot involving setting up a sham sociological study for people who responded to Star Wars names, Wade’s phone went off.

He grabbed it and opened the message and lo and behold right there was a note that read,

“I hope you are not a reporting body because this is going to sound certifiably insane, but I think I might be the guy you’re looking for?”

Wade screamed.

Peter scolded him not to get too excited too soon. They had to see the man first.

Wade texted furiously, asking for a picture and got a message back that said, “please do not dox me.”

They got no answer until Wade promised not to dox the guy.

And then they got an image of a man with brown hair and brown eyes with olive skin. His face was remarkably square. The picture wasn’t just him, though, he had in his arms a little boy with a head covered in tight ringlets. His eyes were so dark they were nearly black and he was maybe two years old.

The caption said, “apologies, my son needed to be in the picture.”

Wade cooed and entered Dad Mode to ask how old the baby was and what he liked to do and Peter lost the fathers to that small talk for a while before Wade oh-so-casually asked, “So you feel like you’re from outer space?”

“It sounds strange,” the guy on the other said wrote back, “But I do. Like every day I wake up and look in the mirror and something is wrong. I feel like I’m always forgetting something when I leave the house. I watched the tv show of the guy who’s name was on your fliers and the kid in it reminds me so much of my son. It’s eerie. They make the same sounds. He made the same sounds before we even watched that show.”

Wade whistled.

“I think this is him, Pete,” he said. “He called Baby Yoda a ‘kid’ not a yoda.”

Peter stared. He hadn’t even caught that. That was smart as hell.

“So what now?” he asked.

Wade sniffed.

“Get Skywalker to send you a selfie,” he said.

PP: Luke are you pretty right now?

LS: My face is intact

PP: take a selfie and send it to me

LS: cannot do that. Face is intact is a baseline situation. Let me find an old one. Oh, they all have my ex in them. This is awkward.

PP: it doesn’t matter I can crop it.

LS: no I have to be cute or I’ll perish hold on

PP: are you sure you’re not Johnny Storm?

LS: yes, he’s got loads of muscles. Sent.

Selfie acquired.

Luke looked very smiley in it. His eyes were blown out from the lighting, but it showed his sloping smile and his low, back-set dimples. Peter sent it to Wade. Wade sent it to his new friend.

They waited.

They waited five minutes.

Then ten.

Then half an hour.

Then nearly two.

And finally, Wade’s phone rang. He picked it up and set it on speaker so that Peter could hear.

“Hello?” Wade said.

There was a long pause.

“Where did you get that picture?” a low, almost smoky voice demanded on the other side.

“A friend,” Wade said sleazily. “You know him? He’s a cute little thing, ain’t he?”

It took the dude on the other side of the line worryingly long to respond.

“What do you want?” he finally asked.

Wade brought his head down in interest.

“What’re you willing do to?” he asked.

They waited. Peter didn’t know what was taking this guy so long to—

“Anything.”

Ah.

Okay. That.

That sounded about right.

Wade cackled.

“You know his name?” he asked.

“I do,” the man said.

“What’s his name then, pal?” Wade asked.

“It’s none of your fucking business.”

Holy shit. Holy shit. Peter clutched the back of the couch. Wade was grinning so hard, Peter could see it through his mask.

“You want him, you need to show me that you know who he is,” Wade said. “I ain’t got ‘im here, but I know where he is. Come on, big boy. Who is he?”

Peter could hear the man take in a deep, shaky breath.

“His name is Luke,” Din fucking Djarin, the Mandalorian himself, said.

Din fucking Djarin’s name at the moment was Danny Jabaran. He stood six feet tall with a medium build and that baby of his in his arms.

He was not afraid of Wade.

He was not afraid of Peter.

The suits didn’t scare him; this man was a space warrior. The leader of the space warriors. Peter was humbled to stand in his presence, old jeans and tattoos and all.

“Vigilantes,” he acknowledged.

“Deadpool,” Wade said, offering a hand. “And this is?”

“Grogu,” Djarin said.

Baby Yoda lifted his big liquid eyes up to Wade and blinked twice. Then he wriggled around and hid in Djarin’s neck. Djarin put a hand on his back and didn’t drop eye contact.

“Tell me everything,” Djarin said.

Ned screamed. Michelle screamed. Peter reminded them that he had neighbors and invited Mr. Mand’alor to sit on the couch for a bit while he called Luke.

Michelle claimed the spot next to Djarin and asked Baby Yoda Grogu for his little hand. He studied her and hid again, making a prolonged sound of distress that Djarin cut off by saying, “Hey. Manners.”

This somehow made baby Grogu turn back to Michelle to stare at her offered hand.

He took it. She shook with him and then took hers away.

Grogu perked up and reached for it again.

“You’re the Mandalorian,” Ned said.

Djarin looked right at him.

“A Mandalorian,” he corrected.

Ned blinked back tears.

“You’re so cool,” he creaked.

Djarin frowned.

“You...are too?” he tried.

Ned wept into a fist.

Peter left them to call Luke in his bedroom. Luke picked up on the third ring with the start of an ingrained greeting that sounded a whole lot like a customer service recording. He caught himself, though.

“I have someone I’d like you to talk to,” Peter said. “I think you might want to sit down.”

Luke’s unusual quiet on the other side made Peter grin.

“Are you sitting?” he asked.

“I’m sitting.”

“Alright, one moment,” Peter said, walking out into the living room. Djarin had edged far, far away from Ned, as far as he possibly could without being rude. He looked up when Peter came over and sat down on the arm next to him.

“Say hi,” Peter said.

Djarin frowned at him and then the phone.

“Who’s that?” he asked.

Peter waited. Djarin lifted his head over to see the phone’s screen.

“Hello?” he tried.

“Din?”

The Spidey Sense crashed through Peter like a tidal wave.

Djarin had gone completely still.

“Din? Is that you? Can you hear me?”

“Shit,” Djarin said, lifting a hand to cover his eyes. “Goddamnit. Jesus.”

“DIN.”

“Dank Fucking Farrik.”

“Oh my god.”

Baby Grogu’s face snapped toward the phone with huge eyes. He grabbed at Djarin’s collar, then his jaw and started bouncing a little in his arms.

“Bu?” he asked.

Djarin couldn’t make himself move.

“Grogu?” Luke asked. “Hey, baby, is that you, bubba?”

Grogu grabbed Djarin’s face urgently, so that he couldn’t hide his raw eyes anymore.

He pointed at the phone.

“Yeah, I hear ‘im, kid,” Djarin said.

“MMMMM. Gib.”

“Ah. That’s not ours. We don’t grab. We ask,” Djarin reminded as Grogu pleaded for the phone. Peter snickered and gave it to him. He just held it, staring.

“Do you wanna see him?” Peter asked. “Luke, can we maybe video chat?”

“Y-yeah,” Luke said. “Hold on. Oh god, my face. Uh, hey Din are you still near-sighted, hon?”

Djarin huffed a laugh that turned into a whole-body tremor.

“I got contacts,” he said a little hysterically.

“You got WHAT?” Luke yipped, “Okay, no. No, I gotta. Be still, this heart. Okay let me just take off the butterflies. On moment, Grogu, Daddy’s just gotta dunk his face in the damn sink.”

MJ bounced her eyebrows at Peter as he gently took the phone back from Grogu and tapped on the camera. He offered it back the kid and received a deep gaze of wonder in return. Djarin turned the screen right-side up in his hands.

Luke finally turned his camera on and revealed himself to be very swollen in the jaw with damp hair and a cut very close to the rim of his left eye.

Grogu screeched.

Luke laughed.

“Look at you,” he said, “I’m gonna cry. Oh my god. Where’re your ears, pal?”

Grogu analyzed this reaction for 2 full seconds and then shoved the camera right into his dad’s forehead. Djarin took it from him and liberated himself so that he could see Luke who was clutching at his face, absolutely already sobbing, bless him.

He looked up to see Grogu and instead got Djarin and finally just broke right in half.

Peter swallowed back the growing lump in his throat. His eyes were starting to warm a little.

Djarin found a watery smile in himself.

“I know you’re not cryin’ because of me,” he said gently.

“Where’s your helmet?” Luke sobbed, wiping viciously at his eyes. “People are watching, you harlot.”

“I know,” Djarin said. “I lost it.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Luke.”

“This is all my fault. I should’ve—I should’ve—”

“Luke,” Djarin said again, full of warmth, “You died for us.”

Luke shook harder than ever.

“There is no greater sacrifice a warrior can make,” Djarin told him. “I was honored for you to have made it for me and our son. This has always been the Way.”

“This is the Way,” Luke stammered.

“I missed you,” Djarin said. “Where in God’s name have you been?”

“I was a preschool teacher in the Bronx, man, I dunno what happened,” Luke said tipping his face up to force the tears back in.

“In the Bronx? Where?”

“Uh, off Allerton and Lurting?”

Djarin started shaking with laugher.

“I work off Laconia and Mace,” he said.

“You what?”

“We’ve been blocks apart this whole time.”

Awwwwww.

“I’m going to stab myself,” Luke moaned. “I’m going to stab myself in the arm. I was right there and I sold out for my part-time gig barely weeks ago. Oh my god. I’m going to—move, old man, I’m suffering—Wait. Din, did you find your parents?”

Djarin stood up and held the phone out straight.

“Where are you right now?” he asked.

Look at all these people hugging each other.

Look at them crying all over. There was a baby in there, wailing because he was so happy to be back in the arms of his other dad.

Aww. AWWWW. Peter was getting emotional again, he was going to see himself out.

“Wait. Peter.”

He looked up to find Luke holding a hand to him.

“Thank you,” he said. “You really are a superhero, you know that?”

Yeah.

Sometimes, he did.

The city had plenty of problems as it was, yeah, more now with a bunch of jedi running around, linking up with each other and spreading memory like mushroom spores. But it didn’t feel that much different.

What it felt like now was Ned showing Grogu how to hold his hand at the seeing stone in the funeral home’s back yard to make the Force happen while Obi-Wan reported cheerfully that the cat perched on it was still not levitating.

It also felt like watching Luke freak out over text to Ned and Michelle about his ex losing their mind at him dumping them after two years to marry this random mechanic within a week of getting together.

Peter got to see this from new angles, too, one of which was the bottom of the funeral home’s attic stairs, which Anakin Skywalker liked to sit on while his grandkids—both Grogu and Han Solo and Leia Organa (pardon, Leia Naberry)’s son—came over to show him things that he was very well aware of. These were stolen from him by Auntie Ahsoka and her friends who Ned knew and Peter did not.

And there was something warming about how even these folks—people from a galaxy far, far away, occasionally needed a Spiderman.

#spiderman #starwars #dinluke #inimitable verse #ficlet #this is the niche of the niche but I know like 5 of you read both my mando and spiderman fics #so this is for you doll #and also the fact that I have a fucking PROBLEM

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mothergayselle · 3 years

Text

I Said... Hold Still // Obey Me // MC x Lucifer

rating: t words: 3.5k summary: takes place during the furry event, MC does the boys’ makeup for the video but takes *special care* with lucifer’s

xxx

“Stop squirming, Levi. You’re going to smear everything and then I’m going to get mad.”

Leviathan blushed, visibly racked with the desire to fidget in the chair. “I can’t help it,” he said, crossing and uncrossing his ankles, which clunked into hers. “You’re so close to my face.”

A scoff audibly sounded off in the background, and the unmistakable tenor of Mammon’s voice filled the dining room.

“Yeah. A little too close, eh? Back off, Levi!”

Freya sighed. As long as Levi’s face was scrunched with annoyance, it’d be impossible to apply any more makeup to it. She paused, her hand a patient dove hovering in the air, coasting, while Levi replied.

“I’m not doing anything! You back off, stupid scumbag!”

“Hey! Ya gotta stop callin’ me that! Or else!”

“Or else, what? What are you going to do to me?”

The demon-princes were scattered throughout the entirety of the ornate, elaborate dining room, yet the collective sigh uttered by every mouth was a palpable hurricane churning in the air above them. A violent, fiery blush creeped into Levi’s neck, and Freya stilled her hand once more as he ducked his head in embarrassment.

She had to force herself not to sigh herself. “Relax, Levi. I’m not going to attack you.”

“Yes, hun, but that he wishes you would is the point,” said a voice from the opposite corner. A slash of daylight pierced through the window in front of him, illuminating the slender curve of his body. Even in that ridiculous costume. Asmodeus.

“If you know what I mean,” he finished. Freya didn’t have to look to know he was probably winking at them. The sunlight did nothing to illuminate the dripping sin of his voice.

Freya ignored the fresh wave of blood washing over Levi’s face, deepening the red even further. All that was needed was a quick blending of the brow-powder, and he’d be done, though if these idiots kept on rambling she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to get him to hold still.

Even now, he seemed to vibrate in place, although he managed to keep himself in place enough to refrain from fidgeting. Freya worked as fast as possible, working as casually as she could without smudging the lines. If they could keep their mouths shut for once in their goddamn life--

“If what you mean is kissing, then yes. We do get what you mean. Levi, at least attempt to not think about it.”

xxx

read on AO3

xxx

…..

SATAN, you motherFU--

“No one is kissin’ ANYONE, do ya hear me!?”

“Oo-oh, how scandalous!! I want to see someone kiss!”

“Okay, tell me I didn’t wake up from a nap just to hear about Freya kissing someone!”

“Relax, Belphie. No one is kissing.”

“Ya damn straight, no one is kissing. Not ever! If Freya is kissin’ anyone it’s gonna be m--”

“Me! It’d be me! After all, who wouldn’t want to kiss me?”

“Enough.”

As Lucifer silenced the room, Freya shot Satan a glare, who returned the gesture with a grin so warm you’d never know how on purpose that truly was. What an arsonist. Truly. It was practically art.

The dining room was momentarily cast in shadow -- Freya looked beyond a mortified Levi to see a thick wall of cloud oozing across the sky. A frown tugged the corners of her lips down.

“All right, you lot,” said Lucifer. His voice crawled into the spaces around them like congealed molasses. “Clear out. Diavolo wants to start shooting as soon as possible.”

The most awkward of silences left the dining room charged and heavy, and all but Levi and Lucifer started towards the main hall.

Meanwhile, Freya wanted to be conscientious of his personal boundaries -- as he so often said he didn’t like to be touched -- but Freya wasn’t just about to let Levi leave after that.

“Hey, look up for me one more time before you go.”

She and Lucifer made zero comments about how dark his skin had become in embarrassment -- magenta would be too fitting for comfort. Freya, in her peripherals, saw how Lucifer pretended to preen himself in a corner away from them, adjusting and then readjusting his feline costume so it couldn’t possibly fall any straighter or more crisp on the lines of his body.

Levi complied, absolutely rock-frozen as he titled his eyes to the ceiling. Even the inner workings of his jaw were inert with strain.

“Did you know,” Freya began, dabbing ice-silver highlighter to his waterline, “That giraffes throw up on a regular basis?”

She was momentarily met with silence as Levi made himself unclench his teeth. “Giraffes?”

“Mhm. An animal in the human realm. Really long neck. Think of a horse with a snake-neck.”

“Whoa. That sounds like a final boss or something. If their neck is so long, how do they not suffocate then?”

It was working -- his skin was clearing of blush, returning to a lovely cream-shade which she always thought brought out the gold in his eyes so well. Freya, in an effort to dispel some of his shame, didn’t meet his eyes when they gazed at her out of curiosity. She prodded the outside corner of his eye with the same highlighter, tapping the glimmer into place.

“Well… that’s what I wanted to know, so I researched it for awhile. They have a bunch of spaces in their stomach so as they digest food, they puke it up into their mouth and then eat it all over again. Bizarre, right?”

Levi’s subsequent grin made itself onto her face as well, though she was careful to still avoid his direct gaze. And, was that Lucifer’s cheeks lifted in the over corner over there, or was that her own imagination?

“That sounds like Beel,” he said, beaming at her.

“They were my favorite animal for awhile after that, just because I would always laugh when I thought of it. In an environmental class back home we studied this, and as soon as it was brought up, I just couldn’t stop laughing. I got kicked out of class.”

“OMG,” Levi said. “That is hilarious! LOLOL, like, I totally would’ve lost it too.”

“It’s ridiculous. But it does make me smile, even to this day. Maybe it’ll help you too now.”

Levi’s answer was something soft in his eyes, like a window being opened.

Freya snapped the ridiculously expensive highlighter palette closed, absentmindedly making a note to somehow manipulate Asmo into getting her one just like it.

She tried to refrain from kissing anyone in the academy but that palette… perhaps kissing was not beneath her after all...

“‘Kay. You’re good to go!”

The clogged energy tangibly evaporated as they both righted themselves in the chairs, widening the amount of space between them. Levi didn’t look fully recovered -- his movements were a little too fast, a bit too premature.

However, as he stood up to join the others, the dread from earlier wasn’t etched onto the crevices of his face, and he smiled before heading out the door.

“Thanks, Freya! Seriously.” He dashed through the entryway, the joyful spring under his feet practically palpable.

The next breath was drawn in through the nose. Freya turned to the impromptu makeup station Asmodeus had set up for her earlier in the morning once more.

“Okay, lurker,” she called out. “Sit your butt down before I decide I don’t want to do this anymore and set fire to the building so Diavolo will send me away.”

The waxed, polished, impeccable hardwood floors clapped his shoes in greeting with every intentional footfall. Even from the side while she retrieved more eyeshadow, she could see the grimace on his mouth. He was staring straight through her.

“Not funny.”

Freya couldn’t help but grin as she swiveled the chair to face him.

“It was funny, but we both know you wouldn’t admit it even if you agreed so let’s get to business, shall we?” Freya held up a pen of liquid eyeliner for him to see.

Lucifer made no further comment, but she could’ve sworn his jaw looked like it wanted to come undone in a smile, just for a second. He nodded, burgundy eyes locked onto her face.

“Scoot closer. This always sucks the most.”

When he complied, their legs were utterly entangled, each thigh resting lightly against the other’s. Freya didn’t stop or make a comment -- she knew the rules of the game with him and wasn’t going to lose because of that.

If anything, the contact excited her. She’d be close enough to catch any reaction he made, scrutinize every inch of his visage for a sign of victory. When one edge of his mouth lazily pulled to the side in the faintest smirk she’d ever seen, an impish gesture, she knew he was on the same wavelength.

Freya leaned in, closing the distance between their faces until the warm billows of his breath collided gently over her cheeks.

“Don’t mind me,” she said, bringing a hand to cup the cheek opposite the eye she was going to start on. “I have to steady myself because I had a lot of coffee this morning and I can feel myself about to have a seizure.”

Lucifer did smile at that, and she mirrored him as her fingers slipped through the hair at the back of his head. Silk. Fresh rain. A bubble of clouds. There didn’t seem to be a description accurate enough to articulate the softness of each strand. Her palm came to rest on his jaw.

The dick part of her wanted to ask what kind of conditioner he used, to purposely destroy the playful tension, if only to mitigate the effect the intimacy had on her. It was certainly a go-to, and she had half a mind to blurt it out when his expression suddenly changed.

“That was kind of you,” Lucifer murmured, and she could practically feel the heat of his red gaze wash through her, “What you did for Levi. Comforting him so as to not embarrass him further.”

An unwanted softness expanded in the pit of her belly and her hand momentarily haltered all movement. She drew back to look at him, and felt her waggish expression melt into something more like his own.

Freya’s gaze tugged down at their legs, spidered out in a flamboyant web of limbs. “I’m all for a good roast, but they should be more mindful with how often they pick on him. He already has super bad self-esteem.”

Lucifer grimaced as pain, sympathetic, cracked across her face. “That he does.”

“Makes me want to punch him,” she mumbled, almost inaudibly. Exhaling, Freya lifted the eyeliner pen to Lucifer once more, tracing a thin cat-eye along the edge of his lashes.

“If he says that he’s too gross to love one more time, I will use our pact to make him do daily affirmations until he stops. I’m not above that.”

It was a while before Lucifer reacted to that, and a few moments of silence soothed the spaces around them. When he seemed to smile, Freya kept wordless and leaned in further, cleaning up the sharp edge of the wing at his eye. If she leaned in any further, her lips would brush across his cheek. Adrenaline flooded her belly.

“Not the worst way to exploit your authority, I suppose.”

“Hell yeah. Call me the demon-whisperer, improving internal dialogue one Avatar at a time.”

She withdrew her hand just in time -- Lucifer’s cheeks avalanched in the expansion of a smile, twisting his mouth until the ivory-white of his teeth was exposed. Another grin, another victory.

“Sounds like quite the endeavor.”

“Quite right, Watson. Okay, done with that,” Freya said, ignoring his momentary confusion and scooting herself back to the pile of makeup. She exchanged the eyeliner for a pastel palette before picking up a small, fluffy brush.

“All Diavolo wanted was a mutuality between species, and here you are trying to rehabilitate the princes of Hell into developing a more healthy sense of self,” he mused.

Lucifer’s warm eyes lowered and tracked Freya’s movements as she closed in and began dabbing at his eyelids with a pale lavender color, which accentuated the darkness of his burgundy irises so nicely it was obscene.

Did she look as beautiful to him as he did to her?

“Oh, dear,” he chuckled. “Where did you go?”

It was just then that Freya realized she hadn’t been applying the makeup on him so much as she was staring at it.

“What’s wrong? Did the artistry of your own handiwork distract you?” His full lips twisted into a more mocking version of his earlier grin.

“Or is it simply my natural beauty you find so interesting?”

A low, humming laugh churned in the bottom of his throat as Freya’s nose wrinkled itself at him.

“Actually, I was just thinking that if this film wins first place, the entire Devildom will be witness to you and all of your furry glory.”

All of the mirth fled from Lucifer’s face as she spoke. Dark strands of aura collected around the crown of his head before winking out of existence.

“It’s an exciting thought, right?”

When his eyelids lowered, Freya leaned back in, blending in a blue pastel with the first. The air around him sizzled with tension that dripped off of his body. “As the film stands, there is almost a statistical impossibility that it will win the competition,” he drawled. So confident.

“So, basically, it’s a non-issue.”

“You really believe Diavolo -- or Barbatos for that matter -- who are obsessed with this project, couldn’t or wouldn’t pull strings in our favor?” The hand on his jaw exploded with invisible flame as she shifted it for no other reason than she wanted to--

Lucifer froze. Freya pretended to be absorbed in her work and readjusted her fingers -- a mere twitch of the extremity -- slipping several of them in the hollow under his ear while anchoring her thumb so that the pad of the fingertip framed the corner of his mouth.

A triumphant fanfare burst in her head. She got him, caught him off-guard. Enchanted him. The world was correct once more.

“Diavolo is a noble man,” she started, sweeping away the fallout with her knuckles. She caressed the soft skin under his eyes gently, with care. “But men like him -- the ones who proclaim to uphold truth and transparency…”

Lucifer did not move, even as she playfully tapped the tip of his nose with the makeup brush.

“Those are the ones you can’t trust.”

A few short moments passed before Lucifer spoke again.

“I don’t know what demons you’ve been hanging around,” he began, leaning forward an inch. “But some of us are perfect gentlemen.”

He was playing with her.

Do not look at his lips, do not look at his lips.

The brush in her hand lowered as Freya also leaned in, matching Lucifer’s bluff, and the crimson glow of his eyes was soon all she could see, rather than the eyes themselves.

“I’ve only met one perfect gentleman in my entire life. He was a golden retriever.”

She saw the curve of his eyes when he smirked.

“You clearly need better friends.”

“How fortunate I was kidnapped and brought here, then.”

“How fortunate, indeed.”

“Hey, are you guys going to kiss?”

The shock of the intrusion jolted both Lucifer and Freya, nearly pressing them together, so… maybe?

Lucifer recovered first, smoothly straightening in his chair like a candle wick burning true.

“What do you want, Asmo?”

Of course it was Asmo.

When Freya settled, returning the makeup brush to the tray, she saw Asmodeus hovering in the dining room’s entrance, the gold of his hair casting ethereal arcs of color across the archway.

His eyes were wide with curiosity. “Well, first, I want to see you kiss, but I also came to tell you Diavolo wants to start filming now.” Asmo’s gaze flickered back and forth between them.

“Tell Diavolo we’re on our way,” Lucifer said, saying nothing of the lewd request. After a tense moment and a hard glare, Asmo drifted off, the whites of his eyes revealed in an impressive arc.

“He realizes he can just kiss people, right?”

She couldn’t help but grin at the blank expression coating over Lucifer’s visage.

“He realizes,” Lucifer said. “It seems as if voyeurism is a big interest of his, however.”

Freya accidentally snorted. “I don’t know what isn’t.”

“Manners, perhaps.”

Someone sighed. Freya wasn’t sure if it was her or Lucifer. Eventually, the two shared a glance and his eyebrows rose in question.

“Is my makeup adequate enough for filming?” The brows remained high on his forehead, now teasing more than anything else.

Freya instinctively raked his features, looking for any asymmetrical flaws or lopsided shadow. There was nothing but a fleeting suspicion that it was only Lucifer’s immaculate complexion which completed the makeup, rather than the other way around. He wore the makeup, rather than the makeup highlighting the beauty already there. How ridiculous.

“One more thing, actually.”

The lazy affect warped into confusion, narrowing his features, and then awe, expanding them back again. Freya had darted in the space between their bodies, one finger somehow already dipped into a cherry-colored lip stain, and she began tapping the pigment onto Lucifer’s bottom lip, ignoring the way his mouth parted with shock.

“To match your eyes.”

He remained silent while he composed himself, drawing back his eyebrows and lips to a close. Freya forced her face to remain stoic -- the relish of eliciting these kinds of reactions was a special sort of drug, but to keep him playing along, she had to forfeit a few her victories to soften the blow to his ego. Demon of Pride and all. She was more than happy to keep up with him. Her giant ego demanded it.

As if he could hear her thoughts, Lucifer probed her gaze with his own, scrutinizing the miniscule movements her every facial feature made, but she gave away nothing. He was content to hold still until she was finished with him, smiling politely, the warmth not touching his eyes.

“And none for yourself?” he chirped.

Freya’s gaze darted to the makeup tray at her side, but a warm hand had gripped her chin and forced her head back to Lucifer. A swarm of butterflies awoke in her diaphragm.

“You dote on all of us so much,” he pronounced slowly, casually, bringing his thumb to his mouth. “But it seems as if you are often left wanting, isn’t that right?”

Heat so hot it was ice overturned her nervous system, bringing it to a halt. “It isn’t that bad. Beel buys me food. Asmo gives me clothes. Luke and Barbatos bake me whatever I want.”

Freya frantically attempted to memorize the feeling of his thumb brushing over her lips. Did he feel this tense when she’d done this, like a worn outlet ready to spark? She waited until he was satisfied to speak.

“I’d say I have it pretty good.”

Lucifer smirked, clearly unconvinced. He reached over her, grabbing a wipe from the table and cleaning his hand. Their faces were momentarily close once again, and the cologne from his neck wafted over her skin. So rich, like sandalwood, but faint at the same time. Noncommittal. It was a perfect scent for him.

When his gaze lowered to her mouth and back up again, she thought her form would explode.

“Hm. I’m not sure all of that’s an equal exchange, though.” He stared at her in bewilderment.

“... What?” Suddenly, she was too conscious of herself. Why did he look at her like that? Was he unsatisfied with the color or something?

She heard the roll of his stool before registering he’d placed his palms on her shoulders. They felt like boulders and feathers and as if they should be there all the time, keeping her from floating away in her wild fantasies of abandoning the human world so she could stay there forever. It was just like giraffes. Ridiculous… right?

“Your hair.”

Eh?

Lucifer’s eyes were sure and steady as they raked over her again and again.

“It should be down for the fight scene. When you faint, it should cover your face, create some symbolism there.”

… Interesting. She didn’t know he thought about details like that. Wasn’t this more of Asmo’s territory? Still, Lucifer had a point. She’d only braided that morning because it was convenient, getting too long and too curly for comfort.

“How dramatic,” she replied, chuckling at his sincerity. “You’re right, though. Obscuring the face makes a much bigger statement to the audience. Creates lots of tension.”

Lucifer’s knees knocked against hers, two entities floating alone in the ocean, and he moved his hands to the hair-ties at the end of her french braids.

They were dexterous, slipping off the rubber and untangling the curls without tugging on a single one. Goosebumps seeped through her skin, giving her a full-body euphoria.

If she was being honest, even this simple gesture had her feeling pampered, taken care of. It resembled nothing of the food or retail items she was frequently gifted with, although those were of course, appreciated.

No, this was like... communion. A merging of two. Freya found that she couldn’t muster a smirk or a smart-ass retort as Lucifer slipped his fingers through her hair, arranging it in perfect pieces that cascaded over her jaw. She felt she wanted to sleep instead. Take a nap. Fall asleep to the sensation of him there, soothing her into unconsciousness.

Ah. Any feeling of victory disappeared in an instant. This was too close to real intimacy to be a game.

Lucifer adjusted the curls one final time before gently extracting himself from her space. There wasn’t any trace of mischief on his face either, or deception, or avarice.

She caught herself absently grooming herself of invisible lint or stray hair in the moments after. It seems as if their communion was finished, and they were to get on with their mission for the day.

“Well,” Freya said, steadily rising to her feet. She extended a hand in his direction. “Ready to go to war over me?”

Lucifer’s subsequent smile radiated mirth. “Of course.” He curled his fingers around her palm and rose to face her.

“I always defend what is mine. To the death.”

An unexpected giggle erupted from him at the shock rapidly freezing her expression.

“I’m joking, Freya. I’m ready. Let’s do it.”

Lucifer jesting? How novel.

With her hand in his, they began making their way out of the dining room. The sun was out -- its light had finally defeated the storm clouds before it.

“Call me Helen, I guess.”

Their voices ricocheted off the elaborate carvings etched into the doorway.

“... You know the story of Troy, ri--”

“--Yes, Freya, I get the referen--”

“--Okay, cool. That would’ve been weird. I hate explaining jokes.”

#obey me #lucifer #mc x lucifer #shall we date #writing #fanfiction #mine #obey me lucifer #obey me levi #lucifer x reader #shall we date? obey me!

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angelicamerlinbarnes · 3 years

Text

Albus Dumbledore being an awesome teacher and human being

Bubblegum Bitch - MARINA

(Imma be honest with y’all, it’s mostly just him being a crackhead.)

He tells stories about Grindelwald, about their marriage and their beliefs and their lives together. All of the stories have lessons - sure, a lot of those lessons are about how NOT to make pasta, but they’re still lessons!

He likes to matchmake students using seating charts and certain magical spell assignments. He’s very good at it. I mean, he’s shit at figuring out who likes each other, but he is great at meddling, so Mcgonogall tells him who to mess with and he does as he’s told. They make a great team (and are invited to a lot of weddings). Couples they’ve helped include but are not limited to: Dean and Seamus, Luna and Ginny, Hermione and Harry and Ron, Sirius and Remus, Peter and Maxwell Needles, Peter and Regulus (that was later), Lily and Severus and James, Fred and Lee plus George and Lee, Charlie and Newt (queerplatonic), Leta and Newt (queerplatonic), Harry and Luna (queerplatonic), and Sirius and James and Remus (queerplatonic). They’ve been very busy.

He and Mcgonogall have teatime almost every day. They talk about their students and work on their matchmaking plans. There’s a lot of sass and deadpanning involved. Sometimes they invite Remus, Sirius, and James. (Not Peter. He doesn’t need the same level of torturing that they do.) Bubbles of all shapes and sizes and colors float around the room the whole time. It’s fantastic.

He accepts gossip in exchange for extra credit. He’s a really good secret keeper too, so a lot of students go for it. (It hasn’t broken any friendships. There’s an understanding among the student population that Dumbledore is like Ms. Potts from that Muggle film Beauty and the Beast - well-meaning and trustworthy, but terribly, terribly bored.)

Everything in his classroom is pink. And glittery. And covered in sequins. Once a student asked him why and he just smirked for a solid minute before whispering, “Lemonade.” (As if that makes any fucking sense.)

He once taught class in a full-fledged glittery ballgown that faded from light pink to deep purple. He did not once acknowledge it or act like anything was out of the ordinary. One student raised their hand and asked timidly, “Professor? Why are you wearing a ballgown?” And his brow furrowed as he frowned, looked down at himself, and muttered, “Thought it was a bathrobe.” (Harry does not let him live this one down. His dad is not much help - Severus took many, many pictures.) (Not that it mattered. On Wednesdays Dumbledore wears pink (glittery ballgowns).)

He speaks to kids who have parents, friends, and relatives in prison, whether for being Death Eaters or otherwise. He chaperones visits to Azkaban for them so they can see their loved ones. He casts protective and invisibility charms on them so only the one they’re visiting can see or hear them, and he teaches them Patronuses (with Remus’ help, of course). He often spends these visits on the other side of Grindelwald’s bars, playing wizard’s chess against him. (Sometimes Grindelwald gives him flowers. It always makes Dumbledore smile. There may be no one left in the world who understands why they love each other, but they don’t need to understand it for it to be true.)

He stands at the front of the classroom and makes funny faces during tests and waits to see how long it takes for a student to look up. His latest record is seven minutes.

When he’s teaching Grindelwald’s history, he makes snarky comments about his husband. They range from “I mean really. Who the fuck thought wizards ruling Muggles was a good idea?” (Rest in peace that one student who thought it was a good idea to say, “You did, Professor.”) to “Honestly, that man has no concept of romance. I ask him for a nice night out and he takes me to a Muggle rally about witchcraft and tries to impress me by playing practical magical jokes on the speaker. A toddler could do that.” (He often gets mushy during those stories though, usually trailing off like “But that time he took me to my childhood home for my birthday was sweet… brought me flowers for Ariana’s grave and everything. Sure, he killed her, but… he has a sweet side…” and from there on out he’s basically a lost cause and you might as well go to your next class because he’s not going to stop humming that fucking Elvis song).

He “loses” his glasses all the time by casting an invisibility charm on them and forces his students to search the classroom for them when they’re on his face the whole time. He thinks it’s funny. Harry does not. (But Severus and Mcgonogall do, and that’s really what matters.) (Severus and Mcgonogall and Dumbledore are a fantastic trio full of snark and sarcasm and shit, I have just decided.)

He makes little animals out of multi-colored magical dust and they fly around the classroom and perch on his favorite students’ heads. Once a dragon fell asleep on Newt’s head and wouldn’t leave even when class was over. Newt had to wait for the magic to wear off so it would disintegrate. (Of course, he had named it by that point and had a meltdown when it disappeared, so Dumbledore recreates the dragon (Robert) every class and just lets Newt coo at it, even during tests.)

He conjured and charmed two giant (I mean Egypt half-animal half-man guard statue size giant) fluffy pink teddy bears that are alive and stand on either side of him like bodyguards during class. A Slytherin student punched one in the stomach once and it vomited enough M&Ms over their head to completely bury them. The student’s partner, a Ravenclaw student, punched the other one in an ill-advised burst of illogical thought and received the same treatment, but in Skittles. (Luckily their Gryffindor aro-ace friend and nonbinary Hufflepuff friend stayed after class and ate until they could move again. Safe to say no one has dared punch the bears again.) (Though I hear they do give very good hugs. And they eat homework if you ask nicely enough!)

He has a bunch of cloaks that act as portals to realms like Merlin’s Celestiums (S.G.E., Soman Chainani). He gives one to each student for tests, and they are transported to their ideal test-taking environments, complete with whatever song they feel like listening to at any given minute playing all around them. Unsurprisingly, his students have the best grades in all of Hogwarts. (He also has a secret cloak that he uses for himself, to see Grindelwald. Grindelwald has his own matching one so he can always make it home for Thursday date night.) (They have been caught. Of course they have. But no one is going to challenge Dumbledore for his right to see his husband, even if he did marry a murderer.) (Sirius and Remus used to steal the cloak for their own dates. And later on James would steal it to take the two of them on friend-dates. Inspired by that, Dumbledore made a special cloak for Mcgonogall that he gifted her on her fiftieth birthday. The smile she gave him then is his favorite of all time.)

He bickers with Fawkes constantly. This often evolves into full-fledged screaming matches with spastic hand gestures, gratuitous spit, and angry hops on both sides. Once Dumbledore drew wand on his “useless babbling bastard of a bird”. No one has bothered to tell Dumbledore that Fawkes probably can’t understand a word of their arguments. (They do evacuate the classroom when these fights start though. The last time they stayed their hair was gone for a week, and when it grew back it was glittery and pink.) (Harry looked especially fantastic. Sirius thought he looked great. He laughed until he was in tears. Harry was not amused.) (Remus was.)

Sometimes he’s absent from class and Mcgonogall teaches them instead. When asked if he’s alright, Mcgonogall simply answers, “My partner is away on personal business for the day. Now, turn to page -” Soon enough people figured out that “personal business” meant “conjugal visit with Genocidal Maniac Husband™ in prison”. They stopped asking.

He gives all of his students the red button test (without knowing what it does, do you press the red button?). Those who pass get automatic A’s and a lollipop. Those who fail get a talking pet pygmy puff. The thing that usually trips people up is that Dumbledore considers the “correct” answer to be pressing the goddamn button. (Seamus is the only one who has ever passed (enthusiastically too!). Newt half-passed because Niffy the Niffler sat on it.) (Sirius and James would have passed too if they had not been the life partners of one Remus Lupin, whose creativity with threats and extensive curse-word vocabulary rivaled Mcgonogall’s even at the tender age of fifteen.)

He has floating war maps just lying around. He plays battleship with his students on them. What he neglects to tell them is that their moves have actual consequences in the world, as the maps are magical and reflect real battles and places. When Harry finds out (he blew up Denmark, completely unawares) he shows up at Dumbledore’s door soaking wet at five-thirty in the morning with a newspaper, his fists clenched, his face red, and his chest heaving. He wouldn’t stop glaring for weeks. (Alas, Dumbledore’s glorious beard has great resistance to fire spells.) (Following an incident involving the original four Marauders in their third year. Shhh… we do not speak of that.)

He has a habit of walking into random classrooms, gesturing for a student to come with him with his finger, and then taking them to his office for teatime. He usually asks them inane questions about a specific theme (fish, pasta strainers, socks, throw pillows, mooses, etc.) for hours until finally dismissing them. It drives Mcgonogall crazy. (She’s yelled at him plenty for “kidnapping students to ask them questions you know you could easily find on that Muggle infer-het thing! They have exams, Albus -” but he just smiles at her while calmly sipping his tea and she always ends up collapsing in the chair across from him with a sigh, taking the tea from his hands and chugging it before wiping her mouth, slamming it down on the desk, and asking, “So. Fish. What’s up with them?” and Albus just beams.)

He spends half of his class lessons babbling on about how Merlin was gay for Arthur and Arthur was gay for Merlin, but not in long tangents. Just a bunch of random comments without context, warning, or explanation. (He mentions “poetry” a lot and waggles his eyebrows for some reason, so… what’s up with that? (Merlin BBC))

He overshares A LOT about his and Grindelwald’s lives. It’s a problem because 90% of the time it’s something sweet or innocent like “Oh, he brought me a tiger lily that bloomed open to show a gold and ruby ring nestled inside on our first anniversary. That’s how he proposed to me” and “He used to hum while he did the housework, you know? He’d stand in the middle of the house and close his eyes and just hum. Almost entire symphonies too, just waving his wand in the air like a conductor” to “This one time in bed he…” and there is NO warning. The amount of things these poor children’s ears have had to endure… (*shakes head in mock disappointment*)

He often cooks during class using wandless magic. The pots and pans heat themselves and float around in the air. Sometimes Dumbledore dances and then they start dancing too. He whistles and creates a base beat for the sizzling, popping, clanging, and other kitchen noises to follow. This usually happens during tests. Oh joy.

He leaves the windows open when it rains, but somehow nothing ever gets wet. Harry and Hermione have a theory that it’s protection charms. (Really it’s a spell Severus made up when he was drunk because he was angry that umbrellas don’t have enough room under them for three, and he’s always been the most self-sacrificial person in his marriage.)

He regularly makes bets with Mcgonogall about the students’ love lives. Not money, but little things the other doesn’t want to do or buy. Dumbledore usually has to handle the Marauders’ detentions or give up one of his teddy bear guards for Mcgonogall’s experimental enjoyments. Mcgonogall has to do something embarrassing or let him borrow one of her glittery hats. They should really stop making bets at this point; the stakes and the winners are dreadfully predictable. He always wins when the bet is on a student’s sexuality or gender and she always wins when the bet is on who a student will end up with. Nonetheless, the bets continue. So too does their grumbling amusement.

He figured out how to make a broom invisible when he and Grindelwald first fell in love, so they could be showy with each other at their Greater Good rallies. They later used it for dates, prison breaks, and daring escapes complete with kisses under the moon. Once Grindelwald went to Azkaban, Dumbledore used it to find some privacy where he could grieve. Now, he uses it to travel around his classroom and Hogwarts and trick everyone into thinking he can fly by sheer will. Only Mcgonogall knows his secret. (And Severus, but Dumbledore doesn’t know that because he told him when he was black out drunk. So.)

He lets pygmy puffs sleep in his beard. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.

He once taught class while teetering on his feet because he had somehow gotten himself tangled in Christmas lights from shoulders to ankles and couldn’t move. (Sirius wandered in and saw this, cried he was laughing so hard, and then warbled his off-key way through as many Christmas carols as he could remember for the rest of class.) (Dumbledore tried to Silencio him but just fell over trying to make the wand movement. He broke his nose. Sirius almost had a panic attack because he couldn’t breathe from how hard he was laughing. By the end of this he had curled up in a fetal position on the floor, Remus was lying down next to him and muttering jokes to him, Mcgonogall was trying to fix Dumbledore’s face, and Severus had taken over the class. Not that they got much done - James was visiting that day. And him, Sirius, and Remus all laughing about the same thing rarely leads to a quiet and calm learning environment.) (They gave him a joint present of rainbow Christmas lights for his birthday - “Happy Gay Day, Professor!” - and he was not amused.) (Grindelwald was though. So was everyone else.)

He tends to mix up holidays in his head and often decorates for the wrong one. He goes all out too. He’s kind of a disaster, and so is his classroom. It became such a problem that the Marauders actually took pity on him and made him a very big calendar with all the holidays marked on it in glitter and fake jewels and flowers. It sits behind his desk and occasionally works.) (Occasionally.)

He’s queerplatonic partners with Mcgonogall. They held a friend-wedding and forced Severus to be the flowergirl. Harry officiated, Remus was Dumbledore’s best man, Sirius was Mcgonogall’s, James wasn’t given a job cause he was crying too much, Lily was in charge of taking care of James, and Peter was the ring bearer (he only lost them TWICE and they were ring pops anyway). Mcgonogall screeches at him a lot and Dumbledore can be depressive and neglectful because he misses Grindelwald but they love each other so it works. (And they’re the prime source of advice for James, Sirius, and Remus regarding their own queerplatonic relationship, for better or for worse.)

He puts his feet up on the desk even though it’s bad for his knees. Mcgonogall told him it’s bad for his knees and he has stubbornly put them up there every class since. (His knees are killing him but he will not give in to “a paranoid, batty old witch who doesn’t know shit about what’s good for me and wouldn’t if she was hit with an Imperio and I told her -” “I’M YOUR FUCKING PARTNER, YOU BLASPHEMOUS ARROGANT BRAT OF AN OLD FART!”)

Instead of walking around his classroom, he struts. (Yes, it worsens his knees.) He does strike poses, he does make obnoxious expressions, and he does look fabulous. WORK! (Yes, that was a Hamilton reference.)

He once taught class without a face because Mcgonogall cursed him for “fucking up the alphabetical organization of my tea, you old twit. Honestly, Albus, it’s not that hard”. (How did he teach without a mouth, you ask? Easy, he used intermediate BSL (deaf students, plus Azkaban isn’t great on old men’s ears and he and Grindelwald are both gettin’ up there) and Sirius interpreted.) (Incredibly wrongly, crudely, and foul-mouth-ly, but nonetheless he interpreted.)

He has difficulty understanding the straight people in his class. He is fully accepting of everyone and wants the best for all of them, but when it comes to relationship advice, he’s shit.

Excerpt pulled from Pensieve of a conversation he had with a student who identified as female:

Dumbledore: “So your boyfriend is a dick, is what you’re saying?”

Student’s best friend: “Yes. Merlin, he’s such a dick. Would you believe he -”

Dumbledore: *looks at student and points to her best friend* “Why don’t you just date her?”

*cue red faces and sputtering*

(They did not take his advice.)

He wears bowties ALL THE TIME. If he’s not wearing a bowtie, there are bows in his hair and tying the ends of his beard together. Once he wore pigtails. It was great.

He has a habit of bursting into song randomly and performing full-blown Broadway musical numbers (yes, he can rap Guns and Ships at full speed). This usually involves all of the complex moves to be expected in a musical - dramatically climbing up the stairs while looking forlorn, leaping onto the desk and squatting as you launch into a whispered limerick, speedy costume changes - you know, the works. Sometimes Sirius and James back him up, if they’re there. Severus will take over teaching with a bored look on his face (“What are you looking at, Harry?” “Dad, there’s -” “I don’t see anything interesting happening, Harry.” *glares*) while Mcgonogall screeches at Dumbledore to “GET THE FUCK DOWN, YOU NARCISSISTIC HEATHEN!” It’s a problem.

When the Marauders challenge the dress code, Dumbledore is the first Professor to encourage it. While Sirius is perfectly confident in a skirt and Regulus isn’t far behind (neither is Severus, surprisingly), James and Remus are far more insecure. Dumbledore wears a tutu to class one day to show his support, and Remus wouldn’t stop smiling the rest of the day. (James just turned bright red and beamed when Sirius started laughing.) He also backed Lily up when she wore pants (along with Marlene, Dorcas, and Mary) by convincing Mcgonogall to wear pantsuits for a week. (Sirius, despite being a hardcore gay, was quite affected by this. Remus did not appreciate the water spit in his face and refused to kiss Sirius for a week.)

He plays Cecily Smith (Will Connolly) on the ukulele on late nights and stares out at the stars thinking of Grindelwald. Sometimes he forgets to turn off the Sonorus from earlier that day and ends up broadcasting his little song to the whole school. Sirius and Remus will dance to it in the common room while James watches his partners with a happy smile on his face (and Peter sleeps, because he’s tired and doesn’t force himself to stay up simply for the purpose of being cool or finishing that one assignment that isn’t due for another two weeks) (I’m sorry, do you feel called out?).

This man has weed brownies stashed away in his desk and he does eat them during class. He also offered one to Remus once, who is the only student that knows about the stash and tends to use marijuana for medical purposes (helping with anxiety and pain regarding the full moon, courtesy of my beautiful girlfriend who has never read nor seen Harry Potter but nonetheless insists to me that Remus Lupin is a stoner who wears red beanies). This prompted Sirius to ask for one, which Dumbledore refused, but then James joined in and they started a riot by standing on their desks and pumping their fists in the air and screaming, “BROWNIES FOR ALL!” while Remus giggled into his hand and was no help at all, so Dumbledore gave them each a brownie just to shut them up. (Sirius wouldn’t stop rambling about how pretty Remus’ eyes were, James was babbling on about unicorns, Severus was hissing at something no one else could see, Regulus was hissing at the same thing for some reason, Peter was crying because he couldn’t tell the difference between hamsters and gerbils and guinea pigs, and Lily was muttering pi under her breath until she fell asleep.) (Mcgonogall was unimpressed.) (No teatime for eight weeks. Damn.)

Dumbledore cares about all of his students, however little he shows it. He wants them to lead a better life than he did. And maybe fall in love with better people than he did.

#albus dumbledore #albus wulfric percival brian dumbledore #mcgonogall &x dumbledore #&x means queerplatonic i have just decided #grindledore #wolfstar #james &x remus &x sirius #severus & mcgonogall & dumbledore #james x lily x severus #albus dumbledore is a crackhead 2021 #i dunno please enjoy this shit #i'm really fucking tired #harry potter #have a nice day y'all

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ragingbookdragon · 4 years

Text

To Fluster Or Not To Fluster? That Is The Question

Muriel x M!Apprentice

Word Count: 1.5K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author’s Note: Since apparently half the Arcana fandom is losing their goddamn minds rn, how about we take a moment to chill and read a funny fic? Yeah? Enjoy! -Thorne

He was a terrible person. He was an absolutely terrible person and was probably going down in history as the most terrible person to ever have lived. Well, besides Lucio that is. Of course, the level of terribleness between him and Lucio was about the size of an ocean—Lucio was a selfish prick, and while he couldn’t say that sometimes he wasn’t one, he was usually just a jackass. All things considered, he was still going down in history as a terrible person solely because at every chance he got, he flustered Muriel however he could. He couldn’t help it—it was just too easy.

***

Muriel was content to let (Y/N) do the talking and greeting. While he’d certainly gotten somewhat used to being in public and a bit more comfortable around people he didn’t know, he was still reserved in his words. That being said, it didn’t bother (Y/N) to talk for him; it gave him a pride to know that Muriel trusted him enough to do so.

He passed the merchant a few coins then turned to the man beside him and smiled. “Anything else you want Muriel?” Another thing (Y/N) was proud of—Muriel had finally gotten used to asking for things, wanting things, most importantly, knowing that he deserved them all.

“I need a new pair of gloves,” Muriel murmured, digging around in his pocket to reveal a pair of worn, but well-loved gloves.

(Y/N) nodded and took his hand, tugging him around to one of the stalls in the marketplace that was selling a collection of assorted garments. He craned his neck looking for the stall keeper, but none was around, then he caught sight of a little sign on the top of the stall. Be right back!

“Stall keep isn’t here Muriel, but I don’t think they’ll mind if we look around.” (Y/N) looked at him and then tipped his head to the stall. “See any you like so far?”

He watched as Muriel stepped up, silently gazing at the selection. He reached over, and neatly shifted them around until he found a pair, a dark forest green with golden embroidery on the back. He flipped them over and examined the leather patches on the palm and fingers. After a moment of observation, he met (Y/N)’s eyes.

“I like these ones,” he quietly stated and (Y/N) nodded at them.

“Try ‘em on and see if they fit.” He did so and smiled softly.

“They do.”

Muriel started to take them off and (Y/N) reached out. “Wait a second Muriel, put the ends of your palms together and make a ‘V’.”

He did so, albeit with confusion etched across his face, then looked at him. “What now?” (Y/N) smirked and leaned forward, propping his chin at the base of Muriel’s hands, cheeks pressed comfortably between his lover’s palms.

“Just as I thought,” he announced all knowingly. “They’re the perfect face cradling size.”

Muriel’s mouth snapped shut quicker than he’d ever seen it, and he watched as pink bloomed across his cheeks. Just as (Y/N) started to snicker, he pulled away and spun on his heel, marching off in the other direction.

“Nevermind! I don’t need any gloves!”

(Y/N) cackled as he tossed a coin purse onto the table and hurried after him. “Wait for me Muriel! We need to see if they’re the perfect size for handholding too! Muriel wait—how are you moving so fast?!”

***

“Is this even?”

(Y/N) glanced up from the magic tome Asra had lent him and peered at Muriel who had his back turned to him. He’d been adjusting the tapestry for almost ten minutes now, never satisfied with how high or low it hung. He hummed and drew his gaze up Muriel’s back to his broad shoulders, then to his arms and ultimately his hands.

“Maybe a little downwards,” he recommended.

“Which way?” Muriel asked, tilting it down left then right.

(Y/N) tutted. “Not that way, the other way.”

Muriel sighed and shifted the tapestry once more. “How about now?”

“Hmm…I don’t know…lemme see the other way again.”

The man started to shift, then a sudden realization came across him and he stopped and glared over his shoulder. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

Feigning innocence, he replied, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do,” Muriel countered, and while a flush crossed his cheeks he added, “You’re making me move it back and forth so you can stare at me.”

(Y/N) scoffed, offense coming over his expression as he snapped the tome shut and stood to his feet. “Okay, I’m not going to sit here and listen to you accuse me of something I’m clearly doing.”

Muriel cocked a dark brow and deadpanned, “Oh so what are you doing to do then?”

He gathered a few pillows from off the bed and walked over to where Muriel was standing before he dropped the cushions down. Collapsing on the floor, (Y/N) curled his hands under his head and stared up at Muriel, who was still glowering at him with enflamed cheeks.

Nodding, (Y/N) said, “I’m going to lay here and watch you work.” Grinning, he chirped, “My big strong craftsman.”

Muriel spluttered and turned around, ignoring every comment (Y/N) gave him afterwards.

***

Now Muriel wasn’t a fool. And sometimes, just sometimes, Muriel gave as good as he got, and returned (Y/N)’s teasing with some of his own.

***

The night had drawn on, and though (Y/N) loved a good party, for some reason, he felt tired. Mentally and physically. It was the kind of tired that made him want to crawl under the covers and sleep for an entire day. That or have someone crack his back like a glow stick and send him on his way. Given the way he was feeling, he figured that causing worry amongst his friends wouldn’t be polite, so he slipped out the back and wandered down to the fountain for a breather.

(Y/N) laid down and stared up at the starry sky for a few moments before shutting his eyes. Just a few moments of shut eye would revive him for the last couple hours of the night and then they’d all go to bed; Nadia had happily fixed a room for he and Muriel—then again, she said they always had a room at the palace.

He placed his hands across his abdomen and breathed deeply, the scent of daphne flowers settling over him. As the peace washed over him, the tension drained from his body and he went boneless against the cool, stone rim of the fountain, slowly beginning to drift into sleep. Rustling leaves sounded, but with as comfortable as he was, there was no way that (Y/N) was going to open his eyes, let alone care.

Footsteps came his way until they stopped before him and heaving a sigh, (Y/N) cracked an eye open, a lazy smile crossing his lips when he gazed up at Muriel.

“Found me, did you?” he joked, and Muriel merely gave him a good-natured huff and moved to sit down, gently maneuvering (Y/N)’s head until it rested on his thigh.

“You left.”

(Y/N) groaned and shifted his neck until he was comfortable again, closing his eyes once more when Muriel began to softly caress his cheek.

“Needed a moment of reprieve.”

Muriel snorted. “Consider dinner with our friends a painful event?”

“It is when Asra and Julian start going at it over whether magic or science is easier to perform.” (Y/N)’s grunted. “I’ve never seen a couple so in love get so heated over a subject.”

The hand caressing his cheek stopped and he heard, “This coming from the man who argues with Nadia whether sleeping on silk or satin sheets is better.”

(Y/N)’s eyes flew open, and he griped, “It’s practically the same thing!”

Muriel tipped his head side to side. “Well, satin is a weave of fabrics and silk is a natural fiber, (Y/N). Technically they’re not the same thing.” He smiled. “And silk is shimmery whereas satin is glossy.”

He glowered at the man. “Whose side are you on? Because right now it seems like you’re agreeing with Nadia over—”

Muriel leaned down and pressed a kiss to (Y/N)’s forehead, effectively silencing him before he murmured, “I’m on the side of the person I love the most. And that’s you, (Y/N).”

He felt his cheeks warm, and he let out a ‘pfft’, looking off into the distance. “I can’t believe you’re flirting with me so casually.”

Muriel chuckled. “Must be your influence on me.”

(Y/N) met his eyes. “Good or bad influence?” His lover took a moment, seeming to think seriously about it. “Really? It’s taking you that long to decide?”

Muriel shrugged. “You’re not exactly a shining pillar of moral perfection, (Y/N).”

“Is this revenge for being a jackass all the time? This is revenge for being a jackass all the time, isn’t it?”

His lover huffed a laugh. “You’re my jackass.”

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joaquinwhorres · 4 years

Text

alone together (Diego Hargreeves x Reader)

SUMMARY ››››› Dating is hard. But it's even harder to watch the person you love dating other people.

REQUEST ››››› 11 +13 with Diego? (11. Telling them a dumb joke just to see their smile. 13. Playing your fingers through their hair while sitting next to them on the couch.)

WORD COUNT ››››› 2,261

WARNINGS ››››› dirty jokes

A/N ››››› This idea popped into my head right as I was going to sleep the other night, and it just kind of poured out. I always feel a bit guilty when I turn love story requests into something a bit angsty, soooo I added some fluffy moments in here as well. And let me just say, I love their dynamic. Also I *slightly* changed 13.

They've been close since the Academy. Not the Umbrella shit, the police academy--which was, pretty much, more of the same shit. Still had to dress up in a dapper little uniform and take orders from superiors who hardly deserved the title. He spent his childhood training to take down the bad guys and some thirty year old asshole who got his badge five years ago and aced some written test knew better than him? Bullshit.

She was one of the few people who put up with him at the time. Everyone else talked their shit and played the stupid game, as if blowing smoke up the instructors' ass would save them in the field. She was the only one who listened. Who took his tips on how to disarm over the trainers. Who questioned rules that would cost lives. Who put him in his place and drew lines between Number 2 and Diego Hargreeves he didn't know existed.

So yeah, he's been in love with her for a while.

Which is why, when she calls asking him to come over, he turns off the police scanner, takes off the mask, and gets in his car.

When she opens the door to her apartment, he can't help the small smile that quirks at the corner of his lips. She's so goddamn beautiful even in her leggings and Synchronicity baseball tee he got her as a joke when she graduated the academy. She had laughed so hard she cried and then serenaded him with "Roxanne". It was the wrong album, but he couldn't have given less of a shit.

She, Sting, and the other two bastards are looking at him expectantly, so he quirks an eyebrow hoping that it turns his smile into more of a smirk. "You gonna let me in, or did you just want to show me your front door?"

She gives a mirthless pity laugh to tell him how not funny he is. "I was hoping you were the pizza guy."

"Sorry to disappoint," he shakes his head, and the smile situation is getting out of control.

"Not sorrier than I am," she says, heaving a long suffering sigh as she steps aside to let him inside. He doesn't even make it past her before she breaks and offers him a smile.

Diego snorts and turns towards what might as well be his second home. Or first. Hell, he's here more than he's ever in his shitty room at the boxing gym. The TV is on, blankets pooled in a semicircle on the couch, a bottle of wine and half empty glass in front of the spot. Her purse and keys sit on the table, heels kicked off under a chair. Other than that, the place is pristine as usual.

He doesn't like the way this scene looks.

"Thought you had a date tonight," he remarks, heading into the kitchen to get himself a wine glass. Behind him, the door clicks shut and her bare feet patter lightly against the floor.

"There was a miscommunication."

It's the way her voice is too light-- each word is carefully chosen. How under the chair's legs one shoe is on its side while the other is still standing. The fact that she's drinking red wine instead of those stupid Whiteclaws.

"He didn't show." Diego turns to her as he says this, watching to see the words reach her. When they do, her eyes shoot down to the ground and she gives a small shake of her head.

"No." Her voice is soft and her eyes run over the scratch marks on the wooden floor from when she had him rearranging the furniture to make her new coffee table "aesthetically fit". It's threelong seconds before she speaks again. "He uh--meant to meet up with someone else."

Anger shoots through him, burning and vicious and fuck wine as a solution. Diego strides forward, heading to the front door, when she reaches out a hand to stop him. "Don't."

He looks at her and tries to arrange his features into some semblance of innocent concern. "I'm just going to my car to get a bottle of whiskey I keep there." He has to pry his gaze away from hers because the look she's giving him makes his heart feel like it's going to implode. She looks at him as if she sees him. She's the only person who's ever given him that look.

"Diego. Do not go interrupt his date to pick a fight."

"Fuck," he curses under his breath because she sees right through the lie. He turns back to her, mouth open to deny the accusation when her look intensifies.

"I know you Diego Hargreeves."

No one has ever told him they love him.

But that sounds pretty damn close.

She releases his arm because she knows that she's won or maybe she has some misplaced faith in his self-control. "I really appreciate that you want to kill him. Really, really appreciate it. But I don't need you going to jail on assault charges. I need you here, drinking wine and watching TV with me. Unless you actually have that whiskey."

He shakes his head, thankful he doesn't have to respond because the fact that she needs him leaves him just about breathless.

This time she curses under her breath, a soft damn. "You're such a tease," she comments, heading back to the couch and he goes back to get a wine glass from the cabinet.

“It's only for you, baby,” he calls over his shoulder.

They’re two bottles of wine deep and it’s only 11 o’clock. She had apparently been joking about the pizza guy, much to Diego’s disappointment. When he voiced as much, her eyes got big and bright, and she grabbed his face in her hands. “Then let’s order a fucking pizza.”

And then she slapped him, one cheek after the other and went to get her cell phone.

They’re still waiting on the pizza.

But his attention has been less on the grumbling in his stomach and more on the fact that y/n hasn't laughed once in the last forty minutes. She hasn't so much as cracked a smile. Not even when Esther stabs her hand in front of Hank. In fact, since the phone call for pizza she's hardly even said a word, and he can see what she's doing. She's torturing herself. Her attention isn't on Barry, it's on the asshole she left at whatever bar to go on a date with someone who wasn't her.

"Hey," he says, and she turns to look at him, eyebrows raised. At least she isn't that far down the rabbit hole. That's good. He's been there enough times to know how hard it is to pull yourself out of the cycle. To silence out the memories of voices you shouldn't give two shits about anymore and focus on what's in front of you. "How did Burger King get Dairy Queen pregnant?"

Her nose wrinkle and brow creases in confusion, and she stares at him like he's clinically insane. "What?"

"Come on," he gestures, turning towards her so that their knees brush together. "How'd the Burger King get Dairy Queen pregnant?"

She seems to catch on then, her face more skeptical than concerned for his sanity. "How?"

"He forgot to wrap his whopper."

She just shakes her head, turning back to the TV. He wouldn't be Number 2 if he gave up now. "What should you do if you come across an elephant?"

"What?" her voice is flat and unamused, but it's not the same tone she gives him when she's done with his bullshit.

"Apologize and wipe it off."

She cracks then, her lips fighting against her will to keep a straight face as the corner of her mouth twitches up into a smile. A small burst of air exhales through her nose. It's not a laugh, and it's not a smile, but it's a start.

""What's the difference between 'Oooh!' and 'Aaah!'?"

"Oh no--"

"About three inches."

She bursts with laughter then, slapping a hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles. Her eyes crinkle in the corner, as she looks at him, shaking her head. He's gotten what he wanted, but what's one more joke?

"What goes in hard and dry and comes out wet and soft?"

She almost chokes on the wine she's sipping to help her stop laughing. "Diego!"

"Chewing gum. Why, what were you thinking?"

"Fuck you," she says, pointing a finger at him, but she's laughing, so he starts laughing too. She sets her wine glass back down in front of her and crawls all the way on the couch, shuffling closer to him so she can beat his arm with both of her fists.

"It's a good joke," he protests, laughing harder as she continues her assault.

"It's so not a good joke!" she argues back, tears streaming down from her eyes. But they're from laughter rather than what's going on in her head, so he'll take it. His arm is saved from the punching by a knock at the door. Naturally she moves to get up, but he shakes his head, gently pushing her back down into the couch and reaching into his back pocket to pull out his wallet.

The guy takes in his tactical outfit with a raised eyebrow, but doesn't say anything about it. Diego feels a bit sorry that he took off his knives. Scaring the pizza guy was always mildly entertaining for himself. Instead he passes along the money with a "Thanks man," and returns to Y/N who has settled back into her spot.

She gives him a warning look and holds up a finger at him again. "No jokes during the pizza."

"What?" It's his turn to look at her like she's crazy.

"I'll choke and die, and you don't want that on your conscience--and don't turn that into another joke," she adds quickly, preventing him from using the innuendo before he can even find it in the sentence.

"Fine," he says, sinking into his seat and putting the box of pizza on the coffee table. "No jokes. Just pizza."

She narrows her eyes suspiciously at him even as she reaches forward to pull out a slice. She doesn't break her gaze until she's swallowed and he bites into his own piece. There's a few moments of quiet between them, but it feels better than it did before the pizza. There's something lighter in the air between them, and he hopes she feels it too.

"Thank you," she says, suddenly.

It takes him a second and a quick glance around the apartment to realize that she means the pizza. He scoffs and waves the thanks off.

"No, Diego, seriously. Thank you. For coming over," she sighs. "I needed this."

"I'm always here for you," he said, nudging her with his shoulder. "You know that. Can't get rid of me even if you tried."

She offers a small smile, and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, wincing as she notices the pizza grease on her finger tips. Diego shouldn't be watching her this closely. He should focus on his pizza like a normal person. But he can't take his eyes off her. How she seems just a bit slower, just a bit quieter today. She runs her fingers over a napkin leaving a trail of yellow grease. "Do you wanna hear something sad?" she asks, her voice small.

"When you say it like that, how could I say no?" It was supposed to be a joke, but his voice is too soft.

She doesn't look at him, instead keeping her eyes fixated on the used napkin.

"This isn't the first time that's happened. It's not even the first time that's happened this month."

He wants to kill. He wants to wage a war against the boys on Tinder or Bumble or the force or wherever it is she's finding these assholes. But she needs him here. She told him she needs him.

"They're idiots," he says. "Complete fucking morons."

"Statistics would suggest otherwise," she shook her head, looking back up at the tv, frozen on a close up of Bill Hader's face. "I mean...guy after guy, I'm always the one getting broken up with or ghosted. Is there something I'm not seeing? Seriously, Diego, is there something wrong with me?" She looks at him then, eyes shining and heartbreaking in the earnestness of the question.

"There's not a single fucking thing wrong with you," he says quickly wiping his own hands off so he can pull her in close. She wraps her arms around his middle, leaning her forehead into the crook of his neck. He can feel her breath against his skin. Feel her heartbeat. He holds her even tighter.

"I'm going to put that in my bio from now on. Not a single fucking thing wrong with me. Verified by Diego Hargreeves." She gives a single quiet laugh at her own joke, and Diego smiles, running his fingers through her hair. He isn't sure if it's as calming to her as it is to him, but her head feels a bit heavier as she relaxes more into him.

“I don’t know. I think I’m just done with this all. Maybe I’ll like being alone," she sighs, wiggling a little bit closer. "With you of course. We can be alone together.”

'Yeah," his smile is bigger now, and he can feel her smiling against him too. “Yeah, we can do that.”

#diego hargreeves x reader #number 2 x reader #tua #tua fic #diego hargreeves imagine #diego hargreeves fic #tua imagine #number 2 fic #number 2 imagine #umbrella academy #the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy fanfiction #tua fanfiction #diego hargreeves fanfiction

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onlyhereforangst · 3 years

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WWR

I’m baaaaack bitches 😘 let’s be honest the last two episodes were shit & you wouldn’t have wanted that wwr anyways. SO let’s get into the ✨angst✨ that was Nick’s episode under the cut…

Oh but before I start, why yes, yes I called this theory too. Me and this writer share a goddamn brain or something because I’ve literally always guessed big plot points of his episodes correctly 😅

Ok Nick’s dad leaving like that, with poor bby Nick all sweet asking if he promises to bring him back his favorite pastry and him hesitating before he’s going to promise- NO.

*picture Michael Scott gif here*

It’s not faaaaaair, little Nick deserved so much better- so MUCH better. And it’s only going to get worse as the episode goes on, so strap in for the walk down emo lane.

Quick pit stop for cute banter because duh. Nick giving the real estate agent Ellie’s number cracks me up because bro you want this house with her don’t you 👀 you still keep her business cards on you when you could have just as easily gotten your own (or McGee’s) by this point 👀 you just want to maaaaarry her and move iiiiiiin with her I knooooooow it 👀 Ellie’s reaction the split second we see also has me dying because she’s like ha ha this is funny you had to talk to real estate agent you drew the short straw hey wait what the fu— you did not! Before McGee interrupts any protest she can hurl back Nick’s way and that’s just gold right there. Pure middle school flirting as per usual for them and I love it.

Oooooooh Kasie’s lab scene. The growth in this one. Nick worried his family and by extension him, is going to get implicated for murder (or is guilty) even though it sounds outrageous to him, he’s got PTSD from Mona Lisa (and who wouldn’t tbh). But Ellie immediately, like IMMEDIATELY goes and defends him. Is like uh-uh don’t even GO there, it’s not a possibility its just person of interest I don’t care if it’s literal hair at the scene of a man stabbed brutally seven times, he’s not a murderer. The grooooooowth Ellie, I’m so proud of you 🥺 we went from using that logical head to realizing it’s ok to listen to your heart and wade into situations with empathy (especially for the boy you ~*looOOoOoOve*~) And then Nick talking about his dad being dead and a deadbeat and walking out when he was 5, he looks at Ellie almost the entire time, only barely glancing over at McGee like he needs to have that connection with her, she grounds him when this is suddenly very jarring having a relative by semi-involved in a murder. And Ellie isn’t the slightest bit shocked when Nick dumps this news so clearly she’s heard it and by her look, not only has she heard this, but she does not like the man for what he did to Nick. She looks pissed his father hurt Nick like that because how dare any one hurt her man 😤

And oh here it is, we back on emo lane. Nick recognizing and seeing his dad for the first time in 30 years. It’s gonna hit like a 🎵freeeeeight traaaain🎵 at first he can’t even believe its him, he blinks like a thousand times because *surely* his eyes are deceiving him and then his dad goes and uses his nickname, his nickname people the CRUELTY. YOU DON’T GET TO JUST SHOW UP THIRTY YEARS LATER AND CALL HIM BY HIS CUTE LITTLE NICKNAME YOU GAVE HIM AS A CHILD. YOU DON’T MIGUEL. NOT IN THIS GD HOUSE. Ok and now nick is in pure shock because he just got confirmation that his dad is not only *not* dead, but he’s here in front of him, in DC no less, possibly a murderer no less. AND he’s finding this out by chasing him down *not* by Miguel reaching out to him while in DC. The shock and confusion and hurt my poor baby.

And when that shock wears off and it’s just barely contained rage, my heart 🥺 so of course Ellie goes in there with him and nows she needs to immediately be the support she knows he needs but he won’t admit to needing. Nick tries to deflect with a joke at first but oh honey it’s no use. But quick comedic relief for us on emo lane “sit down, no I don’t like sitting” AHAHAHA like father like son I’m cackling because the look Ellie and nick share and nick’s eyes warn her like don’t you dare fucking say it and she’s like yep yep nope I wasn’t gonna say a damn thing I’ll just look down and try to contain my laughter because now is NOT the time. But see I’m on my couch and I can laugh all I damn well please at this scenario that was gold from the writers thank you. On a more serious level this probably hurt nick even more seeing that he’s even got the smallest something similar to his dad. He’s probably desperate to be the exact opposite, he doesn’t want to even consider being capable of what his father was capable so this - while seemingly insignificant - thing like not wanting to sit in a chair will hit deep for him without him realizing it. If something so trivial is the exact same, wouldn’t something much much heavier like commitment to relationships and family be the exact same? Wouldn’t it?? And good god poor nick for going through that mental anguish, on emo rollercoaster lane. Because it just gets better when Miguel’s excuse for being in DC is “visiting family” like call your BULLSHIT Miguel you certainly ain’t visiting family and Nick now knows oh he lies too, great, another win for the Torres blood, fan-fucking-tastic.

Quick peek at viewing room and we don’t believe in personal space, Ellie wants to be as close as possible to her hurting bby 🥺

But back to the emo stuff - Miguel just lying off his ass and Nick fed up with his father’s games because it’s truly just twisting that knife in his back that’s been stuck there for 30 years deeper and deeper. AND THEN Miguel has the audacity to yell out for “Nico” like bitch you do NOT get to call him that either. You walked out on him and never came back gtfo. And Ellie is trying so hard to keep it together but man she wants to do one of two things if not both at the same time - wrap Nick up in her arms and shield him from this deadbeat and/or punch this man through the glass to cause just a fraction of the hurt he caused Nick. But instead she just has to keep her cool to be the supportive girlfriend she is and ask nick what he thinks and then. Then. “He’s lying…because his lips are moving”

Well FUCK. Murder me right now. The anguuuuuuuish. Poor five year old Nick in a 35 year old Nick’s body. That little boy who was promised a big hojaldre in the morning from the next town over is right there. Right there to witness the father he thought he had, hasn’t changed. One of the only memories Nick probably has of his father is him leaving. Him lying and leaving. And what does he do when he finally shows up again?

HE LIES AND LEAVES. HE FUCKING LIES AND LEAVES. (I know I’m getting ahead and technically at this point we don’t know he’ll leave again but whatever sue me because this shit is too much.)

Side note: Ellie talking about a “conflict of interest” that Nick didn’t interrogate his father is laughable considering she should have never interrogated Xavier but ok.

Ooooo lets see some pissed off Nick. Let it loose baby, you deserve this. And I know I wrote about this in the tags somewhere but can we take a second to appreciate McGee’s growth??? Like bro went from straight up denial to acceptance and giving Ellie the look of “go talk to your boyfriend ok we need to make sure he’s alright and we both know your support is going to go a lot further than my support” and Ellie wordlessly kNOWS EXACTLY WHAT HE’S SAYING. She’s like yeah, of course I’ll go help my man why wouldn’t I.

I don’t know why but Ellie asking Nick if he’s talked to his “mom and sister” is just so 🥰 I can’t explain this one to you but I love this dialogue ok. Actually I love this whole ensuing conversation. Nick still is bitter (he has every gd right to be), Ellie playing the supportive girlfriend but *tiiiiiniest* bit of devil’s advocate with saying he might be innocent. Once again, so much growth because honestly she knows what it’ll do to Nick if his dad actually *is* a murderer. Like can we for a second imagine if his dad actually was guilty, right? Nick already saw he was like his dad in trivial things like not wanting to sit in chairs. Nick has already had serious, serious doubts to what he’s capable of aka worried he could, if the right buttons were pushed, be a murderer on multiple occasions. Ellie has been there with him for all of that, she knows how low his confidence is when it comes to his perceived “goodness” and she knows just how much it would break him if he learned his direct bloodline IS capable of murder. She knows how he’d spiral if that was true and so she’s gripping to any small possibility his dad is innocent. But nick, oh poor Nick my heart- he’s done. He opens up to Ellie without literally any prodding. He’s baring his long buried soul to her, that troubled, broken childhood that he surely keeps locked away in fear of letting anyone see a weakness. He bares it without question because he feels so safe in her presence he can let her in to see his deepest shame and by extension his deepest worry 🥺🥺🥺 and poor Ellie, she’s a little lost at how to go about helping him because she does have a good relationship with her dad, so yes all she has here for him is saying his father was guilty of a crap dad but it’s because she’s still trying to convince them both he has to be good. He has to be good for Nick’s sake. Buuuuuuut it doesn’t really work does it, because oh shit pissed the fuck off Nick is a site to behold isn’t it 🥵 kicking down doors once again and his smart “still think he’s innocent” oooooooo damn. Ellie’s face says it all- she’s trying so hard to hold out hope for Miguel, so hard. She needs him to be innocent she’s willing to speak it into existence a thousand times but her face is like fuck this is going to kill him and I can’t do a damn thing about it other than just watch.

More pissed off Nick 🥵 but when you think about it is so so painful, all I can picture is that little 5 year old boy who woke up the next morning waiting, waiting, and waiting. Staring out the window at each car that slows down but ultimately passes. Tugging on his Mami’s shirt asking for the hundredth time when papi is coming back from the bakery with his hojaldre, oblivious to the tears that are slowly sliding down her cheek because she still can’t find the words to tell him what she knows deep down. That little boy who when the sun starts to set the confusion sets in with it. Why hasn’t my papi come back yet? Where is he? He promised. The sadness and sense of rejection that starts to fill his little heart when his mami tucks him and his sister into bed and he asks one final time where papi is and will he say goodnight to them and his Mami has to say she’s not sure when he’s coming home and quietly to the side, “if he’s coming home.” The little boy who weeks later has finally abandoned watching out the window every, single morning. The little boy who had his heart ripped out and thrown to the side of the road when he realized his papi didn’t go to the bakery and instead he was thrown out by his father like a day-old hojaldre. So yeah pissed Nick is fine af but good god the angst underneath is suffocating. Because Nick in this moment doesn’t know the *true* reason Miguel left. He knows what he lived and what he lived is a piece of shit. Nick’s response to “is that what you think of me” is amicable because OOF he could’ve gone the fuck off right there and told him what he really thought of him but he stuck with only a slight dig. TO WHICH MIGUEL. FUCK YOU MIGUEL. IT HASN’T HURT YOU MUCH. FUCK YOU MIGUEL. FUCK YOU. SOUNDS LIKE YOU WERE A SHIT DAD SO YEAH PROBABLY A GOOD THING YOU LEFT. THANK HIM NICK WITH YOUR FISTS BECAUSE HE’S A LITTLE SHIT. FUCK YOU MIGUEL. TOUGHENED HIM UP SO MUCH HE SHUTS EVERYONE OUT. YEAH FUCK YOU.

And then man here is the point where it all just muddies in Nick’s mind. The poor dude. He knows this line of work, hell he was undercover for almost a decade. He understands how that leaves almost no room for a family. He gets it, so deep deep deep down a tiny part of him realizes why Miguel likely *thought* it was ok to ditch his family. But for thirty years he’s felt abandoned- no reasoning can change that.

“It’s good to know he was making a nice living while my family was starving” fucking GET HIM NICK. Damn I wish Miguel had been in the room for that. He deserved to hear that one. Ruthless.

I do not know how I missed this the first time around but holy shit Nick asked to be removed from the case. Nicholas Torres- a man who does not back down. A man who bullied his way into finishing his first ever case with this team that he was arguably way too close to that one too. This is how much pain Miguel brings him. A man who does not quit, not in his vocabulary - was so pissed at getting sent home back when Reeves died, he asks to get sidelined. He actually asks to get sidelined. Holy shit Miguel did a number on Nick and I mean we knew this but 🥺😭😭 poor bby. No wonder you don’t trust yourself in a serious relationship. It’s not the girl you’re worried about it’s you. You don’t think you’re capable of staying, you’re terrified you’ll be just like your dad and leave. once again, you’ve seen the similarities with trivial things and so this just cements your fear of failing at commitment. And this is Nick in just so much pain he asks to step back. oof. I do love Leon stepping into a slight fatherly role for Nick right there though, he shows his support, his pride in Nick and in that moment I think Nick realizes while his father by blood is shit, he’s got several other strong role models in his life that care and that’s why he agrees to work with him.

Nick’s smarts comment about leaving the note behind 🤣 oh classic Torres move. Also do yourself a favor and pause it on Ellie’s reaction to him. GOLD hahaha she’s like ooo-kay did you really feel the need to say that, let’s not. Honestly I think I’ve given this look to my husband almost daily. They married y’all.

So married that she overhears Miguel trying to talk to Nick and her hackles raise!!! She’s like hold the fuck up do not traumatize my baby even more, Nick do you need me??? Because I will get you out of this, I will be here for you, I will fight this man, just say the damn word!!!! And Nick ugh, his look. They can communicate with just a simple look, he knows all that she would do for him in that moment and still nods her off, but that tiny bit of gratitude is present. Then we find out that yes Grace is really good at guessing theories “in order to keep his young family safe, it means he has to leave. Of course he can’t *tell* them why he has to leave so that they continue to stay innocent and safe. So he plays it like he’s a deadbeat dude who was “too young” to be a father and is just now realizing it and leaves his wife, little daughter & son behind. Flash forward thirty years and the NCIS case leads them to him. A piece of evidence pops up with his alias, they go knocking down doors to interrogate a potential suspect (Nick’s father) before our lovely CIA agent interfere and claims he’s innocent because he’s a CI…” like DAMN, I’m good. Hahaha any ways the reason I bring this up is because I feel like I predicted/analyzed Nick’s feelings really well back then in this theory and after seeing his expressions, they hold true. Nick is just absolutely warring with himself during this explanation, searching for anything to confirm his dad truly is a deadbeat (and yes he is still absolutely a piece of shit for what he did, but there’s a “good” reason for his leaving and that’s what makes it so- hard.) and as I said when I first broke this down, Nick understands undercover work and his dad (being the POS he is) brings that up to Nick. Like he should “get” it because wouldn’t he do the same thing since he’s in that life? But here’s where (and Nick doesn’t totally realize it yet) Nick and Miguel are different. Because Nick came back, Nick stayed. He stayed y’all and he says it here but he does not realize the implications of his words quite yet. He is NOT the same as Miguel. Yeah he doesn’t like to sit in chairs but he has stayed. He has stayed through some tough shit too but he’s stayed nonetheless. More than Miguel could ever fucking say, that’s for sure. So yes, when Nick has the come to Jesus and realizes that he is not the same as his dad and he can and will stay? Damn I can’t wait for that moment. Also I wanted to slap Miguel when he called Nick “mijo” because BITCH YOU DO NOT GET TO CALL HIM THAT. YOU DO NOT GET TO CALL HIM YOUR SON. NO. “I’m not perfect but I did the best I could” well fuck you too Miguel because look at this broken five year old boy inside a thirty five year old man’s body. Does that look like the product of a “best you could”?? Does he look “ok” to you??? Fuck you.

But yes here’s my take on where Nick is at: how do you forgive someone you’ve despised for thirty years once you know they “didn’t have a choice” (even though it will always feel like they had a choice or they could’ve explained it to you even if you were only five) and left in reality token you safe and give you a better chance at life? How do you reconcile the real dad and the one you lived with in your head for so long?? How???

And then you’re stuck still reeling from the night before and the bomb that was dropped and the reconciliation you’re attempting to your dad bringing in the ONE THING. The ONE THING he promised to bring home in the morning thirty years prior. How the actual fuck does one come back from that. Can I give another big FUCK YOU to Miguel Torres? Because seriously??? Why do you ever think that’s ok??? Hey I promised my kid I’d bring him hojaldres in the morning for breakfast thirty years ago so may as well make good on that promise right, only thirty years late that’s totally fine right? He won’t tell the difference right?

Fuck you, Miguel.

And they’re still clearly Nick’s favorite because he’s brought Jimmy to a restaurant specifically for them and that just makes my heart break for the man he had to become without a father. He still held onto that love for them even though they were probably always associated with a horrible, horrible memory of being abandoned 🥺🥺 god damn Nick you’re so broken I’m so sorry.

Ellie is still as supportive as ever and good god we clearly have lost all pretense of personal space at this point, what is her we don’t know her isn’t this normal for coworkers? But this conversation implies he called her after his talk with his dad and ugh yesssss 😩❤️ I still think he called her immediately after leaving the building, talked the entire car ride home and while getting ready for bed, needing the comfort of her voice on the other end of the line as he worked through his whirlwind of emotions and tried to come down off the cliff he felt himself on. All pretenses of a bad boy with a mysterious flare forever gone, his heart is open for her to see and he doesn’t give two shits about it anymore. But Ellie does a damn good job of girlfriend duties here and not only supports him but also gently prods him to see if he can maybe one day have a relationship with his father. The parallels she brings up makes him think (and also makes him look at her lips twice 👀 he’s just so close to her how could he not I mean right 😅) and I love that she’s still being v supportive but also trying to help him grow.

And then Ellie giving Nick the option to go with his dad or go to the other location because she’s not going to push anything on him he doesn’t want and then when he chooses the embassy to avoid his dad her reaction had me laughing 🤣 but she respects it. And yet shortly after Miguel tries to team up with Nick and Ellie hears it from the other side of the bullpen, immediately all ears to step in if he wants to avoid him again despite giving him flack for it earlier. Nick can sense her worry and support and this is the moment he takes her advice in just a tiny step and accepts teaming up with his dad. But OMG KILL ME WHEN NICK THINKS HIS DAD IS DEAD BEFORE HE GETS TO TRY AT A RELATIONSHIP AGAIN. HIS WHISPERED “papa’s” I CAAAAAN’T.

Ugh and then his last conversation with his dad while Ellie is checking on him constantly. It’s just too much, that little boy is back, desperately hoping for his dad to stick around. And Ellie is just so happy she can’t contain it for him and it’s perfect. He walks right to her, her hand on his back because they just need to touch each other after such a heavy couple of days and Nick echoes her advice back at her because he’s showing he listens and he values her insight and I just love it.

AND THEN MIGUEL HAS COME TO RIP MY HEART OUT BECAUSE HE’S A PIECE OF SHIT REMEMBER.

My poor bby Nick’s face when he realized his dad LIES AND LEAVES. REMEMBER. HE LIES AND LEAVES. God Wilmer killed it because Nick is literally on the verge of tears and my heart breaks and then yes he goes to Gibbs to see his pseudo-father who he then realizes is more of a father figure than Miguel will ever be and hell that’s okay but STILL.

I will end this WWR with a I love supportive girlfriend Ellie and another big Fuck You to Miguel Torres.

Goodnight.

#ellick #ncis #wwr #18x12 #there's a lot of yelling #there's a lot of swearing #there's just a lot yall #this ep was angst central and you know me 😅#enjooooooy #hopefully i can get 18x13 out tomorrow before 18x14 lol

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i-dont-want-your-hysteria · 3 years

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Take It Easy (Rick x Reader)

(illustration by @paper-sxn as always)

Words: 1,520

Prompt: March 1983, you’re a crewmember for the Pyromania tour, and you come down with carsickness one day. To top things off, it’s the same day the crew’s bus has a special visitor...

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March 1983

Being on the road could sometimes bite you in the ass. It was a cliche thing to think, and you knew it- despite it being undeniably true. You loved traveling with infinite perks, but as for your finite troubles... there was much to be desired.

You nagged yourself with this mantra as you lay curled up and half-dead in your bunk. It was all you could do while your body protested against the feeling of being in motion for so long. The gentle hum and rumble of transportation was normally a lullaby, oddly enough. It definitely seemed to contradict itself in your current predicament. What a talent the tour bus had for lulling you to sleep and sickening you at the same time.

Carsickness didn't affect you that often- plus, it hadn't even happened on tour at all yet!

“Why would this occur now- especially now? That’s just me and my goddamned bad luck...”

And lucky you, indeed. Of course you got sick at the most inopportune time; when the band's drummer decided to hop on the crew’s bus for a while.

You weren't getting as close to the band as you wanted to, and this opportunity would've been nice- had you not felt under the weather out of the blue.

All you wished was to sleep off the nausea and dizziness without making a fool of yourself in front of Def Leppard's drummer- the wild and free and funny Rick.

If it'd been any other member, maybe there would have been less pressure. Unfortunately, you had a history with drummers, and Rick was a young rock star in the purest form. The beat seemed to follow him wherever he went, and those curls you spotted on the bus told no lies. His formula of being a little crazy, a little willing, all laughs, and all smile had you instantly yearning to meet him.

He got along splendidly with the crew (as his brother was a part of it), and seemed so untouchable and out of your league for friendship. It was a little painful. It should've been easy to talk to him, as you were friends and fellow crewmates with his brother Robert, but the social line between band and crew felt thick to you for some undefinable reason. Still, this was supposed to be your opportunity to maybe start befriending the band. Instead, you didn't want to be a drag (or throw up in front of Rick), so you drew your curtain back, curled up under your blanket away from the commotion, and privately tried to wait out the sickness of travel. The heaviness of your body needed to ease up before you made any first impressions. You were too sick to care about taking advantage of this opportunity. If only you could get some shuteye and skip ahead in time to when you'd feel better. Your head turned into your pillow and let your thoughts cloud your ears instead. The motion of the bus made you feel as if you were floating for so long that you weren't sure if you'd fallen asleep or not. Being warm and shrouded in the darkness of your bunk made the rest of the world cease to exist. When you finally realized you may have been sleeping, you were conscious again. You didn't know how much time had passed, and you didn't know if you were feeling any better at all. The only thing you did know was that someone was trying to get your attention.

"Y/n? Are you okay?" an unfamiliar voice gently sept into your bunk. Your eyes opened to see some light coming through; the curtain must've been pulled back somewhat. Rolling over, you came face to face with Rick. He was crouched and holding the curtain back, peeking his face in only a little. You jumped at the sight of him being so close, but sunk back down immediately after. "What's going on?" you rubbed your eyes as you grumbled at him. You did your best to sound polite and not grumpy. "Nothing's goin' on," Rick assured you, "But you've been in here a while and we're wonderin' if you're okay, is all." Still tired and still sick, you didn't have the time or capacity to consider what he was saying. When you came to think of it, you did hear Robert and someone else murmuring some quiet, possibly concerned remarks about you just before you dozed off, but you weren't too sure. Perhaps Rick was part of that exchange. Instead of asking him if he was, you answered on your impulse, "Yeah, I'm alright. I've been carsick before, and it decided to hit me today." Your stomach gurgled uncomfortably, resulting in you wrapping your arms around your abdomen. You rolled back away from Rick, facing the wall with a whine, "But thanks for checking in." "You don't look so good," he remarked, "Do you need anything?" "I need a bed that isn't moving. Or at least one that's a bit more comfortable." What you really wanted to say was that you needed a hug, and that you didn't want to bother him, but you were still trying to make an impression. You figured the best you could do at this point was be polite and stay out of Rick's way. There would be other chances to bond with the band. "Well maybe I could help-" Rick's proposal was accompanied by the sound of the curtain being drawn back more, and the feeling of him climbing into your bunk with you. You tried to look back at him as he made his effort, "What are you-?" He plopped down beside you and huffed, "I just thought you could use some company to get your mind off things. I could leave if you want me to." Scoffing with a tired smile, you curled back up and turned away from him, "I don't mind, but you probably won't get much conversation outta me." Rick set the curtain back to its prior position, leaving you partially shrouded in darkness again, "Alright by me." Laying there in the narrow bed, you couldn't help but feel drawn to the warmth of him behind you. The last thing you expected was the band's drummer to climb into bed with you in a time of distress, but Rick took it upon himself to prove your judgement wrong. Turns out the friendship line between band and crew wasn't so thick after all. "You sure you're okay with being in here?" you had to ask in your grumbly tone, "I could hurl at any minute, you know." Rick's shrug was felt throughout the bunk, "Nah, I know you won't. Mind you, you seem like you could use-" The bus hit a bump, causing you both to bounce in the narrow space. Rick, in danger of rolling out, needed something to hang onto. In a blink of an eye, he was now holding onto you. "Shit! Blimey, that would've been a barrel roll outta here-" he chuckled, still clinging to you to make sure he wouldn't fall out, "Sorry 'bout that." "You okay?" you were giggling as well as he released his grasp from you. "I'm fine, I'm fine. How about you?" Apart from the humor of the situation, you told him nervously with a green face, "That bump didn't do me so good..." "Oh no- it's okay," he proceeded to reclaim his hold on you in an attempt to raise comfort. Almost humorously, he began slightly rocking you, "Just keep telling yourself 'I won't be sick, I won't be sick..." Your reply was a mere hum when you snuggled your face into the pillow, "You don't know how good it feels to be warm right now... it's rather nice... despite the circumstances." "Just take it easy and we'll be done driving soon," Rick sounded like he genuinely cared about your wellbeing- which was catching you off guard. His light that was being shed on the mood was such a comforting glow. He proved this further when he chuckled, "It's funny, I was about to say that you look like you could use a hug, anyways." "Wow," you giggled and softly shut your eyes. A big, bashful smile crept up your lips, "Somehow you read my mind." It was bizarre how Rick clicked with you right away. The ice that needed to be broken between you wasn't just broken; it was also melted and evaporated as well. You, personally, thought it strange how Rick's body seemed to feel instantly comfortable around yours, too. Who knew drummers could be so dexterous as well? The lullaby of the rumbling road caressed you both now, and the crew's bus sped on through the day. The trip was becoming a little easier now that you felt a bit more protected and cared for. It was amazing how backstage life unfolded sometimes. One second, you're an average crewmember, and the next, you're suddenly worthy enough to be spooned by a member of the band. Just like that, you had discovered one more of the infinite perks of being on the road.

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(Take It Easy by the Eagles)

#always a song for every fic uwu #''so open up- I'm climbing in''#def leppard #def leppard fanfic #def leppard fanfiction #rick allen #rick allen x reader #def leppard x reader #rick allen fanfic #rick allen fanfiction #original content #fanfic #fanfiction

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be-the-spark-flyboy · 3 years

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Meant To Be [part 1]

A/n: missed last week buT NOT THIS TIME WRITERS BLOCK😤 written for @autumnleaves1991-blog writer wednesday

Pairing: Poe Dameron x Finn (modern au)

Warnings: swearing, pining, BB8 is a snarky 4 yr old, cuteness, some thirty thots, I don’t know how toddlers speak forgive me, barely proofread, age gap (Finn is 25 and Poe is 34)

Word count: 1.4K

—-

Poe was so tired. He could feel the sweat rolling down the back of his neck, the sun beating down on him mercilessly as he slammed the trunk of his car close a tad harder than necessary. A tiny head peaked out from the passenger seat at the noise. Poe grimaced.

He was really looking forward to handing over Beebee to Han and Leia for the evening and get some much needed rest. But now he was practically stranded in the middle of a desert, sand as far as his eyes could see and a flat tire, puncture kit nowhere to be found.

Dragging his feet back to the front, he dropped heavily onto the driver's seat, huffing in frustration. The radio was playing a pop song he may have heard sometime in passing, but hey, at least the air conditioning was unaffected and they had more than enough snacks packed for the trip. The last thing he needed was a hangry kid crying from the punishing heat.

Said toddler turned to look at him and he snorted at her serious expression and his aviators looking comically large on her small face. Beebee smiled back. "Now are you going to call grampa Han?" she asked.

"Looks like I don't have a choice," he sighed, prompting a round of giggles from Bee.

"He's going to be mad,"

"Little lady, do you think it's funny when your dad gets yelled at by that old man?"

"I'm gonna tell him you called him old man," she giggled again.

"No you won't,"

"Yes, I will," she told him with conviction.

"Snitches get stitches," Poe lurched forward tickling her sides making her squeal with laughter.

"I'm gonna tell him!"

---

"You always get the same thing! Try something new," Rey groaned.

Finn smiled pleasantly at her irritation, cheerfully replying, "Nope," as Rey parked her ancient looking pick-up truck outside the ice-cream parlour. "And if you get me anything but butterscotch I'll steal your keys," he threatened.

"And then what? Walk home by yourself?" Rey laughed, slipping out before Finn could issue more stupid threats. He pouted in his seat, watching his roommate happily skip into the shop.

Fridays were Finn's favourite. Classes end early and it was his off day too. More often then not Han lets Rey off earlier at the shop so he gets to spend more time with her as well. It was just perfect.

The phone on the dashboard starts to vibrate not a minute later. Finn recognized the caller ID and picked it up. "Hello, Solo,"

"Rey not there?" came the gruff reply.

"Nice to hear from you too, I've been good, how about you?" He asked cheerfully. Maybe the fact that he wasn’t face to face with Han Solo made him a little more bold than usual. Rey swears he is a teddy bear under all that grumpy personality but Finn was yet to be convinced.

"Not in the mood, big deal," the old man huffed on other side.

"I can take a message," Finn folded. Best not to push him too far.

“My idiot godson got himself stranded out in the desert without a puncture kit. I need Rey to go help him out,”

“Aye aye, captain,”

---

Bee was adorably dancing along to the Peppa pig theme song on her god-knows-how-many episode on the iPad propped up against her knees. Exhaustion was pulling at Poe’s eyelids as he fought to keep them open.

It had been almost an hour since he made that absolutely not fun at all call to Han, who spent fifteen whole minutes lecturing him on the importance of being prepared, especially with a toddler dependent on him. Thankfully Leia had interrupted with an excuse of wanting to talk to Beebee.

Then they had waited and waited. He had already gotten out of the car to stretch his legs about three times, not more than a few minutes at a time, too scared he would melt right into the ground from the heat. One particularly long blink of his eyes later, he noticed a battered looking pickup truck approaching and thought dear lord let them be my savior.

The truck parked on the opposite side of the road and a young woman in a tank top and grease stained jeans hopped out. Must be the one Han called Rey. Poe dropped a kiss on Bee’s forehead, asking to her to stay inside. He pushed the door open and— very nearly tumbled to the ground in his gay panic.

Another person stepped out of the truck, a man maybe a few inches taller than the woman. And goddamn, he was fine. The black band tee stretched just so around his chest and Christ, those biceps.

“You must be Han’s godson,” Rey’s voice snapped him out of his gawking. God, he must have been so obvious. For all he knew, the guy could’ve been Rey’s boyfriend.

Poe slapped on a polite smile before offering his hand. “Poe Dameron. Nice to meet you,”

“I’m Beatrice Dameron, but everyone calls me Beebee,” said a voice in an adorable toddler drawl. When the hell did she get out of the car? Was he really that distracted? “Nice to meet you,” Bee offered her hand mirroring him.

Rey crouched down to take her hand. “That’s a nice name. I’m Rey,”

“I asked you to stay in the car,” Poe hissed after Rey went to get the spare tire.

“I didn’t say yes,” Beebee answered before skipping away after Rey. Are four year olds even supposed to be that sassy? An amused chuckle drew his attention back to the handsome stranger.

“Cute kid,” his smile rivaled sunshine— shut up, inner-monologue.

“You’d think that, but before you know it she would have you wrapped around her little finger and you can’t say no to her,” The handsome stranger laughed again and something fluttered in Poe’s chest at the sound.

“I’m Finn, Rey’s roommate,” Oh goodie, not boyfriend then. “You new to town?” Finn asked. God, even his name was perfect.

“Technically, yeah. But it’s fortunate I got transferred somewhere with people I know, ya know,”

“What do you do?”

“Flight instructor at the airbase,” Poe shrugged nonchalantly. It was a brag, he knew it and judging by the arch of Finn’s eyebrows, he thought it was impressive too. “What about you?”

Before he could hear Finn’s answer, Beebee came barreling into Poe, screaming, “I’m gonna be a mechanic when I grown up!”

“That’s great, honey,” Poe lifted up his kid into his arms. Rey walked up behind her.

“You’re all set,” Poe looked at her on surprise. That was fast. After thanking the her for the help, Rey and Finn departed. He sighed forlornly. If only he still had game or time to date.

“You ready to leave now?” Bee nodded her head vigorously. There’s only so much desert one can tolerate.

—-

Han failed to mention his idiot godson was hot. Quite honestly, ‘hot’ wasn’t even doing justice to the head full of dark, gravity-defying curls either. Finn groaned out loud, tipping his head back into the head rest.

“He’s a pilot, Rey,” Rey straight up laughed at his pathetic whining. But Finn paid her no mind as usual. “Do you think he has those uniforms Air Force officers wear? I bet he looks so sexy in them,”

“I don’t know, you could just ask him,” Rey stated.

“Hell no! He has a kid, what if he’s straight? Or worse, what if he’s married?”

“Don’t say you didn’t see him checking you out! Besides, he wasn’t wearing a ring,” Finn briefly wondered when Rey got so observant.

“He wasn’t checking me out!” Finn spluttered.

“Oh ho ho, yes he was,” Rey exclaimed. “Very nearly drooled, too,”

“It doesn’t matter,” he deflated, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m probably not gonna see him again after this anyways,” he lamented.

“He’s Han and Leia’s godson, of course you’re gonna see him again,” as if on queue, Rey’s phone dinged again. “See who texted?” Finn skimmed through the message Han sent and groaned again. “What?”

“Han invited us to dinner, apparently Poe’s gonna be there too,” Finn swore Rey’s answering cackle could be heard for miles.

—-

#writer wednesday #finnpoe au #finnpoe #stormpilot #poe x finn #poe dameron #finn star wars

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louiseleblancdiggory · 4 years

Text

Spooky unpredictableness

31 Days of Spooktober

Day 4/31

Cassian fully believed his girlfriend was a demon.

Not in the bad sense of the thing, even though whenever he told her that she would reply by saying that there wasn’t a good sense in that. No, Cassian just believed that Nesta could not be human. There was a series of reasons to that, but the biggest one was that his girlfriend couldn’t be scared.

Haunted houses, horror movies, pranks, jump scares… Nothing drew more than a simple frown from Nesta. Cassian just knew that she could walk into Hell itself and probably scare the Devil before being scared by him.

And so obviously, Cassian spent the whole month of October trying to scare her.

He didn’t do it as much during the rest of the year, but there was something about Halloween season that just made him insanely tempted to giive Ness a good fright. She wasn’t like Feyre who hated scary pranks, or like Elain who would scream and laugh seconds later. Nests didn’t react, and so she didn’t particularly care if Cassian tried to scare her or not.

“I’ll get you this year.” Cassian said, eyes narrowed as he stared at Nesta.

She only smiled sarcastically over her coffee mug, reading the news on her phone. “You couldn’t make me gasp from surprise even if your life depended on it, sweetheart.”

Cassian jaw fell slightly, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m sorry?”

Nesta raised her icy grey-blue eyes to him, a light-brown eyebrow raised. “We know each other for seven years. We date for four. Tell me one time you got a reaction like that from scaring or surprising me. Let’s be honest, Cass, I can’t be scared and you have become predictable. It’s ok, it’s how our relationship works.”

“I will surprise you.”

“Uh-huh.” Nesta murmured, going back to her coffee and news.

“I mean it.”

“Of course you do.” Nesta’s ironic smile only grew. “Why don’t you go to Halloween spirit buy a Michael Myers mask? You can try catching me when I’m getting out of the bathroom. No, wait, this is not very original. Haven’t you done this already too? Like three times.”

Cassian huffed, getting up from the table. “You’ll see, Nesta Archeron.”

“Want to bet?”

He, stupidly and recklessly, assented. “Yes, I actually do.”

“Very well, name your conditions.” Nesta’s face was probably hurting from her smile.

“If I make you obviously surprised, and I mean even a gasp, I win. If by the end of the month this doesn’t happen, you win. The winner can ask anything and the loser has to say yes.”

Nesta raised her eyebrows, low laughs coming out of her. “Oh, I’m in. You’re so fucked.”

He walked out of the kitchen, Nesta’s laughs following him until he closed the bedroom’s door.

He would never admit it to anyone, especially to Nesta, but she was somewhat right. It’s not that Cassian had never tried to surprise her, but Nesta was always one step ahead, always noticing stuff he thought he had hidden well. She knew him way too well, and getting anything that would be actually surprising to her was near impossible.

And then there was the fact that Nesta couldn’t be scared. It wasn’t something solely based on Cassian, but just in general. Both Feyre and Elain would always tell the rest of their friend group that Nesta was never scared, especially during Halloween when she knew things were fake. She had been a serious kid, and nothing, absolutely nothing, would even force a surprised gasp out of her.

He was dating a goddamn evil genius, and he would need to step up his game a lot if he wished ti get Nesta to at least widen her eyes.

And so Cassian paced his room all throughout breakfast time. He mentally annotated some ideas for actual scares, but nothing that he truly believed that would make Ness surprised. After thirty minutes of nothing, he sighed, throwing himself on their bed.

At least he hadn’t bet with her.

Oh, wait.

—————

Nesta adored Halloween.

People usually believed that because of her serious demeanor, she was the type of person to hate the holiday, but to be honest, since she was a kid Nesta had loved Halloween time. She liked the autumn aesthetic, the elaborated decorations, the horror movie marathons. She loved the candy sales and how everyone was minding their own fucking business and not shoving their noses of hers.

Above all, Nesta adored Halloween because it never scared her.

Since she was little she would watch slasher movies and while her sisters squirmed and screamed, she was intently watching the story. Haunted houses in amusement parks were fun because of other people’s reactions, because they also always failed to make her jumpy. Spooky prank wars with her sisters was easy because they could never scare her, but were easily scared by her.

In short, Halloween was Nesta’s holiday and she made sure to enjoy every single second of October.

It also didn’t hurt how hilarious she found her boyfriend trying to scare her every year. At this point, he had already tried everything from masks to fake insects, jump scares to fake blood. He would even sometimes run out of ideas and repeat the same prank as if she would have magically grown terrified of plastic spiders. She found his dedication both cute and funny, but also effortless. She had gone twenty four years without falling for these pranks, and it was very unlikely that things would change now.

Sometimes she thought about asking Cassian to stop doing them. It was a waste of his money, but he seemed to enjoy them so much that Nesta just couldn’t bring herself to burst his bubble. There was also a very smug part of her that thrived on always winning their unspoken Halloween matches, but she’d never say this out loud if only to maintain her cold and detached nature about these childish pranks.

All those factors together were what made her, in the following morning, taste her sugar before pouring it into her coffee.

She turned to Cassian who was sitting at the table and intently not looking at her. “Really, Cassian? Salt instead of sugar? Not even my dad would fall for that one.”

Cassian scolded, but refused to look at her. Nesta simply smiled and laughed smugly, looking around the cabinets for what was labeled salt but was actually sugar.

“You got it on a Buzzfeed article, didn’t you? I told you those things will fry your brain and it’s not like you have neurons to spare.”

His head whipped in her direction, eyes narrowed and defiant. “I will surprise you, Nesta Archeron. You’re in for a fucking ride if you think not.”

Nesta smiled coyly, letting her coffee mug on the counter as she slowly walked to Cassian. “Really?”

“Yes.” His jaw was tight, but there was something about his expression that was slightly off, that was slightly different.

Ignoring the fact that she was probably being paranoid, Nesta laughed, sitting on Cassian’s lap and putting her arms around his shoulders. He was stiff under her, something that only made her laugh once more. “Cass, our relationship is not based on surprises. As much as it pains me to say, since the beginning you understood most of me, and I understood most of you. And that was a long time ago. There isn’t any aces to play, no rabbit inside the hat. Our relationship is transparent and it’s good that it’s this way.”

“You can still surprise me.” He grumbled.

“You are easily impressionable.”

“Fuck off.” Cassian’s brood broke, and he let out a huffed chuckle. “This has not convinced me to stop, just so you know.”

Nesta jumped off his lap, smirking as she went back to grab her coffee. “I never hoped it would.”

——————

It was October 31th finally.

As much as Nesta still believed she couldn’t be surprised, Cassian sure as hell was trying. Worst was, he wasn’t trying hard, he was just trying a lot.

In the past year the pranks were elaborate and hard to build, but this time they were… classics.

Fake bugs inside your drawers, mayo instead of toothpaste, garlic inside the Oreos. The type of shit that would make you want to throw the thing away, but not really the type of stuff to frighten you. He did buy some masks and put them in random places of the house to scare her, which obviously didn’t happen. He tried to get her scared by doing jump scares after they watched a horror movie, by turning on and off the lights whenever she was alone in a room. He tried the whole mirror thing that, whenever the bathroom was too hot, the words “help” would show up in it.

It was funny and he obviously thought about it, but there was something missing. There was something that was essentially Cassian not being put into those pranks. It’s like he was actually getting his ideas from Buzzfeed, and he would definitely know that none of those things would actually surprise her.

To be honest, she was somewhat disappointed. Nesta would never say it out loud, but she liked the pranks. It was a part of her relationship with Cassian since they started dating— before even— and this year it had been… boring, predictable.

Exactly what she had said it would be.

As she padded to the kitchen on Halloween morning, Nesta wondered if Cassian was doing it on purpose because of what she had said. Wondered if he had made it purposefully predictable to make her regret her own words.

She stopped in front of the fridge, shaking her head. This wasn’t Cassian’s style, no. If he was pissed about what she had said, he would have talked to her. The one in the relationship that usually brooded and was middle vindictive was her. A lot less than she was in the beginning of the relationship, and something she was constantly working on. It wasn’t that she was a mean person, but Nesta had learned to bottle her emotions so much, had learned to treat everyone so coldly as a defense mechanism, that sometimes she would panic and those would be her initial reactions.

It was a slow process— becoming more and more the person she wished to be. A lot of it had been done because of the amazing support she had from Cassian and from her sisters, but Nesta was also proud to recognize that a lot had to do with only herself.

No, Cassian wouldn’t be cruel and do something like that. Nesta knew this because, during the years that she took to overcome her trauma and get to know herself more, she had also gotten to know Cassian more. And he was never cruel, never mean.

Nesta shook her head, clearing her head of thoughts as she opened the fridge.

She could only stare at the jar in front of her, torn between sighing or laughing. She grabbed it, turning around to look at Cassian who had just entered the kitchen. “Really, Cass?”

Cassian huffed, spreading his arms. “Not even a gasp?!”

Nesta chuckled, setting the jar down on the counter. It was big and filled with a green liquid. What was supposed to be scary was the head inside that looked a lot like Rhysand’s. “Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t be happy if this was actually Rhys’s head.”

Cassian laughed, shaking his head. “You’ve got to let the grudge go.”

“I have!” Nesta deadpanned, examining the jar. “Most of the times, at least.”

“Well, looks like I failed.” Cassian said, and Nesta raised an eyebrow at his tone. He didn’t sound defeated, he sounded smug.

“Yes, you did.” Nesta announced, eyes narrowing at Cassian. “What the fuck are you smug about?”

His smile widened. “Nothing.”

“Fuck off, Cassian. If you honestly think I’ll let you surprise me on the last day, you’re mistaken.” Nesta rolled her eyes, turning back to the fridge to grab some grapes. “If you honestly think I’ll—“

And right there, for the first time in her entire life, Nesta found herself absolutely shocked when she turned around. A loud gasp left her mouth, the grapes she’d been holding falling to the ground and rolling all the way to where Cassian was kneeling, a complacent grin on his lips. He was holding a small black box, a simple silver band with small black diamonds on it.

“Well, well, well, Nesta Archeron. If that gasp wasn’t like fucking music to my ears.”

She placed a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. “Cassian…”

“If I remember our bet correctly, which I do,” he winked at her, holding the velvet black box higher. “I believe I had the right to anything I want and you have to say yes.”

Nesta let out an incredulous laugh, her head shaking. “I should have guessed that your shitty pranks weren’t because you were tired.”

Cassian threw his head back and laughed. “No, they weren’t. I thought that by making your expectations for pranks this year be lower, this whole thing would be more surprising.”

“Are you proposing to me only to win a bet, you asshole?”

Cassian grinned again, hazel eyes shining against his brown skin. “No, but you need to admit it has come in handy. I had been planning this for weeks, and then you asked if I wanted to bet I could surprise you. Honestly, you set yourself up to this. And I haven’t proposed yet, chill a little, woman.”

Nesta laughed again, eyeing Cassian. He was still wearing only the shorts he wore to bed, his shoulder-length hair a mess of curls. His face still looked slightly puffy, his usual sharp cheekbones red from happiness. Nesta guessed she wasn’t much better; she was wearing one of his white shirts, light brown hair falling down to her shoulders.

“So, are you going to ask or not? I don’t have all day.”

“So bossy, what am I getting myself into?” Cassian said ironically, but soon his face softened, smile becoming loving. “Nesta Archeron, even though you don’t have another option that it’s not a yes, would you give me the pleasure of marrying me so I can spend the rest of my Halloweens trying to scare you?”

Nesta chuckled merrily, nodding. “Yes, and even if I wasn’t forced to say yes because of this bet, I would have said it nonetheless.”

Cassian got up, immediately sliding the ring into Nesta’s finger, his other hand sneaking around her waist. He pulled her against him, a huge smile overtaking his mouth as he pressed his lips to hers. “I know you would. You’re not that unpredictable either, sweetheart.��

A/N: Oh, hello Nessian, it’s been a while... I had this idea during September and didn’t know who to give it to, but I realized today how good it fits what I imagine the Nessian long term relationship would look like! Hope you guys like it and about the kinktober: I know it was supposed to be Sunday but I was procrastinating so it’s gonna be here around 3 AM probs

Tags:

@in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jlinez @courtofjurdan @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @ladywitchling @lexflame @sleeping-and-books @annejulianneh111 @perseusannabeth @linshryver @mu-si-ca-l @camilamartinezdunne @dank-queen7 @minaidss @starborn-faerie-queen @booksofthemoon @loveofbooksandwine @jesstargaryenqueen @bluejaberry @multifandommessblog @yesdreamblog @superspiritfestival @ireallyshouldsleeprn @sayosdreams @justgiu12

(If you didn’t ask to be in the general tag list, you’ll only be tagged to what you specifically asked)

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hello-im-not-a-possum · 3 years

Text

14. Smoke

Tom tries to get his voice to sound less humiliating by picking up an old vice of his; smoking. The Ink Demon does not approve. “N-not because I CARE about him, you idiots!” He just thinks Tom’s new voice is too funny to destroy with smoke. (Set in the FIFE AU after Tom’s Bargain, AKA: “If it bites, curses, claws, and hisses, It’s very unwise to ask it for wishes”)

The Ink Demon glared at the wolf disapprovingly as he grabbed the lighter.

“You know, Allison’s gonna be soooo heartbroken when she finds out you picked up THAT old habit again…”

Thomas rolled his eyes and reached for the notepad, only to be betrayed by it as it was too full of his concepts for an ink proof prison to hold Sammy in and keep him from escaping. There wasn’t even a single bit of space left for a single word for him to write.

“Well, c’mon big guy! Use your mouth-words!” The Demon crossed his arms, looking like a mother scolding a child. “If you’re gonna go through alllllll the trouble of SUMMONING A %@^&ING DEMON LORD WHO’D KILL US ALL WITHOUT HESITATION BEHIND OUR BACKS, you might as well use the fancy new voice box he gave you!”

“I down't wawnt tuwu tawk wight now.” Thomas growled as he saw the demon smile in that way where it was obvious he was holding back laughter out of the corner of his eye, only to snap back into his angry/disapproving pose when he turned to look at him. “i'm nowt in the mood fow iwt.”

The mechanic grabbed the pack of cigarettes and walked out of the house, hoping to put enough distance between himself and the nagging demon to actually hear himself think.

When he thought he’d walked far enough, he leaned against the graffiti-covered wall, took a cigarette out of the pack, and lit it up.

-----

Smoking with a wolf’s muzzle was weird and kinda hard, especially since he wasn’t used to doing it. He was half expecting to accidentally swallow a few as canine instinct mistook them for food. He was definitely expecting the coughing fits, and was expecting them to be bad as since he was a cartoon, his actions and the ways the environment interacted with him tended to be exaggerated at times that he felt were inconvenient.

“Fuck uwu Sammy Wawwence…” He grumbled under his breath as he lit up his sixth one. “Fuck uwu, youw dewusions of gwandew, youw stupid, god awfuw shape-shifting abiwities, youw cowawdwiness, awnd whatevew the fuck awwowed uwu tuwu be capabwe of doing ovew hawf the shit uwu've done duwing this… nightmawe!”

“HEEEEEY TOMMY!”

The wolf gritted his teeth as he heard the sound of a large inkwell rolling towards him at high speeds, and was tempted to punt it away when it rolled around in a circle and landed upright, but the exhausted looking cartoon demon popped out of there *just* has he had his kick ready and primed for it.

“I…*huff* finally found you! Jeez Louise, would it kill ya ta hear a guy out before storming off?! Oh that’s right! It will.”

The wolf raised an eyebrow.

“Look, smoking as a human’s bad and all that jazz, smoking as a toon is also technically bad, but only in the sense we only show villains smoking so when you smoke, you’re saying “Look at me! I’m a terrible person.” get yourself some cigarettes made of ink and you’ll get some glares, but nothing worse than that. As for smoking normal, non-ink cigarettes meant for HUMAN consumption’s even worse for you as a toon! Look at yourself, you’re made of INK! You’re flammable as *%#@, the only reason why you haven’t sentenced yourself to death by being fired up from the inside out is because you got lucky!”

“Nice twy asshowe, uwu cawwed 'wowf' too many goddamned times, how duwu I know if uwu'we tewwing the twuth ow nowt?? I suwe as heww can’t!”

“Well, I’ve been HELPING everyone as much as I can!” The demon clenched his fists. “I get it! I’m ‘Drew’s demon-son’ and ‘we’re just two sides of the same *@#^ing lying coin’ and all that $#*!... But unlike Drew, I’ve been trying to make this right!”

“Uwu duwu know thawt uwu'we the weason why I was despewate enough tuwu gow tuwu him in the fiwst pwace, wight?”

“Huh?”

“Inky, I twied tuwu awsk uwu fow my body bawck, whewn uwu wefused, I asked fow a body simiwaw tuwu my owd owne, I wouwd've settwed fow being a cawtoon if I stiww wooked somewhat human wike Susie does! Heww, I wouwd have settwed fow uwu juwst giving me my VOICE bawck! But duwu uwu know whawt uwu did instead?”

“...What did I do then?”

“Uwu said no tuwu aww of thawt awnd instead of coming fowwawd with the twuth uwu juwst made excuses at evewy tuwn awnd couwdn't even wook me in the eyes whewn uwu made thewm. Awnd duwu uwu know why? Because uwu awnd I both uwu thawt uwu wike seeing me wike thiws: as 'youw cweation'...” The mechanic got up in the demon’s face and jabbed his finger into his chest. “Inkweww Bendamnin Dwew, uwu'we nowt doing thiws because uwu wawnt us tuwu be bettew, uwu'we doing thiws because uwu wawnt us tuwu be YOUWS instead of JOEY’S.”

“I... Well... you’re ri-” The demon’s shocked and somewhat guilty expression fell into a frown. “If I’m such a ‘Joey Drew 2.0′, then why would you turn to SAMMY *%#@ING LAWRENCE of all people!? I’ll admit that this whole reformation thing was a lot harder than I thought, but Sammy hates your guts and I’m convinced the only reason why he doesn’t try to kill you is because he think’s death’s too good for you or something!”

“I didn't know thawt thawt was Sammy's summoning ciwcwe, wituaw, whatevew. I didn't even make the connection thawt the cocky, weiwdwy fwiwtatious, cannibawistic fish demon thawt wiked tuwu wiwe me up because he couwd was the same entity as the masked woony ink monstew thawt wouwd apowogize tuwu a stwangew if they pouwed soup own him.”

“...I’m Sorry...”

“Huh?”

“Everything you said about me was right,” The Ink Demon fidgeted with his gloves nervously. “I was being childish and greedy and I’m sorry that I hurt you when I was only thinking about myself and what I wanted from this new situation. I was so focused on the fact I was making new bodies so that people wouldn’t be suffering in their current ones, I never once stopped and asked myself if the bodies I made made them happy too.”

“Wow...” The wolf stared at the demon in a subtle mix of pride and awe. “Thawt's actuawwy weawwy matuwe of uwu tuwu say. I down't even think thawt joey wouwd even get those fiwst two wowds out of hiws mouth, wet awone twy tuwu expwain whewe he went wwong.”

“But don’t forget that YOU *#@$ed up here too!” The Ink demon jabbed Tom in the chest twice as hard as he did to him. “The reason why everyone in the crazy inky town hates your guts is because in addition to your involvement with the ink machine, your whole ‘lone wolf’ thing makes you impossible to work with! Allison TRIES to get other people involved in her ‘lets kidnap a mentally unstable searcher’ plots, when she’s here, she interacts with the people around her! You just lock yourself up and do things behind everyone’s backs! Can’t you at LEAST run some of your ideas through someone else before doing them? I’ve seen the blueprints for your torture machine/prison and I gotta say, even if I was still an excellent super villain demon lord at the time of seeing that $#*!: NO. That’s WAY too far! I don’t even think that’s the slightest bit ethically sound and it’s 100% a violation on privacy, even for a creature that’s in a hive mind. Seriously: Talk. To. Other. People. You. Edgy. &!*^#.”

“...In hindsight; I shouwd've at weast asked Buddy whawt he summoned in the studio awnd why he did thawt instead of juwst bwindwy doing dangewous shit awn my own...”

The wolf grumbled as he blew out a puff of smoke.

“That’s the spirit! Now come with me, I think I know a way to get your voice deep and gravelly without you turning yourself into smoked wolf brisket.”

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #Thomas Conner #ink demon #on model ink demon #batim fife au #ink demonth #fanfic #tw smoking

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shoutobabes · 3 years

Text

An excerpt from an OCxShouto fic I’ve been working on:

———————————————

Todoroki Shouto hated formal events.

He had attended enough Hero Awards Galas as a young child with his father to soil his opinion of them nearly two decades later, a pro hero in his own right. But tonight was not about his father.

Still.

He drummed his fingers on the fine linen tablecloth and watched as the drink in his glass vibrated slightly with each tiny impact. Taptaptap. Taptaptap. Shouto allowed a small trail of frost to travel up the table inching toward the glass. The bottom began to dust with frost. The water at the bottom began to freeze. Taptaptap. Taptaptap. Taptap--

“Will you stop fucking doing that?”

Shuoto whipped his head up to see a pair of angry red eyes glaring at him. Bakugo drove an accusatory finger toward Shoto’s glass.

“You’re like an antsy kid,” Bakugo huffed. “I don’t wanna be at this shit-parade any more than you do, icy hot, but you don’t see me blowing up the fucking finger cakes, do you?”

“I’m not taking Kacchan’s side, Todoroki,” Midoriya spoke up from his seat between the two feuding heroes. “But you do certainly seem on edge and, well,” Midoriya gulped and glanced toward the stage. “Our category is two away and I’m nervous enough as it is.”

Shouto blinked. “I can stop tapping the table.”

“Yeah, and then you’re gonna start shaking your leg like you were half an hour ago before you started tapping the goddamn table,” Bakugo crossed his arms and faced back toward the stage. “Take a fuckin’ walk. Do a guided meditation in the men’s room, for all I care, but if you stay here you’re gonna piss me off.”

Shoto turned to face Midoriya, often the peacekeeper in these altercations.

Midoriya seemed to be very interested in his napkin.

“Alright, then,” Shouto stood and fixed his tuxedo jacket. “I can take a hint.”

“It’s nothing personal,” Midoriya waved his hands while shaking his head. “It’s just--”

“He gets it, Deku,” Bakugo rolled his eyes.

“Sorry,” Midoriya said, sheepishly.

“I’ll be back in time for the award announcement,” Shouto said as he walked away.

A walk was probably for the best.

Shouto wove his way through tables and chairs full of politely clapping patrons and pro heroes who were practically unrecognizable in their finery outside of their suits and gear. He recalled his father complaining about being forced into a tuxedo for these types of events. His mother would always wave them off wistfully, recounting times when she had been the No. 2 hero’s plus one while Fuyumi cried at being left behind and Natsuo would mope and pretend he didn’t care. Touya would just sit and stare. Until he didn't.

So lost in thought was Shouto, that he didn’t notice the girl in front of him until it was too late. Suddenly, he was staring at the empty glass in his hand trying to make his brain connect it to the growing wet spot on the front of the girl's dress.

Their eyes locked for a moment of shocked silence; silver and turquoise meeting violet eyes widened. A beat passed. Shouto regained his composure.

“My humblest apologies,” he finally said with a small bow. “I have no excuse. I wasn’t looking where I was going and I—“

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” the girl shook her head with a small smile. She had long, silver-white hair parted cleanly down the middle. “Not to brag or anything, but I’m kind of a dry cleaning expert.”

She lifted an arm and made a grabbing motion over her chest with one hand and Shoto watched as the spilled champagne drew itself out into a bubble of liquid. It hovered for a moment, then with a flick of the girl’s wrist, it flew into the pot of a nearby plant.

“Looked a little thirsty,” the girl said with a conspiratorial wink. “No harm no foul. Looks like you could use another drink, though.”

“Isn’t that my line?” Shouto raised a slight brow, elemental quirks were always fascinating and he met so few others with quirks like his. “I’m the offender in the situation, I feel as though it’s only right I’m the one buying you a drink.”

“Well then, it seems we’re in agreement,” the girl gestured to the corner of the room where the bar was set up. “We’re heading to the bar.”

Shouto nodded as the pair made their way over. He gave the girl a once-over; she seemed familiar but he didn’t recognize her as a hero in the Musutafu region or anywhere in Japan for that matter. She wore a simple, pale lavender gown.

“Gin and tonic,” Shouto told the bartender before nodding to his companion. “And for you?”

“Could I get a lemonade?” She asked, with a tilt of her head. “Oh, and if you have some sort of strawberry syrup could you mix that in, too? Thanks.” She grinned at the bartender as he nodded before walking away. She turned to Shouto who admittedly, realized he looked surprised.

“You don’t drink?” He asked.

“Can’t stand the taste,” she replied.

“I see.”

She studied him for a moment. Shouto felt as if he were under a microscope, being picked apart like a bacteria. Normally being analyzed like this would make his skin crawl, yet there was no malicious intent behind the girl’s eyes. Merely a curiosity, as if he were a puzzle she was trying to solve. The bartender brought over their drinks and the girl took a sip before suddenly breaking the silence.

“Why do you look like a turkey come late November?”

“I’m sorry?” Shouto squinted in confusion.

“My bad, I forget I’m not in the States anymore,” she self-consciously tucked hair behind her ear. “I meant to say, why do you look like this is the last place in the world you want to be?”

“The states?” Shouto asked. “Is that where you’re from?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I suppose, technically.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Well to be fair, you never answered my question.”

“And what was your question?”

“Why do you look so miserable to be here?”

Shoto grimaced delicately and took a gulp of his drink. “Ask any other question and I’ll answer that instead.

“Ah, so this is off limits, then,” the girl waggled her eyebrows. “Fine. How about...what brings you here tonight?”

Shoto sighed. That, at least, he could answer.

“My agency is up for an award tonight,” he said. “My partners and I are here in the hopes we receive it.”

“An award! How exciting,” the girl gave Shoto a funny look, as if she knew something he didn’t. “I’m sure you’ll win.”

“It would be an honor,” Shoto said slowly, feeling as if he were being left out of some joke. “To know that the people we are striving to serve believe in us so much.”

“Of course,” the girl nodded. “Your turn. For questions, that is.”

Shoto hummed in response as he took another sip. “I’m assuming that inquiring about the reason you’re drinking lemonade is...off limits?”

The girl sipped her own drink through the small straw that had come with it. “You learn quick! Beauty and brains, the ladies must love you.”

Shouto’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “I wasn’t aware that having one precluded the occurrence of the other. Brains and beauty are two separate elements, their probability of occurring are in no way reliant upon the occurrence of the other.”

“Absolutely true, shame on me for assuming,” she nodded seriously. “But I didn’t hear a question there. Do you forfeit your turn?”

“No,” Shouto protested. “Fine. What do you mean you’re ‘technically’ from the States?”

“Oh, that,” she waved her hand absentmindedly. “I was born there, and I did spend my high school years there, but I spent most of my childhood here and this is where all my fondest memories are from.”

“I see,” Shouto replied.

“I think of myself as being from Kanagawa,” she clarified. “Coastal. I was always fond of the ocean.”

“Did that have to do with your quirk?” Shouto asked, recalling the way she had manipulated the liquid from her dress.

The girl opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off by sudden loud cheering from the other side of the ballroom.

“That’s right folks— the award for Best Upcoming Agency goes to Plus Ultra! The hero agency run by graduates of our very own U.A. High School! Please give a hand to the heroes Deku, Dynamight, and Shouto as they come up to collect their award.”

“Shit,” Shouto cursed. He had promised Midoriya he would be back in time. “My apologies again, but I need to go immediately.”

“More apologies,” the girl joked, finishing off her drink. She set it on the bar next to Shouto’s half finished one. “Run along and don’t miss your big award!”

Shouto was already halfway across the ballroom. As he joined his partners on stage, Midoriya was at the microphone holding the award and delivering a speech of gratitude. Bakugo elbowed Shouto as discreetly as he was capable of doing anything discreetly and shot him a dirty look for being late.

“I deserve that,” Shouto whispered.

“Damn right,” Bakugo hissed.

“—in conclusion, we would just like to thank you all from the heart of the Plus Ultra Agency. We could not do this without your continued support and we will continue to go above and beyond to keep you safe! Plus Ultra!” Midoriya smiled brightly as he finished his speech.

The three posed on stage for a few quick photos, then stepped down.

“Todoroki, is everything all right?” Midoriya asked immediately. “It’s unlike you to be late.”

“My apologies,” Shouto cringed inwardly, he had apologized too many times tonight. The words were starting to ring hollow to even his own ears. “I was taking a walk when I accidentally bumped into—“

“Me, actually,” the girl from earlier materialized from the crowd behind Shouto as she stepped forward. “Literally, in fact.”

“Ms. Kagawa!” Midoriya gasped. “I had no idea you would be here tonight, I’m so sorry! I would have said hello earlier.”

Shouto blinked. How did Midoriya know her?

“Please, no formalities,” Kagawa shook her head. “Call me whatever you prefer, it’s just nice to finally meet you all.”

That’s when it clicked. Shouto recalled a team meeting from the month before.

———————

“Why are we bringing in some random chick, again?” Bakugo groaned, putting his feet up on the table from where he was sitting in the conference room. “We don’t need any extra help, hell, I could run this place alone if I wanted to!”

“Well, it’s like I said,” Midoriya replied patiently. “We did great for it being our first year as full heroes running our own agency together. But if we want to keep growing and getting better, we’ll need more than a few sidekicks and interns. We’re going to need another pro to help carry the weight and round out patrols. I thought we all agreed?”

“We did,” Shouto didn’t look up from his paperwork. “Bakugo conveniently chose to forget.”

“Fuck off, icy hot,” Bakugo said. “Whatever. At least this chick seems like she could give some of these thugs a run for their money. Wasn't she like, some big deal in America?”

“She was,” Midoriya clicked his pen nervously. “She’s had a, uh, difficult road. I’m hoping we’ll be able to help her as much as she’ll help us. Or at least that’s the plan. She won’t be here for another couple months, she’s wrapping up her personal business I think.”

“Mm,” Shouto intoned, absentmindedly.

—————————-

Shouto cursed himself for not paying more attention to important meetings. Yet, none of them had expected her so early.

“We weren’t expecting you so soon,” Midoriya said nervously, voicing Shouto’s thoughts. “You weren’t due for ah, another month?”

“You’re right,” Kagawa said sheepishly. “I closed in on an apartment here sooner than expected and, well, wanted to just get on with it.”

“Of course,” Midoriya nodded. “Ah, but we should do formal introductions!”

“Yes, right,” Kagawa nodded with a smile. “Well I already know you from our correspondence! Midoriya Izuku, hero name Deku, a pleasure.”

Midoriya smiled and they shook hands.

“Bakugo Katsuki, hero name Dynamight,” she cracked a lopsided grin. “I’ve heard...explosive things.”

“Shitty joke,” Bakugo shook her hand. “People only say the best shit about me.”

“Obviously,” Kagawa nodded before turning to Shouto. “And of course, we’ve already been acquainted. Todoroki Shouto, hero name Shouto, a pleasure.”

Shouto shook her hand. She had a firm grip. “I’ve made...better first impressions.”

“No, I enjoyed it,” Kagawa said. “It was genuine. You had no cause to act unnaturally to make a good first impression. It was...refreshing.

“That’s a polite way of saying he fucked up,” Bakugo chuckled.

She smiled. “Now for me, I suppose. Kagawa Ren, hero name Kaguya. But you’re hiring me, I’m sure you know.”

“We’re really excited to have you!” Midoriya said, beaming. “My, uh, my friend Uraraka--”

Bakugo barked out a laugh and Shouto suppressed a small smile.

Midoriya began to sweat. “Anyways, um, she- she couldn’t make it tonight because she had to go visit her parents but she’s been excited to have another female hero around. She says our agency is too filled with testosterone.”

“Sounds like me and Uraraka will get along swimmingly.” Kagawa assured.

“Are we still getting drinks to celebrate?” Bakugo said impatiently. “I told Kirishima he could meet us at that shitty bar we always go to.”

Midoriya ran a hand through his hair. “Uh, yeah, yeah we are, just, I wanted to talk with Kagawa about some details really quick.”

Bakugo rolled his eyes. “And we can’t do that at the bar? She can come, it’s her celebration now too, or whatever.”

“Just tell Kirishima he can meet us there in thirty,” Midoriya pleaded. “I’ll make it quick. Here, Kagawa, why don’t you walk with me back to our table? I’ll grab everyone’s things and we’ll meet Bakugo and Shouto by the front.”

Kagawa nodded and raised two fingers in a peace sign as means of saying goodbye to the other two heroes as she and Midoriya headed back to the table in conversation.

Shouto looked back at Bakugo who was busy texting.

“I suppose we should head toward the front,” Shouto said uncertainly.

“Yeah, whatever,” Bakugo clicked his phone off and shoved it in his pocket. “So, you talked to her.”

“I did.”

Bakugo rolled his eyes. “Talking to you is like pulling teeth. What did you think of her?”

“I thought she was smart,” Shouto replied simply. “It seems like she’ll make a strong addition to our team.”

“That’s boring shit,” Bakugo huffed. “If Midoriya hired her then I’m sure she’s professional as fuck but don’t wanna spend my time around some shitty boring suit. So, is she gonna be annoying or not?

Shouto sideyed Bakugo as they turned and began walking toward the front. Social interaction had never been his strongest suit. Most interactions he felt like he was a step behind, or focused on the wrong thing, or someone would say something and he would think they were serious only to realize there was a second, different meaning attached. Mostly, he thought conversations were a bit of a minefield, especially with the wrong kind of person.

He thought back to the way Kagawa had studied him. No judgement, just-- curiosity. The good kind. Not like reporters who were always hungry for photos, desperate to know about his love life, dying to hear what restaurant he best liked to dine at so they could stalk him there later as well. No, her curiosity reminded him of when he and his siblings used to go play by the creek near their house as children, before Endeavor began isolating Shouto for training. They would freeze the water in the middle of summer and slide around, pulling frogs and turtles out from frost-covered hidey holes. One day in particular, they had found a small family of deer. They all sat very still by the edge of the water and waited patiently as the fawns ambled down for a drink under the watchful eye of their mother. One fawn had gotten so close to Shouto that their noses nearly touched, and he could smell the breath of the little thing, sweet and springy. He’d looked in its eyes and saw them searching his face. What it found, he did not know.

That had been the last summer of freedom.

“I don’t think she’ll be boring,” Shouto finally said.

“Another stunning review from half and half,” Bakugo rolled his eyes and crossed his arms as the boys came to a halt in front of the entrance to the hall. “She better come to get drinks with us or I’ll think she’s a stiff.”

Shouto slid his eyes back over to the ballroom where Midoriya and Kagawa stood, gathering jackets and talking.

“I guess we’ll have to wait and see,” he said.

#todoroki shouto #bnha shouto #mha oc #shouto x you #shouto x reader #shouto x y/n #Shouto fanfic #bnha todoroki

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