#also you sound so patronizing be glad that i am not using that ''angry'' voice to answer your tone whoch sounds very much belittling

[maxemilianverstappen]

i'm not sure if you're aware how angry and bitter you come across sometimes. just try and chill and enjoy max, it's not that deep

LoL.

[onecanonlife]

In which Tommy has a nightmare, and enderwalk!Ranboo is of the opinion that grass blocks make everything better.

(word count: 1,413)

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Tommy jolts out of a nightmare that he doesn’t want to remember, and a few seconds later, finds himself hyperventilating outside on the grass.

It’s not on, is what it is. He hardly asked for this, for these awful dreams and this inability to sleep for more than a few hours at a time at best, for this creeping certainty that Dream is breaking out, is going to come for him, and that it’s only a matter of time before something awful happens. He didn’t ask for any of this, but he has it, and he’s not moving out of his house, because that would feel like a concession, but on nights like these he wakes up and the dirt walls press in around him and he can’t breathe, and it is completely and utterly the worst.

So. Outside. Grass. Hyperventilating.

Calming himself down is old hat, by now. He figured out how to do it a long time ago, around the time when he realized that there wasn’t going to be anyone holding his hand anymore, that he was well and truly on his own, without a friend in the world. Other than—but no, he doesn’t go there. He knows better, now, even though his brain still tries to play tricks on him sometimes, tries to convince him that Dream is the only one who actually has his best interests at heart.

The point is, he knows how to do this. He’s used to it. And frankly, he’s glad that he is, glad that he can do this on his own, because he doesn’t want anyone else around him when he’s like this. Doesn’t want anyone else to see, doesn’t want anyone else to know that this happens, doesn’t want anyone else to be able to point at him and go, look, the great TommyInnit brought low.

So when he regulates his breaths and swipes the tears from his face and unclenches his fingers knuckle by knuckle, he looks up and most definitely does not expect anyone to be crouched in front of him. When he sees that there is, he scrabbles backward and lets out an incredibly manly scream, and he doesn’t think he can be blamed for it, because what the fuck?

“Holy shit,” he wheezes, “holy shit, you can’t just—” And has to stop, because it’s not just any weird crouching person. It’s his fucking—what’s the word for when a very irritating and terrible person marries your best friend? What’s the title for that? Annoyance-in-law?

In any case, it’s Ranboo.

“What,” he says, “the shit are you doing?”

Ranboo makes a sound that is not words at all. In fact, it sounds very similar to an enderman vwoop, which, alright, the guy’s half enderman, that checks out. Except, his eyes are also purple, and he looks rather taller than he normally does, even crouching down, so something is weird here. Something is very, very weird.

“Fuck off,” he says. “Go and, go and raise your shitty child or something. Sing ‘im a lullaby. Go on.”

He makes shooing noises with his hands, like one might do to a dog, or a persistent crow. Ranboo tilts his head very slowly, like a complete fucking weirdo, and then rises in one fluid motion, and goes walking off somewhere. Tommy stares after him, because he hadn’t really expected that to work. But alright, he’ll take it.

“That’s right,” he mutters. “Just fucking, fucking leave, go on.” He stares down at the grass, running a shaking hand through his hair. He is, maybe, not quite as recovered as he’d like. He’s usually not, after the initial panic, usually can’t make himself relax until the sun has crested the horizon and the sky has begun to lighten. He’s ruined for sleep tonight, that’s for sure.

But it’s alright. It’s alright, he’s used to it. He can do it. He can do this. He’s a big fucking man, and he can survive on a few hours of sleep a night, and he can avoid looking at himself in the mirror and remembering another face, eyebags just as dark, hair just as wild, eyes only slightly more desperate. He doesn’t have to remember things. Not if he doesn’t want to. He’s great at not remembering things, him.

Footsteps. He jerks, looks up again, and Ranboo is standing over him, and why is he so fucking tall?

Ranboo makes another vwooping sound. And then a little trill, almost like a bird, if a bird gargled gravel and then turned into an eldritch monstrosity. He crouches again, and then holds out his hands, and there is something in them, something that he is offering him, and—

Tommy squints. It’s a grass block.

“What am I supposed to do with that?” he asks.

Ranboo vwoops.

“Could you just stop being so fucking weird?” he demands. “For five minutes? I don’t think that’s too much to ask, really. God, you’re just. The worst.”

Ranboo shifts a bit closer, still holding out the grass block. Like he wants him to take it.

“I’m not taking your stupid block,” Tommy says, and accepts it.

Ranboo vwoops.

“Why would you even—” he says, burrowing his fingers into the dirt. A bit of it crumbles to the ground. He doesn’t understand how endermen manage to do this, keep these blocks in perfect shape, grass and all. “Why would you even give me this? What are you trying to pull on me, eh? It won’t work. You can’t pull the wool over my eyes, pal. You’re up to something. Why are your eyes all purple?”

Ranboo vwoops.

And then—Tommy remembers something. Something he wasn’t particularly trying to remember, and usually, that’s not such a great thing, but it’s not so bad this time. Because this memory is from just a couple of weeks ago, in Snowchester, one of those times that he was trying to hang out with Tubbo, but Ranboo was just there and wouldn’t leave, and Tubbo wouldn’t make him leave, so Tommy spent the entire time being vaguely pissed off. And he was trying not to pay attention to Ranboo, really, he was, except he remembers him saying something about how he gets anxious, and how holding blocks of things and putting them down places helps him. At the time, he made a point of not acknowledging him, because Tommy’s not an idiot. He knew what he was trying to do, and he didn’t appreciate it.

But—

He stares at the block in his hands. And then back at Ranboo.

He wants to be angry, at the idea, at the presumption, because who the fuck does Ranboo think he is, trying to patronize him like this? But Ranboo keeps up his soft warbles, and he finds his eyes filling with tears instead.

“Are you,” he says, and his voice is not choked, it’s not, “are you trying to help me?”

Ranboo vwoops. Chirps. And then reaches out, slowly enough that Tommy doesn’t feel the urge to flinch, and runs gentle clawed fingers through his hair.

“Oh,” Tommy says. And doesn’t lean into the touch. He doesn’t. But if, hypothetically, he does, that’s between him and Prime on high. Or at least, it would be, if all his muscles didn’t go lax a few seconds later, and if he didn’t accidentally on purpose tip forward against Ranboo’s chest.

The dirt slips through his fingers. But that’s alright, because one of Ranboo’s arms wraps around him, and the other keeps carding through his hair, like Wilbur used to do when they were younger and things were better and they were two halves of a whole rather than puzzle pieces that got bent out of shape. The way his head is, he can feel vibrations running though Ranboo’s chest, like the purr of a cat, and it’s going to lull him to sleep if he’s not careful.

He can’t let that happen. He has more dignity than that.

Except he’s very tired. And Ranboo is clearly—sleepwalking, or something. Not all there in the head at the moment. So maybe he won’t remember this in the morning, if Tommy makes sure to wake up first. And that would be alright.

“You’re still terrible,” he mumbles, but the words are slurred, and Ranboo’s arms are very warm and comforting, and he’s drifting. He can feel it.

So he lets himself. Ranboo’s warbles follow him into sleep, and he dreams of stars.

[thevoidscreams]

I don't care which slashers/killers you do for this BUT...... May I have some killers hcs meeting their male s/o for the first time? 🥺👉👈

also I know I need to get through what little writings I have planned done and out so I can do these in return and maybe do somethin for ya

I really tried here, I'm sorry if it's not exactly what you wanted. I love these two and I wanted to write more for them. Please let me know if you'd like me to change them at all or if they seem wrong.

Ghostface:

Danny Johnson did not have a tolerant upbringing. His family, despite lacking any sort of faith, was a family built on the foundation that men only slept with women. That's just how it was and that that was how nature had kept things going. When Danny realized he didn't just get hard when looking at naked girls however, life became a lot harder. Literally.

Collage was the escape he needed. He took off and never looked back. Ghosting his family before it was a regular thing. He could finally be who he really was.

The first time he saw you was at a party and he knew something was different. Just introducing himself felt like a life or death situation, he couldn't fuck this up. Some deep part of him needed you to like him, needed you to want him. Danny man not have called it love at first sight but it was definitely something. When you left you took his number and promised to hang out later. You had similar schedules so it would be easy. Right?

You threw a wrench into every plan he'd set in place. All his aspiring affairs with other people died the moment you gave him your name. Your perfect name.

Danny begins every morning thinking about you and would lay down at night with you on his mind till he faded into sleep. Everyday for months you plague his thoughts. Your chill sessions are basically dates in his mind. Even if it's just bumming it on the dorm couches with Mariocart and eating cheap greasy pizza. He cherishes every moment. It has to be more, he thinks, your too nice, too friendly and some of your remarks could be taken as flirting. You're not like this with your other friends. Just with him.

He plans to ask you out but for the first time in his life he's scared by the idea of getting a no. The thought of being rejected by you makes him feel legitimately sick to his stomach. What if he's misread all your signals and your disgusted by his advances. What if you call him all the awful things his old high-school friends did when he came out to them. He needs you to know how he feels, keeping it all in is making him feel anxious.

He was mulling it over in his mind when he got a call, answering it to hear your voice caused a sudden feeling of euphoria within him. "Hey, can we meet up?" Your voice was shaky and you sounded unsure. But Danny agreed right away, assuring you he had the time and was happy to meet up.

You two got coffee together all the time but today there was something more to it. The way you laughed and bumped his shoulder with your fist, the way you smiled awkwardly like you were trying to keep something from him. Danny was getting worried as he looked down at you. "Is everything alright shortstake? You seem off today."

You took a deep breath and looked him right in the eyes. "DannyIlikeyou" you blurted out cheeks red and eyes wide in panic. "I'm sorry I just I couldn't do it anymore," you looked away, "keeping it all in made me feel so awful and I just needed you to know. I'll understand if you don't feel the same way about me and if you don't want to see me again I'll understand that too but-"

He kissed you, right there in front of all of the coffee shop patrons and employees. To his amazement a few people wooped and clapped.

Danny pulled away, he took his coffee in one hand and then your hand in his other.

"Let's go somewhere more private."

He led you to a little pond, there were ducks and water lilies. It was quiet, peaceful, the perfect place to have a heart to heart.

The talk that followed was long and he explained at great lengths how he felt about you.

You confirmed some of the things he suspected, embarrassed by how easily he read you. At the end of it all you were both a bit teary eyed.

"So I guess what I'm trying to say here is, I love you." You did cry after hearing that, so happy and relieved he felt the same way. You kissed him, and he responded in kind, with only the ducks as witnesses this time. They didn't make a peep about the kiss....but they did quack.

Thomas Hewitt:

Tommy knew something was different the first time he met you. You were just a new hire at the meat plant but he couldn't take his eyes off you. The poor thing didn't know what to do. So he just watched. Intrigued by the feelings he felt when he did.

"Good morning Thomas." You'd nod as you passed him to get to your work station. He'd grunt in reply and nod. Happy to see you.

"Hey Tom, lunch time! Thank God for lunch breaks am I right?" Your hand was firm as you passed him, clapping his shoulder. He liked when you touched him, no one ever touched him unless he was also being yelled at. But your touch was different and it was good.

"See ya tomorrow Tommy." You groaned tiredly after a long shift, promising to see him tomorrow. He hoped to see you everyday for the rest of his life.

It was a system, a pattern, it was something Tommy relied on, like a clock, you were on time and followed the routine.

Except this morning, you weren't here. The supervisor was passing by to inspect the work station.

"Where the hell is that freaky bastard at?" He asked pointing to your station. Tommy shrugged, he didn't know, probably the bathroom. "Yeah well you might want to keep your distance, I heard from some the other guys that he's one of them men lovers. If it were up to me he'dhave never come here, but the boss says we're 'short staffed'." The snicker that bubbled up from him was disgusting and he mouthed off a few insults and slurs before walking off to finished his rounds.

Tommy was angry, more than usual at least. He wanted to take that supervisor's head and crush it under his mallet. Instead he stripped his apron off and went to the bathroom. Still a tiny part of him was happy, glad to know he wasn't alone.

The bathroom was never locked, it couldn't be, the lock was broken and building management was too cheap to replace it. So Tommy pushed through the door and listened. A soft rhythmic sound greeted him. Soft uneven breathing, muffled by the walls of the stall. He knew that sound, it was all too personal to him.

He stepped in front of the stall and their sounds turned panicked like they knew they'd been caught.

He knocked on the wood so gently and as it swung open he confirmed his suspensions. Your eyes were red and swollen, a large bruise on your cheek. Tommy saw red as he looked over your generally disheveled appearance.

You were trying to hide the fact that you'd been crying.

"Hey Tommy, what's happening brother? The uh... supervisor send you in here to find me or something?" When you tried to push past him to get to the sinks Thomas stopped you with one big arm.

"Uh you good?" Your voiced trembled and it torn Tommy apart to hear the man he loved so distressed. His big arms pulled you in, holding your smaller body against his massive one. He just didn't care anymore, he didn't care if you knew, or if the whole world knew. People already called him a freak for the way he looked. They were wrong, Thomas wasn't a freak, not for the way he looked or for the way he felt. Neither were you for that matter. When you hugged him back his heart soared. "Thank you." You cried softly, face buried in his chest.

The gentle giant wiped a tear away, carefully as not to agitated the bruise. He grunted and ran his thumb around the edge of the darkening spot.

"Don't worry about that, some of the guys found out about my...well I'm sure you know or have at least heard." Thomas nodded, still holding you. "We should probably get back to our stations."

Tommy was hesitant but he let you go to wash your face and fix your appearance. Things were going to be hard for the both of you. But hard was nothing new to him he was used to fighting for equal footing with others, fighting to get what he wanted always fighting. But this time it really was something worth fighting for. This time it was you.

[thewidowsghost]

The Daughter of the Sea - Chapter 6

(Y/n)'s POV

Once I get over the fact that my brother's Latin teacher was half horse, we have a nice tour.

We pass by the volleyball pit. Several of the campers nudge each other. One points to the Minotaur horn Percy is carrying. Another says, "It's them."

Most of the campers are older than me. Their satyr friends are bigger than Grover, all of them trotting around in orange CAMP HALF-BLOOD t-shirts, with nothing else to cover their bare shaggy hindquarters. I'm not normally shy, but the way they are staring at me and Percy makes me uncomfortable. I feel as though they want us to do a flip or something.

I look back at the farmhouse. It's bigger than I'd realized - four stories tall, sky blue with white trim, like an upscale seaside resort. I'm checking out the brass eagle weather vane on top when something catches my eyes, a shadow in the uppermost window of the attic gable. Something had moved the curtain, just for a second, and I get a distinct impression that I'm being watched.

"What's up there?" I ask Chiron.

He looks to where I'm pointing and his smile fades, "Just the attic."

"Somebody lives there?" Percy asks.

"No," he says with finality. "Not a single living thing."

I get the feeling that he's being truthful, but I am also sure something had moved that curtain.

As we get closer, I realize how huge the forest is. It takes up at least a quarter of the valley, with trees so tall and thick, you could imagine nobody had been in there since the Native Americans.

Chiron says, "The woods are stocked if you care to try your luck, but go armed."

"Stocked with what?" Percy asks. "Armed with what?"

"You'll see. Capture the flag is Friday night. Do you have your own swords and shields?"

"My own - ?" Percy is cut off.

"No," Chiron interupts. "I don't suppose you do. I think a size five will do for you, Percy, and a size three for you, (Y/n). I'll visit the armory later."

Finally, Chiron shows us the cabins. There are twelve of them, nestled in the woods by the lake. They are arranged in a U, with two at the base and five in a row on each side. And they are, without a doubt the most bizarre number above the door.

Except for the fact that each has a large brass number above the door (odds on the left side, evens on the right), they lock absolutely nothing alike. Number Nine has smokestacks, like a tiny factory. Number Four has tomato vines on the walls and a roof made out of real grass. Seven seems to be made of solid gold, which gleams so much in the sunlight it was almost impossible to look at. They all face a commons area about the size of a soccer field, dotted with Greek statues, fountains, flower beds, and a couple of basketball hoops (which were more my speed).

In the center of the field is a huge stone-lined firepit. Even though it is a warm afternoon, the hearth smolders. A girl, maybe nine years old is tending the flames, poking the coals with a stick. I wave at the girl and she looks surprised, as though no one acknowledged her often, and waves back with a smile.

The pair of cabins at the head of the field, numbers one and two, look like his-and-hers mausoleums, big white marble boxes with heavy columns in front. Cabin One is the biggest and bulkiest of the twelve. Its polished bronze doors shimmer like a hologram, so that from different angles lightning bolts seem to streak across them. Cabin Two is more graceful somehow, with slimmer columns garlanded with pomegranates and flowers. The walls are covered with images of peacocks.

"Zeus and Hera?" Percy guesses.

"Correct," Chiron says.

"Their cabins look empty."

"Several of the cabins are. That's true. No one ever stays in one or two."

I stop in front of the first cabin on the left, cabin three.

It isn't high and mighty like Cabin One, but low and solid. The outer walls are of rough gray stone studded with pieces of seashells and coral as if the slabs had been hewn straight from the bottom of the ocean floor. I peek inside the open doorway and Chiron says, "Oh, I wouldn't do that!"

Before he can pull me back, I catch the salty scent of the interior, like the wind on the shore at Montauk. The interior walls glow like abalone. There are six empty bunks with silk sheets turned down, but there is no sign anyone had ever slept there. The place feels so sad and lonely, I am glad when Chiron puts his hand on my shoulder and says, "Come along, (Y/n)."

Most of the other cabins were crowded with campers.

Number five was bright red—a real nasty paint job as if the color had been splashed on with buckets and fists. The roof was lined with barbed wire. A stuffed wild boar's head hung over the doorway, and its eyes seemed to follow me. Inside I could see a bunch of mean-looking kids, both girls and boys, arm wrestling and arguing with each other while rock music blared. The loudest was a girl maybe thirteen or fourteen. She wore a size XXXL CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirt under a camouflage jacket. She zeroed in on Percy and gives him an evil sneer.

"Oh, look," Chiron says as we approach Cabin Eleven. "Annabeth is waiting for us."

The blond girl I'd met at the Big House is reading a book in front of the last cabin on the left, number eleven. When we reach her, she looks me over critically, like she was still thinking about how much I drool.

I try to see what she was reading, but I can't make out the title. Then I realize the title isn't even English. The letters look Greek to me. I mean, literally Greek. There are pictures of temples and statues and different kinds of columns, like those in an architecture book.

"Annabeth," Chiron says, "I have Masters' Archery class at noon. Would you take Percy and (Y/n) from here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Cabin Eleven," Chiron tells us, gesturing towards the doorway. "Make yourself at home."

Out of all the cabins, Eleven looks the most like a regular old summer camp cabin, with the emphasis on old. the threshold is worn down, the brown paint peeling. Over the doorway is a caduceus.

Inside, it is packed with people, both boys and girls, way more than the number of bunk beds. Sleeping bags are spread all over the floor. It looks like a gym where the Red Cross had set up an evacuation center.

Chiron doesn't go in. The door is too low for him. But when the campers see him, they all stand and bow respectfully.

"Well, then," Chiron says. "Good luck, Percy, (Y/n). I'll see the two of you at dinner."

He gallops away towards the archery range.

Percy's POV

We stand in the doorway, looking at the kids. They aren't bowing anymore. They are staring at us, sizing us up. I know this routine. I'd gone through it at enough schools.

"Well?" Annabeth prompts. "Go on."

So naturally, I trip coming in the door, and (Y/n) grabs my upper arm, straightening me up. There are some snickers from the campers, but none of them say anything.

Annabeth announces, "Percy and (Y/n) Jackson, meet Cabin Eleven."

"Regular or undetermined?" somebody asks.

I don't know what to say, but Annabeth says, "Undetermined."

Everyone groans.

A guy who is a little older than the rest comes forward. "Now, now, campers. That's what we're here for. Welcome, Percy, (Y/n). You can have those two spots on the floor, right over there."

The guy was about nineteen, and he looks pretty cool. He's tall and muscular, with short-cropped sandy hair and a friendly smile. He wears an orange tank top, cutoffs, sandals, and a leather necklace with five different colored clay beads. The only thing unsettling about his appearance is a thick white scar that runs from just beneath his right eye to his jaw, like an old knife slash.

"This is Luke," Annabeth says, and her voice sounds different somehow. I glance over and swear she's blushing, but after a moment she sees me looking, and her expression hardens again. "He's your counselor for now."

"For now?" (Y/n) asks, looking rather curious.

"You're undetermined," Luke explains. "They don't know what cabin to put you in, so you're here. Cabin eleven takes all newcomers, all visitors. Naturally, we would. Hermes, our patron, is the god of travelers."

I look around at the campers' faces, some sullen and suspicious, some grinning stupidly, some eyeing me as if they are waiting for a chance to pick my pockets.

"How long will I be here?" I ask.

"Good question," Luke replies. "Until you're determined."

"How long will that take?"

The campers all laugh and (Y/n) facepalms.

"Come on," Annabeth tells us. "I'll show you the volleyball court."

"We've already seen it."

"Come on."

Annabeth grabs my wrist and drags me outside. I can hear the kids of Cabin Eleven laughing behind me and (Y/n) waves good-bye shyly.

When we are a few feet away, Annabeth says, "Jackson, you have to do better than that?"

"What?"

She rolls her eyes and mumbles under her breath, "I can't believe I thought you two were the ones."

"What's your problem?" I'm getting angry now, (Y/n) watching us cautiously. "All I know is, we kill some bull guy -"

"Don't talk like that!" Annabeth tells me. "You know how many kids at this camp wish they'd had your chance?"

"To get killed?"

"To fight the Minotaur! What do you think we train for?"

I shake my head. "Look, if the thing we fought is really the Minotaur, the same one in the stories . . ."

"Yes."

"Then there's only one."

"Yes."

"And he died, like, a gajillion years ago, right? Theseus killed him in the labyrinth. So..."

"Monsters don't die, Percy. They can be killed. But they don't die."

"Oh, thanks. That clears it up."

"Percy," (Y/n) says calmly. "I think what Annabeth is saying, is that monsters eventually reform."

Annabeth nods and I think about Mrs. Dodds. "You mean if I killed one, accidentally, with a sword—"

"The Fur...I mean, your math teacher. That's right. She's still out there. You just made her very, very mad."

"How did you know about Mrs. Dodds?"

"You talk in your sleep," Annabeth answers and (Y/n) suppresses a laugh.

"You almost called her something. A Fury? They're Hades' torturers, right?"

Annabeth glances nervously at the ground as if she expects it to open up and swallow her. "You shouldn't call them by name, even here. We call them the Kindly Ones if we have to speak of them at all."

"Look, is there anything we can say without it thundering?" I sound whiny, even to myself, but right then I don't care. "Why do we have to stay in Cabin Eleven, anyway? Why is everybody so crowded together? There are plenty of empty bunks right over there."

I point to the first few cabins, and Annabeth turns pale. "You don't just choose a cabin, Percy. It depends on who your parents are. Or...your parent."

She stares at me, waiting for me to get it.

"Our mother is Sally Jackson," (Y/n) says softly. "She works at the candy store in Grand Central Station. At least, she used to."

"I'm sorry about your mom, (Y/n). But that's not what I mean. I'm talking about your other parent. Your dad."

"He's dead," I say simply. "We never knew him."

Annabeth sighs. Clearly, she'd had this conversation before with other kids. "Your father's not dead."

"How can you say that? You know him?"

"No, of course not."

"Then how can you say -"

"Because I know the two of you. You wouldn't be here if you weren't one of us."

"You don't know anything about us.

"No?" She raises an eyebrow. "I bet you moved around from school to school. I bet you were kicked out of a lot of them."

"How -"

"Diagnosed with dyslexia. Probably ADHD, too."

I try to swallow my embarrassment. "What does that have to do with anything?"

(Y/n)'s POV

"Taken together, it's almost a sure sign. The letters float off the page when you read, right? That's because your mind is hardwired for ancient Greek. And the ADHD—you're impulsive, can't sit still in the classroom. That's your battlefield reflexes. In a real fight, they'd keep you alive. As for the attention problems, that's because you see too much, Percy, not too little. Your senses are better than a regular mortal's. Of course, the teachers want you medicated. Most of them are monsters. They don't want you seeing them for what they are."

"You sound like...you went through the same thing?"

"Most of the kids here did. If you weren't like us, you couldn't have survived the Minotaur, much less the ambrosia and nectar."

"Ambrosia and nectar."

"The food and drink we were giving you to make you better. That stuff would've killed a normal kid. It would've turned your blood to fire and your bones to sand and you'd be dead. Face it. You're both half-bloods."

A half-blood.

I am reeling with so many questions I don't know where to start.

Then a husky voice yells, "Well! Two newbies!"

I look over. The big girl from the ugly red cabin is sauntering towards us. She has three other girls behind her, all big and ugly and mean-looking like her, all wearing camo jackets.

"Clarisse," Annabeth sighs. "Why don't you go polish your spear or something?"

"Sure, Miss Princess," the big girl says. "So I can run you through with it Friday night."

"Erre es korakas!" Annabeth says, which I somehow understand is Greek for 'Go to the crows!' though I have a feeling it was a worse curse than it sounds. "You don't stand a chance."

"We'll pulverize you," Clarisse says, but her eye twitches. Perhaps she isn't so sure she can follow through on ht threat. She turns towards me, then she looks at Percy. "Who are these's runts?"

"Percy and (Y/n) Jackson," Annabeth says, "meet Clarisse, Daughter of Aries."

Percy blinks. "Like . . . the war god?"

Clarisse sneers. "You got a problem with that?"

"No," Percy says, seemingly recovering his 'wits'. "It explains the bad smell."

Long story short, Percy made the toilets explode.

Yeah, I said it. He made the toilets explode . . .

Word Count: 2455 words

[goth-surana]

Different Violence: Chapter Two

Main pairing: Anders/Male Hawke

Main Tags: hurt/comfort, whump, aftermath of torture

Chapter 2/3 (it grew! What can I say, chapter two got away from me)

Summary: This wasn’t the rush of battle, this was the aftermath of torture. This was methodically produced pain left in the silent air, left over after anything could be done about it. It was sickening. Hawke was a warrior, he was used to violence… but not like this.

Read on AO3 or below the cut

Anders slept restlessly, tossing and turning all night. Hawke couldn’t sleep at all, haunted by the events of that night. He felt so bloody useless, especially towards the end when he couldn’t even pull himself together and Isabela had to step in. 

Hawke had thought of himself as a strong person, but he was not strong in the face of harm to those he loved. He was frightened, scared shitless and panicked. How did Anders manage to heal him the number of times he had been in mortal peril, especially after the duel with the Arishok?

Whenever Hawke was in trouble, was hurt, Anders kept his calm and did what needed to be done. He had the iron will of a healer. Lives depended on him every day and he dealt with that, he had to watch his lover throw himself into danger countless times and he dealt with that. 

But Hawke also supposed that this wasn’t some normal danger. This wasn’t the rush of battle, this was the aftermath of torture. This was methodically produced pain left in the silent air, left over after anything could be done about it. It was sickening. Hawke was a warrior, he was used to violence… but not like this. 

Hawke sat up in bed, and looked over to see Anders peering up at him with tired eyes. Before he could think about what he was saying, he asked one simple question. 

“Who?” His voice came out scratchy, dulled.

“Who do you think?” Anders responded with the ghost of a wry smile. “Templars.”

Of course it was Templars. Deep down, Hawke had probably known it was Templars but desperately wanted it not to be Templars. Templars were so often anonymous in their helms, and so protected by the Chantry. If this had just been the Coterie or Tal-Vashoth or any other threat in Kirkwall… 

“Fuck,” Hawke whispered into the air. But his resolve held firm. “I’ll still make them pay.”

Anders’ eyebrows shot up, and he made to sit before hissing in pain and laying back down as he spoke. 

“No, Hawke, that’s too dangerous! You can’t get Meredith any more furious with you than she already is!”

“I don’t bloody care!” Hawke cursed, trying not to yell. Tears were forming in his eyes again, stupid useless tears. Tears because he was so useless. Deep down he knew Anders was right. What could he do to the Templars?

Anders regarded him with pitying eyes, and Hawke thought it was just rich that Anders was giving him pity right now. 

“Did…” Hawke’s words caught in his throat. He had to ask. He had to know, but… but this was Anders’ story to tell. 

“Did?” Anders prodded, lying back on the pillows and looking almost as sickly as he had last night. 

“What did they do to you?” Hawke asked in a whisper. 

He could tell Anders was tense. “Uh, hurt me?” He supplied, clearly a little confused. “Love, you saw what they did to me. It’s all over by body.”

“But they didn’t… they didn’t touch you? Not like…”

Fuck, this was hard to say. Maybe he shouldn’t say it. Maybe he-

“Did they rape you?” He asked before he really thought it through. The possibility was gnawing at the back of his mind. 

“No,” Anders said immediately. “No, love. They didn’t.”

“Your clothes-“

“They took them to get at my skin better, that’s all,” Ander assured Hawke. Once again, he tried to rise but fell back.

Thank the Maker. It was horrible that this had to be a fucking relief, that somehow what had happened to Anders wasn’t the worst it could be. But Hawke knew even if he had been violated, that still would have been better than dead. And even if he had died, it still would have been better than being tranquil. 

The idea of tranquility made Hawke sick. The idea that a fate worse than death was thought of as mercy, that every mage had to fear their mind being taken from them… it was horrible. Anders had once made Hawke promise to kill him if that ever happened, and Hawke had agreed with his heart in his throat. It would kill him to do it, but he would respect Anders’ wish. 

Really, what happened last night was so much better than it could have been. Anders was here, alive, with his mind intact. 

“I hate that I have to be grateful,” Hawke told no one in particular. “Grateful it wasn’t worse.”

“As do I,” Anders told him solemnly. “But nevertheless, I am. They did return me to you, as they said they would.”

“Why did they do this?” Hawke asked, already knowing the answer. 

“Because they could, love,” Anders sighed. “Because it gave them pleasure to hurt a mage they couldn’t control.”

Hawke hated this Maker-forsaken world, and especially this Maker-forsaken city. If it weren’t for Bethany, Hawke would suggest they pack their things right away and leave to a place where the Templars had less power. 

But even then, he knew Anders wouldn’t leave his clinic or the Underground. For better or for worse, Kirkwall was their home. 

“You do so much for this place,” Hawke told Anders. “You do so much and this is the thanks you get.”

Anders chuckled. “You get so angry on my behalf… I’m angry enough, you know. No need for you to be too.”

“No,” Hawke said. “No, I need to be angry because my lover was brutalized and I can’t do a damn thing about it.”

“There are many things we can’t change,” replied Anders. “That’s why I do what I do. To make a world where things can be different.”

“I know, I know…” said Hawke fondly. He managed a smile. “You and your crusade for justice.”

From anyone else, it would have sounded patronizing. But Anders knew Hawke supported him, loved him even more for what he did. 

“Guilty,” Anders smiled back. They looked at each other, and Hawke was flooded with relief that he could be looking into Anders’ eyes right now. 

Eventually, Hawke moved the conversation to more practical matters. “I was told by Fenris that elfroot might help the pain. He said they likely poured magebane in your wounds.”

Hawke didn’t want to make Anders recall what had happened, but it was in service of aiding his healing. 

“They did,” Anders confirmed. “I can’t say I’d ever heard of that before last night.”

“It’s common in Tevinter,” Hawke explained. “Fucked up shit magisters do to each other and all…”

This also reminded Hawke of something. “Fenris told me to tell you he hopes you recover soon.”

Anders raised an eyebrow. “He’s not happy I’m finally getting a taste of what Tevinter is like, then?”

Hawke frowned. “He would never. I keep telling you you’re more alike than you give each other credit for. No, he was quite rattled by what happened.”

Anders considered this, but didn’t reply. That was as good an answer as Hawke would probably get regarding Fenris. 

“I’ll ask Merrill to help me make an elfroot poultice,” Hawke said. “And when you’re better, you’ll have to teach me. Last night made me realize how little I know about healing. That has to change.”

Anders smiled at him. “You did well last night.”

“No I didn’t,” Hawke replied with a shake of his head. “I could barely keep it together. I couldn’t stand seeing you like that.”

Anders looked like he didn’t know how to respond, so he just looked away. 

Anders sometimes did have issues reacting to how honest Hawke was with his feelings. It was to be expected really, with how he was raised. True feelings were never spoken of in the Circle, only half truths and witty deflections. 

Anders was nervously fidgeting with the blankets, and Hawke took the opportunity to place a hand on his. 

“You’re too good to me,” Anders sighed. Hawke didn’t like when he said things like that, never had. But that was an argument from long ago, one Anders was too delicate to handle right now. He may be putting on a strong face, but he had been through trauma. 

Hawke stroked a thumb across his knuckles, hoping to coax out whatever Anders was truly feeling. 

It worked. 

“I really was scared I’d never see you again,” Anders admitted quietly. “That was almost worse than what was happening.”

Hawke didn’t say anything, just kept up his ministrations and listened. He had often found that he had to give Anders space to think through what he felt and then to work up the courage to say it. The man may be a lit fuse when it came to his cause, but any deeper hurt was always buried. 

“I hadn’t felt that scared in a long time, honestly. I couldn’t even hear Justice. I was truly alone with those bastards.”

“They’ll never touch you again,” Hawke said. 

“You don’t know that,” Anders laughed bitterly. “I didn’t even get a good look at all of them. Their leader did most of… the work. I think he almost got off on it. But anyway, what’s most likely is that we’ll be in one of your meetings at the Gallows and the bastards will be right there, sharing their private joke while we both remain oblivious.”

Hawke hadn’t even thought that far ahead. Anders was right. 

“You shouldn’t come with me anymore, if I go there.” Hawke had never liked it when he did in the first place, but Anders insisted on following Hawke into that pit of snakes. 

“Probably not, no,” Anders agreed. He sounded so defeated, so sad. 

“Who knows how Justice will react now,” Anders continued. “It’ll be even worse than it was before. I can’t know I won’t lose control.” 

That wasn’t what Hawke had been worried about. 

The two men stayed in bed, silent, for a long time. Soon after Hawke had to leave to procure an elfroot poultice, which Merrill was all too glad to help him make. 

She seemed shaken by the events of last night. 

“They really just hurt him because… they wanted to?” She asked after needling Hawke with nervous questions. 

“Yeah,” Hawke told her. 

Merrill wasn’t oblivious to the abuses of Templars, she just didn’t involve herself in Kirkwall politics as much as most mages would. 

“If you need my help getting revenge, I’ll go,” Merrill told Hawke as she handed him the finished poultice. Hawke was a bit startled by the conviction in her voice, but he nodded and thanked her. 

He didn’t even know if he would be able to enact any retribution. No Templar would be punished for his actions, especially not when apprehending an apostate. But Hawke had always operated outside the law, as everyone in Kirkwall did.

He could find out who the Templars were, there had to be a way. And if he found out who they were, he could tell them in no uncertain terms that they would die if they ever touched Anders again. 

Or maybe this was all just wishful thinking. Hawke desperately wanted to do something about what happened, he hated feeling so useless. Anders deserved some kind of… some kind of justice. 

Hawke hadn’t thought of himself as a violent man before Kirkwall. In Kirkwall, all there was was violence. All avenues of change, of changing any little thing went through violence. 

And as nice of a man as Hawke was, as charming as the nobles found him for some fucking reason, he would do what it took to defend his family.

When Hawke returned with the poultice Anders was asleep. Even then, he didn’t look at peace. His brow twitched, he whimpered slightly. 

Hawke placed a hand on his cheek, stroked gently. “Shh,” he whispered, “it’s okay.”

“S-stop, p-please,” Anders whined into the air, voice weak. 

“Love,” Hawke said out loud. He gently nudged his lover’s shoulder, hoping to wake him gently. Whatever the fade had for him, it didn’t sound good. It never was with Anders, it was always Darkspawn or Templars or a cold dark cell. 

Anders shook his head, whimpered again. Hawke shook his shoulder a little harder this time, trying not to agitate the wounds but unable to let Anders stay in whatever torment his mind created. 

Anders gasped as his eyes opened, and then looked at Hawke. Panic turned to relief, and he slumped back against the pillows. 

“I brought the poultice,” Hawke told him. He wanted to say something about the nightmare, but often Anders didn’t want to talk about it. 

Anders nodded, and began to push the covers down. Hawke helped the rest of the way, and his heart ached at the sight laid out before him. 

Anders reached to undo one of the bandages, but Hawke caught the hand in his. “I’ll do it,” he said. Anders acquiesced with another small nod.

The wounds on his chest were still angry and red, but at least the wounds were healing. 

“How long until you get your magic back?” Hawke asked as he dipped a hand in the poultice. 

“Probably another day,” said Anders. “They gave me a lot of magebane, so I can’t be sure.”

Hawke applied the poultice gently to the first cut, feeling Anders flinch beneath him. 

“Sorry,” Hawke said for what felt like the thousandth time. Hawke kept going, applying the substance gently and slowly, trying his best not to aggravate the wounds he uncovered.

Anders watched him the whole time, surveying his own wounds in an almost detached manner. 

Eventually he did begin to relax, the elfroot taking effect. 

“Will these scar?” Hawke asked as he put away the supplies and re-tied  the bandages. “Or will you be able to heal them in time?”

“The one on my thigh might, but the others are shallow. If I get my healing back tomorrow I can just fix them the rest of the way, and that should prevent scarring.”

Good. Hawke didn’t want to have to be reminded of last night every time he saw Anders without a shirt, and he suspected Anders felt the same way. Hawke already didn’t like the sight of the massive sword wound on his lover’s chest, which apparently would have been fatal if not for Justice. 

“I don’t know what I should be doing with myself right now,” Anders said to no one in particular. “Justice would normally be telling me to go to the clinic or write… but I’m in no state to do either and Justice is still dull. Must be the poison.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Hawke told him, running delicate fingers across an unharmed area of skin. He had at first gone to stroke his arm, but had to stop himself. 

“Just… lie in bed?”

“Probably, yeah,” Hawke told him seriously. “That’s what people do when they’ve been injured.” Hawke didn’t say “tortured,” but that’s what he meant.

“I guess I’ve always been able to heal it right away and then walk the rest off,” Anders mused. 

Even if he did have his healing, Hawke knew this wasn’t something he could walk off. Did Anders know that yet, or was he still trying to pretend? 

The day was spent with Hawke in bed talking with Anders, trying to alleviate his boredom. Hawke could tell it bothered Anders that he couldn’t hear Justice, so he tried to take his mind off of it.

Eventually the poultice began to wear off, and Anders winced in pain whenever he moved. 

“Let me redress the wounds,” Hawke offered. 

Anders nodded and lay back with a huff. 

“I want a bath,” he complained as Hawke began to work the poultice over his chest wounds. 

“Those tunnels were bloody filthy. I know you already cleaned the wounds, but the rest of me still feels…Well, still feels like I got pushed around on a dirty stone floor…”

He said that with indifference, irreverence, but it made Hawke’s heart freeze. That was another detail Hawke hadn’t known before, another element his mind could add to the mental picture of what happened. 

Through the thundering in his chest Hawke heard Anders call his name. 

Hawke looked over quickly, and realized he had frozen in his task. 

“What?” Hawke asked, trying to shake off what his mind was showing him. 

“You just went away for a second,” said Anders. He had so much worry in his eyes for someone who shouldn’t be worrying about others right now.

“Sorry.”

Anders gave him a searching look. “It’s okay if… well, it’s okay if you’re not okay. I’m sure last night wasn’t fun for you either.”

Hawke’s heartbeat still thrummed fast, he still felt the pit in his stomach. This wasn’t about him, why did it hurt so much?

“You’re okay now,” Hawke settled on saying. “That’s what matters.”

“But you were still hurt.”

“Love, you were hurt. You were tortured.”

The word hung in the air, and Hawke realized now that this was the first time either of them had plainly called it what it was. Torture. 

“Many mages have gone through torture,” Anders said calmly. “It was just my turn, I suppose.”

When the bastards at the Circle locked him away for a year that had been torture too, but Hawke didn’t want to bring up any more painful memories. 

“It’s still fucked up,” Hawke said, barely a whisper. He felt his eyes well up with tears, tried to will them away. 

How could Anders lay there and downplay what had happened, write it off as just another thing that happened to mages? How was Anders so messed up, so used to his shit lot in life that he just played it off when this happened? Was this Justice’s influence, thinking that others had it worse? 

Hawke loved Anders more than anything, but sometimes he was infuriating. Sometimes Hawke was just baffled at how he laughed away what he had gone through, how he pushed down his own distress until it consumed him. Would he push this down too?

Anders was easy to love, but loving him was hard. It was hard because loving him meant someone you loved had been hurt over and over again, in ways you can’t begin to heal. 

Tears were sliding down Hawke’s cheeks now, his breathing hitched. All he could think about was last night, and how last night would not be the end of it. Even if somehow Anders truly did just walk this off, the sight of Anders screaming in pain and covered in gashes from literal torture would haunt Hawke until he died. The feeling of being utterly powerless would haunt Hawke until he died. So many things already did.

“Just let it out,” Anders encouraged softly. “You don’t have to be strong around me. Wasn’t that what you said to me last night?”

It was, but it was also hard advice to follow. However, Hawke would try. 

Hawke let himself cry openly, stopped trying to hold back the tidal wave of emotion. His shoulders shook slightly, and Anders reached up and beckoned him to lie down. 

Hawke went with him and lay with his head on the pillow next to Anders, Anders reaching over to run a hand through his hair.

“We’re both alright, love,” said Anders, “we’re both together and we’re both okay.”

Hawke tried to keep remembering that instead of dwelling on what the future might hold. 

[razaks-wheel]

[Milia finally talks to Vivec about her PTSD from getting killed/vestiged. Content warning for depictions and discussions of self-harm.]

---

Talvini was finishing making dinner when Milia arrived at home. Despite her exhaustion, Milia put on a smile for her girlfriend. She did not want to burden her with the weight of the day she'd had.

"How was work?" Talvini asked. "You went on a raid, right?"

"Yeah, it was fine," Milia said. "I died, but no big deal."

She immediately regretted disclosing even that much when she saw Talvini's response: the falter in her preparations, the softened expression with the raised eyebrow, waiting for more, but not wanting to press. As much as she appreciated the concern, it was really the sort of thing she would prefer to forget. Still, she knew Tal would worry until she talked about it.

"I was trying to scout ahead, but I messed up. Got sort of...gutted by one of the cultists. My squadmates got me to safety, but I was still bleeding out. I tried to tell them to just stab me in the heart and get it over with so that I could reform, but those s'wits didn't have the stomach. Took the better part of an hour in a haze of agony and spitting up blood before I finally died."

Her hand floated down to her stomach as the pain came back to her.

"Anyway, I need a few minutes to get changed."

She tried to avoid Tal's gaze as she headed upstairs.

The emotions finally reached her once her armor was off and her fresh clothes waited for her in a pile on the bed. She wanted to fight it, but instead lowered to the floor and wrapped her arms tight around herself while the tears reluctantly flowed.

Why am I so weak? Why can't I handle a little pain? I deserved it! I messed up! What if it had been real?

She squeezed tighter. Her nails dug deep into her shoulders. It stung, because she was weak. Because she couldn't handle the pain she deserved for her carelessness. She dragged her nails across her shoulders and onto her arms, noticing only after a moment that she had imbued them with burning magic. That was fine; she deserved to hurt, She bit her lip as the new wounds pulsed with pain.

She would have to get back downstairs soon before Tal got worried and came up to look for her and saw her like this. She quickly bandaged the wounds, not bothering with any burn salve—she needed to feel the reminder of her failure—threw her clothes on, wiped her eyes, and headed back down for dinner.

The following day at work was a normal one, standing guard in Vivec's palace. At the end of the day, Vivec asked if ze could speak with her in hir quarters. This was not an uncommon request; sometimes there was business to deal with outside of the public view. She followed hir inside, and they sat down among the cushions on the floor.

"May I take a look at your shoulders?" Vivec asked.

The panic quickly rose within her. Why would Vivec ask about that so directly? What happened to offering vague conversational hooks that she could easily refuse?

"It's nothing, really," she said with a wave of her hand, suppressing a wince as she jostled the wounds. "Just a scratch. Not that bad. Nothing to worry about."

Vivec shook hir head. "I have permitted you to lie about your well-being before, Milia, because you knew that I knew the truth. But the time for that has passed. I am no longer going to pretend that I believe you when you say you are fine. You are not fine."

"Really, it's—I mean, I know I messed up, but I can handle it. I...need to handle it."

"On the contrary, you need nothing of the sort. I will not order you to talk to me about everything that is on your mind—though I would welcome it—but I am ordering you to have your shoulders healed. So, you can let me apply this burn salve and then heal the wounds, or I can send you to Ayem who can bypass the first step and heal you through your cuirass. Which would you prefer?"

"I'll stay here," she said quietly.

She had no issues with taking her cuirass off in front of Vivec—ze was a god; she knew ze was entirely unfazed by it—and when feeling vulnerable, she would prefer to be in the presence of her patron rather than a less familiar god. Still, she cursed herself for getting into this situation. She supposed it was her punishment for letting it go too far. At least Vivec wasn't chastising her.

The salve stung for a moment, until Vivec incorporated an analgesic effect with hir other hand. She almost wished ze would let her feel the full weight of the pain, but part of her was grateful nonetheless.

"Do you want to talk about what led you to this point?" Vivec asked as ze went.

"Want? No," Milia said. "But I know I should."

She tried to gather her thoughts, but there were too many.

"I don't know where to start. Are you sure you don't want to just jump into my head and pull out my thoughts?"

"I am sure," ze said. "I would like to hear your story in a way that can only come from being shaped by your voice. Why don't you start with what happened last night, and we can work backwards?"

"Right." She took a few more moments to prepare, and then said, "Last night, I...got overwhelmed. I felt betrayed by Daron and Felil for not just killing me when I asked them to, and more than that, I was angry at myself for slipping up again, and getting killed, again. I thought maybe they were right to let me bleed out in agony. Maybe I deserved it. Maybe I still deserved to hurt. I noticed myself clawing at my own skin and I thought, 'Yeah, that's fine. That's good, actually.' So I let it happen. Then I realized I was using my Burning Embers spell, and I figured, all the better."

"They were not right, and they will be chastised for this mishandling of the situation. The ease with which they kill cultists, contrasted with their unwillingness to even temporarily kill an ally hints at concerning truths about how they conceptualize the humanity of their enemies," Vivec said. "But I digress. You believe you deserved pain for letting yourself get hurt?"

"Well...yes. Sort of. I can't seem to learn otherwise."

"Learn what?"

"Learn to avoid getting myself killed," she said. "I'm supposed to be better than that."

"You also put yourself in dangerous situations for your squadmates' sake because you know you can safely die if need be."

"I know but...but I hate it so much. I get—forgive me, I shouldn't admit this, but I get nightmares about dying all the time. I have ever since the first time. I promise my faith is true, even if I'm showing signs of soul sickness. And I know I should be grateful! I should be glad that I have the ability to get back up when I'm killed. But every single death is another failure, another instance of me not being good enough. Not strong enough, fast enough, smart enough, whatever.

"For the first seventy-two years of my life, I would pride myself on being able to handle myself against whatever dangers I would realistically face. Now? Every week, month, whatever—it feels like it's always happening—something finds a way to kill me. And then it's one more thing to add to the list of dangers I can't withstand. The list is getting pretty long.

"And one of these times is going to be the last time. I'll be a little too far from a soul gem, or my body will reject the resurrection, or something. And I won't be able to get up. Because I'll be dead. Dead dead. And the last thing I do will be to fail."

Vivec placed a hand over her right hand, and she realized she had been digging her nails again into her left arm. She tried to mumble an apology, but her voice broke and the emotions that she had been putting off by continuing to talk spilled over now that she had taken a moment to pause. She instinctively went to wipe her eyes, but remembered that her shoulders were currently being restricted in their movement.

"I'm sorry," she managed to get out after a moment. "I know none of this sounds like a good reason to...do what I did. Maybe I'm just weak. I know I'm weak." She exhaled. "I understand if you think I'm not qualified to be an Armiger."

"Do you really think you could get out of my service so easily?" Vivec asked with a shred of levity in hir voice. Ze returned hir hand to her shoulder and continued in a more serious tone, "You already explained: you hurt yourself because you were overwhelmed. The rest is context."

"Oh," Milia said. "Is it really that simple?"

"I would not call it simple. It is life, woven into story. It can be shorn down to an essence, yes, but do not let that mislead you into discounting the complexity of your full experience." Ze pulled hir hands back. "Your shoulders are healed."

She wiggled her arms a bit, and indeed, there was no more pain. She put her undershirt back on and turned to face Vivec.

"Thank you," she said. "And I apologize for my weakness."

Ze shook hir head. "Shame will not help. You are a Vestige, Milia. Few know what it is like to go through what you have been through, and fewer still respond by regularly throwing themselves at death to help others. You are navigating a strange and frightening territory, and your response is understandable. I will ask you this: Have I earned your trust?"

"Of course. You're my god."

"Have I truly? Will you come to me in the future, before you find yourself overwhelmed?"

"I will...try harder," she said. "It's just difficult."

"I know. But I hope I have proven to you that you will be safe. That I will not lash out, punish you, fire you, re-educate you, anything that might worry you. That I will simply offer my aid as your god. And even if you do become overwhelmed, and you do hurt yourself again, I still will not be angry. I would not order you never to do it again; that would do more harm than good. I will instead ask that if you find yourself in that situation again, try not to use fire. And either way, come to me—or to someone—for a heal. Deal?"

She nodded slowly. "Deal."

Vivec stood up and helped Milia to her feet.

"Yes, you may have a hug," ze said, reading her mind.

She felt a warmth in the hug, as though ze had meant everything ze had said, as though ze truly cared about her well-being. She supposed ze had really earned her trust, as much as her anxious mind could allow.

When the hug was finished, Vivec opened a portal.

"You should get home before Talvini worries. More than she already has, that is."

[lovesouroboros]

It’s Frightening to Meet The Person We Could Have Become

Tonight I met the girl who I am nearly capable of being. She arose from within me, she pushed me toward the flame. For a brief time, I was vengeful - angry, inspired with rage. There was a flicker, a moment in which I did not recognise myself. 

Earlier tonight, I wanted to hurt someone. Not anybody - somebody specific. I wanted to make him feel pain, I wanted him to feel frightened. I wanted him to hurt the way he’d hurt others, the way he’d hurt someone I knew. I wanted him to be scared, the way that she was scared. 

I thought it unfair that those who’ve been hurt have to cower while their abusers run free. While they drink at the neighbourhood bar, laughing with friends - the ones who’ve they’ve bruised sit alone, in another, hopefully safer place. The ones that they’ve bruised are still hiding, afraid.

I’d looked for him for a week before now. A few people knew to call me if he was spotted. Soon enough, there he was : on the corner, as if he’d never left. When the dust settles, the monsters crawl back beneath our bed frames. No one dares to stop them. I thought I would.

The call came - I prepared. There was a plan. There were pills crushed to powder, stashed in a tiny ziplock I’d nestled within my purse. I changed clothes - swapped my stained jeans for an expensive mini skirt, name brand. I wanted to look valuable, like someone worth breaking. I put makeup on for the first time in weeks - blush, lipstick, mascara. Looking in the mirror, I thought, “I am ready to kill this man.” 

I laughed, but it did not feel like a joke. 

I bring my puppy, Scar, to the bar. It’s counterintuitive and premeditated - there is an image to create. “Dainty Damsel totes Dime Sized Dog, falls Head over Heels for Dreamy Drug Dude.” 

In reality, I don’t wear heels. It’s good - he’s not as tall as I’d imagined. The table next to him is free, and I feel him watch me when I sit down. I make a spectacle of myself, aided by the passerby patrons who try to chat me up. Not now, I’m on a mission. Today, I’m going to kill a man.

I thought he’d be more bold. I move around a lot, I give him something to comment on - drawing in a notebook, coloured pencils splayed about. I feel him watching me, but he does not speak. I “drop” an orange pencil on the ground and wait for him to return it. He does, but he does not inquire more - it is an act of good grace, no openers to follow.

An acquaintance from the neighbourhood enters - an older man, Jacob. I smile when I see him, and he joins Drug Dude and their friends. I did not know they were acquainted, and I am glad to discover the fact - it is to my advantage. I continue to play manic pixie dream date in the corner until Jacob goes inside to the bar. I wait a minute, then follow.

“Who is that boy you’re with?” 

He smiles. 

“It’s a long story. I’ll join you in a moment, I need a whiskey first.”

I am intrigued, returning to my table. It isn’t common knowledge, what’s happened between the boy and my friend. In fact, it is Top Secret Info. So what’s the story, too long to express without a drink? 

When I sit down, I notice the boy is leaving. We make eye contact, but my courage fails me for a beat. What am I to say? 

“Stay, so I can drug you!” 

But that isn’t the plan at all. It has to be him first, I need him to hold an illusion of power. I let him leave.

Jacob joins me, now nursing his whiskey. He begins to tell me the story. This boy, he’s just come out of a horrible relationship. Truly violent. (So it is known, there was violence). More than being beautiful, he is kind, and intelligent. Jacob thinks there is a sadness within him. He tells me that the boy does too many drugs, but when he is not wasted, he is a wonderful soul. 

Jacob is confident that I am shy, that I am tail between my legs nervous about winning over the Dreamy Druggie. He tells me that he think I’d be good for him, because I am kind, and I don’t drink, and maybe someone loving like me is exactly what DD needs in this moment. I swallow my saliva.

“In any case, he’s gone now. I was too nervous to say hello.”

“I know where he’s gone, I can give you the name of the bar.”

I pause, something strikes me. The feeling passes.

“Would you go with me? I don’t want to do it alone. You could introduce us.”

Jacob smiles again. He is drunk, and happy to play Cupid. I suspect that he is also happy that I’ve placed my trust in him - we were not friends before tonight. He throws back his whiskey. 

“Alright then, let’s go.” 

The bar isn’t far, about a 5 minute walk from the last one. Still, we have time to chat - and I let Jacob do the talking. He’s a photographer, and he tells me that he wants to take photos for DD’s portfolio. He tells me that DD doesn’t think he is beautiful enough to model - objectively, this is untrue. Apparently he’s told Jacob that his “teeth aren’t nice enough” to have photos taken. Jacob’s solution? Don’t smile.

The new bar is loud. From wall to pavement it is crowded with drunk and sweaty college students chanting in unison about the football match. “Karim! KARIM! KARIIIIM!!” To be there is to be exhausted.

My puppy is scared - she is either too young or too old for this nonsense. I tell Jacob I’ll wait outside, lighting a cigarette and projecting an air of disinterest. He returns quickly, DD in tow. Showtime begins. I am nervous once more.

“Asha, I’d like to present you to a friend of mine. This is Wren. Wren, this is-”

“Asha,” he finishes. My name sounds funny coming out of his mouth - heavier. His eyes are big, like mine. He holds my gaze, and for a moment - I think he knows what I’m up to. Then - 

“Enchanté.”

“Enchantée, à toi aussi.” 

Jacob is smooth, busying himself with someone beside him without looking like he’s fucking off to give me time to run game. Whether his smoothness is appreciated or not is unapparent, for Wren does not seem to notice his departure.

“Do you live in the neighbourhood?”

Already he is trying to trap me, pre-strangulation analysis. Does whether I’m local play a factor in where he’ll choose to hurt me?

“Two blocks from here, and you?” 

I already know where he lives, but it’s nice to ask.

“A bit further, near the bar we were at before. Do you remember me?”

Freeze.

“Have we met?”

“We haven’t, but I’ve seen you many times. I thought maybe you’d have seen me, too.”

Narcissist.

“No, I don’t think so. I’m sure I would have remembered you.” 

It’s a cheap line, but it works - he smiles.

“You have nice teeth.” 

I’ve seen the bite marks they leave.

“Thank you. Would you like a drink?”

I shake my head.

“I don’t drink, thanks.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t like who I am when I drink.”

He pauses, studying my face. I don’t know where the words came from, they’re completely misaligned with my charade of innocence. Some part of me decided to offer its truth without consulting the rest, and I’m not sure which part of myself deserves a kick.

“I understand that. I don’t either, usually, but I’m not sure how to stop. It doesn’t make me feel better, but I already feel bad anyway.”

Now it’s my turn to pause. His words feel honest, and it disturbs me. My mother told me once that abusers will wear their vulnerability on their shirtsleeve, like a pin. This is how they keep the “poor me” narrative running, this is why we feel sorry for them rather than angry. I am in the process of reconstructing this knowledge into walls around me when he speaks again - 

“What are you when you drink?”

What. Not who. What?

“Violent.”

“Yeah, me too. I don’t want to be, though. I want to be good for people.”

“Are you? Sometimes?”

He crouches down to sit crosslegged on the pavement. Immediately, Scar walks to join him, resting her head on his leg. Two against one, I join them on the ground. 

“So?”

“I was thinking. It’s easier here. Yes, sometimes I am good for people. More often, some people are good for me. I try to learn from them, and it works sometimes.”

“What about when it doesn’t work?”

Wren winces, withdrawing his pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. He pulls out two, offering the first to me. I accept, and he lights them both before speaking again. I inhale.

“Sometimes I’m too angry for anything to work. Except the people I’m angry with, they’re not around anymore. So the people who’ve stuck by me, they get my rage. It’s fucking backwards. I’m fucking backwards.”

I look up to the sky. It is night, but the sky isn’t fully dark - it never is. Light pollution shifts the black to blue, adding in a reddish tint. There are no stars to be seen.

“Why are you telling me this? Is this how you usually flirt?”

He shakes his head.

“I’m not flirting, I’m talking. Because I think you’ll understand me. You don’t need to flirt with people who understand you, there’s not a game to be played. Flirting is hiding. When I look at you, I see the same thing that I’m talking about in me. It’s in your eye, the left one : rage. But more than that, you are soft. I see you choosing to be soft. So I trust you, because for some people - it is not a choice. It is much more powerful to have the option to be wicked and choose not to be than to have been kindhearted all along. I am trying to choose that same power.”

“What stops you?”

“Exhaustion.” 

I feel a sharp and sudden pain grip my chest, like a hornet sting to the heart. I reach my hand out without warning and grip his tightly.

I cannot explain what happens now, not properly. There are lights, flashes, a lifetime before me. My surroundings disappear. There is a chorus of memories that are not my own. I hear glass shattering and raised voices, I hear door slams. I taste blood in my mouth, my whole body aches. I feel drunk, distorted, disgusted, disgusting. There is a stained mattress, abandoned house, paint peeling. I feel myself making love to a woman, many women - my body is not my own, it is pale, it is Wren’s. I feel decades of tears rushing forward like a tsunami, pouring out of my eyes, filling up my mouth. I feel like I am being waterboarded with saline and screams, writhing and fighting to get out. Finally there is a climax, a tipping point - I manage to pull back, break free.

I am back on the street. Shaking, I look at my hands- they are my own once more. I look up to Wren and see his huge brown eyes, staring back at me. It occurs to me that I have just experienced every pain he’s ever suffered, and now I believe him to be deserving of love. It occurs to me that now, I think I may love him.

“Wren--”

He closes his eyes and places a hand up, stopping the rest of my words before they can meet the air. For a moment he is silent, pensive. Then, finally --

“Asha, did you come here to kill me?”

[birlcholtz]

25 - 50 - 80 for the angst/fluff ask. Ship of your choice. ^_^

25. Karma is a bitch.

50. It’s not safe here.

80. You have no idea.

Prompts from this post!

i had no idea if you meant these separately or together, so here’s 2k of a charmer… kind of monster hunter kind of ghostbusters au! they fight things and cait has a truck that’s the vision here. and here it is on ao3!

.

Caitlin has seen a lot of weird things. She kind of gets paid to go around looking for weird things and, well, stabbing them, frequently. (She tries to communicate first, but… usually, if communication is possible, the sixteen-year-olds who make supernatural creatures angry in the first place can manage the situation themselves.)

But this is the first time that someone else has beaten her to the site where the last interaction took place. This time, it’s an empty lot, mostly weeds and dead wildflowers, bordered by trees on every side except the side with the road.

The teary, fear-quickened voice on the other end of her work phone had said that the thing, whatever it was, had six legs. So Caitlin is pretty sure that a person in black jeans and a teal sweatshirt is some sort of bystander, stumbling into something they are not equipped to handle.

“Stop!” she calls out, just loud enough that she can be sure the person hears her. They stop walking, and she can see their back stiffen just before they turn towards the source of the noise, but she’s already running towards them. If the thing comes out, this person will be a lot safer next to Caitlin than far away from her. “It’s not safe here,” she adds once she’s within a few feet.

The person gives her a small smile and says, “Oh, you have no idea.”

Okay. Fuck. That’s ominous.

At least they don’t immediately grow four more legs and attack her, which dismisses her immediate thought of shapeshifter, but Caitlin braces and puts her hands on her weapons— coiled rope on one hip, knife on the other, gun under her jacket but let’s hope that’s not necessary, and says, “Tell me what you know.”

“It’s a giant venomous tarantula. I haven’t seen it myself, though.” They shrug, hands still in the front pocket of their hoodie, which Caitlin can now see has a San Jose Sharks logo on the front. “Sorry!”

“So are you going to help me deal with it, or am I doing this by myself?” she asks. Which might be rude, but they’ve got bigger problems.

The person blinks, and then lets a bigger, close-mouthed smile spread across their face. “You’re going to help? ‘Swawesome! I brought these.” They pull their hands out of their pockets, revealing a knife between each finger like Wolverine or some shit. They’re an interesting color, not silver or gray or anything, dark and viciously sharp-looking. “So what’s your name?”

Caitlin sizes up the knives again, and then says, “Are you fae?”

“Nope! I just don’t know many people outside my house. Are you a monster fighter?”

“Yes,” she answers slowly, and decides not to reveal any more personal information until she’s figured out who the hell this person is.

“That’s cool,” they say cheerfully, and Caitlin notices dark hair, mostly hidden under the hood of their sweatshirt. “I’m learning how to do that. Usually I’m supposed to have an escort for the first five years so nothing bad happens but my team decided to send me out here while they work on something over in Worcester, I’m not sure what? Anyway. I’m glad you’re here too though! To be honest, I was a little nervous about doing this by myself, but you know.” Another shrug.

Caitlin most definitely does not know whatever this person is referring to, but she keeps that to herself. “Do you have any idea where the tarantula is right now?”

“Probably the trees. I wouldn’t be in the open right now if it was me, it got a pretty bad scare! Not as bad as those kids did, though, I guess.” And the person giggles. “Oh, well.”

This is definitely weird, and Caitlin has decided not to rule out any possibilities on why, exactly, this person is here right now and how they seem to know so much about what’s going on. Better to probe for information. “How did it get scared?”

“Well, they’re burrowers, you know? Someone just took a stick and— get ready! Try not to hurt it!”

And with that, the person springs forward what has to be at least six feet in the blink of an eye, settling into a crouch, knives in hand, almost before Caitlin sees the first pair of legs emerge from the trees, followed by the second, and then the third.

The tarantula is, indeed, giant. It’s brown, and furry, and has lots of eyes, and overall looks kind of like every other tarantula Caitlin has ever seen in pictures and terrariums, except tall enough to make solid eye contact with her shoulder. And Caitlin is tall.

She grabs her rope. It’s already set up to be a lasso, which is probably ideal in this situation. At least, if the whole ‘try not to hurt it’ thing is actually a good idea.

The tarantula approaches, and Caitlin wishes they were somewhere with streetlights, but all she has to go off of are the stars, sparse in a sky artificially brightened from light pollution, and the waxing moon overhead. It’s enough to see by, barely. The tarantula doesn’t actually seem super interested in attacking them, which is a good sign, but it’s also coming directly at them, which is a bad one.

She readies her lasso, but it’s still well outside of lassoing distance when it stops and starts doing something.

“Burrowing,” the person still crouched about six feet away whispers. “It probably just wants its home back!”

That does actually look like what’s going on. Caitlin can see the tarantula digging, even pushing some of the dirt farther away from what must be a decently sized hole. But she doesn’t dare move.

They wait there for at least twenty minutes. Caitlin’s abs hurt from how hard she’s clenching them to stay still, and she cannot believe this person is still maintaining a crouch. They haven’t moved at all from what she can see, and she was so proud of herself for managing a five-minute wall sit yesterday, too. 

Finally, the tarantula stops digging. It starts walking again, and Caitlin tenses even more, but it just walks in a circle around where its hole must be (she can’t see exactly, because the weeds are tall enough to block her vision), and then it must crawl in, because all of a sudden it’s vanished.

The other person stands up immediately and says, “Woohoo!”

“Uh, what?”

They’re already putting the knives back in their sweatshirt pocket (which does not seem like a good place for them, but whatever). “Okay, so I didn’t hear everything that happened earlier, but I’m pretty sure someone like, poked its burrow and ruined it. And it got really, really big to retaliate— I bet if the people hadn’t gotten away so fast, it would have tried to destroy some houses or something. But it’s got its home back, so it’s back to normal size. I’m Chris, by the way!” They stick out their newly knife-free hand. “I’m from a monster hunting team outside Boston. Who are you?”

“Uh, I’m Caitlin,” she says, and shakes their hand. “I’m a loner.”

“Oh, that’s too bad! Unless you prefer it that way, then I guess it’s better? I really like being around other people, though, so it would be worse for me. The other guys on my team— we’re not all guys! Just, like, I am, and a bunch of other people are, but not all of us, don’t worry, we’re not like some weird misogynistic monster fighting group or anything— anyway, some of the other guys on my team have worked together forever and they bought a really big house a few years back so they could all live together! And once I joined I moved in too and it’s been great, I’ve never had so many roommates! But um. Anyway. How’d you hear about the tarantula?”

She shrugs. “Someone called me. Probably one of the people who was there when it happened, but I have no idea. I usually don’t bother to find out, because I’ve got a private patron anyway, so I don’t need to get paid for each job.”

“Oh, us too!” Chris says. “Does yours have a really weird name too?”

“Mine calls himself Fry Guy?”

His jaw drops, just for a moment, but Caitlin notices the glint of white teeth before he closes his mouth again. “That’s what ours calls himself too! I bet it’s the same person. You should totally come join our team, then! Wait, but you’re a human, aren’t you? Never mind.”

“I’m half banshee,” Caitlin says.

Chris beams and reveals a full set of fangs. “Great! I’m a vampire!” That explains the leg muscles. And the speed. And Caitlin is guessing he heard whatever happened with the tarantula— she hasn’t met any vampires, but people have told her their senses are very good. “I just got turned, like, two years ago, though. We were fighting this demon and it was the backup goalie from my high school hockey team, and we didn’t know that but he totally had it out for me, because I was goalie too and he was a senior when I was a sophomore and I guess he was mad because he didn’t get as much ice time because of me and then he didn’t get scouted or anything, and I definitely would have died so my friend Justin had to turn me, like, right then. Um, and then the demon guy kind of burned himself up because he wasn’t supposed to use that much power at once?” He frowns. “I think he might have been a warlock, actually. But he wasn’t very good at hockey.”

“Karma is a bitch,” Caitlin offers, because that whole speech was a lot and that’s about the only thing she can muster.

Chris (Chris? For a vampire?) says, “I think the real problem with karma is that usually people don’t live long enough for it to come around again.”

“That sounds really jaded for someone who says they’re a new vampire.”

He shrugs, smile back in place, although Caitlin notices it’s just a little crooked— she can see his fangs on his left side a little more than the ones on his right. It’s surprisingly endearing. “April says I’m learning to fit in with the team really well!”

They wait in the empty lot for a few more minutes, just to make sure the tarantula doesn’t get back to giant size, and then Chris graciously accepts a ride in Caitlin’s truck back to his house. He’d run to the lot, apparently. 

“You really should consider joining our team, you know,” Chris says once Caitlin’s started the truck. “We have enough different people that we can choose who we send to deal with different things. And also we have collective bargaining power.”

“It sounds great,” Caitlin admits. “I’ve been working by myself the whole time. It gets kind of lonely.”

“Well, we don’t take humans at all, so you’ll need proof that you’re part banshee, but you’re super qualified! And I’ll vouch for you.” He smiles at her from the passenger seat, and Caitlin wonders how a creature of the night can smile so earnestly that it lights up his whole face.

She drops him off at a huge colonial-style house with a long driveway, and he puts his phone number and the landline for that house in her phone, and Caitlin watches him leap up to a second story balcony and casually step inside and wonders if this time next year, she might be able to call this place home.

She drives off, remembering Chris’s last smile from over his shoulder, and she smiles too.

[spacesnail3000]

Brooklyn’s Sweetheart Chapter 12: Crimson and Violet

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Chapter Summary: She gets by with a little help from her friends, and Wanda is the best friend a girl could have during a family crisis. Steve and Bucky don't share that sentiment, but let's see them do better.

Word Count: 5,026

Warnings: Language, underage drinking, mob activities

Masterlist / AO3

A/N: So I’ve only just posted this story on Tumblr although I’ve had it on AO3 for months, and I just wanted to say thank you to everyone for the great response I’ve gotten so far! I hope you enjoy this next chapter! Please send an ask to be added to the tag list!

ALSO, I want to say a special thanks to my beta reader Jessieray98, she's been a HUGE help with this chapter and with planning the overall story!! 🤗

For the next hour and a half after Steve left, Y/N paced around her room muttering to herself. Her sorrow and despair had been suddenly washed away like a riptide only to be replaced with outrage and utter indignance at what was happening to her.

How dare her mother and her supposed-father lie to her for her entire life? How dare they try and hide this from her, only to reveal it at the worst time? How dare her mother leave her behind in Brooklyn, while Obadiah rots in prison, leaving Y/N vulnerable to everyone the man had ever made an enemy of?

And then there was Steve and Bucky.

Steve certainly had some gall to treat her the way he had, and Bucky just sat around and let her have it. Bucky didn’t care enough to intervene or even try to stop Steve. What kind of friends were they? It was clear neither of them cared enough about her to even comfort her in her time of need. Would the mob always come before her, or just when it was convenient for them?

It didn’t help matters that almost immediately after they had left, two members of the mob barged into her house to “keep an eye on her”. Steve had sent them in to babysit her, and now she was confined to her room as they played cards and drank Obadiah’s liquor downstairs. 

She felt patronized, infantilized, and she just wanted some form of agency in all of this. Her rage was the only thing she had to herself anymore, the only thing she could control, and she wasn’t about to let that go.

What was worse was that she still wanted her boys to come back and comfort her in her time of need, but she stamped that thought down, clinging to her anger towards them instead.

She was so caught up in her emotions that she hadn’t heard her phone ringing, and it wasn’t until she picked up her cell phone to shoot Bucky and Steve a long, heated text message that she had been conducting in her mind, that she saw several missed calls and texts from Wanda.

Although she and Wanda were close friends in school, they hadn’t spoken much that summer aside from a few Snapchats and empty promises to get together soon. They had a blast together at her birthday party the previous month, but then she had gone off to Martha’s Vineyard and hasn’t spoken much to any of her friends since then.

Now she had five texts and three missed calls within the past half hour.

Wanda: Hey babe I just wanted to check in on you.

Wanda: Heard about your dad and I’m here if you wanna talk. You know I can relate.

Wanda: We should hang tonight to get your mind off things.

Wanda: I’ll take you out it’ll be fun!

Wanda: Call me!!

Just as she was reading the last text, her phone rang, Wanda’s picture appearing on the screen. She answered the phone, her voice small as she greeted her friend. “Hey Wanda, I just saw your—"

Wanda cut her off before she could finish. “Y/N! I’m so glad you finally answered! I was getting really worried about you.”

“Oh, I’m fine…”

Wanda snorted. “I doubt you’re fine. When Pietro got arrested, I was a mess.” Her brother had been arrested the spring before—right before their high school graduation—for charges related to their father’s bootlegging business. Somehow, Tony had gotten him off the hook, but she remembered the stress it had caused Wanda at the time.

“Wanda,” she sighed, reluctant to reveal how angry, sad, and conflicted she felt inside. In her case, it was more than her father being arrested—it was the fact that he wasn’t even her father, that her mother had dropped that on her and left, and that her two closest friends were doing nothing to help or support her in her time of need. Instead, they abandoned her to do God knows what with the mob—the very thing that had gotten her family into this mess in the first place.

But Wanda said her name gently, understanding and softness seeping through her tone. “You don’t have to lie to me. Really, you don’t.”

Y/N let out a shuddering breath and replied, “It’s just a lot happening all at once. And I don’t really have anyone to talk to about it… Steve and Bucky are being huge jerks.”

“Boys are dumb. They have the emotional capacity of a peanut.”

That made her laugh, and she wiped at the tears that had gathered in her eyes. “Thanks for calling…”

“Come hang out with me tonight! We can do whatever you want—it’ll get your mind off of everything.”

“I can’t. Steve has people here babysitting me.”

Wanda scoffed. “Well Steve didn’t count on me. My dad has people watching every time I’m grounded, but that’s never stopped me before.”

“What are you going to do, sneak me out?” Y/N asked incredulously.

“Yes,” Wanda answered matter-of-factly.

“How?”

“Your window is on the second story, right?”

“Yeah,” Y/N answered, crossing the room to look out her window. It was a straight drop to the garden down below, right into her mother’s prized hydrangeas. She had never tried to sneak out before, or even thought about it, but the logistics wouldn’t work. “But I don’t have anything to climb down.”

“Just trust me. I’ll be there in twenty minutes!”

 This time, trusting Wanda paid off beautifully. Wanda had shown up and snuck her out with a cleverly constructed rope made of bedsheets knotted together. Once Wanda had flung it up to Y/N’s window and she had caught it, it only took tying it to her bedframe and climbing down before she landed in the hydrangeas next to Wanda.

“Well if your mom’s not coming back, it shouldn’t be a big deal that her flower garden is ruined,” Wanda whispered, tugging on Y/N’s hand and quickly moving towards her car on the street.

As they buckled in and Wanda took off in the direction of her own house, Y/N asked, “How do you know my mom’s gone?”

“I was working at the Widow’s Web this afternoon and Bucky and Steve came in. They got the news about it and I overheard.”

“Oh.”

“I’m really sorry she left,” Wanda frowned and reached out a hand to take Y/N’s. “I can’t imagine how you must be feeling.”

“Yeah…”

“I’m here for you for whatever you need.”

Y/N nodded, mulling this over. After a few minutes, she said, “Tonight, I just want to forget about everything that’s happening.”

“Well I can definitely help you do that!” Wanda exclaimed, excitement coming over her face. “There’s a few parties tonight around the city. How does that sound?”

Y/N hadn’t been to that many parties, certainly never the crazy ones that Wanda always spoke about. The thought of it made her slightly nervous, but then she realized that Steve and Bucky definitely wouldn’t want her going to any parties. “That’s perfect,” Y/N answered confidently, a newfound urge to rebel against them surging through her.

“Great! But you can’t go to a party in that,” Wanda said, looking pointedly at her sweatshirt and leggings.

“I don’t have anything else…”

“You can borrow something of mine! We’ll go back to my place—my parents and Pietro are all gone tonight, so we can get ready in peace. I’ll do your hair and makeup, too!”

Y/N smiled. Maybe this was exactly what she needed—girl time with one of her best friends. “I really missed you this summer, Wanda.”

“Hey, don’t get sappy on me!” Wanda winked at her, then squeezed her hand. “I missed you too, babe.”

Once they arrived at Wanda’s house, Wanda put on Y/N’s favorite music and announced that they were going to pregame. Wanda made her a fruity drink with enough vodka to make her cringe with every sip, and they danced and laughed tried on clothes, and she easily forgot about how many tears she had spilled over the past 24 hours.

“That one looks so good on you!” Wanda squealed about a tight blue minidress that hugged every curve of her body.

“You can see my panty lines,” Y/N protested.

“You can borrow mine!”

“I’m not gonna wear your panties, Wanda!”

“Then go without.” 

Just the suggestion had Y/N bursting into giggles. “That’s out of the question!” 

“Ugh, spoilsport!” Wanda grunted and tossed her a black leather skirt. “Put that on. It’s thick enough that there won’t be panty lines.”

After stripping off the minidress and squeezing into the skirt, she looked expectantly at Wanda. “Well? Am I supposed to go to the party in my bra?”

“I mean, it wouldn’t look bad—”

“Wanda!”

“Here!” Wanda emerged from her closet with a black crop top with lace overlay. Once she slipped it on, Wanda smirked and nodded. “Yes, that’s the one. You look so hot!”

“Isn’t it a little too revealing?” she asked, tugging at the clothes on her body. The top’s neckline dipped low enough to reveal her ample cleavage, and it didn’t quite reach the high waist of the skirt, so a thin strip of her abdomen was revealed as well. The skirt reached her mid-thigh at least, but that was still more revealing than she usually wore.

“It’s perfect. I swear you look amazing!” Wanda rushed to get her strapped into a pair of stilettos, and then ushered her over to her vanity. “Now let me do your hair and makeup!”

After Wanda started curling her hair, they fell into conversation about Wanda’s new job, as well as her new romance.

“So you and Natasha are together?” Y/N asked in shock. She sat at the bench in front of the vanity, Wanda standing behind her curling her hair. Through the mirror, she could see how Wanda smiled excitedly at the mention of Natasha.

“Yeah, and it’s been really great!”

“But she’s so much older than us.” Although, Natasha was the same age as Bucky and Steve—and look at what they’ve been doing with Y/N. She supposed it was a bit hypocritical of her, but she had never considered their age difference, especially because they had been friends for so long.

“She’s not that much older than us! Besides, she’s so sweet and she buys me nice things. Like this, look,” Wanda pulled a silver chain out from under her shirt and revealed a big emerald pendant hanging from the end.

Y/N’s jaw dropped. “Oh my gosh, Wanda, that’s beautiful!”

“I asked her for diamonds but she said we had to be more committed first.”

She snorted. “That’s so typical of you.”

“What can I say? I have good taste and I know what I want.”

“Ouch!” Y/N hissed as the tip of the curling iron brushed against her ear. “Watch it with that thing!”

“Sorry!”

“You’re too drunk to be wielding a hot tool.” She numbed the pain by taking a large gulp of her drink, grimacing at the sourness of the cranberry juice and the aftertaste of vodka. “Natasha always seemed so intimidating to me. How did this thing between you even start?”

“Well, I interviewed for the waitress position at the Widow’s Web, and she was flirting with me all throughout the interview. Then after my first day on the job, she asked me out. What was I gonna do, say no to my boss?”

Y/N frowned. That arrangement didn’t sound exactly right, but she didn’t have enough relationship experience to know better.

Wanda started to brush out the curls, turning them into glamorous waves. “So what about you, huh?” she asked, “Any boys in your life?” The blush that spread over her face told Wanda everything she needed to know. “Oh my God! Who?”

Her blush only deepened as she shook her head, taking another big sip to avoid answering. Then she took a moment as Wanda locked in the curls with hair spray, closing her eyes and mouth tight, but after Wanda was done, she had no more excuses to stay silent. “It’s complicated!”

“Who is it?”

“It’s nobody you know!” Well, Y/N had never been great at lying to anyone, so Wanda could see through her lie like it was plastic wrap.

“Uh-huh, yeah. So who is it? Turn around, time for your makeup.”

“I won’t tell you!” However, she obliged in turning around on the vanity bench.

Wanda reached behind her for some face primer and got to work. “Then I’ll guess! Is it… Peter Parker? I know he likes you!”

“No, it’s not him! And he doesn’t like me!”

“Is it… Dave from French last year?”

“Ew, no, it isn’t Dave.” 

While Wanda guessed through every boy in their graduating class, she finished applying a light layer of blush and bronzer to Y/N’s face. As she swiped a golden-hued highlighter onto her cheekbones and down her nose, Wanda huffed. “Is it Pietro? If you’re fucking my brother, I’ll kill him.”

Y/N burst out laughing. “No, it’s not Pietro!”

“Good,” Wanda grumbled, reaching for a tube of eyeliner. “Close your eyes and don’t move a muscle.” Neither of the girls spoke as Wanda meticulously applied a perfect winged eyeliner to her eyelids. “There, perfect.”

Y/N turned to look in the mirror, and then took it upon herself to apply her own mascara. The end result was a glowing, sun-kissed look, perfect for the end of summer; the eyeliner and long lashes complimented the natural look perfectly with just enough of a dramatic flair for the party.

“I’m gonna get your secret romance out of you somehow,” Wanda said, and handed her a red liquid lipstick. “Here, this is perfect.”

“No way, the eyeliner is already dramatic enough.”

Wanda rolled her eyes. “Babe, winged eyeliner and red lips go together like Jay-Z and Beyoncé, please put on the damn lipstick.”

She conceded, applying the bright red lipstick carefully before blotting it on some tissue paper and moving aside so Wanda could do her own makeup. As soon as Wanda started on her eyeshadow, she started guessing again.

“Is it someone in the mob?”

“No…”

“That’s a yes,” Wanda rolled her eyes. “We really need to work on your lying skills.”

“I usually don’t need to lie.”

“Lying is a very useful skill. The trick is to not think about the fact that you’re lying.”

“That’s all I can think about when I lie.”

“Of course it is—you have too many morals to lie successfully. Don’t worry, I’ll break those down for you,” she smirked, sending her a sly wink through the mirror. Then she continued. “So it’s someone in the mob… One of Pietro’s friends?”

“No.”

“Someone way older than us?”

She hesitated. “Not that much older…”

A strange look crossed Wanda’s face that almost at once turned into realization. “Oh my God, you’re fucking Steve or Bucky! It has to be!”

“No!” But her voice was so high pitched, it gave her away immediately.

“It has to be!” Wanda repeated. “I’m so stupid—why didn’t I guess them before? You’ve been away with them for the past month at Martha’s Vineyard! Who else could you possibly be fucking other than them!” Y/N’s silence confirmed this. “Which one?” Wanda asked, pleading for the answer, desperation in her voice. “I have to know!”

“Neither!”

“Is it Bucky? It has to be Bucky, Steve’s still dating Peggy, right?”

A guilty look crossed her face. She had completely forgotten about Peggy, aside from Steve mentioning very briefly the previous day at dinner that Peggy wasn’t in the picture anymore. He had shut down any questions she had immediately.

“It’s Steve then?” Wanda asked, carefully reading her expressions. “Did Steve and Peggy break up?”

“I guess,” she shrugged. “I don’t know much about it.”

“So you’re with Steve now, then?”

“I don’t know, it’s complicated…”

Wanda hummed thoughtfully. “You know, I always pictured you with Bucky rather than Steve.” When Y/N didn’t answer, her eyes wide at the notion, Wanda’s sixth sense seemed to come into play again. “Oh my God, did you fuck him too?”

“No!”

Wanda squealed. “You did! Oh my God, you fucked both of them! I’m so proud of you,” she gushed, wiping a pretend tear from her eye. “I knew you had it in you!”

“Shut up!”

“Who did you fuck first?”

“Uhm… It’s complicated.”

Wanda’s excitement was palpable at this point. “I’m getting you so much drunker and you’re going to spill every detail to me!”

Two shots of vodka later, both of which burned going down and made her gag, Wanda was calling them an Uber to go to a party in Chelsea.

“I figure we’ll start with the one in Chelsea. Peter told me about it, and his friend MJ will be there too. Then we can skip down to Tribeca—my friend’s having a rager and I promised to stop by. Then we’ll see what happens from there!”

And although Y/N was apprehensive, nervous about the first real party she would be attending, the alcohol running through her system gave her courage, and Wanda’s excitement was so palpable that it rubbed off on her in all the best ways. She was buzzing for the night ahead, eager to see where it would take her, eager to forget about all of her troubles until the morning.

Sam: Past security. Going to find him now.

“They’re past security,” Steve sighed after he read the text message from Sam, leaning back against the wall outside the Metropolitan Correctional Center. He and Bucky were stationed outside the prison as security, while Clint and Sam were dressed as correctional officers in order to infiltrate inside, find Stane, and bring him down.

“Hopefully they take care of this quickly,” Bucky grumbled, pacing in front of Steve. Natasha was parked in front of the building in a white van, ready as their getaway. 

“Why’re you so antsy?” Steve asked, watching Bucky fidget with his security belt.

Bucky shrugged, wringing his hands, cracking his knuckles all at once. “I don’t like this, Steve. What if Y/N finds out it was us?”

Steve scowled. “We’re not the ones injecting him with that poison.”

“But we’re orchestrating it,” Bucky said. “We’re not innocent here.” Bucky looked at him with a gaze so full of fear and insecurity, Steve couldn’t help but get lost in it. Bucky’s emotions always tended to rub off on Steve at the worst of times, but it came over Steve like a spell now, the enormity of what they were doing, and how it would affect their girl.

Their girl. He kept thinking about her that way. In his heart, she was their girl, and now that her father would be out of the picture, she really could be. 

But he wasn’t acting like it, he realized. Not with how he had treated her earlier that day.

Steve shook his head, sighing, all of the tension releasing from his muscles. “She can’t know,” he answered, a warning and a plead all at once. “She would never forgive us.”

“Do you think she’ll forgive us for everything that’s already happened?”

“For keeping the secret about her father from her? She’ll have to. It wasn’t an option for us to tell her.” Stane would have killed them—he had done it before, after all. The man had never had any qualms about killing to keep his secrets.

“And for everything else?” Bucky asked. When Steve didn’t answer, only looked down at the ground, Bucky continued. “Stevie, we haven’t been good to her. You’ve been a real asshole to her these past few days. She just found out her dad isn’t her real dad, and you locked her in her room.”

Steve sighed, considering the situation. The concerned look on Bucky’s face told him that he truly may have gone overboard. In the stress from Stane’s arrest and planning his assassination, Steve lost control of himself, of his anger. This sort of thing had happened before, but he had never lashed out at Y/N so cruelly. Steve wasn’t above admitting to his mistakes—at least not to Bucky, his oldest and most understanding friend. 

“It’s been really stressful,” Steve said finally, taking a deep breath before continuing, “And I let it get the better of me. I was a real jerk about it.”

“Don’t tell me that, tell her.”

“I will, after this.” He couldn’t risk losing her, not when she was one of the only good things in his life. 

“Good.”

“We should probably bring her something to eat. She probably hasn’t eaten all day.”

“How about sandwiches and soup from the deli?” Bucky suggested.

“Perfect.” Steve cut the conversation off at that—they were still on a mission, after all, and they needed to focus, just in case anything went awry. 

The time passed dully as they alerted the others to guards entering and exiting the building. Sam and Clint had already locked onto Stane’s location in the prison and were on their way to him, and as soon as they injected him with the poison, they would be out of there. 

Steve was getting more antsy by the minute, eager to get back to their girl, to have this over and done with, ready to take care of her in the aftermath of Stane’s death. She would need their support then, more than ever.

Finally, a text message came through. 

Sam: Done. On our way out. Meet at van.

Less than a minute passed before they were all sitting in the white van, Natasha pulling onto Pearl Street and merging onto the Brooklyn Bridge. Sam and Clint quickly debriefed them.

“Got in and out without anyone seeing us,” Sam said. “Nobody even glanced our way.”

“Stane didn’t even notice us when we got him with the stuff. Stuck him right in the back of the neck,” Clint explained, lighting up a cigarette and rolling down the passenger side window.

Natasha accelerated the van to 15 miles past the speed limit. “The poison will mimic the effects of a heart attack. Nobody will know what hit him.”

“Good,” Steve muttered, lighting his own cigarette. “Because if any of us get caught, we’re all paying the price.”

“Jesus, Nat, slow down, will ya?” Bucky grumbled, “You tryin’ to draw attention to us? We’re right by the police department.”

“I’m eager to get back to the lounge,” she said flatly, “Some of us have obligations.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve snapped, on edge at her tone of voice, at the way she glared at him through the rearview mirror.

She shrugged, turned her gaze back to the road. “Just saying, you don’t seem to be too concerned about how a certain daughter of the mob is handling her parents abandoning her.”

Steve breathed out slowly through his nose, trying to control his temper. He wasn’t sure what Natasha was getting at or why she cared now. Plus, he had already realized he had fucked up, and he didn’t need her rubbing it in.

However, Bucky cut in before Steve could send any harsh words her way. “Cut the shit, Nat,” he said sharply, and when Steve glanced over at him, he saw an unusual expression of annoyance on Bucky’s face. Steve had never seen Bucky get cross with Natasha before. “What did you expect us to do? Disobey Stark’s orders to stay with her? She’s at the house, she’s perfectly fine there until we get back.”

Natasha didn’t respond, only accelerated faster. Steve spoke up, trying to keep his tone even. “We’re plenty concerned about her. Now we actually have the time to make sure she’s doing alright.”

The ride back to the Widow’s Web was tense and silent. Steve sent a text to Y/N that they would see her soon, hoping to butter her up a little and earn her forgiveness.

Steve: Sweetheart, we’re gonna pick up some dinner and head back to see you. You want your usual from the deli on Atlantic?

By the time they had gotten all the way to Bushwick, Steve had sent three more texts and still hadn’t gotten a reply, and he was starting to get worried that she was so angry to the point of ignoring him.

“Call her, would ya?” he directed to Bucky as they neared the Widow’s Web. “She’s not answering my texts.”

Bucky obliged, but his call went directly to voicemail. “Her phone must be dead,” he said, frowning. Natasha pulled up to the curb next to the lounge and stopped the car.

As they filed out of the car, Natasha cut into the conversation. “You can’t reach her?” When they confirmed this, she said, “Who do you have babysitting her?”

“Lang,” Steve answered, “I’ll text him about it.”

After sending Lang a text that instructed him to check on Y/N and ask her what she wanted for dinner, Steve followed Bucky to the back room of the lounge, where they all changed out of the uniforms that Sam had provided for them.

“Thanks for everything tonight, guys,” Steve said, shaking Sam’s and Clint’s hands. “I appreciate your help in this.”

“No problem, man,” Sam nodded, gathering up the uniforms. “If you need anything else, let me know. Hopefully the girl doesn’t give you too much trouble with all this,” he said with a wink. Somehow, Sam always seemed to see right through Steve.

Clint nodded. “I’m going back home after this, but Tony’ll give me a call if you guys need me.”

As they departed, Steve’s phone chimed. When he checked the message from Lang, his face fell. “Bucky,” he said sharply, “She’s not in her room—and her window’s open.”

“What?” Bucky asked, alarmed. “Where is she?”

“I have no fucking idea, but she’s not at the house.”

Bucky looked at Natasha, who had been lingering in the background. “Nat, did you ever send Wanda to go see her?”

“I told you not to,” Steve snapped, eyes flashing between Natasha and Bucky. A tense moment was shared between them, the vein in Steve’s temple jumping, Natasha’s fingers twitching almost imperceptibly, the only tell that she wasn’t as calm and collected as her expression would make it seem.

Her tone was cool as she spoke. “Yes, I did. I haven’t heard from her all night, though.”

Steve and Bucky exchanged a look, then focused their attention on Natasha. “Call Wanda,” Bucky commanded, “Find out where she is and if Y/N is with her.”

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Natasha drawled, but obeyed and stared at them with narrowed eyes and a scowl while the phone rang.

They could hear Wanda pick up the phone, her voice ringing through the speakers, music and voices loud in the background. “Hi, Nat!”

“Wanda,” Natasha said evenly. “Is Y/N with you?”

Wanda replied, “Yeah, we’re at a party right now! Why?”

Natasha sighed. “Where are you?”

“What? I can’t hear you, it’s so loud here!”

“Where are you?” Natasha repeated, louder.

“Manhattan!”

“Yeah, Manhattan’s a big place. Where specifically?”

“I can’t hear you! I’m gonna text you!” And with that, Wanda hung up the phone.

Steve glared at Natasha. His patience was wearing thinner and thinner with each passing second that he didn’t know his girl’s location. The city was dangerous, she could be anywhere, getting up to anything—how was he supposed to protect her if he didn’t even know where she was? “I told you not to send Wanda over. She’s nothing but trouble.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, tapping out a text to Wanda. Seconds later, a reply came through. “They’re at a house party in Tribeca. I’ll drive you guys there.”

“Don’t bother,” Bucky said, “Just send me the address. We’ll go to pick her up ourselves.”

Natasha frowned as they turned to leave. “Steve, James… I was just trying to help.”

Steve looked back at her with a cutting stare. “Next time, don’t.”

The lights flashed red and pink and purple in time with the bass of the electronic music blasting through the speakers, and Y/N had never felt more happy or dizzy or ecstatic in her life. She and Wanda had been at a more relaxed party in Chelsea first, and after spending a few hours there playing drinking games with Peter’s friends, they took an Uber to Tribeca. 

Now they were three Jell-O shots in, and she felt like she could burst out of her skin. She told Wanda as much, and Wanda just laughed. “I knew you’d love this! I just wish I had dragged you out to parties sooner!” The song changed to something full of synthetic chords and a heavy drum beat that vibrated the floor and walls around them. “I love this song! Let’s dance!”

She had no time to protest before Wanda was dragging her onto the dancefloor and grinding up against her. Y/N got lost in the feeling of her body moving, the way the bass thrummed up through her skin, made her heart pulse in time to the tempo. She didn’t even realize when someone pressed up behind her and started grinding on her. Not that she minded—she was too drunk to mind anything, too wrapped up in the sensations inside of her to even pay attention to her surroundings.

So that’s why she didn’t realize Steve or Bucky were there at the party, storming towards her, until a large hand gripped her around the upper arm and yanked her away from the dancefloor.

Her eyes flew open as her center of balance distorted, and Steve’s bruising grip on her arms kept her from falling, just like his cold blue eyes glowering into hers pinned her in place, his face flashing crimson and violet with the lights. She froze, her wildly beating heart the only part of her moving as she waited for her predator to strike.

He shook his head slowly, a sinister smile spreading over his face, the calm in his expression only a façade for the fury raging beneath. “You’re in so much fucking trouble, sweetheart.”

[perspective-series]

Vampire Perspective (9/17)

By: @arc852 and @hiddendreamer67

Warnings: Unwanted touching

First Chapter || Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

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Patton whimpered, coming back into the house with his belly full but a weight on his chest. It had been a bad night. He had broken down, for the first time in years, and actually attacked someone. Not fatally, thank goodness, but the sight of an unconscious person laying in the street still brought back the taste of bile in his throat. What was wrong with him? Even after a few centuries he couldn’t keep himself contained. Maybe the world was right, he really was a monster.

Not only the blood-sucking kind, but a different sort of monster now too. He had treated Roman so cruelly before he left, when all the borrower’s demands had been simple enough. Patton was the one being pushy, after it was all his fault Roman was trapped, too. It wasn’t fair. Patton was nowhere close to being the kind of friend Roman would want, and it was no wonder Roman still hated him with every fiber of his little being. 

Patton knelt in front of the chest, slowly creaking the lid open. “...hey.” He said, his voice sounding ragged from the crying he had done.

 Roman tensed as the chest was opened, glancing out of the corner of his eye at the vampire. He hugged himself tighter, not saying anything. After how mad Patton had left, and yes, he had heard the shouting between the two vampires, he assumed Patton was finally here to eat him.

“I’m… I’m really sorry for grabbing you. And locking you in the chest again.” Patton apologized. “I knew I needed to clear my head and I didn’t want you to get hurt while I was gone, but I know that’s no excuse. It was cruel and unfair of me to use my size against you like that.”

 “...Yes, it was.” Roman said with a sigh. “But it’s not surprising. I’ve always expected that of humans…” Vampires too, he supposed. “Are you going to stop kidding yourself and just eat me already?”

“No!” Patton looked horrified. “No, Roman why would you…” Patton groaned. His argument with Virgil, of course. Poor Roman must have been terrified this whole time. “No, Roman, I told you, I’m not going to eat you.”

 “Well sorry if it’s a little hard to believe you after you went back on your word before.” Roman huffed, turning his head to look the vampire in the eye. His eyes, though still a duller red then Virgil’s had been, were a bit brighter than before. “Honestly, I don’t know what to expect at this point.”

“No, I… yeah, that’s fair.” Patton gave a sad sigh. Going back on his word was so much worse than breaking a promise, because if Roman didn’t trust him than the borrower feared he was actually in danger, and that broke Patton’s heart. “I’m sorry I’ve frightened you, and keep doing it. I’m sorry that I’ve acted untrustworthy, and made you think you’re in danger. I promise to try to do better, but I know my word isn’t worth much now in your eyes, which is fair. I also promise to keep you safe, even from… me. That’s kind of, um, why I went out.”

 Patton was right, his word was not much and Roman wasn’t sure how much he believed but the last part intrigued him. “Where did you go, anyway?”

“Well… first to try and reason with Virgil, which backfired.” Patton sent a small glare to the floor above him, thankful that the walls were embedded with magic so neither could eavesdrop on the other. “And then I… went out. Hunting, I guess.”

 “Yes, I heard the fight. You vamps are not subtle.” Roman said, shivering as he remembered how angry Patton had sounded. “And...hunting? Wait, so you…” Roman felt like gagging.

“Sorry, we’re not usually that loud.” Patton winced. “And, yes, I went and got blood… human blood, this time.” Patton shuddered at himself.

 “Did you…ya know…” Roman made a cutting motion over his throat.

Patton paled. “No, no I didn’t. I got control of myself, eventually. They’ll be fine.”

 Roman looked down. He didn’t even know if he could fully believe Patton on that but...for some reason he did. “That’s...good. I don’t really care about random humans but I’m glad they aren’t dead…”

 He sighed and unfurled himself, looking up at Patton. “So, what now? If you’re still adamant about not eating me.”

“I am.” Patton bit his lip, looking at the cover on his window. “Well, the sun will be up soon. But tomorrow we can still go to Thomas’ home for the paints, if you’d like. I promise not to tell him anything, but I understand if you’d feel safer here.”

 “...No, I still want to go.” That was his best chance it being able to get away, after all. “But, again, how can I trust your word? That you really won’t tell Thomas about me?”

“I mean… I don’t know.” Patton admitted. “Is there anything I can do to prove myself in your eyes? Otherwise I think you just have to trust me, I guess.”

 “Yes, let me just blindly trust a vampire who also happens to be my captor, brilliant.” Roman muttered but sighed, knowing he didn’t have many other options. “...Fine. But if you tell Thomas about me I’ll…” He trailed off, looking down in embarrassment as he realized there was nothing he could do.

“I’ll face your wrath.” Patton finished, a serious look on his face as though this were an actual threat and Roman could actually make Patton suffer. “I understand completely.”

 Roman blinked. “Er, yes, you...better.” He wasn’t sure if Patton was patronizing him or not but he wasn’t going to bring it up. “So...I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Patton reached up to grab the lid of the chest, sending Roman a pained sympathetic glance. “...sorry about this. Again.”

 “Yeah, yeah…” Roman was used to the chest by now.

Patton shut the lid, a sad thud sounding throughout the room.

 Roman sighed and laid down. Trying his best to ignore his thoughts and fall asleep. It...half-worked.

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

Patton woke up the next evening to a quiet ‘ding!’ from his phone, a sure indicator that Thomas was wondering where he was. Thomas thought Patton had a habit of running late, but in reality the vamp just knew better than to risk going out before the sun was fully down most days. Now, though, with the sun’s rays already dwindling there was little time to waste. Patton yawned, rubbing at his eyes as he opened up the crate. “Ready to go?”

 Roman yawned, looking up at Patton. “Where are we...oh! Thomas’ right?” He asked, his sleepy mind still trying to catch up with him.

“Mhm!” Patton gave a pleased smile, remembering to offer his hand instead of grab.

 Roman let out a small sigh as he stared at the hand. He would prefer to stay far away from Patton but he knew he didn’t have a choice. At least the hand was being offered to him instead of simply grabbing. After a moment of hesitation, Roman climbed on. “And you won’t be telling him about me...right?” Roman had to ask again.

“Right.” Patton nodded firmly, slowly lifting Roman to eye level. “I promise to respect your wishes. It’s not my secret to tell.”

 “Good...I hope you keep your word this time.” Although again, Roman could not do much if Patton decided not to. 

“I will.” Patton assured him, and without further ado he placed Roman into his pocket.

 Roman blinked, thrown off for a moment as he was dropped into a pocket. He...should have seen this coming. After all, where else would Patton have put him that was hidden? But still. Roman shifted to a more comfortable position. “Er, a little warning next time would be...nice.” Roman called out.

“What?” Patton opened up the pocket, looking down at the borrower inside.

 “I just...a little warning, before putting me in the pocket. Would have been nice.” Roman said, not meeting Patton’s eyes.

“Oh.” Patton’s eyes widened in understanding. “Yeah, sorry Kiddo!”

 “It’s...fine. The actual pocket is quite comfortable.” Which wasn’t a lie. It was almost like a hammock in the way that it cradles him. “I suppose we’ll be heading out now?”

“Yeah, uh…. Hold on.” Patton advised, realizing the borrower liked warnings. He closed the pocket, and began to take off down the street at his vampiric speed.

 “Whoa!” Roman couldn’t help but exclaim as he was pushed into Patton’s chest as Patton ran fast. He was vaguely aware of the lack of heartbeat behind him, which was disturbing in and of itself but he didn’t have much time to think on it.

Soon enough Patton was at Thomas’ door, knocking on the wood and tussling his hair a bit so it looked more like he was in a hurry.

“Hey!” Patton said cheerfully when Thomas opened up. “So sorry I’m late. May I come in?”

 “Yeah, of course!” Thomas grinned, moving out of the way. “Pizza just got here too, so I’d say you’re right on time.” The human chuckled.

 Roman frowned when he heard Thomas’ voice. He never would have thought he would miss it so much.

“Oh, good.” Patton hid his cringe well, knowing his stomach would be angry with him over the pizza. At least he had properly eaten yesterday, even if the memories made him sick.

 Thomas closed the door behind him and headed into the living room, where the pizza was already opened on the coffee table. “So, how have you been, Pat? I haven’t seen you in a few days.”

“Doing well, I’ve actually started a new artsy project that I was hoping you could help me with.” Patton revealed. “I wanted to borrower your paints.”

 Thomas grinned. “Oh wow! That sounds...wait, borrower?”

 Roman tensed, oh no.

Patton tensed as well. “Borrow! Borrow some paints, haha, slip of the tongue. I’m trying to recreate a cardboard box into a dollhouse, it’s going to be adorable and some color should really help bring it to life and be really fun and lively.” Patton was aware he was rambling, trying to quickly move past his mistake.

 Thankfully, Thomas easily moved past the slip up, which Roman sighed in relief at. “Oh! That sounds cool! Yeah, you can totally borrow some paints.”

“Wonderful.” Patton gave a sigh of relief. “I was actually gonna get started tonight, if you don’t mind?”

 “Yeah, no problem. I think I keep them in the closet here…” Thomas opened the hall closet and reached up to a bin, bringing it down. “Here we go.” He set it on the ground. “Why did you want to start this project anyway?”

“I just thought it’d be a neat idea.” Patton lied through his teeth. “I saw an article where somebody did the same thing.”

 “Huh, nice! You’ll have to send me the article some time.” Thomas laughed. He opened the bin and motioned in it. “Anyway, feel free to take anything you want. I got plenty.” He chuckled.

Patton almost bit his lip in indecision, only at the last moment thinking better of it just in case his fangs made a surprise appearance. “I’m horrible with decisions… do you mind if I borrow them all? Just for a little bit, I promise.”

 “Uh, yeah no, go ahead. I don’t need them anytime soon.” Thomas said. “Now come on, let’s enjoy the night a little. Grab some pizza. Wanna play a board game or watch a movie?” He asked.

“Well… alright.” Patton agreed, taking the smallest slice for himself. Thomas was doing him a favor, it would be rude to decline. “I’m down for a little movie time.”

 “Movie it is! Disney?” He asked, holding up Aladdin.

“You know my heart so well.” Patton teased, curling up onto the couch.

 Thomas chuckled and put the movie on, taking a slice of pizza for himself as he sat back to watch.

 Roman sighed as he sat back. He wished he could see the movie but he supposed hearing it was good too.

The movie was a classic, but despite his love of the film Patton kept finding his attention drifting back towards his chest pocket. Patton did manage to stomach his slice of pizza, but that only made it even harder to sit still when his body kept cramping in protest.

“Ah...I think it might be time for me to head home.” Patton barely managed to hold out ‘til the credits, giving a fake yawn. “It’s getting late.”

 “Oh, yeah I guess it is.” Thomas said, noticing the time. He stood up and stretched. “Don’t forget the paints. Did you need any help with them?”

“No, I should be able to handle it.” Patton assured him, easily picking up the box. Super strength- one of the few perks of being a vampire. “Thank you again, Tomathy.”

 Thomas blinked as Patton effortlessly picked up the whole thing. “Uh, y-yeah, no problem Pat. Hope those help you with your project.”

“I’ll let you know how it turns out!” Patton assured him, giving a little wave and heading out the door.

 “Bye, Patton!” Thomas called out, before closing the door behind Patton.

 Roman sighed as he sulked at the bottom of the pocket. He had been hoping this was his chance to escape but...of course, he hadn’t been taken out. Why wouldn’t he have been when he specifically asked not to be revealed to Thomas? He had been stuck the entire time and though the movie had been nice, he couldn’t help but think how close he had been to seeing Logan again. Only for that disappear as soon as Patton said he was ready to go.

 Roman really was never going to see Logan again, was he?

[bifinmediasres]

Few years before the Clone Wars. Kallus, a Royal Academy student, was finally dragged by his classmates to one of the nightclubs on Coruscant. "Unfortunatelly", a group of strange young purple aliens decided to have a party of their life right next to them.

This took me so long to get to, I'm sorry Nonnie! I hope you enjoy it.

Alexsandr grumbled to himself as he was pushed along the sidewalk, surrounded by a group of his Academy classmates who had dragged him out for a night of socializing. And dragged hadn't been an exaggeration. He'd been in his room reading up on a tactical manual when two of his peers had barged in and literally carried him out into the hall. Alex would have been angry, but he was honestly just impressed. He was easily six feet tall and though not terribly muscular he was fairly sturdy.

From the hall he'd been herded outside along with several more from his class. Between being literally manhandled and trying to be heard over their celebratory shouting, they were several streets away before he managed to ask the cadet nearest him what exactly they were celebrating.

"You!" The young man answered excitedly.

"Me?" Alexsandr asked pointing to himself, "And why am I worthy of celebration?"

The cadet stopped and starred at him for a moment before responding, "Seriously? You just scored higher than any of us on exams! Alexsei you're going places! Head of your own platoon! High ranking placement among the Empire's finest! ISB's top agent, Alexsandr Kallus!"

Alexsandr just laughed quietly and started walking slowly, as if to put distance between himself and the praise being heaped upon him. "You're getting ahead of yourself I'm afraid," Alexsandr replied, "While working with the ISB would be an amazing opportunity, I doubt I'll get the experience. And as for a platoon, I'll take whatever placement gets me away from here the fastest."

"That's our Alexsei," another of his peers chimed in, "Never can tell if it's modesty or a complete lack of faith in himself though."

"I'll never tell," Alexsandr smirked, "Alright since I apparently have no choice in the matter, can I at least ask that we be back before curfew?"

This was met with raucous laughter as his friends proceeded to drag Alexsandr bodily into one of, if not the most, questionable establishment Alexsandr had ever patroned. Worse there seemed to be some sort of private party taking up an entire side of the little pub. As far as Alex could tell they were off worlders, a rough looking lot covered head to toe in striped purple fur. There were nearly two dozen of them and something else Alexsandr noticed, each of them were huge. All of them had six inches on him easily. They were all laughing, at least Alexsandr assumed that's what that sound was, and shouting over each other in a language he wasn't familiar with.

As his group found a couple empty tables and settled in to order drinks, Alexsandr couldn't drag his attention away from the party. He silently took the drink he was given and began nursing it slowly. The cadet sitting next to him for some reason took offense at this, "That's not how you drink Alexsei! First off a toast, to the future of our man Kallus, ISB's future finest. Now," the young man fixed Alex with a grin, "Knock it back, go on! Chug! Chug! Chug!"

Alexsandr sighed, "Very well," and did as he was asked, followed by an obnoxiously loud belch, "And now another I suppose?"

His friend nodded enthusiastically and passed him another full glass. Alexsandr briefly thought he ought to pace himself, not being entirely convinced of his alcohol tolerance. But his friends had other ideas and a second drink was followed by a third and a fourth. The fourth was followed by a round of shots. That round of shots was followed by another.

The third round of shots found Alexsandr at the bar to collect drinks for his group. As he stood waiting a member of the group of off worlders walked up and stood next to him. Catching the bar tender's attention he nodded to his group, Alexsandr assumed indicating the need for more drinks. The bar tender nodded in acknowledgement setting the tray of drinks Alexsandr was waiting on in front of him. Alexsandr took the tray and began to turn away, stumbling as he did so.

The purple furred stranger's reflexes were quick however. He wrapped an arm around Alexsandr's shoulders and bent to steady the tray before it fell. Before letting go he made eye contact with Alexsandr and in a rumbling gruff voice asked, "You steady imp?"

Alexsandr just stared silently, his train of thought slowed by the alcohol in his system. Finally he spoke, "Basic?"

Again that rough sound Alexsandr assumed was laughter, "What imps only speak one language? Some academy you got."

The fact that this was supposed to be an insult slowly sank in for Alexsandr and he scoffed, "And how many languages do your people routinely speak? Or is garbled basic your only party trick?"

That laughter again, he laughs a lot Alexsandr noticed. He also tried not to notice how much he enjoyed hearing it. "M' gran speaks 6 but she's a bit of an over achiever. I've got Basic, two dialects of Wookiee and working on the third, and Lasana o' course."

"That's your mother tongue I assume," Alexsandr commented, "Sounds like you're quite the over achiever yourself." Was he actually conversing with this off worlder, he thought. Why? He couldn't answer that. He also couldn't help realizing something about speaking with this person was quickly overpowering his alcohol fueled haze.

The off worlder was laughing again, "Well it's proper for a Captain of the high honor guard to be well spoken."

"And you're what passes for well spoken among your people?" Alexsandr asked.

"Dunno, are you?" Grinning, the off worlder exposed a mouthful of jagged sharp teeth. But Alexsandr was struck by his deep green eyes. He'd never seen eyes like this before and he was slightly transfixed. Alexsandr was shaken from his thoughts about green eyes by the stranger commenting, "You better get back to your party. And I should go make sure my squad don't pummel the stuffin' outta each other. Nice chattin' with ya...?"

"Kallus," Alexsandr supplied.

The off worlder nodded, "Name's Zeb. Good t' meet ya. You be careful getting back tonight. See ya Kal."

"See ya," Alexsandr murmmered as Zeb turned and walked back to his group. Alexsandr quickly did the same. And though there was much more celebrating done, he found his mind occupied by the conversation with Zeb and the warmth that lingered from where his shoulder had been gripped.

20+ YEARS LATER

The galley of the Ghost was filled with laughter as the crew joined together for a night of much needed relaxation. They'd started by eating dinner together, something that hadn't happened in several weeks, and now they were sitting around the table telling stories from before they'd joined the rebellion, including many embarrassing childhood stories. Hera had just finished telling them about her father meeting Kanan for the first time and how disastrous that had gone. As the laughter died down Zeb spoke, "Have I ever told you all about going out with my squad after I made Captain?"

"Oh you mean when you piled in the rented speeder and mooned Coruscant's upper crust?" Ezra asked grimacing, "Yeah we've heard that one."

Zeb barked a laugh, "No that happened after we'd all gotten well and truly drunk. I mean the actual drinking. Tonight reminded me of that, being around people I care about, just enjoying being together." Zeb paused, his mind clearly working on something.

Worried that he was dredging up bad memories Alexsandr took Zeb's hand in both of his and squeezed it gently, "I'm so glad you have those memories my love. I have the same with my first platoon."

Zeb smiled and kissed Alexsandr softly. Suddenly he shook his head, "Right no what I was going to say. At the bar right, on Coruscant the night we were there, this group of cadets from the Academy came in and got mind bogglingly drunk." Zeb paused giggling, "Sasha you should have seen these kids. I swear I didn't know humans could drink like that and not die." He suddenly looked serious, "Karabast I hope that didn't kill any of them. Especially the guy I talked to, nice fella from what I can remember."

Alexsandr sat back heavily in his seat and asked quietly, "What else do you remember about that night? About meeting that cadet I mean."

Ezra nudged Sabine laughing, "Ooh looks like Alex is jealous!"

Zeb turned to Alex quickly, "Sasha it wasn't like that I promise. The guy was Kriffing drunk I'd never...I mean Karabast. It was small talk! My Basic was barely good enough for that!"

"Your Basic was perfectly fine I assure you," Alexsandr said stiffly.

"How would you know?" Zeb asked.

Alexsandr sighed not meeting his eyes, "Because unless another honor guard was celebrating on Coruscant that night, I'm almost certain the cadet you met was me."

Zeb turned slowly and looked Alexsandr over as if he were seeing him for the first time. Suddenly he burst out laughing. After several minutes when he could finally breathe he sputtered, "I can't believe I married Bahkahta boy!"

"I beg your pardon!" Alexsandr cried.

Zeb had started laughing again and the rest of the crew were slowly joining in. All except Alexsandr that is.

"Garazeb do you mean to tell me you gave me a nickname after one encounter?" Alexsandr asked his tone deadly calm.

"And how could I not?" Zeb asked. Turning to the rest of the crew he continued, "He put back four tankards and then did shots! Absolute madman our Sasha!" Zeb grinned wrapping an arm around Alexsandr and pulling him close.

Alexsandr wouldn't look up from the table however. Staring straight down he muttered, "This is positively mortifying. You met me on one of the handful of occasions I've ever gotten drunk. Shab I think that was the first and only time I'd ever gotten quite that drunk." Groaning he leaned his forehead on the table.

Zeb attempted to pull Alexsandr upright but he was intentionally going deadweight, "Sasha knock it off will ya?" Zeb chided, "Look if it helps I remember most of the conversation and," he cut off suddenly as Alex sat up and spun toward him.

"Karabast you mean you actually do remember?" He asked, "Because I barely recall anything. But as you said, I'd had quite a lot to drink."

Zeb nodded, "Would it make you feel better if I actually told the story?"

Alexsandr grimaced looking at the anticipation on his crewmates' faces.

"As your Captain I think I'm going to have to request that we hear this story," Hera giggled.

Alexsandr groaned, "Provided, as you say, it's not horrifically embarrassing on my part. Please continue."

Zeb cleared his throat, "Right well as I remember it we were standing at the bar waiting on drinks. I'd been watching you and was honestly surprised you could still stand." Zeb flashed a grin at Alex before continuing. "You tripped and I caught you. Figured you'd thank me but, you were caught up in the fact that I spoke Basic."

Alexsandr cringed but let him continue, "We talked for a few minutes about how many languages I spoke, at the time five I think. I teased you about only knowing Basic and said something about the Academy being a joke. Witty banter, ya know my usual." Ezra snorted at that but Zeb ignored him, "I told you to be safe, thanked you for the conversation and that was it."

Alexsandr sat lost in thought for a while but finally spoke, "You left something out. Something I do remember." Zeb cocked his head in confusion and Alex continued, "How every time you laughed, I nearly quit breathing. It was the most wonderful sound I'd ever heard."

Zeb grinned and pulled Alexsandr's hand toward him kissing his knuckles, "Thought maybe my ego made up that part."

Alexsandr shook his head, "No. I think I spent more time listening to you laughing and your friends shouting back and forth than I did talking to the people I was with. It was mesmerizing as a young cadet who, as you pointed out, only spoke Basic."

"I hate that it took so long and happened the way it did but," Zeb grinned, "I'm glad I got my man in the end."

Karabast this was fun to write! Thank you Nonnie! And yes for anyone who caught it, the last line is a Steve Blum reference. Oh and the speeder part was inspired by fan art I've seen somewhere, @mamidlo maybe? I'm sorry if that's wrong, I can't remember at the moment. Again thank you so much for the prompt and I hope you enjoy it!

[kanaships]

Student council president! Tokiya x Rule breaker! Kanade

"Using this triangle sin(35°) = OppositeHypotenuse = 2.84.9 = 0.57..." The sound of his voice was soothing. It was such a beautiful mellow tone that I didn't bother listening to the words he was saying. I stared blankly at his pen as he pointed to figures in the book. My eyelids started to feel heavy as my mind faded in and out of consciousness. "....llo?" A faint voice asked. "Miyamoto-san, I would appreciate if you would keep yourself from sleeping while I'm trying to tutor you in detention." The sudden harshness in his voice woke me up completely. His icy blue eyes stared into mine for a second until I realized just how close he actually was. I quickly backed away, maybe overreacting a bit as I stood up and let my chair fall behind me. It didn't matter either way. We were the only people in the room. Just the student council president and the somewhat delinquent in detention. I wasn't a complete delinquent of course, but I happen to break a lot of the minor rules of our strict school. Things like having my hair down, having earrings, altering my uniform, minor crimes. At first it was more of an accident but ever since I ran into him I would do it more and more often. Truly the prince of the school. He was smart, decently athletic and easy on the eyes. The teachers loved him for being an iron fisted ruler of the school, only second to the principal who depended on him to take care of the school instead of interjecting himself in student affairs. Tokiya was a third year, transfering in as a second year. I was invisible during my first year, following all the rules in fear of getting in trouble but now it was all I did. It was when he started reprimanding me himself that I started to do it more often. I hated to admit it but I really liked him and this was the only way I could see myself being able to get closer to him. He even took the time to tutor me and watch over me himself to make sure that I was using my time wisely in the 2 hours I had to stay after.

"Come on Tokki, we've been over this a million times! I'm getting bored of it!" And his soothing voice wasn't helping the boring lecture either. He frowned and stood up, him being a couple feet taller them me.

"I have told you to refer to me properly." I stuck my tongue out at him uttering some curses. He took me into his arms, one hand around my waist and the other tilting my face up to look at a sadistic smirk. "Come on, let me hear you call me Ichinose-senpai~" I couldn't help my face from becoming red at his patronizing tone. That and the fact that his nose was practically touching my own. His arm was wrapped firmly around my waist, so wiggling out of his grasp wasn't an option. Why did I want to escape either way? I liked him. I wanted to be close to him but it was too much and too embarrassing for me to handle. My whole body could only stare back at him with pure embarrassment painted on my face. His hand that was formerly resting on my chin slid up, framing my face for a bit, before holding up the strands of hair covering my face. "You really should tie your hair up more. Not only is it school regulation..." he paused as he brought the hair up to his lips and kissed it. "...but it also covers up your lovely face."

"I-...Ichinose-senpai..." His smirk became a satisfied one. Finally he let go of me, sat back down and started lecturing me again as if nothing happened. I was aghast. Yes I would sometimes flirt with him as a joke and as a cover up for my own feelings, and yes sometimes he would respond back, most of the time unamused, but nothing ever like this. Eventually my time in detention was over and I quickly grabbed my stuff.

"Let me walk you home. Because of special circumstances, everyone has gone home already." I looked out the window to see the sun starting to set as well. I didn't live too far but I knew it was far enough that it would be dark when I got home. A part of me wanted to flat out reject him, not wanting to let him see my homelife or path towards so. Yet the other half of me wanted to let him since I was kinds scared of what might happen in the dark on my own. I didn't answer him and just left the classroom, rushed to put my shoes on and left the campus. To little surprise he was right beside me the entire time. We got to the station and sat next to eachother as the train was slightly empty and allowed us to do so, even if we were squished together. His hand landed on my hand held it tightly as he looked beside me and into the crowd standing on the train. I didn't look back but just looked at him in surprise. "Don't let go." The tone of his voice was completely different from the smile he was quite forcibly wearing. I just looked down at my feet and let him do as he pleased. It wasn't hurting and it fed my fantasies, so really what was the harm? One long train ride and 3 stops later, I finally stood up and got off, Tokiya still holding my hand and sticking closely beside me. We walked out of the station, still holding hands. At this point my face was starting to burn. I kept walking to my house, getting some looks from strangers to what they probably assumed was my hot boyfriend. As much as I didn't want them to be wrong, they were, but the embarrassment just kept rising. Finally we got to my house, or well, we got to my apartment.

"You can go now. This is were I live. Now you know." I started to take my keys out of my bag, having to let go of his hand. It felt wrong to do so, holding onto it for such a long time. My hand felt cold and empty but I continued to open my door.

"Are your parents home? Since we're here I might as well speak to them about your behavior at school." I paused for a minute.

"My parents... are abroad... I live by myself." My voice wavered a bit since it wasn't exactly the truth. The night sky and the twinkling stars in the background made him shine even more as I looked at him from my door.

"...I...See..." I turned to my apartment, then turned back to at least thank him for bringing me all the way to my home, even though I don't understand why he did so. As I turned and started to look up at him, I was enveloped with a warm feeling. I wasn't staring at him but rather some of the side of his face and directly at the night sky. The warm feeling stemmed from my lips and I finally realized there was something soft and warm against them. He pulled away with a smile at my shocked face. "Please come to school properly tomorrow. Good night." I watched as he starred to walk away. My mind was both empty and flooded with thoughts. I found myself absentmindedly throwing my chapstick at him in angry embarrassment.

"YA DON'T JUST KISS SOMEONE WITHOUT TELLING 'EM WHY Y'KNOW!" He only smiled and grabbed the chapstick I had thrown at him, looking at it closely.

"I knew I recognized the flavor. Strawberry. It's nice." He smiled and put it in his pocket, walking away.

"Hey Hey! Kana-chan!" My group of friends ran up to me the next day, eagerness in their voices.

"Is it true that the President walked you home yesterday?! Someone said they saw you on the train together!"

"Plus, you're not dressed like usual. You're actually wearing your uniform correctly and aren't wearing anything extra."

"Is it because of the president?!"

"Kana-chan!! Tell us! Tell us!!" My face started to burn remembering the events of last night.

"I-I mean... yes he walked me home... B-BUT NOT BECAUSE I WANTED HIM TO!" My friends quickly got a confused look. "H-He just followed me home! Okay?!"

"And it's a good thing I did." The same smooth voice I was so used to hearing suddenly came from behind me and made me jump. He smiled at me and at all of my friends, greeting them all. "I see you've dressed properly this morning. I'm glad that I won't have to add on more detentions to the ones you already have." He smirked as he came closer towards me. "Although I don't mind being in a room alone with you that much. I think I displayed that very well last night." As my face got red, my friends truly went silent for a second. Tokiya left, obviously proud of the small chaos he left behind.

"KANA-CHAN, ARE YOU AND THE PRESIDENT DATING?!" The whole school apparently heard that one question and I was suddenly the president's girlfriend. Even though I wasn't quite against people thinking so I would have rather had him ask me himself then to cause such a commotion.

"The chemical formula is C8H11NO2+C10H12N2O+C43H66N12O12S2 dopamine, seratonin, oxytocin..." once again his voice started to fade out as he continued to explain things I had already learned in class. "Kanade, please pay attention."

"I am paying attention Tokkiー" the realization hit late. "DID YOU JUST CALL ME BY MY FIRST NAME WITHOUT HONORIFICS?!" He looked genuinely and almost innocently confused.

"You're my girlfriend. Typically couples refer to each other by first name." I couldn't say a word back. My fantasies were becoming reality and I was dating the student council president. I was lost in my thoughts when a sudden quick peck on my lips brought me back to focus on his face. "I'll give you a kiss for each answer you get right so pay attention alright?" His lips tasted like strawberries.

[swindlersstole]

24 for your choice of pairing!!

if YOU get to have OC Hours then I ALSO get to have OC Hours, those are the rules (although mine are platonic hours)

24. “You’re the only one I trust to do this.”

~

“So... let me make sure I understand this.” 

Chelan fidgeted rather obviously while Nova stared her down, hands locked in a flat steeple at his lips. It wasn’t his intent to scare her, not in the slightest, but the request she’d made of him was... trying, to say the least.

“You,” He pointed at her with both hands still flat together, “want me,” He gestured to himself, “to make you... a bunny suit.”

“...I mean, if you’re gonna put it like that,” Chelan mumbled, “yeah, that sounds completely bonkers.”

“That’s... you’re being very kind about it.” Perhaps Nova was just coming at this from several sour notes in his past regarding the costume, but it really felt like he was missing just as many links in this puzzle. “I don’t... mind, but I guess, just--why?”

“Well--you know what it’s like to idolize someone, don’t you?” 

“I... yes?” There was so much to unpack in just that one sentence. “Are you saying you... looked up to a bunny girl?”

“Oh, not just one, a whole bunch!” Chelan’s bright green eyes lit up even brighter in excitement. “I grew up in a casino, remember? So I’ve been surrounded by bunny girls my whole life. I’ve always thought they were the most prettiest women I’ve ever seen! Just all this long, soft hair, and tight clothes, and perfect makeup, just--so glamorous. And tough, too! I never saw a cottontail without a smile, and they all handled angry customers like you wouldn’t believe, they didn’t take any lip! And they were always so sweet and kind to me...”

Her eyes wandered off skyward, and she held her face in her hands with a wistful smile. “They were just everything I wanted to be when I was little, this--just beautiful woman with so much charm and mystery and... pizzazz... who knew how to have fun but was always taken seriously, no matter what. What’s not to love, honestly!”

Hearing Chelan talk like that, it was hard for Nova to argue. Despite his own experiences, he supposed there were worse professions to idolize.

He couldn’t think of any, but the odds were in favor.

Chelan seemed to realize she’d rambled off, and jumped back to attention with a loud cough. “Um--’course, I understand that that... might be sort of hard for someone outside my bubble to follow. Especially someone that doesn’t like casinos all that much, but--”

“Wait, wait, what?” Nova cut in. “I like casinos just fine.”

“You do?” Chelan’s pigtails bounced with a perplexed tilt. “But Erik said they were pretty hit or miss with you.”

“No? I always thought I could hold my own in one. And I’ve visited your family’s casino a lot of times before...” He pondered about it for a moment, before snapping his fingers in realization. “Oh, you know what? It’s probably because I never want to go to Octagonia’s casino. Can’t stand that place.”

“Really? I heard it was pretty nice. What’s wrong with it?”

“It knows what it did.” And Nova said no more on the matter. “But, I guess to follow that up... you live and work in a casino, right? Can’t you just get a costume through work?”

“I... I could. In theory.” Chelan started to fidget again, gesturing her hands wildly like scales. “But we’d have to get it tailor made for me, and that means I’d have to talk to Daddy about it. I don’t think he’d have a problem with it, he gives all the girls the choice if they want to wear it or not, but it... it’s my daddy, y’know? It’s an embarrassing thing to ask for, and I’m not the most... poised in front of ornery patrons, and the suits can get a lot of bad attention. I don’t want him worrying about me.”

“You... wait. You wouldn’t be wearing this costume to work in?”

“Ohohoho, nnnnnnnope!” Chelan laughed just a few hairs short of maniacal on that one. “I’m no where near that confident! I’ll take this secret to the grave if I have to.”

“So... hold on. This is a secret bunny outfit that you’re gonna wear in private for confidence boosts. Is that... right?”

Chelan clapped her hands together once in elation. “Exactly! It’s a bespoke cottontail.”

“...Okay, fine.” This onion had far too many layers. It some ways, it was like looking into a highly specific mirror. Nova suspected he’d trigger a migraine if he thought too hard about it. “But if it’s a secret, why are you asking me for help?”

“Because you have the forge Daddy gave Erik when he helped Nana out.” And here, Chelan’s smile turned a bit wry. “And based on what Velvet down at the exchange counter told me, you also have the recipe for the outfit.”

That... was true, yes, he did still have that book. His deep-rooted need to find every recipe he could mixed with an unfortunate miscommunication of a request had led Nova to acquiring that book from the Maras Casino some time ago. How Chelan had deduced that and why it mattered eluded him, but the pained grin on her face told him she was going to explain why.

“Y’know--it’s kinda funny, I don’t actually get much time to play the slots in the casino myself? Have to work the tables, you know how it is.” She started. “But once we got that book on the shelf, I started using my breaks to get some rounds in and earn some extra tokens. I was gonna earn just enough, go exchange them for the book, and then run to the Builders’ Guild for a commission. Would’ve been totally discreet, and no one would have been the wiser.”

Nova had a sinking feeling he knew where this was going. “...and then?”

“And then!” Chelan’s voice was still cheerful, if not a small bit accusatory. “The day I get enough tokens, I run over to Velvet to get the book, and she tells me that a guy came in, just--blasted through the slots, took the recipe and was gone.”

“Oh.” Yep. Exactly as Nova had suspected. He wasn’t sure if he felt... guilty, or not, but he certainly felt awkward about it. “Uh... Sorry.”

“It--no, listen, you couldn’t have known, it’s just the cruel irony talking.” 

Chelan paused to pinch the bridge of her nose, before shrugging her shoulders with a sigh. “Look--I know this is an inconvenience, you have a lot better things to do than make a cottontail costume for a friend of a friend. And, again! Super wild of me to be asking the Luminary for this particular favor, I know! But, the fact of the matter is... you’re the only one I trust to do this. You’re the only one I can trust! And I wouldn’t ask you to do it just because, I still have all the money I set aside for the commission, I’m more than happy and ready to pay you for this, so...!”

Her words trailed off, and without anything more meaningful to say, Chelan lowered herself in a pleading bow. “Please, um... please at least consider?”

This was far from the first time Nova had ever been asked to make something for someone, but it was the first time he’d ever been asked with such... fanfare? Disclaimer? He wasn’t sure what to call it, and he wasn’t sure he liked it regardless. There was nothing natural about people feeling indebted to him, and certainly not over something so (comparatively) minuscule. Luminary or not, one didn’t need a reason to help people, if they were able.

But if Chelan was anything like him (and he suspected that she might have been), then he knew he wasn’t going to make this happen without some manner of transaction. Though he could certainly make it more fair towards her. “Do you still have all the tokens from when you were going to buy the recipe?”

Chelan lifted up her head, bewildered by the question. “I--yeah?”

“Well, I don’t like the idea of taking money from a friend,” he shrugged, “so just give me the tokens, and I’d be happy to call that even.”

Her demeanor changed almost instantly, and she jolted back up, straight and narrow. “Are--are you serious? You’re sure?”

“Sure, I’m sure. I’ll get more use out of the tokens than the gold.” Nova smiled. “It’s probably all going right back to your casino, anyway.”

Chelan’s hands, curled into fists, started to tremble, but her pearly white smile betrayed her joy, and a barely restrained squeal later she’d jumped on Nova in the biggest, tightest hug she could manage. Which was actually very tight, Nova was sure he heard his back crack from the force--which in itself felt very similar to one of Jade’s hugs. 

Oh, Goddess, he really hoped they didn’t have the same measurements.

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, thank you so much, I could kiss you right now! But I won’t! Because I’m pretty sure you’ve reserved that spot for Erik!”

“Is it too late to back out for that one?” Nova gasped out, but he was still grinning about it, so he’d accept that tease this time.

“No, because you really need to get on that. Zill wants to cater your wedding.” Chelan let Nova go when he started to sputter. “But, seriously, I mean it. Thank you--so, so much. I can’t even begin to explain how much this means to me.”

“Well... I won’t lie. I don’t really get it, myself. And I don’t think I can write it up as just being ‘a girl thing’, either.” And neither could Chelan, from the looks of it, as she nodded in agreement. “But if something’s important to you, then... it’s important to you, and that’s all that matters. I don’t have to understand it to respect it.”

The admission seemed to catch Chelan off-guard. “So--would you have done it even if I hadn’t said why?”

“I like forging things, and I like forging things for my friends. That’s all there is to it.” Nova answered simply. “’Course, I am glad you told me, though. Now I know I need to keep it a secret.”

“Ah ha... yeah, that... would have been bad.” She laughed quietly, bashfully. “Will you be able to keep it a secret? I guess if Erik knew it wouldn’t be the end of the world, I know he can keep his mouth shut, but...”

“If I forge at home, it’ll be fine. Only person that might find out is my mum, if you’re alright with that.”

“Well, if I can’t trust the Luminary’s mum, who can I trust, honestly?”

“Nobody, that’s who. I’d trust Mum over me any day.” It was his mum that taught him that valuable lesson in understanding others in the first place. Nova would have been remiss not to listen to her even here. “But, you have my silence. Give me a day or so to find all the materials, and I’ll come back to take your measurements. It’ll all be done before you know it.”

Chelan hummed in understanding, and then, silently, raised one hand to Nova, her pinky finger extended. “Promise?”

That level of earnestness and innocence from someone outside of Cobblestone surprised him, just a little, but Nova smiled and raised his own hand, linking his pinky around hers. “Promise.”

[doublenuzlocke]

Entry #3: Explosions in the Desert

((aka does this even count as an AU I just moved them to a different Pokemon game ;;;;;

but also I am a sucker for adding Colosseum onto everything can you tell that I really, REALLY want to rewrite the whole game ;;;; ))

  “We’ve been stranded here for days and it’s your fault!”

  “How is it my fault that you got bored and decided to gamble all our travel funds away and then get banned from the casino?”

  Gold rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine. But you’re the one who wanted to visit Pyrite in the first place.”

  “We couldn’t go straight from Phenac to Agate, it’s too far!”

  Kotone huffed at him and he could see that he wasn’t about to win this argument. He let out an aggravated breath and stepped down. “Fine. I’m gonna go see if we can find some help.”

  “Don’t go out by yourself, this place is dangerous!”

  Kotone still looked angry, but her concern shone through. Gold pulled the two Poke Balls off his belt and held them up for her to see. For emphasis. “I’m not alone, Kotone.”

  She looked torn for a moment, debating whether or not to allow him to leave. In the end, she flipped open her ‘gear and turned away. “Don’t go too far, I’m calling up Norman so he can come get us.”

  “Not that asshole.” Gold shuddered at the thought of his dad arriving to scold him for his inconsiderate recklessness. Not to mention how angry his mom was gonna be when she found out. He cringed and left their hotel room. “Ugh, this really sucks.”

  Even if he pulled out Chocobo or Mom to complain to, they’d just agree with Kotone that he’d been the one being an ass here. Well, that Casino was the one who’d cheated him, first! He’d noticed their underhanded tactics and lying, telling him he’d lost when he’d clearly won, but they seemed to have the city’s police in the palm of their hands and had him thrown out for his troubles.

  Sulking, Gold wandered the dirty city’s battle square, ready for a fight to release some steam. He caught sight of a duo with a Whismur and a Lotad battling a Chaser girl with a Dustox and an Oddish. That didn’t seem entirely fair. Still, the Chaser managed to take out the duo’s Lotad and one of them sent out a Makuhita next.

  The moment the Makuhita came into sight, Gold froze. It seemed wrong somehow, surrounded by a dark aura and drained of colour. Without any issues, it beat both the opponent Pokemon, then turned on its partner.

  The duo quickly withdrew their Pokemon (the Whismur and the Makuhita), then collected their prize money. And Gold should’ve known better. He should’ve listened to Kotone and returned right back to her. But the warning bells in his head were going off too loudly for his common sense to kick in and he approached the duo, determination in his steps.

  “Hey, nice battle.” He grinned and waved, greeting them with his best faux friendliness act. The two warily turned their attention to him and he continued, going directly for the kill. “Must be easy to beat up some unsuspecting chumps with an illegal Pokemon like that.”

  The two of them hesitated before the one with the orange Mohawk spoke up. “What’re you talking about, ‘illegal Pokemon’? How could such a thing exist?”

  “I dunno.” Gold shrugged, keeping up his act of friendly innocence. “You tell me why your Makuhita there was weirdly dark and powerful enough to take down a Pokemon it should be ineffective against.”

  The two shared a look, then brandished their Poke Balls at him. “Those are fighting words if I ever heard any. Don’t you agree, Trudly?”

  “I’d say you’re right there, Folly.” The other sneered and they sent out their Pokemon, the Whismur and dark Makuhita. “Let’s demonstrate why you don’t come 'round here asking too many questions.”

  Gold smirked, confident that Chocobo and Mom could handle these losers. The Makuhita, though, charged right towards him. He didn’t get a chance to even send his team out. It punched him right in the gut and the shock, along with the impact, knocked him out immediately.

//

  Crys hated sand.

  She hated sand, the heat, and the general lawlessness of the land.

  But complaining about Orre wasn’t about to help her get a plane ticket outta there, so she had to keep fighting and living in spite of all that she hated.

  If she just continued playing along with Snagem, then she could make enough for the gas to get to Agate. As long as they believed she was a loyal scientist, then she could plan out her betrayal without any of them being the wiser.

  Maybe in another life she could’ve studied Shadow Pokemon more, researched into why Orre had no wild Pokemon when other regions’ deserts could support their wildlife, done something useful with her life. As it was, she could only bide her time until she could make her escape.

  Luckily, she wasn’t the only voice of discontent amongst the ranks. Another grunt, Silver, was also itching to blow the joint (though he was a fantastic actor, keeping his stony expression as he discussed a plan to bomb the place with her) and agreed to work with her to cause a ruckus in exchange for getting out. It’d taken zero convincing on her part, which was fine and dandy since he was a valuable addition to her plan with his knowledge on explosives.

  They blew the place up, stole the snag machine, and never looked back. If they hadn’t needed to stop for gas at the old train pit stop, they might’ve gone straight to Unova. Maybe further. Crys was just so glad to finally be out.

//

  While Crys handled filling up the bike, Silver decided to check out the small establishment. The news was all ready reporting on their coup of the blown Snagem base, but Silver ignored it in favour of ordering some waters for him and Crys. Two of the patrons, however, stood and rushed out after the report ended. Might’ve been two lowly grunts, who cared? Silver paid the nice bartender, then left to rejoin Crys.

  “That was Trudly and Folly.” She remarked as soon as he was within speaking distance. He grimaced, prompting her to continue and please explain why that should’ve mattered to him at all. “They had a sack in the back of their vehicle. I thought maybe they’d stolen some Pokemon, but it was too big to be just a stash of Poke Balls.”

  Again, Silver regarded her with his very unamused stare. “And why would that be our concern?”

  “Silver, they might’ve kidnapped someone.” She frowned at him. “We should really try to stop them.”

  She had such a lawful mentality. He often wondered how Snagem had managed to keep her for so long. He also wasn’t willing to try to talk her out of this. It was her bike, after all. With a heavy sigh, he hopped into the sidecar. “They’ll be heading to Phenac.”

  She relaxed in relief, then climbed onto the bike proper to start it up. “Right. Let’s see if we can stop them before they reach the 'mayor’.”

  The bike’s engine roared to life and they took off, out into the open desert. Silver pulled his goggles on as she flicked her visor down over her eyes. He’d heard from a terrified scientist that she’d been the one closest to the explosion when they’d been trying to create the first snagging device prototype, but it never seemed to stop her. Now she wore the fruits of that experiment, the smaller and portable model, on her arm.

  Learning about her had been useful at the time, but they’d soon go on their separate ways. Silver needn’t worry over any potential weaknesses her scar might cause her. He didn’t have to worry over her figuring out his own weaknesses, either.

  They arrived at Phenac after a couple of hours and found Trudly and Folly, the two inept idiots, attempting to carry the burlap sack that clearly held a human body inside through the main plaza. Silver almost didn’t want to intervene, curious as to how far they’d make it before they were captured by the authorities. However, Crys had all ready leapt up to confront them, so Silver begrudgingly followed suit.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Crys shouted at them.

  They jumped, fumbling and dropping their body in a sack as a consequence. A muffled groan of pain came from it and Silver was almost impressed. How two failures like them could’ve managed to actually kidnap a human being was a fortuitous amount of bullshit he couldn’t even begin to imagine. Trudly held up his hands, pleading. “What? Whaddaya want with us? We’re busy, that’s what.”

  “Yeah, we’re busy.” Folly added in, crouching to attempt to gather the sack back up. “We’ve got a real catch here and the Mayor asked us to–”

  “Shut up!”

  Trudly hissed and Folly did, in fact, shut up. Unfortunately for them, that’s when the sack started shouting. “Help! Get me outta here! Murderers!”

  Folly shook the sack roughly. “We ain’t murderers, we’re kidnappers! Get it right!”

  Trudly smacked the back of Folly’s head. “You idiot!” He glanced up at Crys and Silver, then around the plaza. The noise was drawing a crowd. Trudly growled and yanked Folly to his feet. “We gotta ditch, else Mirror B’s gonna make us sit through another punishment concert. He’ll be hearing about you from us, Crys!”

  After hurling a last (and laughably ineffective) threat, Trudly dragged Folly off, out of the city’s entrance. Crys went to give chase, then stopped herself. She let out a tired exhale and approached the sack, motioning for Silver to follow her. “You all right in there?”

  “Unless a bruised gut and some probably cracked ribs count as 'fine’, then nope, not at all, thanks.”

  Both Crys and Silver were taken aback by the response, having not expected one. Crys tugged at the knot keeping the sack tied shut and, reluctantly, Silver knelt down to help. She spoke with conviction, if a bit distracted by the task at hand. “Once we get you out of there, we’ll take you to the Centre here so you can get more help. That sound good?”

  “Sure, yeah, as long as it’s not here, I’m sure it’ll be great.”

  They got the knot untied and carefully removed the bag to reveal a guy, probably around their age, with black hair and dried blood around his mouth. Crys winced at the sight. “They got you good. Need some help or are you okay to stand on your own?”

  “I think I can do it myself.” The guy tested his legs, gritting his teeth with every movement. They really needed to get this guy to a Centre. He managed to stand, holding an arm to his stomach, and grinned half-heartedly at them. “Thanks, by the way. I’m Gold, nice to meet'cha.”

  Crys softened and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “Crys. And this is Silver. Careful, now.”

  She directed Gold towards the PokeCentre, which was thankfully not too far away. It was also nice that she’d introduced Silver for him, as if she’d known he wasn’t about to do it himself. This seemed dangerous, but it wasn’t like they had much of a choice. If they’d simply left, they’d draw even more attention, after all. Silver rolled his eyes, but followed after them. It’d at least be interesting to hear this Gold’s explanation on how this even happened.

[weerd1]

Star Trek DS9 Rewatch Log, Stardate 1909.19: Missions Reviewed, “Time’s Orphan,” “The Sound of Her Voice,” and “Tears of the Prophets.”

Keiko O’Brien has brought the kids back to DS9 finally, and they plan a long overdue family outing. Traveling to a small Bajoran colony world, they are having a delightful picnic when eight year old Molly finds herself inside a cave and in danger. Miles tries to save her, but she falls into a portal leftover from an extinct civilization and they realize she’s been thrown back in time.  The station sends help and they manage to send a transporter beam locked on to her DNA through the portal, but when they beam her back, ten years have passed for her, and Molly is now a feral 18 year old.  Back on the station, Bashir prescribes a series of methods to try to reconnect to her, but even her language skills have atrophied after a decade alone. Worf volunteers to help keep an eye on Kiarayoshi (the O’Brien’s son whom of course Kira delivered) as he wants to prove to Jadzia he can be a good father (meeting Alexander certainly has not helped with that). 

Molly starts to make some progress, and asks to go home. They take her back to her quarters, but she reacts badly until she sees a picture of them on the colony planet, and they realize she wants back into nature. They take her to a holosuite, which goes well until their time expires, and Molly becomes angry, assaulting several of Quark’s patrons. Starfleet orders the girl to a treatment facility where she won’t be a danger, but O’Brien instead decides to take her and steal a Runabout, returning her to the time portal and destroying it behind her. Odo initially catches them, but lets them go.

 They put older Molly back, but she arrives at the same time as her earlier self, and sends the eight-year-old version of herself back through the time portal, erasing her existence, but restoring her family. Worf meanwhile has decided he likes Yoshi despite some problems, and he and Jadzia decide he could be a father.

We waited until late in the season for our “Screw with O’Brien” episode, but indeed here it is. There are a few echoes of the fifth season “Children of Time” here (and in the next episode honestly) but overall this is an effective science fiction plot that serves as an nice analogy for families dealing with sick children, and what it takes to be a parent with the Worf story line. Worf coming at babysitting like it is a Warrior’s task is amusing, and all the more poignant very soon.  I am interested in where this time portal came from, as much of it seems a little reminiscent of the Guardian of Forever, though the control interface looks rather pointedly like the TARDIS console from Doctor Who.  

“The Sound of Her Voice” starts with Odo citing Quark for installing unsafe barstools and Quark deciding he has to come up with something to distract Odo so he can sell some elicit merchandise. 

 With Jake watching for “research” purposes, he pushes Odo to celebrate his one month “anniversary” with Kira to provide a distraction allowing him to move his goods.  Meanwhile the Defiant is tracking a Starfleet distress signal to a lone survivor, Captain Lisa Cusak, of the USS Olympia (PNW, Represent!) who is on a class J planet, trying to stay alive.  As they track her, the establish two way communications and to keep her company, each officer takes a turn talking to her. In their own way she begins to talk them each through problems they have experienced in their personal lives.  On DS9, Odo shifts the day of his “anniversary” date, and that means Quark’s client will be there while Odo is on patrol. Without Quark and Jake knowing Odo overhears Quark lament how bad the war has been on him, and how he would like some recognition for helping bring Odo and Kira together.  Odo abruptly goes back to his original plan, allowing Quark to operate. Odo tells Kira that he owes Quark one…but just one. The Defiant makes it to the planet and finds that the strange energy field that caused the Olympia to crash in the first place has acted as a time dilation effect, and Captain Cusak actually crashed three years ago, and her oxygen ran out then. Sisko brings her body back to DS9 and they throw an “Irish Wake” for her (which Worf comments seems like a very Klingon ritual) to remember the time they got to know her, and the advice she gave. 

O’Brien toasts the fact that one day, it will be one of them not standing in the circle, and they should enjoy each others’ company while they can. The camera flashes to Jadzia Dax.

Holy foreshadowing, Batman.  They do, they cut RIGHT to Jadzia when O’Brien laments one of them may die.  Dammit, what are you people trying to do to me? Beyond that, I was struck by the similar circumstances between this episode and “Children of Time:” a planet with an strange energy field around it which displaces things in time. Being caught up with season 2 of “Star Trek: Discovery” I am struck how much the character of Captain Cusak (whom we see only as a body, three years deceased) has a personality and wit that reminds me of Tig Notaro’s character of Jett Reno. I just kept imagining her on the planet, similar actually to the situation which the Discovery crew WILL end up saving Reno from following the Klingon War in 2257 (about 117 years before this episode). I am not sure though why NO ONE tried to look up records on the Olympia, even just to see what her crew compliment was to aid in the rescue, and don’t notice the three year discrepancy in timelines.  As a bit of reference, since Cusak discusses the Olympia being on an eight year mission and the ship crashed three years earlier, they Oly’s mission would have started roughly the same time the 1701D launched under Jean-Luc Picard, and she would have crashed roughly the same time the Voyager ended up in the Delta Quadrant.

“Tears of the Prophets” opens with Sisko receiving the Christopher Pike medal of valor and with Admiral Ross deciding Starfleet, Qo’Nos, and Romulus will invade Cardassian space, specifically to knock out a new type of weapon platform in the Chin’Toka system.  The Romulan senator on scene is initially resistant, but becomes convinced. 

Meanwhile Dax and Worf become public about deciding to have a child, and Dukat returns to the Dominion.  He has recovered the Pah-Wraith Kosst Amojan (last seen possessing Jake Sisko in the apocalypse Kai Winn cancelled in “The Reckoning”) and will use it to attack the wormhole. When Sisko prepares to leave to invade Cardassia, he receives a vision from the Prophets warning him not to go, but he defaults to his Starfleet duty. While the battle is being hard fought (with the weapons platforms coming online mid-fight) Dukat infiltrates DS9 with the Pah-Wraith to deliver it into the Orb on the station. 

In the sanctuary he finds Jadzia Dax, having a rare moment of religious curiosity, and blasts her with the Wraith’s power. The ancient being enters the orb, and the wormhole collapses. When the Defiant returns, Dukat is gone, and Worf arrives just in time to say goodbye to Jadzia; Bashir saved the symbiont, but could not save the host. The Celestial Temple collapsed, his friend dead, and Bajor looking to an Emissary who has suffered such major blows, Sisko decides to return to Earth for a time to clear his head.  Kira assumes command of DS9, and when she enters Sisko’s office, is heartbroken to see that Sisko does not know if he will return: Benjamin has taken his baseball with him.

The death of Dax is almost arbitrary and just a senseless tragedy, which I think makes it all the more affecting. You would have expected her warrior’s death, but the almost meaningless happenstance of being in the wrong place when Dukat appears just hurts.  Dramatically it is effective; the behind the scenes story about how Rick Berman treated Terry Farrell leading to this death is infuriating. I know Berman kept Trek alive a long time, but damn, am I glad he’s no longer affiliated, and Terry gets to be married to Leonard Nimoy’s son (no, seriously) and appear at conventions alongside Nicole De Boer whom we will meet next season as the new Dax host Ezri. Jadzia was an amazing character, and I will miss her as the show continues, but it is effective and visceral storytelling that brings us Ezri Dax. At least something good came out of Berman’s abuse, and Jadzia, as I rewatch, re-meet, and re-lose her 20 years later will ALWAYS be one of the best things about DS9 and Star Trek in general.  And SCREW YOU  Kai Winn! This Pah-Wraith  being on the lose is YOUR fault. Also, I really like David Birney as the Romulan here, wish we'd seen a little more of him!

NEXT VOYAGE: A broken Sisko receives a distant mysterious vision, and an old friend with a new face appears to help find the “Image in the Sand.”

[proheromidoriyashouto]

Inksignia, Beyond Alteo - Tattoo artist!Inko x Flower Shop Owner!Rei AU with pre-IzuShou Part 1

Canon is mostly the same with a few exceptions. Izuku immediately tells the teachers what Shouto said during the Sports Festival. Trust is broken but Izuku would rather have him alive and safe than continue to leave him in that house. The teachers - Eraserhead, All Might and Nighteye mostly- investigate and Endeavor is taken down, goes to jail, blah, blah, blah he’s not important. After careful consideration, the authorities tentatively release Todoroki Rei from the mental hospital as an out-patient.

In order to gain independence from his estate, she decides to start up a flower shop for income. So much time spent in that drab, stale hospital has fostered a desire for bright colors and the scents of nature. She uses some of her monetary award to pay off the rent for a space wedged between a smaller convenience store and a tattoo shop. The tattoo shop has dark-tinted windows with intricate, black detailing that creates a black-on-black appearance Rei recalls seeing on pottery in the States a lifetime ago. The tattoo shop opens and closes later than her own flower shop so she goes a few weeks before she makes contact with the owner.

Business starts off slowly as there are more renowned shops a short drive away but Rei creates a niche for herself by exclusively offering carnivorous plants, and freeze-drying flowers. She had a lot of time to read and explore her tastes with a decade apart from Enji and she developed a fascination with carnivorous plants. Beautiful, deadly, and deceptively delicate, they require the utmost care. Preserving flowers by freezing them was a past-time of hers prior to her marriage and she is delighting to pick it up again. It was an uncommon practice then and continues to be so now. She uses her quirk to frost the vases and keep that part of the shop cool without altering the temperature necessary by the tropical plants. Soon enough she has moderate, steady business and she’s finally beginning to turn over a profit.

She’s returning from lunch when she spots Shouto shuffling about outside. He visits her here since her release or at her apartment above the shop so being outside must mean he was waiting for her. He looks despondent when she guides him inside and he spends nearly an hour simply walking through the shop, familiarizing himself with her wares. Even after all this time she call tell something has upset him, though he undoubtedly has a lot on his mind after the Hosu Incident. Though when he came to visit after the Sports Festival and again since the investigation into her ex-husband he had been angry about something then too. He’ll speak when he’s ready so she helps a few patrons with their orders in the meantime and when he does he seems... lost.

Mama?

Yes, dear?

Are you... happy... with all of this?

...How do you mean?

I... He visibly swallowed around a lump in his throat. H-his arrest. The court proceedings, the media attention, public opinion. Doesn’t it... bother you? Make you uncomfortable? I passed by people on the way here who were whispering about you and all of us, how we’re ungrateful and-! Validating the things people like Stain say about heroes and society. Is this, he kept his eyes firmly downcast, all even worth reliving that pain? Wouldn’t you rather forget it?

S-shouto?

I’m not saying this isn’t a good thing, now, but wouldn’t have been better to let sleeping dogs lie? I... I was going to save you from that place. When I made it and he couldn’t control me or you anymore, I-I had a plan, but...

But? She approached him slowly, letting him gather his thoughts. Something changed that? She could see the tips of his ears flush though she couldn’t see his face for his hair.

I told someone. He almost growled at that taking her by surprise. He told the teachers. That’s when they started looking into it. His fists were clenched at his sides in his hurt. I just needed him to understand what- I didn’t think he’d say anything. I didn’t know him. We’d never spoken before but he was always butting his nose into things... I didn’t think he’d hang us out to dry. But he did and now. He lifted his head to look her in the eye. His expression was imploring, desperate maybe. Being dragged through court and forced to relive all those horrible things and having people think less of you for it.You- you can’t tell me it’s made you happy.

She considered his words carefully. No. No, that certainly wasn’t. Having to testify, being in the same room as your father. That was... never something I wanted to experience again.

He adopted a look that was equal parts relief and... vindication? But she continued.

But I would do it again in a heartbeat.

His expression became clear shock then. Why?

Shouto, where do you live now? She asked instead of answering.

...with Fuyumi?

Are you happy with her?

Yes.

Do you feel safe there?

He tilted his head to the side, reminiscent of an inquisitive puppy. So cute her son. ...Yes.

And you know that your father will never come near you again, right?

...Yeah.

So, my sweet boy, who I know is so so smart, She gently cupped his face in her hands and kept his eyes on her own, why wouldn’t I repeat this fight if it meant getting you and your siblings here, to this safe, happy place every time?

His eyes shined with tears.

For the record, she said, I am. Happy- that is- here. And however unintentional, I’m grateful that you told that boy. Her son’s eyes widened. He set us on this path. It was painful, yes. She tucked an errant lock of crimson hair behind is ear. It was also the road to freedom. For all of us.

Tears wet her fingers and Shouto looked away in shame. Oh. He said so softly. You- it- it doesn’t... you mean that?

She nodded fervently. Absolutely. I would thank him if I saw him.

Shouto drew his shoulders up tensely and gently pulled her hands away from his face. That... I’m not sure that’ll ever happen.

She hummed curiously. Has he requested to remain anonymous?

No, I-I thought you were hurt by all of this. I, um. He curled in on himself a bit. I was angry. I... told him off after they started looking into our lives. ...we aren’t talking.

Oh. Shouto. You were worried about my feelings? She would remain amazed by his capacity to love her after what she’d done to him.

He nodded.

Could you make up? I’d hate for him to think he didn’t do the right thing. He might not come forward for someone else if the situation arises. I’d hate to think that someone else if left in suffering over this.

He seemed to shrink in on himself even more. The- the things I said to him were, um, pretty personal. His face twisted in obvious shame. Someone else told me- a bully of his told me that he was... I said a lot of horrible things to him and he won’t even look at me anymore. Before, I was glad. But you’re- you’re happy. He said the last word as though it a ludicrous notion.

She nodded.

Now, I- I don’t know. I should apologize. Looking back it was going too far. He didn’t mean to hurt you by it. Or me. Or any of us. He’s just... I think he’s just like that. So helpful.

She smiled. He sounds nice.

Yeah. His voice cracked as he blinked away more tears. His right hand reached over to cover the knife wounds on his left arm. They were weeks old, maybe they were still causing him pain? Too nice. ...I don’t think he’ll want to talk to me. His voice dropped to a nearly inaudible whisper, a few more silent tears slipping down his face unbidden. ...I made him cry.

Would it hurt to try?

They spent the rest of the day discussing how to go about making amends, and ended up staying well-past the typical closing time. It’s dark out by the time they head out to pick up dinner. She finally has enough money to take the children out for food and Fuyumi and Natsuo said they would meet up at the restaurant. It’s been such a long time since she had a warm meal with her babies. She’s excited. They can finally get to being a real family.

They’re surprised by the door to Inksignia suddenly swinging open, bathing the street in light. A woman stepped out and she blinked large eyes at them. She was short and chubby with green hair and eyes, wearing a black dress with sheer lace revealing colorful patterns on her shoulders, chest, and back without appearing risque. Her arms, neck, and legs were conspicuously bare of tattoos. She carried herself like someone comfortable in their own skin. Surreal.

Oh! Hello! She offered them a smile. Didn’t see you there. Her green eyes drifted over Rei’s apron. She’s forgotten to take it off. You work right here at Beyond Alteo?

No worries. Yes, I’m the owner actually. I’m, uh, Rei. Just Rei.

Ah, how rude of me, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Midoriya Inko, nice to meet you. Her round face was soft and welcoming. This is my parlor. She said proudly.

Midoriya? Shouto blurted out suddenly, eyes wide.

Hm? Yes. Inko turned to him. Do I- oh. You’re him. She narrowed her eyes in recognition. Todoroki Shouto-kun. You fought my son during the Sports Festival.

Y-yeah, I did. Shouto looked nervous. Understandable. Rei had watched the fight after all. A seed of suspicion before to take root in her chest. If it had been her son injured in their match...

Are you alright? Inko asked to their surprise.

I- I’m okay.

I heard about Hosu. Are you healed properly? Have you been eating enough? My son said you eat very little- he eats me out of house and home so his idea about what constitutes regular portions is a bit skewed but he seems really worried about you so I thought I’d ask. Ah, if that’s okay?

It’s... fine. My wounds are healed. I’m eating, uh, everyday?

We’re going out for dinner right now. Rei said. Hm, she would have to see if he was in fact eating enough for a boy his age. She’d compare to Natsuo for reference.

Midoriya-san, your son... talks about me? Shouto asked.

Oh, all the time. Everyday it’s Todoroki-kun this, Todoroki-kun that. He’s been so worried about you! Especially since the, well, the news. And Hosu. He said you’ve been busy with family matters- and I won’t pry- so he hasn’t had the chance to talk to you in a while. So you mind if I tell him you’re doing okay?

Everyday? He seemed to whisper to himself. No, t-that’s okay. Yeah. Um, has he said anything else?

Ah... Just that he’s worried about where you’re staying and if you feel comfortable there. We have a spare bedroom and he wants you to know you’re welcome to it if you need it. It’s alright with me of course.

Shouto’s jaw dropped as his cheeks pinked again, and he dropped his face to hide behind his bangs. He clutched his hands to his chest. O-oh.

Shouto is staying with his sister for the time being. He was telling me how much he likes it. Rei replied when it was clear Shouto wasn’t going to. Thank you for the concern. Please thank your son for his thoughts. I’m glad that someone outside of the family is looking out for him.

Shouto flinched from behind his mother.

Inko smiled. I will. He’ll be so relieved. She spared a look to her watch and gasped. Oh gosh, I just meant to get some fresh air but I’ve kept you from your plans! Sorry! She opened the door to return to her business. It’s been wonderful talking to you. I know the hours are a bit unusual but feel free to stop by anytime with your boy! It’ll be nice to have a friend in the neighborhood.

Rei felt a flutter of something soft and fuzzy from her hairline to her toes. A friend? ...when was the last time she had one of those? Before Enji. After, most of her friends had gone on to actually make use of their hero certification and were too cowed by his political and social capital to heed her plight. None of them had reached out to her in years. The children were great comfort but they had their own lives. Maybe... should she? Oh it’s been a bit, should probably respond sometime this year- Yes!

Inko blinked at her loud answer.

Erm, Rei flushed, y-yes, I’d like that.

Inko’s smile widened into a 1000-megawatt grin that almost seemed to dull the lights from the within the parlor in comparison. We’re open earlier on the weekends. You could come by then if it’s better for you.

I will, I think. Yeah.

(This was supposed to be a short headcannon and now the animal is loose. I’ll expand from here and post link to AO3 when it’s done. Does anyone want to read more??? Let me know!!

Shouto felt betrayed and protective over his mama so he raged a bit. Izuku can understand why but it definitely hurt and he’s been avoiding Shouto- which Shouto now feels regret about. They’ll make up don’t worry.

Rei and Inko are gonna be nearly as dumb as their sons and I think it’ll be fun.

TLDR: tattoo artist!Inko x flower shop owner!Rei get together AU, still quirks and hero-sons. the name of Rei’s shop has meaning. inko’s almost as cool as she seems yo)