#and five years of WAR at that and yet he seemed... hardly grown up at all

[winterpinetrees]

Being Alive (The Gap Years 2x4)

September 19th

The Elven Capital

Ishtar's life is a miracle. She is alive, the ruler of an entire planet, happy, even. There must be a world where it stays like this forever, but she has a job to do. The war has begun, and her family must be ready for it.

Navigation Guide

Previous

..................

There is one other Mercuralis alive who remembers living in the palace. Enli is the same height as Ishtar, but shorter than her eldest son. Neither of them have a fraction of the scars she does. Kishar saw death for the first time this week, but his mother has no excuse. The only three Mercuralis adults sit in a room that she hasn’t tried to make match the way it was before, complimenting her husband's tea and pretending their relationship isn’t mangled like a broken limb. 

When the previous coup left her and Ishtar as their family’s last survivors, Enli was left with nothing but a legendary name, an orphaned cousin, and her own trauma. Maybe she could have given Ishtar to one of their allies to raise, but their family were symbolized by an ice-age bull and just as stubborn. Genus Mercuralis would endure, even if it meant a half-grown girl playing the role of a mother. “Playing” is the precise word. Ishtar came of age as a vengeful ghost and fell desperately for the first person to seem to live in the world, instead of occupying space. Is it worse to be like her predecessor, Emer Sondaica, who had such a full life but gave it all up? Or is it worse to have been empty from the beginning? 

Enli has been a much better mother this time around. Her cousin must have needed a test run. Ishtar, for her part, is genuinely shocked to be alive at all.

“The attacks in the human realm,” Enli begins. “I believe you that the Sondaica prince wasn’t supposed to be there, but it’s not him I have a problem with. It’s his humans. There are rules to war. Those three have never heard of them”. 

“Oh yes. Those same rules that left us as the only survivors out of nineteen Mercurali? Marin’s humans shoot to kill at times, but they’re young and desperate. Students at the Conservatory try the same thing”. That’s how she’s explained it to her council, and the lords, and everyone stunned by the trail of destruction three rich kids have wrought. “They are the children of human nobility. That society is as cutthroat as ours, they just don’t do the killing themselves. This must be cathartic for them”. Taking her first prisoner -knuckles against bone, an enemy slung over her shoulder- was like the sunrise. 

Kishar folds his hands. He doesn’t have the grim gray eyes of his cousin Chandra, those are from her husband’s family, but the grief of their world weighs on him just as heavily. “It’s not only them. The scientists were better trained than we expected”. Then he turns to his mother. “They were the threat to my life, not the prince or his servants. I told you he was happy to retreat”. 

Enli turns her head. “Well, the scientists are dead now”. 

There were twelve attacks two days ago, ten of them successful, including in the salt desert city where Marin unexpectedly appeared. They don’t know exact casualties, but she suspects three hundred humans dead across the world along with eight citizens of the elven world captured as traitors.

“Not all of them, but more than the old apex was ever able to do”. 

It turns out that even the void-cursed and gifted can only be in one place at once, and yet the university Cai Sondaica materialized to protect wasn’t even the mission with the highest cost. Ninety-five soldiers died across twelve attacks. They expected some casualties in the underground labs where soldiers could not switch worlds to retreat, but one dead elf for every three dead humans? By tradition, none of them but the handful killed by renegade sparks and royals can be properly honored on a kill list. This is why she’s talking to her cousin. When she says “Ishtar, what have you done,” she hardly notices. 

Most of her high council is thrilled, but that almost feels worse. Arjuna is decidedly neutral on human affairs, and Ryn… Ryn is not talking to her. It’s not as bad as it sounds. He was at the table during the creation of the plan and his firefly seal (the symbol they chose as teens back when her first officer decided it just wasn’t right to drag the Stormson hurricane into noble crimes) is on the document. He’s out at sea. Her vambrace chimes a steady heartbeat of data. He’s alive. He’s safe. He’ll come home when he’s ready.

Enli asks if her daughter is out with Ryn. She saw the boys today, but not Suen. Ishtar keeps her expression level. She does not fidget or shift her stance. “Oh. I can call her back in, if you’d like?”

She sends her daughter a brief message. Devana Marolak thinks she's been watching too much human media, but she has a pager. The Sondaica twins may have been picking pockets in the human realm at her age, but that was centuries ago. She can't afford to take extra risks. Then, with a broad grin, the apex of the twin worlds throws open the great windows of the parlor. Waves crash against the rocks stories beneath the balcony. This face of the building is an artificial cliff with nothing else beneath them. She stands to the side and looks back at her cousins. “You should move out of the way. She’s still working on landing”.

“Impossible. Who taught her? The assassin?”

“My husband would be honored that you think he can fly”. 

A shadow flickers far above them. Something with the wingspan of an albatross plummets out of the sky more like a meteor than a bird of prey. Her heart catches in her chest. Suen rolls out of a dive and rises back to their level. She stretches out her arms, the drag on her spectral feathers slowing her down to only about a sprinting pace. She is an indigo blur between the older Mercurali. Then her clawed boots catch on the carpet, and Ishtar does not look away as her only daughter slams into the floor with a thud worthy of an aurochs. Their mugs of tea rattle on the table. 

No one moves. Suen’s wings fade as she sits up but her eyes stay magic-bright. Whatever impossibility gave Ishtar her toughness wasn’t heritable. Her daughter’s bones are as fragile as the high nobility can get. She looks it too. Ishtar thinks it’s fitting that the first Apex of the united worlds will have the body type that humans expect of elves or fairies. Or maybe her little satellite is just young. For thirty silent seconds, Sue, a decade short of puberty and fifty years away from the start of her gap years, barely even glances at her. She’s running a diagnostic, looking for fractures and sprains. 

Ishtar feels the sparring mats under her sandals. She can take a punch better than even the sparks and could snap an elf’s neck with a twist of her arms. It would be quick, like a scepter through the heart, but there wouldn’t be blood and there was so much-

“Just like in the basketball videos!”

Suen giggles and holds a hand up to her mouth. There’s a small canine tooth on the ground and Ishtar remembers that she is the mother now and she is gloriously alive. “It had been loose for a month, Ma”. 

Kishar kneels down to meet her eyes. Suen towers over most kids her age, but he’s a true Mercuralis giant. “Pretty tough”. She beams and folds her Voyager pilot’s scarf to stop the bleeding. 

“Moonlight. Cousin Enli is asking who taught you how to fly”. 

“His Grace, Hierax of Genus Tiercel,” her daughter says with perfect royal poise, then giggles again. 

Enli raises an eyebrow and mutters in an old language the children don’t know. 

“I thought you were against betrothals”.

“I am. Don’t make this weird”. 

The floor still has a bit of a phantom bounce when Sue gets back to her feet and puts the tooth into her mother’s. In Ishtar’s oldest memories, her own mother says to keep her feet on the ground. Strength comes from leverage. You swing a hammer with your legs to hit an illusionist you’ve sensed through vibrations in the earth. Suen’s been learning to tell where her father invisibly goes since before she would walk, but the human world plays by different rules. She’s seen the tactics in their films, the heroic ones, and checks them against humanity's own list of war crimes. Mercuralis strength is enough to break through the nobility, but wild humans throw money at sports where bones shatter in every game. The children of the wildblood staff pick Suen first when they play as teams because she is lightning-fast and clever and knows how to lead, but those kids are never older than thirteen. An elbow to the jaw from a trained adult could do more than knock out a loose tooth. The butt of a jammed rifle, held by a conscripted boy who would’ve been an athlete if not for their war, could kill. 

So she’ll learn to fly. Maybe Chandra will too, or maybe he’ll keep learning how to weave charms and disguises until even Ryn’s family, impenetrable as the screaming rain around the eye of a storm, will tell him everything. Fedran is a little weaker. His colors are more muddled. He was born eighteen years ago, but only looks a bit younger than his brother. In a few decades they’ll seem the same age, and then Fen will grow up and look like the older sibling for the rest of their lives. A royal family made of a spark, a slightly unstable assassin, and an apex who could stand up to the three-hundred-pound titans on a gridiron football team. And to think it was a scandal when Emer was made apex! As if a weird twin and a habit of running off to jazz clubs was anything compared to this. 

Ishtar puts the tooth into her pocket. They’ll bury it under a tree and some little thing will appreciate the calcium. Not long after, her daughter takes a running start and vaults over the railing of the balcony much faster than Ishtar could manage. Kids these days. 

Back in the Problem Room, Ishtar sees a different sort of triumph. They’ve been chasing young runaways for months, but finally they’ve made an attack of their own. Devana Marolak’s fear of wild humans with guns has been validated, and Amedi is just happy to have done well. The councillors were both in the field on two separate missions. Actually, Ishtar was in the field as well. One of the laboratories on their list of targets was right over the fault line parallel to the capital, and they needed someone with a gentle touch to collapse it without making a bigger problem. The last big quake there was about a decade after Arjuna and her had married. There was a fire. Total mess. Not wishing to burn San Fransisco again, she and Amedi made their exit with only two elves dead and the faintest whisper of a category two earthquake behind them. Across the world, Devana set off a bomb and nearly collapsed a stop of the Moscow Metro. She can’t speak Russian, but the councillor seems entertained by the story of coordinated terrorist attacks. 

Gullin Eburos spent the fateful night in his laboratory instead, testing his project against another dozen overlapping conditions and tinkering with fatality rates. She’s lent an old Mercurali word to the plague: diasu. It’s a dead language, so the meaning can be whatever they need. Really though, it means “to thresh”. As an ancient agricultural term, it meant to separate the grain from its stalk. As her new political tool, it means to remove the useful from that which is dry and brittle and best used to feed an animal or a flame. 

When her first officer asked (declared) if it was wrong to talk about wild humans like that when they’ve taken such a stand against elven eugenics, she reminded him that human religions have used the metaphor for longer. Besides, their love has nothing to do with conquering a world. Their son is a symbol, but not of that. By the time Fen is old enough to have anything to do with politics, the human world will be theirs. 

(Why does Ishtar know anything about human religions? Well, it’s important to know the traditions of a place you’re trying to conquer. Ryn also convinced her to read Moby-Dick and she didn’t want to feel like she was missing half of the context).

Anyway, noble superiority has never done her any good and Ryn could pick Devana Marolak up and throw her if he stopped wanting to play nice. Fedran is her perfect firefly and if any nobles have issues then they should address her as Your Eminence or better yet not talk at all. 

Magical power is tough to predict. At best it’s like height: certainly there is a basis in family history, but it also depends on childhood circumstances and chance. Her exceptional power and Ryn’s…well, he has humans in his family tree, don’t cancel to average. Their son is on even footing with most of the lower nobility, including warriors like Amedi Kebero. Magically, that is. Fen still has almost all of his baby teeth, and Amedi has half a dozen kills to their name. He’s a good kid. Observant. Not in the same empathetic way as his brother, but more looking for systems. A few nights before the coup, Arjuna whispered that he had the mind of an assassin. He’s also really into trains. 

So things feel pretty good in the room named for the fact that it’s where things go wrong. They’re at the bleeding edge of a new era and it’s all too easy to imagine all of that metaphorical blood belonging to their enemies. She keeps the new casualty reports on the table as they discuss everything else. Devana talks about a drought in Asia. Amedi and their seneschal present on commoner resistance where Marin is likely to travel. They talk for hours as though two nights ago they didn’t set off the first rumbles of an upheaval that will lay dormant and stutter but never stop until they’re directing the clean up of a decimated human realm. As she’s preparing to dismiss the council (almost time to sit on her throne and hear petitions), Gullin’s doglike seneschal returns with five cups of spruce beer, even though there’s only four elves at the massive table. Seneschals don’t miss details. Gullin gives his human an amused nod and the young man smiles back with fangs and chugs a glass. They all toast to better luck and easier battles. 

She looks down to her vambrace. Her partner says air pressure is dropping and there’s clouds to the west. He’s already weathering a political storm, and doesn’t need another. The dot on the screen turns back home. 

…………

Suen is like 10 in elven years. Chandra is 8 and Fen is 7.

Ishtar uses the word decimated to describe what’s in store for the human realm. I’m afraid her actual plans have a far higher fatality rate than one in ten. 

The nobility are not big on recreational substances. (looking at you, Zerada). I’m using the word “beer” like in root beer. It’s non-alcoholic and a Canadian thing.

@lokiwaffles @reggie246 @wishndreamer

[missdeepend]

Gray Fullbuster is the Weakest Link Currently

THIS WILL HAVE SPOILERS FOR 100 YEAR QUEST!

I know what you are all saying, what about Happy and Carla? I am not counting the two cats, and I truly do wish those two would get a decent power up at some point. I am counting this on the fact of team Natsu characters, which include; Natsu Dragneel, Lucy Heartfilia, Wendy Marvell, Erza Scarlet, Gray Fullbuster, Happy and Carla. As I stated before the last two I am not counting, but the other five are all up for discussion. 

AGAIN THERE ARE GOING TO BE SPOILERS BEFORE!

In terms of the group as a whole, they all have their greatest strengths and weaknesses, but there is one who sticks out like a sore thumb compared to the group. Gray Fullbuster. Not only does this go down to his magic and the difference in strength as of recent (I’ll get to later), but this also goes down to overall plot relevance even with the 400 year connection.  Each of the main set of the other characters have a set connection to 400 years in the past and the dragons, except Gray. I find this funny and it doesn’t really mean much but it is a detail I wanted to point out. Even Erza has a connection to Irene and was technically conceived all the way during the war. Then you have Natsu and Wendy who are obvious and Lucy with her connection to her ancestor and her mother who opened the Eclipse Gate. Gray has no connection, which I find unfortunate but there is not much that needs to be discussed there. On the other hand, there is the power difference and the plot relevance as of currently which is t he biggest hinderance to his character. I always adored Gray’s character from the beginning and felt sympathy for his character. His history with Lyon was always interesting and the pain he felt when he saw the old Ultear is still one of the harder scenes for me. His potential grew even more when we discovered who his father was and he gained the Devil Slaying Magic, meant to kill E.N.D who we found out was none other than Natsu, his best friend whether he would want to admit it or not. However, it is safe to say that as a character Gray has not grown at all since the 100 year quest began. The only thing that seemed to grow is his bond with Juvia (which is another issue I’ll discuss in the future). Its upsetting as there was so much potential for his character but each time his spotlight seems to be stolen away up until recently. He had nothing to show against the Dragon god of Water and most likely will not against Ignia, which you would think he would have something up his sleeve. Up against Selene’s minions he had nothing and when he could finally have his moment vs Wendy, Carla, and Happy it was stolen away. Until recently you could say his battle with the member of Gold Owl, but even then it was interrupted by nonsense with Juvia. I can’t think of any recent battles Gray has had that wasn’t interrupted by something with Juvia or another character when he finally had his chance to shine, but maybe my thoughts are just blurry. My biggest issue is that everyone has grown. Wendy has of course as well as Natsu who of course does because he is the center character. Lucy is basically one of the strongest Celestial Wizards Fiore has ever known and Erza... well she is Erza and so is always going to have a new armor up her sleeve. Meanwhile, Gray has nothing. He has his Ice Devil Slaying powers, but we have had nothing to show it. We have no history on Devil Slayers to know how strong his potential is. We have hardly any demons as it is. In fact, there are only three known users of Devil Slayer Magic. The other two are dead, who were Silver and Bloodman from the final season. There has not been a mention of another user let alone any without the ice as its main element.  There is so much potential for Gray and yet he falls behind the group due to the writing being so focused on Dragons. I know Gray will always have Juvia and Juvia will always have Gray but it would be nice if they both had their scenes to shine, or at least give them a boost of strength.  Anyways, let me know what you guys think. I’m curious about your current thoughts of Gray Fullbuster and the Devil Slayer dilemma. What are your ideas to fix it?

I’ll see you later in the Deep End!

[princessmacedon]

meaning in all things

She had grown up on stories of this hallowed armament. Iote’s Shield lays across her bed, a gallant, golden thing at rest upon sheets of sweet summertime yellows. Kneeling atop her bed beside it, Maria’s hand hovers over the raised metal of the design emblazoned around its ruby heart with reverence - so much that she hardly dares to touch the thing, lingering but a hair’s breadth away. 

How many generations of Macedonian rulers had it seen? Not nearly enough, she thinks, hand falling to trace its outline in the folds of her blankets. A scant one hundred years since he whose name it bore rebelled within the forests and took to the sky in freedom; only five generations past, and Macedon was not truly Macedon anymore, led by his second coming to its first death. 

Only five. She is its last princess.

The thought sticks with her, silences and stills her. Five generations of warriors come and gone, and the last of them is no warrior at all; Maria of Macedon is a cleric, a kidnappee, a tool of subjugation from brother to sister and a would-be lamb to slaughter. (She recoils slightly, arms folding around herself.) What she is not is a warrior. She has uncalloused palms and soft fingertips, and even her training axe is made of wood, a child’s plaything - and of abnormally tiny make, to boot! 

A moment passes with history heavy in Maria’s chest, until she grabs a plushie from the coziest nook of her bed and hugs it close, flopping down onto her side to stare at the shield and still yet to touch it. Cradled by warmth, just like this – that was how she listened to Michalis’ stories half the time, the other half with rapt attention: palms pressed to blankets, legs folded beneath her, and eyes all a-shimmer. And how he shined! How he sang the history of this selfsame beloved shield, how pride painted him in vibrancy, how the adoration he held for his home opened his reserved heart until it spilled with love abundant. Like this, how could she ever have failed to adore their Macedon? 

He had let her touch the shield back then, a child’s warm hand pressed to cool metal with only the utmost respect. Then with that touch, she had mapped for a fleeting moment the scratches and ridges that a near-century of history bestowed - proof positive of all that Macedon had endured, overcome. And the man for whom this shield was named? King Iote, their forebear, the leader of the rebellion that severed the yoke of slavery, the tamer of wyverns and first king of Macedon. She can still remember how his voice fair near glowed with passion… 

…and rolls the other way onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. It tells her nothing; only catches her thoughts and lets them hang there. In the end, the pride they had meted into virtue lost its shape, and, battered bent and broken, became avarice. They had returned to Dohlr; they had lost their way. What would their grand first king think of what they had become? From everything she knew of him, surely he had been a kind man – brave, with a sense of justice… 

Laying her plush friend aside, Maria wriggles until she has folded her legs beneath her again, just as she used to so long ago. Her eyes fix upon her homeland’s treasure for a moment that stretches long into silence, and then–

She holds up her hand; a finger pops up, and then another- “Great–” – and another– “Great–” –and another. “Great Grandfather,” Maria begins, her chin tucked down to impress upon the audience her earnestness. “Macedon isn’t Macedon anymore.” 

Silence. Great Great Great Grandfather, it seems, is as talkative as Michalis in the throes of paperwork. After a beat of consideration, she hefts the shield into an upright position, resting upon her bed and held at either side. 

“Hi, Great Great Great Grandfather,” the littlest princess of Macedon begins. “I’m Maria. I’m your great– well.” A flash of sheepishness across her face, innocent and bright, mischief touching the scrunch of her expression. “Granddaughter, hee hee. There were a couple wars recently – big scary ones that split up the whole continent. My big brother sided with Dohlr because they were strong, and he wanted to wait until we could take them on. And my big sister, she was queen after him, until some awful people staged a coup and locked her up. And me… I haven’t done much of anything. I got kidnapped. I almost got eaten by a dragon. Now I go to school.

“But, you know, Great Grandfather? There’s no one in this whole world who loves Macedon more than my brother; he messed up lots and fell really far, but he’s still here, alive and working so hard. And my sister is so strong and gentle, and she does what’s right, and she’s so clever in ways people can’t even see! And, I… I love them, and I love Macedon.

“...But Macedon isn’t Macedon anymore. Prince Marth– oh, that’s Anri’s great-son! You were friends, weren’t you? He beat my brother and is friends with my sister, and he saved the world! He really did! And after the second war, aaaaaall of Archanea’s coming together under his rule. So… there aren’t going to be any more princes or princesses of Macedon; I’m the very last one. But can you believe it?” 

A smile unfurls upon her lips, a flower meeting a golden sun. “The whole of Archanea came together under the Hero-King, Great Grandfather. Isn’t that wonderful? And even if Macedon is different now, her people are still here. I think… I want to find the way I can help them. All of us– Michalis, Minerva, and I– we’re all doing our best, and the future is full of so much peace – so much hope!” 

At last, she lays a hand over its ruby heart. Perhaps to comfort; perhaps to be comforting; like as not, it is both. 

“I think that’s something you can be proud of.” A tilt of her head, a rush of crimson o’er her shoulder, her smile rocks from its axis, joy effulgent written in its skew. Then, for but a moment, she could swear – she feels its warmth aglow. Like Michalis’ ardent passion, or Minerva’s gentle kindness - like love, boundless and overflowing. She blinks.

And she laughs, merry and bright. 

“Hee hee! That’s right!

[dmclemblems]

Nopes really whitewashed almost everyone tbh. Edelgard for one. Duke Aegir and Count Gloucester don't even seem as bad; I even agree with Count Gloucester that Claude isn't to be trusted in GW! SB tries to convince you that Lonato not bad, actually, and that Ashe will ditch Faerghus for Lonato. Gustave reunited with Annette way earlier this time around (this isn't whitewashing, it's more that he has a faster character arc lol). Felix is also way nicer in general, Hubert less aggressive, etc.

To an extent I don't mind them adding in humane traits for some of those characters. They shouldn't be all black and white, good or evil. Most real people aren't like that and in a story like the one they're telling in the Fodlan games it'd be odd to have so many characters specifically on one end. It's one thing to have a small few at best, but I do enjoy seeing aspects of characters that are good when we've only heard bad things about them.

That said I do agree that they made some characters a lot softer and kinder like Hubert. Felix makes sense imo because things happened differently in this timeline. He became the Duke very early and presumably spent a lot more time with Rodrigue and grew into his position. With Dimitri I think it's that maturity that he's grown into that helped reduce how cruel he was.

Rather than just making some of them kinder and whatnot though, I noticed they took a lot of characterization away from some character. For example, Dorothea, Raphael and Caspar were... pretty bland. Normally I like Dorothea but I borderline couldn't stand her in this game. All she does is bitch and moan about the war that she willingly fights in this game and worries about Edelgard constantly at camp. There's basically nothing to her character in the main story outside of simping for Edelgard and I feel like the only reason she's recruitable in AG is because she's so popular and they figured they should make her recruitable in all routes. Her supports with Flayn would be cute if not for Dorothea going on about how she thinks she should've died with the other soldiers and how much she laments being there. She fought for Edelgard because she wanted to, which makes Flayn directly her enemy and yet she acts fine and dandy around Flayn in their supports. If not for the context in the rest of the game their supports could've been cute, but I can't really see it that way with all the things Dorothea goes on about.

Lonato is definitely worse in this game imo if only for the fact that he's willing to go along with the guilt tripping against Ashe. The whole thing came off as even worse than Houses made it out to be.

There's a lot of give and take with the characters in this game that I've noticed. Some of them are worse at the expense of making others better. Hilda for example I like a lot more in this game and she feels more like a real person than her Houses counterpart, but Dorothea only seemed kind of decent to me in some of her supports. Caspar was reduced to not caring who or what he fought for other than the Empire, even if it was being led by Thales and people were burning entire villages to the ground and murdering all the residents (even though his father even told him he could flee and he wouldn't blame him for it).

I'm okay with seeing characters like Erwin have some good traits and qualities. It's one thing that he seems scummy in Houses, but that doesn't mean he's devoid of all humane traits. I can see it working out that his people would love him/his leadership but he's doing underhanded things behind the scenes when he doesn't trust other nobles (like the former Duke Riegan and how he didn't like or trust him. You could argue he did it out of concern for the Alliance based on what we know in Hopes while still acknowledging that it was a scummy way to go about things).

Ludwig is a special case in AG because in SB he's still total trash. Pretty sure SB Ludwig had zero redeeming qualities lol. Like I mentioned before, I feel like they needed to use him because they had nobody else they could use to take the same role Cornelia and Shahid had in their respective routes. AG gave him more opportunity to not be quite as awful. It makes sense to me because if he was just total scum of the earth, I can't see how Ferdinand would even care about him, father or not. In Houses he's distraught at his father's death, so there had to be something there.

Matthias though to a point I do agree was altered a little bit on the "too good" side. He tried to get Sylvain to go alone to stop the remaining bandits from Miklan's group and Sylvain expresses to Byleth that there's no way he's doing that and thinks it's weird of his father to even suggest that. The way he also mentions Matthias to be "pulling his weight" in the timeskip makes it sounds like he... doesn't do very much for the Kingdom? Like, my impression of him from Houses was that he was a total dick but very loyal to Faerghus. Like, he'd do what he had to do for his country but was so emotionally detached that his own son didn't expect much of anything from him. He's kind of in a similar boat as Erwin, where I do like seeing the humane aspects of them but it feels like they really pushed toward the good side instead of the middle (when it would've been totally fine if they made them a bit better than how Houses portrayed them but not quite so seemingly kind).

Yuri kind of seemed a little less... scheme-y and antagonistic (even jokingly/tauntingly/teasingly), so I do prefer him in Houses.

[palaceofpassion]

Ciel Soleil always kept her mask up, her face set in a neutral if not near emotionless state, a testament to her professional work ethic and skills. The only time she would let it slip, would be when someone could really fuck her hard, as she found out Penny's friend could, one Jaime Arc.

Ciel probably makes up the final member of my top five, I just rarely write her compared to the other four.

Ciel was a professional, always keeping to a calm and collected demeanor, never letting anything disrupt her flow. She was straight laced, straight faced at all times. Taking an interest in others was never something she'd bother to do, especially when their very existence perplexed her.

One such example was Penny's friend, Jaune Arc, by all means he didn't belong in Beacon. The young man constantly failed in combat class, albeit she could admit that he was improving. At least that's what she noted from their first interactions to later ones.

From what she could tell there was hardly anything appealing about the young man. Yet, for some reason, she found herself fixated on him. Fixated on what made him tick, why he was here, how he was here even. Which through thorough investigation led her to actually speaking with the boy.

Their first conversation was, awkward to say the least. He wasn't sure how he should have handled her sudden abruptness, subtlety was never her strong suite. He'd proven to be rather, uninteresting through their first interaction.

However, what surprised her, was that he'd persisted in talking to her after. Something she'd grown accustomed to was how- individuals tended to avoid her after their first meeting. Penny had been a strange example of the opposite.

Their second meeting had come after the Dance, something she did not take part of but had heard the rumors of him wearing a dress.

That image alone had intrigued her, though she would not say it aloud. He had changed, though as miniscule as it was it was hard to notice. His demeanor was a little bit fresher. It was like he'd been freed from some sort of self doubt.

But he was still the same awkward boy she'd spoken to the first time. Regardless, as shocking as it was, their conversation this time was quite pleasant. He'd taken a rather big interest in her. Something she was quite unaccustomed to. Though she may appear stinted at first, she did often have much to say.

She was a young woman after all, so having someone take an interest in her, in a seemingly platonic manner felt nice.

It eventually lead to her being able to call him friend.

Then Beacon fell.

She had been a complete mess, learning that Penny had been a Robot, that Penny had died. Had been a heartbreaking situation for her.

But she trudged on, like a professional would.

Two years passed, and in those two years Penny had been reborn. The same young woman she'd met the first time, the first she could call friend.

Then to her shock, she had met with one Jaune Arc once more. When his friends and he had arrived at Atlas, on a stolen Bullhead no less.

She'd paid it no mind, perhaps he'd forgotten her over the years. Though... she found herself staring an awful lot at the changes. He was more- war torn she supposed. There were the obvious changes such as a stronger body, he was taller too. But there was a glint in his eyes that she'd seen in veterans, or others who'd battled for their lives. Something that hadn't sat right with her.

She'd meant to talk to him, but well she wasn't one for pleasantries. Perhaps it was because of a strange blossoming feeling in her chest, finding out her friend had been alive again and had reappeared looking quite charming. If she did say so.

Well it had her confused.

Needless to say, she wasn't planning on reintroducing herself, he appeared to have a lot on his chest after all. And from the looks of it, the Schnee girl seemed to be taking much of his time.

So when he approached her during Atlas' winter time Ball, she'd been both flabbergasted and flustered, something unlike her.

"Hey Ciel."

He'd spoken to her, much unlike the first and second time.

"You remember me?"

Those had not been the words she meant to say of course.

"Of course I do! You're my friend, why wouldn't I remember you?"

That had of course really caught her off her guard.

"Anyways, I was wondering if you'd like to dance."

"What about Ms. Schnee?"

Her words had perhaps come out a little too quickly, as if rehersed.

"Oh Weiss?" His hands reached for the back of his neck but stopped before they could do his signature head scratch, that had been rather peculiar.

"She got asked by Marrow and said yes, so ya know."

He shrugged as if to play it off.

But she noted the small tinge of regret, but also relief? That had confused her.

"Either way, I would have come to ask you anyways, I can't just let my friend be all by her lonesome. You weren't even at Beacon's dance either, so I didn't get the chance to ask you then."

"Oh."

She wasn't sure how else she could respond.

"So, want to dance?"

"Will you be wearing the dress I heard so much about?"

When his face tinged a bright pink in response, she couldn't help but giggle quite unlike herself.

The night had been rather splendid. He had proven to be an excellent dance partner, someone she would love to take course with again in the future.

However, one thing led to another, she was sure the drinks had been spiked. Perhaps by that Xiao-long person.

And she quickly found herself back in her personal quarters with Him.

Neither of them questioned it, letting their bodies do the talking.

When his fingers traced the curvature of her rear, gliding across the bristling hairs which stood on end, goosebumps practically raving her body at his touch. She couldn't help but elicit a rather unprofessional, "Mmngh♥"

He said nothing, instead choosing action over verbage.

She found herself head down ass up on her knees. Her bed cushioned the pressure on her joints as she swayed her hips back and forth, hoping to lure him towards her honey pot.

"Arc... for safety reasons, perhaps we should try the other hole?"

She wouldn't say it aloud, but she'd always been interested in Anal. And they didn't have condoms, so-

Her response was a growing pressure upon her chocolate crinkle, the small bud spreading apart as the crown of his cock pressed itself at her entrance.

She hadn't gotten the chance to see it, her lack of inhibitions proving far too much for her to handle in this situation. She'd wanted to simply get to the act so she'd poised herself for him the moment he'd let her free.

So the surprise feeling, the sudden pit in her stomach which somersaulted, it was all a new sensation. She hadn't expected the length of his member to practically reach her belly, at least she swore it did.

She hadn't expected his girth to spread her apart so-so-so fully! But perhaps the thing she hadn't expected the most was the lack of pain. Instead a cool warmth filled her body, spreading from her core area all the way over her skin. Any nervousness she had was simply washed away by a glowing cyan.

She had the time to blink, as her aura practically went into overdrive.

"What?"

She had the courtesy to be confused.

"It doesn't hurt does it?"

The concern was clear in his voice.

"No... it's quite pleasant actually."

"Awesome, I"m glad my semblance works for this too."

Now she was curious, now she wanted to know more. But silence followed as he pulled out, letting her close around the emptiness that followed.

The pressure forced her back to curl a little, her eyes rolling softly to the back of her head. The pleasure only intensified as he slowly moved across, letting her feel every bit of him. It was like her sensitivity had been amped to the 11th.

Every tiny movement was almost enough to push her over the edge into an orgasm, she swore she could feel every little bit. Every twitch of his cock, every vein that rubbed against her insides.

Her ass was practically refusing to let him go, spasming intently as it gripped upon the head of his shaft which threatened to leave her cold and empty.

"Oh god Ciel, you're so tight."

With a mighty roar he shoved it back in, this time far less gently than before. The moment his pelvis hit her cheeks she felt the mighty slap of flesh together.

His orange sized balls, practically filled with swirling semen, slapped against her underside.

Her legs buckled as they slammed against her already drenched sex, her clit twitching in pleasure as she felt her face push down on the pillow.

What surprised her was how forceful he started to become. His left hand squeezed upon her ass. The tight grip practically crushed her, rather fat cheeks. She could feel her flesh mold easily between his digits as he marked her. SHe knew she'd bruise the next day, but the very thought of him marking her as his own set off alarms and sensors that she just loved.

A few more pumps found his engorged member slamming against her inner membrane. She could feel him knocking against her womb from the other side, pounding away at her relentlessly.

She loved the way he was manhandling her, his free hand now grasped forward as he lent downwards. Fingers slipped into her mouth as he pried it open, her tongue sliding between the crevices of his digits letting him play with it like a toy.

She loved the way that he smacked against her, his hips thrusting relentlessly into her stupidly huge bottom.

Over, and over, and over. Relentless barrage of thrusts pounded away, hitting her sensitive spots. She'd lost track of how many times she'd orgasmed, wanting nothing more than to sink her head into her pillow to relax as he used her over and over.

But he didn't let her, his hand kept her up right, forcing her onto the palms of her hands rather than her elbows like earlier. Another loud grunt escaped his lips as he let her have it once more.

Her bed was a mess of fluids, her normally pristine white sheets coated in her own pussy juices. Her love liquid coated everything, mixed with the salty tinge of sweat that ran down her toned underbelly.

He wasn't letting up, the more he slammed against her the more she could feel her womb burning up into an inferno. She'd begun to regret not letting him use her pussy but he'd understood.

"Oh god! I can't hold on! I'm going to cum."

"Yeessh pweeasssheee!" She was a slobbering mess now, drool freely dripping from her parted lips. Her thoughts had become disheveled, nothing but the image of him knocking her up in the future dared to enter her thoughts.

Several very loud SMACKS later and she found her intestine being flooded in a torrent of white. The thick seed latched onto her insides coating her in his flavors and colors. She could practically feel it rush it's way towards her belly expanding her stomach in ways that she had never imagined.

The first few pumps were wild, but everything after that was insane. She didn't know a man could have so much seed inside of him. But apparently the stories of Arc Virility were true.

She knew, she knew she couldn't let anyone else have him. She wanted Jaune all for herself. She'd found someone who not only treated her like a person who enjoyed her presence, but also enthralled her in bed.

Her lights began to dim as he gently set her down, collapsing atop of her and pinning her beneath him. She wasn't going to go anywhere either way, but feeling his warmth directly upon her... it was nice~

[beardrabbles]

invitation.

characters: GN!reader, claude, mentions of GN!byleth

warnings: none

word count: 2,814

notes: posted this on ao3 ages ago and totally forgot to post it here too :’) got into the fandom late, like alwaaaays! but i have an enormous claude / golden deer bias and wanted to write some fluff with him.

You forgot sometimes that this peaceful spot tucked between the trees wasn’t yours alone. You shared it with another from time to time, but it had been so long since the last time you both stepped foot in the clearing that it startled you to hear footfalls crunching at the grass behind you. Pushing yourself up halfway, eyes blinking blearily, you spotted the richly dressed prince with his hands planted on his hips.

“Napping without me?” Claude clicked his tongue, and you quickly replied with a roll of your eyes.

“I can’t nap here on my own?” You fell back again, letting the soft grass cushion you. A soft, content sigh escaped through your nose as the sweetest of breezes barely brushed your skin. It smelled of flowers and damp leaves, dense soil and a distant storm. There was no zing of hot iron or blood, and it was a relief.

“I thought it was our thing.  .  .”

You felt him sit beside you, taking up his usual position to your left. The tiniest flutter tickled the inside of your ribs, his nearness nearly making your head spin. “Before I came along, it was just your thing, remember?”

“Well, yeah, but I like it better this way.” Claude leaned back on his hands, eyes up towards the greying sky. It had taken fighting a war to bring back their usual glimmer, but it was there in full. Bright, hopeful, determined. Laying there, gazing up at the unsuspecting prince, it was almost as if you were looking at the man from five years ago — the cunning, clever and sometimes troublesome man that you had fallen head-over-heels for and had continued to painfully pine for.

“Me too.” You dared to smile, his gaze shifting to you. Adoring him hurt, but no amount of hurt would have you appreciating his presence any less.

Claude returned the smile, and the gesture sent your heart slamming against your chest. But just as quickly as it came, the smile faded. “I spoke to Byleth.”

You sat up in an instant, concern etched into your face. You were aware that he had gone to meet them, but he had failed to tell you why. You equally failed to push the subject, as it wasn’t your place to disrespect a man in his position. Curious as you might have been, you assumed it was best not to ask and only hope that he trusted you enough to confide in you later. Seemed you were right, though you acknowledged to yourself that it was a rare thing.

“How did it go?”

“They’re disappointed I won’t be here for the coronation. I can’t blame them. After everything we’ve been through together, I should be here for them. I want to hope they understands. They always have.” He exhaled sharply. “But, hey, I got to see them smile again! I think as long as they’re here, Fódlan will be in good hands. If they keeps smiling, if they keep breaking down the walls that were built up, I can go home and do my part there. I trust them.”

You shifted, feeling uncomfortable in your envy.

“So they’re not coming with you to Almyra?” You wondered. Claude shook his head.

“No, and I didn’t want to ask. Fódlan needs to be taken care of. It needs a parent that will hold its hand and lead it in the right direction. It’s gonna stumble around like an infant walking for the first time, but that’s why they’re the best person to lead. They’ll know what to say and do to help this little baby along.”

You screwed up your face and nudged him with your shoulder.

“You really like talking about babies.” You pointed out. Claude’s cheeks and the tips of his ears darkened a fraction, but he dismissed it with a hearty chuckle.

“I guess I do. I wonder why that is.” He trailed off, voice soft but nowhere near as confused as his words would have lead you to believe. You had long ago resigned yourself to never truly understanding him, so you shrugged. Trying to pick through his mind was like attempting a hedge maze without a map.

“Does that mean you’re going to be heading back soon?”

“I can’t stay for long. There’s so much I need to do if I’m going to see things through, but there’s something important I need to do here before I can go home.” There was sharpness to his eyes that you recognized and deeply adored. He was planning something, and you felt your curiosity rise again.

“What is it? Can I help?” You were always so quick to offer him aid. Usually, he gently denied it, stating time and time again that most of his schemes were for his mind alone. Things often worked out for the better that way. The fewer people that knew, the less chance they could commandeer the plan or ruin it. Yet you still asked just in case he needed you.

“Maybe. Before that, can I ask you something?”

You frowned. “Of course. You can ask me anything, you know that.”

“You’ve been saying that since we met. Is it really true?” Claude smirked and raised a single brow, only for you to shove him harmlessly.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” You eyed him for a moment, worry mounting. “Was that what you wanted to ask me?”

The prince shook his head, as if he were getting off track. “No. I wanted to know where you plan to go. What are your plans for the future?”

“Oh! Oh.” You frowned when the sudden realization that you had no plans slammed into you. “I don’t.  .  . know. I haven’t thought about it. I’ve been so busy supporting everyone else, doing what I can for them, that I don’t know what to do with myself. Everyone’s grown up. They’re all doing their own thing, starting their own lives. No one needs me anymore.”

“That’s not true.” Claude’s voice was firm in your ear, and his expression was set to match. You smiled meekly.

“I grew up with all of you, but it felt like my purpose was to help you all find yours. Not that I really think I’m capable of being that helpful, but I never took the time to think about myself. I was too worried about you all reaching your dreams that I didn’t have one. I don’t have one.” You amended the last part quickly because it was blatantly clear to you that you had no direction to go in.

“There has to be something you want.” Claude pushed. You laughed.

“At the risk of repeating myself, I want what you want. I want you to succeed.” You opened your mouth again, but were quick to clamp them shut when another thought arose. I want to be with you.

It was lovely to imagine, but you had lived with the fact that any future with him was left solely to your imagination. You met him as an heir, and you knew him now as a prince. The differences in your status was vast and hard to ignore. Claude had his mind set on making those differences unimportant, but you doubted that he could find room in his heart for you. He had a country to take care of and love, not to mention you two had been friends since the start of your time at the academy. Too much time had passed since then, and while your feelings had grown deeper and more troublesome, you were sure he had none to begin with. No, as students, he had been too preoccupied with tormenting you. Teasing, poking, taking up your time with nonsense and rarely giving you a moment to yourself.

Despite him being a brat at times, you loved him. And even if he didn’t reciprocate, you were grateful to have known him at all.

“So you’re not bound to Fódlan?” His voice shook you from your thoughts.

“What?”

“Do you have any obligations here in Fódlan?” His gaze was so intently set on you that it made you squirm, the feeling ten times worse since coming out of your own head.

“No, not that I can think of.” You couldn’t recall making any promises.

“Right, so you could leave.” Claude hummed thoughtfully and got to his feet. Once upright, he dusted the grass from his clothes and offered you a hand. Confused, you took it and let him pull you into standing.

“I guess I could, but where would I even go? I don’t know anyone outside of Fódlan.” You felt something subtle was being said, you couldn’t catch on. Some days, you could. You had learned him just as he had learned you, but he was always several steps ahead. You could read him, but only the pages he allowed you to see. In this case, the pages were written on, but only in bits and pieces.

Claude gave you a pointed stare and a gentle, encouraging squeeze to your hand. When you failed to understand, he raised both eyebrows and pointed to himself. No words were needed. His gestures and odd line of questioning were like a clarifying slap to the face. You reeled, giving him a wide-eyed stare while sputtering idiotically.

“Wh——”

“That took you while. I was starting to worry I’d have to spell it out for you.” Claude put on a convincing pout. “Unless this is your weird way of telling me you don’t want to come with me.”

“No!” You leaped too soon, your eagerness prompting a smirk on the prince’s face. You fell silent again, worried that saying anything more might reveal all of what you had been trying to hide for over five years. “I’m not saying that.”

“What are you saying?” He purred cunningly, hand still holding tightly to yours. You didn’t resist when he to eased you closer, your heart screaming in your chest. Cheeks red and breaths shallow, you could hardly think. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening.

I’m still napping, and this is just another stupid dream.

You swallowed hard and peered up at him. “I think I should be asking you that, Mr. Vague.”

“Ah-ah,” chided the cheeky man, “you’ll have to address me as Prince Vague now.”

You scoffed and gave him another shove. When your hand pressed to his shoulder, he trapped it there with his own. Even closer now, Claude lowered his head until your noses nearly touched. You sucked in a breath and found yourself unable to move away, attention trapped in his bright, beautiful eyes.

“You want to know what I’m asking you?” He lowered his voice, tone growing tender and warm. You nodded. “I’m asking if you’ll come home with me. I want you to meet my parents and my people, and I want them to meet you. I want them to love you as much as——”

He choked for a moment, a rare flicker of pure emotion startling him.

“As much as what?” You didn’t want to get your hopes up, but he was making it incredibly difficult not to.

Claude calmed himself with a shaky breath and tilted his chin down, lips barely ghosting the curve of your cheek. His eyes fluttered half closed, while a single lock of his dark hair tickled at your cheek. When you didn’t shy away, he spoke again in honeyed tones. “I want them to love you as much as I do.”

“You can’t mean that.” Your entire being felt numb with glee, but you couldn’t process his confession without a little doubt. He met your doubt with a chuckle, so you persisted. “Why me?”

“Why not you?” He nuzzled into your cheek, and you felt the compulsion to reach up and thread your fingers through his hair. You had done so many times before, letting the gentle touches calm him during his bad days, but there was new meaning behind it now. There was an honest love behind it as your dragged your fingers through the strands, pushing them back and away from his darling face.

“There were so many others.  .  .” So many people wanted his attention, his affection. You were but one in a thousand that longed for him.

“I didn’t care. I dreamed of many futures, and all of the best ones had you standing there beside me.” He muttered into you, the softest of kisses resting just under your eye.

“We argued so much.” You shuddered, warmth blooming in your cheeks.

“You kept me grounded. How can anyone expect to be a decent ruler if they’re always agreed with?” He countered. You huffed and tried to think of another argument.

“You used to tease me all the time.” You muttered.

“I’ll admit that was dumb of me, but it felt like the only way to get your attention.” His lips found the tip of your nose, and you couldn’t contain a snicker. “You looked so cute when you were embarrassed, especially when you wrinkled your nose. I couldn’t help it.”

“Why do I feel like you still can’t help it?” You tucked a lock of his hair behind his ear and let your fingers follow the path of his facial hair. He was putty in your hands, cheek pressing to your hand.

“It’s part of my charm.” Claude flashed his usual smile, then took a step back. The lack of closeness left you feeling a little colder, but the distance let you appreciate him fully. Tall, handsome, commanding. You were exceedingly proud of him, and you felt yourself falling for him all over again. But before you could think to speak, he started again. “You don’t have to answer me right away. I know this a lot to ask of you, so I want to give you the time you need. I’m leaving in two days. Meet me at the——”

You didn’t allow him to finish. Your heart was too full and on the verge of bursting, and it seemed silly to you that he didn’t know what your answer would be when he was so skilled at predicting you. Rather than let him wonder, you removed your hands from his and took his face between them. You gathered your courage, mustered with his help, and pulled him down for a soft but silencing kiss.

Claude wasn’t often rendered speechless, but he supposed he didn’t mind being put in his place if it meant your lips fitting against his as perfectly as they did. Unfortunately for him and the heat radiating throughout him, you didn’t let the kiss last long. He wanted to wrap you in his arms and crush you against his chest like he’d long to for years, but you parted from him too soon for his liking.

“Where are you going?” He took chase, but you placed your hand over his mouth. Claude stilled and arched a brow.

“I’ve had my answer for years, Claude. I’m with you in every possible way. But if I ask you a question, will you answer me honestly?” You uncovered his mouth, but his silence told you more than words would. “How long have you, uh.  .  .”

“Cared for you? Admired you? Wanted to kiss you the way you just kissed me?” Every question he posed in response to yours made your heart thud and your cheeks burn. “A long, long time.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“I was never given the chance.” He answered so surely that you wondered if he had those words prepared. You couldn’t pester him about it — too many things had gone horribly wrong during your time at the academy, and it didn’t make sense to plant seeds in dead soil. There would have been no guarantee that it would bloom and flourish, but with the land starting a slow recovery, you hoped that what you two started here would become lusher and more far-reaching than any forest in Fódlan.

“It’s alright.” You giggled giddily and granted him another kiss, this one to the corner of his lips. “We were given our chance, and you took it.”

“Does that mean you’re going home with me?” He asked.

“I told you——”

“I want to hear you say the words.” Claude softly pleaded. Weak for his doe eyes, you melted in his arms and relented.

“I’m going home with you, Claude. I want to meet your parents, and I want to get to know your people. And for as long as I’m there, for as long as you’ll have me, I want to get to know you better.”

A soft sigh tinged with relief escaped the man as his head came to rest on your shoulder. His grasp on you tightened, and you felt his heart beat against your chest.

“Thank you.”

You smiled and embraced him. “Don’t thank me. Just take me home.  .  .”

[nothoughtsonlynat]

Resurrect Me (N.R.)

Warnings: swearing; death; Hell/the Underworld; cliff jumping lol

Word Count≈ 3.1k (yikes lol my bad)

Hecate一 the goddess of magic, witchcraft, the night, the moon, ghosts, and necromancy. Known to be an intricate mosaic of good and evil, destruction and beauty. Capable of granting wishes, summoning the dead, resurrections, teleportation, warping realities on unfathomable scales, mind control, energy manipulation, and any sorcery or magic known to the Gods. Second only to Zeus himself.

I am the human embodiment of Hecate. I am not Hecate; she merely resides in the depths of my soul and provides me guidance. We do not communicate through words; she speaks through dreams and gut feelings, and sometimes even through signs in the outside world. I have not mastered the powers she’s granted me, nor have I reached my full potential. In addition to the Goddess’ powers, I hold the basic Olympian powers, such as superhuman speed and stamina. I have no recollection of how I merged with Hecate or the life I lived before this point, and she has provided me with no answers, but I do not question her motives. 

Agent Phil Coulson came across me in my temple in Turkey. Apparently, he had discovered strange energy readings coming from the temple. When he arrived, I used the power of energy manipulation to blow the concrete off of me, and that is the first thing I remember一 emerging from underneath Hecate’s temple.

I joined the Avengers during the Battle of New York. Agent Coulson had recommended me to Fury when he was piecing together the Avengers Initiative. In the three years between my awakening and the invasion, I practiced my sorcery mercilessly and studied Hecate deep in the Greek countryside. I’ve stuck with the Avengers throughout the years, fighting every battle alongside them. Through the ups and downs, I’ve fallen head over heels for Natasha Romanoff. One would assume that with so much power, I’d be confident and have any mortal begging at my feet. That couldn’t be any more inaccurate, however. As I’ve said, I am not Hecate; I am simply the human embodiment of the goddess. And as a human, I turn into a blushing, stuttering mess whenever the levelheaded assassin is near. Consequently, there have been many years of pining, but I’ve yet to muster up the courage to ask the woman on a date.

In our most recent war, we’ve gone up against a mad titan一 Thanos. We lost terribly. Half of all living things inhabiting the universe were snapped away. I can’t help but ponder whether things would’ve gone differently if I had better mastered my powers. I potentially hold all the capabilities of the goddess of magic; aside from Zeus, I hold more power than any being to ever exist. I’ve practiced my sorcery every day for the past five years on the off chance that we ever get a rematch一 a chance to bring everyone back. I’ve improved significantly, but Hecate has been oddly quiet for the past few years. It’s driving me crazy. I know she’s still there, but she hardly provides an ounce of guidance.

And so, that is where I find myself now一 practicing sorcery in the room specifically designed to isolate me when I use dark magic. Everyone who has access to the training section of the compound knows that they should never enter this room. It is far too dangerous for regular mortals. As I warp the room’s reality, a dark mist envelops me. When it clears, the room has changed into a 50s ballroom. I look down to see an elegant maroon ball gown covering my body, and I scan the empty area. I hear a pair of heels clicking toward me, and I spin around, already panicking. In order for someone to be here with me, they would have to be an inhabitant of the location’s true reality. My eyes land upon the woman I’ve grown to love, dressed up for the event. She is wearing an extravagant light blue ball gown, and her hair is carefully done up. 

“Natasha? What are you doing here?”

“Why I came to dance with you, of course.” She steps closer and drapes her arms around my neck, swaying to the nonexistent music. Stay calm. Don’t panic. There’s no way I’m making her do this. I’m not even doing anything! Of course I’m the one making her do this, who else would it be?! Breathe in. Breathe out. My powers don’t control me. I control them. Just breathe. I can do this. I know how to do this.

As I focus on the magic coursing through my veins, a black mist envelops us, and the room returns to its original form一 a basic training room with black padded walls. I immediately take a large step back from Natasha.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Natasha?! You know you can’t come in here! I could’ve seriously hurt you!”

“I...I’m sorry. I thought you’d just be moving shit with your mind. I didn’t realize you could do...that, whatever that was.”

“That was reality manipulation. I didn’t know you were here and I don’t have full control of it, so you got caught up in it. Are you okay? Do you remember it?”

“Yeah, I remember it clear as day. I was still me and I was still in control, it was just...different, I guess.”

“Well, I literally warped your reality, so even if you felt in control, you might not have been.”

“You stopped it, though. I remember when that seemed impossible. You’re getting better.”

“Thanks, I guess.” I awkwardly scratch the back of my neck. “What did you come in here for in the first place?”

“This is gonna sound crazy, but Scott Lang is here. We might have a way to bring everybody back.”

“Wait, what? Holy shit. It’s happening. Okay, come on then!” I eagerly walk past her, grabbing her hand as I pass her, and we leave my training room. I realize that I’m still holding her hand as we make it to the meeting room, and I immediately drop it, clearing my throat. If I wasn’t so familiar with the sensation, then I would swear that my ears and cheeks are on fire.

<//>

We all step onto the platform in matching white and red time-travel suits. “We’re really doing this?”

“Hell yeah, we’re doing this,” Clint answers.

“Alright, then. We bring everybody back,” I say with determination. “Whatever it takes,” Steve adds.

“See you in a minute,” Natasha adds with a smirk. Before I can appreciate how beautiful she looks with the glimmer of hope in her eyes, we’re flying through a flurry of colors. Nebula, Natasha, Rhodey, Clint, and I land on Morag. We all say our respective goodbyes before Nat, Clint, and I get on a jet to head to Vormir.

<//>

“A soul for a soul.”

“What? That’s insane. Look, no offense, Mr. Bloody Tampon, but why should we just trust what you’re saying? Because you know their fathers’ names?”

“I didn’t.” I looked into Natasha’s eyes as she spoke and I instantly wish that I could replace the dull sadness with the bright hope that had filled them before.

“He doesn’t know my father’s name. If he’s some mystical being, then why can’t he tell me that?” I turned to face him as I asked the question.

“I’m afraid you are a mystery. I am meant to know everything about any being who seeks the stone, but I know nothing of your identity.”

“Hm. Seems like a load of bullshit to me,” I deadpanned.

“We need to do this. We need to bring everyone back. I’ve spent the past five years trying to reverse the snap, and now I finally know how to fix it. Let me do it.” As Natasha spoke, she grabbed both of my hands in hers.

“And I’ve spent every day for the past five years training to do this. I wasn’t just practicing sorcery and talking to dead people for fun, Nat. All I wanted was to do better一 to fix this. If anyone is jumping off that cliff, it’s gonna be me.”

“No. Absolutely not. Neither of you is dying for that stone. I’ve done horrible things these past few years. I’ve killed...so many people. It should be me,” Clint says, and Natasha and I turn to face him, but one of her hands remains in mine.

“No way in hell, Clint. And not you either, Nat. Both of you guys have families. You’re not sacrificing yourselves. I won’t let you. And you can’t stop me even if you try.” Nat gives me a questioning look as I mention her family and I speak in her head ‘I know about them, Nat. And they need you. She needs her big sister.’

“What are you saying?” I can hear the anxiety lacing Nat’s words, and it causes a pit to form in my stomach.

“I think you know what I’m saying, Natty.” 

“Then you don’t leave me much of a choice.” She shoots a Widow’s Bite toward me, but I stop it using energy manipulation without even having to lift a finger.

“You can’t beat me, Nat. Please, don’t fight me on this.”

“I call bullshit.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Clint running toward the edge while we’re distracted, and I teleport in front of him, throwing him backward. I use mind control to force him to stay down. I sense Natasha running toward the edge behind me, and I teleport in front of her. I use energy manipulation to keep her in place, and I grab onto her biceps.

“I’m really sorry, Nat. I hate that I’m doing this to you, but I can’t let you throw yourself off a cliff for some stupid stone. Your life is worth so much more than that. You’re an amazing person, and your ledger was cleared of its red so long ago. Don’t let anyone tell you any different.”

“This is sounding an awful lot like a goodbye.”

“You can be sarcastic all you want, but I’m not walking out of this one, Natty.”

“Don’t do this. The team needs you.”

“No, they don’t, Nat, and we both know it. They need you.”

“And what if I need you?!”

“Well if that’s the case, you’ll figure it out, just like you always do. Don’t let something like this hold you back. Goodbye, Natasha Romanoff.” I kiss her cheek before turning around. I start walking towards the edge, but it quickly turns into a sprinting pace as I hear Nat screaming for me to stop. Just before I reach the edge, I lift the mind control from Clint and I release Nat, just in case it doesn’t automatically lift when I die. I push myself off the cliff, turning mid-jump so I’m not facing the ground. As I’m falling through the air, I see Clint holding Nat in his arms as her screams fill my ears. I hit the ground and everything goes black.

<//>

“Hello, y/n. It’s good to see you again.” I sat up and一 what the hell is that smell? “Ah, yes. That would be burning flesh. Welcome to Hell, darling.”

“Uh...what? Who are you?”

“Yes, I suppose I should explain, hm? I am Hecate, Goddess of一”

“Yeah, I know what you’re the goddess of. How did I get here?”

“I thought you were smarter than this. You died, obviously.”

“And went to Hell? Damn.”

“Oh, relax. Hell isn’t what the mortals think it is. This is the Underworld. All of the dead reside here. The bad people get punished, the good people don’t. Simple as that. We don’t have a lot of time, so I need to explain. I am cursed; I cannot leave the Underworld. However, my human embodiment can, and that is where you come into play. You hold all my power, and I can see you’ve been practicing, but you’ve never lived up to your full potential.”

“Hey! Rude!”

“Don’t interrupt. I didn’t allow you to live up to your full potential, not until we met, anyway.”

“And I had to die in order for that to happen?”

“Yes. I’m giving you all of my power, but I can still stop you if I ever need to. I know you don’t want to risk hurting the people you love, especially the redhead, but you need to trust yourself. Trust your powers. Have a little faith. You are a goddess, remember. Don’t let people forget it. That purple thumb is nothing compared to you, even with his colorful rocks. Your family needs you now. You must help them.”

“That’s it? Why do they need help? How will I know what to do?”

“I will always be there to help you, Y/N. You can handle this. This is nothing. You are part of me, just as I am part of you. You are my daughter, after all. I should know your capabilities better than anyone.”

“Wait, daughter?!”

“Oh, did I forget to mention that part? Oh well, it doesn’t matter right now, anyway. You need to go.”

“Go where?”

“Home, darling.” 

The earth above us cracks open and I can hear faint sounds of fighting on the surface. I look at Hecate as she nods. Before I even realize I’m doing it, black mist surrounds my body and lifts me through the crack. I step out of the mist onto the ground and a staff appears in my right hand. I tap it once on the ground and my white suit is replaced by an all-black leather outfit that’s definitely made for a goddess. I smirk and make eye contact with the titan across the battlefield. His sickly creatures race toward me as they notice the new threat on the field. I summon an army of ghouls from the cracks in the earth. As the aliens and the undead clash, I teleport in front of Thanos.

“And who might you be, dear?” He acts confident, but I can sense his fear.

“I am Y/N, daughter of Hecate.” He tilts his head in a questioning manner. “Oh, did someone not study mythology? Hm, then let’s be blunt, shall we? I’m a goddess, ass-chin.” I throw my staff at his throat, but he catches it. He moves to swing his large sword at me, but I capture his arm in black mist. When he tries to move the other arm, I restrain that one, as well. “Well, that surely can’t be all you’ve got, hm? Pity, I thought it’d be more exciting than that.” If I were to look in a mirror at that moment, I would’ve noticed my ghostly pale skin, black eyes, and the raw power spreading through my veins like a black road-map.

“It’s not over yet, my dear child.” Before I can question the meaning of his words, an alien tosses him the gauntlet. It slides on his exposed hand, but I hold it open with dark magic. I look around and notice that the army of the undead is nowhere to be seen. My teammates are pinned down, even with the help of those who were snapped. There is a feeling in my gut and a voice in my head that tells me what I must do. I pull the gauntlet off his hand with black mist and slide my hand inside. I feel the power surging into my body. “What are you doing? That power will kill you!” Thanos sounds truly desperate.

“That’s cute. Truly, it is, but you can’t kill someone who’s already dead.” I close my hand and snap my fingers. His army fades to dust and he slumps to the ground before floating away with them. I drop the gauntlet to the ground and look around. Natasha runs toward me and throws her arms around my neck in a firm hug.

“Wha一what happened to you? How are you here? I thought you died!”

I wrap my arms around her waist and rest my chin on her shoulder before saying, “I did die. I am dead.”

She pulls away and looks at me from head to toe. “Well that explains why you’re so damn pale, but now I have so many more questions.”

“I am Hecate’s daughter, so I am technically a goddess, like her. I’m not sure if I was technically resurrected or not, but I can probably一”

She cut me off with a gentle yet passionate kiss. She pulls away and searches my eyes. “I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time,” she admits.

“Me too,” I breathe out.

“Yeah, I picked up on that. You’re not very discrete.” I laughed and a smirk spread across her face. “As sexy as this whole ‘powerful goddess’ thing is, am I going to get the old you back? You know, the one who blushes whenever I look at her? The one who’s, like, alive?”

I smile at her and glance down at her lips as a thick black mist appears behind me. I step backward into it as her face morphs into a look of confusion. She disappears from sight as a wall of black fills my vision, and a surge of power spreads throughout my body. I fall to my knees and the black cloud disappears. Natasha rushes over and kneels in front of me. “Are you okay? What the hell was that?”

“I’m not entirely sure, but I think I’m alive again.” I lift my head and meet her eyes.

“Your skin isn’t crazy pale anymore, and your eyes are their normal color again.”

“Sweet.”

“Cool.”

We both crack up and I lean my forehead against hers as our laughter fades.

Tony interrupts our moment of peace. “This is all good and dandy, but does someone wanna explain what the hell just happened?”

I raise my head and look at my teammates一 my family. “I kicked the purple thumb’s ass. That’s what happened.” I can feel a warm presence in my heart, and I know that my mother is with me.

“Yes, yes, I noticed. I also noticed a bunch of demons. Care to explain that one?”

“They weren’t demons...they were just...the souls...of dead people. I can summon the dead. You knew that.”

“Uh, I definitely didn’t know that.” I laugh and shake my head at the eccentric man. 

I stand up, pulling Natasha with me, and bring her into another embrace. “I’m really glad you’re okay, Natty,” I whisper in her ear before pressing a delicate kiss to her temple.

A/N: I literally had this completely finished and edited over a month ago and I hadn’t posted it yet soooooo... idk here it is

[ginwalt]

Never Quite Free (Natasha x Reader)

Summary: Natasha grows concerned after you start ignoring her and decides to check on you.

!TW WARNINGS: Implied sexual assault, PTSD, and panic attacks! (lots of fluff near the end to make up for it i promise)

A/N: just a vent fic,,, as a treat. The song referenced in the fic is Never Quite Free by The Mountain Goats, in case you want to listen to it for context though you don't have to.

--

It's all good to learn that right outside your window There's only friendly fields and open roads And you'll sleep better when you think You've stepped back from the brink And found some peace inside yourself Laid down your heavy load It gets all right to dream at night Believe in solid skies and slate blue earth below But when you see him you'll know

For the longest time, going out into the world was like maneuvering across a field of landmines. The bombs could be set off by nearly anything, from minute details that had latched themselves to the back of your mind to glaring reminders that were almost impossible to ignore. Anything and everything that reminded you of him had seeped its way into the cracks in your brain, leaving irreparable stains and water damage in its wake. From the smell of cedar and pine aftershave to the brassy sound of a jazz trumpet on a passing radio, these reminders were minuscule as thumbtacks, and yet they felt like railroad spikes being hammered into your chest and skull.

In the past, you would bury yourself in work or drink yourself nearly to death to escape his ever-present grasp on your mind. Your life had been filled with you shoveling meaningless noise into your routine in attempts to block out the alarm that always seemed a pin trigger away from sounding in your head. Then, you met Natasha. You learned that she knew over seven languages and almost exclusively cussed in Russian when she was pissed enough. You memorized her favorite shows and books and how she snored like a lawnmower when she laid on her left side- a fact she vehemently denied. Natasha Romanov was caring, smart, strong, and oh so protective.

It's okay to find the faith to saunter forward With no fear of shadows spreading where you stand And you'll breathe easier just knowing that the worst is all behind you And the waves that tossed the raft all night have set you on dry land It gets okay to praise the day Believe in sheltering skies and stable earth beneath

These little bits of information filled your mind and heart with endearment and love, thoroughly pushing the smell of cedar aftershave and rot to the far back of your mind. And that was where he stayed for the longest time. For a whole two years, you filled your days with movie dates, forehead kisses, and late-night cuddles. She introduced you to her friends, Steve Rogers, Carol Danvers, Wanda Maximoff; you even befriended Tony Stark- though Natasha never explicitly refers to him as a friend. Everything was going so well for the first time since before you met him. But, like a cockroach, your past is not so easily killed.

But hear his breath come through his teeth,

Walk by faith Tell no one what you've seen

You were at a local coffee shop when you noticed him. He was sitting at the table adjacent to yours, scrolling through his laptop, briefcase at his side. When you beheld him, it was as if your muscles were turning to concrete slabs. They were dragging you down, below the faded wooden floorboards, below the concrete foundation, until you were choking on dirt and rocks. It took you nearly five minutes to realize it was not him. However, him or not, the damage was done. Because you had seen his well-kempt mustache and graying sideburns, had seen his eyes the color of a lethal tundra. You could have sworn you felt those eyes watch you as you rushed out of the café and into the crowded streets.

From that day on, he was back. He visited you in sleep and trailed you all throughout work—a hefty shadow. However, it was not until you were in bed with Natasha that it came to its tipping point.

Your fiancée, having noticed your peculiar attitude, had decided to surprise you with a night of candles and wine. Not wanting her to be more concerned than she already was, you played along. You forced yourself to reciprocate every kiss and caress despite the acid in your throat and the timpani in your chest. Eventually, Natasha swept you off your feet into a bridal style carry and led you into her bedroom. Gently setting you on the bed, she quickly straddled your hips. Leaning down, she cupped your cheeks and pulled you into a heated kiss. You swallowed down bile and half-heartedly opened your mouth to allow her tongue space to explore. She groaned and tore off her shirt as she pulled away from you.

"God, you're so sexy," she murmured, grinding her hips further against your abdomen. Natasha grabbed at your shirt, pulling it off your torso before chucking it across the room. You felt your throat tighten as your upper body was exposed to the elements. Your fiancée set about yanking off your sweatpants, murmuring bits of praise under her breath as she did so. Her gentle lithe hands seemed to grown more masculine and rough the longer they touched your bare skin. Her body morphed into the familiar form of a naked man. His sickeningly familiar graying mustache and coarse chest hair set flares of frigid panic through your body. He was here, he was here, hewasherehewashere.

Your body convulsed and kicked out at your assailant; flashes of his rough hands forcing your legs apart fueled the strength behind your attacks as you lunged to your feet. You shoved him off of you with a borderline unhinged snarl.

"Get the fuck away from me, Castor!" You screamed before hurriedly shoving on your clothes and sprinting out the door of the apartment. He was following you. You could hear his heavy footsteps thudding behind you. Your thighs burned from the sudden exercise, and the roaring in your ears drowned out your surroundings. You shoved your way into the elevator, nearly punching the first-floor button with your fist. Sweat dripped down the nape of your neck as you struggled to suck in breaths of air. Clutching your chest, you allowed your knees to collapse.

When the elevator slid open, you shot to your feet and ran through the lobby, out into the cool night. You clumsily pushed people aside, his voice clawing through your ear canal. You wildly waved down a taxi and slid into the back. Your voice was as flimsy as tissue paper as you gave the driver your address.

When you got home, you slid all three locks into place and snapped your curtains shut. You huddled under your blanket and slowly succumbed to a sleepless night.

--

Natasha was many things, but a worrier was not one of them. Why should she spend all her time fretting when she could just get up and solve the damn problem herself? However, after three days of complete radio silence on your end, she was sorely tempted to break into your apartment. That night, you had rushed out of her apartment as if the Devil himself had been at your heels. The look in your eyes had been that of a wounded animal. Natasha felt her stomach clench with anxiety as she stared down at her phone. 37 texts, 10 calls, 10 voicemails, and not a single message answered. You were always a punctual texter, which only made her worry worsen.

Natasha shoved her phone back in her back pocket and took a long sip of her coffee. What the hell could have caused you to run out of her apartment mid-sex? Not to mention, who the hell was Castor? Natasha finished off her coffee and set her red and black spider mug in the sink. The cup had been a 6-month anniversary gift, and she made sure to drink out of it every chance she got. After cleaning up the last of her breakfast, Natasha pulled out her phone once more and typed out another message.

Nat: darling I've tried giving you space but its been 3 days and I'm worried. I'm coming over.

Natasha moved to put the device away; however, after a second, she reconsidered it and unlocked it once more.

Nat: I love you <3

Pushing the phone into her pocket, she rushed out the door. When Natasha arrived at your apartment door, she immediately pulled out her phone once more. Nothing. She huffed a shaky breath and pulled out her copy of the apartment key. You had given it to her after you almost burnt down your apartment trying to cook for their date that night. She had to rush over to your apartment to clean up the damage done by the small grease fire and cook you both last-minute spaghetti.

She twisted the key in the lock and quietly pushed the door open. The apartment felt akin to a tomb. The curtains were drawn, and all the lights were off. Dirty dishes were piled up Tetris style in and around the sink, not to mention the empty takeout containers strewn throughout the living room and dining table. The TV was quietly playing It Chapter 2, yet you were nowhere in sight.

Worry continued to grip the assassin's chest as she called out, "Y/n, kotyonok are you here?" Being cautious of the numerous fast-food containers and clothing items thrown about, Natasha made her way towards your bedroom door. She hesitated for a moment before steeling her nerves and carefully knocking on your door. For a moment, she heard nothing, only the faint sound of Pennywise's voice coming from the living room. Then, just as she turned the knob to open the door, she heard whimpering. Her heart ramped up to a gallop as she quickly opened the door to your bedroom.

Natasha was certain she had seen war zone's tidier than this. Clothes covered nearly every inch of the bedroom, mattress, and wardrobe. Not to mention the numerous crumpled tissues and fallen picture frames. However, the state of your room was hardly her first concern because in the center of it all, huddled in shaking ball, was you. Painful sobs were rasping from your lips as you burrowed your face further into your knees. Your hair was tangled and greasy, and you were wearing one of Natasha's sweaters with a food-stained pair of boxer shorts.

The assassin felt sorely tempted to sprint across the rooms and scoop you into her arms. Instead, she went for the safer route, which was carefully wading through the mess over to your side of the bed. Tutting quietly, Natasha swallowed the urge to cry alongside you as she quietly cleared her throat. "Mon trésor, can you hear me?" she whispered, setting a hand next to your own, cautious not to make contact.

Instead of a relieved smile or a tired 'yes' like Natasha had expected, your entire body flinched away as if you had been punched. Your eyes snapped open as you scrambled across the bed, looking around hysterically. "Castor?" you called out, eyes wild with panic.

Natasha furrowed her brows and backed away from you. "Y/n it's me, Nat. I'm not here to hurt you; I just needed to see if you were okay."

Slowly, your eyes shone with recognition. Your body, however, remained as taught as before as you studied your fiancée carefully as if she was a trick or a mirage. Natasha felt her heart fracture slightly at the display of fear. "Nat?" Your voice was quiet and raspy; if she had not seen your mouth move, she would not have registered that you were speaking.

"Yes, kotyonok, it's me."

You furrowed your brows and brought your knees back up to your chest. "Wha-what're you doing here?" You asked, your voice slurred and shaky from the sobs racking your body.

Natasha carefully sat down on the edge of the bed, "I have been so worried about you. After you ran out on me a few days ago, I have been trying to check to see if you are okay."

Your face crumbled once more as you buried your face in your knees, "I-I'm," you hiccup, "Sorry, Nat."

Natasha tutted dotingly and slid back so that she sat beside you, still cautious not to touch. "Hey, hey, it's okay, darling. You're okay; just breathe for me. Can you do that, sweetie?"

You inhaled quick stuttering breathe, which quickly dissolved into hyperventilating. You clutched at your hair and squeezed your eyes shut.

Your fiancée watched with a heartbroken expression, "You're okay, you're okay, just keep trying. Can I touch you?" You nodded shakily as she pulled you onto her lap. Gently, she pulled your fists from your hair and replaced them with her own. She stroked your knotted locks and quietly cooed sweet nothings into your ear. She guided your fist to rest atop her chest as she whispered, "Copy my breathing okay, mon trésor?" Sucking in exaggerated breaths, she held her hand atop your own to keep it in place. After a few tries, your breathing eventually settled, and you let out a long whimpery sigh.

It's all good to learn that from right here the view goes on forever And you'll never want for comfort and you'll never be alone See the sunset turning red let all be quiet in your head And look about, all the stars are coming out They shine like steel swords Wish me well where I go But when you see me you'll know

Natasha smiled and kissed the top of your head, "You're doing so well, my love. Nothings going to get you while I'm here, I promise."

You burrowed further into her lap and placed your head atop her chest, letting the sound of her steady heartbeat soothe you into a lull. The two of you sat there for what seemed like eons as you soaked in the feeling of safety and warmth. Natasha hummed quietly, placing chaste kisses on the crown of your head every once in a while.

Sucking in a breath, you spoke, "He was a family friend." Natasha's humming stopped as she looked down at you. "His name was Castor Davids, and my dad met him at work. He was nice at first, sort of like a goofy rich uncle. He would always buy me new toys and books. He would even take me out for ice cream. Even when I got into fights with my parents, I knew I could always talk to him when I was upset. But then..." you gulped, your voice breaking. Natasha continued stroking your hair. "But then one day, he was babysitting me while my parents were out at a baby shower. H-he..." Your words broke off into a sob, and your fiancée quickly shushed you.

"You're safe; you're here with me. No one can hurt you, I promise. Just relax, darling. Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me that you're safe now." Eventually, after a few more minutes of comforting words and protective hugs, the phantom hands that had been grasping at you for days disappeared.

You burrowed your head further into her chest and huffed, " 'm sorry I ran out on you the other night. I shoulda texted."

Natasha chuckled humorlessly, "Darling, that is the least of my worries. What I am worried about, however, is the last time you had an actual healthy dinner." You looked down at your lap sheepishly and shrugged. Natasha playfully pinched your side and untangled herself from your hold. You whined at the loss of contact and looked up at her accusingly. "I am going to make you a proper dinner, and we are going to sit down and watch stupid TV shows."

You huffed, "Can we watch House Hunters?"

Natasha sighed and nodded, "Fine, only because I love you, though." You grinned and slid out of bed. Your fiancée inspected you with a grimace, "First, we're going to take a shower."

--

TAG LIST:

@midnight-lestrange

[novelconcepts]

FOUND IT!!! Consider this an official ask for 3 and 14 combined! #wheee

smiling into a kiss and play wrestling

Having a best friend again is strange. She’d gone so long imagining the phrase as a sort of neon sign staked firmly in the past: Best Friend, already spoken for. Eddie had always been it; no other volunteers need apply. 

But Eddie’s gone now, out of her life, living out wherever his might go in another country altogether, and Dani finds the position has--slowly, without really planning for it--been filled once more. Not that she planned for it. Not that could ever could have. 

She didn’t come to Bly looking for Jamie, and if you’d told her the gardener who refused to so much as meet her eyes, much less introduce herself, would become the most important person in her life--well. Life is full of surprises.

There is so little of Eddie in Jamie, she sometimes wonders how both could have occupied the same shape in her heart. Sometimes wonders how Eddie--who prized cleanliness, routine work hours, dinners at his mother’s once a week--would look at Jamie, if he could see her. Jamie, all tousled hair, happiest with a cigarette between her teeth and both hands buried in soil. Jamie, who has never kept a nine-to-five, never craved Sunday afternoons with her parents, never looks at Dani like she expects firm posture, bright smile, neat clothes. 

They couldn’t possibly be more different--and yet, somehow, Jamie is her best friend. Unfair to think it, maybe, but she might be the best friend Dani’s ever had. Her sense of humor is dark, her vocabulary wallpapered with curse words and shorn letters; she smells of nicotine and sunscreen, dresses in wrinkled flannels and torn jeans. Where Eddie looped an arm around her shoulders, Jamie nudges her with bony elbows; where Eddie pressed his lips to her temple, Jamie leans carefully away. Different, in every measure. 

And it isn’t that she likes Jamie more. That wouldn’t be fair--not after so many years in Eddie’s company. It’s just that when Jamie looks at her, eyes bright, dirt smudged on one cheek, sometimes, she feels...

“You’re thinking,” Jamie observes. She doesn’t say it the way Eddie would--the way he always pointed out when she was clenching her fist under the table, or picking at her nails, his voice edged with concern bordering on condescension. Her voice is light, her lips curved in a small smile. 

Eddie never quite smiled at her like that. Or, if he did, it didn't pluck the same chord in her stomach. Not that that matters. Not that that affects the sincerity of friendship. 

Not that it’s making her feel weirdly flushed this afternoon. 

“Am I not allowed to think?” she asks. The sun, she thinks, is responsible for the goofy smile on her face. The heat of the day, which stretches on and on the way only early July knows how.

“Not arguing,” Jamie says. “One of us ought to.”

She’s on her knees, pulling weeds, her face shining with sweat. There’s something about days like this--afternoons where the kids are occupied helping Owen bake cookies, leaving Dani to nurse a glass of water and pleasantly-meandering conversation--that feels almost too good to be allowed. Eddie would have wanted to do something with a day like this: hike, or clear up the yard, or go visit family. 

Jamie, on the other hand, pushes to her feet and surveys the bed she’s spent all day working. “Think that’s good enough for a break. Here, budge over.”

Dani obediently scoots to the edge of her seat, amused when Jamie flops down half in her lap. A year of working at the manor, and Jamie’s gone from a woman who couldn’t make eye contact to save her life to this: gangly limbs tossed haphazardly over Dani’s, sweat-slick skin sticking where it lands against Dani’s shoulder. It’s too hot for cozying up like this, but she can’t seem to convince herself to push Jamie away. 

“There,” Jamie sighs, tilting her head back against the plastic of the lawn chair. “Christ, feels good just to breathe.”

“You breathe,” Dani says, “and I’ll think. Together, we make an almost-functional human being.”

“Almost,” Jamie says wryly. Her hand loops around Dani’s, teasing the sweating glass out of her grip long enough to take a sip. Dani nudges her. 

“Could get you one of your own, if you ever learned to ask politely.”

“Don’t like me polite,” Jamie says with a shrug. “My brand is prickly-yet-charming, and we both know I’m your favorite for it.”

“Technically,” Dani corrects, “Flora is my favorite. Mainly because she doesn’t make me remind her to say please.”

“Please,” Jamie says without missing a beat, “keep pretending you aren’t captivated by my winning personality.”

Dani laughs. “Oh, is that what I am?”

“Mm.” Jamie takes another sip, reaches over her to set the glass down on the table, closes her eyes. “S’what you were all pensive about just now, I’m sure. How entranced you are with my witty banter.”

“Entranced,” Dani repeats.

“Beguiled. Mesmerized. Drunk with adoration.” Jamie’s face is pink, a bead of sweat neatly lining her upper lip. Dani only realizes she’s staring a fortunate beat before Jamie rolls her head to the left, peering at her with lazy amusement. “Go on. Tell me how much you love me.”

“Love how ridiculous you can be, maybe.” And how sweet, and how unquestioningly soft, though she doesn’t see a need to put that into words--or a way to do it without sounding entirely out of her head. The heat, she thinks, is absolutely getting to her. 

It’s the heat, making her want suddenly to slide an arm between the plastic back of the chair and the cotton of Jamie’s tank top, pulling her even closer. The heat, making her want to displace the normal back-and-forth ease of friendship with something else entirely. 

She’s had a best friend before. She’s never quite wanted to do with Eddie what she is, more and more, thinking about with Jamie curled up beside her. 

Distract, she thinks, because Jamie is still watching her with that half-lidded expression she gets when the sun is particularly bright, the day’s work has been well-tended, and Dani’s shoulder is a cushion beneath her head. More and more, it’s been feeling like a dangerous sort of moment, Jamie’s face lingering near the crook of her neck. Jamie’s breath coasting down the neckline of her dress. Jamie’s smile sweeter than should be allowed, given the grumpy way she slouches around the grounds. 

“Thinking,” Jamie says, her voice almost soft. Dani shakes her head. 

“It’s not illegal.”

“Is,” Jamie says, “if you’re gonna just stare at me all googly-eyed while you do it. C’mon, what gives? Is today some holiday I’ve forgotten?” She sits up a little straighter, her face comic in its sudden concern. “Shit, Poppins, it’s not your birthday.”

She almost wants to say it is, just to watch Jamie turn fascinating new shades of maroon. “No--just--it’s hot.”

Jamie sags back with palpable relief. Her arm is freckled, Dani notices, beyond the norm; the summer is drawing all sorts of secrets from her skin, and it’s suddenly painfully tempting, the urge to trace her nail along these newfound constellations. 

Distract, she thinks again, more urgently this time. Without thinking it through, without considering the consequences, she dips two fingers into the glass of water and flicks the still-cool moisture directly into Jamie’s face. 

Jamie, to her credit, hardly jumps. She’s just blinking at Dani like their conversation has taken an unanticipated left turn into another language, water dripping from the end of her nose. 

“Okay,” she says. “If that’s how we’re playing it.”

Her arm reaches across without hesitation, replicating Dani’s playbook: two fingers dipped, flicked, landing back in her lap as Dani sputters. 

“You got me in the eye.”

“Cooled you off, though?” Jamie asks, almost politely. Dani laughs, and suddenly, it’s war. There’s barely enough room on the chair for the both of them to sit like adults, much less to squirm around, hips knocking, legs tangled up as the remainder of the glass finds its way--droplet by droplet--into Jamie’s face, down Dani’s neck, sometimes missing entirely and disappearing into the sizzling summer air. 

Dani is ultimately the victor, an upset decided when she grasps the glass--now containing maybe two inches of water--and upends it directly over Jamie’s head. She’s laughing almost too hard to breathe, particularly when Jamie gives a firm shake of her hair, looking like a rumpled dog after a bath.

“That,” Jamie says in a low, dangerous tone, “cannot stand.”

She’s up before Dani can stop her, sprinting toward the garden hose uncoiled in the grass. Dani twists in her seat, knees drawn up to her chest, arms extended.

“Don’t you dare!”

“All’s fair,” Jamie says, almost apologetically, depressing the trigger. 

They are, Dani notes somewhere in the back of her mind, full-grown adult women. They are thirty years old, gainfully employed, responsible for the upkeep of an entire house and the well-being of two small children. 

They are also now chasing one another across the lawn, Dani sopping wet, Jamie laughing so hard she nearly trips over her own feet taking a corner too fast. The hose is growing more and more tangled by the minute as she dashes in a zig-zag pattern, periodically firing a jet of water over her shoulder, and Dani has no prayer of catching up--not with her shoes squelching, slipping on wet grass, her lungs clenched around a soundless jag of laughter. 

Adults, she thinks, as Jamie makes the insurmountable error of trying to bolt past her like a quarterback dodging a tackle; she makes a successful leap over the tangled hose, but forgets at the last second to factor in the edge of the lawn chair. Dani has her around the middle before she can dart out of reach, the both of them tumbling over in a cackling heap of grass clippings, puddled hose water, freckled limbs. 

They’re rolling, shouting wordlessly around giggles, Dani struggling to pry the hose out of Jamie’s hands. It’s harder than it looks; Jamie is small, but strong in an annoyingly wiry sort of way. Even when Dani manages to get her onto her back, the water is inescapable, dousing in short jets across her chest, down her arms, pooling awkwardly between them. 

“You are,” she laughs, “a child.”

“Could a child do this?” Jamie replies, jerking upward at the hips with unexpected force. Dani rocks up with her, one hand grasping the sodden front of Jamie’s shirt for balance, and drops back down without budging from her seat. Jamie releases an oof as her back makes rough contact with the ground again, giggling too hard to successfully shove Dani over.

“Yes, actually, I think a child would be exactly that effective,” Dani informs her. Her body has never felt quite this alive, her muscles aching with the effort of an unplanned run. Jamie, chest heaving for breath, is practically glowing. 

“Just want to remind you,” Jamie says, “you did start this.”

“Does that mean I win?” If she hasn’t, she can’t imagine it would feel any better than this: straddling Jamie’s hips in the soft grass, cool water seeping down her back, her dress sticking pleasantly to warm skin. Jamie allows the hose to drop from her grip at last, her head tipped back, eyes closed.

“Call it a draw.”

“What if I wanted to win?” She slides a hand up without thinking, pinning Jamie by the wrist before she can decide to take up her watery weapon again. Jamie draws a deep breath, face flushed, grinning. 

“Guess you’d have to work harder for it.”

Children, Dani thinks--but suddenly, it doesn’t feel childish anymore. Suddenly, she’s overly aware of her dress rucked high around her thighs, of how short Jamie’s shorts really are, how her body is considerably less obscured than usual with her shirt plastered to her frame. Suddenly, she’s aware of Jamie’s hand flexing against the grass, pinned beside her head with a loose enough grip to break--though Jamie isn’t breaking it. Isn’t even trying.

Jamie is, instead, gazing up at her with hair mussed, eyes bright. Jamie, whose free hand is sliding up to rest along the curve of Dani’s hip. 

She’s Dani’s best friend, like he was, but this doesn’t feel like it belongs in the same category as late-night stories swapped by the fire, or letting each other steal the vegetables the other doesn’t care for off their plate. This feels like a category all its own: the way Jamie licks her lips as Dani’s head lowers, the way Dani’s fingers graze the freckles painting her wrist on the way up to notching her palm against Jamie’s. 

Her hair is wet, and Jamie’s face is sweaty, and there’s so little romance to the whole picture, it takes her by surprise. She’s always thought there should be talking before a thing like this, at least--a decision made on equal footing. 

“I don’t have to,” she says, even as Jamie is saying, “Do you want to?”

Children would laugh again, go back to wrestling, go back to how it all felt just a few minutes before. They are not, Dani notes as she lowers her head--as Jamie shifts up at the shoulders to meet her--children. 

She’s hyper-aware of all of it now: the sun beating against her shoulders, the hand Jamie is using to grip the back of her dress, the exact angle of Jamie’s mouth parting beneath her own. Her tongue is gentle, brushing Jamie’s, and the sound Jamie makes into her is anything but. 

She’s smiling, she realizes, so hard, it hurts--that deep, wonderful hurt of laughing too hard for too long, of slipping in the grass and landing in a heap with someone who couldn’t help catching her on the way down. She’s grinning into Jamie even as she’s kissing her, even as she’s letting her body stretch out to press Jamie more firmly against the damp ground. 

And Jamie, fingers curled between her own, making soft sounds of appreciation into the kiss, is grinning right back. 

“This was your plan all along,” she accuses, brushing the hair from Dani’s eyes when they break for a breath. “Awful lot of work, for a kiss.”

“All’s fair?” Dani suggests--and she genuinely, honestly cannot decide which she likes more: the way Jamie kisses, or the way Jamie kisses and laughs at the same time. All of it, she feels, goes a country mile beyond best friends. All of it goes a country mile beyond anything she could ever have dreamed up, walking away from him the way she did. 

It couldn’t possibly be more different.

[boltwrites]

Misfits - Chapter 2

Fandom: Star Wars - Clone Wars / The Bad Batch Pairing: The Bad Batch / Reader (Polyamorous) Rating: M (Rating May Change) Tags: Polyamorous Relationship, Force-Sensitive Reader, Slow Burn

Work Summary: After a year working with the 501st, you've been assigned a new post - Clone Force 99, aka the Bad Batch. You're concerned about the transition - you found it hard enough to fit in with the 501st, and now you had to acclimate to an entirely new squad. As it turns out, the Bad Batch is very accommodating.

Chapter Summary:  You're started to settle in with the Bad Batch. Introductions are in order, but one in particular leads down a path you never expected.

read it on ao3 | or read more below

You had said goodbye to Rex only a few minutes prior. He had wrapped you in a tight hug and told you not to get into too much trouble, and you had to try really, really hard not to start crying in front of your new squad. He’d waved as you entered their transport, and instead of dwelling on those emotions – loss, sadness, anxiety – you’d pushed them to the back of your mind. You learned long ago that acting as if they didn’t exist wouldn’t help anything, but right now, you needed to compartmentalize. You hardly knew these men, and you didn’t want to freak them out by sobbing about leaving your best friend behind.

The men in question had since been introduced to you by Hunter. The tall, slender clone who liked to lean against the side of the ship like some half-baked deathstick dealer was Crosshair, a sharpshooter and sniper. You probably should have figured that, judging by the tattoo that encircled his eye. When Hunter introduced you, he had made a noncommittal noise, looked you up and down, and then decided you weren’t very interesting, instead walking his way back to the cockpit. You hoped he was just antisocial, and didn’t hate nat borns, or women, or something.

The big burly one was Wrecker, who had wasted no time in offering you a big smile and a firm clap on the back. Honestly, you thought he was going to hug you – and maybe he was, and then he thought better of it.

“You’re our new Jedi, huh?” he had asked with a broad smile? You offered him a somewhat hesitant one back – he was intimidating, after all. He was broad and muscular like you had never seen on a clone before, and the large scar that encompassed half of his forehead and a good portion of his scalp was distracting. It made him look hardened and dangerous, but with his jovial tone, you soon found out he was anything but menacing.

“Yeah, guess I am?” you answered with a nervous laugh.

“She’s a force-sensitive, Wreck, not a Jedi. She doesn’t answer to the Council.” Hunter had clarified. You were somewhat shocked that he cared about the difference – but, then again, he had seemed pleased that you weren’t a part of the Order, likely because it meant you had less rules to follow.

“Oh, yeah!” Wrecker had grinned, clapping you on both shoulders now, as he leaned down to grin at you. You had laughed a little harder, because you were starting to see now, by both his force signature and in his voice, that he was really just a big goofball. “I never liked the Jedi anyway!”

“Weren’t you just expressing how excited you were for ‘our new Jedi?’”

That had come from the one with the glasses – er, goggles? You weren’t exactly sure what they were, or if he needed them for his bad eyesight or just tactical reasons. Either way, he adjusted him on his face as Hunter introduced him as Tech. It wasn’t difficult to figure out what his specialty was – much like it was easy to deduce that Wrecker liked to punch things in addition to blowing things up. Tech, of course, handled a lot of technical issues and data – but you were actually shocked at the fact that he wasn’t, well… tiny.

Tech was taller than Hunter, and even Rex, as he peered down at you through his glasses. He took your hand and shook it – you could tell just by his grip that he was used to intricate work – robotics, droid work, rewiring datapads – fiddly things that required a steady hand. You had nodded politely to him as he greeted you.

The last member of the team, and perhaps the most elusive, was Echo. He was paler than the others, and studded with prosthetics – most prominently, the jack that his hand had been substituted with. He had an aura about him in the force that spoke of pain – not the pain of war that the rest of the squad exuded, no. This was a deeper pain, something profound and lasting, and you had a feeling it had to do with that arm, and the bolts in his skull, and the way his cheekbones still looked sharper than that of even Crosshair.

“You’re from the 501st?” he had asked, after Hunter had led you to the cockpit and left to look at something in Tech’s travel plans for the route to their next mission. You were alone, but Echo still gazed out the front of the transport into hyperspace, his flesh hand fiddling with the textured armrest of the captain’s chair.

“Yeah – I’ve worked with them for the past year, most of the time. I get contracted out from the unit to do a lot of stealth work that the Jedi obviously can’t be pulled for. Stuff like this, I guess,” you shrugged. Echo had hummed in acknowledgement, glancing at you, almost curious.

“Were you with the 501st when Captain Rex last worked with… Clone Force 99?”

The wording was strange. Rex had mentioned to your that this squad usually referred to themselves as “the Bad Batch” due to their mutations. But Echo was more cautious – he almost hesitated on the name. His force signature didn’t give away much more – it only told you that he was being careful with his words, that he didn’t trust you quite yet. Which, honestly, was to be expected.

“No. Anaxes, right?” Echo nodded, and you shook your head. “No – I was on a stealth mission. Well, I guess it couldn’t really be called a stealth mission… I was working with a pirate named Hondo Onaka. Think I might have rather been on Anaxes.”

You chuckled, trying to make light of it. You knew Anaxes has been a mess, and honestly you had felt horrible leaving behind the 501st in order to take on what you considered a useless political mission. You knew the campaign had been long, grueling, and complicated, and you always felt guilty when you weren’t by Rex and Anakin’s side to help with something so important.

“Ah,” Echo made a soft noise, picking at some scoring marks on his socket arm. You bit your lip at the awkwardness that permeated the room, the conversation stagnating at Echo dwelled on… something.

“I used to be a part of the 501st,” he finally admitted, glancing up at you. His eyes said more than his lips – there was sadness, there. It was hidden behind his soldier’s veneer of indifference, but you could tell by the way he looked at you that his transfer to Bad Batch hadn’t been as straightforward as your own.

“Yeah?” you asked, sitting down in the co-pilot’s chair next to him. He nodded, sighing, relaxing into the chair before shooting you a glance.

“Yeah. Made ARC trooper at one point. Me and Fives – me and Fives.”

His eyes had gleamed the first time he said it – but as he repeated Fives, his face fell, and your own did as well, your first clenching.

“Oh,” you breathed, and he glanced at you, ducking down to try to make out your expression.

“You knew him?”

“He talked about you – I had – I’m stupid,” you laughed, trying not to think about Fives. You hadn’t known him or Tup long before the incident, but Fives had showed you the ropes, along with Rex. You got along with him easily – he had been funny, and kind, and if he tried to flirt with you a few times you just put it up to you being the only woman available.

You remembered him talking briefly about Echo – he had only mentioned Echo once, with gritted teeth and a set jaw, mumbling something about a previous mission, and how he and a fellow ARC trooper had handled the situation. You could tell that it pained him to mention his comrade – that this Echo had likely died – and you didn’t press the subject. You knew, even then, that Fives didn’t deal well with loss. Ironic, then, how he was the one to cause so die, to cause the grief himself.

“I worked with him, before…” you gestured vaguely, and Echo nodded, not wanting you to mention Fives’s death himself.

“He thought I died at the Citadel. Everyone did,” Echo sighed, staring out at the hyperspace lane. “Maybe I did.”

You stared at him. In the force, his emotions were a tangled mess – grief, both for Fives and himself. Pain – not only physical, but emotional, spiritual. You couldn’t fathom what happened to him – you could look at this physical evidence of his cybernetic appendages, more similar to those of a droid than any prosthetics you had seen before. You could see the pallor in his face, the way his cheekbones jut from his face, how he had squinted far too severely in the light of the Coruscanti sun. He had been through something that you couldn’t fathom, something you would never truly understand, even if he did wish to explain it to you.

But despite that, you could still feel him in the force. When he spoke of Fives – the way his signature sparked let you know that he didn’t just know Fives. You could tell they had worked together for years, that they had likely grown up together. The rest of the Batch – their signatures sang in harmony because they had grown up together, because they had known each other for many years. And you initially hadn’t caught onto Echo’s dissonance – the way that he was trying to fit in with them, but how he didn’t fit in quite as easily as the other men. And now you knew why. It was because, while he had changed, he still held onto those bonds. Rex, Fives, the rest of the 501st – even though whatever Echo had endured, those were still his brothers.

“Not completely,” you mumbled, looking down. You could feel Echo’s eyes on you, so you sighed and continued. “You – you still care about them. Those men. They may not be your men anymore – and I guess they aren’t mine, either – but you care for them. That has to count for something.”

When you looked up, Echo caught your eye. His expression was unreadable, and his signature betrayed nothing. He was hard to read already – the cybernetics clouded your judgement – but you could tell that he didn’t exactly know what he thought of your statement.

“Yeah. Maybe it does,” Echo mumbled to himself, staring out across hyperspace, as stars flew by, exploding behind his eyes as he contemplated his place among them.

After that, the silence wasn’t quite so awkward. It was comforting, almost. You knew that it wasn’t the same – that although you and Echo were both former members of the 501st, that the circumstances were wildly different. But you still felt a kinship with him. Because he still knew Anakin, and Rex, and Fives, and Jesse, and Kix, and all the others. Because he probably played the same drinking games you had with the men, he had fought beside them as you did, and he had watched them die, as you had. You knew he wasn’t ready to talk, and perhaps he never would be. But if he ever was, you would be ready to listen.

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

taglist (get added!)

@killtherandomness @pastelpanda19

[orangegreet]

No Minor Miracles

This is a completed story - pending only an epilogue at this point. Reposted to Tumblr from AO3.

Summary:

“Hello Aleksander.” He closed his eyes at the sound of her whispered greeting. Could she have picked any other night? Any other than this one? “Why do you haunt me when I feel at my weakest to defend myself?” He asked. “You are always droll when we meet. First I am your demon and now I am your ghost.”

_____________

Captured by Grisha slavers and ultimately shipwrecked between West Ravka and Kerch, Alina is orphaned and stranded on the other side of the Fold.

In secret, the Sun Summoner is raised and trained thousands of miles outside of Os Alta and the reach of the Black General.

Ambition leads her to seek out the infamous Shadow Summoner in her twenties—only, he isn’t what she expected.

Yet still, she leaves Os Alta broken-hearted and unsure and both Alina and Aleksander resolve to stick to their own sides of the world for some years after.

—Until a weary night on the war front pushes the Black General to reach out to his old enemy.

What follows is an ongoing struggle for power, information, dominance and, ultimately, each other.

But with two such Saints involved, surely miracles will abound.

Chapter 1 | A Night on the Warfront

He pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut as four of his soldiers continued their debate. The map spread out before them was littered with crude markings. A dirty shell casing sat near the edge of the Fold, the scale of it far out of proportion considering it was reported to be a small camp with no more than five tents.

“The West is closing in. They have some kind of advantage. Otherwise they would not drift so close to the Fold.”

“What do you propose we do about it? You can hardly expect us to sneak through the Fold on our end and catch them off guard.”

“I’m not convinced it is the West at all—our scouts themselves weren’t sure.”

“You don’t expect Shu Han to set up so far North in enemy territory.”

“I’m not saying that, I’m saying we don't know that it's army at all. Could be refugees seeking the protection being so close to the Fold can provide for all we know. We’ve seen it before.”

The General reached for the decanter, eyes bleary with lack of sleep. He refilled his glass. The soldiers continued to debate.

“You’ve seen it before? And when was that?” Ivan stared down the Inferni.

The young man stuttered, eyes shifting cautiously to the General who paused with his glass aloft.

“R-Rumors maybe but…years back we had intel of refugees camping near the Fold at the behest of the Sun Summoner.”

The General made no outward sign of recognition. He took another drink and placed his glass back on the table.

The neatly coiled rope at the center of his very being seemed to writhe. His heart picked up pace and he shot a covert warning glare at Ivan to keep his mouth shut. The Heartrender glared back, averting his gaze to the Inferni once more.

Internally he reached for the tether, intending to coil it back up and press it down again but he found once he touched it, he could not bring himself to let it go. Blame it on many late nights, war weariness and something else he refused to acknowledge in the presence of subordinates.

The tether gave a dull throb in his grasp.

The General forced himself to speak and quell the tension building in the tent.

“Rumors perhaps. We won’t know until it is too late. We must assume it is the West attempting the next step in secession. Prepare a skiff. I want the strike unit outfitted with the shielding cloaks. We send the skiff through on one side of the camp while our team traverses the Fold on foot on the other.”

He felt her presence in his chest first as the embers present stoked to a fiery glow. The General continued to stare at the map with a hardened glint in his eyes and ignored her apparition; his hand squeezed the tumbler.

“While the camp is preoccupied with the skiff, the strike team will take them out from behind. No prisoners.”

“And if they are refugees, sir?”

The General lifted his eyes to her. Her raised eyebrows expectant on her otherwise impassive face.

“No prisoners.”

She cocked her head at him but stayed quiet, surveying his whole being. Plotting his features for the signs of weakness, he was sure.

“You have your orders. You are dismissed.”

“But-sir which soldiers should we send on the skiff—“ The Inferni began.

“Ivan.” The General didn’t have to complete his request.

The Heartrender escorted the young Inferni out.

The General looked at her and then back at the decanter, determined to pull his features together though he felt his control slipping.

This, of course, was evidenced by her very presence.

“I feel I should offer you a drink. Though I am not sure if you could taste it.”

“It would be a warm gesture though. I wouldn’t decline to try.” She stepped closer to him and he struggled to keep the tension from his posture, his breath from hitching at the sound of her voice. How long had it been again?

He allowed himself the time to take her in. A decade had passed without seeing her. She looked older in some vague sense. Mostly in her eyes. He could tell by her gaze that she was severely less innocent than a decade ago.

Her posture too. She held herself with grace and dignity, the insecurity of youth long since fallen away.

“You’re looking well.” He said.

She blushed without a hint of modesty and he felt the warmth emanating from one of them. He couldn’t be sure who.

“I could say the same of you. Your hair has grown long. You look like a warrior.”

Her hands were clasped in front of her. Not reaching toward the dark locks that hung past his shoulders, half of it pulled back and tied with leather.

“I have been a warrior more often than not during my lifetime. I’m pleased to hear I look the part.”

She smirked at him and reached for his hand, bringing the glass to her lips for a sip.

“Can you taste it?”

She shook her head with a demure smile.

He took the glass away, musing out loud, “I thought not. This connection is beyond anything which has been studied but I do recall I could never see something unless you touched it.”

He put a hand on the map and watched her as she swiftly took in the details proffered on the table and then glanced back at him. Her eyes betrayed nothing.

“You did used to visit me more often than you do now. Though perhaps those visits were simply part of your own research efforts.”

When he didn’t respond for a few moments she continued, “I wondered if you had forgotten about me altogether.”

His chest bobbed a little higher under his breath as he studied her but eventually he decided how best to play this new hand.

“I do not consider myself forgetful in any regard, Miss Starkova.”

The liquid swirled in his glass as he caught her momentary bristle at the moniker. No doubt many years have passed since she was addressed as such.

He hummed, amused at her ruffled feather and resolved to push his luck, dipping his finger in the glass and looking up at her. “Now you mention, I do wonder…”

He lifted his finger to her lips and she scolded him with her eyes but allowed her tongue to brush over his skin. When her eyes drifted shut he couldn’t stop the backs of his fingers trailing over her cheek.

“Some things don’t change, do they? You favor the same casks of wine pilfered from the cellar of a Tsar.” She tutted and he smiled at her.

The first real smile she had seen him give in over a decade. Her insides pulsed.

“Then you are not forgetful, either.” He said in lament. He turned away from her.

She sighed. “This is tiring, please can we speak normally? Some time has passed since I last received your call. Did you mean for me to come to you tonight?”

He huffed a breath. “A compelling question for us both, I think. I wish I knew.”

When her eyes turned wary, she stepped away from him and he almost shouted at her. “No. Not—not yet. Just stay.”

The wariness turned to concern and she studied his features without reticence.

“What has happened? Tell me.”

“Nothing has happened. Nothing. It’s just—“ His hand raised to stroke her cheek again and he adored the way she leaned into it. Had she ever done that for him before? He could not remember. Not forgetful, indeed.

“Rumors.” He murmured. “Rumors reach me always of your life. Rumors of your death, of your sainthood and of your miracles. Tonight I—I wished for a miracle.”

Smiling sweetly, she cupped his face in her hands and stepped to him.

“My dear Aleksander,” Her eyes searched his for a moment. “The only miracle tonight lies in the possibility of two enemies who allow themselves to meet as friends. It would take two saints to pull that off. I am but one saint and cannot tell you the outcome. How strong is your desire for this miracle?”

His jaw clenched. He was so tired. Tired of wanting. Tired of losing. Tired of feeling like he was trailing behind. Forever out of step with her when he simply desired to be at her side.

His hand wrapped around the juncture of her shoulder and neck and he shook her. “You are no saint. You are a demon. My own personal demon sent from below to torture me on this plane. That must be it. I have yet to die and pay my dues and my sins have grown too great.”

Many late nights had led to this. Many years of keeping the door to her firmly shut led to this.

Time had passed differently for him in this after. Before her were calmer centuries poised in a position of patience and waiting. Since he had known her, known of her existence really, this frenetic energy was sparked inside of him that he could not shake. Time was centered acutely on constant anticipation. Anticipation of meeting her, experiencing her power. Then, once he knew her, heard her speak, felt her touch, mingled his power with hers-everything inside was reignited. His greed, desire, lust, rage, justice, truth, hope. It was chaos and tumult and agony contained inside an ancient man who was not ready for it.

Centuries of emotions being quelled and dulled and hammered flat into nothing before her existence. The last decade spent attempting, fruitlessly, to grow back that callous.

A moment of weakness and he reforged his connection to her. The meager protection he hoarded around himself the past few years fell away like an autumn leaf and now he was nothing more than a naked limb in the winter snow, completely exposed before her. Begging for her warmth.

It was enraging.

Her hand covered his on her neck and she squeezed it but did not attempt to remove him. She looked at him with such sadness that he felt it ache inside himself. Although it could have been his own sadness. There really was no way to tell in the moment.

“I know your sins, Aleksander and I am not here for absolution. I am here because you called to me and I wanted to answer.” His hand dropped away from her. The emotions which were so clear on his face a moment before grew opaque to her.

She swallowed, “I know your sins. And I have missed you.”

A ripple across his eyes and then nothing. He pushed down his insides.

A stoicism formed in his demeanor and it was with complete control that he let out his next sentence. “I hate you. For leaving me, I hate you.”

She drew herself up into a more formal posture with a deep breath.

“You wanted to mold me in your image. But it did not take and I would not let it continue. It has been better this way, I think. I would have hated you had I stayed.”

He scoffed. “You would have gotten over it, given enough time.”

She smiled at him, formality breaking with the warmth in her eyes. “Just as I believe you will, my oldest friend. My eternal friend.”

He blinked and his eyes gathered tears. She pretended not to notice, scared to spook him.

“Why did you leave?”

“You know the answer already. I’ve just told you.”

“Would it have been so bad to stay?” The emotion was seeping into his voice now and she stepped toward him with caution.

“I could not bear to hate you. It is better this way. We are both better, stronger. Worthy.”

Her eyes don’t lose their warmth but he felt the accusation the same. He would have sacrificed every ounce of his goodness, sanity and patience to keep her under his will. He would have sacrificed her for it.

“Are we?” He asked quietly. They both knew what he was asking.

She stroked his cheek and he nuzzled it.

“What you have in patience, I have in hope.” His eyes closed.

“Why do you stay away from me, Alina? Even now? I am well enough tortured. Surely your task must be done.”

Another sigh. “It is not so simple when it comes to you and me. You are my Inevitable. We will have an eternity together in my future and yours. It is only natural I want some time to live in autonomy before we begin. You were granted centuries to yourself, you recall.”

“Centuries of waiting, solnyshka. Centuries alone.”

She said nothing but continued to touch his cheek, his jaw, her eyes taking in every minute detail of his face. He called her there. She did not know when he would again.

“Will you make me wait more centuries for you?”

She hummed in amusement.

“Would you wait that long for me?”

If you ask.

He wanted to say it but he had given her so much of himself already. Greed smothered over his burgeoning embarrassment. She would leave soon enough and his desires wouldn’t be tamped down neatly anymore.

Possessive and greedy. That was how she knew him.

He wanted to possess her the way she seemed to possess him. Her ownership over him felt effortless to him and he half hated her for it. He gripped her hips dragging her flush to him.

Her breath startled and fanned over his face. He paused for only a moment and then pulled her mouth to his.

His lips sliding over hers in a heightened sense of torture. Could she taste him? If not she could surely taste his blatant desire. Completely exposed and on display for her to see.

He wrenched his mouth off hers, hand clasped to the back of her neck.

“Have you taken other lovers?”

The words were hissed through clinched teeth and his hand fisted into the fabric around her hips, holding her close.

Her eyes flashed into his and then down to his mouth where she pressed a kiss. Sweet as gentling an agitated animal. She pressed another and lingered.

Far from being quieted, he panted into her mouth, fisting a hand to her hair in a rush and crushing his mouth to hers.

The moan from her throat drifted into his mouth and he swallowed it up, lifting her onto the table and plunging them into what felt like the most familiar fantasy or memory or deja vu for them both.

Everything was different. Nothing had changed.

He tangled his tongue with hers, a reluctant groan escaping from his own throat.

She knew she should stop it. It would be harder to keep going without him if she let herself have too much.

Gradually their heat seemed to lower into a simmer and they both sighed into it. His hand stroked her thigh and his other held her jaw tenderly.

He pulled her into a languid kiss, holding her face as he pulled away.

“General—“ she started as he slowly parted the fabric wrapped around her waist. He eyed her with a dark silent look as he went to his knees.

“Would you have me kneel to you, Sol Koroleva?”

She smirked at him, weaving a hand into his dark locks and pulling him forward. His answering smile was glorious to her eyes. Victorious and tender at the same time and she relished it as he devoured her center.

“Aleksander.” Her voice was weak and he shook his head, clutching her harder. Hands gripped her thighs and secured them tight over his shoulders and he groaned into her further. His tongue relentless in pursuit of her pleasure. Driving her higher and harder than she knew was possible.

A torrent of pleasure with him and she briefly mourned what she realized was now over. There would be no other lovers. Not for her anyway.

The vibrating tether in her chest was a living thing now. Where it previously lay dormant, it now pulsed. Untamed and unleashed and rooting into her body at multiple weak spots. The palms of her hands, the soles of her feet, the nape of her neck, the base of her spine. Her gut. Her chest.

It was everywhere and she was lighting up from within with the magnitude of its power.

The strength and bond of their somehow ancient connection. Ancient in the way it stretched behind them in time but also in the way it surged forward into the coming years. Into their Inevitable future.

If she wondered whether the effect was the same for him, it didn’t take long to recognize the surrounding shadows pouring from him as he lost himself in her. She whimpered at his alternating ferocity and gentleness before remembering.

Her responsibilities. Her promise to herself.

“Sasha.” There it was. Firm and accompanied with a tightening of her hand in his hair, tugging him away.

When his gaze flicked up to meet hers she almost gasped at the feral look of him. Shiny mouthed, panting. Knuckles white where they pressed her thighs to his shoulders. Eyebrows bunched in irritation at her interruption.

Her rabid, wild Shadow Summoner pulled from his meal before he was sated.

“We can’t.” Her voice was strained. Irritation deepened into defiance across his features.

“Another lover, is it?” He spat the words out.

Her eyes squeezed shut and she felt the wetness in them gathering and shook her head.

“There is no one else. There will be no one else.” The grip on his hair gentled as she smoothed the back of his head and he lost a centimeter of rigidity from his posture.

“Then why.”

“It’s too soon.” The words were stifled. More wanted to follow but she would not let it and he grunted in frustration.

“We can’t.” She repeated to herself.

His face drifted back toward her shining folds, his eyes locked on hers as he brushed a careful tongue over her core. She whimpered again, hand twisting his locks and she meant to pull him away.

“No, Alina. You can.” His heated breath fanned over her and she shivered, “Just you. For tonight.”

She looked dismayed but it melted when he bestowed another long, slow lick to her center.

“Please.” The word came from his lips and it shocked both of them. Her hands stroked over his ears and met in his hair and when he leaned in again she did not stop him.

He was wonderfully cruel in his own brand of torture. His touch purposefully delicate and calculated. He worked her up toward the edge before redirecting his attentions until she calmed.

“Sasha.” The cry was wrenched from her mouth as she tried to snap her thighs shut around his face. To force the attention she was desperately craving thanks to him. He persevered in keeping them open. Leveraging her pleasure for his purposes.

“Promise me.” He demanded between a soft caress of his tongue, tone at odds with the motion.

“Promise what?” It was a struggle to keep her eyes open as her head wanted to tilt back.

“You will come back to me.”

“You already know that I will.”

He pressed a finger into her, then another.

“Promise it. Promise you will be mine. Only mine.”

She keened and clutched his wrist in encouragement.

“And will you be mine, General? Will the Darkling belong only to the Sun Summoner?”

His fingers curled and he licked his lips, watching her take her pleasure.

“I will give myself to you alone, Alina.” His fingers curled again and she shuddered feeling so close to something so big.

“Then I promise to be yours. As much as you are mine. I will take everything you have to give, and everything you try to hide away will be mine. All of it will be mine, Sasha.”

He grunted, swallowing against her and sucking. She screamed out as she finally finished. Wave after wave of pulsing euphoria spreading over her and through her and from her chest and into the very root of her being.

The lapping continued and he kept his eyes fixed on her for the minutes following as she trembled and shuddered under his attention.

Bestowing a few lingering kisses to her thighs and smearing the moisture across them, he carefully removed her legs from his shoulders and got to his feet. When he was planted firmly between her legs, he took hold of her face again.

His forehead leaned against hers. She reached for him this time and kissed him hungrily. To her surprise, he broke away, breathing in through his nose in a deep way. His chest brushed her with each breath.

“I’m trying to prove to you I can be sweet and you are making it very difficult.”

Her answering smile was radiant.

He kissed it.

“Tell me where you are.” The demanding tone was back and she chuckled.

“I’m here. With you.” Fingers stroked his chest. His hand covered hers and he pressed it into himself and growled.

“I forgot how much you infuriate me.”

“I underestimated how enjoyable it would be still.”

His nostrils flared but his chest warmed at her mirth.

She pinched a strand of his hair between her fingers, still grinning, “We’ve brought about your miracle, after all. It is very satisfying to be this holy. Do you not agree?”

He had no words, only kisses which he placed on her cheeks, her ears, a nip to her jaw, a pull on her neck.

“Aleksander,” it was whispered. He sensed her imminent departure and kissed her again with increasing desperation. She met him with equal fervor, both unable to get close enough to satisfy the ending. When his face was buried into her neck and she clutched his body to her, she made a last attempt to secure his soul.

“In light of our miracle, can I make a request?” He nodded against her shoulder, a tender kiss placed over her pulse. “Sometimes you should take some prisoners. Please.”

Her eyes raked over his features, some kind of affection or devotion shared in their last looks. With them it seemed one posture easily slipped into the other. The lives of Saints, he supposed.

Then she was gone.

[hermannsthumb]

As per our convo, Newt getting set up with Hermann via Hermann’s father’s binder full of pre-approved suitors for his son...

(from @k-sci-janitor 👀) easily one of our funniest concepts yet. I was going to end on newt coming over for dinner scenario but I like the ominous open ending. I'm not actually sure when kaiju attacks fall in the PR timeline so excuse my handwaveyness, LOL

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

Hermann’s relationship with his father is what one would call strenuous at best, but—Hermann must admit, to the man’s credit, and in spite of his many flaws—he took the news of Hermann’s sexual orientation as unflinchingly as if Hermann had told him the day’s weather. It was a bit annoying, in fact. Hermann had agonized over the proper way to breach the subject for months, certain it spoke to some sort of personal ruin (whether ostracization from the Gottliebs or being forbade following through on any attraction he may feel whilst still living under the family roof, he wasn't sure), before finally simply announcing it one day at the breakfast table on a whim.

It had been a long-standing tradition that Hermann’s parents compile a binder—effectively of dossiers—on all the most eligible bachelors (for their daughter) and bachelorettes (for their sons) to aid in the choice of the latest Gottlieb mate. It was easiest this way, or so Hermann and his siblings were told. Parental approval was already secured. The histories of each were already secured, which bypassed any nasty shocks that might emerge in the courtship stage. Most of them were children of his father's colleagues or bright minds in their own rights: surgeons, and dentists, and mathematicians. Poets were strictly forbidden.

The occasion of Hermann’s breakfast table announcement had also been the day Hermann’s father presented him with his very first binder of prospective mates—a few days after his eighteenth birthday, and shortly before he was to go off to begin work on his PhD. His father had slid him a hand-written binder of names, no more than a dozen, and all with accompanying photographs. “All are accomplished young women,” he assured Hermann. “We can arrange any meetings of your choice over your winter holidays.”

Hermann glared down at the row of frozen smiles. He stabbed his fork into his cooked tomato wedge. “I don’t want to marry any of these women,” he said, and turned his glare on his father. He still had a rebellious streak in him at that point, something nurtured by a charismatic young man he used to trail after in boarding school, who pierced Hermann’s ear with a sewing needle in the boys’ toilets and listened to songs about setting things on fire. In late this streak had manifested itself in Hermann in nicking packets of cigarettes from his father’s study, one of which was in his pocket now. The weight of it made Hermann feel bolder. “I don’t want to marry any woman,” he continued. “I like men.”

The binder was drawn away in silence, and Hermann was free to eat his toast and tomatoes. The next morning a binder of young men was in its place.

(In a way the acceptance infuriated Hermann. It meant he could not blame his father’s obvious dislike for him on an unfounded, homophobic prejudice; rather, it was a result of Hermann’s own personal failings.)

The binder was placed at Hermann’s breakfast plate every day until he left for his studies. It was placed at his plate when he returned from them five years later. Not even the emergence of the kaiju from the bottom of the ocean shortly after Hermann turned twenty-four dampened his father’s hopes, nor turning all their scientific efforts towards the new jaeger program: some names were removed from the binder (the reasoning Hermann shudders to think at), more still were added, though Hermann is expected only to consider it once a week now on account of his busy schedule. This was one of such days.

“Your brother is very happy with his wife,” Hermann’s father reminds him. “She was one of my first suggestions for him, in fact.”

Hermann is not fond of his sister-in-law. Too rude—too cold. Though perhaps that makes her perfect for Hermann’s brother. “Haven’t we got bigger things to worry about these days than whether or not I’m going to marry?” Hermann says. He adds milk to his tea. “I’m sure they’re all, er, marvelous selections, only—”

“Your sister, too, with her husband,” father says.

Hermann sighs. He hasn’t got much of the rebellious streak he used to in him anymore—too stressed. Not fancying a fight before they’ve even begun today’s coding work, he picks up the binder and begins flipping through it. Sons of engineers working on the jaeger program with them, prominent young chemists, many of whom Hermann has been presented with since he was eighteen. Plenty of them are even handsome. Half of Hermann wonders if he should just pick the least-unappealing one of the bunch and be done with it already. He turns the page over and freezes. “Oh,” he says. “This one is—new.”

“Hm?” father says.

Hermann holds up the binder, tapping at a new entry. “Newton Geiszler.”

“Dr. Geiszler,” father says, nodding. “A child prodigy from Berlin—he’s made tremendous strides in kaiju science in such little time. And,” he adds, “three PhDs. Two of them before he even turned twenty.” The unspoken implication was that Dr. Geiszler far surpassed Hermann in intelligence and Hermann should feel ashamed for not skipping as many grades as Dr. Geiszler.

Hermann feels he ought to resent Dr. Geiszler for it, but he's finding it difficult to summon up any animosity towards him. It's likely because Hermann finds Dr. Geiszler to be strikingly handsome in his photograph: cheeks which haven’t quite lost their baby fat (giving him the appearance of being a scruffy hamster), large, thick glasses, tousled hair, an easy grin. Three PhDs, and German at that. And a child prodigy? “I’m surprised you haven’t mentioned him to me before,” Hermann says. He seems precisely the sort father would. Geiszler’s photograph is black-and-white and a bit grainy, but Hermann swears he could make out the lightest bit of freckles across his cheeks.

“I’d not heard of him until he published an article last week on kaiju biology,” father says. “Besides—he’s moved to America.”

Geiszler has three piercings up the side of his left ear. “I am going to write to him,” Hermann declares.

Father nods, and picks up his newspaper, clearly already disinterested. They speak no more of it that day.

It is not hard to find Dr. Geiszler online (his name is not the most common, and his field of study certainly isn’t), nor is it hard to match his photograph to his faculty page on MIT’s website. From there, Hermann retrieves Dr. Geiszler’s email address. He takes the evening to read over Geiszler’s publications spanning back to 2003 before he gathers up the courage to type out an actual email.

Dear Dr. Geiszler,

You do not know me, but I have recently been made acquaintance with your work and find it—Hermann pauses—scintillating. My father and I are—Hermann backspaces this—I am currently working on the development of the jaeger program…

There’s a response waiting for him the next morning. It’s as enthusiastic as it is brief. Dr. Gottlieb- That’s so awesome!! Believe it or not I’ve been following your work too. I have a million questions for you about the jaegers. If it’s classified info I promise I won’t tell. -Newt

It makes Hermann smile like nothing ever has before.

Hermann’s correspondence with Dr. Geiszler does not transgress beyond the professional until the following January. By that time, Hermann and his father have successfully completed the coding for their first jaeger prototype, and Hermann has been offered his fair share of tenured university positions to pick from as he likes. He finds himself oddly disappointed that none of them are in America with Dr. Geiezler. This, which leads to the realization that he’s grown rather fond of Dr. Geiszler, is perhaps what drives Hermann to uncharacteristic sentimental extremes on January 19th: he orders Dr. Geiszler a birthday present. The first email Dr. Geiszler sends him after that addresses him as Hermann. The first email Hermann sends Dr. Geiszler after that addresses him as Newton. Things move rapidly after that.

“Are you still writing to that young biologist?” Hermann’s father asks him in March. Hermann has spent the last two months devouring every bit of information Newton has seen fit to divulge about his personal life: his dexterity with no less than three different instruments, his favorite loud monster movies, how he’d love to get a kaiju tattooed on him one day. Hermann suspects he might be falling in love with Newton. In hardly five months! These are war times, Hermann supposes, so it would make sense. People are meant to do such extreme things.

“I am,” Hermann says.

“I’ve asked around about him,” Hermann’s father says. His expression is stern—unimpressed. “About his character. I’m not sure it’s wise to continue your correspondence.”

The reasons are this. Dr. Geiszler’s methods are unorthodox. Dr. Geiszler is loud and uncouth, and has little respect for his intellectual superiors. Dr. Geiszler was thrown out of a convention once for storming up on stage and stealing a microphone from an engineer to shout about the destruction coral reefs. Dr. Geiszler was in a distasteful band for several years. Dr. Geiszler was once arrested for egging a politician’s house. Dr. Geiszler has gone on record as describing the kaiju as “kinda cool”. Almost none of this is news to Hermann; in fact, that which is only causes Hermann’s affection for Newton to grow. “I will consider your advice,” Hermann says, knowing he won’t. Besides, it's not as if his father really has Hermann's interests at heart—Hermann knows he merely wishes to preempt any scandal Newton Geiszler could possibly bring upon the Gottlieb name.

In April Newton goes on television and declares that he’s sure the kaiju are extraterrestrial in origin, on account of their great size and his brief examination of a sample from the second kaiju to make landfall. He’s laughed off by his older peers before he can get another word out. The email he writes to Hermann afterwards is furious, capslock-heavy, and expresses that Hermann is the only one who takes him seriously in the whole world. It leaves Hermann certain that he is in love with Newton.

“Dr. Geiszler was interviewed on some American television program,” Hermann’s father says a few days later.

“I know,” Hermann says, proudly. Newton was on television. “I watched it.”

“He made some extraordinary claims,” Hermann’s father says.

But Hermann is thinking only of the outfit Newton wore (skinny jeans and an oversized leather jacket, so out of place compared to the suited other scientists sitting around him), the shade of his eyes (hazel), his short stature (hardly taller than Hermann), and the cadence of his voice (high, but not unappealing). He’d been so confident, and carried himself with a self-assurance that was foreign to Hermann. It was marvelously attractive. “I’m sure they're correct,” Hermann says. "Every single one. Newton is a terribly brilliant scientist." All bold claims are met with derision at first, are they not?

Newton’s theory is proven correct after the next kaiju attack, when experts other than him get their hands on kaiju samples and validate his claims. The general consensus after that is that the kaiju are not of this world. And Newton was the first to propose the theory! Hermann sends Newton an email full of congratulations, and Newton responds with a heart emoticon in his sign-off. Newton isn't just a brilliant scientist. “Newton is a genius,” Hermann tells his father, dreamily.

The binder reappears on Hermann’s work desk a few months later, Newton’s page torn conspicuously from it. Hermann tips the whole thing straight into his trash can. He has more important things to worry about—arranging a meeting with Newton, perhaps. Hermann ought to have him over for dinner.

[writingwithacupoftea]

A family reunited - part 2!

Summary: The time has come for Y/N Shelby to explain her five-year disappearance to her family. Tommy, her beloved elder brother, proves to be less than understanding...

Word Count: 3220

A/N: 300 followers?? I still can’t believe it. I know this part 2 has been a long time coming, so I hope it serves as enough of a thank you 😘 I’ve never written a sequel to a fic before, so I don’t know how this will go down, but I hope you like it!! 💜💜

Part 1

Y/N Shelby had loved seeing her family again, she really did: it had been what she'd dreamed of for so long, just for them to know that she was alive had brought her happiness.

What she didn't love was Tommy's booming wake-up call of "FAMILY MEETING AT THE SHOP IN AN HOUR - DON'T BE LATE," at half past 8 in the morning.

Ah, but she sort of did at the same time.

Thinking back to the night before, Y/N found a warm, fuzzy feeling spreading throughout her body and a smile spread across her face as she snuggled back into her pillow. Her eyes began to close again, tempting a few more minutes sleep – surely she would still make the meeting in time?  

At the thought of the meeting, however, Y/N suddenly found herself wide awake as she realised what the meeting would be for: she was going to have to explain herself. Y/N was going to have to tell everyone why she disappeared for so many years and what happened in that time. Her stomach began to churn and her mind started to race, trying to hurriedly plan out what she would say, but unsure where to even begin.  

Y/N was proud of her work as a spy during the war, but that didn't mean that she was looking forward to reliving some of the details of her story.

Knowing that there was no point in delaying the inevitable for longer than necessary, she dragged herself out of bed and sent up a little prayer for the strength that she so desperately needed.

***

As Y/N walked into the meeting an hour later, she noticed the change in Tommy immediately. Gone was the loving brother that had spent the entire evening practically glued to her hip, and in his place was the cold leader of the Peaky Blinders that Polly had told her about upon her return to Birmingham.  

Whilst in hiding, Y/N had seen the impact that the war had had on the men who fought in France, but that didn't stop her heart from breaking slightly as she properly looked at Tommy in the light of day. He had always been quiet and controlled, but never to this extent.

She sat down at the table, and soon enough the whole family were gathered. Y/N couldn't bear to look at them, even though she hadn't said a thing yet. She feared their judgement, and was petrified that they would kick her out when she'd only just got back.  

But Y/N knew that in order for this to go the way that she wanted it to, she couldn't afford to let thoughts like that show. Instead, she needed to make it clear to her brothers that she still stood by her decision to leave. She had been made stronger by her mistakes and experiences during her time away, and refused to let them believe otherwise.  

So, as Tommy cleared his throat to begin speaking, Y/N took a deep breath and looked up.

"Right, well, we're all here - "

"That we are!" Arthur's hand came down and rested on her shoulder roughly, causing Y/N to smile in amusement.

"Yes, thank you, Arthur." Tommy's gruff voice cut through the joy. "So, Y/N, would you care to tell us where the fuck you've been for five years?"

Out of instinct, the woman in question met her older brother's blue eyes, hoping to find the comfort and support that they had always shown to her in the days before the war. But there was nothing; not even the slightest bit of love, or encouragement, or anger or anything.

In that moment, Y/N realised that no one could help her – only she could tell the story.

And so, she began...

***

A couple of hours later, it was finally over.

Y/N had told them all about how she had been recruited as a British spy, recounted most of her tales (but not all – some of them were still highly confidential and as much as she loved Arthur and John, Y/N wouldn't trust them with a barge pole when it came to keeping secrets), and eventually about her time in hiding and return to Birmingham.

Miraculously, she hadn't shed a single tear. Not even when she'd recounted the worst trappings and beatings. Before coming down to the meeting, Y/N had debated whether or not to tell her family about those times, but in the end she knew that the full truth would come out in time and that it would be better to get all of the pain out of the way at once. Whether that pain was for Y/N or everyone else, she wasn't sure.

But Y/N also hadn't been able to suppress her laughs and smiles at the happier memories: the friends that she'd made, the clubs that she'd danced at undercover, the boys that she'd seduced whether as part of her mission or just for a bit of fun (Tommy may appear to be an expert at controlling his emotions now, but you bet that Y/N didn't miss his jaw clench in protective anger several times).

Now, silence filled the room. A silence that seemed to last for eternity for Y/N. Unable to cope with it for any longer, she spoke again, this time unable to control the waiver of emotion in her voice: "Please say something, anything. You lot have always got something to say," Y/N finished with a slight laugh. Unknowingly, she had directed her words at Tommy, who was staring at her, his eyes as cold as ice. Y/N hated the fact that she sounded like a little girl again, seeking his approval; Tommy's opinion had always been important to her, no matter how many times she had vehemently denied the fact when she was younger.

Surprisingly to her, it was John who spoke first, looking at her directly as he did so. "We're proud of you, Y/N/N."

"Yeah," Arthur continued, gruffly. "Just a fucking lot to take in, is all."

Silence infiltrated the room once more, only cushioned by Polly reaching over to grasp her niece's hand tightly.

Realising that Tommy wasn't going to speak any time soon, Y/N stood up as if to leave, her chair screeching horribly across the floor. "Well if that's it, I'll go and -"

"Why?" Her second eldest brother cut her off. Even though her back was now turned, Y/N felt his gaze burning into her.

"Why?" She repeated, confused, as she turned around.

"You heard me. Why did you go?"

"Christmas had long gone, Tommy. I needed to do something other than sit around in Small fucking Heath waiting for you lot to come back. I tried to help with the business, you know I have ideas. But I got nowhere because I'm a woman, alright? So, when an opportunity arose to go and do something useful, of course I was going to jump at it."

Tommy scoffed. "Do you realise how fucking selfish you sound?"

Y/N's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Excuse me?"

"Even after you knew that the war wouldn't be ending any time soon, you still went gallivanting off, throwing yourself headfirst into danger. Did you not stop to think that this family could have lost another member? You clearly didn't, because apparently all that matters to you is getting a rush of adrenaline and trying to be the hero."

Crack. The sound of Y/N's open palm meeting Tommy's cheek echoed through the room.

"How dare you, Thomas Shelby." Y/N's voice was deadly quiet, her rage and feelings of betrayal bubbling ferociously inside of her. "How fucking dare you. After everything that I've just told you, you have the nerve to stand there and call me selfish? I knew that when I signed up there was a chance that I might not come back, but I did it anyway, you're right. I did it in the hopes that my work may help to end the bloody war sooner, so that it was more likely that you boys would come home alive. Because if none of you came back, have you thought, Thomas, how wrecked this family would be? Not just emotionally, but financially as well. There would be three women, Finn, and John's kids left and that would be it. We would hardly be able to bring enough money in to keep everyone safe and together forever, at least not until the children had grown up. As much as you might not like it, Tommy, that I knowingly put myself in a situation where I could've been killed, I did it to try and protect this family."

If Y/N had looked around at her family at that moment, she would have witnessed the shock and pain etched onto the face of each person around the table. None of them had realised that she had put so much thought into her decision to leave. Instead her eyes were locked with those of her brother, unwilling to back down.

Breaking the silence, Y/N added bitterly, "Still think I'm selfish, Thomas?"

She didn't know what she'd expected.  

Y/N knew that Tommy wouldn't take it all well, and whilst his instinct to protect her and make sure that she was safe typically overrode everything else, she had hoped that he would have at least understood her reasons behind her actions. He had always said that family came before anything else. So, when Tommy barged past her, storming out of the shop and slamming the door behind him, Y/N couldn't help the sob that escaped her.

***

Dusk had settled over the city. Y/N was sat by the Cut, mulling over the events of the last 48 hours.

After Tommy had left, she had broken down completely, letting out all of the emotion that she had kept pent-up for so long. Her siblings, aunt and cousin had told her that Tommy would come around, and that they would do anything that they could for her.  

But, as much as she adored her entire family, she needed Tommy; she needed the brother who had stood by her through thick and thin, who had always trusted her judgement and always loved her no matter what. She hadn't realised how much she had needed him until he had turned his back on her completely.

When most of her tears had dried, Y/N left the shop herself, murmuring a quick "I'll be back later" before she did. The family had let her go, knowing that she needed the time and space to process everything and calm down.

A few hours later, she did feel calmer as she took in the familiar surroundings (a hidden spot next to the Cut that her and Tommy had found when they were younger and hiding from their father). That was until she heard footsteps quickly approaching her from behind...

***

Tommy's mind was racing at a mile a minute.

Once again, he'd gone and ruined things with his family. He'd probably destroyed his relationship with Y/N for good, something that he couldn't bear the thought of losing. His little sister meant the world to him; it just hurt him to know that she had been through so much by herself, and that he hadn't been able to stop it. At least in the trenches he'd had his brothers by his side. Y/N had no one.

But he could help her now. He had realised that after hiding himself away in the Garrison with his thoughts. He'd realised that his place was now back by his sister's side once more.

Tommy had made his way back to the shop to try and make amends, and marched straight over to Polly. "Where is she?" His voice may not have shown it to his aunt, but she could see the emotion in his eyes. Polly was glad that her nephew seemed to have got some of his sense back, but she sure as hell wasn't going to make things easy for him. Tommy's behaviour had been despicable, after all.

"She left." Polly said, simply, returning to her work.

"Left?"

"You heard me, Thomas." God, how many times was he going to be full-named today?

"Left where?"

"She didn't say."

Tommy felt a niggle of anxiety stirring in him. "Well, did she say when she'd be back?"

"No." Polly's lips were pursed in irritation.

"You let her wander off alone, I take it, without asking where she was going or what she was doing, eh? Do you know how fucking stupid that is? We've only just got her back, and you're risking losing her again?"

"Perhaps you should listen to your own words. At least I wasn't the one who caused her to have a panic attack." It was harsh, but partly true: the combination of the memories and Tommy's reaction had caused Y/N to spiral.

Tommy froze, worry and guilt consuming him. How could he have let this happen? He had spent half of the night in Y/N's bedroom last night, making sure that she was real and safe, and now she was gone again.

Walking back out of the shop, Tommy found himself hiding in an alleyway, trying to collect his thoughts as his hands shook. Where could Y/N be? Where would she go when she was scared and upset?

Suddenly, he knew.

***

The hurried footsteps drew nearer, and instinct took over Y/N's entire being. She spun around, gun cocked and pointed straight at the source of the noise, her breathing speeding up again as the last ebbs of her panic attack began escalating quickly again.

Any relief that Tommy had felt at finding his sister faded at seeing her distressed state. He raised his hands slowly and spoke softly to her: "It's okay, Y/N/N. It’s just me, it's Tommy. You're home, you're safe." As he continued to offer his reassurances that she wasn't under threat and edged closer to her, he noticed recognition begin to sweep over Y/N.

Her gun clattered to the ground as she broke down into tears again, relaxing into her brother's embrace as he sat down next to her and pulled the young woman into his arms. In that moment, Tommy realised how broken his sister was, how much the war had affected her, just like him.

Eventually, Y/N's breathing became normal again, the sound of Tommy's heartbeat and the gentle hand stroking her hair grounding her.

After a few moments, Tommy mustered up the courage to say the words that had been on repeat in his head for so long. "I'm sorry, sweetheart." Y/N looked up at him with those big eyes that had him wrapped around her little finger. "I was...overwhelmed and I lashed out, even though you didn't deserve it. Hell, you probably even saved our lives at some point and all I do is call you selfish. I went too far, and I'm sorry."

Y/N smirked slightly at Tommy's obvious discomfort at his confession, but it melted into a gentle smile when she looked up and was met with his loving yet troubled gaze.

"Thank you, Tommy." His entire demeanour relaxed at these words. "Do you understand though? Do you understand why I did it all in the first place? Do you understand why your reaction broke me? All I needed was for my brother to be there, and you just walked out on me. You promised me that you never would. You promised."

Tommy took her hand tightly in his larger one and nodded slightly, a lump forming in his throat. His other hand settled in his coat pocket as he asked: "Are you really back to stay?" The vulnerability that had been uncovered again last night had now returned.

"Yeah, I am." Y/N squeezed his hand. "Doesn't mean you're completely forgiven yet though; speak to me like that again and I'll cut you a smile on that grumpy face."

Tommy breathed out a slight laugh, despite the threat (which he knew was an honest one). "Oh, I missed you, darling." He wrapped his arm around Y/N and she rested her head on his shoulder.

"Missed you too, Tom."

***

The siblings sat there, peacefully, for a little while longer. Whilst part of Y/N was still angry at her brother, she couldn’t deny that she felt at home back by his side, in their special childhood hiding place. So, for now, she decided to put her anger behind her.

Soon enough, the chill of the night air began to settle around them. Tommy offered Y/N a hand up and wrapped his long black coat tightly around her, before the pair slowly started walking back towards the streets of Birmingham.

“I promise I’ll try and be better, for you.” Tommy’s voice cut through the silence. I can’t bear the thought of you leaving again because I pushed you out, he added in his head.

Y/N smiled sadly. “Don't make promises you might not be able to keep, Tom. We’re different people compared to who we used to be. All we can do is try, eh?”

Tommy stopped off at the office to call Polly and let her know that Y/N was staying with him for the night. Y/N found herself looking around the big building, in awe of what her family had managed to achieve.

She plunged her hands in the big pockets of Tommy's coat as a shiver wracked her body, frowning when her fingers touched something familiar. Checking that her brother was still on the phone, she pulled the object out and her eyes widened in surprise as she stared at it. It was a small stuffed toy, shaped to resemble a horse (sort of, it was definitely handmade).  

Y/N had loved it when she was younger, and barely used to be seen without it. When she grew into a teenager, she had hidden the toy in her old childhood treasure box and retrieved it when she felt low, even as she had entered adulthood. She had been devastated when she couldn't find it to comfort her the day that her brothers had left for France.

The horse was more frayed and tattered than she remembered, and dirtier too. Y/N had always been meticulous for looking after her possessions, not having much of her own.  

Then the explanation for its state and whereabouts dawned on Y/N: Tommy had taken it to France and kept it with him ever since, a constant reminder of her.

Placing the toy carefully back where she found it, Y/N looked through the glass to Tommy’s office with tears in her eyes as he hung up the phone. A small smile flickered across his face as he caught sight of his sister and made his way straight to her, not a single piece of work in his hands.

"Come on," Tommy said, softly. "Let's go home."

As her brother subtly offered her his arm, Y/N felt optimistic about the future for the first time in years. As Tommy rested his hand on top of hers, which now sat in the crook of his arm, one thought crossed Y/N's mind:

Maybe Tommy would try. Maybe there was hope for him yet.

But the Shelby family knew that there was hope, because Tommy's guiding light always came in the form of Y/N Shelby...and she wasn't going anywhere any time soon.

[ezrasarm]

Ori’jagyc

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x Mandalorian!Reader

Word count: 4.2K

Summary: Paz beats the shit out of someone. But he does it with love!

Warnings: Canon typical (?) violence, a bit of angst over here, a bit of fluff over there, my attempt to give a character with five seconds of screen time an entire backstory… this is a mere interpretation!

A/n: I don’t know when… I don’t know how… but I have fallen for the big blue buckethead ...sooooooo this happened. I’m new to writing for Paz so please let me know how it went!

[ masterlist ]

Paz wasn’t exactly a prideful man. But he did carry the name Mando with a type of honour and sanctity that you saw in few others. He was fiercely devoted to his creed and to upholding the Mandalorian way and although part of that was accepting that other Mandalorians interpreted the tenets of Mandalorian life in different ways, he did have a tendency to take other’s looser abidance by the creed personally. You had no reason to believe this time was any exception.

You hadn’t been planning on stopping by the training arena today but a low thrum reverberating off of the coverts walls piqued your curiosity. The closer you followed the noise the clearer it became, soon morphing into what you could make out as the cacophonous metal clang of beskar consorted with raucous shouts. It wasn’t until you had stepped into the buzzing space that you saw the dense huddle of Mandalorians encircling one of the many training mats. The scene was not new to you, it seemed that a well-matched fight of this nature broke out at least once a week and was able to draw the eyes of those with nothing better to do than watch. It wasn’t until you were close enough for their chants to make out decipherable words that it hit you. “Paz” they were shouting, over and over again, cheering him on. 

Your pace quickened at that, shoulders forceful and your smaller frame coming to your advantage as you slipped between the clamouring bodies until you found a familiar silhouette. “What happened?” You asked, your voice already breathless when you gripped Din’s upper arm. Paz and Din had a long-standing difference of opinion on many things but they still treated one another as brothers. He had a genuine concern for the large, blue-clad mandalorian that not many in the covert did, thinking that a man of that size could certainly handle himself. 

Din hesitated a moment before speaking, mouth dry and words clumsy falling out of his mouth. “He insulted his ability to protect the clan,” Din said, concern clear in his tone when he leaned closer to speak over the roar of mandalorians looking for their afternoon’s entertainment. 

“Kriff,” you muttered under your breath. A comment like that around Paz and you surely had a death wish. To insult his ability to protect was as good as insulting his devotion to his religion and that was not something he took lightly. 

His parents had died in their fight to uphold the mandalorian way. To him, dishonouring it was as good as dishonouring them. Heroes, who died warriors’ deaths. He would not allow those deaths to be in vain and he most certainly would not allow himself to taint their family name. So a careless insult like that was not something he could let stand. 

Unfortunately, they happened a lot. People saw a man of his stature and reputation and they saw a challenge. Someone to provoke so they could prove their strength. Sadly for them it didn’t always work out that way. “Why didn’t you stop him?” You ask, as though you could even attempt placing that responsibly on him.

“He wouldn’t listen. He never does.” Din sighs but you’re already turning your attention to the front of the crowd where you can hear the clash of armour on armour. “Wait, I wouldn’t-” Din had tried to argue, arm stretching out to try and catch your wrist but you had already disappeared from his line of sight, jostling your way through more solid bodies.

You had seen Paz lose his temper before. He could be quick to anger and even quicker to start a fight. What was worse was he didn’t often lose. You could remember quite clearly those times as kids- he would never admit it of course but he was a sensitive child. One mal word in his direction and he would lose it. Speaking about things as cumbersome as emotions wasn’t something people tended to invest their time in so no one really took the time to find out why. They excused it as anger issues and went on with their days. 

He had grown better about it over the years, more level headed and harder to shake- both qualities which made him the good leader he was. But there were still times where he would fracture and that same angry, hurting child would burst forth. 

When you finally managed to wriggle your way to the front, he was pacing the fighting ring slowly. Carefully circling his prey. A routine you knew quite well at this point. “Ori'buyce, kih'kovid.” he spoke, his voice warning and serious but it carried a hearty edge to it. One that normally caused a warmth to bloom in your chest but in this case it made your blood run cold. He was enjoying this too much. “How’s the view from down there, alor?”

His opponent was on his knees, folded over himself. One palm was planted firmly on the mat while the other clutched at his ribs. “Nar'sheb,” he gasped out before pushing himself upright, the hand that had been gripped at his side now held out a vibroblade which Paz hit out of his grasp with what was quite literally a slap on the wrist before dragging him closer by his extended arm. You gasped when he jutted a hand out to grab the olive green armoured mandalorian by the throat, raising him a foot or so in the air before slamming him back down into the ground. Paz crouched over him now, his helmet hardly a couple of inches from that of his opponent’s before speaking again.

“You want to try that again?” He asked through what you were sure were gritted teeth.

“Nar’” the green-tinged mandalorian choked out through a raspy cough, “sheb,” he finished. Your stomach dropped at that. He had just given Paz the exact excuse he wanted. If it was an insult to him, it was an insult to the creed and that, to Paz, was justification enough for punishment. Before you knew it he was kneeling on his opponent’s chest pounding blow after unwavering blow into the offender’s helmet. You knew his hands would be raw and bloody after that. You kept waiting for him to stop- for him to get tired, or bored or for some sense to be knocked into him- but he kept going and when an ear splitting crack of the plastoid composite giving way fired through the room you knew the next hit would be fatal.

“Paz!” You exclaimed. You hadn’t raised your voice but it carried nonetheless. You hadn’t realized you had lurched yourself into the ring either until his fist stopped in mid-air, the cheering shouts which had since turned to panicked murmurs of protest, went silent as it shook there. You could see the cogs turning in his head, the war of anger and reason grappling in his mind. “Stop.” You said. It could have been a whisper but his hand dropped nonetheless, falling limp at his side as he rolled off of his opponent so he sat, folded in on himself, arms balanced on the tops of his knees as he heaved in exhaustion.

When it dawned on you that, having taken away their only source of entertainment, you had since become the centre of attention. You paused, straightening up as you turned to face the crowd of spectators. “What are you doing looking at me for? Get him to a med bay.” You said. You held no authority here and yet suddenly when you spoke you found people listening and the large green warrior was being shuffled out of the room by several bystanders. 

“And you,” You said quieter now. The words were only meant for you and him to hear when you pressed a palm to his shoulder. “You need to calm yourself down.” You said. Your voice, firm but gentle as you spoke, gripping one of his hands firmly to act as leverage for him to find his footing. The strongman act had returned when he was upright again. Posture stoic and back rigid as he gave you a quiet nod but he still seemed... lost: in a daze that made it hard for you to be mad at him. “I’ll be over to check on you in a minute.” You whisper now, pointing him off in the direction of the benches which lined the large room.

“I don’t know how you do that.” Din spoke. Pushing himself off the wall of the hallway as you left the med bay where you had gone to check on Paz’s latest sparring partner. You needed to keep yourself busy. You needed to give Paz some space. 

“Do what?” You ask, as you swivel on your heel to face him.

“Get him to listen to you.” Din added. You had to laugh at that. It often felt like Paz didn’t listen to anyone but himself. He may be physically strong but he was headstrong too, which, as you had learned, could be a dangerous combination. “You really don’t know do you?” Din asks. There’s an amused lilt to his voice and you find your eyebrows furrowing under your mask at the sound of it. 

You would have told him to wipe that smirk off his face but you were too confused by the question that went with it so care. “Know what?” You ask, giving him a skeptical nod as you readjust your posture.

“You have him wrapped around your finger.” Din chuckles now as though it's obvious. 

You yourself acknowledged that the sight was a funny one to behold. A man as large, burly and threatening as himself being told what to do by someone about half his size. The idea that he listened at all- that you held so much power over him- well that concept was amusing enough but now Din asked you how and you had no explanation for him.

Perhaps it was because of the soft spot you’d had for him since childhood. While others saw a big intimidating bully you saw a misunderstood child. A warm heart with a sense of humour like no other and a will to do nothing but the best for those he cared for. You weren’t quite sure when it was that Paz became your responsibility. To put him back together in more ways than one after a particularly gruelling fight, to check in on him when a mission didn’t go according to plan or to keep him company when others were too scared. But you took on the deed without hesitation. You did it because you saw something in him that pulled at your heartstrings. You did it because you cared for him and as much as you knew he would never admit it, he needed the support. He needed you…

Which was why you found yourself swallowing down the questions you had for Din and excusing yourself. “How are you doing over here, ori’jagyc?” You asked, nudging his foot gently with the toe of your boot. The word, a schoolyard insult he had been pestered with as a child, would normally cause his blood to boil had it been said by anyone else. But he liked the way it sounded coming off of your tongue. The way you reclaimed it as a term of endearment for him rather than a way to tease him over his size and sometimes tumultuous temper.

He was sitting on the edge of the bench you had left him at in the now nearly empty training hall. Feet planted on the floor, elbows planted on his knees and helmet planted in his palms. “Paz...” you said as you came to kneel in front of him when you got no acknowledgement.

“It was a fair fight.” He finally spoke after a few more moments. His face was still buried from view but you thought that was progress enough. 

“I know it was, Paz.” You hummed softly, placing a hand on his knee to test the waters. When he didn’t shove you away, you scooted yourself a little closer between his feet to try and coax his gaze up to yours but he didn’t budge. 

“I didn’t mean to...” His voice trails off as though he’s at a loss for words. “Ni nu copaani kyr'amur ner vod.” He says, voice half-broken and weak in a way you knew not many got to bare witness to. You could hear the regret even through the crackle of his modulator. 

“I know you didn’t.” You crooned. “He might not be challenging you to a rematch any time soon but I hear he’s gonna be okay.” You assure him. You don’t get to know Paz Vizsla as well as you do without knowing that sometimes he miscalculated his own strength. He had taken a vow to protect the covert- all of it- and you knew he would never do anything to undermine that, even if the idiot had it coming. “He was taunting you, he shouldn’t have done that.” You conceded. 

But what you saw today was no scuffle over a few carelessly discarded insults. There was something else burning behind those punches you just couldn’t figure out what it was yet. You would have asked him but when your gaze fell to his lap to try and gather your thoughts you spotted his hands still trembling slightly between you and you winced. The mental note you had made from before coming back to the forefront of your mind. 

“May I?” You murmured sliding your small hands under his giant palms and waiting for permission before gently tugging at each of the fingertips to loosen them and sliding the gloves off as delicately as you could. If he felt any pain- you were sure he must have- he didn’t show it. Your eyes scanned over his knuckles, bruised, bloodied and swollen already. You were sure he must have fractured a few bones just by looking at it. You wondered how he could have done this. What must have boiled over in him to inflict this kind of pain upon himself without hesitation.

Your other hand had come to lift his chin but he resisted and it made you sigh in gentle exasperation. “Look at me.” You said. Your tone wasn’t demanding or harsh. Instead, it was gentle and maybe even a little bit desperate. It made his heart clench in his chest and then there it was again, that inexplicable obedience and razor-sharp consideration of your every word as his visor tilted up to settle on you. 

“Paz, I’m worried that one day you aren’t going to stop in time.” You say suddenly. You know he can’t see them but your eyes are pleading behind your mask. “You don’t need that kind of blood on your hands. Your conscience suffers enough without it.” This time he’s the one to sigh. You can feel the tension of his head trying to bow out of sight again but you keep your palm on the cheek of his helmet rooted, steady in its place and he gives in.

“I knew better.” He agrees solemnly. “I know that. But something snapped inside of me. Something I couldn’t control- that I still can’t- I…” His words trail off and you can sense his reluctance to finish the thought so you take the opportunity to fill the silence instead.

“Din said he insulted you.” You pressed, tentatively. You didn’t want to reignite a conflict that should remain extinguished but you had to know what that anger was. At that, he actually choked out a laugh that caught you slightly off guard.

“They can insult me all they want.” Was his response. His head shaking as though you should have known that already. “You taught me that. I’m used to it at this point.” He explained and the thought that anything you said actually stuck in that big head of his actually warmed your heart a little. Now your mind reeled with even more questions of what all that was about, what it was that could possibly have gotten him so angry, why Din had said what he had earlier, why it felt different this time, why it struck fear in you, why- 

You were so deep in thought you hadn’t realized the way your hand squeezed down on his until a low hiss broke through his modulator and your gaze flitted back down to his hands. Suddenly your sympathy for his wounds and need to care for them outweighed your curiosity as you muttered a whisper of an apology and touched the crown of your helmet to his briefly as you got up. The action was so quick, and instinctual you hardly even realized you had done it. But Paz had. It was over so fast he wondered if it might have been an accident but it made his heart skip a beat and his cheeks heat up behind his visor nonetheless.

“C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up, big man.” You say now, nodding in the direction of the exit when he didn’t follow you immediately. Too stunned in his place for his actions to keep up with his mind. At that he let out a huff as he heaved his undoubtedly aching body onto his feet and followed you out into the stone gilded corridors of the covert.

“I hear you’ve gone soft, Vizsla!” a voice you didn’t recognize shouted from the end of the hall. You squeezed Paz’s arm, a silent urge for him to stay put as you whipped around on your heel, sliding the staff from off of your back into your grip as you paced down the hallway to his pesterer. That softness he spoke of, and the juxtaposition of it to his hulking form had to be one of your favourite parts about him. You thought of the way his thumbs had grazed over the backs of your hands as you inspected his knuckles only moments ago, the tickle of his silk-like touch against yours and the way it made you tingle with some emotion you couldn’t quite place. The fact that it and the warmth that it brought to you could be strung into an insult made your blood boil. “I hear you can’t finish what you start!”

“You want to wind up in the same shape as the other guy?” you ask, pointing the stick in the direction where the victim of Paz’s most recent outburst had been lying under an hour ago. 

“What? You gonna get him to swoop in and fight your battles for you again, copikla?” He chuckled, taking a challenging step closer to you. Again? You thought, but you were too busy being insulted by his gross underestimation of both you and Paz to care.

“I wasn’t talking about him.” You threatened, jabbing the staff towards him with a practiced flourish, only stopping when it hovered just in front of his windpipe. You stayed like that for a few moments, maintaining eye contact for a menacingly long period of time before dropping your grip so the weapon rested at your side. “I think we’ve all seen enough action for one day.” You declare, not missing the opportunity to swing his heels out from beneath him in one swift motion of your staff as you turned to walk away. 

“You’re good with that thing.” Paz remarked, still slightly dumbfounded in his place. He knew you could fight. He had experienced it first hand before. But this time was different. The refinement with which you held your weapon and the elegance you possessed as you moved with it as though it was an extension of your own body was not lost on him. The tact to your words and the conviction in each step all the more enticing. And the fact that it was for him... Paz couldn’t deny that watching the whole ordeal unfold made his chest swell with pride, admiration and maybe a little bit of something else.

“I know.” He can hear the smirk in your voice as you rejoin him, not quite sure why his praise towards you and the way his gaze lingered on you made your stomach churn with nerves.

“Remind me not to vex you.” He notes when he finally finds the sense to fall into step beside you again.

“You would do well to remember that anyway, ori’jagyc.” You huff through a smile, bumping into him gently with your shoulder. 

And that was the tipping point. 

Every bit of tension that had been building in him since you had stepped into that ring and put everyone, including himself, in their place came bursting forth. He just had to do something. Tell you anything. To let you know how wild you drove him. To show you how much he appreciated you and how little he would be without you. To tell you about all the things that he would do for you if you would just ask. 

Before you knew it he was grabbing you by the elbow and dragging you into a darkened alcove away from prying eyes. The action may have been harsh but his touch was light when he pressed you to the cool stone wall, breathing ragged through his modulator.

“What he insulted, was your honour, verd’ika.” Paz said quite suddenly, voice breathless as though he couldn’t get the words out fast enough. “And that, I was not willing to let stand.” He admitted. Still struggling to gain your bearings, it took you a moment for your mind to catch up. He must have been continuing your conversation from before. The one that left your head spinning with so many questions. All at once that comment from before made sense now. Again. You thought. He had been fighting for you...

You softened at the thought of it. Here you had been, scolding him for falling back into old habits. Letting his rage get the better of him. Something you thought he had learned to control. Yet now, the thought that it was all for you, that you could drive such passion from him, made your breath catch in your lungs. It was one thing to fight for your own honour, something which had landed him in trouble countless times before, but another thing entirely to fight to protect someone else’s. You were glad he couldn’t see the tears that threatened to breach your eyes or the way your mouth gaped trying to find a response to him.

“I… I don’t know what to say...” You murmured back to him. He didn’t miss the way your voice caught in your throat. 

“You don’t have to say anything, cy-” He cut himself off abruptly and you felt heat rise up your neck until it licked at your cheeks and the bridge of your nose at the thought of what he had almost said.

“So that was all... for me?” You ask, your mind flitting back to the fury with which he threw his punches, the conviction and intensity behind them and suddenly you felt a similar feeling blooming in the cavity of your chest. Except instead of anger or rage to accompany it you felt an overwhelming urge to draw him as close to you as possible.

As if reading your mind his feet shuffled closer, the grip you hadn’t even realized was on your hip, slipped to the small of your back, your spine curving so your chest pressed flush against his as he towered over you. You supposed it could have been intimidating, the way his frame engulfed you, but instead an incredible sense of calm and security washed over you. Like you had just found refuge in the safest of sanctuaries and now you never wanted to leave. 

“There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you, meshla.” He said, bowing his head so he could kiss the crown of his helmet to yours. The exact way that hadn’t stopped playing through his head on repeat since the unceremonious bonk of your forehead to his minutes ago. He had never wished so hard that he could take it off as now in his heady daze of affection. That he could feel your skin on his, smell the scent that tangled in your hair and taste your lips against his own. Your arms slipped around the back of his neck, your eyes squeezing shut as you nuzzled into him and focused all of your attention on the feeling of your chest rising and falling in unison with his.

“I would do anything for you ...cyare.” You hum into him, a light teasing tone for the way he had choked on his words just a moment ago. 

You did that to him. 

You caused the covert’s most intimidating warrior to stutter on his words and his palms to sweat. A warm rumble rolls through his chest like thunder in a summer storm. It makes your lips pry upwards at the sound of it. 

Ori’jagyc. 

The nickname causes a hint of a laugh to bubble in the back of your throat when you’re trapped in his embrace like this. He’s warm and his arms are secure around you. His touch so feather-light on you that you wonder how it’s possible for him to strike fear in so many people when he turned around and treated you this way. 

Your ori’jagyc.

You supposed you had an answer for Din’s question now.

-- Mando’a Translations

Ori'buyce, kih'kovid - all helmet no head (usually used to talk to someone with an over-inflated sense of authority)

Alor - boss

Nar'sheb - like “shove it” but much stronger

Ori’jagyc - bully, swaggering big-mouth - someone who picks on someone smaller - lit. *big man* said sarcastically, applied equally to women 

Ni nu copaani kyr'amur ner vod - I would not willingly shed my brother's blood

Copikla - cutie (taken as an insult in mandalorian culture)

Verd’ika - little warrior

meshla - beautiful

Cyare - Beloved

[ masterlist ]

Permanent Taglist

I am aware that Paz is not a Pedro character. If you wish not to be tagged in Paz stories in the future let me know!

 @agirllovespasta @chaoticspaceidiot @engineeredfiction @pedropascalito  @dreamgirl-67 @wickedfrsgrl @hillarymurray4 @din-damn-djarin @yespolkadotkitty @wille-zarr @chaotic-noceur @oloreaa @this-cat-is-dea @marydjarin @roxypeanut @opheliaelysia @cryptkeepersoul @mrschiltoncat @prxtty-boah @aliciaxglasgow

Bucket Bois Taglist (Din, Paz)

@iamwarrenspeace @princessxkenobi @motleymoose @datmando​ @my-awakened-ghost​

Paz Vizsla Taglist

@maybege @pazvizslasgirl4ever​ @queenofheavenandhell​ @aeryntheofficial​ @hdlynn​ @corrupt-fvcker​ @holamor​ @astroberry​

[spooky-z]

[1/3]Bombshell Dupain-Cheng: YSSMIAC

Masterlist  Maribat by @ozmav​

Bombshell: The AU // 0, 1, 2, 3

Ships: Lukadaminette, Jondrien, Chlolix, Feligami, Kimax

Warnings: Language

2.6K

Chapter title: you should see me in a crown

You should see me in a crown Your silence is my favorite sound Watch me make 'em bow One by, one by one 

Here's: Marinette and Kagami didn't expect the transformation to be so outrageously obvious.

Of course, Diana had warned the teenagers that it could happen, but- again, they didn't think it would be so drastic. The growing pains had been, well, a pain. A brutal one.

If Marinette was being bitter, she would blame Tikki for this happening to her and her miraculous partners, but she knew for a fact that it was not the fault of the kwamis for this lack of information.

It was the first time since the world was created, that the miraculous were given to literal children. So, for that reason the side effects were something unknown. But they believed that they had already discovered all the effects after five years wielding the jewelry.

Diana was able to destroy any idea they had about it, since none of them noticed the biggest and most obvious side effect of the miraculous:

They were trapped in underdeveloped bodies for seventeen/eighteen-year-olds teenagers. And that wasn't just because their genetics made them look more youthful, no. The active use of Ladybug’s cure was slowing the aging journey of the other heroes, as they were the hardest hit by healing magic.

So, when Diana - Wonder Woman - invited the miraculous female team to Themyscira to correct this problem with the Amazons, Marinette, Kagami, Chloe and Alix did not hesitate to accept.

The men's team had already been invited by Arthur Curry - Aquaman - because men were not allowed on Themyscira, but also because training with Arthur would be more ideal for them than that of the Amazons.

Zatanna encouraging and assuring the heroes that she would maintain a blocking spell throughout Paris to prevent Hawkmoth from acting.

They left their homes with an excuse to travel the world. Adrien was a little more difficult to get out of Gabriel's claws, but in the end, with Bruce Wayne's call, Adrien was able to leave Paris alone with friends. They were ready.

That's when Marinette suffered.

Starting with all the miraculous having to be resigned in order for the effect of magic to expunge faster, the box being kept safe in Themyscira. And then with the infernal training that the Amazons put them through.

Before, Marinette and Kagami prided themselves on being the most agile and sharp in the fights against akumas, but being in Themyscira showed that they did not even reach the feet of the youngest warriors in the island.

So, it was already clear that if Kagami and Marinette were having problems, Chloe and Alix felt death touching their souls with affection.

(The boys also suffered in those months in Atlantis. Arthur was not at all merciful in teaching them.)

Anyway, when the two and a half month mark reached, the physical changes were simply too glaring to go through a simple growth spurt.

Marinette never envied Chloe and Alix so much for not being predisposed to be tall naturally.

Of all four, Marinette grew the most in height without the influence of the miraculous. She may or may not have cried when she reached 5'11” with Kagami and Hippolyta said she would still grow a few inches.

She didn't care much for stretch marks on her joints, but she complained about the growing pains. Kagami was not very vocal, but the grimaces of pain she let out did not let anyone be fooled.

But even with the pain, the teachings and the struggles, Marinette was happy that they were finally having the right mentoring to guide them. Fu had left very early, much of his knowledge was not passed on.

○○○

After almost struggling to free Marinette from Chloe, they left the blonde sleeping on the brunette's bed while she showered.

Alix ate a croissant, Damian and Luka talked about strategies against Hawkmoth and Plume.

"I already talked to Zatanna and she will release the blocking barrier in three days, just so Hawkmoth doesn't suspect anything." Damian looked at Alix, attracting the young woman's attention. "It would be very suspicious if the barrier was broken just on the same day that Dupont's classes returned."

Alix nodded in agreement. "Did she say anything about tracking the miraculous?"

Luka sighed despondently. "No. She will probably only make it when they are active, meaning- “

"We will have to wait for Plume and Hawkmoth to attack again to get any leads."

Marinette came into the room, fully dressed - a black skater dress with the pattern of delicate cherry blossoms, reaching a few inches above the knee, v-neck and short sleeves; white liner socks - and dry hair stuck in a messy bun, leaving the bangs framing the pretty face.

Luka and Damian swallowed at the glorious sight. She managed to be strong and cute at the same time. And it destroyed them so good.

"He should attack as soon as he feels the barrier is gone." Alix replied and it took both of them out of inappropriate thoughts. Marinette's knowing look showed that she knew exactly where the boyfriends' minds ran.

"And that is why we will be making a war council in half an hour." She reached for the pair of white sneakers on the shoe rack and tucked them in her feet, the laces already tied. “Everyone has already been warned. I will be delivering the miraculous and we will make plans on how to take down Hawkmoth for good.”

"... But first we have to wake Chloe." Luka points. "Who's going to be the unlucky one?"

○○○

After managing to wake Chloe without resulting in a murder, they were quick to leave Marinette's home for Fu's massage parlor, the current headquarters of the miraculous team and where Zatanna had lived for three months when they were away.

"We are here, losers!" Alix announced pompously.

Upon arriving, they found Adrien talking to Jon in a corner; Max, Tim and Barbara on the computer browsing documents that appeared to be important; Félix and Kagami sat at the big table - which Adrien insisted on calling the round table and Marinette found it unnecessary - analyzing a detailed hologram of the streets of Paris.

No sign of Kim or Zatanna yet.

The entry of the five drew everyone's attention; Tim and Felix's eyes doubled in size as they focused on Marinette.

"What the hell, Mari?!" Tim choked on his words.

"This is what I call transformation." Barbara commented amusedly.

“Everyone has undergone drastic changes, Drake. I'm sure you didn't react that way when you saw the others.” Marinette replied.

"Of course not! Nobody came here looking like an Amazon.”

Kagami coughed against the fist, eyebrow raised.

"Okay, I take back what I said." Tim raises his hands in surrender. "But you have to agree with me, Marinette is the most surprising change here."

Adrien nodded frantically in agreement. “When you showed up at school earlier, everyone was shocked. I hardly recognized you.”

Max and Felix scoffed. "Yes, we noticed the warm looks you were shooting at Mari." Max pointed out causing Adrien to choke in embarrassment.

“Oh, is that so? Interesting." Damian murmured, a frankly murderous look on his face. He had already taken the seat next to Felix.

"What? No! You got it wrong.” Adrien stammered, his cheeks red.

“Okay, Adrien. I'm not jealous." Luka said. The malicious curve in the corner of his mouth making it clear that the musician was loving seeing the model turn into a hot mess in front of everyone.

"Luka!" Adrien groaned painfully and turned to Jon. “You know it's not true, right? Everyone knows that I only have eyes for you.” He pouted.

The brunette put his arm around the blonde's waist, bringing him a little closer. “Of course, I know dear. I totally trust my charm.” He winked seductively; Adrien's blush only growing in intensity.

The two of them seeming to forget that their friends were there.

"Ugh, nobody deserves to watch these two making out with their eyes." Chloe moaned on the chair, still drowsy and irritated at being woken up.

"Think on the bright side!" Marinette said happily.

"What would it be...?"

"At least this time they are dressed and aware that there are other people in the room." Kim replied upon entering.

"... I think we better split them up before they really forget we're here." Kagami pointed a finger at the two boys who had started a kiss in a way that, in her opinion, should be inappropriate for people under fifty.

"Does anyone have a spray bottle?" Damian asked.

And Marinette stopped to analyze the physical changes in her team.

So, the fact was: yes, Marinette was the person with the greatest physical change among the miraculous group. Because in addition to the height, she got muscles (which she didn't have before). It wasn't something like a body builder would be, but it also made it clear that she had a pretty intense exercise routine.

Kagami had also grown a lot, losing to Mari by just a few inches. Even before wielding the dragon's miraculous, she had already developed some muscle due to the intense fencing routine; so, the only things that had changed was the increase in body mass around the shoulders, biceps and calves.

Alix didn't grow much, just two inches from what she was before, and the muscles in her body hadn't been developed as visibly as the two asian girls. She had a better definition, elasticity and mobility had improved dramatically.

Chloe was the only one of the four parisian heroines who had no visible change. She remained thin and flexible, with no pronounced hard muscles. Diana had said that the blonde's body was the type that hid her power. The deceptive, fragile type, but who was agile and fatal. Which suited Chloe.

Of the boys, the shock had been Damian. Damian, who, like Marinette, was one of the smallest on the team - followed by Alix and Max - reached his desired height of 6’3”; surpassing both Bruce and Jason, the tallest in the Wayne family.

But that didn't surprise Marinette or Tim, since Damian's parents were both quite tall. They hoped that eventually Damian would start to grow like a weed.

Anyway. While Damian did not grow muscle mass like a brick house like Jason, his shoulders grew broad and powerful, biceps pronounced, muscles lean and defined. He achieved a perfect match between raw power and agility.

Luka surprisingly hasn't changed much. He put a few inches more - taller than Marinette by just an inch, but smaller than Damian by four - but his muscles didn't grow. They just became more defined. And Marinette understood that.

Among all of them, Luka, Alix and Max were the ones who least physically attacked akumas; sometimes they even stayed out of the fight, as their powers were only for a very critical situation.

Adrien somehow still had room to grow. You see, it wasn't like he was short before; for a twelve-year-old boy - before wielding the ring - he was already quite tall, so even with the magic interfering, he still had a decent height for a teenager.

Then discover that there was still room for him to reach Damian? That was surprising.

Unlike Luka, Adrien gained muscle mass. The blonde, over the years, showed that there was no mercy when it came to eating. He never refused food, always chewing what he could as if there was no tomorrow, since at home, his diet was strict. But even with that, he never gained weight.

Always the same skinny boy as always. So skinny that Sabine had made it her life's mission to fatten the Agreste boy. (Which did not work, but it did not diminish the determination of the Chinese woman.)

Then, without the interference of magic, Adrien grew up.

The boy who was once skin and bone, now looked like the blonde version with green eyes of Kim. He didn't get uncomfortably muscular, but the muscle tone he got was insane. Even wearing a hoodie that was supposed to be 2x bigger than its ideal size, it was possible to see that some corners of the seams were stretched on the shoulders and chest.

Gabriel probably burst a vein when he saw his son's transformation. The more youthful Adrien looked, the better it was for him to sell the image of "teenage prince".

Kim was the least surprised, as he was already big even for a teenager. In addition to his shoulders - which became broader - he grew a few inches, bumping head-on with Marinette and Luka. The chest remained strong and his body seemed to have no problem staying flexible.

Félix followed the same path as Luka - which Marinette secretly thanked, since finding a bodybuilder Félix would be beyond strange -, remaining tall and elegant. Lean, well-defined muscles. He remembered Chloe's changes. Silent, but fatal.

He was also in the race for whoever got higher with Adrien and Damian.

Max, on the other hand, must not have grown more than five inches. His muscle tone did not grow at an alarming rate either, remaining mostly thin, but looking agile. Like a person who runs five miles every morning without losing his breath or sweating.

Which was good, since Max was never a fitness person and everyone knew it. If he appeared like a damn monster truck out of nowhere - like Marinette, Kagami and Adrien - it would make people ask even more and they didn't want to attract more attention than they were already getting.

All of this, of course, without pointing out the other obvious changes that puberty brought.

The lack of baby fat, sharp jaws, developed curves, deep voices... Marinette managed to get used to her new height, but was not finding peace of mind with the new weight of her chest.

She clapped her hands to get everyone's attention and smiled.

"Let's start?"

And everyone, including the two lovebirds, sat around the table.

They would only leave with a solid plan against Hawkmoth.

BONUS:

"Wow, did you see how some of Ms. Bustier's and Ms. Mendeleiev's students looked different?" Lila heard extra #1 gossip with extra #2.

"I saw it, girl!" Extra #2 responded. "Everyone is saying that they joined a gang."

"Oho, do you believe that?!"

"Well, won't you say that you didn't find Agreste's new appearance strange?"

Lila jumped when she heard the name of one of her enemies. She moved closer to the two girls to hear the conversation better.

It could be something she could use against the ice king.

“Did you see Dupain-Cheng?! That was insane!”

The Italian bristled when she heard Maribrat's name. Still confused about what the two girls were talking about.

She had decided not to go on the first day of school to make a flashy comeback, so what had happened, she didn't know.

"And Adrien?!"

"I know!"

And that was it! Lila needed to know in detail what was going on.

"Excuse me, girls..." She sweetened her voice as much as she could. The two girls looked at her confused. "I wanted to first apologize for listening to your conversation and also to ask what you were talking about..." The ‘poor woman’ expression stuck to her face.

The two girls were even more confused. "Didn't you come yesterday?"

"No. My flight from Achu took longer than expected and I just arrived today.”

"Ah..." Extra #2 waved. “Is that- Ah! In fact, just look back and you will understand!” She said hastily.

Extra #1 looked over Lila's shoulder with a haunted expression. Waving violently.

And when Lila turned... What the fuck was that.

[tag list]

@nightstarblue​ @dreamykitty25​  @phantomroseo3​ @avengerthewarrior​  @guessmyname17​ @luveverything12​ @wannajointhecrabcult​ @chocolate1721​ @polyvirnl​ @enchanted-nerd​ @sandraf0612​ @multi-fandom-freak0221​ @rosalineandrosemary​ @jessigurl-design​ @saays-bitch​ @xxmdsxx​ @nicknnie​ @iamablinkmarvelarmy​ @damianette-is-life​ 

[poison--ivory]

Uninviting Cataclysm(Alastor x Reader) Chapter 1

Daily routine isn't always good

(You call the old couple mom and dad) *Also sorry I didn't mention until now that you have really curly hair and your biracial(so you can decide what your skin color is)* •You were also raised up north and still kind of speak with that dialect• 

June 6, 1915 Age: 20

  The morning sun pushing through the curtains along with the sound of dogs barking slowly woke you up. Forcing yourself up and managing to bear from the comfort of your bed and it's still warm sheets. First, tidying your bed spread neat before mom could scold you.

  Making your way to the wardrobe to gather clothes for today's venture, you grabbed a (f/c) V-neck, short flutter sleeve dress that hits mid thigh. With matching flats to best match your dress. Oncing over the choice for today you thought it was best enough. Setting them on the bed and quickly making your way out of your room and into the hallway.

 Swiftly moving down corridor to the bathroom to freshen up before breakfast. Seeing that your old mom already set a nice bath for you. Letting your gown carelessly fall off your frame and removing your undergarments. Mindlessly going into deep thought about your day.

  You usually go to the library to read or grab a book. Maybe chat with the sweet old lady and her seven year old grandson who run the place. Then, possibly taking a stroll around the fair that just open for the summer. By that time your already bringing your twin something for lunch.

  Later, you either stop by the market to pick up groceries or you help your mom take care of wealthy white kids. Their parents pay mom a great deal to care for their children. She does literally everything for them from making meals to sewing dresses or little suits. But, some clients left after my brother and I showed up I guess they didn't want their children to be near a person of color for too long. The ones that stayed seem nice enough. My personal favorite being a middle aged man, Henry Bourgeois, who always said, 'hello' and gave me small tips for caring for his daughter Sally.

  Your skin started to prune sitting in the water for too long. Stepping out of the tub and snatching a towel from the rack you started to dry off. Starting with hair and slowly making your way down to your toes.

  Wrapping the towel around your womanly frame you crept back to your bedroom and got dressed.

__________________________

Once downstairs the smell of bacon and spices hit your nose and triggering your mouth to salivate. Walking into the kitchen you found your mom just about done with her last plate to place at the table with the two others. You greeted her with a warm hug and a 'Good Morning, Mom'. She smiled back and gave your cheek a quick peck. Then went to sit in your chair and wait for your plate.

"Good Mornin', sweetheart. How'd sleep?" She asked, turning back around to slide the eggs on the plate.

"Better than yesterday I can tell you that for sure. The dream I had was so realistic with the flames of hell melting my flesh. I could of sworn that my eyes busted through my soc-" You were cut off by a plate slamming down in front of. Looking up mom had a stern look to her aged face.

"Now ya need ta stop talking 'bout ya dreams like that. Really unladylike especially in public," She spoke with a slight authoritative tone. Lightly limping to her chair she spoke again, "it's just a dame should stay in her own lane. Not that I don't wancha to get a little fire on me now. Men just don't like that talk ya know."

Nodding to her response she took the answer and went on her to turn up the radio for the daily news.

Good Morning, ladies and gentlemen and welcome back to the radio show.

   Staring your favorite radio host, I Alastor, to brighten up your morning with a few songs, but let me darken your day for just a minute with such sad news. Another body was found by an egg last night floating down the bayou.

  Coppers have yet to capture this Button man. This tallies up to over twenty people in a span of two years.  Now what most of you fine folk want to listen to here we have, Mr. Artie Matthew's play the 'Weary Blues'

The piano playing filled in the silence that would have been forks hitting plates trying to pick up flimsy fried egg.

 The killings haven't been new and have been the norm for awhile. You can hear people talking about it at every street, alleyway and bar.

 The coppers haven't caught the guy yet and it puts lots of people on edge. Especially people with families.

 Nearly shoving food in my face causing mom to tell you to slow down. But, hardly listening you shove the rest of the bacon into your mouth and make your way to the sink to scrub your plate and placed it on the drying rack.

"Bye, mama. I'll be back before you know it!" You yelled from the front door way and before you could venture outside she yelled back.

"Pick up some milk and bread before ya get home, would ya?"

"I will, mama."

"Have a safe trip and the cabbage on the table for ya." She slightly limped over and gave both of your cheeks kisses.

Checking the table you hurriedly snatched the money and skipped out the door. Slamming it shut behind you.

Walking down the curvy road that leads into the city. The walk leads you through a small, little wood patch and into a small clearing that slowly shows small businesses and shops. The library is located near the school which is pretty far off from other buildings.

Reaching your destination, the library stairs are long wide, and white cemented staircase with two pillars on each side with the big doors that lead into the actually building. Pushing pass them you nearly run into a little boy, Joseph Bonnefoy.

"Oh, where are in such a rush to?" Smoothing out your dress asked in a slight taunting tone.

"Granny said I could go out for a short break. I'm getting myself a few chocolates as a snack." The words rushed out of his tiny mouth. Hardly catching his breath when he was finished.

"Well aren't you grown now, Joseph. Next thing you'll tell me your getting old enough to get your own house." Jokingly ruffling his hair, he smiled and waved off vanishing from sight once down the incline.

Sauntering into the building you noticed that Claire Bonnefoy wasn't at the front desk where she usually was. Probably in the back.

Making your way down the aisles of books you traveled around for a good five minutes passing books you didn't find interesting or they didn't have good covers. Coming across a couple of good ones you touched 'The Good Solider' reading the summary you decide to give it a try. °°It's set just before World War I and chronicles the tragedy of Edward Ashburnham, the soldier to whom the title refers, and his seemingly perfect marriage plus that of his two American friends.°°

Strolling around the aisle for a bit more you grace yourself with some dark writing. Traipsing on to some dark fiction you grabbed a fairytale book of the 'Grimm work original fairy tales'. Walking back to the front, Mrs. Claire was already their and ready for me. Smiling I greeted her and handed the books over. Smiling she rung them up and complimented the choice for this week.

" How have you been, Mrs. Claire. Not to intrude on your personal life, but is it true that the last person who died lived close to you." You questioned.

"Sadly, yes 'n I've been thinkin' of sendin' little Joseph up state with his aunt 'n uncle in Arkansas for awhile 'til this calms down." Her shaky hand clenched around the book harshly, "Or if they finally catch the bastard whose doin' all of this maybe mah little boy can stay. 'Til then mah old joints can't move like they use tah."

" Lititle Jo 's gonna feel so sad, he really likes New Orleans."

"Yes, I know dear. But, I'd sleep betta at night if he was somewhere safa." She slide the books in a paper bag and handed them over. A melancholy smile on her sweet face. "Been saving up on a train ticket for some time now. Most folk don't come by tah rent out books anymore. So, it took some time 'n hard work tah earn the money."

The killings have did put everyone at alert. Well, most people still hang out past sun fall just to watch the city come to life. Which I won't lie it is gorgeous to witness the night come to life. But, for old bims like Mrs. Claire she's dang plum tire and could use the time to calm her nerves. Maybe I should visit more once Joseph''s left.

"Thank ya, Miss. (Y/n). I'll see ya next week or so."

"The pleasure's all mine and I'll give these books back in no time."

Waving to the old bim you make your way back out the library and on tour way to your next destination.

    Making your way back to the house to fetch Issacs's lunch you had to maneuver your way through the crowd of busy people scrambling around to get out of the sweltering heat and catching up with friends.

 Your brother works at a boiler repair shop. Fixing cars and getting scraps of cabbage to make up for the bills that weren't paid. He's always been a hard working guy, he's selfless and protective. I still remember when we were kids and father used to hit him, so hard, but came to my defense whenever I was in trouble.

 Traveling down the dusty road you made it to the repair shop where two boobs stood out front. One was always silent and the other was a continuous flirt whenever you came around.

As soon as they could hear your shoes hitting pavement the flirt Clay shot up to welcome you.

"How are doing this afternoon, (y/n)." His hand went out to grab your, which you quickly pulled back, "you know that offer still stands that if you wanna get tonight."

"I would, but I'm pretty sure your wife would raise all hell." Walking past him to look further into the garage. "Where is my brother, is he not here?"

Floyd spoke up, which startled you. His voice is pretty deep and gravely for a man only four years older than yourself. Blowing the smoke from his mouth he tapped the ash upon the ground to stare at you.

"He left early to go out with his dame. Told us to tell ya not to worry too much and that he'll be back home later tonight." He stole another drag from the cigarette.

"He could at least gave me heads up before I came all the way out here. What I'm supposed to do with this now." Dangling the bag of food from side to side.

"I'll take it off ya hands for ya." Clay swooning in to steal the bag and retreat back to standing next to Floyd. "Wish my wife could cook like your ma."

  Huffing you said your good byes to them both with a very excited 'see ya' from Clay and a small wave from Floyd.

  Once far away enough you groaned louder to reduce some irritation of making this heart felt trip. Pulling on your face to stop tears from forming you sighed and kept walking to your next venture.

 The scratch mom gave you was enough for bread and milk. But, she also gave you enough to get something special from you little trip. You decided on a cup of coffee at the nearest restaurant with a beignet. It sounds so good right now and with more pep in your step you made it to the store in no time.

  The corner store was full of people that day bustling around to grab what they need and storm out. You being the small self you are you tried to cram your way in and failed miserably. You tried this process several times and came out with the same results. Someone bumped into your small frame and sent you falling backwards. Gloved hands snatched you up before you could hit the ground.

You were in a state of shock before being knocked out of your stooper by a young man who you realized pulled you off to the side. With eyes wide you tried to make conversation, but no words would come out the only thing you could look at was his face.

"T-Thanks for helping me." You tried to mustard a smile, but it came out weird.

"You look like you were in quite the pickle their, my dear." Hands still on your waist he motioned with his head down the street. "You know there's a nice restaurant around here that serves the best venison. I think you would just adore it. Could possibly calm your nerves my treat."

Mouth still dry you tried to speak, "I don't want to impose on your lunch regimen." Shaking your head and slowly moving backwards.

"Oh, but I insist my dear I did invite you didn't I." Pulling you closer by the hip, your face heated up more than normal. Now following the man who you didn't even pick up the name you two made your way around the corner and down the street.

  Stepping inside the small business you noticed only about six or eight people in here. Nicely decorated with bar stools and five booths along the wall and a bathroom across from the front entrance. But, it did smell really delicious in here maybe it won't be,  so bad to have just a bite to eat. He did say he was paying. He lead us to a small booth in the back and waited for me sit down first before taking his seat across from me.

 "Why did you bring me here I barely know you, sir?" Playing with your fingers to ease your nerves by making your fingers stretch and squeeze together.

 His eyes looked off to the side in deep thought before he shrugged. "You looked interesting, my dear." Reaching over he scratched under your chin and his smiled covered more of his face. "Smile my dear you know your never fully dressed without one."

 Making a smile fall upon your lips you smiled back. His eyes slightly narowed and his smirk stretched a bit. Suddenly, a very curvy and thick lady stood in front of our booth.

"Oh, Al are here to hear me sing again tonight. If you are your way too early, hun." She giggled.

"Oh no my dear, Mimzy. I'm here with a new friend of mine. She's going to have seasoned venison." His arm motion towards me and I froze on the spot.

Sticking your hand out for handshake, "HI, my name's (y/n). Nice to meet you."

She stared you up and down before slowly taking your hand and managing a small smile on her face. "You must be a fan, Al here, right. A lot of dumb dora fall head over heels for this man."

 I guess she read the confused look on your face and answered for you. "Alastor, the radio man of New Orleans."

"Oh, sorry I guess I didn't notice." Turning your attention to Alastor, "sorry I didn't recognize a popular figure like yourself."

"It's fine dear a lot of people don't recognize the voice with the look." I'm guessing he's talking the creole look. To be honest a lot of people don't sound like the ethnicity on the phone until you see their face. But, I can't really judge I get turned down in person more than on the phone looking for a job.

"Well I'll go tell the servers the usual for you, Al." She looked you over, again. "What will you have?"

"She'll be having the same as me, mim." Alastor strong smile had her face painted in a light pink. She straighten her posture and cleared her throat and told us it it'll come out in no time. Once she gone I asked how long they've known each other.

"Mimzy and I go way back when she was a small singer. Know she travels from time to time to spread that lovely voice of hers." You just took noticed he speaks with hands a lot more than most people. But, you seem to like that.

 Smiling back you told him that really amazing. It was you mothers goal before she stated using. He asked you about your occupation.

"Well, I really wanted to be a baker, but no plots are open, too expansive or I'm not the right skin tone for this establishment." Looking up for just a second you could have sworn the smile on his face fell and quickly went back into place.

"Isn't that just dreadful." He focused up at the ceiling for awhile and shot his head down to smirk at me, "How would like to work for me for a fair price a hour?"

"What?"